One Day, Two Shawwals: When the Calendar Loses Authority
By: Ali Aminulloh
Every year, Muslims in Indonesia seem forced to accept a recurring irony: within the same geographic space, even within the same family, dates can differ. Today might be the 1st of Shawwal for some, while for others it’s still the 30th of Ramadan. The next day, the roles are reversed. We are encouraged to call this a “difference that must be tolerated.”
But the question is more fundamental: is this simply a difference, or is it a sign that we have failed to build an authoritative time system?
In simple logic, dates are a social agreement on time. They are not just numbers, but the result of a mutually agreed-upon system. So when in one country, on the same day, there are two different dates, what is actually happening is not just a difference of opinion—but a rift in the authority of time-determination itself. This is no longer a matter of personal worship, but of public order.
The root of this problem lies in two approaches that both claim legitimacy: rukyat and hisab.
Rukyat relies on direct observation: the moon must be visible.
Hisab relies on astronomical calculations: the moon simply “exists” mathematically.
Neither is wrong. But the problem is, they operate within different epistemological frameworks, and even more problematic, there is no final mechanism to unify the two in a single collective decision.
This is where the absurdity arises. There is one sky, one moon, one position, but two conclusions can be drawn. This is not because reality changes, but because of differing ways of reading it. And the state, instead of being the arbiter, often ceases to be a moderator. As a result, the calendar, which should be a symbol of order, becomes a space for endless negotiation.
Ironically, this phenomenon almost never occurs during Eid al-Adha. Why?
Because there is one factor absent in Ramadan and Shawwal: a single authority.
The determination of Eid al-Adha practically refers to the wuquf (standing at Arafah), which is determined by Saudi Arabia. Here, the debate over method seems to disappear, replaced by a willingness to follow a single decision center. This means that the problem isn’t simply the method, but the willingness to submit to a common reference.
This reveals a rarely acknowledged fact: the ongoing differences aren’t purely theological, but also a matter of authority. As long as each group feels it has full legitimacy for its own methods, there will never be a consensus.
And as long as the state doesn’t take a position as the final arbiter respected by all parties, the Hijri calendar in Indonesia will continue to be relative. Not because the time changes, but because standards have never been unified.
Of course, there’s the classic argument: difference is a blessing. However, not all differences are automatically a blessing. When these differences create public confusion, undermine a sense of togetherness, and even disrupt sacred moments like Eid al-Fitr, then what needs to be questioned is not the differences themselves, but the lack of serious efforts to resolve them.
Going forward, the government cannot continue to remain in the safe position of facilitator. Bolder steps are needed: building a binding national consensus, whether through mutually agreed-upon hisab-rukyat criteria, or even moving towards an Islamic calendar based entirely on modern astronomy. Without it, every year we will simply repeat the same cycle: trials, debates, differences, then calls for tolerance.
Ultimately, this issue is not about who is right in sighting the new moon. It’s about whether we want to continue living in two parallel time systems, or whether we have the courage to agree on one that we all recognize. Because if we don’t, then every time Shawwal arrives, we won’t just be celebrating victory, but also repeating a strangeness we’ve never truly resolved: how can one day have two dates?
Indonesia, March 20, 2026
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