Artefact Anatomy

“Djarek” and the Art of Revolution: A 1960 Poster that Captured Indonesia’s Post-Independence Vision

Printed with bold imagery and fiery words, the “Djarek” propaganda poster wasn’t just political art, it was a visual roadmap for the revolution Soekarno refused to let die.

Prinvia Prichariel

Jul 7, 2025

In 1960, fifteen years after Indonesia’s declaration of independence, President Soekarno issued a renewed call to the people: to stay committed to the ideals of the revolution. This wasn’t just political rhetoric, it was a cultural movement. And like many revolutions, it found its way into art.

One of its most vivid examples is a propaganda poster titled “Djarek”, an abbreviation for Djalannya Revolusi Kita, or The Path of Our Revolution. Produced by the printing house Pertja in East Jakarta and published by Pustaka BALINI, this 33 by 21.3 cm poster brought Soekarno’s August 17th mandate to life in full color. It wasn’t just meant to decorate walls, it was designed to ignite public spirit, unify a fragmented nation, and visually outline the immediate goals of the revolution.

At its core, Djarek was a call to "rediscover the purpose of the Indonesian National Revolution." In his speech, Soekarno insisted that independence alone was not the end, but the beginning of a deeper, ongoing transformation, political, social, economic, and spiritual. He urged the nation to combat imperialism, address inequality, and meet people’s basic needs. This poster was part of that mobilization.

A Composition of Unity

Dominated by red and white, the national colors, the poster features four central figures marching forward: a soldier, a farmer, a civil worker, and a woman in traditional kebaya holding a kris. Behind them unfold layered scenes, battlefield, farm, factory, and rural life, woven together with intricate green carvings reminiscent of temple reliefs.

The woman, wearing a golden-yellow kebaya and a batik skirt, stands out. Her presence with a keris, traditionally a male symbol of strength, challenges gender norms and affirms women’s active role in nation-building. This nod to cultural symbolism is deepened by her adornments: classic sanggul, earrings, and poise, iconography that, in the early 1960s, reflected how the kebaya had evolved into a national symbol of Indonesian femininity and identity.

Beside her, a farmer grips a bamboo spear. It’s a powerful reminder: during the post-independence era, more than 70% of Indonesians were farmers. The land was not just livelihood, it was political, and central to Soekarno’s vision of justice. His landmark Undang-Undang Pokok Agraria (Law No. 5/1960) on land reform recognized that without agrarian fairness, there could be no true freedom.

Designing a Revolution

What makes Djarek compelling is not only its message but its execution. The word “DJAREK” sits prominently at the top in a red serif cursive styled with Javanese flair, surrounded by detailed engravings that echo traditional Nusantara design. Each letter houses mini-scenes: war, medicine, farming, all rendered with dot shading and stylized relief textures that blend vintage poster art with classical symbolism.

The poster cleverly uses negative space to direct attention toward its central message. Even the font and layout choices carry meaning: straight lines meet soft curves, rigidity balances movement, modernist and traditional visual codes converge, much like the nation’s own balancing act between past and future.

A Visual Manifesto

What Djarek communicates is clear: revolution is not a moment, it’s a process. This poster was not merely decorative, but directive. It reminded viewers of their role, whether soldier, farmer, bureaucrat, or housewife, in shaping Indonesia’s future. It made politics personal and art political.

By embedding visual cues from across Indonesia’s diverse traditions, from Javanese carving to agrarian tools, and placing them in a modern, print-forward format, the poster symbolized what Soekarno’s revolution aspired to be: inclusive, rooted, and forward-moving.

More than six decades later, Djarek remains an artifact of its time — but its call echoes still. In moments of uncertainty or national questioning, it serves as a reminder that revolutions are not only fought on battlefields or in parliaments, but also in homes, rice fields, and yes, in art.