The draft regulation on publisher rights became a mirror for Indonesia’s media industry long before it became a policy. What began as a presidential push to protect quality journalism from platform dependency instead exposed deep fractures inside the press, uncertainty inside government, and resistance from global digital platforms. Kompas.id’s framing captured the core dilemma well: if the people who are supposed to benefit from the regulation feel threatened by it, then the policy is not yet ready to do its job.
Indonesia’s debate over publisher rights did not emerge in a vacuum. It grew out of a broader crisis in the economics of journalism, where publishers increasingly depend on traffic routed through global digital platforms while platform companies control distribution, visibility, and monetization. In early 2023, the Indonesian government signaled support for a regulatory response, and President Joko Widodo publicly urged the press community to draft a proposal that could safeguard the national media ecosystem. ANTARA reported that the president expected the draft to be completed within a month after National Press Day 2023, underscoring how quickly the government wanted a solution to move from idea to law.
That urgency reflected a genuine structural problem. News organizations were already under pressure from shrinking ad revenue, platform-driven audience capture, and the race for speed and clicks in digital publishing. In this environment, “quality journalism” became both a moral argument and a business strategy: if media outlets could be compensated more fairly for creating valuable content, the theory went, they could invest more in reporting and less in chasing superficial engagement. The Press Council’s own 2023 reporting points to a formal push to build a legal framework for publisher rights after the National Press Day speech in Medan, showing that the topic had become central to the institution’s agenda.
But the process of drafting the regulation proved to be contentious almost immediately. Some media figures objected to a presidential regulation as the instrument of choice, worrying that any executive-led rule touching the press could blur the boundary between protection and intervention. Others questioned how transparent the drafting process had been, and whether the industry itself had actually been consulted broadly enough. That tension matters because publisher rights is not just a copyright or platform policy issue; it is a press-freedom issue, a competition issue, and an institutional-design issue all at once.
By mid-2023, the debate had widened further. A government draft titled around digital platform responsibilities to support quality journalism surfaced, and the Press Council felt sidelined because the draft appeared to shift the center of gravity away from press governance and toward platform obligations alone. That distinction may sound technical, but it is politically decisive. If the regulation is framed as a platform rule, the state can say it is merely correcting market failure; if it is framed as a press rule, critics can argue the government is inserting itself into the conditions under which journalism is produced and distributed.
Kompas.id’s commentary distilled the conflict into one blunt image: the fish had not been caught, yet the water was already murky. That metaphor fits because the dispute was no longer just about the final wording of a draft. It was about whether the process itself had already damaged trust, split the media community, and provoked platform backlash before any public benefit could be demonstrated. The result was a policy fight in which every stakeholder had reasons to feel exposed, even though the policy was supposed to create protection.
This is why the industry’s internal disagreement matters so much. A regulation that cannot unify the people it is meant to help will struggle to gain legitimacy, and legitimacy is everything in press policy. If publishers believe the draft favors larger players, or if smaller outlets fear they will be locked out of benefits, then the regulation risks hardening existing inequalities rather than repairing them. In that sense, publisher rights is not only about media survival; it is about who gets to define the future shape of the media market.
There is also a strategic asymmetry. Platforms can change ranking rules, ad systems, and content policies globally, while individual publishers must adapt one by one. That asymmetry makes collective regulation attractive, but it also makes detailed drafting difficult because a rule that is too vague invites lobbying, while a rule that is too rigid may become obsolete quickly. The regulation therefore needs to be flexible enough to survive platform evolution without becoming a loophole factory.
That is where the language of quality journalism becomes double-edged. It can be a noble standard, but it can also become a regulatory lever. If officials or committees are empowered to decide what counts as quality, the line between support and supervision becomes dangerously thin. For that reason, critics viewed the draft not just as an economic instrument, but as a test of whether Indonesia could support journalism without grading it in ways that might chill independence.
The Press Council’s role was especially complicated. As an institution authorized under Indonesia’s Press Law, it had every reason to think it should be central to shaping the regulatory response. Yet reports indicated that it had difficulty obtaining the results of earlier studies and was not always fully in the loop when newer drafts surfaced. That kind of institutional confusion is not just bureaucratic noise; it weakens confidence that the regulation rests on stable, representative expertise.
