“Di Sana”: When Patriotic Songs Become a Long-Distance Relationship
What happens when patriotic songs describe your country as somewhere else?
Where Exactly Are We Singing From?
This question has quietly puzzled me since elementary school: why do so many Indonesian patriotic songs — even our national anthem — describe Indonesia as di sana¹ (“over there” — a phrase that can mean both physically distant and emotionally out of reach)?
As a child in the 1970s, of course, I only dared to wonder in silence. Asking questions like that, especially during Suharto’s regime, wasn’t exactly encouraged.
Maybe it’s time we finally unpack this small but stubborn mystery: why do our songs keep pointing “over there” when we’re already standing right here?
Are they celebrating the homeland we live in, or the homeland we have always longed for?
When the Homeland Lives “Over There”
Songs like Indonesia Raya (the national anthem), Tanah Airku (My Homeland), and Indonesia Pusaka (Indonesia, My Treasure) were written either during the colonial period or in the very early years of Indonesia’s independence (1945).
At that time, “Indonesia” was still more of a vision than a tangible nation — an imagined unity across thousands of islands, hundreds of kingdoms, and more than 600 ethnic groups.
W.R. Supratman, who composed Indonesia Raya in the 1920s (introduced during the Youth Congress of 1928), likely envisioned an independent Indonesia that would only become a reality two decades later. He wrote:
Indonesia tanah airku (Indonesia, my homeland)
tanah tumpah darahku (my blood-spilled land)
Di sanalah aku berdiri (There I stand)
jadi pandu ibuku (to be my mother’s guide)
Similarly, Ibu Sud, who composed Tanah Airku (Homeland) in 1927, portrayed the emotional supremacy of one’s homeland wherever life might take you:
Walaupun banyak negeri kujalani (Although I have traveled to many lands)
Yang mahsyur permai dikata orang (Lands said to be beautiful and famous)
Tetapi kampung dan rumahku (Still, my village and my home)
Di sanalah ku merasa senang (There is where I feel most happy)
Meanwhile, even after independence, Ismail Marzuki continued to use “di sana” in his patriotic song Indonesia Pusaka (Indonesia, My Treasure, 1949). Perhaps he was imagining a better Indonesia than the chaotic reality of the early independence years:
Di sana, tempat lahir beta (There, the place where I was born)
Dibuai, dibesarkan bunda (Rocked and nurtured by mother)
Of course, every country has its own history and reasons behind the tone of its anthems and patriotic songs. But from what I’ve seen, most national anthems and patriotic songs tend to be grounded in the present — focused on action, identity, or pride in the land beneath one’s feet.
Indonesia is one of the rare cases where the lyrics often describe the homeland as something emotionally or symbolically “elsewhere.” Strange, but true.
These days, I rarely sing the national anthem or patriotic songs — only occasionally at government events or neighborhood community gatherings. And perhaps because I sing them less often now, I’ve become more aware of the quiet contradiction: singing “di sana” (over there), while physically standing right here.
Maybe these songs resonate more deeply with Indonesians abroad, where nostalgia heightens the image of a homeland that is beautiful, distant, and lovingly remembered.
From Fallen Heroes to Viral Punk
Unlike the patriotic songs of the same era, many Indonesian poems offer a more unfiltered reflection of reality.
Take, for example, Chairil Anwar’s poem *Antara Karawang dan Bekasi* (Between Karawang and Bekasi), written in 1948 to honor fallen heroes. It discusses unfinished struggles and explores the value of sacrifice. It speaks of unfinished struggles and questions the meaning of sacrifice:
Kami yang kini terbaring antara Karawang-Bekasi
Tidak bisa teriak “Merdeka” dan angkat senjata lagi
Kenang, kenanglah kami
Yang tinggal tulang-tulang diliputi debu
Beribu kami terbaring antara Karawang-BekasiWe who now lie between Karawang and Bekasi
Can no longer shout ‘Freedom!’ nor raise our weapons
Remember us, remember us
We who are now only bones covered in dust
Thousands of us lie between Karawang and Bekasi
I still remember parts of this poem because I chose it for a school poetry recital in 4th grade. I only placed third, but after repeating the stanzas every day, they became etched in my memory.
Fast forward to today: a small punk band from West Java called Sukatani suddenly found itself at the center of national controversy. Their song Bayar Bayar Bayar (Pay, Pay, Pay) went viral on social media for its blunt critique of the Indonesian police — lyrics that struck a nerve and ignited public debate.
Authorities pressured the band to pull the song. They were even questioned by police — ironically boosting their fame across national and international media.
Here’s one of my favorite sections from the song — a list that sounds suspiciously like an itemized invoice:
Mau korupsi bayar polisi
Mau gusur rumah bayar polisi
Mau babat hutan bayar polisi
Mau jadi polisi bayar polisi
Aduh aduh ku tak punya uang, untuk bisa bayar polisiWant to commit corruption? Pay the police.
Want to evict homes? Pay the police.
Want to destroy forests? Pay the police.
Want to become a cop? Pay the police.
Oh no, I have no money to pay the police.
Both Chairil Anwar and Sukatani reject the “di sana” (over there) illusion. They speak from right here, from the thick of it.
Chairil delivers the bitter truth of Indonesia’s independence struggle — reminding us not just of victory, but of sacrifice, loss, and unfinished business. His version of tanah air (homeland) includes graves and dust, not just parades and flags.
Sukatani captures the everyday absurdity of post-reformasi life, where citizens already pay taxes — yet still must “pay” again just to access public services. In their song, even lawbreakers can act freely — as long as they pay. Even becoming a cop means paying a bribe. Absurd? Yes. Familiar? Also yes.
That’s why, despite its brilliance, Chairil’s poem is rarely featured at official ceremonies or national celebrations — except, of course, by 4th-grade me, who thought it was the perfect competition piece.
As for Bayar Bayar Bayar, don’t expect it on Spotify anytime soon — let alone as an official patriotic anthem. Unless, of course, it’s picked up by protesting students as their rallying cry — sung through tear gas and water cannons.
Where is Indonesia, If Not Right Here?
Maybe Indonesia exists somewhere between poetry and pragmatism — between di sana (there) and di sini (here), between an anthem and an invoice.
Maybe it’s not the soaring chorus or the defiant chant that defines us, but the quiet tension between what we sing, what we remember, and what we live through.
Maybe one day, someone will write a patriotic song that begins with “di sini“ (here) — and this time, we’ll believe it.
And who knows — maybe one day, Bayar Bayar Bayar will be remembered as a patriotic song too. Not for its anger, but for what it witnessed: a crooked system we finally outgrew. A time when paying bribes was normal, and singing about it was an act of resistance. Hopefully by then, we’ll no longer need that kind of anthem.
¹ Di sana is an Indonesian phrase meaning “over there.” In patriotic songs, it’s often used metaphorically to refer to the homeland as something beautiful yet distant — emotionally or physically.
