From the other side of the world a telegram was written transferring a vital piece of information: Axis defeated. As the news broke through, the cities roared with great shouts. The underage men decided to celebrate with liquor as they marveled in their fellow soldiers' triumph, causing an influx of people in bars and a massive income for the bartenders. They were all loud and chaotic with their screams and howls, which reached even the top most flat of every apartment. Yet no one was bothered, not in the slightest. The old men and women were delighted as they could spend the rest of their days without the worry of being bombed. The anti-war protesters left their usual protesting spot vacant, deciding to rest and drink at their favorite café. Even the widowed wives were content, knowing that their late husband’s sacrifices to their country was not in vain. In this short victory all fears were neglected, casted away to be dealt with on a future date. Because after 6 long years of bullets and missiles, there was finally a time of peace. In the center and heart of the city, where the chaos and excitement lasted for days on end, there was a man in his humble apartment. In a crowd he wouldn’t be easy to find by the naked eye, he was no more than the height of a mailbox, and his characteristics were just like one: filled to the brim with words. He was a lover of pastry, a non-emotional man, but more than that a journalist. Not just any journalist, but a war journalist. Ever since he started college, he found a certain delight in knowing every weapon, statistic, and detail he could. He found a thrill in analyzing the casualties from every battle during the war, even recreating the battleground within the confines of his basement. He wouldn’t be afraid to snark and jab any politicians he didn’t like, calling out their physical deformities as well as their spiritual ones to the delight of the middle class.   There were plenty of other writers just as witty as he was, who were able to snark just as hard, yet none of them could keep up with the war just like he did. Every journalist in every city and state knew him for his speed, yet only his friends and close colleagues knew him for his obsession. Even when he had finished his daily load, he would still spend hours or even days in his office writing on a certain battle he was fixating on. He was in love with the pen, but more than that he was in love with the crowd. He loved that his words were the very thing satisfying the curiosity of the citizens on whether they should be frightened or calm. So much so that sometimes one of his coworkers would find him sitting in bars for hours on end, waiting for someone to mention his article in the daily newspaper.  His name was Thomas Hawthorn, and today he would produce his last article about the war.  At that moment Thomas was at his home resting on his armchair, across from him, on the left side of the sofa was his wife, Rebecca Hawthorn who he had married for almost 5 years. She was a fine lady, a simple woman who wanted nothing more than a suburban life with two kids. However, due to Thomas’s occupation, they had to stay in the city. There also seemed to be a noticeable absence of children in their little apartment.   All was going well for the first year and a half of their marriage, till on one unspectacular Tuesday, there suddenly appeared a certain sorrow on Rebecca’s face Thomas couldn’t understand. Her bright eyes became mellow and all the colors in her skin dulled, she looked old yet young at the same time. She would say to him daily, “Do you love me?”, and every time he would always look confused and baffled by the question, “Why else would I marry you?” he would ask back. Every time he said so her sorrow seemed to deepen. Afterwards she would go on to the bathroom to take a bubble bath. The same thing occurred that day, yet she was wearing a yellow sundress. She was on the way to take her bath when Thomas said something uncharacteristic, “Quite a pretty outfit you have there, Rebecca.”  The comment took her by surprise, she looked at him with a slight genuine smile, a smile that was short-lived, as her face changed to a more guilty and fearful expression. “Thank you,” she quietly whispered. Thomas barely heard what she said, but before he could say anything more the door shut.  After such an unusual moment, he decided to not think of it and went out of his apartment. He saw his young Japanese neighbor, Akio. They never talked much, but they waved hello every time they saw each other. He looked gentle, frail, and weak. Thomas looked at his watch, it was 9 o’clock. The hour between 9 and 10 o’clock were critical moments of the day for him, an integral part of his routine when his mind was able to conceptualize the article he was going to type out. The reason for his quick writing was often due to this much needed hour of thought. During that one hour he would bring out all of his conscience to a visceral state where a thousand sentences were to go by his mind. One by one during that hour he would pick the most endearing and tasteful sentences he could form, like a chef going around a fish market smelling out the scent of the freshest raw salmon. As of now however, the world didn’t spare him a second to think. So, he quickly walked to a new bakery just two blocks south from his home to buy a bagel. Afterwards he sat close to the window, that was when he overheard two young teen boys behind him, one wore a hat and the other a beanie. “I'm glad the Japanese were bombed,” the boy with the hat said. “I don’t know Clive, I think we both did quite a lot of violence-” the beanie boy said, but Clive interfered, “No, do you know what is  wrong Gerald? The Japanese destroyed Pearl Harbor! Didn’t you read the newspaper? That’s unforgivable!” After hearing what the boy said, Thomas felt a sense of satisfaction. “Even young boys are reading his newspaper,” he thought. With a smile he stood up and left the cafe pleased. He went towards his office, up to the 5th floor to his desk where he met his colleague and “ friend” , Jerry O’Brien.  Jerry was a tall man, taller than the average height of the time. He towered over Thomas in a very comedic way, like a sort of cat-and-mice duo. Jerry worked in the fiction department. His stories often humored the mostly middle-class readers who were often endlessly stressed. He was well known due to his emotional stories. Jerry had always been able to turn his feelings into magnificent writing. Thomas often envied this ability, yet inside he really envied Jerry’s tenderness. He sometimes disliked Jerry for this, but he always disliked how he felt that way.  For the past 6 months Jerry had been more anxiety driven, eating a daily dose of highly caffeinated chocolate. Jerry told him that it was because he had been dealing with deadlines and intense workload, needing to constantly humor the already stressed and tired citizens.  As Thomas approached his table Jerry looked at him surprised. “Here quite early? Are you finished with your article?” he pushed away a necklace he was holding, placing it in a jewelry box, “This must be a record time!” “On the contrary I didn’t finish anything at all, the rowdiness of the people out there were too much,” Thomas said, he pulled out his notepad and showed Jerry the blank piece of paper to his astonishment, “The loud noises made me think of too many words, too many sentences,” he placed the notepad back into his drawer, “I think I need someone else’s opinion, what’s yours, Jerry?” Thomas asked, he then took a bite out of his crispy bagel.  “I know this whole ordeal of us winning seems grand and marvelous,” Jerry said, bringing himself closer to Thomas, “But what do you think?” “Well I think that the whole ordeal is  grand and marvelous,” Thomas said with a smirk. “Are you sure?” Jerry questioned, he pulled Thomas close to him and talked in a low tone so that no coworker could hear the slightest bit of the conversation, “I heard from my old colleagues in Oregon that the bombs we dropped killed entire cities, Tom.” “We’ve all used a bomb before it’s nothing mu- “, before he could finish his sentence Jerry suddenly veered closer to him. By now his voice is no more than a soft gentle whisper, “No, it wasn’t a bomb Tom. It was the bomb. I heard they dropped not one, but two of these bombs. It killed thousands , tens of thousands.  Imagine if it landed here, it could kill you, me, Rebecca-” Jerry suddenly stopped talking. Thomas noticed Jerry’s hand trembling, he then nervously returned to his cubicle. “I’m sorry that was too much wasn’t it.” Thomas was bewildered, he knew Jerry was sensitive but at that moment he looked paranoid . He was going to say something, but Jerry suddenly stood up. He looked at his watch, took the jewelry box, and said nervously, “I think I should head away first. Sorry for all the fuzz,” Thomas was confused, but Jerry was already going in a frenzy.  It was 9:34. His mind was still utterly cluttered, so he decided to go to the café next to his office. He walked to the elevator heading to the ground floor, slowly descending into the commotion down under. Stretching his back, he went out, back to the sound hazard that was the crowd. He was approaching the café, when he saw from the left side of the street a load of people running. He didn't pay attention to them, until he heard their conversations as they passed by. “He deserves it,”  he heard from his left, and more loudly, “For Pearl Harbor!” he heard on his right. They were all muttering so loudly he could barely discern any other words, except “ Japanese ”.  Curious, he began to follow them, running left and right, getting closer to the center of the city. As he was running, he wondered whether what he’d approach would be newsworthy, especially for his final article. That’s when the men suddenly stopped at the alleyway beside his apartment. He heard a gentle scream that reminded him of a swallow’s, slowly he approached the source of the sound, getting deeper and deeper into the alleyway and there he saw a bleeding Japanese boy. Akio. Akio spoke with a harsh accent, “Don’t hurt me. Please.” Thomas’s face was suffused with fear, yet as he walked back everyone else ran in, like a predator playing with their prey. He saw Akio's hair pulled back as one of the young men beat his face, his teeth breaking off one by one. The rest of his body was already broken and disfigured, with bruises the color of a grape. Suddenly he saw a teen with a hat rushed in to join the beating, it wasn’t just any teen, it was Clive . “Come on Gerald, come here let’s enjoy some good fun!” he said. That’s when Thomas realized next to him stood the other boy Gerald, who looked as terrified as he was. But as the beating continued, they both silently did nothing, paralyzed by terror. He saw Akio’s beaten face once more, disfigured as if he wasn’t human, he read his lips, “Help.” Then he heard the sound of a crack. A loud, vicious crack. The whole ordeal was merely a minute, but just for that one-minute Thomas, the writing engine, stopped. His quick-witted mind was dimmed as the people around him with red colored fists and bright wide smiles walked away. All of his quick thoughts, what happened to them? Where was the writing machine within his head to exterminate this reality? His mind couldn’t form a sentence or a word, not even a thought. All of his senses were heightened, a sense of hopelessness slowly easing into his body. Every passing moment was slowly embedded into his brain like it was stone, he could do nothing but watch people disappear into the crowd, revealing the body of a corpse. Help. He dashed as quickly as he could to his apartment, going up the stairs like an agitated cat. He quickly grabbed his keys and dashed into his apartment. Gasping for air . His eyes were directionless, looking at nothing and everything all at once. All that his mind could think of is the helpless boy on the ground that he didn’t help, his bleeding face, and the sound of that horrifying crack.  