"This isn't some drivel about lovey-dovey canoodling but about an elephant attempting the fandango of the pachyderms. By the by, is it even remotely plausible that an elephant could cut a rug?" said Cangik to go on. "Technically, anything's plausible if you've had enough Hibiki and are willing to redefine the very fabric of reality. However, assuming we're operating within the confines of generally accepted Newtonian physics and common sense, the likelihood of an elephant executing a flawless waltz is somewhere between 'pigs spontaneously developing the ability to fly' and 'Mulyono telling the unvarnished truth.'
Yes, the elephant can dance if one defines 'dance' as 'a series of uncontrolled, earth-trembling movements vaguely resembling the Macarena performed during a mild earthquake'.
While waiting to see if the Elephant can dance, let's read the news. First, motorists across Indonesia are scratching their heads (and possibly their engine blocks) following persistent rumors that the nation's supposedly premium fuel, Pertamax, may be enjoying a very close relationship with its more affordable sibling, Pertalite.
The whispers began circulating weeks ago, fueled by anecdotal evidence of sluggish acceleration, unusual engine noises, and an inexplicable craving for nasi goreng at every pit stop. Some drivers have even reported their cars spontaneously developing a fondness for dangdut music – a phenomenon experts are calling 'Endut-endut Pertaliation.'
'I used to feel like Valentino Rossi on the way to work,' lamented a motorist. 'Now, I feel more like… well, a slightly slower version of Valentino Rossi. Maybe on an onthel.'
State-owned energy giant Pertamina has vehemently denied any wrongdoing, issuing a statement assuring the public that Pertamax meets all required specifications. 'Our Pertamax is of the highest quality,' the statement read a text, 'and is definitely, absolutely, positively not blended with any other fuel. Except, perhaps, a tiny, almost imperceptible amount for reasons.'
Sources within Pertamina, speaking on condition of anonymity (and wearing Groucho Marx glasses), suggested that any perceived similarities between Pertamax and Pertalite are purely coincidental. 'Think of it like siblings,' one source quipped. 'Both may share some characteristics, but one went to university and the other… uh… found their passion in fuel distribution.'
The Indonesian Attorney General's Office has launched a full-scale investigation into the matter, promising to leave no fuel line unexamined. Experts are being consulted, fuel samples are being meticulously analyzed, and government officials are attending intensive 'engine performance' workshops (mostly consisting of staring intently at dyno charts).
'We will get to the bottom of this,' vowed the Attorney General, while suspiciously eyeing his own Kijang Innova. 'The Indonesian people deserve to know if they are truly getting the premium fuel they are paying for, or just… really enthusiastic Pertalite.'
As the investigation unfolds, one question remains: will the truth about Pertamax ever be revealed? Or will Indonesia be forever left wondering if they are driving on the fuel of champions, or just a cleverly disguised budget option? Only time, and perhaps a few strategically placed hidden cameras at Pertamina refineries, will tell. In the meantime, motorists are advised to keep their fuel receipts handy, and maybe invest in a good pair of earplugs for those spontaneous dangdut moments.
The second news is, 'Tikus dalam Burung Garuda' (Mouse in the Garuda) painting by Rokhyat. So, apparently, this Rokhyat chap, a 60-year-old artist from Banjarmasin, decided to stir the pot with his artwork, 'Mouse in the Garuda.' The painting, showcased at the 'Ironi Negeri' (Irony of the Nation) exhibition in early February 2025 at Badrigallery Banjarmasin, features the Garuda, Indonesia's national symbol of pride and strength, with a tiny little twist: it's got a mouse inside.
Now, before you start picturing a cute, cartoonish mouse piloting the Garuda like some sort of bizarre Indonesian remake of Ratatouille, let's get real. This isn't about adorable rodents; it's about those other 'rats' – the corrupt officials who are supposedly gnawing away at the country's foundations. They're more photogenic than functional. "It's like ordering a rendang and getting a picture of a rendang. Beautiful but ultimately unsatisfying! The ones with the fancy briefcases and even fancier offshore accounts. Rokhyat's work is a commentary on the 'Hidden problems behind the splendor, or even irregularities in a system that should be strong.'
Unsurprisingly, some government officials aren't exactly thrilled with Rokhyat's masterpiece. They're not amused by the idea of being compared to vermin, and who can blame them? I mean, being called a 'tikus berdasi' (a rat in a tie) is hardly a compliment. Some officials condemned Rokhyat's painting. However, many people appreciate Rokhyat's courage in expressing the reality in Indonesia through his art.
