Margot Cohen in Medan, North Sumatra and Tangerang – Nearly four dozen soldiers patrol the 142 factories inside the Medan Industrial Park, on guard against any election-related violence. But that's not enough to soothe the nerves of the park's director, Papo Hermawan. He's more worried about the militant mood swelling behind the factories' high concrete walls, still dotted with campaign stickers.

"Workers are becoming more bold because of reformasi," says Papo, who has watched nine strikes erupt this year in the park, a collection of plants that make everything from gloves to chicken feed. That has cast a shadow over his plans to pitch the park's cheap labour to Malaysian investors in a July roadshow. "If workers are agreeable and obedient, that will help draw investors. But if they can't be controlled, investors won't come," he frets.

For employers struggling to survive the economic crisis, the nationwide surge of labour activity could not be more ill-timed. But for factory workers badly squeezed by the same crisis, Indonesia's liberalized political atmosphere provides essential room to manoeuvre, and that means employers can expect a more activist labour force. Already living hand to mouth, workers don't see why they should bear the brunt of inflation, when many factory owners – particularly those outside Java – appear to be prospering from exports.

"The businessmen are getting richer," fumes one worker who earns about 300,000 rupiah ($37) a month at Tjipta Rimba Jaya, a Medan plywood firm. "They use Indonesian materials for products to sell overseas. So why should my salary stay the same?" Yet many other workers remain hesitant to press their demands, dreading further lay-offs in domestic industries already deep into retrenchment. Ignoring reformasi, hundreds of factories continue to fire workers for union activities.

Indonesia's labour movement began building momentum in the early 1990s, only to founder after a mass protest of 14,000 Medan workers in 1994 ended in violence. Other cities fell under the pall, as dozens of labour activists were thrown into jail and military surveillance of workers and labour advocates intensified around the country.

Now, many factors are contributing to jump-start the movement. The forces unleashed by Suharto's downfall in May 1998 were reflected in an immediate outbreak of strikes: The Manpower Ministry recorded 83 strikes the following June, compared to just four in the previous February. (That pace has slowed somewhat to 31 strikes officially reported in April of this year, although the ministry tends to under-report industrial disputes.)

A leading labour advocate, Muchtar Pakpahan, was released from jail shortly after Suharto resigned. Together with devoted cadres, he set about rebuilding his upstart labour union, known as SBSI. Thanks to reformasi, SBSI won government approval last July, after years of battling a regime that would only recognize one union – SPSI – long dominated by functionaries from the ruling Golkar party and largely subservient to employers' interests. Factions later emerged within SPSI and a splinter group formed SPSI Reformasi. A new union of plantation workers has also emerged. Even middle-class white-collar workers are also beginning to mobilize, particularly in the banking sector.

Meanwhile, a variety of political and social organizations are rapidly regrouping to push a pro-labour agenda. The Democratic People's Party, or PRD, has overcome its once-outlawed status and begun to mobilize labour. Three new workers' parties have also blossomed, although many factory hands profess loyalty to Megawati Sukarnoputri, head of the Indonesian Democratic Party for Struggle.

Labour activists are revelling in their new freedom, although they foresee much hard work ahead. "Just two months before Suharto fell, someone smashed the glass windows of our office. We were terrorized," says Sri Eni Purnawati, an advocate for child workers in Medan. "After reformasi, we can sleep easy. We don't have to work on the run."

Not everyone is so enthusiastic. "The workers are being carried away by provocateurs," says Aswad, a public-relations officer for C.V. Kober, a Medan factory that makes plastic household items. Striking workers want a 3,500-rupiah food allowance and other benefits in addition to their minimum wage, but Aswad says the factory can only afford 1,000 rupiah per worker for food. So far, the workers are not giving up, even though previous strikes ended in failure. "Before, we were divided," says 19-year-old worker Mamek Slamet. "Now we're united. And we're free to voice our demands."

As the workers spilled onto the sidewalk in the waning days of the election campaign, cadres from the small National Labour Party – linked to Pakpahan's SBSI – arrived to drum up a little support. They handed out brochures declaring their platform included a minimum monthly wage of 600,000 rupiah and 20% of factory shares distributed to workers. The crowd responded with a bit of friendly scepticism. "What's the guarantee?" challenged Mamek. As expected, the party has so far remained an impoverished, marginal player on the scene, holding small pep talks under coconut trees and winning votes primarily among those already aided by SBSI. Indeed, early election results indicate that all the new labour-oriented parties fared marginally.

Many groups are trying to push the workers' agenda beyond basic issues such as wages to broader political goals such as eliminating the military's control over civilian affairs. However, most analysts agree that it will take years to promote political education, due to the ignorance systematically fostered by the Suharto regime. "In the short term, workers will remain a floating mass," predicts Vedi Hadiz, a research fellow at Murdoch University's Asia Research Centre in Western Australia. "Megawati, like all the other leaders of the major parties, has no organic links with the labour movement."

Even cadres from the small, worker-oriented parties sometimes seemed their own worst enemy in marshalling votes in the run-up to the June 7 contest. Sri Surya Ningsih, a 32-year-old worker at a Medan electronics factory, volunteered to be a PRD parliamentary candidate and made the rounds of workers' cramped quarters. "Now, the most important thing is to get rid of the military's dual function," she insisted, seconds after walking in. "We don't understand politics!" wailed Sumi, a 24-year-old worker at a glove factory. Taking a deep breath, Sri continued, "Our leader, Budiman Soedjatmiko, is in jail. Do you know why?" Another blank stare. Finally, Sri gave her pitch on wages. "Sure, even an idiot wants wages to go up 100%," answered Sumi.

Other promises failed to reach their target audience. "We will liberate you from a form of colonialism far more evil than the Dutch," thundered Syamsul Halal, a campaigner for Megawati's party, during a brief stop at a state-owned rubber plantation in North Sumatra's Langkat district. More than 50% of the company's shares would be distributed to workers, he pledged. "You will be plantation owners, not coolies!"

That might have gone over well had someone bothered to check the workers' schedule. The sparsely attended rally was over by noon, two hours before the workers finished their field chores. Sitting glumly under a row of rubber trees, four workers in mud-spattered shirts strained to hear the sounds of the first non-Golkar rally held here for more than three decades. "Maybe my hand votes for Golkar, but my heart supports Megawati," says 51-year-old Mislan, still waiting for an unprecedented four-month bonus to be handed out by the state-owned firm. As the foreman approached, the workers fell silent. Even in the burgeoning labour movement, reformasi has its limits.