He breathed intensely with the rhythm of a jazz drummer. He’d written about the thousands of deaths so effortlessly as if they’re statistics on a graph, and here he was in sheer panic over seeing the death of one boy . That’s when he heard a soft sound from his very own bedroom. “Quiet Jerry,” His heart stopped. He slowly walked over to the bedroom, opening the door. It creaked slowly revealing Jerry, half naked. He looked at Thomas with surprise and the same anxiety on his face, the same he had in the office room for the past 6 months.  “You were never anxious about the workload, were you?” he said. Jerry’s eyes widened as Rebecca quickly appeared with her yellow sundress hastily worn. He saw her eyes, filled with the same fear, shame, and guilt. He then peered down to see a necklace around her neck, a necklace that he never gave her. “Why would you? ” he asked. Before Jerry could say anything, Rebecca interfered. “Do you know what I’ve been through?” she said not answering his question, her face red in the brink of tears. “What?” Thomas said in confusion.  Rebecca was taken aback by Thomas's response. “Oh God,” she said, “you didn’t even realize, did you?” His mind was perplexed, he thought of every single information he might’ve forgotten, every single event of every week but all the tangible knowledge he could grasp was about war. His mind went wandering till it was pulled back down. His eyes darted at Rebecca’s face, the sorrowful face he once knew. “I had a miscarriage Tom,” her tears falling onto her yellow sundress, “One and a half years ago, on a Tuesday I still remember, the doctor told me that the baby was dead. He told me that it was due to my stress and-” she covered her sobbing face with her hands, “This whole time I was mad that you didn’t care, but now I know that you didn’t even notice . Did you,  Thomas ? ” “DID YOU?” she cried desperately.   Thomas fell on his knees. He wished that he could feel the moment, but the image of a bloody Akio continuously penetrated into his mind. The beating, the bruises, and that horrifying  crack. His mind forced him to indulge in this violence he’d written about hundreds of times. He tried to think of other sentences to go and collect yet all that his conscience served was Akio. All of those deaths, loss, and destruction, so effortlessly he had written about such things. And so effortlessly he caused the death of his neighbor. His guilt drenched the very fabric of his soul. All that his mind gave him were the sins he had written, not in ink, but in blood, their  blood. Akio’s blood.  He looked at Jerry. The hate in him brewed, all the jealousy that had been piling up. He hated him. More than he hated anything, more than he hated himself. “I’m sorry,” Jerry said with his fearful voice. At that moment Thomas snapped.  He took Jerry’s arm and smashed him to the floor. Rebecca screamed, cried, and begged him to stop yet he didn’t look away from Jerry’s bleeding face. His arm moved in a continuous flow, he heard her running outside yelling for the cops but he didn’t care. For once his emotions manifested, and it was ugly. For once, he felt something, and out of all the emotions he could have possibly felt, he felt hopelessness.   Thomas kept on, swinging his arm over and over, till he heard that torturous crack.  This time, caused by his own hands. He puked on the floor drenching it with an already digested bagel. It was 10 o’clock.   It was time for him to finish his article, he thought. He stood up, shaking, to do the one thing he could only do. For once in his life, all of his thoughts directed him to a single paragraph, a single thought, a single  idea.  He wrote it down in his notepad and left it on the living room table. Afterwards he went to the bathtub, smelling a scent of grass dew from the perfume,  “Rebecca’s”, he thought. He placed his two feet into it slowly, filling it up with water till it was full enough for him to fully submerge his head.  The police arrived a few minutes after Thomas drowned himself. It was too late for them to save him. All they found was his short paragraph on his notepad. “All roads that we were promised, ones that will lead us to Heaven have led us astray.” it said, “We plunged down there into the abyss, not with fear nor cries but with applause . In this finite world, we are our own  Hell .”

Sounds like X’s campaign, isn’t it? Spies emerge from shadows, while power seekers manipulate facts in a world that enchants its inhabitants. George Orwell's novel “ 1984” displays a frightening vision of darkness that continues to haunt every reader. "Big Brother is watching you," he warned. The TNI bill looms over Indonesia like a sinister storm cloud, threatening to resurrect old military ghosts and invade our digital lives. The New Order rules did not envelop me during birth as I entered the world in 1995 after Suharto's control established itself in Indonesia. The 1998 Reformasi riots, which occurred during my youth, left a lasting traumatic mark on my early development and shaped my perspective on instability and social change. I can still taste the suffocating dread, waiting for my dad to weave his way home from Taman Anggrek to Pamulang, forced to detour through Karawaci to dodge the mobs torching anything red, like our car. That wasn't just chaos; it was a society choking on the dual role of ABRI, where somebody silenced somebody, trust was a fairytale, and every stranger turned into a living CCTV camera. The printed pages of Orwell's 1984 generated a new version that emerged as a living reality through smoke and noise. Through this massive, over-the-top journey, I will connect my narration to Orwell's warnings while pulling in famous authors to aggressively show that this dystopian horror belongs in literature alone. "People in 1900 Paris" Orwell's Ghost Haunting Indonesia Orwell once snarled, "Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past."  It's a razor-sharp truth, a blade that slices through the haze of Indonesia's latest chapter. The TNI bill, a freshly minted law bloating the military's reach into civilian turf; possibly even cyberspace feels like a loaded gun cocked at our collective memory. Back in '98, I didn't have the history books memorized, but I lived the fallout: a nation sick to death of ABRI's double life as both shield and sledgehammer. I was three, too small to understand the politics, but old enough to feel the fear in the air as my dad navigated a city when it’s on fire. According to present legislation, the Indonesian military might establish itself as the ultimate controller of online content, which could result in our forced consumption of their controlled version of reality. This legislation resembles the New Order's return as its shadows form like a vulture over free speech while persisting in silence becomes a necessary survival skill. The " Telescreen " machine from 1984 is a non-stop staring device, which Orwell described as "never fully shut off." In '98, technology was not futuristic like a sci-fi screen; instead, it existed in the distrustful neighbors and the streets. First, when we got home, we checked the door and set the locks. Nighttime became a curtain that hid our faces from spies. Such was her constant fear of the presence of enemies that her words became a whisper. Today, that telescreen's the internet, a sprawling web ripe for the picking. If the military sinks its talons into it, we're all Winston Smith, shivering as he mutters, "Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimeters inside your skul l." The remaining space for free thought could disappear when cyberspace allows radicals to play. From my spot by the window, I observed as my heart raced because I didn't know if my dad could escape the burning flames. I cannot help but wonder if humanity now endures another period of waiting because Freedom has disappeared while Big Brother maintains an eternal watch over us. TNI bill functions more than legislation because it houses numerous potential dangers. Under Suharto, the Indonesian military operated as a political force in civilian affairs by supporting favored business people while crushing public demonstrations. The Reformasi aimed to extinguish the military beast, but now we witness its return. If they control the digital realm, what's next? Orwell warned us: " The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth. " That's not some abstract fear, it's a playbook we've seen before. In '98, the lies were about "stability" while Jakarta burned. Today, they could be about "security" while our screens become shackles. Support from Fellow Dystopian Titans Orwell's not the only prophet in this grim ensemble. Aldous Huxley's “ Brave New World”  slinks in with a subtler, creepier terror. He sneered, “a really efficient totalitarian state would be one in which the all-powerful executive of political bosses and their army of managers control a population of slaves who do not have to be coerced, because they love their servitude.” We resisted in '98 using stones alongside anger and intense determination as my father avoided rioters, proving he didn't accept their actions. When the TNI maintains control over digital communication, we may not be able to detect when chains are coming toward us. Huxley envisioned a society unfit for revolution because a carefully structured media diet and organized news would anesthetize its citizens beyond caring. The end that arrived was silent, although it felt different from my childhood fears while being equally terminal. Margaret Atwood's " The Handmaid's Tale " piles on the dread with a vengeance. She wrote, "Better never means better for everyone... It always means worse for some." . The TNI bill might dangle "safety" like a carrot, but who's eating the stick? In '98, families like mine were caught in the crossfire while the powerful pulled levers from cushy offices. I