When the State Is Asked to Economise
By Azis Subekti, Member of the Indonesian House of Representatives, Gerindra Party Faction
There is one timeworn lesson that repeats endlessly through history: war is never truly distant. It may erupt thousands of kilometres from our homes, but its echoes gradually reach ordinary households.
Sometimes it does not arrive in the form of bombs. It appears as surging oil prices, creeping rice prices, or state subsidies that suddenly balloon like a dam holding back water for too long.
For this reason, President Prabowo Subianto’s remarks during the cabinet session at the State Palace on 13 March 2026 should not be read as routine bureaucratic procedure. It is better understood as a gentle knock on the nation’s consciousness: that the world is moving towards uncertainty, and Indonesia does not have the luxury of pretending to stand outside this maelstrom.
Amidst tensions between Iran, Israel, and America, global attention has returned to one narrow line on the map: the Strait of Hormuz. The strait is only approximately thirty kilometres wide at its narrowest point. Yet nearly one-fifth of the world’s oil passes through this channel daily. Giant tankers move like modern caravans carrying the lifeblood of the global economy.
If that route is disrupted—by war, blockade, or merely military tensions—what trembles is not just the Middle East. The entire world shakes.
Indonesia is indeed not a Gulf nation. However, we are a nation dependent on energy imports. This means every upheaval at Hormuz almost certainly reverberates to the desks of policymakers in Jakarta.
When oil prices spike, the state faces equally bitter choices: raising energy prices domestically or increasing the burden of subsidies in the state budget.
At this juncture, the example touched upon regarding Pakistan becomes interesting. That nation chose an unpopular course: cutting official facilities, reducing bureaucratic energy consumption, and restraining non-essential state spending.
Such measures may appear technical. But they actually carry a very profound message: the state must exercise restraint first before asking the people to make sacrifices.
History is replete with such examples. During world wars, many nations switched off city lights earlier, rationed fuel, and even cut the salaries of senior officials. The state wanted to demonstrate that crisis was not merely a burden on ordinary people, but a shared responsibility of all state apparatus.
This is where I believe the remarks contain a quieter yet important message. That message is not merely for economists or budget compilers. It is actually directed at all state servants—whether uniformed in military garb or working quietly at civil bureaucratic desks.
That service to the state is not merely executing administrative duties or structural commands. Service also means willingness to exercise restraint when the nation faces difficult times.
In the experience of many nations, crises rarely begin with economics. They often originate from geopolitical tensions that appear distant, then spread like small cracks in a long-standing wall that gradually brings down the entire structure.
For this reason, Indonesia’s greatest test is not merely whether we can withstand shocks from the global economy. History shows this nation has repeatedly weathered storms.
The heavier test is this: whether the state can demonstrate moral exemplarity when storms arrive.
People generally do not mind economising if they see their leaders living with the same simplicity. But sacrifice will taste bitter if people witness the state continuing to operate in luxury.
In ancient traditions of leadership, such an attitude held one name that is almost forgotten today: asceticism of power—the ability of a leader to exercise restraint upon himself before he asks the people to restrain their lives.
Islamic history once provided a very clear example through the figure of Umar ibn Abdul Aziz. Before becoming caliph, he was known as a nobleman living lavishly: his clothing was fine, his body was well-groomed, and his life was surrounded by comfort. Yet after gaining power, his life changed drastically. His clothing became simple. His food was ordinary. He did not even use the state’s oil lamps for personal matters.
For Umar, power was not a luxury to be enjoyed. It was a trust that one day would be questioned by history—and by God. There we find the true essence of all discussions about energy crises, geopolitics, and state economies.
In the end, the people understand one very simple thing: when a storm comes, the ship’s captain must stand foremost on deck, feeling the wind as harshly as the crew. Not hiding in the warmest cabin.
If the world is truly moving towards more difficult times, then what this nation needs most is not merely sound economic policy. What is more important is exemplary conduct from those who claim to serve the state. Because in every crisis, the people are not simply awaiting government decisions. They await an example.