The Indonesia Paradox (5)

The issue of dormant bank accounts in Indonesia has stirred public unease primarily due to the sudden implementation of new banking regulations without clear communication or sufficient public education. Many Indonesians, especially those in rural areas or with limited digital literacy, were caught off guard when their savings accounts were labelled as inactive and subsequently became inaccessible. This has led to fears that their hard-earned money could be taken or frozen without their consent. Adding to the anxiety is the perception that banks and regulators are prioritising financial compliance over people’s financial security and trust. Critics argue that rather than targeting illicit funds, these rules are disproportionately affecting low-income individuals who use their accounts infrequently but legitimately. The growing sentiment is that ordinary citizens are being penalised for behaviours they were never warned about, all while the elite continue to move billions with impunity.

The regulation surrounding inactive or dormant bank accounts in Indonesia is primarily governed by Bank Indonesia and the Financial Services Authority (OJK). An account is typically classified as dormant if there has been no customer-initiated transaction—such as withdrawals, deposits, or transfers—for a certain period, often 6 to 12 months, depending on the bank’s policy. Once declared dormant, the account may be subject to restrictions, such as limited access to funds, dormant fees, or eventual closure. While the rule is meant to enhance banking efficiency and prevent misuse of idle accounts, the implementation has raised eyebrows. Critics argue that customers are not being properly informed about the thresholds or consequences, and many only discover their account's dormant status when they can no longer access their funds. This lack of transparency, combined with a bureaucratic process to reactivate accounts, has left many feeling excluded from the financial system they once trusted.

According to the current regulatory framework, the Financial Transaction Reports and Analysis Centre (PPATK), in coordination with OJK guidelines, considers a bank account to be dormant if it remains inactive—meaning absolutely no customer‑initiated transactions—over three consecutive months. In such cases, PPATK is authorised to temporarily freeze the account to prevent potential misuse, such as money laundering or illicit account trading. While individual banks may have internal policies extending this period up to six or even twelve months, the standard minimum inactivity threshold that triggers a freeze is three months.

The OJK has issued guidance urging banks to regularly review and monitor dormant accounts, helping to mitigate financial crime risks while maintaining account holders’ rights. In practice, if an account shows zero activity—no transfers, withdrawals, deposits from the customer—for three consecutive months, PPATK may initiate a freeze even though the account remains registered as active in the system. 

Although some banks label the dormant status at six months or more of inactivity, this is an internal policy—not a legal minimum—and the action from PPATK begins at the three‑month mark.

Public complaints about the dormant account policy in Indonesia are growing louder, with many feeling blindsided by the sudden enforcement of the rule. One of the most common grievances is the lack of prior notification. Account holders claim they were never informed that their savings could be frozen after three months of inactivity, and only discovered it when they tried to access their funds and failed. Many see this as a violation of their rights, especially for people who live in rural areas, elderly customers, or those who save money for emergencies and rarely use their accounts. There's also widespread frustration over the bureaucratic hurdles involved in reactivating frozen accounts, which often requires in-person visits, stacks of documents, and long waiting times. Worse, the policy has sparked fear that citizens’ financial autonomy is being quietly undermined, especially since the authorities seem more focused on control and compliance than on building trust or financial inclusion. Critics argue that such a policy punishes frugality and low-income behaviour while letting larger suspicious transactions continue untouched.

If public complaints about the dormant account policy are ignored, the long-term consequences could be deeply damaging to both the banking sector and social trust in financial institutions. When people feel that their money is no longer safe or accessible, especially without proper warning, they may begin to withdraw their funds entirely or avoid formal banking systems altogether. This would lead to a rise in cash hoarding, informal savings groups, or even underground financial practices, all of which make the economy more vulnerable and harder to regulate. Trust, once broken, is not easily restored—particularly among vulnerable groups like rural residents, the elderly, and low-income earners. Furthermore, ignoring these concerns may amplify the perception that the state prioritises surveillance and control over public welfare. In the long run, this could spark financial disobedience, widen inequality, and deepen the already fragile gap between the elite and the rest of the population. Worse still, such dissatisfaction could turn into political discontent, especially in a society where economic frustrations easily transform into social movements.

Critics argue that the OJK’s dormant account policy, though legally grounded, is poorly timed and socially insensitive, especially in the midst of economic hardship affecting millions of Indonesians. Implementing such a rigid measure when people are struggling to survive, save small amounts, or rebuild from post-pandemic setbacks is seen as lacking empathy and economic realism. Many question why the focus is on policing small, inactive accounts rather than tightening controls on large suspicious transactions that often escape scrutiny. Some financial observers describe the policy as tone-deaf, warning that it could backfire by pushing vulnerable citizens out of the formal banking system altogether. They argue that in a time of rising inflation, job insecurity, and shrinking purchasing power, what people need most is flexibility, encouragement to save, and protection of their assets—not fear of losing access to their own money. Critics from civil society have called for a moratorium on the enforcement of such rules until better public education, transparent notification systems, and clearer dispute resolution mechanisms are in place. Otherwise, the policy risks becoming a symbol of institutional arrogance in the face of public suffering.

Now, back to the book "Strategi Transformasi Bangsa: Menuju Indonesia Emas 2045".  In his reflection on the strategic challenges facing Indonesia, Prabowo Subianto underscores that the nation's greatest threat is not merely external military confrontation or foreign intervention, but rather the internal weakness of its own institutions, national cohesion, and economic foundations. He argues that the country’s most pressing vulnerability lies in systemic inefficiency, corruption, and inequality—factors that prevent it from unlocking its full potential.

He is especially concerned about demographic imbalance, where a young and growing population is not matched with adequate job creation or access to proper education and nutrition. This creates what he calls a “generational time bomb,” a massive segment of the population whose frustration could one day threaten social stability if left unaddressed.

Another strategic concern raised by Prabowo is economic sovereignty. He believes that for too long, Indonesia has relied on exporting raw materials, thereby enriching other nations while limiting value creation at home. Without building a national industrial base and improving human capital, he warns that Indonesia will remain stuck in a cycle of dependency.

Furthermore, Prabowo identifies technological backwardness and food insecurity as core issues. He highlights how food import dependency puts the country at strategic risk, especially during global disruptions. To counter this, he calls for a national push towards food self-sufficiency and technological mastery through investment in research and education.

Finally, he emphasises the importance of national unity as a non-negotiable pillar. He believes that identity politics, separatism, and elite fragmentation weaken the moral and intellectual backbone of the Republic. Therefore, he urges for a renewed focus on national consciousness, historical awareness, and leadership that is both competent and ethical.

Prabowo Subianto’s concept of “Strategi Indonesia Maju” is a multidimensional roadmap that seeks to elevate Indonesia into a sovereign, advanced, and prosperous nation by 2045, precisely at the centennial of its independence. He outlines this national transformation strategy in terms of key foundations, institutional reforms, and moral principles.

At its core, Prabowo’s vision emphasises three strategic imperatives: first, establishing a people-centred economy, where state intervention ensures fair distribution of wealth and economic opportunities; second, reinforcing a democratic system genuinely rooted in the people’s will, rather than being captured by elite interests or financial oligarchs; and third, ensuring national resilience, particularly in food, energy, health, and defence.

A cornerstone of the strategy is investment in human capital, particularly through education reform, technological development, and mastery of innovation. Prabowo insists that only by nurturing smart, ethical, and patriotic citizens can Indonesia compete on the global stage.

He also envisions a green and resilient economy that embraces sustainability without compromising on industrialisation. This includes transforming Indonesia into a self-sufficient and exporting powerhouse for high-value products, not merely raw resources.

Institutionally, Prabowo advocates for bureaucratic transformation and a meritocratic leadership structure, where the best talents are placed in strategic positions. He strongly condemns patronage and transactional politics, calling for a national culture of accountability and service.

Lastly, he embeds the strategy within a moral and historical narrative, reminding readers that this transformation must be built upon the dreams of the founding fathers—anchored in justice, equality, and national dignity. To him, Strategi Indonesia Maju is not just a plan but a collective vow to realise the unfulfilled promises of independence.

As Indonesia steps into the second half of 2025, Prabowo Subianto’s “Strategi Indonesia Maju” encounters both opportunity and friction in practice. The vision of a people-centred economy finds resonance in the government’s recent moves to expand agricultural subsidies and build food estates. Yet, critics argue that these programmes often favour corporate actors over small farmers, revealing a dissonance between policy ideals and grassroots realities.

On democratic reform, Prabowo’s call for a people-driven political system faces headwinds, particularly with growing concerns over the dominance of oligarchic influence in media, political parties, and public discourse. His vision of cleaning transactional politics seems at odds with several appointments in his own cabinet, which include recycled figures from previous regimes, sparking debate over meritocracy versus loyalty.

