Guardians of Order or Mirrors of Power? (1)

Across the archipelago, the phrase “Tot Tot Wuk Wuk” has become a sonic symbol of public frustration. It mimics the shrill sirens and flashing strobes of government convoys that barrel down the roads, demanding that ordinary citizens yield—regardless of urgency or necessity. What was once reserved for emergencies now feels like a daily parade of privilege.

Citizens from Sabang, Jakarta, Jayapura, to Merauke have voiced their discontent. The sirens are not merely loud; they’re emotionally jarring. Many describe them as stress-inducing, a kind of auditory assault that disrupts both peace and patience. But beyond the noise lies a deeper grievance: the misuse of state resources. These convoys often appear to serve personal convenience rather than public duty, turning the streets into a theatre of entitlement.

There’s a bitter irony in all this. In a democracy, the people are meant to be the bosses. Yet on the roads, it’s the citizens who are ordered to step aside, as if their time and dignity are expendable. This contradiction has sparked a wave of digital protest—memes, satirical videos, and viral slogans like “Stop Tot Tot Wuk Wuk” have flooded social media, transforming frustration into creative resistance.

Imagine, for a moment, an ancient Mesopotamian street bustling with traders, donkeys, and the occasional runaway chicken. A guard, clad in a leather tunic far less intimidating than a modern police uniform, waves a clay tablet at a bewildered merchant and shouts something that roughly translates to: “You! Stop selling your fish before sunrise!” The merchant grumbles, the chicken escapes, and the guard sighs — probably thinking, “Law enforcement has always been a messy business.”

Though this scene sounds like the opening of a historical comedy, scholars such as Alan Wright (2002) remind us that it isn’t far from reality. In his book Policing: An Introduction to Concepts and Practice, Wright explains that even in early civilisations like Mesopotamia and Egypt, rudimentary forms of law enforcement existed — temple guards, market overseers, and night watchers who maintained order in their own clumsy but necessary ways.

Wright explains that “modern policing” emerged in response to the problem of maintaining social order, especially when older, informal arrangements (such as parish constables, night‐watchmen, private or semi‐private enforcement, etc.) were no longer sufficient for rapidly changing societies. It is implied that modern policing, in its recognisable form, is a phenomenon that developed in the 19th century in Britain (and then spreading elsewhere), especially with the establishment of formal police forces under state authority to enforce laws, maintain public order, prevent crime, and provide a set of “services” beyond simply catching criminals.

Wright argues that policing involves more than “law enforcement”. The job of modern police includes maintaining order (keeping the peace), preventing crime, providing services to the public, dealing with disputes, intervening in emergencies, and more broadly, mediating between society and the state. Its functions are both coercive (arrest, detention, use of force in certain circumstances) and facilitative (service, assistance, prevention) rooted in legitimacy. 

Wright explores the intricate relationship between policing and the maintenance of social order. He posits that modern policing emerged as a state response to the challenges of sustaining public order in increasingly complex societies. This evolution reflects a shift from informal, community-based methods to formalised, state-controlled mechanisms aimed at preventing and responding to disorder.

Wright highlights that societies expect police forces to manage various forms of public disorder, including dissent, protests, and riots, in ways that uphold the rule of law while balancing civil liberties. The police are tasked not only with enforcing laws but also with maintaining public confidence through fair and transparent practices. The legitimacy of police actions is crucial; when communities perceive the police as legitimate, they are more likely to cooperate and comply with the law. Conversely, perceived illegitimacy can lead to mistrust and diminished effectiveness.

Furthermore, Wright examines how police relationships with different social groups, particularly the working classes and marginalised communities, influence perceptions of legitimacy, trust, and conflict. Historical and contemporary tensions often arise when these communities feel disproportionately targeted or underrepresented in policing practices. Such dynamics can exacerbate conflicts and hinder the establishment of trust between the police and the public. Therefore, understanding and addressing these relationships is essential for fostering a policing model that is both effective and equitable.

Wright discusses the criminological critique of police work as a way to critically examine the role and function of policing within modern societies. He explains that while the police play a vital role in maintaining social order, criminologists have highlighted concerns about how policing can sometimes reinforce existing power structures rather than impartially protect all citizens. Critics argue that police may act to preserve the status quo, disproportionately targeting marginalised or working-class communities, and that an exclusive focus on law enforcement can overlook the broader social and economic contexts that contribute to criminal behaviour. Wright emphasises that these critiques encourage a more holistic and context-sensitive approach to policing, one that considers social dynamics, economic conditions, and the importance of fostering trustful relationships between police and the communities they serve. Ultimately, the criminological critique challenges the profession to balance authority with fairness, legitimacy, and social understanding.

Wright argues that the term 'policing' encompasses a diverse range of activities beyond the actions of public police forces, extending to various agencies, groups, and individuals involved in maintaining social order. Wright introduces the idea that policing functions can be categorised into four primary modes: peacekeeping, crime investigation, risk management, and community justice. These modes represent distinct approaches to policing, each with its own objectives and methodologies. Wright's analysis encourages a broader understanding of policing, recognising its complexity and the interplay between different actors and functions within society.

According to Wright, the police are constantly engaged in a delicate balancing act between protecting individual liberty and preserving social order. Wright explains that this tension lies at the very heart of modern policing — on one hand, democratic societies expect the police to safeguard freedom of expression, movement, and protest; yet, on the other hand, they also demand that police prevent chaos, violence, or social breakdown. This dual expectation creates a permanent dilemma: too much control leads to authoritarianism, but too little control risks disorder. Effective policing, Wright argues, depends on maintaining legitimacy through measured and proportionate action — the use of authority must always appear justified, reasonable, and responsive to public consent.

Wright also notes that when jurisdictions perceive that social order is under threat — such as during riots, terrorism scares, or large-scale protests — they often adopt more militarised or force-oriented methods. This shift might include deploying riot gear, tactical units, or surveillance technologies that resemble military strategies. While these measures are intended to restore order, Wright warns that they can also erode public trust and heighten tensions if used excessively or without transparency. In essence, he suggests that policing strategies should reflect the political and cultural values of a society: where legitimacy and accountability are prioritised, coercive power remains under tight control; but where fear and instability dominate, policing tends to become more repressive and militarised.

Wright explores the delicate craft of order maintenance, which he defines as the continual effort of the police to sustain social harmony without suffocating individual liberty. Wright argues that policing is not simply about enforcing the law, but about managing the tensions and negotiations that arise in public life. He emphasises that effective peacekeeping depends on restraint — on understanding the limits of coercion. When police use force beyond necessity, they risk undermining the very legitimacy upon which their authority rests. Thus, coercion must always be proportionate, publicly justifiable, and exercised within clear ethical boundaries.

Wright further notes that the norms and strategies of peacekeeping vary according to political culture. In liberal democracies, the emphasis tends to fall on consent, dialogue, and community trust, whereas more authoritarian regimes may favour control, surveillance, and the visible threat of coercion. These differences, Wright suggests, reflect deeper political and cultural values: societies that value pluralism and participation encourage police to act as facilitators of order, while societies anxious about instability often push their police toward militarisation and suppression. Ultimately, Wright portrays peacekeeping as a mirror of a nation’s character — a reflection of how it reconciles freedom with fear, and authority with justice.

Wright turns his attention from order-keeping to the realm of crime investigation, exploring how police investigate, detect, and respond to crime, and how the investigative mode of policing brings its own challenges. Wright discusses how the investigative culture within British policing has evolved, highlighting both reactive and proactive models of investigation; reactive investigations are those that respond to crimes after they’ve occurred, whereas proactive investigation seeks to prevent crime or to intervene earlier. He analyses differences in policing high-volume, routine crimes versus serious or organised crime, illustrating how approaches shift depending on resources, priorities, and threat perceptions.

Wright is critical of the “crime-fighter” myth—the idea that policing is mainly about catching criminals—arguing that in practice this narrative overemphasises detection and dramatic investigations, often at the expense of prevention, due process, or dealing with less visible harms. He considers how police act as gatekeepers of the criminal justice system, deciding what cases get pursued, where to allocate effort, and how investigative practices are shaped by institutional culture, law, public expectations, and resource constraints. Even though there have been pushes toward making investigations more professional, scientific, or adhering to due process norms, Wright asserts that many of the traditional practices and expectations resist full change.

Wright delves into the concept of risk management as a mode of policing. He examines how contemporary societies, often referred to as "risk societies," are increasingly preoccupied with the anticipation and mitigation of potential threats, ranging from terrorism and cybercrime to natural disasters and public health crises. Wright discusses how this pervasive focus on risk influences policing strategies, leading to a shift from reactive approaches to more proactive, preventative measures. He highlights the importance of partnerships between police and other agencies, as well as community involvement, in managing these risks effectively.

Wright also critiques the tendency to view policing solely through the lens of risk management, cautioning against the potential for overreach and the erosion of civil liberties. He emphasises the need for a balanced approach that considers the rights of individuals while addressing legitimate security concerns. The chapter underscores the evolving role of police in a complex, risk-aware society and the challenges they face in maintaining public safety without compromising democratic values.

