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In the Crosshairs of Satirical Fantasy

Sumber: dokpri
Sumber: dokpri

From reading the chronicles of Suharto’s final years to the unyielding totalitarian regime of Oceania in the pages of Orwell’s 1984, I’ve noticed one thing, rulers fear nothing more than the moment their people stop believing in them, which is why from some books that I’ve read and some movies that I’ve watched, fiction and non-fiction, those who dare to defy authority are hunted, silenced, and erased. In One Piece, the Straw Hat Pirates have made such defiance a way of life. Across more than a thousand episodes, Monkey D. Luffy and his crews have brought down warlords, toppled kings who masked tyranny behind golden crowns, and faced the World Government without hesitation. From freeing Nami’s home from Arlong’s cruelty to dismantling Doflamingo’s empire in Dressrosa, every battle sends the same message that their Jolly Roger is not merely a pirate’s emblem but a signal that unjust power will be resisted. Luffy’s quest to become Pirate King was never about ruling the seas but about breaking chains, and that is what turns the flag into a challenge for those who cling to control.


This August, that same Jolly Roger appeared far from the Grand Line. Days before Indonesia’s 80th Independence Day, photos and videos showed it waving from trucks, hanging from balconies, and painted across city walls. For some, it was a playful nod to a beloved story. For others, it carried a sharper edge, echoing the spirit of resistance that runs through the series. In One Piece, the Jolly Roger marks the freedom to chart one’s course against rulers who abuse their power. In Indonesia, it became a visual reminder of the public’s growing frustration with leaders who seem increasingly detached from the values they claim to uphold. Yet the state responded as if it were a threat to the nation itself. Officials warned it could fracture unity and endanger sovereignty by disrespecting state symbols. Coordinating Minister for Political and Security Affairs, Budi Gunawan, vowed firm action (Tempo, 2025), a stance that, for many, reinforced the sense that criticism is met with hostility rather than reflection. Police seized banners and erased murals, as though an image from an anime could topple a republic. In a nation that calls democracy its compass, can the state ever justify answering public discontent with repression?


The Culture behind the Hegemony

Stepping away for a moment from One Piece and the Jolly Roger, let us delve into how history and the works of philosophers might help to explain and even justify the public discontent. In his life,  Karl Marx argued that the inherent contradictions within capitalism would eventually trigger a proletarian revolution, dismantling exploitative structures and building a society grounded in collective justice. He contended that competition among capitalists would concentrate wealth, deepen class conflict, and ultimately lead to a revolutionary upheaval by the working class. Yet history took a different course. Capitalism endured not by resolving class antagonisms, but by reframing them (Pilling, 1989). Hardship was individualized, interpreted as a reflection of personal effort rather than structural inequality. Success was cast as a moral reward for diligence, while failure became evidence of personal shortcomings. In this context, workplaces and educational institutions became arenas where social and economic narratives were normalized, and revolutionary impulses, though not extinguished, were redirected into forms less threatening to the existing order (Harvey, 2010).


HoweverAntonio Gramsci, writing from prison between 1929 and 1935, articulated this dynamic with remarkable clarity. In his Prison Notebooks, he argued that ruling elites maintain power not merely through coercion but by shaping culture, norms, and values until their worldview becomes “common sense” (Gramsci, 1971). Social institutions become instruments for cultivating consent, making dissent not only difficult but often cognitively unthinkable. In societies where cultural hegemony is deeply entrenched, the legitimacy of authority is rarely challenged, not because individuals lack awareness, but because the framework through which they interpret reality has been carefully calibrated (Storey, 2018).


