[Music] Imagine one person who can read the Quran, read Nietzsche, write poetry, act in theater, criticize the New Order, criticize reform, criticize Jokowi and the opposition all at once. But at night I still feed my grandchildren and read dhikr slowly. This is not a film festival partner store, this is not Utopia, this is Cak Nun. And if you haven't heard of him, that's normal. Because Cak Nun is not a religious celebrity, not a product of an algorithm. And it is clear that Cak Nun is not a commodity that can be serviced every election season. Cak Nun never begs for the stage, never fights over the microphone. And most importantly, Cak Nun never sells God in political discount stores. If Indonesia were a sea vessel, Cak Nun would not be the captain standing proudly on the deck. He was the one who secretly added to the ship's hull with his bare hands so that the common people wouldn't drown first. Not because he is strong, but because he knows that if this ship leaks, the first to sink will not be the officials, but the people whose houses are on the riverbanks and the people who sleep under bridges. Cun is certainly not a new name in the Indonesian public, but it is also not an old name that has run out of use. Cunon is like an old well in the middle of a village that is slowly being forgotten. Until one day the electricity went out, the water was murky, and people just realized. This well still contains a spring that never dries up. And when people started coming back to draw slowly. They realized that this well was not just a place to get water, but also a place to exchange news, ask for directions, and calm a wavering heart. So it is natural that many people call him by different names. Some call him an intellectual, some call him an artist, some call him a cultural figure. But most of them just call him Cak and later call him Mbah. a simple call that makes him close like a friend, like a neighbor, like a father. Candun was born in Jombang in 1953. He grew up in the Islamic boarding school tradition. But Cun grew up with a brain as hard as the streets of Mojokerto during the rainy season. Dare to be different even from a young age. Chan is not an Alazar alumnus, not a Madinah graduate, not a figure who is welcomed with a red carpet and the title Kiai [ __ ] in front of his name. But if you ask a confused young person , a tired mother, or a father who is about to give up, they will all name a name that makes them feel less alone in a world that is too banal. Cak Nun, that's the name you'll hear. From Jogja to Jakarta, from poetry to music, from politics to spirituality, Cak Nun writes not to be remembered, but to remind. And the fire never goes out because what it burns is not the stage or power, but the silence in the heart that has forgotten how to love others. I am not a religious teacher, a kiai, or even a politician. I'm just a person who wants to learn with other humans. So he often said, but it was precisely because he did not claim a high position that people came. Not only the poor and marginalized, but also officials, ministers, presidents, even generals. They came not to be praised, but to be held accountable. Because Cak Nun does not provide a stage, he provides a mirror. And whoever sits before him, whether a citizen or a ruler, will be forced to see his own face without a mask. So if we compare it to an object, Cak Nun is like an old cupboard in his grandfather's house which doesn't contain expensive clothes, but fragments of Indonesian history from a side that is often pushed aside. There are stories of people disappearing because they were kidnapped, there are poems that were censored. There are love letters that the state never answered. And he cared for all of that not to be remembered, but to be remembered so that it would not be repeated. Many people say that Cak Nun is grey, too neutral, not firm. But perhaps they mistakenly think that silence is passive. That not taking sides means not caring. In fact, sometimes people sit in the middle not because they are confused about choosing, but because they want to be a bridge, not a fence. And in this over-the-top country, building bridges is the most dangerous job. Because if you don't join in shouting, you'll be suspected of secretly taking sides. And if you try to hear both sides, you're called cunning. But the addiction remains there. In the midst of chatting with farmers, listening to rickshaw drivers' stories, watching street musicians, and then being invited to discuss diversity. But don't be mistaken, those who come are not just the common people. Sometimes ministers come, sometimes generals sit and listen. But Cak Nun still wears a sarong, still drinks coffee from a plastic cup. Because for Cak Nun, everyone, big or small, has the right to feel that they are not alone in a country that is too fond of counting but lazy to listen. And behind the simple-looking mat, there was one thing that secretly made the ruler restless. Because since the New Order era, Cun has been a thorn in the throat of power. Not because he was shouting in the street, but because his poetry penetrated the listener's soul. Cun did not fight back angrily. He fought back with prayers tucked into poetry. With wounds