Gone with the Wind
What is the state of our nation? “We are good, but actually we could still be much better,” a respected religious figure remarked in an intimate discussion not long ago. The phrase before the comma feels calm and serene. The phrase after it seems to hold an alarm.
A month ago, there was a minor “stir” in Pontianak. It stemmed from an MPR event on 9 May 2026: the 2026 Four Pillars Quiz Final for high schools across West Kalimantan Province. The finalists were three teams: (A) Sanggau, (B) Sambas, and (C) Pontianak. All from SMA Negeri 1. During the “quick answer” session, the MC read out a question: “In selecting members of the BPK, the DPR is required to consider the opinion of which institution?”
From Team C, a young woman called out an answer that was, in fact, the wording of Article 23F paragraph (1) of the 1945 Constitution. Very fluent. But, alas, the judge gave a score of -5. The opportunity was then taken by Team B: their answer was the same, but the same judge awarded them +10. Unsatisfied, the girl from Team C interrupted, “Excuse me, earlier we answered the same as Team B.”
One sentence. One act of courage. She clearly did not stay silent. She refused to accept it. But not by shrieking. Not by scolding. Even when the judge dismissed her, she calmly asked the audience to check for themselves. An Attitude. A form of decorum.
The panel of judges insisted, “The decision is in our hands”—another way of saying “we are the ones holding power”? The MC, who had the opportunity to validate, instead praised the judge as someone who was “already very competent and very thorough”—an amplification of “the judge is always right”? To the protesting team, the MC subtly cornered them, “perhaps that is just your feeling”—a euphemism for “just accept your fate!”?
What actually happened? From the video that circulated, it was clear that Team C’s answer was 100% identical to Team B’s. The Pontianak stage quickly exposed its true nature: this was a spectacle of forced power, not a contest of honourable competition.
What happened afterwards? The public was outraged. The MPR was slapped in the face. The MPR, MC, and judge apologised. The judge and MC were immediately deactivated. Were the relevant MPR elements deactivated? Who knows.
What is the message behind it? Borrowing the diction from the opening: generally the event went well, but actually it could still be much better. The first “good” is the realm of the skin, or procedural.
The second “good” is the realm of the flesh, or essence: integrity, fairness, open-mindedness, propriety, rectitude, having shame, and so on. When the essential “good” is stripped away, the entire supporting system collapses and crumbles. A decline in trust and credibility occurs. What is the point of a splendid programme if its trust and credibility are already gone with the wind?
The universe is at work. After a month since the Pontianak uproar passed, it feels necessary to reflect for a moment; it seems to offer itself as a miniature stage of the nation’s condition. The narrative and the roles of its actors—the judge, the MC, the MPR, the audience, Team A, Team B, and especially Team C—truly reflect the current inner atmosphere. Let us examine it.
First, “The decision is entirely in the hands of the judge.” There is no discourse. No exchange of arguments. Aspirations are castrated. As long as a nation is managed by a dominance of muscle—not brain and conscience—then it will be impossible for a climate of correction and genuine partnership to grow. What flourishes instead is: falseness, yes-men, mutual suspicion, indifference, inequality, poverty, injustice, and eventually a flash flood of abuse of power and repression across all lines. Do we want to continue like this?