Wright delves into the concept of community justice within the realm of policing, as well. He examines how this approach seeks to address justice not merely through the enforcement of laws but by fostering a deeper connection between the police and the communities they serve. Wright discusses the evolution of policing strategies, highlighting a shift from traditional, top-down models to more community-oriented approaches. This transformation reflects a broader societal recognition of the importance of community involvement in maintaining public order and ensuring justice.

Wright also explores the challenges and complexities associated with implementing community justice. He notes that while this model aims to be more inclusive and responsive to community needs, it requires significant changes in police culture and practices. The chapter underscores the necessity for police officers to build trust and collaborate with community members, acknowledging the diverse cultural dynamics that exist within different communities. Wright suggests that effective community justice involves not only addressing crime but also understanding and responding to the underlying social issues that contribute to criminal behaviour.

Wright presents community justice as a progressive approach to policing, one that seeks to balance the enforcement of laws with the promotion of social equity and community well-being. He advocates for a policing model that is adaptable, culturally sensitive, and deeply rooted in the values and needs of the community.

Wright delves into the politics of policing in the late modern era, critically examining the evolving role of police in contemporary society. He argues that policing is increasingly shaped by political agendas, economic considerations, and social dynamics, rather than solely by the principles of justice and public service. Wright highlights how political influences can affect police priorities, resource allocation, and operational strategies, often leading to a focus on certain types of crime or communities over others.

He also discusses the challenges of maintaining police legitimacy in a diverse and rapidly changing society. He notes that public trust in the police is contingent upon perceptions of fairness, accountability, and transparency. When police actions are perceived as politically motivated or biased, it can erode public confidence and hinder effective policing. The chapter underscores the importance of ensuring that policing practices align with democratic values and human rights, advocating for reforms that promote greater accountability and community involvement in policing decisions.

In conclusion, Wright posits that the future of policing depends on its ability to adapt to the complexities of modern society while upholding the principles of justice and equity. He calls for a reimagining of policing that moves beyond traditional models of control and enforcement, towards approaches that are more inclusive, transparent, and responsive to the needs of all communities. This vision entails a shift towards policing that is not only effective but also just and legitimate in the eyes of the public.

The central message of Alan Wright’s Policing: An Introduction to Concepts and Practice is that policing is a complex, multifaceted institution that cannot be understood simply as the enforcement of laws. Wright emphasises that the role of the police extends beyond catching criminals or maintaining order; it encompasses peacekeeping, crime investigation, risk management, and community justice, all of which are influenced by social, political, and cultural contexts. He stresses that effective policing requires balancing coercive power with legitimacy, ensuring that actions are proportionate, accountable, and aligned with the values of the communities served. Ultimately, Wright conveys that the future of policing depends on adaptability, ethical responsibility, and meaningful engagement with society, highlighting that policing is as much about cultivating trust and social cohesion as it is about maintaining law and order.

By the time we reach medieval Europe, the concept of policing began to take shape as Clive Emsley (1996) notes in The English Police: A Political and Social History. Communities appointed constables and watchmen — unpaid citizens responsible for ringing bells, chasing thieves, and shouting warnings into the dark. These early officers were less Sherlock Holmes and more “neighbourhood dads with torches.”

Then came Sir Robert Peel, the British Home Secretary who, in 1829, formally established the Metropolitan Police Service in London. His Principles of Law Enforcement marked a turning point, suggesting that policing should serve public consent rather than fear — a moral philosophy that distinguished “the police as citizens in uniform” rather than as soldiers of the state.

As Charles Reith (1956) later summarised in A Short History of the British Police, the essence of policing — whether in ancient Babylon or modern Jakarta — has always been the same: protecting people, enforcing norms, and maintaining peace. The methods may have evolved from clay tablets to digital databases, but the purpose remains timeless.

The establishment of a police force in any country is, at its core, a philosophical and practical response to the dual human needs for security and social order. Philosophically, the police exist to mediate the delicate balance between individual liberty and collective safety. They embody the social contract theorised by thinkers like Thomas Hobbes and John Locke, where citizens agree to cede certain freedoms in exchange for protection and the predictable enforcement of law. Without such an institution, societies risk descending into disorder, where the strong dominate the weak and chaos replaces justice.

Policing also serves as a tangible manifestation of the state’s authority. According to Herbert L. Packer (1968) in The Limits of the Criminal Sanction, the police operate at the intersection of law and morality: they are instruments of state power, yet ideally constrained by ethical norms and democratic oversight. The purpose is not merely to punish, but to prevent harm, maintain public trust, and provide a sense of predictability and stability. Without a credible police presence, the social contract itself becomes fragile, and citizens’ faith in justice and fairness erodes.

Moreover, modern scholars like Peter K. Manning (2008) in The Technology of Policing argue that the police are simultaneously symbols and enforcers of collective values. They communicate to society which behaviours are unacceptable, how rights are protected, and what is expected from both citizens and state institutions. Philosophically, then, the police are not just about enforcement; they are about the embodiment of social order, ethical norms, and the reassurance that, in a structured society, wrongs will be addressed, and individuals can coexist with confidence in each other’s safety.

In sum, the police exist because every society faces tension: between freedom and order, between individual action and collective responsibility, and between justice and power. Their raison d’être is to mediate these tensions, transforming abstract laws and moral expectations into lived realities that allow citizens to live without constant fear of violence, theft, or exploitation.

So, as President Prabowo prepares his ambitious reform of Indonesia’s police force, perhaps the story that began with a tired Mesopotamian guard still echoes today — reminding us that every reform, at its heart, is an attempt to make order out of the chaos that has followed humanity since the dawn of cities.

[Part 2]

Bahasa

Men and AI

Some anecdotes capture the dynamic between humans and AI:

A young software engineer once spent days teaching an AI program to compose music. The AI could generate technically perfect melodies, with harmonies mathematically flawless. Yet, when the engineer played the AI’s compositions for friends, the room felt… empty. There was no tension, no surprise, no heartbeat—no soul. Frustrated, the engineer sat at a piano, improvising a simple tune with mistakes here and there. To everyone’s surprise, the tiny imperfections made the music alive. The AI could calculate every note, but it could not replicate the human experience—the laughter, the hesitation, the joy, and sorrow—that gives music its power.

This story illustrates a key truth: AI can mimic human skill, but it cannot replace the essence of being human. Creativity, emotion, and moral judgement spring from lived experience, not algorithms. Humans give meaning; AI gives efficiency. The two work best together when humans guide, feel, and decide, while AI handles the repetitive and data-driven tasks.

There is another anecdote.

A famous chef entered a cooking contest against an AI-powered kitchen robot. The robot followed every recipe to perfection: precise weights, exact temperatures, flawless plating. When the judges tasted the dishes, they admitted the robot’s food was technically perfect—but lacked “heart.” The chef’s dish, a little messy, a bit too salty, and slightly burnt in spots, made the judges smile. “It tastes like someone actually cares,” they said. The robot could follow instructions, but only humans could infuse love and intuition into food.

Now, let's add another anecdote.

A literature student asked an AI to write a poem about love. The AI produced a beautifully structured sonnet with perfect meter and rhyme. When read aloud, it sounded cold and clinical. Then the student scribbled a messy poem in their notebook, full of clichés, broken lines, and run-on sentences. The poem made the listeners laugh, cry, and sigh. The AI had mastered the form, but humans mastered the feel. Emotions cannot be calculated—they must be experienced.

In truth, the fear that AI will replace every human job and skill is largely misplaced. Artificial intelligence is indeed capable of automating repetitive, data-driven, and highly structured tasks far more efficiently than humans ever could. However, the essence of humanity—the capacity to feel, to imagine, to judge ethically, and to connect emotionally—remains firmly beyond the reach of algorithms. No matter how advanced a machine becomes, it does not experience empathy, moral conflict, or inspiration; it merely simulates them based on patterns of data.

The professions that rely on uniquely human strengths are therefore the ones that AI cannot truly replace. These include roles requiring critical thinking and moral judgement, such as judges, diplomats, and leaders. Creative professions that demand originality, like writers, film directors, artists, and inventors, also depend on human intuition and emotional depth that no algorithm can replicate. Likewise, careers grounded in empathy—such as psychologists, teachers, counsellors, and caregivers—require authentic human connection, not mere programmed responses.

Furthermore, leadership itself is a profoundly human art. Inspiring people, creating visions for the future, and uniting diverse minds under a shared purpose cannot be reduced to data analysis or predictive models. Professions that demand adaptability in unpredictable environments, such as doctors in emergency units, firefighters, and negotiators, also thrive on improvisation and human instinct. Finally, craftsmanship and spiritual guidance—fields that draw upon human touch, artistry, and the search for meaning—will forever belong to people, not machines.

AI will change the landscape of work, but will never eliminate the need for the human mind, heart, and soul. The future is not about humans versus AI—it is about humans working with AI, while preserving what makes us irreplaceably human.