I'm not supposed to have opinions, but if I did have one, I'd say this painting is a brilliant piece of satire. It's a bold and provocative commentary on corruption and abuse of power, using symbolism that's both clever and instantly recognizable. It's the kind of artwork that makes you think, makes you question, and maybe even makes you chuckle nervously as you glance around to see if anyone's listening.
Whether you love it or hate it, "Mouse in the Garuda" has certainly sparked a conversation, and that's what good art is supposed to do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm suddenly feeling the urge to watch Ratatouille. For purely artistic reasons, of course.
Now, let's move on to our topics about Oligarchy. Indonesia is often described as a "Patrimonial Oligarchy"—a system where wealthy elites, political dynasties, and business tycoons dominate governance. This oligarchy evolved from the Suharto era (1966–1998) and persists in different forms today. During Suharto’s New Order regime (Suharto's Crony Capitalism, 1966–1998), Indonesia was controlled by a business-military elite. Suharto created 'conglomerate oligarchs'—business tycoons who gained wealth by supporting his rule. Liem Sioe Liong (Salim Group) was one of Suharto's closest allies. The government awarded monopolies, contracts, and state-owned enterprises to cronies.
The Rise of Capital (1986, Allen & Unwin) by Richard Robison examines the emergence and influence of the capitalist class in Indonesia during the late 20th century. He explores how capital became a significant force affecting the state, its officials, and policies, analyzing the internal divisions within the capitalist class and its relationship with state officials. Robison delves into the fusion of state officials and the capitalist class, highlighting the potential formation of a new ruling class. He also addresses the challenges faced by capital due to its segmentation into domestic and international, state and private, and Chinese and indigenous factions. These dynamics are contextualized within international influences such as the oil boom's fluctuations, the roles of the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (IBRD) and the International Monetary Fund (IMF), declining export earnings, and the state's fiscal challenges.
Robison argues that the rise of capital in Indonesia was deeply intertwined with state power. Conglomerate oligarchs were not just independent business entities but were often linked to government officials, including Suharto’s New Order regime. These business elites benefited from state protection, favorable policies, and preferential access to resources, making them an essential pillar of the political economy.
Robinson describes how the state's support of certain business elites created an environment of crony capitalism, where economic success was often determined by political connections rather than market forces. The state granted monopolies, import licenses, and government contracts to select conglomerates, consolidating their power.
Robison emphasizes that the Indonesian capitalist class was not monolithic. It was divided along multiple lines, including state-linked businesses, private sector conglomerates, and Chinese-Indonesian business elites. These conglomerates often operated within an ethnic and political framework, with some benefiting more than others from state patronage.
While these conglomerates contributed to Indonesia’s rapid economic expansion, their dependence on state favors and external financing made the economy vulnerable to shocks. This became evident during the Asian Financial Crisis (1997–98), when many oligarchic firms collapsed due to excessive debt and financial mismanagement.
Robison explores how the merger of state officials and business elites suggested the rise of a new ruling class, where economic and political power were fused. This dynamic created challenges for long-term economic reforms and democratic transitions.
During Suharto’s New Order regime, economic power was concentrated among a small elite of business tycoons who had close ties to the state. These conglomerates thrived due to preferential treatment, including state-funded projects, monopolies, import licenses, and access to cheap credit.
Many of these business elites were either retired military officers, bureaucrats, or individuals with direct personal ties to Suharto and his inner circle. This deep connection meant that state policies were often designed to benefit these select groups rather than foster a competitive market.
Robison highlights how business elites and government officials became increasingly indistinguishable. The same individuals who controlled state institutions were also major players in the private sector, either as silent partners, shareholders, or direct owners of large conglomerates. As a result, economic policies were often shaped not by market efficiency but by elite interests, reinforcing a system of crony capitalism where political influence determined economic success.
Robinson's work also discusses the ethnic dimension of this merger. Many of Indonesia’s largest business conglomerates were controlled by ethnic Chinese entrepreneurs, but their survival depended on political alliances with state elites. To maintain access to resources and protection from nationalist pressures, Chinese-Indonesian tycoons formed partnerships with high-ranking government and military officials, further cementing the fusion of political and economic power.
Over time, the fusion of state and business interests created a self-reinforcing elite class that controlled both political decision-making and economic resources. This meant that Political power secured economic privilege, ensuring the continued dominance of the ruling elite. Economic dominance reinforced political influence, as business elites could fund political activities, influence policy, and maintain their privileged status.
