Who’s With The Band?: Labour of Care for Musicians
The case of banned Indonesian punk band Sukatani This music censorship case demonstrates censored artwork’s tenacity: banned music always finds its way to reach its listeners. However, while a song might ironically – go viral thanks to the censorship, the musicians — especially women — often suffer severe consequences. This raises the question of what resources are needed to care for the wellbeing of the artists? On 20 February 2025, Indonesian punk band Sukatani posted an apology video addressed to the Indonesian National Police on their Instagram account @sukatani.band, stating that they had removed their song, ‘Bayar Bayar Bayar’ (‘Bribe, Bribe, Bribe’), from all streaming platforms. They also asked their fans to delete videos containing the song on social media saying Sukatani “will not be responsible for any issues arising in the future.” The song criticises police officers who abuse their authority. The lyrics capture a reality experienced by many Indonesians who are forced to bribe corrupt police officers: from obtaining a driving license, securing gig permits, reporting lost belongings, “negotiating” prison terms, to obtaining logging licenses. Sukatani’s fans were shocked by the apology video because in it the previously anonymous duo — known only by their stage names Alectroguy and Twister Angel — appeared without masks for the first time. People blamed the police for forcing them to make the video and for exposing the duo’s real identities. Predictably, both the National Police and the Central Java Regional Police at first denied the accusations. The National Police said it is a modern institution that welcomes public criticism and that no orders were issued to Sukatani to remove their songs from streaming platforms. However, the National Police subsequently apologized offering the honorary title of “Police Ambassador” to the Sukatani duo and giving them permission to reupload their song. The Regional Police followed suit, issuing a statement that everyone was free to express their opinion. The ban, to the police’s chagrin, had only served to make the song go viral. ‘Bayar Bayar Bayar’ had gained 200K streams before the ban, but now it was everywhere, online and offline. The video also went viral alongside various reinterpretations in memes and videos mocking the police. Many musicians made cover versions of the song. Other bands performed the song and offered public support to Sukatani at their own concerts. During the Iklim Fest music and arts festival in Jakarta, Balinese eco-punk band Navicula featured images of Sukatani on their stage backdrop, reminding the audience that “in this dark era we are entering, we should not be afraid to scream louder.” The hashtag #kamibersamasukatani (We are with Sukatani) also went viral. One of the most popular video memes was posted on X by Kementerian Kegelapan (The Ministry of Darkness) portraying police officers doing their exercises with the song playing in the background. It has so far gained 2.7 million views. Human rights organisations, led by the Indonesian Legal Aid Foundation, offered their support by providing legal consultation. Other organisations and individual activists initiated campaigns to support Sukatani on social media. On 24 February 2025, the Detik.com news portal reported that Sukatani’s vocalist, Twister Angel, had been fired from her job as a public-school teacher apparently for violating the school’s Code of Ethics. Teaching was Twister Angel’s main source of income, and she had intended to build a career as a teacher. The Sukatani case went viral at a moment when the Indonesian civil movement needed a figure to strengthen their resistance. Students and activists rallied on the streets of many cities in a series of protests dubbed ‘Dark Indonesia.’ Their main targets of criticism were the government’s recent “budget efficiency” drive that has impacted state education funds, healthcare and various ministerial programs. They also resisted the government’s attempt to reinstate the military and police’s “dual function,” that would allow active military and police officers to take up civilian positions in the government, by revising the Indonesian National Military and Police Law. During the street rallies, protesters performed ‘Bayar Bayar Bayar’ in front of police and military officers. Sukatani became a symbol of hope that ordinary Indonesians longed for. On 1 March 2025, Sukatani issued a public statement that they had indeed faced intimidation by the police. They uploaded a post on their Instagram account detailing the incident that happened in July 2024. According to the statement, the duo said they had suffered from both financial and psychological damages from which they were still recovering. They said Twister Angel’s termination of employment was an example of unfair workplace treatment, with the reason given for the termination was her being a member of a punk band. The school did not explain why that was considered as a “severe violation of the code of ethics.” The Sukatani case illustrates how artists can be intimidated and pressured into apologizing for their creative expressions by a police force unwilling to tolerate criticism. However, it also demonstrates how censorship efforts can backfire, igniting public outrage and drawing even more attention to the very works authorities seek to suppress—elevating their creators to cause célèbre status. Yet for the artists, the consequences of censorship often extend far beyond the initial controversy. They risk being blacklisted and, as in the case of Twister Angel, losing their livelihoods. At the same time, the case prompts reflection on the unintended consequences of turning artists into symbols of resistance, raising questions about the risk of glorifying them as “martyrs” for a larger cause. As cultural rights defenders we are aware that we have very limited resources to provide care for artists at risk. This area needs more support urgently. Labour of care exists side by side with labour of love (for culture, music, and the arts). To sing louder, we need deeper investment in long-ignored care work. Ratri Ninditya Coordinator for Research at Koalisi Seni, a partner organization of Freemuse.