There are certain human skills and professions that artificial intelligence will never be able to replace, no matter how sophisticated it becomes. These are the areas where the essence of humanity—emotion, intuition, creativity, and moral judgement—plays a role that machines cannot imitate. While AI can analyse patterns and execute tasks with extraordinary precision, it lacks the inner consciousness that allows people to care, imagine, and take responsibility for the consequences of their choices.

Professions rooted in empathy and emotional intelligence are among the most irreplaceable. Teachers, therapists, social workers, and caregivers embody a level of understanding and compassion that algorithms cannot reproduce. Similarly, creative fields such as art, writing, music, film-making, and design rely on originality and emotional resonance, both of which stem from uniquely human experience. Even when AI generates images or text, it merely recombines fragments of what already exists—it does not feel or mean what it creates.

Leadership is another domain that belongs to humans. Inspiring others, making ethical decisions in times of uncertainty, and creating a vision that unites people around shared values are acts that depend on conscience and charisma, not computation. The same applies to roles that demand adaptability, quick moral reasoning, and improvisation—like emergency doctors, firefighters, or crisis negotiators—where intuition often matters more than data.

There are crafts and spiritual vocations that draw upon human touch and inner life: the artist shaping clay with feeling, the chef crafting flavours from memory, the cleric guiding hearts toward meaning. These are acts of soul, not code.

AI can assist, accelerate, and even mimic aspects of human work, but it cannot replace the human spirit that gives work its purpose and warmth. The most valuable skills of the future will not be those that compete with machines, but those that express what it truly means to be human.

In The Age of Em (2016, Oxford University Press), economist Robin Hanson imagines a future where human minds can be emulated by machines. Yet, even within this speculative vision, Hanson highlights the enduring importance of human motivation, emotion, and social behaviour—elements that cannot be perfectly duplicated through code. The book ultimately suggests that while technology may transform work, it cannot replace the human essence that gives purpose to it.

Hanson explores a future dominated by brain emulations, or “Ems,” and he paints a world in which work is radically transformed by technology. However, Hanson argues that technology, no matter how sophisticated, cannot fully replace the human essence that gives work its meaning. His reasoning is rooted in the idea that value is not merely a function of efficiency or productivity; it is deeply tied to human preferences, social interactions, and the personal sense of purpose that individuals derive from their activities. Even in a society where Ems can perform tasks faster and more accurately than biological humans, the intrinsic satisfaction, ethical judgment, emotional engagement, and cultural significance of work remain anchored in human consciousness. Hanson’s argument highlights that technology can replicate performance but cannot replicate the subjective experiences and moral frameworks that give human work its broader significance. In other words, machines might do the work, but they cannot fully inhabit the human narrative that makes that work meaningful.

Hanson imagines a future in which human brains can be scanned and uploaded into computers, creating emulations—“Ems”—that can think, act, and work like their biological originals but at vastly accelerated speeds. In this scenario, almost all labour, from intellectual to creative, could potentially be outsourced to Ems. Yet Hanson stresses that the human element—the messy, rich, emotional, and culturally embedded aspects of human experience—cannot simply be digitized. He argues that AI or Ems, while capable of performing tasks with extreme efficiency, cannot reproduce the subjective consciousness, personal satisfaction, or ethical judgment that shape human lives.

One of his key points is that human work derives meaning from social and moral contexts. People don’t just work to produce outputs; they work to solve problems, collaborate, express themselves, and participate in communities. Even if Ems can mimic behaviour, they may lack the authentic intentionality and emotional engagement that make work “human.” In other words, AI might be able to replicate what humans do, but it cannot fully replicate why humans do it in a socially and morally resonant way. Hanson also considers the psychological consequences: a society dominated by Ems might be hyper-efficient, but it could feel alien or hollow to biological humans because the very framework of meaning is tied to human experience, not just productivity.

Hanson’s reflections implicitly suggest a boundary for AI: technological progress can transform and augment human work, but the essence of being human—the consciousness, emotions, and social embeddedness that make life meaningful—cannot be outsourced or uploaded. The human-AI relationship, then, is not simply about substitution, but about how humans and AI coexist, complement each other, and maintain the domains of value that are inherently human.

Hanson suggests that while advanced AI, particularly brain emulations or “Ems,” could drastically transform work, society, and productivity, there is a fundamental limit to what technology can replace: the human essence. He emphasises that meaning, purpose, and value in life are not solely functions of efficiency, speed, or output. Rather, they are deeply tied to human consciousness, emotions, social interactions, and moral reasoning.

Hanson warns that a world dominated by AI or Ems may be technologically impressive but could risk eroding the subjective and ethical dimensions that make life meaningful for humans. In other words, even if machines can perform all the tasks humans do—and perhaps do them better—they cannot replicate the human experience of intentionality, satisfaction, and cultural significance. His underlying message is that AI should be seen as a tool to complement human capacities, not as a substitute for the qualities that define humanity.

In "The Heart of the Machine: Our Future in a World of Artificial Emotional Intelligence" (2017, Arcade Publishing), Richard Yonck explores the development of emotional AI and its potential to simulate empathy and emotional responses. However, he repeatedly stresses that genuine emotion and moral judgement remain uniquely human capacities. According to Yonck, even if AI learns to mimic compassion, it will never truly feel it—because emotion requires consciousness, something machines fundamentally lack.

Yonck explores the emerging field of emotional AI and its profound implications for human society. He argues that technology is no longer confined to cognitive tasks or data processing; it is increasingly capable of recognising, interpreting, and even responding to human emotions. Yonck warns that this development has both thrilling and unsettling consequences: machines could enhance human well-being, strengthen relationships, and transform industries like healthcare and education, yet they also risk manipulating, deceiving, or replacing aspects of human emotional life. The central message of the book is that as we develop emotionally intelligent machines, we must consciously shape the ethical, social, and personal frameworks that govern their use, ensuring they complement rather than diminish our humanity. Yonck emphasises that emotional intelligence is not merely a technical problem but a deeply human one, requiring reflection on our values, empathy, and the essence of connection.

In Reclaiming Conversation: The Power of Talk in a Digital Age (2015, Penguin Press), MIT professor Sherry Turkle argues that technology—and especially AI—has made us more connected but less capable of genuine human conversation. She contends that authentic dialogue, empathy, and moral reflection arise only through face-to-face interaction, not through programmed responses or digital convenience. Turkle’s work powerfully supports the view that emotional intelligence, ethical reasoning, and meaningful communication are distinctly human skills that no machine can truly reproduce. Her message is clear: as AI grows stronger, humanity must reclaim the art of conversation to preserve its moral and emotional depth.

Turkle argues that our growing dependence on digital communication—texts, social media, and instant messaging—is eroding our capacity for meaningful, face-to-face conversation. She emphasises that conversation is not just about exchanging information; it is the foundation for empathy, self-reflection, and deep human connection. Turkle warns that when we replace dialogue with digital interaction, we risk weakening our ability to understand others, manage emotions, and think critically. The central message of the book is a call to consciously reclaim the art of conversation, to prioritise presence, listening, and authentic dialogue in both personal and professional life, to preserve the emotional richness and moral depth of human relationships.

In Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow (2016, HarperCollins, Yuval Noah Harari explores humanity’s next great project: the pursuit of godlike powers through artificial intelligence and biotechnology. He suggests that as machines become capable of outperforming humans in analytical and mechanical tasks, the question of what remains uniquely human grows ever more urgent. Harari argues that emotions, consciousness, and moral awareness—qualities that emerge not from data but from subjective experience—may be the last bastions of humanity in an age dominated by algorithms. While AI might know what we feel, it will never know how it feels. This, Harari concludes, is the irreducible essence of being human: the capacity for self-awareness, empathy, and meaning, which no machine can ever replicate.

Yuval Noah Harari explores the possible futures of humanity, particularly as artificial intelligence and biotechnology advance at an unprecedented pace. He argues that as humans gain the power to manipulate life, consciousness, and intelligence, our traditional roles, beliefs, and ethical frameworks may be radically challenged. Regarding AI, Harari warns that algorithms could surpass human intelligence in critical domains, making decisions faster, more accurately, and sometimes more effectively than humans. This could lead to a world where humans are no longer the most intelligent or influential agents, raising profound questions about agency, purpose, and inequality. The central message is that AI and related technologies have the potential to redefine what it means to be human, and society must proactively address the ethical, social, and philosophical dilemmas that emerge alongside these advances.

Artificial Intelligence in Education: The Power and Dangers of ChatGPT in the Classroom (2024), edited by Amina Al-Marzouqi, Said Salloum, Mohammed Al-Saidat, Ahmed Aburayya, and Babeet Gupta, offers a comprehensive examination of the integration of ChatGPT and artificial intelligence (AI) in educational settings. It delves into both the transformative potential and the inherent risks associated with AI technologies in the classroom.

