In the early 2000s, there was no bigger dream in Indonesian television than working at RCTI. Founded in 1989 as the country's first private broadcaster, ending nearly three decades of TVRI's state monopoly, RCTI had grown into the undisputed number one. It was the network that set the standard, the one that launched formats before anyone else dared. By the time I walked through its doors, RCTI was reaching over 180 million viewers nationwide, and its in-house productions were the benchmark every other station chased.
I was fortunate to be invited in. But fortune and comfort are not the same thing.
On my first day, I felt the weight of the room. RCTI was filled with giants, people who had spent years building the programs that defined Indonesian pop culture. Jay Subiakto, the visionary who would go on to become one of the country's most celebrated art directors, Pandu Sunarya, Yoel Andriyono. These were names that carried gravity. They had earned their place through years of delivering hits, and here I was young, full of convictions, and asked to lead them.
Someone made it clear on day one. "If this were the military," they said, "RCTI would be run by a Colonel”, meaning a green officer with no battle scars. It was a jab, and it landed. But rather than deflate me, it sharpened something. I didn't need to prove I belonged. I needed to prove I could deliver.
The opportunity came fast: Indonesian Idol.
Adapted from the Pop Idol format created by Simon Fuller and produced by FremantleMedia, the show had already transformed television across the globe, from American Idol in the US to local versions sweeping through Asia and Europe. Bringing it to Indonesia meant working closely with FremantleMedia's international flying producers, professionals dispatched to ensure each local adaptation upheld the format's global standards while finding its own cultural voice. It was a high-wire act: stay faithful to the bible, but make it unmistakably Indonesian.
This was exactly the kind of challenge I was built for. My background working with international production teams and my instincts as a creative director and showrunner made the collaboration seamless. I helped design the production framework. I directed the contestant video profiles myself. I was hands-on during every spectacular show, the live performance episodes where the stakes were highest and the margins for error thinnest.
When Indonesian Idol premiered on RCTI on April 9, 2004, something shifted. Over 32,000 hopefuls had auditioned. The judging panel, featuring Indra Lesmana, Titi DJ, Meuthia Kasim, and Dimas Djayadiningrat brought credibility and chemistry. The SMS voting system turned passive viewers into active participants, a first for Indonesian entertainment at that scale. By the time Joy Tobing was crowned the first winner in September 2004, the show had drawn millions and become a genuine cultural phenomenon.
All the skepticism, the Colonel jabs, the raised eyebrows evaporated. Indonesian Idol was not just a hit; it became the number one talent search in the country. And from that point on, the team was behind me. Trust, once earned in television, opens every door.
With that momentum, I wanted to do something unexpected. Rather than follow trends, I wanted to start one.
The result was The Master.
Premiering on February 6, 2009, The Master was a reality competition for stage magicians, illusionists, mentalists, escapologists, fakirs, sleight-of-hand artists, competing for the public's vote. There was nothing like it on Indonesian television. In a landscape dominated by singing contests and soap operas, a magic competition was a genuine gamble.
It paid off spectacularly. The Master's finale, the legendary Duel Inauguration between Limbad and Joe Sandy, shattered records with a rating of 11.4 and an audience share of 44. The show turned its judge, Deddy Corbuzier, into a household name and earned him the international Merlin Award as World Best Mentalist twice in consecutive years. A spin-off, The Master Junior, soon followed. The show proved that Indonesian audiences were hungry for something different, that originality could beat formula.
The Master and Indonesian Idol were the tentpoles, but they were far from the whole story. Under my leadership, RCTI's in-house production unit became the strongest in the country. We produced Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, the quiz format that had already conquered global television as well as Deal or No Deal Indonesia. We created and executed prestige award shows: the Anugerah Musik Indonesia (AMI Awards), Indonesia's equivalent of the Grammys, which RCTI broadcast for over two decades; the Panasonic Gobel Awards, the country's premier people's choice television awards; and the Indonesian Movie Awards. Each production raised the bar a little higher.
One successful format after another. Season after season. Award show after award show. The machine was running, and running well.
And then, standing backstage at the Panasonic Gobel Awards, holding a trophy for Favorite Talent Search Program, I felt something I did not expect.
Nothing.
Not satisfaction. Not pride. Just a quiet, nagging question: Are the programs I'm making actually doing something meaningful for people?
It was not a crisis. It was a reckoning. The ratings were strong, the awards kept coming, but I had reached a ceiling that had nothing to do with numbers. I needed to step back and ask harder questions about what television could be, not just what it could sell.
In 2010, the answer arrived as a question.
"If you were given the chance to build a television network from zero, what would you build?"
The offer came from the owners of what would become Kompas TV, backed by the Kompas Gramedia Group, the media conglomerate behind Indonesia's most respected newspaper. Jakob Oetama, the group's visionary founder, had expressed a hope that this new network could "enlighten the nation and enrich the people."
I did not hesitate. My answer came immediately: A television that can inspire Indonesia.
On September 9, 2011, Kompas TV went on the air with the tagline Inspirasi Indonesia, Indonesia's Inspiration. It launched with a concert titled Simfoni Semesta Raya (The Symphony of the Universe), and from day one it was deliberately, defiantly different: documentaries instead of soap operas, meaningful storytelling instead of celebrity gossip, substance over sensation.
RCTI had been a bigger stage. But Kompas TV was a different stage altogether, one where the question was no longer how many people are watching, but what are we giving them when they do.
That question has guided everything I have done since.
