Sakti Ryan
Indonesia today stands at a crossroads of upheaval and hope. Widespread protests have ignited across the archipelago, as citizens, especially students, laborers, and gig workers, confront state austerity and the shocking privileges enjoyed by lawmakers. The immediate trigger was a parliamentary allowance of 50 million rupiah (around US$3,075) per month for housing, nearly ten times Jakarta’s minimum wage. Protesters condemned this as emblematic of elite detachment amid widespread economic despair and cuts to essential services like education and infrastructure.
Clashes outside parliament turned violent, with tear gas and water cannons deployed, roads blocked, and homes of politicians targeted in angry mobs. In Makassar and elsewhere, regional government buildings were set ablaze, resulting in multiple deaths and prompting President Prabowo Subianto to announce a rollback of perks and vow firm action against unrest. The stark public fury has been compared to that of 1998, when reform erupted from the streets.
Amid this volatile moment, the idea of naming and shaming offers a compelling ethical and strategic lens. Traditionally used in international contexts, against human rights abusers or environmental violators, naming and shaming harnesses reputational consequences to compel change. Its impact, however, is never straightforward. I first came across the concept of naming and shaming around 2013, when I assisted a Ph.D. student with his dissertation on environmental administrative law enforcement. While it can spotlight injustice and catalyze reform, it can also provoke backlash or be neutralized by powerful actors. Historical and recent studies confirm this complexity. Emilie Hafner-Burton (2008) found that although shamed actors may shift behaviors, they might also entrench defensiveness. Jacob Ausderan (2014) noted that shaming can kindle public dissent or heighten repression, depending on narrative control. The recent findings by Greenhill and Reiter (2022) further caution against authorities’ ability to manufacture corrective messaging that undermines shaming efforts, even in democratic contexts.
Turning to Indonesia, the parliament’s move to award extravagant allowances provides a textbook case. That public indignation was swiftly channeled through streets, media, and social networks, exposing the moral gap between policymakers and citizens. Naming the problem, excessive self-enrichment during austerity, was powerful. Yet the government’s capacity to recalibrate, push narratives about budgetary necessity, or threaten dissent with terms like “treason” shows the battle for perception is fluid. In response to the unrest, Prabowo condemned protesters as bordering on treason, even as he partially reversed unpopular measures.
A deeper theoretical turn comes from John Braithwaite’s concept of reintegrative shaming, which emphasizes shaming behavior (not people) and reopening a path back into community trust once accountability is demonstrated. In Indonesia’s context, this suggests that if naming and shaming are implemented with care, empathy, and space for reform, they can reinforce state legitimacy rather than erode it.
Imagining a reintegrative approach here, activists and media might focus public exposure on the systemic failure, how allowances were structured amid economic decline and austerity, rather than vilify individual MPs. This opens up a narrative path for these same MPs to demonstrate accountability through public gestures: returning allowances, engaging in dialogue with constituents, or redirecting funds to education or public services. Acknowledging failure and offering repair could refract the rage into reform, nurturing instead of rupturing civic trust.
The potential of naming and shaming to shift public policy lies in credible framing. When civil society, from student groups to NGOs, is seen as a trustworthy voice, naming violations can pierce the defensive shield of authority. Empathy matters here- framing outrage not as a destructive mob impulse, but as citizens’ grief over unmet needs and broken promises, reframes unrest as moral demand rather than lawlessness. Yet the risks linger. Without evidence-based claims, naming and shaming might slide into defamation. Overly harsh naming can entrench defensive posture among political elites and fragment narratives. Given Indonesia’s media environment, where elite-linked media may amplify counter-narratives, and the government may conflate dissent with sedition, reintegrative shaming alone cannot heal. It must be part of a broader reform ecology: transparent information, channels for dialogue, institutional accountability, and protection of dissent.
Indonesia’s protests reveal a yearning for moral governance, policy not just measured in economic outputs, but in the constituency of compassion and justice. Naming and shaming, done sensitively, can remind leaders they are not expected to be infallible, but responsive. The process can reforge trust by publicly acknowledging failures and inviting corrective steps, rather than silently doubling down.
In this moment, shaming must not humiliate, but illuminate. A mirror to both policy failures and frustration of the people, reshaping outrage into actionable accountability. When combined with empathy, evidence, and opportunities for reform, naming and shaming might yet nurture a more resilient, ethical form of governance, one grounded in trust as much as power. The effort is of no use if all MPs do not collectively change their mindset, understanding, and actions toward a better policy-making process that engages the public for the greater good.
