Socrates once reminded us that wisdom is born not from the desire to always answer, but from the willingness to understand. In public communication, the principle is even simpler: “Those who want to be heard must first be able to listen.”
Ironically, that lesson seemed to disappear when the Head of the Indonesian Government Communication Agency, Muhammad Qodari, debated the Vice Chair of the University of Indonesia Student Council on a national television program.
What went viral was not the strength of his arguments.
What became the subject of public discussion was the way he communicated.
Clip after clip of interruptions. The repeated question, “Where is the data?” A space for dialogue that turned into an arena of proof. At that point, the public stopped evaluating the substance of the debate. What they judged instead was how the government chose to speak to its people.
That is where the problem lies.
The Head of the Communication Agency is not merely an official who is skilled at speaking. He is the embodiment of how the state listens, explains, and responds to criticism. When what appears instead is the impression of being defensive, eager to interrupt, and more occupied with testing the other party than understanding their concerns, the public receives a signal far greater than that of a mere televised debate.
Communication turns into a power relationship.
One side asks questions.
The other seems to be put on trial.
Yet state communication is not a thesis defense, let alone an interrogation room. Citizens are not examinees whose every concern must be accompanied by tables, graphs, and statistics in order to deserve being heard.
Of course, data is important. Very important.
But in public communication, data is a tool for explaining, not a weapon for silencing. Public anxiety often comes before the numbers that later confirm it.
The greatest irony lies in the very establishment of the Government Communication Agency itself. The institution was created because the government recognized one thing: “Public trust cannot be built through policy alone, but also through the way it communicates.”
However, when the face of government communication resembles that of a debate contestant preoccupied with winning arguments, the public sees a paradox that is difficult to ignore. The state appears more interested in winning debates than in winning trust.
In political communication, credibility stands on three pillars: competence, empathy, and integrity. Competence makes people believe that an official understands the issues. Integrity assures the public that he is honest. But empathy makes people feel respected.
Without empathy, competence can easily become intellectual arrogance.
Without the ability to listen, communication becomes nothing more than a monologue imposed upon the public.
Therefore, the measure of success for the Head of the Communication Agency is not how often he succeeds in refuting his opponent’s arguments on television.
Rather, it is how many people feel understood after hearing his explanation.
For the history of political communication teaches one simple lesson: “Governments rarely lose legitimacy because they lack data. Governments lose legitimacy when people no longer feel heard.”
And if the face of government communication only reinforces that feeling, then what deserves evaluation is not merely its communication style, but also whether the person leading the nation’s communication is still the right figure to carry out that mandate.
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