#sejarah — Public Fediverse posts

Sinyal XRP Terendah dalam 13 Tahun, RSI Sentuh Level Ekstrem: Apakah Harga Segera Berbalik?

Tradingan - #XRP kembali menjadi #perhatian #pelaku #pasar #kripto setelah #indikator #teknikal #Relative Strength Index (RSI) dua #mingguan #turun ke level yang disebut sebagai salah satu #titik #ekstrem dalam #sejarah #perdagangan #token tersebut. Dalam perdagangan terbaru yang dikutip sumber, XRP berada di sekitar US$1,29 setelah mengalami koreksi tajam. Penurunan tersebut…

https://tradingan.com/sinyal-xrp-terendah-dalam-13-tahun-rsi-sentuh-level-ekstrem-apakah-harga-segera-berbalik

Sinyal XRP Terendah dalam 13 Tahun, RSI Sentuh Level Ekstrem: Apakah Harga Segera Berbalik?

Tradingan - #XRP kembali menjadi #perhatian #pelaku #pasar #kripto setelah #indikator #teknikal #Relative Strength Index (RSI) dua #mingguan #turun ke level yang disebut sebagai salah satu #titik #ekstrem dalam #sejarah #perdagangan #token tersebut. Dalam perdagangan terbaru yang dikutip sumber, XRP berada di sekitar US$1,29 setelah mengalami koreksi tajam. Penurunan tersebut…

https://tradingan.com/sinyal-xrp-terendah-dalam-13-tahun-rsi-sentuh-level-ekstrem-apakah-harga-segera-berbalik

Miskonsepsi Tentang Orang Indonesia (Part 1)

https://rumahfrasabiring.wordpress.com/2026/09/19/miskonsepsi-tentang-orang-indonesia-part-1/

Miskonsepsi Tentang Orang Indonesia (Part 1)

https://rumahfrasabiring.wordpress.com/2026/09/19/miskonsepsi-tentang-orang-indonesia-part-1/

Miskonsepsi Tentang Orang Indonesia (Part 1)

https://rumahfrasabiring.wordpress.com/2026/09/19/miskonsepsi-tentang-orang-indonesia-part-1/

Miskonsepsi Tentang Orang Indonesia (Part 1)

https://rumahfrasabiring.wordpress.com/2026/09/19/miskonsepsi-tentang-orang-indonesia-part-1/

Miskonsepsi Tentang Orang Indonesia (Part 1)

https://rumahfrasabiring.wordpress.com/2026/09/19/miskonsepsi-tentang-orang-indonesia-part-1/

Bingkai yang selama ini terpotong kini terlihat utuh.

Pemeriksaan arsip di Hiroshima mengungkap film dokumenter dampak bom atom 1945 memuat bidang pandang lebih luas daripada yang pernah ditayangkan di bioskop.

https://berita.jepang.org/nhk/20260903_08/tampilan-visual-lebih-luas-terungkap-dalam-dokumenter-bom-atom-hiroshima-nagasaki

#Jepang #Hiroshima #Nagasaki #Sejarah #BeritaJepang

RE: https://mstdn.social/@archaeology/117196386481291194

Well, kalau mau lihat seperti apa kapal Belanda dulu datang jauh-jauh dari Eropa sampai Nusantara yang katanya mau "dagang"

#Sejarah #History #Kolonialisme #Jakarta #Batavia

RE: https://mstdn.social/@archaeology/117196386481291194

Well, kalau mau lihat seperti apa kapal Belanda dulu datang jauh-jauh dari Eropa sampai Nusantara yang katanya mau "dagang"

#Sejarah #History #Kolonialisme #Jakarta #Batavia

RE: https://mstdn.social/@archaeology/117196386481291194

Well, kalau mau lihat seperti apa kapal Belanda dulu datang jauh-jauh dari Eropa sampai Nusantara yang katanya mau "dagang"

#Sejarah #History #Kolonialisme #Jakarta #Batavia

RE: https://mstdn.social/@archaeology/117196386481291194

Well, kalau mau lihat seperti apa kapal Belanda dulu datang jauh-jauh dari Eropa sampai Nusantara yang katanya mau "dagang"

#Sejarah #History #Kolonialisme #Jakarta #Batavia

RE: https://mstdn.social/@archaeology/117196386481291194

Well, kalau mau lihat seperti apa kapal Belanda dulu datang jauh-jauh dari Eropa sampai Nusantara yang katanya mau "dagang"

#Sejarah #History #Kolonialisme #Jakarta #Batavia

Op-Ed 17 August: Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic by Muhamad Chatib Basri

Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic

By Muhamad Chatib Basri, Kompas.Id, Aug 17, 2026

The voice was so beautiful, cutting through the silence of the aqua ocean. It made the sailors look around. Searching for its source, even though disaster awaited them. Humans do not become lost because they do not know the way. Sometimes they become lost precisely because they know the way, but they still desire to draw closer.

Homer wrote about this almost 3,000 years ago: the story of Odysseus and the Sirens. Odysseus knew the danger ahead. Still he desired to hear the song. He also knew that when the voice appeared, he would not be able to trust himself. So, he plugged the ears of his oarsmen with wax. Odysseus’ body was tied to the mast. The message was, “Whatever I say, do not free me.”

When the song rang out, Odysseus struggled. Pleaded. Commanded. The oarsmen heard nothing. They kept rowing. The ship was saved not because its captain was strong. It was saved because the captain knew he could be weak. Therefore, he chose to tie himself up while the sea was still calm.

I always remember this story. Last month, millions of people around the world watched it again in Christopher Nolan’s film. At the Harvard Ministerial Forum, where I teach, that old tale is still used as a case study for serving ministers. Power, like the sea, has its own temptations.

This old tale, secretly, is a story about the role of institutions in the economy. Institutions are the ropes to the mast, the bonds a nation ties to itself while its mind is still clear. Because it knows that one day that clarity can fade. That will be when the Sirens begin to sing, printing money to finance waste, loosening the guard rails for immediate results. Odysseus tied himself up because he knew he was not an angel.

James Madison wrote, “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.” Institutions are born not because people are always wise, but because we know we might one day err or act arbitrarily.

Perhaps the best way to read Indonesia’s 81 years of independence is not by how fast we are sailing, but by how we have learned to tie ourselves to the mast. With difficulty. With repeated failures.

In 1998, people gloomily predicted that Indonesia would disintegrate; yet we remained united, and direct elections proceeded peacefully. Ten years later, amid the greatest financial crisis since the Great Depression, our economy still grew 4.6 percent.

Then came the taper tantrum of 2013. I still remember the nights when the sails turned red, the rupiah weakened, and capital flowed out. Seven months later, we exited from the Fragile Five. Then the pandemic. It was tough, but we got through it—financed by savings cultivated over years of careful budgeting.

From this, we learn that what saves an economy isn’t something dramatic. It’s often something that sounds uninteresting: institutions.

Of course, some will object. The New Order, with its fragile institutions limiting power, grew at around 7 percent a year. Then, in the Democratic Reform era, with far better institutions, it only grew at 5 percent. If institutions are that important, why is democracy progressing so much slower than the dictatorship it replaced?

I try to answer this question with a less romantic approach: 80 years of data. Economic growth data comes from the Maddison Project Database and Statistics Indonesia (BPS), and inflation data from the World Bank. I constructed an institutional quality index from five indicators from the Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) data: limits on executive power, judicial independence, the rule of law, the quality of electoral democracy, and control of corruption. Using this index, through a series of econometric models, I tested whether stronger institutions lead to faster, more stable economic growth and more controlled inflation.

First, institutional quality is unrelated to growth rate. Admirers of the iron fist may smile at this point. But that smile won’t last long. In 1998, our economy shrank by about 13 percent, and per capita income only returned to 1997 levels around eight years later.

Second, the stronger the institutions, the more stable the economy—economists call this lower growth volatility. The relationship is strong and consistent. Sharp fluctuations—for a family—can mean a job lost without warning, prices jumping within a month, or plans to send a child to school being postponed indefinitely.

The institutional index was at its lowest point in the final years of the New Order. From 2004 to 2015, when the index improved, growth volatility declined. This conclusion persists even after accounting for oil and commodity prices, global economic shocks, and the level of prosperity are taken into account.

Third, long-term inflation was cut by more than half—from around 13 percent to below 6 percent—after central bank independence in 1999. The world was indeed experiencing low inflation at that time, but not all countries enjoyed it. We achieved this because of the post-1998 institutional reforms.

Fourth, the direction of the relationship. The quality of today’s institutions predicts tomorrow’s economic stability, not the other way around. History must admit that the 1998 reforms arose from a crisis. Therefore, I refrain from the term “cause and effect”; I prefer to call it a strong association. The rope on the mast doesn’t make a ship go faster. It keeps it from crashing into rocks.

There’s one interesting finding. I let the data find its own time for the sharpest pattern change using the Bai-Perron test. The results were in 1965 and the late 1990s. The procedure never tells the story of a regime change or a crisis, but only reads the numbers. History, it seems, leaves traces in the numbers.

The two fractures tell the same story. By 1965, the printing press had become the cashier of power. By 1998, credit flowed freely, especially to those close to power, without adequate discipline regarding its appropriateness. When the crisis struck, the structure collapsed, and the economy shrank by around 13 percent. Twice the ship came close to the rocks. Twice we paid a heavy price when institutional barriers were too weak.

Following the reforms, the story was different. The global financial crisis of 2008–2009, the taper tantrum of 2013, and the pandemic of 2020. Storms kept coming, but none brought us to a collapse like 1998. It wasn’t that seas became friendlier. What was different, perhaps, were the ropes holding the ship together. The central bank was made independent. Deficits and debt were limited by law. Banking was cleaned up.

Being tied down doesn’t mean being rigid. Odysseus’ ropes were untied after the danger had passed. When the pandemic struck, the deficit fences were loosened through established procedures, with a time limit, and then reattached. Rules may change, but integrity and governance cannot. The ropes may not make us grow faster, but they keep us from drowning.

And there’s another rope we often forget to consider: democracy. Amartya Sen points out that well-being isn’t about how many things we own, but how much we can do and become because of it. This is what he calls capability. People who are silenced, who can’t go to school or get medical treatment, aren’t just poorer. Their life choices become narrower.

That’s why the aspect of freedom is so important in development. That’s why criticism is the cheapest corrective mechanism a nation has. My study with Wihardja and Pradana (2026), using ACLED and Susenas data from 2015–2024, shows that the shrinking middle class is associated with increased demonstrations at the provincial level—even after education, income, and urbanization are taken into account.

And one striking finding is that provinces with more widespread internet access actually record fewer demonstrations. Complaints that have a channel don’t need to take to the streets. Criticism is a valve, not a threat.

I recall my conversation with Amartya Sen (Kompas, 2/12/2021): no major famine has ever occurred in a country that is free, democratic, and has a free press. Democracy may be noisy, perhaps annoying to those in power. But it is that very noise that reminds us when the ship begins to veer off course.

But all those ropes—the institutions they maintain—only last as long as they are remembered. Ironically, a nation’s memory is shorter than we think. The people of Macondo, in García Márquez’s novel, are struck by a plague of insomnia and slowly forget, first the names of objects, then their uses. They affix writing to everything. What they fear most is not forgetting names, but the day when the writing is still legible but no longer means anything. Odysseus binds himself because he knows people can be weak. The people of Macondo write names on objects because they know people can forget. Institutions are necessary because a nation can be both.

This is where my anxiety lies on this 81st birthday. The index shows the quality of our institutions has declined since 2015—the Democracy Report 2026 from V-Dem, University of Gothenburg, shows a similar trend. The knots are loosening one by one. This is where Jon Elster’s (1979) doubts come into play. He was right that in politics, it’s easier to tie others than to tie yourself. The ropes that loosen most quickly aren’t just any ropes, but the ones that bind the hands of those who control the wheel.

But isn’t economic growth still above 5 percent? True. However, institutional weakening rarely sends warnings through growth figures first. What usually moves first is trust. And trust is precisely what those ropes guard.

The Song of the Siren sounds most melodious when the sea is calm. This time we can’t say we don’t know. We do. We’ve seen that reef before.

On the morning of August 17, the flag was raised. We paused and, with choked voices, sang the national anthem Indonesia Raya. That day, we celebrated growth, development, and steps forward. But there was no ceremony for the silent things: the laws that guard, the laws that uphold, the critics that remind. After all, they are the ones who guard us when the siren’s song appears.

This country is indeed not perfect. There are still many complaints here and there. It hasn’t been able to provide for everyone. Yet, on the morning of August 17, the children still lined up. The residents still set up a simple stage in the corner of their lanes. We stood, giving time to our home. Because a home doesn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

And perhaps that is where the heroism of a nation lies: not always in victory, but in the fortitude to keep rowing even in the most difficult situations. Perhaps that’s why Bung Hatta quotes René de Clercq: “There is only one country that is my country. It grows through deeds, and those deeds are my efforts.”

Muhamad Chatib Basri is Visiting Scholar, Harvard CID; Visiting Professor in Practice, LSE (CETEx) and was Minister of Finance of the Republic of Indonesia 2013–2014.

This post is based on https://www.kompas.id/artikel/odysseus-dan-tali-republik.

Rate this:

Op-Ed 17 August: Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic by Muhamad Chatib Basri

Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic

By Muhamad Chatib Basri, Kompas.Id, Aug 17, 2026

The voice was so beautiful, cutting through the silence of the aqua ocean. It made the sailors look around. Searching for its source, even though disaster awaited them. Humans do not become lost because they do not know the way. Sometimes they become lost precisely because they know the way, but they still desire to draw closer.

Homer wrote about this almost 3,000 years ago: the story of Odysseus and the Sirens. Odysseus knew the danger ahead. Still he desired to hear the song. He also knew that when the voice appeared, he would not be able to trust himself. So, he plugged the ears of his oarsmen with wax. Odysseus’ body was tied to the mast. The message was, “Whatever I say, do not free me.”

When the song rang out, Odysseus struggled. Pleaded. Commanded. The oarsmen heard nothing. They kept rowing. The ship was saved not because its captain was strong. It was saved because the captain knew he could be weak. Therefore, he chose to tie himself up while the sea was still calm.

I always remember this story. Last month, millions of people around the world watched it again in Christopher Nolan’s film. At the Harvard Ministerial Forum, where I teach, that old tale is still used as a case study for serving ministers. Power, like the sea, has its own temptations.

This old tale, secretly, is a story about the role of institutions in the economy. Institutions are the ropes to the mast, the bonds a nation ties to itself while its mind is still clear. Because it knows that one day that clarity can fade. That will be when the Sirens begin to sing, printing money to finance waste, loosening the guard rails for immediate results. Odysseus tied himself up because he knew he was not an angel.

James Madison wrote, “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.” Institutions are born not because people are always wise, but because we know we might one day err or act arbitrarily.

