The Overhaul

A Brave New Union

Kira Mahesa stood by the wide windows of her apartment, gazing out over Jakarta's skyline, which seemed to blur into the distant haze. The air was cleaner than it had been decades ago, but the city still retained its perpetual layer of smog, a reminder that some things were stubbornly resistant to change. Much like the politics of her country.

She sipped her coffee—real coffee, something of a rarity now, a small indulgence from her family's plantation in West Java. As the warmth filled her chest, memories of Indonesia's 2024 election flickered back into her mind. She had been just 4 at the time, not even old enough to understand the gravity of what was happening. Not that it would've made a difference, she had thought even then.

That was the year Gibran Rakabuming Raka, the son of the ever-popular President Jokowi, had been elected Vice President, standing alongside Prabowo Subianto, a man whose political resurrection had shocked even the most seasoned analysts. It was a campaign that had sparked heated debates across the nation—on campuses, in cafés, and especially on social media. Kira remembered the endless streams of memes, satirical sketches, and heated arguments.

Everyone was joking about it back then, masking their anxiety with humor. Indonesia Emas, the "Golden Indonesia" era that was supposed to mark the country's hundred-year independence in 2045, had quickly earned its unofficial counterpart: Indonesia Cemas, "Worried Indonesia."

Kira chuckled to herself, remembering the viral meme of Prabowo and Gibran standing in front of a glittering golden backdrop with the text boldly reading, "Welcome to Indonesia Emas. Please fasten your seatbelts, turbulence ahead!"

Turbulence, indeed. The alliance of Prabowo and Gibran was supposed to be a balance between old power and young charisma, tradition and modernity. But for Kira, and many others her age, it had felt more like the baton was being passed from one political dynasty to another, with little room for genuine reform or new ideas.

It wasn't that Gibran wasn't capable—he had proven himself in Surakarta as mayor—but the question that lingered in the air was one of legacy. Did he represent change, or just more of the same wrapped in younger packaging? In the end, the political machine had rolled forward as it always did, with promises of a brighter future, jobs for everyone, and the golden age of 2045 looming on the horizon. But now, more than two decades later, what had truly changed?

Kira sighed and set her cup down, her reflection catching in the glass. "Indonesia Emas," she muttered under her breath. "More like Indonesia Cemas."

She leaned her forehead against the cool windowpane, staring at the gleaming buildings that symbolized Jakarta's economic growth, but also its growing inequality. Back then, she had hoped the jokes would stop—hoped that people would see Gibran as more than just Jokowi's son, that Prabowo's militaristic tendencies wouldn't dominate the administration, that they'd steer the country towards real change.

But the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Prabowo's government, with Gibran at his side, had managed to stabilize the country's economy, sure. The promises of technological advancement, regional leadership, and environmental sustainability had all been met to some degree. Yet, for Kira and her generation, something fundamental had been missing.

Politics had become performative. The Quadrennial Youth Governance Program, a well-meaning but increasingly hollow gesture, felt more like a PR stunt than an invitation to true leadership. Fifty young people under 35 were chosen every four years to govern the region for a year, supposedly to integrate fresh ideas. Yet, the older generation remained firmly in control, pulling the strings from the shadows.

Her thoughts returned to that idea of "Indonesia Emas." It had been a rallying cry for generations, a symbol of hope and national pride. But as 2045 approached, it had begun to feel more like an empty slogan, a mask covering a deeper malaise. The real emas—the real gold—seemed to be flowing into the pockets of the already powerful, while the rest of the country was left clinging to the edge of progress.

It was that disillusionment that had driven her here, into the heart of Jakarta's bustling tech scene, hoping that data, logic, and science might be the answer to the problems politics seemed unable, or unwilling, to solve.

Her holo-screen blinked to life, reminding her of an incoming notification. The Youth Governance Program had selected its next round of participants. Kira glanced at the names being broadcast across every channel, the latest batch of bright-eyed, hopefuls who would step into the government's gilded hallways for a month.

Then she saw her own name.

Her breath caught in her throat. This was no simulation, no theoretical experiment she could watch from afar. She had been selected.

"Well, that's different," she muttered, half in disbelief, half in dread.

As the sun began to set over the sprawling city, casting a golden hue across the skyline, Kira couldn't help but wonder if this time—maybe—things really would be different.

Or if it would just be more of the same old Indonesia Emas.