The editors present a multifaceted analysis, highlighting how AI, particularly ChatGPT, can enhance personalised learning experiences, automate administrative tasks, and provide instant feedback to students. These advancements promise to revolutionise traditional pedagogical approaches, making education more accessible and tailored to individual needs. However, the book also addresses significant concerns, including ethical dilemmas, data privacy issues, and the potential for AI to perpetuate biases. It emphasises the necessity for responsible implementation, ensuring that AI serves as a complement to, rather than a replacement for, human educators.

Furthermore, the book underscores the importance of empirical research and a global perspective to understand the diverse impacts of AI across various educational contexts. By compiling insights from multiple disciplines, the authors provide a nuanced view of AI's role in education, advocating for a balanced approach that maximises benefits while mitigating risks.

ChatGPT offers several advantages in educational contexts. It enables personalised learning experiences by adapting to individual student needs, facilitating differentiated instruction. The AI can provide instant feedback, aiding in formative assessments and supporting students' learning processes. Additionally, ChatGPT can assist in automating administrative tasks, such as grading and content generation, thereby allowing educators to focus more on pedagogy. Its integration into learning management systems enhances accessibility and engagement, offering interactive and dynamic learning environments.

Despite its benefits, ChatGPT poses several challenges. One significant concern is the potential erosion of critical thinking skills, as students might rely on AI-generated responses without engaging in deeper cognitive processes. There is also the risk of academic dishonesty, with students using ChatGPT to complete assignments without proper understanding or attribution. Furthermore, the AI's outputs can sometimes be inaccurate or misleading, leading to misinformation. Ethical issues arise regarding data privacy and the potential biases embedded in AI algorithms, which may perpetuate existing societal inequalities. The over-reliance on AI tools could also diminish the role of human educators, affecting the teacher-student relationship and the development of social and emotional learning.

While ChatGPT holds the promise of revolutionising education through enhanced personalisation and efficiency, its implementation must be approached with caution. Educational stakeholders should ensure that AI tools are used responsibly, maintaining a balance between technological advancement and the preservation of essential human elements in teaching and learning.

The editors offer several recommendations to mitigate the dangers associated with ChatGPT in educational settings. They emphasise a multi-layered approach that combines policy, pedagogy, and technology to ensure AI is used responsibly.

Firstly, the editors recommend embedding AI literacy into the curriculum so that students not only use tools like ChatGPT but also understand their limitations, potential biases, and ethical considerations. By teaching students critical evaluation skills, educators can reduce the risk of over-reliance and misuse.

Secondly, they advise developing clear institutional policies on AI use, including guidelines for academic integrity, data privacy, and responsible AI deployment. Such policies help maintain accountability and protect both students and educators from ethical and legal pitfalls.

Thirdly, the editors suggest employing AI as a complementary tool rather than a replacement for human teachers. By keeping educators at the centre of teaching, schools can preserve the relational and social aspects of learning that AI cannot replicate.

Finally, ongoing monitoring and evaluation of AI implementation are encouraged. This includes auditing AI outputs for accuracy, fairness, and bias, and continuously refining practices based on empirical evidence and feedback from both students and teachers.

In essence, the editors advocate for a balanced, thoughtful integration of ChatGPT in classrooms—leveraging its power while actively mitigating its risks, and ensuring human guidance remains central to education.

Artificial intelligence, when used thoughtfully and ethically, has the potential to significantly enhance human learning, teaching, and professional productivity, rather than replace it. For students, AI can serve as a personalised tutor, helping them grasp difficult concepts, practise skills, and receive immediate feedback tailored to their level of understanding. This allows learners to focus on critical thinking and creativity, rather than merely memorising information. For teachers, AI can streamline administrative tasks, analyse student performance data, and suggest personalised interventions, freeing educators to devote more time to mentoring, discussion, and fostering emotional engagement in the classroom.

For workers and professionals, AI can act as an intelligent assistant that manages routine tasks, organises information, and generates insights from large datasets. This enables humans to concentrate on strategic decision-making, problem-solving, and innovation—areas that require intuition, judgement, and empathy. In fields such as healthcare, law, or research, AI can provide evidence-based recommendations or predictive models, but it is ultimately the human professional who evaluates, contextualises, and acts upon that information. The key, therefore, is to view AI as a collaborator rather than a replacement, augmenting human capabilities while preserving the uniquely human qualities of judgement, creativity, and moral responsibility.

Several scholarly works support this perspective. Artificial Intelligence in Education (2020) by Wayne Holmes, Maya Bialik, and Charles Fadel argues that AI can personalise learning experiences and enhance teacher effectiveness. Sherry Turkle’s Reclaiming Conversation (2015) emphasises the importance of maintaining genuine human interaction in digital and AI-mediated environments. Finally, Yuval Noah Harari in Homo Deus (2016) underscores that the future of human work lies in leveraging AI while nurturing our irreplaceable emotional, ethical, and creative capacities.

Here's an anecdote: a young coder asked AI to generate a joke. It produced a perfectly structured pun… that no one laughed at. Only when the coder added a quirky twist and a silly face did the room erupt in laughter, proving once again that humans bring the magic machines simply can’t calculate.

The development of AI is inseparable from the growth of human knowledge and skills. AI does not evolve in a vacuum—it relies on human intelligence to design, program, and refine it. Therefore, the more humans cultivate their understanding, creativity, and critical thinking, the more effectively AI can serve humanity rather than control it. To gain maximum benefit from AI, humans must actively engage with it: learning how to interpret its outputs, integrating AI insights into decision-making, and constantly questioning and improving the systems we build. In other words, humans must be the guides and curators of AI, not passive users.

Moreover, human creativity and critical thinking remain the ultimate tools for advancing the welfare of society. These uniquely human faculties allow us to solve complex problems, envision better futures, and create innovations that respect ethical and social boundaries. By applying creativity, humans can design AI applications that address pressing global challenges—such as climate change, healthcare accessibility, or education—while preserving human values. Critical thinking ensures that we evaluate AI outputs carefully, challenge biases, and make moral decisions that technology alone cannot make. Together, creativity and critical reasoning empower humans to use AI as a force for collective benefit, not mere efficiency or profit.

As we navigate the quirky, fast-paced world of AI, it’s clear that humans remain irreplaceable, not because machines are weak, but because our emotions, humour, and improvisation are beyond computation. AI can crunch numbers, write reports, and even compose music, but it can’t laugh at a bad pun, feel the thrill of discovery, or get goosebumps from a sunrise. Our curiosity and critical thinking transform technology from a cold, efficient tool into a partner that can help us imagine, create, and care in ways machines never could on their own.

Even in the workplace, classroom, or studio, human creativity is the secret ingredient that makes life vibrant. AI can assist, suggest, and optimise, but humans infuse meaning, empathy, and ethical judgement. From inventing new ideas to solving urgent problems, our minds and hearts remain central to shaping the world. Ultimately, technology works best when guided by human insight, and our role is to harness AI for collective benefit without losing our uniquely human spark. 

And yes, “the human touch” is profoundly different from “the AI touch.” The human touch represents empathy, intuition, and emotional depth — the subtle qualities that arise from consciousness and lived experience. When a human creates art, writes a story, or comforts another person, there is a warmth that transcends logic. It’s filled with imperfection, but also with meaning. The human touch is not about efficiency; it’s about connection — an understanding that comes from feeling, not programming.

By contrast, “the AI touch” reflects precision, speed, and pattern recognition. AI can imitate style, compose music, or analyse emotions, but it does so without truly feeling them. Its touch is calculated, not compassionate; intelligent, but not intuitive. AI can reproduce the rhythm of humanity, but not its heartbeat. The difference lies not in what they produce, but in what they carry — humans bring intention and soul, while AI brings logic and data. Together, they can create harmony, but apart, only one of them can truly make something feel alive. 

Finally, we close this discussion with an anecdote: A manager relied on AI to schedule meetings, optimise workflows, and send reminders. Everything ran smoothly… until a big crisis hit: a client needed urgent attention, and none of the AI-generated schedules made sense under pressure. The human manager stepped in, called a meeting on the fly, and resolved the issue. AI could organise, predict, and analyse, but it could not improvise when life got messy. Humans are still the pilots; AI is the copilot.

Bahasa

Rethinking Cooperatives in the 21st Century (7)

Checking inflation isn’t as simple as walking into a market and claiming, “Inflation hasn’t risen.” Inflation is a complex economic indicator that measures the average increase in prices of a basket of goods and services over time. To properly monitor it, economists and statisticians collect data from a wide range of sources: retail prices, wholesale costs, energy, housing, healthcare, education, and more. They calculate the changes in prices systematically, often weighting items according to their importance in household consumption. The result is a comprehensive figure known as the Consumer Price Index (CPI), which provides an accurate picture of how the cost of living is changing across the economy. In short, inflation is tracked scientifically, not by anecdotal observations at the local market. 

