Chickens Die in the Electricity Barn

At five in the morning, Bu Siti’s small kitchen is already alive. Not with firewood like in her grandmother’s era. Nor with a kerosene stove. The kitchen pulses with electricity. The rice cooker is on to make nasi uduk. The air fryer roasts chicken. The blender whirs sambal kacang. The mixer stirs mini martabak batter. The freezer stores ice cubes and beverage ingredients. The induction cooker heats soto broth. This is the picture of a small business whose entire lifeline depends on one thing we often take for granted: electricity. Then suddenly, the lights go out. Initially, Bu Siti is calm. Just a few minutes, she thinks. But an hour passes. The rice is not perfectly cooked. The ice cubes begin to melt. Customers who ordered breakfast start asking questions. In the guest room, her child, who is taking an online exam, stares at a laptop screen as dark as a future that has suddenly lost its connection. The electricity comes back on. Then off again. On. Off. On. Off. Like a romantic relationship with an unclear status. Over the past few days, millions of Javanese have experienced a new ritual called ‘byar-pet’. Bandung experienced it. Jakarta felt it. Cileungsi got its share. Some for just an hour. Some for up to five hours. Indonesia, which has long prided itself as an energy-rich nation, suddenly looks like a sugar merchant’s child who has run out of sweet tea. The irony is suffocating. We live on land that holds one of the world’s largest coal reserves. We export energy to various countries. Yet the people must prepare candles in their own homes. Chickens die in the rice barn. Or, to borrow a more contemporary term: a coal nation scrambling for electricity. Of course, the government has an explanation. The spokesperson for the Ministry of Energy and Mineral Resources, Dwi Anggia, denied a coal supply crisis. According to her, the blackouts occurred due to technical disruptions. The ministry claims to have communicated with PLN to prevent similar incidents. The explanation is important. But precisely because it is important, it requires transparency brighter than a hundred-watt LED lamp. Because in the public sphere, other suspicions have developed. The Institute for Essential Services Reform (IESR), through its CEO Fabby Tumiwa, questioned the initial narrative. According to IESR, the rolling blackouts over recent days have financially harmed the public. Compensation from PLN, if any, will never match the losses of small traders, home industries, micro-enterprises, and families whose activities were paralysed by the loss of electricity. Fabby suspects there is a possibility of low coal reserves at several Java-Bali coal-fired power plants, preventing them from operating optimally. The Plant Operating Days are said to be below the safe threshold. Disruptions at other plants, such as the Jawa 1 CCGT, further constrained the system. More interestingly, IESR noted that industry players had actually issued warnings since March and April about potential coal supply disruptions due to delays in the approval of the RKAB. If this suspicion is correct, the problem is not merely a broken cable or a temperamental substation. The problem is governance. We have for too long considered energy a technical matter for engineers. Yet it is also a matter of administrative discipline, political courage, corporate compliance, and even national morality. At this point, Dahlan Iskan’s writing feels like a slap wrapped in humour. Dahlan is not just a senior columnist. He is a journalist who once built up Tempo and Jawa Pos. He has also served as Minister of State-Owned Enterprises, President Director of PLN, and Minister of Energy and Mineral Resources. He knows the world of electricity not from air-conditioned seminar rooms, but from noisy engine rooms. In his piece titled ‘Mati Lumbung’, he wrote a famous quip: ‘Out of 10 coal entrepreneurs, 15 are naughty.’ The quip is indeed hyperbolic. But precisely because it is hyperbolic, it succeeds in capturing the public’s unease.