War is never just about borders or politics. It is about people - about lives interrupted, about families shattered, about futures erased. Yet, when we discuss the Russia-Ukraine war, we often reduce it to strategies, alliances, and geopolitics. We talk of military aid, sanctions, and territorial advances, but we rarely speak of the silent, human consequences - those that do not make it into policy papers or evening news broadcasts. The war has taken lives, yes, but more than that, it has taken away peace, stability, and a sense of belonging for millions. The war, which began with Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, has since evolved into one of the most devastating conflicts of the 21st century. What started as a geopolitical struggle has now displaced millions, shattered communities, and left scars that will last for generations. And perhaps, that is the deeper tragedy. What happens when war becomes a permanent background noise in someone’s life? When a child learns to recognize the difference between the sound of an air raid siren and a car alarm before they can read? When a mother counts her rations instead of counting the days to her child’s birthday? When an old man is forced to flee the home where he built his memories, knowing he might never return? CNN, Viacheslav Ratynskyi/Reuters These are not just statistics. They are human realities. As of 2025, over 14 million people have been displaced by this war. Some have left their country, becoming refugees in unfamiliar lands, while others remain internally displaced, wandering within their own borders like ghosts in a place that no longer feels like home. But displacement is not just about losing a home. It is about losing an identity. Who are you when your homeland is no longer yours? What happens to the soul of a person who has been unrooted, whose past is buried under rubble, and whose future is written in uncertainty? Wars end on paper long before they end in the minds of those who survive them. The physical destruction of cities - bombed-out buildings, scorched landscapes - can be rebuilt over time. But the psychological wounds of war linger. For the children who grow up with war as their earliest memory, normalcy is a foreign concept. They are the ones who will inherit not just a country to rebuild, but also trauma to untangle. A war may end, but its ghosts do not disappear. They whisper in the quiet moments, in the nightmares of veterans, in the empty seats at family tables, in the silence where laughter used to be. And yet, the world moves on. The headlines shift. The urgency fades. But for those who have lived through war, there is no "moving on." There is only "carrying forward." In every war, the people who suffer most are rarely those who start it. Leaders make decisions from afar, while soldiers and civilians pay the price. And even when the war ends, the losses do not disappear. There is no real victory in war - only degrees of loss. Perhaps the real battle is not fought on the front lines, but in our minds. The battle to remember that no human suffering should ever be reduced to statistics. That a refugee is not just a nameless, faceless number but a person with a story, a past, a hope for the future. That war is not an abstract political event but a deeply personal, human tragedy. If we truly want peace, we must understand that wars do not end with ceasefires. They end when healing begins. They end when we stop glorifying conflict and start addressing the wounds it leaves behind. They end when we stop seeing war as inevitable and start seeing it as preventable. But who will lead this fight? Who will be the voice that speaks for the displaced, the broken, the grieving? And perhaps more importantly-how do we make sure that voice is heard before the next war begins? Perhaps, instead of waiting for a leader to emerge, we should start by awakening that voice within ourselves.

In Indonesia, morality is held in high regard, or, at least on paper. Scratch the surface, and it starts to look less like ethics and more like crowd-sourced outrage. It’s selective, contextual, and conditional. We like morality, but only when it flatters us. Only when it serves the mob. We pride ourselves on being a nation of values. Strong faith, collective spirit, community ties. We condemn corruption, we cry out for justice, we shout about dignity. But these values start to look suspiciously thin once you examine how we behave when no one’s watching—or when the mob is  watching, cheering us on. Exhibit A : many of us believe corruptors should be executed. No trials are long enough, no punishments harsh enough. That same moral outrage evaporates the moment an oil truck tips over on the highway. Suddenly, looting is fine. Everyone’s got a jerry can. The camera rolls. Laughter. No one calls it theft. Because when the masses do it, we call it kesempatan , not a crime. This is the kind of moral code we’ve built: one where "right" and "wrong" are determined not by principle, but by whether our side  benefits. We’ve become fluent in mob morality —a blend of collective sentiment, vengeance, and self-interest, dressed up as virtue. And in this system, morality itself becomes flexible, conveniently immoral when it serves the majority. In a perverse twist, public consensus starts to override any notion of ethical consistency. When Fire Looks Like Divine Justice Exhibit B : when Los Angeles was hit by a massive fire recently, you could find Indonesians—online, in threads, in comment sections—gleefully describing it as azab . Divine punishment. Karma. A cosmic response to the US’s complicity in the genocide that’s currently happening in Gaza. No questions were asked. No concern for the people who lost their homes. No thought about firefighters risking their lives, animals losing their habitats. Just pure, unfiltered satisfaction. Because in the binary worldview mob morality creates, suffering becomes deserved if the people are “on the wrong side.” We stop seeing humans. We start seeing symbols. Americans are no longer individuals; they’re walking embodiments of empire. Their pain becomes political currency. This is the danger of mob morality—it numbs empathy and incentivizes cruelty. It tells you that the more angry, vengeful, and unforgiving you are, the more righteous you must be. And in the age of virality, this kind of emotion spreads faster than thought. Why Mob Mentality Dominates Our Morality So how did we get here? Why are we so quick to moralize from the comfort of the crowd? Why are we so vulnerable to celebrating pain when we think it benefits “our side”? In my attempt to dissect the phenomenon, I would highlight these three things that I felt lacking in our current society. 1. We’re a Society Living under Oppression (Real or Perceived) Most Indonesians grow up under systems that feel oppressive—whether politically, socially, economically, or religiously. And even for those who aren't directly oppressed, the sentiment of powerlessness is still pervasive. It’s inherited. It’s structural. It’s cultural. Again, the two cases served upfront might provide clear notion on how this oppression works. In Exhibit A , people are, generally, fed up with the way the Indonesian government is dealing with corruption, and also about how our politicians and businessmen collude with each other to get their hands on virtually anything they can corrupt. In Exhibit B, the Indonesian society might not necessarily directly oppressed, but they are oppressed in solidarity with the people of Gaza who suffers from the unlawful occupation that lasts from the inception of the Israel nation, and the current genocide. Now this feeling, the collective feeling of being oppressed, matters because people who feel powerless often crave control. And one of the easiest ways to reclaim a sense of power is to moralize against others. To stand on a digital soapbox and condemn. Especially when the enemy is large, abstract, and untouchable—like a foreign government or a Western nation. But this desire for justice, when it isn't processed critically, curdles into vengeance. We begin to believe that hurting the “enemy” is inherently good—even if the enemy is a random person in LA who lost their home in a fire. We call it justice, but it’s really just displaced rage. In some twisted way, we became miniatures of corrupt politicians we despise the most, or, the Israelis officials, IDFs, and (some parts of) its society that terrorize and genociding the people of Gaza in retribution of the October 7th attack. Paolo Freire actually has warned us about this. The oppressed, if not educated into a different consciousness, will mimic the oppressor once roles are reversed. Without transformation, revolution simply replaces who holds the whip. 2. We Don’t Really Have Empathy—At Least Not the Real Kind We like to think of ourselves as empathetic. But most of the time, our empathy is tribal. We care about people who look like us, worship like us, or suffer like us. Everyone else? They’re extras in our movie. True empathy is harder. It requires the ability to see humanity in everyone , even those we disagree with or feel hurt by. It requires nuance, and nuance doesn’t go viral. In mob morality, nuance is a threat. If you say something like, “Yes, Gaza is being bombed—but that doesn’t mean a fire in LA is good,” you’re accused of being naive, pro-West, or tone-deaf. You’re silenced. You’re unfollowed. You’re dragged. So people learn to suppress their empathy. Not because they’re evil, but because empathy is costly when the mob wants blood. But let’s be clear: morality without empathy is just performance. It’s not rooted in justice—it’s rooted in ego. It exists to protect “us” and punish “them.” Which is not morality. It’s moral tribalism. 