Language, the Pulse of Independence

The song ‘Hari Merdeka’ by Husein Mutahar resounds loudly every Indonesian Independence Day. Indonesian independence has long been understood primarily as a political event marking the nation’s liberation from colonialism. In the current context, filling independence also means a nation’s ability to determine its own identity and future direction. In Indonesia’s journey, language has become an important part of that process. Bahasa Indonesia was chosen as the language of unity when the youth proclaimed the Youth Pledge amidst a diversity of ethnicities and languages.

However, nearly a century later, language has not been fully positioned as a strategic force for development. We use it every day, but we have not always given it room to determine how this nation thinks, builds knowledge, and formulates its future. Therefore, independence today also means talking about how we liberate and strengthen our own language.

Language disputes begin when the social function of language creates a divide between ‘us’ and ‘them’. When language intersects with identity, religion, territory, and power, differences in sound and words can turn into far larger matters. Language can be a glue, but in the history of several countries, it has also become a spark.

In Asia, language often intertwines with religious and ethnic identity. India provides an interesting example. Hindi and Urdu have closely related linguistic roots, but over the course of history both have become increasingly associated with Hindu and Islamic identities. Differences in script, vocabulary choices, and spaces of use are no longer merely about language. They can become markers of belief and identity. In Sri Lanka, the conflict between Sinhala and Tamil even intersected with political and ethnic issues that later developed into a prolonged conflict. In former East Pakistan, the demand for Bengali to be recognised alongside Urdu also became an important part of the political movement that ultimately led to the birth of Bangladesh.

Language more often becomes a flag of nationalism and regional identity in Europe. Belgium, for example, has long lived in a tug-of-war between Dutch- and French-speaking communities. In Spain, Catalan and Basque have become part of regional identity and political demands.

Colonialism in Africa has a long history. Many countries inherited English, French, or Portuguese as the language of government and education. The colonial language remained alive after colonisation ended, while local languages had to struggle to gain an equal place. Cameroon shows how the difference between English and French can be linked to issues of political inequality and representation.

In North America, language disputes tend to take the form of struggles for rights and identity protection. Canada, particularly Quebec, shows how French has become an important part of community identity and its political demands amidst the dominance of English. Debates about language then enter schools, government, public spaces, and even ideas about the future of a region.

Geolinguistic disputes contain one common thread: language becomes a spark when ‘we’ are not part of ‘them’ and vice versa, touching on identity and power. In Asia it can be a marker of belief, in Europe a flag of nationalism, in Africa a shadow of colonialism, in North America a demand for rights.

What about Indonesia? We have a history that is actually interesting. Amidst the diversity of hundreds of languages, the youth in 1928 did not make language a wall of identity. They made it a roof. Bahasa Indonesia was chosen as the language of unity that shelters regional languages in one house called Indonesia. Interestingly, Bahasa Indonesia did not displace regional languages, but became a meeting point of differences in unity.

Almost a century later, we still enjoy that legacy. A Papuan child can speak with a Javanese child. A Minangkabau person can discuss with a Bugis person. Citizens from Aceh to Maluku can deal with the state in one common language. In classrooms, government offices, mass media, and digital spaces, Bahasa Indonesia has become a kind of invisible bridge connecting Indonesia’s diversity.

The problem is that this closeness is often ignored, as the adage goes: ‘the elephant in front of the eye is not seen, the ant across the ocean is visible’. Precisely because it is so close to daily life, language is often forgotten. Yet language requires care, development, and policy support to remain capable of performing its function.

Bahasa Indonesia indeed lives in schools, government offices, mass media, and daily conversation. However, when it enters the realms of science, technology, economy, and innovation, its position is not always as strong. In higher education, for example, foreign languages remain the primary language in many reputable academic publications and communications. In technology and business spaces, foreign terms are often considered more modern and prestigious. Yet Bahasa Indonesia has a function as a driver of knowledge and should be able to become a language for discussing the future. Look at neighbouring Malaysia, which still gives space for Malay in higher education, policy, and knowledge production, although it does not close the door to international languages.

The problem becomes more apparent when we look at strategic spaces of national development. Bahasa Indonesia is used to convey policy, but it has not always been given full attention.