That split is one reason the debate became so noisy. When stakeholders cannot agree on whether the policy is about press protection, platform obligation, or market correction, they begin arguing over the frame rather than the fix. In policy terms, the drafting process had already become a battleground over narrative control.
The criticism that the drafting was too elitist or insufficiently open therefore struck at the heart of legitimacy. In a sector already accused of chasing clicks and influence, opaque policymaking only deepens public skepticism. The regulation may have been intended to stabilize the media environment, but a poorly managed process can do the opposite and make the ecosystem feel even more politicized.
The concern was not theoretical. Platform companies understand that regulation can change the economics of content licensing, link sharing, algorithmic visibility, and data flows. Once a government starts defining responsibilities to media publishers, it can affect the entire architecture of content distribution. That is why platforms tend to resist vague or open-ended obligations: uncertainty itself becomes a cost.
There is also a reputational element. Platform companies often prefer to frame themselves as partners to journalism rather than extractive intermediaries. But once governments begin formalizing the value exchange, the partnership language gets tested. That is why the platforms’ public objections matter even if they are partly strategic: they reveal where cooperation ends and leverage begins.
At the same time, the threat exposes a deeper dependency problem. If the media ecosystem would be thrown into crisis by a platform pullback, then the underlying business model is already fragile. That does not mean regulation is unnecessary; it means the regulation must be designed to reduce dependence, not simply formalize it. Otherwise, the industry could end up more vulnerable, not less.
That semantic ambiguity matters because policy built on undefined virtues tends to become contested enforcement. If a regulation promises to elevate quality, the next question is who measures it, who enforces it, and what happens when actors disagree. The more the state or a committee becomes involved in those judgments, the more the policy starts to resemble gatekeeping rather than support.
The danger is that policy drifts from supporting journalism to ranking journalism. Once that happens, media organizations may optimize for regulatory approval instead of public value. This is precisely the kind of unintended consequence that critics feared when they saw the draft moving through elite channels with uncertain oversight.
But public-interest arguments only work when the mechanism is trusted. If the regulation is perceived as too close to the state, too favorable to incumbents, or too vague in execution, then even well-intentioned support can become politically toxic. The publisher-rights debate is a reminder that good ends do not erase bad process.
Its Media Sustainability Team was an attempt to answer the president’s call with a structured policy process. That was sensible in principle. Yet the more the process stretched out and the more versions of the draft circulated, the more the Council looked trapped between expectations it could not fully control. In that sense, the body became both architect and hostage of the debate.
That problem was amplified by the fact that different media actors disagreed about the form of regulation itself. Some saw a presidential regulation as practical; others saw it as a dangerous opening for executive intervention. The Press Council could not solve that conflict by technical drafting alone, because the disagreement was partly about trust, not wording.
This is the central paradox of the whole episode: the more the industry needs a shared framework, the harder it becomes to agree on the framework’s boundaries. The publisher-rights debate therefore says as much about the fragmentation of the Indonesian media landscape as it does about platform power.
The government’s insistence that the draft regulated platforms rather than the press was politically strategic. It allowed officials to frame the policy as market correction rather than media control. But that distinction only works if the actual implementation stays clearly on the platform side of the line and does not drift into content supervision.
The challenge is that soft law can be vague. If a committee becomes the central referee for disputes between publishers and platforms, the boundaries of its authority have to be sharply defined. Otherwise, a soft framework can become a soft spot for legal ambiguity and political pressure.
That leaves officials in a narrow corridor. They need a policy robust enough to matter but restrained enough to preserve trust. In the publisher-rights debate, the best policy may be the one that quietly aligns incentives rather than loudly redesigns the media system.
It also needed to avoid making “quality journalism” a subjective gatekeeping tool. The cleanest version of the policy would support the economic conditions of strong reporting without assigning the state a content-ranking role. That means the regulation would have to focus on process, transparency, and bargaining power rather than judging news output itself.
For Indonesia, the real goal was not to win a rhetorical battle against platforms. It was to design a durable, credible architecture for value exchange in a digital news economy. Anything less would leave the industry still dependent, only now with more paperwork.
The real question is whether everyone involved can step back from positional bargaining and focus on shared survival. That means accepting that publishers need leverage, platforms need clarity, and the public needs journalism that is both independent and financially sustainable. A durable solution will probably look less like a victory for one side and more like a negotiated settlement that no one loves completely but everyone can live with.
