Banksy’s latest sculpture depicts a suited man stepping forward with his chest puffed out, yet his face is entirely obscured by a national flag. The image is deliberately unsettling, for it conveys the danger of blind patriotism: the figure appears confident and determined, but he cannot see where he is going, and thus he is destined to stumble. By placing this work in Waterloo Place, amongst monuments to imperial figures and military triumphs, Banksy intensifies the irony, contrasting the heroic narratives of the past with a modern warning about the perils of uncritical nationalism.The symbolism of the flag covering the face is crucial. It suggests that devotion to one’s country, when taken to extremes, can become a form of wilful blindness. Instead of inspiring unity and progress, it may lead to intolerance, aggression, and a refusal to confront uncomfortable truths. History offers many examples of such dangers: regimes that glorified themselves while silencing dissent, movements that excluded minorities in the name of national pride, and wars fought under banners that concealed the human cost.Blind patriotism differs sharply from constructive patriotism. The former rejects criticism and insists upon perfection, while the latter embraces honest reflection and seeks to improve the nation through accountability. In societies where education and democratic traditions are strong, constructive patriotism flourishes because citizens are encouraged to question and to reform. Where propaganda and fear dominate, blind patriotism takes root, and the results are often conflict, stagnation, and division.Banksy’s sculpture, therefore, functions as both satire and warning. It reminds us that pride without vision is perilous, and that a nation marching forward with its eyes covered may well fall. The work resonates not only with contemporary politics but also with historical images, such as photographs of protestors wielding flags as weapons or obscuring their faces with national symbols. These echoes reinforce the message that the flag, while powerful, can be misused to conceal rather than to illuminate.In essence, the sculpture is a call to vigilance. It asks us to love our countries wisely, to balance pride with humility, and to ensure that our vision is not blocked by the very symbols we cherish.Banksy’s sculpture of the suited man with his face obscured by a flag is a striking metaphor for blind patriotism: a society marching forward with pride yet unable to see the dangers ahead. This visual warning resonates strongly with the controversy surrounding Amien Rais’s remarks about Cabinet Secretary Teddy Indra Wijaya. Just as Banksy highlights the peril of leaders blinded by symbols, Amien’s statement reveals how political discourse in Indonesia can be clouded by personal insinuations and moral accusations rather than grounded evidence. Both cases remind us that when vision is blocked—whether by a flag or by rhetoric—the risk is not only stumbling but also deepening division within the public sphere.The phrase “Power doesn’t just corrupt, it reveals – and its absence can reveal too” carries a subtle but important meaning. It suggests that when someone gains power, it does not simply tempt them into corruption; it also exposes aspects of their true character. Authority acts like a spotlight: it can show whether a person is generous, principled, and capable of responsibility, or whether they are selfish, insecure, and prone to abuse. In other words, power unmasks qualities that might remain hidden when someone is ordinary or powerless.Equally, the absence of power can be revealing. When individuals lose influence or never possess it, their behaviour often shows whether they are humble, resilient, and able to live without status, or whether they become bitter, resentful, and consumed by envy. Just as power can magnify arrogance or integrity, the lack of it can highlight patience, dignity, or, conversely, frustration and hostility.Taken together, the statement is a reminder that power is not only a test of morality but also a mirror of identity. It does not create character out of nothing; rather, it exposes what is already there, whether in abundance or in deficiency.The phrase “Power doesn’t just corrupt, it reveals – and its absence can reveal too” can indeed be linked to Teddy Indra Wijaya’s situation. When Teddy coined the term “Inflasi Pengamat”, he was exercising the authority of his position as Cabinet Secretary. That authority revealed certain aspects of his character and political stance: a tendency to frame critics as excessive, and a desire to defend the government’s narrative against what he perceived as unreliable voices. In this sense, power did not simply tempt him into questionable rhetoric; it exposed how he views dissent and how he chooses to respond to it.At the same time, the absence