The return of the protest song: Punk aesthetics in an age of a resurgent authoritarianism

In mid-February 2025, a song titled Bayar, Bayar, Bayar (Pay, Pay, Pay) by post-punk band Sukatani sparked a nationwide call for greater freedom of expression under President Prabowo’s increasingly authoritarian administration. The song, which highlights the entrenched culture of bribery in the police, reportedly ruffled the feathers of the force’s top brass.

The electro punk duo – Alectroguy and Twister Angel – broadcast an apology to the Indonesian police on social media, which many believe was made under duress. They later withdrew the track from streaming platforms.

This triggered widespread public backlash. The song was then covered by many other artists and streamed through diverse social media channels and live performances.

The wave of camaraderie extended beyond the music scene, inspiring cultural organizations to resist state repression and assert artistic freedom. The song also became a battle cry for student protests against President Prabowo’s controversial budget cuts. These protests now bear the hashtag ‘Indonesia Gelap’ (Indonesia Dark), which some think was inspired by Sukatani’s album title, Gelap Gempita (Dark Excited).

But why is Bayar, Bayar, Bayar significant? More importantly, what does this backlash reveal about resurgent authoritarianism and popular resistance?

The long history of protest songs

Protest songs have played a pivotal role in Indonesia’s political history, particularly since the early years of the New Order under its authoritarian leader, President Soeharto.

In the first decade of the New Order era, a wave of young musicians emerged, using their folk singer-songwriter style for socio-political critique. Their lyrics challenged the state’s embrace of neoliberalism and systemic injustices, with Iwan Fals and Tom Slepe among the most prominent voices condemning the national development scheme (Pembangunan).

Previously, in 1973, Bandung-based musician Harry Roesli had released songs that employed a distinct aesthetic – subtle and metaphorical – to amplify vernacular voices on socio-political issues. One of the most notable tracks, Malaria, presents a layered message. On one hand, it likens the common people to mosquitoes, easily swatted away by those in power. On the other, it suggests that, like mosquitoes, the people can bite back and spread resistance, serving as an implicit critique of social and political oppression.

By incorporating the language of the everyday, these artists infused their critiques with dark humor, amplifying the struggles of society’s most marginalized – those economically and politically sidelined. Despite censorship of television and radio, these recordings were popular and circulated through cassettes reaching contemplative and social spaces.

These songs became an enduring undercurrent of democratic resistance. They helped keep the spirit of dissent alive even as student activism was suppressed by the 1978 ‘normalization of campus life’ policy that prohibited politics on campuses.

Protest songs in the mainstream

The music industry laid a foundation that allowed protest songs to be consumed. In 1981, Iwan’s partnership with a leading national recording company, Musica, brought him superstar status. One of his most notable songs, Guru Oemar Bakrie, tells the story of an underpaid teacher who remains dedicated to educating students who go on to achieve financial success and high social status.

Iwan’s songs like Surat Buat Wakil Rakyat (A Letter to People’s Representatives) and Pesawat Tempurku (My Jet Fighter), popular singalongs for students at the time, aligned with people’s views about the corrupt government.

In the late New Order period, during President Soeharto’s final decade in power (1988–1998), shifting political and cultural circumstances fueled a surge in activism. Unsurprisingly, the musical anthems that accompanied this movement emerged from mainstream national recording companies, which were thriving at the time.

In 1989, Iwan led superstar group Swami that released an album featuring two notable songs that became anthems for the Generasi 98 (Generation ’98) activists: Bento and Bongkar.  The former depicts a powerful figure, with the title often understood as an acronym for ‘Benteng Soeharto” (Soeharto’s fort) or one of President’s sons, Tommy Soeharto. The latter title, meaning ‘Rip it Down’ suggests a call to tear down the oppressive system.