Perhaps the best way to read Indonesia’s 81 years of independence is not by how fast we are sailing, but by how we have learned to tie ourselves to the mast. With difficulty. With repeated failures.

In 1998, people gloomily predicted that Indonesia would disintegrate; yet we remained united, and direct elections proceeded peacefully. Ten years later, amid the greatest financial crisis since the Great Depression, our economy still grew 4.6 percent.

Then came the taper tantrum of 2013. I still remember the nights when the sails turned red, the rupiah weakened, and capital flowed out. Seven months later, we exited from the Fragile Five. Then the pandemic. It was tough, but we got through it—financed by savings cultivated over years of careful budgeting.

From this, we learn that what saves an economy isn’t something dramatic. It’s often something that sounds uninteresting: institutions.

Of course, some will object. The New Order, with its fragile institutions limiting power, grew at around 7 percent a year. Then, in the Democratic Reform era, with far better institutions, it only grew at 5 percent. If institutions are that important, why is democracy progressing so much slower than the dictatorship it replaced?

I try to answer this question with a less romantic approach: 80 years of data. Economic growth data comes from the Maddison Project Database and Statistics Indonesia (BPS), and inflation data from the World Bank. I constructed an institutional quality index from five indicators from the Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) data: limits on executive power, judicial independence, the rule of law, the quality of electoral democracy, and control of corruption. Using this index, through a series of econometric models, I tested whether stronger institutions lead to faster, more stable economic growth and more controlled inflation.

First, institutional quality is unrelated to growth rate. Admirers of the iron fist may smile at this point. But that smile won’t last long. In 1998, our economy shrank by about 13 percent, and per capita income only returned to 1997 levels around eight years later.

Second, the stronger the institutions, the more stable the economy—economists call this lower growth volatility. The relationship is strong and consistent. Sharp fluctuations—for a family—can mean a job lost without warning, prices jumping within a month, or plans to send a child to school being postponed indefinitely.

The institutional index was at its lowest point in the final years of the New Order. From 2004 to 2015, when the index improved, growth volatility declined. This conclusion persists even after accounting for oil and commodity prices, global economic shocks, and the level of prosperity are taken into account.

Third, long-term inflation was cut by more than half—from around 13 percent to below 6 percent—after central bank independence in 1999. The world was indeed experiencing low inflation at that time, but not all countries enjoyed it. We achieved this because of the post-1998 institutional reforms.

Fourth, the direction of the relationship. The quality of today’s institutions predicts tomorrow’s economic stability, not the other way around. History must admit that the 1998 reforms arose from a crisis. Therefore, I refrain from the term “cause and effect”; I prefer to call it a strong association. The rope on the mast doesn’t make a ship go faster. It keeps it from crashing into rocks.

There’s one interesting finding. I let the data find its own time for the sharpest pattern change using the Bai-Perron test. The results were in 1965 and the late 1990s. The procedure never tells the story of a regime change or a crisis, but only reads the numbers. History, it seems, leaves traces in the numbers.

The two fractures tell the same story. By 1965, the printing press had become the cashier of power. By 1998, credit flowed freely, especially to those close to power, without adequate discipline regarding its appropriateness. When the crisis struck, the structure collapsed, and the economy shrank by around 13 percent. Twice the ship came close to the rocks. Twice we paid a heavy price when institutional barriers were too weak.

Following the reforms, the story was different. The global financial crisis of 2008–2009, the taper tantrum of 2013, and the pandemic of 2020. Storms kept coming, but none brought us to a collapse like 1998. It wasn’t that seas became friendlier. What was different, perhaps, were the ropes holding the ship together. The central bank was made independent. Deficits and debt were limited by law. Banking was cleaned up.

Being tied down doesn’t mean being rigid. Odysseus’ ropes were untied after the danger had passed. When the pandemic struck, the deficit fences were loosened through established procedures, with a time limit, and then reattached. Rules may change, but integrity and governance cannot. The ropes may not make us grow faster, but they keep us from drowning.

And there’s another rope we often forget to consider: democracy. Amartya Sen points out that well-being isn’t about how many things we own, but how much we can do and become because of it. This is what he calls capability. People who are silenced, who can’t go to school or get medical treatment, aren’t just poorer. Their life choices become narrower.

That’s why the aspect of freedom is so important in development. That’s why criticism is the cheapest corrective mechanism a nation has. My study with Wihardja and Pradana (2026), using ACLED and Susenas data from 2015–2024, shows that the shrinking middle class is associated with increased demonstrations at the provincial level—even after education, income, and urbanization are taken into account.

And one striking finding is that provinces with more widespread internet access actually record fewer demonstrations. Complaints that have a channel don’t need to take to the streets. Criticism is a valve, not a threat.

I recall my conversation with Amartya Sen (Kompas, 2/12/2021): no major famine has ever occurred in a country that is free, democratic, and has a free press. Democracy may be noisy, perhaps annoying to those in power. But it is that very noise that reminds us when the ship begins to veer off course.

But all those ropes—the institutions they maintain—only last as long as they are remembered. Ironically, a nation’s memory is shorter than we think. The people of Macondo, in García Márquez’s novel, are struck by a plague of insomnia and slowly forget, first the names of objects, then their uses. They affix writing to everything. What they fear most is not forgetting names, but the day when the writing is still legible but no longer means anything. Odysseus binds himself because he knows people can be weak. The people of Macondo write names on objects because they know people can forget. Institutions are necessary because a nation can be both.

This is where my anxiety lies on this 81st birthday. The index shows the quality of our institutions has declined since 2015—the Democracy Report 2026 from V-Dem, University of Gothenburg, shows a similar trend. The knots are loosening one by one. This is where Jon Elster’s (1979) doubts come into play. He was right that in politics, it’s easier to tie others than to tie yourself. The ropes that loosen most quickly aren’t just any ropes, but the ones that bind the hands of those who control the wheel.

But isn’t economic growth still above 5 percent? True. However, institutional weakening rarely sends warnings through growth figures first. What usually moves first is trust. And trust is precisely what those ropes guard.

The Song of the Siren sounds most melodious when the sea is calm. This time we can’t say we don’t know. We do. We’ve seen that reef before.

On the morning of August 17, the flag was raised. We paused and, with choked voices, sang the national anthem Indonesia Raya. That day, we celebrated growth, development, and steps forward. But there was no ceremony for the silent things: the laws that guard, the laws that uphold, the critics that remind. After all, they are the ones who guard us when the siren’s song appears.

This country is indeed not perfect. There are still many complaints here and there. It hasn’t been able to provide for everyone. Yet, on the morning of August 17, the children still lined up. The residents still set up a simple stage in the corner of their lanes. We stood, giving time to our home. Because a home doesn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

And perhaps that is where the heroism of a nation lies: not always in victory, but in the fortitude to keep rowing even in the most difficult situations. Perhaps that’s why Bung Hatta quotes René de Clercq: “There is only one country that is my country. It grows through deeds, and those deeds are my efforts.”

Muhamad Chatib Basri is Visiting Scholar, Harvard CID; Visiting Professor in Practice, LSE (CETEx) and was Minister of Finance of the Republic of Indonesia 2013–2014.

This post is based on https://www.kompas.id/artikel/odysseus-dan-tali-republik.

Rate this:

Op-Ed 17 August: Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic by Muhamad Chatib Basri

Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic

By Muhamad Chatib Basri, Kompas.Id, Aug 17, 2026

The voice was so beautiful, cutting through the silence of the aqua ocean. It made the sailors look around. Searching for its source, even though disaster awaited them. Humans do not become lost because they do not know the way. Sometimes they become lost precisely because they know the way, but they still desire to draw closer.

Homer wrote about this almost 3,000 years ago: the story of Odysseus and the Sirens. Odysseus knew the danger ahead. Still he desired to hear the song. He also knew that when the voice appeared, he would not be able to trust himself. So, he plugged the ears of his oarsmen with wax. Odysseus’ body was tied to the mast. The message was, “Whatever I say, do not free me.”

When the song rang out, Odysseus struggled. Pleaded. Commanded. The oarsmen heard nothing. They kept rowing. The ship was saved not because its captain was strong. It was saved because the captain knew he could be weak. Therefore, he chose to tie himself up while the sea was still calm.

I always remember this story. Last month, millions of people around the world watched it again in Christopher Nolan’s film. At the Harvard Ministerial Forum, where I teach, that old tale is still used as a case study for serving ministers. Power, like the sea, has its own temptations.

This old tale, secretly, is a story about the role of institutions in the economy. Institutions are the ropes to the mast, the bonds a nation ties to itself while its mind is still clear. Because it knows that one day that clarity can fade. That will be when the Sirens begin to sing, printing money to finance waste, loosening the guard rails for immediate results. Odysseus tied himself up because he knew he was not an angel.

James Madison wrote, “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.” Institutions are born not because people are always wise, but because we know we might one day err or act arbitrarily.

Perhaps the best way to read Indonesia’s 81 years of independence is not by how fast we are sailing, but by how we have learned to tie ourselves to the mast. With difficulty. With repeated failures.

In 1998, people gloomily predicted that Indonesia would disintegrate; yet we remained united, and direct elections proceeded peacefully. Ten years later, amid the greatest financial crisis since the Great Depression, our economy still grew 4.6 percent.

Then came the taper tantrum of 2013. I still remember the nights when the sails turned red, the rupiah weakened, and capital flowed out. Seven months later, we exited from the Fragile Five. Then the pandemic. It was tough, but we got through it—financed by savings cultivated over years of careful budgeting.

From this, we learn that what saves an economy isn’t something dramatic. It’s often something that sounds uninteresting: institutions.

Of course, some will object. The New Order, with its fragile institutions limiting power, grew at around 7 percent a year. Then, in the Democratic Reform era, with far better institutions, it only grew at 5 percent. If institutions are that important, why is democracy progressing so much slower than the dictatorship it replaced?

I try to answer this question with a less romantic approach: 80 years of data. Economic growth data comes from the Maddison Project Database and Statistics Indonesia (BPS), and inflation data from the World Bank. I constructed an institutional quality index from five indicators from the Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) data: limits on executive power, judicial independence, the rule of law, the quality of electoral democracy, and control of corruption. Using this index, through a series of econometric models, I tested whether stronger institutions lead to faster, more stable economic growth and more controlled inflation.

First, institutional quality is unrelated to growth rate. Admirers of the iron fist may smile at this point. But that smile won’t last long. In 1998, our economy shrank by about 13 percent, and per capita income only returned to 1997 levels around eight years later.

Second, the stronger the institutions, the more stable the economy—economists call this lower growth volatility. The relationship is strong and consistent. Sharp fluctuations—for a family—can mean a job lost without warning, prices jumping within a month, or plans to send a child to school being postponed indefinitely.

The institutional index was at its lowest point in the final years of the New Order. From 2004 to 2015, when the index improved, growth volatility declined. This conclusion persists even after accounting for oil and commodity prices, global economic shocks, and the level of prosperity are taken into account.

Third, long-term inflation was cut by more than half—from around 13 percent to below 6 percent—after central bank independence in 1999. The world was indeed experiencing low inflation at that time, but not all countries enjoyed it. We achieved this because of the post-1998 institutional reforms.

Fourth, the direction of the relationship. The quality of today’s institutions predicts tomorrow’s economic stability, not the other way around. History must admit that the 1998 reforms arose from a crisis. Therefore, I refrain from the term “cause and effect”; I prefer to call it a strong association. The rope on the mast doesn’t make a ship go faster. It keeps it from crashing into rocks.

There’s one interesting finding. I let the data find its own time for the sharpest pattern change using the Bai-Perron test. The results were in 1965 and the late 1990s. The procedure never tells the story of a regime change or a crisis, but only reads the numbers. History, it seems, leaves traces in the numbers.

The two fractures tell the same story. By 1965, the printing press had become the cashier of power. By 1998, credit flowed freely, especially to those close to power, without adequate discipline regarding its appropriateness. When the crisis struck, the structure collapsed, and the economy shrank by around 13 percent. Twice the ship came close to the rocks. Twice we paid a heavy price when institutional barriers were too weak.

Following the reforms, the story was different. The global financial crisis of 2008–2009, the taper tantrum of 2013, and the pandemic of 2020. Storms kept coming, but none brought us to a collapse like 1998. It wasn’t that seas became friendlier. What was different, perhaps, were the ropes holding the ship together. The central bank was made independent. Deficits and debt were limited by law. Banking was cleaned up.

Being tied down doesn’t mean being rigid. Odysseus’ ropes were untied after the danger had passed. When the pandemic struck, the deficit fences were loosened through established procedures, with a time limit, and then reattached. Rules may change, but integrity and governance cannot. The ropes may not make us grow faster, but they keep us from drowning.

And there’s another rope we often forget to consider: democracy. Amartya Sen points out that well-being isn’t about how many things we own, but how much we can do and become because of it. This is what he calls capability. People who are silenced, who can’t go to school or get medical treatment, aren’t just poorer. Their life choices become narrower.

That’s why the aspect of freedom is so important in development. That’s why criticism is the cheapest corrective mechanism a nation has. My study with Wihardja and Pradana (2026), using ACLED and Susenas data from 2015–2024, shows that the shrinking middle class is associated with increased demonstrations at the provincial level—even after education, income, and urbanization are taken into account.

And one striking finding is that provinces with more widespread internet access actually record fewer demonstrations. Complaints that have a channel don’t need to take to the streets. Criticism is a valve, not a threat.

I recall my conversation with Amartya Sen (Kompas, 2/12/2021): no major famine has ever occurred in a country that is free, democratic, and has a free press. Democracy may be noisy, perhaps annoying to those in power. But it is that very noise that reminds us when the ship begins to veer off course.

But all those ropes—the institutions they maintain—only last as long as they are remembered. Ironically, a nation’s memory is shorter than we think. The people of Macondo, in García Márquez’s novel, are struck by a plague of insomnia and slowly forget, first the names of objects, then their uses. They affix writing to everything. What they fear most is not forgetting names, but the day when the writing is still legible but no longer means anything. Odysseus binds himself because he knows people can be weak. The people of Macondo write names on objects because they know people can forget. Institutions are necessary because a nation can be both.

This is where my anxiety lies on this 81st birthday. The index shows the quality of our institutions has declined since 2015—the Democracy Report 2026 from V-Dem, University of Gothenburg, shows a similar trend. The knots are loosening one by one. This is where Jon Elster’s (1979) doubts come into play. He was right that in politics, it’s easier to tie others than to tie yourself. The ropes that loosen most quickly aren’t just any ropes, but the ones that bind the hands of those who control the wheel.

But isn’t economic growth still above 5 percent? True. However, institutional weakening rarely sends warnings through growth figures first. What usually moves first is trust. And trust is precisely what those ropes guard.

The Song of the Siren sounds most melodious when the sea is calm. This time we can’t say we don’t know. We do. We’ve seen that reef before.

