I’m Feminist
This title is pure clickbait, to be completely frank, as I don’t particularly engage with gender discourse. Yet, I am hardly detached from its reality either, navigating, as I do, the landscape of Indonesia’s engineering sector as a woman. I too have felt the glaring disparities born of gender, and given the fundamental physical differences between men and women, objectification feels almost impossible to eradicate entirely.
Why, then, am I writing this? Because I stumbled upon an intriguing paper, one where the author writes from a first-person perspective (autoethnography) as a “feminist thinker.”
Candidly, this concept of self-labeling feels foreign to me. To someone grounded in an engineering background, declaring “I am a feminist” sounds inherently odd. Feminism, to my mind, is a movement or a framework of ideas — not an innate identity like saying “I am a Muslim,” “I am Catholic,” “I am Chinese,” or “I am Indonesian.” Claiming such a label feels just as bizarre as someone abruptly professing, “I am Democracy!” or “I am Capitalism!” We can champion democracy, but we are not democracy itself.
Be that as it may, let’s concede that the rules of engagement in the humanities permit such posturing.
So, how did I stumble upon this paper if I don’t even follow gender discourse? Because the author herself lamented that no one had ever read her work. And I granted her wish. I read her paper specifically to figure out why this piece had been so thoroughly ignored. What went wrong with its substance? Had the topic lost its relevance, or was there another underlying reason her voice got drowned out?
Hold on, I just recalled something intriguing regarding these gender squabbles. A few years back — around 2020, give or take a year or two — a medical student publicly posted: “Why are guys so obsessed with breasts? They’re literally just fat!”
What struck me was the public backlash: an overwhelming majority condemned her statement, including a fair number of self-proclaimed feminists. Intrigued, I noticed many men also felt the comment was demeaning toward women.
Oh, for context: this all unfolded amidst a broader conversation about sexual harassment. And that, in my view, is precisely what made the discourse so fascinating.
Fundamentally, breasts are composed of adipose tissue (fat), connective tissue (Cooper’s ligaments), milk-producing glands (lobules), and milk ducts. This applies not only to women, but to men as well. The difference is that in men, higher testosterone levels relative to estrogen prevent breast development. Yet, male breasts can still enlarge — for instance, due to obesity (given the presence of adipose tissue) or a condition known as gynecomastia, where hormonal imbalances cause male breast tissue to resemble that of a woman.
Blame me if I sound overly rigid or seemingly devoid of empathy. For women who identify as feminists, their outrage felt entirely baseless; by taking offense, they were implicitly refusing to accept that a body part so heavily “sacralized” is, at its core, merely an accumulation of fat.
On the other hand, I can fully grasp why men were furious: they felt deeply uncomfortable confronted with the raw, unvarnished truth that what they had been objectifying and obsessing over all along was nothing more than a mass of fat.
This becomes all the more intriguing when juxtaposed with the reality of sexual harassment. Prior to the advent of Abrahamic religions, sexual intercourse and sacred intimacy were not considered taboo. In traditions spanning Latin America, India, and pre-colonial Indonesia — then rooted in Hinduism, Buddhism, and indigenous animism — sexual intimacy was revered as something sublime. Yet, we cannot overlook the fact that this sacredness relied on mutual consent between two or more parties. Moreover, there was immense reverence among men for those who possessed the subtlety and charm to court a woman until she willingly consented to marriage.
However, following the spread of Abrahamic faiths, this ethos faded and ultimately vanished. Women were no longer viewed as equal subjects with the agency to refuse, but were instead relegated to property devoid of the right to say no.
And this, perhaps, is the catalyst for sexual harassment. When a man lacks conventional bargaining chips — wealth, competence, or financial stability- the fastest avenue to assert his “masculinity” is by victimizing women. In my view, when the female breast is stripped completely bare — not just of clothing, but of its cultural mystique, leaving behind nothing more than the underlying anatomical lobules- it should serve as the ultimate deterrent against harassment. Over time, this reductionist view would systematically degrade their inflated egos. Conversely, as long as breasts remain sacralized, people will retain a wild, predatory urge to conquer that which has been deemed sacred.
Then again, this is the perspective of someone grounded in engineering, which naturally diverges from that of a humanities scholar. That was just a brief interlude to clarify where I stand before we proceed to dissect this paper by an Indonesian feminist figure.
Perhaps the error lies with me for mistaking a reflective essay for a rigorous academic paper. Then again, given that it was penned by an author of notable repute, my assumption is somewhat forgivable, isn’t it? Haha.
I must confess, I only skimmed through it last night, and I certainly didn’t expect that when I actually read it in full, even the introduction would leave me… utterly speechless. I swear, I’m at a complete loss for words on how to even approach this, but let’s begin by scrutinizing the abstract first.
In the abstract, the author asserts that this movement wasn’t merely a group of mothers complaining about the soaring price of formula, but rather a political movement aimed at resisting the injustices of the regime at the time. The paper further elaborates that “Formula” and “Motherhood” served merely as a camouflage to avoid being branded as radicals by the ruling establishment.
