Join our official discord server! Primwiki
Mandala Republicanism is a political philosophy.
My icons ig: (
/
/
/
/
)
The 7 Principles of Mandala Republicanism
To build a new Nusantaran republic based on the values and principles of Aristotle and the Natural Law while adopting into 21st century politics.
To construct the New Nusantaran Man, turning him away from pleasure, comfort, and passivity in favor of warriorship, self-dependence, and activity.
To re-introduce the Adat System, a customary legal framework of the old Malay world to the Malay archipelago as an alternative to both Suharto’s Java centralism and modern Roman-influenced legal systems.
To maintain the country’s diplomatic independence and spread the values of palingenetic nationalism internationally to stabilize the world for less immigration.
To break away from the economic hegemony of the petrodollar, the international finance, and the borderless multinationals by strengthening the national industry and military of Nusantara.
To build one single unified Malay volksgemeinschaft through palingenetic nationalism to stand against liberal individualism and reactionary barbarism.
To construct the third Malay civilization-state as the spiritual successor of Srivijaya and Majapahit through construction of unified national myth to geopolitically resist both China and the United States.
Influences
Alain de Benoist (1943-), 
France
Alexander Hamilton (1755-1804), 
United States
Alija Izetbegović (1925-2003), 
Bosnia
Andrew Jackson (1767-1845), United States
Ante Pavelić (1889-1959), Bosnia
Antonio Gramsci (1891-1937), 
Italy
Aristotle (384-322 BC), 
Greece
Arthur de Gobineau (1816-1882), France
Arthur Moeller van den Bruck (1876-1925), 
Germany
Bhumibol Adulyadej (1927-2016), United States
Carl Menger (1840-1921), 
Austria
Carl Schmitt (1888-1985), Germany
Cecil Rhodes (1853-1902), 
United Kingdom
Cicero (106-43 BC), 
Ancient Rome
Edward Dutton (1980-), United Kingdom
Ernst Jünger (1895-1998), Germany
Eugen von Böhm-Bawerk (1851-1914), Austria
Francis Parker Yockey (1917-1960), United States
Georges Sorel (1847-1922), France
Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936), United Kingdom
Gregor Strasser (1892-1934), Germany
Guillaume Faye (1949-2019), France
Heinrich Laufenberg (1872-1932), Germany
Henry Kissinger (1923-2023), Germany
Ibn Rushd (1126-1198), 
Spain
Ibn Sina (980-1037), 
Uzbekistan
Ikki Kita (1883-1937), 
Japan
Ismail Enver (1881-1922), 
Turkey
Kimitake Hiraoka (1925-1970), Japan
Martin Heidegger (1889-1976), Germany
Muhammad Iqbal (1877-1938), 
Pakistan
Mustafa Kemal (1881-1938), Turkey
Ngo Dinh Diem (1901-1963), 
Vietnam
Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527), Italy
Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658), 
England
Oswald Mosley (1896-1980), United Kingdom
Oswald Spengler (1880-1936), Germany
Philippe Pétain (1856-1951), France
Plato (424/423-348/347 BC), Greece
Renaud Camus (1946-), France
Rhee Syngman (1875-1965), 
Korea
Richard Nixon (1913-1994), United States
Robert Michels (1876-1936), Germany
Ruhollah Khomeini (1902-1989), 
Iran
Spandrell (?-), 
China
Sukarno (1901-1970), 
Indonesia
Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881), United Kingdom
Tunku Abdul Rahman (1903-1990), 
Malaysia
Vilfredo Pareto (1848-1923), France
Werner Sombart (1863-1941), Germany
Machiavellianism - The Guide to Succeed in the 21st Century Politics
Vol. I. How the Old Monarchies Failed Us
In the twilight of the old world, when the banners of fallen empires still fluttered like wounded birds, I wandered through the ruins of palaces that once proclaimed eternal authority. Their marble arches, cracked, vine-choked, reminded me of Oswald Spengler’s pronouncement that civilizations do not die by murder but by exhaustion. It was here that the question emerged. How did monarchs, entrusted with the guardianship of the Common Good, transform into custodians of decline? To understand the fall of thrones, one must examine not merely events but forms of being. And to understand power, one must confront its cold anatomy, as Machiavelli teaches with a surgeon’s detachment. Every monarchy begins with a founding fire. A man arises, toughened by scarcity, disciplined by necessity, and bends fate to his will. It is a vitality born from harsh conditions. The founders of dynasties, from the Umayyads to the Ottomans, from the Carolingians to the Qing, possessed a unity of character and purpose, a harmony of reason, revelation, and decisive will. But their descendants inherited power without inheriting the struggle that forged it. Power, when not earned, becomes an ornament, and ornaments are destined to shatter. The sovereign is he who decides the exception. Yet, by the 18th and 19th centuries, monarchs increasingly preferred ceremony to decision, luxury to discipline, court gossip to geopolitical vision. Their failure was not due to monarchy as a system, but to the monarchs themselves, who mistook the palace for the polity and their pleasure for the people’s welfare, the Common Good languished while the elite dined on illusions. Political order must cultivate virtue, through law, education, and wise leadership. Yet many monarchies decayed because they surrounded themselves not with sages, warriors, or engineers, but with flatterers, eunuchs, and sycophants who produced no virtue, no vigor, no vision. The court became a greenhouse of decadence. The ruling elite, once composed of lions, slowly transformed into foxes, cunning but cowardly, skilled in intrigue but terrified of bold action. Thus, when the industrial revolution demanded adaptation, the colonial age demanded strategic calculation, the modern masses demanded representation, global markets demanded economic reform, the monarchs could only blink helplessly behind velvet curtains. They no longer commanded, they merely presided. The tragedy wasn’t that monarchies were too authoritarian. The tragedy was that they became too ornamental. Geopolitical survival requires constant reinvention. Yet monarchies often clung to medieval structures in the face of modern challenges. They failed to adapt to technological change, where industrialization demanded literacy, railways, bureaucracy, monarchs offered feasts, balls, and vanity wars, economic transformation, where the shift from land to capital required administrative sophistication, not hereditary privilege, social upheaval, urban masses, whose emboldened by education and printing presses, demanded a voice, the kings’ response was often repression without vision, authority without legitimacy, and globalization, while empires reconfigured the world, many monarchs still believed diplomacy consisted of marriages and banquets, thus, monarchies were not overthrown by radicals alone, they were abandoned by history itself, a ship that refuses to adjust its sails must eventually drown. The ruler’s legitimacy derives from adaptive wisdom. The philosopher-king is not merely noble but intellectually superior, able to foresee crises before they arise. When monarchs lost that capacity, they lost everything. Myths drive history. Monarchs once embodied the myth of divine order. But when the monarch becomes a hollow symbol, the myth collapses, and the people seek new forms of authority, whether religious, revolutionary, or technocratic, even the sacred becomes fragile when its guardians become weak. The 21st century requires a different kind of leadership, not monarchy, not democracy without depth, not technocracy without soul, but a synthesis of moral purpose and strategic ruthlessness, grounded in communal responsibility and historical awareness. The failure of monarchies is not a call to nostalgia, but a reminder that Power must be earned, Authority must be justified, and rulers must serve the Common Good, or perish. As I walk through the ruins of palaces long forgotten, I am struck by a final truth, it was not crowns that failed us, it was the people who wore them. History does not forgive rulers who confuse comfort with destiny. Civilization does not tolerate leaders who prefer their own pleasure to the welfare of the community, and God, in His justice, does not permit tyranny to flourish forever. The 21st century belongs not to kings, but to those who understand power as a trust, responsibility as a calling, and the Common Good as their ultimate mandate. This is the lesson the monarchs forgot, and this is where our story begins.
Vol. II. Friends and Enemies in Politics and the Adaptation into Realpolitik
Politics begins where illusions end. In the shifting dunes of history, I have seen empires rise with the vigor of youth and collapse with the exhaustion of age. Each time, the cause was the same, leaders forgot that politics is built on relationships of alignment and opposition, friends and enemies, allies and rivals, not on sentimental dreams of universal harmony. The political is founded on the friend–enemy distinction. This was never a call to hatred, it was a call to clarity, and in the 21st century, a world of competing civilizations, churning technology, and hyper-fluid power, clarity is the rarest form of courage. The naïve modern believes conflict is a glitch in the human condition. He imagines a world where all cultures converge, all interests align, all hearts beat with pacifistic goodwill. Politics is the art of organizing diverse interests into an ordered whole, and difference breeds tension. Nations, like souls, differ in temperament, aspiration, and destiny. Even the Prophet’s early community distinguished between allies and treaty partners, persistent political adversaries, internal saboteurs, and the believers who formed the loyal core. Nations are spiritual organisms, each with its own trajectory. To deny conflict is to deny life itself. Excessive pacifism is merely a polite form of surrender. Political friendship is not emotional, it is alignment of interests, values, and destinies. Political enmity is not hatred, it is recognition of irreconcilable objectives. Those who deny this end up destroyed by those who do not. One of the great errors of the 20th century, repeated like a tragic ritual, was the worship of ideological purity. Modern societies select for naïveté, ideological moralism becomes a substitute for biological and cultural realism. Reality would laugh at those who expect the world to conform to their theological diagrams. History shows that rigid ideological orthodoxy always loses to adaptable pragmatism, the Qing clung to ritual while British steamships reshaped geopolitics, the Ottomans clung to old institutions while European states industrialized, the Arab republics clung to slogans while their societies fragmented beneath them, and the Western liberal regimes cling to dogmas of universalism while global power shifts toward civilizational states. Even faith, if stripped of wisdom, degrades into slogans. Truth must be interpreted with philosophical rigor, not with emotional literalism. States survive through prudence, not purity. Elites who refuse adaptation are replaced. In politics, the uncompromising becomes the irrelevant. Realpolitik is not cynicism, it is the ethics of consequences, the discipline of responsibility. Political actors must think in terms of systems, not sentiments. To act politically is to stand exposed to the openness of Being, to confront reality without the veil of illusions. Civilizations that refuse realism perish like dehydrated travelers in the desert: proud, stubborn, and forgotten. Realpolitik demands three virtues, clarity, seeing the world as it is, courage, acting when others hesitate, and adaptability, reshaping strategy as conditions shift. In an age of AI geopolitics, demographic shifts, and multipolar competition, these virtues are not optional, they are existential. Political friendships are never eternal, they are ecological, shaped by changing environments, may it be the “spirit of capitalism” transforming societies, spiritual renewal, or virtue as adaptation to circumstances. Political alliances follow the same rule, they are born from necessity, strengthened by shared interests, and dissolved when the winds of history shift. Thus, the wise leader asks not “who do I love?” but “who shares my fate for now?”, and regarding enemies, the wise leader asks not “whom do I hate?” but rather “whose goals negate mine?” This is not ruthlessness. This is adulthood. Pacifism, in its pure form, is a beautiful sentiment, but it is a terrible strategy. It is the “steel hardness of the soldier”, but the soldier he invoked was not one who sought war, only one who did not flee from struggle. Societies built only on comfort rot from within. History is forged by the energetic few. Guardians must be both philosophical and spirited. A polity that lacks the courage to confront conflict will be ruled by those who do not. Pacifism can preserve many things, but it cannot preserve sovereignty. Despite all this, political action must remain anchored in moral responsibility. A state cannot survive on Machiavellian cunning alone, it must have moral legitimacy, communal solidarity, and pursuit of the Common Good. Realpolitik without ethics becomes tyranny, and ethics without realpolitik becomes suicide. The task of the 21st-century statesman is to unify strength and virtue, to be Machiavellian in method but Aristotelian in purpose, decisive but moral, pragmatic but anchored. As I close this second volume, the lessons crystallize, that politics is not a realm of universal friendship, there will always be allies and adversaries, ideological purity cannot substitute for strategy, pacifism cannot substitute for courage, and moralism cannot substitute for results. Realpolitik is the art of achieving the Common Good under real conditions. In the harsh light of the 21st century, only those who accept reality will shape it. Fortune favors the bold, but only the prepared.
Mandala Republic - The Resurrection of Traditional Southeast Asian Governance
Vol. I. Mandala and Ladang Systems in the New Republican Framework
What does good governance look like when neither monarchy nor modern bureaucracy can carry the weight of the human soul? The answer lay not in fully new theories, but in resurrecting old ones, dusting ancient light from forgotten manuscripts, and reinterpreting them in new ways for an age seeking roots. In the classical Southeast Asian Mandala system, political space did not resemble the rigid Westphalian lines of modernity, it was a spiritual geometry, power radiating from a center like rings in water, a strong, virtuous center meant harmonious rings, and a center that decayed caused the outer circles to fragment. This is the politics of virtue, the order of nature, and an authority rooted in identity rather than legal abstraction. The Mandala offered what modern republics lacked a center defined not by coercion, but by excellence. In the Mandala Republic, the Mandala is revived not as monarchy, but as a classical republic, with the center (the Aristocratic Council, akin to the old Anglo-Saxon Witan) radiating virtue, surrounding rings (the Mandala Provinces) self-governing according to local identity and the utmost ring (the Outer Mandalas) holding near-complete autonomy, paying symbolic tribute, maintaining mutual defense, but operating culturally independent. This revived Mandala was neither monarchy nor mass democracy, it was a hierarchy of character. Where the Mandala described macro-order, the Ladang system described micro-order. Just as the Anglo-Saxon custumals protected regional rights, the Malay ladang system preserved village autonomy, moral economy, and familial stewardship of land, but the Mandala Republic reinterprets it philosophically, the Ladang System was not “property” but responsibility. A family, clan, or guild held stewardship over land and craft only as long as their virtue, productivity, and service remained intact. Ladang was thus republican, moral, and selective, a living contract between the community and those who upheld its honor. There should be the circulation of elites, not based on wealth, but on merit, discipline, and service. It avoided the stagnation of old monarchies and the bureaucratic sterility of modern republics. Tradition becomes powerful when reimagined as a living myth. The Ladang system became the mythic cell of the Republic, its smallest spiritual organ. How can Mandala (centered hierarchy) and Ladang (local stewardship) coexist in a modern republican frame? The answer is written down here. Timocracy is the rule of those motivated not by wealth or comfort, but by honor and duty. To prevent corruption, officials must live simply, their families are barred from commercial influence, and they are trained from youth in martial discipline and philosophy, like Spartan ephors or Tibetan warrior-monks. A council of ulama, monks, and scholars ensures that policy never contradicts natural law, religious morality, and communal dignity. This differs from full theocracy, it is guardianship, not rule. They can veto corruption, not impose doctrine. Under this system, parties are banned and officials are chosen from orders, guilds, and academies, each producing a small number of candidates vetted for intellect, virtue, courage, and spiritual maturity. No national elections, only local, communal selections. Politics becomes a craft, not a spectacle. Aristocracy, in this system, means demonstrated excellence, service over self, and wisdom tempered by religious humility. An elite who fails morally or practically is expelled from office, in the spirit of warrior discipline and rational ethics. Modern bureaucratic republics suffer dysgenic drift by rewarding dependency, penalizing responsibility, elevating comfort, and eroding courage and discipline. Old monarchies, however, decayed through hereditary entitlement. The Mandala Republic solves this by rewarding behaviors that strengthen the community, stewardship (ladang), service (military, spiritual, scientific), discipline (martial and intellectual), and cultural preservation (craft, ritual, art). Power, land, and influence become earned privileges, always revocable, never hereditary. This is a mirror to a disciplined society, and Spengler’s hope for a new aristocracy born not of blood, but of character. Why revive Mandala and Ladang systems, when the world worships efficiency and technology? Because efficiency cannot cure the human soul, technology cannot replace meaning, and governance is not merely administration, it is cultivation. Monarchies failed because they forgot virtue, and modern republics fail because they worship numbers. The Mandala Republic succeeds only if it preserves the human heart. This is the secret, not power, not bureaucracy, not ideology, but character, radiating outward in concentric circles like a Mandala. As dawn breaks over the Malay archipelago, the Mandala Provinces reaffirm their oaths, the Ladang councils divide responsibilities for the coming season, and the Aristocratic council kneels in prayer before assuming their duties, a republic is reborn, not modern, not ancient, but timeless, a synthesis of Southeast Asian tradition and classical republican virtue, the first experiment of a civilization rediscovering its center.
Vol. II. Adat System as the Malay Folk Law, An Alternative to the Roman Law
Should the New Nusantaran Republic retain Roman Law or resurrect the Adat System, the ancient Malay Folk Law? To many Western-trained lawyers, Roman Law was the “universal framework”, rational, codified, and predictable. However, its apparent neutrality masked something deeper, it privileged urban bureaucrats, centralized interpretation in distant courts, and dissolved local customs under abstract categories. The Roman Law claims universality, but it is the universality of the ledger and the contract, not the universality of spirit and community. The Roman Law empowered scribes, urban administrators, and commercial elites, because it favored forms, filings, and abstract rights, ideal for city-dwellers who lived by documents, not by the rhythms of the land. Even Cicero, though Roman, warned that law detached from the ancestral way is the beginning of civic decay. The Roman Law, in its most technocratic form, replaces custom with procedure, morality with legality, and virtue with compliance. Modern legal positivism is a form of enframing, reducing human relations to calculable units. This legal worldview uproots villagers, clans, craftsmen, and stewards from their embedded traditions, turning them into subjects of a distant legal machinery. The Roman Law became, over centuries, the natural companion of urban bourgeois modernity, contractual individualism, and secular rationalism. It was the law of the imperial city, not the law of the rooted village. The Mandala Republic, committed to reviving Southeast Asia’s organic political philosophy, could not allow itself to be governed by a legal system born of foreign conditions and class interests. There are surviving fragments of Adat, the Malay Folk Law of pre-colonial Nusantara. It resembled the Anglo-Saxon custumals, a law not of cities but of villages, not of abstract statutes but of living custom. Each community kept its own codes derived from clan elders, monks, shamans, and local customs. Conflicts were resolved by reputation, honor duelings, mediation, and ritual restitution. Law should emerge from the ethos of the people it governs. Crime was not treated as an offense against an abstract state but as a wound in the community’s moral fabric, as in punishment was oriented toward restoring harmony, repairing damage, reintegrating the offender. This aligned with the Islamic idea of inner reform and the notion of discipline as self-overcoming. Adat was aristocratic, but not fully hereditary, with elders, warriors, monks, and guild-masters earned their authority through moral standing, service, wisdom, mastery of craft, and cultivated character. This reflected Plato’s timocracy, rule by those with honor, and Machiavelli’s insistence that republics survive only when their guardians possess virtue. All adult members of a community could speak in councils, but voting was not a rights-based spectacle, it was a spiritual process of discerning order. The community’s goal was not to assert individual preference but to reach harmonious consensus, guided by elders whose duty was to maintain continuity. The Roman Law serves the city, the market, and the bureaucracy, it dissolves organic bonds and turns neighbor against neighbor in the courtroom. The Adat is messy, yes, but it is ours, it breathes the dust of our ancestors, and it grows from the same soil as our rice fields and temples. Without a unified code, how will commerce function? Commerce is not the highest aim of civilization, the cultivation of character is. A state is healthy only when its people are morally anchored. In the end, the Republic adopted a hybrid model, with universal principles derived from religious and ethical teachings (akin to sharia’s moral axioms), the local Adat councils interpreting law for each Mandala province (analogous to Anglo-Saxon folk moots), and the timocratic court overseeing disputes between provinces (staffed by sages, jurist-warriors, and philosopher-statesmen). This system prevented bureaucratic centralization, empowered local communities, rewarded virtue, preserved tradition, aligned with Southeast Asian political metaphysics, fulfilled the Aristotelian ideal of law rooted in cultural character, and avoided the pitfalls of monarchic absolutism and liberal atomization. In short, the Adat gave the Mandala Republic a legal soul. The Adat council meeting in a rural province consists of villagers, monks, soldiers, and guild-masters sitting in a circle, discussing a land dispute, no lawyers, no bureaucrats, no thick codes, only tradition, community, and a shared desire for justice, it was slow, it was human, it was real. The Roman Law is the law of bureaucrats, while Adat is the law of lived life, the law of rice fields, temples, and ancestral graves. And thus, the Mandala Republic found not only a legal system, but a way to restore dignity, rootedness, and moral authority, to a civilization seeking its lost center.
Vol. III. Gun Ownership as the Civilized Man’s Virtue
In the old Mandala polities, the free man bore arms as naturally as he bore his dignity. The Ladang-holder guarded his land with a musket as much as with prayer, the warrior-farmer kept a kris not for rebellion but as a sign of adulthood, the noble-peasant served in village militias, embodying honor, even the aristocracy expected every household to maintain weapons for collective defense. None of these were instruments of chaos. They were symbols of characters like the hoplites, the armed yeomanry, or the disciplined warrior-poets. To be disarmed is to be domesticated. To be armed responsibly is to be upright. In traditional societies, a man does not bear arms because he is violent, but because he is responsible. Gun ownership, symbolically representing the right to maintain weapons, is interpreted as part of a broader traditional ethos, virtue precedes force, discipline precedes capability, and order precedes rights. Moral character must precede political privilege, so too do we hold, only the civilized man may bear arms, for only he can be trusted to wield power. This is not libertinism, not anarchy, not the blind fetishization of firearms, it is the cultivation of the citizen-warrior, the defender of community, village, and Mandala. For two centuries the urban bureaucracies, imitators of colonial Roman legal systems, have stripped the people of this ancient dignity. Modern gun-control regimes are products of bureaucratic distrust of the common man, fear of decentralized responsibility, centralizing impulses of fragile states, and anxiety of technocratic elites who prefer docile populations. When the state loses moral authority, it seeks not to elevate its citizens, but to neutralize them. The results are, for example, homicidal crime worsens, because the virtuous are disarmed while the violent are unrestrained, corrupt bureaucracies profit, because disarmed citizens rely on the state for protection the state cannot provide, villages lose responsibility, becoming dependent on distant officials rather than their own community structures, and civic courage decays, making the populace timid, fearful, and manipulable. A society that fears its own citizens must fear its own sins. In our restored Mandala, arms are neither blindly fetishized nor foolishly prohibited, they are sacraments of responsibility. Only citizens who demonstrate moral discipline through religious observance, communal service, and aristocratic conduct may bear weapons. In keeping with the Mandala and Rai traditions, authority is decentralized, arms are a trust held by communities, not by faceless ministries. Arms serve order, not rebellion, as weapons symbolize duty, not defiance, rooted in virtue, not passion. The Armed Citizen is the Guardian of the Mandala, not an anarchist, not a rebel, but a pillar of the Republic. A civilization that distrusts virtue disarms it, and a civilization that cultivates virtue arms it responsibly, the Republic chooses the latter. The gong echoed once more, rain fell softly on the stone courtyard, and the Mandala Republic took another philosophical step toward a political order rooted in tradition, responsibility, and the disciplined dignity of the civilized man.