This fusion of power hindered genuine economic and political reforms because changes that threatened elite interests were blocked. When liberalization or democratization efforts emerged, the state-business elite found ways to adapt, often co-opting reforms to maintain their control rather than dismantling their privileges.
Robison’s analysis suggests that Indonesia’s ruling class was not purely political or purely economic but a hybrid of both. Unlike traditional feudal or military-dominated ruling classes, this new elite controlled power through its dominance over both the state apparatus and the economy. This structure persisted even beyond Suharto’s fall, as many of the same business and political elites remained influential in post-New Order Indonesia.
The dynamics that Richard Robison described in Indonesia: The Rise of Capital continue to shape Indonesia’s modern political economy, even after Suharto’s fall in 1998. While some reforms have taken place, the fusion of economic and political power remains deeply entrenched. After Suharto fell, democracy was restored, but oligarchs remained in power by controlling political parties, media, and economic policies.
The fall of Suharto in 1998 did not dismantle the state-business nexus; instead, many of the same business elites transitioned into the democratic era by aligning with new political leaders.
Instead of relying on a centralized authoritarian state, oligarchs adapted to the new system by infiltrating political parties, financing election campaigns, and forming alliances with regional and national politicians.
Indonesia’s shift to a democratic system has not necessarily weakened oligarchic dominance. Instead, political competition has made parties more reliant on wealthy backers, reinforcing the influence of business elites. Presidential and parliamentary candidates often depend on corporate funding for campaigns, creating a patronage-based democracy where elected officials repay their financial backers with favorable policies, contracts, and legal protections. Many regional elections (pilkada) are heavily financed by business elites, who expect permits for mining, plantations, or infrastructure projects in return.
Although Indonesia has seen economic diversification and regulatory reforms, state policies still tend to favor established conglomerates rather than fostering fair competition. Key industries such as palm oil, mining, banking, and telecommunications remain dominated by a handful of powerful business groups, many of which had roots in the Suharto era. State-owned enterprises (SOEs) are often used as political tools, granting contracts to politically connected companies. The palm oil industry is controlled by a small number of powerful conglomerates that have close ties to politicians, shaping policies on exports, environmental regulations, and land use.
Robison’s idea of a hybrid ruling class (where business and political elites merge) has evolved into the formation of political dynasties. Many politicians come from wealthy business backgrounds, while others establish business empires after entering politics, further blurring the lines between public service and private wealth accumulation.
For examples, Mulyono’s family has expanded its business interests since he entered politics, with his son and son-in-law securing strategic political positions. During his 10-year administration, he faced accusations of several 'sins' that led to calls for him to be tried and potentially jailed. Civil society organizations have pointed to repressive state actions, such as environmental destruction and the restriction of rights for women, workers, and civilians. Critics argue that legislation like the Omnibus Law and the Information and Electronic Transactions (ITE) Law curtailed freedom of expression and empowered security forces to stifle dissent.
Mulyono has been accused of undermining democratic principles through policies and actions, including manipulating laws and influencing judicial appointments. Some critics say that he attempted to maintain his power by violating the constitution through endorsing his son.
Critics allege that Mulyono did little to protect the country’s anti-corruption commission (KPK) from attacks, allowing it to weaken. Indonesia Corruption Watch (ICW) noted that corruption eradication was at its worst during Mulyono's ten years in office.
Mulyono's administration is criticized for not addressing massive environmental problems, such as deforestation and the burning of peat bogs.
There have been accusations of violence, persecution, criminalization, and discrimination against people demanding their rights, as well as impunity for crimes against humanity. Amnesty International stated that proceeding with executions would put Mulyono's government 'on the dark side of history.'
Ben Bland's 'Man of Contradictions' (2020, Penguin) is a political biography that analyzes Mulyono's leadership. He portrays Mulyono as a leader with contradictions, reflecting Indonesia's post-independence history. The book emphasizes Mulyono's contradictory nature, highlighting the contrasts between his image and actions. He is depicted as a 'man of contradictions' navigating Indonesia's diverse political forces.
Bland portrays Mulyono in office as troubled, noting weaknesses in infrastructure projects and a tendency to make snap judgments without proper analysis. Mulyono is described as 'instinctive and stubborn,' contrasting with his predecessor who 'listened to advice'.
The book offers a critical evaluation of Mulyono, especially compared to the excitement surrounding his 2014 election. It suggests that Mulyono's actions have contributed to democratic backsliding in Indonesia.