On the morning of August 17, the flag was raised. We paused and, with choked voices, sang the national anthem Indonesia Raya. That day, we celebrated growth, development, and steps forward. But there was no ceremony for the silent things: the laws that guard, the laws that uphold, the critics that remind. After all, they are the ones who guard us when the siren’s song appears.

This country is indeed not perfect. There are still many complaints here and there. It hasn’t been able to provide for everyone. Yet, on the morning of August 17, the children still lined up. The residents still set up a simple stage in the corner of their lanes. We stood, giving time to our home. Because a home doesn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

And perhaps that is where the heroism of a nation lies: not always in victory, but in the fortitude to keep rowing even in the most difficult situations. Perhaps that’s why Bung Hatta quotes René de Clercq: “There is only one country that is my country. It grows through deeds, and those deeds are my efforts.”

Muhamad Chatib Basri is Visiting Scholar, Harvard CID; Visiting Professor in Practice, LSE (CETEx) and was Minister of Finance of the Republic of Indonesia 2013–2014.

This post is based on https://www.kompas.id/artikel/odysseus-dan-tali-republik.

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Op-Ed 17 August: Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic by Muhamad Chatib Basri

Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic

By Muhamad Chatib Basri, Kompas.Id, Aug 17, 2026

The voice was so beautiful, cutting through the silence of the aqua ocean. It made the sailors look around. Searching for its source, even though disaster awaited them. Humans do not become lost because they do not know the way. Sometimes they become lost precisely because they know the way, but they still desire to draw closer.

Homer wrote about this almost 3,000 years ago: the story of Odysseus and the Sirens. Odysseus knew the danger ahead. Still he desired to hear the song. He also knew that when the voice appeared, he would not be able to trust himself. So, he plugged the ears of his oarsmen with wax. Odysseus’ body was tied to the mast. The message was, “Whatever I say, do not free me.”

When the song rang out, Odysseus struggled. Pleaded. Commanded. The oarsmen heard nothing. They kept rowing. The ship was saved not because its captain was strong. It was saved because the captain knew he could be weak. Therefore, he chose to tie himself up while the sea was still calm.

I always remember this story. Last month, millions of people around the world watched it again in Christopher Nolan’s film. At the Harvard Ministerial Forum, where I teach, that old tale is still used as a case study for serving ministers. Power, like the sea, has its own temptations.

This old tale, secretly, is a story about the role of institutions in the economy. Institutions are the ropes to the mast, the bonds a nation ties to itself while its mind is still clear. Because it knows that one day that clarity can fade. That will be when the Sirens begin to sing, printing money to finance waste, loosening the guard rails for immediate results. Odysseus tied himself up because he knew he was not an angel.

James Madison wrote, “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.” Institutions are born not because people are always wise, but because we know we might one day err or act arbitrarily.

Perhaps the best way to read Indonesia’s 81 years of independence is not by how fast we are sailing, but by how we have learned to tie ourselves to the mast. With difficulty. With repeated failures.

In 1998, people gloomily predicted that Indonesia would disintegrate; yet we remained united, and direct elections proceeded peacefully. Ten years later, amid the greatest financial crisis since the Great Depression, our economy still grew 4.6 percent.

Then came the taper tantrum of 2013. I still remember the nights when the sails turned red, the rupiah weakened, and capital flowed out. Seven months later, we exited from the Fragile Five. Then the pandemic. It was tough, but we got through it—financed by savings cultivated over years of careful budgeting.

From this, we learn that what saves an economy isn’t something dramatic. It’s often something that sounds uninteresting: institutions.

Of course, some will object. The New Order, with its fragile institutions limiting power, grew at around 7 percent a year. Then, in the Democratic Reform era, with far better institutions, it only grew at 5 percent. If institutions are that important, why is democracy progressing so much slower than the dictatorship it replaced?

I try to answer this question with a less romantic approach: 80 years of data. Economic growth data comes from the Maddison Project Database and Statistics Indonesia (BPS), and inflation data from the World Bank. I constructed an institutional quality index from five indicators from the Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) data: limits on executive power, judicial independence, the rule of law, the quality of electoral democracy, and control of corruption. Using this index, through a series of econometric models, I tested whether stronger institutions lead to faster, more stable economic growth and more controlled inflation.

First, institutional quality is unrelated to growth rate. Admirers of the iron fist may smile at this point. But that smile won’t last long. In 1998, our economy shrank by about 13 percent, and per capita income only returned to 1997 levels around eight years later.

Second, the stronger the institutions, the more stable the economy—economists call this lower growth volatility. The relationship is strong and consistent. Sharp fluctuations—for a family—can mean a job lost without warning, prices jumping within a month, or plans to send a child to school being postponed indefinitely.

The institutional index was at its lowest point in the final years of the New Order. From 2004 to 2015, when the index improved, growth volatility declined. This conclusion persists even after accounting for oil and commodity prices, global economic shocks, and the level of prosperity are taken into account.

Third, long-term inflation was cut by more than half—from around 13 percent to below 6 percent—after central bank independence in 1999. The world was indeed experiencing low inflation at that time, but not all countries enjoyed it. We achieved this because of the post-1998 institutional reforms.

Fourth, the direction of the relationship. The quality of today’s institutions predicts tomorrow’s economic stability, not the other way around. History must admit that the 1998 reforms arose from a crisis. Therefore, I refrain from the term “cause and effect”; I prefer to call it a strong association. The rope on the mast doesn’t make a ship go faster. It keeps it from crashing into rocks.

There’s one interesting finding. I let the data find its own time for the sharpest pattern change using the Bai-Perron test. The results were in 1965 and the late 1990s. The procedure never tells the story of a regime change or a crisis, but only reads the numbers. History, it seems, leaves traces in the numbers.

The two fractures tell the same story. By 1965, the printing press had become the cashier of power. By 1998, credit flowed freely, especially to those close to power, without adequate discipline regarding its appropriateness. When the crisis struck, the structure collapsed, and the economy shrank by around 13 percent. Twice the ship came close to the rocks. Twice we paid a heavy price when institutional barriers were too weak.

Following the reforms, the story was different. The global financial crisis of 2008–2009, the taper tantrum of 2013, and the pandemic of 2020. Storms kept coming, but none brought us to a collapse like 1998. It wasn’t that seas became friendlier. What was different, perhaps, were the ropes holding the ship together. The central bank was made independent. Deficits and debt were limited by law. Banking was cleaned up.

Being tied down doesn’t mean being rigid. Odysseus’ ropes were untied after the danger had passed. When the pandemic struck, the deficit fences were loosened through established procedures, with a time limit, and then reattached. Rules may change, but integrity and governance cannot. The ropes may not make us grow faster, but they keep us from drowning.

And there’s another rope we often forget to consider: democracy. Amartya Sen points out that well-being isn’t about how many things we own, but how much we can do and become because of it. This is what he calls capability. People who are silenced, who can’t go to school or get medical treatment, aren’t just poorer. Their life choices become narrower.

That’s why the aspect of freedom is so important in development. That’s why criticism is the cheapest corrective mechanism a nation has. My study with Wihardja and Pradana (2026), using ACLED and Susenas data from 2015–2024, shows that the shrinking middle class is associated with increased demonstrations at the provincial level—even after education, income, and urbanization are taken into account.

And one striking finding is that provinces with more widespread internet access actually record fewer demonstrations. Complaints that have a channel don’t need to take to the streets. Criticism is a valve, not a threat.

I recall my conversation with Amartya Sen (Kompas, 2/12/2021): no major famine has ever occurred in a country that is free, democratic, and has a free press. Democracy may be noisy, perhaps annoying to those in power. But it is that very noise that reminds us when the ship begins to veer off course.

But all those ropes—the institutions they maintain—only last as long as they are remembered. Ironically, a nation’s memory is shorter than we think. The people of Macondo, in García Márquez’s novel, are struck by a plague of insomnia and slowly forget, first the names of objects, then their uses. They affix writing to everything. What they fear most is not forgetting names, but the day when the writing is still legible but no longer means anything. Odysseus binds himself because he knows people can be weak. The people of Macondo write names on objects because they know people can forget. Institutions are necessary because a nation can be both.

This is where my anxiety lies on this 81st birthday. The index shows the quality of our institutions has declined since 2015—the Democracy Report 2026 from V-Dem, University of Gothenburg, shows a similar trend. The knots are loosening one by one. This is where Jon Elster’s (1979) doubts come into play. He was right that in politics, it’s easier to tie others than to tie yourself. The ropes that loosen most quickly aren’t just any ropes, but the ones that bind the hands of those who control the wheel.

But isn’t economic growth still above 5 percent? True. However, institutional weakening rarely sends warnings through growth figures first. What usually moves first is trust. And trust is precisely what those ropes guard.

The Song of the Siren sounds most melodious when the sea is calm. This time we can’t say we don’t know. We do. We’ve seen that reef before.

On the morning of August 17, the flag was raised. We paused and, with choked voices, sang the national anthem Indonesia Raya. That day, we celebrated growth, development, and steps forward. But there was no ceremony for the silent things: the laws that guard, the laws that uphold, the critics that remind. After all, they are the ones who guard us when the siren’s song appears.

This country is indeed not perfect. There are still many complaints here and there. It hasn’t been able to provide for everyone. Yet, on the morning of August 17, the children still lined up. The residents still set up a simple stage in the corner of their lanes. We stood, giving time to our home. Because a home doesn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

And perhaps that is where the heroism of a nation lies: not always in victory, but in the fortitude to keep rowing even in the most difficult situations. Perhaps that’s why Bung Hatta quotes René de Clercq: “There is only one country that is my country. It grows through deeds, and those deeds are my efforts.”

Muhamad Chatib Basri is Visiting Scholar, Harvard CID; Visiting Professor in Practice, LSE (CETEx) and was Minister of Finance of the Republic of Indonesia 2013–2014.

This post is based on https://www.kompas.id/artikel/odysseus-dan-tali-republik.

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Op-Ed 17 August: Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic by Muhamad Chatib Basri

Odysseus and the Ropes of the Republic

By Muhamad Chatib Basri, Kompas.Id, Aug 17, 2026

The voice was so beautiful, cutting through the silence of the aqua ocean. It made the sailors look around. Searching for its source, even though disaster awaited them. Humans do not become lost because they do not know the way. Sometimes they become lost precisely because they know the way, but they still desire to draw closer.

Homer wrote about this almost 3,000 years ago: the story of Odysseus and the Sirens. Odysseus knew the danger ahead. Still he desired to hear the song. He also knew that when the voice appeared, he would not be able to trust himself. So, he plugged the ears of his oarsmen with wax. Odysseus’ body was tied to the mast. The message was, “Whatever I say, do not free me.”

When the song rang out, Odysseus struggled. Pleaded. Commanded. The oarsmen heard nothing. They kept rowing. The ship was saved not because its captain was strong. It was saved because the captain knew he could be weak. Therefore, he chose to tie himself up while the sea was still calm.

I always remember this story. Last month, millions of people around the world watched it again in Christopher Nolan’s film. At the Harvard Ministerial Forum, where I teach, that old tale is still used as a case study for serving ministers. Power, like the sea, has its own temptations.

This old tale, secretly, is a story about the role of institutions in the economy. Institutions are the ropes to the mast, the bonds a nation ties to itself while its mind is still clear. Because it knows that one day that clarity can fade. That will be when the Sirens begin to sing, printing money to finance waste, loosening the guard rails for immediate results. Odysseus tied himself up because he knew he was not an angel.

James Madison wrote, “If men were angels, no government would be necessary.” Institutions are born not because people are always wise, but because we know we might one day err or act arbitrarily.

Perhaps the best way to read Indonesia’s 81 years of independence is not by how fast we are sailing, but by how we have learned to tie ourselves to the mast. With difficulty. With repeated failures.

In 1998, people gloomily predicted that Indonesia would disintegrate; yet we remained united, and direct elections proceeded peacefully. Ten years later, amid the greatest financial crisis since the Great Depression, our economy still grew 4.6 percent.

Then came the taper tantrum of 2013. I still remember the nights when the sails turned red, the rupiah weakened, and capital flowed out. Seven months later, we exited from the Fragile Five. Then the pandemic. It was tough, but we got through it—financed by savings cultivated over years of careful budgeting.

From this, we learn that what saves an economy isn’t something dramatic. It’s often something that sounds uninteresting: institutions.

Of course, some will object. The New Order, with its fragile institutions limiting power, grew at around 7 percent a year. Then, in the Democratic Reform era, with far better institutions, it only grew at 5 percent. If institutions are that important, why is democracy progressing so much slower than the dictatorship it replaced?

I try to answer this question with a less romantic approach: 80 years of data. Economic growth data comes from the Maddison Project Database and Statistics Indonesia (BPS), and inflation data from the World Bank. I constructed an institutional quality index from five indicators from the Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) data: limits on executive power, judicial independence, the rule of law, the quality of electoral democracy, and control of corruption. Using this index, through a series of econometric models, I tested whether stronger institutions lead to faster, more stable economic growth and more controlled inflation.

First, institutional quality is unrelated to growth rate. Admirers of the iron fist may smile at this point. But that smile won’t last long. In 1998, our economy shrank by about 13 percent, and per capita income only returned to 1997 levels around eight years later.

Second, the stronger the institutions, the more stable the economy—economists call this lower growth volatility. The relationship is strong and consistent. Sharp fluctuations—for a family—can mean a job lost without warning, prices jumping within a month, or plans to send a child to school being postponed indefinitely.

The institutional index was at its lowest point in the final years of the New Order. From 2004 to 2015, when the index improved, growth volatility declined. This conclusion persists even after accounting for oil and commodity prices, global economic shocks, and the level of prosperity are taken into account.

Third, long-term inflation was cut by more than half—from around 13 percent to below 6 percent—after central bank independence in 1999. The world was indeed experiencing low inflation at that time, but not all countries enjoyed it. We achieved this because of the post-1998 institutional reforms.

Fourth, the direction of the relationship. The quality of today’s institutions predicts tomorrow’s economic stability, not the other way around. History must admit that the 1998 reforms arose from a crisis. Therefore, I refrain from the term “cause and effect”; I prefer to call it a strong association. The rope on the mast doesn’t make a ship go faster. It keeps it from crashing into rocks.

There’s one interesting finding. I let the data find its own time for the sharpest pattern change using the Bai-Perron test. The results were in 1965 and the late 1990s. The procedure never tells the story of a regime change or a crisis, but only reads the numbers. History, it seems, leaves traces in the numbers.

The two fractures tell the same story. By 1965, the printing press had become the cashier of power. By 1998, credit flowed freely, especially to those close to power, without adequate discipline regarding its appropriateness. When the crisis struck, the structure collapsed, and the economy shrank by around 13 percent. Twice the ship came close to the rocks. Twice we paid a heavy price when institutional barriers were too weak.