of power – or the challenge to it – also reveals something. The strong public reaction, including scepticism and criticism, showed how fragile authority can appear when it is not backed by evidence. Teddy’s statement lacked proof, and that absence revealed the government’s vulnerability: it suggested defensiveness rather than confidence, and it exposed the limits of persuasion when credibility is questioned.So, in Teddy’s case, power revealed his instinct to control the narrative, while the absence of solid evidence revealed the government’s susceptibility to doubt. The phrase, therefore, fits neatly: authority is not only a test of morality but also a mirror that exposes both strengths and weaknesses.Amien Rais–a key figure in the 1998 Indonesian reforms, a senior politician, academic, and former Speaker of the People's Consultative Assembly (MPR), was known as a vocal opposition figure. Nicknamed the "Father of Reform," he played a key role in the democratic transition, founded the National Mandate Party (PAN) and the Ummat Party, and was a prominent figure in Muhammadiyah–recently made a statement that has stirred considerable controversy in Indonesia. In a video uploaded to his YouTube channel entitled “Jauhkan Istana dari Skandal Moral (Keep the Palace Away from Moral Scandals)”, he alleged that there was an unusual closeness between President Prabowo Subianto and the Cabinet Secretary, Teddy Indra Wijaya. He went further by suggesting that Teddy was involved in matters of personal morality, implying that his relationship with the President was not merely professional. Amien Rais defended his remarks by insisting that they were an exercise of his democratic right to free expression, and he even declared that he was prepared to face legal proceedings should the matter be brought before a court.
The government’s response was swift and firm. The Minister of Communication and Digital, Meutya Hafid, described Amien Rais’s comments as defamatory, misleading, and tantamount to character assassination. She emphasised that such claims amounted to hoaxes and hate speech, and she urged the public not to be misled by them. Supporters of President Prabowo, including the organisation ABP, echoed this sentiment and indicated that they were considering legal action against Amien Rais. Other voices, such as activist Sahat Simatupang, suggested that the issue might be better resolved through clarification between the individuals concerned rather than through the courts. Meanwhile, Muhammad Qodari of Bakom RI argued that Amien Rais had fallen victim to manipulated content circulating online, warning of the dangers posed by artificial intelligence in spreading disinformation.
This episode highlights several important dimensions. Politically, it underscores the tension between opposition figures and the government, with personal allegations being used to challenge authority. Legally, it raises questions about the balance between freedom of speech and protection against defamation. Democratically, it illustrates the fragile line between legitimate criticism and harmful personal attacks, particularly when amplified by digital platforms. The controversy also serves as a reminder of how easily manipulated content can distort public discourse and entangle even senior political figures.
The phrase “Inflasi Pengamat” was introduced by Indonesia’s Cabinet Secretary, Teddy Indra Wijaya, during a press briefing at the Presidential Palace in Jakarta on 10 April 2026. In his remarks, Teddy sought to capture what he saw as an overwhelming surge of self‑proclaimed commentators in the public sphere. He argued that individuals across fields such as economics, defence, and politics were increasingly presenting themselves as experts, yet often without the necessary grounding in data or professional experience. By likening this phenomenon to inflation, he suggested that the sheer number of voices had diluted the quality of public discourse, much as inflation erodes the value of money.
In British English, the phrase “Inflasi Pengamat” can be elegantly rendered as “Commentator Inflation” or “Expert Inflation.” Both expressions capture the idea of an overabundance of voices claiming authority, which ultimately dilutes the quality of public discourse. Commentator Inflation fits best when referring to the media sphere, where too many individuals speak without sufficient expertise. At the same time, Expert Inflation sounds more academic, describing the rise of self‑proclaimed specialists in various fields.
In everyday British usage, one might also describe the phenomenon idiomatically as “a glut of commentators” or “an oversupply of experts.” These phrases feel natural in journalistic or conversational contexts, conveying the sense of saturation and noise that comes when everyone wants to be heard but few have real insight.