Swami’s younger counterparts, Elpamas, contributed to the movement with the folk song Pak Tua (Old Man), a metaphorical plea to the aging president: “Stop, he looks tired. Stop. We are able to work.” A former activist, Zul Amrosi, later told me that these songs provided a powerful soundtrack to the countless protests that escalated throughout the 1990s.

The rise of the music industry also paved the way for songs being covered by aspiring bands. Many of these popular tunes were later repurposed by anarchist musical groups for protests. One notable example was SPI (Sarikat Pengamen Indonesia, Union of Indonesian Street Buskers), a collective of street musicians who performed reworked versions of songs by 1990s child star Eno Lerian during student protests, modifying the lyrics to align with the movement’s demands. Eno’s song Nyamuk Nakal (Silly mosquito) and Semua ada Disini (Everything is here) were big hits in 1994. SPI changed the lyrics and named the songs OTB Jare Soeharto (Illegal Organization says Soeharto) and Indonesia Oye (Indonesia Oh Yeah) respectively. The singalong nature of the original songs made SPI’s rendition popular with 1998 protesters, entertaining yet engaged with the big issues driving the protests.

The rise of alternative music in the 1990s and the birth of subculture

The rise of private television stations and their incorporation of music programming in the early 1990s facilitated the entry of global music trends into Indonesia. Genres such as post-punk, UK indie pop, indie rock, and US alternative rock, often associated with the DIY (Do it yourself) ethos, gained traction in the 1990s.

These styles were embraced as liberating counterforces to the dominant musical aesthetics and economic structures that shaped mainstream taste. Many young people gravitated toward indie and alternative music as a subcultural space for challenging social norms, economic systems, and the repressive state. The idea of DIY and counterculture fitted with the political zeitgeist amidst the struggle for change.

Indie music’s DIY counterpart, the punk communities, had already emerged in urban centers like Jakarta, Bandung, and Yogyakarta, forming an underground network of resistance through music.

These punk and metal subcultures amplified musical anarchism, fostering a growing sense of rebellion. Some early exponents of Indonesia’s underground scene included bands like Suckerhead, Marjinal (formerly Anti-Aparat), Puppen, and underground hip-hop group outfit Homicide. Not only did they adhere to DIY as an anarchist ideal by producing their music with a DIY mode of production, but they played a role in shaping the era’s radical soundscape through political songs in underground spaces.

Protest songs in the age of Reformasi

The rise of the underground and independent music scene following Reformasi (Reformation) in 1998 shaped a paradoxical stance on musical anarchism.

On one hand, these subcultures inevitably aligned with the neoliberal trajectory of both the state and the global economy by operating within the commercial frameworks of the music industry. As a result, by the 2000s, independent music had become deeply interconnected across Indonesia’s major cities. Songs by underground and independent bands were regularly played in cafés, distros, cultural hubs, and even on commercial radio stations, signaling the mainstreaming of what was once a countercultural movement.

The expansion of independent music’s social infrastructure fostered a system in which popularity often overshadowed substance, turning political sound into a spectacle rather than a sustained movement.

On the other hand, the post-Reformasi era saw an explosion of socio-political critique from the independent music scene, surpassing what was expressed during the late New Order period. This surge was driven in part by the rise of home recording technology and the widespread and euphoric embrace of independent artists in the early 2000s.

It is worth noting that despite this newfound artistic freedom, the political uncertainties of the post-Soeharto years fueled scepticism about whether Reformasi’s democratic promises would ever be fully realised. This shift opened the door to a wide range of socio-political songs that were no longer confined to hard underground genres. These protest songs vary in style from guitar-driven soft rock to the synthesizer sounds.

One of the most pivotal moments in this musical resistance came after the 2004 murder of human rights activist Munir Said Thalib, an assassination widely believed to be a state conspiracy aimed at silencing dissent. The case, which is still not fully resolved, sparked a wave of protest songs and other music-related activism. Many produced and recorded songs as musical tributes to Munir’s legacy.

