Escalation

Over the past weekend, the United States and Israel launched strikes against Tehran, killing Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, senior leaders and hundreds other. The ripple effects of this are already being felt. While still on the negotiating table over Iran’s nuclear programme, the attack does not bode well for a diplomatic solution.

For weeks now, the world had been bracing for a possible attack on Iran. US warships have been anchored in the Persian Gulf. The USS Abraham Lincoln, a formidable aircraft carrier and in commission since 1989, serves as a reminder of the US presence in the region and the pressure it can exert on Iran.

Israel’s influence on the United States is clear, with joint operations against Iran a clear indication of this. President Donald Trump’s statements and the use of bases in the Middle East indicate that this might be a bigger military campaign than last year’s targeted attack on Iran’s military and nuclear facilities.

Dynamics observed in 2026 have proven to be a continuation of last year’s growing escalations in the region, with significant repercussions for the world. But how will this recent increase in tensions in the Persian Gulf affect Southeast Asia, particularly Malaysia, with its different ties to the region?

Iran holds an interesting position in the region. It has established a presence within ASEAN through its permanent representative and has an embassy in most countries, except Timor Leste.

The two regions are deeply connected economically, politically and even socially. Malaysian Foreign Minister Mohammad Hassan issued a statement a few days ago warning of the global impact a war would have on Malaysia and the region. Since the attacks on Iran this past weekend, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim has been issuing strong statements against the Israeli-US attacks, pledging to bring the matter to the Malaysian Parliament. He has warned against further instability and a rise in oil prices, while also promising to support Malaysians in the Gulf countries.

This latest escalation in tensions in the Gulf is part of already existing tensions in the region, revealing the delicate balance on which the Saudi-Iranian-Emirati relationship rests on. It also shows how Malaysia will be affected by this delicate situation and how it sees itself as a voice of reason.

Instability in the Gulf

In recent times, the geopolitics of the Persian Gulf has been shifting. Saudi Arabia and Iran, despite long tensions, have come together since their representatives met in China in March 2023 to improve relations. The détente has proved resilient—Saudi officials have also made it clear that it would not support any action against Iran.

However, in retaliation to attacks on its soil, Iran has hit targets in the Gulf, including Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. This has reversed some of the advances made in the diplomatic relations between the countries, with the UAE recalling its ambassador from Iran on Sunday.

This has served to further increase tensions that had already been building up in the region. The conflict in Yemen started off as very much a Saudi-Iranian proxy war, with Iran backing the Shiite Houthis based in Sanaa while Saudi Arabia and other Gulf countries gave support to the Sunni forces based in Aden.

As the relationship was on track to becoming more normalised between Riyadh and Tehran, tensions have lowered between Saudi Arabia and Iran. But it was the United Arab Emirates’ activities in Yemen that revealed a growing rift with Saudi Arabia. Although both started by supporting the same side in the conflict, their backing of different opposition groups in Yemen showed their inability to find common ground on an endgame.

Emirati troops stationed along the Saudi border at the end of 2025 deeply concerned Riyadh, who saw this as a provocation. The United Arab Emirates has since withdrawn its troops from Yemen, but tensions have remained between the two.

Meanwhile, Qatar-Iranian relations last year were put to the test when the United States used its base in Qatar to launch an attack on Iran. Tehran retaliated by sending missiles to the base within Qatar’s territory. The attack left a bitter mark but also shed light on how embedded the United States was in the Gulf, with its various bases and relative freedom to use them for operations against neighbour countries.

This weekend’s attacks continue to put the region under strain. Oman has sought to play the role of peacekeeper, urging for a diplomatic solution and keeping communications with Tehran and its new leadership open. But only time will tell if tensions can de-escalate and the United States, Israel and the Arab Gulf countries do not enter into a reactionary war with Iran.

The ASEAN Split

The Gaza dimension adds complications to the matter. Since the 7 October attacks, the Middle East has plunged into a state of uncertainty and instability. These tensions have affected global affairs and have poured over into Southeast Asia in a few ways.

For instance, Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto has tried to play a more prominent role by committing the country to the Board of Peace (BoP), though this has brought to question Indonesia’s actual commitment to the Palestinian cause.

As the largest Muslim country in the world, there is an expectation for Indonesia to support Palestine and condemn Israel outright. But Prabowo’s decision to join the BoP indicates a shift towards alignment with the United States. The only other Southeast Asian countries that have expressed an intent to join the BoP are Vietnam and Cambodia.

Anwar, on the other hand, has assured that Malaysia will not be joining the BoP if peace and independence for the Palestinians are not guaranteed.

Anwar’s High-Stakes Diplomacy

Anwar has endeavoured to balance Malaysia’s relations with the United States as well as with the Arab world, including Iran. At the most recent ASEAN summit, he entertained a jovial Trump during the latter’s 24-hour visit to Kuala Lumpur—all while also calling for restraint in the Middle East and criticising Israel’s as well as the United States’ actions in the region.

Malaysia, despite its official stand against Shiism, maintains warm relations with Iran. Anwar has even condemned past military actions against Iran. However, Malaysian foreign policy has relied on positive equilibrium between West and East, a delicate balance that has the potential to pull the country in different directions.

A possible war in Iran may present Malaysia with an existential crisis of sorts or at least reveal the difficulty of maintaining such a balance. On the one hand, it has to keep its relations with the United States for the sake of trade and investment, but on the other hand, Anwar has positioned Islam and the Islamic world as an important part of his political agenda.

The growing Saudi-UAE tensions will also present Malaysia with another set of issues. Both have been trying to keep Malaysia close in their orbits, with both the Saudi kingdom and the Emirates hosting Malaysia’s Yang di-Pertuan Agong Sultan Ibrahim recently.

Both are important trading partners for Malaysia. In the case of Saudi Arabia, Malaysia maintains close ties for the sake of the pilgrimage quota. Again, a similar dilemma will be presented whereby Malaysia might find itself caught between two allies. Malaysia has also shown strong support for Iran, condemning the attack on Tehran and the killing of Khamenei.

With concerns on how a war might drive up oil prices, Anwar has promised to maintain the oil price in Malaysia—a very important symbol of stability for Malaysians.

Chokepoints

Thousands of kilometres apart, but it is clear that increased tensions in the Middle East will invariably have global effects. If a war erupts following the recent attacks, any escalation will cause problems for the maritime trade that goes through the Persian Gulf, which is significant in itself. Iran has the power to close the Straits of Hormuz, a major waterway through which international traffic passes. It has already halted traffic through, halting supplies from Southeast Asia to Europe and the rest of the world, causing huge delays and disruption.

Airports in the Middle East have closed, causing great disruption of travel. The bombing of Dubai airport also shows the vulnerability of air travel, while the images of grounded planes further serve as a reminder of the disruptive nature of the conflict. 

Malaysia and Southeast Asia have a voice in what happens in the Middle East, considering their closeness to the United States and the weight of their combined economic power. However, it might be difficult for a collective strategy to come together, with different agendas and new alignments emerging.

Introduction

An increase in Indonesian foreign exchange reserves from US$150.1b in November 2025 to US$156.5b in December 2025 is a positive development reflecting the external resilience of the national economy on the closing days of the 2025 fiscal year.

This US$6.4b increase in a single month did not occur in a vacuum but was driven by the convergence of several fundamental and policy factors, especially those taking place throughout the year.

To put it in the year-on-year context, Indonesia’s foreign exchange reserves in December 2025 were also higher than the record of US$155.7b in December 2024.

However, an interesting paradox exists: this strengthening of foreign exchange reserves was not accompanied by an appreciation of the rupiah against the US dollar. In fact, the rupiah weakened slightly from Rp16,660 on 30 November 2025 to Rp16,690 on 31 December 2025.

Notably, the exchange value of the US dollar to the rupiah was slightly stronger at Rp16,157 on 31 December 2024. For 2026, the government, through Bank Indonesia, set the target of Rp16,500 to 16,900 for the rupiah exchange against the US dollar.

How, then, do we explain this paradox? What were the sources of the increased reserves? What does it mean for Indonesia’s macroeconomic situation?

Promising Foundation

Several factors contributed to this increase in reserves.

First, a sustained trade balance surplus of US$3.22b for 67 consecutive months through November 2025. This trend demonstrated Indonesia’s enduring export competitiveness, driven by commodity downstream policies for resources such as nickel, tin and gold, which then increased export added value. Furthermore, a relatively stable import structure, despite strong domestic demand, also contributed to the growth.

Second, positive foreign capital inflow. Net inflow into the stock and government bond markets, totalling US$732.26m and Rp6.49t respectively in December 2025, reflected investor confidence in Indonesia’s financial assets.

This appeal stems from three dynamics. One, solid economic fundamentals with a stable growth projected (above 5%), controlled inflation and prudent fiscal policy. Two, stable and attractive monetary policy, with the Bank Indonesia interest rate remaining at 4.75%. This policy rate is relatively high compared to many developed countries, offering an attractive carry trade while demonstrating the central bank’s commitment to maintaining price stability and the value of the rupiah. Three, attractive market valuations for both debt securities (high yield) and stocks (cheap valuation).

Third, successful global sukuk issuance. The issuance of US$2b worth of sukuk in early December 2025 became a strategic funding source. This not only increased government revenue but also diversified the investor base and demonstrated positive international market acceptance of Indonesian financial instruments. The US dollar proceeds from this auction directly strengthened the reserve position.

Fourth, fiscal revenue in foreign currency. The government also received foreign currency from import/export duties (excise), taxes and non-tax state revenue related to the natural resources sector. Although not as large as other sources, according to a source at the Ministry of Finance, this flow offered a stable contribution to the foreign exchange supply.

At US$156.5b in December 2025, Indonesia’s foreign exchange reserves were in a robust position, capable of financing 6.3 months of imports plus servicing government foreign debt payments for the same amount of time, well above the international adequacy standard (three months). This provided a significant buffer for Bank Indonesia to maintain macroeconomic stability, deal with external shocks and guarantee foreign payments.

Paradox: Weakened Rupiah

Nevertheless, this accumulation in foreign reserves was followed by the weakening of the rupiah. A few factors were responsible for this paradox, including seasonal and corporate pressures as well as the exclusion of foreign exchange from the domestic monetary system.

Year-end is often marked by increased demand for foreign exchange for dividend payments, royalties, imports of goods related to new year preparations and the financial reporting of multinational companies. This increase of seasonal and corporate pressures can absorb the incoming foreign exchange supply.

We should also take into account the potential anomaly of the exclusion of foreign exchange from the domestic monetary system. Hypothetically, although foreign exchange is generated from exports, debt issuance and capital inflows, not all of these dollars are practically sold into the domestic banking system (through the spot market) and converted into rupiah.