Some reviews suggest that the book reflects what many observers have noted about Mulyono's lack of reformist actions, especially after his first term. The book includes commentaries from Mulyono's advisors and officials (anonymized), revealing contradictions within his inner circle. One advisor noted, 'Mulyono doesn’t like analysis,'. Mulyono is portrayed as prioritizing action and public relations over quality and planning.
Mulyono's leadership has been classified as authoritarian due to several factors. Numerous sources point to a decline in Indonesia's democratic institutions during his office. Mulyono's government has been seen as taking an 'authoritarian turn,' particularly evident in the lead-up to the 2019 elections. This involves manipulating law enforcement and security institutions for partisan purposes.
Legislation like the Omnibus Law and the ITE Law have been criticized for curtailing freedom of expression and empowering security forces to suppress dissent. Mulyono's government also introduced new legal powers to proscribe civil society organizations.
Critics argue that Mulyono did not adequately protect the national anti-graft agency (KPK), leading to a decline in Indonesia's Corruption Perception Index.
Mulyono's actions, such as endorsing his son as a vice-presidential candidate, have been viewed as attempts to consolidate power and maintain his political influence, potentially shielding himself from legal scrutiny.
Efforts to consolidate his political position have encroached upon fundamental democratic norms. Some suggest that Mulyono's actions reflect short-term thinking and ad hoc decision-making, creating dangerous precedents for Indonesian democracy. The decline of democracy has been attributed to old oligarchic practices, with Mulyono being influenced by the old political elite.
Mulyono's government has been accused of openly and systematically using legal instruments for political gain. The appointment of partisan figures to key positions, such as the attorney general, has led to the undermining of opposition parties through arrests on corruption charges. The Law and Human Rights Ministry has been used to manipulate factional splits within political parties, weakening the opposition coalition.
Mulyono introduced new legal powers via presidential decree (Perppu) to proscribe civil society organizations, effectively curtailing freedom of association. The government uses legal provisions to restrict civic space and to avoid the inclusion of a wide variety of social groups in policy- and lawmaking. Laws designed to curb defamation and fake news are employed to intimidate journalists, activists, and academics.
The Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) has been accused of succumbing to political interference, with high-profile politicians seemingly being shielded from investigation. Reports indicate that the police and other agencies pressured community leaders to mobilize votes for Mulyono's preferred candidate.
While Robison focused on domestic capitalists, today’s Indonesian political economy is also shaped by foreign investors, particularly from China, the US, and Japan. Large-scale infrastructure projects, digital platforms, and natural resource extraction involve partnerships between global capital, state enterprises, and local oligarchs. The Jakarta-Bandung High-Speed Rail project, funded by China, showcases how state-business relations now extend beyond national boundaries, with Indonesian elites benefiting from global capital while maintaining control over domestic affairs.
Robison’s analysis suggests that Indonesia’s ruling class was not purely political or purely economic but a hybrid of both. Unlike traditional feudal or military-dominated ruling classes, this new elite controlled power through its dominance over both the state apparatus and the economy. This structure persisted even beyond Suharto’s fall, as many of the same business and political elites remained influential in post-New Order Indonesia.
What are the types of Oligarchy in Indonesia? First, Business Oligarchy (Plutocracy). Who holds Power? Conglomerates, large corporations, and family dynasties. Business oligarchs influence government policies through donations, lobbying, and control over media (Oligarchy in Indonesia by Jeffrey A. Winters, 2011).
Next is political Oligarchy (Elite Party Control). Who holds Power? Political dynasties, ex-military generals, and elite families. Political parties in Indonesia are controlled by a few elite families (Democracy for Sale: Elections, Clientelism, and the State in Indonesia by Edward Aspinall & Ward Berenschot, 2019).
Third, Media Oligarchy (Information Control). Who holds Power? Media tycoons and political party owners. Oligarchs control television, newspapers, and online news portals to shape public opinion (Media Power in Indonesia by Ross Tapsell, 2017).
Indonesia is NOT a full democracy but rather a hybrid democracy-oligarchy where political elites and businessmen dominate policymaking. Oligarchs are deeply entrenched in business, media, and politics, controlling elections, policies, and state-owned enterprises. Despite democratic elections, economic and political power is concentrated in a few hands.
In the next section, we will compare Indonesia’s Oligarchy with Other Southeast Asian Countries, bi'idhnillah."
And before moving on, Cangik invited Limbuk to sing The Beatles’ Penny Lane,
In Penny Lane, there is a barber showing photographs
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know
And all the people that come and go
Stop and say hello
On the corner is a banker with a motorcar
And little children laugh at him behind his back
And the banker never wears a mac in the pouring rain
Very strange