Watch for these developments:
Source: Kompas.id Let's Sit Back Together
Indonesia’s debate over publisher rights did not emerge in a vacuum. It grew out of a broader crisis in the economics of journalism, where publishers increasingly depend on traffic routed through global digital platforms while platform companies control distribution, visibility, and monetization. In early 2023, the Indonesian government signaled support for a regulatory response, and President Joko Widodo publicly urged the press community to draft a proposal that could safeguard the national media ecosystem. ANTARA reported that the president expected the draft to be completed within a month after National Press Day 2023, underscoring how quickly the government wanted a solution to move from idea to law.That urgency reflected a genuine structural problem. News organizations were already under pressure from shrinking ad revenue, platform-driven audience capture, and the race for speed and clicks in digital publishing. In this environment, “quality journalism” became both a moral argument and a business strategy: if media outlets could be compensated more fairly for creating valuable content, the theory went, they could invest more in reporting and less in chasing superficial engagement. The Press Council’s own 2023 reporting points to a formal push to build a legal framework for publisher rights after the National Press Day speech in Medan, showing that the topic had become central to the institution’s agenda.
But the process of drafting the regulation proved to be contentious almost immediately. Some media figures objected to a presidential regulation as the instrument of choice, worrying that any executive-led rule touching the press could blur the boundary between protection and intervention. Others questioned how transparent the drafting process had been, and whether the industry itself had actually been consulted broadly enough. That tension matters because publisher rights is not just a copyright or platform policy issue; it is a press-freedom issue, a competition issue, and an institutional-design issue all at once.
By mid-2023, the debate had widened further. A government draft titled around digital platform responsibilities to support quality journalism surfaced, and the Press Council felt sidelined because the draft appeared to shift the center of gravity away from press governance and toward platform obligations alone. That distinction may sound technical, but it is politically decisive. If the regulation is framed as a platform rule, the state can say it is merely correcting market failure; if it is framed as a press rule, critics can argue the government is inserting itself into the conditions under which journalism is produced and distributed.
Kompas.id’s commentary distilled the conflict into one blunt image: the fish had not been caught, yet the water was already murky. That metaphor fits because the dispute was no longer just about the final wording of a draft. It was about whether the process itself had already damaged trust, split the media community, and provoked platform backlash before any public benefit could be demonstrated. The result was a policy fight in which every stakeholder had reasons to feel exposed, even though the policy was supposed to create protection.
Why Publisher Rights Became a Flashpoint
The publisher-rights debate turned into a flashpoint because it sits at the intersection of two legitimate concerns. On one side is the need to protect journalism economics from platform dominance. On the other is the need to protect editorial independence from government overreach. That tension makes the issue unusually difficult to solve with a single regulation, because any mechanism that redistributes value can also create new forms of control.This is why the industry’s internal disagreement matters so much. A regulation that cannot unify the people it is meant to help will struggle to gain legitimacy, and legitimacy is everything in press policy. If publishers believe the draft favors larger players, or if smaller outlets fear they will be locked out of benefits, then the regulation risks hardening existing inequalities rather than repairing them. In that sense, publisher rights is not only about media survival; it is about who gets to define the future shape of the media market.
The business problem
At the heart of the issue is the question of revenue. Digital platforms have become indispensable to news discovery, but they also act as powerful gatekeepers that can monetize attention while leaving publishers with a small share of the value. That imbalance has driven many media companies into a permanent state of negotiation, where traffic is welcome but dependence is dangerous. ANTARA’s reporting on the policy discussion explicitly tied the regulation to creating a fairer environment for journalism in a digital context.There is also a strategic asymmetry. Platforms can change ranking rules, ad systems, and content policies globally, while individual publishers must adapt one by one. That asymmetry makes collective regulation attractive, but it also makes detailed drafting difficult because a rule that is too vague invites lobbying, while a rule that is too rigid may become obsolete quickly. The regulation therefore needs to be flexible enough to survive platform evolution without becoming a loophole factory.
The editorial problem
The editorial concern is even more sensitive. President Jokowi’s National Press Day remarks in Medan criticized the press for prioritizing readability and speed over quality, a pointed critique that many journalists interpreted as both fair and unsettling. On one level, it acknowledged the real pressure of click-driven news. On another, it implied that state-backed policy might be used to steer the industry toward a preferred notion of “quality.”That is where the language of quality journalism becomes double-edged. It can be a noble standard, but it can also become a regulatory lever. If officials or committees are empowered to decide what counts as quality, the line between support and supervision becomes dangerously thin. For that reason, critics viewed the draft not just as an economic instrument, but as a test of whether Indonesia could support journalism without grading it in ways that might chill independence.