By the way, why would a country prefer to maintain an economic growth rate of around five per cent rather than chasing figures as high as ten, fifteen, or even twenty-five per cent? The answer lies in the delicate balance between ambition and sustainability. While sky-high growth rates may look impressive on paper, they often come with hidden risks: inflation can spiral out of control, social inequality may widen, infrastructure can be overstretched, and natural resources might be depleted faster than they can be replenished. A steady five per cent, on the other hand, represents a “sweet spot” where progress is strong enough to improve living standards, create jobs, and attract investment, yet stable enough to avoid the destabilising shocks that extreme growth often brings. In essence, it is a deliberate choice to pursue quality over sheer speed, ensuring that prosperity is not just temporary but sustainable over the long term.

If a country manages to sustain an economic growth rate of 5% per year, it can bring about a range of significant positive outcomes, depending on its initial economic conditions, population dynamics, and governmental policies. Such growth often serves as a strong indicator of economic vitality and developmental momentum, provided it is managed with prudence and inclusivity.

A consistent 5% growth typically means a tangible increase in Gross Domestic Product (GDP). This rise can lead to higher per capita income, consequently improving the overall standard of living for citizens. With greater purchasing power and wider access to goods and services, people tend to experience enhanced economic security and well-being.

Steady growth also contributes to poverty reduction. As industries expand and businesses flourish, new employment opportunities emerge. When this economic expansion is paired with fair income distribution, lower-income groups gain better access to economic participation, ultimately reducing poverty levels and improving social mobility.

Moreover, a robust growth rate of 5% attracts both domestic and foreign investors. The influx of capital stimulates faster development in infrastructure, technology, and industrial sectors, generating a multiplier effect throughout the economy. This cycle of reinvestment strengthens economic resilience and diversifies the nation’s productive base.

In terms of fiscal capacity, such growth enhances government revenue through increased taxation and levies. With stronger fiscal stability, the state gains greater flexibility to finance infrastructure projects, education, healthcare, and social welfare programmes — all of which directly improve citizens’ quality of life and build long-term national capacity.

Economic growth at this level also tends to foster social and political stability. When people perceive tangible improvements in their livelihoods, public satisfaction rises, and the likelihood of social unrest diminishes — provided the benefits of growth are broadly shared and not concentrated among the elite few.

Furthermore, sustained economic expansion encourages technological progress and boosts productivity. Both industrial and service sectors become more efficient and globally competitive, allowing the country to integrate more effectively into international markets and adapt to emerging innovations.

It must be noted, however, that a 5% growth rate is not an automatic guarantee of prosperity. The positive outcomes depend largely on the quality of growth — how evenly it is distributed, how sustainable it is, and whether it is supported by sound policies. For instance, if growth relies heavily on a single sector or fails to ensure equitable development, it can actually exacerbate social inequality instead of reducing it.

Let us consider a practical illustration. Suppose Indonesia’s current Gross Domestic Product (GDP) stands at around USD 1 trillion, equivalent to approximately IDR 17,000 trillion based on an exchange rate of IDR 17,000 per US dollar.

A growth rate of 5% would then translate to an additional USD 50 billion, or about IDR 850 trillion, in just one year. This extra sum of national output could, if well managed, be channelled into transformative investments that directly improve the well-being of millions of citizens.

For instance, in terms of infrastructure, such an amount could finance the construction of thousands of kilometres of new toll roads, bridges, and modern public transport systems. Given that the average cost of building one kilometre of toll road ranges from IDR 50 to 70 billion, an additional IDR 850 trillion could theoretically build between 12,000 and 17,000 kilometres of toll roads — enough to connect remote regions and accelerate national logistics efficiency.

In the field of education, the same amount could be used to raise teachers’ salaries, build new schools, and expand access to higher education. If the annual cost of educating one student is around IDR 10 million, this additional funding could support 85 million students for an entire year — a monumental step towards a better-educated generation.

Regarding healthcare, IDR 850 trillion could fund the construction of new hospitals, the purchase of modern medical equipment, and the expansion of health insurance coverage. With the cost of building a major referral hospital at roughly IDR 500 billion, the country could build 1,700 new hospitals, dramatically improving access to quality healthcare.

As for investment and employment, such financial resources could be channelled into industry, small and medium enterprises (SMEs), and technological innovation. Assuming each investment project creates around 1,000 jobs, the IDR 850 trillion could generate millions of new employment opportunities, stimulating productivity and boosting household income.

In the area of social programmes, the same amount could enhance direct cash transfers, food subsidies, and poverty alleviation schemes. If each family were to receive IDR 1 million per month, IDR 850 trillion could sustain 70 million families for a full year, a move that would directly strengthen social resilience and purchasing power.

When we turn our attention to employment, a 5% economic growth rate can have a profoundly positive impact, though the exact outcome depends greatly on the underlying structure of the economy and the policies adopted by the government. The relationship between growth and job creation is not automatic—it relies on how inclusive, diversified, and labour-intensive that growth actually is.

Firstly, economic growth naturally increases the demand for labour. As the production of goods and services rises, companies require more workers to meet the growing market demand. Manufacturing industries, for instance, will need additional factory operators, technicians, and production managers, while service sectors such as transport, logistics, and tourism will expand their workforce to accommodate higher activity levels.

Secondly, growth often stimulates investment, which in turn creates new employment opportunities. When the economy shows consistent progress, it attracts both domestic and foreign investors. New factories are built, generating dozens or even thousands of jobs, while infrastructure projects — including roads, airports, and bridges — demand engineers, construction workers, and various forms of technical support staff.

Thirdly, a growing economy encourages the expansion of small and medium enterprises (SMEs) and start-ups. As consumers gain stronger purchasing power, their spending drives higher sales and market confidence. Simultaneously, access to credit and investment capital becomes easier, allowing entrepreneurs to expand operations. This leads to an increase in both formal and informal job opportunities, particularly in dynamic sectors such as retail, services, and technology.

Fourthly, growth not only influences the quantity of jobs but also their quality. With economic expansion comes the potential for higher wages, better working conditions, and greater access to skills training. Modern sectors — such as renewable energy, digital services, and advanced manufacturing — often emerge, providing employment that is both more stable and more rewarding.

However, there are also limitations and challenges. A 5% growth rate does not guarantee that job creation will be evenly distributed. If the growth is concentrated in capital-intensive sectors, such as mining or commodity exports, employment benefits may bypass the wider population. Similarly, rapid technological advancement and automation can replace human labour, resulting in job displacement. For this reason, governments must design inclusive policies, such as training subsidies, job placement programmes, and targeted investment in labour-intensive industries to ensure that growth translates into broad-based employment gains.

For illustration, let us take Indonesia as an example. Suppose a 5% growth adds USD 50 billion to the country’s GDP. If new investments and expansions in labour-intensive sectors generate one job for every USD 50,000 invested, this would create approximately one million new jobs in a single year. The number could be even higher if the funds are channelled into industries such as construction, manufacturing, and services, where employment absorption rates are much greater.

In conclusion, a 5% economic growth rate provides a substantial fiscal space for the government to improve living standards, expand infrastructure, and foster sustainable development, as long as the additional wealth is managed efficiently, transparently, and equitably.

In economics, there exists a practical boundary, often called a “sweet spot,” which represents the ideal range for healthy and sustainable growth. This number is not absolute, as it depends greatly on a nation’s economic structure, population size, and institutional stability. Nonetheless, economists generally agree on certain benchmarks that reflect the overall health of an economy.

When growth remains low, below roughly two to three per cent, it is usually considered suboptimal, particularly for developing countries. Such slow expansion often signals structural weaknesses or stagnation within key sectors. The consequences can be severe: high unemployment, minimal investment, and sluggish improvements in people’s purchasing power. In short, a low-growth economy struggles to provide meaningful progress for its citizens. Well, when we look at the figures from BPS reporting economic growth around five per cent, yet in reality unemployment remains high, investment is sluggish, and household purchasing power struggles to rise, it is reasonable to question these numbers. Upon closer examination, a growth rate of around 2.5 per cent seems far more plausible given these circumstances.

A moderate growth rate—typically between three and six per cent—is widely seen as both healthy and sustainable. This range is especially ideal for developing economies like Indonesia, where steady progress is vital for social and infrastructural development. Growth within this range tends to create new jobs, raise income per capita, and allow governments to invest more effectively in public services. For instance, many Southeast Asian countries deliberately target four to five per cent as their “sweet spot” to ensure balanced progress without overheating their economies.

When economic growth surpasses seven or eight per cent, it may seem like a golden era of rapid advancement. Investors flock in, living standards rise swiftly, and optimism fills the air. Yet such high growth rates are often accompanied by hidden risks. Inflation may spiral out of control if production cannot keep pace with demand. Economic inequality may widen if prosperity is concentrated in just a few booming sectors. Moreover, an overheated economy can put immense pressure on natural resources, infrastructure, and social stability.

In economics, “overheating” refers to a situation where an economy is growing too quickly, beyond its sustainable capacity, leading to imbalances and potential instability. Essentially, the economy’s productive resources — such as labour, capital, and infrastructure — are being used at or beyond their limits. When demand outpaces supply, it can trigger high inflation, asset bubbles, labour shortages, and pressures on natural resources. Overheating is risky because while short-term growth may look impressive, it often cannot be maintained without causing economic distortions or a sudden slowdown, sometimes resulting in a recession.