remember my dad's tired eyes when he finally walked through the door—relief mixed with something heavier. Today, it could be all of us, watching the fragile Freedom we clawed out of Reformasi get handed to a military that's tasted control before and savored it. Atwood's world isn't far off when power trades liberty for order—someone always pays the price. Then there's Philip K. Dick's "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" , where reality itself gets opaque. He reflected: " The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use them. " The TNI's control over the cyber domain alters societal language, ultimately changing the meaning of truth to align with their claims. In 1998, the call for reform inspired hope and action, uniting many in a common cause. Today, the term "stability" has become increasingly complex and sometimes misleading, leading us to question its significance for our future. Literary warnings reflect Indonesia's current trajectory. Why Fiction Should Remain Fiction, Damn It! 1984 is a shriek in the dark, not a how-to guide. Orwell raged, "The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command." In '98, I saw the evidence—fire everywhere, fear etched into my mom's face—and no one could gaslight me into thinking it wasn't real. I was a toddler, but I panicked when it gripped us. If the TNI snatches cyberspace without a leash, we're back there, second-guessing our senses as they chant, " War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength ." I didn't live through Orba's peak but breathed its bitter aftertaste. We can't let that monster rise again after we've fought to bury it. Orba is not inevitable. Indonesia's got a pulse—civil society, the press, everyday people like me who remember '98's cost. We can scream for accountability and demand the TNI bill doesn't become a blank check for power. Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451"  hands us a torch: "We need not be let alone. We need to be bothered once in a while." In '98, we were so troubled that we toppled a regime. I wasn't out on the streets, but I felt the tremors in my bones. Now, we need to stay alert, keep that fire alive, and not allow this bill to turn us into Orwell's drones. Bradbury's Guy Montag burned books, but then he fought to save them. We can fight to save our voices before they turn to ashes. What's at stake isn't just an abstract concept of "freedom." It's a reversal of the chaos of '98; not a struggle between mobs and the military but a quiet surrender to an invisible system. Orwell's Party didn't merely observe; they altered reality until resistance became a distant memory. If the TNI gains that power, my dad's detour through Karawaci becomes a metaphor for us dodging the truth instead of facing the flames. We have a history—bloody, messy, and hard-won—that reminds us what can happen when power goes unchecked. Reformasi wasn't perfect, but it was our fight. We can't trade it for a telescreen and a salute. Wrap It Up 1984 has to stay fiction—a ghost story, not our destiny. Indonesia battled too hard—through '98's blood, tears, and detours—to let Orwell's shadow slink back via the TNI bill. I didn't grow up in Orba's chokehold, but I felt its echoes, waiting for my dad to outrun the riots, praying our red car didn't light up the night. Big Brother's got no place here, not in our streets or screens. Orwell nailed it: " Freedom is the Freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows ." That's our line; if we lose it, the fiction's dead, and the nightmare's just begun. If the current government thinks siccing the military on society—whether by plopping them into minister seats or letting them strangle cyberspace—is some grand plan to keep the nation stable, then prove it. Show us that it works without ripping away our Freedom, cyberspace, voices, and right to create. Don't turn us into pawns in your game; we've burned too much and lost too much to let that happen again. I was three when Jakarta was in turmoil, but I grew up in its shadow—I refuse to let my children grow up in a dystopia.

Introduction: Alienation Amidst Life’s Hustle "Modern humans walk through crowds, yet their souls feel trapped in an empty room. We become busier, more productive, but somehow, something always feels missing.” Have you ever felt lonely in the middle of a crowd? Sitting in a café, surrounded by laughter and conversations, yet feeling like an invisible ghost? Or working from morning until night, stuck in an empty routine, briefly “escaping” through social media—watching others live seemingly more exciting lives. But once you put the screen down, you return to the same reality: emptiness, a loss of meaning, and a sense of being unseen. Modern society promises limitless connectivity. Yet the more technologically connected we become, the further we drift from genuine human experience. We are not only alienated from others, but also from our work, our communities, and even ourselves. In philosophy, this experience is called alienation —a form of estrangement that emerges from social, economic, and existential conditions. So, why do we experience this? And more importantly: can we overcome it? … What Is Alienation? Etymologically, alienation  comes from the Latin word alienare , meaning “to make foreign” or “to separate.” This concept has long been explored in philosophy and sociology. Karl Marx  saw alienation as the result of an economic system that separates individuals from the products of their labor. This separation causes one to lose meaning, autonomy, and identity—especially when they no longer see themselves in what they produce. Psychologically, this leads to emptiness, a lack of control, and often stress, depression, or feelings of uselessness. People begin to feel like mere tools of production, rather than empowered human beings. Jean-Paul Sartre  and Albert Camus , meanwhile, interpreted alienation as an existential condition: humans live in an absurd world and must create meaning without any absolute certainty. Alienation manifests in several forms: Economic alienation  – Feeling like a cog in the machine, without control over the outcome of one's work. Social alienation  – Feeling disconnected from one's community and surroundings. Existential alienation  – Feeling empty because life seems devoid of inherent meaning. These aren’t just abstract ideas. They’re realities felt by many—factory workers in Tangerang, startup employees in Jakarta, ride-hailing drivers, and university lecturers alike. … Alienation in Capitalism: When Work Becomes Mere Survival Marx’s concept of alienation can be clearly observed in everyday life, especially within a capitalist economic system. When individuals no longer have control over their work and its outcomes, they lose not only meaning but also a personal connection to what they do. In Indonesia, this form of alienation takes on many faces: Farmers: Owning land, yet remaining poor Many Indonesian farmers still work on their own land, but high production costs, dependence on middlemen, and an unfair trade system make them vulnerable. The rice they grow feeds the cities, yet they themselves struggle to afford basic necessities. Small business owners: Ownership without sovereignty Street vendors and online shop owners may appear independent, but they are often subject to platform algorithms, limited capital, and competition with retail giants. They also frequently face coercion and extortion under the guise of “security”—sometimes by groups claiming affiliation with community organizations (Ormas). Such practices also affect larger businesses. One recent case that went viral involved illegal fees demanded as “Tunjangan Hari Raya.” This kind of intimidation is hard to eradicate—like tangled roots spreading everywhere. It makes one wonder: are they backed by those in power? Urban workers: Productive, yet alienated Employees in cities like Jakarta or Surabaya often endure long working hours, tight deadlines, and performance targets. Though their salaries may be stable, many feel easily replaceable. Their individuality dissolves into corporate efficiency. In the end, many people work not to grow, but simply to survive. The result is emotional exhaustion, disappointment, and a sense of disconnection from work that was once meant to reflect who they are. … Existential Alienation: Sartre, Camus, and the Burden of Freedom  While Marx focused on external systems, existentialist philosophers pointed out that alienation can still arise even in the absence of economic oppression. Sartre: The Burden of Freedom "Man is condemned to be free."  – Sartre For Sartre, human beings must create their own essence through their choices. But this radical freedom often brings anxiety: Alienation from oneself  – When we deny responsibility for our choices and live according to others' expectations. Sartre called this bad faith . Alienation from others  – Sartre’s idea of The Look  explains how the judgment of others can make us live to satisfy external standards rather than stay true to our inner reality. This is deeply relevant today: many young Indonesians craft online personas for “likes” and “followers,” rather than for authenticity. Camus: Absurdity and Rebellion "We always search for meaning, but the world offers no answers." – Camus Camus saw alienation as emerging from the clash between the human need for meaning and the silence of the universe. A successful employee who feels empty, or a student questioning the purpose of studying for a job that may never come—these are expressions of modern absurdity. Camus did not offer clear answers. Instead, he encouraged us to rebel against absurdity: to live fully, embrace freedom, and create meaning—even when none is given. … Phenomenology: A Way to Confront Alienation If alienation cannot be avoided, is it possible for us to live alongside it with greater awareness? Phenomenology: Returning to the Experience Itself Edmund Husserl , the father of phenomenology, encourages us to suspend judgment—a method known as epoché . This means putting aside our usual assumptions, biases, and expectations so we can observe experiences as they are, in their purest form. In daily life, epoché  might look like this: When we meet someone new, instead of immediately judging them based on their appearance, accent, or occupation, we pause. We become aware of how those judgments arise, and instead try to experience the encounter directly—listening without labeling. Husserl believed that only by returning to this “pre-reflective” experience—before our minds begin to interpret—can we understand how meaning is actually formed in consciousness. Meanwhile,  Martin Heidegger expanded Husserl’s ideas by emphasizing that we are never separate observers of the world—we are always being-in-the-world . This means our understanding of reality is always situated: shaped by time, place, relationships, and cultural background. For example, the way a teacher experiences a classroom is different from how a student does. The room is the same, but their roles and contexts shape how they perceive what happens inside it. Heidegger reminds us that to understand ourselves, we must pay attention to the context in which we exist , not just what we think internally. While Alfred Schutz , building on both Husserl and Heidegger, highlighted how our social world is built through shared meanings. He argued that reality is not just “out there,” but co-created through language, daily habits, and interactions. Take a simple greeting like “How are you?” In different cultures—or even different relationships—the meaning and expectation behind that question changes. Schutz shows us that even small routines are filled with layered meaning shaped by our collective life-world. What Makes It Different from Marx and Sartre? Marx  emphasized external systems—how capitalism structurally alienates people from their labor and its meaning. Sartre  focused on internal freedom and responsibility, pointing to how individuals often alienate themselves through inauthentic choices. Phenomenology , however, invites us to stay present—to become aware of how alienation arises as it is lived , in everyday moments, without rushing to interpret it through grand narratives. It does not offer a theory to escape alienation, but a lens to see it more clearly, more honestly, and perhaps, more gently. Applying Phenomenology to Daily Life At Work  Rather than immediately labeling your job as boring or meaningless, ask: How do I actually experience this task?   