This concept seems to mirror what has been unfolding in Indonesia in recent months. The government through BPS proudly promotes an economic growth of 5.12% in the second quarter of 2025, claiming it has exceeded expectations, alongside a reported drop in the poverty rate to 8.47% , and unemployment is 4,76%, the lowest point since the 1998 crisis ( Kompas, 2025). Such figures present an image of an economy that is “doing well,” even thriving. Yet behind these numbers, many Indonesians continue to face hardship. Complementing this picture, several domestic indicators reveal pressures that the “doing well economy” narrative fails to capture. In June 2025, the S&P Global, a leading provider of transparent and independent ratings, benchmarks, analytics, and data to the capital and commodity markets reported that Indonesia’s manufacturing PMI fell to 46.9, signaling a contraction in our economy (Tradingeconomics, 2025). In the labor market itself, the much-touted “jobs boom” has been driven largely by the informal sector. Based on BPS data in February 2025, currently 59,4% of workers in Indonesia remain in informal employment, meaning they work without any protections, and moreover underemployment is even close to 30%. At the same time, according to the Minister of Manpower, layoffs are on the rise, where total layoffs in the first half of 2025 increased by 32.18% year-on-year (Databoks, 2025). Revisiting Gramsci’s ideas, such governmental denial appears to reflect an effort to preserve its cultural hegemony, securing consent by shaping the very framework through which society interprets current conditions, so that the notion of the country “doing well” becomes accepted as “common sense.”


The Jolly Roger and Political Paranoia

However, in recent times, Indonesian people have become increasingly aware of the gap between governmental narratives and the realities they experience. The use of popular cultural products such as anime, comics, and films, which reach across social classes, have increasingly been used as subtle instruments of resistance (Maase, 2017). In Indonesia, the Jolly Roger from One Piece, originally a symbol of fictional adventure, has emerged as a tangible emblem of public dissatisfaction with governmental performance. Images of the flag appear on trucks, balconies, and city walls, frequently circulating on social media, signaling collective discontent in a creative yet non-confrontational manner (Tempo, 2025). Symbolic resistance theory suggests that cultural icons of this kind function as metaphors for struggles against political and economic oppression, allowing citizens to express critique in spaces where formal participation may be constrained (EBSCO, 2025). Through these actions, communities construct an alternative “common sense,” reinterpreting authority and envisioning social and economic justice beyond official narratives (Maase, 2017), thereby acting indirectly as a counter to the cultural hegemony fostered by the state (Tripp, 2021).


What is both striking and concerning is the government’s response to these cultural expressions, which reflects what Richard Hofstadter described as the “paranoid style” in politics. When banners and murals are confiscated or public warnings issued regarding the display of the Jolly Roger, these measures reveal heightened sensitivity to even symbolic challenges (The Conversation, 2025). In some instances, authorities have suggested that displaying the Jolly Roger could incur criminal liability (Hukumonline.com, 2025). In the terms of political economy, extractive institutions, as described by Acemoglu and Robinson are systems where power is concentrated in the hands of a narrow elite that structures political and economic rules to serve their own interests, often by limiting political freedoms, reducing transparency, and constraining citizen participation. Viewed through this framework, such actions illustrate the tendencies of an extractive institution where public participation is subtly curtailed and channels for dissent are progressively narrowed (Acemoglu & Robinson, 2012). These dynamics signal a contraction of democratic space, where freedom of expression is increasingly regulated, and citizens must weigh creative expression against potential repercussions. What was once a playful or literary gesture has become a carefully measured negotiation with authority.


This phenomenon highlights a broader tension, citizens employ popular culture as a vehicle for dialogue, protest, and the co-creation of meaning, while the institutional environment treats such acts as latent threats (Tempo, 2025). Far from trivial, these interventions challenge the boundaries of permissible discourse and expose the fragility of legitimacy that rests on consent rather than coercion (Acemoglu & Robinson, 2012). Within this context, the Jolly Roger functions not merely as a fan symbol but as a lens through which to understand the interaction between cultural, extractive institutions and the narrowing of democratic space. It underscores that even subtle symbolic acts of resistance can be pivotal in negotiating authority and cultivating civic awareness in a society navigating the tensions of governance, consent, and control (EBSCO, 2025).


