Students and the Temptation of Transactional Politics: A Sociological Reflection

Recently, social media was stirred by the circulation of a video that left many students dismayed. In the video, the Chair of the Student Executive Board (BEM) of the Faculty of Law at Bung Karno University (UBK) admitted to receiving a sum of money following a political meeting. The circulating confession triggered various reactions, ranging from disappointment to public anger. According to the admission in the video, the funds received were said to have only been disbursed at around 20 percent, with each person receiving 2 million rupiah, used for various operational needs such as a command vehicle, distribution to seniors, and to friends in other faculties. Regardless of the veracity of all the circulating information, this case is interesting to read as a social phenomenon broader than just an individual issue. For some, this case might only be considered a lapse by a campus activist. However, viewed through a sociological lens, this event invites us to question further: has there been a cultural shift within the student movement that makes transactional practices increasingly acceptable? Historically, the student movement has been known for the strength of its solidarity. Students took to the streets, voiced aspirations, and criticised policies not for material gain, but because of a shared awareness to fight for the public interest. In the view of Émile Durkheim, solidarity is the adhesive that keeps a group united through shared values and goals. For decades, this solidarity has been the source of the student movement’s moral strength. Problems begin to arise when material interests enter a space previously built on idealism. When money becomes a primary consideration, the orientation of action can slowly shift. Students no longer mobilise because of shared ideas, but because of interests that need to be fulfilled. Consequently, the bonds of solidarity previously built on trust and shared values begin to erode. Durkheim also explained that every group has norms and social sanctions that function to regulate the behaviour of its members. In student organisations, shame, criticism from fellow members, and commitment to the values of the struggle should serve as social controls that prevent deviance. However, when morally questionable practices begin to be seen as normal, the function of these social controls weakens. Something once considered improper can slowly be accepted as commonplace. This case is also compelling when read through the thought of Pierre Bourdieu. According to Bourdieu, a person possesses not only economic capital in the form of money, but also social capital and symbolic capital. The position of BEM Chair, organisational networks, and the identity of a student activist are social and symbolic capital that generate public trust. This capital is what often gives the student voice a moral legitimacy compared to other groups. The problem arises when this social and symbolic capital is exchanged for economic gain. In Bourdieu’s terms, this process can be called capital conversion. Public trust built through organisational activities then risks turning into a tool for obtaining certain benefits. What is lost is not only the individual’s reputation, but also the legitimacy of the student movement as a whole. Such practices are not born in a vacuum. They grow within an organisational culture that has become accustomed to informal lobbying, power relations, and non-transparent resource distribution. In political sociology, this condition is known as patronage, a relationship built on the exchange of benefits and loyalty. When patronage enters student organisations, support is no longer given because of shared ideas or a vision of struggle, but because of the benefits obtained from the relationship. Herein lies the greatest irony of the academic world. The campus should be a space for learning the values of democracy, integrity, and social responsibility. Yet, when practices resembling transactional politics begin to be considered normal, student organisations risk turning into miniatures of the very practical politics they have often criticised. Therefore, this widely discussed case should not stop at debates over who is right and who is wrong. More importantly, it should serve as material for collective reflection. Students need to ask themselves again: is the campus organisation still a space for the struggle of ideas, or is it slowly transforming into an arena of interest exchange? If idealism is the greatest capital students possess, then safeguarding it is a shared responsibility. Because when public trust is lost, what collapses is not just the name of one organisation or one individual, but the legitimacy of the student movement itself.