As dusk settled over Sidoarjo, a town in East Java, Indonesia, the air was thick with anticipation and reverence. Hundreds of students at the Al Khoziny Islamic Boarding School—one of the oldest and most revered pesantren in the province—had gathered for their afternoon prayers, a daily ritual that binds the community together. But on Monday, September 29, 2025, that sacred routine was shattered in an instant. Without warning, the building collapsed, sending slabs of concrete crashing down and trapping dozens of students and workers beneath the rubble.
The immediate aftermath was chaos and heartbreak. According to Indonesia’s National Agency for Disaster Management, at least three students lost their lives and dozens more were feared trapped under the debris. The agency reported, “Efforts to assess the site, monitor the remaining building structure, and prepare evacuation routes for victims are the primary focus of the teams on the ground.” Families of the missing—mostly teenage boys between the ages of 12 and 18—waited anxiously near the site and at local hospitals, their faces etched with worry and hope.
Rescue teams, including police, soldiers, and hundreds of volunteers, worked through the night. They ran oxygen and water hoses to those still alive beneath the concrete in a desperate bid to keep them breathing and hydrated. As Nanang Sigit, the search and rescue officer leading the effort, told the Associated Press, “We have been running oxygen and water to those still trapped under the debris and keeping them alive while we work hard to get them out.” The rescuers pulled eight weak and injured survivors from the ruins after more than eight harrowing hours, but the situation remained dire. Several bodies were visible under the rubble, and the death toll was expected to rise as the hours ticked by.
The collapse itself was sudden and catastrophic. The building, originally two stories, was undergoing an unauthorized expansion—two more concrete floors were being added without proper permits or oversight. Provincial police spokesperson Jules Abraham Abast explained, “The old building’s foundation was apparently unable to support two floors of concrete and collapsed during the pouring process.” The disaster mitigation agency confirmed the foundation’s instability, noting that the expansion had not received the necessary approvals from local authorities. Sidoarjo’s regent publicly criticized the school’s management for proceeding without permits, a sentiment echoed by many officials as the scope of the tragedy became clear.
For the families of the missing, the hours stretched into an agonizing vigil. A notice board at the command post listed the names of those still unaccounted for. One mother, upon seeing her child’s name, cried hysterically, “Oh my God… my son is still buried, oh my God, please help!” A father, gripping the hand of a rescuer, pleaded, “Please, sir, please find my child immediately.” Their anguish was shared by dozens of others who camped out near the school or crowded into local hospitals, waiting for any news.
Inside the school, the scene was one of devastation. The collapse created what rescue officials described as a “pancake type” structure, with layers of concrete slabs leaving only narrow voids—potential pockets where survivors might still be trapped. Mohammad Syafeii, head of the regional search and rescue agency Basarnas, stated, “Shifting the slabs may also endanger the lives of survivors still trapped beneath the rubble.” As a result, while heavy equipment like cranes and excavators were brought to the site, their use was limited for fear of causing further collapse. Rescue efforts were even temporarily suspended on Tuesday morning after the rubble shook suddenly, prompting fears of another imminent collapse. The search resumed several hours later, but the risk remained ever-present.
The scale of the disaster was staggering. By midday Tuesday, 38 people were still presumed buried under the rubble, and the number of injured continued to climb. Authorities reported that 77 victims had been taken to hospitals for treatment, with at least 75 students and two teachers still hospitalized, some in critical condition. Hospital director Atok Irawan recounted that two students died from their injuries while being treated, and one student had to have his arm amputated due to the severity of his injuries. Two others underwent surgery for head trauma. The grim tally included a 13-year-old boy among the confirmed dead.
Survivors described harrowing escapes. Seventh grader Muhammad Rijalul Qoib told local media, “It got louder and louder,” referring to the sound of falling rocks, “and then I immediately ran outside.” Despite being hit by debris, he managed to climb out of the rubble. Another student, Sofa, said he saw “lots of injuries,” including broken bones. Many female students, who had been praying in another part of the building, managed to escape unharmed—a small mercy in an otherwise tragic scene.
Al Khoziny Islamic Boarding School, often called the Buduran Islamic Boarding School due to its location in Buduran village, is a storied institution. Established officially in 1927, with its first students recorded as early as 1920, it is the oldest pesantren in East Java and has educated generations of Islamic scholars. The school is named after K.H. Raden Khozin Khoiruddi, a respected religious figure, and boasts more than 2,000 students across junior high, high school, and college levels. Pesantren like Al Khoziny play a unique role in Indonesian society, offering both religious and general education, and their students—known as santri—often live on campus, returning home only during holidays.
This tragedy is not an isolated incident. Earlier in September, another building in West Java collapsed during a prayer recital, killing at least three people. The International Labour Organization has long rated Indonesia’s construction sector as one of the most dangerous in the world, citing poor safety standards and lax enforcement. Indonesia’s disaster agency, in a public statement, called for “strict implementation of construction safety standards” in the wake of the Sidoarjo collapse. Oversight of pesantren construction is often inconsistent, as these schools fall under the Ministry of Religious Affairs rather than the Ministry of Education, and many operate informally.
The school’s caretaker, KH Abdus Salam Mujib, offered an emotional apology to the families of the victims, attributing the disaster to “God’s will” and expressing hope for better days ahead. But for the families still searching for their children, and for a nation grappling with the aftermath of yet another preventable tragedy, answers and accountability remain in urgent demand.
As the rescue operation continues, the community of Sidoarjo, and indeed all of Indonesia, waits with bated breath. The fate of dozens still trapped under the rubble hangs in the balance, and the scars of this catastrophe are sure to linger long after the last survivor is pulled from the ruins.