On a warm August weekend in Jakarta, strollers roll past yoga mats, babies nap in slings, and the word menyusui (breastfeeding) is spoken out loud, unapologetically, in one of the country’s busiest shopping districts. This is Breastfeeding Fest, Indonesia’s most visible celebration of breastfeeding culture, maternal health, and early childhood nutrition—a public event that blends education, community, and quiet defiance in a society where motherhood is revered but breastfeeding in public still provokes debate. Timed to coincide with Pekan ASI Sedunia (World Breastfeeding Week), the festival has become a yearly marker of how Indonesia is negotiating tradition, modernity, women’s bodies, and public space.
Held in central Jakarta—most recently at Tribeca Park in Central Park Mall—Breastfeeding Fest brings together mothers, pregnant women, fathers, grandparents, health professionals, fitness instructors, and advocacy groups in an environment that feels deliberately open and ordinary. That choice of venue matters. By situating breastfeeding not in clinics or closed conference rooms but in a commercial, urban space, the festival insists that feeding a baby is not a private or shameful act. It is everyday life. Organised by the community group Komunitas Pejuang ASI Mom Uung, the event reflects the rise of grassroots maternal networks in Indonesia, where peer support often fills gaps left by overstretched health systems and uneven workplace protections.
The festival itself mixes edukasi (education) and hiburan (entertainment). Talk shows and workshops cover topics ranging from exclusive breastfeeding and lactation challenges to mental health after childbirth and the realities of returning to work. There are consultations with lactation counsellors, sessions on menggendong (babywearing), prenatal Pilates, stroller workouts, and gentle exercise classes designed for post-partum bodies. Music, children’s games, photo corners, and pop-up stalls selling nursing-friendly clothing and baby products create a festive atmosphere that is intentionally family-oriented rbabiesather than activist in tone. Yet the politics are present, even when unspoken.
Indonesia has made measurable progress on breastfeeding. National data and international agencies have reported rising rates of ASI eksklusif (exclusive breastfeeding) in recent years, supported by government campaigns and community education. At the same time, many mothers still face structural barriers: short maternity leave in parts of the private sector, limited ruang laktasi (lactation rooms) at workplaces and public venues, aggressive marketing of formula, and persistent social discomfort with breastfeeding outside the home. Breastfeeding Fest sits at the intersection of these tensions, offering support while implicitly questioning why such support is still necessary.
Cultural context is crucial. In Indonesia, motherhood is closely linked to ideals of sacrifice and moral virtue, yet women’s bodies are heavily policed. Breastfeeding is praised in principle but scrutinised in practice, especially when it becomes visible. Public reactions to Breastfeeding Fest have occasionally revealed this contradiction, with online commentary sexualising or mocking the event—responses that underscore how female reproduction is often treated as both sacred and suspect. For many attendees, simply nursing a baby openly at the festival becomes a small act of perlawanan halus (gentle resistance).
The festival also reflects shifting family dynamics. Fathers are increasingly visible at Breastfeeding Fest, attending talks and joining activities, signalling a slow cultural move toward shared caregiving. The presence of grandmothers—often key decision-makers in infant feeding—acknowledges the role of intergenerational knowledge, sometimes supportive, sometimes conflicting, in shaping breastfeeding outcomes. By addressing families rather than mothers alone, the event recognises that breastfeeding is never just an individual choice.
In a megacity better known for traffic and malls than maternal solidarity, Breastfeeding Fest offers a different image of Jakarta: one where care work is valued, women’s health is discussed openly, and babies are welcome in public life. It is not a radical protest, nor does it claim to solve Indonesia’s maternal health challenges. Instead, it creates a temporary space where breastfeeding is normalised, celebrated, and protected. In doing so, it quietly asks a larger question—why should such a space be temporary at all?
Spicy Auntie went to the mall and, shockingly, did not buy shoes. Instead, she saw women breastfeeding. In public. Calmly. Casually. With babies attached, not scandal. Welcome to Jakarta’s Breastfeeding Fest, where the most radical act on display is a woman feeding her child without apologising to anyone.
Let’s be honest: Indonesia loves motherhood in theory. Mothers are sacred, babies are blessings, and ibu (mother) is practically a national monument. But the moment an actual breast appears—doing its actual biological job—the mood shifts. Suddenly it’s “too much,” “not polite,” “please cover up,” or my favourite, “think of the children,” as if children are not the main stakeholders in this whole enterprise. Breastfeeding Fest quietly flips that script. No shouting, no slogans, just women existing with their bodies doing what bodies are meant to do.
What struck Auntie most wasn’t the yoga mats or the babywearing workouts—though yes, watching exhausted mothers do Pilates deserves a medal—it was the atmosphere of relief. Relief at not being judged. Relief at not being alone. Relief at being able to say, “This is hard,” without being told to smile more or pray harder. In a culture where kodrat perempuan (women’s “natural role”) is endlessly invoked, actual support for that role is often suspiciously absent. Festivals like this step into that gap, even if only for a weekend.
And let’s talk about public space. A mall. Not a clinic, not a charity hall, not some hidden women-only corner. A mall. Capitalism’s cathedral. Breastfeeding Fest didn’t ask permission to exist there; it simply set up mats, babies, and breasts and carried on. That matters. Because if women can breastfeed openly in a shopping complex, maybe they can also demand ruang laktasi (lactation rooms) at work, proper maternity leave, and fewer comments from uncles who have never changed a diaper in their lives.
Of course, not everyone applauded. Social media predictably did its thing, sexualising, mocking, misunderstanding. Which only proves the point. We are still deeply uncomfortable with women’s bodies unless they are decorative, controlled, or silent. Breastfeeding Fest refuses all three options. It says: this body feeds, nurtures, leaks, and belongs here.
Spicy Auntie left the festival thinking this shouldn’t be special. Feeding a baby shouldn’t require a festival, an explanation, or a PR strategy. But until it doesn’t raise eyebrows, Auntie will happily raise a glass—of water, hydration is key—to every woman who sat on that mat, fed her child, and reminded the world that care work is not obscene. It is revolutionary.