The Drafting Process and Its Frictions
One of the clearest lessons from this episode is that process matters as much as policy substance. The press community was asked to draft the regulation, yet parts of the industry felt excluded from the drafting ecosystem as different versions moved between the Press Council, the government, and the president’s office. That lack of clarity created suspicion that the final text might reflect elite negotiation more than broad consensus.The Press Council’s role was especially complicated. As an institution authorized under Indonesia’s Press Law, it had every reason to think it should be central to shaping the regulatory response. Yet reports indicated that it had difficulty obtaining the results of earlier studies and was not always fully in the loop when newer drafts surfaced. That kind of institutional confusion is not just bureaucratic noise; it weakens confidence that the regulation rests on stable, representative expertise.
Who was actually drafting what?
A major source of confusion was that two different draft tracks appeared to coexist. One was the press community’s own proposal, built around publisher rights and industry sustainability. The other was a government draft focusing on digital platform responsibilities to support quality journalism. Though related, those are not the same thing, and the difference matters because each implies a different regulatory philosophy.That split is one reason the debate became so noisy. When stakeholders cannot agree on whether the policy is about press protection, platform obligation, or market correction, they begin arguing over the frame rather than the fix. In policy terms, the drafting process had already become a battleground over narrative control.
Why transparency mattered
Transparency was not a cosmetic issue here. A policy that redistributes money and power across the media ecosystem needs broad trust to work, because any perceived favoritism can damage uptake. If smaller publishers believe the process is dominated by major outlets, or if platforms believe the rules are changing midstream, the result is resistance instead of implementation.The criticism that the drafting was too elitist or insufficiently open therefore struck at the heart of legitimacy. In a sector already accused of chasing clicks and influence, opaque policymaking only deepens public skepticism. The regulation may have been intended to stabilize the media environment, but a poorly managed process can do the opposite and make the ecosystem feel even more politicized.
Platform Backlash and the Economics of Dependence
Global platforms did not sit quietly on the sidelines. Meta urged the government to reconsider the draft, and Google reportedly argued that the proposed framework was unworkable, warning that it might rather stop operating in the country than comply with measures it viewed as too burdensome. Even allowing for corporate bargaining, that kind of rhetoric shows how seriously platforms viewed the risk to their business models.The concern was not theoretical. Platform companies understand that regulation can change the economics of content licensing, link sharing, algorithmic visibility, and data flows. Once a government starts defining responsibilities to media publishers, it can affect the entire architecture of content distribution. That is why platforms tend to resist vague or open-ended obligations: uncertainty itself becomes a cost.
Why platforms pushed back
Platforms likely feared that the draft could create obligations they would have to operationalize across their systems, potentially in ways that are hard to monitor or negotiate. If the law forced them into compensation schemes, content prioritization arrangements, or compliance duties tied to journalistic content, the precedent could spread beyond Indonesia. In other words, the debate was local in geography but global in implication.There is also a reputational element. Platform companies often prefer to frame themselves as partners to journalism rather than extractive intermediaries. But once governments begin formalizing the value exchange, the partnership language gets tested. That is why the platforms’ public objections matter even if they are partly strategic: they reveal where cooperation ends and leverage begins.
The threat of market withdrawal
The most dramatic claim in the public debate was that if platforms left, media revenue could fall by IDR 1 trillion a year and around 7,000 media workers could lose jobs. Those numbers may function partly as a warning shot, but they are still politically potent because they translate regulatory risk into employment risk. Once a policy debate is framed as a potential job killer, compromise becomes harder.At the same time, the threat exposes a deeper dependency problem. If the media ecosystem would be thrown into crisis by a platform pullback, then the underlying business model is already fragile. That does not mean regulation is unnecessary; it means the regulation must be designed to reduce dependence, not simply formalize it. Otherwise, the industry could end up more vulnerable, not less.