Peru’s artists demand protection following Paul Flores’ murder
It is with deep shock that we learn of the murder of Paul Flores on 16 March 2025. Flores, a musician featured in Freemuse’s Music Freedom Day 2025 action that raised the impact of the rising tide of violence and insecurity in Peru, was the lead singer of the renowned cumbia band Armonía 10. Known as El Ruso, he was fatally shot while the band’s bus was returning from a performance in the city of Huacho. The incident occurred in San Juan de Lurigancho, a district of Lima known for its high crime rates. Individuals on a motorbike fired shots at the vehicle, seriously wounding Flores, who was rushed to the San Juan de Lurigancho Hospital, but was dead on arrival. Less than two weeks earlier, Freemuse published an article, part of Music Freedom Day, documenting how, throughout 2024, cumbia artists and their sub-genre chicha had been targeted by violence and organised crime, highlighting Armonía 10 as one of the groups affected. Sparked by Flores’ death, and under the slogan #NoQueremosMorir (#wedontwanttodie), on 21 March, artists, citizen collectives and representatives of various artistic and cultural unions marched from the Plaza San Martín to the Congress demanding concrete measures against crime. In response to public pressure, the government declared a state of emergency in Lima and Callao, authorising the deployment of the Armed Forces to support the police. However, violence against musicians is a latent problem. According to Colonel Jorge Carpio, head of the Kidnapping and Extortion Division of the Peruvian National Police, at least 15 orchestras have been threatened recently. Several criminal organizations are believed to be behind these acts, all with the same objective: to extort money from the artists and control their performances. Armonía 10’s manager, Agustín Távara, spoke in a television interview that the group had received threats both before and after the murder. Shortly after the crime, an individual who identified himself as ‘El Monstruo’, leader of the criminal gang ‘Los Injertos del Norte’, claimed responsibility for the attack and demanded the payment of 70,000 soles (approximately 20,000 dollars). He warned that if the money were not paid, another singer would be his next victim. This organisation is known for its extortion of orchestras and artists, demanding payments in exchange for “protection”, a practice that has become increasingly common in the Peruvian music scene. While the investigation continues, Armonía 10 has announced its return to the stage in honour of Flores. In a statement, the group thanked their fans for their support and asked for security guarantees for all the country’s artists. By Diana Arévalo
Palestinian Artist Dorgham Quraiqi Dies in Israeli Airstrike
In the early hours of 18 March, in Gaza City’s Shuja’iya neighbourhood, Dorgham Quraiqi’s life came to a sudden and tragic end. After a fragile two-month ceasefire, a barrage of deadly Israeli airstrikes killed Quraiqi, his wife, and his brothers.. He was just twenty-eight years old — a newlywed, an artist, and a tireless advocate for Gaza’s displaced children. Freemuse expresses its deep shock and sadness over Quraiqi’s death. For Quraiqi, art was more than an escape; it was resistance, renewal, and the language of survival — a language he wanted to pass on to countless children. Through his work with the Netherlands-based Hope Foundation, he transformed bleak corners of Gaza into pockets of joy, offering displaced children a brief respite from the trauma of war. He set up pop-up cinemas under the open sky, converted crumbling courtyards into swimming pools, and brought theatre to life with puppets and paint. His enthusiasm never wavered. Even as the world crumbled around him, Quraiqi remained committed to his purpose: giving Gaza’s children fleeting moments of relief through art and culture. As a self-taught visual artist, Quraiqi participated in numerous group exhibitions and worked with Hope, serving as one of the artists dedicated to bringing creativity to chaos. In Hope’s words: “Despite losing his home and facing countless challenges, Dorgham continued to bring smiles to thousands of displaced children (…) His energy and creativity were boundless. We have lost a wonderful and talented colleague.” Quraiqi’s final Instagram post, was both raw and predictive. It captured the pain of a young artist whose dreams had been buried under rubble: “After 15 months of displacement, I returned to Gaza to find myself confronted with an unimaginable and extremely difficult reality. My house and office had been completely destroyed by the Israeli army, and all the artworks I had been preparing for my first exhibition, ‘Until a Chair Grows Wings,’ had disappeared under the rubble. These works were more than just paintings; they were a part of my soul, fragments of dreams I had long wished to share with others. What happened was not merely the destruction of objects; it was an attempt to erase memory, culture, and humanity. But as they say: ‘Hope does not die unless the soul dies,’ and art is my soul that will never perish.” Quraiqi was young, hopeful, and fiercely creative, known especially for his oil-based paintings, which were widely exhibited in Gaza, as his social media posts reveal. He proudly declared that ‘art is my soul that will never perish.’ In the aftermath of his death, those words resonate more deeply. His loss is profound, not only to his family and friends but to a community that found solace, laughter, and creativity in his works. Dorgham Quraiqi is not alone in this tragic legacy. Since 2023, other artists have also lost their lives in Gaza: in October of that year, Heba Zagout and Muhammed Sami Qariqa were killed in airstrikes. In 2024, painter Fathi Ghaben died after Gaza’s healthcare system, crippled by repeated airstrikes, failed to provide the care he needed. One day, perhaps, their story will stand as a reminder of what it means to create under siege — and what it truly means to be an artist in a war zone.