Human capital development — another pillar of the strategy — is tested by the state’s uneven investment in education and research. While flagship scholarships and vocational initiatives have been introduced, inequality remains stark, especially in rural and eastern provinces. Without massive reform, the demographic dividend may still become a liability rather than an advantage.

Environmental and economic resilience, two core themes of “Strategi Indonesia Maju,” are being tested by extreme weather events and global economic volatility. Indonesia’s push for industrial downstreaming, especially in nickel and EV battery sectors, is a step forward, but concerns about environmental degradation and local displacement persist.

Overall, 2025 reflects the tension between ambition and execution. Prabowo’s strategy is lofty and patriotic, but its realisation demands robust political will, administrative integrity, and systemic courage — qualities that are still inconsistently present in the machinery of government. Without addressing these contradictions, the path to Indonesia Emas may remain a beautiful but distant dream.

Prabowo’s “Acceleration Strategy for Development” is a call for Indonesia to break free from decades of incremental progress and embrace bold, focused, and time-bound action to reach the national goals outlined for 2045. He frames this acceleration as an urgent national mission — one that must override political hesitation and bureaucratic inertia.

He starts by underscoring the need to streamline government machinery, reducing overlapping agencies and expediting decision-making. He proposes the use of special task forces, executive command units, and presidential intervention mechanisms to cut through red tape, especially for strategic sectors like food, energy, and defence.

Second, Prabowo highlights the importance of massive investment in infrastructure, particularly in transportation, digital connectivity, and logistics. He views this as the backbone of equitable development and economic efficiency. In his view, development must not remain Java-centric but instead reach outer islands to close regional gaps.

The strategy also calls for extraordinary fiscal courage, where the state must not shy away from increasing public investment, even if it means taking calculated debt — as long as it yields productive returns and boosts national resilience. He believes that “tight-fisted budgeting” in times of national need reflects poor governance, not prudence.

Another acceleration element is the mobilisation of national potential, particularly human capital. Prabowo insists on a war-like mentality: mass training for youth, scholarships with patriotic values, and the creation of new elite corps in education, health, and technology. He also underscores the need to protect natural resources from exploitation by foreign interests.

Throughout this acceleration roadmap, Prabowo repeats a key message: time is not on our side. Without bold disruption, he argues, Indonesia risks missing the “demographic window” and squandering the momentum needed to become a major global power by 2045. In short, this strategy is not just about moving faster — it’s about transforming the mindset and metabolism of the nation.

As 2025 unfolds, Prabowo’s acceleration blueprint for development finds itself at a critical crossroads between aspiration and reality. While his administration has pledged to cut red tape and streamline bureaucratic procedures, critics point to persistent inefficiencies and turf wars among ministries. The promise of “executive command” mechanisms often stalls amid legal ambiguity and political resistance, especially when old patronage networks are left untouched.

Infrastructure development remains the government’s flagship effort, with large-scale projects in Kalimantan, Papua, and Sumatra receiving headline attention. However, delays, cost overruns, and community resistance have plagued many initiatives. Although the “Java-centric” narrative is being challenged, the true decentralisation of benefits remains sluggish.

The fiscal boldness Prabowo calls for has seen limited application. While some stimulus packages and defence procurements have been greenlit, his administration still faces criticism for being too cautious — particularly in areas like healthcare reform, rural education, and digital expansion. Many question whether fear of debt or lack of strategic direction is holding back transformative investment.

Human capital mobilisation — a key element of his acceleration vision — is also hampered by fragmented education policy and underfunded technical training. While scholarships and youth programmes have been launched, they remain scattered and lack ideological coherence or patriotic grounding, as envisioned in the book.

Above all, the “urgency mindset” that Prabowo demands — a wartime pace for peacetime development — is yet to take root across the state apparatus. Without stronger executive assertiveness, bolder institutional reforms, and a clear break from transactional politics, the spirit of acceleration risks being trapped in the language of vision documents and never truly materialising on the ground.

In 2025, Indonesia faces a triple challenge that puts Prabowo Subianto’s acceleration strategy to the test: a looming energy crunch, escalating social unrest, and growing scrutiny over foreign debt.

The energy crisis, triggered by global oil price volatility and delayed investment in renewable infrastructure, has exposed the fragility of Indonesia’s energy security. While Prabowo’s plan emphasised food and energy self-sufficiency, critics argue that implementation has lagged behind rhetoric. The nation’s dependence on coal and imported fuel continues, and efforts to accelerate solar, hydro, and nuclear alternatives have been mired in bureaucratic delays and investor hesitancy. Without bold structural reforms and faster execution, the energy sector risks becoming a bottleneck to industrial growth.

Meanwhile, social tensions are on the rise. Rising inequality, slow rural development, and unpopular land acquisitions have sparked protests, particularly in regions like South Sumatra, West Kalimantan, and parts of Papua. Prabowo’s vision of patriotic youth mobilisation faces scepticism when local communities feel ignored or displaced. Without inclusive dialogue and participatory development, acceleration can be perceived as top-down imposition rather than national awakening.

On the foreign debt front, the government’s balancing act is growing more difficult. Prabowo supports using strategic debt to finance national priorities, but in 2025, debt servicing consumes a larger chunk of the national budget. Critics warn that without transparent fiscal governance and clear return-on-investment metrics, the country risks falling into a debt trap — especially when large infrastructure projects are tied to foreign contractors or opaque bilateral deals.

Thus, while the blueprint for acceleration remains compelling on paper, the challenges of 2025 demand more than slogans. They require coherent governance, real-time responsiveness, and bold political will to harmonise vision with the urgency of reality.

Prabowo’s vision for an accelerated Indonesia cannot be separated from three critical domains in 2025: digitalisation, food transformation, and military resilience — each of which reflects both ambition and adversity.

In the realm of digitalisation, Prabowo imagines a leapfrogging nation — one that skips old models and directly embraces Industry 4.0, AI, and cloud infrastructure. Yet, the 2025 reality paints a more uneven landscape. Urban centres flourish with start-up hubs and fintech ecosystems, but vast swaths of eastern Indonesia still suffer from poor connectivity and digital illiteracy. Efforts to integrate AI into public services are hindered by a lack of skilled personnel and a cyber-security framework that remains embryonic. While smart governance is the end goal, many critics argue that the current digital push remains elite-driven, leaving behind rural communities and small-scale entrepreneurs.

When it comes to food transformation, Prabowo promotes a strategy of sovereignty — ending dependence on imported staples and restoring the role of farmers. However, the 2025 picture is fraught with climate disruption, land conversion, and weak agricultural logistics. While urban hydroponic farms and tech-based agriculture are emerging, traditional farmers are still vulnerable to middlemen and market shocks. Without serious reform in food storage, irrigation, and cooperative financing, food sovereignty remains an elusive dream rather than a measurable target.

Finally, military resilience — long a cornerstone of Prabowo’s worldview — is being revisited in light of rising regional tensions and non-traditional threats. The defence budget has seen a moderate increase, but critics say this has not translated into strategic autonomy. Procurement remains overly dependent on foreign platforms, and defence industries are yet to develop robust local supply chains. While Prabowo champions “total people’s defence,” civil-military integration lags behind, and youth mobilisation programmes have yet to evolve into national preparedness ecosystems.

In essence, these three pillars — digital, food, and defence — are the arteries through which Prabowo hopes to pump the lifeblood of a self-reliant nation. But as of mid-2025, the pulse is still irregular — visionary, but not yet systemic; initiated, but far from institutionalised.

According to Prabowo Subianto, the foremost condition for Indonesia to achieve its Golden Vision in 2045 lies not only in policies or infrastructure, but in the presence of strong national leadership—leadership that is willing to uphold economic justice, empower the people, and break away from the clutches of inequality and elite domination. He stresses that without courage and political will to implement reforms holistically and assertively, the dream of becoming a sovereign, fair, and prosperous nation will remain just that — a dream.

He places great emphasis on moral clarity, nationalist orientation, and a focus on the welfare of ordinary citizens, especially the poor, the farmers, the labourers, and the youth. For Prabowo, economic transformation is not just about growth statistics; it is a moral mission to ensure that Indonesia’s wealth serves its people.

Several flagship initiatives introduced during 2025 clearly embody Prabowo’s fundamental requirement—a leadership willing to pursue economic justice and social upliftment for the people. A prime example is the Free Nutritious Meal Program (MBG), spearheaded by the National Nutrition Agency, which began distributing daily meals to school children, pregnant and lactating women. The programme targets nearly 82.9 million participants and is projected to generate 2.5 million local jobs, allocating budget to local cooperatives and small farmers. Despite concerns over fiscal sustainability, critics from nutrition experts and human rights advocates praised it as a standout pro‑people policy.