Vol. IV. The Weakness of the Intellectual Race and the Strength of the Warrior Race
Why did Southeast Asia remain submissive, and how might it rise again? In our chronicles, there is a recurring tragedy, not ignorance, but misplaced intellect. I do not condemn learning, but I accuse something else, scholar-centrism without courage, intellect without rootedness, and knowledge detached from force and honor. In the late Mandala age, Southeast Asian polities elevated scribes, mandarins, and palace scholars while slowly disarming the village warrior. Law replaced custom. Examination replaced initiation. Debate replaced discipline. Like the Jedi of Star Wars, our intellectual class believed that reason alone could govern history. They codified, rationalized, moralized until they became blind to power, conflict, and material reality, they have forgotten the friend–enemy distinction. While our scholars debated harmony, the West arrived with cannon and contracts. While they refined etiquette, China mastered logistics and long memory. While they trusted universal morality, others practiced Realpolitik. This was not wisdom, it was sterile intellect, aka the degeneration of elites. In the modern age, we lived the consequence. Our warriors were slowly replaced by administrators loyal to distant capitals. Our custom was subordinated to abstract law. Our men were told that obedience was piety, and that strength was backwardness. Yet history teaches us something cruel but clear, no civilization survives on contemplation alone. A people that cannot defend its way of life will eventually be educated out of it. The “intellectual race”, as I use the term here, is not a people, it is a mentality, risk-averse, bureaucratic, moralizing, detached from land and blood. Such a mentality produces stability only in times of peace, and collapse when challenged. When I speak of the “warrior race”, I speak not just merely genes, but also formation. The warrior race is a civilizational type, disciplined, not impulsive, loyal, not sentimental, rooted, not abstract, and willing to bear responsibility, including violence, without worshiping it. In Southeast Asia’s past, the warrior was not a barbarian, he was the village defender, the landholder, the ritual participant, and the servant of the Mandala. He prayed, farmed, fought, and governed locally. This cultivated self that does not dissolve into weakness. The old galactic stories of Star Wars tell us something important. The Jedi fell not because they were evil, but because they were overly intellectualized, they trusted balance as an abstraction, they rejected passion entirely, and they became custodians of doctrine rather than guardians of order. The Sith, though morally dangerous, understood power, will, and structure, they built an empire not out of kindness, but out of clarity of command. This is not praise of tyranny, it is a warning. A civilization that refuses to cultivate strength will eventually be ruled by those who do. The Mandala Republic does not seek “Sith cruelty”, but it refuses “Jedi naïveté”. What, then, is the path forward? Not the abolition of intellect, but its re-subordination. In the Mandala Republic envisioned here, the warrior-scholar replaces the pure academic, education includes discipline, history, metaphysics, and civic duty, arms and learning coexist, supervised by moral tradition, and intellectuals serve the civilization, not abstract humanity. This is not fascism, nor liberalism, nor technocracy, it is classical republicanism, rooted in Southeast Asian soil, Islamic ethics, and Mandala structure. Self-sufficiency, dignity, and resilience precede prosperity. This vision is not theoretical, it means restoring local authority, reviving Malay-Islamic martial dignity without rigid dogmatism, ending bureaucratic infantilization forming men who can think and stand firm. Not rebels chasing chaos, not clerks hiding behind procedure, but guardians of a living civilization. A civilization dies when its thinkers forget courage and its warriors forget wisdom. Southeast Asia fell because it separated the two, it will rise again only by reuniting them. This is the lesson of Pattani, this is the warning of history, this is the ethos of the Mandala Republic.
Vol. V. The Mandala Senate and the Chancellery
In the Mandala Republic, sovereignty does not fall from the sky nor rise from mobs. It emerges organically from land, duty, and continuity. The Senate, in our restored order, is not a parliament of ideologues. It is a council of responsibility. Its members are drawn from local aristocratic families whose authority is proven over generations, landowners who bear material responsibility for production and stability, hereditary monarchs and princely houses who embody civilizational memory, and senior religious custodians who anchor legitimacy in ethics and metaphysics. These are not “elites” in the modern sense of credentialed bureaucrats, they are residual elites, those whose power rests on function, not rhetoric. Those who own nothing should not rule everything. We were warned of out-of-touch oligarchy and depoliticization. Both are answered here, not by mass democracy, but by plural authority. The Senate, prevents mob rule by dispersing authority, tyranny by collective deliberation, and bureaucratic capture by rooting power in land and tradition. Unlike modern parliaments, it does not represent abstract individuals, but living communities, valleys, villages, river basins, and ancestral domains. Each senator speaks not for votes, but for Mandala obligations. Above the Senate stands not a king by divine right, nor a president by popularity, but a Chancellor. The Chancellor is chosen by the Senate, evaluated on merit, discipline, experience, and moral gravity, and removable for failure, stagnation, or corruption. Heredity may grant eligibility, but never entitlement. Capacity matters more than blood, but blood matters more than slogans. The Chancellor governs foreign policy, defense coordination, inter-Mandala arbitration, and strategic economic planning, yet, he does not legislate whimsically. He executes the will of the Senate and the moral boundaries set by religion and adat. He is powerful, but never sacred. Parties are the disease of decayed republics, they fracture the people into artificial camps, reward loyalty over competence, and turn governance into theater. Political parties manufacture consent, and they serve bourgeois interests. In the Mandala Republic, no political parties exist, ideology is replaced by duty, and competition is personal, not tribal. A man rises because his neighbors trust him, not because a party promotes him. Does the citizen disappear in this system? No, democracy lives where it belongs, at the local level. Villages, districts, and Mandalas govern land usage, taxation quotas, militia service, and religious and cultural institutions. Citizens vote directly on matters that affect their daily lives. They deliberate face to face, not through screens and slogans. This is organic democracy, not liberal abstraction. Self-governance begins with sufficiency, not entitlement. For Pattani, this system is not theoretical, it means local aristocratic lineages regain legitimate authority, Islamic scholars govern moral life without bureaucratic interference, villages govern themselves without Bangkok-style ministries, loyalty flows upward naturally, not through coercion. This is neither separatism nor assimilation, it is proper hierarchy. A republic dies when it confuses quantity for legitimacy and noise for wisdom. The Mandala Republic lives because it knows who must rule, who must obey, and where each belongs. The Senate deliberates and the Chancellor executes. The people govern themselves locally, no parties, no illusions, and no decay disguised as progress. This is not a return to the past, it is a restoration of form.
Vol. VI. The Praxis for the New Nusantara
From revolutionary nationalist fire to the syndicalist order, from the producer ethos to the calculated maneuvers, we Malays orchestrate the praxis. Now, the Mandala Republic, our Konfederasi Nusantara, demands action: a top-down revolution, not chaotic uprising, but a coup of counter-elites to shatter liberal pseudo-democracies. This is the tale of our praxis, freeing Malaysia, Indonesia, Pattani, and the Philippines from the status quo’s chains through infiltration, intelligentsia cultivation, proletarian empowerment, and Pattani’s separatist spark. The fallen order clung like mangrove roots to the archipelago’s soul: liberal pseudo-democracies in Jakarta’s parliaments, Kuala Lumpur’s corporate towers, Manila’s vote-rigged halls, facades of freedom masking bourgeois exploitation, globalist dependency, and spiritual void. Pattani, my homeland, groaned under Thai subjugation, a symbol of fragmented Malay unity. The status quo is a bourgeois fortress. Reform is surrender, only praxis, top-down, revolutionary, can rebirth us. Inspired by Pareto’s counter-elitism, we began with infiltration, not brute force, but the circulation of elites. Loyal sons of the volksgemeinschaft, trained in ascetic heroism, embedded themselves in counterintelligence agencies and military ranks across Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines. In Kuala Lumpur’s shadowy bureaus, our agents rose through meritocratic guile, echoing Machiavellian princely cunning, gathering intel on corrupt oligarchs, forging alliances with disillusioned officers weary of foreign puppetry. In Jakarta’s barracks, they whispered of national sovereignty, turning high commands toward the myth of the Third Civilization. Manila’s naval outposts saw similar seeds sown, where Filipino-Malay kin recognized the shared Austronesian blood against American strings. No violence yet; mere positioning, as the spontaneous order masked our deliberate ascent. Parallel to this, Gramscian metapolitics birthed our own intelligentsia, a cultural vanguard to seize the ideological heights. We cultivated scholars and artists in hidden academies, from Pattani’s mosques to Borneo’s syndicates, drawing from authentic rootedness and spiritual poetry. These were no bourgeois intellectuals, they were revolutionary conservatives, propagating the living myth through underground presses, mythic storytelling, and youth movements rooted in discipline and martial values. In Malaysia’s universities, they infiltrated curricula, reframing history around Hang Tuah’s loyalty and Sukarno’s defiance, exposing liberalism’s materialism as Spengler’s decline. Indonesian forums echoed with Aristotelian virtue against sectarian divides, while Philippine campuses revived Raden Wijaya’s unyielding spirit. This metapolitics wasn’t rhetoric alone; it mobilized the masses subtly, preparing minds for the coup’s dawn, as mythic violence stirred souls without premature blood. To anchor this in the folk, we propped up material conditions for the national industrial proletariat, with proletarian nationalism fused with producer guilds. In Malaysia’s factories, Indonesia’s refineries, and the Philippines’ shipyards, we funneled resources through covert networks, better wages via syndicalist unions, technologies from our Military-Industrial Complex to ease toil, low-time investments echoing Böhm-Bawerk’s capital theory. These workers, the backbone of the volksgemeinschaft, were courted not as tools, but allies, educated in the myth of ascetic heroism, service to Allah over consumer hedonism. The proletariat builds the mandala not for bourgeois scraps, but national glory. Their support swelled, strikes disguised as demands for sovereignty, loyalty pledged to the emerging counter-elites. The spark? Encouraging Pattani separatism, not reckless insurgency, but a calculated catalyst, as Enver Pasha’s Ottoman reforms taught controlled upheaval. From my base, we amplified calls for autonomy, framing it as the volksgemeinschaft’s rightful claim, blood, soil, and shared Islamic-Malay culture against Thai assimilation. Youth cadres, disciplined in spiritual struggle, organized peaceful assemblies that escalated global eyes, weakening the status quo’s grip. This separatism rippled, inspiring Malay kin in Malaysia to question borders, Indonesians to envision confederation, Filipinos to reject colonial legacies. The praxis culminated in the coup’s symphony, infiltrated militaries seized key nodes—airports, capitals, broadcasts, in a Schmittian state of exception, declaring the Konfederasi Nusantara. The intelligentsia flooded airwaves with the myth, proletarian masses rose in solidarity, Pattani’s flame igniting the archipelago’s rebirth. No terror, no chaos, only palingenesis, freeing the people from pseudo-democracies into the Third Civilization’s aristocratic republic, where leaders mirror cosmic archetypes, heroism serves the divine.
Vol. VII. Kharaj Tax, A Traditionalist Alternative to the LVT
In modern regimes, taxation is endless because legitimacy is thin, but in classical republics, taxation was light because dignity was already secured. The Mandala Republic teaches that the state exists not to consume society, but to frame it. Thus, its revenues must be minimal, predictable, rooted in custom, and morally intelligible. When taxes become incomprehensible, resentment replaces loyalty. To understand the Kharaj Tax, one must first understand how people lived. In the old Malay Mandala, no man was landless in spirit, no family was excluded from subsistence, and survival was not commodified. This was achieved through communal lands, known as Ladangs. These lands were not “state-owned” in the modern sense, nor privately monopolized. They were held collectively, governed by Adat. Each household could farm, graze livestock, gather resources, and exploit land directly. The rules differed by region, but the principle was universal, no citizen without access to land, and no land without obligation to the community. Because everyone benefited from communal land, everyone owed something for its upkeep and protection. Thus arose the Kharaj Tax. It was annual, flat, intelligible, and non-punitive. Its measure was simple, one day’s wage per year. If a man earned the equivalent of fifty units in a day, he paid fifty units annually. No brackets. No surveillance. No punitive escalation. How could such a small sum sustain a state? They forget something fundamental. The Mandala state was cheap because it was not total. There was no permanent welfare bureaucracy, no managerial class living off abstractions, and no industrial-scale redistribution. Social care was handled by the ulema, as religious duty, charitable guilds, village institutions, and endowments. Payment for these services was voluntary, customary, and local. Thus, the state required revenue only for defense, justice, infrastructure, diplomacy, and nothing more. Such systems respect time preference. They do not mortgage the future to feed present excess. Modern taxation systems extract relentlessly because they attempt to replace society itself. They tax labor, consumption, inheritance, transactions, and movement, and still claim insufficiency. The Kharaj system did the opposite, it taxed membership, not productivity, it taxed belonging, not ambition, and it assumed dignity before revenue. This is why loyalty endured. Some modern thinkers notice a resemblance between Kharaj and the Land Value Tax proposed by Georgists. The similarity is superficial, yes, both recognize land as central, yes, both imagine a simplified tax base, but their philosophies diverge entirely. Georgism treats land as an economic variable, seeks efficiency through universal abstraction, and generalizes land ownership into a technical model. It can be described, vulgarly, as a generalization of Ladangs. Kharaj treats land as civilizational inheritance, binds land to custom, religion, and hierarchy, and refuses to abstract land from culture. Where Georgism dissolves tradition into economics, Kharaj anchors economics in tradition. Thus, while Georgism aims at reform, Kharaj aims at continuity. The Mandala Republic does not seek growth without meaning, its principles are simple, low taxes, high dignity, communal access to land, minimal state intrusion, and moral obligations enforced by culture, not paperwork. This is pre-capitalist vitality nd civilizational health. A civilization collapses not only when taxes are high, but also when taxation replaces belonging. Kharaj endured because it taxed men who already stood on their own soil. The Mandala Republic does not invent a new economy, it remembers an old one, and memory, when disciplined, is stronger than innovation.
Vol. VIII. Fiscal Federalism as the Nationalistic and Pragmatic Alternative to Capitalism and Socialism
Fiscal federalism is a cornerstone for a pragmatic, long-term economic model that serves the Common Good and aligns with traditional values and natural law, while economic sectarianism, whether laissez-faire capitalism or state socialism, tends to be short-sighted and harmful. Each region of the Mandala Republic controls its own taxation and budgetary decisions according to local needs, customs, and resources through the Adat and Ladang systems. This respects the principle of subsidiarity, decisions are made closest to the people affected, aligning with traditional governance and teleology. Fiscal federalism encourages low time preference investments as regions can invest in long-term infrastructure, education, agriculture, and defense without pressure from central authorities seeking quick returns. It supports a non-materialistic society, economic activity prioritizes sustainability, community welfare, and spiritual values over immediate profit. Fiscal federalism protects the Common Good as it prevents resource extraction for elite enrichment, avoiding both predatory capitalism and bureaucratic socialism. Local accountability ensures state resources serve the Malay Folk rather than abstract ideologies or distant elites. Laissez-Faire Capitalism’s overemphasis on profit maximization encourages materialism, short-term thinking, and social alienation, leading to high time preference, immediate consumption dominates over long-term stability and cultural continuity, and exploiting communities, weakens local cohesion, and erodes spiritual and moral values, contrary to the traditional lifestyle. Socialism’s centralized control suppresses local initiative, cultural autonomy, and economic experimentation. Socialism’s bureaucratic centralism fosters dependency and short-sighted redistribution rather than long-term prosperity as it also exhibits high time preference, prioritizing quick social satisfaction over sustainable growth and the moral economy. Fiscal federalism aligns with the organic order of society and protects the Malay Folk, resisting overtly secular and materialistic ideologies. Political economy exists to serve human flourishing, not abstract profit. Localized control ensures virtue, stability, and cultural continuity. Subsidiarity and decentralized property protect human dignity, long-term planning, and local responsibility, unlike centralized socialist or capitalist schemes. Pragmatic decentralization strengthens the state while preventing economic elite capture or destructive factionalism. Local economic autonomy fosters voluntary, cooperative communities, where property, labor, and trade reinforce the Common Good. Fiscal federalism is necessary for a traditional, long-term economic model because it encourages sustainable, low time preference planning, protects local traditions, culture, and moral order, prevents economic sectarianism, both capitalist and socialist, from eroding the Common Good, and aligns economic policy with tradition, natural law, and the moral economy. In essence, fiscal federalism is the only way to reconcile long-term material prosperity with spiritual, social, and civilizational continuity in the Mandala economic framework.
Vol. IX. National Palingenesis as the Construction of the Third Malay Civilization
From the strategic realism to mythic vitalism, from Sukarno’s guided fire to heroic capitalism, we Malays confront the abyss of our fall. This is the tale of our radical spiritual rebirth, the construction of the Third Malay Civilization, not as tepid reform, but as a cosmic renewal against the profane void. The modern Malay archipelago, Indonesia’s fractured islands, Malaysia’s commodified shores, the Philippines’ divided realms, lies in ruin, a fallen state ravaged by liberalism’s individualism, materialism’s greed, sectarianism’s blades, and globalism’s chains. Once, Srivijaya’s mandalas radiated Platonic objectivity, where kings mirrored eternal forms, Majapahit’s virtues echoed Aristotle’s golden mean, a cosmological order rooted in Malay adat and cosmic balance.” But colonialism’s iron heel shattered this, bourgeois pseudo-nationalism peddled hollow flags, deceptive populism masked elite plunder, liberal pseudo-democracy enthroned vote-mongers over guardians. Profane materialism replaced sacred duty, mosques and churches became marketplaces, youth enslaved to consumer whims, the racial unity of our Austronesian blood diluted in globalist melting pots. Sectarian Wahhabis and Neocrusaders fanned flames, dividing the ummah and the faithful, while technocratic overlords from afar dictated our fates. Incremental reform? A bourgeois delusion, as Oswald Mosley decried the parliamentary farce, only radical palingenesis, rebirth not merely cultural or political, but spiritual and racial, can resurrect us. National Palingenesis, that Sorelian myth of renewal fused with Yockey’s cultural imperative, demands the return of Malay racial unity as our civilizational axis. In the Konfederasi Nusantara, the Mandala Republic, we awaken a living myth to mobilize the masses, not through dry rationalism, but a cultural revolution echoing the hegemonic shift, yet conservative and revolutionary. This myth stands against liberal materialism’s soul-less calculus and reactionary passive aggressivism’s timid retreat. It envisions a new aristocratic/timocratic republic, modeled after the Tokugawa Shogunate’s disciplined harmony or the Roman Republic’s virtuous senate, yet modernized with our military-industrial sinews. Leaders, the Melakan Circle’s heirs, rule as timocratic elites as circulating lions, vigilant oligarchs, guiding the volksgemeinschaft against an enemy not of nations, but the spiritually dead world, liberalism’s tyranny, technocracy’s machines, globalism’s void. Ascetic heroism is our call, as the worker-warrior and the sacrificial bushido teach, salvation in sacrifice, discipline, service to God, not comfort’s embrace. The Mandala Republic revives the aristocratic warrior ethos: heroism not as violence for power, but sacred duty, a sovereign decision for the folk. Youth movements, rooted in discipline, spiritual jihad (struggle), mythic storytelling, and martial values, forge the New Nusantaran Man anew. Historical guardians like Hang Tuah, the loyal keris-wielder, Raden Wijaya, Majapahit’s founder, Sukarno, the fiery unifier, these symbols embody Malay nationalism and civilizational defense, interpreted through great men and princely virtue. Thus rises the Third Malay Civilization, Konfederasi Nusantara, not imperialist conquest or blind nostalgia for Majapahit, but a civilization-state rooted in transcendent principles, a spiritual alternative to Western liberalism’s atomism and Chinese technocracy’s collectivist grind. We reject Eastern consumerism’s high-time lures, as Böhm-Bawerk critiqued, spurn Wahhabi/Neocrusadist sectarianism for a Kemalist-style nationalism, where genuine faiths, Islam in Indonesia and Malaysia, Christianity in the Philippines, and other local folk beliefs archipelago-wide coexist as threads in the greater Malay volksgemeinschaft, unified under rational tolerance and rooted authenticity. The state mirrors the cosmos, as ancient mandalas did, leaders as cosmic archetypes, national myths of great men over mere economic interests, echoing res publica and metaphysical order. National Palingenesis is our dawn—spiritual, racial, eternal. The confederacy pulses with this myth, our pan-Malayan superstate shields it, ascetic heroes defend it, the Third Civilization endures.
Vol. X. Organic Democracy, Not Liberal “Democracy”
Modern liberal-constitutional democracy, particularly at the national level, is viewed as a simulacrum of democracy, a technocratic oligarchy that merely uses democratic forms as legitimizing rituals. It is not ruled by the people, but by party elites and media apparatuses, serving corporate and financial interests, mass manipulation, where voters are not sovereign but conditioned through ideology, marketing, and social engineering, and systemic corruption, where the goal is political survival, not the Common Good. This is the degradation of authority from spiritual authority to materialistic power politics. Modern democracy rests on Enlightenment liberal assumptions, egalitarianism, human autonomy, and secularism. This stands in contrast to the Mandala Republic’s worldview, where authority is hierarchical, symbolic, and ultimately sacred. The Aristotelian concept of Mixed Government, when integrated with wisdom and natural law, is seen as organic governance, not arbitrary tyranny. What is often misunderstood is that "democracy" does not always mean modern parliamentary liberalism. The values of local, communal, and organic participation, such as medieval village councils, local imams, or guild-based decision-making, must be emphasized. These were hierarchical and meritocratic, where elders, craftsmen, scholars, and warriors had real say, not mass plebiscites. This is akin to Aristotle's polity, where those with virtue and excellence guided the community. In this vision, democracy is not universal suffrage, but consultation and subsidiarity, embedded within the Mandala Republic that acts as the custodian of Divine Law and Natural Order. Every society is ruled by elites, whether admitted or not. The goal is not to eliminate elites, but to ensure they are virtuous, competent, and spiritually grounded. Thus, a renewed aristocracy, formed by warriors, scholars, clerics, and builders, must be cultivated and integrated within the Mandala Republic, which reflects the cosmic center. In short, modern liberal democracy is rootless, manipulative, atomizing, and alienating from the Divine, whereas organic local democracy within the Mandala Republic respects hierarchy, upholds virtue and merit, fosters communal solidarity, and reflects the traditional Malay civilization.
Vol. XI. The Volkism of the Mandala Republic is not Actual Idealism
From the hegemonic battles to political theology, from self-realizing ego to cultural vitalism, we Malays unmask the lies. Yet, as the Konfederasi Nusantara, our Mandala Republic, rises, detractors hurl accusations. This is the tale of how our Malay Volkism stands apart from Actual Idealism, a beacon of folk sovereignty against statist tyranny. The whispers began in the salons of the bourgeois world, where average Joe liberals and so-called modern “conservatives”, those tepid guardians of the status quo, gathered to slander our rebirth. They claim our Volkism is kin to Actual Idealism. That Italian phantom where the state engulfs all, a totalizing spirit where individuals dissolve into the collective machinery. In their eyes, our emphasis on the Volksgemeinschaft, the people’s community of blood, soil, and shared culture, mirrors that absolutist doctrine, where everything belongs to the state, and the people are mere appendages, subservient to its abstract will. They point to our ascetic heroism, our rejection of individualism, and cry “fascism’s echo!”, ignoring how their own liberal idols enshrine the state as the granter of “human rights,” those illusory privileges doled out like alms from a throne. Actual Idealism, that high-flown metaphysics where the state is the ultimate reality, the all-encompassing actor, devours the folk, people belong to the state, their destinies scripted by bureaucratic fiat. Liberal views, with their state-centric “rights” bestowed from on high, are closer kin, the modern welfare leviathan, the globalist apparatuses that dictate “universal” norms, subjugating organic communities to technocratic edicts. As realpolitik unveils, these liberals worship the state as sovereign over souls, echoing Machiavellian prince unbound by folk ties. Their “conservatives,” mere custodians of capitalist decay, nod along, fearing true revolution. Our Volkism rejects this utterly, as national organism and mythic folk uprising affirm. The state is the people, not a master, but a servant, an instrument of the Volksgemeinschaft’s will. In the Mandala Republic, the interests of the state bow to the Malay people, our racial unity, spiritual depth, and civilizational axis of Nusantara. The Volksgemeinschaft, rooted in polity of the virtuous, rational community, and worker, warrior bonds, transcends the state, its eternal essence guiding leaders as cosmic reflections, not tyrants. We spurn the state’s absolutism, our timocratic republic ensures sovereignty flows from the folk upward. No “rights” granted by decree, only duties to God, kin, and soil, as the heroic service and the sacrificial honor demand. Liberal statism, with its materialist chains, is the true Actual Idealism in disguise, people as cogs in a global machine, their “freedoms” illusions veiling subjugation. Volkism elevates the people, the state serves, or it perishes. The confederacy thrives thus: our Military-Industrial Complex defends the folk, not an abstract entity, palingenesis renews the community, not a bureaucratic idol.