Which parts make me feel distant?   Which moments, however small, reflect my values?   Example: A customer service agent may feel drained by complaints but also quietly fulfilled when helping someone resolve a real problem. On Social Media  Before endlessly scrolling, pause. What am I looking for?   Connection? Distraction? Validation?   Example: A content creator might notice they’ve started chasing applause, not expressing their voice. In Conversations  How often do we listen just to reply, not to understand?  Try asking someone, “How are you—really?” Then listen with attention, without needing to fix or judge. Phenomenology does not fix alienation. But it gives us a way to meet it—with awareness, humility, and space for reflection. … Conclusion: Facing Alienation with Awareness and Choice “Many Indonesians struggle with the pressure to conform to societal expectations—whether it is about career choices, marriage, or religious beliefs. This often leads to a conflict between personal authenticity and social acceptance.”  — Anonim Alienation is an inescapable part of modern life—shaped by economic systems, social norms, and existential anxiety. But it doesn’t have to be a dead end. It can serve as a signal—a call to pause, reflect, and live with deeper awareness. Rather than being something to eliminate, alienation may be something to live with —not blindly, but mindfully. Small Steps Toward Awareness Feel before concluding  Suspend your urge to judge. Let yourself experience  first.  Example: In a team meeting, observe the mood, body language, and your own feelings before deciding your boss is being unfair. Or when returning home and hearing relatives comment on your lifestyle, try listening without instantly taking offense. Question your assumptions  Many of our beliefs are borrowed.  Example: If you’ve always been told that success means becoming a civil servant, ask yourself—is that truly what I want? Or when you see friends marrying young, pause before panicking—does that path align with your own needs? Embrace complexity  Life isn’t black and white. Uncertainty is fertile ground for growth.  Example: When unsure about choosing a university major, treat your confusion as a space to explore, not a failure to decide. Or if you feel out of place at work, use that discomfort to reflect and build new skills before jumping ship. Choose mindfully  Even within constraints, we have the freedom to choose how we respond.  Example: Stuck in traffic? You could fume—or use the time to listen to an enriching podcast. Or when your salary disappears right after payday, you still get to choose: complain, or quietly build a simple, realistic budget. Alienation may not disappear. But awareness can always be present. And through awareness, we can become not just survivors of our time—but conscious co-creators of the lives we live. Perhaps alienation is not something we must flee from, but a quiet invitation to pause—to sit with the ache, to listen to the questions we’ve long silenced. There is a sacredness in stillness, in resting beside the unknown. But we are not meant to stay there forever. From that silence, we are called to rise—not with haste, but with awareness. To live is to move, however gently, with a heart attuned both to the voice within and the pulse of the world beyond. Do you think we can truly escape alienation—or must we learn to face it in a new, more human way?

In the early 1900s, an unmarried couple could only communicate once a week due to work and societal routines. Fast forward to 2025, and modern couples can instantly connect with a simple text message. Couples in the past could not have access to this unlimited potential connections because their affairs hindered them from spending time with their partner. And the only way they could have a long distance conversation is by a public telephone or by writing a letter. Either of those took time and effort to manage. Such a contrast difference with today’s text message where you can type ‘hello’ and get a reply the next second without spending much effort or money to do. Text messages are really a great way for people to share information in a fast and easy way. It gives couples a chance to mend their longing for one another by simply engaging in a text message. Whether you’re on a crowded train, or in a business meeting, you can always sneak in an ‘I love you’ statement for your partner.  However amazing text messaging might be, it poses certain issues in the dynamic of a relationship. Couples are known for this peculiar trait of ‘wanting to be with each other all the damn time’. Text messaging gives an artificial connection with someone by allowing people to engage in communication that lacks word intonations and body language. Therefore, the ‘thirst’ of wanting to be together could be partially mended by the artificial connection text messaging offers. Now, with text messaging, couples can connect anywhere, anytime. What could possibly go wrong with that? Well, when you intend to make a connection with someone and get rejected, or ghasted, it doesn't feel good, right? If you ask a friend to hang out and he keeps saying no, you will feel a negative feeling. In the same way if you’re trying to make connections with your partner, but he/she deliberately ignores you, you wouldn’t feel good either.  Now, when the peculiar trait of ‘wanting to be with each other all the time’ is manifested in text messaging, the couple would want to text at every chance they get. Texting, however, could get tiring because it’s a form of an artificial connection. You don’t really get to fully connect to a person through mere black-and-white text. Unlike voice calls or video chats, where vocal inflections and facial expressions convey emotions, text messages are flat and open to interpretation. This can lead to misunderstandings, especially when one partner expects a certain level of engagement and the other fails to meet those expectations. Additionally, different people have different texting habits. Some enjoy quick and frequent exchanges, while others prefer more thoughtful, spaced-out communication. This discrepancy can cause friction. When one partner texts frequently but the other doesn’t respond as expected, feelings of rejection may arise. A person might assume their partner is ignoring them or has lost interest, when in reality, they may simply be busy or overwhelmed by the expectation of constant messaging. Moreover, an overreliance on text messaging can result in a situation where conversations become shallow and habitual rather than meaningful and engaging. When one person gets tired of texting, this person will stop when their partner wants to connect. Their partner might feel rejected when the person’s not answering their texts. One partner might feel that the other person doesn’t love them enough by not wanting to engage. And the other person might feel pressured to be online and answer their partner’s texts all the time and eventually get tired of it. Another scenario would be that a person was genuinely busy and left her phone unattended for hours, while her partner got frantic and concerned over her absence. Thoughts such as being ghosted or her getting into an accident could occur in his brain when it turned out she was busy writing an essay that was due in a few hours, and did not open her messages. The dynamic of online messages in couples correlates with attachment styles. A person with an anxious attachment style will likely want to connect all the time, while someone with an avoidant attachment style might need more time alone.  Communication dynamics in online connections is now an important issue a couple must address in order to maintain a healthy relationship. It’s important for both partners to not feel rejected when the other cannot attend to the messages. And it's also important to give both partners personal time for themselves so that their time is not consumed by text messaging all the time. A healthy dynamic could be achieved by imposing certain regulations, such as letting your partner know when you will be busy or gone, when you’re going to be offline for a long time. You could make a pact with your partner that if you’re about to be offline doing your work for more than 2 hours, or 3 hours, you are obligated to notify your partner. Or, you could set 2-3 hours a day for a phone call if your work doesn’t allow you to be on your phone the whole day. You could also utilize social media such as Snapchat or Locket so you guys can connect by sending pictures without actually engaging in conversation, which requires real-time presence and typing back and forth. Or, another idea is to write a daily journal in one Google Docs so each partner could share their story of the day.  Whatever strategy you implement with your partner, it’s important to communicate each other’s needs and learn to compromise. In the ever-online world, communication is both easier and more complicated than ever. While technology can bring couples closer, it can also create misunderstandings and unrealistic expectations. The key is not just how often we communicate, but how meaningfully we do so. In relationships, it’s not just about how often you text—it’s about how well you understand and respect each other’s needs. After all, a strong connection isn’t built on constant messages, but on meaningful interactions.