Another pivotal initiative was Prabowo’s pro‑poor housing directive, launched via a high‑level cabinet meeting in early January 2025. Since then, around 40,000 affordable units have been built for low‑income communities. These units are financed through tax waivers—zero percent VAT, BPHTB, and income tax—and expedited permitting, cutting approval times from weeks to as little as four hours.

Supportive observers also pointed to the creation of the Acceleration of Poverty Reduction Agency (BP2K) in late 2024, which was elevated from a policy think tank to a high‑level cabinet agency. Led by Budiman Sudjatmiko, its mandate is aggressively aligned with eradicating poverty via coordination and oversight across ministries.

Furthermore, the July 2025 liquidity injection into four state-owned banks to offer low‑interest loans (6%) to over 80,000 village cooperatives was seen as tactical support for Prabowo’s rural economy and cooperative‑based empowerment strategy.

Collectively, these programs and institutional reforms reflect Prabowo’s leadership ethos: bold, pro‑rakyat, and morally anchored. They exemplify how governance focused on ordinary citizens—especially those in vulnerable or informal sectors—can translate policy ambition into tangible impact, meeting the very condition he defines as essential for reaching Indonesia’s Golden Era.

Despite widespread criticism, multiple independent observers and experts have acknowledged several accomplishments under President Prabowo Subianto’s administration up to July 2025. Most prominently, the Free Nutritious Meal Programme (MBG) has been praised for both its scale and ambition. Initiated in January, the pilot reached hundreds of thousands of beneficiaries and was described by international media as one of the most expansive school nutrition initiatives globally, targeting over 82 million people with a multibillion-dollar budget.

Economists and business analysts have also commended Indonesia’s success in meeting its national investment targets months ahead of schedule, signalling strong capital inflow and investor confidence, as publicly stated in July by the presidential cabinet.

In economic performance more broadly, Prabowo’s administration has maintained one of the lowest inflation rates in the world, earning recognition domestically and abroad during the first half of 2025. Observers credit this to prudent monetary management and coordination with global financial institutions.

Additionally, the administration’s consumer price stability during peak festivals—especially food prices during Ramadan and Eid—won plaudits for helping control cost-of-living pressures. The smoothest homecoming season in history, with a record low in traffic accidents, also drew praise as evidence of improved coordination and public safety efforts.

Internationally, Prabowo has been lauded for strengthening trade diplomacy, securing preferential tariff terms with the European Union and lowering export duties to the United States. 

Lastly, critics acknowledged progress in modernising healthcare infrastructure, particularly with the inauguration of Sanur Health SEZ and Bali International Hospital, positioning Indonesia to become a regional medical hub and raising service standards to global levels.

In Strategi Transformasi Bangsa: Menuju Indonesia Emas 2045, Prabowo Subianto lays out not only a political vision but also a moral framework for Indonesia’s future. He challenges the nation to rise above mediocrity and dependency, proposing a path shaped by justice, national dignity, and economic resilience. The book positions leadership not as mere governance, but as a duty to restore sovereignty to the people, where the state serves its citizens—not the other way around. With strong emphasis on food security, democratic renewal, and national unity, Prabowo presents transformation not as an abstract promise, but as an achievable mission if Indonesia dares to lead itself.

As the country navigates through the social, economic, and geopolitical uncertainties of 2025, Prabowo’s ideas gain renewed relevance. Whether one agrees with his approach or not, the book serves as a provocation—an invitation to imagine an Indonesia that is strong, fair, and sovereign. It is both a roadmap and a challenge. The real question now lies in execution: Can these ideals be translated into consistent, inclusive policy—free from elite capture, technocratic insulation, or political tokenism? The next few years will determine whether the path to 2045 will be paved with real reform, or just rhetorical ambition.

[Part 4]

[Part 1]

Bahasa

The Indonesia Paradox (4)

Critics have consistently raised concerns about the issue of unemployment in Indonesia, describing it not merely as an economic problem, but as a social time bomb waiting to explode. While official statistics often report a decline in unemployment rates, many experts argue that these figures mask a more troubling reality—namely, the rise of precarious and informal work that offers little to no security, stability, or career progression.

Observers from labour unions, think tanks, and academic circles have noted that young graduates in particular are facing an increasingly hostile job market, where connections and privilege often outweigh competence and merit. This, they argue, not only stifles productivity but also fuels resentment and disillusionment among the youth. Moreover, the automation of industries, slow job creation in the formal sector, and policy inconsistency have all been cited as culprits behind the persistent unemployment problem.

Government initiatives, although well-intentioned, are often perceived as reactive rather than strategic—short-term training programmes and micro-financing schemes may look good on paper, but they fail to address structural issues such as outdated curricula, weak industrial links, and lack of long-term investment in human capital. In essence, critics warn that unless Indonesia treats unemployment as a systemic challenge rather than a seasonal statistic, the nation risks wasting its demographic dividend and fuelling further inequality.

The root causes of unemployment in Indonesia are complex and deeply intertwined with the nation's structural, educational, political, and economic dynamics. At the heart of the issue lies a fundamental mismatch between the skills produced by the education system and the needs of the labour market. Universities and vocational schools often operate on outdated curricula, churning out graduates who struggle to meet the rapidly evolving demands of industry.

Furthermore, Indonesia’s economic growth has long been driven by sectors that are capital-intensive rather than labour-intensive, meaning that GDP can rise without creating substantial new jobs. In rural areas, the lack of infrastructure and access to markets hinders entrepreneurial growth, while in urban centres, job competition is fierce and often skewed by nepotism and social inequality.

Corruption and weak governance also play a role, as policies meant to stimulate employment are frequently hijacked for political gains, leading to inefficient allocation of resources. The informal sector, though large, tends to trap workers in low-income, insecure positions with minimal labour rights, further exacerbating underemployment rather than truly solving joblessness.

Finally, Indonesia’s rapid population growth and urban migration have outpaced job creation. Each year, millions enter the workforce, but the economy is simply not growing fast enough in the right sectors to absorb them. Unless these structural and institutional weaknesses are addressed with genuine long-term reforms, unemployment in Indonesia will remain not just a statistic—but a symptom of deeper dysfunction.

In “Strategi Transformasi Bangsa: Towards a Golden Indonesia 2045” written by Prabowo Subianto and published in 2022 by PT Media Kita, a continuation of his previous works, particularly Paradoks Indonesia, it presents a structured, urgent call for a long-term national strategy as the country approaches its centenary of independence.

In this book, Prabowo outlines a transformational vision for Indonesia, aimed at overcoming poverty, inequality, and economic dependency. He stresses the importance of returning to the foundational values of the Indonesian constitution—especially justice, sovereignty, and people-centred development. The author argues that Indonesia’s vast resources and youthful population are its greatest assets, but they must be harnessed with integrity, sound governance, and visionary leadership.

Through twelve fundamental pillars and four national objectives, the book lays out practical steps for achieving what he calls “Indonesia Emas”—a prosperous, sovereign, just, and proud nation by the year 2045. Prabowo repeatedly emphasises the need for unity, discipline, and moral revival as essential ingredients in the country’s transformation.

The background of Strategi Transformasi Bangsa lies in Prabowo Subianto’s concern over the persistent gap between Indonesia’s immense potential and the daily reality experienced by many of its people. As the nation approaches its 100th year of independence in 2045, he believes Indonesia must take bold, long-term strategic steps to avoid being left behind in the global arena. His reflections on economic disparity, political dysfunction, and national disunity led him to compose this book—not as a mere critique, but as a blueprint for transformative action.

Prabowo presents this work as a continuation of his previous analysis in Paradoks Indonesia, but with a stronger focus on concrete solutions. He seeks to offer a national roadmap that can unite the elite and the grassroots under a common vision of justice, prosperity, and sovereignty. It is, at its core, a call for responsibility—urging Indonesians not to squander the sacrifices of their ancestors, and to ensure that the next generation inherits a stronger, more dignified republic.

In envisioning the ideal of Indonesia Emas 2045, Prabowo paints a bold and ambitious picture of the republic’s future—one where justice, prosperity, and sovereignty are not just dreams but daily realities. He believes that the centenary of Indonesian independence must not merely be commemorated with parades and slogans, but with measurable progress in uplifting the welfare of the people. For Prabowo, Indonesia Emas represents a society that is self-reliant, strategically independent, and governed with integrity.