Following the reforms, the story was different. The global financial crisis of 2008–2009, the taper tantrum of 2013, and the pandemic of 2020. Storms kept coming, but none brought us to a collapse like 1998. It wasn’t that seas became friendlier. What was different, perhaps, were the ropes holding the ship together. The central bank was made independent. Deficits and debt were limited by law. Banking was cleaned up.

Being tied down doesn’t mean being rigid. Odysseus’ ropes were untied after the danger had passed. When the pandemic struck, the deficit fences were loosened through established procedures, with a time limit, and then reattached. Rules may change, but integrity and governance cannot. The ropes may not make us grow faster, but they keep us from drowning.

And there’s another rope we often forget to consider: democracy. Amartya Sen points out that well-being isn’t about how many things we own, but how much we can do and become because of it. This is what he calls capability. People who are silenced, who can’t go to school or get medical treatment, aren’t just poorer. Their life choices become narrower.

That’s why the aspect of freedom is so important in development. That’s why criticism is the cheapest corrective mechanism a nation has. My study with Wihardja and Pradana (2026), using ACLED and Susenas data from 2015–2024, shows that the shrinking middle class is associated with increased demonstrations at the provincial level—even after education, income, and urbanization are taken into account.

And one striking finding is that provinces with more widespread internet access actually record fewer demonstrations. Complaints that have a channel don’t need to take to the streets. Criticism is a valve, not a threat.

I recall my conversation with Amartya Sen (Kompas, 2/12/2021): no major famine has ever occurred in a country that is free, democratic, and has a free press. Democracy may be noisy, perhaps annoying to those in power. But it is that very noise that reminds us when the ship begins to veer off course.

But all those ropes—the institutions they maintain—only last as long as they are remembered. Ironically, a nation’s memory is shorter than we think. The people of Macondo, in García Márquez’s novel, are struck by a plague of insomnia and slowly forget, first the names of objects, then their uses. They affix writing to everything. What they fear most is not forgetting names, but the day when the writing is still legible but no longer means anything. Odysseus binds himself because he knows people can be weak. The people of Macondo write names on objects because they know people can forget. Institutions are necessary because a nation can be both.

This is where my anxiety lies on this 81st birthday. The index shows the quality of our institutions has declined since 2015—the Democracy Report 2026 from V-Dem, University of Gothenburg, shows a similar trend. The knots are loosening one by one. This is where Jon Elster’s (1979) doubts come into play. He was right that in politics, it’s easier to tie others than to tie yourself. The ropes that loosen most quickly aren’t just any ropes, but the ones that bind the hands of those who control the wheel.

But isn’t economic growth still above 5 percent? True. However, institutional weakening rarely sends warnings through growth figures first. What usually moves first is trust. And trust is precisely what those ropes guard.

The Song of the Siren sounds most melodious when the sea is calm. This time we can’t say we don’t know. We do. We’ve seen that reef before.

On the morning of August 17, the flag was raised. We paused and, with choked voices, sang the national anthem Indonesia Raya. That day, we celebrated growth, development, and steps forward. But there was no ceremony for the silent things: the laws that guard, the laws that uphold, the critics that remind. After all, they are the ones who guard us when the siren’s song appears.

This country is indeed not perfect. There are still many complaints here and there. It hasn’t been able to provide for everyone. Yet, on the morning of August 17, the children still lined up. The residents still set up a simple stage in the corner of their lanes. We stood, giving time to our home. Because a home doesn’t have to be perfect to be loved.

And perhaps that is where the heroism of a nation lies: not always in victory, but in the fortitude to keep rowing even in the most difficult situations. Perhaps that’s why Bung Hatta quotes René de Clercq: “There is only one country that is my country. It grows through deeds, and those deeds are my efforts.”

Muhamad Chatib Basri is Visiting Scholar, Harvard CID; Visiting Professor in Practice, LSE (CETEx) and was Minister of Finance of the Republic of Indonesia 2013–2014.

This post is based on https://www.kompas.id/artikel/odysseus-dan-tali-republik.

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6 Wasit Perempuan di Piala Dunia 2026 Ukir Sejarah, FIFA Percayakan Peran Penting di Turnamen Terbesar Dunia

Aopok - #Piala #Dunia #2026 #kembali #menghadirkan #catatan #sejarah #baru #dalam #dunia #sepak bola. Untuk pertama kalinya, FIFA memberikan kepercayaan kepada enam ofisial perempuan untuk bertugas di ajang sepak bola terbesar di dunia yang digelar di Amerika Serikat, Kanada, dan Meksiko. Keenam ofisial tersebut terdiri dari dua wasit utama, tiga asisten wasit,…

https://aopok.com/175560/6-wasit-perempuan-di-piala-dunia-2026-ukir-sejarah-fifa-percayakan-peran-penting-di-turnamen-terbesar-dunia

6 Wasit Perempuan di Piala Dunia 2026 Ukir Sejarah, FIFA Percayakan Peran Penting di Turnamen Terbesar Dunia

Aopok - #Piala #Dunia #2026 #kembali #menghadirkan #catatan #sejarah #baru #dalam #dunia #sepak bola. Untuk pertama kalinya, FIFA memberikan kepercayaan kepada enam ofisial perempuan untuk bertugas di ajang sepak bola terbesar di dunia yang digelar di Amerika Serikat, Kanada, dan Meksiko. Keenam ofisial tersebut terdiri dari dua wasit utama, tiga asisten wasit,…

https://aopok.com/175560/6-wasit-perempuan-di-piala-dunia-2026-ukir-sejarah-fifa-percayakan-peran-penting-di-turnamen-terbesar-dunia

Menelusuri jejak sejarah KDE dari awal mula diciptakan pada 1996 hingga menjadi sistem operasi modern dan andalan di Steam Deck.

#fediverse #Sejarah #Evolusi #Antarmuka

https://dalam.web.id/sistem-terbuka/mula-sejarah-kde

Comment: The Dark Gift of May by Budiman Tanuredjo

The Dark Gift of May

By Budiman Tanuredjo, MemoBDM Substack, May 15, 2026

May always brings back memories. For Indonesia it marks the fall of the New Order regime after 32 years of rule. For Catholics, May is the month of Mary, a time for pilgrimage, reflection and inner silence.

This year I took a road trip from Wednesday night to Sunday morning. I traveled from Kerep Cave in Ambarawa to Sendang Sono in Kulonprogo, to Sendang Sriningsih in Klaten, Mojosongo Marian Cave in Solo, Ngrawoh Cave Park in Sragen and finally on to Tritis in Gunung Kidul.

I chose to travel by road so I would meet more people. Along the way I saw the nation at work. Buildings for the red-and-white cooperatives are beginning to appear in a few places. Cooperative cars are everywhere. National Nutrition Agency buildings are visible in various regions to support the free nutritious meal program.

But behind these buildings I sensed unease. How is the country really doing? The question arose again and again. In Sendang Sono, someone asked me why I wasn’t on television anymore. In Klaten, a trader asked me why television rarely reported the complaints of ordinary people. I couldn’t answer all of them. After people started to relax, I asked them: “Why don’t you join one of the [government’s new] cooperatives?” His reply was quiet: “I’m not sure it will work.” He then described his experience with regional bureaucracy — markups, unofficial fees, the fatigue of dealing with the system. “Even Nadiem is facing 18 years. And he was a minister,” he said.

At that moment I realized something: the ordinary people read the country very clearly.

Democracy on the brink

Before leaving Jakarta I chatted in the BacktoBDM guest room with a number of politicians and public figures: Benny K. Harman, Tubagus Hasanuddin, Ahmad Doli Kurnia and senior attorney Petrus Selestinus. One strong impression emerged from that conversation: the 1998 Reform is gradually coming to an end. That doesn’t mean elections are gone or parliament has been dissolved. But the spirit of democracy is gradually ebbing away.

The V-Dem Institute’s 2026 report even states that Indonesia is moving toward electoral autocracy. Democracy remains procedurally in place, but power has become increasingly concentrated and oversight institutions weakened. This phenomenon is described by Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way as competitive authoritarianism.

Modern regimes do not always openly kill democracy. Elections persist. Parties remain vibrant. The media continues to broadcast. But the political arena slowly becomes unbalanced: oversight institutions are weakened, the opposition loses space, the press loses its force as a check, and the law is applied selectively.

Democracy can appear alive from the outside while losing its substantive energy from within. Perhaps that is what we are experiencing today.

The press is losing its bite.

A Reporters Without Borders assessment suggests something similar: Indonesia’s press freedom ranking has fallen sharply, from 111th to 127th in the world. The country is now categorized as “difficult.”

This decline is more than a number. It reflects a new climate: the press is beginning to lose its watchdog function. Noam Chomsky calls this manufactured consent — when the media slowly shifts from acting as a check on power to shaping public agreement with the ruling party’s narrative.

Control does not always come through harsh censorship. Sometimes it comes through fear: fear of losing access, advertising, frequency or proximity to power; fear of an acid attack. As a result, criticism weakens not because it is banned but because people begin to censor themselves.

From democracy to oligarchy

The 1998 Reformasi changes offered great hope. Between 1998 and 2004, press freedom blossomed, a multiparty system emerged, decentralization took hold, and oversight institutions such as the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK), the Constitutional Court (MK) and the Judicial Commission were born.

However, procedural democracy does not automatically produce substantive democracy. Instead we saw party cartelization, transactional politics and the consolidation of a political-economic oligarchy. Parties gradually lost their ideological function and became preoccupied with managing access to state resources.

Democracy has shifted from “power by the people” to “elite competition for power.”

The nation’s spiritual atmosphere has felt stifled in recent times. Too many developments defy common sense: bans on discussions, control of narratives, suppression of criticism, nepotism and the selective application of the law.

All of this recalls the patterns we thought we left behind in 1998.

May should not simply be a ceremony to remember Reformasi. It should be a moment of national reflection. The country needs a national retreat — not one of platitudes and applause, but a space for honesty to confront the situation as it is.

Purchasing power is declining, inequality is widening, democracy is in retreat and public trust is eroding. Without honesty, Reform becomes an annual slogan.

Memo for us

May always reminds us: no power is truly eternal. History also teaches that democracy does not always die by coups. Sometimes it weakens slowly through small compromises and small fears, repeated over and over.

The country’s greatest task today is not simply to hold elections but to preserve the courage to be honest. A republic does not collapse solely because of economic crisis or political conflict. It collapses when too many people choose silence, even though they know something is wrong.

MemoBDM — Memo Nurani Bangsa

Budiman Tanuredjo is a senior journalist, former editor in chief of Kompas newspaper, host of KompasTV’s premiere current affairs talk show “Satu Meja The Forum” (2015 to 2025), author and doctoral student in political science. He now writes to give a voice to the voiceless through his MemoBDM Substack.

This post is based on https://open.substack.com/pub/memobdm/p/kado-kelabu-di-bulan-mei67. Featured image credit: Photographer Erik Prasetya via BBC and TribunNews, 20 Tahun Reformasi dalam Foto, Wanita Hebat Ini Masuk Catatan Sejarah, Ini Peran Mereka, https://medan.tribunnews.com/2018/05/21/20-tahun-reformasi-dalam-foto-wanita-hebat-ini-masuk-catatan-sejarah-ini-peran-mereka.

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Comment: The Dark Gift of May by Budiman Tanuredjo

The Dark Gift of May

By Budiman Tanuredjo, MemoBDM Substack, May 15, 2026

May always brings back memories. For Indonesia it marks the fall of the New Order regime after 32 years of rule. For Catholics, May is the month of Mary, a time for pilgrimage, reflection and inner silence.

This year I took a road trip from Wednesday night to Sunday morning. I traveled from Kerep Cave in Ambarawa to Sendang Sono in Kulonprogo, to Sendang Sriningsih in Klaten, Mojosongo Marian Cave in Solo, Ngrawoh Cave Park in Sragen and finally on to Tritis in Gunung Kidul.

I chose to travel by road so I would meet more people. Along the way I saw the nation at work. Buildings for the red-and-white cooperatives are beginning to appear in a few places. Cooperative cars are everywhere. National Nutrition Agency buildings are visible in various regions to support the free nutritious meal program.

But behind these buildings I sensed unease. How is the country really doing? The question arose again and again. In Sendang Sono, someone asked me why I wasn’t on television anymore. In Klaten, a trader asked me why television rarely reported the complaints of ordinary people. I couldn’t answer all of them. After people started to relax, I asked them: “Why don’t you join one of the [government’s new] cooperatives?” His reply was quiet: “I’m not sure it will work.” He then described his experience with regional bureaucracy — markups, unofficial fees, the fatigue of dealing with the system. “Even Nadiem is facing 18 years. And he was a minister,” he said.

At that moment I realized something: the ordinary people read the country very clearly.

Democracy on the brink

Before leaving Jakarta I chatted in the BacktoBDM guest room with a number of politicians and public figures: Benny K. Harman, Tubagus Hasanuddin, Ahmad Doli Kurnia and senior attorney Petrus Selestinus. One strong impression emerged from that conversation: the 1998 Reform is gradually coming to an end. That doesn’t mean elections are gone or parliament has been dissolved. But the spirit of democracy is gradually ebbing away.

The V-Dem Institute’s 2026 report even states that Indonesia is moving toward electoral autocracy. Democracy remains procedurally in place, but power has become increasingly concentrated and oversight institutions weakened. This phenomenon is described by Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way as competitive authoritarianism.

Modern regimes do not always openly kill democracy. Elections persist. Parties remain vibrant. The media continues to broadcast. But the political arena slowly becomes unbalanced: oversight institutions are weakened, the opposition loses space, the press loses its force as a check, and the law is applied selectively.

Democracy can appear alive from the outside while losing its substantive energy from within. Perhaps that is what we are experiencing today.

The press is losing its bite.

A Reporters Without Borders assessment suggests something similar: Indonesia’s press freedom ranking has fallen sharply, from 111th to 127th in the world. The country is now categorized as “difficult.”

This decline is more than a number. It reflects a new climate: the press is beginning to lose its watchdog function. Noam Chomsky calls this manufactured consent — when the media slowly shifts from acting as a check on power to shaping public agreement with the ruling party’s narrative.

Control does not always come through harsh censorship. Sometimes it comes through fear: fear of losing access, advertising, frequency or proximity to power; fear of an acid attack. As a result, criticism weakens not because it is banned but because people begin to censor themselves.

From democracy to oligarchy

The 1998 Reformasi changes offered great hope. Between 1998 and 2004, press freedom blossomed, a multiparty system emerged, decentralization took hold, and oversight institutions such as the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK), the Constitutional Court (MK) and the Judicial Commission were born.

However, procedural democracy does not automatically produce substantive democracy. Instead we saw party cartelization, transactional politics and the consolidation of a political-economic oligarchy. Parties gradually lost their ideological function and became preoccupied with managing access to state resources.

Democracy has shifted from “power by the people” to “elite competition for power.”