Vol. XII. Reformation of the Prison System
The debate over whether prisons should focus on rehabilitation or punishment has always seemed a bit off, neither approach really makes much sense in practice. Causing unnecessary harm to someone as punishment doesn’t undo the crime they committed. It’s not like making someone suffer somehow balances the scales or brings back what was lost. On the other hand, coddling prisoners or trying to "baby" them into becoming better people doesn’t seem to work either. It rarely teaches them any real lessons or deters others from committing similar crimes. Instead, punishment should be centered on the idea of restoration making the prisoner give back what they’ve taken or repairing the harm they’ve caused. Of course, in some cases, this isn’t entirely possible. For example, if someone commits murder, you can’t bring the victim back to life, no matter how much you try. But even in those cases, the justice system should focus on ensuring that the prisoner contributes something meaningful back to society. That’s why all prisons should essentially be turned into unpaid labor detention centers. Inmates should be given normal, useful jobs and made to work until they’ve either repaid their debt to society or served their sentence. This kind of system wouldn’t just give the prisoner a chance to "pay back" what they owe, but it would also ensure they’re contributing something productive rather than just wasting away in a cell. Of course, this approach shouldn’t be overly harsh either. There’s a video about the Japanese prison system, and while their court system has some serious issues, their approach to incarceration is surprisingly close to ideal. Japanese prisons emphasize labor, production, and output instead of focusing purely on punishment or this vague idea of "reform." Prisoners are expected to work and produce goods, but the environment isn’t unnecessarily cruel or inhumane. It strikes a balance between holding people accountable and ensuring they’re still treated like human beings. In the end, a prison system built on restoration and productivity seems far more practical and fair than one that leans too heavily on either punishment or rehabilitation alone. By giving prisoners the opportunity to contribute to society, even in small ways, we create a system that’s not just about locking people away but about finding a way to repair the damage done, both for the individual and for the society they wronged.
Vol. XIII. The Global Nationalist Group
The Mandala Republic endorses the establishment of an international inter-party organization akin to the Communist International (Comintern), but with a focus on nationalist parties worldwide. The primary objectives of this organization would revolve around developing collaborative strategies to promote the nationalist ideology, irrespective of any specific variant. Recognizing that different countries possess diverse cultural, societal, and economic conditions, it is crucial for nationalist nations, regardless of their right-wing or left-wing economic orientations, to unite in order to disseminate national liberation globally. This can be achieved through various means, including direct military actions in radical circumstances, political advocacy through voting processes, or exerting pressure on foreign governments to align with nationalist principles. Encouraging nationalism to become the prevailing norm worldwide holds significant advantages for the stability and continuity of nationalist states. By establishing this norm, external nations will no longer pose an inherent ideological threat seeking to exploit internal instability and impose non-nationalist regimes. The united front and framework provided by the Global Nationalist Group, as the inter-party organization transitions into an intergovernmental organization, would ensure that unstable states are not subject to foreign subjugation. Additionally, the organization would play a pivotal role in resolving disputes, ideally before parties involved in historical or territorial conflicts ascend to power in their respective countries. This proactive approach would foster a more stable international system by preventing immediate conflicts following governmental transitions in certain states. Lastly, the organization would undertake the responsibility of showcasing the diverse cultures of the world to a global audience. This platform would highlight the fascinating and captivating aspects of each nation, emphasizing the importance of preserving the unique characteristics of every society. Funding for the organization would primarily come from participating parties, potentially supplemented by private individuals, and eventually, certain governments as the organization matures. Rather than having a permanent headquarters, its operations would be event-driven, taking place in various locations over time.
Vol. XIV. Extended Family, The True Traditional Family Model
In the contemporary era, the nuclear family, typically consisting of just two parents and their children, has become the dominant household unit. This model is a reduction of the traditional extended household, which once included grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and elders, isolated from the broader social organism and ritual order that define traditional societies, and too psychologically intense, it places an excessive emotional and functional burden on parents (especially the mother), while making children overly dependent on them for both authority and affection. This led to consequences in modern generations such as Gen Z’s rising depression and anxiety stemming from growing up in atomized households with little community or spiritual support and Gen Alpha’s cognitive and moral confusion, who are often raised on screens, not stories; and without traditional elders or wise figures to mediate values and identity. Parent-child relationships have become strained, without the moderating presence of elders (e.g., grandparents), abuse or authoritarianism can increase unchecked. This is part of the larger process of desacralization and inversion, the flattening of all relationships into functional or emotional terms, rather than hierarchical and symbolic ones. In contrast, the extended family model is deeply rooted in tradition and organic civilizations across the world. The benefits of the extended family model are multigenerational wisdom, children grow up under the tutelage not only of their parents but of grandparents and uncles/aunts, who serve as living repositories of cultural memory and moral authority, moral checks on parents, an abusive or negligent parent is far less likely to harm a child in a household where elders or other relatives are present, and community-based responsibility, education, discipline, and affection are distributed rather than concentrated, leading to a more balanced child development. The importance of vertical order must be emphasized, elders are revered, parents are honored, and children learn gradual initiation into maturity. For orphans, poor families, or those without extended kin, local traditional boarding schools can be a spiritually rooted alternative, not in the cold bureaucratic Western sense, but in the traditional Malay model. These would combine education, spiritual mentorship, and character-building. They foster fraternity among youth, cultivate literacy in tradition, and ensure children are surrounded by role models of piety. In essence, such schools simulate the extended household, becoming an institutional expression of the community in microcosm. Restoring the extended family and community-based education is part of the broader re-sacralization of society. It requires urban and architectural reform to support intergenerational households. Cultural revival of elder respect, family hierarchy, and moral initiation rites, and support for local institutions (schools, mosques, guilds) that function as guardians of tradition when family fails. This approach views the family not just as a private arrangement, but as a sacred symbol of the cosmic order, a mirror of the Divine harmony that should structure all of society.
Vol. XV. Sexuality and Its Proper Place
We Malays must confront the insidious decay gnawing at modernity’s heart. No fortress stands without moral ramparts. This is the tale of sexuality’s proper place, how its corrosion signals societal death, and how reclaiming its sanctity fortifies our Mandala Republic, the Konfederasi Nusantara, against the tyranny of individualism. The symptoms of moral decline first manifested like a subtle poison in the veins of our archipelago, seeping from the bourgeois West’s high-time hedonism. I recall Imam Khalid, a wise scholar from the volksgemeinschaft’s heart in Borneo, who had wandered the digital bazaars of modern depravity. Once a guardian of adat and sharia, he witnessed the public corrosion of sexual morality, the sacred act, ordained by God for divine purpose, disconnected from its natural end and subjugated to the tyranny of “individual privacy”. In the old world, sex was a union under heaven; now, it’s a commodity in the shadows. Deviant attitudes normalized, adultery rebranded as “exploration,” sodomy as “identity”, desacralizing the act, stripping its innate beauty, reducing it to self-pleasure that erodes human dignity. As evolutionary insights warned, this dysgenic path weakens the race, as authentic Being demanded, it alienates man from his essence. The proper place of sexual relations, as the guardians and rational order affirm, lies solely in marriage between man and woman. For procreation, the biological end, birthing new life to sustain the volksgemeinschaft, and unity, the relational end, forging unbreakable bonds of intimacy. In our Mandala Republic, this is no mere tradition, it’s the cornerstone of low-time discipline, echoing patient capital in building generations. Yet, modern leftism, that hegemony of the rootless, treats sex as transactional, outside morality, “licit” between consenting adults, a “healthy” expression of desire alien to the moral law. Procreation? Dismissed as a bug, not a feature. Marriage? An arbitrary wall blocking personal whims. “Why marry if I don’t want to?” the hedonists cry, redefining sex as stimulatory thrill, mutual masturbation devoid of soul, individuals casually fornicating, commodifying bodies in dating apps, hookup culture, internet pornography, digital prostitution, even human trafficking. Imam Khalid shared tales from the mainland’s shadows, where non-Malay discords amplified this rot, men leaping from one woman to the next, demanding contraception to evade fatherhood’s duties. Abortion becomes “natural,” disposing of life to sustain promiscuity, a culture of disposability, a culture of death, as heroic ethos decries the idle. For the New Nusantaran Man, forged masculine and self-reliant, this is an abuse of reason, a desecration of the body gifted by the Creator. Masturbation, that perverse rebellion, disconnects sexuality from unity altogether, a selfish act, tempting eternity’s fire for fleeting pleasure. In today’s immodest world, where women debase themselves online, men must rise above, refusing to treat sisters as meat, women must safeguard dignity through modesty. Both genders called to chastity, as disciplined honor and mythic purity command. This immorality stems from a belief in absolute power over our bodies, manifest in transgenderism and gender ideology, man-made redefinitions eroding natural distinctions. “Gender as social construct, fluid and malleable,” they proclaim, revisiting fundamentals, what is man? Woman? We were created distinct, complementary, man as protector, woman as nurturer, tied to sustaining life, mutual support, the family as society’s unit. As political theology asserts, this breakdown threatens cohesion, its “personal decisions” yield tangible horrors, fractured homes, declining births, volksgemeinschaft’s erosion. The family, fundamental under God’s law, defies men’s dictates, the body, God’s perfect creation, demands reverence. In our pan-Malayan volksgemeinschaft, we reclaim this, marriages sanctified in mosques, procreation honored as duty, unity as nationalist bond. The Melakan Circle’s industries produce not gadgets of vice, but tools for virtuous homes; our navy shields against cultural invasions from the US, China, India. Sexuality’s corrosion is modernity’s plague, its proper place rebuilds our mandala.
Vol. XVI. Corporatism Is Not Enough
I once believed, as many young men of order do, that corporatism alone could heal a broken society, that if the state simply organized labor and capital into neat chambers, guild here, syndicate there, ministry above, the chaos of markets would quiet, and the Common Good would return, but the sea tells us otherwise. Corporatism was born on land, it emerged from continental societies, with agrarian cores, dense bureaucracies, inward-facing economies, and vertical chains of command, such as Mussolini’s Italy, Franco’s Spain, or even the Third Reich’s war economy, they were tellurocratic, earth-bound, but Nusantara is not land alone, it is water. A thalassocratic world requires ports before capitals, merchants before ministries, and circulation before enclosure. To impose a rigid, state-centric corporatism here is to dam the tide. The Malay world historically thrived not through total coordination, but through layered autonomy, kampung economies, merchant leagues, senatorial oversight without micromanagement, and moral law without total regulation, this is why purely statist corporatism fails us. Institutions that ignore organic order collapse under their own weight, and elites decay when administration replaces vitality. Corporatism is useful but only as a framework, not a command machine, it provides mediation between labor and capital, recognition of functional groups, and resistance to atomized individualism, but without market circulation, it suffocates, without distribution, it ossifies, and without time discipline, it rots. Contrary to caricature, the free market is not chaos. In thalassocratic societies, it is navigation. Markets are how fishermen meet traders, ports speak to hinterlands, and surplus flows to need. What must be rejected is not the market, but speculative abstraction divorced from moral time. Here the Austrian insight matters, low time preference, real savings, hard currency, and productive capital over paper illusion. Gold and silver anchor value to human effort across time, not political whim. Distributism is not socialism, it is not laissez-faire, it is property spread wide enough to anchor dignity. In the Mandala Republic, this is implemented on land through ladang, tools through guild access, capital through cooperative ownership, and credit through moral finance. This keeps men invested not just in profit, but in place. Uniform economics is tyranny. Cities require national syndicalism, strong labor associations, industrial coordination, and mercantile discipline, and villages require guild tradition, adat-based regulation, land stewardship, and generational continuity, therefore corporatism must bend to geography. Mercantilism is often misunderstood, it is not hoarding, it is strategic circulation. For thalassocratic societies, the goals are to protect key industries, control chokepoints, favor domestic production, and trade from strength, not dependency, as trade is power expressed economically. When property is distributed, labor is dignified, markets are moral, currency is honest, trade is strategic, and class struggle loses its fuel, the economy ceases to be bourgeois vs proletarian, city vs village, and capital vs labor, and becomes a shared civilizational instrument. Corporatism without markets becomes bureaucracy, markets without morality become predation, and morality without structure becomes sentiment. The Mandala Republic does not choose one idol, it chooses balance, virtue lies not in extremes, but in proportion, and the sea, endlessly moving yet enduring, reminds us, order must flow, or it breaks.
Vol. XVII. Fertility is Good for the Nation
Life is sacred for the Malay race because it is divinely bestowed by God, and sexuality is not just biological but deeply symbolic, governed by natural law and oriented toward marriage, procreation, and moral responsibility, and violations of this order through contraception, abortion, or sex culture, are seen as a rebellion against rational common sense in every functioning societies. Abortion is a crime against the Malay race, not merely a medical procedure, it terminates a soul-bearing being with potential, cutting off a divinely-willed destiny. Contraception, particularly when used to enable hedonistic sex culture, divorces sex from its genuine function, turning it into mere pleasure consumption, a hallmark of modern profane culture. These practices are symptomatic of a high-time-preference, anti-teleological worldview where immediate gratification takes precedence over the eternal and spiritual ends of human life. This leads to the breakdown of traditional families, commodification of the body and de-spiritualization of sex, and a loss of social responsibility, particularly for men, leading to broken communities and alienated individuals. Abortion is unacceptable for the Malay race, but a limited form of eugenics is acceptable only if it cures real disabilities, increases numbers of healthy Malay children in the future, does not alter human nature or overstep into transhumanism, is tightly regulated by moral and religious authorities, and does not violate the natural law by replacing God’s will with human arrogance. Examples of acceptable use would be using CRISPR to correct genetic diseases like Tay-Sachs or thalassemia could be considered preserving natural order, not modifying it. The goal here is restoration, not enhancement, helping the Malay people fully participate in the community in a dignified, functional way. In contrast, unfettered abortion is dehumanizing especially for the Malay race as it sees children as products not as divine gifts, utilitarian as it measures worth by genetic “perfection” or productivity, and Luciferian as it arrogantly asserts human will over God’s creation, something sensible and rational societies utterly reject. This paves the way for transhumanism, neo-Malthusianism, and other modern ideologies that are nihilistic, anti-spiritual, and hostile to the nation and common sense. Abortions and contraceptives, when used to sustain a hedonistic, liberal sexual culture, are not just social ills, they are disorders that erode the spiritual and communal foundations of life and community. Sex must be returned to its true function, bound by marriage, morality, and spiritual symbolism. Biotechnology (like CRISPR) must serve the natural law, not override it. Curing disease to uphold the natural, God-given form of man is acceptable, enhancing man to become “post-human” is satanic and dystopian. Ultimately, virtue, hierarchy, and natural order must guide all uses of modern tools, and the Common Good must be seen as virtuous creations of God, not a product of utilitarian calculation.
Vol. XVIII. We Should Bring Back Lethal Dueling Culture
The idea of a lethal duel (like the Norse Hölmgang) is not about empty violence, but about honor, self-mastery, and restoration of order. In the Malay world in the past, such practices were ritualized, not anarchic, symbolic, not merely physical, and anchored in a code of honor that transcended ego and served the community. To fight a duel was to affirm your word with your body, not to indulge anger, but to restore justice. A state-regulated revival of the dueling culture can be culturally positive, as it can revive honor culture over victim culture. Liberalism discourages personal responsibility and encourages litigiousness, passive-aggression, internet toxicity, and bureaucratic cowardice. A ritualized form of dueling can reaffirm honor-based ethics (versus legalistic moralism), encourage personal accountability, and discourage anonymous cruelty (especially online). Modern liberal society is emasculated, and a revival of ritualized struggle (as a means to an end) affirms virility and transcendence over consumer passivity. Societies collapse when men become docile and overcivilized. A state-regulated dueling culture can restore self-mastery, reinforce the sacral dimension of courage, and encourage initiation-like experiences where one confronts mortality with dignity. The duel becomes a rite of passage for the restoration of character and hierarchy, not just vengeance. In the Malay world, tribal arbitration and ritualized conflict existed as supplements to law, not chaos. A state-regulated version, perhaps as a “Court of Honor” for personal disputes, can deter pettiness, affirm human dignity over technocratic process, and serve as symbolic catharsis in times of social tension. Upholding the natural order means transcending ego, not avoiding conflict, but ritualizing and sacralizing it. Heroism is not aggression but conscious self-sacrifice in a nihilistic age. Dueling affirms the will to power as creative discipline, not raw destruction. Death faced with honor is a higher form of aesthetic and moral expression than a comfortable but meaningless life. Inner struggle is mirrored in external self-restraint, and sometimes, in ritualized confrontation that breaks the ego’s false peace. Duels must be seen as symbolic purification, akin to martial arts, ritual trial, or tribal arbitration, and judges must oversee its ethical justification. The Mandala Republic envisions a revival of local martial traditions (e.g., Silat) as a duel-culture for settling honor disputes within tightly defined legal and ethical frameworks, reviving communal rites of masculinity and honor, and teaching discipline and transcendence in youth disaffected by modern relativism or nihilism. Bringing back dueling, not as merely bloodsport, but as a sacred expression of honor, responsibility, and transcendence, can offer modern society a post-liberal alternative to grievance culture, a form of symbolic justice rooted in the transcendental natural law, and a pathway for masculine virtue to re-emerge in service of the common good. This should be seen as an alternative to the overly bureaucratic modern neo-Roman judiciary system. The duel, properly understood, is not violence, it is the last breath of masculinity in a world governed by cowardly technocrats.
Vol. XIX. Palingenetic Nationalism in the Mandala Republic is neither Reactionary nor Conservative
The old empires of Srivijaya and Majapahit were not “nations” in the modern sense. They were maritime mandalas, radiating sovereignties, layered allegiances, and civilizational centers. Their greatness lay not in bureaucratic control, but in cultural gravity. To revive them literally would be folly, no civilization repeats itself, it transforms or it dies. Thus the third Malay civilization cannot be a restoration. It must be a palingenesis, a rebirth through transformation, not monarchy, not parliamentarian liberalism, but something new. Reaction longs for the throne, but the Mandala Republic does not seek the return of sacral absolutism, it does not wish to dissolve modern consciousness, and it does not deny technological reality. We do not wish to undo history. Instead, we accept history and move beyond it. The past is foundation, not destination. To conserve the present systems of Indonesia or Malaysia would be to conserve structures born of colonial partition and Cold War architecture. The parliamentary forms of modern Indonesia and Malaysia are modern constructs, pragmatic and functional, but spiritually thin. They manage populations, but they do not shape civilizational destiny. The Mandala Republic seeks something deeper than electoral rotation, it seeks civilizational coherence. If Srivijaya was the maritime Buddhist axis, and Majapahit the syncretic Hindu-Javanese zenith, the third civilization must be Islamic in spiritual grammar, Austronesian in ethnocultural scope, aristocratic in governance, and confederative in structure, it must be conscious of Suriname, Madagascar, the Malay Archipelago, the peninsula, Brunei, Singapore, Pattani, East Timor, the Philippines, and eastward into Papua, Melanesia, Micronesia, Polynesia, not as empire, but as civilizational confederation. The proposed name is simple, Nusantaran Confederation, not a centralized state or a homogenizing machine, but a layered union, with local autonomous polities, regional aristocratic councils, the central Mandala Senate, no parties, and ideological fragmentation, and representation by estates, lineages, guilds, spiritual authorities, and regional delegates. The model resembles the decentralized cantons of Switzerland, the noble republic of the old Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, or early Anglo-Saxon assemblies before Norman centralization, but transposed into mandala logic. Aristocracy here does not mean wealth alone, it means cultivated character, service lineage, spiritual seriousness, and demonstrated competence, as elites always exist. The question is whether they are conscious and responsible, or hidden and manipulative. The Mandala Republic prefers visible responsibility. The Austronesian world stretches from Madagascar to Polynesia, but unity cannot mean flattening. The Confederation recognizes diversity of dialect, diversity of custom, and diversity of religious expression. Islam may form a moral axis, but non-Muslim Austronesian communities remain integral. Civilization is broader than creed alone. Unity arises from shared maritime heritage, shared kinship myths, shared memory of navigation and trade, shared aesthetic grammar. Palingenetic nationalism, in this Mandala sense, means not exclusion, not conquest, not regression, but re-synchronization of a dispersed people. It is spiritual before territorial, cultural before administrative, and confederative before centralizing. It seeks to transform post-colonial fragmentation into civilizational alignment. Civilization survives not by nostalgia, but by organized renewal. The Mandala Republic is not about destroying neighbors, it is about healing disunity within the Austronesian sphere. Between monarchy and mass democracy lies a forgotten form, the aristocratic/timocratic republic of civilization. The Nusantaran Confederation would not be a return to kings, nor a preservation of imported parliamentary routine, it would be a new synthesis, Islamic moral horizon, Austronesian civilizational scope, aristocratic republican governance, and confederative sovereignty. A third path, not reactionary, not conservative, but reborn.
Vol. XX. The Volksgemeinschaft of the Malay Race
We Malays must awaken to our völkisch essence. Now, as the Mandala Republic, our Konfederasi Nusantara, crystallizes, we birth the Volksgemeinschaft of the Malay Race. This is the tale of a revolutionary palingenesis, not of empire’s grasp, but of racial survival through blood, soil, and shared soul. The völkisch whisper first stirred in the forgotten groves of our archipelago, echoing the German movements of the 19th and 20th centuries, those organic uprisings against modernity’s rootless tide. Yet ours is no mimicry, it is a sacred rebirth, palingenetic as mythic violence and national syndicate, infused with Islamic conservatism and Malay nationalism. The old bourgeois democracies had diluted us, scattering the Malay race across islands like chaff in the wind, bloodlines blurred by foreign admixtures, soils exploited by alien hands, cultures eroded by global hedonism. I recall Pak Yusuf, a village elder from the heart of Java, whose family tree spanned generations of tillers and traders. “We are adrift,” he’d say, tracing faded maps of Majapahit, his voice heavy with the weight of forgotten kin. Under the old order, heredity was ignored for “universal” citizenship, land commodified for bourgeois profit, traditions twisted into tourist spectacles, high-time follies that Edward Dutton’s evolutionary lens exposed as dysgenic decay. But the revolution, guided by worker-soldier ethos and elite renewal, demanded a volksgemeinschaft, a people’s community, revolutionary in uprooting the bourgeois weeds, palingenetic in resurrecting the Malay archetype. Not imperialist conquest, as the völkisch shadows sometimes veered, but nation-building for survival, echoing Tunku Abdul Rahman’s federation dreams, yet deeper, rooted in Plato’s republican guardians and Aristotle’s polity of the virtuous mean. Our Konfederasi Nusantara, a civilization-state mandala, orbits this communal core, loose alliances of Malay states, from Pattani to Papua, governed organically, where democracy flows from the volk’s will, not abstract ballots. Blood and heredity form the first pillar. Inspired by the völkisch blood-and-soil mysticism, tempered by rational lineage and authentic Dasein, we honor the Malay race’s genetic tapestry, descendants of seafaring Austronesians, fused with Islamic valor. No supremacism, merely preservation. Syndicates trace ancestries, fostering marriages within the volk to safeguard vitality, as Dutton’s science warns against dilution. The New Nusantaran Man, masculine and disciplined, embodies this, warriors and scholars whose heredity fuels the ummah’s endurance, not domination. Soil and land anchor the second. The archipelago’s earth, our tanah air, is sacred, as rootedness and agrarian critiques affirm. Rural farmers, empowered by the Nusantaran technologies reclaim paddies and jungles. No bourgeois enclosures, communal stewardship, where blood ties bind families to plots, echoing heroic tillers. In the Mandala Republic, land grants reward service, military and industrial, ensuring self-sufficiency against the US, China, and India’s encroachments. Shared culture, tradition, and language weave the third. Language, the soul’s vessel, revives pure Malay dialects, infused with Arabic script and Sanskrit echoes, as Muhammad Iqbal’s poetic revivalism inspires. Traditions, adat fused with sharia, reject petty moralism for disciplined virtue, as Cicero’s civic duties decree. Culture blooms in festivals honoring Srivijaya’s thalassocratic glory, where pancasila meets aesthetic sacrifice. No imperialism, this volksgemeinschaft builds inward, fortifying the race against Spengler’s decline, a revolutionary act, as cultural hegemony is seized for the volk, not the proletariat. Pak Yusuf, transformed, gathered kin in a Javanese longhouse during the first Volksfest. “Blood calls to blood, soil to soul”, he proclaimed, as dances invoked ancient epics. The confederacy thrived, Platonic councils of elders, Aristotelian debates in mosques, all sustaining the mandala’s harmony. Our navy patrolled, industries hummed, the New Man stood tall, survival etched in eternity.
