Louis Plottel – In late August and early September 2025, Indonesia saw one of its most intense protests in the country's post-reformasi history. Sparked by public anger at salary increases for high-ranking officials, the demonstrations soon tapped into wider frustrations over social justice, economic inequality, inflation, corruption, state's violence and militarism, and ultimately descended into violence and riots in which at least 11 people were killed.
The police responded with heavy-handedly, arresting thousands of protesters. In recent weeks, authorities have justified their response by blaming "anarcho" groups (kelompok anarko), portraying them as the architects of unrest.
This fits a pattern seen in Indonesia's recent protest waves: from the #ReformasiDikorupsi student protests of 2019, the Omnibus Law protests in 2020, the "Emergency Warning" (Peringatan Darurat) rallies of 2024, to the "Dark Indonesia" (Indonesia Gelap) actions of early 2025. In each case, officials quickly blamed "anarchist" agitators for unrest, using the anarko label to discredit demonstrations and justify crackdowns. The term anarko (anarchist) has thus become a catch-all bogeyman in official narratives of protest violence. But is the threat of anarchist groups truly as grave as portrayed? Since when did Indonesian authorities begin using this label, and to what effect?
Anarchism in Indonesia: a long-standing but fringe movement
A textbook might define anarchism's a political philosophy that rejects hierarchies of domination, especially the state and capitalism. Anarchists, accordingly, advocate for horizontal forms of social organisation based on mutual aid, voluntary cooperation, and direct democracy. In Indonesia, however, "anarki" is commonly understood to mean "chaos" or "vandal". This linguistic overlap has fuelled deep misconceptions. Police and media often equate any violent protest or act of vandalism with "anarchism", regardless of whether those involved identify with anarchist ideology.
This gap between anarchism as an ideology and anarki as chaos is especially striking given Indonesia's own anarchist history. Anarchism has existed for decades in Indonesia. Its roots stretch back over a century, although it has never been a mass political force. Early traces of anarchist thought appeared in the Dutch colonial era. For instance, anti-colonial writer Eduard Douwes Dekker and his grandnephew Ernest Douwes Dekker are often regarded as early anarchist figures in Dutch East Indies. Anarchist cells and syndicalist unions grew through the 1910s, though colonial authorities repressed them by the 1920s. After independence, anarchism vanished – especially under Suharto's New Order, as his regime brutally suppressed leftist movements.
It was only after the fall of Suharto in 1998 that anarchism reemerged in Indonesia's activist subculture. In the 2000s, Indonesian anarchist collectives began to form and appeared in May Day protest in small numbers. Throughout the 2010s, anarchist ideas spread widely within youth subcultures, such as the punk music scene, football supporter groups, and DIY art communities, especially in urban centres. These groups fostered anti-authoritarian and anti-capitalist sentiments among segments of marginalised youth. By the late 2010s, Indonesia's anarko scene had coalesced into loose networks sharing a common aesthetics (black flags, circle-A symbols) and tactics (graffiti, street protests). Anarchist-oriented activism gained wider visibility in recent years thanks to social media and mounting public frustration with the government. Online platforms have allowed youth activists to share anarchist literature, memes, and organising events across regions.
The 2019 May Day and the spectre of 'anarko'
The first major public scare over "anarchists" occurred on May Day 2019. In Bandung and Jakarta, labour rallies were joined by an unprecedented number of youths dressed in black, wearing masks and carrying anarchist flags. In Bandung, a bloc of up to hundreds of young protesters shocked the public and authorities. It was "the largest to date" of such anarchist appearances. Footage from the Bandung rally showed marchers in black chanting anti-capitalist slogans, with some of them engaging in vandalism. Their photos and videos went viral on social media and caught attention worldwide in anarchist forums.
The reaction from police was swift and severe. In Bandung alone, authorities detained around 619 people who had worn black clothing. This 2019 May Day incident was the first time Indonesian police systematically used the term "anarko" to arrest protesters. National Police spokesmen alleged that an "anarcho-syndicalist network" had infiltrated the May Day rallies across several cities. Even a major labour union echoed the claim, suggesting "anarchy groups" had snuck into the worker demonstrations. From that point on, "anarko" became a buzzword in the media. Headlines blared about "anarko" as agents of provocation.
