Politics of Pity and Jokowi’s Residual Power

Frankly, I have never seen Joko Widodo deliver a speech like the one he gave at the PSI National Working Meeting (Rakernas) in Makassar. For years, the public has known him as a calm, composed, and controlled figure. Even when angry, his voice rarely rises. His gaze is flat. His emotions are almost unreadable.

Many observers associate this style with Jokowi’s cultural background as a Javanese—more specifically, a Javanese from Solo, the heartland of the Islamic Mataram cultural tradition. Indonesia has had two presidents from this region: Soeharto and Jokowi.

Soeharto was famously known as “the smiling general.” He smiled in almost every situation. It was difficult to read his mood, let alone predict his political direction. Legend has it that the smile remained even when he made the most brutal decisions.

Jokowi is different. He does not rely on smiles, but on a flat, almost expressionless demeanor. His slender body and distinctive gestures have often made him the target of mockery, labeled “plonga-plongo”—vacant or clueless. Yet this is precisely where his strength lies: his ability to endure, absorb, and survive blows—whether in the form of criticism, insults, or ridicule.

He responds to all of it with a simple but deeply meaningful Javanese phrase: “Aku rapopo”—“I’m fine.”

Not because it does not hurt, but because pain is transformed into ethics. A form of resistance without humiliation. Striking back not with anger, but with patience. The result? Public sympathy. Yet none of this was visible in Makassar.

There, flashes of anger were clearly visible in his eyes. Emotions long suppressed spilled into public view. There was no longer the faint chuckle, no longer the image of a generous and magnanimous figure. What emerged instead was a hardened resolve—perhaps even a political resentment seeking an outlet. He declared himself ready to work relentlessly for PSI. Ready to travel across provinces, districts, and even sub-districts.

The question is simple, yet crucial: who is Jokowi within PSI?

He is not part of the party leadership. Not part of its organizational structure. Not a member of the Advisory, Supervisory, or Trustees’ boards.

Formally, he is merely the father of Kaesang—who became PSI’s chairman just two days after joining the party. Politically, Jokowi’s position within PSI is deeply paradoxical: symbolically central, yet structurally hollow.

Does Jokowi still wield enough influence to elevate PSI into a major political force? Can “Jokowism” truly become an embodied political ideology rather than a mere label?

And if one asks what Jokowism actually is, the answer still hangs vaguely in the air.

Perhaps Jokowi still possesses residual power. There may still be remnants of personal loyalty. But the political landscape has changed. In Indonesian politics, the logic is often simple: people gather where the grain is scattered.

Today, that grain lies within Prabowo’s government.

Large-scale programs—such as the Free Nutritious Meals (MBG) initiative or the Red-and-White Cooperatives—illustrate how resource redistribution is felt more strongly among elites and state apparatuses. Problematic implementation on the ground has even triggered tensions between citizens and the state: village football fields converted into buildings, public spaces displaced by policy decisions.

Within this configuration, Jokowi occupies an awkward position: he is inside, yet not fully accepted. He is not excluded, but neither is he given real space. This appears to be well understood by Prabowo and his inner circle. They know one crucial thing: Jokowi grows stronger when attacked. Therefore, the most effective strategy is to embrace him—without truly granting him control.

This is where Jokowi’s greatest strength lies: the politics of pity. He is a politician who does not command a party, the military, or the police. His primary capital is public empathy. And Indonesian society is highly responsive to pity. In many cases, pity can even become a means of livelihood. If pity can be used to survive, why not to rule? The question now is no longer whether Jokowi remains relevant.

Rather, it is how long the politics of pity can endure amid an increasingly brutal and transactional distribution of power.