Quality Journalism as Policy Goal
The phrase quality journalism appeared throughout the debate, but it carried different meanings for different actors. For the government, it was a policy objective tied to sustainability and public interest. For the press, it was both a challenge and a defense against the accusation that the industry had become too dependent on speed, viral content, and platform algorithms. For platforms, it was a label that could justify intervention, but also a vague standard that risked regulatory overreach.That semantic ambiguity matters because policy built on undefined virtues tends to become contested enforcement. If a regulation promises to elevate quality, the next question is who measures it, who enforces it, and what happens when actors disagree. The more the state or a committee becomes involved in those judgments, the more the policy starts to resemble gatekeeping rather than support.
Metrics versus mission
A good journalism policy should ideally support the conditions that make quality possible: newsroom investment, editorial independence, fair monetization, and transparent distribution. It should avoid trying to certify quality in ways that can be gamed or politicized. That distinction is central, because regulators can fund ecosystems more safely than they can judge content at scale.The danger is that policy drifts from supporting journalism to ranking journalism. Once that happens, media organizations may optimize for regulatory approval instead of public value. This is precisely the kind of unintended consequence that critics feared when they saw the draft moving through elite channels with uncertain oversight.
The public-interest argument
To be fair, the public-interest case for regulation is strong. Journalism is not a normal commodity, and markets alone often fail to reward fact-finding, accountability reporting, or costly local coverage. A policy that helps sustain newsrooms can therefore serve democracy, not just businesses.But public-interest arguments only work when the mechanism is trusted. If the regulation is perceived as too close to the state, too favorable to incumbents, or too vague in execution, then even well-intentioned support can become politically toxic. The publisher-rights debate is a reminder that good ends do not erase bad process.
The Press Council’s Role Under Pressure
The Press Council was supposed to be the institutional bridge between the government, the industry, and the public. Because it is tasked with managing aspects of press life under the Press Law, its involvement gave the publisher-rights initiative a degree of legitimacy at the outset. But legitimacy can erode quickly when stakeholders feel the Council is either too central or not central enough.Its Media Sustainability Team was an attempt to answer the president’s call with a structured policy process. That was sensible in principle. Yet the more the process stretched out and the more versions of the draft circulated, the more the Council looked trapped between expectations it could not fully control. In that sense, the body became both architect and hostage of the debate.
An institution caught in the middle
The Council had to reassure journalists that it was defending press independence, while also showing the government it could produce a usable draft. Those are not always compatible tasks. When an institution becomes the official mediator, every side expects it to absorb criticism without appearing partisan, which is often impossible in a fight over money and regulatory power.That problem was amplified by the fact that different media actors disagreed about the form of regulation itself. Some saw a presidential regulation as practical; others saw it as a dangerous opening for executive intervention. The Press Council could not solve that conflict by technical drafting alone, because the disagreement was partly about trust, not wording.
Why authority was not enough
Formal authority does not automatically produce consensus. Even though the Council had a statutory role, it still needed broad buy-in from major outlets, smaller publishers, and digital-native newsrooms. Without that buy-in, any final regulation risks being seen as top-down, no matter how carefully written.This is the central paradox of the whole episode: the more the industry needs a shared framework, the harder it becomes to agree on the framework’s boundaries. The publisher-rights debate therefore says as much about the fragmentation of the Indonesian media landscape as it does about platform power.
The Government’s Balancing Act
For the government, publisher rights was always going to be a balancing act. On one side stood the president’s concern that the national press was under economic stress and losing value to global digital intermediaries. On the other stood the obligation to avoid any policy that could be interpreted as state interference in editorial life. That is a hard line to walk, especially in a country where press freedom remains a sensitive democratic marker.The government’s insistence that the draft regulated platforms rather than the press was politically strategic. It allowed officials to frame the policy as market correction rather than media control. But that distinction only works if the actual implementation stays clearly on the platform side of the line and does not drift into content supervision.
Regulation by soft law
Later explanations from officials described the final approach as a kind of soft regulation or soft law. That makes sense in a context where the aim is to create incentives, standards, and negotiation channels rather than hard censorship powers. It also fits the broader trend in digital governance, where governments often prefer framework rules and committees over rigid statutory commands.The challenge is that soft law can be vague. If a committee becomes the central referee for disputes between publishers and platforms, the boundaries of its authority have to be sharply defined. Otherwise, a soft framework can become a soft spot for legal ambiguity and political pressure.
