[Part 1]Once upon a very recent time, in the bustling archipelago of political theatre, there lived a group known as the Projoites. These were not your average villagers, mind you—they were seasoned weather vanes, exquisitely attuned to the direction of the wind, especially when that wind came from the Presidential Palace.For years, they sang lullabies of loyalty to a man named Joko, whom they once hailed as the People’s Lantern. But curiously, they never quite spoke of the people themselves. “Kerakyatan?” they’d ask, puzzled, as if it were an exotic fruit found only in distant provinces. No, their compass pointed not to the rakyat, but to the throne.Now, as the palace gates creak open to a new tenant named Prabowo, the Projoites are seen polishing their boots and rehearsing new hymns. “We’ve always believed in strong leadership,” they declare, conveniently forgetting last season’s slogans. Some whisper that they are migrating not out of conviction, but out of habit, like migratory birds who follow not the sun, but the scent of state banquets.And so, the question remains: are they chasing the dream of the people, or merely the perfume of power? One suspects that if a coconut tree were elected president, it’d be first in line to wear leaf-patterned batik and declare, “We’ve always supported sustainable leadership.”Now, back to our topic.One substantial cause of the deteriorating state of free expression and civic space in Indonesia is indeed the incomplete reform of the Indonesian National Police (POLRI). Reports by the Alliance of Independent Journalists point out that widespread police misconduct, including violence against journalists and protesters, continues amid an entrenched culture of impunity.The failure to establish robust oversight mechanisms and transparent disciplinary processes means that police actions often go unpunished, which erodes public trust and emboldens further suppression of dissent.However, the police reform deficit is not the only cause. There are structural and legislative dynamics at play: new laws and regulations broaden surveillance powers, restrict foreign journalism, and extend police authority over cyberspace and media regulation. For instance, the regulation requiring clearance for foreign journalists (Police Regulation No. 3/2025) has raised alarms about overlapping powers and potential censorship.These legislative changes reflect a broader shift in governance where security concerns and control of narrative are prioritised over transparency and accountability.Moreover, there is a political economy dimension: the convergence of public office, private interest, and party power creates incentives for restricting critical scrutiny. When public officials or their families stand to gain from the blending of private and public domains, they may view independent media, satire or citizen critique as threats rather than part of healthy accountability. This has the effect of worsening the situation: critiques are more likely to draw legal or administrative retaliation rather than open debate.In short, the current predicament arises from a combination of: (1) inadequate police reform and a persistent culture of impunity in law enforcement; (2) legislative and regulatory frameworks that escalate control over media, cyberspace and public dissent; and (3) political and institutional dynamics that discourage transparency, discourage independent scrutiny, and favour consolidation of power. Addressing only one of these elements (such as the police) without reforming the legal environment and the political incentives is unlikely to produce meaningful improvement in civic freedoms and public accountability.From the evidence available, it appears that the conditions surrounding restrictions on free expression and civic space in Indonesia did not originate solely from the events labelled the Prahara Agustus 2025 (the August 2025 unrest). Rather, those conditions were present beforehand — the unrest may have acted as a catalyst that intensified or brought greater visibility to them.To elaborate, before August 2025, there were already numerous reports of the broad application of the Undang‑Undang Informasi dan Transaksi Elektronik (ITE Law) against critics, the deployment of state apparatus against dissent in the digital realm, and indications of a shrinking civic space. Therefore, the “tightening” of control over online criticism, memes, social media commentary and public scrutiny was embedded in the system before the August disturbance. The Prahara Agustus events then added a layer of urgency and public attention: the simultaneous mass protests, violence, and the state’s response gave an impetus for demands for reform, including investigations into police behaviour. The unrest also provided further justification for regulatory and enforcement interventions in the digital sphere.In short: one should not view the August 2025 unrest as the root cause of the tightening of space for critique, but rather as a significant turning point—a moment when pre‑existing dynamics were sharpened and became more visible. The underlying structural factors (legal, institutional, political) already set the scene for the situation into which that unrest entered.In Indonesian society, criticism takes on a variety of shapes, reflecting the country’s rich cultural diversity and its complex social and political landscape. It can be found in the public arena through social media posts, opinion columns in newspapers, television talk shows, and increasingly in online video content. Criticism often comes with a blend of politeness and indirectness, as cultural norms encourage respect for authority and harmony, but it can also be sharp and satirical when addressing corruption, injustice, or governmental missteps. One defining feature of Indonesian criticism is its creativity: memes, parodies, and street art frequently carry subtle yet powerful messages. Another notable characteristic is its communal tone; criticism is rarely purely individualistic, as many voices join together to express shared concerns, reflecting a sense of collective responsibility. Yet, despite these forms, criticism in Indonesia can be constrained by legal, political, or social pressures, making the courage and cleverness of critics all the more significant.The documentary film Dirty Vote, which features constitutional law experts Bivitri Susanti, Feri Amsari, and Zainal Arifin Mochtar, released on February 11, 2024, quickly gained significant attention, amassing over 6 million views on its first day. Directed by Dandhy Dwi Laksono, Dirty Vote delves into alleged electoral fraud during the 2024 Indonesian presidential election, highlighting systematic abuses of power and state resources to influence the outcome.