Exporting companies, particularly in the commodity sector, may hold their export proceeds in offshore accounts (escrow accounts) or use them directly to pay for imported raw materials and foreign debt without first going through the domestic market. This creates what is known as “missing dollars”, foreign exchange that statistically adds to national reserves but does not exert direct appreciation pressure on the rupiah exchange rate because it is not traded in the domestic market.

Export Proceeds Regulations and Policy Implications

To address the weakening of the rupiah, the government has issued a government regulation on Devisa Hasil Ekspor (Export Proceeds – DHE) from exports of natural resources, particularly for non-oil and gas natural resource commodities.

The regulation requires exporters to place and sell a portion of their export proceeds domestically within a specified period, aiming precisely to address the rupiah’s decline. By “forcing” more export proceeds into the domestic banking system, supply pressure in the foreign exchange market will increase, which in turn can encourage rupiah appreciation.

This government regulation could fill in the missing link in the transmission of macroeconomic policy in the context of optimising the benefits of Indonesia’s abundant natural resources. By implementing this regulation, the government aims to govern the macroeconomy through clear monitoring, compliance and sanctions that could minimise potential rupiah depreciation in the future.

In other words, if the government could enforce the law properly, it could increase the foreign exchange reserve rate and, at the same time, maintain the rupiah’s value against the US dollar.

The January 2026 Market Crash

The consistent and firm enforcement of the DHE regulation has had a positive impact on Bank Indonesia’s resilience, demonstrated in its ability to deal with Indeks Harga Saham Gabungan (Composite Stock Price Index – IHSG) crash during trading on 28 January 2026.

The strength was demonstrated by the solid foreign exchange reserve position to support policy intervention needs for the stability of the rupiah exchange rate against foreign currencies.

With a slight monthly drop of Bank Indonesia’s latest foreign exchange reserve position to US$154.6b in January 2026, the rupiah’s movement remains stable, despite various external pressures on the domestic financial market.

These external pressures include: 1) the Morgan Stanley Capital International’s (MSCI) decision to refuse additional investment on the Indonesian equity market with its scrutiny to hold off their entire investments through May 2026 and; 2) Indonesia’s new Baa2 rating outlook that shifted from stable to negative by Moody’s, a major rating agency.

The closing position of the US dollar and the rupiah remained manageable below Rp16,900 throughout the period of 28 January 2026 to 12 February 2026, despite foreign investors booking a US$1.01b net selling position in the local equity market. In the same period, the position of the rupiah against the US dollar slightly increased from Rp16,706 to Rp16,818.

Meanwhile, foreign investors increased their ownership of Indonesian government bonds from Rp878.63t on 28 January 2026 to Rp882.86t on 12 February 2026. There is also the potential of a money inflow by investors through Bank Indonesia’s securities, though further investigations need to be carried out.

2026 Projections and Outlook

With the existing momentum, the projection of an increase in foreign exchange reserves to US$160.1b by December 2026 is realistically achievable, as it will be supported by several important pillars. These include sustained investment attractions, attractive financial market conditions, a surplus trade balance, and well-coordinated fiscal and monetary policy.

If the government can maintain the national economic growth above 5.2% (which was the case throughout 2025), it could attract portfolio capital flows and foreign direct investment (FDI) into the country. In other words, improved FDI realisation, particularly in the downstream and manufacturing sectors, would bring more stable and long-term foreign exchange.

Furthermore, as long as the government’s bond yield spread remains high and stock valuations remain reasonable, foreign portfolio capital flows will continue to increase, especially if Bank Indonesia can maintain macroeconomic stability. Stability in the financial market could invite FDI to support the vision of foreign exchange reserves to the target stated above.

Moreover, the continuation of downstream policies by the government could lead to a positive projection in 2026, based on the positive growth of foreign exchange reserves in 2025. At the same time, the government’s success in maintaining national manufacturing competitiveness would also lead to stronger export performance, thus keeping imports under control in line with efforts to substitute domestic products. A maintained current account surplus would continue to contribute to net foreign exchange reserves.

Lastly, the government should also measure its foreign debt issuance and maintain a monetary policy to enhance the economic climate in order to attract even more foreign exchange inflow. This attempt requires smooth coordination between the Ministry of Finance and other relevant stakeholders.

Conclusion

Indonesia’s increase of foreign exchange reserves through December 2025 reflected its resilient macroeconomic fundamentals, supported by a consistent trade surplus, positive capital flows and prudent policies. However, the rupiah’s continued depreciation reveals the complexity of policy transmission in an era of integrated global finance.

This gap between reserve statistics and the exchange rate highlights the importance of ensuring that foreign exchange generated by the real economy actually flows into the domestic monetary system.

Policies such as DHE, if implemented decisively and effectively, could bridge this gap, allowing the effort to strengthen foreign exchange reserves to directly contribute to the stability and strengthening of the rupiah exchange rate.

Going forward, by maintaining consistent economic policies, strengthening fundamentals and enhancing the effectiveness of foreign exchange regulations, Indonesia has a strong foundation to not only increase the quantity of its foreign exchange reserves but also enhance their quality in maintaining overall macroeconomic stability.

The projection of US$160.1 billion in reserves – with an annual average exchange value of Rp16,500 to Rp16,900 – by the end of 2026 is not ambitious, but it requires a careful navigation of global challenges and the optimisation of domestic policies.

An Indonesian Comedy

In early 2026, comedian Pandji Pragiwaksono’s stand-up special Mens Rea had become the most-viewed show on Netflix Indonesia, drawing millions of viewers with its satirical take on the country’s political landscape.

Not long after, however, the youth wings of Nahdlatul Ulama and Muhammadiyah filed police reports against Pandji, accusing him of defamation, blasphemy, and incitement of division among Indonesian citizens.

Pandji’s case is one of many instances whereby comedians find their space for freedom of expression shrinking, especially when their content revolves around political, economic and social issues. It is part and parcel of the broader phenomenon of democratic backsliding in the country.

The use of political satire to convey criticism is not new in Indonesia. From Cak Durasim’s ludruk performances critiquing Japanese colonial rule, Warkop DKI’s embedded political jabs in their films to Jojon’s infamous comparison of Soeharto to monkey, comedians have long used humour as a vehicle for social and political commentary.

However, the persecution of comedians in Indonesia has deep roots. Cak Durasim was arrested and died in prison. Jojon was banned from television. Meanwhile, two Warkop DKI films were prohibited from public screening. All these happened in pre-1998 Indonesia.

In 2024, Indonesia ranked 59th in The Economist Intelligence Unit’s Democracy Index, being identified as a “flawed democracy”. This only goes to show that the task of Reformasi has not ended and only grown more complicated. On the front of free speech, the spectre of defamation and libel continues to haunt critics and comedians alike.

The task is further complicated when pressures come not only from the state but also fellow citizens, as persecution and intimidation like what Pandji is experiencing become a more frequent phenomena.

Vague by Design

The shrinking space for free speech is related to the manners in which the Electronic Information and Transactions Law (ITE Law) and defamation articles in the Criminal Code are applied. Due to the obscure standards and vague descriptions of these two laws, comedians find themselves restricted from freely conveying their materials on stage.

Article 28 verse 2 of the ITE Law, for instance, uses phrases such as “menimbulkan rasa kebencian atau permusuhan” (inciting hatred or hostility) without further explanation as to what constitutes an incitement, leaving the scope broad enough to be interpreted by anyone as they wish.

Similarly, article 27 verse 3 uses phrases such as “memiliki muatan penghinaan dan/atau pencemaran nama baik” (contains material constituting insult and/or defamation) but lacks clarifications on what actions or expressions fall under its scope.

The absence of clear information on what is prohibited and permitted is concerning, as it contradicts the principle of legality, which prohibits arbitrary or vague application of the law.

Negative labelling, in which expressions of dissent are framed as national threats, also discourage comedians to express criticism, as this could be easily interpreted as an act of crime instead of an exercise of civil right.

For example, words like “insult” and “defamation” are thrown around frequently to suppress dissent while words like “’threat” and “criminal act” are used to label individuals or groups who criticise.

This is concerning because the language embedded in the law generates negative interpretations of public expression, casting it as a potential threat.

The deliberately ambiguous terms reflect the state’s anxiety toward criticism, as suppression operates through legal uncertainty, creating enough intimidation to compel comedians into self-censorship.

Self-Censorship as Survival

“I self-censor all the time!” said Indonesian stand-up comedian Sakdiyah Maruf in her 2016 interview. To Sakdiyah, who is frequently stereotyped as a Muslim, Arab-descent Javanese woman, bringing up sociopolitical and religious issues in her materials has never been easy.

Sakdiyah is one of several comedians who have vocally spoken about self-censorship culture within the stand-up community. She has said that self-censorship hurts her because it forces her to suppress her inner voice.

In practice, comedians curate their materials carefully, avoiding direct references to specific individuals or institutions, grounding their content in facts, and relying on figurative language to soften their critique without losing its edge. However, this is not always the case, as some choose directness in pursuit of truth and impact.

Beyond politics and social issues, religion is another subject regarded as particularly sensitive. Comedian and podcaster Arie Kriting reveals in an interview that commenting on how people adapt religious obligations to everyday life is far safer than touching on Islamic orthodoxy, which citizens generally regard as non-negotiable.

He gave an example of praying during Eid, whereby congregants of overflown masjid often use old newspaper to protect their prayer mats while praying on parking lots or the streets. He joked that some end up distracted from the prayer by reading the text on the newspaper.

Here, Arie displays his deliberate and considered selection of which topics to satirise, fully acknowledging comedians’ role as shapers of public discourse.

This is essential not only to avoid accusation of blasphemy but also to navigate the complex social and political sensitivities.

While this strategy may seem like a reasonable way to prevent backlash, self-censorship in general context – especially in a democratic setting – remains problematic, as it exists as a response to measures to quench free speech.

When Citizens Silence Citizens

In 2020, comedian Bintang Emon faced online attacks after joking about the injustice surrounding the verdict on Novel Baswedan’s case, whose face was splashed with hydrochloric acid by two unknown bikers.

Anonymous accounts accused Bintang Emon of substance abuse after his video went viral. Bintang Emon then set his Instagram account private, before making it public again later that night with a test result proving he was free of any substance consumption.

The involvement of netizens and online buzzers in this case demonstrates a concerning deterioration in the state of free speech in Indonesia.

Buzzers, especially, have grown influential due to their sheer numbers and capacity to organise targeted opinion campaign on social media. With the aim of manipulating public opinion, their existence poses a serious challenge to the culture of criticism in Indonesia.

In Bintang Emon’s case, buzzers used disinformation to steer public perception into viewing him as a criminal, discrediting his commentary on Novel’s case.

They exploit the emotional beliefs of social media users, reflecting the nature of post-truth paradigm where personal and emotional messages carry more influence than objective facts in shaping public opinion.