“To transcend nature, to be alienated from nature and from another human being, finds man naked, ashamed. He is alone and free, yet powerless and afraid”. -Erich Fromm. Freedom is one of the greatest achievements in modernity. The spread of democracy, protection of human rights, and the digital-industrial revolution have facilitated various individuals with unlimited autonomy. However, the essence of this freedom has led us to a paradoxical situation, where there are various possibilities of choice that cause existential crises, alienation, and madness in society itself. Madness itself is a contradiction: how society facilitates technological and material progress but fails to advocate the existential need to conform to trends, creativity, and purpose. Therefore, consumer culture puts on a mask of emboldening and isolating society to present a façade of happiness. This process hides anxiety, dissatisfaction, and depression. This systematic dysfunction leads to destructive behavior, from exploitation to authoritarianism, as individuals externalize vague fears. Erich Fromm (1975). Courtesy of images: Frankfurt am Main 1933-1945.com According to the German-American psychoanalyst, sociologist, and humanist activist Erich Fromm, freedom is not only a source of emancipation but also a cause of deep fear. In his book Escape from Freedom  (1975), he explains that humans often run away from freedom through conformity or submission to authority. The fear of responsibility that comes with freedom drives this escape, as individuals struggle with the burden of making autonomous choices. If an individual perceives self-authority as something fearful or overwhelming, they may view freedom itself as a heavy burden rather than a form of liberation. Freedom: Blessing or Curse? Fromm believes that human freedom develops from social ties to individualism—a process called individuation. In the Middle Ages, society felt safe and comfortable within its rigid social structure, leading to stagnation. The era of feudal leadership and dogmatic theocracy exemplifies this. During the Renaissance and the rise of capitalism, individuals gained greater freedom. However, this freedom did not necessarily bring happiness; instead, it gave rise to alienation and anxiety. Fromm divides freedom into two types: negative and positive freedom. Negative freedom is constrained by social structures and external authorities, limiting individuals, while positive freedom is the ability to realize and live freely in a meaningful way. Many individuals fail to achieve positive freedom and remain trapped in isolation. Regardless of whether one is bound by external structures or enjoys complete autonomy, they must be able to determine the direction of their own life. This often gives rise to a fear of freedom itself. Mechanism of Escape from Freedom Fear of freedom causes individuals to run away from their responsibilities. Here, Fromm reveals that there are three mechanisms that individuals carry out in order to escape from their freedom. First, through authoritarianism, individuals surrender their power or freedom to a greater authority. These entities can manifest as political and legal leaders, corporatist and religious institutions, or totalitarian regimes. They tend to offer practical and efficient solutions to existing problems, attracting individuals who feel uncertain about freedom. This voluntary submission results in individuals avoiding the anxiety that comes with making their own decisions. Secondly, individuals resort to destructive means. Individuals who cannot handle or vent their freedom divert their fear in the form of aggression and offensiveness toward other individuals or groups. We can see this form of behavior in violence, hatred, war, and other repressive actions. The third method is known as automaton conformity. People often encounter this method in everyday life, which involves adapting to dominant social norms and values. In simple terms, it is to follow existing and developing trends. With this, they can avoid anxiety or pre-existential crises that arise as a consequence of complete freedom. Towards Balancing a Freedom We now understand that freedom can lead to existential crises, but the solution is not to abandon it. Instead, we must develop an approach that is grounded in awareness and meaning. Individuals must actively engage in self-reflection and contemplation, allowing them to build and actualize their authentic values. Additionally, accepting one’s limitations—practicing gratitude, in short—can provide a sense of stability and purpose. Erich Fromm himself stated that authentic freedom is not isolationist but rooted in relationships, shared values, and meaning. The modern world, which is digital and global, makes it easy for us to access the internet and various media sources. We can integrate diverse perspectives from different figures, books, films, and other media. With this, we can navigate and implement a better concept of freedom.  However, this abundance of information also presents a paradox; while we have the tools to explore diverse perspectives and cultivate our beliefs, we may find ourselves overwhelmed by choices and conflicting narratives. The challenge lies in discerning which ideas resonate with our authentic selves rather than succumbing to the pressures of conformity or external validation. In this context, true freedom involves not just the ability to choose but also the courage to take responsibility for those choices. By critically engaging with the myriad influences around us, we can foster a deeper understanding of our values and aspirations, ultimately leading to a more meaningful and empowered expression of freedom in our lives.

