The Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia and 'Efficiency'
One day, my staff received a call from the Ministry of Forestry. It was not to inform about budget disbursement, nor to discuss technical implementation. The content of the call was simple, yet it harboured deep irony: the People’s Seedling Garden (KBR) programme, which I had advocated for the community at the eastern tip of Sumbawa Island—Bima Regency—was requested to be relocated to a site closer to the city. The reason? Efficiency policies had slashed the location survey budget, so officials could no longer reach distant areas.
I was momentarily silent upon hearing the story. Not out of anger, but because the logic at work behind the decision was so glaring: a programme designed precisely for communities furthest from access, furthest from attention, and most in need of the state’s presence was being sacrificed for travel budgets deemed inefficient. Ironic? Yes. Absurd? A little. Yet, behind the humour lies a serious issue that we must discuss honestly.
The People’s Seedling Garden programme is no ordinary initiative. It is a state scheme to help communities around forests participate in land rehabilitation while gaining economic benefits from reforestation activities. The people of Bima—who live in areas with critical land cover and high vulnerability to flash floods—are exactly the target of this programme. Relocating the KBR to a location closer to the city does not just change coordinates on a map; it changes who receives the benefits and who is left behind again.
The word ‘efficiency’ has become the new mantra in Indonesian governance. It is repeated endlessly, used to justify budget cuts, bureaucratic simplification, and the elimination of programmes deemed unproductive. In market economy logic, efficiency sounds rational—even noble. However, when efficiency is applied uniformly across a land that is anything but uniform, it can change face: from a policy that saves to one that marginalises.
Indonesia is not a compact mainland country. It is the world’s largest archipelago—over 17,000 islands, more than 270 million souls, hundreds of languages, and thousands of living customs within vastly different geographical ecosystems. Herein lies the problem: efficiency formulated from the centre often ignores the real complexities of the periphery, which are far more intricate than they appear in budget spreadsheets.
Efficiency for Whom?
Whenever we talk about efficiency in the state budget, the fundamental question that must be asked is: efficiency measured from where, and for whom?
From Jakarta’s perspective, cutting official travel budgets, simplifying work units, or consolidating agencies makes sense. Fiscal figures improve. Reports look neat. But from the perspective of a fisherman on Medang Island, Sumbawa—who relies on an extension officer whose office has just been ‘efficiently’ closed—that cut means losing the only bridge between him and the state.
This is the paradox rarely recognised: a state saving at the centre can simultaneously be wasteful at the periphery—wasteful in the form of lost opportunities, growing distrust, and widening gaps that will be far more expensive to repair later. One travel budget line item cut today could yield hundreds of billions in disaster recovery costs, social conflicts, or structural poverty down the line.
Furthermore, efficiency that lacks context is actually economically inefficient. When a seedling programme is moved from critical areas to more advanced regions, its ecological benefits plummet sharply. When agricultural extension officers are withdrawn from remote villages, farmers’ productivity declines, local food resilience weakens, and ultimately the state must spend larger subsidy budgets. Misplaced efficiency merely shifts the burden, rather than eliminating it.
Another equally absurd example comes from the Ministry of Marine Affairs and Fisheries (KKP). Technical guidance programmes for coastal communities—covering very practical topics: processing catches, diversifying fishery products, packaging and storage techniques—are now conducted via Zoom. Again, the reason is efficiency. Travel budgets for field officials are deemed too high. So fishermen and women fish processors in remote coastal villages are asked to follow training on fish processing through mobile phone screens—in areas where internet signals are still intermittent.
Imagine the absurdity for a moment. Technical guidance on fish processing is essentially hands-on knowledge: how to sort, clean, season, package, and store products correctly to increase their selling value. It requires live demonstrations, fluid question-and-answer sessions, and mentors who can guide participants hands-on during practice. Replacing all that with online meetings not only reduces effectiveness—it eliminates it entirely. What remains is a filled activity report, an ‘efficient’ budget, and coastal communities returning home without any truly mastered new skills.
More concerningly, efficiency logic often operates with an unnoticed bias: it tends to favour those who already have infrastructure, capacity, and proximity to power centres. In the Indonesian context, that means Java—and more specifically, major cities. Advanced regions become even easier to reach with programmes, while lagging areas become harder because their operational costs are deemed inefficient. This is the vicious cycle quietly exacerbated by efficiency policies lacking a regional justice dimension.
Disparities That Still Gape
Data does not lie. The Human Development Index