The revised Criminal Code can’t be analysed in isolation from Indonesia’s wider socio-political environment. We documented a hostile climate long before it formally entered into force, characterised by discriminatory local regulations, media narratives, police practices and political rhetoric that portrayed LGBTQI+ communities as threats to morality.

The Criminal Code has reinforced this hostile environment by expanding the state’s reliance on morality-based provisions. Even where it doesn’t explicitly mention LGBTQI+ people, its broader emphasis on public morality creates legal uncertainty and gives enforcement agencies wider discretion.

Threats and intimidation are the most common form of violence we have documented. This suggests violence isn’t only meant to punish LGBTQI+ people, but to regulate visibility. It’s a reminder that living openly is socially and politically unacceptable. The result is a chilling effect. Community members increasingly avoid reporting violence, attending public events or seeking legal protection, fearing they will become targets.

Indonesia isn’t isolated from the broader history of Southeast Asia. Long-standing traditions across the archipelago and neighbouring countries recognised gender diversity, but colonialism transformed these social landscapes. European colonial powers introduced Victorian moral values, binary understandings of gender and legal systems centred on regulating sexuality. These norms became embedded in criminal law, education, religion and state institutions. Colonialism institutionalised heteronormativity, entrenching the idea that only heterosexual, cisgender identities are socially legitimate.

But Southeast Asian countries have different colonial legal legacies. Brunei, Malaysia, Myanmar and, until the repeal of section 377A of its Penal Code, Singapore, all inherited British-era sodomy laws that criminalised consensual sex between men. Indonesia took a different path, relying increasingly on morality legislation, including decency, pornography and public order laws, to regulate LGBTQI+ communities.

Politics plays a crucial role too. LGBTQI+ issues are routinely mobilised as political tools during elections. We have observed anti-LGBTQI+ rhetoric being used to consolidate conservative constituencies across several provinces and divert attention from broader structural problems. Today’s legal environment reflects the intersection of colonial moral frameworks, postcolonial nation-building, religious conservatism and electoral politics. All these factors reinforce hetero-cisnormativity as the basis of the dominant social order.

Local LGBTQI+ groups, community organisations and legal aid institutions play an essential role in documenting and responding to abuses that would otherwise remain invisible. Across Indonesia, they provide digital security, emergency shelter referrals, legal assistance and psychosocial support, document human rights violations and lead strategic advocacy. They build community-based protection mechanisms where state institutions fail to respond adequately.

Activists and organisations operate under increasingly difficult conditions, amid growing civic space restrictions including online harassment and surveillance, with limited funding and facing political hostility including accusations of being western or foreign agents. Instead of being recognised as human rights defenders, they are portrayed as promoting foreign values or threatening national morality. The Indonesian government has officially codified this stance. Presidential Regulation No. 111 of 2025 on the Policy of National Defense for 2025-2029 explicitly categorises the dissemination of LGBTQI+ culture as a ‘non-military threat’ to the nation.

Despite this, grassroots organisations keep producing evidence, supporting survivors and challenging discriminatory narratives, proving that these communities are not passive victims but active producers of knowledge and agents of change.

Indonesian LGBTQI+ communities are not asking others to speak for them. They are asking to be heard. International solidarity is most meaningful when it strengthens local leadership rooted in local realities, histories and movements instead of replacing it. In practice, this means supporting long-term grassroots organising, providing flexible funding for community-led organisations, strengthening emergency protection and legal aid for human rights defenders and backing locally driven research and documentation.

International solidarity should recognise that violence against LGBTQI+ people is rooted in a colonial approach to gender and sexuality, which still shapes states’ legal and social institutions. When states tolerate discrimination against one group, they weaken the principles of equality and the rule of law that protect everyone. Supporting Indonesian LGBTQI+ movements means supporting a more inclusive democracy, in which everyone can live safely, participate equally and exercise their rights without fear of violence or discrimination.

International allies should also avoid reinforcing the narrative that LGBTQI+ rights are a western import. Anti-LGBTQI+ discourse frequently portrays sexual and gender diversity as foreign, despite its rich history throughout the Indonesian archipelago long before colonisation.

Given the current situation, Indonesia, like neighbouring Brunei and Malaysia, doesn’t hold Pride events. We hope that those who take part in such events elsewhere also march for us.