This reinforces the earlier point that expressing critical opinions is treated as criminal offense rather than exercise of free speech. By steering public discourse away from objective facts, buzzers make it difficult for audiences to explore facts and genuine criticism that comedians try to put forward.

Character assassination, like what Bintang Emon experienced, has become normalised given the nature of the accusations buzzers make. Clearly, the anonymity that social media companies provide is a double-edged sword for democratic countries.

While users are entitled to protect their identities and engage online without any obligation to disclose their personal information, anonymity allows coordinated attacks to be launched without any accountability. Further down the road, it has also enabled hate speech and facilitated social division.

Conclusion

Today, comedians are being haunted by restrictive laws, self-censor and intimidation from buzzers, all serving as factors that seek to silence them.

What is happening today suggests that the effort to silence criticism through satire has never truly ceased despite Reformasi. If anything, suppression has become more sophisticated, institutionalised under legal grounds.

The ITE Law has produced a troubling outcome: sensitivity is rewarded while the right to express opinions is undermined. This functions as a political strategy that weakens the quality of Indonesian democracy.

When those who feel offended can more easily wield legal power than those who criticise can find protection, criticism stops being treated as a legitimate concern that demands a response and becomes instead a threat to be neutralised.

In this environment, self-censorship has become both normalised and internalised. While a degree of careful judgment over what to satirise is reasonable and even responsible for comedians who shape public discourse, self-censorship as a survival strategy is a different matter entirely.

It signals that democratic participation has already been compromised, not always by a ban or an arrest, but also by the quiet, cumulative weight of legal and cultural landscapes that have made speaking freely feel too costly to attempt.

Beyond removing and significantly revising the “rubber articles” from restrictive laws, institutional support in the form of legal consultation for comedians must be established and sustained, reducing their vulnerability to “complaints” from those who treat offense as a political weapon.

Four decades ago, Warkop DKI left their audiences with a punchline: “tertawalah sebelum tertawa dilarang” (laugh before laughing is forbidden). Turns out this joke was not a joke but a prophecy.

The Exclusion of the Palestinian Voice

Indonesia’s decision to join the Board of Peace (BoP), initiated by President Donald Trump, has been defended by President Prabowo Subianto as pragmatic diplomacy aimed at promoting peace in Gaza.

In reality, it exposes something far more consequential than a single policy choice. It reveals a foreign policy increasingly defined by short-term calculations, access-seeking and symbolic politics rather than by principle, strategy, or moral clarity. What is presented as engagement is, in fact, a normative retreat.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the gap between Indonesia’s ambition and its leverage. Indonesia risks failing the Palestinians and in particular the Gazans despite its constitutional pledge to support the independence of oppressed nations.

In this regard, the BoP claims to offer a framework for post-war stabilisation, but it is structurally excluding Palestinian representation. A peace initiative that excludes the very people whose lives and futures are at stake is not an oversight but a political decision reaffirming the old adage of “might is right”.

By joining such an arrangement without protest or conditions, is Indonesia ready to accept the criticism that it is willing to enforce peace in Gaza without the involvement of the Palestinians?  Surely Prabowo’s attempt at securing diplomatic proximity to powerful actors should not come at the expense of Palestinian independence?

Humanitarian Aid?

Prabowo has attempted to justify this position through humanitarian rhetoric, emphasising aid delivery and claims of reduced suffering.

This framing is not merely inadequate but also misleading. Humanitarian access is often used in situations of occupation and asymmetric violence to evade international scrutiny while the systems that support violence are left intact.

Crucially, this narrative ignores the reality that Israel has systematically weaponised aid and frequently blocked access as a tactic of war despite diplomatic entreaties. There is no guarantee that Indonesia’s presence in the BoP would deter Tel Aviv from repeating such violations.

Aid that flows without responsibility does not signal development but risks sending signals that Indonesia is accommodating Trump’s interests and his allies’. Prabowo’s aid narrative could end up legitimising a political grouping that preserves the causes of violence by confusing relief with justice.

The Fragmentation of Global Governance

The institutional implications of the BoP further underscore the weak direction of Prabowo’s foreign policy vision. The initiative has emerged as an alternative body that sidesteps the United Nations, taking shape as a parallel forum where participation is selective and decisions rest largely on political discretion.

This, of course, contravenes Prabowo’s vocal commitment towards multilateralism. Endorsing an ad hoc mechanism (the BoP) designed to bypass existing institutions (the United Nations) does not strengthen global governance but fragments it. For a country that has long promoted international law and is also subject to it, this marks an inconsistency in foreign policy posturing.      

What makes this particularly head-scratching is Indonesia’s lack of leverage within the initiative. Unlike major powers, Indonesia possesses neither the economic stick to sanction violations nor the military carrot to guarantee security.

Without diplomatic relations with Israel, Jakarta holds no bilateral cards to play; it cannot threaten to withdraw an ambassador or freeze trade assets it does not have. Consequently, Indonesia is relegated to the role of a “rule-taker” rather than a “rule-maker” in the BoP. Indonesia also holds neither a veto power nor the economic weight to steer its agenda.

Status Affirmation and the High Table

However, symbolism matters. Joining the BoP may not be the one political currency that ushers Prabowo to an election victory in 2029, but it lends values to his effort in crafting an image as a statesman and boosts his international standing.

For Prabowo, participation in the BoP serves a different purpose: status affirmation. Being seated at the high table provides visual proof of Indonesia’s (and his own) elevation from a peripheral observer to a central player

Nevertheless, pursuing this may further erode Indonesia’s diplomatic identity. For decades, Indonesia’s foreign policy settled on a clear normative foundation, articulated through the principle of bebas aktif (independent and active) and embodied in its leadership of the postcolonial world. Under the current president, this tradition is no longer an identity, as foreign policy becomes transactional and personality-driven. The result is not flexibility but drift.    

The danger of this deviation from tradition extends beyond Gaza. By aligning with a neo-imperial project driven by the preferences of a single great power, Jakarta’s credibility across the Global South weakens. Many developing states continue to rely on multilateral institutions as a safeguard against arbitrary power. Indonesia’s

Defenders of Prabowo’s approach frame this manoeuvre through a rationalist lens, echoing Lichbach & Zuckerman’s logic of utility maximisation. The logic is seductive: the utility of being inside the room shaping the conversation implies higher payoffs than the costs of shouting from the outside.

History shows that peace imposed without justice does not endure, and reconstruction without accountability entrenches grievance. If the BoP were serious about ending the conflict, it would prioritise restraint of violence, legal accountability and political inclusion.

On the contrary, Israel has resumed its indiscriminate bombing campaigns in Gaza, rendering any talk of “post-war stabilisation” premature and absurd. Curiously, despite this escalation, Indonesia has not demanded that the BoP enforce a halt to the violence.

Even though his decision has been met with criticism, including from the Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI), CSOs, experts and NGOs, Prabowo has not sought to reverse or suspend Indonesia’s participation in the BoP. Instead, he has invited MUI, Islamic organisations, as well as former ministers and vice ministers of foreign affairs to join him in consultation meetings.

In doing so, the government has essentially shifted the responsibility onto respected figures such as religious leaders, former ministers and experts to validate Indonesia’s decision to join the BoP. This is critical especially to rally public support, which has been rather cold. The policy itself remained

Way Forward

Indonesia still has a choice, but that choice requires political courage. A principled foreign policy would insist on Palestinian representation, openly challenge the normalisation of impunity and draw clear boundaries around participation in the BoP. Most importantly, it would recognise that withdrawing legitimacy from a flawed process is sometimes more powerful than lending it.

Indonesia, however, has thus far shown little inclination to exercise that option. 

What is at stake is not merely Indonesia’s position on Gaza, but its role in the world. Indonesia risks becoming a state that attends every forum yet stands for nothing, that speaks the language of peace while accommodating injustice. This is a serious erosion of the country’s diplomatic legacy.  

Peace is not built through access, ceremony or proximity to power. It is built through the willingness to confront power in defence of law and human dignity. Until Prabowo’s foreign policy recovers that willingness, Indonesia’s global presence will continue to grow louder and emptier at the same time.

Introduction

Alongside the manoeuvre to scrap direct regional elections, which would concentrate political power in the hands of a few, another emerging trend raises further anxiety over the state of democracy in Indonesia.

Among the inclusion of the amendment to the General Elections Law in Program Legislasi Nasional 2026 (the 2026 National Legislation Programme – Prolegnas) is a proposal for a “permanent coalition” among parties.

This concept was proposed by Golongan Karya (Golkar) during its National Leadership Meeting held late last year and quickly received the backing from Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN) and Partai Solidaritas Indonesia (PSI). Both based their support on the need for national stability, especially in the political domain.

The initial speculation was that this is Golkar’s answer to Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PKB) Chairman Muhaimin Iskandar’s call for taubat nasuha (sincere repentance) among some cabinet ministers. His remark suggested an internal conflict within the ruling Koalisi Indonesia Maju Plus (KIM Plus).

With no visible resistance against the proposal, one question surfaces: what are the political costs of establishing such a permanent arrangement?

Consensus over Competition?

Since Reformasi, Indonesia has maintained a complex multiparty presidential system. The constitution ensures the executive body has a strong authority to carry out its functions. Nevertheless, this system, by design, creates a condition whereby the legislative body could remain fragmented owing to the number of political parties in the seats.

One party or another usually ends up retaining the highest number of seats, but no one has ever formed a single majority within Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DPR).

This, of course, creates a problem for any president of the day, as their agenda and programme might be stalled by the legislative gridlock should they fail to command good support in DPR.

Presidents are thus incentivised to construct a big coalition to ensure they can execute their function. However, this practice creates a political landscape defined by consensus rather than competition.

Coalitions are often formed before elections, but these are not rigid, as losing coalitions may see component parties joining the winning coalition. Case in point: President Prabowo Subianto’s Gerakan Indonesia Raya (Gerindra) was part of the ruling coalitions post-2014 and 2019 presidential elections.

Meanwhile, parties are also not “beholden” to the group, allowing them to oppose from within or even defect once ideological or strategic divisions arise. PAN was once labelled an “internal opposition” following its disapproval of then president Joko “Jokowi” Widodo’s issuance of a regulation on mass organisations.

Such a situation diminishes the difference between one party and another, while also creating an aspirational gap between voters’ desires and political manoeuvring in DPR. Perhaps this also constitutes the reason why there is a low public trust in Indonesia’s political parties.

The “permanent coalition” proposal aims to disable the conditions that allow parties to “jump around”, ensuring parties are bound by a firm, pre-electoral contract. It seeks to institutionalise a fixed structure encompassing both the executive and legislative branches.

But why propose this new arrangement now?

A Defensive Reflex

This move is a response to the recent Constitutional Court’s abolition of the presidential threshold that dictates only parties with 20% of total seats in DPR or 25% of valid national votes could field candidates for presidential elections.

