Sexual Violence in Pesantren and the Psychology of Victim Compliance

On a night meant to be peaceful, a female student was called out of her room. A dark corridor. Slow footsteps. Nothing seemed amiss—on the surface, it felt safe. Everything appeared routine. Just ordinary compliance. Then, the door closed.

What happened next is easily labelled as violence for many, but for the victim, the term remains difficult to grasp and comprehend. The alleged sexual violence case against female students in Pati should prompt us to look beyond mere criminality. This case reveals deeper layers: how reality can be manipulated, how the body freezes, and how victims’ awareness often arrives too late—after repeated incidents leave deep wounds.

The case resurfaced in public attention in May 2026 following new developments in the legal proceedings over alleged sexual violence against female students at a pesantren. Public concern grew as more victims came forward, and testimonies revealed how power dynamics and compliance can obscure a victim’s recognition of sexual violence.

Amidst the public discourse on the sexual assault case, the name “Yakuza Cabang Ngawi” emerged on social media. However, it does not refer to a Japanese mafia-style criminal organisation, but rather a regional branch of the Yakuza Maneges social and spiritual community initiated by the grandson of Kediri’s charismatic cleric, Gus Miek.

“Yakuza” is an acronym for “Yang Awalnya Kotor Ujungnya Zuhud Abadi” (Initially Dirty, Ultimately Eternal Asceticism). The community is known for engaging with marginalised groups and gained attention for assisting in exposing sexual abuse cases in Ngawi, leading to the perpetrators’ arrest.

The community’s mention in public discourse reflects growing societal anxiety over sexual violence in educational and religious settings, as well as a social push to more courageously support the voices of victims—all minors—and their families.

In many such cases, violence does not always begin with brutal force. Often, it starts with trust, respect, and the belief that someone is more righteous, superior, and closer to truth. At this point, moral and belief boundaries begin to shift.

Returning to the female students’ case: when authority is cloaked in spiritual legitimacy, questioning or doubting becomes perceived as dangerous—not explicitly forbidden, but deemed inappropriate. To question one person feels like doubting the entire value system taught and upheld.

Here, definitions of “right” and “wrong” no longer come from within the victim, but from outside—from an untouchable authority figure. When the first act occurs, the body sends signals: discomfort, tension, stiffness, freezing, and suffocating fear. Yet these signals clash with a stronger internal narrative: this is guidance, intimacy, compliance, obedience, and something not everyone can attain.

This conflict is no longer resolved through logic. It becomes an effort to adapt and survive. Under threat, humans do not always fight or flee. Many freeze. Stay silent. Adjust to prevent escalation. This is not weakness. It is the body’s strategy to stay safe and alive.

Asking “why didn’t they resist?” is questioning something that often wasn’t a viable option. The silence observed is often a bodily defence mechanism choosing the safest strategy in the most unsafe situation. This strategy is deemed successful in keeping the victim safe at that moment, so the pattern repeats automatically for survival.

Here, violence becomes something that doesn’t feel like a single major event, but a series of gradually normalised incidents. The brain is forced to accept. There’s no clear dramatic moment separating “before” and “after”—the mind struggles to interpret it. Only a blurred line shifts incrementally each day. Until a small question emerges, perhaps from the perpetrator’s inconsistency or observing other victims.

Questions may also arise from a thought that no longer makes sense or bodily sensations that can no longer be suppressed.

The crack begins subtly. Barely audible. Yet cracks tend to grow.

Awareness does not come as a clear epiphany. It arrives as a mental collapse—a moment when the old narrative—“this is part of truth and obedience”—can no longer withstand reality’s pressure. The body, living in constant alert, feeling deeply uncomfortable and unsafe, can no longer be silenced.

When this happens, the victim doesn’t just see their experience as wrong. They also realise how long they lived without naming the acts as wrongful violence—even perceiving them as the opposite—due to ignorance and powerlessness.

It is here that a new burden emerges. Not only the trauma from the perpetrator’s actions, but also the wound of realising the body had long been signalling. While