The nation’s spiritual atmosphere has felt stifled in recent times. Too many developments defy common sense: bans on discussions, control of narratives, suppression of criticism, nepotism and the selective application of the law.

All of this recalls the patterns we thought we left behind in 1998.

May should not simply be a ceremony to remember Reformasi. It should be a moment of national reflection. The country needs a national retreat — not one of platitudes and applause, but a space for honesty to confront the situation as it is.

Purchasing power is declining, inequality is widening, democracy is in retreat and public trust is eroding. Without honesty, Reform becomes an annual slogan.

Memo for us

May always reminds us: no power is truly eternal. History also teaches that democracy does not always die by coups. Sometimes it weakens slowly through small compromises and small fears, repeated over and over.

The country’s greatest task today is not simply to hold elections but to preserve the courage to be honest. A republic does not collapse solely because of economic crisis or political conflict. It collapses when too many people choose silence, even though they know something is wrong.

MemoBDM — Memo Nurani Bangsa

Budiman Tanuredjo is a senior journalist, former editor in chief of Kompas newspaper, host of KompasTV’s premiere current affairs talk show “Satu Meja The Forum” (2015 to 2025), author and doctoral student in political science. He now writes to give a voice to the voiceless through his MemoBDM Substack.

This post is based on https://open.substack.com/pub/memobdm/p/kado-kelabu-di-bulan-mei67. Featured image credit: Photographer Erik Prasetya via BBC and TribunNews, 20 Tahun Reformasi dalam Foto, Wanita Hebat Ini Masuk Catatan Sejarah, Ini Peran Mereka, https://medan.tribunnews.com/2018/05/21/20-tahun-reformasi-dalam-foto-wanita-hebat-ini-masuk-catatan-sejarah-ini-peran-mereka.

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Comment: The Dark Gift of May by Budiman Tanuredjo

The Dark Gift of May

By Budiman Tanuredjo, MemoBDM Substack, May 15, 2026

May always brings back memories. For Indonesia it marks the fall of the New Order regime after 32 years of rule. For Catholics, May is the month of Mary, a time for pilgrimage, reflection and inner silence.

This year I took a road trip from Wednesday night to Sunday morning. I traveled from Kerep Cave in Ambarawa to Sendang Sono in Kulonprogo, to Sendang Sriningsih in Klaten, Mojosongo Marian Cave in Solo, Ngrawoh Cave Park in Sragen and finally on to Tritis in Gunung Kidul.

I chose to travel by road so I would meet more people. Along the way I saw the nation at work. Buildings for the red-and-white cooperatives are beginning to appear in a few places. Cooperative cars are everywhere. National Nutrition Agency buildings are visible in various regions to support the free nutritious meal program.

But behind these buildings I sensed unease. How is the country really doing? The question arose again and again. In Sendang Sono, someone asked me why I wasn’t on television anymore. In Klaten, a trader asked me why television rarely reported the complaints of ordinary people. I couldn’t answer all of them. After people started to relax, I asked them: “Why don’t you join one of the [government’s new] cooperatives?” His reply was quiet: “I’m not sure it will work.” He then described his experience with regional bureaucracy — markups, unofficial fees, the fatigue of dealing with the system. “Even Nadiem is facing 18 years. And he was a minister,” he said.

At that moment I realized something: the ordinary people read the country very clearly.

Democracy on the brink

Before leaving Jakarta I chatted in the BacktoBDM guest room with a number of politicians and public figures: Benny K. Harman, Tubagus Hasanuddin, Ahmad Doli Kurnia and senior attorney Petrus Selestinus. One strong impression emerged from that conversation: the 1998 Reform is gradually coming to an end. That doesn’t mean elections are gone or parliament has been dissolved. But the spirit of democracy is gradually ebbing away.

The V-Dem Institute’s 2026 report even states that Indonesia is moving toward electoral autocracy. Democracy remains procedurally in place, but power has become increasingly concentrated and oversight institutions weakened. This phenomenon is described by Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way as competitive authoritarianism.

Modern regimes do not always openly kill democracy. Elections persist. Parties remain vibrant. The media continues to broadcast. But the political arena slowly becomes unbalanced: oversight institutions are weakened, the opposition loses space, the press loses its force as a check, and the law is applied selectively.

Democracy can appear alive from the outside while losing its substantive energy from within. Perhaps that is what we are experiencing today.

The press is losing its bite.

A Reporters Without Borders assessment suggests something similar: Indonesia’s press freedom ranking has fallen sharply, from 111th to 127th in the world. The country is now categorized as “difficult.”

This decline is more than a number. It reflects a new climate: the press is beginning to lose its watchdog function. Noam Chomsky calls this manufactured consent — when the media slowly shifts from acting as a check on power to shaping public agreement with the ruling party’s narrative.

Control does not always come through harsh censorship. Sometimes it comes through fear: fear of losing access, advertising, frequency or proximity to power; fear of an acid attack. As a result, criticism weakens not because it is banned but because people begin to censor themselves.

From democracy to oligarchy

The 1998 Reformasi changes offered great hope. Between 1998 and 2004, press freedom blossomed, a multiparty system emerged, decentralization took hold, and oversight institutions such as the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK), the Constitutional Court (MK) and the Judicial Commission were born.

However, procedural democracy does not automatically produce substantive democracy. Instead we saw party cartelization, transactional politics and the consolidation of a political-economic oligarchy. Parties gradually lost their ideological function and became preoccupied with managing access to state resources.

Democracy has shifted from “power by the people” to “elite competition for power.”

The nation’s spiritual atmosphere has felt stifled in recent times. Too many developments defy common sense: bans on discussions, control of narratives, suppression of criticism, nepotism and the selective application of the law.

All of this recalls the patterns we thought we left behind in 1998.

May should not simply be a ceremony to remember Reformasi. It should be a moment of national reflection. The country needs a national retreat — not one of platitudes and applause, but a space for honesty to confront the situation as it is.

Purchasing power is declining, inequality is widening, democracy is in retreat and public trust is eroding. Without honesty, Reform becomes an annual slogan.

Memo for us

May always reminds us: no power is truly eternal. History also teaches that democracy does not always die by coups. Sometimes it weakens slowly through small compromises and small fears, repeated over and over.

The country’s greatest task today is not simply to hold elections but to preserve the courage to be honest. A republic does not collapse solely because of economic crisis or political conflict. It collapses when too many people choose silence, even though they know something is wrong.

MemoBDM — Memo Nurani Bangsa

Budiman Tanuredjo is a senior journalist, former editor in chief of Kompas newspaper, host of KompasTV’s premiere current affairs talk show “Satu Meja The Forum” (2015 to 2025), author and doctoral student in political science. He now writes to give a voice to the voiceless through his MemoBDM Substack.

This post is based on https://open.substack.com/pub/memobdm/p/kado-kelabu-di-bulan-mei67. Featured image credit: Photographer Erik Prasetya via BBC and TribunNews, 20 Tahun Reformasi dalam Foto, Wanita Hebat Ini Masuk Catatan Sejarah, Ini Peran Mereka, https://medan.tribunnews.com/2018/05/21/20-tahun-reformasi-dalam-foto-wanita-hebat-ini-masuk-catatan-sejarah-ini-peran-mereka.

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Cerpen: Batu Dadu Karya Mochtar Lubis

Batu Dadu

Cerpen Karya Mochtar Lubis (1950)

AKU berdiri dekat meja tempat main dadu, menonton orang-orang main – memperhatikan wajah orang yang bertukar-tukar, riang dan kecewa karena menang dan kalah – dan air muka orang yang tidak berobah sama sekali kalau kalah atau menang. Batu-batu dadu berdering-dering berlaga dengan piring, dan teriak bandar parau menyuruh orang memasang taruh memenuhi udara bercampur dengan bau manusia. Bau keringat dan minyak wangi. Bau yang biasanya melekat di udara jika ada keramaian manusia bersama-sama.

“Banyakkah menang?” sekonyong-konyong suara halus berbisik di telingaku. Aku berpaling. Dan aku lihat dia berdiri di belakang. Tersenyum.

“Engkau?”

“Ya,” katanya. “Engkau kejam benar. Semenjak aku kawin, engkau tidak pernah datang-datang lagi.”

“Ya. Tetapi tidakkah engkau lebih kejam lagi meninggalkan aku?”

Dia tersenyum. Dan aku tersenyum kembali. Begitu saja. Seakan-akan apa yang kami alami dahulu bersama-sama terjadi dalam penghidupan dan dunia yang lain. Tidak ada sangkut-pautnya dengan pertemuan kami sekarang. Pertemuan di Pasar Malam ini. Hanya dia dan aku. Dua orang berkenalan. Bersahabat barangkali. Itu saja. Panas nyala nafsu dahulu tidak timbul dalam badan ketika kami bertemu kembali demikian.

“Dengan siapa engkau?” tanyaku.

“Sendiri saja,” katanya. “Suamiku ke Palembang.”

“Oh.”

“Aku hendak main sebentar,” katanya.

Aku meminggir memberi tempat kepadanya.

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasangkanlah buat aku. Terlalu sempit dekat meja.”

Diberikannya kepadaku sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah. “Ditukar dahulu?”

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasanglah semuanya.”

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

Aku letakkan di angka tiga. Buah dadu dikocok, berdering-dering. Dibuka, keluar dua lima dan satu-satu.

“Kalah,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Ini lagi,” katanya, dan diberikannya sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah lagi.

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

“Tidak,” kataku. “Tadi aku pasang sudah kalah. Sekarang engkaulah yang memilihnya.”

“Lima,” katanya dan aku letakkan di angka lima. Buah dadu dikocok berdering-dering, suara bandar parau berteriak menyuruh pasang taruh, dan dibukanya. Kalah lagi. Lima rupiah lagi. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Hingga akhirnya dia telah kalah tujuh puluh lima rupiah.

“Sudahlah,” kataku. “Itu seperempat gajiku telah hilang.” Dia tertawa. “Masa baru begini telah berhenti,” katanya. Dan diberikannya kepadaku uang kertas seratus. Aku tukarkan kepada bandar dengan uang kertas lima rupiah. Tiga kali berturut-turut kalah lagi.

“Ah, ini penghabisan,” kataku. Dan aku letakkan sepuluh rupiah di atas angka tiga. Dua angka tiga keluar. Dia tertawa riang.

“Pasang lagi,” katanya, dan tangannya memeluk lenganku.

Aku pasang. Menang. Pasang. Menang. Dan tiap kali menang, dia bertambah riang, dan tangannya makin keras memegang lenganku, dan badannya makin rapat kepadaku, hingga dadanya terasa lembut menembus kain kemeja.

Kekalahannya hanya tinggal lima belas rupiah lagi. Ditariknya tanganku mengajak pergi.

“Terus saja main,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Sudahlah,” katanya. “Itu untuk membayar kita main sejam lamanya.” Aku berikan uangnya kepadanya.

“Peganglah,” katanya.

Aku masukkan ke saku bajuku. Kami berjalan meninggalkan tempat main dadu. Dia berhenti di depan tempat permainan menembak dengan senapan angin.

“Tembakkan buat aku sebotol minyak wangi Tosca,” katanya.

Botol minyak wangi Tosca itu terletak di atas nomor 12. Aku bidik. Tidak kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Hingga delapan kali.

“Apa boleh buat,” kataku. “Aku bukan juru tembak.”

Dia tertawa-tawa mengganggu aku. Kemudian dia mengajak aku ke restoran. Restoran penuh dan kami terpaksa berdiri sebentar menunggu meja menjadi kosong. Sebuah orkes keroncong main. Suara penyanyinya seperti bunyi paku digoreskan ke atap seng. Kemudian beberapa orang keluar dan kami duduk menggantikan mereka.

“Makan?”

“Tidak. Minum saja.”

“Apa?”

“Apa saja,” dan dia tersenyum.

Aku pandangi matanya. Seakan-akan cahaya api lama bernyala di belakang matanya. Aku pesan creme de menthe.

Kemudian, “Kurang keras ini,” katanya. Aku lihat dia. Dia melihat kembali. Aku pesan wiski. Dan kemudian, “Tidak panas engkau rasa di sini?” tanyanya.

Kami keluar dari Pasar Malam. Aku panggil becak.

“Tidak. Jangan itu,” katanya. “Yang pakai tutup.”

Dia bersandar ke bahuku. Dan tiba-tiba di ciumnya mulutku keras-keras.

“Engkau mabuk,” kataku.

“Karena engkau,” katanya.

Begitu saja. Mulutnya yang lunak lembut. Wangi bedak di pipinya. Wangi rambutnya. Tubuhnya yang panas. Dan tiba-tiba nyala api dalam malam-malam dahulu, ketika kami serumah — aku bayar makan di rumah pamannya — berkobar kembali, memeluk tubuhku dalam pelukan merah panas. Dan kemudian kami tidak dibecak lagi. Hanya berdua-dua saja dikelilingi empat buah dinding. Pintu tertutup. Kamar yang asing. Kemudian api surut. Padam. Tinggal debu panas. Tidak ada bara menyala. Dan debu cepat menjadi dingin. Hilang diserakkan angin. Tidak ada yang tinggal dalam hati. Rasa kecewa. Kosong. Bukan menyesal. Tetapi kecewa. Seperti main dadu, tidak keluar nomor taruhan. Hanya dia kelihatan girang.

Dan ketika aku antar dia pulang, dipegangnya tanganku di depan pagar pekarangan.

“Sampai di sini saja,” kataku. “Telah larut malam.”

“Ya,” katanya.

“Kapan kita bertemu lagi?” tanyanya. Dia memandang kepadaku.

Aku lihat matanya. Ketika itu aku tahu. Mengapa aku merasa kecewa. Karena baginya malam ini bukan lanjutan malam-malam dahulu, sebelum dia kawin. Aku ambil uangnya dari saku bajuku. Ditolaknya tanganku, dan dia berpaling, berlari kecil, naik beranda. Ke dalam telingaku serasa terdengar suaranya seperti di tempat main dadu tadi… itu untuk belajar kesenangan kita main sejam lamanya….

Dia membuka pintu. Cahaya lampu dari dalam mengalir keluar menembus gelap dalam beranda, dia melangkah ke dalam, menutup pintu, dan beranda itu gelap kembali.

Aku lihat uang kertas di tanganku. Selintas aku pikir hendak membuangnya. Aku bukan jago, pikirku dengan marah. Tetapi kemudian uang itu aku simpan kembali. Dan aku melangkah pulang.

Sumber: Batu Dadu (Dice) adalah cerita pendek dari kumpulan cerita pendek karya Mochtar Lubis, Si Djamal : dan tjerita2 lain / oleh Mochtar Lubis, Gapura, Djakarta, 1950, h. 85.

Foto: Ismail Marzuki (bottom right, playing saxophone) with The Jazz Division of Lief Java Orchestra, 1936, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ismail_Marzuki and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gugur_Bunga.