I was almost tempted to abandon writing this altogether, as this falls so far outside the realm of what an engineering mind can meaningfully critique. In fact, even if I weren’t in engineering and were instead a materialist sociologist, I suspect this would still defy commentary.
But oh well… let’s keep writing until I am truly out of words.
First of all, regarding the abstract’s claim on the symbolic activism of “formula” and “motherhood,” I find it hard to view it as a pivotal movement. In fact, one could argue that it was ultimately counterproductive and merely served to spawn yet another social class layer.
A while ago, Indonesia experienced massive nationwide protests in early 2026. If any of my readers are from Indonesia, you are likely familiar with the “17+8” demands, as well as the “Indonesia Gelap” (Dark Indonesia) campaign.
Initially, the demands were not neatly packaged into “17+8”; they were far more raw and expansive. However, the moment influencer-activists simplified the people’s grievances into a concise checklist, the movement was effectively doomed to fail. Why? Because those in power immediately seized the loophole — fulfilling the watered-down points on paper while entirely turning a blind eye to the stark realities on the ground. The movement was ultimately deemed a failure because it reduced systemic public outrage to the curated anxieties of influencers, creating the illusion that popular resistance exists only when amplified by influencers, and falls silent in their absence. These influencers romanticized the movement as the voice of the suffering masses, all while maintaining a vast, unbridgeable chasm between themselves and the actual conditions of the grassroots.
Pragmatically speaking, these condensed points were undeniably effective as a communication tool for the media, even if they proved utterly hollow in substance.
Now, if even legitimate demands contain fatal loopholes that the authorities can easily exploit to circumvent genuine enforcement, how could symbolic demonstrations centered on “womanhood” — such as Motherhood and Formula — ever touch the root of the people’s actual suffering? Besides, the metaphor or symbol of “milk” here explicitly refers to infant formula. In 1998, formula was hardly consumed by the masses; it was predominantly reserved for the bourgeoisie, whose mothers were occupied with careers and self-maintenance, or the urban proletariat who mistook sweetened condensed milk — which is essentially just milk-flavored sugar — for actual milk.
Perhaps I would be more forgiving if the milk in question were breast milk — since, by human evolutionary design, infants fundamentally require breast milk. Historically, if a mother was unable to nurse, a wet nurse was sought. During times of acute poverty, mothers would share breast milk among themselves. If that proved impossible, only then would they resort to diluted animal milk. But since the reference here is specifically to infant formula (an ultra-processed food), it completely fails to grasp the true essence of the hardship endured by the grassroots.
To be entirely frank, even at this point in the abstract, I still fail to grasp why they brand this as a “clever camouflage” when it fails so spectacularly to address real suffering. Perhaps — or so I hope — we will find the answer in the body of the text.
In autoethnographic journals, self-citation is generally permissible, provided it serves a clear purpose and contributes meaningfully to the new text — such as referencing a past event to build a fresh analytical perspective, or citing a prior methodology to document a chronological breakthrough and demonstrate its updated validity.
However, if self-citation fails to yield genuine novelty, the submission will be flagged for self-plagiarism by the journal’s editorial board. Yet, given that this piece is explicitly framed as a “reflection,” I am honestly unsure of the specific editorial standards applied here. I can only presume it somehow cleared the peer-review process.
This isn’t technically the introduction yet, but I’m inserting it here because it constitutes a technical aspect that I can actually critique from an analytical standpoint. In the abstract, we read that the methodology employed in this paper is autoethnography. However, when written like this — as though a third-person narrator is recounting the events — it completely fails to qualify as autoethnography. (How on earth did this even pass peer review?)
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What, fundamentally, is autoethnography? Auto refers to the self, Ethno to culture or, in this context, one’s own lived experience, and Graphy to writing. Stripping away the “I” entirely strips the method of the very essence the author explicitly chose.
We could attempt to invent excuses, such as “Perhaps the author hesitated to use the first person for fear of sounding self-congratulatory.” Is that a fair assessment?
Let us assume that was indeed the author’s intention. Yet, from an objective review, this approach merely exposes the author’s “Illusion of Objectivity.” Furthermore, it raises an unavoidable ethical issue: self-aggrandizement. Considering how repetitive self-citation can invalidate a paper’s legitimacy, praising oneself under the guise of a third-person narrative leaves a pressing ethical question: does this text exist as an honest historical reflection, or merely as a mechanism for self-monumentalization on the academic stage?
I am sharing the direct link to the paper in question, as I am beginning to realize I likely won’t be able to see this full review through to the end — save for the core feminist substance referenced in my title. I hope the link remains active indefinitely. That way, if you wish to read it, review it yourselves, and offer corrections, that would be ideal — it would breathe life into the paper and get it read, precisely as the author wished.
