Does it warrant imprisonment? Does it warrant physical punishment?
In the Indonesian province of Aceh, a young couple who shared a kiss during a TikTok livestream were publicly caned twenty-one times each before a gathered crowd — a sentence handed down by a Sharia court operating under the only Islamic legal code enforced at the provincial level in Indonesia. Their punishment, which followed four months of detention, sits at the intersection of ancient moral governance and the modern digital commons, raising questions that echo far beyond one park in Banda Aceh: what does a society owe its members in the name of order, and where does law end and cruelty begin?
- A kiss filmed in a car and broadcast on TikTok became the evidence that set a legal process in motion — proof that in Aceh, the internet is not a private space but a public one, visible to authorities as much as to followers.
- After four months in detention, the couple stood on a stage in a public park while robed and hooded officials struck them with rattan canes, the ritual formality of the proceeding making the violence no less physical.
- Four other people were caned the same day for gambling and adultery, signaling that this was not an exceptional moment but a routine exercise of a legal system functioning exactly as designed.
- Amnesty International condemned the punishment as cruel and inhumane, pointing to Indonesia's own ratified international commitments as a standard the province's courts had visibly failed to meet.
- The couple left the park carrying the marks of a sentence the law considered just — while the phone and USB drive holding their original video were ordered destroyed, as if erasing the record could undo the act.
In a public park in Banda Aceh, a young man and woman were caned twenty-one times each before at least a hundred witnesses. Their offense: a kiss shared during a TikTok livestream in February, filmed in a car. When the video circulated online, someone reported them to religious authorities. They were arrested in April, and after four months in detention, a Sharia court handed down a sentence of twenty-five lashes — reduced to twenty-one in recognition of the time already served.
The punishment was carried out by robed and hooded officials on a stage built for the purpose. The court also ordered the destruction of the phone and USB drive containing the original footage. On the same day, four others were caned for gambling and adultery. The proceedings were public and documented — the system operating as intended.
Aceh occupies a singular place in Indonesia. It is the country's only province governed by Islamic law, an arrangement formalized in 2006 as part of a peace deal ending a decades-long separatist conflict. The code permits up to one hundred lashes for morality offences ranging from adultery and same-sex relations to women wearing tight clothing. In 2015, its reach was extended to cover non-Muslims as well.
Amnesty International Indonesia called the caning cruel, inhumane, and degrading, noting that Indonesia had ratified international conventions requiring the abolition of such punishments. Executive director Usman Hamid acknowledged that the couple's behavior might have been inappropriate — particularly given that children could have seen it — but argued that neither imprisonment nor corporal punishment was a proportionate response. The couple, however, had already left the park, carrying the sentence with them.
In a public park in Banda Aceh, on a stage set up for the purpose, a young man and woman were struck with a rattan cane twenty-one times each while at least a hundred people watched. The couple—he was twenty-two, she was twenty-five—had been convicted by a Sharia court of violating Islamic law. Their crime was kissing. It happened during a TikTok livestream in February, filmed in a car, and when the video spread online, someone reported them to local religious authorities.
They were arrested in April. Four months later, in late June, they received their sentence: twenty-five lashes each, reduced to twenty-one because of the time already served in detention. The caning was carried out by people in robes and hoods, a formal proceeding in a place designed for public gathering. The court also ordered the destruction of the phone and USB drive that held the original video.
Aceh is unique in Indonesia. It is the only province in the country that enforces Islamic law as its governing code. The arrangement came about in 2006, when Indonesia's secular central government granted Aceh autonomy as part of a peace settlement ending a long separatist conflict. What began as religious law applying to Muslims expanded in 2015 to cover non-Muslims as well, though they make up only about one percent of the province's population. The law permits punishments of up to one hundred lashes for what it defines as morality offences: adultery, same-sex relations, gambling, drinking alcohol, women wearing tight clothing, men missing Friday prayers. Caning is the mechanism of enforcement.
On the same day the couple was caned, four other people received the same punishment—some for online gambling, others for adultery. The proceedings were public, witnessed, documented. This is how the system operates: infractions become visible, judgment is rendered, punishment is administered in front of the community.
Amnesty International Indonesia responded by calling the caning a violation of human rights—cruel, inhumane, degrading. The organization noted that Indonesia had ratified international conventions committing it to abolish such punishments. Usman Hamid, the group's executive director, raised a question about proportionality: behavior on social media might be inappropriate, he said, especially when children could see it. But does it warrant imprisonment? Does it warrant physical punishment? The answer, he suggested, was no. The punishment exceeded what the offense deserved. Yet in Aceh, the sentence was carried out as ordered, and the couple left the park marked by what they had endured.
Citas Notables
Such behaviour might be considered inappropriate because social media is viewed by people of various age groups, including children. But is it a crime that warrants imprisonment or even caning? That would be excessive.— Usman Hamid, executive director of Amnesty International Indonesia
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does Aceh have its own legal system when the rest of Indonesia doesn't?
It was a bargain struck to end a war. The central government gave Aceh religious autonomy in 2006 to settle a separatist conflict that had been running for decades. The province got to implement Islamic law; the fighting stopped.
And that law applies to everyone living there?
It does now. It started with Muslims only, but in 2015 they expanded it to non-Muslims too—even though non-Muslims are only about one percent of the population. So if you live in Aceh, regardless of your faith, you're subject to these rules.
What strikes me is that they were arrested for a TikTok video. How does a social media post become a criminal matter?
Someone saw the livestream, reported it to the religious authorities, and the machinery moved. The video was evidence. It was public, it was witnessed by thousands online, and it violated the law as written. That's how enforcement works there.
The punishment seems extreme for kissing.
That's what Amnesty International said. They questioned whether social media behavior—even inappropriate behavior—rises to the level of a crime deserving imprisonment and physical punishment. But in Aceh's legal framework, it does. The law allows up to a hundred lashes for morality offences. Twenty-one was actually a reduction from the original sentence.
A reduction because they'd already been in jail?
Yes. They spent four months in detention before trial. The court credited that time and reduced the lashes from twenty-five to twenty-one. It's the system's version of mercy.
What happens to the video now?
It was destroyed. The phone and the USB drive were seized and ordered destroyed as evidence. The record of what they did is gone.