Orkes Krontjong

https://youtu.be/fk7Xx91-ymA?si=OL_VyYLH0em5LU5Y

CNN Indonesia, Maret 6 2023: “Jakarta punya segudang keunikan. Kali ini Sisi Kota mengunjungi kampung Tugu di Cilincing, Jakarta Utara yang memiliki cerita yang berusia empat abad. Permukiman yang didiami peranakan Portugis ini mencoba bertahan di tengah gerusan perkembangan zaman termasuk dengan keseniannya.” Sumber: https://www.krontjongtoegoe.com/

Batu Dadu Jaman Revolusi

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Cerpen: Batu Dadu Karya Mochtar Lubis

Batu Dadu

Cerpen Karya Mochtar Lubis (1950)

AKU berdiri dekat meja tempat main dadu, menonton orang-orang main – memperhatikan wajah orang yang bertukar-tukar, riang dan kecewa karena menang dan kalah – dan air muka orang yang tidak berobah sama sekali kalau kalah atau menang. Batu-batu dadu berdering-dering berlaga dengan piring, dan teriak bandar parau menyuruh orang memasang taruh memenuhi udara bercampur dengan bau manusia. Bau keringat dan minyak wangi. Bau yang biasanya melekat di udara jika ada keramaian manusia bersama-sama.

“Banyakkah menang?” sekonyong-konyong suara halus berbisik di telingaku. Aku berpaling. Dan aku lihat dia berdiri di belakang. Tersenyum.

“Engkau?”

“Ya,” katanya. “Engkau kejam benar. Semenjak aku kawin, engkau tidak pernah datang-datang lagi.”

“Ya. Tetapi tidakkah engkau lebih kejam lagi meninggalkan aku?”

Dia tersenyum. Dan aku tersenyum kembali. Begitu saja. Seakan-akan apa yang kami alami dahulu bersama-sama terjadi dalam penghidupan dan dunia yang lain. Tidak ada sangkut-pautnya dengan pertemuan kami sekarang. Pertemuan di Pasar Malam ini. Hanya dia dan aku. Dua orang berkenalan. Bersahabat barangkali. Itu saja. Panas nyala nafsu dahulu tidak timbul dalam badan ketika kami bertemu kembali demikian.

“Dengan siapa engkau?” tanyaku.

“Sendiri saja,” katanya. “Suamiku ke Palembang.”

“Oh.”

“Aku hendak main sebentar,” katanya.

Aku meminggir memberi tempat kepadanya.

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasangkanlah buat aku. Terlalu sempit dekat meja.”

Diberikannya kepadaku sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah. “Ditukar dahulu?”

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasanglah semuanya.”

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

Aku letakkan di angka tiga. Buah dadu dikocok, berdering-dering. Dibuka, keluar dua lima dan satu-satu.

“Kalah,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Ini lagi,” katanya, dan diberikannya sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah lagi.

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

“Tidak,” kataku. “Tadi aku pasang sudah kalah. Sekarang engkaulah yang memilihnya.”

“Lima,” katanya dan aku letakkan di angka lima. Buah dadu dikocok berdering-dering, suara bandar parau berteriak menyuruh pasang taruh, dan dibukanya. Kalah lagi. Lima rupiah lagi. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Hingga akhirnya dia telah kalah tujuh puluh lima rupiah.

“Sudahlah,” kataku. “Itu seperempat gajiku telah hilang.” Dia tertawa. “Masa baru begini telah berhenti,” katanya. Dan diberikannya kepadaku uang kertas seratus. Aku tukarkan kepada bandar dengan uang kertas lima rupiah. Tiga kali berturut-turut kalah lagi.

“Ah, ini penghabisan,” kataku. Dan aku letakkan sepuluh rupiah di atas angka tiga. Dua angka tiga keluar. Dia tertawa riang.

“Pasang lagi,” katanya, dan tangannya memeluk lenganku.

Aku pasang. Menang. Pasang. Menang. Dan tiap kali menang, dia bertambah riang, dan tangannya makin keras memegang lenganku, dan badannya makin rapat kepadaku, hingga dadanya terasa lembut menembus kain kemeja.

Kekalahannya hanya tinggal lima belas rupiah lagi. Ditariknya tanganku mengajak pergi.

“Terus saja main,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Sudahlah,” katanya. “Itu untuk membayar kita main sejam lamanya.” Aku berikan uangnya kepadanya.

“Peganglah,” katanya.

Aku masukkan ke saku bajuku. Kami berjalan meninggalkan tempat main dadu. Dia berhenti di depan tempat permainan menembak dengan senapan angin.

“Tembakkan buat aku sebotol minyak wangi Tosca,” katanya.

Botol minyak wangi Tosca itu terletak di atas nomor 12. Aku bidik. Tidak kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Hingga delapan kali.

“Apa boleh buat,” kataku. “Aku bukan juru tembak.”

Dia tertawa-tawa mengganggu aku. Kemudian dia mengajak aku ke restoran. Restoran penuh dan kami terpaksa berdiri sebentar menunggu meja menjadi kosong. Sebuah orkes keroncong main. Suara penyanyinya seperti bunyi paku digoreskan ke atap seng. Kemudian beberapa orang keluar dan kami duduk menggantikan mereka.

“Makan?”

“Tidak. Minum saja.”

“Apa?”

“Apa saja,” dan dia tersenyum.

Aku pandangi matanya. Seakan-akan cahaya api lama bernyala di belakang matanya. Aku pesan creme de menthe.

Kemudian, “Kurang keras ini,” katanya. Aku lihat dia. Dia melihat kembali. Aku pesan wiski. Dan kemudian, “Tidak panas engkau rasa di sini?” tanyanya.

Kami keluar dari Pasar Malam. Aku panggil becak.

“Tidak. Jangan itu,” katanya. “Yang pakai tutup.”

Dia bersandar ke bahuku. Dan tiba-tiba di ciumnya mulutku keras-keras.

“Engkau mabuk,” kataku.

“Karena engkau,” katanya.

Begitu saja. Mulutnya yang lunak lembut. Wangi bedak di pipinya. Wangi rambutnya. Tubuhnya yang panas. Dan tiba-tiba nyala api dalam malam-malam dahulu, ketika kami serumah — aku bayar makan di rumah pamannya — berkobar kembali, memeluk tubuhku dalam pelukan merah panas. Dan kemudian kami tidak dibecak lagi. Hanya berdua-dua saja dikelilingi empat buah dinding. Pintu tertutup. Kamar yang asing. Kemudian api surut. Padam. Tinggal debu panas. Tidak ada bara menyala. Dan debu cepat menjadi dingin. Hilang diserakkan angin. Tidak ada yang tinggal dalam hati. Rasa kecewa. Kosong. Bukan menyesal. Tetapi kecewa. Seperti main dadu, tidak keluar nomor taruhan. Hanya dia kelihatan girang.

Dan ketika aku antar dia pulang, dipegangnya tanganku di depan pagar pekarangan.

“Sampai di sini saja,” kataku. “Telah larut malam.”

“Ya,” katanya.

“Kapan kita bertemu lagi?” tanyanya. Dia memandang kepadaku.

Aku lihat matanya. Ketika itu aku tahu. Mengapa aku merasa kecewa. Karena baginya malam ini bukan lanjutan malam-malam dahulu, sebelum dia kawin. Aku ambil uangnya dari saku bajuku. Ditolaknya tanganku, dan dia berpaling, berlari kecil, naik beranda. Ke dalam telingaku serasa terdengar suaranya seperti di tempat main dadu tadi… itu untuk belajar kesenangan kita main sejam lamanya….

Dia membuka pintu. Cahaya lampu dari dalam mengalir keluar menembus gelap dalam beranda, dia melangkah ke dalam, menutup pintu, dan beranda itu gelap kembali.

Aku lihat uang kertas di tanganku. Selintas aku pikir hendak membuangnya. Aku bukan jago, pikirku dengan marah. Tetapi kemudian uang itu aku simpan kembali. Dan aku melangkah pulang.

Sumber: Batu Dadu (Dice) adalah cerita pendek dari kumpulan cerita pendek karya Mochtar Lubis, Si Djamal : dan tjerita2 lain / oleh Mochtar Lubis, Gapura, Djakarta, 1950, h. 85.

Foto: Ismail Marzuki (bottom right, playing saxophone) with The Jazz Division of Lief Java Orchestra, 1936, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ismail_Marzuki and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gugur_Bunga.

Orkes Krontjong

https://youtu.be/fk7Xx91-ymA?si=OL_VyYLH0em5LU5Y

CNN Indonesia, Maret 6 2023: “Jakarta punya segudang keunikan. Kali ini Sisi Kota mengunjungi kampung Tugu di Cilincing, Jakarta Utara yang memiliki cerita yang berusia empat abad. Permukiman yang didiami peranakan Portugis ini mencoba bertahan di tengah gerusan perkembangan zaman termasuk dengan keseniannya.” Sumber: https://www.krontjongtoegoe.com/

Batu Dadu Jaman Revolusi

Rate this:

Cerpen: Batu Dadu Karya Mochtar Lubis

Batu Dadu

Cerpen Karya Mochtar Lubis (1950)

AKU berdiri dekat meja tempat main dadu, menonton orang-orang main – memperhatikan wajah orang yang bertukar-tukar, riang dan kecewa karena menang dan kalah – dan air muka orang yang tidak berobah sama sekali kalau kalah atau menang. Batu-batu dadu berdering-dering berlaga dengan piring, dan teriak bandar parau menyuruh orang memasang taruh memenuhi udara bercampur dengan bau manusia. Bau keringat dan minyak wangi. Bau yang biasanya melekat di udara jika ada keramaian manusia bersama-sama.

“Banyakkah menang?” sekonyong-konyong suara halus berbisik di telingaku. Aku berpaling. Dan aku lihat dia berdiri di belakang. Tersenyum.

“Engkau?”

“Ya,” katanya. “Engkau kejam benar. Semenjak aku kawin, engkau tidak pernah datang-datang lagi.”

“Ya. Tetapi tidakkah engkau lebih kejam lagi meninggalkan aku?”

Dia tersenyum. Dan aku tersenyum kembali. Begitu saja. Seakan-akan apa yang kami alami dahulu bersama-sama terjadi dalam penghidupan dan dunia yang lain. Tidak ada sangkut-pautnya dengan pertemuan kami sekarang. Pertemuan di Pasar Malam ini. Hanya dia dan aku. Dua orang berkenalan. Bersahabat barangkali. Itu saja. Panas nyala nafsu dahulu tidak timbul dalam badan ketika kami bertemu kembali demikian.

“Dengan siapa engkau?” tanyaku.

“Sendiri saja,” katanya. “Suamiku ke Palembang.”

“Oh.”

“Aku hendak main sebentar,” katanya.

Aku meminggir memberi tempat kepadanya.

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasangkanlah buat aku. Terlalu sempit dekat meja.”

Diberikannya kepadaku sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah. “Ditukar dahulu?”

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasanglah semuanya.”

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

Aku letakkan di angka tiga. Buah dadu dikocok, berdering-dering. Dibuka, keluar dua lima dan satu-satu.

“Kalah,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Ini lagi,” katanya, dan diberikannya sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah lagi.

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

“Tidak,” kataku. “Tadi aku pasang sudah kalah. Sekarang engkaulah yang memilihnya.”

“Lima,” katanya dan aku letakkan di angka lima. Buah dadu dikocok berdering-dering, suara bandar parau berteriak menyuruh pasang taruh, dan dibukanya. Kalah lagi. Lima rupiah lagi. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Hingga akhirnya dia telah kalah tujuh puluh lima rupiah.

“Sudahlah,” kataku. “Itu seperempat gajiku telah hilang.” Dia tertawa. “Masa baru begini telah berhenti,” katanya. Dan diberikannya kepadaku uang kertas seratus. Aku tukarkan kepada bandar dengan uang kertas lima rupiah. Tiga kali berturut-turut kalah lagi.

“Ah, ini penghabisan,” kataku. Dan aku letakkan sepuluh rupiah di atas angka tiga. Dua angka tiga keluar. Dia tertawa riang.

“Pasang lagi,” katanya, dan tangannya memeluk lenganku.

Aku pasang. Menang. Pasang. Menang. Dan tiap kali menang, dia bertambah riang, dan tangannya makin keras memegang lenganku, dan badannya makin rapat kepadaku, hingga dadanya terasa lembut menembus kain kemeja.

Kekalahannya hanya tinggal lima belas rupiah lagi. Ditariknya tanganku mengajak pergi.

“Terus saja main,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Sudahlah,” katanya. “Itu untuk membayar kita main sejam lamanya.” Aku berikan uangnya kepadanya.

“Peganglah,” katanya.

Aku masukkan ke saku bajuku. Kami berjalan meninggalkan tempat main dadu. Dia berhenti di depan tempat permainan menembak dengan senapan angin.

“Tembakkan buat aku sebotol minyak wangi Tosca,” katanya.

Botol minyak wangi Tosca itu terletak di atas nomor 12. Aku bidik. Tidak kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Hingga delapan kali.

“Apa boleh buat,” kataku. “Aku bukan juru tembak.”

Dia tertawa-tawa mengganggu aku. Kemudian dia mengajak aku ke restoran. Restoran penuh dan kami terpaksa berdiri sebentar menunggu meja menjadi kosong. Sebuah orkes keroncong main. Suara penyanyinya seperti bunyi paku digoreskan ke atap seng. Kemudian beberapa orang keluar dan kami duduk menggantikan mereka.

“Makan?”

“Tidak. Minum saja.”

“Apa?”

“Apa saja,” dan dia tersenyum.

Aku pandangi matanya. Seakan-akan cahaya api lama bernyala di belakang matanya. Aku pesan creme de menthe.

Kemudian, “Kurang keras ini,” katanya. Aku lihat dia. Dia melihat kembali. Aku pesan wiski. Dan kemudian, “Tidak panas engkau rasa di sini?” tanyanya.

Kami keluar dari Pasar Malam. Aku panggil becak.

“Tidak. Jangan itu,” katanya. “Yang pakai tutup.”

Dia bersandar ke bahuku. Dan tiba-tiba di ciumnya mulutku keras-keras.

“Engkau mabuk,” kataku.

“Karena engkau,” katanya.

Begitu saja. Mulutnya yang lunak lembut. Wangi bedak di pipinya. Wangi rambutnya. Tubuhnya yang panas. Dan tiba-tiba nyala api dalam malam-malam dahulu, ketika kami serumah — aku bayar makan di rumah pamannya — berkobar kembali, memeluk tubuhku dalam pelukan merah panas. Dan kemudian kami tidak dibecak lagi. Hanya berdua-dua saja dikelilingi empat buah dinding. Pintu tertutup. Kamar yang asing. Kemudian api surut. Padam. Tinggal debu panas. Tidak ada bara menyala. Dan debu cepat menjadi dingin. Hilang diserakkan angin. Tidak ada yang tinggal dalam hati. Rasa kecewa. Kosong. Bukan menyesal. Tetapi kecewa. Seperti main dadu, tidak keluar nomor taruhan. Hanya dia kelihatan girang.