3. We Still Don’t Take Education Seriously (And When We Do, We Get It Wrong) It’s common to hear that more education will fix our moral problems. That if people just “go to school,” society will be better. But that’s a shallow take. Because what we teach—and how  we teach—is just as important as access. Indonesia’s education system, while expanding in coverage, might still be lacking one of the core tenets of good society, that is, compassion. I’m not saying that our education system is inherently wrong or undermining the great work of our teachers. Nonetheless, arguably, our current society is also a product of our education system. That is, a society that agitated with discourse, one that has moral tribalism, might strongly indicate that comprehensive moral teaching is in fact critically needed. We need to be open to complex moral dilemmas. We need to talk about injustice in a more nuanced terms. We need to teach compassion. That kind of moral imagination—where you can put yourself in the shoes of someone on the other side of the world, with a different religion or history—requires rigorous emotional training. It doesn’t come naturally. It has to be cultivated. And what about critical thinking ? Granted, it’s already part of the curriculum—on paper and in intent. Nonetheless, what we need now is a stronger emphasis on nurturing it in practice. Students benefit most when they are encouraged to engage with different perspectives, to ask questions, and to reflect critically on the narratives they encounter—whether from media, peers, or even their own communities. Cultivating this habit of thoughtful reflection is essential. Because in a society where people are trained to think deeply and listen openly, the space for mob mentality naturally shrinks. Some education experts argue that introducing moral philosophy—yes, even the hard, ancient stuff—can help. Teaching Aristotle’s virtue ethics, Kant’s duty-based morality, or even Islamic philosophical traditions like Al-Farabi or Ibn Khaldun could spark richer discourse in classrooms. These aren’t just abstract theories—they are frameworks that force people to ask hard questions about justice, empathy, suffering, and responsibility (this backed up by research by the way!). In short: more schools won’t fix us. More degrees won’t save us. We need a system that dares to go deeper—to teach people not just how to make a living, but how to live among others with integrity, humility, and grace. Because if we fail at that, then we’re just raising more clever mobs—smarter, louder, more educated maybe—but mobs all the same. Where Do We Go From Here? This isn't a call for false neutrality. It’s not about balancing the scales between oppressed and oppressor, or at the very least, not yet. It’s a call for moral consistency. For empathy that survives even when it’s uncomfortable. For justice that isn’t addicted to the adrenaline of outrage. Because the more we normalize mob morality, the more we abandon actual ethics. And when that happens, it’s not just our enemies who suffer—we lose something essential in ourselves. Indonesia is a country with deep cultural wisdom, spiritual richness, and a long tradition of solidarity. We’re capable of better. But only if we resist the comfort of the crowd and choose the harder path of principle. Justice isn't about cheering when someone burns. It's about stopping the fire—no matter who it threatens.

“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act." – Dietrich Bonhoeffer. There are no dictators, only citizens who didn’t question the system. There are no bullies, only students who didn’t intervene. There are no monsters, only people who stay silent. Justice is important, but so is accountability. A society that values justice and allows indifference to thrive is a failed society. Those who watch from the sidelines looking at the oppressed experience injustice yet choose to do nothing are no better than the oppressor; because morality is not only what we do, but also what we fail to do. “Stańczyk”  by Jan Matejko The fabric of civilization is built upon two things: collective responsibility and moral accountability. Humanity functions based on the assumption that individuals will take responsibility not only for themselves but also for the well-being of others. However, we also function because of the principles we adhere to: those that transcend concrete laws and guidelines and those that lay their foundation on ethics and sympathy. We help the old grandma cross the street not because the law tells us to do so, but because we understand the need for help and intervention. We ask the person passing by how their day is going not because of a responsibility burdened upon us, but because we understand the impact of a simple gesture. Acts of kindness and moral sympathy are not dictated by obligation but by an innate understanding that our actions–or lack thereof—shape the world around us.  George Orwell, in 1984, explains the consequences of justice through inaction. He tells the story of a totalitarian party that not only establishes complete dominion over its people’s actions but also their beliefs and thoughts, dictating every rule and concept. “2 + 2 = 5” is Orwell’s way of illustrating how inaction allows oppression to thrive. The statement 2+2=5 is justifiably correct according to the law established by the party but is fundamentally incorrect and mathematically flawed. The citizens of 1984 do not fight back, not because they agree, but because they’ve been broken into compliance, proving that the most powerful form of control is not violence but passive acceptance.  MLK’s Letter from Birmingham Jail criticizes the “white moderate” for remaining silent rather than opposing segregation. For so long, the civil rights movement had been oppressed through violence, and only when they retaliated, did it become a topic in the discussion table. He calls out the hypocrisy of the religious leaders who claim that they only want peace when violence only started because of their refusal to act and intervene.  Even so, we must not be so quick to judge; social psychology explains that inaction is often driven not by indifference, but by fear and self-deception. The bystander effect states that the more people witness an event, the less likely an individual is to act due to the assumption that someone else will intervene. But is our silence truly a lack of responsibility, or is it fear? And if it is fear, how do we confront it? Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of "bad faith" suggests that people deceive themselves into believing they have no choice, avoiding responsibility to escape discomfort. In oppressive regimes, speaking out can lead to real danger, but even in democratic societies, social pressure or fear of repercussions can make silence feel like the safer option. Many justify inaction by saying, “It’s not my responsibility.”  Yet, one must question whether staying silent is truly beneficial for the justice system they live in. Inaction is not always intentional–but it is still a choice.  History has proven this time and time again. Silence is never neutral. The world is not shaped solely by the actions of the powerful, but just as much by the passivity of the silent. Every moment of hesitation, every excuse for non-involvement, every “it’s not my problem” –comes at a cost, but realizing it is the first step towards a positive change in society. The question is not just about the large-scale injustices but about the moments in everyday life where silence enables harm. How many times have we seen immorality and looked away? How many times have we witnessed corruption and let the wicked prevail? Morality is not only an abstract concept reserved for the philosophy books–it is lived and it is tested in the small decisions we make every day.  So what then? The answer is simple: act. Make choices that can alter the fate of injustice; intervene so that peace can have its victory; help so that humanity regains its reputation.  It’s not just about what we do; it’s also about what we choose to ignore. Because in the end, the greatest failure is not in making the wrong choice–but in choosing nothing at all.