He stresses that achieving this vision requires more than slogans—it demands discipline, strategic planning, political will, and unity. The goal is not only economic growth, but also equality, food and energy security, technological advancement, and a dignified global standing. This vision, he argues, can only be realised through a strong state apparatus, morally grounded leadership, and a sense of national duty shared by all citizens.

Prabowo’s conception of the eternal ideals of the Indonesian state centres on the foundational aspirations enshrined in the nation’s Constitution and the Pancasila. These ideals are not simply political goals—they are moral obligations to ensure that all citizens live with dignity, fairness, and freedom from want or fear. For him, the Indonesian state must always strive to protect its people, defend its sovereignty, and uphold social justice, regardless of changing governments or passing trends.

He consistently advocates that the role of the state is not to serve the few, but to protect the many—especially the weak, the poor, and the marginalised. This enduring mission, he believes, requires courageous leadership, a deep sense of nationalism, and unwavering loyalty to the vision of the republic’s founding fathers. For Prabowo, these ideals are not up for negotiation—they are sacred goals that define what it means to be an independent nation.

In reflecting upon Indonesia’s achievements thus far, Prabowo Subianto adopts a cautiously critical stance. He acknowledges that some progress has been made in infrastructure, education, and economic indicators, yet he insists that such gains are modest when measured against the vast natural wealth and demographic potential of the country. He argues that systemic issues—such as corruption, weak governance, and dependence on foreign capital—have significantly stunted Indonesia’s growth.

Rather than celebrating prematurely, Prabowo urges the nation to confront the uncomfortable truth: that Indonesia remains far behind many of its regional peers in key areas like industrialisation, technological innovation, and income equality. For him, true achievement is not measured by statistics alone, but by the extent to which the common people feel the benefits of development in their daily lives.

Before we continue further with Prabowo Subianto's book, let's take a quick look at the last ten months of Prabowo Subianto's administration.

Critics have expressed mounting concern over President Prabowo Subianto’s first ten months in office, pointing to a pattern of ambitious initiatives undermined by mismanagement, authoritarian shifts, and policy inconsistency.

His flagship Free Meals programme, intended to address childhood malnutrition, is budgeted at roughly US $28 billion per annum, but critics warn its long‑term financial sustainability is precarious and that sudden deep cuts to educational and public works budgets have provoked protest, particularly among students who coined the hashtag #DarkIndonesia.

Observers also highlight growing unease about military involvement in civilian sectors. Prabowo has empowered the armed forces to manage multiple public programmes—ranging from agriculture to pharmaceuticals—while legislation now permits active officers to hold civil service or state enterprise roles, raising alarm over democratic backsliding reminiscent of past military dominance.

Budget austerity, imposed via a sweeping 2025 decree to cut Rp 306.7 trillion, has resulted in operational standstills across ministries. Critics warn this has created paralysis in bureaucracies and triggered unrest over abruptly cancelled infrastructure and scholarship programmes.

Prabowo’s political consolidation has also drawn scrutiny. With nearly all parliamentary parties joining his coalition, analysts argue Indonesia is heading towards a governing structure with little meaningful opposition, weakening checks and balances and increasing the risk of undemocratic drift.

Environmentalists have similarly voiced frustration, noting that high‑impact initiatives like the Food Estate and mining in ecologically sensitive areas such as Raja Ampat have proceeded with limited transparency and community involvement, drawing sharp criticism over potential ecological damages.

At the same time, civil society groups and opposition parties caution that the executive’s growing dominance, including suggestions to change regional electoral systems, could herald a slide toward neo‑authoritarianism.

Approximately 80.9% approval for President Prabowo Subianto during his first 100 days in office was conducted by Litbang Kompas, the research arm of the Kompas newspaper group. The survey took place between 4–10 January 2025, involved 1,000 respondents, and was carried out through face-to-face interviews across 38 provinces, with a ±3.1% margin of error.  Another reputable poll from Indikator Politik Indonesia around 16–21 January 2025 yielded a closely matched approval rating of 79.3%, reinforcing the credibility of the findings. Critics warn that popularity is fragile where institutions weaken and long‑term grievances accumulate.

In June 2025, a public opinion survey conducted by Median found that 65.2% of respondents expressed satisfaction with the performance of the Prabowo–Gibran administration. The survey was carried out between 12–18 June via online questionnaires distributed to social media users, encompassing 907 respondents across 38 provinces, with 44.3% stating they were “satisfied” and 20.8% “very satisfied.” Approximately 31% reported dissatisfaction.

Meanwhile, data shared in early July, from an internal government survey presented by Coordinating Minister for Political and Security Affairs, indicated a significantly higher approval rating of 81.2%. This survey reflected public sentiment across five key dimensions: socio‑cultural life (95.1%), national security (83.1%), political stability (70.8%), law enforcement (67.8%), and macro‑economic performance (67.4%).

While independent poll results in mid‑June showed public satisfaction in the mid‑60% range, internal surveys cited in early July painted a more optimistic picture—with approval exceeding eighty percent, understandably raised eyebrows. Critics and analysts point out that internal surveys by governments often reflect confirmation bias, selective sampling, or politically curated questions. Without methodological transparency and third-party oversight, such numbers risk becoming propaganda tools rather than reliable public feedback.

Independent polling by Median in June 2025 did in fact register a noticeable decline in public satisfaction, with approval ratings falling to 65.1%, down from earlier results in the high seventies or low eighties reported by other agencies in January. According to Rico Marbun, Executive Director at Median, the survey revealed that respondents most frequently cited successful anti-corruption measures as the key basis for their satisfaction—12.6% mentioned corruption crackdowns explicitly. Other drivers included visible government action (7.7%), delivery on campaign promises (7.2%), leadership perceived as swift and trustworthy (5.1%), and effective implementation of the Free Meals Programme (5%).

Median interpreted the 65.1% figure as a cautious sign of softening public optimism. While still a majority, the drop suggested growing concerns about budget cuts, governance clarity, and consistency in delivering results. From their perspective, the figure signals that public trust remains fragile—requiring more than headline programs, but sustained institutional integrity and responsiveness to everyday people's needs.

By June 2025, the decline in public satisfaction with President Prabowo Subianto’s administration — down from around 80% in January to approximately 65% in independent surveys — can be attributed to several mounting concerns.

Firstly, budgetary austerity has caused widespread discontent. Following the issuance of Presidential Instruction No. 1/2025, which slashed spending by over Rp 306 trillion, many public programmes were abruptly halted. Education, infrastructure, and scholarships faced serious cuts, sparking protests especially among students and regional leaders. The perceived mismanagement and confusion over priorities dented trust.

Secondly, military expansion into civilian affairs caused unease. Prabowo’s reliance on TNI officers to run civilian programmes — from agriculture to pharmaceuticals — was interpreted by critics as a revival of Orde Baru-style governance. This shift stirred fears of democratic regression.

Thirdly, despite massive investment in the Free Meals Programme, questions arose about its cost-effectiveness and sustainability. Critics argued it diverted resources from more pressing developmental needs.

Critics have been openly scathing about the performance of ministers in President Prabowo Subianto’s cabinet. Many allege that a significant number of appointments lack merit, resulting in frequent policy blunders. Surveys by the Centre of Economic and Law Studies (CELIOS) revealed that five ministers—including Human Rights Minister, Cooperative Minister, and Investment Minister—were judged to have performed poorly, with Human Rights Minister receiving a staggering –113 points. Not one minister earned a “very good” rating in these assessments, as written by journalists familiar with government affairs.

Beyond performance issues, analysts have expressed concern that the cabinet is unmanageably large—with 48 ministers and 56 deputy ministers—leading to inefficiency, overlapping responsibilities, and bloated state expenditure. It is a case of “translational politics,” where ministerial posts were allocated more for coalition appeasement than competency.

There is also discomfort about the carry-over of ministers from Joko Widodo’s era. While retaining figures may reassure investors, critics argue their loyalty remains more toward the previous administration, raising questions about consistency and trust within the cabinet.

In short, the prevailing criticism is that the Prabowo cabinet suffers from weak qualification, frequent blunders, a tendency to blame the people, and political appointments over professionalism, underscored by concerns that numerous ministers are remnants of Jokowi’s administration whose allegiance may not fully align with the current leadership.

Critics responded with strong disapproval when the Speaker of the House dismissed the Constitutional Court’s view that deputy ministers should not simultaneously hold roles as commissioners in state-owned enterprises. Experts from legal communities and civil society organisations argued that such a stance undermines the rule of law and institutional integrity. They emphasised that the Court’s statement—though framed as a “consideration” rather than a binding ruling—should nonetheless carry weight in governance and legislative ethics.