Dan ketika aku antar dia pulang, dipegangnya tanganku di depan pagar pekarangan.

“Sampai di sini saja,” kataku. “Telah larut malam.”

“Ya,” katanya.

“Kapan kita bertemu lagi?” tanyanya. Dia memandang kepadaku.

Aku lihat matanya. Ketika itu aku tahu. Mengapa aku merasa kecewa. Karena baginya malam ini bukan lanjutan malam-malam dahulu, sebelum dia kawin. Aku ambil uangnya dari saku bajuku. Ditolaknya tanganku, dan dia berpaling, berlari kecil, naik beranda. Ke dalam telingaku serasa terdengar suaranya seperti di tempat main dadu tadi… itu untuk belajar kesenangan kita main sejam lamanya….

Dia membuka pintu. Cahaya lampu dari dalam mengalir keluar menembus gelap dalam beranda, dia melangkah ke dalam, menutup pintu, dan beranda itu gelap kembali.

Aku lihat uang kertas di tanganku. Selintas aku pikir hendak membuangnya. Aku bukan jago, pikirku dengan marah. Tetapi kemudian uang itu aku simpan kembali. Dan aku melangkah pulang.

Sumber: Batu Dadu (Dice) adalah cerita pendek dari kumpulan cerita pendek karya Mochtar Lubis, Si Djamal : dan tjerita2 lain / oleh Mochtar Lubis, Gapura, Djakarta, 1950, h. 85.

Foto: Ismail Marzuki (bottom right, playing saxophone) with The Jazz Division of Lief Java Orchestra, 1936, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ismail_Marzuki and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gugur_Bunga.

Orkes Krontjong

https://youtu.be/fk7Xx91-ymA?si=OL_VyYLH0em5LU5Y

CNN Indonesia, Maret 6 2023: “Jakarta punya segudang keunikan. Kali ini Sisi Kota mengunjungi kampung Tugu di Cilincing, Jakarta Utara yang memiliki cerita yang berusia empat abad. Permukiman yang didiami peranakan Portugis ini mencoba bertahan di tengah gerusan perkembangan zaman termasuk dengan keseniannya.” Sumber: https://www.krontjongtoegoe.com/

Batu Dadu Jaman Revolusi

Rate this:

Cerpen: Batu Dadu Karya Mochtar Lubis

Batu Dadu

Cerpen Karya Mochtar Lubis (1950)

AKU berdiri dekat meja tempat main dadu, menonton orang-orang main – memperhatikan wajah orang yang bertukar-tukar, riang dan kecewa karena menang dan kalah – dan air muka orang yang tidak berobah sama sekali kalau kalah atau menang. Batu-batu dadu berdering-dering berlaga dengan piring, dan teriak bandar parau menyuruh orang memasang taruh memenuhi udara bercampur dengan bau manusia. Bau keringat dan minyak wangi. Bau yang biasanya melekat di udara jika ada keramaian manusia bersama-sama.

“Banyakkah menang?” sekonyong-konyong suara halus berbisik di telingaku. Aku berpaling. Dan aku lihat dia berdiri di belakang. Tersenyum.

“Engkau?”

“Ya,” katanya. “Engkau kejam benar. Semenjak aku kawin, engkau tidak pernah datang-datang lagi.”

“Ya. Tetapi tidakkah engkau lebih kejam lagi meninggalkan aku?”

Dia tersenyum. Dan aku tersenyum kembali. Begitu saja. Seakan-akan apa yang kami alami dahulu bersama-sama terjadi dalam penghidupan dan dunia yang lain. Tidak ada sangkut-pautnya dengan pertemuan kami sekarang. Pertemuan di Pasar Malam ini. Hanya dia dan aku. Dua orang berkenalan. Bersahabat barangkali. Itu saja. Panas nyala nafsu dahulu tidak timbul dalam badan ketika kami bertemu kembali demikian.

“Dengan siapa engkau?” tanyaku.

“Sendiri saja,” katanya. “Suamiku ke Palembang.”

“Oh.”

“Aku hendak main sebentar,” katanya.

Aku meminggir memberi tempat kepadanya.

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasangkanlah buat aku. Terlalu sempit dekat meja.”

Diberikannya kepadaku sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah. “Ditukar dahulu?”

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasanglah semuanya.”

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

Aku letakkan di angka tiga. Buah dadu dikocok, berdering-dering. Dibuka, keluar dua lima dan satu-satu.

“Kalah,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Ini lagi,” katanya, dan diberikannya sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah lagi.

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

“Tidak,” kataku. “Tadi aku pasang sudah kalah. Sekarang engkaulah yang memilihnya.”

“Lima,” katanya dan aku letakkan di angka lima. Buah dadu dikocok berdering-dering, suara bandar parau berteriak menyuruh pasang taruh, dan dibukanya. Kalah lagi. Lima rupiah lagi. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Hingga akhirnya dia telah kalah tujuh puluh lima rupiah.

“Sudahlah,” kataku. “Itu seperempat gajiku telah hilang.” Dia tertawa. “Masa baru begini telah berhenti,” katanya. Dan diberikannya kepadaku uang kertas seratus. Aku tukarkan kepada bandar dengan uang kertas lima rupiah. Tiga kali berturut-turut kalah lagi.

“Ah, ini penghabisan,” kataku. Dan aku letakkan sepuluh rupiah di atas angka tiga. Dua angka tiga keluar. Dia tertawa riang.

“Pasang lagi,” katanya, dan tangannya memeluk lenganku.

Aku pasang. Menang. Pasang. Menang. Dan tiap kali menang, dia bertambah riang, dan tangannya makin keras memegang lenganku, dan badannya makin rapat kepadaku, hingga dadanya terasa lembut menembus kain kemeja.

Kekalahannya hanya tinggal lima belas rupiah lagi. Ditariknya tanganku mengajak pergi.

“Terus saja main,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Sudahlah,” katanya. “Itu untuk membayar kita main sejam lamanya.” Aku berikan uangnya kepadanya.

“Peganglah,” katanya.

Aku masukkan ke saku bajuku. Kami berjalan meninggalkan tempat main dadu. Dia berhenti di depan tempat permainan menembak dengan senapan angin.

“Tembakkan buat aku sebotol minyak wangi Tosca,” katanya.

Botol minyak wangi Tosca itu terletak di atas nomor 12. Aku bidik. Tidak kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Hingga delapan kali.

“Apa boleh buat,” kataku. “Aku bukan juru tembak.”

Dia tertawa-tawa mengganggu aku. Kemudian dia mengajak aku ke restoran. Restoran penuh dan kami terpaksa berdiri sebentar menunggu meja menjadi kosong. Sebuah orkes keroncong main. Suara penyanyinya seperti bunyi paku digoreskan ke atap seng. Kemudian beberapa orang keluar dan kami duduk menggantikan mereka.

“Makan?”

“Tidak. Minum saja.”

“Apa?”

“Apa saja,” dan dia tersenyum.

Aku pandangi matanya. Seakan-akan cahaya api lama bernyala di belakang matanya. Aku pesan creme de menthe.

Kemudian, “Kurang keras ini,” katanya. Aku lihat dia. Dia melihat kembali. Aku pesan wiski. Dan kemudian, “Tidak panas engkau rasa di sini?” tanyanya.

Kami keluar dari Pasar Malam. Aku panggil becak.

“Tidak. Jangan itu,” katanya. “Yang pakai tutup.”

Dia bersandar ke bahuku. Dan tiba-tiba di ciumnya mulutku keras-keras.

“Engkau mabuk,” kataku.

“Karena engkau,” katanya.

Begitu saja. Mulutnya yang lunak lembut. Wangi bedak di pipinya. Wangi rambutnya. Tubuhnya yang panas. Dan tiba-tiba nyala api dalam malam-malam dahulu, ketika kami serumah — aku bayar makan di rumah pamannya — berkobar kembali, memeluk tubuhku dalam pelukan merah panas. Dan kemudian kami tidak dibecak lagi. Hanya berdua-dua saja dikelilingi empat buah dinding. Pintu tertutup. Kamar yang asing. Kemudian api surut. Padam. Tinggal debu panas. Tidak ada bara menyala. Dan debu cepat menjadi dingin. Hilang diserakkan angin. Tidak ada yang tinggal dalam hati. Rasa kecewa. Kosong. Bukan menyesal. Tetapi kecewa. Seperti main dadu, tidak keluar nomor taruhan. Hanya dia kelihatan girang.

Dan ketika aku antar dia pulang, dipegangnya tanganku di depan pagar pekarangan.

“Sampai di sini saja,” kataku. “Telah larut malam.”

“Ya,” katanya.

“Kapan kita bertemu lagi?” tanyanya. Dia memandang kepadaku.

Aku lihat matanya. Ketika itu aku tahu. Mengapa aku merasa kecewa. Karena baginya malam ini bukan lanjutan malam-malam dahulu, sebelum dia kawin. Aku ambil uangnya dari saku bajuku. Ditolaknya tanganku, dan dia berpaling, berlari kecil, naik beranda. Ke dalam telingaku serasa terdengar suaranya seperti di tempat main dadu tadi… itu untuk belajar kesenangan kita main sejam lamanya….

Dia membuka pintu. Cahaya lampu dari dalam mengalir keluar menembus gelap dalam beranda, dia melangkah ke dalam, menutup pintu, dan beranda itu gelap kembali.

Aku lihat uang kertas di tanganku. Selintas aku pikir hendak membuangnya. Aku bukan jago, pikirku dengan marah. Tetapi kemudian uang itu aku simpan kembali. Dan aku melangkah pulang.

Sumber: Batu Dadu (Dice) adalah cerita pendek dari kumpulan cerita pendek karya Mochtar Lubis, Si Djamal : dan tjerita2 lain / oleh Mochtar Lubis, Gapura, Djakarta, 1950, h. 85.

Foto: Ismail Marzuki (bottom right, playing saxophone) with The Jazz Division of Lief Java Orchestra, 1936, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ismail_Marzuki and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gugur_Bunga.

Orkes Krontjong

https://youtu.be/fk7Xx91-ymA?si=OL_VyYLH0em5LU5Y

CNN Indonesia, Maret 6 2023: “Jakarta punya segudang keunikan. Kali ini Sisi Kota mengunjungi kampung Tugu di Cilincing, Jakarta Utara yang memiliki cerita yang berusia empat abad. Permukiman yang didiami peranakan Portugis ini mencoba bertahan di tengah gerusan perkembangan zaman termasuk dengan keseniannya.” Sumber: https://www.krontjongtoegoe.com/

Batu Dadu Jaman Revolusi

Rate this:

Cerpen: Batu Dadu Karya Mochtar Lubis

Batu Dadu

Cerpen Karya Mochtar Lubis (1950)

AKU berdiri dekat meja tempat main dadu, menonton orang-orang main – memperhatikan wajah orang yang bertukar-tukar, riang dan kecewa karena menang dan kalah – dan air muka orang yang tidak berobah sama sekali kalau kalah atau menang. Batu-batu dadu berdering-dering berlaga dengan piring, dan teriak bandar parau menyuruh orang memasang taruh memenuhi udara bercampur dengan bau manusia. Bau keringat dan minyak wangi. Bau yang biasanya melekat di udara jika ada keramaian manusia bersama-sama.

“Banyakkah menang?” sekonyong-konyong suara halus berbisik di telingaku. Aku berpaling. Dan aku lihat dia berdiri di belakang. Tersenyum.

“Engkau?”

“Ya,” katanya. “Engkau kejam benar. Semenjak aku kawin, engkau tidak pernah datang-datang lagi.”

“Ya. Tetapi tidakkah engkau lebih kejam lagi meninggalkan aku?”

Dia tersenyum. Dan aku tersenyum kembali. Begitu saja. Seakan-akan apa yang kami alami dahulu bersama-sama terjadi dalam penghidupan dan dunia yang lain. Tidak ada sangkut-pautnya dengan pertemuan kami sekarang. Pertemuan di Pasar Malam ini. Hanya dia dan aku. Dua orang berkenalan. Bersahabat barangkali. Itu saja. Panas nyala nafsu dahulu tidak timbul dalam badan ketika kami bertemu kembali demikian.

“Dengan siapa engkau?” tanyaku.

“Sendiri saja,” katanya. “Suamiku ke Palembang.”

“Oh.”

“Aku hendak main sebentar,” katanya.

Aku meminggir memberi tempat kepadanya.

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasangkanlah buat aku. Terlalu sempit dekat meja.”

Diberikannya kepadaku sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah. “Ditukar dahulu?”

“Tidak,” katanya. “Pasanglah semuanya.”

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

Aku letakkan di angka tiga. Buah dadu dikocok, berdering-dering. Dibuka, keluar dua lima dan satu-satu.

“Kalah,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Ini lagi,” katanya, dan diberikannya sehelai uang kertas lima rupiah lagi.

“Di mana?”

“Di mana saja.”

“Tidak,” kataku. “Tadi aku pasang sudah kalah. Sekarang engkaulah yang memilihnya.”

“Lima,” katanya dan aku letakkan di angka lima. Buah dadu dikocok berdering-dering, suara bandar parau berteriak menyuruh pasang taruh, dan dibukanya. Kalah lagi. Lima rupiah lagi. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Lima rupiah. Kalah. Hingga akhirnya dia telah kalah tujuh puluh lima rupiah.

“Sudahlah,” kataku. “Itu seperempat gajiku telah hilang.” Dia tertawa. “Masa baru begini telah berhenti,” katanya. Dan diberikannya kepadaku uang kertas seratus. Aku tukarkan kepada bandar dengan uang kertas lima rupiah. Tiga kali berturut-turut kalah lagi.

“Ah, ini penghabisan,” kataku. Dan aku letakkan sepuluh rupiah di atas angka tiga. Dua angka tiga keluar. Dia tertawa riang.

“Pasang lagi,” katanya, dan tangannya memeluk lenganku.

Aku pasang. Menang. Pasang. Menang. Dan tiap kali menang, dia bertambah riang, dan tangannya makin keras memegang lenganku, dan badannya makin rapat kepadaku, hingga dadanya terasa lembut menembus kain kemeja.

Kekalahannya hanya tinggal lima belas rupiah lagi. Ditariknya tanganku mengajak pergi.

“Terus saja main,” kataku.

Dia tertawa.

“Sudahlah,” katanya. “Itu untuk membayar kita main sejam lamanya.” Aku berikan uangnya kepadanya.

“Peganglah,” katanya.

Aku masukkan ke saku bajuku. Kami berjalan meninggalkan tempat main dadu. Dia berhenti di depan tempat permainan menembak dengan senapan angin.

