**Jakarta Burns While the Police Play Bumper Cars with Justice**
Listen up, folks. The capital of Indonesia is back in the spotlight—not for a diplomatic summit or a G20 handshake-fest—but because a man named Affan Kurniawan, a ride-share driver just trying to scrape together a living, was flattened like yesterday’s press release under the wheels of an armored police vehicle. And now, Jakarta is on fire—both literally and politically.
That’s right. The “protect and serve” crowd just put a civilian in the ground and ignited a swarm of fury on the streets. Protests have erupted with the intensity of a volcano overdue for eruption, and if you’re wondering whether this is Jakarta’s George Floyd moment—don’t blink too fast. The parallels are chilling, and the political stakes are skyrocketing.
See, when the shields of the state become instruments of suppression, someone’s either asleep at the wheel or drunk on their own power. In this case? It looks like both. According to local officials, Affan was “accidentally” hit during a crowd control operation. Accidentally. As if a multi-ton armored vehicle doesn’t come with rear-view mirrors, GPS, and, oh I don’t know… A driver with both eyes open?
Now let’s not pretend this is an isolated incident. This is a country where authorities are quicker to roll out tear gas than transparency. And while Jakarta’s police chief peddles bureaucratic condolences and “internal investigations”—translation: stall tactics and script rehearsals—the people of Indonesia aren’t buying what he’s selling.
Cue the Molotovs.
Yesterday, what began as peaceful outrage turned into a full-blown eruption. Barricades were set, voices amplified, and the authorities? They doubled down with the restraint of a wrecking ball in a china shop. Detentions, rubber bullets, and enough riot gear to invade a small country. And for what? To protect the illusion that order comes before justice.
Let me break it down for the rookie politicians reading this between sponsored brunches: You can’t run over a man and expect the people to stay in their traffic lanes. Affan didn’t die in some high-octane car chase or militant shootout—he died doing gig work, hustling in the cracks of a struggling economy where everybody’s too busy surviving to be radical—until the state gives them no other choice.
And now, the narrative war begins. Watch as political elites perform their favorite magic trick: turning human tragedy into political currency. You’ll hear calls for “calm” from people whose lives are never interrupted by injustice. You’ll see hashtags get co-opted by campaign slogans. You’ll hear, “This isn’t who we are,” from the same mouths that quietly tolerated the rot beneath the uniform.
But let me be clear—this is *exactly* who we are when silence is more powerful than protest. When armored vehicles are immune to accountability but not potholes. When systemic impunity is shrugged off like rain in a monsoon season.
Jakarta may just be the current ground zero, but the message echoes far beyond its chaotic intersections. This is a global moment. Paris had gilets jaunes. Minneapolis had outrage in flames. Now Jakarta roars into the storm, demanding the same answer to the same question: Who’s protecting the people when the police are the problem?
So here’s a word of advice to Indonesia’s ruling class: Don’t mistake broken sidewalks for broken spirits. The streets remember. And if you think this fire dies down once the headlines fade and the hashtags cool—you haven’t been paying attention to the global rules of power anymore.
The game’s on—and guess what? The people just showed up to play.
– Mr. 47