In political science, a dirty vote typically refers to a ballot that is intentionally spoiled, defaced, or marked incorrectly by a voter. This act can occur for several reasons: as a protest against the candidates, parties, or electoral system; as an expression of political dissatisfaction; or simply out of confusion or error.Dirty Vote II o3 was officially released on Sunday, October 19, 2025, just one day before the first anniversary of the Prabowo-Gibran administration. Directed by Dandhy Dwi Laksono, the documentary presents a detailed journalistic research analysis with a duration of about four hours, focused on dissecting the current administration's political, legal, and economic strategies. The film's subtitle, "o3," refers to three pillars of power consolidation: "Otot" (political muscle), "Otak" (legal brain), and "Ongkos" (economic costs). The documentary aims to provide the public with insights into the political cards played by oligarchic groups and the direction of Indonesia's political landscape leading up to the 2029 elections.Dirty Vote I and Dirty Vote II o3 are politically charged documentaries that critically explore Indonesia’s governance and electoral landscape. The first film, Dirty Vote I, primarily investigates the 2024 presidential election, exposing alleged voter manipulation, systemic electoral fraud, and the exploitation of government social aid during campaigns. It centres on electoral integrity and democratic process, depicting the continuation of entrenched power networks that undermine free and fair elections. This film sparked debate about the legitimacy of electoral outcomes and brought public awareness to the manipulative tactics employed in Indonesian politics.In contrast, Dirty Vote II o3 expands beyond election fraud to provide an extensive analysis of the political dynamics under the Prabowo-Gibran administration. It introduces the "o3" concept—representing "Otot" (muscle/political power), "Otak" (brain/legal frameworks), and "Ongkos" (economic costs)—to illustrate how oligarchic interests use power structures, legal systems, and economic resources to consolidate control and influence governance. The sequel critiques the government’s balancing act of populist social policies with political economy realities, suggesting that structural oligarchy continues to shape policy decisions despite promises of reform.Together, the two films present a complementary yet contrasting narrative: Dirty Vote I highlights the problematic foundation of Gibran’s electoral victory through systemic fraud, while Dirty Vote II o3 scrutinises the sustained consolidation of power and the complexities of governance amid entrenched oligarchic systems.Using the lenses of Dirty Vote I and Dirty Vote II o3 to evaluate President Prabowo’s first year in office offers a critical framework for understanding both the systemic challenges and the broader political dynamics at play. Dirty Vote I’s focus on electoral manipulation highlights the lingering concerns about Indonesia’s democratic processes and political integrity. This lens suggests that despite Prabowo’s campaign promises, the governance under his administration still reflects the enduring influence of entrenched power networks and oligarchical practices, which may limit genuine reform and perpetuate voter disillusionment with democratic representation.Meanwhile, Dirty Vote II o3’s examination of the interplay between political power ("Otot"), legal frameworks ("Otak"), and economic costs ("Ongkos") provides an insightful critique of how the current administration balances populist welfare policies with the realities of oligarchic control and legal constraints. This perspective reveals that while notable social programs like free nutritious meals and village cooperatives have been launched, they operate within a political-economic system where elite interests and patronage continue to shape policy implementation. It underscores the tension between the government’s stated goals of social justice and economic empowerment and the underlying structural forces that influence decision-making and governance effectiveness.Together, these lenses reveal a government striving to deliver tangible benefits and maintain public support, yet constrained by persistent systemic issues in electoral fairness, power centralisation, and political economy dynamics.In the end, criticism stands not as an act of rebellion but as a gesture of responsibility. When a nation matures, its citizens learn that true loyalty is not silent obedience but the courage to speak truth to power with decency and precision. President Prabowo’s recent statement—that “a leader who refuses to be corrected—who resists criticism—will inevitably become ensnared in repeated mistakes”—marks a refreshing turn in Indonesia’s political climate. It is a subtle yet profound acknowledgement that leadership thrives not on adoration but on accountability. The ability to listen to dissent without hostility reflects confidence, not weakness; wisdom, not insecurity. A society that nurtures constructive criticism cultivates leaders who serve rather than rule, who respond rather than react. In the grand narrative of democracy, criticism is not noise — it is the music that keeps the system alive and in tune.
[Part 3]
