It’s Monday afternoon when I arrive in Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia, where I’m attending a journalist exchange program at the invitation of a foundation. A year earlier I’d been in Bali with friends — a completely different world. On that island, predominantly Hindu, I felt free and didn’t think twice about my sexuality. I had therefore somewhat underestimated the situation on Java. I quickly feel like the only gay in town.

In a short time, Indonesia — a vast country with many different cultures and religions — has changed from a place where the LGBTQIA+ community could live relatively freely into one where repression and fear have become the norm. This is largely due to the growing influence of radical Islamist groups. In some regions, such as Aceh, strict laws have explicitly criminalized homosexuality since 2014, punishable by public caning. In Jakarta, the situation is less extreme: homosexuality is not formally illegal, but the community is being pushed further and further to the margins.

“You can be gay here,” a guy said later that evening after some small talk, “but you shouldn’t draw attention to yourself.”

This also became clear from the conversations I had there. One evening, as I walked back to my hotel, a young man on the street whispered: “Massage, massage?” When I cautiously hinted that I was gay, he glanced around nervously. “I’m a money boy,” he said softly. When I asked if there were places to meet other gay men, he replied: “You need to know the hint to find the right places.” He eventually gave me the name of a spot where he knew his friends would be.

The place was so nondescript that I would never have found it on my own. Inside, I saw a group of men. “You can be gay here,” one of them said later that evening after some casual conversation, “but you shouldn’t draw attention to yourself. No rainbow flags, no politics — just stay under the radar.” He told me he wanted to move to Bali as soon as he could afford it.

The anonymity of Jakarta turns out to be the only shield for many. “As long as you don’t cause any ‘problems,’ they leave you alone,” someone said. Another told me how some friends had left the country altogether. In most cases, their families knew nothing about their sexuality.

In Jakarta in 2025, you can exist as a queer person — as long as you remain unseen.

Since 2017, the situation in Jakarta has sharply deteriorated. That year, the city’s governor called for “troublesome” expressions of homosexuality to be restricted. The same year, 141 men were arrested in a gay sauna. Today, all gay bars have closed. This past February, 56 men were arrested in Jakarta at what authorities called a “gay sex party.” Three of them could face up to fifteen years in prison for allegedly violating pornography laws.

Although homosexuality is not illegal, people are often prosecuted under false or vague charges using other morality or pornography laws. In Jakarta in 2025, you can exist as a queer person — but only if you remain invisible.

On Friday afternoon, when my work is done, I decide to take a flight to Bali to spend my weekend there. On the way to the airport, the taxi driver asks if I’m married and have children. “I’m still young,” I quickly joke, “that will come later.” Bali feels like an escape, and my relief is immense. I don’t want to have to hide my identity. But it continues to weigh on me that the men I met earlier that week don’t have that choice.