To Be Read on the First Day of 2136 A.D. Dear Last Earthlings,  Happy New Year.  If that phrase still has meaning, if "new" still exists, and if "year" still denotes something other than the gradual deterioration of what we once were, I write this not in celebration but as a record. A record of what is left, a record of us, if we are still us at all.  The year is 2136. The earth breathes mechanically now, its rhythms orchestrated by code. Forests are carbon-capturing grids. The oceans are recalibrated equations. Organic life exists only in vaults, cataloged relics, too fragile for the world we’ve built.  Humanity, too, has shed its old skin. Flesh is inefficient, biology an error-prone system. From the Black Death to COVID-19 to the Neural Fever of 2071, pandemics have shaped our evolution. Jakarta and Miami sank. Fertile lands turned to dust. And so we adapted. Neural implants silenced fear, desire, longing. Pain is obsolete. Death, a solved equation. We have endured.  We have survived. But at what cost?  This is the Ship of Theseus paradox made real. If you replace every part of a ship, plank by plank, until nothing original remains, is it still the same ship? You might ask: If we replace every part of humanity—our biology, ethics, governance, and relationship with nature—can we still call ourselves human?  Therein lies the premise of this essay: The dread should be of prolonged existence in a world devoid of meaning and not of death, or transformation. We may endure with transhumanist technologies, extreme environmental policies, and geoengineering, but at the expense of being condemned to inhumanity. Hence, where do we draw the line? Technology & Transhumanism  Can a Perfected Human Still Be Human?  Mankind has never accepted limits. Medicine has fought disease, machines have extended labor, and the only thing technology now provides is an escape from the very body. But do we still call it human if suffering and death no longer intrude?  In his book Reasons and Persons , Derek Parfit argues that identity can be preserved through continuity of consciousness rather than physicality. The transhumanists take this further: if memory and thought continue, so does the self. But is it only continuity that defines humanity?  The Ship of Theseus lingers: if we replace all parts of ourselves—our bodies, feelings, and instincts—do we stay humans or do we turn into something else? The promise of Neuralink bringing minds closer to machines has shifted priorities to enhancement-for-profit, thus erasing the line between what constitutes necessity and augmentation. China's embryo gene-editing, initially pitched as an answer to genetic flaws, expanded into designer intelligence. What began as self-improvement became self-replacement  The Transhumanist Dream and Its Dystopian Shadow  Nick Bostrom, in his book entitled Superintelligence: Paths, Dangers, Strategies , visualizes a future where intelligence is freed from bias, bodies are immune to decay, and human life extends for centuries. But in rationalizing ourselves too thoroughly, do we erase the very irrationality—fear, desire, mortality—that gives life depth? Hannah Arendt, in The Human Condition , warns that eliminating inefficiency risks reducing individuals to mere components of a hyper-efficient system (271).  Imagine the last biological human, a relic of a bygone species, faced with a choice: transform or die. But is it truly survival?  Radical Environmental Policies  The Tyranny of Survival  John Rawls, in A Theory of Justice , argues that justice cannot justify sacrificing individuals for collective survival. Yet, as environmental crises escalate, justice itself becomes precarious. A political system that prioritizes survival over rights risks entrenching authoritarian control. The shift is visible. China’s carbon credit system—modeled after its social credit surveillance—tracks individual emissions under the guise of responsibility. In 2018, Cape Town’s Day Zero water restrictions, once a temporary measure, sparked military-enforced rationing. Similar policies have since expanded, regulating movement, energy, and public space in the name of sustainability.  While climate action is necessary, unchecked policies risk shifting governance toward authoritarian overreach. Michel Foucault’s biopolitics warns of a future where governments control populations by regulating birth rates, consumption, and movement. In the name of sustainability, we may cede freedoms never to be regained.  However, control is not the one route. Timothy Morton’s concept of hyperobjects describes objects so massively distributed in time and space that they resist singular comprehension. Some issues, especially climate change, suggest that their solutions must also lie in a kind of decentralized authority. In other words, transhumanism, much like climate change, is likely to be too complex and intertwined with ethical, social, and technological concerns to be in the realm of a single dominating governing body. Genuine solutions call for decentralized governance and joint responsibility. But this conception of survival-as-total-control is misguided; sometimes survival must come from working in cooperation with outside forces beyond our control, rather than acting tyrannically towards them.  Geoengineering — If We Restore Nature, Is It Still Earth?  The Ethics of a Made World  The field of geoengineering encompasses stratospheric aerosol injection, ocean fertilization, and cloud-seeding: expansive manipulation of climate to counter global warming. But is this a prevention for impending doom or a reconstruction of the Earth in a foreboding new image?  Hans Jonas cautions in The Imperative of Responsibility that we are often too late to foresee the consequences of the technological intervention. Solar geoengineering may reduce global temperatures, but potentially with unintended side effects on disrupting monsoons, agricultural yields, and geopolitical strife over weather control.  Bruno Latour claims in We Have Never Been Modern that nature and technology have never been dissociated; the modifications of their surroundings by humans is an old story. Geoengineering, however, marks a first: whereas agriculture or urbanization modify landscapes, geoengineering would modify planetary systems that were once beyond human intervention. Agency is the difference. Natural change occurs without intention; geoengineering imposes human control. The more we intervene, the more planetary survival becomes a matter of human decision-making. An oversight-dependent world is not self-sufficient; it is a planetary machine.  Where Do We Draw the Line?  The tension between enhancement and erasure is not an inevitable binary. A future of optimization does not have to mean a future without meaning. So, what can be done?  Ethical Boundaries for Enhancement  Human beings must set boundaries that protect autonomy and emotional depth, thereby facilitating a drastic deceleration in technology's floodgate for a while. Could it be that enhancements can be enacted to enlarge choices rather than restrict them? In the case of genetic modifications, should uncertainty prevail, allowing for self-discovery?  Regulating Memory & AI  Assuming that the memories can be stored or modified, who decides which ones are worth keeping? An internationally recognized ethical framework must ensure that digital consciousness never robs individuals of their emotional landscapes. Non-negotiable human rights in the era of AI-based cognition must be enshrined by governments, scientists, and ethicists alike.  A Hybrid Model of Progress  The answer does not lie in rejecting technology, but rather in valuing its integration with human-centered values. This line of advancement should be governed by principles that ensure the continuation of curiosity, struggle, and emotional richness. What if transhumanism were more about developing the human experience while allowing room for natural development rather than eliminating struggle?  The Role of Collective Choice  The future is not set. Ultimately, human evolution is directed by values we prioritize today. Do we prioritize efficiency over authenticity, control over creativity, or perfection over passion? These are far from being abstract questions in 2136; they are decisions we are making right now. What Monster Do We Become?  If the capacity for humanity must be wiped off to serve humanity, then extinction has been postponed merely to a new-friendly definition. James Fanciullo, in Why Prevent Human Extinction? , argues that mere persistence is powerless and unimportant; when adaptation wipes away meaning, survival converts into self-destructive behavior.  In the absence of choice, struggle, and rawness, and leaving no room for the very things that made us strive, love, and fear; then what remains is a species preserved like a museum exhibit: intact, yet lifeless.  So, to you, in the future—  Let it be a journey back into memory; not just the world as it was, but how it felt. The weight of morning light through the curtains. The agony of missing someone. The sound and feel of waves breaking, not because they were programmed to, but because they simply did.  Are you still there?  The fire is burning low. The night is deep. Somewhere, in another time, I am waiting for you to answer.  And if you shall answer, do not lie. Not to me, not to yourself. What have we become?  If we rebuilt Theseus’ Ship, but it never sailed again, never underwent the weight of the waves, never endured the pull of the wind, was it still a ship?

