Mass food poisoning cases have become rampant in Indonesia, resulting from the poor governance over the MBG program. Thousands of victims were hospitalized to receive medical treatment and the incurred expenses were substantial. But who is responsible for all expenses in the event of an emergency? The central government through BGN, or the local government?

House of Representatives (DPR) ethics council, the Mahkamah Kehormatan Dewan (MKD), wrapped up its latest series of hearings in early November, the outcomes carried a familiar rhythm. Lawmakers who had gone viral for controversial remarks, displays of insensitivity, or moral lapses were disciplined — but rarely punished. Those deemed “innocent” were swiftly reinstated. The message, once again, is that the system knows how to calm public outrage without reforming itself.

When President Prabowo Subianto met Ignasius Jonan at the State Palace earlier this week, the encounter—officially described as “a friendly exchange between citizens”—was hardly routine. It came amid rising unease in Indonesia’s energy sector: from the swelling Whoosh high-speed rail debt to a controversial fuel import policy that once again exposed the fragility of national energy governance.

The arrest of Riau Governor Abdul Wahid by KPK  has again reminded how fragile provincial governance can be when power collides with patronage. Wahid, a newly inaugurated governor from the National Awakening Party (PKB), was detained together with nine other officials during a sting operation linked to infrastructure projects under the provincial Public Works and Spatial Planning Office. Cash was reportedly confiscated.

Ministry of Communication and Digital (Komdigi) announced that it was “studying China’s influencer certification model.”  It appeared to many as a well-intentioned move to combat misinformation and promote accountability among content creators. Should influence be licensed by the state?

When Rahayu Saraswati Djojohadikusumo — the niece of President Prabowo Subianto — announced her resignation from the House of Representatives, it was initially framed as an act of moral responsibility. Her name had been dragged into public criticism amid debates over nepotism and political dynasties, and the gesture seemed to symbolize integrity — a rare commodity in Indonesia’s contemporary political landscape.

When Agus Harimurti Yudhoyono (AHY) described West Java’s Kertajati International Airport as “big, beautiful, and grand—but in the middle of nowhere,” it immediately sparked public attention. To many, it sounded like a blunt critique of one of the most ambitious infrastructure projects launched under Jokowi’s administration. But in politics, words rarely mean only what they say.

Indonesia is currently in the process of negotiation and bidding for land acquisition for the promised Hajj Village (“Kampung Haji”) in Makkah, Saudi Arabia. This project aims to reduce the soaring cost of Hajj and to shorten the long queue, with the hope of starting operations in 2028, ahead of the 2029 elections. It is good news for the prospective pilgrims, but there are always concerns surrounding large-scale projects with a big budget, and the Hajj Village is no exception.

Finance Minister Purbaya Yudhi Sadewa’s seemingly harmless remark—“President Jokowi is a bit right”—about the Jakarta–Bandung high-speed train (WHOOSH) may, in fact, be part of a larger political choreography.

When the National Nutrition Agency (BGN) announced that creators of positive viral content about the Makan Bergizi Gratis (Free Nutritious Meal) program could earn Rp 5 million, it might have sounded like an innovative communication strategy. In reality, however, it reflects a deeper issue within public policy — the growing tendency to engineer public opinion rather than to earn public trust through performance.