Just a few months later, in September 2019, the pattern repeated. Indonesia was rocked by the #ReformasiDikorupsi protests: massive student-led demonstrations against the weakening of the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) law and controversial changes to the criminal code. These were the largest street protests the country had seen since the 1998 Reformasi uprising. Largely peaceful at first, the rallies in Jakarta, Bandung, and other cities eventually descended into clashes. In some places, mobs burned public facilities and vandalised property. Police confidently pointed to "anarko" groups as the culprits behind the unrest.
The script established in 2019 replayed with each new wave of protest. In October 2020, when unions and students mobilised against the Omnibus Law on Job Creation, riots broke out in Jakarta and other cities. Officials again blamed "anarchist infiltrators". Police claimed to uncover an anarko plot, paraded a detained youth as the "leader of the anarchists," and arrested others for graffiti or carrying black flags. Hundreds were detained across cities, often on questionable evidence.
By 2024-25, the narrative intensified. The Peringatan Darurat protests against democratic backsliding in late 2024 saw over 300 arrests in Jakarta, with police again citing the role of "anarko". In early 2025, the Indonesia Gelap demonstrations, sparked by anger over legislative perks and police brutality, were cast in even darker terms. West Java police accused "anarko" groups of infiltrating the protests and spreading disinformation, and by September 2025 authorities even alleged foreign funding was backing "anarchist riots." Each time, the message was clear: anarchists were to blame, and extraordinary measures, such as excessive use of tear gas, mass arrests, surveillance, were justified. But this raises a question: are anarchists really the dangerous force the state claims them to be?
A real danger or a convenient scapegoat?
To a limited extent, Indonesian anarchist groups have acknowledged their engagement in militant actions. There have been instances of vandalism, arson, or clashes initiated by self-identified anarchists, typically targeting symbols of state or capital (e.g. police posts, toll booths, banks). The actual size and capabilities of Indonesia's anarchist movement, however, remain modest. Their protests gather at most a few hundred people, and they lack wide popular support in Indonesia. Why, then, do the police portray anarchists as so significant, even the culprits behind every eruption of unrest? There are at least two reasons.
First, as Dominic Berger notes, the state targets anarchists precisely because they are "weak" dissidents. Their numbers are small, leaderless, and operate in loose, decentralised networks. This makes them far easier to vilify and demonise with little political cost. Their association with punk aesthetics, black clothing, and confrontational slogans already marks them in the public eye as unwanted outsiders. By branding these groups as the face of disorder, the authorities create a convenient enemy that justifies harsh policing in tackling mass demonstrations.
Second, observers have noted that the government's label on "anarko" echoes the New Order's old tactics of labelling regime opponents as subversives. During Suharto's authoritarian rule, the spectre of "komunis" (communists) was used to justify repression. At that time, dissenters were often accused of being communist agitators, invoking the national trauma of the 1965 PKI affair. Today's treatment of "anarko" mirrors that logic. Though it is different in scale and context, the state narrative has turned "anarchists" into the new scapegoat akin to the communists of the past.
In short, the exaggeration of an anarchist threat is used to justify crackdowns on dissent. By turning anarchists into a convenient villain, the state doesn't just justify crackdowns, it changes the dynamics of public protest. What does this mean for Indonesia's democracy and for the future of mass movements?
Dividing the masses, burying the issues
The state's scare tactics directed at "anarko" have several troubling implications for Indonesian civil society. For one thing, it divides the protest coalitions from within. After the events of May Day in 2019, mainstream demonstrators (students, labour unions, etc.) became increasingly distrustful of anyone outside their own groups during protests. Organisers began implementing informal "security checks": for example, during campus-led protests, participants without university jackets were viewed with suspicion. In some cases, student marshals even expelled or detained individuals simply for "looking anarchist" (e.g. wearing black clothing or masks).
While these measures are often justified as a way to avoid chaos, it carries important implications. Without critical awareness, these dynamic risks fostering a culture of political exclusivity. It may hinder broader public participation in political protests, undercutting the strength of mass movements. The unity between different social groups, such as activists, students, workers, and urban poor, is fractured when each suspects the other of harbouring "anarchist" agents. Ultimately, this opens up opportunities for authorities to benefit from divide-and-conquer dynamics. It isolates the marginalised individuals, with no formal affiliation, from the larger movement, making it easier to pick them off. A concrete example of this divisive outcome occurred during the 2020 protests. Student groups themselves apprehended a few youths accused of being "anarko" agitators and handed them to police. These kinds of incidents show how the spectre of anarchists has been used to turn protesters against each other.
Source: https://www.newmandala.org/whos-afraid-of-a-little-anarchy