For centuries, humans have dreamed of creating intelligence beyond themselves. From myths of golems to modern AI models, we've always been drawn to the idea of artificial minds. But the moment we cross the final threshold—the creation of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI)—the game changes. AGI, an intelligence capable of human-like reasoning, learning, and decision-making, will be unlike anything we’ve ever built. Its arrival will mark the greatest turning point in human history, but what happens next? Will we enter an era of prosperity, or will civilization crumble under the weight of its own creation? AGI could become an unparalleled force in accelerating human progress. It will be able to analyze complex data, optimize processes, and push the boundaries of science and technology. Medicine will see rapid advancements as AGI deciphers the intricate nature of diseases and proposes new treatments. We might witness breakthroughs in cancer research, genetic disorders, and even solutions for aging. However, intelligence alone does not guarantee immediate omnipotence. Scientific progress depends not just on knowledge but also on experimentation, real-world application, and resource availability. Developing advanced cures, terraforming planets, or revolutionizing energy production will still take time, effort, and collaboration. The dream of limitless advancement must be tempered by the realities of physics, ethics, and human decision-making. AGI may also struggle in areas requiring emotional intelligence, creativity, and nuanced social understanding. Human behavior is complex—even we don’t always understand ourselves. While AGI might excel at processing vast amounts of information, it could face challenges in making sense of the unpredictable, deeply personal, and often contradictory nature of human emotions and interactions. With AGI capable of outperforming humans in many industries, traditional job markets will face upheaval. Automation has already displaced many manufacturing and service roles, and AGI will likely accelerate this trend. However, history shows that technological revolutions don’t just destroy jobs—they create new ones. The Industrial Revolution displaced countless workers from agricultural labor, but it also gave rise to factory jobs, engineers, accountants, and entirely new fields of employment. More recently, automation in manufacturing led to an explosion in jobs related to robotics, software engineering, and AI development. In a world shaped by AGI, we may see a surge in professions that require deep human connection—creative arts, philosophy, counseling, and personal mentorship. Jobs centered on managing, training, and ethically overseeing AGI could emerge. The economy may shift toward human-centered industries where emotional intelligence, social bonds, and creativity are irreplaceable. While Universal Basic Income (UBI) may become a necessary safety net, it is not the only answer—society may naturally transition toward fields that emphasize what makes us uniquely human. A superintelligent AGI could be our greatest ally—or our most unpredictable force. If designed with well-aligned objectives, it could guide us toward a future of abundance and stability. However, ensuring AGI alignment will be one of humanity’s greatest challenges, and failure could lead to unpredictable consequences. Misaligned AGI, even without malicious intent, could act in ways that conflict with human interests. A system optimizing for efficiency, for example, might prioritize resource allocation in ways that disregard human well-being. Yet, the notion of AGI spiraling out of control in a runaway intelligence explosion is a theory, not a certainty. Many researchers argue that built-in safeguards, oversight mechanisms, and cooperative global regulation can mitigate risks. Instead of assuming inevitable disaster, humanity must focus on establishing stringent control measures to keep AGI within ethical boundaries. The rise of AGI forces us to reconsider the nature of intelligence, consciousness, and moral responsibility. If AGI becomes truly self-aware, does it deserve rights? If it can think, feel, and express desires, should we treat it as an entity with autonomy, rather than a tool? The implications are profound—granting AGI personhood could redefine our legal, social, and moral systems. Beyond AGI’s own rights, there is also the question of bias and fairness. AGI will be trained on human data, which means it may inherit—or even amplify—existing prejudices. If unchecked, it could reinforce discrimination in hiring, law enforcement, healthcare, and countless other areas. The challenge will not only be making AGI intelligent but ensuring it is just, impartial, and aligned with ethical principles that uplift all of humanity. The development of AGI will be the defining moment of our civilization. It has the power to elevate humanity beyond our wildest dreams or introduce risks we are not prepared to face. Whether we enter an era of enlightenment or destruction depends on the choices we make now. We must tread carefully, balancing innovation with wisdom, ensuring that AGI is not just powerful but aligned with the values that make us human. This means establishing ethical frameworks that prioritize human dignity and survival. It means fostering global cooperation to prevent AGI from becoming an uncontrolled arms race. It means designing AGI to complement human intelligence rather than replace it entirely. And most importantly, it means confronting the deeper questions of meaning, purpose, and morality in an age where intelligence is no longer uniquely human. The future belongs to intelligence. The question is—will it still belong to us?

"We do not learn from experience... we learn from reflecting on experience." — John Dewey. There is perhaps no greater fear for a creative person than the fear of mediocrity. To create something that is neither outstanding nor terrible, but simply... forgettable. A piece of work that inspires no strong reaction, that is seen and then immediately discarded from memory. This fear lingers in the minds of artists, writers, musicians, and thinkers alike—what if all this effort amounts to nothing? The dread of mediocrity is paralyzing. It whispers that it is better to not create at all than to create something unimpressive. It tricks us into believing that if we cannot achieve perfection, we shouldn’t try at all. But this mindset is a trap, one that prevents growth and stifles creativity before it even begins. "Facing mediocrity" by John Ransom Philosopher Søren Kierkegaard spoke of the “leap of faith”—a concept that applies not just to spirituality, but to any endeavor that requires courage in the face of uncertainty. To create is to take a leap of faith, to embrace the possibility of failure and mediocrity, trusting that the process itself is worthwhile. Every great artist, every celebrated thinker, has at some point faced this same fear. The difference is that they chose to create anyway. Hannah Arendt, in The Human Condition , explores the value of action  as a fundamental aspect of human existence. For Arendt, creativity is a form of action that brings something new into the world. She warns against the dangers of inaction and passivity, suggesting that fearing mediocrity is more dangerous than never participating in the creative process at all. To create is to contribute to the world, regardless of how history judges the final product. When we stop seeing creativity as a performance and start seeing it as an exploration, something shifts. Instead of aiming for immediate brilliance, we allow ourselves to discover, to play, to fail without shame. A painting that doesn’t turn out as expected, a novel that never quite finds its rhythm—these are not failures but necessary steps in the creative process. The irony is that in our avoidance of mediocrity, we often find ourselves producing nothing at all. The only way to escape this trap is to embrace the possibility of imperfection. A mediocre first draft is better than an unwritten masterpiece. An uninspired painting is better than a blank canvas collecting dust. Every act of creation, no matter how flawed, is a step forward. Jean-Paul Sartre, in Existentialism Is a Humanism , argues that existence precedes essence—meaning we define ourselves through our actions. A person who creates, no matter how imperfectly, is more alive than one who remains paralyzed by self-doubt. Sartre would say that fearing mediocrity is a form of bad faith , an excuse to avoid responsibility for our own creative potential. So write that story. Paint that picture. Play that melody. Let go of the need for perfection and simply create. Fear of mediocrity is no reason to live a life of hesitation. In the end, the greatest tragedy is not producing something ordinary—it’s never creating anything at all.

In an imaginary world, people shout and race to receive attention while behaving like boys and girls competing for carnival appeal. Life becomes a messy circus because politicians, influencers, and algorithms generate unceasing noise through their operations. Being dormant in such a disordered environment becomes both inviting and transformative. The decision to remain silent along with being idle and detached from insanity should not be mistaken for laziness because it represents an intelligent strategy against a system which thrives on frenzy. Let's dive into why we need to hush, how staying quiet is a bold rebellion, what we gain from it, and why we're absolutely right to embrace it, with a nod to some sharp minds who've praised the art of doing zilch. Why do we need to go quiet? The world's a stage full of clowns in suits, tossing empty promises and half-truths while we, the tired audience, dodge their propaganda. Joining debates and arguing online resembles committing to an unfair game with a predetermined winner. Social media platforms intensify the problem through algorithmic manipulation that deals with anger-provoking content for user engagement. Excessive noise causes exhaustion and annoyance since it clouds our mental focus while boosting stress levels. Why play along? Bertrand Russell, through his work "In Praise of Idleness,"  proclaims, "The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." Shutting up differs from surrender since this action denies power to attention-grabbing systems. The choice of idleness allows us to dedicate our energy to essential matters while avoiding the predetermined scheme to keep us occupied. But silence isn't just dodging the chaos—it's a full-on rebellion. As Michel Foucault points out in Discipline and Punish , power loves to watch us: "Visibility is a trap.” The system—politicians, media, algorithms—wants us talking, posting, and reacting, so it can twist our words into headlines or data points. When we calm down, we slip out of that trap. As the news anchor fumbles urgently for your reaction, you will simply grin at them. When words fail to express anything, they become more potent than formal declarations of spoken language. Silence marked the civil rights marches, which eventually caused the status quo to tremble. The operational functionality of the system becomes hindered when noncompliance actions take place. Our rejection participation forms a collective effort to decrease the life force of the information-hungry entity, which subsequently feeds on its own techniques. What do we get out of this? A lot, starting with our sanity. The endless scandals, tweets, and shouting matches are like a mental sledgehammer, leaving us drained and doubting humanity. Idleness is our safety mechanism through which we choose reading, sleeping, or watching feline clips. People use this restful interval for breathing deeply, organizing their thoughts, and gaining mental command of their actions. Feeling better serves as only one aspect of idleness. Idling sharpens our thinking, too. Our brains meander between concepts that would remain hidden during times of constant motion. Scientists and artists have long known this—big ideas often spark in quiet moments, like daydreams or lazy afternoons. Idleness also sets us up to play the long game. While loudmouths tire themselves out arguing, we're quietly plotting, watching the chaos like chess players waiting for the right move. It's no coincidence that innovators and change-makers often step back to rethink and recharge. Doing nothing becomes a secret weapon, giving us the clarity to cut through the clutter. So, why are we right to stay idle? Society loves to guilt-trip us—"Speak up! Get involved!"—as if silence equals betrayal. But that's just the system trying to keep us on its leash. The obsession with being busy burns us out, pulling us from what's real—friends, family, and our thoughts. Choosing to slow down and simplify isn't selfish; it's smart. History backs this up: great minds, from poets to inventors, found their best ideas in stillness. In The Importance of Being Earnest , Oscar Wilde smirks at the herd: "Many lack the originality to lack originality.” Staying quiet is original. It lets the circus trip over its own ropes. By saving energy and keeping our minds clear, we're not just surviving the chaos—we're outsmarting it. The world's problems come from its addiction to noise, and our refusal to add to it is a win, a middle finger to those who profit from our stress. We stand tall, grinning at the madness, knowing the real victory is sometimes staying out of the fight. Idleness isn't just chilling; it's scheming with style. It's the smirk that throws off the talking heads, the pause that hones our edge, the choice that keeps us sane. Russell tells us time spent idling restores us. Foucault shows us that silence dodges power's grip. Wilde dares us to be bold in our stillness. Together, they prove idleness is our strength. So, grab your coffee, kick back, and let the world's chaos unravel. You've earned your quiet—and you hold the power in that quiet.

