From Ojek to Oligarch: How to Speedrun Career Success in Indonesia (Qualifications Unnecessary)
From Ojol to official. Ultraman to parliament. How do people really rise in Indonesia? This article unpacks the game behind the game.
Indonesia is the fourth most populous country on Earth, a G20 economy, a constitutional democracy (most days), and above all, a place where career advancement is best understood as performance art mixed with witchcraft.
You did everything right. You got your degree, you worked internships, you posted on LinkedIn about grit and growth. Maybe you even went to Singapore for a workshop on leadership, funded by your own savings. And yet, you're watching someone with zero public achievements and a last name that sounds faintly familiar get appointed to a state-owned company board.
Meanwhile, someone else just became a deputy minister after allegedly spending time as a ride-hailing driver, which he now quotes in interviews as part of his “humble journey.” And some guy in cosplay just swore into parliament with actual voting power.
So naturally, you're asking: How is any of this real?
The truth is, it’s not about climbing the ladder. Because there is no ladder. Just trapdoors, sideways escalators, and a hidden elevator that only opens if your uncle knows the right general.
Still want to play? Great.
Indonesia: Where Meritocracy Goes to Die, Get Reincarnated, and Still Not Get Promoted
Meritocracy in Indonesia is more marketing slogan than organizing principle. It’s the bedtime story told to first-year university students, recent graduates, and anyone naïve enough to believe a high GPA or a neatly formatted CV is the ticket to career success.
From a young age, you're taught the formula: work hard, stay humble, gather certifications, and eventually someone will notice. But that "someone" is usually too busy appointing their nephew to a BUMN board or reviewing loyalty pledges from last election season.
The truth is that careers here are not earned, they’re allocated. They are passed along through networks, inherited through proximity to power, or awarded in return for favours rendered during a campaign that may or may not have been legal. Even the phrase “career path” feels inappropriate. It assumes there is a path. There isn’t. There’s a private elevator, and someone else has the key.
This is why it’s entirely normal for:
A 27-year-old political heir to chair a national party after less than 48 hours of membership.
A former driver to become a multimillionaire fuel director without any boats, permits, or corporate footprint beyond a mailbox.
A campaign volunteer to become Deputy Minister, deliver zero reforms, then exit in handcuffs while smiling for the cameras.
None of this is illegal. But none of it inspires trust either. What it tells you is this: you can be competent, but that won't make you visible. And if you try to play fair without connections, you become a liability. You represent an unknown quantity. A risk. A disruption.
Competence doesn’t get punished. It just gets ignored. Because nobody knows how to leverage it unless it’s tied to loyalty.
Speedruns, Plot Twists, and the Game Nobody Tells You the Rules To
In most countries, career progress follows some kind of roadmap. In Indonesia, it feels more like a video game designed by a bored god who loves random cutscenes and surprise boss fights. Every few months, someone new appears on the screen. They're fully leveled-up, armored in privilege or sudden loyalty points, and the rest of us are left wondering whether we missed a side quest.
These “speedruns” are as erratic as they are spectacular.
There’s the driver-turned-director-turned-DPR plotline, where a man goes from steering a company car to steering national policy, all while completing his undergraduate degree somewhere in between board meetings.
There's the classic relawan becomes SOE commissioner becomes deputy minister becomes KPK defendant story arc.
The dynasty DLC, where someone who claimed not to even like politics on Monday is declared party chairman by Friday, and vice president-in-waiting the following week; helped, of course, by a conveniently timed constitutional interpretation involving a close family member.
Trying to understand how these careers happen is an act of spiritual futility. There is logic. It’s just not your logic. It doesn’t care about GPA, job titles, or that workshop you took on project management. It asks:
Who did you help win?
Will you stay quiet when asked?
Can you be placed somewhere without causing trouble?
Are you useful, loyal, and narratively convenient?
And if you tick those boxes, the doors open. Sometimes literally overnight.
But even then, your spot might still be taken by someone’s second cousin who once reposted a campaign video and remembered to smile at the right donor.
In this game, strategy is optional. Access is everything.
