Gibran Alone at the End of the Road

Had Gibran not been pushed to run for vice president, even though it was Prabowo who nominated him, he could have pursued a career as a governor or minister.

Scrutiny over his educational documents may still have arisen, but it wouldn't have transformed into a constitutional issue shaking the second seat in the Republic. The rice is now porridge.

Reap the Fruits of One's Actions

What is the most fitting term for such a bitter end? Aristotle called it tragedy.

A tragic figure is not an evil person, but someone who once stood tall and falls due to a misjudgment, hamartia.

In Greek drama, that misjudgment often stems from hubris, an overstepping, which is ultimately punished by nemesis.

Javanese wisdom features a more grounded expression, ngunduh wohing pakarti, which means reaping the fruits of one’s own actions.

Both are not meant to pass judgment but to remind us that every choice of power carries its own consequences, sooner or later.

So, do the people mourn this event? Some supporters may feel sadness, and that is human.

However, the broader public reaction seems not to be tears, but reflection.

The people should not cheer at anyone's downfall. Gibran’s decision to resign, rather than clinging to power until impeachment, is also worthy of respect as a step saving the country from prolonged polemics.

For millions of young people who once saw him as a symbol of hope, the lesson is even more personal.

A shortcut can take someone to the peak quickly, but only the straight path can keep them there.

The most important lesson is simple yet costly. Power in a republic is a trust, not an inheritance.

It can be temporarily lent by the people, but cannot be inherited through shortcuts.

Every attempt to bend the rules for close individuals will demand a price, and that price is often paid by those who are most loved.

Will the next holders of power learn from this tragedy before repeating it?