At Indonesia’s sharia frontier, 21 lashes for a TikTok kiss ‘is our right’

Footage of the punishment quickly went viral: an unmarried couple each receiving 21 lashes of the cane in Indonesia’s Aceh province after being accused of kissing in a car and live-streaming it on TikTok. As each blow landed on their backs, the unnamed man, 22, and woman, 25, visibly grimaced. The woman later burst into tears, wailing in pain as the public punishment continued. The caning was carried out on July 2 in Banda Aceh, the provincial capital. Aceh is the only Indonesian province to enforce sharia law under its Islamic Criminal Code, known locally as Qanun Jinayat. It was far from the first such case to gain international attention and the response has become familiar: footage spreads online, rights groups condemn the punishment as inhumane and Aceh’s status as the Muslim-majority country’s sole sharia-enforcing province is thrust back into the spotlight. But inside Aceh, caning is not viewed solely through a human rights lens. For some residents, it is bound up with religion, local autonomy and Acehnese identity. Support is neither universal nor uncomplicated – even those who back the punishment often disagree over when and how it should be applied. Aceh was historically one of the most powerful Islamic sultanates in Southeast Asia and for centuries observed informal Islamic law before it was formally codified in 2004. The law was enacted as part of a peace deal granting Aceh semi-autonomous status following a long and bloody civil conflict that left thousands of Acehnese dead in their struggle for independence from the rest of Indonesia. Rights groups have long argued the punishment violates international human rights law. In a statement issued the same day as the flogging, Amnesty International said all forms of corporal punishment constituted torture or other “cruel, inhuman or degrading punishment”, while its co-regional director, Montse Ferrer, called the caning of the couple “a horrifying act of discrimination”. Amnesty also said the case showed Aceh authorities were expanding enforcement of sharia law online, with sharia police appearing to intensify digital monitoring to punish acts deemed to violate Islamic law, including public displays of intimacy outside marriage. The July case followed several other public canings in Aceh that have drawn attention in recent months. On May 12, the Southeast Aceh Prosecutor’s Office flogged 15 people, administering more than 200 strokes of the rattan cane collectively – the highest number ever carried out in a single session in the regency. One woman received 100 lashes for adultery, while 14 men received between six and 10 strokes each for gambling. In January, a couple were caned 140 times each – 100 for having sex outside wedlock and 40 for consuming alcohol – in what was thought to be the most severe caning punishment ever handed down in Aceh. The woman collapsed afterwards and had to be escorted to a waiting ambulance. Yet the outrage that follows Aceh’s canings often travels further than the views of those who live under the law. In Banda Aceh, residents who spoke to This Week in Asia described the punishment in more practical, personal and sometimes conflicted terms. ‘It is our right’ Nurjani, a 62-year-old housewife in Banda Aceh, said she supported caning because it “was about religion” and in line with sharia law. Personal responsibility was involved, she said, adding if people were worried about being caned, they should not commit a caning offence. “If you do not do anything wrong, then there is nothing to fear. I support caning and I believe that if you lead your life in the right way and walk the right path, no one will question you.” Muhammad Nasir, 42, also a Banda Aceh resident, said he supported caning because of Aceh’s semi-autonomous status. “It was agreed that Aceh could enact sharia law as part of the peace deal, so it is our right. Daily life in Aceh is closely woven with religion, not just regarding the law, but at all levels. It is part of the identity of Acehnese people.” It is our right … It is part of the identity of the Acehnese people Muhammad Nasir, Banda Aceh resident He considers caning a deterrent that was put in place to protect the province’s people. “If someone is caned, it will be a lesson for them so that they do not do the same thing again. It has a physical element to it, but it is mostly social and designed to make the person ashamed of their crimes.” Clear standard operating procedures govern the punishment, he added, with the person administering the flogging, known as an algojo, prohibited from raising their arms above their shoulders when administering each blow. Caning in Aceh uses a thin rattan cane and is carried out over clothing while the perpetrator stands or kneels before the algojo, who wears a hooded robe to protect their anonymity. All algojo are drawn from the ranks of the Wilayatul Hisbah, Aceh’s religious police. The Legal Aid Institute in Banda Aceh told This Week in Asia that, broadly, it found caning was supported by most of Acehnese society, though support sometimes depended on the specific case. “At the Legal Aid Institute, we fundamentally oppose the use of caning as a punishment for perpetrators of sexual violence. In our view, caning is too lenient a penalty for sexual violence and it fails to act as a deterrent and lacks a victim-centred perspective,” said Muhammad Qodrat, Banda Aceh institute’s operational head. Because caning sentences could be “carried out within days or even hours”, he said perpetrators were often quickly able to return to their communities, potentially encountering their victim again and retraumatising them. “In some instances, perpetrators have even persecuted or intimidated the victims whom they hold responsible for their punishment.” Especially in cases involving sexual violence, “imprisonment is considered a wiser and more victim-oriented approach” to enforce physical separation, Qodrat said, noting that the perpetrator was often “someone close to the victim who lives in the same or a nearby neighbourhood”. While Aceh regularly makes headlines when public canings grab global attention, it is not the only place in Southeast Asia to officially sanction the punishment. In neighbouring Malaysia, flogging is used as punishment for a range of offences including sexual assault, financial crimes and drug-related crimes. Unlike in Aceh, whipping in Malaysia is administered against bare skin, though women and men over 50 are typically exempt. On May 6 this year, Singapore’s government announced caning could be meted out to male students found bullying classmates as “a last resort”, potentially affecting children as young as nine. Singapore also prescribes caning for more than 35 offences, including rape, drug trafficking, robbery and financial crimes. Nasir Husein, a 57-year-old videographer based in Lhokseumawe on Aceh’s east coast, told This Week in Asia that views on caning were subjective: some people supported it unconditionally, while others backed it only for certain crimes. “There are some people who support caning, but who question why it is used for crimes like gambling and not for other crimes like theft or corruption which some people feel are more serious,” he said. “Others feel that it is more negative than positive as, when footage goes viral like in the most recent case, there is backlash against both Aceh and Islam in general. Some people feel it causes a lot of stigma.”

At Indonesia’s sharia frontier, 21 lashes for a TikTok kiss ‘is our right’

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Rights groups call it torture. Aceh’s residents reveal a more nuanced debate than outrage allows

Rights groups call it torture. Aceh’s residents reveal a more nuanced debate than outrage allows