Every time the President steps onto a podium, his voice rings out with conviction: "Kita adalah bangsa yang besar!" It’s a phrase we’ve heard again and again—spoken with force, broadcast on national TV, repeated in headlines. But as the applause fades and the cameras turn off, the question lingers: If we are a great nation, why do so many of our people still feel forgotten?
Because from where I stand, the cracks are no longer hidden beneath the surface. They’re out in the open. And we’re all being asked to pretend they don’t exist.
Just look at how policies are crafted today. A decision is announced with big words and little clarity, and the moment people push back—often with valid concerns—it’s suddenly revised, postponed, or scrapped entirely. That’s not responsible governance. That’s confusion dressed up as decisiveness. Sometimes it feels like these policies are designed not to solve anything, but to spark noise—to make it seem like something is happening, even when nothing meaningful is.
Then there’s the way power is handed out. I’ve watched people with barely relevant experience and no proven track record get placed into positions of enormous influence. It no longer feels like leadership is earned—it feels like it’s gifted, passed around among those who say the right things to the right people. And when those in power fail, they don’t step down. They double down. There’s no shame, no accountability—just silence, or a half-hearted attempt to shift the public's attention.
We are told to be patient. That progress takes time. But it’s hard to be patient when you see children still studying under broken roofs, while the government pours billions into ceremonial events and image-building. It’s hard to remain hopeful when people in the outer islands still lack basic healthcare, while politicians bicker over who gets which ministry.
What does “greatness” mean when a family in Papua must walk hours to the nearest clinic, but a political dynasty in Jakarta secures power without ever having to prove merit?
We’re told democracy is alive and well. But these days it feels more like a performance than a process. Yes, we vote. But who really holds the power? When criticism is treated as a threat, when dissent is dismissed as noise, and when transparency is sacrificed for convenience, are we really practicing democracy—or just imitating it?
What’s most frustrating is that the people have never been the problem. Indonesians are resourceful, resilient, and endlessly patient. Teachers who keep teaching despite being overworked and underpaid. Nurses who show up every day, even when their hospitals fail them. Farmers who feed this country, even when the market turns against them. The public keeps giving. But leadership keeps failing.
So when I hear, once again, “We are a great nation,” I no longer nod along automatically. I pause. Because greatness is not a title we give ourselves. Greatness is something we prove—through integrity, accountability, and compassion. And when the decisions made at the top consistently betray the needs of those at the bottom, we must ask: Great for whom? And at what cost?
I still believe in Indonesia. I believe in its people, in its culture, in its extraordinary potential. But belief alone doesn’t build justice. And slogans don’t substitute for substance. If we truly want to be a great nation, then we must start by refusing to accept mediocrity, incompetence, and injustice as the norm.
Because if this is what greatness looks like—leaders stumbling forward without vision, policies made for headlines, and citizens treated as afterthoughts—then maybe it’s time we redefined what greatness really means.
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