Poetic Pamphlet Hanging on the Parliament Fence
Author,Jacob Eteste
Freelance Journalist
It’s unknown since when the people’s house was no longer allowed to be visited by the people. So, both de facto and de jure, the people no longer have control over their rights—including even sending messages—despite the trust and mandate given by the people.
So, the people’s house practically no longer houses the people’s representatives. So who are the current occupants who still call themselves representatives of the people?
Unfortunately, such a beautiful and magnificent building now feels so haunted. Because the people who come knocking on its door are blocked by an arrogant fence and barbed wire so as not to disturb the peace of its occupants, even if only to express their complaints and lament the misery of life in this Pancasila country.
There is no shame, no hesitation in taking oaths and promises to voice the whispers of the people’s hearts afflicted by suffering. It’s not just legal and legislative issues that have emerged from this arrogant building, which continues to use the people’s name, that are difficult to understand. Electricity bills, cheap labor wages, and an education system managed like a commercial enterprise are also difficult to comprehend. They ignore all of this for a moment, even as the people rage and curse in their frustration. Hysterical shouts erupt on the highway, which has been divided to limit the outpouring of public activity.
Meanwhile, inside this increasingly cramped and haunted building, they are probably joking around, teasing each other about luxury vehicles deemed outdated. So, even in the midst of a crucial trial that will ultimately determine the fate of the people, they are casually gossiping about the price of the latest vehicle, deemed too low. Because, on many occasions, self-respect has become equated with the price of the goods they use.
The myth of the people’s house has become outdated and decayed in the polite language of Prama, to the point that its sacred meaning has been completely pawned, no matter who the ultimate borrower is. Because everything no longer means anything, except as a place for transactions after receiving orders and the influx of immeasurable amounts of money. The story goes that the circulation of money in this mythical public house is actually wilder than that at the Ministry of Finance or the Directorate General of Taxes, which are currently being hotly discussed.
Truly, no one knows the true state of their consciences, which continue to dance amidst the people’s suffering. This is a fragment of the narrative etched on a pamphlet stuck to the edge of the gate of the public house, which appears increasingly arrogant and haunted. It seems these remaining pamphlets were carried by the demonstrators from morning until midnight, waiting for the gate to be opened. These forgotten pamphlets belonged to either students or laborers, or perhaps even young people who had just graduated from high school, unable to continue their studies due to the exorbitant costs of bribery. This is especially true at the University of Lampung and the University in Bali, which recently introduced exorbitant fees.
The protesters pounding on the gate of the public house remained unmoved. There was no answer — let alone a greeting — that one day you too would emerge from this temporary state of bliss and then fall headlong into your grave.
I was captivated by this worn pamphlet, so much so that I had to reread it on my way home to better understand the true meaning implied in this poetic, yet unknown, letter.
The people’s house has never been interpreted as the house of God. Even though the voice of the people is continually exploited as the voice of God. After all, wise people say that Indonesians don’t fear God. They fear the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK), which cannot be relied upon for collusion and collaboration. Moreover, many suspect that the KPK is becoming increasingly sophisticated and adept at engineering.**
Banten, July 20, 2025
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