The Tales from Nusantara
Vol. I. Legacy of the Boworadet Rebellion in Thailand
Nations do not fall in a single moment, but through a slow erosion of the ethos that once held their cosmic order together. I am not merely romanticizing the past, but I believe that the Siamese Revolution of 1932, like many modernizing projects worldwide, severed something essential, the harmonious mediation between reason, virtue, and inherited order. The revolutionaries promised liberation from oligarchy, but created instead a bureaucracy without soul, imitating Western forms without understanding the Mandala’s rhythms. They are not to be condemned as mere villains, they are meant to be seen instead as children of a global tide, like the British parliament or the Meiji rationalizers, believing that the state must be rebuilt through centralized law, uniformity, and managerial power, but in the Mandala world, order had never been merely administrative, it was organic, relational, spatial, resembling the moral geography described by Aristotle and the political cosmology of classical Southeast Asian courts. The Boworadet Rebellion was not a fight between good and evil, nor between monarchy and revolution. It was the eruption of a deeper conflict between folk aristocracy and bureaucratic modernity, between customary order and codified uniformity, and between a mandala of relationships and the geometry of the modern state. Prince Boworadet was not a mere reactionary, he was the defender of a world whose language the new era could no longer understand. The rebels were similar to the Vendée farmers who resisted Paris, not because they hated progress, but because they sensed that a centralized ideological project threatened the equilibrium of their world. However, the Boworadet cause, noble in spirit, was doomed. Its time had passed. The Mandala could not simply resurrect the old courtly hierarchy, the world had already shifted. Neither restoring the old absolutism nor importing liberal parliamentarianism suited Southeast Asia’s historical rhythms. Instead, we envision a classical republic inspired by Aristotelian politeia, circulation of elites, virtuous city, mythic social unity, and organic political forms, allowing Thai mandala traditions and provincial dignitaries. The republic we need is not a copy of Rome nor Westminster, but a republic rooted in our thammachat, our natural order. Such a system would emphasize localism and subsidiarity, not central bureaucracy, virtue-based leadership (timocracy), not wealth-based oligarchy, organic community councils, not mass-media-driven electoral machines, cultural pluralism within the Mandala, respecting regions such as Pattani rather than suppressing them, and moral authority, not technocratic domination, this is not mere vengeance, it is correction, similar to the Qur’anic concept of restoring balance. Pattani suffers not because of malice, but because the centralized state fears diversity. The Mandala once embraced multitudes, the bureaucratic nation fears them. Under the Mandala Republic, Pattani governs itself through its cultural and religious traditions, maintains its local aristocracy and communal institutions, and exists as a respected node in a wider civilizational network. Such pluralism is not fragmentation but civilizational strength, echoing the Islamic concept of ummah that unites without erasing. The Boworadet Rebellion teaches us this, when a society loses its balance between inherited wisdom and necessary reform, it tears itself apart. Thus, the story of 1932 and Boworadet was not just a call for retaliation, it was also a meditation on restoring equilibrium, blending tradition and reform without domination by any ideology, whether revolutionary, bureaucratic, or reactionary. Our task is not to revive the past, but to resurrect its wisdom. The Mandala Republic is not nostalgia, it is the recovery of a political soul.
Vol. II. Sukarno’s Pan-Malayanism vs Suharto’s Petty Ethnocentrism
Sukarno understood something rare among post-colonial leaders that independence without civilizational vision is merely a change of managers. His idea of Nusantara was not Indonesia as a nation-state, but a Malay superstate as a Mandala, a concentric civilization binding Malays, Javanese, Bugis, Acehnese, Pattani, Minangkabau, and others into a shared historical destiny. This was Pan-Malayanism, not ethnic reductionism but cultural-civilizational unity shared maritime consciousness, adat traditions, Islamic metaphysics, and memory of resisting external empires. In this, Sukarno stood closer to Iqbal’s civilizational revival, Gramsci’s counter-hegemony, and Carlyle’s heroic leadership. Yet Sukarno committed a fatal miscalculation. Sukarno mistook anti-imperial rage for economic wisdom. Marxist socialism, imported, mechanistic, materialist, was ill-suited to the Malay soul, it flattened hierarchy instead of harmonizing it, treated land as commodity, not inheritance, and dissolved responsibility into abstraction. Had Sukarno embraced a distributist market economy instead, land would be widely held through communal and family tenure, markets would be embedded in morality and adat, industry would be subordinated to social function, capital would be restrained, not worshipped, and his Mandala might have endured. Distributism would have aligned with the Ladang tradition, Islamic stewardship, Aristotelian moderation, and Sufficiency Economy. Instead, Marxism alienated the ulema, the peasantry, and the traditional elites, the very pillars of Nusantara. If Sukarno failed by dreaming too abstractly, Suharto failed by thinking too narrowly. Suharto replaced civilizational unity with Javanese centralism, Jakarta as metropole, the outer islands as extractive periphery, adat reduced to folklore, and Islam managed, not respected. This was not nationalism but petty ethnocentrism, the domination of one cultural core over many, justified by stability. It is depoliticization through administration, elite entrenchment, and civilizational contraction. Worse still, Suharto made peace with the very forces Sukarno resisted. Foreign capital returned not as partner, but as master, natural resources privatized, labor commodified, villages hollowed out, and sovereignty reduced to paperwork. This was not pragmatism, it was managed dependency. Indonesia survived, but as a market, not a civilization. The Third Malay Civilization, neither colonial nor Marxist, was postponed indefinitely. From Pattani, this tragedy feels intimate. We were promised unity through culture, then governed through suspicion. We were told stability required silence, then blamed for refusing erasure. Sukarno might have embraced us as Mandala kin, but Suharto only saw borders and security files. The failure was not inevitable, it was the result of misaligned synthesis, vision without economic grounding, order without spiritual legitimacy, and unity without subsidiarity. Sukarno’s attempt to create the Mandala Republic failed not because it was too ambitious, but because it lacked the correct economic and moral architecture. A civilization cannot be built on slogans, nor preserved by fear. It requires rooted economy, shared meaning, and leadership that sees beyond its own tribe. Sukarno saw the Mandala but chose the wrong tools, and Suharto kept the tools but shattered the Mandala. Now Nusantara waits not for another strongman, but for a synthesis worthy of its depth.
Vol. III. Thailand’s High-Time Preference Culture vs Malaysia’s Low-Time Preference Culture
Civilizations rise or fall not by wealth alone, but by time preference, how a people value tomorrow over today. Low time preference civilizations endure hardship for long-term order, restrain desire for continuity, preserve family, lineage, and land, value masculinity as responsibility, not aggression, and see gender as complementary roles, not interchangeable symbols. High time preference civilizations seek pleasure and moral signaling in the present, dissolve norms in the name of personal expression, prioritize feeling over continuity, moralize loudly but sacrifice little, and replace discipline with performance. This difference explains more than politics ever could. Modern Thailand, especially its urban core, has drifted into a high-time preference rhythm. Its culture celebrates immediacy, spectacle, emotional expression, aesthetic fluidity, and moral exhibition rather than moral endurance. This is not decadence in the classical sense, it is hedonic liberalism, softened by smiles and rituals, enforced not by coercion but by social expectation. The paradox is striking, permissive in lifestyle, strict in moral posturing, flexible in identity, and rigid in bureaucratic control. For Pattani, this culture feels alien. Not just sinful, but also alien. Pattani’s Malay culture and identity formed under different pressures, frontier insecurity, religious responsibility, kin-based survival, maritime discipline, and masculine restraint tied to provision and protection. Here, masculinity is quiet duty, femininity is dignified authority within family, modesty is strength, not fear, and prudence is wisdom, not repression. Time is invested, not spent. A man is measured not by expression, but by what he sustains over decades. Malaysia, despite its flaws, retained a lower time preference structure, family-centered social life, institutionalized religion, economic patience, moderated pluralism, and moral conservatism without theatrical enforcement. Tunku Abdul Rahman understood what Bangkok never did, a multi-ethnic society survives not through endless liberalization, but through shared restraint and long-term compromise. Malaysia’s culture aligns more naturally with Pattani because both value continuity over novelty, see gender roles as stabilizing, not oppressive, treat freedom as responsibility, and subordinate pleasure to legacy. Thailand governs Pattani through a culture it does not share. Bangkok assumes that cultural flexibility equals progress, moral uniformity equals unity, and centralization equals stability. But Pattani does not reject modernity, it rejects short-termism masquerading as virtue. This is a failure of cultural hegemony, an unresolved friend–enemy distinction, spiritual dissonance, and civilizational misalignment. A high-time preference culture tends to moralize instead of enforce, shame instead of guide, and aestheticize instead of command. Under this, Authority becomes therapeutic, Law becomes symbolic, and Masculinity becomes suspect. For Pattani, authority must be protective, not performative. The state must resemble the father who plans decades ahead, not the entertainer who manages moods. A civilization that lives only for the present may appear kind, free, and expressive, but it will be inherited by no one. Pattani’s resistance is not just rebellion, it is also refusal to surrender to nihilism. We refuse to live as if history ended yesterday, and tomorrow will take care of itself.
Vol. IV. Nusantaran Folk Islam, Not Arab Fundamentalism
Those who came from the desert, whether as missionaries or modern ideologues, often spoke as if religion alone creates identity, but a civilization is never built from belief alone. The Malay identity is forged by blood and kinship, land and climate, myth and memory, language and poetry, and customs carried unconsciously. Islam entered Nusantara as light, not as erasure. It clothed itself in the symbols of the land it illuminated. Islam in the Malay world arrived through traders, Sufi saints, marriages, poetry and song, and royal courts and adat. It did not arrive to annihilate the past, but to discipline and elevate it. The wali and ulama understood something the modern fundamentalist forgets, a civilization converts only what it can metabolize. Thus, animist reverence for nature became tawhidic stewardship, Hindu-Buddhist kingship became Islamic sovereignty, sacred mountains became sacred law, and ancestor veneration became lineage responsibility. Nothing essential was destroyed, only redirected. Nusantaran Islam is folkish, not because it is ignorant, but because it is rooted. It lives in adat and kampung councils, royal myths and epics, pantun and hikayat, village mosques and pesantren, and gender complementarity and family honor. This Islam does not deny the pre-Islamic layers of Malay civilization, it baptizes them into continuity. Arab fundamentalism, whether Wahhabi or modern Salafi, does something alien, it treats culture as sin, history as contamination, myth as idolatry, and aesthetics as deviation. It imagines Islam as a timeless abstraction, floating above soil and blood, but no Islam has ever existed outside civilization, not Arab Islam, not Turkish Islam, and not Persian Islam. Why then should Malay Islam be denied its right to exist as Malay? Hegemony fails when it ignores organic culture. Arab fundamentalism is not universal Islam, it is regional Islam pretending to be universal. It uproots Malays from their kings, their adat, their mythic memory, and their civilizational dignity, and replaces it with juridical literalism, cultural shame, imported dress codes, and desert metaphors unsuited to rainforest souls. This does not strengthen faith, it hollows identity. Islam did not come to Nusantara to turn Malays into Arabs, it came to make Malays fully themselves under God. Form perfects matter, it does not annihilate it. Religions crystallize differently in each civilization. Islam must rule through native forms, or it becomes sterile. Why then deny the Malays the same right? Our resistance is not against Islam, it is against de-Malayization in the name of Islam. We do not reject Sharia, we reject civilizational suicide. We know who we are, heirs of Langkasuka, sailors of the Straits, custodians of adat, and the Muslims of the forest and sea. A faith that erases a people does not save souls, it manufactures orphans. Nusantaran Islam is not diluted Islam, it is Islam made flesh in Malay history, and no imported rigidity, whether Western liberals or Arab fundamentalists, has the right to declare a civilization invalid.
Vol. V. Dartanaga Doctrine, The Heart of Our Palingenetic Ultranationalism
From the cosmic harmony to guardian ethos, from rooted Dasein to folk socialism, from the storm of steel to organic destiny, from selfhood reborn to mythic violence, we Malays have found our doctrinal heart. Now the Konfederasi Nusantara demands its animating doctrine. This is the tale of the Dartanaga Doctrine, Darah, Tanah, Agama, the living flame of our palingenetic ultranationalism. The old world sneered that our Volkism was mere chauvinism, a reactionary nostalgia for lost sultans. They were wrong. Ultranationalism is not the petty boast of the weak, it is a militaristic and palingenetic nationalism, deeply revolutionary, fiercely anti-reactionary. It does not preserve ruins, it resurrects the eternal Malay spirit in new, steel-hardened form. At its core stands the Dartanaga Doctrine, emulated in the same sacred vein as the German Blood and Soil of our völkisch forebears, yet purified by the fire of Islam and the salt of Nusantara’s seas. Darah, Blood. The unbreakable racial continuum of Austronesian descent, the genetic memory that flows from the first voyagers who crossed oceans in outrigger canoes. Not supremacist delusion, but the honest recognition that a people without blood, memory dissolves like mist at dawn. Evolutionary truths and elite circulation remind us, only the folk who guard their lineage can circulate true guardians. Tanah, Land, Soil, the sacred earth and the thalassocratic waves that cradle it. From the red laterite of Pattani to the black sands of Suriname, from Madagascar’s baobab shores to the coral atolls of Micronesia and the volcanic spines of Polynesia, from the Malay archipelago and peninsula through Pattani, the Philippines, East Timor, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, to every island where Austronesian tongues still echo, this is our tanah air, our one indivisible homeland. Mercantilist realism and organic markets teach that land is not commodity but mother, we reclaim it not by conquest but by palingenetic right. Agama, Religion, the transcendent anchor that elevates blood and soil into divine purpose. Not the sectarian Wahhabism we rejected, nor the godless materialism of the PKI’s flawed ends, but the genuine faiths of our volk, Islam in the western isles, Christianity in the eastern, and the adat that binds them, united under the greater Malay volksgemeinschaft. As Ibn Rushd taught rational harmony and Mustafa Kemal Atatürk forged secular-yet-spiritual nationalism, Agama is the cosmic roof over our mandala. Together, Dartanaga is no static slogan but a revolutionary trinity. It calls into being a single, unified Malay volksgemeinschaft stretching across every Austronesian shore, from Suriname’s rainforests and Madagascar’s highlands, through the entire Malay world, to the farthest Pacific atolls of Melanesia, Micronesia, and Polynesia. This is no imperialist fantasy, it is the organic fulfillment of our thalassocratic destiny, the living mandala where the state remains servant, never master. In our Konfederasi Nusantara, the Dartanaga Doctrine shall be taught in every youth academy, carved into every warship’s prow, and sung in every harvest festival. It is the heart of our ultranationalism, militaristic enough to forge an unstoppable navy, palingenetic enough to rebirth the Third Malay Civilization, revolutionary enough to sweep away liberal pseudo-democracy and bourgeois corruption alike. It rejects reactionary passivity, the timid clinging to colonial borders or feudal titles, and instead demands ascetic heroism, sacrifice, and forward march. Darah calls us kin, Tanah demands our labor, Agama lights the way. This is not chauvinism, this is palingenesis with bayonets!
Vol. VI. Mercenaries are the Future of Modern Warfare
The Nusantaran use of mercenaries alongside with foreign volunteers and combat drones as military alternatives is a pragmatic, if not ideal, solution in the modern era, where large-scale warfare has been transformed by the existence of nuclear weapons and the globalized nature of conflict. Mercenaries are seen as professional warriors, possessing specialized skills and training that can make them a valuable asset to a state’s military capabilities. In a modern world where traditional forms of large-scale warfare (such as those seen in the two world wars) are less feasible due to the destructive power of nuclear weapons, mercenaries offer a flexible and efficient alternative. Mercenaries can be inspired by an honor code and a warrior ethos to serve as guardians of the state’s interests while maintaining a sense of moral duty and loyalty. The importance of the soldier’s code of conduct and the honor of fighting for a cause should be valued however. Mercenaries, properly regulated and bound by a code of ethics, could embody these values, serving as elite, professional forces who fight for the state rather than being drafted through coercion. In the Nusantaran system, where the state is expected to maintain economic strength as well as military power, mercenaries can also be seen as an economic asset, as they can be employed as a form of private military enterprise, which contributes to profit generation while also providing a highly skilled, elite force for the state. In times of war or conflict, those in control of military forces and economic resources are the true elites. Mercenaries, as professionals, are less bound by the sentimentalism of conscripted soldiers and can be part of a more pragmatic and futuristic approach to warfare, where cost-benefit analysis determines military strategy, rather than mere sentimentalism. By using mercenaries, the state can maintain a highly trained military force without having to rely on the mass mobilization of the population, which often brings about social unrest or political instability. Mass conscription is viewed as problematic for several reasons such as moral and psychological cost, where conscription often leads to soldiers who are forced into combat, without genuine belief in the cause they are fighting for. These conscripts, upon returning from service, are more likely to adopt pacifist or anti-war sentiments, as they have been coerced into violence and are traumatized by their experiences. This weakens the military’s morale and readiness, political and ideological instability, the importance of warrior ethos, which is based on voluntary commitment to the cause, are not forced conscription. Conscripts are seen as temporary soldiers whose loyalty to the state is tenuous at best, and they are often less disciplined and less motivated than professionals who choose to serve, and impact on society, where conscription often leads to a disrupted society, where the ability to maintain a productive civilian workforce is compromised due to the large-scale mobilization of the population. This can lead to a breakdown in economic and social stability, which is counterproductive to the Common Good that the Malay civilization seeks to preserve. Mercenaries and voluntary conscripts are more likely to have higher morale and greater discipline than forced conscripts. These individuals have chosen to enter the military for reasons ranging from financial gain (mercenaries) to patriotism, duty, or idealism (voluntary conscripts). Mercenaries, in particular, are more likely to be motivated by a sense of duty or professional pride in their craft. They do not view war as an inconvenience, but rather as a career or calling in which they take pride. These warriors are usually more resilient and mentally tough, as they have consciously chosen this path for personal gain, belief in their mission, or both. Voluntary conscripts, while not as professional as mercenaries, are typically more committed to the cause than conscripts forced into service. The sense of voluntarism ensures that they are more invested in the mission and more likely to fight with honor. In the context of modern warfare, mercenaries could be seen as a necessary adaptation to the challenges of contemporary conflict, where traditional forms of warfare are no longer feasible due to the existence of nuclear weapons and the increasing complexity of global conflicts. I would advocate for the careful regulation and oversight of mercenaries by the state, ensuring that they are not motivated by mere greed but rather by a sense of duty to the monarch and the people. Mercenaries would be professionally trained and bound by strict moral codes, ensuring their loyalty and effectiveness in combat while preserving the moral integrity of the state. The critique of democracy and the militarization of the masses suggest that a professional military, which includes both mercenaries and voluntary conscripts, would be more effective and disciplined than a mass conscripted force, which is typically seen as a tool of the masses rather than an elite, well-trained force. Mercenaries represent a necessary, pragmatic solution for modern warfare, especially in the age of nuclear weapons and global conflict. While they are not the ideal solution, properly regulated mercenaries can provide a professional, disciplined military force that is more loyal, effective, and morally committed than mass conscripts, who are typically unwilling and likely to harbor anti-war sentiments after their service. Additionally, mercenaries are part of a broader modern market-driven military system that aligns with the Nusantaran view of optimizing resources for the Common Good.
Vol. VII. Nuclear Weapons and Deterrence
Nuclear weapons for the Nusantaran superstate are not merely technological instruments of war, they are the ultimate guarantor of sovereignty in a world where power is determined not by moral appeals but by force and deterrence. Nusantara cannot preserve its independence against civilizational giants like China, America, or India without the sword of Damocles that only nuclear arms provide. Every state, by definition, faces the existential friend/enemy distinction. Without nuclear arms, the Malay archipelago remains a protectorate, relying on the “goodwill” of stronger powers. With them, it defines its own enemies. Nuclear arsenals are the currency of multipolar survival. A small but credible arsenal ensures it cannot be coerced, as North Korea demonstrates on a smaller scale. Rulers who are unarmed are doomed. Without nuclear capability, Nusantara is merely a symbolic state waiting to be partitioned. Nuclear weapons are not “unnatural” in themselves, they are tools. What violates the order of things is not the tool, but its profane misuse. Nusantara under the Mandala Senate would see nuclear arms as a shield of justice, not a weapon of conquest, as it should aim for a minimum credible deterrent, not a vast arsenal. 300 to 500 missiles (strategic and tactical combined) is sufficient to inflict unacceptable damage on any invader (China, India, US), maintain survivability through second-strike capability, and avoid unsustainable economic burden. This follows the Napoleonic principle of sufficiency, enough to guarantee survival, never enough to tempt reckless war. The arsenal is purely defensive. The nuclear program must therefore be centralized under the Senate’s authority, with no mere politicians or tyrants to mismanage it. Only the Senate can authorize nuclear use. This preserves unity of command and avoids the liberal “committee syndrome” that makes deterrence less credible. The doctrine should mirror France’s Force de frappe, not aimed at matching the superpowers warhead-for-warhead, but aimed at ensuring that any great power knows, if you invade Nusantara, you burn with us. This makes the Malay superstate a hard node in the multipolar balance, impossible to bully, and unnecessary to conquer. Acquisition and Development would require pool resources of current nuclear-relevant states in the region such as Malaysia & Indonesia (uranium reserves), Australia (nuclear engineering capacity), and the Philippines (potential covert networks). Joint senatorial research consortium managed directly under the war council. A triad is unnecessary, but at least a dyad must exist, land-based mobile ICBMs (hidden in jungle terrain, difficult to target), and submarine-launched missiles (SSBNs operating in South China Sea & Malacca Straits). This ensures second-strike capability. Do not imitate Western liberal transparency, and Nusantara should neither confirm nor deny its full arsenal size. If external threats can annihilate it, then the telos of politics is unfulfilled. Nuclear weapons thus serve the final cause of political order. While modernity debases technology into profane ends, under the Mandala Republic nuclear arms become a restored symbol of the thunderbolt, a deterrent force aligned with cosmic justice. The global superpowers hate smaller states holding nuclear weapons. By holding nuclear weapons, Nusantara secedes not only politically but also strategically from cultural and economic hegemony of global superpowers. Nusantara, if it is to exist as a civilizational state rather than a protectorate, must be nuclear-armed. 300-500 missiles are the golden balance: credible deterrence without imperial overreach. The arsenal must be centralized under the Senate, in a doctrine of nuclear deterrence. This transforms nuclear weapons from profane tools of domination into the shield of national sovereignty, preserving the Malay archipelago’s independence in the 21st century multipolar order.
Vol. VIII. The Misconception of Islam in the Malay Archipelago
Civilizations do not fall because of one idea, they fall when their ruling ethic no longer binds elites, their metaphysics no longer disciplines power, and their spiritual vocabulary no longer answers new conditions. Majapahit did not collapse because Islam arrived, Islam arrived because Majapahit had already exhausted itself. By its later centuries, Majapahit suffered from ritual formalism without renewal, courtly excess detached from the peasantry, fragmented authority, and spiritual hierarchy frozen into caste. This was not uniquely Javanese, it is the fate of any civilization whose sacred order becomes ornamental rather than commanding. Islam did not conquer Nusantara by force, it answered questions Buddhism no longer could in this context, equality before God beyond caste, moral law binding rulers as well as subjects, mercantile ethics suited to oceanic trade, and a universal horizon without erasing locality. For a thalassocratic world, Islam was structurally compatible. Islam did not erase Malay culture, it reorganized it, where Kings remained kings, Adat remained adat, Language remained Malay, and Myth became genealogy, what changed was moral intensity. Islam sharpened responsibility, discipline, law, and future-orientation. This was not imitation, it was civilizational synthesis. Imagine the Malay world frozen in late Buddhist-Hindu form, court ritual without enforcement, hierarchy without accountability, and metaphysics detached from daily life. Such systems historically struggle under mass trade, demographic mobility, and external competition. They tend toward aesthetic richness, moral softness, political fragmentation, and not collapse, but inertia. Progress is not speed, it is capacity to renew without losing self. Islam gave the Malays a universal grammar of justice, law that transcended kinship without denying it, moral restraint on rulers, and a future-oriented ethic. Islam is not a blind nostalgia of the past, but a renewal of purpose. In Pattani, Islam did not make us less Malay, it made us more coherent. Our mosques did not replace our lineage, they disciplined it. Our faith did not erase our myths, it reordered them. A civilization does not fall because it changes faith, it falls when its faith can no longer change it. Islam did not end the Malay world, it saved it from stagnation, and it did so not by turning Malays into Arabs, but by allowing Malays to become historical actors again.
