Indonesia and Saudi Arabia must work together to fix the Hajj
Muhammad Zulfikar Rakhmat on how unchecked privatization is turning a sacred duty into a business transaction.
In late May, Heri Kiswanto boarded a plane to Jeddah alongside his wife and elderly parents. He carried all the required documentation, including a verified Hajj visa. For his family, this was a long-awaited spiritual milestone. But upon arrival, Saudi immigration officials denied him entry. His visa had been revoked—without explanation, notification, or legal recourse. His family continued on to Makkah; he was deported alone. What should have been the pinnacle of devotion became a cruel bureaucratic nightmare.
Heri's story is not unique. It is symptomatic of deeper systemic failures in how Indonesia and Saudi Arabia—two of the most influential players in the Hajj—coordinate this sacred journey. Indonesia, home to the world’s largest Muslim population, sends over 200,000 pilgrims annually to Saudi Arabia. Yet the pilgrimage experience has become increasingly fragmented, opaque, and commercialized. Instead of a seamless spiritual journey, many Indonesians now face logistical confusion, separation from loved ones, and even exploitation. The time has come for both governments to recognize that the sanctity of Hajj is being eroded—not by malice, but by negligence and poor coordination—and to act with urgency.
This year, Indonesia introduced a multi-syarikah service model, replacing the previously centralized system with eight different Saudi service providers. The goal, on paper, was to foster competition and improve service quality. In reality, it introduced chaos. Pilgrims in the same travel group found themselves scattered across different accommodations, buses, and even tent zones during the most critical rites of Hajj. Elderly parents were separated from their caregivers. Luggage went missing. Some were forced to walk long distances in punishing heat, dragging suitcases down highways in scenes that went viral on Indonesian social media. The logistical nightmare was exacerbated by unclear lines of authority: who should pilgrims turn to when things go wrong—their Indonesian operator or the Saudi syarikah?
To Saudi authorities, these failures might appear to be Indonesia’s internal problem. But the truth is more nuanced. The restructuring was rushed, reportedly under pressure from political figures and business interests. It was implemented without pilot testing, without comprehensive stress trials, and most critically, without a bilateral oversight mechanism. The result was predictable: widespread disorientation and a failure to meet even basic standards of dignity.
The story of the revoked visa, like Heri’s, reveals another layer of vulnerability: the failure of digital coordination between Indonesian and Saudi systems. When an e-visa, previously approved, can suddenly disappear from the system without accountability, it leaves every pilgrim vulnerable to arbitrary exclusion. The fact that no one—from Indonesian officials to Saudi border officers—could provide an explanation is more than troubling. It signals a fundamental weakness in bilateral data protocols and a lack of mutual oversight.
Meanwhile, thousands of Indonesian pilgrims using non-quota visas—known as furoda—faced a different kind of crisis. These visas, obtained outside the government’s official quota through private agents, remain largely unregulated. This year, more than 2,000 Indonesians were turned away after paying exorbitant fees to agencies promising fast-tracked access via furoda. Some travel operators continued to sell these packages even after the Saudi government had publicly confirmed it would not issue new furoda visas for 2025. These were not just administrative lapses—they were acts of deception. And they were enabled by a regulatory vacuum in both countries.
It gets worse. Even those within the official quota system were not immune. Reports from the Indonesian Hajj Oversight Team (Timwas) detail overcrowded tents in Mina—300 people crammed into spaces meant for 200—and sleeping arrangements barely 50 centimeters wide per person. Dozens of pilgrims had not received their mandatory Nusuk cards—electronic passes required to access sacred sites—on the eve of Hajj. Some elderly and disabled pilgrims were separated from their assigned guardians due to poor coordination. A few even ended up sleeping in mosques or hallways because their lodging had not been arranged. These are not isolated glitches—they are systemic failures.
What’s needed now is not finger-pointing, but a structural fix. Indonesia and Saudi Arabia must establish a permanent, bilateral Hajj Commission. This body should be tasked with coordinating logistics, sharing visa and biometric data securely, accrediting service providers, and monitoring all forms of pilgrimage—including those on furoda or mujamalah visas. Transparency must be central: audit reports, procurement processes, and grievance mechanisms should be made public. Both governments must commit to protecting pilgrims, not just managing them.
Privatization is not inherently wrong, but when left unchecked, it turns sacred duty into a business transaction. The Saudi authorities must slow the rapid rollout of new syarikah companies that are often underprepared to handle large delegations. The Indonesian government, in turn, must resist political pressure and prioritize the safety and dignity of its citizens over bureaucratic appearances or business alliances.
The Hajj is more than an event—it is a covenant between the believer and God. For most Indonesians, it represents the culmination of a lifetime of saving, praying, and hoping. When that experience is degraded by administrative chaos or cynical profiteering, it is not only a diplomatic failure but a moral one. The Prophet Muhammad reminded his followers that leaders will be accountable for those under their care. If the leaders of Indonesia and Saudi Arabia believe in the sacredness of Hajj, they must act accordingly.
It is not too late. But next year must not be a repeat of 2025. For the millions waiting their turn to answer the call to pilgrimage, the path to Makkah must be paved not with confusion and risk, but with compassion and clarity.
Muhammad Zulfikar Rakhmat is the Director of the China-Indonesia and Indonesia-MENA Desks at the Center of Economic and Law Studies (CELIOS) in Jakarta.
Photo by Zawawi Rahim