Legal scholars reminded the public that the Constitutional Court repeatedly clarified that deputies are on equal footing with ministers under the constitution, and therefore subject to the same restrictions on dual roles. Ignoring these standards, critics warned, risks condoning patronage politics and perpetuating elite entrenchment.

The Speaker’s suggestion that the Court’s considerations could be overlooked was widely interpreted as dismissive of constitutional norms—feeding concerns that the political elite prioritise convenience and political expediency over legal coherence and ethical consistency.

When confronted with the viral protests under the slogans #IndonesiaGelap ("Dark Indonesia") and #KaburAjaDulu ("Just flee first"), critics argue that President Prabowo Subianto responded with insufficient empathy. His public posture—questioning the motives of demonstrators and dismissing the slogans as manufactured pessimism funded by corrupt actors—was widely perceived as dismissive of genuine public frustration.

Many observers believe this reaction reinforced the narrative that he is out of touch with the concerns of ordinary people. By labelling dissenters as unpatriotic or paid provocateurs, Prabowo appeared to undermine the legitimacy of civic complaints, rather than addressing the underlying anxiety over education cuts, military expansion, and shrinking opportunities.

Although his message resonated with segments of supporters, critics warn that such rhetoric risks alienating citizens who expected constructive engagement. Ultimately, the response was widely seen as confirming suspicions that the administration prefers to silence dissent rather than dialogue, strengthening the perception that Prabowo is not fully on the side of the "rakyat". Is it?

[Part 5]
[Part 3]

Bahasa

An Honest Economist in a Time of Compromise : Tribute to Kwik Kian Gie (1935–2025)

In the annals of Indonesia’s economic history, few names evoke as much reverence and moral clarity as Kwik Kian Gie. On the evening of 28 July 2025, at the age of 90, the nation bid farewell to one of its most principled public figures—an economist, educator, and statesman whose quiet intellect reverberated far beyond the confines of bureaucracy and academia.

Born in 1935 in the modest town of Juwana, Central Java, Kwik grew up in an era marred by colonial residue and national awakening. Though of Chinese descent, he lived with an unshakeable Indonesian identity. His education in the Netherlands could have distanced him from his homeland, yet it did the opposite—it tethered him more tightly to Indonesia's fate. Upon returning, he chose not the comfort of private wealth, but the difficult path of public service and critical engagement.

Kwik’s contribution to Indonesia's economic thinking was neither technocratic nor ideological—it was profoundly ethical. At a time when neoliberal orthodoxy swept through much of Southeast Asia, he insisted on an economic framework rooted in social justice, national resilience, and human dignity. He warned against the dangers of becoming a mere pawn in global capital markets and questioned the wisdom of surrendering economic control to foreign lenders and supranational institutions. For Kwik, sovereignty was not a slogan—it was a safeguard.

As Coordinating Minister for Economic Affairs under President Abdurrahman Wahid and later as Head of Bappenas during President Megawati Soekarnoputri’s tenure, he was a rare voice of integrity. He spoke with precision, acted with restraint, and governed without a trace of arrogance. When many clung to power, he resigned from office rather than compromise his convictions. That act alone etched his legacy deeper into the public consciousness.

But Kwik’s influence extended well beyond government portfolios. As a writer, columnist, and public intellectual, he guided the nation through economic storms with essays that balanced clarity with courage. His writings were not populist, yet they resonated deeply with the people—because they were honest. He never pandered to elite interests, nor did he shrink from speaking truth to power. Even in old age, he remained a watchdog—scrutinising debt policies, foreign dependencies, and the erosion of state capacity.

In his book Gonjang‑Ganjing Ekonomi Indonesia: Badai Belum Akan Segera Berlalu (The Turbulence of Indonesia's Economy: The Storm Will Not Soon Pass, 1998, Gramedia Pustaka Utama) contains sharp criticism of post-reform economic conditions: soaring prices of basic necessities, mass redundancies, and inequality that strengthened elite dominance. From this book, one can find his statements regarding the need for sound economic reform and restructuring of the banking system as well as business monopolism.

In Nasib Rakyat Indonesia dalam Era Kemerdekaan (The Fate of the Indonesian People in the Independence Era, 2016, Gramedia Pustaka Utama), Kwik examines how the exploitation of Indonesia's natural resources was continued by local elites through economic structures that did not favour the people. He also criticises liberalisation, which he considers to violate the constitution and national resilience.

From  The Turbulence of Indonesia's Economy, Kwik reminds us that "political reform alone is insufficient without economic reform that reaches ordinary people."

Meanwhile, in The Fate of the Indonesian People in the Independence Era, he mentions the need for a "second independence movement", namely a national awakening that involves returning control of resources to the people, not just to elites or foreigners.

In Saya Bermimpi Jadi Konglomerat (1993,  Gramedia Pustaka Utama), Kwik Kian Gie presents a compelling narrative that is at once satirical, introspective, and deeply critical of Indonesia’s economic and moral landscape. Though written in a fictionalised, almost humorous tone, the book is in fact a sophisticated critique of how economic systems in Indonesia reward manipulation, dishonesty, and privilege over genuine productivity and integrity.

The core of Kwik's argument lies in exposing the illusion of wealth creation within the Indonesian conglomerate culture. He adopts the voice of a fictional narrator—“I”—who dreams of becoming a tycoon not by building products, innovating, or working hard, but by exploiting loopholes, leveraging crony connections, and manipulating banking and financial regulations. The story is a biting parody of the way large business empires were (and are) often built on non-transparent practices—like mark-up schemes, debt rollovers, and speculative financial play—rather than true economic contribution.

What makes the book especially potent is how Kwik blends this parody with real policy critiques. He subtly critiques banking systems that favour the elite, the moral decay in public and private finance, and a political economy shaped more by collusion than merit. He presents this through vivid scenes that, while fictional, mirror the true business practices he observed during his time in government and as an economist.

The book is not just a satire—it is a mirror. Kwik challenges readers to ask: What kind of economy are we building? Who benefits? And why do we normalise dishonest success while marginalising honest labour?

In the opening chapter of Saya Bermimpi Jadi Konglomerat, Kwik Kian Gie adopts a sharply ironic tone as he introduces the narrator’s ambition: to become a conglomerate not through innovation, hard work, or productive entrepreneurship, but by mastering the corrupt and speculative shortcuts that define much of Indonesia’s elite business culture.

The narrator “dreams” of immense wealth achieved with minimal effort—he imagines lounging in luxury while money rolls in, not through honest enterprise but by exploiting a broken financial system. He fantasises about securing enormous loans with fictitious collateral, engaging in paper-based exports, and playing with financial instruments detached from any real economic value.

Kwik deliberately blurs the line between satire and bitter truth. Although the protagonist’s voice appears exaggerated, the schemes he describes are disturbingly familiar to anyone aware of Indonesia’s business history. By presenting this “dream” in such a deadpan and matter-of-fact way, Kwik exposes how systemic corruption, favouritism, and financial manipulation have become normalised.

This first chapter acts as a foundation. It compels the reader to confront uncomfortable questions about what is rewarded in Indonesian society: is it honest labour or manipulative cunning? Kwik’s real argument lies behind the humour—he is not mocking dreams, but questioning the values that define success in a distorted economy.

What makes the first chapter of Saya Bermimpi Jadi Konglomerat so striking is its disarming honesty cloaked in satire. Kwik Kian Gie opens not with a moral lecture, but with a fictional confession—a self-aware “dream” of becoming fabulously rich without doing anything truly productive. That subversive narrative device immediately captures attention because it flips conventional expectations on their head.

The narrator does not speak like a reformer; he speaks like a cynic who understands exactly how the system works. His dream isn’t to build a business that contributes to the economy—it is to master the art of deception within it. And yet, through this fictional character, Kwik is pointing a direct finger at the very real mechanisms of corruption, collusion, and rent-seeking that permeate Indonesian economic life.

There is a particular moment in the chapter where the narrator boasts that he doesn’t even need to understand the goods he’s supposedly exporting—he only needs the right connections in the bank. This absurd logic is, of course, grounded in the reality of how financial privilege and insider access trump merit and actual production. It’s hilarious in delivery but tragic in implication.

What makes it unforgettable is that Kwik never breaks the illusion. He lets the narrator speak freely, never interjecting with judgment. And that’s precisely the power of the chapter—it forces the reader to reflect not through scolding, but through discomfort. You laugh, and then you pause, realising that what’s being described might not be fiction after all.

