For Decades, Papua Has Been Forced Into Silence

I watched Pesta Babi with a heavy feeling sitting in my chest long after the screen went dark. Not because the film tries to shock people for entertainment, but because it forces us to stare directly at something Indonesia has spent decades trying to bury under nationalism, propaganda, and silence: Papua.

For decades, conversations about Papua have been treated like something dangerous. Too political. Too sensitive. We are taught to celebrate unity while ignoring the violence, fear, militarization, and suffering that many Papuans continue to speak about. The moment someone questions it, they are labeled radical, ungrateful, or anti-nationalist. But how long can a country call itself democratic while refusing to listen to people crying for dignity? That is why this film matters.

Not because it is perfect. Not because it suddenly solves anything. But because art still has the power to break through denial. Films like this become reminders that behind every political statement are actual human beings forced to live with trauma and generations of unresolved pain.

Indonesia often acts as if criticism is betrayal. But loving a country should also mean being brave enough to acknowledge its failures. A government should not be protected from criticism simply because it wraps itself in patriotic language. When civilians continue to speak about violence, censorship, exploitation, and injustice in Papua, those voices deserve attention instead of intimidation.

And honestly, this issue does not stop at one institution. It reflects something much larger about leadership in this country. From the top down, there is a culture of avoiding accountability while presenting polished narratives to the public. Officials talk about progress and development, but many people are beginning to realize that infrastructure and slogans mean nothing if humanity itself is ignored. That is why people should watch this film.

Watch it not to follow trends, but to question and to listen. To become aware of stories that rarely receive space in mainstream Indonesian conversations. Art should not only comfort us, sometimes it should disturb us enough to think critically about the systems we live under.

Because silence has always been one of the strongest weapons of power. And the more people refuse to look away, the harder it becomes for injustice to hide behind a flag.

Anastasia Wijaya, Bali, 2026.