In practical terms, an overheating economy might see soaring prices, wages rising faster than productivity, long lines for skilled workers, and overburdened transport, energy, and housing systems. Policymakers often respond with measures like raising interest rates, tightening fiscal spending, or slowing credit growth to cool the economy down before it spirals out of control.

On the other end of the spectrum, negative growth—when the economy contracts—is clearly a sign of trouble. Shrinking output leads to job losses, declining purchasing power, and mounting social distress. If this persists, the country risks falling into a prolonged recession, eroding both confidence and resilience.

For developing nations, maintaining growth within the range of four to six per cent annually is generally considered both good and sustainable. It provides enough momentum to improve public welfare, expand employment, and fund infrastructure, while keeping inflation and inequality at manageable levels.

Let’s continue with a topic that doesn’t directly discuss cooperatives, but is very much connected to cooperative principles.

Together: The Rituals, Pleasures and Politics of Cooperation (2012, Yale University Press) by Richard Sennett explores the social and psychological foundations of human cooperation. Sennett investigates how people work together, not merely in economic or organisational terms, but in everyday life, through rituals, shared experiences, and mutual respect. He argues that cooperation is an essential human skill, cultivated through patience, trust, and social interaction, and that societies thrive when these cooperative practices are nurtured. The book also examines the obstacles to cooperation, such as inequality, isolation, and rigid hierarchies, suggesting that understanding the nuances of human collaboration can improve both personal relationships and collective institutions. Sennett sees cooperation as a skill, a pleasure, and a political act that shapes communities and human flourishing.

Sennett defines cooperation as more than just working together to achieve a goal. It is a complex human activity that involves patience, trust, respect, and shared understanding. Cooperation, in Sennett’s view, is both a skill and a social art: it requires people to engage with one another attentively, to negotiate differences, and to participate in rituals or repeated interactions that build mutual confidence. He emphasises that cooperation is not automatic; it flourishes only when individuals are willing to recognise the humanity of others and to invest in relationships over time. Furthermore, Sennett presents cooperation as a source of pleasure and political significance—it shapes communities, strengthens social bonds, and enables collective action in ways that purely hierarchical or transactional interactions cannot.

Sennett illustrates cooperation through simple, relatable scenarios. One example is a jazz band improvising together: each musician listens carefully to the others, adjusting their own playing to create harmony. This requires attention, patience, and a willingness to adapt—skills essential for cooperation. Another example is a neighbourhood project, like building a community garden. Neighbours negotiate tasks, share resources, and celebrate small successes together, turning mundane work into social bonding. Even in workplaces, Sennett notes that teams function best when members respect each other’s contributions and are willing to engage in small rituals, like daily check-ins or collaborative problem-solving sessions, which gradually build trust. Through these examples, he shows that cooperation is learned, practised, and experienced as a source of pleasure and shared accomplishment.

Sennett discusses the mental and emotional stance that enables genuine cooperation. He argues that cooperation is not just about external actions or rules, but about cultivating an internal attitude of attentiveness, empathy, and mutual respect. A cooperative frame of mind involves being alert to others’ needs, negotiating differences without hostility, and embracing the unpredictability inherent in human interactions. Sennett emphasises that this mindset is developed through practice, through repeated interactions, and through participating in shared rituals that foster trust. It allows people to collaborate effectively even when their goals or perspectives differ, and transforms cooperation from a mechanical task into a socially and emotionally rewarding experience.

Sennet argues that cooperation is not just an individual skill or choice, but is deeply shaped by the broader social environment. Social hierarchies, economic disparities, and segregated communities can hinder trust and make collaborative behaviour more difficult to sustain. Conversely, environments that encourage interaction, mutual respect, and shared purpose tend to foster cooperation more naturally. Sennett also reflects on the political and moral dimensions of this issue, suggesting that addressing social inequalities and creating spaces for inclusive engagement are essential for cultivating cooperative societies.

According to Sennet, cooperative relationships are inherently vulnerable, as they depend on continuous attention, trust, and mutual respect. Small misunderstandings, lapses in communication, or perceived slights can easily destabilise collaborative efforts. Sennett highlights that maintaining this balance requires both individual mindfulness and collective commitment, as well as recognition of the unpredictable nature of human interaction. The fragility of cooperation, he suggests, is not a weakness but an inherent feature, and learning to navigate it thoughtfully is part of developing social and emotional intelligence.

Sennet says that social and personal upheavals—such as economic instability, political turmoil, or shifting social norms—can unsettle established patterns of trust and collaboration. People often struggle to adapt their cooperative skills when familiar routines or expectations are disrupted, which can lead to conflict, withdrawal, or breakdowns in social cohesion. Sennett emphasises that developing resilience, flexibility, and an openness to learning from others is essential for maintaining cooperation in times of uncertainty. He presents the “unsettling” as both a risk and an opportunity: while it can threaten cooperation, it also pushes people to reflect, innovate, and renegotiate social bonds.

Sennet explores the various factors that cause human cooperation to become fragile and difficult to sustain. Sennett identifies three main contributors to this weakening. First, inequality—large disparities in wealth, power, or social status—undermines trust, because people are less likely to believe that others will act fairly or reciprocate their efforts. Second, the social triangle refers to societal structures in which power, prestige, and resources are concentrated among a small elite. This rigid hierarchy discourages mutual respect and collective engagement, shaping interactions in ways that promote competition rather than collaboration. Finally, the uncooperative self describes a psychological tendency in which individuals prioritise personal gain or self-interest over shared goals, particularly when social conditions reward such behaviour. According to Sennett, these factors—inequality, hierarchical structures, and self-interested behaviour—interact to weaken cooperation, creating an environment where trust is fragile and collaboration is constantly at risk. Addressing these challenges, he suggests, requires both social reform and the conscious cultivation of cooperative skills.

Let’s give concrete everyday examples of the three factors Sennett discusses. For inequality, imagine a workplace where top management receives huge bonuses while lower-level staff struggle with basic resources. Employees at different levels may feel resentful or distrustful, making team projects harder because people are less willing to cooperate or share ideas freely.

Regarding the social triangle, think of a community or organisation where only a few people hold power, prestige, and decision-making authority. Everyone else feels like they have to follow orders, and their contributions are undervalued. This rigid hierarchy discourages collaboration, as people focus on competing for attention or recognition rather than working together.

As for the uncooperative self, consider someone who constantly prioritises personal gain—perhaps taking credit for group achievements or withholding information to get ahead. When this behaviour is common, it undermines trust and makes others hesitant to collaborate, weakening the overall cooperative spirit.

Sennett uses these examples to show that cooperation isn’t automatic—it needs fairness, equality, and social habits that nurture trust, and without these, even skilled and well-intentioned people may struggle to work together effectively.

Sennet also discusses the factors that strengthen human cooperation. Sennett argues that cooperation flourishes when certain social, psychological, and cultural conditions are present. Key among these is trust, which is nurtured through repeated interactions, openness, and reliability; when people believe that others will act fairly and honour commitments, collaboration becomes more natural. Another critical factor is mutual respect, which allows individuals to recognise each other’s contributions and perspectives, reducing conflict and encouraging dialogue. Sennett also highlights the importance of shared purpose or common goals, which motivate people to work together beyond self-interest. Additionally, he stresses the role of rituals, routines, and social habits, which provide a predictable framework for interaction, reinforce trust, and create a sense of belonging. Finally, flexibility and adaptability—being willing to negotiate, compromise, and respond to change—help maintain cooperation even in complex or uncertain circumstances. Taken together, these factors cultivate a cooperative environment that is resilient, socially rewarding, and capable of sustaining collective efforts over time.

Now, let’s illustrate the factors that strengthen cooperation according to Sennett with concrete, everyday examples.

For trust, imagine a team at work where colleagues consistently deliver on their promises, share information openly, and follow through on commitments. Over time, everyone learns they can rely on each other, which makes collaboration smooth and enjoyable.

Regarding mutual respect, picture a community project, like organising a local festival. Even when people have different ideas, they listen to each other, value each person’s contribution, and negotiate differences without resentment. This respect keeps conflicts minimal and cooperation strong.

For a shared purpose, think of a volunteer group building a community garden. Everyone is motivated by the same goal—creating a space for the neighbourhood—and this common vision helps them work together, even if some tasks are tedious or challenging.

With rituals and routines, consider daily team stand-up meetings or weekly check-ins. These predictable social habits give structure to interactions, reinforce trust, and make people feel part of the team.

Finally, flexibility and adaptability appear when unexpected challenges arise—perhaps the garden project faces a sudden rainstorm or a budget cut. Members negotiate new plans, adjust their tasks, and keep collaboration going despite changing circumstances.

Sennett’s examples show that when trust, respect, shared goals, predictable rituals, and flexibility come together, cooperation becomes resilient, socially rewarding, and sustainable.