In my mother’s embrace, I first understood the meaning of love, not as a mere word but as something that transcends language and definition. My mother’s love is one of the few things I’ve never questioned. But as we move toward a future ruled by artificial intelligence, I wonder if the meaning of motherly love will remain essential or if it will fade into obsolescence.  As history has shown, our pursuit of technological advancement often pulls us further from our primal instincts. Emotions become emojis, VR replaces real-life interactions, and now, even human memory is outsourced to machines. In the age of AI, will instincts like intuition and endearment still hold value, or will we discard them in favor of pure logic?  With breakthroughs in biotechnology and AI-driven medicine, some scientists predict that aging could one day be treated as a disease rather than an inevitability. If death by old age becomes preventable, won’t our emotional fluctuations be modified as well? When that time comes, when humanity is at a crossroad in embracing near-immortality, will we redefine what it means to have a fulfilling life?  Neural implants like Elon Musk’s Neuralink suggest a future where brain-AI interfaces are essential to human interaction. But if AI-enhanced individuals become the new standard, will remaining fully human mean falling behind? If my mother had a Neuralink implant, would she still hold the same pride in me? Or would a machine tell her I’m not worth it? Right now we are on the brink of redefining what it means to be human. But amidst this progress, what happens to the intangible aspects of our existence like motherly love, connection, and the deep bond between a mother and child? Can these primal emotions, formed in a biological past, survive a post-human future?  Artificial intelligence is advancing at a pace that brings us closer than ever to creating sentience. When that moment arrives, can we still call ourselves the same species? Will we still be Homo sapiens, or something closer to gods? Yuval Noah Harari speculates about “Homo Deus”—a much superior human model” (2017: 312). But if intelligence alone defines godhood, what happens to the experience of being human?  As human interactions become increasingly digital, our connection to physical intimacy may erode. Then, will we still long for a mother’s embrace? Or will we see it as outdated? Perhaps, in a world optimized for efficiency, emotional attachments will be viewed as unnecessary burdens. In my pursuit of this question, I imagined asking an AI to define humanity in a word, and I like to think it would say “Ma”; something so fundamental, so intimate, that we often overlook it.  It sent me spiraling into nostalgia. When I was very young, even before kindergarten, my mom sparked my love for learning. She gave me a children's magazine filled with puzzles, and I loved it. Before long, I outgrew it, so she bought me something more advanced. It was challenging, but with her guidance and support, I learned to read early, before I had even set foot in a classroom. By the time I started school, I was ahead of my peers, and my mom took great pride in it.  When my sister was born, I noticed a shift in our relationship. It wasn’t a bad change, just different. My mom became busier, and I learned to be independent. I showered on my own, prepared my own things, and understood at that young age that her attention was no longer mine alone. Yet she never stopped being proud of me. If anything, she admired the responsibility I took upon myself.  Now, nearing thirty, I find myself looking at life from the opposite perspective. When I was young, I felt ahead. Today, I feel behind. People my age are settling into careers, starting families, becoming millionaires, and traveling the world. Even my sister is halfway across the globe, chasing her dreams. I thought I’d navigate adulthood easily, but instead, I feel like I’ve fallen short of every expectation. And yet, through it all, my mom remains unwaveringly proud of me, just as she was when I first learned to read and shower on my own.  As I matured, I began to see the weight of the burdens my mom carried. Growing up, I admired her pride in me, but I never fully grasped the sacrifices behind it. Now I wonder if, by the world’s standards, pride should be reserved for achievement. Should success be measured in milestones? If that is the case, why does she still see me as someone worth being proud of?  What I don’t understand is what my mom truly feels. Why she carries these burdens the way she does. Why, despite everything, she continues to hold onto them as if simply having me around is enough. Even when I believed I had failed, she never wavered.  Maybe love doesn’t need logic to define its meaning. Maybe, for her, just having me around is enough.  Writing this reminds me of Everything Everywhere All at Once . In an infinite multiverse, there are versions of us who made better choices, lived better lives, had better children and became better people. But at its core, the film is not about endless possibilities. It is about a mother choosing to love her child, not because she is the best version of a daughter, but simply because she is hers.  That is what I see in my own mother. Like in Everything Everywhere All at Once, love is not about choosing the best version of something. Like Evelyn, I do not think she would choose differently. Love is not about perfection. It is not about having the best possible version of something. It is about choosing, again and again, the people who matter.  If AI and other new discoveries surpasses us in intelligence, what remains uniquely human? Perhaps it is not our logic or reasoning, but our ability to imbue everything with meaning. Unlike machines, we do not process data; we experience it.  Roland Barthes argued that meaning is never fixed. Meanings are created through personal interpretation. A photograph is not just an image. It is a doorway to multifarious memories and emotions. To me, an old photograph of my mother smiling is not just a picture. To me it is warmth, security, and love. AI can analyze pixels, but can it feel what that photograph means to me? A machine sees mother as a word. I see mother as a lifetime of memories. A machine can define love. We feel it.  Some truths change as our understanding evolves, yet a mother’s love resists being reduced to a mere sign. It is not bound by language, logic, or even collective ideals. It exists only in the lived experience of a mother and her child. But how long will that remain true?  We live in an era where AI shapes our thoughts, our choices, and even our emotions. Yuval Noah Harari speaks of a future where we will no longer be homo sapiens , where intelligence transcends biology. Maybe one day, the truth will no longer be personal. Instead of millions of subjective experiences, reality may be dictated by a single, collective mind. If that future comes, where does a mother’s love fit?  Some truths are undeniable. The laws of physics govern the universe. One plus one will always equal two, unless seen from a vantage point beyond human perception. But meaning, love, and memory do not belong to the realm of equations. If we transcend what it means to be human, will we still remember what it feels like to be loved?  One day, we may advance enough to decode the precise formula for love. We may unravel the true algorithm of a mother’s embrace. But by then, would we still feel it? Would we still understand it? Would we still cherish it? Or would post-human intelligence deem it obsolete, an artifact of an outdated species?  If I had to choose between absolute knowledge and forgetting my mother, I would rather remain human. Imperfect. Fleeting. Capable of pain and loss. If that is what it takes to remember her, to still know what it feels like to be loved by her, then I would choose this life, flawed and finite, over a ‘godhood’ devoid of feeling.  Perhaps one day, humanity will evolve past emotion, past memory, past the need for something as fragile as love. But if there is one thing that resists that fate, that resists an objective truth, it is a mother’s embrace. No equation can render its meaning absolute. It may not be ideal. It is the essence. And perhaps, in that, lies the last truth of what it means to be human. Even when, one day, it becomes nothing more than an unfamiliar ache.  The ache of a mother’s embrace.

When the machinery of law grinds to a halt, leaving justice unserved, individuals throughout history and fiction have stepped into the breach. From Robin Hood’s defiance of corrupt sheriffs to the extralegal retribution of Sophocles’ Antigone, the impulse to act outside legal systems raises a profound question: is it ever justified to take justice into one’s own hands? This essay contends that while legal systems are essential for societal order, their failures, whether through corruption, inadequacy, or moral blindness, can necessitate individual action, provided such acts align with a higher moral framework. Justice, law, and morality are intertwined yet distinct, and their tensions reveal both the limits of legal obedience and the ethical demands of extraordinary circumstances. At its essence, justice is the quest for fairness and the correction of wrongs. Law, in the ideal sense, acts as its tool, turning moral values into enforceable regulations. However, morality transcends legal codes, grounded in human conscience and universal principles such as dignity and equity. The interplay among these three concepts is dynamic. Law aims to institutionalize justice, while morality evaluates and influences both. When legal systems succeed, they coincide with moral justice, exemplified by significant changes like the end of slavery. However, when it fails, through systemic bias as in Jim Crow-era America or through inaction as in the face of genocide, individuals face a dilemma. They must either obey the law and tolerate injustice or act beyond it to uphold morality. Historical examples illuminate this tension. Consider the Underground Railroad in the nineteenth-century United States. Enslaved individuals and abolitionists defied the Fugitive Slave Act, a legally binding statute, to liberate thousands from bondage. Their actions were illegal, yet few would dispute their moral righteousness. Harriet Tubman, a conductor of this network, risked her life not because the law permitted it but because justice demanded it. Similarly, in Nazi-occupied Europe, resistance fighters and civilians hid Jews from the Gestapo, violating collaborationist laws to preserve human lives. These cases suggest that when legal systems entrench or enable injustice, extralegal action becomes not only defensible but obligatory. The tension between justice and law is also explored in cinema, particularly in the works of Alfred Hitchcock and films like Les Diaboliques and Psycho. These films present characters who take matters into their own hands, often in morally ambiguous situations. In Les Diaboliques, two women conspire to murder a tyrannical man, believing the legal system offers no relief. Their act, though legally reprehensible, invites audiences to question whether justice can exist outside legal frameworks. Hitchcock’s films, including Psycho, often portray a world where institutional authority fails to protect the innocent, forcing individuals into morally complex decisions. Scholars have debated the extent to which these films critique the justice system or merely explore human psychology in crisis. These narratives add to the discourse on law and morality by illustrating the dangers and necessity of taking justice into one’s own hands. Fiction, too, probes this moral frontier. In Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, Jean Valjean steals bread to feed his starving family, an act condemned by law but compelled by survival and compassion. Hugo contrasts Valjean’s petty crime with the rigid legalism of Inspector Javert, whose obsession with enforcement blinds him to mercy. The novel implies that justice transcends law when the latter ossifies into an instrument of oppression. Likewise, Batman, the caped crusader of Gotham, operates outside a corrupt legal system to combat crime, embodying a vigilante ethos that prioritizes results over procedure. These narratives romanticize the outlaw, but they also challenge us to weigh the legitimacy of their cause against the chaos of unchecked individualism. Yet, the case for vigilantism is not absolute. Law exists to temper subjective morality with objective order. If every individual became their own judge and executioner, society could descend into anarchy, where personal vendettas masquerade as justice. The 1881 lynching of cattle rustlers in Montana by vigilantes, for instance, began as a response to weak law enforcement but devolved into mob violence, claiming innocent lives. This dark side of extralegal action underscores a critical caveat. Taking justice into one’s own hands is justifiable only when grounded in universal moral principles such as the preservation of life or the defense of the powerless and executed with restraint. Philosophers offer frameworks to navigate this dilemma. John Locke argued that in a state of nature, individuals have a natural right to punish wrongdoers, a right ceded to the state in a social contract [5]. When the state fails its end of the bargain, protecting life, liberty, and property, Locke implies a reversion to that natural right. Conversely, Immanuel Kant’s categorical imperative demands that actions be universalizable [6]. A vigilante must ask whether their act of defiance, if replicated by all, would uphold justice without unraveling society. These perspectives suggest a conditional justification. Extralegal action is permissible when law betrays its purpose, but it must mirror the impartiality and proportionality law ideally embodies. The Rwandan Genocide of 1994 provides a modern crucible for this argument. As Hutu extremists slaughtered Tutsis, the international legal system faltered, with the United Nations paralyzed by bureaucracy. Ordinary Rwandans, like Paul Rusesabagina, sheltered hundreds in his hotel, defying genocidal decrees. His actions, technically illegal under the regime’s edicts, saved lives where law offered no recourse. Rusesabagina’s story, dramatized in Hotel Rwanda, affirms that when legal systems collapse under the weight of their own cowardice or complicity, moral agents must act, provided their intent is restorative, not vengeful. Critics might argue that bypassing law undermines its legitimacy, inviting a slippery slope where every grievance justifies rebellion. This concern is valid but overstated. Legal systems derive legitimacy from their ability to deliver justice. When they fail spectacularly, as in Rwanda or apartheid South Africa, their authority erodes regardless. The greater risk lies in passivity, where blind obedience perpetuates harm. Morality, not law, remains the final arbiter, and individuals must sometimes wield it as a scalpel to excise injustice from the body politic. In conclusion, taking justice into one’s own hands is justified when legal systems fail to uphold their moral mandate, provided such actions adhere to universal ethical standards. History and fiction alike demonstrate that law is a tool, not a god. When it breaks, the burden of justice falls to those brave enough to mend it. This does not mean abandoning legal obedience altogether. Order is a prerequisite for civilization, but in rare, dire circumstances, morality demands defiance. The Underground Railroad, Antigone, and Rusesabagina remind us that justice is not the law’s monopoly. It is humanity’s inheritance, to be claimed when the scales tip too far from equity.