sewn into poetry. So that the authorities know, the people can cry without causing riots. And it was from his poetry that the New Order rulers were itching. Because his poetry is not just aesthetic. But the manifesto of the common people who were never given a platform. "This country has many arguments but little justice," he wrote in an essay. Chan is clearly not anti- state. He actually loves this country like a parent loves a child who is too naughty. Not by defending his every action, but by boldly saying, "Son, you hurt a lot of people and you have to apologize." Because for Cak Nun, love for the homeland is not about saluting the flag every Monday morning, but about having the courage to face the country and say that what you hurt is not a statistic, but a human being. And sometimes the most sincere love is shown by distancing yourself, not running away. And all this is done so that the country learns to walk on its own and knows the feeling of loneliness after neglecting its own people. So don't be surprised if Cak Nun is always outside the circle of power. But don't misunderstand, distancing yourself doesn't mean fighting. Danta fighting for a seat doesn't mean being anti-power. Because when power needs an ear, Cak Nun is always ready to listen. When people are busy criticizing the government on social media, Cak Nun chooses to educate the people so they won't be easily fooled. For him, politics is important, but not everything. Because what can save this country is not Not just a cabinet, but a sane community aware of the meaning of life. That's why Cak Nun never registered for a party, but ironically, all parties have sought his blessings. Every president has worshipped him, from Gus Dur to SBY to Jokowi. But Cak Nun remains standing in the same place among the people who don't know who to hope for. And it's not just power that comes; the people also come in all their confusion. In a country busy sorting out which is moderate Islam, which is radical, which is Islam Nusantara, which is 212. Cak Nun once again affirms his middle ground by sitting outside of all those classifications . Cak Nun doesn't join parades, doesn't write manifestos, doesn't fight for the label of the most Ahlussunah. Because for Cak Nun, religion isn't a cutting tool, but a growing field. Not a hammer, but a hand, not a flag, but a small light you carry at night when the power goes out. And while many ustaz make pengajian like college PowerPoint presentations , Cun instead makes pengajian like spiritual camping amidst the noise. There is no one-way interpretation, no threat of sin if you... Asking. There's no forced repentance; there's discussion, Q&A, music, chuckles, and prayers that come from the heart of those who don't feel the most radiant. Look no further than anywhere in the world; where is there a forum attended by thousands from dusk until dawn without a fancy stage, without cigarette ads, without tickets, without police security, and who leave with meaningful smiles? That's MAIA. The forum built by Cak Nun since the late 1990s, starting in Padang Bulan in Jombang. A simple mat that slowly spread to mocopat syafaat in Yogyakarta, kenduri cinta in Jakarta, Bambang Wetan in Surabaya, and dozens of other maiah points born not from grants, but from longing. And this isn't just a religious study group, but a small civilization being slowly pioneered. If democracy today is a rock concert, noisy, rowdy, full of cheers and insults from the stage, then maiah is the sound of a violin scraping in the corner of the room that can only be heard if you're willing to be silent. At MAIA, no one is elevated. Everyone sits equally. People The poor can debate interpretations with academics. Young men can sing with Islamic boarding school students. Women tired of facing patriarchy at home can cry softly when they hear poetry. And children can learn about love without fear of being asked how old they are. Mai is not an organization, not a mass organization, not a sect. It has no structure, no formation. But it has the same breath. We gather not to blame, but to remember that life can still be brought home peacefully. And if you come to Maih, you will see people of all stripes. There are Islamic boarding school students, there are tattooed youth, there are activists, there are Islamic boarding school children, there are women studying the Koran, there are converts, there are those who are not yet sure they believe or are just following along, and all sit equally. Because at Maih, faith is not displayed but nurtured together. There, God is not frightening, and people are invited to think without having to lose faith. And in running Maih, Cak Nun believes that God is not an algorithm. He does not judge his followers by how viral their supporters are in defending religion. In an era when Instagram celebrities are more listened to than writers, Cak Nun is like a cassette tape in The Spotify era. It may be old-fashioned, but it still contains a clear sound that algorithms can't manipulate . Cak Nun also never calls for a return to the Quran and Sunnah. But he asks, "If you've returned, why do you still feel sorry for the losers?" In a country increasingly fond of blaming, Maya reminds us, "We've all