Vol. IX. Pan-ASEANism Does Not Work, Actually
We Malays must navigate the illusions of unity. Now, as the Konfederasi Nusantara, our Mandala Republic stands firm, we dispel the mirage of Pan-ASEANism. This is the tale of why merging ASEAN into a single volksgemeinschaft spells doom, and how a true pan-Malayan rebirth, allied with a revived SEATO as the Pacific Security Treaty Organization, forms our nationalist bulwark, a pragmatic “Co-Prosperity Sphere” against the titans of the US, China, and India. The siren song of Pan-ASEANism first echoed in the halls of diplomacy, a bourgeois dream peddled by rootless elites under the guise of historical ties. ASEAN, that loose assembly from the Malay isles to mainland shadows, promised a unified volksgemeinschaft, cultures blended, economies entwined, as if ancient connections could erase modern fractures. But realism, schooled in friend-enemy paradigm and Machiavellian cold assessments, revealed the folly. I recall Diplomat Suleiman, a seasoned envoy from our confederacy’s councils, who had wandered the mainland’s troubled lands. In Myanmar’s jungles, he witnessed the seething hatreds, Burmans clashing with Karens, Rohingya ghosts haunting the borders, ethnic fires that no shared “Southeast Asian” label could quench. “Unify them with us?” Suleiman scoffed, his voice laced with the bitterness of experience. “The mainland’s non-Malay groups, Viets, Thais, Khmers, each nursing grudges deeper than the Mekong, would drag our archipelago into endless strife.” Indeed, Pan-ASEANism was unrealistic, a high-time illusion ignoring evolutionary divergences and irreconcilable elites. Historical connections? Mere echoes of trade winds, not blood bonds. Culturally connected? A facade, the mainland’s animosities, like Myanmar’s perpetual wars, would infect our mandala, diluting the Malay volksgemeinschaft with alien discords. Problems multiplied, resource drains to pacify feuds, bureaucratic bloat in bourgeois style, loss of self-sufficiency as foreign ethnic lobbies eroded our military-industrial monopolies. No palingenesis here, only decay, as cycles warned of overextended civilizations crumbling under false unities. The mythic revolution demanded purity, not dilution, our conservative Islamic ethos, fused with disciplined form, rejected such chaos. Suleiman returned from a futile ASEAN summit, his reports grim. “They speak of one community,” he said, “but their eyes betray enmity. For the Malay archipelago, this ‘unity’ means subjugation, our seas patrolled by mainland fleets, our industries serving their squabbles.” The bourgeois democracies had sown this trap, echoing hegemonic deceptions, where “regional cooperation” masked dependency on the US, China, or India. Yet, from the ashes of illusion rose pragmatism. Inspired by Kemalist national consolidation and Enver Pasha’s pan-Turkic realism, we envisioned a pan-Malayan volksgemeinschaft, not imperialist expansion, but racial survival’s embrace. Stretching from the distant outposts of Suriname’s Malay descendants and Madagascar’s Austronesian kin, across the heartlands of the Malay archipelago, peninsula, Pattani, the Philippines’ Christian and Moro warriors, East Timor’s seafaring folk, Papua New Guinea’s island clans, the Solomon Islands’ Melanesian brothers, and the scattered Oceanic atolls (eschewing Australia, New Zealand, Taiwan, and Hawaii’s alien dominions). This was our true mandala, blood ties of Austronesian heritage, soil of shared equatorial realms, culture woven in Malay tongues, adat traditions, and Islamic faith. Revolutionary in reclaiming dispersed kin, palingenetic in reviving Srivijaya’s thalassocratic spirit, as Plato’s republican harmony and Aristotle’s ethnic polity guided our Konfederasi. To shield this pan-Malayan core, we revived SEATO not as a Cold War relic, but as the Pacific Security Treaty Organization, a nationalist “Co-Prosperity Sphere” echoing Japan’s pre-war vision yet purged of its flaws, as Yukio Mishima’s honor and Werner Sombart’s economic nationalism infused it. Pragmatic alliances, ASEAN’s Malay-aligned states joined by Japan’s technological discipline, Taiwan’s defiant ingenuity, Pakistan and Bangladesh’s Islamic solidarity, South Korea’s industrial vigor, Chile and Peru’s Pacific outreach, even Australia and New Zealand’s oceanic might, bound in mutual defense against the hegemonic trio. The balance of power decreed it, no single titan could dominate, our unstoppable navy, bolstered by nuclear pacts, patrolled the sphere’s waves. The heroic leadership ensured it served the volk, not elites; the iron law was checked by circulating guardians. Suleiman, now a sphere envoy, addressed the first PSTO assembly. “Pan-ASEANism fractures, our pan-Malayan volksgemeinschaft endures”, he declared, as maps unfurled the alliance’s arc. The confederacy prospered, self-sufficient, shielded, nationalist to the core.
Vol. X. Regarding on the Philippines
To say Christianity weakened the Philippines is an error. Faith does not sever civilizations, administration does. Had the islands remained pagan, they would have remained fragmented, cosmologically rich but politically vulnerable. Christianity, as a civilizational religion, could have strengthened moral law, literacy, and unity. The tragedy was not conversion, but how conversion was executed. Spain did not Christianize as Byzantium or Ethiopia did, it Christianized as conquest, as the Church became an arm of colonial extraction, indigenous elites were bypassed, not integrated, and local law was erased, not baptized. Christianity was not grafted onto Malay social structures, it was imposed against them. When law loses continuity, it becomes domination. This is not praise, it is comparison, as British imperial practice, at its best, ruled through local aristocracies, customary law, and indirect governance. Had Christianity entered the Philippines through merchant elites, local rulers, vernacular scripture, and gradual moral synthesis, it might have resembled the Islamization of the Malay world, not the erasure of it, as Malays did not become Arabs, they became more themselves. Where Spain severed memory, America severed orientation, English replaced both Malay and Iberian mediation, low-church Protestant modernity displaced sacramental culture, and individualism dissolved communal hierarchy. The Philippines was no longer oriented to Nusantara, to Asia, to the sea, but to an abstract West. A people lost its dwelling in Being. Thus the Philippines became Asian in geography, Western in aspiration, Malay in ancestry, but disconnected in consciousness. Neither fully Latin, nor fully Nusantaran. A people taught to remember Columbus, but forget Srivijaya. To speak of de-Hispanization is not to reject Christianity. Why must Catholicism be filtered only through Spain, and why must Filipino identity orbit Madrid or Washington? Christianity existed before Spain, and Malay civilization existed before Spain. The question is synthesis, not subtraction. Truth does not contradict truth. Re-Malayization does not mean ethnic purism, forced assimilation, and religious replacement, it means restoring maritime memory, reviving Austronesian kinship, reconnecting to Nusantaran history, and affirming Southeast Asian civilizational belonging. A Filipino who remembers Majapahit and Melaka loses nothing of Christ but gains context. A faith floating without civilizational grounding becomes moralized consumerism, imported ethics, and identity anxiety. Islam in the Malay world succeeded because it respected adat, elevated law, sacralized hierarchy, and disciplined power. Christianity in the Philippines was never allowed to do this because of the Spanish and the Americans. The Philippines did not leave Nusantara, it was redirected, and what is redirected can be re-oriented, not by force, but by memory, language, and civilizational confidence. A people does not return by marching backward, but by remembering what direction it once faced.
Vol. XI. The Nusantaran Military-Industrial Complex
From the geopolitical chessboard of realpolitiks to mythic heroism, from the warnings of decline to the industrial ethos, we Malays forge ahead. Now, as the Mandala Republic solidifies, we embrace the Nusantaran Military-Industrial Complex. This is the tale of how monopolies become our pragmatic shield, alliances our hidden blade, and an unstoppable navy our eternal guardian, lest the archipelago fall to the shadows of empires. The winds of subjugation had long battered our shores. In the old bourgeois democracies, foreign powers, the colossi of the US, China, and India, circled like sharks, their navies slicing through our waters, their economies dictating our fates. I recall Admiral Karim, a weathered sailor from the Sulu Seas, who had served under the old regime. His fleet, patchwork imports from distant yards, crumbled in mock drills, vulnerable to invasion’s thunder. “We defend peace with borrowed swords,” he’d lament, his eyes scanning horizons where American carriers loomed, Chinese bases encroached, and Indian submarines prowled. The bourgeoisie, those high-time opportunists decried by Eugen von Böhm-Bawerk, fragmented our industries into petty rivalries, ensuring dependency. No self-sufficiency, no sovereignty, only the slow strangulation that Francis P. Yockey foretold in the clash of cultures. But palingenesis demanded more. Echoing the friend-enemy distinction, we recognized the political necessity, to secure peace, we must arm for war. Monopolies, that pragmatic necessary evil, became our forge. Not the rapacious cartels of liberal capitalism, but national behemoths under the Republic’s revolutionary aristocracy, distinct from bourgeois greed, as Pareto’s elite theory guided their circulation. In our mercantilist framework, these state-empowered giants consolidated resources, steel mills, shipyards, and arsenals fused into a singular complex, channeling the archipelago’s riches toward unbreakable might. The heroic vitalism infused them, no room for competition’s waste when the nation’s survival hung in the balance. Discipline, low-time planning, these monopolies built tanks and rockets into legions, securing technological self-sufficiency as Ibn Rushd’s rationalism met modern engineering. Yet, wisdom counseled alliances. Alone, we lacked the arcane fire of nuclear technology, that Schmittian sovereign equalizer. Drawing from Atatürk’s strategic pacts and Enver Pasha’s Ottoman diplomacy, we extended hands to kindred spirits, Australia, with its vast resources and shared oceanic vigilance, Japan, heir to Yukio Mishima’s disciplined resurgence, masters of precision, Pakistan, bound by Islamic brotherhood and Muhammad Iqbal’s spiritual nationalism. In shadowed summits, we bartered knowledge, our thalassocratic expertise for their nuclear insights, cooperative ventures that birthed shielded reactors and deterrence doctrines. Not subservience, but mutual strength, as Machiavellian alliances wove webs of power. Plato’s guardians watched over these pacts, ensuring they served the ummah and the mandala, not foreign masters. From this complex arose the jewel, an unstoppable navy, modeled after the British Royal Navy’s imperial zenith, yet purified, nationalist, masculine. The syndicalist organization mobilized workers into naval guilds, the storm of steel tempered crews into warriors. Corvettes evolved into carriers, submarines into silent hunters, patrolling the archipelago’s labyrinthine straits with unyielding vigilance. Self-sufficient yards in Singapore and Surabaya churned out vessels infused with indigenous tech-radar from our silicon forges, missiles from monopolized labs. No more subjugation, the US’s hegemonic fleets would hesitate, China’s expansionist ambitions falter, India’s regional dominance shatter against our waves. Admiral Karim, elevated to the Circle, commanded the maiden voyage of the Nusantara Armada. Standing on the bridge of the flagship Pattani Sovereign, he gazed at the horizon. “Monopolies are our anvil,” he declared, “alliances our hammer. We defend peace not with pleas, but with power”. Rural farmers, enriched by industrial technologies, supplied the fleet’s provisions. the nation pulsed as one, organic democracy debating strategies in councils, libertarian sparks within mercantilist bounds. Under God’s gaze, the complex stands as our bulwark—pragmatic, revolutionary, eternal.
Vol. XII. Kebebasan Keemasan, The Libertarian Doctrine of Nusantara
Long before parties, ideologies, or bureaucracies, liberty existed as customary authority. In Poland’s old Commonwealth, in pre-Norman England, and in the alpine cantons of Switzerland, freedom was not mass democracy, it was aristocratic local self-rule, anchored in land, lineage, and duty. The Mandala Republic followed this older grammar. Liberty without virtue dissolves, virtue without liberty ossifies. Nusantara is not centralized like empires of land. It is mandalic, overlapping authorities, layered loyalties, and sovereignty radiating outward. Every village, every harbor, every valley possess its own autonomy, bounded not by statute but by adat. Golden Liberty lives here, not as individual atomism, but as communal self-possession. In the Mandala Republic, the Senate does not represent ideologies, it represents estates of civilization, landholding families, scholarly lineages, mercantile guilds, religious authorities. There are no parties, because parties fracture loyalty. Parties inevitably become machines for oligarchy. Better an acknowledged elite bound by honor than a hidden one bound by slogans. The Senate supervises, it does not micromanage. Western minds confuse liberty with deregulation, but Nusantaran liberty meant minimal taxation, maximal local autonomy, strong protection of custom, and responsible central administration. The best republic governs least where virtue governs most. This was libertarianism before economics, libertarianism as civilization. Here lies the hardest truth for modern ears. Citizenship is not a commodity, it is not a contract, it is belonging across generations. To be Malay is not merely to reside, but to speak the tongue, live the adat, honor the ancestors, and carry the myths forward. Foreigners are welcome as guests, traders, and allies, but they must remain segregated as citizenship requires hereditary connection to the land, history, and culture, not paperwork alone. This is not hostility, it is continuity. Civilizations perish when their bonds become abstract. Golden Liberty cannot survive in a population with no shared memory. Switzerland worked because of shared discipline, Poland fell when liberty became indulgence, and England survived because custom restrained power. Liberty without a people becomes chaos, and a people without liberty becomes a herd. The Mandala Republic chose the narrow path. Universal citizenship sounds humane until it dissolves responsibility of blood. The Mandala Republic rejects abstraction, it affirms the concrete, land, heredity, kin, faith, and obligation. When belonging is uprooted, man becomes merely standing reserve. Kebebasan Keemasan is not for everyone, and that is its virtue, it is for those willing to inherit, preserve, and transmit (the Malay Folk). Not liberty as consumption, but liberty as custodianship. Nations live not by rights alone, but by the courage to bear their destiny, and so Nusantara guarded and will guard its Golden Liberty, not behind walls, but within memory.
Vol. XIII. The Melakan Circle as the New Captains of Nusantaran Industry
From the sovereign decisions to the heroic vitalism, from spiritual nationalism to mercantile critiques, we Malays chart a course beyond the bourgeois mire. Now, as the palingenetic flames consume the old order, we crown the Melakan Circle as the new aristocracy. This is the tale of how large national industries rise as captains in the Mandala Republic, safeguarding our seas, enriching our soil, and etching a mercantilist destiny upon the waves. The revolution dawned like a monsoon gale, sweeping away the bourgeois democracies that had ensnared Nusantara. Those hollow shells, puppets of foreign capital, as Francis P. Yockey decried in his imperium visions, fostered dependency, where elites gorged on imports while farmers toiled in antiquity. Inspired by Sorelian mythic uprising and Spenglerian civilizational renewal, our palingenetic nationalist storm toppled them. No more parliaments of petty merchants; in their place, the Mandala Republic emerged, a confederacy echoing the ancient mandala polities of Srivijaya and Majapahit, where sovereign circles orbit a central nationalist ethos, as Plato’s guardians and the circulating elites decreed. At its heart, the Melakan Circle, named for the sultanate that once commanded the straits, a new aristocracy of revolutionary captains, not born of blood, but forged in industry and will. I remember Pak Ismail, a weathered farmer from the rural heartlands of Sumatra, whose callused hands bore the scars of colonial neglect. Under the old regime, he sowed rice with bent backs and wooden plows, his yields meager, his family chained to foreign fertilizers peddled by bourgeois traders. “The democracies promise freedom,” he’d mutter, “but deliver only chains, debts to distant banks, technologies locked behind tariffs.” His village mirrored the archipelago’s plight: isolated isles, vulnerable to thalassocratic foes, as the balance of power warned. The bourgeoisie, those high-time parasites echoing Böhm-Bawerk’s critiques, hoarded wealth in urban enclaves, indifferent to the nation’s self-sufficiency. But the revolution, guided by Soekarno’s anti-imperial fire and Enver Pasha’s militarized reform, birthed the Melakan Circle. These were no mere tycoons, they were the true Malayan elite, disciplined, nationalist, masculine warriors of economy, distinct from the effete bourgeoisie. In a mercantilist framework, as Sombart and Carlyle extolled the heroic producer over the idle consumer, we empowered large national industries, state-guided syndicates of steel, ships, and seeds. Corporatism infused them, blending labor and leadership under the ummah’s banner, while Machiavellian princely cunning ensured they navigated global waters without surrender. First, economic self-sufficiency, The Circle forged indigenous arsenals, tanks evolved into fleets of corvettes, patrolling our thalassocratic realm, the Malay archipelago’s labyrinth of seas. No longer reliant on foreign hulls, as Atatürk had industrialized Turkey, our shipyards in Melaka hummed with Malay ingenuity, exporting might to allies while shielding our trade routes. Independence bloomed: oil refineries from Borneo’s black gold, computer forges in Penang’s silicon harbors, all under national banners, thwarting the economic sieges that Carl Schmitt deemed the true politics. Yet, the Circle’s nobility shone brightest in uplifting the rural folk. Drawing from eudaimonic community and evolutionary stewardship, we rejected bourgeois individualism for collective ascent. Pak Ismail’s fields transformed: The industries birthed affordable tractors, hybrid seeds fused with botanical wisdom and modern agritech, irrigation drones scanning the paddies like vigilant hawks. Farmers, once passive, became partners in syndicates, their low-time discipline rewarded with shares in the harvest’s surplus. Prudishness guarded family values, nationalism wove them into the mandala’s fabric. No hedonistic distractions, the Circle’s mercantilism funneled profits back, building schools, fostering intellect amid the soil. This aristocracy stood apart from the bourgeoisie, Where the old merchants chased fleeting profits, high-time and rootless, the Melakan captains embodied Robert Michels’ iron law tempered by revolutionary vigilance, elites serving the folk, not exploiting. In our thalassocratic strategy, inspired by Tunku Abdul Rahman’s federation dreams and sea-bound honor, industries commanded the waves, Archipelagic defenses, trade fleets laden with Nusantaran goods, turning geography into destiny. Rural lives improved not through charity, but empowerment, better tools, higher yields, weaving farmers into the national tapestry as Antonio Gramsci’s organic intellectuals, revolutionary yet conservative. Pak Ismail, now a syndicate elder, stood before his mechanized fields during a harvest festival. “The Circle is our shield and plow,” he proclaimed, his voice echoing the azan. “Against the bourgeois storms, we sail as one.” The Mandala Republic thrived: organic democracy in village councils, libertarian exchanges within mercantilist bounds, all under God’s sovereignty.
Vol. XIV. The Green Industrial Revolution in Nusantara
In recent decades, the world has spoken endlessly of “green transitions”, panels glitter on rooftops and turbines spin in distant fields, but the Mandala Republic asks a harder question, does an energy system liberate a civilization or entangle it in new dependencies? In the humid equatorial belt of the Malay archipelago, where monsoon clouds blanket skies and typhoons roam the seas, energy cannot rely solely on intermittent winds and sunlight. Solar and wind have their place, especially in remote islands and hybrid systems, but they cannot alone sustain heavy maritime industry, steel and shipbuilding, fertilizer production, advanced research, desalination, and urban transport networks. A sea civilization requires stable baseload power, without it, industry falters. Energy is not merely technical, it is geopolitical destiny. If fuel must be imported unpredictably, sovereignty bends. If grids collapse, authority weakens. If power fluctuates, industry withers. The Green Industrial Revolution in Nusantara therefore rests on two pillars, Water and atom. The archipelago is rich in rivers, Sumatra’s torrents, Borneo’s interior basins, Sulawesi’s highland flows, and the mountainous spines of the peninsula. Hydroelectricity aligns with mandala philosophy, it harnesses existing geography, provides stable, scalable baseload power, and strengthens rural regions through infrastructure investment. When dams are responsibly designed with ecological sensitivity and local consultation, they become not monuments of domination but instruments of coordinated flow, the river becomes civilization’s partner. Where rivers are insufficient, the atom stands ready. Nuclear energy, though misunderstood, offers immense power density, minimal carbon emissions during operation, stable long-term output, and small land footprint relative to energy yield. For an archipelagic industrial strategy, compact and powerful energy sources are essential. The atom demands discipline, it tolerates no corruption, no negligence. In this way, nuclear infrastructure becomes a school of national seriousness. A civilization capable of safely managing nuclear energy is a civilization capable of managing itself. Coal once fueled early industrial expansion across Asia, but it blackened skies and tied economies to volatile markets. Fossil fuel dependency is not merely environmental risk, it is strategic vulnerability. The Mandala Republic sees decarbonization not as ideological fashion, but as economic rationality, strategic insulation, and civilizational stewardship. The sea that defines Nusantara is threatened by rising waters. The forests that anchor our culture are strained by extraction. Green industrialization is therefore not aesthetic, it is survival. Solar panels and wind turbines are not dismissed outright, as they serve distributed rural electrification, island microgrids, and emergency backup systems, but their material supply chains are globalized and mineral-intensive. Their intermittency requires storage systems and grid reinforcement. To pretend they alone can sustain heavy industry would be naive idealism. The Mandala Republic rejects naive idealism in favor of structural realism. The Green Industrial Revolution is not anti-industry, it is pro-sovereignty and pro-continuity. Clean baseload energy enables electrified maritime ports, hydrogen-based steelmaking, desalination for drought resilience, and advanced irrigation for farmers. Thus the Melakan Circle’s industrial ambition aligns with ecological preservation. Technology must serve soil and sea. In Pattani’s countryside, stable power means cold storage for fisheries, efficient irrigation pumps, digital market access, and rural manufacturing cooperatives. Energy independence is not abstract, it transforms daily life. The farmer with reliable electricity is no longer peripheral, he becomes integrated into national productivity. A Malay civilizational ethos teaches stewardship. To poison air and sea for short-term gain is betrayal of trust, but to romanticize weakness is also betrayal. The Mandala Republic seeks strength with restraint. Hydro and nuclear power, properly governed, combine scale, stability, relative cleanliness, and strategic autonomy. They demand elite competence and moral seriousness, precisely the virtues the Confederation seeks to cultivate. A green industrial revolution does not mean abandoning industry. It means electrifying it wisely. The river and the atom, disciplined, supervised, integrated, become the twin engines of a sovereign Nusantara, not dependent, not polluted, not fragile, but steady, as the river flows, as the sea endures.