Three Fingers Salute and Pro Democracy Solidarity

Just as the Jolly Roger appeared on Indonesian streets, a different hand gesture from a different fictional world, the three-finger salute from The Hunger Games, has become a beacon of hope and defiance for a new generation in Thailand and Myanmar (Hui, 2020). The salute's initial adoption in Thailand in 2014, following a military coup, was a deliberate act of defiance by student protesters who saw a direct parallel between their struggle and the dystopian world of Panem (Hui, 2020). For them, the salute, originally a symbol of solidarity among rebels against a tyrannical Capitol, became a universally legible shorthand to express their anti-authoritarian and pro-democracy aims. This creative appropriation made abstract political and economic grievances tangible, giving voice to a populace that felt marginalized by a centralized, elite-driven government (Gliniak, 2021). It proved that mass culture, far from being a mere distraction, could become a common language for citizens to articulate shared experiences of injustice and forge a powerful collective identity (Hui, 2020). 


This symbolic resistance, however, was met with a swift and telling crackdown by authorities, revealing the deep-seated fear of authoritarian regimes towards even aesthetic challenges. Both the Thai and Myanmar juntas deemed the salute subversive, banning its display and enforcing censorship through arrests and intimidation (Hui, 2020). Again, this response is an example of the behavior of extractive institutions. The Thai institutional environment is described as being in poor shape, with widespread corruption, ineffective judiciary, and severely restricted freedom of speech, all of which negatively impact the daily lives of citizens (Gliniak, 2021). These regimes maintain power not through broad consent but by stifling opposition and narrowing the channels for dissent, even when that dissent takes the form of a hand gesture (Hui, 2020). By making a symbolic act a punishable offense, the government inadvertently affirmed its power and simultaneously legitimized the protesters' claims, confirming that the salute was indeed a threat to its fragile authority (Hui, 2020).


The salute's enduring legacy demonstrates its lasting power as a tool for political and economic change. It has transcended its fictional origins and become a permanent fixture of regional resistance, adopted by a new generation of activists in Myanmar after their own military coup in 2021 (The Spectator, 2024). The symbol's continued use by protesters and opposition figures in Thailand, such as the leader of the now-dissolved Future Forward Party, Thanathorn Juangroongruangkit, shows its ability to bridge the gap between a grassroots movement and organized political power (CFR, 2019). It proves that popular culture can be a powerful catalyst for a new political consciousness, one that challenges the hegemonic ideologies of the state and demands democratic and economic justice. The three-finger salute, therefore, is not a simple gesture but a testament to how a symbol can be reclaimed by the people to disrupt the status quo and signal an unwavering demand for change (Hui, 2020).


Reflection or Repression

While Indonesia has yet to see popular culture symbols take root in protest movements as deeply as in Thailand or Myanmar, the recent emergence of the Jolly Roger in public spaces is more than a fleeting pop-cultural quirk. It is a signpost of a citizenry increasingly aware of the gap between official narratives and lived realities. These symbols, whether painted on city walls or flown from balconies, are not mere decorations but quiet yet potent reminders that the public sphere is not the exclusive domain of the state. As Robert Dahl (1971) and Larry Diamond (1999) argue, the true strength of a mature democracy lies not in how swiftly it can extinguish dissent but in how openly it can engage with it. Contemporary data from Freedom House and V-Dem consistently show that countries that protect freedom of expression enjoy greater political stability and legitimacy. To treat symbolic acts like the Jolly Roger as subversion is to misread their value. They are not threats to sovereignty but mirrors reflecting the undercurrents of public sentiment. The choice before Indonesia is not whether such expressions should exist, as they already do, but whether they will be met with repression that narrows democratic space or with reflection that deepens it. A democracy that fears its citizens’ imagination may preserve order for a time, but a democracy that learns from it has the chance to endure.



References

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