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]