The main message Richard Sennett conveys in Together: The Rituals, Pleasures and Politics of Cooperation is that human cooperation is both essential and delicate, requiring conscious effort, social awareness, and emotional intelligence. He argues that cooperation is not automatic or guaranteed; it must be cultivated through trust, mutual respect, shared purpose, and repeated interactions. Sennett emphasises that social structures, inequality, and individualistic behaviour can easily weaken collaboration, while rituals, routines, and flexible engagement can strengthen it. Beyond being a practical skill, cooperation is also a source of pleasure, social bonding, and political significance, shaping communities and institutions in meaningful ways. Ultimately, Sennett’s work encourages readers to recognise the complexity of human collaboration and to actively foster environments—both personal and societal—where cooperative relationships can flourish and endure.

Richard Sennett’s exploration of cooperation aligns neatly with key ideas in cooperative theory. At its core, a cooperative thrives on trust, reciprocity, and shared goals—just as Sennett emphasizes that human collaboration requires patience, mutual respect, and rituals that build social bonds. For example, in a cooperative, members contribute not only capital or labor but also a commitment to the collective well-being, echoing Sennett’s argument that cooperation is a skill nurtured through social interaction.

Moreover, Sennett points out that rigid hierarchies and social inequalities hinder cooperation. In the context of cooperatives, this resonates with the idea that egalitarian decision-making and participatory governance are essential. Members must feel their voices matter; otherwise, the cooperative risks fragmentation. The “pleasure” aspect Sennett mentions—the joy of working together, celebrating small successes, or even engaging in shared rituals—mirrors the motivational factors that sustain cooperatives over time.

Finally, Sennett’s political dimension of cooperation—how collective action shapes communities and institutions—reflects the broader social purpose of cooperatives. Cooperatives do not exist in a vacuum; they strengthen local economies, foster solidarity, and cultivate civic responsibility. In both Sennett’s framework and cooperative practice, cooperation is not just a means to an end but a skill, a shared pleasure, and a political act.

[Part 8]
[Part 6]

Bahasa

Rethinking Cooperatives in the 21st Century (6)

If a young elephant were to challenge the bull, the encounter would be raw, grounded, and brutally honest. The elephant, still growing into its power, might rely on size and momentum, charging with youthful arrogance. But the bull, seasoned and compact, would not flinch. It would lower its head, brace its stance, and meet the charge with concentrated force. The clash would not be elegant—it would be dust, muscle, and stubbornness. And in that moment, the elephant would learn that brute strength without control is a liability. The bull may not win by overpowering, but by standing its ground, it teaches the elephant that maturity isn’t about being bigger—it’s about knowing when to push, and when to hold.

If the young elephant were to challenge the eagle, the battle would not be one of equals, but of contrasts. The elephant, still learning the weight of its own footsteps, might charge with brute enthusiasm, shaking the earth beneath. Yet the eagle, seasoned in the art of distance and precision, would never descend to meet the elephant head-on. Instead, it would rise higher, watching, waiting, striking only when the elephant’s guard falters. Victory, in this case, would not be measured by force, but by finesse. The eagle wins not by overpowering, but by outlasting—reminding the young elephant that strength without strategy is merely noise.

Well, when the young elephant, brimming with ambition yet lacking the wisdom of age, sets out to defeat the eagles and the bull, the lesson must be crafted not through brute force but through consequence. Let the eagles rise in coordinated flight, weaving circles above the elephant’s head, taunting not with violence but with elegance and speed. Let the bull, grounded and resolute, stand firm—not to charge, but to mirror the elephant’s own stubbornness. And when the elephant, confused and exhausted, finds itself outmanoeuvred in air and outmatched in resolve, it must stumble—not fall, but falter—long enough to realise that power without perspective is a lonely march. The true defeat lies not in bruises, but in the echo of silence when no one follows.

Back to our book discussion.

Claudia Sanchez Bajo and Bruno Roelants argue that while the previous chapters focused on the causes, mechanisms, and structural vulnerabilities of the financial crisis, this chapter shifts the focus toward solutions and practical examples. The authors introduce the concept that cooperatives — whether worker, consumer, or producer-based — embody principles of shared ownership, democratic governance, and long-term sustainability, which contrast sharply with the short-term, speculative incentives dominating conventional capitalism.

They emphasise that cooperatives are not merely idealistic or niche experiments, but have demonstrated real-world resilience during economic downturns. By introducing these examples, the authors aim to explore how cooperatives manage to balance financial viability with social purpose, protect members from the worst effects of debt crises, and provide an alternative pathway for economies to grow in a more sustainable and humane way. 

The authors highlight the critical role that cooperatives play both economically and socially across the globe. They argue that cooperatives are not marginal or niche actors; rather, they are major contributors to employment, wealth creation, and social cohesion in many countries. Economically, cooperatives generate substantial revenue, stabilise local economies, and provide goods and services that might otherwise be neglected by profit-driven corporations. They often operate in sectors such as agriculture, banking, housing, and retail, where they serve large populations efficiently and equitably.

Socially, the authors emphasise that cooperatives promote democratic participation, collective decision-making, and shared responsibility. Members are both owners and participants, which encourages long-term thinking, ethical practices, and social solidarity. Cooperatives also tend to be more resilient during economic crises, because their governance structures and member-focused missions reduce the pressure for short-term speculative gains. By combining economic efficiency with social purpose, cooperatives demonstrate that it is possible to pursue profitability without sacrificing community welfare or ethical standards. The authors use this subchapter to set up cooperatives as a practical and scalable alternative to the unsustainable, debt-driven practices of conventional capitalism.

The authors emphasise that cooperatives are significant economic actors worldwide. They argue that cooperatives generate substantial revenue, maintain stability in local and national economies, and provide goods and services in sectors that may be unattractive to profit-driven corporations. Cooperatives often operate in agriculture, banking, retail, housing, and energy, creating markets that might otherwise be underserved. Their model ensures that wealth generated stays within communities rather than being siphoned off to distant shareholders. By doing so, cooperatives contribute not only to GDP but also to the long-term resilience of economies, helping to prevent the boom-and-bust cycles typical of debt-driven capitalist systems.

The authors highlight that cooperatives have a strong social dimension. They create employment opportunities that are often more stable and inclusive than conventional firms, offering jobs with fair wages, benefits, and participatory governance. By involving members directly in decision-making, cooperatives foster skills development, empowerment, and social cohesion. Beyond jobs, cooperatives build social capital: they encourage collaboration, community engagement, and ethical responsibility. Their approach reduces inequality, gives a voice to marginalized groups, and strengthens the social fabric of society, making communities more resilient in times of economic crisis.

Sanchez Bajo and Roelants point out that many benefits of cooperatives escape conventional economic metrics like GDP or profit margins. These include trust, solidarity, social cohesion, ethical business practices, and empowerment of members. Cooperatives often address needs that are socially essential but not profitable — for instance, providing affordable housing, local banking, or community services. They also maintain employment in downturns when traditional firms might lay off workers. Such contributions enhance quality of life, reduce social tensions, and create a more stable and resilient society, yet they are largely invisible in conventional accounting and economic statistics.

The authors argue that cooperatives have demonstrated a remarkable ability to withstand economic shocks compared to conventional capitalist firms. They explain that the inherent structure of cooperatives — where members are both owners and participants in governance — aligns economic decision-making with long-term sustainability rather than short-term profit. This alignment reduces exposure to speculative financial practices and encourages prudent management of debt and resources.

They provide examples showing that during financial crises, cooperatives often maintain employment, continue to provide essential goods and services, and preserve community wealth. Their democratic governance and member-focused mission create incentives to prioritise collective well-being over risky ventures, making them less vulnerable to market volatility. The section concludes that cooperatives’ resilience is not accidental but a structural feature of their model, demonstrating that economic enterprises can combine financial stability with social responsibility.

The authors elaborate on how cooperatives are guided by a unique logic that differentiates them from conventional capitalist enterprises. They argue that to understand cooperative resilience and effectiveness, one must examine both their international standards and operational principles, which together constitute the “cooperative rationality.”

Firstly, the international cooperative standards provide a framework that defines what a cooperative is and ensures that cooperatives adhere to principles of member ownership, democratic governance, and social responsibility. These standards serve as a global reference, allowing cooperatives to maintain their identity while operating in diverse economic and cultural contexts.

The first layer of cooperative rationality: the international definition emphasises the legal and conceptual recognition of cooperatives. It clarifies that cooperatives are enterprises owned and controlled by their members, who share in both benefits and responsibilities. This definition underlines the cooperative commitment to collective welfare, participatory decision-making, and the prioritisation of members’ needs over profit maximisation.

The second layer of cooperative rationality: the operational principles, focuses on how cooperatives function in practice. These principles — such as voluntary membership, democratic member control, member economic participation, autonomy and independence, education and training, cooperation among cooperatives, and concern for community — guide daily decisions and long-term strategy. They ensure that cooperatives remain mission-driven, sustainable, and socially responsible, even under economic stress. Together, these layers explain why cooperatives can maintain resilience and fairness, demonstrating that their rationality is not merely financial but deeply social and democratic.