During the early 1990s in Indonesia, when Kwik Kian Gie published Saya Bermimpi Jadi Konglomerat, the term “konglomerat” had evolved beyond simply referring to a business group. It was commonly used—not only by the media but also in political discourse—as shorthand for individuals who wielded vast economic and political influence. These were wealthy figures whose power flowed from accumulated wealth, diversified corporate holdings, and close ties to the New Order regime, enabling them to shape government policy.

In Indonesian public discourse, the word “konglomerat” was often used interchangeably with “oligarch” to describe a small number of elite businessmen whose economic domination also translated into political sway. The emergence of such conglomerates was deeply intertwined with crony capitalism under President Soeharto, in which favoured entrepreneurs—not always the most technically competent—were granted monopolies, concessions, banking licenses, or import privileges in exchange for political support. Those individuals were considered members of an informal oligarchy, even though the media would more comfortably label them as “konglomerat”.

At that time, referring to someone as a konglomerat carried with it the implication that they were politically influential, controlling large swathes of Indonesia’s economy, and often benefiting from state patronage rather than competitive markets.

In Chapter 2 of Saya Bermimpi Jadi Konglomerat, Kwik Kian Gie deepens his parody by describing how the narrator, now fully immersed in his dream of becoming a tycoon, devises a scheme to “export” goods in order to receive generous credit from a state-owned bank. The catch? The goods don’t actually exist. The export is fictitious—merely paperwork, yet sufficient to access large amounts of money through a well-connected network of brokers and complicit bankers.

The narrator boasts about how easy it is to game the system as long as one knows which bureaucratic doors to knock on. He illustrates, with gleeful sarcasm, how simple it is to obtain letters of credit, forge export documents, and secure disbursements without shipping a single item abroad. What’s disturbing is that the narrator never questions the morality of his actions; he simply sees them as clever strategy. Through this, Kwik subtly reveals how economic wrongdoing is often framed not as crime, but as “business savvy” in the real world.

Kwik also brings into focus the role of the state apparatus in enabling such behaviour. Rather than depicting corruption as isolated individual acts, he paints a picture of systemic complicity—from customs officials to banks to ministries—that makes such fraud almost seamless. The underlying message is chilling: in Indonesia’s economy at the time, dishonesty is not the exception; it is the design.

By the end of the chapter, the reader is left both amused and unsettled. Kwik doesn’t scold or moralise—he simply puts the absurdity on display and lets it speak for itself. This is not just a mockery of corporate greed, but a critique of an entire ecosystem that rewards deception and punishes integrity.

In Chapter 3, Kwik Kian Gie shifts the satire into an even sharper register. The narrator, emboldened by his previous “successes” in fraudulent export financing, now enters the realm of debt manipulation and banking collusion. His next grand scheme is to establish a “company” that exists solely to obtain loans under multiple identities, all backed by the same recycled and fabricated collateral.

Kwik masterfully constructs the scenario in which the protagonist juggles bank loans like a magician with playing cards—layering debt upon debt with no intention to repay. The narrator brags about his network: corrupt bank officers, shady notaries, and even legal advisors who can all be “incentivised” to look the other way. The system is not broken—it’s designed for people like him.

What’s striking in this chapter is how Kwik juxtaposes the protagonist’s casual tone with the sheer gravity of economic crime. The reader is drawn into the absurdity of it all: companies that produce nothing, banks that don’t verify assets, and auditors who are paid to be blind. The narrator even mocks legitimate businesspeople for being “naïve” because they actually try to create real value.

By the end of the chapter, Kwik subtly asks the reader to reflect on the cost of such deception—not just in money, but in the erosion of trust, the collapse of ethical standards, and the creation of a generation that believes cunning is more important than competence.

Kwik Kian Gie’s Saya Bermimpi Jadi Konglomerat is not merely a work of satire—it is a masterclass in moral provocation disguised as comic storytelling. Through his fictional narrator, he draws readers into a surreal world of effortless wealth, manufactured legitimacy, and institutional complicity. But beneath the humour lies a grave series of messages—each one sharpened by his experience as both an economist and a public servant.

One of the key messages Kwik seeks to deliver is that in Indonesia’s economic system of the time, dishonesty is not a bug—it is a feature. The structures that enable corruption, favouritism, and fraudulent enrichment are not isolated; they are systemic, and often legalised through policy. Kwik warns that when the economy rewards manipulation over merit, it is not only money that is lost—it is the very soul of a nation.

He also underscores how language can be used to cloak deception. By presenting criminal schemes in the voice of a smooth, confident “businessman”, he shows how corruption often hides behind terms like “efficiency”, “creative financing”, or “entrepreneurial strategy”. The narrator never sees himself as a criminal—he sees himself as clever. This mirrors the real world, where economic wrongdoing is often normalised or even admired.

Another crucial message is the erosion of ethics in both the private and public sectors. Kwik is not merely criticising a few bad actors; he is spotlighting an entire ecosystem—from banks to bureaucracies to legal institutions—that has adapted itself to serve fraud more efficiently than fairness. In doing so, he invites readers to reconsider what true professionalism and civic responsibility mean.

Ultimately, Kwik delivers a devastating yet silent moral: if a society continues to reward the cunning and punish the honest, it will not only collapse economically—it will decay spiritually. And no nation, however rich in resources, can survive that kind of rot.

His legacy as an educator is equally enduring. He co-founded institutions like Prasetiya Mulya Business School and the Kwik Kian Gie School of Business, shaping generations of thinkers to view economics not merely as a science of wealth, but as a tool of public service and national healing.

In a nation where compromise often trumps conscience, Kwik stood firm. He did not chase accolades; he pursued accountability. He did not traffic in spectacle; he quietly demanded substance. In life, he was sometimes misunderstood. In death, he is irreplaceable.

Kwik Kian Gie leaves behind not just policy papers or academic theses, but a legacy of civic virtue, economic integrity, and unwavering national love. As Indonesia navigates its uncertain future, his voice lingers—not in applause, but in reflection; not in slogans, but in standards.

He taught us that true patriotism is not loud—it is consistent. That real economics is not cold—it is compassionate. And that the most valuable currency in public life is not influence, but honesty.

[Bahasa]

The Ballad of the Frog Prince

Once upon a time, in a farcical swamp nestled deep within the Tropic of Delusion, there lived a rather corpulent Frog Prince. Not content with his royal lily pad, he stood before his own reflection each morning, puffed up his cheeks, and declared to the reeds:

“I am not a frog. I am, in fact, a cunning little mousedeer—a kancil, if you must know—who shall one day become an elephant of destiny!”

Now, such ambitions might be admirable in fairy tales. But this was no ordinary swamp—this was a place where absurdity reigned and credentials were measured not by merit, but by murmurs and muddy seals.

Our dear Frog Prince, keen to ascend the evolutionary ladder of governance, soon realised that to become an elephant, he’d need more than just dreams and delusions. He needed a degree. A scroll. A seal. A story. Something to wave at sceptics while shouting, "Legitimacy!"

So, he gathered a council—not of wise owls or noble beasts—but of hired fish, parrots with limited vocabulary, and a flock of bloodsucking bureaucrats disguised as leeches. He croaked to them:

“Declare to the realm that I, the Most Educated Amphibian, possess a degree so authentic, it glows in the dark with truth.”

The parrots squawked their pre-scripted lines on national branches, the fish swam in confused circles, and the leeches began stamping documents with great enthusiasm. A photo of an old diploma, freshly laminated with nostalgia and held by trembling toad-hands, made its rounds across the SwampNet.

The headlines were nothing short of theatre:

• “Amphibian Ascends: Frog’s Degree 'Identical' to Authentic Scrolls, Say Loyal Witnesses”

• “Local Frog ‘Verified’ as Elephant-in-Training by Committee of Paid Invertebrates”

• “Transformation Underway: From Swamp to Savanna, with Stops at University of Make-Believe”

But a wise old elephant, chewing quietly on sugarcane and common sense, raised a trunk and mused:

“Is it not odd that the degree can only be viewed under moonlight, with a frog-issued magnifying lens, in the presence of three chanting leeches?”

Those who questioned were swiftly relocated to the Bureau of Sudden Transfers, never to be heard from again.

At last, the day of proclamation arrived. Our Frog Prince donned a ceremonial robe made of banana leaves and a crown of golden algae. With full pomp and borrowed circumstance, he stood atop a podium made of stacked lies and croaked:

“Behold! I am no mere frog! I am a scholarly kancil! I am the elephant you’ve been promised! Vote me into the future!”

The swamp roared—or at least, it hummed in compliance. After all, the insects were subsidised, the mosquitoes pacified, and the crickets had signed NDAs.