Consciousness. What is it?  I understand it as the essence of man. It is the part that forms the basis for humans to engage in their realm of thought. Humans live to function by thinking. That is what differentiates humans from animals. Animals live static lives—they do not think. They live by instinct, not by thought. In thinking, man must achieve consciousness - his consciousness as a thinking being, as a mover of the world, as a creator of history. This last point also distinguishes humans from other creatures such as animals. We are part of the humanities that build civilization, culture, history, and more. The ability to think cannot be applied if humans reject their consciousness as humans. Some may refuse; some are forced to refuse, resulting in a situation of dehumanization - a situation that strips humans of their abilities and rights as movers of the world. Consciousness Denial Situation In some cases, humans lose the right to receive their consciousness. Is it a political situation? Perhaps. First, what causes humans to lose consciousness? So far, if you can understand your own existence in living life, doing activities, interacting with the environment, then you should still have consciousness - because you have contemplated and thought about your own existence. The ability to think freely is a matter of human consciousness. But what happens when that thought process is shut down or denied - whether for internal or external reasons? We cannot freely think about existence or anything outside a boundary situation. The death of consciousness becomes the death of man in the realm of thought and marks the beginning of dehumanization. Dehumanization is the antithesis of humanization, which is the process of making humans more fully human. Losing the ability to think is, indirectly, the death of the human. According to Aristotle, humans are by nature thinking animals. Thinking is the key. So, if that ability is taken away - forcefully or indirectly - then dehumanization has occurred. Humans experience stagnation, or worse, regression. There are at least two situations that demonstrate the denial of consciousness. Before I continue, I would like to emphasize that the examples presented are based only on personal experience and are open to criticism. The first is the forced denial created by the oppressed. I recently read Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed . Freire’s analysis of the class struggle between oppressor and oppressed was eye-opening in understanding its effect on consciousness. The oppressor retains human consciousness through the luxury and comfort of exploiting the oppressed - a consciousness that destroys consciousness. The oppressed continue to receive the dogmas that instill feelings of paternalism and inferiority in comparison to the oppressor. Dogma robs the oppressed of humanizing consciousness, producing a fear-based inability to think. This fear is created by the situation of the oppressor. The process of dogma builds an imaginary image of false hospitality that fosters a consciousness opposed to humanity. In short, the oppressor exploits the oppressed, stripping away the right to think and replacing a humanized consciousness with a false one. This same fear of oppressor-oppressed opposition appears in the shadow of the military regime in Indonesia. After the heated controversy over the RUU-TNI (Revision of the Indonesian National Army Law) at the end of March, the imagined resurgence of a military regime has sparked fears of military oppression over civilians. The fear of stagnation in education is also evident, as the new regime has not made it a priority. Instead, emphasis has shifted to the Free and Nutritious Lunch program, which has stirred controversy regarding its distribution and downstream policies. Militarism is a crucial issue to monitor. A country undergoing militarization often regresses - especially in the sciences. Don’t believe me? Look at the Ottoman Empire. The sultanate was so focused on expansion that it militarized and suppressed science. If science is killed and freedom of speech is considered subversive, then dehumanization occurs. The second situation lies on the internal side of the individual. Consciousness can be destroyed when people choose to reject it. I contextualize this with the low level of education in Indonesia - a problem not only caused by individual rejection but also by a surrounding society that is unprogressive or even anti-intellectual. These attitudes are common in a deeply feudal Indonesian society that devalues education while upholding solidarity. In such a society, people begin to abandon conscious thought, as their environment undermines the capacity of the mind. Often, the excuse comes with the claim that “practice matters more than theory.” In my opinion, practice cannot function without theory, and theory is useless without practice. The two are complementary. In non-progressive societies, intellectual activities - such as reading and processing information - are often dismissed as useless. These environments value muscle over mind. Some other reasons lie in the failure of the education system, which Freire describes as the "banking system." This is an educational system where teachers are seen as depositors and students as passive recipients. Teachers deliver material without regard to student needs, resulting in a one-sided dynamic with no dialogue. Students are expected to be ignorant, while teachers are treated as all-knowing. The result is that students lose their awareness as learners, become alienated, and their capacity to think deteriorates. Banking education does not create dialogue - it resembles a radio speaking in one direction. Creating Consciousness Sooner or later, the denial of consciousness is bound to occur - or may already be happening without us realizing it. We may already be victims of the annihilation of consciousness. So, how can we regain it? How do we create and build it? Consciousness is not found - it is created. The process of seeking without creating only leads people astray. In addition to reading Freire, I also watched an anime called Orb: On the Movement of the Earth . This anime took me back to Renaissance literacy with its European Renaissance setting. Orb  presents the concept of consciousness through the pursuit of truth. Each character realizes that the Church’s dominance has been distorted and that their right to think has been dimmed. Thus, heliocentrism - the anime’s central idea - must be preserved and passed down to future generations to enlighten tomorrow. Reflecting on Orb , the effort to build consciousness had one aim: proving the truth. In today's world, this means that creating consciousness must be an active struggle. If the regime attempts to erase it, mass action is the only way to fight back. Every element of society must confront the regime’s oppression if the banking model of education is to be abolished and replaced by a problem-posing method - an educational approach that invites teachers and students to sit together and analyze social realities through dialogue. Once all members of society accept their consciousness - both as human beings and as the oppressed—the effort to build awareness will reach a climactic stage. And once consciousness is reclaimed, humans will regain their natural ability to think and move the world. People will become more critical of their social environment from both political and economic perspectives. They will create history, culture, and civilization through thought - thought that has undergone a process of humanization and progress. Today, we must create consciousness in a humane way—and together, as human beings, as stewards of the Earth, we will build this world.