been losers, but not everyone knows how to make peace with mistakes. Cak Nun is not an expert in jurisprudence, but he knows when someone needs a hug before he falls into the abyss of losing his faith. He doesn't memorize thousands of hadiths, but he knows which wounds need to be listened to before giving evidence. And in a world full of paid posters, lectures and preaching, Cak Nun only offers one mat, one guitar and one sentence which sometimes becomes a net for people who are almost drowning. If you don't know who to trust, first believe that you still have value. If religion is fire, then canun is rain that falls slowly. Not to extinguish, but to remind. Heat isn't the only way to make the world comfortable. Because in Cak Nun's interpretation, religion is not a power project, not a branding tool for candidates, not a flag that is paraded while cursing neighbors. Religion is a small mirror that you secretly carry around, not to judge others, but to check whether you are still human or have become a devil claiming to be a messenger of God. In an age where criticism means going viral and courage is measured by the number of retweets, Cak Nun chose the silent path. Criticism is not to show off, but to heal. If Rocky Guru criticizes using common sense, then Cak Nun criticizes using common sense. The difference is that one invites thinking, the other invites reflection. But both agree that if power is not monitored, it can become an idol. Cak Nun's criticism is a rare form of courage . Because he didn't save himself. He actually invites us to save our sanity together. And when everyone was angry and fighting over the camera, Cak Nun would sit in the corner and say, "If you hate this country, make sure you don't help make it even more despicable." But once again, Cak Nun is not anti-state. Cak Nun never said, "Let's take to the streets." But he asked softly, "Have you cleansed your heart before crying out for justice?" And this is more striking than Sir Reno's Water Canon in front of the government building. Because he knows this country often runs without brakes and sometimes the drivers are drunk on power. But Chanun was never busy trying to overthrow the state. But it reminds us that the country also needs Asmaul Husana. Because power that forgets God, sooner or later will be overthrown by the people or by karma. In a land that thinks anger is the only form of courage, Chan comes to bring patience as another form of resistance. He is not a street activist, not a demonstration orator, not a critic of the regime. But make no mistake, his criticism is like a night wind that pierces the chest in a slow, deep, and piercing way to the bone marrow. And his power is not only in his words, but also in his unusual way of being. He is not a bestselling author, but his writing never goes out of style. He doesn't appear on a TV talk show every week, but thousands of people come to an open field without a high stage, without spotlights, without an MC. Cak Nun is not an ustaz who speaks from behind the pulpit, but more like a carpenter who helps you understand the size of your own life. And while many shops want to go upstairs, Chan chooses to stay downstairs, on a mat, in a narrow alley, in a coffee shop on the edge of a rice field. Because they say from below you can see a wider sky. And when everyone wants to be trending, he is busy inviting people to sing, be calm, and be gentle. Because sometimes he said, those who are noisy are not necessarily right, but those who are calm are not necessarily losers. Cak Nun may not be a prophet. Cak Nun inherited a way for humans to look up at the sky without needing to feel the highest. And if one day this country becomes more chaotic, more divided, and increasingly devoid of empathy, then remember this one sentence that may not win you the debate, but it can make you win over yourself. Don't seek the truth to hurt. Look for him to be more worthy of love. That's roughly how Cak Nun speaks. Not preaching, not accusing, not shouting about morals, but silently slapping hard. Sometimes like an old man sipping coffee at the guard post, sometimes like the philosopher Socrates disguised as a shoe repairman. And perhaps for those reasons, Channun is an irony of our time. While everyone wants to go viral quickly, he is busy planting a legacy that can only be felt slowly. A legacy of humility, a legacy of patience in thinking, a legacy of being religious without feeling the most correct. He planted all of that slowly, without a stage, without a bazaar, just through mats, coffee, and words that were brewed slowly. And one day, when Canun is no longer here, perhaps we will truly realize that what he left behind was not a thick book or a commemorative statue, but a trail of mats. A place where we once felt safe. Invited to think without being judged, invited to love God without having to trample on humanity. And if tonight is too lonely and life feels heavy, remember that there is a mat that was once a place where you never felt alone. Because that's where Chan will remain on the mat, in quiet words, in quiet nights, and in the hearts of the common people who still believe that one honest sentence is more powerful than 1 million paid words. [Music]