The justice system has never reflected its name. For it is nothing but a name, nothing but a  phrase, nothing but a title. It is nothing because it serves as an instrument of power.   I personally prefer to deem it as a legal system. A societal construct of thousands of pages of  procedures, rules, definitions of what they suppose as a crime - all malleable. Malleable for use  but only malleable to power.   When it is these guidelines that “serve to protect” the people under its umbrella, being the  general society, it means that it serves to marginalize those who can only afford to be under  that single umbrella, absent of the choice to purchase their own. Yet, the system awakes in rage,  calling out the public’s sheer audacity when rebellion sparks. When rebellion lingers not  against justice but the corrupt force that lacks its true and honest interpretation. Guns are held  high. Faces hidden behind masks. And transparency censored by manipulating media coverage  and public information.   Julian Assange didn’t risk his own freedom for the system to steal ours. And neither did Edward  Snowden.   The Authorities Are Going to Limit the Right to Information – Human Rights Defenders Oppose It | ZMINA  Human Rights Centre Now, this is where we start to question and where we start to form ideas; all along the lines of  “Are we the ones being protected – and if not, who is?”. The answer: our money. Our money  which belongs to them. Our money which upholds the national economy. Our money that is  never fixed in value because nothing ever is. So, are we? And if we really aren’t fixed in value;  when are we most valuable and when are we most dispensable? To be waiting for a time when  it is ours to decide would mean waiting for Hades to visit Elysium.   However, the most saddening aspect is not that we are not a priority – it is that they have better  ones. The government of Nigeria, for instance, has been known for imposing controversial acts  of military violence against their own citizens to support the interests of a foreign organization – the oil company Shell. “The evidence we have reviewed shows that Shell repeatedly  encouraged the Nigerian military to deal with community protests, even when it knew the  horrors this would lead to – unlawful killings, rape, torture, the burning of villages” said  Audrey Gaughran , Senior Director of Research at Amnesty International (Amnesty  International). When third world countries are intensely dependent on international  organisations in the private sector for economic stability, does this excuse the voluntary  exploitation of their people’s rights? Not according to the Ogoni Nine. Ironically enough, they  were executed.  A parallel case is Marianne Bachmeier’s. She wasn’t executed, but she did execute a murder.  Here is where the very fabrics of morality is torn apart: the murdered Grabowski was a  murderer and a rapist. Not just any, but her seven-year-old daughter’s. With fury and agony  consuming her, she fired eight shots at him, killing him with six; and the very moment she was  apprehended, her stern voice whispered: “ I did it for you, Anna.” (“A Woman Who Walked  into a Courtroom and Fired... - UPI Archives”).  This is similar to Andre Bamberski’s case; the man who kidnapped his daughter Kalinka’s  rapist and murderer, who was also her stepfather, Dieter Krombach. Being a renowned doctor,  a profession at the time apparently exempt from sin, Krombach was immediately struck off the  list of suspects. He was only sentenced thirty years after the murder.  A plethora of other happenings stay recorded as well. Like Gary Plauché who murdered his  son’s rapist on live television; Jason Vukovich “the Alaskan Avenger”; Los Pepes (short for  “Perseguidos por Pablos Escobar,” or “People Persecuted by Pablo Escobar.”) who killed   hundreds of citizens in their attempts to capture him while still being endorsed by the CIA (Margaritoff) . This is where the heart of controversy lies. Their collective motive was  vengeance. In a legal system where cash buys out empathy, the purity of grief has never been   more evident than those who would kill not to feel it. Like all else, it’s rooted in human nature:   the Old Testament’s law of “Lex Talionis” translating to “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a   tooth”; Egyptian Mythology’s goddess Sekhmet; Greek Mythology’s Nemesis, Adrestia and   the Furies…   Then again, everything must evolve in order to continue living in the current society, therefore,   comes the emergence of The Hunger Games; The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo; Robin Hood;   Batman and an entire list long of fictional legends. Just as Albert Camus had elucidated,   “ Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.” He said it best that fiction could never be  purely as it is. Whether one would prefer for it to be or not to be, it inevitably reflects fragments  of life. Lives that are more bitter than they are sweet.  It is a hypocritical lie to label oneself surprised when encountered with vigilantism – it is a   ubiquitous aspect of our society.   “The masses never revolt of their own accord, and they never revolt merely because they are  oppressed. Indeed, so long as they are not permitted to have standard of comparison, they  never even become aware that they are oppressed.” George Orwell, 1984.   Orwell implies that the reasoning behind vengeance is an exclusive source of judgement, hence,  suggesting that maybe the standard of comparison is within ourselves. Suggesting that the  people do not and should not embody the “justice system” in toto when it betrays their value  of justice.  To abandon what we know, what we were taught, what we were displayed by the media. Since  our thoughts are never our own, not solely, nor will it ever be, escaping from a myriad of layers  of indoctrination might birth a renewed sense of judgement.  When all we know is left bare and naked, all that’s left will be us. In the most pure, undisturbed  form. Let that be our judgement. Because in an era where thoughts travel faster than light, it  could do one some good to be left in the dark.