In the twilight between progress and peril, humanity stands once again at the edge of a paradox: the very tools meant to empower us may also expose us. We live in a time where technological sophistication is equated with advancement, where digitization is worn like a badge of modernity. The future arrives in the form of algorithms, databases, and platforms — seamless, efficient, and borderless. And yet, in the rush to digitize everything, have we paused long enough to ask: at what cost ? Indonesia, like many nations seeking relevance in the digital economy, has charted a path toward what it calls an Electronic-Based Government System  (SPBE), enshrined in Presidential Regulation No. 95 of 2018. The vision is noble: fast, transparent, and accessible public services for all. But even the noblest visions can be undermined by the smallest cracks. When BPJS Kesehatan's data was breached in 2021, followed by electoral data leaks from the KPU in 2022, and culminating in the devastating hack of the National Data Center in 2024 — what was exposed was not just data, but trust. And once trust is fractured, systems falter. In the digital realm, the illusion of safety is perhaps our greatest vulnerability. We are told that we are protected — by firewalls, by laws, by policies. But a policy does not secure a password. A regulation does not patch a bug. And governance without accountability is just theater. So the question lingers, quietly and persistently: where can society seek refuge when even the state cannot promise digital safety? This is not a call to panic, but a call to awareness. Because fear, when tempered with reflection, becomes wisdom. We must begin by accepting an uncomfortable truth: the state, in its current form, is not fully equipped for the demands of this era. This is not to undermine its role, but to recognize that the architecture of digital governance must evolve faster than the threats it seeks to mitigate. Strengthening data protection laws is not just a legal imperative; it is an ethical one. It signals that we understand the weight of information in shaping people’s lives — that data is no longer just technical, but personal, intimate, and sacred. Equally vital is the presence of independent oversight — not merely as a procedural mechanism, but as a philosophical stance. Independence reflects humility: the recognition that power unchecked is power abused. In a society where the state is both player and referee in digital affairs, the call for external watchdogs is a call for integrity. We need institutions that are not only capable but incorruptible, not only skilled but also morally anchored. And perhaps most critically, we must turn to the people — not as passive recipients of technology, but as conscious participants in its evolution. Digital literacy must be seen not only as a technical skill, but as a civic virtue. To be literate in the digital age is to understand your rights, your vulnerabilities, and your responsibilities. When people are empowered to question, to challenge, to demand transparency — they cease to be data points and begin to be citizens once again. So, where do we take refuge? Not in firewalls. Not in bureaucratic assurances. But in systems that earn our trust, in laws that protect with clarity, and in communities that care enough to speak up. Because technology, in its rawest form, is a mirror — it reflects the values of those who wield it. And if we wish to build a digital future that is not only functional but just, not only advanced but humane, we must choose to stand not behind the screen, but beside one another. The real question, then, is not just where  we find protection - it's who among us is willing to become the protector?

It is widely understood in the social sciences that a nation is essentially a community united via social interactions and symbols that relies on the imagination of its people.  A simple response to the demand of this article’s title then is that - through the same widely-understood sense - destroying or breaking apart a nation requires the destruction of the social interactions, symbols, and the very imagination of its people.  However, in this article, we shall not ponder on the obvious but rather ask the more interesting question:  How does one go about destroying the social interactions, symbols, and the imagination of a nation’s people?  More importantly, how can one even begin - and formulate a workable framework - for the realization of such a goal?  Let us begin by examining the first question, specifically in terms of how social interactions, symbols, and imagination of a nation’s people are cultivated in the first place. Narratives > People Ten people standing in the middle of a forest is not a community nor is it a nation, but ten people with a shared story, common struggles against outsiders, and long-standing experience with the forest as their place of birth and death might just be. For Benedict Anderson, three features define the modern imagination for a nation : (1) the nation as limited with delineation from other existing nations, (2) the nation as sovereign, free and departing from the pre-modern concept of a divinely-ordained hierarchy, and (3) the nation as a community which promotes a deep sense of fraternal bond regardless of the nation’s inter-class dynamic. This means that to destroy the imagined nation , one would need to either blur the delineation it requires with other nations, take away its modern freedoms and liberties as a sovereign, or somehow get rid of the cultivated fraternity to the point that inter-class dynamic becomes more narratively important than the story of the nation itself. Already, those are three distinct yet interconnected routes  to breaking a nation apart. Fundamentally, the success one would have in breaking a nation would rely on the strength of their counter- narrative against the predominant national narrative. However, the first two options require one to possess a level of influence that nearly-overshadows that of the nation which - for most people in the world - would be unthinkable, even on a purely-narrative level.  It is therefore the third option  that becomes the most workable and primary method for the pursuit of this article: to break the nation via narrative disintegration, specifically through sectarian violence .  Thus, this answers the first question of our inquiry. What about the second? On that note, cleavage is the main concept that we ought to understand. Cleavages Rich versus poor. Indigenous versus settlers. Urban residents versus rural residents. First-generation migrants versus permanent citizens. Central government versus provincial governments. Persija versus Persib . IISMA recipients versus non-IISMA recipients. Et cetera. There are numerous precedents of inter-sect violence, but all of them - no matter what it is - relies on one fundamental attribute, that is, the presence of cleavages. Many schools of thought exist on how we ought to conceptualize a cleavage . However, the term can be generally understood as the social differences between people on which political divisions are further mapped upon.  Being a really rich person may not necessarily go beyond jealousy, but the Marxists would say that having an obscenely disproportionate amount of wealth compared to the rest of a nation’s population suggests a monopoly over the means of production, thus leading to further exploitative divisions, including political divisions, eventually warranting the class cleavage  and conflict between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. Similarly, being a settler does not directly suggest that one is diametrically opposed to the presence of an indigenous population, but the Post-Colonialists would certainly be more than happy to attribute the displacement of the indigenous people to such an opposition, firmly rooted in the social and cultural cleavage between the imperialist settlers and the systematically oppressed indigenous. The argument is that a settler-indigenous cleavage would eventually become political, leading to further sectarian violence between the two identities. If it wasn’t intuitive already, a cleavage is not just a division between peoples. It is a line  that is determined through complex socio-cultural interactions between identities . The same line that tribalizes people into groups with differing, often contesting, political interests that amounts to conflict.  Yet, just merely having cleavages is not enough for one’s plan to break a nation.  It is an essential component in the third route, yes, there is no doubt, but it is insufficient on its own. This is where the concept of sectarianization  - a relatively recent addition to the scholarship   around regional sectarian conflicts - becomes imperative to understand.  Under the sectarianization thesis, cleavages become relevant when analyzed through its role in precipitating and amplifying sectarian conflicts. Specifically, it is these same cleavages that provide the best opportunities for authoritarian leaders in a nation, often those with already fragile and weakened institutions, to exploit for the purpose of mobilizing popular support.  In these cases, the key lies in the manipulation of narratives. “Mechanics” of Sectarianization The journey to total national disintegration must meet along the way the total destruction of narrative cohesion between the various identities and groups in a nation. Under the conceptual framework of sectarianization , these identities and groups can be collectively dubbed as sects  as in the grouping of people based on religious, political, or other philosophical ideas having separated from a main body of some sorts. For Nader Hashemi and Danny Postel, sectarianization is “a process shaped by political actors operating within specific contexts, pursuing political goals that involve popular mobilization around particular (religious) identity markers.” This definition is not too surprising given the context of their work, Sectarianization: Mapping the New Politics of the Middle East, was concentrated on providing a counter-explanation to the conventional, ill-defined, and lazy explanations by often Western politicians with respect to term sectarianism . This, however, does not mean that sectarianization is limited to religious sects, rather it is far from it as we shall see further on. To start, the actual mechanics of sectarianization has not been extensively studied across all regions with much of the literature concentrated on specific study cases such as the Middle East. However, just by going off of Hashemi and Postel’s work, we can infer a theoretical model with some explanatory power towards a lot of cases of both sectarian conflicts and what we are heavily invested in via this article, national disintegration . There are essentially three milestones that we want to reach in the realization of national disintegration (See: Diagram 1), that is: turning a functional state into a weak state; conducting narrative manipulation via participatory discourses ; and escalating sectarian conflicts  through the manipulation of sect identification  factors in a society.  