The high threshold had been something of a comfort zone for parties, incentivising them to coalesce with each other but barring each from nominating its own presidential candidate. As a result, the number of contesting presidential candidates has been kept at a minimum (at two to three pairs) since 2009, the year when this threshold was first instituted.

The last time Indonesians had a wide selection of candidates was in the 2004 election, with five contesting pairs. Bu

Now, imagine what will happen after the threshold is abolished altogether. The entire status quo of inter-party cooperation and competition is shaken up, allowing any party to aim for the presidential office.

Against this backdrop, the permanent coalition proposal can now be read as the parties’ endeavour to maintain a semblance of this previous status quo. Such an arrangement neutralises the potential of member parties fielding their own candidates while consolidating political support around a specific figure. It also ensures that parties will stick to a power-sharing structure instead of competing for power accumulation.

Consequently, if all the parties agree to this permanent coalition arrangement, the abolition of the presidential threshold loses its meaning; candidacy chance remains restricted and controlled by elites.

Lessons from the ‘70s

Arguably, the creation of a permanent coalition carries some DNA similarities with the party fusion policy during the New Order. Often euphemised as a “simplification” of the party system, this policy forced 10 political parties to merge into three separate strands – Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (PPP) for the Islamic bloc, Partai Demokrasi Indonesia (PDI) for the nationalist bloc and Golkar, Soeharto’s own vehicle – to establish political stability.

A stability, indeed, followed, especially considering how turbulent the Liberal Democracy era (1950-1959) was. This period saw a highly turbulent cabinet setup (seven cabinet dissolutions in less than 10 years). Within 25 years, the post-fusion New Order only saw six cabinet turnovers as each completed its full term (five years, as opposed to the one or two years of cabinet lifetime during the Liberal Democracy era).

But what were the costs? The system effectively stunted 25 years of organic party growth, preventing them from accruing necessary political capital—in both social and financial domains. In essence, they were detached from the grassroots.

Despite the forced fusion, the parties failed to homogenise the various aspirations of their constituencies, as evidenced in the surge of the number of parties contesting in the 1999 election, many of which were breakaways of the three fusion parties. However, quantity does not ensure equality; these new parties did not have a strong grassroots grasp still, and, as a result, all of them, with the exception of PKB, lagged behind the three fusion parties in terms of total national votes.

Power Concentration

Both the p

Among others, this means that public financing of parties remains at a minimum, forcing parties to seek to alternative funding sources, such as wealthy patrons with vested interests. Large and increasing number of parliamentarians and cabinet members are also shown to have direct ties to private companies.

Oligarchy carries an inherent risk. Not only does it impede parties from prioritising public interest, but it also transforms them into extractive institutions. In the economic domain, it also stifles the opportunity to innovate, as competition is discouraged, ultimately leaving the entire country worse off.

Structural Remedies

This permanent coalition proposal indicates a plausible amnesia on the political elites’ side about the cost of the party-fusion policy, which carries the same DNA as this arrangement. Alternatively, they may simply fail to comprehend the various aspects of political stability.

Political stability does not mean regime security. Even the kind of stability achieved during the New Order era eventually snapped, owing to various domestic forces as well as the impacts of the financial crisis.

More recently, Malaysia’s decades of political stability under the Barisan Nasional (BN) coalition also crumbled in the 14th General Election (GE14) in 2018, serving as a cautionary tale against regimes that mistake stability for security.

In Indonesi

To shift from extractive to inclusive institutions, the state must dismantle the concentration of power by enforcing political pluralism. Sustainable democracy requires a broad distribution of political power instead of a permanent coalition that narrows elite accountability.

This effort should begin with amending the Political Party Law to mandate internal democratisation. Currently, party leadership is determined by closed oligarchic mechanisms that alienate public participation. Implementing mandatory open conventions for presidential candidate selection would force parties to answer to constituents rather than patrons.

Furthermore, the amended law on legislative bodies (MD3) should be revised to institutionalise proportional power-sharing. This revision is necessary to prevent a legislative monopoly by the ruling coalition. Currently, majoritarian mechanisms allow a large coalition to sweep all leadership positions in DPR.

Here, an example from the United Kingdom proves instructive, where opposition parties are also guaranteed chairmanship in key oversight committees, such as the Public Accounts Committee. This ensures checks and balances against a large coalition. To conclude, only by broadening political participation and securing the opposition’s role can Indonesia develop inclusive institutions that support the unfinished task of democratisation.

The Three-Month Government and the Technocrat Façade

Thailand, the sick man of Asia, roared back to life at the recent general election that delivered an overwhelming mandate to a pro-establishment party.

This is the same party that just a little over two years ago was no more than a medium-sized regional outfit not known for much other than a pro-cannabis platform.

The Bhumjaithai Party’s (BJT) victory, with 193 seats in the 500-member Parliament – up by 122 from the 2023 general election – allows incumbent Prime Minister Anutin Charnvirakul to continue in his role.

Late last year, Anutin was asked to assume the premiership for three months by the reformist People’s Party (PP), which had the most seats in Parliament at the time, in exchange for BJT support for constitutional reform. He accepted the offer but reneged on the deal, refusing to reduce the legal power of the 200-strong Senate, which is, according to observers, stacked with BJT allies.

W

But he made something of those three months in power by bringing in technocrats to fill key cabinet posts – foreign affairs, commerce and finance – and allowing others to fight over the remaining seats.

The move played well with voters as BJT members are not known for possessing any kind of expertise. Images of these technocrats were plastered on posters all around the country, with Anutin at the centre.

The result of the February 2026 general election was welcomed, as expected, by the country’s private sector, citing continuity and stability.

The Legacy of the King Cobra

BJT was founded by veteran politician Newin Chidchob in January 2009 after leading a high-profile defection from the Thaksin Shinawatra-aligned People’s Power Party (PPP) to support the rival Democrat Party in forming a new government and making Abhisit Vejjajiva the prime minister.

Newin is the namesake for the political term “cobra”, used in Thailand to describe those who betray their allies. The defection in January 2009 essentially made him a king cobra. A cable from the US Embassy in Bangkok described him as an “infamous dirty trickster” known for his “abrasive personality”. BJT’s power base is centred in the Khmer-speaking Buri Ram province, the Chidchob family’s long-standing political stronghold.

Today, BJT, the party that Newin created and continues to influence, has become the ultimate case study in Thai money politics.

Coming in second at the polls was the progressive-leaning PP with 118 seats (10 million votes at the national level), a drop from 151 (14 million votes) from the 2023 general election, making them the lar

Before the recent election, PP stated that they would not join a coalition with BJT as the lead. PP insiders said the decision was made on principle, citing the fact that BJT had gone back on its promise to push through constitutional reform.

Still, PP supporters felt let down by the decision to allow BJT to take the top post, but PP leaders would not go so far as to admit mistakes were made.

Poor and regrettable decision aside, PP has been constantly tested from the moment it surfaced as Future Forward eight years ago. The party has been dissolved

At the moment, 44 of their leading members face bans from politics by the Supreme Court for supporting a proposal to soften the punishments under the lese-majesté law.

PP’s predecessor, the Move Forward Party, came in first in the 2023 election but was denied the fruits of victory by the junta-appointed Senate. However, this was no sweat off Pheu Thai’s (PT) back, and PT wasted little time in putting together a ruling coalition.

During its two years in power, PT went through two prime ministers—both were removed by the Constitutional Court on ethical grounds.

The Fragility of the Reformist Front

Much of the support for PP was concentrated in urban areas, while BJT invested in local power brokers locally known as “Big Houses”. BJT also moved to put family members of these Big Houses on its party ticket to ensure t

Another big factor that helped BJT was the downfall of PT and the jailing of its nominal leader, Thaksin, who made a Faustian deal with the conservative elites to secure his return from 15 years of exile in exchange – at least he thought so – for his safe return to Thailand.

The move alienated his supporters, particularly those at the grassroots level. PT was hoping their populous policy would win them back, but the digital wallet scheme faced significant resistance and implementation challenges. Thailand’s economy grew only 2.5% for the full year of 2024.

This time around, to form a government, BJT has decided to form a coalition with PT. This is awkward indeed, as it seems like yesterday when BJT abandoned PT following the leaking of a private conversation between Paetongtarn Shinawatra and Cambodian strongman Hun Sen.

BJT’s departure in July 2025 left the PT-led government hanging by a thread with a slim majority. The Constitutional Court later ruled that Paetongtarn had committed gross ethical violations and removed her from office.

Where Are the Democrats?

Following in PP’s footsteps towards the opposition bench was the Democrat Party of former prime minister Abhisit Vejjajiva, who announced before this election that his party would not join any government that has the Khla Tham Party (KT) in the coalition.

The Democrats cited concerns about corruption and unethical business practices among KT members. Incidentally, KT performed rather well with 58 seats, while the Democrats won only 22.

The deeper meaning of the Democrat Party’s position on KT, said political observers, is to signal that the party is prepared to sit on the opposition bench with the PP.

KT’s nominal leader, Capt Thamanat Prompao, was convicted of conspiring to import heroin to Australia, with the ruling handed down on 31 March 1994, sentencing him to six years’ imprisonment. A plea bargain with Australian authorities got him released after four years.

During Anutin’s three-month administration, Thamanat expressed interest in the defence ministry portfolio but was not appointed. He may pursue this position again; however, Anutin could also seek the role, as he aims to enhance his collaboration with the military.

Both PP and the Democrats are expected to use their time in opposition to reassess and refine their positions, as there is widespread scepticism regarding the longevity of the BJT-led coalition, which many believe will not endure beyond two years.

The specific manner in which this coalition might dissolve remains uncertain. While retaliation from PT is conceivable, BJT currently maintains strong momentum, whereas Thaksin’s party has reached its lowest point in years, compounded by the incarceration of its leader.

At present, political survival appears to be the foremost concern, superseding any ambitions for retribution.

Poll after poll leading up to the 2026 general election had PT, BJT and PP neck-and-neck in a three-way race. But in the final analysis, toxic nationalism won the day.

The Border Wall

During his short stint in office, Anutin also gave the army a blank cheque on Thailand’s handling of the Cambodia border conflict. Building a wall along the Thai-Cambodian border was the centrepiece of his election campaign. At the time when the two sides reached a ceasefire agreement in late December 2025, Thai troops were sitting on top of strategic hills and border localities previously used as Cambodian military positions.

Talk of military reform, which in the Thai context means removing the armed forces from national politics, forced PP to put the issue on the back burner as the public cried out for a stronger and bigger army that can “cripple” Cambodia’s military capabilities to ensure they would not pose a threat for many years to come.

The Thai public was angry about Cambodia laying fresh mines along the disputed areas on the border. But no one asked the Thai military commanders why they kept sending troops on foot patrol to these areas when all sorts of technologies are available to monitor the areas.