Vol. XV. Peri-Urbanism is the Future of the Countryside
Modern development presents a harsh dichotomy, either migrate to megacities and dissolve into anonymity or remain in stagnant villages with limited opportunity. The great cities of Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur, Manila, and Singapore have become magnets of ambition, but magnetism can become imbalance. When a civilization becomes excessively urban-centric, it risks cultural thinning, food dependency, ecological strain, and demographic hollowing of the countryside. A sea civilization that forgets its soil becomes brittle. Peri-urbanism is not suburban imitation of Western sprawl, it is a Mandala synthesis, technological connectivity, distributed industry, agricultural resilience, and cultural rootedness. It means villages connected by high-speed digital networks, small towns with advanced healthcare and research hubs, rural cooperatives integrated into national supply chains, and education without forced migration. Urban capacity is needed without urban alienation. The Green Industrial Revolution (as earlier envisioned) provides stable energy. Now that energy must illuminate the countryside, peri-urban Nusantara includes smart irrigation systems, cold-chain logistics for fisheries, precision agriculture tools, local fabrication workshops, and maritime tech training centers. Technology strengthens rural life rather than replacing it. The farmer becomes technologically empowered, not socially uprooted. Rural communities preserve something cities often erode intergenerational memory, informal solidarity networks, ritual continuity, and ecological intimacy. In Pattani’s kampung, one knows the lineage of neighbors. One understands the rhythm of planting seasons. One feels the tide before reading the forecast. This moral ecology must survive modernization. Peri-urban design therefore prioritizes walkable settlements, integrated mosques and community halls, markets rooted in local produce, and preservation of forests and waterways. The Mandala Republic will have both urban efficiency and rural intimacy. If economic life concentrates excessively in capital cities, political imagination follows. Policy begins to serve skyscrapers instead of shorelines. The Mandala Republic rejects central hypertrophy, instead, administrative functions are regionally distributed, universities are decentralized across islands, and industrial clusters are located near agricultural zones. This balances the archipelago’s geography. A thalassocratic civilization must distribute power as evenly as currents between islands. Digital infrastructure can either homogenize or strengthen identity. Peri-urban Nusantara uses connectivity to promote Malay language scholarship, transmit traditional arts and maritime knowledge, coordinate cooperative banking, and support rural entrepreneurship. Economic communication does not erase cultural distinction, it amplifies it. Connectivity becomes reinforcement, not dilution. Total urbanization breeds rootlessness, and total rural isolation breeds stagnation. Peri-urbanism is the mean between excess and deficiency, it preserves self-sufficiency in food and local production, clean air and access to nature, and cultural continuity and modest living, while also embracing modern medicine, advanced engineering, efficient logistics, and educational mobility. The Mandala principle is harmony, not polarity. Urban citizens often relate to land abstractly, but rural people live within cycles, planting and harvest, monsoon and drought, and tide and migration. This cyclical awareness shapes political temperament, patience, stewardship, and long-term thinking. Peri-urban Nusantara ensures that modernization does not sever this consciousness. The civilization must remain agrarian in spirit, even as it becomes industrial in capacity. This is not contradiction, it is synthesis. The countryside does not disappear, it evolves. The future of Nusantara is not a skyline. It is an archipelago of intelligent villages, not megacity dependency, but distributed vitality. Peri-urbanism preserves land consciousness, cultural rootedness, ecological cleanliness, economic self-sufficiency, while enabling technological advancement, industrial integration, and educational opportunity. The Mandala Republic does not choose between rice field and research lab, it places them side by side. The strongest civilization is neither purely urban nor purely rural, but harmoniously both.
Vol. XVI. Why Nusantara Needs a Serious Educational Reform
Across the archipelago, from Indonesia to Malaysia to the Philippines, a silent migration unfolds each year, it is not of fishermen or farmers, but of engineers, doctors, mathematicians, and programmers. Young minds, trained at public expense, depart for laboratories in Europe, tech firms in East Asia, or universities in North America. This is not merely economic migration, it is intellectual hemorrhage, and its cause lies in the educational systems that form clerks, but rarely thinkers. In many institutions across Nusantara, education has become synonymous with rote memorization, examination performance, and credential accumulation. Students learn how to pass tests, how to follow administrative procedures, how to navigate bureaucratic hierarchies, but seldom how to question assumptions, how to synthesize knowledge, and how to innovate responsibly. The result is a class of degree-holders, trained to maintain systems, not to transform them. Too often, classrooms reward obedience over curiosity, repetition over insight, and compliance over imagination. A student who asks difficult questions may be labeled disruptive. One who challenges established interpretations may be considered disrespectful. Thus, intellectual courage, the willingness to examine inherited frameworks, atrophies before it matures. Innovation cannot flourish where inquiry is mistaken for insubordination. Modern curricula frequently import abstract economic models, standardized managerial frameworks, and technological paradigms detached from local context, yet the realities of maritime livelihoods, monsoon agriculture, multi-island logistics, and communal land traditions require locally grounded knowledge. Education that ignores civilizational context risks producing graduates who are technologically competent yet culturally estranged. A reformed educational philosophy in Nusantara would integrate technical mastery, where engineering, medicine, and data science remain essential for modernization, critical thinking, where students must be trained in logical analysis, comparative reasoning, and ethical reflection, to engage complex challenges rather than merely execute instructions, local history where languages, and artistic traditions should not be extracurricular ornaments, but foundational elements. Peri-urban development provides a framework for applied learning, agricultural research conducted in rural cooperatives. maritime engineering taught near fishing ports, and renewable energy projects managed by local councils. Students participate directly in irrigation system design, coastal conservation, and digital marketplace development. Education thus becomes experiential, community-oriented, and innovation-driven. When young professionals perceive, meaningful research opportunities, entrepreneurial ecosystems, social recognition for innovation, and within their own societies, migration becomes optional rather than inevitable. Educational reform, therefore, is not solely pedagogical, it is strategic. It determines whether Nusantara exports talent or cultivates it. The aim is not to replicate foreign systems wholesale, nor to retreat into insularity. Rather, modern scientific methodology is taught alongside ethical traditions and communal values. Students will learn coding and classical literature, robotics and maritime history, and biotechnology and ecological stewardship. Modernization thus proceeds without cultural dislocation. Programming lessons will follow afternoon prayers, debates on engineering ethics will accompany physics labs, and local fisheries will collaborate with university researchers. Here, education serves economic development, technological competence, and cultural continuity simultaneously. A civilization that invests in roads and ports but neglects its classrooms and builds only temporary strength. Serious educational reform enables technological advancement, economic diversification, and intellectual independence, while preserving historical memory, moral frameworks, and communal solidarity. Nusantara’s future prosperity will not emerge from imported textbooks alone, but from an educational philosophy that cultivates both critical minds and rooted identities.
Vol. XVII. A Critique of Historical Determinism, Both Spenglerian Cyclicism and Whig Linearism
Whig linearism proclaims that history bends toward freedom, institutions mature inevitably, and the present is superior to the past by necessity. In parts of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Philippines, this narrative often appears in policy rhetoric. Development is framed as GDP growth, urban expansion, and bureaucratic refinement. Yet history in Nusantara has never moved in a straight line. The fall of Srivijaya was not inevitable progress. The rise of Majapahit was not predetermined advancement. Empires collapsed through choices, misjudgments, and external shocks. Progress is not guaranteed. Marxist teleology replaces liberal inevitability with class inevitability, where feudalism must yield to capitalism and capitalism must yield to socialism. History becomes a machine driven by economic forces. But the Malay archipelago has never conformed neatly to European class schematics. Maritime trade networks, sultanates, village confederations, these defy rigid staging. Economic forces matter, but they do not exhaust history. On the other side stands Spenglerian cyclicism, where civilizations are organisms, they are born, mature, decay, and die. According to this vision, the West is in decline. Others will follow similar biological arcs. Such thinking contains insight, cultures do exhibit rhythms. Yet if taken absolutely, cyclicism becomes fatalism. If decline is destiny, why strive? If winter is predetermined, why plant? Certain interpretations of Buddhist cosmology emphasize cycles of decay and renewal. But applied simplistically to political history, this can encourage resignation. The Malay world, however, has never been merely cyclical, it has reinvented itself repeatedly, from maritime Buddhism to Islamic sultanates, from courtly polities to anti-colonial republics, and from agrarian economies to industrializing states. Cycles exist, but they are not prisons. Against both straight lines and closed circles stands a third force, the Great Man, not as myth alone, but as catalytic agency. Consider Hang Tuah, whose loyalty and legend shaped political imagination, Raden Wijaya, who founded Majapahit through strategic audacity, and Soekarno, whose rhetoric and will mobilized anti-colonial struggle. None were inevitable, each altered trajectory. History bent because someone chose. Aristotle distinguished between necessary causes and contingent events. Political life, he insisted, belongs largely to the contingent, where structures constrain, economics influence, and geography shapes, but human deliberation intervenes, in Pattani, one sees this daily, a village thrives because a leader organizes irrigation, a cooperative fails because trust erodes, and determinism dissolves before lived experience. The Mandala philosophy proposes neither straight inevitability nor fatalistic recurrence. Instead, history is rhythmic but open. Civilizations experience tendencies, not destinies, geography provides stage, and culture provides script, but actors improvise. The Malay archipelago’s maritime nature encourages flexibility, where trade routes shift, ports rise and decline, alliances change, and adaptation, not inevitability, defines survival. If history is not predetermined, then decline is not guaranteed, nor is greatness assured. Everything depends on leadership, institutional design, cultural vitality, and moral discipline. Determinism absolves elites of accountability, while non-determinism restores it. The Mandala Republic rejects Whig complacency, Marxist inevitability, and Spenglerian fatalism. It affirms human will within structure, heroic leadership within tradition, and freedom within rhythm. Nusantara’s future is neither written in a straight line nor locked in a circle, it is carved by men and women who choose.
Vol. XVIII. The Creation of the New Nusantaran Man
From Aristotelian virtues to Ibn Sina’s intellect, from Machiavellian cunning to the samurai spirit, from sovereign decisions to fiery nationalism, I weave these threads into the tapestry of our destiny. We Malays of Nusantara have slumbered too long, chained by the ghosts of colonialism and the seductions of modernity. But hear me, brothers and sisters, the time has come for rebirth. This is the tale of how we forge the New Nusantaran Man, the Homo Malaicus, through a cultural revolution that shatters the old and births the eternal. Long ago, in the misty dawn of our archipelago, the spirits of the seas whispered promises of glory. Nusantara was a realm of warriors and scholars, where the keris gleamed under the sun and the mosques stood as bastions of unyielding faith. Yet, as the centuries waned, foreign winds brought decay. The bourgeoisie grew fat on trade, their passivity a poison that dulled the blade of action. They chased fleeting pleasures, high-time preferences, squandering tomorrow’s harvest for today’s feast. Petty moralism crept in like mangrove roots, twisting judgments into chains of hypocrisy, where men debated trifles while empires crumbled. Femininity, not of the gentle hearth but of weakness, softened our resolve, we became obsessed with the past, romanticizing ruins instead of building thrones. I remember the old fisherman in my village, Pak Hassan, a man who embodied this malaise. He would sit by the shore, weaving nets with trembling hands, lamenting the glory of ancient kingdoms like Srivijaya and Majapahit. “The past was golden,” he’d sigh, his eyes misty, while his sons idled in coffee shops, dreaming of easy riches from oil palms or foreign handouts. No discipline, no fire, only echoes. Pak Hassan prayed five times a day, but his faith was rote, a petty moralism that judged neighbors for small sins while ignoring the greater war against our subjugation. He shunned the warrior’s path, calling it “un-Islamic barbarity,” yet he bowed to the effeminate whims of global consumerism, buying trinkets that sapped his self-reliance. His high-time ways left his family in debt, passive spectators in a world that demanded actors. But the winds of palingenesis stirred. Inspired by the likes of Sorelian mythic violence, not of blood, but of revolutionary myth, we envisioned a cultural revolution. Not the godless hammer of the Soviets, who forged their New Man in the cold forge of atheism, but a sacred rebirth, infused with the nationalist spirit of Atatürk and the Islamic renaissance of Muhammad Iqbal. This would be our transitionary phase, a storm to cleanse the rot, liberating the Malay soul for a higher order. It began in the kampungs of Pattani, where I gathered the youth under the banner of the New Nusantara. We drew from Ernst Jünger’s storm of steel, teaching that true masculinity is not brutish aggression but disciplined warriorship, the quiet resolve of the mujahid who fights for faith and folk. “Break free from bourgeois passivity!” I proclaimed, echoing the elite circulation. We burned the symbols of weakness, the glossy magazines peddling feminine ideals of softness, the ledgers of short-sighted debts. In their place, we built academies of intellect, where Ibn Rushd’s philosophy met Carl Menger’s economics, fostering self-reliance through knowledge and craft. Picture the transformation, Young men, once lounging in lethargy, now rose at fajr for rigorous training. We modeled it after the German ethos that Francis P. Yockey admired, the Prussians who blended technological prowess with martial discipline. Our days started with physical drills, forging bodies like tempered steel, instilling the masculinity of Cicero’s stoic virtue and Plato’s guardian class. No more obsession with the past; we honored it as fuel for the future, as Tunku Abdul Rahman had envisioned a united Malaya, but we pushed further, toward a national confederacy, the Mandala Republic. The cultural revolution was no mere slogan, it was a symphony of renewal. We organized syndicates, inspired by Oswald Mosley and Werner Sombart, where workers and scholars united in nationalist guilds. Discipline was the cornerstone, low-time preferences, planning for generations, as Eugen von Böhm-Bawerk taught in his capital theories. Intellect bloomed in debates under the stars, where the Being met Enver Pasha’s Ottoman revivalism, questioning existence to affirm our Malay essence. Women, too, were liberated from petty moralism, encouraged to embody the strength of Nusantara’s queens, like those of Aceh, supporting the warrior ethos without dilution. Femininity as weakness was excised, in its place, a balanced harmony where masculinity led the charge. And oh, the fruits! As the New Nusantaran Man emerged, the Homo Malaicus, disciplined, nationalist, masculine, warrior-hearted, self-reliant, and intellectually sharp, our lands transformed. Villages became fortresses of innovation, technologically advanced like the Germans who split the atom yet marched in perfect order. Militarily disciplined, we stood ready, not for conquest, but for sovereignty, as realpolitik guided our confederacy. In this New Nusantara, a loose national confederacy of Malay states, from Pattani to the islands, true libertarianism flourished. No central tyrant, but organic democracy, where free men voted with the wisdom of Aristotle’s polity, unchecked by bourgeois chains. Self-reliance ensured markets thrived without parasitism, as Menger’s spontaneous order decreed. Nationalism bound us, a palingenetic flame that Robert Michels’ iron law couldn’t corrupt, for our elites were ever-circulating, vigilant against oligarchy. Pak Hassan’s sons? They became exemplars. One engineered irrigation systems, blending intellect with warriorship; another led patrols, his masculinity a shield for the ummah. The old man, in his final days, whispered, “I see the future now, not just the past.” Thus, brothers, the cultural revolution is our forge. It liberates, it builds, it rebirths. In the spirit of Carlylean heroes and Machiavellian prince, we create the New Nusantaran Man, not for domination, but for eternal glory under God’s gaze. The tale continues, for Nusantara awakens.
Vol. XIX. Made In Nusantara Tanks, Rockets, and Airplanes are Real Progressivism, Not Modern Leftism
From mythic rebirth to disciplined heroism of, from Islamic modernism to civilizational vitality, we Malays must redefine progress. Not as the false idols of the West’s modern leftism, but as the sacred forge of national strength. This is the tale of true progressivism, the roar of indigenous engines, not the whispers of decadent individualism. Years after the cultural revolution birthed the New Nusantaran Man, our confederacy stirred like a waking tiger. In the previous volume, we shattered the chains of bourgeois passivity and petty moralism, forging Homo Malaicus with discipline, nationalism, and warriorship. But liberation was merely the dawn, now came the ascent. I recall the elder engineer, Pak Rahman, no kin to Tunku Abdul Rahman, yet heir to his vision of Malay unity, who toiled in a hidden foundry amid the rice paddies. Once a importer of foreign gadgets, he had succumbed to the high-time temptations: flashy cars from afar, consumer trinkets that drained our gold, all while preaching “progress” as endless pleasure. “Why build when we can buy?” he’d say, his eyes glazed with the hedonism that modern leftism peddles as freedom. Ah, but that was the deception! Modern leftism, that serpent in progressive garb, whispered of deconstructing our anchors: family values, the national collective, discipline, even prudishness, the low-time preferences that build empires across generations. In their place? Abstract individualism, high-time whims like “sexual liberation,” where bodies become commodities, moral panics over trifles while ignoring national decay, consumerism that devours resources, and mindless hedonism that saps the soul. Inspired by Duttonian evolutionary insights and Pareto’s elite critiques, I saw it clearly, this was not progress, but regression, a Gramscian cultural hegemony imposed by global elites, eroding our Malay essence as Carl Schmitt warned of the enemy’s political definitions. Pak Rahman embodied the trap. His workshop imported tanks from distant lands, rockets pieced from alien blueprints, airplanes that bore foreign stamps. Our warriors trained on borrowed might, our intellects chained to dependency. “This is modernity!” the leftists crowed, parading rainbow flags and endless “rights” that fragmented the ummah. They decried our prudishness as backward, our family bonds as oppressive, our discipline as authoritarian, echoing Machiavellian foes, who mistook cunning for chaos, but realpolitik taught me, true power is self-made, not begged. The turning point came during a monsoon storm, when foreign sanctions—wielded by hypocrites preaching “global values”, cut our supplies. Our borders vulnerable, our skies undefended, the nation teetered. Gathering the syndicates, I invoked Soekarno’s guided democracy and Enver Pasha’s Ottoman revival, “Progressivism is not tearing down, it is building up! For the future of our children, our nation must birth its own steel beasts”. Thus began the Great Forging. Drawing from the war economy and the capital patience, we invested in low-time horizons, factories risen from Malay soil, engineers schooled in rationalism and technocratic guardians. No more reliance on imports, we mined our archipelago’s riches, alloyed them with intellect. First came the tanks, Made in Nusantara, armored like the German stormtroopers, disciplined machines for a masculine defense. Pak Rahman’s hands, once idle, now welded chassis infused with national spirit, as syndicalism organized labor into heroic guilds. Then the rockets, soaring symbols of our ascent, not for conquest but sovereignty, echoing the aesthetic of action. Our scientists, blending Ibn Sina’s medicine with modern physics, launched probes that mapped our seas, securing trade routes without foreign eyes. Airplanes followed, sleek falcons of the sky, designed by Homo Malaicus minds, carrying our goods and guardians. Computer tech bloomed in silicon valleys of Borneo, self-reliant circuits that outpaced the West’s decadent gadgets, as Heideggerian technology critique urged us to master tools, not be enslaved. This was true progressivism, bettering the nation’s life, generation by generation. Families thrived in disciplined harmony, the collective strengthened by shared triumphs. No hedonistic distractions, our prudishness guarded virtue, as Aristotle’s eudaimonia demanded. Consumerism? Banished for self-reliance, as Thomas Carlyle’s heroes scorned the idle. Moral panics? We reserved outrage for real threats, not fabricated “liberations” that Francis P. Yockey decried as cultural imperialism. Pak Rahman, transformed, stood atop a Nusantaran tank during our first parade. “This is progress,” he declared, his voice thundering over the crowd. “Not the left’s illusions, but the nation’s eternal forge.” Our confederacy flourished, organic democracy debated policies in mosques and halls, libertarian markets traded indigenous innovations, all under God’s watchful eye. Yet shadows linger. Modern leftists, agents of Spengler’s decline, still whisper from afar, peddling their high-time poisons. But we, the revolutionary conservatives, stand vigilant. As the iron law reminds, elites must serve the folk. In Nusantara, tanks, rockets, and airplanes are not mere metal, they are the soul’s ascent, the true progressive path. The tales unfold, brothers. Volume XX awaits, for the storm gathers.
Vol. XX. The PKI, Authentic Revolutionaries Who Were Right in Their Means But Wrong in Their Ends
From the hegemonic struggles to exceptional decisions, from producer critiques to geopolitical dissections, we Malays dissect the giants who shaped our neighbor’s fate. Yet, to build our Konfederasi Nusantara, we must learn from Indonesia’s tragic opera, Sukarno’s utopian mirage, Suharto’s corrupt shadow, and the PKI’s flawed authenticity. This is the tale of revolutionaries right in means but wrong in ends, a cautionary myth for our mandala’s guardians. The stage opened with Sukarno, that colossus of charisma, a man who possessed a grand vision and utopian revolutionary ideas for the Indonesian people. Inspired by the likes of heroic leaders and mythic mobilization, he dreamed big, of a united Nusantara echoing Majapahit’s mandala, a socialist dawn where the archipelago’s riches served the folk. Yet, he was all talk, a fiddler amid flames, squandering vast sums of rupiah on foolish, overglorified white elephant projects, monumental stadiums, lavish monuments, symbols of glory that masked empty bellies. He isolated us, severing ties with the world in fits of anti-imperial bravado, as if Machiavellian princely isolation could sustain a thalassocratic realm. Worse, he slaughtered thousands of our own in the Konfrontasi with Malaysia, a brotherly bloodletting that pitted Malay against Malay, draining resources for a phantom empire. Rather than ushering in a new age of socialism for Indonesia, instead of prioritizing development through low-time discipline, he diverted fortunes to other pursuits, to women in hedonistic excess, to partying amid palace intrigues, to gilded halls that echoed with laughter while villages starved. Hedonism defined his core, a high-time preference that evolutionary lens would decry as dysgenic folly. He toyed with communists and the military like puppets, oblivious to the inferno he stoked, balancing PKI radicals against army hawks, all while the nation teetered. Then came Suharto, arguably the worst of them all, the root of every Indonesian evil. Suharto ascended on rivers of blood. In 1965-66, he orchestrated the purge that claimed half a million lives, twisting Pancasila, the five principles Sukarno had proclaimed, into a cudgel for authoritarian “order”. His 32-year rule was a reign of corruption, stabilization and economic steadiness, yes, superficial gains in GDP, infrastructure blooms funded by foreign loans, but at what cost? He kept Indonesia ignorant, suppressing education in revolutionary thought, divided by ethnic stoked tensions and sectarian whispers, all while his cronies plundered like bourgeois parasites. Suharto embodied the bourgeois pseudo-nationalism, a false guardian who enriched an oligarchic circle, leaving the volksgemeinschaft fractured. Now, his son-in-law steers the country further into ruin, a continuation of the dynasty’s rot, puppeteering from shadows as globalists applaud the “stability”. I am no communist, my conservative revolutionary soul, infused with rational Islam and timocratic virtue, rejects godless materialism, but we must acknowledge and admit that the PKI, the Indonesian Communist Party, represented a progressive force. Authentic revolutionaries, they were right in their means, Kemalist-adjacent and forward-thinking, declaring war on nation-hating Wahhabists who sowed sectarian poison and corrupt oligarchs who bled the folk dry. If they had prevailed in that fateful clash, Indonesia might hold a higher position today, and I dare say it would be better off, industrialized with proletarian syndicates, self-sufficient against imperial predations. They grasped the need for cultural revolution, echoing metapolitics, to uproot bourgeois decay. But here is where praise for the PKI ends, for they were wrong in their ends. Blind adherence to Maoism fractured them internally, ignoring the reality that Indonesia, with its thalassocratic nature, scattered islands demanding organic confederation, not centralized dictatorship, wasn’t ready for Marxist socialism. They would have transformed Indonesia into a puppet state of Maoist China, subjugating our archipelago to foreign dogma, as Kissinger’s balance warned against hegemonic vassalage. Their internationalism betrayed the volksgemeinschaft’s racial and spiritual core, a fatal flaw that would be diagnosed as civilizational mismatch. Learn from them, the PKI’s means fuel our praxis, but our ends serve the Malay soul under God. In the Mandala Republic, we transcend such pitfall, our Third Civilization rejects Sukarno’s hedonism, Suharto’s corruption, and PKI’s alien ends, forging a timocratic order where the state serves the volk, not vice versa.