The risk of overpromising
A government that promises both economic relief and press protection can quickly raise expectations beyond what a regulation can deliver. If revenue fails to improve, or if the policy is too weak to shift platform behavior, the backlash will be severe. If the policy is too strong, the backlash may come from platforms, publishers, or civil society worried about overreach.That leaves officials in a narrow corridor. They need a policy robust enough to matter but restrained enough to preserve trust. In the publisher-rights debate, the best policy may be the one that quietly aligns incentives rather than loudly redesigns the media system.
What the Final Regulation Needed
If the regulation was ever going to work, it needed to do more than declare noble intentions. It had to specify how publishers and platforms would interact, how disputes would be resolved, and what counts as a fair arrangement in a rapidly changing digital market. Without those guardrails, the law would be vulnerable to symbolic success and practical failure.It also needed to avoid making “quality journalism” a subjective gatekeeping tool. The cleanest version of the policy would support the economic conditions of strong reporting without assigning the state a content-ranking role. That means the regulation would have to focus on process, transparency, and bargaining power rather than judging news output itself.
A practical checklist
A workable framework would likely need several things in place:- Clear definitions of publisher, platform, and news content.
- Transparent rules for revenue-sharing or licensing negotiations.
- An independent dispute-resolution mechanism.
- Explicit protection against editorial interference.
- Strong disclosure rules for any platform–publisher agreements.
- A review process to keep the policy updated as digital markets change.
Why implementation mattered more than symbolism
The moment a regulation is announced, it starts shaping behavior, even before it is enforced. Publishers may shift business expectations, platforms may reprice risk, and journalists may wonder whether future coverage will be indirectly influenced. That is why a half-baked framework can be more damaging than no framework at all.For Indonesia, the real goal was not to win a rhetorical battle against platforms. It was to design a durable, credible architecture for value exchange in a digital news economy. Anything less would leave the industry still dependent, only now with more paperwork.
Strengths and Opportunities
The publisher-rights debate still contains real promise, because it forced a long-overdue public conversation about how journalism is funded in the digital era. It also created an opening for stronger institutional collaboration between government, the Press Council, and media organizations, provided those actors can recover trust and define a common purpose. The best-case scenario is not a confrontational law but a framework that nudges the market toward fairness while preserving editorial autonomy.- The policy recognizes that journalism has economic value beyond raw traffic.
- It creates a basis for fairer bargaining with global platforms.
- It could encourage more investment in reporting quality and newsroom stability.
- It gives the Press Council a chance to strengthen its role as a mediator.
- It may reduce the industry’s dependence on ad-hoc platform deals.
- It opens space for clearer standards around transparency and licensing.
- It forces a national conversation about the future of media sustainability.
Risks and Concerns
The largest risk is that the regulation could be perceived as a tool of influence rather than support. If the state gains too much power over the definition of quality journalism, the policy could chill independence even while claiming to defend it. Another serious danger is that the framework could favor large outlets and lock smaller publishers out of meaningful benefits.- The draft could blur the line between support and control.
- Small and independent publishers may be disadvantaged.
- Platform withdrawal threats could destabilize revenue unexpectedly.
- Vague standards may invite politicized interpretation.
- Implementation could become inconsistent across ministries or committees.
- Public trust may fall if the process remains opaque.
- The policy could create new dependencies instead of reducing old ones.
Looking Ahead
The next phase of the publisher-rights story will depend less on political slogans and more on whether the final regulation is specific, enforceable, and trusted. If the government and press community can return to first principles, the policy could still become a constructive model for digital-era journalism support. If not, it may end up as another example of how difficult it is to regulate platforms without unsettling the institutions that depend on them.The real question is whether everyone involved can step back from positional bargaining and focus on shared survival. That means accepting that publishers need leverage, platforms need clarity, and the public needs journalism that is both independent and financially sustainable. A durable solution will probably look less like a victory for one side and more like a negotiated settlement that no one loves completely but everyone can live with.
Watch for these developments:
- Any revised draft that narrows the role of government in evaluating journalism.
- Whether the Press Council regains a clearly defined central role.
- Reactions from Meta, Google, and other major platforms to new wording.
- Signals that smaller and regional publishers are being included more directly.
- Movement from soft-law principles toward concrete implementation rules.
- New public explanations of how disputes and revenue-sharing would actually work.
Source: Kompas.id Let's Sit Back Together
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