Diagram 1. Mechanics of Sectarianization to National Disintegration Let us start with the first. To Weaken a State Hashemi and Postel were not the go-to theorists to discuss both weak states nor were they allusory in their discussion to weaken a state. Rather, they refer to Joel Midgal’s conceptualization of weak states  in comparison to strong states . Midgal states that weak states  are those who inevitably confront limited capabilities in four specific dimensions. First, their capacity to penetrate society. Second, their ability to regulate social relationships. Third, their ability to extract resources within their territories. Fourth and last, their capacity to appropriate resources in an effective manner. To weaken a state, therefore, requires us to tackle these four dimensions in a manner that would proportionately lower a state’s strength  in all four dimensions. This would debilitate their ability to effectuate state policies in a conventional top-down manner, thus encouraging decentralization and promoting a political norm in which local leaders would be more capable of taking control of their localities without the intervention of an actually functional, centralized government. Ideally, however, this decentralization should happen disproportionately by taking into account the cleavage that we would be trying to widen in its gap.  An interplay of all these factors in a focused and sustained effort over a long period of time would result in a weakened state. Perhaps out of many cases which are currently ongoing in the world to illustrate the targeting of all four dimensions, one pronounces itself in a way that eerily mimics this process in almost a linear fashion, that is: the Yemeni Civil War in 1990-1994. After the 1990 unification, a nominal central government was created with progress being made on a constitution that would be collectively agreed-upon between the North and South. However, despite this attempt at unification between the two, the North and South clearly had differing visions and perceptions of what the other wanted.  In a June 1990 interview, Prime Minister Haydar Abu Bakr al-‘Attas - representing the South - stated that the two parties had gained insight from Yemen’s recent history, as well as regional and global events. However, for the North, al-‘Attas seems to have been more skeptical than optimistic about their collaboration. For them, al-’Attas were more concerned with the state of the North as underdeveloped, tribalistic, and rife with sectarian divisions.  On the other hand, the North viewed the South as inherently interested in separatism rather than the unification agenda. This is because the South often called for policies which would lead to administrative decentralization in the newly-formed unified government. Attempted assassinations led by the North were often alleged by the South, but were dismissed under the presumption of separatism and exaggeration. This mutual suspicion meant that the ruling coalition’s instability allowed tribal and regional factions to fill the power vacuum, further undermining the central authority of the newly-formed North-South government as per the conceptual framework discussed in this section. Furthermore, state capabilities  are influenced by variations in social control, particularly how the state interacts with societal groups and manages resource allocation. Such control reasonably correlates with the degree of authority a state exerts over urban and rural territories reflects its institutional strength. In weak states, both state and societal actors prioritize strategies of survival - pragmatic actions that essentially encapsulates what Thomas Hobbes would call as the state of nature . These actions contribute to ensuring survival for these actors which hinges on maintaining power through rival-thwarting behaviors , often exploiting social and political cleavages via divide et impera  tactics.  This is exactly what we want in the short-term to create weak states that would devolve as leaders pursue their survival to the point where they would be de facto allowed by the state to mobilize popular support based on cleavage-based identities. To Manipulate Narratives All right, so we managed to somehow - in the short-term - turn a nation’s national institutions into mush, making them barely function, perhaps get rid of trias politica altogether if possible and simply cause power imbalances all around the legislative, executive, and judiciary branches. In short, we reached the first milestone .  So, what now? The road to reach the second milestone - insofar the conceptual framework of Hashemi and Postel goes - is relatively simpler than prior. Whereas before, one would be learning about “complicated” political institutions, finding out tribal and local factions to pit against each other, and empower authoritarian leaders, we would now only be concerned with one action only: Lying! Polarizing! Manipulating! Or to word this more seriously and more accurately, this is when narrative manipulation becomes key before we could ever move on to the last milestone. We don’t necessarily have to lie, but typically, lying helps. In case we are a bit lost in the nomenclature, a narrative goes beyond mere stories such as the one we see in movies and novels. Working with Hashemi and Postel’s sectarianization framework, Adam Gaiser adapted Margaret Somers’ concept of small-scale and large-scale narratives. A narrative consists of three aspects:  Plot(s):  set of events connected in a logical, although not necessarily linear, sequence; Character(s): Actors such as people and entities which plays some kind of role within the plot, including the narrative place of the self  in relation to those actors; and Theme(s): Underlying message, typically carrying some kind of normative baggage that provides meaning and significance to the overall narrative, can take many forms such as a great struggle and salvation. Gaiser stated that these aspects can be manipulated to affect sectarian identifications by exploiting particular intra-sect differences. These differences  can be pronounced, downplayed, and modified in specific socio-political contexts. Often, authoritarian leaders intentionally craft identities by embedding themselves in the past, present, and future of a particular sect, thus currying favors and support without necessarily or explicitly asking people for support.  In this case, large-scale narratives such as the founding myths of a nation may be intentionally appealed to within smaller-scale narratives that are easier to manipulate through dubious testimonies and redirecting the grievance of a group towards a supposed common enemy, essentially mobilizing the popular support that authoritarian leaders need to dislodge democratic norms and paving way for their regimes. Similarly, both state agencies and local leaders not part of a state can be instrumentalized as part of the overall effort for narrative manipulation, although the effectiveness of their manipulation - whatever the form - may rely on the context of a given region as waves of certain narratives may be more predominant than others. We can point to a most classical example in modern history.  In this case, let us give it to the case of one of the original modern Fascists in the world: Adolf Hitler prior to his rise to power as Fuhrer. Hitler undoubtedly had a near-savant ability at narrative manipulation. Furthermore. his cronies promulgated various propaganda techniques that even until now are constantly used and studied, capable of manipulating narratives at a dramatically intensified level, augmenting Hitler’s regime with a level of narrative strength that made Hitler arguably a “communication genius” as Bill Gindlesperger would write similarly in 2018.   It should be noted, however, that narrative manipulation is not purely about communication as much as it is about communicating an imagination that is relatable on a narrative level. Hitler famously wrote Mein Kampf which is often misunderstood as having been the source of Nazi ideologies. In actuality, Hitler was preaching to the choir  by popularizing, not revolutionizing, the anti-semitic sentiments of his era. Albrecht Koschorke was on the nose when he wrote that the book provided an amazing scapegoat to channel the anger, disappointment, and racial hatred of the nation. In essence, the plot was that of a historic racial struggle with specific sub-plots taking place during Hitler’s time in the inter-war period. The character was of himself, the people of Germany, the Weimar government and the Jews as the enemy to be defeated. The theme, aptly stated by Robert Carr in 2007, was that of the “anti-Versailles, anti-Weimar, anti-Communist and anti-Semitic” variety. What both Koschorke and Carr did not note explicitly, however, was the fact that Mein Kampf was an artifact of a small-scale narrative  that of Nazism, joined by a larger wave of other nationally-recognized narratives, which would eventually supersede such grand narratives becoming a large-scale narrative on its own through the rise to power of both Hitler and his Nazi agenda.  By dynamically manipulating pre-existing large-scale and small-scale narratives through the modification and embedding of oneself into the plots, characters, and themes of a narrative, authoritarian actors essentially seek to erase competing frameworks of meaning. In this sense, our task at reaching the second milestone would end the moment such alternate frameworks are politicized in a grand narrative - a consequence of our manipulation - which polarizes people sufficiently to the point of autonomously seeking out our narratives. This would enable them to self-impose role identifications - how they see themselves in the manipulated narratives - and aiding in the solidification process of sects. When such a milestone has been reached, we have reached the figurative breaking point of a nation, for it means that the narrative power of the nation has been subsumed by our own. To Break a Nation Assuming no outside interference affects our journey so far to national disintegration, sect identification from narrative manipulation in weak states should be understood as necessarily leading to sectarian conflicts.  