By: MBA

The liberation of a people is never only about themselves. Every step toward freedom reverberates beyond borders, enlarging the moral imagination of humanity and reshaping the balance of justice in the world. The case of Acheh, a land long marked by resistance, tragedy, and resilience, is no exception. Acheh’s freedom would not simply be the restoration of sovereignty to an oppressed people. It would be a global event—an affirmation of international law, a defense of ecological treasures, a contribution to peace and stability, and a moral beacon for all humanity.

Acheh’s story is extraordinary. For centuries, the Sultanate of Acheh Darussalam thrived as a recognized sovereign state. It was a vital player in the maritime networks of Southeast Asia, maintaining relations with the Ottoman Caliphate, Britain, The Dutch, and the Mughal Empire. When the Dutch invaded in 1873, they expected a swift conquest. Instead, they were drawn into one of the longest wars of resistance in modern history, lasting nearly seventy years. That war claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, but it also testified to Acheh’s unbroken spirit. Unlike many lands that quickly succumbed to colonial rule, Acheh never willingly surrendered. Its people fought generation after generation for the right to remain free until today.

This resistance is not a relic of the past. When Indonesia declared independence in 1945, it absorbed Acheh without consultation. What was theatrically presented as decolonization was, for Acheh, merely a transfer of colonial authority from one capital to another, from one colonizer to another. The people of Acheh never consented to be part of Indonesia. The unfinished project of decolonization therefore demands the restoration of Acheh’s sovereignty. In doing so, the international community would fulfill the principles enshrined in the United Nations Charter and in the landmark Resolution 1514 (XV), which declares unequivocally that “all peoples have the right to self-determination.”

But Acheh’s freedom is not only about rectifying history or applying law. It is also about restoring justice and human dignity after decades of systematic abuse. The memory of the DOM era—when Acheh was declared a Military Operations Area between 1989 to 1998—remains seared into the collective consciousness. During that time, thousands of civilians were killed, disappeared, or subjected to torture and sexual violence. Entire districts to villages lived under fear of midnight raids. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch documented these crimes, which meet the threshold of crimes against humanity. Acheh’s liberation would open the path to truth, accountability, and healing. It would affirm that victims matter, that memory matters, and that the wounds of a people cannot be erased by political convenience.

The implications extend far beyond Acheh’s borders. Acheh sits at the northern entrance of the Malacca Strait, through which a third of global trade and half of the world’s oil shipments pass. The stability of this narrow corridor is vital to international commerce. A free Acheh, reconciled with its people and secure in its sovereignty, would be an asset to regional and global stability. By addressing the root causes of conflict—the denial of self-determination—Acheh would transform from a flashpoint of unrest into a reliable guardian of peace at one of the world’s busiest maritime crossroads.

The significance of Acheh’s liberation is not only political or strategic—it is ecological. Acheh is home to the Leuser Ecosystem, a tropical rainforest spanning over two million hectares, recognized by UNESCO as one of the most important biodiversity sites on the planet. It is the last place on Earth where tigers, elephants, rhinoceroses, and orangutans still coexist in the wild. This rainforest is also a massive carbon sink, playing a vital role in regulating the global climate. Yet extractive industries, backed by centralized authorities and military gangs, threaten to destroy it, day after day, in one form or another. A sovereign Acheh, guided by its own traditions of stewardship, could enshrine the protection of the Leuser as a constitutional duty. In doing so, Acheh would not only secure its own survival but also contribute to humanity’s collective struggle against ecological collapse.

At the heart of Acheh’s promise lies a model of governance rooted in community and culture. Achehnese traditions emphasize musyawarah—deliberation—and sapeue pakat—mutual respect ang agreement. These practices are not nostalgic relics; they are living blueprints for a participatory and humane political order. In a world where democracy is increasingly hollowed out by elite capture, Acheh could offer an alternative model: one that is bottom-up, culturally grounded, and accountable. Such a model would enrich the global search for governance systems that genuinely serve human dignity.

The liberation of Acheh would also expand humanity’s moral horizon. Just as the independence of India in 1947, Ghana in 1957, and Timor-Leste in 2002 became landmarks in the history of freedom, Acheh’s independence would signal to oppressed peoples everywhere that justice can prevail. It would remind the world that no people are too small, too distant, or too marginalized to reclaim their rights. The moral force of Acheh’s liberation would inspire movements far beyond Southeast Asia, renewing faith in the principle that dignity belongs to all peoples.

In the end, Acheh’s freedom is not a parochial dream. It is a global necessity. By completing the unfinished business of decolonization, upholding human rights, securing vital maritime routes, protecting irreplaceable ecological treasures, and modeling a new form of democratic community, a free Achehnese state would enrich humanity as a whole. The struggle for Acheh is therefore not merely Achehnese—it is human.

When Acheh is free, humanity itself will breathe more deeply, knowing that in one more corner of the world, dignity has triumphed over domination, harmony over exploitation, and truth over silence.