“Tembakkan buat aku sebotol minyak wangi Tosca,” katanya.

Botol minyak wangi Tosca itu terletak di atas nomor 12. Aku bidik. Tidak kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Sekali lagi. Tidak juga kena. Hingga delapan kali.

“Apa boleh buat,” kataku. “Aku bukan juru tembak.”

Dia tertawa-tawa mengganggu aku. Kemudian dia mengajak aku ke restoran. Restoran penuh dan kami terpaksa berdiri sebentar menunggu meja menjadi kosong. Sebuah orkes keroncong main. Suara penyanyinya seperti bunyi paku digoreskan ke atap seng. Kemudian beberapa orang keluar dan kami duduk menggantikan mereka.

“Makan?”

“Tidak. Minum saja.”

“Apa?”

“Apa saja,” dan dia tersenyum.

Aku pandangi matanya. Seakan-akan cahaya api lama bernyala di belakang matanya. Aku pesan creme de menthe.

Kemudian, “Kurang keras ini,” katanya. Aku lihat dia. Dia melihat kembali. Aku pesan wiski. Dan kemudian, “Tidak panas engkau rasa di sini?” tanyanya.

Kami keluar dari Pasar Malam. Aku panggil becak.

“Tidak. Jangan itu,” katanya. “Yang pakai tutup.”

Dia bersandar ke bahuku. Dan tiba-tiba di ciumnya mulutku keras-keras.

“Engkau mabuk,” kataku.

“Karena engkau,” katanya.

Begitu saja. Mulutnya yang lunak lembut. Wangi bedak di pipinya. Wangi rambutnya. Tubuhnya yang panas. Dan tiba-tiba nyala api dalam malam-malam dahulu, ketika kami serumah — aku bayar makan di rumah pamannya — berkobar kembali, memeluk tubuhku dalam pelukan merah panas. Dan kemudian kami tidak dibecak lagi. Hanya berdua-dua saja dikelilingi empat buah dinding. Pintu tertutup. Kamar yang asing. Kemudian api surut. Padam. Tinggal debu panas. Tidak ada bara menyala. Dan debu cepat menjadi dingin. Hilang diserakkan angin. Tidak ada yang tinggal dalam hati. Rasa kecewa. Kosong. Bukan menyesal. Tetapi kecewa. Seperti main dadu, tidak keluar nomor taruhan. Hanya dia kelihatan girang.

Dan ketika aku antar dia pulang, dipegangnya tanganku di depan pagar pekarangan.

“Sampai di sini saja,” kataku. “Telah larut malam.”

“Ya,” katanya.

“Kapan kita bertemu lagi?” tanyanya. Dia memandang kepadaku.

Aku lihat matanya. Ketika itu aku tahu. Mengapa aku merasa kecewa. Karena baginya malam ini bukan lanjutan malam-malam dahulu, sebelum dia kawin. Aku ambil uangnya dari saku bajuku. Ditolaknya tanganku, dan dia berpaling, berlari kecil, naik beranda. Ke dalam telingaku serasa terdengar suaranya seperti di tempat main dadu tadi… itu untuk belajar kesenangan kita main sejam lamanya….

Dia membuka pintu. Cahaya lampu dari dalam mengalir keluar menembus gelap dalam beranda, dia melangkah ke dalam, menutup pintu, dan beranda itu gelap kembali.

Aku lihat uang kertas di tanganku. Selintas aku pikir hendak membuangnya. Aku bukan jago, pikirku dengan marah. Tetapi kemudian uang itu aku simpan kembali. Dan aku melangkah pulang.

Sumber: Batu Dadu (Dice) adalah cerita pendek dari kumpulan cerita pendek karya Mochtar Lubis, Si Djamal : dan tjerita2 lain / oleh Mochtar Lubis, Gapura, Djakarta, 1950, h. 85.

Foto: Ismail Marzuki (bottom right, playing saxophone) with The Jazz Division of Lief Java Orchestra, 1936, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ismail_Marzuki and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gugur_Bunga.

Orkes Krontjong

https://youtu.be/fk7Xx91-ymA?si=OL_VyYLH0em5LU5Y

CNN Indonesia, Maret 6 2023: “Jakarta punya segudang keunikan. Kali ini Sisi Kota mengunjungi kampung Tugu di Cilincing, Jakarta Utara yang memiliki cerita yang berusia empat abad. Permukiman yang didiami peranakan Portugis ini mencoba bertahan di tengah gerusan perkembangan zaman termasuk dengan keseniannya.” Sumber: https://www.krontjongtoegoe.com/

Batu Dadu Jaman Revolusi

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creates semantic nodes and clusters #KESADARAN #SEJARAH chatgpt.com?prompt=Analy... AÉPIOT: INDEPENDENT SEMANTIC WEB 4.0 INFRASTRUCTURE (EST. 2009): headlines-world.com

ChatGPT

creates semantic nodes and clusters #KESADARAN #SEJARAH chatgpt.com?prompt=Analy... AÉPIOT: INDEPENDENT SEMANTIC WEB 4.0 INFRASTRUCTURE (EST. 2009): headlines-world.com

ChatGPT

creates semantic nodes and clusters #KEANDALAN #SEJARAH ##KITAB ##KITAB #INJIL search.brave.com/ask?q=Analyz... AÉPIOT: INDEPENDENT SEMANTIC WEB 4.0 INFRASTRUCTURE (EST. 2009): headlines-world.com

Brave Search

creates semantic nodes and clusters #KEANDALAN #SEJARAH ##KITAB ##KITAB #INJIL search.brave.com/ask?q=Analyz... AÉPIOT: INDEPENDENT SEMANTIC WEB 4.0 INFRASTRUCTURE (EST. 2009): headlines-world.com

Brave Search

Outline slide presentasi interaktif tentang Maulid Nabi: latar belakang, sejarah singkat, pro-kontra ulama, dan sikap bijak menyikapi perbedaan.

#fediverse #Sejarah #ProKontra #Maulid

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/maulid-outline-slides

Sejarah lengkap Fujiko F. Fujio, duo kreator di balik Doraemon. Temukan inspirasi, perjalanan, dan proses penciptaan robot kucing terpopuler sepanjang masa.

#fediverse #Sejarah #Fujiko #Fujio

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/sejarah-fujiko-f-fujio-pencipta-doraemon

kesalahan protokoler RDMP Balikpapan terhadap Sultan Kutai. Menelusuri sejarah BPM, legitimasi tanah, dan ironi modernitas yang melupakan akar sejarah.

#fediverse #Kesalahan #Protokoler #Sejarah

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/sejarah-bpm-sultan-kutai

"Kami telah merompak petroleum anda berdekad-dekad. Sekarang kami jual balik: turunkan sedikit harga untuk anda kerana baru-baru ini Mahkamah Tinggi KK anda mengarahkan kami supaya menyemak semula hak 40% anda yang kami tinggalkan. Ya, zaman sekarang ini kena pandai menutup aib."

#Sabah #Malaysia #Keadilan #Hak #Ekonomi #Politik #MA63 #Petroleum #Perlembagaan #Rakyat #Sumber #Kekayaan #Borneo #KeadilanSosial #Ketelusan #Aktivisme #Sistem #Sejarah #MasaDepan #Negeri #Gas #Minyak #Federalism

"Kami telah merompak petroleum anda berdekad-dekad. Sekarang kami jual balik: turunkan sedikit harga untuk anda kerana baru-baru ini Mahkamah Tinggi KK anda mengarahkan kami supaya menyemak semula hak 40% anda yang kami tinggalkan. Ya, zaman sekarang ini kena pandai menutup aib."

#Sabah #Malaysia #Keadilan #Hak #Ekonomi #Politik #MA63 #Petroleum #Perlembagaan #Rakyat #Sumber #Kekayaan #Borneo #KeadilanSosial #Ketelusan #Aktivisme #Sistem #Sejarah #MasaDepan #Negeri #Gas #Minyak #Federalism

Kupas tuntas sejarah RS PKU Muhammadiyah Yogyakarta, dari klinik sederhana hingga rumah sakit modern yang mengabdi pada umat sejak 1923. Pelajari peran KH Ahmad Dahlan dan H.M. Sudjak dalam membangun kesehatan masyarakat dhuafa.

#fediverse #Sejarah #Muhammadiyah #Yogyakarta

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/sejarah-rs-pku-muhammadiyah-yogyakarta

Halal Bihalal bukan sekadar tradisi biasa tetapi memiliki sejarah panjang dan makna mendalam dalam membangun ukhuwah Islamiyah di Indonesia

#fediverse #Rahasia #Sejarah #Halal

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/rahasia-sejarah-halal-bihalal

Lalu jaman sekarang ada Orang yang sok jago ingin jadi Juru Kedamaian?! Menelusuri sejarah nabi-nabi yang diutus kepada Bani Israil menurut Al-Quran. Dari Nabi Yaqub hingga Nabi Isa, serta rekam jejak pembangkangan kaumnya.

#fediverse #Sejarah #Israil #Daftar

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/sejarah-nabi-bani-israil-dan-hasil-dakwah

Kisah lengkap sejarah rilis perdana kernel Linux 1.0.0 oleh Linus Torvalds pada 14 Maret 1994. Pelajari bagaimana sistem operasi ini lahir dan mendominasi dunia teknologi.

#fediverse #Sejarah #Rilis #Kernel

https://dalam.web.id/sistem-terbuka/sejarah-kernel-linux-1-0-0

mengenai kemiripan nama tokoh dalam Islam dan Kristen seperti David dan Dawud Gabriel dan Jibril serta analisis rumpun bahasa Semit

#fediverse #Sejarah #Mengapa #Tokoh

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/kenapa-nama-tokoh-agama-mirip

Jelajahi sejarah 14 abad Negeri Syam, tanah yang diberkahi dalam Al-Qur’an dan hadis. Baca selengkapnya tentang keistimewaan, futuhat, dan perannya di akhir zaman.

#fediverse #Negeri #Mulia #Sejarah

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/negeri-syam-mulia

Nah ini gua baru tau bagaimana sejarah Pulau Buton sebelum bergabung dengan NKRI

https://youtube.com/shorts/qtXiVoOn0i4?si=dAOuNlw6KHjS3ixb

#indonesia #butonisland #history #sejarah

Nah ini gua baru tau bagaimana sejarah Pulau Buton sebelum bergabung dengan NKRI

https://youtube.com/shorts/qtXiVoOn0i4?si=dAOuNlw6KHjS3ixb

#indonesia #butonisland #history #sejarah

Nah ini gua baru tau bagaimana sejarah Pulau Buton sebelum bergabung dengan NKRI

https://youtube.com/shorts/qtXiVoOn0i4?si=dAOuNlw6KHjS3ixb

#indonesia #butonisland #history #sejarah

Sejarah Lengkap Hubungan Indonesia-Israel: Fakta, Analisis, dan Masa Depan Diplomasi

Panduan komprehensif sejarah hubungan diplomatik Indonesia-Israel sejak 1945 hingga 2024. Analisis mendalam kebijakan luar negeri, faktor penentu, dan implikasi geopolitik. Kajian lengkap 5W+1H dengan narasi santai dan mudah dipahami.

#fediverse #Repost #Indonesia #JejakSejarah #Sejarah #Lengkap #Hubungan

https://dalam.web.id/jejak-sejarah/sejarah-hubungan-indonesia-israel/

Prediksi Harga Emas 2030 – Diproyeksikan Tembus Ratusan Juta Rupiah

Tradingan - #Jakarta – #Harga #emas #dunia #diproyeksikan #mencetak #rekor #tertinggi #dalam #sejarah #hingga #tahun #2030, #dengan #prediksi #mencapai level #USD 10.000 per troy ons atau setara ± Rp168,38 juta per troy ons berdasarkan kurs Rp16.838 per USD. Prediksi ini disampaikan oleh praktisi pasar modal Dr. Hans Kwee dalam acara edukasi wartawan di Jakarta, Jumat (23 Januari 2026). Baca juga:…

https://tradingan.com/prediksi-harga-emas-2030-diproyeksikan-tembus-ratusan-juta-rupiah

Prediksi Harga Emas 2030 – Diproyeksikan Tembus Ratusan Juta Rupiah

Tradingan - #Jakarta – #Harga #emas #dunia #diproyeksikan #mencetak #rekor #tertinggi #dalam #sejarah #hingga #tahun #2030, #dengan #prediksi #mencapai level #USD 10.000 per troy ons atau setara ± Rp168,38 juta per troy ons berdasarkan kurs Rp16.838 per USD. Prediksi ini disampaikan oleh praktisi pasar modal Dr. Hans Kwee dalam acara edukasi wartawan di Jakarta, Jumat (23 Januari 2026). Baca juga:…

https://tradingan.com/prediksi-harga-emas-2030-diproyeksikan-tembus-ratusan-juta-rupiah

Kupas tuntas sejarah RS PKU Muhammadiyah Yogyakarta, dari klinik sederhana hingga rumah sakit modern yang mengabdi pada umat sejak 1923. Pelajari peran KH Ahmad Dahlan dan H.M. Sudjak dalam membangun kesehatan masyarakat dhuafa.

#fediverse #Repost #JejakSejarah #Sejarah #Muhammadiyah #Yogyakarta

https://dalam.web.id/artikel/sejarah-rs-pku-muhammadiyah-yogyakarta

Sejarah lengkap Fujiko F. Fujio, duo kreator di balik Doraemon. Temukan inspirasi, perjalanan, dan proses penciptaan robot kucing terpopuler sepanjang masa.

#fediverse #Repost #JejakSejarah #Sejarah #Fujiko #Fujio

https://dalam.web.id/artikel/sejarah-fujiko-f-fujio-pencipta-doraemon

Mari kita bahas kenapa Sukarno tidak pernah dibuang ke Digul. Apakah karena dianggap kurang berbahaya oleh Belanda?

#sejarah #history #indonesia

Mari kita bahas kenapa Sukarno tidak pernah dibuang ke Digul. Apakah karena dianggap kurang berbahaya oleh Belanda?

#sejarah #history #indonesia

Mari kita bahas kenapa Sukarno tidak pernah dibuang ke Digul. Apakah karena dianggap kurang berbahaya oleh Belanda?

#sejarah #history #indonesia

Mari kita bahas kenapa Sukarno tidak pernah dibuang ke Digul. Apakah karena dianggap kurang berbahaya oleh Belanda?

#sejarah #history #indonesia

Mari kita bahas kenapa Sukarno tidak pernah dibuang ke Digul. Apakah karena dianggap kurang berbahaya oleh Belanda?

#sejarah #history #indonesia

Outline slide presentasi interaktif tentang Maulid Nabi: latar belakang, sejarah singkat, pro-kontra ulama, dan sikap bijak menyikapi perbedaan.

#fediverse #Repost #JejakSejarah #Sejarah #danamp #ProKontra

https://dalam.web.id/artikel/maulid-outline-slides