It did not seem to matter to the policymakers and defence planners that much of the area along the border is disputed and has yet to be demarcated. With physical barriers and troop reinforcement, short-term political gain, not sustainable solutions, is good enough for Anutin.

It remains to be seen how his administration will deal with the border issue. Were the rhetorics about the border something politicians say during campaigns, or will Anutin continue to give the military full power to do whatever they want on the border once his government is formed?

Anutin also vowed to clamp down on online scammers. He will not be able to do it without the support of Cambodian law enforcement, which is not going to work with their Thai counterparts if Thai politicians continue to conflate the border conflict with Cambodian leaders being in bed with cybercriminals.

Some Considerations

The fact that Anutin does not seem to be as ambitious as Thaksin, whose every move was seen as challenging the status quo, works in his favour. Anutin seems very satisfied with the vote count. But of course, time will tell if this election result has planted crazy ambitions in Anutin’s head the same way it did with Thaksin two decades ago.

If recent Thai political history teaches us anything, it is that when here-today, gone-tomorrow politicians get aspirations and try to be more than what they can be, only disasters will follow. The toxic nationalism that Anutin has been riding will die down once tension along the Cambodian border subsides. The people’s attention will turn to Thailand’s “sick man of Asia” status as critical topics like salary and job security, as well as pocketbook issues, hit Anutin like a freight train.

Collaboration between Versa and

Of th

The full report, republished on the Malay Mail, is available below:

Introduction

Nine years ago, I remember sharing on my now-deleted Facebook account a post about 9 Inspiring Muslim Men That Ruled 2016. I did not realise it then until a friend called me out—I just wanted to make it on that list someday.

It is 2026 now, and I am still nowhere near that index. When you have reached your 30s, as fellow millennials might have also experienced, sometimes you wonder whether you have wasted your 20s sleepwalking through life and falling into irrelevance.

However, a recent once-in-a-generation phenomenon has forced me to scrutinise my life and reignited my drive to achieve more as a Muslim man. I wholly blame Zohran Mamdani and his meteoric rise for inducing this life crisis in my head.

But first, a context: I do not usually compare myself to others (especially other men) after getting off most social media platforms in 2023. Moreover, I also do not really have a fixed male role model, contrary to what my friends and acquaintances might think.

These only inflated Mamdani’s impact when he first became known to me. He has become the new face of a major political party, won political contests against big money and establishments, and been elected mayor in the United States’ largest city. He achieved all these while being unabashedly progressive and unashamedly Muslim.

At 34, he has achieved what most people could only conceive as their final fantasy. Compared to that, I, a 33-year-old man, waste my time these days playing Clair Obscur: Expedition 33. If you do not follow, the in-game’s bizarre logic dictates that I will not have a future in fame and glory, as I will be erased from existence before turning 34 (gommaged). Oh, the irony!

Mamdani’s incredible success has led me to ask anyone who would listen to me why I cannot be like him in Makassar. Indeed, if we stretch this wider, why is it that Muslim-majority countries like Indonesia and Malaysia have not seen any individual lately as groundbreaking as he is?

Problematic Men

The adoption of Mamdani as a role model could perhaps be explained as my way of responding to a larger problem of which I am also a part: the global masculinity crisis. In essence, this is a chronic situation whereby dramatic structural and societal changes in the last few decades have led men to feel that they are losing direction and relevance in life.

Books such as Of Boys and Men and Notes on Being a Man explore this topic further and discuss its consequences at great length. In short, some of the challenges facing men today include academic underachievement, economic irrelevance, cultural obsolescence, adoption of online misogyny and the lack of role models.

The authors of both books agree that the presence of a male role model is one of the guardrails preventing men from succumbing to the problems often associated with being male these days. Dina Zaman’s famous article contextualises this discussion in a Malaysian setting and gives a few examples. However, if you still wonder how masculinity crisis usually manifests, it ranges from engagement in toxic masculinity attitudes, subscription to rabid online manosphere, development of severe mental health problems, being emotionally unavailable to adoption of questionable behaviours, such as gaslighting and ghosting.

It is no wonder, then, that “cowok red flag” (red flag boys) is a common topic in Indonesia’s dating-speak today, at least among my circles.

Role Model

My fascination towards Mamdani is multi-layered. First, by achieving something incredible, he is showing an example to all men out there that we need not be defined by this global crisis and can still succeed under this climate.

His privileges, including high education, a stable family and a supporting wife, only emphasise why men need to keep engaged with something bigger – be it positive institutions or the society – to be able to create “surplus value” for the people around him. I doubt Mamdani would have attained such a magnitude if he subscribed to the popular toxic ideologies of “lone wolf-ism” and “sigma male-ism”.

Second, Mamdani’s political success did not require him to keep his identity as a Muslim in the closet. When one belongs to a minority group in a society, oftentimes there is a societal pressure (or even expectation) to repress his identity or diminish her principles. All for approval and acceptance, to the point where it could feel like someone has to apologise for professing the Islamic faith, in the Muslim context.

Mamdani reversed this. His campaign trail, victory speech and inauguration all exemplify a tremendous confidence in his religious belief and refusal to apologise for his Muslimness. His presence in the political domain is a welcome change, especially after trends in the past few decades to approach Muslims from a security lens (I used to research counter-violent extremism). His example is also a call for everyone to reach a common point of understanding, less by asking Muslims to explain themselves and more by demanding others try to understand Muslims with all their multifaceted experiences and backgrounds.

Some might see the problem in my thinking. We are already living in Muslim-majority countries like Indonesia and Malaysia, so don’t we already have the space and opportunity to showcase our Muslim pride?

This is where Mamdani’s progressiveness adds depth and complexity to his Muslim identity. He embraces many groups and issues that the more conservative streams of the faith would not approach with a ten-foot pole: socialism and LGBT, among others. A deeper discussion on his contrarian views falls outside the scope of this write-up; however, it is fascinating how he can both claim his faith while at the same time also challenge the views of most of his co-religionists, often in the same breath. That requires a tremendous amount of courage, self-conviction and security with one’s faith.

I wonder if, in a way, he has validated an emerging trend among Indonesian millennials and Gen Z whereby faith is being reinterpreted and realigned to match personal values, emotional needs, and daily experiences. My biggest curiosity at this point is if he has experienced a degree of internal conflict as he balances between the Islamic faith and his political convictions, but I would leave this to the psychologists and philosophers out there. This, however, has not alienated him from Muslim New Yorkers, some of whom expressed their joy at seeing a Muslim inst

Some may call this a contradiction. I call it on-the-ground realities. Personally, I am something of a non-conformist myself, often questioning the establishments and wondering why the majority subscribe to the same conventions.

Mamdani somewhat fits this bill when he demonstrates his paradox—a Muslim with contrarian views. But beyond my private convictions, he has successfully proven to the world that Muslims are more than just the one-dimensional image that the West has painted in the past few decades (i.e. backward and a security risk). This only reinforces the narrative that Muslims are just as complex, as grounded and as human as the rest of the people on the planet.

Mamdani has inspired me to achieve more as a Muslim and stand for what I believe in, even if it means ruffling some feathers sometimes.

Identity over Substance?

Mainstream as well as social media in both Malaysia and Indonesia erupted with a rare euphoria that more often than not highlights Mamdani’s Muslim background.

Such an excitement, nevertheless, has invited a degree of scepticism from some observers for what they call the people’s obsession with identity over substance.

To a large extent, this kind of criticism holds true. Southeast Asian political culture often emphasises personal identity, background and leadership style over ideology and policy. The fascination towards Mamdani’s Islamic faith, for instance, is not coupled with a similar degree of attention to his policies, which include rent freezes, universal childcare, free city buses and others.

If scrutiny over local politicians’ politics and policies is already at a bare minimum, it is unlikely that the people here would also give a second look at the programmes of a politician in a far-off place.

Even more problematic is the fact that this attention to Mamdani’s identity appears to be selective. Mamdani is a follower of Twelver Shi’ism, which should send many Muslims in Southeast Asia, who are followers of Sunni Islam, to an anxious state of mind. However, this fact did not get as many mentions. He is also a socialist, which to some people is worse, considering how leftist politics often gets associated with atheism still.

His more controversial positions, such as support towards the LGBT group, do complicate the reception towards him. However, this is not usually followed by a more in-depth discussion about various Muslim beliefs and identity, as it often quickly devolves into a binary discourse of whether Mamdani is Muslim or not. A trainer in my gym, for instance, both celebrated and deplored Mamdani within 10 seconds for this reason.

This presents an interesting facet of identity politics here, whereby individuals generally only pay attention to certain identities of a politician but not others. Clearly a new research question for those who are interested to explore this topic further.

Validating the Celebration

Nevertheless, such criticism ignores the people’s psyche as to why there is so much celebration over Mamdani’s election as New York City’s first Muslim mayor. I am offering a few takes as to why Muslims in this region are obsessed with Mamdani’s faith.

Firstly, there is a (perceived) shortage of inspirational Muslim figures today. A quick Google search or Gemini prompt for Muslim role models in Indonesia, for instance, usually yields examples that lean heavily towards certain categories, such as religious clerics, businessmen or historical figures. There is also a lack of a poll or survey detailing which Muslim figures are venerated in the region.

There are, of course, notable Muslims today who also inspire others. My Gemini offered a few names that include sportsmen (Mo Salah, Khabib Nurmagomedov), entertainers (Riz Ahmed, Ramy Youssef), religious leaders (Husein Ja’far Al Hadar, Ustadz Adi Hidayat) and politicians (Anwar Ibrahim, Anies Baswedan), among others.

However, there are no statistics detailing how many people are idolising such names or if they have motivated others as role models. My social circles are also dry; we do not really discuss inspirational Muslim figures. Meanwhile, social media continue to glorify the usual suspects, such as Elon Musk, Bill Gates, Rafi Ahmad or Atta Halilintar, ostensibly for their financial achievements or virality.

I am also guilty—it was really difficult to think of names even after a hard consideration. Only a few names popped up: J Robert Oppenheimer of the nuclear bomb or the fictional Hawke from the Dragon Age series.

Mamdani’s rise, thus, becomes relevant here. His achievements are one thing, but he also motivates other Muslims to be proud of who they are and what they believe in. He shows that one can be an exemplary model without having to be heavy-handed with religion, instead marrying religious obligations with the lived realities that Muslims experience. This ensures that he is accessible to a wide array of Muslims from different backgrounds.

Secondly, the impact of decades of Muslim securitisation. For so long, thanks to policies like the Global War on Terror, many Muslims have been led to believe that there is something inherently wrong with professing the faith. Instead of pursuing the ultimate truth through intellectual curiosity, a critical mind and an open heart, Muslims have been encouraged to approach religion with suspicion, fear, and insecurity. The growth of radical extremism certainly did not help, compelling Muslims to view the world through a lens of fire and hatred. To put a cherry on top, the sizeable Islamophobia industry further bolsters a global atmosphere that seeks to suppress Muslim identity and expression.