This-That Consortium
I. Human Collective Basis
Among the deserts of history and the ruins of forgotten cities, one truth whispers through the ages, Human beings survive through the collective. When the tribe dissolves, the person becomes vulnerable, when a civilization fractures, its monuments crumble into sand. In contemplating the dawn of societies, I was struck by a phrase that emerged as if from the depths of Being itself, “Human Collective Basis”. What is it? A mere slogan? A political program? No, something older, deeper, carved into our nature. This is the story of that meaning. Man is a political animal, not in the sense of legislatures or elections, but in the sense that human flourishing requires a shared order, the wolf hunts with its pack, the bee builds with its hive, but neither creates a civilization. Civilization emerges only when beings form a collective based not merely on instinct, but on memory, duty, and forward time-horizons, the ability to plan for future generations. This is the first meaning of the “Human Collective Basis”, the collective is the condition for humanity’s elevated nature, as long-term planning selects for higher cooperation. Humans need a shared structure to fulfill their rational potential. The ummah is a moral community transcending the tyranny of the moment. Alone, man survives, together, man creates. When ancestors planted orchards whose fruits they would never taste, they embraced a low-time preference, an orientation toward the future. This is what separates humans from animals, a herd feeds, a nation plans, and a civilization builds. Elites who think in centuries prosper. Civilizations are born when a people adopts a long view of destiny. Faith, duty, and cultural unity generate economic vitality. The “Human Collective Basis” is fundamentally this, the long-term orientation that arises only within a stable collective, the desert tribe that stores water, the medieval guild that trains apprentices, the ummah that preserves knowledge across centuries, all embody the human capacity to transcend the present. In this sense, collectivism is not a political ideology but a civilizational instinct, an echo of something divine placed in humanity. Yet history also reveals another pattern, when societies become affluent and comfortable, a new instinct emerges, short-term individualism. This kind of individualism is not the creative self-cultivation or the heroic discipline, rather, it is high-time preference individualism, the pursuit of momentary pleasure, the rejection of communal duty, the severing of ties between generations, the atomization of society. This is not evil, it is simply fragile. In pre-civilizational societies, immediate survival demands immediate action. But in advanced societies, such immediacy dissolves the very collective structures that made advancement possible. Individualism without the collective becomes a return to the primitive present moment, it is not a moral failure, it is a civilizational regression. The “This–That Consortium” in this story is not a corporation or council. It is the metaphor for the eternal duality in human existence, This, the collective, and That, the individual, civilization requires both, but with hierarchy, the collective gives meaning, the individual gives initiative. Together, they form the harmonious basis of human order. When the collective dissolves, the individual becomes lost. When the individual is crushed, the collective becomes stagnant. Realpolitik demands balance. Political communities exist because they can distinguish between internal unity and external threat. Community gives the individual purpose, not confinement. Virtue emerges in relation to others. The “Consortium” is thus the philosophical union of these forces. After wandering through ruins and philosophies, the meaning crystallizes, the Human Collective Basis is the natural, organic foundation of human society, the instinct to form long-term, intergenerational communities that enable civilization, moral development, and cultural continuity. It is the force that allows nations to plan in centuries, cultures to preserve wisdom, families to cultivate legacy, civilizations to endure beyond any single lifetime. It is the low-time preference orientation that elevates humans above the immediacy of instinct. Without it, society fragments into individuals living moment to moment, unable to build, unable to remember, unable to dream. As twilight descends over the old world and a new one struggles to be born, the answer becomes clear, humanity thrives not when it scatters into solitary atoms, but when it rises into communities bound by memory, duty, and destiny. The Human Collective Basis is not merely an idea, it is a calling to rebuild, to remember, to plan beyond our own lives, to serve a future we will never see, for it is only through the collective that the human soul truly becomes more than animal, it becomes civilizational.
II. Slop Economy
There is a scent that arises in late civilizations. A sweetness that comes when culture rots under the sun of its own decadence. I first sensed it not in a palace, nor in a battlefield, but in a neon-lit mall, where vast crowds consumed endless streams of identical products, songs indistinguishable from one another, digital images replicating each other like mushrooms, shows that recycled the same emotional tricks. They called this progress. I called it the Slop Economy. The term emerged from a moment of disgust, a recognition that modern consumer society is no longer built on creation but on repetition, no longer on craftsmanship but on mass stimulation, no longer on imagination but on algorithmic reproduction. Slop Economy means a system in which cultural output becomes homogenized, optimized for passive consumption rather than thought, where content is fed to the masses like nutritional gruel, soft, sweet, easy, forgettable. It is the triumph of the nutritive soul over the rational. It is the tyranny of the “they,” the anonymous, hollow force of mass culture. It is the death of myth. It is a civilization’s spiritual anemia. Someone profits from this. In the Slop Economy, creation is replaced by pattern extraction. Producers study what worked before, make a near-perfect copy, replace a few cosmetic details, and release it into the stream. The cycle is relentless, a pop group with interchangeable aesthetics is crafted, engineered, rotated, a digital artwork is generated from the echoes of previous works, a franchise releases its seventh remake of its third reboot a video platform pushes content shaped by metrics, not meaning, and a global brand manufactures emotions the way factories produce plastic trinkets where originality becomes a liability and predictability becomes the currency. This is the “bourgeoisification of spirit”. The elite has shifted from lions to foxes, cunning, calculating, uninspired. What happens to the human mind in a Slop Economy? It does not collapse suddenly, it atrophies. Like a muscle denied resistance, the imagination shrinks, attention fragments, depth becomes exhausting, and reflection becomes foreign. The individual becomes overstimulated yet undernourished, informed yet unwise, entertained yet hollow. Such an environment selects against long-term thinking, the person becomes absorbed in idle distraction and the higher faculties fall dormant while the passions reign. Brainrot is not just stupidity, it is the soft suffocation of the soul. Behind the Slop Economy stands not a conspiracy but a simple economic logic, if you can produce endless sameness cheaply, and sell it endlessly, why risk the unpredictable cost of creativity? Thus, tycoons emerge, not patrons of the arts like the princes of old, but managers of attention, harvesters of dopamine, architects of passive desire. They do not kill creativity. They simply create an ecosystem in which creativity cannot survive, where audiences become addicts of predictability, and creators become vendors of formulae. Systems incentivize behavior more effectively than ideology. Rulers benefit when the masses are distracted, not engaged. Civilizations rise on low-time preference creativity, cathedrals that take centuries, books written with painful precision, schools that train generations, traditions refined slowly, art that aims at immortality. But in the Slop Economy, everything is reversed, content must be instant, trends must be short-lived, products must be disposable, attention must be harvested quickly, and nothing must linger. This is high-time preference culture, the culture of the immediate. The animal present replacing the human future. This marks the transition from culture to civilization, from creation to consumption. The “This–That Consortium” in this narrative is the symbolic body of those who see beyond the glow of screens and metrics. They say that a civilization that degrades creativity into slop will eventually degrade citizenship, then identity, then memory. Societies fall when the rational soul is not cultivated. Modernity without spiritual depth collapses into imitation. The Consortium does not call for banning or censoring. It calls for awakening, to restore the dignity of the imagination, to prioritize depth over dopamine, to revive craftsmanship over automation, to rebuild a culture that respects human potential, because the Slop Economy is not just an economic model, it is a symptom of civilizational fatigue. The Slop Economy will not end when corporations change. It will end when people hunger again for depth, for creation, for beauty, for challenge, for culture that demands something of them. Civilization begins when a society invests in the long view. Civilization dies when it replaces art with slop, and souls with consumers. To rebuild, we must reawaken the collective longing for meaning, the Human Collective Basis that is described above. For only when humans rediscover their capacity for deep creation will the Slop Economy fade like a cheap light in the dawn.
III. Protestant Work Cult
In every advanced civilization I wander through, whether in the crowded megacities of the East or the glass towers of the West, I see men and women rushing beneath fluorescent lights, their faces pale, their backs bent in exhaustion. They are not slaves, yet they are not free. They are not prisoners, yet their time is not their own. Somewhere along the way, work ceased to be a dignified expression of human virtue and became a cult. Not a religion of the soul, but a religion of the schedule. Not a path to God, but a path to production quotas. This is what I call “The Protestant Work Cult”. Not Protestantism, not Christianity, but a global economic ethos that treats labor as salvation and profit as redemption. Centuries ago, in northern Europe, a new ethic emerged, one that valued discipline, labor, and worldly achievement as signs of inner virtue. Max Weber observed it first, but the phenomenon has since escaped any particular religious root and become a planetary logic. The businessmen of East Asia, the office workers of Europe, the gig laborers of America, all have been absorbed into the same ethic, work as identity, work as duty, work as proof of worth. This became a “cultural hegemony”, a way of shaping people’s desires and fears. Work, once a means to cultivate virtue, became an end in itself. Man has become das Man, an interchangeable anonymous being. The Protestant Work Cult thus transcends religion, it is the spirit of capitalism unbound. At the heart of the cult lies a subtle form of domination, usury. Not simply the charging of interest, but the engineering of a society where every citizen must borrow, for housing, for education, for transportation, for medicine, for life itself. Debt becomes the chain, work becomes the whip, and man becomes a cog in an infinitely rotating machine. This is the triumph of material necessity over the rational soul. The rulers prefer men indebted, for the indebted do not rebel, this is called the “economic discipline”. Once, work was embedded within the ancestral rhythm of life, the farmer cultivating inherited soil, the artisan shaping beauty with inherited skills, the merchant trading within networks of trust. Work existed within a cultural cosmos. But in the modern economy, man is uprooted, he works for corporations he does not own, producing products he does not understand, for shareholders he will never meet. This is the disembedding of labor, “Faustian abstraction”, and the fragmentation of the self. When work becomes detached from culture, man becomes detached from himself. A strange paradox emerges, the harder people work, the more their free time becomes colonized by high-time-preference pleasures, instant entertainment, fast food, impulse shopping, algorithmic distraction. The Protestant Work Cult is paired with the Slop Economy described earlier, work grinds the soul down. Entertainment fills the void with sugar-coated emptiness. The worker becomes a “type”, disciplined yet spiritually exhausted. Selection pressures shift toward depression and listlessness. In this cycle, the elite prosper. The masses become both overworked and overstimulated, yet internally empty. Consider a fictional society, let us call it Hyunhwa, a metaphor, not a real nation. Hyunhwa is prosperous, efficient, technologically dazzling. Its people work longer hours than almost anywhere else. Its suicide rates are among the highest. Its birth rates among the lowest. Its youth feel crushed by competition. Its workers are respected abroad yet alienated at home. Everyone admires Hyunhwa’s economic miracle. Few ask about the human cost. This fictional example reveals the pattern, a society can become rich yet spiritually impoverished, a people can become productive yet existentially broken. This is the culmination of the Protestant Work Cult, a civilization of exhaustion. The “This–That Consortium” convenes to reinterpret this cult through a deeper metaphysical and political lens. They say work must serve life, not life serve work, economics must serve culture, not culture serve economics, and human dignity must precede profit, not be replaced by it. Only a re-rooted human being, one connected to family, faith, culture, and community, can break the chains of economic dehumanization. This is the rekindling the flame of selfhood. The Consortium proposes a future where work is meaningful, not endless, debt is constrained, not encouraged, time is valued, not consumed, communities are strengthened, not fragmented, cultural continuity replaces corporate identity, creativity replaces mechanized output. Human flourishing replaces GDP worship. This is not a return to the past, it is a return to humanity. The Protestant Work Cult is not a religion. It is the ghost of a religious ethic metastasized into a global economic logic, an ideology without a god, a cult without transcendence. It promises prosperity, yet gives anxiety. It promises purpose, yet gives exhaustion. It promises salvation through labor, yet delivers a life measured in output rather than meaning. To escape this cult is not to stop working. It is to reclaim the soul from the machine, to rebuild the Human Collective Basis, to re-anchor man in family, faith, community, and destiny. Only then can civilization breathe again.
IV. Sufficiency Economy
When a nation forgets how to grow its own food, it loses its sovereignty. When a man forgets how to discipline his desires, he loses his soul. When society forgets its deeper purpose, it becomes prey to class conflict, envy, and exploitation. In my travels across civilizations, from the austere mountains of Persia to the monsoon-fed plains of old Siam, I discovered a recurring truth, an economy without ethics breeds class struggle. An economy guided by virtue restores harmony. This insight germinated long before modernity, yet in the late 20th century, one monarch articulated it with remarkable clarity, Bhumibol Adulyadej’s philosophy of “Sufficiency Economy”, but in the eyes of the Consortium, this idea has ancient echoes. Islamic civilization lived by it. And today, it offers a compass for a world drowning in material excess. “Sufficiency Economy” does not mean poverty, nor stagnation, nor rejection of progress. It means discipline over desire, prudence over excess, balance over greed, community over ego, and self-mastery over consumption. This is the golden mean. It is dwelling instead of frantic “enframing”. It is the rebirth of the self through restraint. It is the long-term cultivation of resilient people. It reflects the middle path. Neither ascetic denial nor indulgent decadence. A stable center. The Consortium does not view class struggle as a Marxist conflict between owners and workers. Instead, we see it as a symptom of moral imbalance. Class struggle emerges when the wealthy seek limitless growth, the poor lose pathways to dignity, consumption replaces community, debt replaces independence, envy replaces solidarity. When the economy worships growth without limits, elites become oligarchs, workers become labor-units, and society becomes a battlefield. This is seen in the evolution of capitalism. It is the twilight of civilizations. It is the “cash nexus” that replaced fellowship. Sufficiency Economy is the antidote. It says “when enough is enough, society stabilizes”. Islamic ethics contain tools for economic self-sufficiency, such as prohibition of usury, targeted not only at interest, but the empire of debt that chains the poor to the wealthy, as without usury, class domination weakens, encouragement of modesty, not forced poverty, but the refusal to let possessions possess the soul, mandatory charity, a structural check on wealth concentration and a mechanism of upward and downward solidarity, and community-based mutual aid, institutions that anchor welfare locally rather than through cold bureaucracy. Labor is not merely a wage transaction, it is service to community and God. These principles diminish the class antagonisms and instead foster the organic unity. Bhumibol Adulyadej did not preach revolution, but through the Consortium’s interpretation, we see a revolutionary potential, a nation that teaches sufficiency dismantles the power of predatory elites, a society that values moderation neutralizes consumerist manipulation, and a culture rooted in dignity prevents class resentment from metastasizing. Bhumibol sought to immunize his people against the economic storms of globalization, to protect village life, to restrain speculative greed, to promote inner balance. He was not merely a monarch but a steward of civilizational equilibrium. When people free themselves from endless debt, consumerist addiction, status competition, corporate dependency, their identities cease to be shaped by class. They once again see themselves as members of families, servants of God, participants in a national destiny, inheritors of a cultural lineage. This is class dealignment. Not class elimination, class always exists, but the weakening of class resentment through shared moral foundations. A society guided by sufficiency becomes like an ecosystem, diverse yet balanced, organic yet resilient, hierarchical yet harmonious. This is how civilizations endure. To restore a healthy society, the Consortium proposes a moral economy, rooted in moderation and ethical production, neither neo-liberal capitalism nor command socialism, family-centered social stability, which strengthen households, not corporations, community-based economic cells, such as villages, guilds, cooperatives, local trusts, and national self-reliance, food first, energy second, and culture always. Teach youth to master desire, not obey it. This is how class struggle dissolves without revolution and how national vitality returns without tyranny. A nation that does not know its limits will eventually meet them in collapse. But a nation that internalizes sufficiency will find freedom even in scarcity and prosperity even in moderation. In this philosophy, the soil is treated with respect, the worker with dignity, the wealthy with responsibility, the poor with compassion, and the nation with reverence. This is not merely economics. It is civilizational hygiene. The Consortium concludes that the people becomes strong when its desires become disciplined. And thus, the path forward is neither left nor right, but upward.
V. Feminization
There was once a garden where summer and winter blended into a lukewarm season without distinction. Nothing died, but nothing truly blossomed. Every plant carried the same muted color. Every fruit tasted the same. This, the Consortium taught, is what happens to a civilization when differences are erased, virtues are blurred, and roles lose meaning. Not the rise of women and fall of men, rather, the collapse of both into a shapeless middle, a greying of character, a softening of the human spirit. The Consortium called this phenomenon as Feminization, not the empowerment of women, but the erosion of the virtues traditionally associated with both sexes. “Feminization” is a metaphor, the softening of a civilization into comfort-seeking, passivity, and avoidance of responsibility. It is the decline of discipline, courage, long-term thinking, duty to family and community. And equally, the decline of nurturing, wisdom, emotional richness, cultural stewardship. Both masculine and feminine virtues erode when society becomes an atomized marketplace of consumers rather than a community of families. The result is not true femininity or true masculinity, but a neutralized, androgynous sameness. It is das Man, the “Anyone,” a being dissolved into conformity. It is civilizational winter. It is the death of the self. It is low-fertility, low-vitality decadence. The Consortium argues that capitalism and liberal individualism were not born from freedom but from the breakdown of traditional structures. To expand markets, one must dissolve, families into individuals, individuals into consumers, consumers into interchangeable units of labor. Thus, capitalism does not promote masculine or feminine essence, it promotes neutrality, the ideal economic subject. The “perfect worker” is mobile rather than rooted, pleasure-seeking rather than duty-oriented, individualistic rather than communal, emotionally managed rather than courageous. This is what the Consortium calls the domestication of humanity. Men are dulled, not empowered. Women are overburdened, not liberated. Both are steered away from their fuller potentials. Modernity often mistakes market participation for liberation. Women were not freed from limitations, they were recruited into the same competitive economic machinery that exhausts men and dissolves families. Many find themselves juggling, work demands, social expectations, emotional labor, pressure for independence without reciprocal communal support. True femininity does not mean passivity. True femininity means dignity, wisdom, stewardship, strength. Capitalism did not elevate these qualities, it commodified them. Liberalism did not celebrate womanhood, it standardized it. The Consortium sees the household as the seed of civilization. Not the nuclear household, which isolates people, but the extended family, multi-generational, mutually supportive, economically interlinked, spiritually aligned. This structure gives to women influence, authority in domestic economics, mentorship roles, social centrality, dignity grounded in community, and to men responsibility, purpose, service to kin, training in discipline, identity rooted in protection and provision. To children belonging, stability, moral formation. This is not patriarchy or matriarchy in the domination sense, it is complementarity. A family is not a hierarchy of oppression but a division of dignified roles, like organs in a body, like ranks in an army, like notes in a symphony. “Feminization” is not a judgment on women. It is a diagnosis of societal softening, deracination, and aesthetic flattening. It is the disappearance of the courageous spirit of men, the nurturing wisdom of women, the harmony between the two. What remains is a civilization drifting toward, sterility, perpetual adolescence, pursuit of convenience, loss of transcendence, refusal to take up obligations. This is not a gender issue, it is a cultural and moral issue. The Consortium argues that the revival comes through re-rooting economic life in the household, not the corporation, but home industries, cooperatives, family businesses, rebuilding multi-generational communities by supporting networks that reduce loneliness and instability, reviving relational virtues, compassion, courage, stewardship, honor, encouraging men and women to cultivate their distinct strengths not through force, but through cultural pride, resisting the market’s demand for interchangeable human units, celebrating difference rather than flattening it, and reinforcing a moral vision that transcends materialism, drawing on Islamic ethics, virtue, and selfhood. This, the Consortium believes, is how societies recover vitality, not through domination of one sex by the other, but through the recovery of complementary virtues that capitalism and liberalism have eroded. When the garden regained its seasons, spring’s renewal, summer’s vigor, autumn’s wisdom, winter’s discipline, the colors returned. The fruits regained their flavor. The soil remembered its rhythm and so did the people. Men rediscovered responsibility and courage. Women rediscovered dignity and centrality. Children rediscovered belonging. The nation rediscovered vitality. The Consortium wrote that civilizations flourish when contrasts coexist in harmony, and collapse when all distinctions are erased. Balance, not sameness, is the essence of human flourishing.
VI. Mass Zombification
I’ve entered a city at dawn. I saw thousands walking the same streets, their eyes not hateful, nor joyful but empty with routine. They breathe, but do not live. They speak, but do not mean. They choose, but without choosing. The Consortium calls this state as Mass Zombification, the condition of a people who have surrendered their will, their dignity, and their depth to the machinery of modernity. Not death, but the paralysis of the human soul. “Mass Zombification” is not a biological or literal ailment. It is a condition of the spirit, the numbing of judgment, the severing of memory, the erasure of cultural depth, the reduction of man to consumption and compliance. We were warned of cultural hegemony, depoliticized masses, technological “enframing”, civilizational exhaustion, and the death of the self. The Consortium synthesizes these warnings into a single thesis, when a civilization loses its inner fire, machines and markets take over the work of thinking for it. Capitalism promises freedom, but too often delivers dependency. To keep the machine running, it requires predictable behavior, predictable desires, predictable loyalties, predictable mediocrity. Thus arises the ideal consumer, easily distracted, perpetually entertained, permanently unattached, spiritually unanchored. The system does not care whether he is virtuous or wise, only whether he is stimulated enough to keep spending and subdued enough to keep working. The consumer who believes himself free because he can choose between brands while he cannot choose his destiny. The Consortium teaches that modern media is not accidental, it is engineered to produce shallow emotions, fragmented attention, reflexive outrage, pacified obedience. It may manufacture myths, but without nobility, only stimulation. The media’s purpose is not enlightenment but occupation, to keep the mind busy enough that the soul cannot awaken. The zombified citizen scrolls endlessly, seeking meaning in algorithms that profit from his emptiness. He becomes predictable, and thus controllable. Technology promised liberation, but the Consortium views it as a new Pharaoh, not inherently evil, but demanding obedience. The smartphone is the modern whip, not through pain but through dopamine. The machine tracks, nudges, suggests, reminds. It learns your desires faster than you can articulate them. It predicts your decisions before you make them. It replaces community with stimulation, memory with databases, attention with notification bells. Technology transforms man into a “standing reserve”, a resource to be optimized. The zombified man becomes a data point, a market segment, a behavioral prediction, a replaceable unit of labor. He has the illusion of choice but the reality of algorithmic shepherding. Dignity requires memory, responsibility, agency, rootedness, depth. Mass Zombification destroys these one by one, memory is replaced by digital archives, responsibility is replaced by automated convenience, agency is replaced by user-friendly defaults, and rootedness is replaced by globalized placelessness. Depth is replaced by entertainment. The result is a humanity that feels empty because its soul has been outsourced to the market and the machine. The zombified man is not evil, he is exhausted, not wicked but hollow. He works too much to think, and consumes too much to feel. The Consortium is clear, a population that cannot think deeply will not resist deeply. The state prefers predictable conformity. Corporations prefer perpetual consumption. Technology firms prefer pliable users. Thus, the zombified citizen becomes the perfect subject, he does not rebel, he does not reflect, he does not imagine alternatives. He lives not in a political order, but in a managed environment. The Consortium’s counter-vision is not a regression into primitivism but a restoration of human sovereignty, by re-rooting the self in spirituality, as a person who knows God cannot be enslaved by algorithms, re-rooting life in community, with the extended family as the antidote to loneliness, refuge from manipulation, rebuilding the virtues of discipline, such as selfhood, self-mastery, reason, and authenticity, limiting the rule of technology, by using tools, do not let them use you, demanding depth from culture by rejecting the shallow, creating the enduring, and reviving the noble, and replacing consumer identity with civilizational identity, because a consumer is a slave, a citizen is a participant, and a believer is a sovereign soul. In the tale’s final act, the traveler witnesses awakenings. A father puts down the screen and teaches his son the prayer of dawn. A mother gathers her relatives and reweaves the fabric of kinship. A youth turns off the algorithm and seeks truth not entertainment. These are small acts but they are acts of rebellion. Because in an age of mechanized mediocrity, to live consciously is revolutionary. The opposite of the zombie is not the warrior, but the awakened human, and when enough awaken, civilizations transform.