Megaria, Central Jakarta, is far more than a mere spatial landmark; it serves as tangible evidence of elite spatial privilege in 1998. The financial capacity to lease an office in the heart of the capital reveals that the author was by no means in a state of material vulnerability or economic duress like the general populace. Given the ongoing Asian Financial Crisis — where even the cost of basic staples had skyrocketed was it at all plausible for office rent to remain affordable?
Nevertheless, this does not diminish the intrinsic value of the women’s movement, as they deployed their leverage and resources in defense of their fellow women.
To be honest, I’m at a complete loss as to how one could defend them against claims of class bias. Here, they openly admit that university students were terrified of state repression and forced disappearances. Rationally speaking, if someone possessed the audacity to act, it implies the author commanded significantly greater social capital than those students, doesn’t it? As for the press coverage — sure, let’s just pretend these journalists possessed Doraemon’s invisibility cloak, allowing them to slip past the authorities completely unnoticed and making the women’s movement appear utterly harmless.
This is further down in the text, but since I don’t think I can bring myself to open that paper again, I’ll just state it here: they did face repression as well. They were arrested by the authorities under Article 510 of the Criminal Code. Do you know what that article entails? In short, it penalizes holding parties, creating public disturbances, or gathering on public roads without a police permit. In truth, this could serve as empirical proof of just how draconian the regime was back then, given that the author experienced it firsthand during a 23-hour detention.
Ah, so here lies the answer: “milk” (susu) wasn’t merely a beverage, but rather an acrostic in linguistic and semiotic terms. In short, it was a wordplay. Su-su refers to Suharto. Ah, I see — so the “Su” here points to Suharto’s name. Right, then if we were to integrate “Su”…
Oh, then the equation produces even more variables! Hmmm, no wonder we have an abundance of Suhartos nowadays — it’s because back then, they only took a single derivative of “Su.” Haha.
In the introduction, the author asserts that their approach was clever because it weaponized “Ibuisme” (State Motherhood) — the very construct engineered by the regime — turning it back against their oppressors. Fair enough. In warfare, any tactic is valid if it ensures survival and victory.
From this premise, I am beginning to see why the author frames their movement as feminist. They directly rejected the New Order’s gender dichotomy, which sought to confine women strictly to the domestic sphere. Historically, state-sponsored female empowerment under the New Order was indeed designed to mold women into submissive, graceful maternal figures. Based on this evidence, their claim to feminism is not entirely unfounded.
Yet, to someone like me who stands outside gender discourse, this framing feels slightly off-mark: their actions align more closely with an intellectual revolt rather than feminism itself.
The strategic deployment of Ibuisme and the milk metaphor to outsmart the authorities was, at its core, a patriarchal maneuver; they exploited male chivalry and sympathy to command a public platform. Authentic feminism, by contrast, does not solicit male benevolence as a prerequisite to speak.
It was a politically astute move, certainly, but hardly feminism, despite the paper’s attempt to legitimize the movement by invoking Collins.
Collins herself critiques second-wave feminism for resorting to subservience and soft diplomacy merely to safeguard women’s social class standing.
I suspect the author views patriarchy strictly through the lens of women’s “unfreedom.” In this paper, the idiom was deployed to outwit the authorities. But did it ever cross the author’s mind that the state apparatus might actually enjoy this? After all, milk isn’t just for drinking — it can also be squeezed (haha, cow’s milk, IYKWIM). Patriarchy, in truth, operates even within the illusion of restricted female freedom.
I want to delve into this because it’s fascinating. Hold on, let me share another image.
There was a clear rationale behind resorting to crude, makeshift tools at the time: commercial print shops were strictly forbidden from producing materials associated with rebellion. In principle, utilizing improvisational symbols or dress codes — such as makeshift cloths, ribbons, or everyday attire — as symbolic tokens of resistance is entirely unproblematic.
Yet, one detail leaves me somewhat skeptical: in 1998, against the backdrop of the Asian Financial Crisis, which vendor could possibly have fulfilled orders for custom T-shirts screen-printed with “Reformasi Total”? Even if such a vendor existed, how could their supply chain have escaped the keen nose of state intelligence?
That being said, I readily acknowledge the author’s remarkably revolutionary spirit. Amidst widespread chaos, they conceived the unexpected — launching a mobile newsletter and producing custom T-shirts. Truth be told, that carried an extraordinarily high degree of novelty.
I am a staunch advocate for universal human rights, regardless of gender. Yet, to be entirely frank, I find it exceptionally difficult to accept the social labels affixed to individuals; in my view, labels are merely the fastest route to judging others without first understanding their true substance.
If I were forced to choose between feminism and patriarchy, I am honestly uncertain where I stand. The type of man I am drawn to is intelligent, handsome, romantic, and falls for me first. We would function as housemates in managing the household and raising children. Occasionally, however, he would need to be submissive in bed.
So, where do you think I stand: patriarchy or feminism? 😄
I’ve just … “That explains it!” :)