As competing actors dictate the “correct version of Islam”, the space for many Muslims to pursue and arrive at their spiritual truth organically becomes limited. Such actors offer discourses that are often embarrassingly ignorant of the vast Islamic history, worldview and values, creating a reductionist view of Islam that disrespects the agency of Muslims who are simply yearning for their God. Many have fallen into the fissures of both extremes – becoming radical Muslims or committing apostasy – while others may struggle to grow a sincere pride in the faith.

As touched on above, Mamdani challenged this trend, assuring Muslims worldwide that they do not have to apologise for embracing Islam or justify their faith to others. Whether one practices diligently or not is a separate question (Mamdani’s religious practice is something of an internet conundrum as well)—the point is, Muslims should be able

Thirdly, the euphoria bloomed against the backdrop of prevailing mindsets of many Muslims in Southeast Asia. These include ghazwul fikr (invasion of ideas), or the massive Westernisation of popular culture in Southeast Asia, and the siege mentality that perceives the West as an oppressor aiming to eliminate Islam, among others. Perspectives such as these cause many Muslims to y

Being a product of Islamic education institutions almost all my life (which means I was always in the company of committed Muslims), perspectives like these were a constant leitmotif, particularly in the 2000s, when the full force of globalisation began to mould life here in Indonesia. Even today, their expressions continue to manifest in various discussions about the Muslim world, usually coupled with discussions on the failure of Muslims to reclaim the Islamic renaissance that marks the zenith of this civilisation.

Mamdani’s win, thus, presented a refreshing break against this gloomy mood. A Muslim now presides as mayor at the United States’ capitalist and liberal heart, projecting a glimmer of hope towards the rise of Islam and – in the more binary mindset of some people – its (eventual) victory against the West. Mamdani’s anti-genocide stance further reinforces his credence among the audience that he is here to fight for the oppressed Palestinians.

These are just some perceptions that need to be considered to understand why Southeast Asian Muslims celebrated Mamdani’s win, with a special emphasis on his faith. This did not occur in a vacuum—the attention to his (selected) identity is the outcome of decades of history and experiences of what being a Muslim is here.

If there is one lesson that we could learn from this debate, it is that there is an imperative to understand Muslims for who they are truly: their rituals, mindsets, histories, experiences, practices and, oxymoronically, faiths.

Mamdani’s opponents and detractors only saw him as a member of a minority group and a potential security threat. They ignored his education, history, family values and connection to the society, as if any Muslim is devoid of all these things that make him/her a human. Of course other Muslims cheered when he won.

Conclusion

Mamdani might have inspired people like me and others in Southeast Asia, but it is unlikely that we will bloom into someone as revolutionary and impactful as he is soon.

To be a Mamdani is to be someone who does not shy away from sitting on the opposite side of other people, including other Muslims. In Southeast Asia’s conservative sphere, the opportunity to do this is restricted. Furthermore, it takes a great deal to grow confidence in one’s ideals and principles—going out of the mainstream way, to stand for what you believe in, means you are likely to be cast as an individualistic person, which is often scorned here. You need quality education, a robust support system and humility to negotiate with the masses to navigate the opposition that comes in your way.

Forget the masses; many men do not even know what they want and what they are doing in life. Sadly, I have come across many men who are struggling with these questions lately, with various manifest consequences. Maybe they are also Mamdanis deep down but are significantly affected by the global masculinity crisis. In other words, the cards may be stacked up against us. For now, however, I am just glad I finally have someone that I can relate and look up to.

Artikel ini diterjemahkan dari versi Bahasa Inggris menggunakan Goog

Pendahuluan

Sembilan tahun lalu, saya ingat pernah membagikan sebuah unggahan di akun Facebook yang kini sudah dihapus tentang 9 Pria Muslim Inspiratif yang Berjaya di Tahun 2016. Saya tidak menyadarinya sampai seorang teman menegur saya—bahwa saya hanya ingin masuk ke dalam daftar itu suatu hari nanti.

Sekarang sudah tahun 2026, dan saya masih jauh dari daftar tersebut. Ketika Anda mencapai usi

Namun, sebuah fenomena langka baru-baru ini telah memaksa saya untuk mencermati hidup dan menyalakan kembali semangat untuk meraih lebih banyak hal sebagai seorang pria Muslim. Saya sepenuhnya menyalahkan Zohran Mamdani dan keberhasilannya yang telah memicu krisis kehidupan dalam kepala saya.

Izinkan saya menyediakan sebuah konteks di awal: Saya biasanya tidak membandingkan diri saya dengan orang lain (terutama pria lain) setelah menghapus sebagian besar platform media sosial pada tahun 2023. Selain itu, teman-teman saya mungkin juga terkejut bahwa saya sebenarnya tidak memiliki sosok teladan pria.

Hal-hal inilah yang justru menambah impak Mamdani ketika saya pertama kali mengikuti gerak-geriknya. Dia telah menjadi wajah baru dari sebuah partai politik besar, memenangkan kontestasi politik melawan elit politik dan pendukungnya yang mapan, serta terpilih sebagai wali kota di kota terbesar di Amerika Serikat. Ia meraih semua itu tanpa menanggalkan statusnya sebagai sosok progresif yang lantang dan Muslim yang bangga dengan imannya.

Di usia 34 tahun, ia telah mencapai apa yang hanya bisa dibayangkan kebanyakan orang sebagai puncak fantasi mereka. Dibandingkan dengan itu, saya, seorang pria berusia 33 tahun, menghabiskan waktu belakangan ini dengan bermain Clair Obscur: Expedition 33. Bagi Anda yang ti

Kesuksesan luar biasa Mamdani membuat saya bertanya kepada siapa pun yang mau mendengarkan: mengapa saya tidak bisa menjadi seperti dia di Makassar? Kalau pertanyaannya kita tarik lebih luas, mengapa negara-negara mayor

Pria-Pria Bermasalah

Menjadikan Mamdani sebagai sosok teladan mungkin bisa dijelaskan sebagai sebuah respons pribadi terhadap masalah besar yang juga menimpa diri saya: krisis maskulinitas global. Intinya, krisis ini adalah situasi kronis di mana perubahan struktural dan sosial yang drastis dalam beberapa dekade terakhir telah membuat para pria merasa kehilangan arah dan relevansi dalam hidup.

Buku-buku seperti Of Boys and Men dan Notes on Being a Man menelaah topik ini lebih jauh dan membahas konsekuensinya secara panjang lebar. Singkatnya, beberapa tantangan yang banyak dihadapi pria-pria saat ini termasuk prestasi akademik yang rendah, keterpinggiran ekonomi, keusangan fungsi budaya, adopsi misogini daring dan kurangnya sosok teladan.

Penulis kedua buku tersebut sepakat bahwa kehadiran sosok teladan pria adalah salah satu pagar pembatas yang mencegah para pria terjerumus ke dalam masalah-masalah yang sering dikaitkan dengan laki-laki pada era ini. Artikel dari Dina Zaman membumikan diskusi ini dalam konteks Malaysia dan juga memberikan beberapa contoh. Namun, jika Anda masih bertanya-tanya bagaimana krisis maskulinitas biasanya hadir di tengah-tengah kita, Anda mungkin sudah pernah terkena dampaknya akhir-akhir in, sadar atau tidak. Mulai dari keterlibatan dalam sikap kejantanan yang merusak, fanatisme terhadap dunia manosphere daring, perkembangan masalah kesehatan mental yang parah, ketidakhadiran secara emosional (emotionally unavailable), hingga timbulnya perilaku bermasalah seperti manipulasi psikologis (gaslighting) dan pengabaian sepihak (ghosting).

Makanya, tidak heran jika istilah “cowok red flag” menjadi topik umum dalam percakapan dunia kencan di Indonesia saat ini, setidaknya di lingkaran pertemanan saya.

Sosok Teladan

Ketertarikan saya terhadap Mamdani terdiri dari berbagai lapisan. Pertama, dengan mencapai sesuatu yang luar biasa, ia menjadi contoh kepada para pria lain bahwa kita masih tetap bisa sukses walaupun terkena dampak krisis ini.

Faktor-faktor keistimewaan yang ia miliki, termasuk pendidikan tinggi, keluarga yang stabil dan istri yang suportif, justru menegaskan mengapa pria perlu terus terlibat dengan sesuatu yang lebih besar dari dirinya sendiri – baik itu institusi yang positif maupun masyarakat – agar mampu menciptakan “nilai tambah” bagi orang-orang di sekitarnya. Saya ragu Mamdani akan seberhasil ini jika ia mengikuti ideologi beracun yang populer seperti “lone wolf-ism” dan “sigma male-ism”.

Kedua, kesuksesan politik Mamdani tidak menuntut untuk menyembunyikan identitasnya sebagai seorang Muslim. Ketika seseorang menjadi bagian dari kelompok minoritas dalam suatu masyarakat, seringkali ada tekanan sosial (atau bahkan ekspektasi) untuk menyembunyikan identitasnya atau mengabaikan prinsipnya. Hal-hal ini dilakukan demi mendapatkan penerimaan dari masyarakat ramai, bahkan sampai di titik di mana seseorang merasa harus meminta maaf karena memeluk agama Islam, dalam konteks Muslim.

Mamdani membalikkan hal ini. Jejak kampanyenya, pidato kemenangannya dan pelantikannya mencontohkan kepercayaan diri yang luar biasa pada keyakinan agamanya dan penolakan untuk meminta maaf atas ke-Musliman-nya. Kehadirannya di ranah politik adalah perubahan yang menyegarkan, terutama setelah tren beberapa dekade terakhir yang sering memandang Muslim sebagai ancaman keamanan (saya dulu pernah meneliti tentang kontra ekstremisme kekerasan). Teladannya juga merupakan seruan bagi semua orang untuk mencapai titik pemahaman bersama, bukan dengan meminta umat Islam untuk menjelaskan diri dan agama mereka, melainkan dengan dorongan kepada kaum lain untuk mencoba memahami umat Islam dengan segala pengalaman dan latar belakang mereka yang beragam.

Beberapa orang mungkin melihat celah dalam pemikiran saya. Kita sudah tinggal di negara mayoritas Muslim seperti Indonesia dan Malaysia, jadi bukankah kita sudah memiliki ruang dan kesempatan untuk menunjukkan kebanggaan kita sebagai Muslim?