VII. Servile State
In the beginning, the modern state sought to care for the people. It built hospitals, schools, pensions. At first, it carried compassion in its hands, but compassion without wisdom becomes dependency. For what began as a safety net slowly calcified into a web. Generations grew accustomed to living not in reciprocal obligation, the Islamic ethic of zakat, charity bound to dignity, but in one-way distributions detached from virtue, community, or telos. The state became the universal parent, the universal employer, the universal distributor, and finally, the universal master. Not through tyranny, but through comfort. This is the first mark of the Servile State, domestication disguised as protection. When a society ages without purpose, youth become tributaries to the past rather than architects of the future. The elderly, once revered pillars, became beneficiaries of an ever-expanding welfare apparatus. But the dignity of age disappeared, what remained was a vast, dependent bloc. The state taxed the young heavily to maintain the comfort of the old. The old, in turn, rewarded politicians who promised to keep the system swelling. Thus, ballots became coins, coins became burdens, burdens became chains. A spiral emerged, young people overtaxed, leading to economic stagnation, leading to falling birth rates, leading to youth leaving for freer lands, leading to dwindling workforce, leading to governments searching for quick demographic fixes. The Consortium recognized the pattern, it echoed in many modern nations. I’m not vilifying people, only the mechanism. As the workforce declined, rulers imported new populations not out of solidarity or higher ideals but as a technocratic bandage over a system refusing to reform itself. These new arrivals, innocents seeking opportunity, were thrown into a society without orientation, without integration, without shared metaphysics. This produced not harmony but fragmentation. A nation is not merely an economy, a culture is not a labor pool, and a people are not interchangeable widgets in a managerial spreadsheet. The Servile State, however, saw humans only as units of taxation, as cogs to keep the machine running, not as members of a moral community, and so both natives and newcomers suffered, the former losing the sense of continuity and rootedness, and the latter entering a nation that no longer believed in its own civilizational story. Thus, no one belonged. The purpose of a polity is not comfort but virtue, self-cultivation, and civilizational vitality, but the Servile State replaced purpose with perpetual consumption, perpetual administration, perpetual dependence. It produced citizens neither self-governing nor self-sufficient, it created individuals who felt more like tenants in a managerial empire than heirs of a sacred heritage, and in this way, even freedom became exhausting because freedom without meaning becomes drift, as drift becomes despair. However, there is the green banner of principle, not nationalism, not socialism, not liberalism, but something older, stewardship, sufficiency, and responsibility. These did not produce dependency but community, not atomization but solidarity, not demographic panic but familial vitality, not cultural dissolution but civilizational rootedness. In such a system, welfare exists, but tied to reciprocal duty, elders are honored, but do not dominate the young through political weight, youth contribute, but are not drained to sustain bureaucratic inertia, and population flows occur, but through meaningful integration and shared virtue. The economy serves society, not the other way around. This is the meaning of overcoming the Servile State, to return human dignity to human beings, to restore freedom as responsibility, to embed economics within ethics, and to place community over machinery. A state that serves its people is noble, a state that owns its people is servile, and a people who surrender their souls for comfort soon find both comfort and soul slipping away. Silence filled the chamber, not the silence of defeat, but the silence of awakening, for the Servile State is not destiny, it is only a stage one that can be passed, when a people rediscover virtue, purpose, and rootedness once more.
VIII. National Jihad
I’m speaking of a term that had been disfigured in the modern era, a word dragged through the mud by extremists on one side and sensationalists on the other. Yet in its original meaning it was luminous, disciplined, and philosophical, “National Jihad”. Not a call to conquest, nor a mere romance with violence, but the highest form of collective striving, a nation wrestling with its own weaknesses to ascend toward a greater purpose. Jihad is struggle, not savagery, it is purpose, not destruction, and it is the disciplined willing of a nation toward its highest self. Jihad, in this telling, is not a battle against people, but against decay, corruption, apathy, mediocrity, and moral collapse, the same “civilizational diseases” that the old traditionalists have described. It is the effort of a people to tear themselves free from the gravitational pull of decline. I’m invoking history not to merely praise violence but to illustrate how nations frame struggle as a vehicle for civilizational rejuvenation. Imperial Japan, for instance, pursued Pan-Asianism as a metaphysical rallying point, an idea that Asia could escape Western domination and reclaim dignity. The tragedy was not the desire for renewal, but that the means became its own intoxication, overshadowing the intended end. Revolutionary Iran, on the other hand, cast itself as the vanguard of a pan-religious struggle against humiliation, moral collapse, and spiritual emptiness in the modern world. Its endurance comes not from force, but from a sense of mission larger than the state itself. When struggle becomes merely struggle, when effort ceases to serve a vision, the nation becomes drunk on motion, yet blind to direction. Thus, National Jihad must never devolve into endless mobilization, it must always point upward. A society must fight its own ego, materialism, decay, decadence, cowardice, comfort-worship, and cynicism. The intellectual jihad must include reclaiming the national narrative, revitalizing education, reinforcing the national ethical core, and building a culture of thinking rather than consuming. A nation that does not control its intellectual life becomes mentally colonized. The civilizational jihad must include building institutions that foster dignity, restoring economic sovereignty, reviving creativity, family structures, and community solidarity, and striving for balance between tradition and innovation. This is jihad as construction, not destruction. A nation that fights endlessly forgets why it fights and a nation that never struggles decays without ever noticing. Struggle is a means, not a destiny. Imperial Japan fell because it worshipped struggle itself. Modern revolutionary movements sometimes risk the same intoxication. The true enemy is stagnation, not the other. The struggle is upward, not outward. Sovereignty is the ability to decide the exception, but in this context, sovereignty also means the ability of a people to define their own destiny, resist foreign domination (military, cultural, economic), defend their moral compass, cultivate national unity without suppressing humanity, and strive without collapsing into fanaticism. In this sense, National Jihad is a civilizational immune system. The nation must be standing before a mirror, a people weary of decadence yet afraid of hardship, a people longing for meaning yet drowning in leisure, a people with a past but unsure of their future. National Jihad begins not just with banners or weapons, but also with a question whispered in the heart of every citizen, for what higher purpose shall we live? If the nation rediscovers its purpose, struggle becomes a ladder. If it forgets its purpose, struggle becomes a pit. Thus, National Jihad is nothing more, and nothing less, than a disciplined ascent toward collective excellence.
IX. Bourgeois Nationalism
Bourgeois Nationalism, as the name suggested, is a term twisted by centuries, used to inflame passions, but never designed to elevate a people. There are two nationalisms, one is a tool of power, the other is a path toward destiny. The first, Bourgeois Nationalism, is the nationalism of the administrative class, the bureaucratic functionaries, the professional political class, and the elite who own neither land nor legacy, but own everything else. We were warned of their cultural hegemony, their detachment from soil, and their hostility to rooted civilizations. Bourgeois Nationalism weaponizes shallow slogans, mass-produced identities, petty cultural antagonisms, exaggerated ethnic rivalries, and empty patriotic performance. It is nationalism without memory, without responsibility, and without soul. Its goal is simple, to keep the masses emotionally mobilized, yet spiritually empty. In the modern age, the international bourgeois class, transnational, placeless, economically mobile, manipulates nationalism like a theater director manipulating props. Politics needs a friend–enemy distinction, the bourgeoisie blurred it, redirected it, commodified it. Thus nationalism became a tax policy dressed as patriotism a consumer brand, a bureaucratic loyalty test, a distraction from economic exploitation, a justification for wars without meaning, and a veil for technocratic governance. It was nationalism emptied of destiny and filled with paperwork. A nationalism that produced parades, but not purpose. A state without memory is a state without unity. Bourgeois Nationalism fears memory, for memory binds a people to obligations and demands that leaders stand as heirs to something greater than themselves. True nationalism, therefore, must be rooted in tradition (the continuity of wisdom), culture (the lived rhythms of a people), history (the accumulated experience of generations), religion (the metaphysical center of moral life), and duty (the obligation to ancestors and descendants)l While bourgeois nationalism promotes flags and slogans, true nationalism promotes character and continuity. While bourgeois nationalism encourages scapegoating, true nationalism encourages responsibility and stewardship. While bourgeois nationalism manufactures emotional spectacle, true nationalism builds civilizational architecture. All political tools, identity included, must be judged by their ends. A nation that worships nationalism ends up worshipping itself, and a nation that worships itself loses all higher purpose. Nationalism is not salvation, it is not the final truth, it is not the ultimate ideal. Nationalism is the vehicle, not the destination. The destination is cultural flourishing, moral revival, economic self-sufficiency, intellectual freedom, spiritual awakening, and civilizational renewal. Thus, nationalism must serve something greater, a metaphysical, ethical, civilizational horizon, or it becomes merely another instrument of control. A nation is not sacred because it exists. A nation is sacred because it strives. National identity becomes legitimate when it connects people to divine order, anchors them to historical memory, protects the dignity of the poor and humble, harmonizes economic life with moral principles, cultivates leaders who serve, not dominate, and unites people through justice, not fear. Thus, nationalism is neither ethnic chauvinism nor bureaucratic spectacle, it is collective self-discipline in service of a civilizational calling. In the green lantern, three flames flickered, representing the triad of true nationhood, memory (what bonds us to the past), purpose (what directs us toward the future), and duty (what disciplines us in the present). Bourgeois Nationalism extinguishes all three. True nationalism guards them like sacred trust. A nation is not a brand, a nation is not a bureaucracy, a nation is a covenant. All great political philosophy must begin with the understanding that nationalism, like struggle, is a means toward civilization, not the civilization itself.
X. Ressentiment
Ressentiment is a poison of the soul, a distortion of the heart, and a force that turns man from creator into destroyer. Ressentiment is hatred without purpose, complaint without courage, rebellion without creation. Ressentiment thrives where moral weakness is adorned as virtue, where envy masquerades as justice, and where destruction is mistaken for liberation. This was not a critique of any political faction or class, only of a mood, a spiritual disease of the late modern age. It is found wherever people believe “if I cannot rise, let others fall, if I cannot create beauty, let beauty be defaced, if I cannot embody virtue, let virtue be mocked”. Under this, civilizations enter the winter of their souls, to a world where authenticity dissolves into chatter and resentment, leading to a humanity that no longer seeks elevation but revenge. Ressentiment is the metaphysics of the resentful spirit. Modern ideological movements across the spectrum often cultivate ressentiment, not conviction, not purpose, not vision, but an unending thirst for grievance. This is why ressentiment is so destructive, it seeks to tear down beauty but cannot create beauty, it delights in negation but cannot articulate an ideal, it demands equality by leveling greatness downward instead of raising the humble upward, and it celebrates outrage over wisdom, noise over order, and disruption over harmony. Ressentiment is a fire that burns nothing but the house of the one who lights it, and yet, it spreads because it is easier to hate than to rise. Ressentiment thrives most where tradition is forgotten, history is dismissed, religion is mocked or replaced with secular dogmas, community dissolves into isolated individuals, people lose mastery over their own lives, and responsibility is replaced with perpetual blame. Political energies could be diverted into endless moralistic indictments rather than concrete action. Cultural dislocation produces frustration rather than creativity. The hollow rage produced by societies that refuse to demand excellence. A people without spiritual purpose collapse inward upon themselves. Ressentiment is not merely anger, it is misdirected anger. Anger that cannot build, and thus finds comfort in destroying. A resentful civilization produces resentful art. In such a civilization, buildings become boxes rather than temples, art becomes shock rather than beauty, literature becomes confession rather than aspiration, activism becomes demolition rather than renewal. Ressentiment drains beauty from the world because beauty demands humility, discipline, and aspiration, qualities ressentiment despises. The resentful spirit does not wish to cure its wounds, it wishes the world to bleed with it. The struggle against one’s own lower self is the antidote to ressentiment because ressentiment is a failure of self-discipline, a refusal of duty, a denial of inner hierarchy, and a revolt against divine order. Thus the cure is not more anger, not ideological fervor, not moralistic crusading, but inner strength, responsibility, and elevation. The opposite of ressentiment is not passivity, it is greatness of soul. To build a civilization requires memory, reverence, courage, sacrifice, creation, and duty. Ressentiment requires none of these, only bitterness. The door of redemption does not open to the angry, nor to the envious, nor to the bitter. It opens only to those who come with hands willing to build, and hearts willing to forgive. To hate is easy, To rise is difficult, beauty belongs to the one who rises. Ressentiment destroys civilizations, creation renews them.
XI. Rational Mysticism vs Empirical Mysticism
What is the difference between the mysticism that strengthens a civilization and the mysticism that dissolves it? Rational Mysticism is the mysticism of discipline, order, ascent. It was the path of the old sages of ancient traditions that sought not escape from reality but its perfection. Rational Mysticism possessed reason not as a cold instrument, but as the logos that reveals the structure of being, we see the world as intelligible. Through contemplation, prayer, and disciplined life, one moves from multiplicity toward the One, this is the right-hand path, the intellect is the ladder, the heart is the horizon. Rational Mysticism produces warriors who are serene, rulers who are just, ascetics who are disciplined not because they reject the world, but because they are anchored within it. This mysticism builds and forges civilizations of virtue, aristocracies of character, and orders where the spiritual and the political harmonize. It is the mysticism that inspired the Consortium’s ideal, a civilization guided by the noble, not the wealthy, by the learned, not the ideologues. Empirical Mysticism is the mysticism of indulgence, fragmentation, and dissolution. Unlike Rational Mysticism, it does not begin from the unity of Truth but from sensations, impulses, and subjective experiences. Empirical Mysticism contains visions without method and ecstasy without discipline. The left-hand path begins with the self, not with the Real. Empirical Mysticism treats every impulse, every emotion, every desire as sacred. This leads not to God, but to the tyranny of the ego. Such mysticism fuels ideologies that glorify the isolated self, personal whims, and the instability of identity. Empirical Mysticism is the seed of ressentiment, the mother of ideologies that gnaw at the roots of tradition, its cult of subjectivity leads to social atomization, decadence, and civilizational fatigue. We have seen civilizations fall to movements that worshiped emotion over order, impulse over virtue. In our age, these two mysticisms determine whether a civilization ascends or decays. Rational Mysticism is the path of disciplined inward struggle, of reason harmonized with revelation, of spiritual ascent that produces statesmen, warriors, sages. Empirical Mysticism is the path of emotionalism, ideological frenzy, self-worship, and the eventual collapse of shared meaning. Mysticism is not the rejection of the world, but the deepening of it. Rational Mysticism anchors civilization, Empirical Mysticism dissolves it. One is the ascent of man, the other, his dispersion. Rational Mysticism is the pillar of the civilization we seek to build, while Empirical Mysticism is the shadow from which we must guard the soul of civilization.
XII. Petty Moralism vs Virtue
Petty Moralism, as we name it in the Consortium, is not morality itself. It is its cheap imitation. It thrives in eras of exhaustion. Petty Moralism is the ethic of constant outrage without sacrifice, moral panic without courage, rules without character, and sentiment without discipline. It speaks loudly of rights but whispers nothing of duties. This ethic resembles what John Stuart Mill’s followers once promised but never delivered, a freedom unmoored from telos, choice without hierarchy, desire elevated to principle. “Do as thou will”, they proclaim, mistaking absence of restraint for ethical maturity, but a civilization cannot be sustained on negation alone. Petty Moralism is obsessed with surface compliance. It asks “Did you say the correct words?” “Did you violate the latest rule?” “Did you transgress a boundary defined yesterday?” It does not ask “Are you brave?” “Are you loyal?” “Are you capable of self-command?” Thus it produces a society of nervous clerks, not noble citizens. The Consortium elders compared it to a city where every man watches his neighbor’s tongue, but no one guards the walls. This moralism is secular, procedural, and endless. It multiplies rules because it lacks inner form. It fears silence because silence reveals emptiness. Virtue, by contrast, is older than law, it is known as aretē, it is the perfection of the soul’s faculties and the strengthening of the self that stands upright before God and history. Virtue is not performative, it does not announce itself, it disciplines itself. Virtue asks “Can you govern yourself?” “Can you endure hardship?” “Can you act rightly without applause?” In the Mandala imagination, virtue is embodied, cultivated, and transmitted through family, through apprenticeship, through land and labor, and through ritual and responsibility. It is not egalitarian, because character is not evenly distributed. It is not sentimental, because reality is not gentle. Petty Moralism rejects hierarchy because hierarchy implies judgment. It rejects tradition because tradition implies obligation. It rejects excellence because excellence implies comparison. In doing so, it levels everything downwards. This is not compassion, it is fear of standards. When ethics are detached from nature, history, and embodied reality, they become abstract, interchangeable, and fragile. The result is a culture that is emotionally reactive, biologically indifferent, spiritually hollow, not cruel, but anemic. Virtue, unlike Petty Moralism, accepts limits, it accepts that men and women are formed, not invented, strength precedes mercy, and order precedes freedom. It does not panic at difference, it does not legislate every impulse, and it forms men who can carry weapons without worshiping violence, and women who can carry life without reducing themselves to slogans. Virtue produces warriors who restrain themselves, rulers who fear disgrace more than punishment, and citizens who act rightly even when unseen. The Consortium concluded its session with this distinction, Petty Moralism seeks to control behavior because it cannot shape character, while Virtue shapes character and therefore needs fewer rules. Petty Moralism fears sin so much that it forgets greatness. Virtue fears dishonor more than error, one produces mediocrity with good intentions. The other produces excellence with restraint. A civilization does not collapse because it is immoral, it collapses because it replaces virtue with procedure and courage with compliance. Petty Moralism is loud, while Virtue is quiet, and history listens more carefully to the quiet.
Epilogue
Why is Everything Going Wrong Now?
The date is September 1st, 1939, 4:45 AM, a grey dawn hangs over the Baltic. The Schleswig-Holstein fires its opening salvo toward Westerplatte, and with that single concussion of iron and flame, the world’s spiritual axis begins to tilt. It is a tilt that will echo far into the future, into our present, like the first hairline fracture in a cathedral arch whose collapse is not yet visible but already inevitable. To understand why everything now feels as though it is going wrong, why societies drift, why cultures lose their shape, why the youth of entire nations struggle to find meaning, we must look backward, not with nostalgia, but with metaphysical clarity, civilizational realism, and moral imagination of. The defeat of 1918 did not merely damage Germany’s economy or borders, it shattered something deeper, its collective dignity. A nation is more than its institutions, it is a synthesis of virtue, tradition, and shared aspiration. Break those, and a people becomes hollow. The Entente powers misread this truth. Instead of healing the wound, they salted it. Their strategy, consciously or unconsciously, was to dissolve the old communal virtues and replace them with an atomized culture of distraction and pleasure, an early prototype of what later thinkers would call hyper-individualism. They believed a people disconnected from its past would remain docile. A people stripped of meaning does not become peaceful, it becomes unpredictable. Thus, the swing began. The Weimar years glittered, but like the glow of phosphorus before combustion. A society cannot survive on amusement alone, man is a political and moral animal. When the sacred is mocked and the beautiful is ignored, the void does not remain empty, it is filled by extremes. Into this vacuum stepped a dark, furious nationalism that offered identity without wisdom, unity without virtue, and strength without restraint. It rose quickly, it fell catastrophically, and its collapse contaminated even the idea of national solidarity for generations. In the Western psyche, the concept of nationhood itself became tainted with memories of destruction. Thus the second tilt began. The world entered the Cold War with two exhausted giants glaring at each other across a nuclear abyss. Both feared annihilation, both feared the shadow of past horrors. A tense equilibrium emerged, not peace, not harmony, but containment. It was only during the Vietnam War that the Western cultural foundation cracked again. The anti-war movement, born initially from moral protest, was soon infused with voices that rejected not war only, but tradition, continuity, and any concept of shared national responsibility. They imagined liberation would come from dissolving all inherited identities. Yet, liberation without structure is not liberation, it is drift. In the chaos left behind, opportunistic political and cultural actors found space to reshape society according to a new ethos, rootless individualism, personal indulgence, and the suspicion of all collective belonging. After Watergate, the American political and cultural ecosystem was vulnerable. Into this vacuum flowed a new ideology, one that rejected the classical virtues praised by the philosophers of old alike. It elevated personal desire above communal duty, consumption above transcendence, sentiment above truth. The United States, lacking historical bonds of language or ancestry after their abandonment of their traditional Anglo-Saxon origins, made the state itself the center of identity, and as its cultural influence expanded, its new ethos traveled abroad, not through armies, but through media, capital, and aspiration. This was a different kind of empire, not territorial, but psychological. Had President Nixon never been impeached, the global ideological balance might have shifted differently, perhaps restraining the cultural exportation of American hyper-individualism, but history chose another path, the hippies running the US government emerged victorious and began, often unintentionally, to transmit its increasingly unrooted worldview worldwide, into Western Europe, then further, into civilizations far older and spiritually deeper than the United States itself. As this worldview spread, its consequences intensified, such as mental health crises in lands once anchored by community, cultural amnesia in nations that had survived empires, material abundance paired with spiritual emptiness, the erosion of beauty, art reduced to provocation, and the weakening of familial and national bonds in places where they once defined life. The old world, once a mosaic of civilizations, began dissolving into a globalized mass of distracted individuals, connected, but not united, stimulated, but not fulfilled. The modern world has forgotten that human beings require, continuity to know who they are, purpose to know why they exist, community to feel they belong, and virtue to aim toward something higher than themselves. A civilization without transcendence collapses. A society without beauty decays. A people without shared meaning becomes spiritually homeless. The downward spiral that began in 1939 was not caused by a single war, ideology, or nation. It was caused by the abandonment of the human need for rootedness, discipline, honor, and the sacred. The self is strengthened by struggle as a means to an end, and the war for the future is fought first in culture, not in parliament. If the world is to be healed, it will be through the revival of beauty over vulgarity, the restoration of duty over indulgence, the renewal of community over isolation, and the rediscovery of God over the worship of the self. Only then might the pendulum finally stop. Only then might the world remember its center.
Relations
Go here
Quotes
Langkasuka
Langkasuka
Langkasuka
References
- ↑ Völkist equivalent of Nasakom
- ↑ By one of my close friends
- ↑ Political compass is barely relevant outside the internet so Idc about it
- ↑ I’m opposed to pan-ASEANism or any forms of pan-Asianism or pan-Islamism or pan-Hispanism for pragmatic reasons
- ↑ Depends on situations
- ↑ Partially
- ↑ Only in rural areas to boost nationalist sentiments among the national peasantry and landowners as well as making them become more open towards industrialization for better farming technology
- ↑ Only in urban areas to boost nationalist sentiments among the national proletariat against the multinationals and bureaucrats
- ↑ Against Singapore, East Timor, Papua New Guinea, Madagascar, Suriname, Polynesian Islands, Melanesian Islands, and Micronesian Islands
- ↑ To spread palingenetic nationalist ideas beyond the borders of Nusantara
- ↑ Pragmatic alliance with the West is a good short-term solution for countering Sino-Indian hegemony in Southeast Asia, I’m still opposed to US imperialism in a long term though
- ↑ In a long term
- ↑ Forming an economic-military alliance with other ASEAN member states alongside with Pakistan, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, Mongolia, Australia, New Zealand, Chile, and Peru
- ↑ Not necessarily opposed to the idea of a Jewish nation-state existing on the map, I just dislike Zionism in its current state
- ↑ in Pattani, against Thailand
- ↑ Pragmatically the only way to stabilize the politically unstable third world nations to end mass immigration crisis
- ↑ In a nationalist sense, not marxist one
- ↑ As an alternative to current prison system and death penalty
- ↑ In the Philippines
- ↑ Not a Christian myself but this will be applied to Filipinos and other Austronesian people who are Christians
- ↑ An Austronesian equivalent of Nordicism
- ↑ As an analysis of how leftism loathes beauty and glazes ugliness
- ↑ In a nationalist & religious sense not liberal & secular one
- ↑ Also known as Human Bio-diversity
- ↑ On Natcolasis, universal nationalism, and pragmatism, I am still against his pro-Eastern worldviews
- ↑ Specifically against Bengali, Indian, and Cambodian immigrants, as well as Thai settlers in Pattani and Chinese diasporoids in Malaysia & Singapore
- ↑ In terms of ethics and metaphysical assumptions
- ↑ People say that Völkism is related from Actual Idealism, but it’s not. In Actual Idealism, everything belongs to the state, where the people belong to the state. Völkism rejects this, as the state is the people, and the Volksgemeinschaft is more important than the state. The interests of the state are subservient to the people and the Volksgemeinschaft.
- ↑ Although I am apathetic towards the British and the Dutch nowadays since they’re geopolitically not that relevant anymore, I am still against neocolonialism practiced by the United States, China, and India
- ↑ Biotranshumanism is fine as long as it’s done right but technotranshumanism is dystopian shit that should be decimated
- ↑ in UK & Commonwealth countries
- ↑ Only on immigration
- ↑ In a similar manner to the French July Monarchy or Hamiltonian autocracy
- ↑ Nusantaran Confederacy in English