When we talk about gender equality, particularly in Indonesia, people here tend to bring up women. How history has changed—until the 19th century, society gave them nothing, especially when it came to their rights. They could not pursue their dreams, especially in education, because society held a deeply flawed belief that women were a weaker form of humanity. Giving them control over their own lives, people thought, would only lead to their downfall—they could not possibly survive on their own. Then came Raden Ajeng Kartini, Indonesia’s first widely recognized feminist figure, during a time when Dutch colonialism was still rising. She successfully empowered society—particularly women in the late 19th century—to stand up and fight for their rights. Kartini had a broad vision of freedom for all women’s dreams. She sought to break traditional norms by creating the idea of women's schools and women's communities. She also wrote letters to her friends in Europe, describing the patriarchal issues still deeply rooted in Indonesia at the time. These letters were later compiled by J.H. Abendanon (Minister of Culture, Religion, and Crafts of the Dutch East Indies) and published as a book titled Habis Gelap Terbitlah Terang (Door Duisternis tot Licht—From Darkness to Light). Beyond that, Habis Gelap Terbitlah Terang also reflected Kartini’s hopes for Indonesia’s future: expanding women’s rights and allowing them to explore their full potential—not just in education but also in law and autonomy. With all these efforts, Kartini quickly gained attention and recognition from intellectuals across the archipelago, as well as from people in Europe. Her work forced society to think more deeply about women’s rights. Eventually, Indonesia began to shift its perspective and establish new norms, allowing women to enter more fields beyond the traditional roles imposed by a patriarchal culture. Even today, gender equality remains a widely discussed topic. Society continues to push for further advancements in women’s rights—just as Kartini had hoped. But the question is: what about men? Who is gonna talk about men's rights when Kartini stood for her own gender's rights?  Since the colonial era, society has expected men to be strong—to dominate the world by filling the highest positions in government and social structures. If they fail to meet these expectations, they are cast aside or subjected to social punishment. And yet, we cannot ignore that suicide rates are alarmingly high. Even in 2021, the World Health Organization (WHO) recorded that Indonesia failed to reduce its suicide rate. The number was staggering—6,544 cases. But what was even more shocking was that 5,095 of them were men. Meanwhile, society often assumes that women would be more likely to attempt suicide, given the many struggles they face—hormonal challenges during menstruation, postpartum depression, and ongoing gender-based oppression. This data suggests a harsh reality: men themselves are afraid of the very dominance that society forces upon them. Men do not cry. Men do not speak. They are expected to stand strong and bear their burdens in silence. This has been ingrained in them since colonial times, shaping their very identity. When they feel overwhelmed, they suppress their emotions, telling themselves that this is not how men should behave. This is reflected in the fact that only a small percentage of men seek psychological help. According to Halodoc, a popular Indonesian health consultation app, in 2024, the majority of mental health service users were women—because society has always viewed emotional expression as a "women’s right." Even in cases of sexual assault against men, people dismiss their suffering, saying they should have "enjoyed it." They ignore the fact that these incidents were not consensual but forced. And what about human trafficking? The International Organization for Migration (IOM) recorded 3,909 victims in Indonesia in 2011—10% of them were men. Among child victims, 16% were boys, and 84% were girls. While women undeniably suffer more in these situations, the existence of male victims proves that men, too, can be abused. Yet, society refuses to acknowledge that men can be hurt. They are praised for surviving wars, but no one considers the pain they endure. Many did not even want to fight in these wars, but society dictated that they must. If we connect the dots, both women and men have their own struggles in the fight for equality. But whenever men speak about these struggles, society dismisses them with laughter, as if their concerns are a privilege rather than a burden. People assume that because men have historically dominated, they must be free from suffering. But in reality, accepting this so-called "natural dominance" only leads to more suffering—both for men themselves and for those they are told to control. No one should dominate another. True equality means standing on the same level, side by side. So, we need another Kartini—but this time, for men. Someone whose voice will be heard whenever he speaks about men’s rights, just as Kartini’s voice was heard when she spoke about women’s rights. Because the real fight should not be for gender superiority—it should be against it. Imagine how much this could change society’s flawed perception of men and how it could reshape the world. When the battle against toxic masculinity is won, men will no longer be pressured to dominate. Society will finally recognize the value of all genders and stop glorifying one over the other. And when that happens, women will no longer have to fight against men for their rights—because true gender equality will finally rise. Women will achieve their rights more easily when society first understands men’s rights. So, who will be the male version of Kartini? Or perhaps, instead of waiting for him, we should start by awakening that Kartini within ourselves.

"We are not here to curse the darkness, but to light a candle that can guide us through the darkness to a safe and sane future." — John F. Kennedy. "Sedrick Chisom" by Sam Jablon I didn’t know much about Mister Rogers or his classic show, Mister Rogers' Neighborhood , until I saw the Tom Hanks film A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood . It tells the story of a journalist, Lloyd Vogel, who is assigned to write a profile on Fred Rogers. Skeptical and world-weary, Lloyd assumes that Mr. Rogers' kindness must be a facade—that no one could possibly be that good. He searches for flaws, expecting to find cracks beneath the surface. But what he discovers is unsettling in its sincerity: Fred Rogers is exactly as kind as he seems. Lloyd’s cynicism, which once felt like a shield, is exposed for what it truly is—a barrier to connection, to trust, and to hope.  Mister Rogers was uncharacteristically kind to a level that seemed hard to believe. And yet, that disbelief itself says something about cynicism: the fact that we struggle to trust in goodness. Letting our cynicism go unchecked can lead us down a path similar to Lloyd’s—wanting to dig out the dirt in an otherwise good person, resenting kindness, questioning all sincerity, and ultimately sucking the sense of trust out of humanity. But Lloyd tried to dig deep into Fred Rogers, yet all he found was love and gentleness. Sometimes we forget that kindness and compassion lie at the heart of humanity—not just selfishness and ulterior motives. Zhuangzi, the Daoist philosopher, once told a story of a man who refused to let himself be moved by anything, fearing the unpredictability of life. He kept his heart closed, his expectations low. He called it wisdom. But Zhuangzi laughed—what kind of life is one spent resisting the very currents that make it worth living? His caution made sense, but in trying to guard himself from sorrow, he also shut out joy. Zhuangzi suggested a different way: to flow with the world, to be open to its joys and sorrows alike, and to trust. That’s what cynicism steals from us. It presents itself as sharp-eyed and knowing, a kind of armor against disappointment. For many, cynicism feels like the safest response to a world that has let them down. We tell ourselves we are protecting something—our hope, our dignity, our belief in goodness—by refusing to risk them. The truth is, cynicism does not shield us; it entombs us. We become like the man in Zhuangzi’s story, locked away from both grief and beauty, mistaking disengagement for wisdom. It is not naïve to hope. It is not foolish to believe that people are capable of goodness. There is a difference between seeing the world clearly and letting its darkness define you. To trust, to love, to care—these are not weaknesses. They are the quiet rebellions of those who refuse to let the world make them hard. In learning to trust and believe in Fred Rogers, Lloyd learned to trust in himself, in his father, in his own ability to be a father, and in the general goodness of the world around him. His journey reflects a truth many of us struggle with—that believing in goodness does not mean ignoring darkness. It means choosing, again and again, to reach for the light in spite of it. With this insight, perhaps we can look at divisive figures like Greta Thunberg with more sympathy and understanding. Perhaps she’s just a young adult trying to do the right thing, even if she may not be completely right in everything she says. Perhaps her passion, rather than being a flaw, is a reflection of an earnest desire to make the world better. And maybe, just maybe, that is something to be encouraged rather than ridiculed. This doesn’t mean she—or anyone—is beyond critique. Holding people accountable for their words and actions is important. But there’s a difference between constructive criticism and cynicism. The former seeks to improve, to refine, to build up. The latter seeks to tear down. We should ask ourselves: do we dismiss her because we genuinely disagree, or because it’s easier to assume she must have ulterior motives? Do we resist believing in her sincerity because we’ve grown too accustomed to assuming that no one could truly care that much? If we let our skepticism rule us, we risk throwing out the voices that push us forward, even when they are imperfect. We risk shutting down not only bad ideas but also the passion, conviction, and belief in change that fuel progress in the first place. Perhaps it’s worth pausing, listening, and acknowledging that even when we don’t fully agree, there is value in earnestness itself. Because if we dismiss it outright, what are we left with? I think about the people I admire most, and none of them are untouched by pain. They have been let down, hurt, disillusioned. And yet, they still choose to believe in something greater than themselves. They still reach out. They still try. Maybe that’s what Zhuangzi meant—not that we should be blind to the dangers of the world, but that we should not let them dictate the way we live. The late and great Robin Williams once said, "I don't know how much value I have in this universe, but I do know that I've made a few people happier than they would have been without me." It’s the kind of legacy I hope to leave behind—not one of wealth or prestige, but of kindness, of making people feel a little lighter in a heavy world. Williams, despite his own struggles, chose to bring warmth and laughter to others. That choice, that defiant hope, is something I keep coming back to. So what does it mean to stand in defiance of cynicism? It means letting yourself be moved. It means risking disappointment, knowing that not every act of trust will be rewarded, but choosing to trust anyway. It means stepping into the world not with armor, but with open hands. Because if we close ourselves off, we might avoid pain—but in doing so, we forfeit the chance to grow, to connect, to truly live.