Di sinilah progresivitas Mamdani menambah nuansa dan kompleksitas pada identitas Muslimnya. Ia merangkul banyak konsep dan isu yang tidak akan disentuh oleh penganut Muslim yang lebih konservatif: sosialisme dan LGBT, di antaranya. Diskusi lebih mendalam tentang pandangannya yang berseberangan berada di luar cakupan tulisan ini; namun, sangat menarik bagaimana ia bisa mengklaim imannya tapi juga menantang pandangan sebagian besar rekan seagamanya sekaligus. Hal itu membutuhkan keberanian, keyakinan diri dan kenyamanan dengan imannya yang besar.

Saya bertanya-tanya apakah, dalam satu sisi, ia telah memvalidasi tren yang muncul di kalangan milenial dan Gen Z Indonesia di mana iman sedang ditafsirkan ulang dan diselaraskan untuk menyesuaikan dengan nilai-nilai pribadi, kebutuhan emosional dan pengalaman sehari-hari. Pertanyaan yang ada di benak saya adalah apakah Mamdani juga mengalami konflik internal dalam upayanya menyeimbangkan antara iman dan pandangan politiknya, tetapi saya akan menyerahkan hal ini kepada para psikolog dan filsuf. Namun, hal ini tidak mengasingkan dirinya dari warga Muslim New York yang gembira menyambut seorang Muslim dilantik sebagai wali kota. Faktanya, sebuah jajak pendapat menemukan bahwa 97% pemilih Muslim memilih Mamdani saat pemilu.

Beberapa orang mungkin menyebut ini sebagai sebuah kontradiksi. Saya menyebutnya sebagai kenyataan hidup. Secara pribadi, saya sendiri adalah seorang non-konformis, sering mempertanyakan tatanan masyarakat dan bertanya-tanya mengapa mayoritas orang lain mengikuti tren yang sama.

Mamdani menciptakan sebuah paradoks – seorang Muslim dengan pandangan yang berseberangan – dan hal ini mempunyai beberapa kesamaan dengan sudut pandang saya. Namun di luar keyakinan pribadi saya, Mamdani telah berhasil membuktikan kepada dunia bahwa umat Islam lebih dari sekadar citra dangkal yang dilukiskan dunia Barat dalam beberapa dekade terakhir (yakni terbelakang dan berbahaya). Hal ini memperkuat narasi bahwa umat Islam sama kompleksnya, sama membuminya dan sama manusianya dengan penduduk lain di planet ini.

Mamdani telah menginspirasi saya untuk meraih lebih banyak hal sebagai seorang Muslim dan membela apa yang saya yakini, bahkan jika saya terkadang harus berseberangan dengan beberapa pihak lain.

Identitas di Atas Substansi?

Media arus utama maupun media sosial di Malaysia dan Indonesia meledak dengan euforia yang seringkali menyoroti latar belakang Mamdani sebagai seorang Muslim.

Namun, kegembiraan tersebut mengundang kesangsian dari beberapa pengamat atas apa yang mereka sebut sebagai obsesi terhadap identitas di atas substansi.

Dalam taraf tertentu, kritik semacam ini ada benarnya. Budaya politik Asia Tenggara seringkali lebih menyoroti identitas pribadi, latar belakang dan gaya kepemimpinan dibanding ideologi dan kebijakan. Ketertarikan terhadap agama Mamdani, misalnya, tidak dibarengi dengan perhatian yang sama terhadap kebijakannya yang mencakup pembekuan harga sewa, layanan pengasuhan anak universal, bus kota gratis dan sebagainya.

Jika pengawasan terhadap politik dan kebijakan politisi lokal saja sudah berada pada tingkat minimal, kecil kemungkinannya warga di sini akan mencermati program-program politisi di tempat yang jauh.

Yang lebih bermasalah adalah kenyataan bahwa perhatian terhadap identitas Mamdani tampaknya bersifat selektif. Mamdani adalah pengikut Syiah Dua Belas Imam, fakta yang bisa membuat banyak pengikut Sunni Muslim di Asia Tenggara merasa cemas. Namun, hal ini tidak banyak disebutkan. Ia juga seorang sosialis, yang mungkin bagi beberapa orang jauh lebih buruk, mengingat bagaimana politik sayap kiri seringkali masih dikaitkan dengan ateisme.

Posisi-posisinya yang lebih kontroversial, seperti dukungan terhadap kelompok LGBT, memang memperumit penerimaan terhadap dirinya. Namun, hal ini biasanya tidak diikuti oleh diskusi yang lebih mendalam tentang keyakinan dan identitas Muslim yang bervariasi, karena seringkali perdebatan tersebut dengan cepat merosot menjadi wacana biner tentang apakah Mamdani itu betul seorang Muslim atau bukan. Seorang pelatih di pusat kebugaran saya, misalnya, memuji sekaligus mencela Mamdani dalam waktu 10 detik karena alasan ini.

Hal ini menyajikan sisi menarik dari politik identitas di Asia Tenggara, di mana pemilih umumnya hanya memperhatikan identitas tertentu dari seorang politisi tetapi mengabaikan yang lain. Jelas ini adalah pertanyaan penelitian baru bagi mereka yang tertarik untuk mengeksplorasi topik ini lebih jauh.

Mengabsahkan Perayaan atas Mamdani

Meskipun demikian, kritik tersebut mengabaikan kondisi psikis orang-orang yang merayakan terpilihnya Mamdani sebaga

Pertama, adanya (persepsi) kekurangan sosok Muslim yang inspiratif saat ini. Pencarian di Google atau riset singkat menggunakan Gemini, misalnya, lebih menyediakan contoh-contoh yang sangat condong ke kategori tertentu, seperti ulama, pengusaha sukses atau tokoh sejarah. Ada juga kekurangan jajak pendapat atau survei yang merinci mengenai tokoh Muslim mana yang dihormati di kawasan ini.

Tentu saja, ada Muslim terkemuka saat ini yang juga menginspirasi orang lain. Gemini menawarkan beberapa nama yang mencakup olahragawan (Mo Salah, Khabib Nurmagomedov), penghibur (Riz Ahmed, Ramy Youssef), pemimpin agama (Husein Ja’far Al Hadar, Ustadz Adi Hidayat) dan politisi (Anwar Ibrahim, Anies Baswedan).

Namun, tidak ada statistik yang merinci berapa banyak o

Saya pun turut bersalah—sangat sulit menemukan sosok-sosok yan

Oleh karena itu, kebangkitan Mamdani menjadi relevan di sini. Di samping pencapaiannya, ia juga memotivasi Muslim lainnya untuk menumbuhkan rasa bangga dengan dengan diri sendiri dan dengan keyakinan mereka. Ia juga menunjukkan bahwa seseorang dapat menjadi teladan tanpa harus bersikap keras dan menggurui dalam beragama; malahan, dia menggabungkan kewajiban agama dengan realitas hidup yang dialami umat Islam. Hal ini memastikan bahwa ia dapat dijangkau oleh berbagai kalangan umat Islam dari latar belakang yang berbeda-beda.

Kedua, dampak dari sekuritisasi Muslim di beberapa dekade terakhir. Sudah begitu lama, berkat kebijakan seperti Global War on Terror, banyak umat Islam diarahkan untuk percaya bahwa ada sesuatu yang salah secara hakiki dalam memeluk Islam. Alih-alih mengejar kebenaran sejati melalui rasa ingin tahu, pikiran kritis dan hati yang terbuka, umat Islam justru didorong untuk mendekati agama dengan kecurigaan, ketakutan, dan rasa tidak aman. Pertumbuhan ekstremisme radikal merunyamkan situasi dengan memaksa umat Islam untuk memandang dunia melalui kacamata api dan kebencian. Sebagai pelengkap, industri Islamofobia yang besar semakin memperkuat atmosfer global yang berupaya menekan identitas dan ekspresi Muslim.

Ketika para aktor bersaing mendiktekan “versi Islam yang benar”, ruang bagi banyak Muslim untuk mengejar dan mencapai kebenaran spiritual mereka secara alami menjadi terbatas. Aktor-aktor tersebut menawarkan wacana yang sering kali sangat mengabaikan sejarah, pandangan dunia dan nilai-nilai Islam yang luas; akibatnya, tercipta pandangan reduksionis tentang Islam yang tidak menghargai agensi umat Islam yang sekadar merindukan Tuhan mereka. Banyak yang terjatuh ke dalam celah dari kedua ekstrem tersebut – menjadi Muslim radikal atau murtad – sementara yang lain berjuang untuk menumbuhkan kebanggaan yang tulus pada iman tersebut.

Sebagaimana disinggung di atas, Mamdani menantang tren ini, meyakinkan umat Islam bahwa mereka tidak perlu meminta maaf karena memeluk Islam atau membenarkan iman mereka kepada orang lain. Apakah seseorang beribadah dengan rajin atau tidak adalah pertanyaan terpisah (religiusitas Mamdani sendiri merupakan sebuah teka-teki di internet)—intinya, umat Islam semestinya bisa mengejar kebenaran mereka tanpa rasa tidak aman. Sepanjang masa kampanye, Mamdani harus menangkis tuduhan Islamofobia dan rasis yang mengaitkan dirinya dengan Islam radikal. Oleh karena itu, kemenangannya di pemilu meromantisasi perjuangan sesama Muslim untuk mengukir ruang mereka dan mendapatkan pengakuan, serta penerimaan dari orang lain di masyarakat.

Ketiga, euforia atas Mamdani mekar di tengah pola pikir yang menyebar di antara umat Muslim Asia Tenggara. Ini termasuk ghazwul fikr (perang pemikiran), atau Westernisasi budaya populer yang masif di Asia Tenggara, dan mentalitas terkepung (siege mentality) yang memandang Barat sebagai penindas yang bertujuan melenyapkan Islam. Perspektif seperti ini menyebabkan banyak umat Islam merindukan kejayaan Islam, bebas dari penindasan aktor luar.

Sebagai produk lembaga pendidikan Islam hampir sepanjang hidup saya (yang berarti saya selalu berada di lingkungan Muslim yang taat), perspektif seperti ini adalah tema-tema yang selalu muncul, terutama pada tahun 2000-an ketika kekuatan penuh globalisasi mulai membentuk kehidupan di Indonesia. Bahkan sekarang, pandangan-pandangan seperti ini terus bermunculan dalam berbagai diskusi tentang dunia Muslim, biasanya dibarengi dengan diskusi tentang kegagalan umat Islam untuk merebut kembali kebangkitan Islam di abad ke-13 dan 14 yang menandai puncak peradaban ini.

Kemenangan Mamdani, dengan demikian, menjadi jeda yang menyegarkan di tengah suasana suram ini. Seorang Muslim kini menjabat sebagai wali kota di pusat kapitalis dan liberal Amerika Serikat, memberikan secercah harapan terhadap bangkitnya Islam dan – dalam pola pikir yang lebih biner bagi sebagian orang – kemenangan (yang akan datang) melawan Barat. Sikap anti-genosida Mamdani semakin memperkuat kredibilitasnya di mata khalayak bahwa ia ada di sini untuk memperjuangkan rakyat Palestina yang tertindas.