Teddy’s statement was not intended as a casual observation but rather as a deliberate rhetorical move. He implied that this “inflation of commentators” risked spreading misinformation and fuelling unnecessary anxiety among the population. His choice of words also carried a political undertone, reflecting the government’s sensitivity to criticism and its desire to frame certain voices as unreliable or disruptive. In effect, the phrase entered Indonesia’s political vocabulary as both a critique of the media landscape and a subtle defence of the government’s narrative, encapsulating the tension between the state’s wish to maintain authority and the public’s appetite for diverse, sometimes dissenting perspectives.
Public reaction to the phrase “Inflasi Pengamat” has been varied and revealing of Indonesia’s political climate. Many observers interpreted Teddy Indra Wijaya’s remark as an attempt by the government to belittle criticism by portraying commentators as excessive or lacking in credibility. This view provoked frustration among those who felt that such rhetoric undermined democratic principles, since diverse voices ought to be respected even when they are uncomfortable for those in power.
At the same time, some members of the public acknowledged a kernel of truth in Teddy’s observation. They agreed that the proliferation of self‑styled experts can indeed create confusion, spread misleading information, and blur the lines of serious debate. Yet even among those who sympathised with the sentiment, there remained concern that the government’s choice of words betrayed a defensive posture, one that risked alienating citizens rather than encouraging constructive dialogue.
Civil society organisations and academics were particularly vocal in their responses. Many argued that the phrase reflected the government’s anxiety about its ability to control the narrative. Rather than strengthening trust, the metaphor of “inflation” could erode it, as the public might suspect that the state was attempting to delegitimise criticism wholesale.In short, the public reaction oscillated between scepticism and limited agreement, but the prevailing tone was critical. The phrase has now become a talking point not only about the credibility of commentators but also about the government’s willingness to engage openly with dissenting voices.
Unfortunately, Teddy Indra Wijaya’s statement about “Inflasi Pengamat” was not accompanied by concrete evidence. He criticised the growing number of commentators who, in his view, lacked expertise or accurate data, but he did not provide specific examples or proof to substantiate that claim. This absence of evidence has been one of the main reasons why his remark attracted scepticism. Many people felt that it was more of a rhetorical device than a factual assessment, designed to frame public criticism as unreliable without demonstrating why particular commentators should be dismissed.
In practice, this means the phrase functions more as political language than as an evidence‑based argument. It reflects the government’s sensitivity to criticism and its attempt to control the narrative, but it leaves unanswered the question of whether commentators truly lack credibility. For the public, the lack of supporting data has made the statement appear defensive, and it has fuelled debate about whether the government is genuinely concerned with misinformation or simply uncomfortable with dissenting voices.
The phrase “Inflasi Pengamat” has had a noticeable impact on the government’s credibility. By introducing this term, Teddy Indra Wijaya implied that the growing number of commentators in the public sphere were diluting the quality of debate, yet he did so without presenting evidence to support the claim. This lack of substantiation has led many people to view the statement as defensive rhetoric rather than a serious analysis. As a result, instead of strengthening the government’s position, it has raised doubts about whether officials are genuinely concerned with misinformation or simply uncomfortable with criticism.
For some, the phrase reinforced the perception that the government is attempting to delegitimise dissenting voices by portraying them as excessive or unreliable. This has fuelled scepticism and eroded trust, particularly among civil society groups and academics who see the remark as a sign of fragility rather than authority. On the other hand, a minority of the public agreed with the sentiment, acknowledging that the proliferation of “instant experts” can indeed confuse and mislead. Yet even among those who sympathised, the absence of evidence made the government appear less credible, as it seemed unwilling to engage openly with critics on the basis of facts.
In short, the term “Inflasi Pengamat” has become a double‑edged sword: while it was intended to defend the government’s narrative, it has instead exposed it to accusations of defensiveness and weakened its credibility in the eyes of many.