And so, the tale continues. The Frog Prince leaps from pad to podium, a degree always in hand, yet truth always out of reach.

Some say he's now taking trumpet lessons to sound more like an elephant. Others claim he has commissioned a research paper on the spiritual connection between frogs and pachyderms.

But in the distance, the wise old elephant mutters,

“Let him croak all he likes. The jungle sees. The jungle remembers.”

[Bahasa] 

The Indonesia Paradox (3)

As mentioned by Prabowo in his book Paradoks Indonesia, the landscape of Indonesian mainstream media is largely dominated by a few powerful conglomerates and well-established outlets that have become household names over the years. Indeed, upon closer examination, these include major television networks such as RCTI, SCTV, Metro TV, Trans TV, and TV One, each with its own distinct political and commercial affiliations. On the print and digital side, Kompas, Tempo, Detik, Tribun Network, CNN Indonesia, and Republika command significant influence in shaping public discourse. Most of these media outlets are owned by business groups with close ties to political elites, making their editorial stances often reflective of prevailing power dynamics. Despite this, a number of them still strive to maintain journalistic credibility, though the degree of independence varies greatly depending on the issue and the owner’s interests. In today’s digital age, even legacy media outlets such as Media Indonesia and Berita Satu have adopted online platforms to maintain relevance and connect with a younger, more digitally connected audience.

The media landscape in Indonesia can be broadly classified into three categories based on their editorial alignment and political disposition. The first category consists of pro-government media. These are outlets that consistently construct positive narratives, offer glorified portrayals, and actively minimise criticism directed at the government and key figures such as President Joko Widodo and his family. These media outlets tend to position the government as the central protagonist in the story of national development, while often sidestepping any problematic aspects or controversies.

Their editorial characteristics include the frequent use of euphemistic language—terms like “sustainable development,” “the people’s commitment,” or “a humble leader.” They generally provide limited investigative depth into controversies, and they allocate significant coverage and stage time to government-aligned sources, making them central voices in public discourse.

The second category includes media that remain critical of the government. These outlets uphold the principles of journalistic professionalism and do not shy away from presenting critical perspectives on government policies, including suspected abuses, political disputes, or nepotistic practices.

Editorially, they maintain openness toward diverse voices, such as academics, NGOs, and opposition figures. Investigative journalism remains a key priority for these platforms, even in politically charged circumstances. They are also known to address sensitive issues carefully, balancing legal caution with a strong commitment to transparency and public accountability.

The third category encompasses strongly oppositional media. These platforms or channels openly serve as counterweights, and sometimes direct adversaries, to dominant government narratives. They frequently adopt rhetorical, populist, or investigative techniques in order to expose the darker corners of power.

Their editorial traits often include provocative headlines and sharply worded analysis. They demonstrate a willingness to expose and examine the realities beneath orchestrated political image-building. These outlets amplify the voices of civil society, student movements, and alternative public figures who are frequently sidelined by the mainstream.

In Indonesia, many mainstream media outlets are not just independent news institutions—they are often extensions of powerful conglomerates with business and political stakes. RCTI, along with MNCTV and iNews, is owned by MNC Group, which is controlled by businessman-politician Hary Tanoesoedibjo, a known ally of pro-government coalitions. SCTV and Indosiar fall under the Emtek Group (Elang Mahkota Teknologi), which also owns Liputan6.com and is known to maintain strategic relationships with various political interests, though often perceived as pragmatic rather than ideological. Metro TV and Media Indonesia are part of the Media Group, founded by Surya Paloh, the chairman of the NasDem Party, which has previously aligned with Jokowi but has shown opposition shifts more recently. Trans TV and Trans7 belong to CT Corp, led by Chairul Tanjung, a business mogul who tends to maintain neutrality and flexible alignments. TV One and ANtv are owned by the Bakrie Group, associated with Aburizal Bakrie, a senior figure in Golkar, historically aligned with establishment politics. Kompas TV and Kompas.com are under the Kompas Gramedia Group, a media giant with a long-standing reputation for middle-class journalism and nationalistic tone, often seen as moderate and balanced. Tempo, a prominent weekly magazine and online platform, is managed by the Tempo Inti Media group, which has retained a more independent stance and critical voice. Meanwhile, Tribun Network and Serambi Indonesia are owned by Kompas Gramedia as well, but cater more to regional audiences and are often considered less confrontational. Lastly, CNN Indonesia and Detik.com are subsidiaries of Trans Media, part of CT Corp, giving them both wide reach and corporate-style editorial direction.

What about the opposition media? In Indonesia, the term “opposition media” is somewhat fluid and context-dependent, especially since most major outlets are owned by conglomerates with shifting political alliances. However, a few media platforms have carved out reputations for offering more critical perspectives against the ruling administration or challenging dominant narratives. TV One, under the Bakrie Group, has often been associated with oppositional tones, particularly during the earlier Jokowi years, aligning with Golkar's more critical stances at the time. Republika, although formerly tied to the Islamic organization ICMI (Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals Association), is now under the Mahaka Group, which was connected to Erick Thohir but editorially has allowed more conservative and at times oppositional narratives, particularly through its religious and political content. Suara Islam, Media Umat, and Hidayatullah.com are niche Islamic media outlets not linked to major conglomerates but are known for their openly critical content regarding liberal policies, government secularism, and foreign influence—often aligning ideologically with conservative Muslim groups like HTI, FPI, or similar circles, although not always officially affiliated. Gelora.co, founded by former PKS politicians who now lead the Partai Gelora, also presents a more oppositional tone, especially towards what they perceive as elite co-optation of the democratic space. Rmol.id and Pojoksatu.id, although owned by larger media networks like Jawa Pos Group, sometimes publish populist or nationalist content that appeals to anti-establishment sentiments. Narasi TV, led by journalist Najwa Shihab, while not overtly oppositional, has gained a reputation for critical investigative journalism and hosting voices outside the mainstream establishment, especially among youth and civil society groups.

On the ground in Indonesia as of July 2025, there are several media and platforms that remain openly critical of the government and its policies. These include outlets like Suara Tanpa Batas and Jurnal Rakyat, which grew rapidly as independent digital platforms offering uncensored reporting and investigative content, and often directly challenge state narratives. Watchdoc Indonesia, through its documentaries and features, continues to address social justice issues and confront power structures, firmly resisting government-aligned messaging. Konde.co, though not huge, serves voices of marginalised groups and frequently highlights systemic issues that mainstream outlets might avoid. Besides these, Tempo remains one of the most high‑profile critiques of the administration, even facing intimidation as noted internationally in March 2025, for its unapologetic coverage of military law amendments and attacks on press freedom.

These media act as a counter‑narrative to the dominant discourse, often reporting on protest movements, violations of civil rights, democratic backsliding, and institutional abuses—even when the political climate grows more repressive. 

In the increasingly polarised media landscape of Indonesia, particularly as of July 2025, a number of alternative voices have taken root not through traditional press but via social media platforms—most notably YouTube and Twitter (now X). These digital outlets often function as opposition media, offering criticism and counter-narratives to the state-controlled or pro-government mainstream. One of the most prominent among them is Refly Harun’s YouTube channel, which combines constitutional law analysis with sharp political commentary, openly criticising the erosion of democratic values and constitutional violations. Similarly, Rocky Gerung Official continues to attract large audiences through his intellectually provocative discussions, often laced with irony and delivered with biting humour.

Channels like Hersubeno Arief’s “Hersubeno Point” and Abrahan Samad Speak Up serve as satirical or intellectual responses to government propaganda. Beyond individuals, there are coordinated networks such as Forum News Network (FNN) and Kanal Anak Bangsa which amplify dissenting voices and frame their content around constitutional decay, social injustice, and the perceived autocratic drift under the current regime.

In contemporary Indonesia, mainstream media outlets do not merely function as conveyors of information—they are active participants in the country’s political theatre. As of 2025, a significant portion of national media is perceived by the public as being excessively favourable toward President Joko Widodo and his inner circle. This perception stems not only from editorial choices that highlight his achievements but also from a persistent absence of critical reporting on controversial matters involving his administration or family.

Names such as Kompas, Metro TV, Detik.com, Tribun and TVRI frequently top the list of outlets seen as echoing state narratives. These organisations are owned by conglomerates with notable economic and political entanglements. From the national broadcaster TVRI, which is state-funded, to BeritaSatu, under the Lippo Group, these outlets often adopt euphemistic language and selectively amplify government-friendly stories. 

This pattern is not coincidental. Media alliances in Indonesia are shaped by complex forces: political patronage, business dependency, and access to power. Media perceived as too confrontational are denied access to vital information or even advertising revenue. The cult of personality surrounding Jokowi further reinforces media compliance, framing him as the humble leader of the people—a narrative repeated ad nauseam.