Ini hanyalah beberapa persepsi yang patut dipertimbangkan untuk memahami mengapa Muslim di Asia Tenggara merayakan kemenangan Mamdani, dengan penekanan khusus pada agamanya. Hal ini tidak terjadi dalam ruang hampa—perhatian terhadap identitasnya (yang tertentu) adalah hasil dari sejarah panjang dan pengalaman bertahun-tahun tentang apa artinya menjadi seorang Muslim di sini.

Jika ada satu pelajaran yang bisa kita petik dari perdebatan ini, hal itu adalah adanya keharusan untuk memahami umat Islam apa adanya; ritual mereka, pola pikir, sejarah, pengalaman, praktik dan, secara oksimoron, iman mereka.

Lawan dan pengkritik Mamdani hanya melihatnya sebagai anggota kelompok minoritas dan seseorang yang menjadi ancaman keamanan. Mereka mengabaikan pendidikan, sejarah, nilai-nilai keluarga, dan hubungannya dengan masyarakat, seolah-olah setiap Muslim tidak memiliki semua hal tersebut yang membuatnya menjadi manusia. Tentu saja para Muslim lain bersorak saat ia menang.

Kesimpulan

Mamdani mungkin telah menginspirasi saya dan orang lain di Asia Tenggara, tetapi kecil kemungkinan banyak orang di sini akan segera muncul menjadi seseorang revolusioner yang sangat berdampak seperti Mamdani.

Menjadi seorang Mamdani berarti menjadi seseorang yang tidak gentar untuk duduk berseberangan dengan orang lain, termasuk dengan sesama Muslim sekalipun. Di lingkungan konservatif Asia Tenggara, kesempatan untuk hal ini sangat terbatas. Seseorang perlu berusaha usaha keras untuk menumbuhkan kepercayaan diri pada cita-cita dan prinsip seseorang—keluar dari arus utama untuk membela apa yang Anda yakini berarti ada kemungkinan besar Anda akan dicap sebagai orang yang individualistik, suatu hal yang sering dicemooh di sini. Anda membutuhkan pendidikan berkualitas, sistem pendukung yang kuat dan kerendahan hati untuk bernegosiasi dengan massa guna menghadapi tantangan yang menghambat perjalanan Anda.

Lupakan soal massa; banyak pria bahkan tidak tahu apa yang mereka inginkan dan apa yang mereka lakukan dalam hidup. Sedihnya, akhir-akhir ini saya menjumpai banyak pria lain yang berkutat dengan pertanyaan-pertanyaan seperti ini, dengan dampak nyata yang bermacam-macam. Bisa jadi mereka juga adalah pribadi-pribadi yang bisa menjadi seorang Mamdani atau lebih, tapi jatuh karena pengaruh krisis maskulinitas global. Dengan kata lain, banyak kondisi saat ini yang menghambat perjalanan kita sebagai pria. Namun untuk saat ini, saya senang akhirnya punya seorang teladan yang bisa saya ik

Introduction

The 7 October attacks did more than trigger another devastating chapter in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict; they sent shockwaves far beyond Gaza, setting off a chain reaction that is quietly reshaping the Middle East’s political order.

Like the opening strike in a game of billiards, the initial impact was concentrated, but the collisions that followed altered trajectories across the entire table.

What we are witnessing today is a series of second-order effects of 7 October that are redrawing regional alignments in ways few anticipated.

In the immediate aftermath of Hamas’ attack, many analysts assumed that Israel’s overwhelming military response had forged a new regional consensus. Non-state armed groups – Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis and others – were increasingly framed as destabilising forces that needed to be decisively neutralised. This reading seemed to explain the notably restrained reactions of neighbouring states as Israel expanded its campaign beyond Gaza.

What went largely unnotice

Syria: The First Crack

For more than a decade, Hezbollah had been one of the Assad regime’s most reliable pillars. When the Syrian government was on the brink of collapse in 2015, it was the combination of Iranian-backed militias – chief among them Hezbollah – and Russian airpower that turned the tide.

By 2017, Assad had recaptured much of the territory he had lost, relying heavily on Hezbollah’s experienced fighters to hold the ground.

That arrangement came at a cost. Assad effectively anchored his survival to the sustained deployment of external militant forces. As Israeli pressure on Hezbollah intensified after 7 October, the group was forced to pull fighters and resources back toward Lebanon to cover up its own defences.

The consequences were immediate. Deprived of one of its most effective military supports, the Assad regime found its grip weakening. Political and military space reopened inside Syria, setting in motion dynamics that culminated in Assad’s fall in December 2024 , just over a year after 7 October.

Iran: The Limits of Regional Reach

Syria’s sudden vulnerability exposed a deeper fault line: the limits of Iran’s regional power.

For years, Tehran’s influence rested on a carefully constructed so-called “axis of resistance” stretching from Iran through Iraq and Syria to Lebanon. Syria was the centre of gravity of the axis, enabling the flow of weapons, fighters and logistics to Hezbollah. Without it, Iran’s regional reach was sharply curtailed—7 October brought this reality into focus.

As the Assad regime collapsed, Iran appeared exposed. Israeli operations grew stronger, penetrating Iran’s internal security architecture and targeting senior figures as well as sensitive infrastructure. The long-held assumption that Iran could absorb pressure abroad while safeguarding its own territory proved increasingly untenable.

Tehran was pushed onto the defensive, its ambitions compressed back toward its borders. Symbolically, as well as materially, Iran no longer looked like an ascendant power shaping the region but a constrained actor struggling to hold its ground.

Turkey: From Isolation to Assertive Actor

This weakening of Iran reshaped the strategic environment for another major regional player: Turkey.

For more than a decade, Ankara had felt encircled by overlapping threats. Iranian-backed militias helped entrench the Assad regime, fuelling a war that sent millions of refugees into Turkey.

At the same time, Damascus ceded control of northeastern Syria to Kurdish forces backed by the United States—forces Ankara viewed as a direct security threat. By 2017, Turkey’s regional ambitions had narrowed to managing crises along its borders.

The post-7 October landscape altered that equation. As Iran’s position eroded and Syria’s internal balance shifted,

This marked a quiet but consequential reinvention of Turkey’s regional role: after decades largely focusing inward, Turkey re-emerged as an assertive regional actor. This outcome makes little sense without understanding the cascading effects set in motion by 7 October.

The Gulf: Rivalries Reawakened

The shockwaves were felt just as clearly in the Gulf. Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates have long pursued competing agendas in Yemen, Libya, Sudan, and Somalia. For years, they managed these differences through careful coordination and restraint.

Recently, that balance has become difficult to maintain. Tensions between Riyadh and Abu Dhabi have resurfaced, no longer easily contained behind closed doors.

This renewed rivalry is not unfolding in isolation. As Iran’s influence waned and Israel’s regional standing surged after 7 October, the United Arab Emirates moved with new confidence across multiple theatres. Its activism in Yemen, Libya and Sudan grew more pronounced, projecting ambition, and strategic assertiveness. In Riyadh, these moves increasingly looked less like partnership and more like encroachment.

Crucially, Emirati confidence cannot be separated from its close strategic relationship with Israel. Abu Dhabi’s posture has been emboldened by Israel’s expanded freedom of action, embedding Emirati ambitions within a broader regional realignment.

Yet, in tracing the chain of second-order effects of 7 October, one additional dimension warrants reflection: how Israel itself perceives and seeks to shape these evolving dynamics.

Israel and the Return of Counterweights

In the months following 7 October, many observers concluded that Israel had emerged as the principal beneficiary of a shifting regional order. Israeli jets operated with remarkable freedom across the Middle East, striking targets in Gaza, Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Yemen and even Qatar.

Israel was no longer treated as an isolated actor but as a central security stakeholder, consulted on crises ranging from southern Syria to the Horn of Africa. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu appeared convinced that the extensive use of force had translated into strategic victory.

Yet this perception of hegemony proved fragile. What Israel did not fully anticipate was the re-emergence of self-restrained yet capable regional actors, most notably Turkey and Saudi Arabia. Their renewed assertiveness, particularly in Syria and Yemen, introduced political and strategic constraints that complicated Israel’s vision of a fragmented and manageable regional environment.

Nowhere is this shift more evident than in Syria. In the immediate afterma

Faced with changing power balances, long-term security considerations and the prospect of a more coordinated regional order, Israel has shown greater readiness to engage pragmatically with Damascus rather than continue investing in non-state proxies.

Thus, t

Trump Effect

There is an elephant in the room behind all of these shifts: the United States under Trump. More specifically, the “Trump effect” looms heavily over the region’s evolving dynamics. Trump’s volatile foreign-policy instincts do not merely respond to change; they actively shape it, often in unexpectedly stabilising ways.

To be sure, Trump has been an unwavering supporter of Israel and of Benjamin Netanyahu’s broader agenda, openly backing pressure on Iran and embracing Israel’s hardline security posture. Yet this support has not really translated into strategic alignment. Trump has proved a frustrating partner, one whose impulses have frequently diverged from Netanyahu’s vision after 7 October.

Nowhere was this clearer than in Syria and Turkey. Israel did not anticipate a US president so willing to recalibrate America’s role in Syria or to accommodate Ankara in ways that unsettled Israeli assumptions.

In the end, Trump’s Middle East policy has strengthened Israel tactically while complicating its strategic horizon, a contradiction that continues to reverberate across the region.

All in all, 7 October is likely to be remembered less as a decisive rupture than as a catalytic moment that laid bare the fragility of the Middle East’s existing regional arrangements.

As shown above, its most lasting consequences lie in the second-order effects it unleashed, effects that redistributed power, revived dormant rivalries, and opened space for actors long constrained by stalemate and overextension.

Taken together, these shifts suggest that the post-7 October Middle East is moving toward a more crowded, negotiated and conditional order through alignment, constraint, and strategic adaptation.

Crucially, these emerging alignments do not appear to be temporary displays of frustration or short-term reactions to recent regional developments. Rather, they reflect a deeper process of regional recalibration, as newly assertive actors seek to shape a revised order and redefine their long-term stakes in the future Middle East.

Through Southeast Asian Eyes

From the standpoint of Southeast Asian Muslim-majority states, recent developments in Syria may be viewed pragmatically. A more stable and consolidated central authority could reduce prolonged instability, curb and limit new waves of refugees, an issue that has humanitarian and political implications for the wider Muslim world.

However, intensifying rivalry among Gulf states would raise concerns. Many Southeast Asian countries maintain close economic and political ties with multiple Middle Eastern partners. Escalating competition risks forcing difficult diplomatic balancing acts and complicating their neutral foreign policy posture.

Overall, the renewed strategic engagement of Turkey and Saudi Arabia, particularly if it contributes to balancing Israel and de-escalating regional tensions, ma

Such recalibration could