"What’s a Decent Young Indonesian To Do?" (Other Than Cry Into Their GoPay Receipt)
So here you are. You’ve read the headlines, watched the appointments, and accepted that no one’s coming to reward your CV. The system is unclear by design. The rules change mid-game. The scoreboard is fake. But you still want to get in. What now?
Option 1
Throw away the belief that credentials alone will save you. Being qualified is not the currency of power. Being useful is. This means showing up with outcomes, not opinions. You need to be the person who can:
Mobilize two thousand people on a weekend,
Clean up a procurement spreadsheet without triggering an audit,
Walk into a public meeting and quietly fix something embarrassing before Tempo gets wind of it.
Option 2
Stop promising, start delivering. People in power are surrounded by fluff, fantasy, and slogans. Be the one who hands over:
A working Excel file
A signature sheet with verified TPS counts
A flooded alley that’s now unflooded, and nobody died
You won't trend on X. You won’t get a trophy. But someone in the room will remember you. And that’s how doors open.
Option 3
Understand that the grey zone is the main road. If you’re too clean, they’ll think you’re naïve. Too flashy, and you’re a risk. The sweet spot is controlled compromise. Play the game without becoming the game. Keep your bank records boring. Avoid influencer energy.
Option 4
Yes, you can escape. Leave. Learn. Build something real. Get your Harvard, Oxford, or just your capital. But know this: when you return, the welcome will be cold. You'll be "the outsider," "too smart," "too independent." The trick is to return with power, but the kind that doesn’t look threatening. Just enough to matter. Not enough to challenge anyone.
None of this is ideal. But then again, neither is working in procurement for 18 years and still needing your uncle to get you promoted.
Or You Could Just Roll the Dice: Pray, Meme, and Maybe Become a Minister
Let’s not rule out divine intervention. Sometimes, the most efficient path to power in Indonesia isn’t strategy or sacrifice. It’s absurdity. Controlled absurdity.
This is the wildcard route, and while nobody will admit it works, there’s enough evidence to suggest it does. Occasionally, the universe just picks someone (often via Instagram Reels) and drops them into a position of real influence. No political base. No CV. No meaningful memory of what the ministry actually does.
There are three main ways in:
Meme yourself into the seat. Maybe you run in a costume. Maybe your campaign slogan is accidentally brilliant. Maybe your press conference goes viral because you pronounced “inflasi” as “infeksi.” Doesn’t matter. You’re now in.
Be the Relawan Who Can Throw a Party. If you can put 5,000 people in a stadium and make them chant, there is someone in a party war room who wants your number. Deliver the bodies, and you just might be repaid with a commissioner seat at an SOE you only learned existed last week.
Date the Dynasty. This one’s tried and true. Marry into the right bloodline, and you might find yourself chairing something you cannot spell. Bonus points if you look harmless, smile a lot, and tweet only when asked.
Of course, nothing is free. Once you’re in, you owe everyone. The party, the patron, the cousin of the guy who made the call. You are no longer a person. You are a favor wrapped in human form.
So rehearse your lines. Learn to nod at the right times. And above all, keep a file of every transaction, dinner, and quote you hear in the car. Because your memory is your insurance. And your receipts are your pension.
The system is opaque, inconsistent, and deeply tilted toward those who already hold power (or know someone who does). There are no standard applications, no career pathways with clear KPIs, no mentorship programs that end in actual office keys. Merit is optional. Structure is flexible. Nepotism is alive, and well.
But despite all that, the game is still playable.
You are not expected to fix the system. At least not today. But you can learn how it works. You can figure out who actually makes the decisions, what they care about, and how to make yourself quietly useful without losing your soul in the process.
You’ll need patience. You’ll need receipts. And yes, you’ll need to sit through meetings filled with face-saving, and unsolicited monologues from someone who got their job by accident. Smile. Nod. Build something real anyway.
If you can find your way through the mess with your integrity intact and your paperwork in order, you might just outlast them. Or outmaneuver them.
And if not? Then at least you’ll understand exactly why it all feels broken.
At StratEx - Indonesia Business Advisory we help clients navigate the messy real-world dynamics of Indonesia’s talent and political economy.. Contact us to build resilient leadership pipelines that work despite the system.