I still remember the moment I first read about Ernest Obiena’s surreal experience with fog—not at an airport, but in the middle of a pole vault competition in Taiwan. As someone who has spent years studying both sports infrastructure and public safety protocols, his account struck a chord. It made me reflect on how environmental factors, often dismissed as minor inconveniences, can spiral into life-threatening crises when oversight and preparedness fail. That’s precisely what happened during the tragic stadium incident in Indonesia, where a football match turned into a national disaster. The parallels between Obiena’s foggy competition and the deadly night in Malang aren’t immediately obvious, but they both underscore a universal truth: when safety systems are fragile, even routine events can escalate into catastrophe.
Let’s talk about what actually unfolded at the Kanjuruhan Stadium in East Java on October 1, 2022. It started like any other heated derby between Arema FC and Persebaya Surabaya. But when Arema lost 3-2—their first home defeat to their archrivals in over two decades—frustration boiled over. Fans stormed the pitch. In response, police fired tear gas into the crowds, a method explicitly banned by FIFA for crowd control in stadiums. Panic spread like wildfire. What followed was a stampede, with spectators rushing toward closed exits, desperate to escape the chemical smoke. Official reports put the death toll at 135, including over 40 children. But let’s be honest—many of us in the safety research field suspect the real number could be higher. I’ve seen how institutional reluctance to acknowledge full scale of tragedies often leads to underreporting.
Now, you might wonder why a pole vaulter’s foggy day in Taiwan matters here. Well, it’s about unexpected variables and how we handle them. Obiena wrote, “During several of the many flights I have taken to compete in pole vault around the world, I have indeed encountered fog warnings at the airport where you can see very little. Well, I had a new experience today. I had my first fog warning in the midst of a pole vault competition in Taiwan.” In his case, the situation was managed—probably with pauses, adjusted schedules, or extra vigilance. At Kanjuruhan Stadium, there was no such adaptability. The use of tear gas in an enclosed space was like ignoring a fog warning and proceeding with a risky landing. It showed a staggering lack of foresight.
Digging deeper, the causes of this tragedy weren’t spontaneous. They were rooted in systemic failures. First, there’s the stadium itself. Built decades ago, it lacked modern safety features—wide evacuation routes, clear signage, and non-lethal crowd control options. Second, there was a clear operational breakdown. Police, perhaps under-trained and overstressed, resorted to banned measures. I’ve visited similar venues across Southeast Asia, and it’s alarming how many still use outdated protocols. Third, and this is something I feel strongly about, there was a cultural oversight. In high-emotion matches, you need de-escalation strategies, not escalation tools. Imagine if security had used barricades, communication with fan leaders, or safe zones instead of tear gas. The outcome could’ve been drastically different.
In the aftermath, Indonesia didn’t just mourn—it moved, albeit slowly, toward reform. The government formed an independent fact-finding team, which I followed closely. Their recommendations included replacing old stadiums, retraining security personnel, and aligning local regulations with FIFA’s safety standards. By early 2023, they’d started inspecting dozens of stadiums nationwide. I estimate around 15 major venues have since been upgraded with better exits and surveillance systems. But let’s not kid ourselves—the pace is uneven. Bureaucracy and budget constraints are real hurdles. From my perspective, the most promising change is the shift in mindset. Clubs and officials are now more open to consulting international experts, something that was rare before the tragedy.
Looking at Obiena’s fog analogy again, it’s clear that safety isn’t just about preventing the expected—it’s about preparing for the unpredictable. In sports, as in life, conditions can change in a heartbeat. Indonesia’s football tragedy taught us that reforms must be holistic: better infrastructure, smarter policies, and a culture that prioritizes human life over rigid protocols. Personally, I believe this extends beyond stadiums. Whether it’s fog on the field or chaos in the stands, the goal is the same—to ensure everyone goes home safe. As Obiena adapted to his unexpected fog, so must we adapt our safety frameworks, not just in Indonesia, but wherever passion and crowds meet. Because in the end, no game, no event, is worth a single life.