The phrase “Power doesn’t just corrupt, it reveals – and its absence can reveal too” can indeed be linked to Teddy Indra Wijaya’s situation. When Teddy coined the term “Inflasi Pengamat”, he was exercising the authority of his position as Cabinet Secretary. That authority revealed certain aspects of his character and political stance: a tendency to frame critics as excessive, and a desire to defend the government’s narrative against what he perceived as unreliable voices. In this sense, power did not simply tempt him into questionable rhetoric; it exposed how he views dissent and how he chooses to respond to it.
At the same time, the absence of power – or the challenge to it – also reveals something. The strong public reaction, including scepticism and criticism, showed how fragile authority can appear when it is not backed by evidence. Teddy’s statement lacked proof, and that absence revealed the government’s vulnerability: it suggested defensiveness rather than confidence, and it exposed the limits of persuasion when credibility is questioned.
So, in Teddy’s case, power revealed his instinct to control the narrative, while the absence of solid evidence revealed the government’s susceptibility to doubt. The phrase, therefore, fits neatly: authority is not only a test of morality but also a mirror that exposes both strengths and weaknesses.
The phrase “Power doesn’t just corrupt, it reveals – and its absence can reveal too” can also be applied to the case of Amien Rais. When Amien publicly raised concerns about the closeness between President Prabowo Subianto and Cabinet Secretary Teddy Indra Wijaya, he was exercising the influence he holds as a senior political figure. That act of speaking out revealed aspects of his character: his boldness, his willingness to challenge official narratives, and his insistence on the democratic right to free expression. In this sense, power did not simply tempt him into controversy; it exposed his instinct to speak frankly, even when it might be uncomfortable.
Yet the absence of clear evidence in his statement also revealed something important. It showed the vulnerability of his position, as critics quickly questioned whether his remarks were based on fact or on manipulated information. Without proof, his influence appeared less persuasive, and the government was able to frame his words as misleading.
Because Amien Rais and President Prabowo are known to be close, his statement deserves to be read in a positive light. It can be seen not merely as an attack, but as a warning from a political ally who wishes to safeguard the integrity of the presidency. In this way, the phrase fits neatly: power revealed Amien’s courage to speak, while the absence of evidence revealed the risks that can weaken credibility, even among trusted friends.
The political implications of Amien Rais’s closeness to President Prabowo Subianto are quite layered. On one hand, their long‑standing relationship means that Amien’s criticisms cannot simply be dismissed as opposition attacks. Instead, they carry the weight of insider concern, suggesting that even trusted allies feel compelled to raise issues about the government’s image and integrity. This makes his words more difficult for the administration to ignore, as they come from someone with personal ties to the President rather than from a distant adversary.
On the other hand, the closeness also complicates the narrative. Because Amien and Prabowo are known to be allies, the public may interpret Amien’s statement as either a genuine warning meant to protect the President’s credibility or as a sign of internal tension within the circle of power. In both cases, the effect is politically significant: it highlights that loyalty does not guarantee silence, and that even among friends, power can reveal vulnerabilities.
For the government, this dynamic is double‑edged. It can be framed positively, as evidence that democratic discourse is alive even within the President’s own network. Yet it also risks fuelling speculation about divisions or inconsistencies in leadership. Ultimately, the closeness between Amien and Prabowo amplifies the impact of the statement, turning what might otherwise be dismissed as external noise into a politically meaningful signal.
Banksy’s art often thrives on exposing hidden truths through stark, ironic imagery. In that sense, his work resonates strongly with the phrase “Power doesn’t just corrupt, it reveals – and its absence can reveal too.” Power, like Banksy’s murals, strips away the façade and forces us to confront what lies beneath. It shows arrogance, fragility, or integrity, depending on the subject. Similarly, the idea of “commentator inflation” mirrors Banksy’s critique of modern society: too many voices clamouring for attention, drowning out substance with noise. Together, these concepts remind us that authority and discourse are both mirrors of reality. Power unmasks leaders, while the glut of commentators unmasks the fragility of public debate. Banksy’s art, the phrase about power, and the metaphor of commentator inflation converge in one lesson: truth is often revealed not by silence, but by excess — whether of authority or of opinion.
