From THR to BHR: The Budget Airline Version of Workers' Rights
In Indonesia, Tunjangan Hari Raya (THR) is a promise. A fixture of both law and custom, it represents a recognition that people deserve to go home for the holidays with enough in their pockets to do more than just wave at the rice cooker.
So when Grab and Gojek introduced Bonus Hari Raya (BHR), the reaction was… mixed. Wrapped in the language of appreciation, but quietly detached from the legal standards of THR, the move raised more than a few eyebrows. Suddenly, the guaranteed one-month salary had morphed into an algorithmically determined performance bonus, as if celebrating Eid was somehow contingent on your five-star rating.
The companies call it flexibility. Workers call it confusion (read: insulting). Is this a necessary adjustment for the gig economy? Or is it just a detour around obligations that are inconvenient to fulfill?
The THR We Know (and the BHR We Didn’t Ask For)
Tunjangan Hari Raya (THR) is one of the few non-negotiables in Indonesian labor law. If you’ve worked a year, you get a month’s salary. No bargaining, no fine print, no algorithm deciding your worth. Just a straight-up acknowledgement that workers deserve to celebrate the holiday season without checking their e-wallet every five minutes.
But for gig workers, things are a little fuzzier. Not because the law doesn’t apply, but because the companies have found a way to exist in the legal Bermuda Triangle. These drivers are called mitra, which translates to “partners,” though the partnership feels a lot like showing up to a potluck and being told to bring everything, then clean up afterwards. They're under PKWT, fixed-term contracts that suggest some structure, but not quite enough to trigger full rights.
And into that legal gray area enters Bonus Hari Raya (BHR). It sounds festive, like a kind cousin of THR, but it’s more like the budget airline version. BHR is based on “performance” and “activity,” which are vague enough to be flexible for companies and frustrating for workers.
Yes, some drivers got Rp 1.6 million. But others received Rp 50,000, which is barely enough to buy two litres of gas and a packet of Indomie. These payouts are often arbitrary, opaque, and inconsistent; the opposite of what THR is supposed to be.
So what we’re left with is a confusing landscape: companies technically giving “something,” but strategically avoiding giving enough. And that’s the issue. It’s not generosity if it’s dodging responsibility. BHR is a rebrand of a reduction.
The Gig Economy’s Favorite Loophole: “Mitra” Without the Mutual Benefit
The word mitra suggests equality, collaboration, maybe even a handshake over coffee. But in the context of ride-hailing platforms like Grab and Gojek, mitra has been repurposed into a kind of corporate camouflage. It’s not about mutual benefit. It’s about mutual ambiguity, where all the risk flows downward.
Let’s not pretend these drivers are “independent” in any meaningful sense. Their pricing? Set by the platform. Their routes? Assigned by an algorithm. Their livelihoods? At the mercy of a 4.7-star rating and a glitchy GPS signal. If they reject too many rides, take too long on a job, or run afoul of a vague performance policy, poof, they’re logged out. Try doing that to an actual business partner.
And yet, when it’s time to talk labor rights, like THR, health benefits, or job security, the companies do a quick costume change. Suddenly, these full-time workers become flexible contractors. It’s a neat trick: employer when it suits them, platform when it doesn’t.
A labor force without labor obligations is the gig economy’s favorite loophole. It's a business model built on outsourcing risk and disguising dependency. And now, as drivers demand their rightful place in the social safety net, companies are offering performance-based “bonuses” and calling it a holiday.
The defense is that BHR is “fair” and “flexible.” But it’s not based on clear rules and the drivers remain tethered to the app like employees in all but name.
So let’s call it what it is: a one-sided arrangement dressed in PR language, designed to keep costs low and accountability even lower.
The Cultural Cost: THR Is More Than a Bonus
In Indonesia, Tunjangan Hari Raya (THR) is as much a part of the holiday season as ketupat and overpacked bus terminals. It’s a gesture of respect, a nod from employers to say: “We see you. We value you. Go celebrate with your family.” It carries emotional and cultural weight, especially in a society where communal care and reciprocity are central values.
So when companies like Gojek and Grab toss out BHR, it’s a cultural faux pas. A move dressed up in festive language, but hollow in substance.
BHR isn’t rooted in law, and it sure isn’t rooted in tradition. It’s a clever way to offer “something” without actually offering what’s expected.
And while executives talk about “incentives” and “activity-based calculations,” drivers earning Rp 3–4 million a month are walking away with the cost of a modest snack or a fuel top-up. That’s not a bonus.
The deeper issue here is expectation vs. reality. Workers expect THR because it’s what the law says, and because it’s what the culture demands. They’ve put in the hours, delivered the meals, carried the economy... and in return, they’re given a coin toss and a smile.
To strip that tradition of its meaning for the sake of “flexibility” is a quiet erosion of a shared value system.
Where’s the Oversight? And Where Do We Go From Here?
The powers that be have at least acknowledged the issue and publicly called out the low BHR payouts as “disrespectful.” And they're right. If anything, that word was putting it politely. But beyond the statements and polite nods of disapproval, consequences remain in short supply.
We’ve had circular letters, moral encouragement, and a few strongly worded headlines. What we haven’t seen is real enforcement: no fines, no company audits, no legal challenges that would send a message. It’s regulation by suggestion.
Meanwhile, Grab and Gojek continue to enjoy the legal twilight zone of gig economy convenience. The “partner” label allows them to keep a professional distance from any formal obligations, while still maintaining total control over the work ecosystem.
Sure, this is part of a global pattern. But in Indonesia, the stakes are more pronounced. THR is a pillar of employment culture, one that transcends industries. Undermining it sets a dangerous precedent, not just for ride-hailing, but for any sector hoping to blur the lines between employment and platform “participation.”
We need regulators to grow teeth, companies to grow a conscience, and the public to stop treating this as someone else’s problem. Because gig workers aren’t invisible. They’re the ones moving cities, feeding families, and keeping the economy humming.
You can’t just slap a new name on an old obligation and pretend it’s innovation. THR is not a promo code, and “BHR” isn’t a pivot away from accountability, dressed up in festive language and performance metrics.
Labor rights don’t become optional just because you added an app interface. THR is a legal right, not a “nice-to-have,” and reducing it to a token payout is cynical. It's the equivalent of giving someone a party hat and calling it a salary.
This isn’t just about Grab or Gojek. It’s about whether the gig economy gets to operate by its own rules, while the rest of society plays by the book. Indonesia stands at a crossroads between protecting workers in the digital age, or letting tech platforms redraw the boundaries of what rights should look like.
The choice isn’t complicated. Either we enforce the laws we already have, or we accept a future where the meaning of “employment” is whatever a platform decides it should be that week.