Minds of the Movement
An ICNC blog on the people and power of civil resistance
"We continued to raise awareness by activating Gowes for Democracy, where activists, cyclists and citizens rode their bikes to protest...." (Photo credit: Milk Tea Alliance Indonesia)
This article is part of the REACT mini-series entitled, "Voices of Resilience: Women Defending Human Rights in Southeast Asia", guest-edited by Maneesh Pradhan and powered by ActionAid Denmark. Additional posts will be released in the coming weeks. Check back on our blog homepage!
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How do we define grief? And perhaps more importantly, how do we transform it into constructive resistance?
When I look back, my life's journey and the women around me have been filled with grief. The horror of poverty and violence have haunted us like ghosts. My earliest memory is the divorce of my parents, marred by my father's physical abuse towards my mother. I vividly remember accompanying my mother to court hearings that my father never attended. Since then, his presence has faded in my life. I was mostly surrounded by women who struggled against the currents of life.
Sometimes, I unravel the threads of grief by writing. Writing liberates my voice. When I discovered journalism in school, I realized that writing could be a weapon against injustice. One example stands out in my mind when my team wrote an article for the local newspaper exposing cases of corruption. This article led to some changes, although it wasn't a perfect solution, it did disrupt certain power dynamics. As a result, the school suspected of corruption ceased collecting 'donations' from students and completed the delayed construction.
Editorial meeting for 'REBEL' column of Jurnal Bogor. Jurnal Bogor is a local daily newspaper in Bogor city. I joined the editorial team at the age of 16 until I graduated high school (2011-2013).
One of the best editions we ever worked on was when we had the opportunity to do a special report inside a prison, interviewing both juvenile and women in custody. (Photos credit: Jurnal Bogor)
When I decided to become an activist, I didn't stop writing. I initiated the Migrant Workers Writing Movement (Gerakan Buruh Migran Menulis) with Migrant CARE and discovered the incredible stories of women migrant workers and their families. Since then, I have gradually understood feminism and gender injustice, not from fancy theoretical concepts but from the experiences of the people I met. At that moment, I knew exactly my path in fighting for what was most relevant to me: women's liberation.
Promoting safe migration at the Human Rights Festival in Jember, East Java, Indonesia (2019). Credit: Migrant CARE.
Jember district has one of the largest number of Indonesian migrant workers. This festival not only meant to celebrate human rights but also urged the protection and respect for migrant workers' rights. Credit: Migrant CARE.
Then the pandemic struck, and I shifted my activism to the digital realm. With other pro-democracy activists, we formed the Milk Tea Alliance Indonesia. We launched campaigns against dictatorships in Asia, especially in support of our friends in Myanmar, while also voicing #whatshappening all over the world. Even though many of the Milk Tea Alliance friends are connected online (some remaining anonymous), I felt a meaningful and sincere bond of solidarity.
Despite being anonymous online, I didn't feel safe due to the hate speech and threats I received. This, combined with the deaths caused by COVID and ongoing wars, left me feeling deeply saddened. Additionally, as a precarious worker, the pandemic pushed me to the brink of poverty, causing anxiety and financial stress.
What did I do when I was in crisis? I stopped. I never realized that I had been living my entire life in survival mode—raising myself with little parental presence, studying hard to earn a scholarship for college while working part-time as a student journalist. Then, while struggling to finish my thesis in college, I had to support my mom through her second divorce. The accumulation of personal events, along with work and activism, had left me burned out and exhausted. I needed to reclaim rest.
Giving an oration about #WhatsHappeningInMyanmar at Aksi Kamisan 715. Aksi Kamisan is a weekly peaceful protest in Indonesia, held every Thursday since 2007 in front of the Presidential Palace. Credit: Adrian Mulya.
Rest is a challenging concept in activism. The pressures of hustle culture and capitalism often keep us enslaved. My only remaining hope was the community. Writing became a form of self-care for me, and I found solace in sharing my story. That was when I started making zines. Zines reconnected me with my roots, friends, and led me back to the community. These zines were centered around the women in my life. One explored the "river of my life," while another paid tribute to my late grandmother and aunt. Through writing these zines, I delved into conversations with my mom and relatives, uncovering the “herstory” of the women in my life. This process gave me strength and fueled my passion. The more grief I carried, the more I sought refuge in the community.
Zine collection from Yogyakarta Art Book Fest. Zines clubs have been organized in many other countries as nonviolent resistance, including Montenegro. Credit: Author.
In February 2024, I organized a zine club with young activists focusing on the theme of 'collective grief.' We all agreed that the world was in a state of distress. The environmental crisis was apparent in the declining air quality caused by rampant forest fires in Kalimantan and Sumatra. Additionally, human rights violations, such as discrimination against Rohingya refugees and the eviction of indigenous people by the Nusantara Capital Authority (IKN), were taking place. Young people also troubled by events beyond Indonesia, including the genocide in Palestine, the ongoing coup in Myanmar, and setbacks in democracy worldwide. These interconnected issues allowed grief to transcend borders and surpass the boundaries of humanity.
Milk Tea Alliance Indonesia in collaboration with Pamflet Generasi held a zine club about collective grief. Pamflet is a non-profit organization run by and for young people. By promoting intersectionality, inclusion and meaningful and critical youth participation, Pamflet's work encourages young people to enjoy their human rights. Credit: Pamflet.
I organized the second zine club in collaboration with the Indonesian Green Party school to ignite a more critical discourse on the environment and its intersection with various other issues. We imagined a city amid a suffocating climate crisis, where ecological disasters felt alarmingly close, and where these issues intertwined with our everyday existence. We welcomed anyone to join us on a city walk, reacquainting themselves with the significance of the relationship between 'Us, the City, and Nature,' and expressing it through the medium of zines.
I continued my zine activism by collaborating with various communities to create a movement of young people focused on collective care and intersectionality. I also joined the Media and Creative Industry Workers Union for Democracy (SINDIKASI) as the Coordinator of Research and Education. Since its establishment in 2017, SINDIKASI has been at the forefront of advocating for decent work in the media and creative sectors through organizing, education, campaigning, and industrial relations support. In 2024, our focus is addressing the issue of "flexploitation," where vulnerable workers in creative industries are exploited under flexible work arrangements. Through SINDIKASI we are also promoting women and young workers' leadership to create a more inclusive movement that amplifies the voices of marginalized individuals in labor struggles.
SINDIKASI at Mayday 2024. Credit: SINDIKASI.
We are facing interconnected crises, and we carry grief in our daily lives. Even if that grief is heavy, I believe we can transform it into love—for revolution and solidarity—through various means. In my case, perhaps the answer lies in zines and communities. How about you? How will you transform your grief?