As of July 2025, Tempo stands as one of Indonesia’s most resilient and respected journalistic institutions—positioned delicately between the increasingly co-opted mainstream media and the loud, often unfiltered voices of social media opposition. While it no longer holds the singular aura of fearless dissent it did in earlier reformasi years, Tempo continues to serve as a crucial watchdog, especially in an environment where many major outlets have softened or surrendered under political and economic pressure.

Meanwhile, social media has emerged as the battleground for alternative voices. Platforms like YouTube and X (formerly Twitter) have become havens for more critical content. Figures such as Refly Harun, Rocky Gerung, and digital channels like Narasi TV, Project Multatuli, and Independen.id offer contrasting narratives—often exposing government failures or contradictions that mainstream channels ignore.

This analysis draws from search engine observations, content framing trends, academic reports, and social media data to categorise media outlets across five axes: from government-worshipping to critical opposition. Yet it recognises that no classification is perfect. Bias—whether from the analyst, the source, or the audience—is inevitable. Some readers will see Kompas as balanced; others will call it submissive. The goal, therefore, is not to present a singular truth, but to provoke more discerning media consumption. This is our disclaimer. We’re only human, after all—so bias is inevitable. It may stem from data, or from perception. What truly matters is being aware that such bias exists, and making a conscious effort to compare multiple sources so we don’t fall for a single, dominant narrative. The bottom line? This analysis isn’t gospel. But it can serve as an initial map to help identify who’s singing praises, who’s being snarky, and who genuinely cares about the public. In the end, it’s our choice: do we remain passive spectators, or become critical readers? 

Indonesia’s current media terrain is reflective of a deepening political fragmentation. On one end, large-scale media institutions continue to produce what may be regarded as soft propaganda. On the other, an increasingly vocal and courageous wave of digital and alternative media platforms offers contrasting narratives that challenge dominant power structures.

The balance of public information heavily relies on both the diversity of available sources and the editorial courage to uphold truth over loyalty to authority. When citizens depend solely on one type of media, public discourse becomes lopsided and impaired. Therefore, it is essential for the public to actively engage in cross-verification and draw information from multiple spectrums of the media.

In an era of increasing media concentration and political manoeuvring, the need for critical literacy is urgent. Indonesians must recognise when narratives are being manufactured—and by whom. The media landscape is not black and white; it is shaded by interests, loyalties, and silence.

Now let's talk about the book. In Paradoks Indonesia dan Solusinya, Prabowo Subianto outlined an ambitious and idealistic vision for the Indonesian media. He imagined a press that was fearless, nationally conscious, and free from both foreign manipulation and domestic oligarchic interests. For him, the media had a moral responsibility to educate the public, resist sensationalism, and defend the nation's values. He condemned the culture of clickbait, shallow journalism, and media that merely chased profits or political endorsements.

Yet by 2025, the reality under Prabowo’s presidency has grown increasingly contradictory to the ideals he once championed. As of mid‑2025, new patterns of repression—both overt and subtle—have emerged under President Prabowo Subianto’s leadership. Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International report a sharp increase in threats, physical assaults, arrests at protests, and digital harassment targeting journalists, activists, and protesters, specifically during Prabowo’s tenure.

In March 2025, Tempo journalist received symbolic threats—a mutilated pig’s head and six decapitated rats—linked directly to her critical coverage of government policies, including military law amendments that expanded TNI’s role in governance. These incidents occurred while Prabowo is in power and were widely condemned as a form of targeted intimidation—without any previous decree from an earlier regime. During large student protests over controversial policies such as budget cuts and the TNI law revision, journalists covering the events were physically attacked by police, forced to delete footage, and subject to arrests and beatings—even though mass detentions were not carried over from prior administrations.

Critics and civil society observers emphasise that this pattern of “soft repression” is new and coincides with Prabowo’s own rise—a press environment where dissent is not outlawed, but actively discouraged through threats, lawsuits, and orchestrated pressure. Therefore, while activism may not result in imprisonment yet, the level and specificity of pressure faced by media and civil society actors reflect a clear shift in climate under Prabowo, rather than mere continuation of the previous government’s legacy.

It is entirely possible that the media atmosphere under Prabowo’s leadership has not yet fully stabilised simply because his administration is still in its early stages. Like many leaders at the beginning of their tenure, Prabowo may be focused on consolidating power, forming coalitions, and avoiding overt conflict with powerful media conglomerates. This cautious start could explain the lack of bold reforms or the continued dominance of media structures he once criticised. So yes, it may be too early to judge conclusively.

In envisioning a solution to Indonesia's enduring paradoxes, Prabowo frames the nation's 100th year of independence—2045—as both a symbolic milestone and a moral deadline. He believes that Indonesia’s vast natural wealth and youthful population can no longer be squandered or mismanaged. The country must undergo a total transformation, grounded in justice, national pride, and strategic independence.

Prabowo’s vision is unapologetically bold. He argues that the time for half-measures has passed; what Indonesia needs is systemic change, not cosmetic reforms. This includes empowering the economy to serve the people, reforming democracy so that it reflects the will of the rakyat, and ensuring that national assets are protected from foreign exploitation. He sees the centennial of independence not merely as a date to celebrate, but as a test: will Indonesia finally break free from the chains of inequality, dependency, and internal betrayal?

The message is clear: Indonesia must act now or risk becoming permanently trapped in its paradox—rich in resources, yet poor in practice.

In the section titled “Ini Potensi Negara Kita”, Prabowo Subianto passionately asserts that Indonesia possesses vast and extraordinary potential—far greater than what many citizens realise. He describes Indonesia as a land blessed with rich natural resources, expansive seas teeming with marine life, and a fertile climate capable of producing abundant food and energy. He argues that if properly managed, these assets could ensure Indonesia’s self-sufficiency and elevate its standing as a powerful, independent nation.

Moreover, Prabowo emphasises the human factor: the strength of Indonesia lies not only in its minerals or forests, but in the resilience, creativity, and spirit of its people—especially its youth. With sound leadership, honest governance, and a return to national values rooted in justice and unity, he believes Indonesia can rise to global prominence and finally break the paradox of being rich in potential, yet poor in distribution.

Prabowo  emphasises that realising a constitutional economy means adhering to the spirit and mandate of the 1945 Constitution, particularly Article 33. He argues that the Indonesian economy must not be left to the mercy of free-market forces or foreign interests, but must be organised based on family principles, collective welfare, and national sovereignty. According to him, the Constitution clearly outlines that vital sectors of the economy should be controlled by the state for the benefit of the people.

For Prabowo, re-establishing an economy grounded in constitutional ideals is the antidote to decades of inequality, corruption, and elite dominance. He calls for bold political will to reverse the trend of liberalisation that has, in his view, betrayed the founding spirit of the republic. This includes strengthening cooperatives, protecting small farmers and workers, and ensuring that wealth circulates fairly among citizens. The constitutional economy is not a romantic idea for him—it is a national duty.

In discussing “Mewujudkan Demokrasi Rakyat”, Prabowo makes it clear that Indonesia’s democracy must not be a theatrical performance staged by elites, but a system genuinely rooted in the will and needs of the people. He argues that political power should not be controlled by a small group of wealthy individuals or dynastic interests, but must be reclaimed by the rakyat through fair, transparent, and accountable institutions.

He criticises how democracy in practice has been distorted—where votes can be bought, surveys manipulated, and media used as a weapon for image-making. For him, people’s sovereignty is not just about voting every five years; it is about meaningful participation, protection of public interest, and a political culture built on honesty, justice, and national unity. True democracy, he argues, must serve those who have long been silenced—the poor, the farmers, the workers—and not merely enrich the privileged class.

In conclusion, Paradoks Indonesia dan Solusinya is more than a political manifesto—it is a moral appeal, a strategic roadmap, and a passionate cry for national awakening. Through this book, Prabowo reminds us that Indonesia’s greatness lies not only in its natural wealth or demographics, but in the courage to correct its course and fulfil its historical promises. As the nation moves closer to its centenary of independence, the question is no longer whether we have potential, but whether we have the will to realise it. The time to solve Indonesia’s paradox is now—and the responsibility rests not only on the shoulders of leaders, but in the hands of every citizen who dares to care.

We shall now delve into Prabowo Subianto’s next book, entitled “Strategi Transformasi Bangsa: Menuju Indonesia Emas 2045 (National Transformation Strategy: Towards a Golden Indonesia 2045)”, bi'idhnillah.

[Part 4]
[Part 2]

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