By Ali Syarief
While Japan opens its doors to foreign labor to rescue its aging economy, Indonesia quietly watches its youth walk out the door. In a paradox as striking as it is tragic, a country rich in human capital is losing the very people it needs to grow.
Japan, long considered a homogenous and insular nation, has begun a dramatic cultural shift: it now welcomes foreign workers. With its population shrinking and younger generations unwilling to fill labor-intensive roles, Japan has come to a realization: survival depends on inviting outsiders to sustain its industries. As a result, foreign nationals are being trained, integrated, and even encouraged to settle long-term, not out of charity, but as a national necessity.
Meanwhile, Indonesia—home to one of the largest and youngest workforces in the world—fails to harness its demographic advantage. Instead, it watches as millions of its citizens leave to find employment abroad. They do not for leisure, but out of a lack of viable opportunities at home. They become domestic workers in the Middle East, caregivers in Taiwan, laborers in South Korea, and engineers in Australia. In many cases, their value is recognized more abroad than within their own country.
This contradiction has sparked a digital protest. Across Indonesian social media, the hashtag #KaburAjaDulu—loosely translated as “Just Leave Already”—has gone viral. Far from being a flippant joke, it reflects a collective frustration: a generation that feels abandoned by the very nation it was raised to serve.
Yet the reaction from officials and segments of the elite has been dismissive, even mocking. Some call it unpatriotic. Others trivialize it as youthful angst. But this response misses the point entirely. These young Indonesians are not fleeing the country out of hatred—they are fleeing because they feel unwelcome in its future.
A Tale of Two Countries
Japan, facing economic urgency, acts decisively to retain and attract productive labor, even from beyond its borders. Indonesia, flush with youth, does little to keep its own talent from leaving. It’s not a question of resources—it’s a question of priorities.
Government policies in Indonesia tend to lean heavily toward showmanship. Massive budgets are allocated to symbolic projects like a new capital city (Nusantara), or to ambitious social programs like nationwide free school meals—often at the expense of vital sectors like education, health, and disaster preparedness. What is missing is a sustained, strategic plan to generate high-quality domestic employment.
Cultural Disconnect
The crisis runs deeper than economics—it touches on cultural perceptions of work and dignity. In Japan, even “low-status” jobs are seen as respectable, and the government helps protect that dignity. In Indonesia, status often trumps substance. A graduate working as a factory laborer is viewed as a failure, not as someone navigating a broken system.
When career paths are shaped more by social expectation than by real opportunity, people leave. And when they do, they are often more respected and better rewarded elsewhere.
A Nation Failing to Listen
The tragedy is not just that young Indonesians are leaving. It is that the country does not seem to care. The hashtag #KaburAjaDulu is not a joke—it is a warning. It signals that patriotism alone is no longer enough to convince young people to stay. They need a reason. They need dignity. They need a future.
Indonesia must decide what kind of nation it wants to be. One that lets its brightest minds build other people’s economies? Or one that gives them a reason to believe in their own?
Until then, the world will continue to welcome Indonesian youth with open arms—and Indonesia, paradoxically, will continue to let them go.