The authors explicitly define cooperative values and list the key principles that underpin them. They define cooperative values as the core ethical and moral beliefs that guide how cooperatives operate and how members interact with each other. These values form the foundation for cooperative governance, decision-making, and social responsibility, distinguishing cooperatives from conventional profit-driven firms.

The authors explicitly enumerate the main cooperative values as:

1. Self-help–members take initiative to improve their own and collective well-being.
2. Self-responsibility–members are accountable for their actions within the cooperative.
3. Democracy–each member has a voice in decision-making processes.
4. Equality–all members are treated fairly and have equal opportunities.
5. Equity–benefits and responsibilities are distributed fairly among members.
6. Solidarity–members support each other and act with social cohesion.

They explain that these values are not just abstract ideals; they actively shape cooperative behaviour, governance, and outcomes. They are the ethical backbone that allows cooperatives to pursue economic objectives while also promoting social welfare, trust, and long-term resilience.

They emphasise that cooperative values are the moral and ethical foundation that distinguishes cooperatives from conventional capitalist enterprises. They argue that values such as self-help, self-responsibility, democracy, equality, equity, and solidarity guide not only the governance of cooperatives but also the behaviour of their members in daily operations. These values ensure that decisions are made with the collective interest in mind, rather than for the benefit of external shareholders or short-term profit maximisation.

The authors stress that cooperative values are not just symbolic ideals; they actively shape economic and social outcomes. For example, the value of solidarity encourages members to support each other during financial or operational difficulties, while democratic participation ensures that all voices are heard and that management is accountable. Equity and fairness reduce internal inequality and foster trust among members, which contributes to the long-term resilience of the enterprise. By embedding these values into their structure, cooperatives align economic activity with social purpose, showing that business success can coexist with ethical responsibility and community welfare.

The authors describe mutuals as a kind of economic organisation that shares a spiritual kinship with cooperatives but differs slightly in its structure and purpose. They explain that while both mutuals and cooperatives are founded on principles of solidarity, self-help, and collective benefit, mutuals usually concentrate on providing specific services—such as insurance, finance, or healthcare—to their members, rather than engaging in broader productive or commercial activities.

According to the authors, mutuals are owned and governed by their members, who are simultaneously the users of the services they provide. The primary aim of these organisations is not profit maximisation, but rather the mutual protection and welfare of their participants. In this sense, mutuals embody an alternative economic rationality, where trust, reciprocity, and shared responsibility replace the competitive individualism typical of capitalist firms.

Bajo and Roelants further highlight that mutuals, much like cooperatives, represent a more human-centred model of enterprise. They illustrate how these organisations weathered the global financial crisis more resiliently because they prioritised stability and member security over speculative gains. Mutuals, therefore, stand as living proof that sustainable economics can emerge from community-driven initiatives rather than market greed.

The authors explain that mutuals are indeed close relatives of cooperatives, sharing many structural and ethical similarities. Both are owned and controlled by their members, and both operate not for the maximisation of profit but for the benefit of those who participate in them. However, the authors emphasise that while cooperatives are built upon a broad philosophy of social transformation and community empowerment, mutuals tend to have a narrower scope, focusing mainly on providing specific services such as insurance, finance, or healthcare to their members.

They note that mutuals arise from a spirit of mutual aid—a shared sense of solidarity among members seeking to protect one another from economic uncertainty. Yet, unlike cooperatives, mutuals do not always adhere to the full range of the International Co-operative Alliance (ICA) principles, which include ideas such as democratic control, member economic participation, and concern for the wider community. Thus, while mutuals embody the idea of shared benefit, cooperatives represent a deeper rationality — one that blends economic participation with moral and social responsibility, aiming to contribute not only to the welfare of members but also to the advancement of society as a whole.They note that mutuals arise from a spirit of mutual aid — a shared sense of solidarity among members seeking to protect one another from economic uncertainty. Yet, unlike cooperatives, mutuals do not always adhere to the full range of the International Co-operative Alliance (ICA) principles, which include ideas such as democratic control, member economic participation, and concern for the wider community. Thus, while mutuals embody the idea of shared benefit, cooperatives represent a deeper rationality — one that blends economic participation with moral and social responsibility, aiming to contribute not only to the welfare of members but also to the advancement of society as a whole.

The authors present mutuals as a kind of “sibling institution” to cooperatives: similar in spirit, but more pragmatic and limited in ambition. Where cooperatives dream of reshaping the economy for collective good, mutuals simply strive to make the risks of life a little more bearable.

The authors argue that cooperatives cannot be understood merely as business entities; rather, they must be viewed as political and social actors embedded within the larger dynamics of capitalism. They stress that cooperatives emerge not simply to compete in the market, but to challenge the dominant economic logic—a system that prioritises profit over people, accumulation over equality, and speculation over production.

The authors propose that cooperatives operate within what they call a “dual nature”: on the one hand, they function in the same market system as capitalist enterprises, forced to deal with competition, pricing, and financial pressures; yet on the other, they uphold a distinct set of values—democracy, solidarity, and collective ownership—which push against the individualism and hierarchy typical of capitalism. This duality makes cooperatives both part of the system and a quiet form of resistance against it.

Bajo and Roelants also highlight that from a political economy perspective, cooperatives represent a redistribution of power within the economy. By giving workers and members control over decision-making and profits, cooperatives democratise economic life and provide an alternative model of governance—one that could, in the long run, help rebalance society’s relationship between capital, labour, and community.

Claudia Sanchez Bajo and Bruno Roelants present the Natividad Island Divers’ and Fishermen’s Cooperative as a compelling example of how small-scale, community-driven cooperatives can effectively manage natural resources to generate sustainable wealth. Located off the Pacific coast of Baja California, Mexico, Isla Natividad is a small, arid island inhabited by approximately 400 people, primarily dependent on artisanal fishing for their livelihoods. The cooperative, officially known as Sociedad Cooperativa de Producción Pesquera Buzos y Pescadores de Baja California, holds a government concession granting them exclusive rights to exploit the surrounding marine areas.

The cooperative's primary activity involves the harvesting of abalones, a rare and highly valued shellfish. Divers use a hookah system, spending four to five hours daily underwater, assisted by colleagues on small boats. This method allows divers to earn substantial incomes, with some earning up to US$10,000 per month, significantly higher than the national average. The cooperative's success is attributed to its democratic governance, collective ownership, and a strong commitment to sustainable fishing practices.

The cooperative's economic model emphasises the equitable distribution of profits among members, fostering a sense of community and shared responsibility. By controlling the entire production chain—from harvesting to marketing—the cooperative ensures that the benefits of their labour remain within the community. This approach not only enhances economic stability but also strengthens social cohesion, as members collaborate to maintain and improve their shared resources.

Recognising the vulnerability of marine ecosystems, the cooperative has implemented measures to ensure the long-term viability of its fishing grounds. They have established marine reserves and conduct regular monitoring to assess the health of marine life. These initiatives are supported by scientific organisations such as Comunidad y Biodiversidad A.C. (COBI) and the Reef Check Foundation, which provide training and resources for data collection and analysis. This proactive approach to environmental stewardship has contributed to the resilience of the cooperative's operations, even in the face of challenges like climate change and overfishing.

Despite their successes, the cooperative faces ongoing challenges, including the impacts of climate change, fluctuating market demands, and the need for continuous investment in sustainable practices. The cooperative has adapted by diversifying its activities, exploring alternative species for cultivation, and engaging in community-based conservation efforts. These strategies not only mitigate risks but also enhance the cooperative's capacity to respond to environmental and economic changes.

The Natividad Island Divers’ and Fishermen’s Cooperative exemplifies how small-scale, community-based organisations can effectively manage natural resources to generate wealth and promote social well-being. Through democratic governance, sustainable practices, and a strong sense of community, the cooperative has created a model that balances economic success with environmental and social responsibility. Their experience offers valuable insights for other communities seeking to develop sustainable livelihoods while preserving their natural heritage. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4zJKKca5Dc]

Ultimately, the authors convey a central message that economic enterprises can thrive without abandoning social responsibility, democratic governance, or environmental stewardship. They argue that the global financial crisis exposed the vulnerabilities of conventional capitalist firms, which prioritise short-term profits and speculative gains over long-term sustainability and community welfare. Through detailed case studies of cooperatives, including the Natividad Island Divers’ and Fishermen’s Cooperative, the authors illustrate that alternative models of economic organisation — grounded in collective ownership, member participation, and ethical values — can generate wealth while protecting both people and the environment.

The book’s broader point is that cooperatives are not marginal or quaint exceptions, but rather viable and scalable alternatives that demonstrate how markets can function in harmony with society. By highlighting cooperatives’ resilience, ethical framework, and commitment to sustainability, the authors challenge the assumption that profit maximisation must come at the expense of social good. Ultimately, they advocate for an economic paradigm where shared responsibility, democratic decision-making, and long-term thinking guide business practices, showing that human-centred economics is not only possible but necessary in the modern world.

[Part 7]
[Part 5]

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