The image of Munir is also closely linked to the hip-hop group Homicide, whose song Semiotika Rajatega (Semiotics of the Merciless) – like much of their work – positions listeners as cult followers attuned to the flaws of neoliberalism. Similarly, the melancholic ‘musicalisation’ of poetry was exemplified by Fajar Merah, son of the missing 1998 activist and poet Wiji Thukul. Fajar Merah is known for his poignant folk-inspired adaptations of his father’s work, including the renowned poem Bunga dan Tembok (Flower and Wall).

During the Reformasi Dikorupsi (Reformation Corrupted) mass protests in September 2019, Efek Rumah Kaca’s garage rock-driven Mosi Tidak Percaya (Vote of No Confidence) not only became an anthem for protesters but was also widely shared as a hashtag on social media.

Police as public enemy in protest songs

Criticism of the police – portrayed as a corrupt state organisation that enables land evictions and protects elite interests – has remained a persistent theme in Indonesian music. Metal band Rotor spoke of this in 1992, while punk bands across the country were immersed in underground advocacy against the military (including the police).

Critiques of the police’s role in prioritising the escorting of grand motorcycle clubs through public streets over serving the public, as depicted by Sukatani, have been echoed in a range of contemporary musical works. These include The Brandals’ upbeat pop rock song Awas Polizei! (Beware of the Police!) in 2008, and glam pop group Tashoora, who in 2020 released the song Aparat (Troops), a deceptively melodic pop song narrating cases of wrongful arrests, where police detain scapegoats instead of the real perpetrators.

A real confrontation with the police can be heard in the 2011 song Bastard Illiza by an Acehnese punk band Botol Kosonk.  Members of the punk community were subject of detainment by the Aceh Sharia and civil police because they were deemed ‘disorderly’. The song was a critique of this, and also a challenge to the vice-mayor of Banda Aceh at the time, Illiza Sa’aduddin Djamal, who devised this so-called ‘educative approach’ to deal with punks.

Punk aesthetics in an age of resurgent authoritarianism

As independent music increasingly follows commercial pathways, many musicians engage with political themes more as performative displays than as real ‘prefigurative’ anarchism, that is the attempt to create change in the present that anticipates a future liberated society. However, the surge of socio-political critique in music after Reformasi continues to reflect an anarchist spirit that remains alive among many musicians.

As scholars Rachael Diprose, Dave McRae, and Vedi Hadiz from the University of Melbourne have observed, Indonesia has undergone a pronounced illiberal shift, with democratic decline accelerating in President Joko Widodo’s second term, and deepening further still under President Prabowo. In this climate, songs like Sukatani’s Bayar, Bayar, Bayar are profoundly relevant. It is more than an interpretation of ACAB (All Cops are Bastards) – a common theme in punk genres.

Sukatani embodies punk’s anarchist aesthetics, not just through their music but in their broader approach. Their 2003 album Gelap Gempita includes tracks like Realitas Konsumerisme (The Reality of Consumerism) and Jangan Bicara Solidaritas (Don’t Talk About Solidarity), reinforcing their grassroots sensibility.

On stage, they wear masks to maintain anonymity, reflecting a visual language of resistance. Yet, true punk resistance extends beyond aesthetics – it lies in the solidarity and DIY ethos upheld by the independent music scene. This shared commitment transforms symbolic gestures into tangible political action.

Music has the potential to resist authoritarianism, but only when those involved embody prefigurative politics, practicing a broad set of the democratic values they advocate. When people see oppression by stubborn state officials unwilling to conduct self-criticism, as in the case of Sukatani, many take action by covering the targeted song, amplifying the message even more. Instead of seeing punk anarchism as a matter of lyrics, a neo-punk approach values action over rhetoric, as exemplified by popular responses to the police oppression of Sukatani.

Even in an era of intensifying authoritarianism, independent music communities continue to carve out spaces of resistance, proving that music can be more than just a medium of protest —  it can be a force for real political action.