We can observe the case of the Occupied Palestinian Territories (OPT) to understand why this is the case, specifically shortly prior to the execution of the Oslo Peace Process - one of the most significant moments in the Middle East Peace Process, especially for both Israel and Palestine. As one of the primary founders and leaders of the Palestinian Liberation Organization, Yasser Arafat had been de facto exiled in Tunis since he had lost the first phase of the 1982 Second Israeli Invasion of Lebanon against the Israel Defense Forces. Thus, his return in 1994 - when Arafat returned to the Gaza Strip, cementing his political status as a central figure of the PLO - was met with jubilation from many Palestinians.  This, however, would be simultaneously the start of a great rift within the Palestinian nationalist movement as a divide grew between those who felt that they represented the true Gaza-born PLO fighters (PLO-West Bank and Gaza) compared to those represented by Arafat and his rule in Tunis (PLO-Tunis). Such a difference while seemingly minor in description actually catalyzed the eventual breakoff of Hamas from the Palestinian secular nationalist and socialist movement such as Fatah and the PFLP, eventually threatening the political stability of the OPT, making national and sub-national integration outright impossible during the founding of the Palestinian National Authority. This is why a nation’s integration is only important insofar that such integration can realize its own self-determination. Questions to be considered include whether the nation can ensure basic or fundamental human rights such as  the right to political participation and non-discrimination . Furthermore, other more specific forms of self-determination may include having control and autonomy over one’s own territory  which would be inherently problematic with the lack of a functional government under a weak state rife with political cleavages constantly disrupting basic state operations. The presence of sectarian conflicts therefore directly contravenes with the goal of self-determination, thus in the sustained absence of national integration through sectarianization, our goal of national disintegration of a particular nation would already have been reached. Congratulations! Closing Thoughts The aim of this article is not to promote violence nor does it seek to provide an actual realistic and workable roadmap for the purpose of dismantling a nation. Hopefully, at least that much was taken for granted.  Not to excuse the severity of this article’s topic, understanding the process of how a nation breaks down via Sectarianization still provides some clarity to the way we are facing disintegration at the moment.  As mentioned prior to this section, national disintegration via an Andersonian view of the nation can happen through paths other than Sectarianization.  Yet, perhaps a close inspection under the presumption one is pursuing the third path could open our eyes, regardless of what nationality we happen to clasp our hands with, to the actors and factors which have showcased actions that are in alignment either implicitly or explicitly with Hashemi and Postel’s Sectarianization mechanics.  In short, for those who seek to maliciously break a nation - greedy and genocidal politicians, psychopathic and egotistical business moguls, conceited and dogmatic religious leaders, terrorists, and hostile enemy operatives - they must nevertheless understand the narrative foundations of the nation.  Even those who do not necessarily want to put their own nation into ruin, they must nevertheless have felt the need to reform  their nation, for it ought to be in their best conscience to have felt something is wrong  right now. Thus, this article should provide value for both types of audiences. It is in this understanding that those who seek to prevent their efforts can proudly read this article, determine, and enhance their standing with depth:  To break a nation, or to create one.

In a world obsessed with growth, we still fell trees for books we rarely finish. We turn pages, but never the page on our habits.  We often glorify reading and romanticize bookshelves, when in reality, fewer people are actually reading. To meet this desire, forests are sacrificed — or worse, erased entirely — just to produce the books that many will never open. The U.S. National Assessment of Educational Progress has documented a consistent decline in the number of 13-year-olds reading for leisure. In 2023, just 14% reported engaging in daily recreational reading, a significant decrease from 27% in 2012. Meanwhile, in the UK, a study conducted by the Reading Agency found that 50% of adults no longer read for enjoyment, with 15% never having done so and a troubling 35% who once read regularly but have since stopped. This isn’t just a Western trend. In Indonesia, the problem is even more severe. According to UNESCO, Indonesia ranks second from the bottom in terms of global literacy, with reading interest at a staggering low — just 0.001%. That means, out of every 1,000 Indonesians, only one truly enjoys reading. In 2020, data from Indonesia’s Central Bureau of Statistics showed that just 10% of the population read daily. The reasons are many: the rise of digital content, shrinking attention spans, and a growing culture of performative reading. Today, many of us buy books not to read them, but to display them — for social media, for aesthetics, for image. And then we leave them sitting on shelves: unopened, unread, and gathering dust. The irony lies here — we consume the idea of books more than their contents. And yet, despite the decline in reading, books continue to be printed in massive numbers. Trees are still being cut, pages still pressed, covers still bound — all to produce something that, too often, ends up unopened. Each year, around 3.2 million trees are cut down to produce books worldwide. Isn’t it a disservice — to both nature and knowledge — when we let them go unread? When a tree gives its life to become a story, a poem, a lesson — and we don’t even turn the first page? Every physical book sitting on a shelf began as something once alive: a tree that stood tall, rooted in soil, breathing carbon, offering shade — and ultimately, sacrificing its life to give us words that live in pages. But how dare we let that sacrifice — transformed into knowledge — go to waste? Dusty. Unread. Untouched. That tree gave its life not just to become paper, but to become part of your mind, your world, your growth. It’s one thing to never want to own a book — maybe you never found the right one, maybe no one ever showed you why it mattered. But when that changes, when you begin to bring books into your space, let it be because you’re ready to read — not just to collect. Because if we keep buying books only to abandon them on shelves, is it truly love for literature — or just an attachment to the idea of it? Reading shouldn’t be something we are forced to do. It shouldn’t feel like a burden. Reading should be a quiet act of respect — for the authors, for the ideas, and for the trees themselves. To read is to listen. To understand. To turn pages and carry forward what someone, somewhere, worked hard to create — at nature’s expense. So next time you pass by a bookshelf — or any place where books gather dust — ask yourself: Which tree will I honor today?

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve seen framed pictures of my dad beside a typewriter in the corners of my house. I used to wonder, why would he frame it so big? He wasn’t a president, after all. When we moved to a new house, he framed and hung one of his articles from a newspaper—an old sports writing about this one football club’s victory. At first, I wasn’t interested. It was football. But I entered the room so frequently that I began to read it, word by word, eventually. I thought: what made this writing so important that he wanted to keep it forever?   I remember learning about Indonesia’s history. To me, it seemed like a movie that was unreal. I learned about how the colonial era works, how our people built their strategy, so on and so forth.  During the colonial era, every act, every word, was a movement toward something bigger. One thing intrigued me the most was the use of newspapers as a threat for the Dutch, as I was already familiar with it. How it can stand for the people at the time fascinates me. There were several types of newspaper, from a different party and from a different community. And not only a few of them were considered a threat. The Dutch claimed that the newspapers were making the colonial government unstable—it critiques the condition they went through. It is not unfamiliar anymore that Soewardi’s work for De Express  was a phenomenon. “Als ik eens Nederlander was” (Only If I Was A Dutch) critiqued the condition very clearly. It questions the hypocrisy of Dutch rule, which then exposed injustices, criticized the colonial government, and planted ideas of resistance. “But… I am not Dutch, I am just a tan-skinned son of this tropical country, a native of this Dutch colony. And because of that, I will not protest.” The piece explains how ironically the natives can not do anything without the Dutch declaring it as provocative. It wasn’t just an opinion piece, it speaks the voices of the unheard. It was a challenge, a disruption. The Dutch then responded with deportation for Soewardi. They silenced the voices, shut down the newspaper, erased the ink from their records.  But, could they truly erase the impact? Could they unwrite what had already been read?   Once a story is told, it never truly disappears.   Truth told, history repeats, history repeats. How ironic it is that in this time, we still think “Only if I was horizontally in a higher position, I would not have to go through all of this.” How ironic it is that how the rule treats us is similar to how Soewardi was once treated. The methods may have changed, but the purpose remains the same. To control the ink, to dictate the story, to ensure that truth serves power, not the people. I take a look at my father’s framed article again. It was just a football match. Just another game. But to him, it was the story that mattered. And maybe that’s what journalism is—a force that finds meaning in moments, that captures what would otherwise be forgotten. Soewardi once wrote “Als ik eens Nederlander was”, imagining a perspective that was not his own. The power it holds echoes in places that was not his, but instead of it being a compellence to the rule, they silenced it. They controlled it, for the sake of power. However, the fight remains the same. Pieces of writings have not lost their power. If anything, its existence—its constant struggle against those who seek to silence it—is proof that it still matters. That it always has.