Indonesia Under John Herdman: The Local Strikers Step Into Silence

On September 14, 2026, when Indonesia's 23-man squad for the FIFA ASEAN Cup 2026 was published, one detail made me pause mid-page. Four local strikers — Hokky Caraka, Ramadhan Sananta, Septian Bagaskara, Eksel Runtukahu — were absent. In their place stood Mitchell Baker, Luke Vickery, Dion Markx, men who came from Europe. I read the list three times. Not because I doubted the source, but because I wanted to believe I had missed a name. I had not. In that absence, I heard a silence — the kind of sound I always search for when I step onto a pitch. "There is a sound in silence, and it rings louder than any anthem." And I remembered the matches I once watched from the press tribune, where I learned that sometimes the most important thing is not who is present, but who has walked away. For over a year, John Herdman has taken charge of Indonesia's bench with a promise repeated again and again: to summon the best available players. For a nation with a vast diaspora in the Netherlands and across Europe, "the best available" now carries a new meaning. PSSI — the Indonesian Football Association — has invested heavily in the naturalization pathway. After several years, that current has become the spine of the squad. The ASEAN Cup 2026 list is the clearest proof. Ole Romeny, Thom Haye, Ragnar Oratmangoen, Dean James, Mitchell Baker, Luke Vickery, Dion Markx — a European-trained pool. Among them, Markx and Vickery are set for their debuts; Dean James returns after nearly a year away; and Mitchell Baker is seen as a direct rival for Romeny's central striking role. But Herdman still faces old problems. Captain Jay Idzes was injured playing for Sassuolo against Juventus and will be absent. Several Persib Bandung players were not released due to the 2026/2027 AFC Champions League 2 schedule. These are dry details, yet necessary to repeat, so we do not mistake an ideal squad on paper for a squad that can actually take the field. The most striking shift lies in the forward line. Herdman's decision to drop four local centre-forwards while adding another European striker signals a clear direction: he wants a profile with greater physicality, better off-ball movement, and most importantly — tactical discipline forged in Europe. Hokky Caraka and Ramadhan Sananta were once the hope of the archipelago's football. But at the ASEAN Cup, where rhythm is often strangled by collisions and intensity, a small, skilful but physically light striker sometimes becomes a stranger on his own pitch. Look at the flanks. The arrival of Luke Vickery alongside Ragnar Oratmangoen hints at a wide-attacking shape, perhaps a 4-3-3 or 4-2-3-1, built on pace and one-versus-one ability. In Southeast Asian football, where defences sit deep and compact, a winger who can beat his man with a single shift of the ball is sometimes worth more than a playmaker. Vickery and Oratmangoen give Herdman two drills that can turn a match in an instant. But there is something VIVA did not spell out: versatility can be a double-edged sword. Oratmangoen can play across the front line; Thom Haye is a deep-lying playmaker who reads the game well. In the hands of a coach who knows how to use them, that is a weapon. In the hands of a coach searching for stability, it can be a source of ambiguity. Football does not reward flexible squads if flexibility turns into hesitation. Based on my experience watching matches, I have noticed that Southeast Asian national teams usually win through the stability of a fixed core, and lose through excessive turnover between tournaments. Indonesia right now is turning over. Not arbitrarily — but deliberately. Yet every replacement, however logical, needs time for bodies and minds to learn how to touch one another. I still remember sitting through old match footage and discovering seventeen passes before an equalizer that nobody ever mentioned. "There were seventeen passes the whole world missed, and one writer counted them." Those small connections often decide matches more than any flashy moment. Preparation time is another variable. The tournament kicks off in late September or early October 2026, meaning Indonesia have only a few weeks to bond a group full of new faces. In football, a few weeks may be enough to learn a tactical system, but not enough to build trust. Trust needs real matches, minutes trailing behind, moments of having to rise together. Indonesian media are calling this a "revolution". I do not think so. A revolution is when an old system is overthrown to make room for an entirely new one. What is happening here is evolution — slow, controlled, and sometimes painful. Herdman is not discarding domestic football; he is temporarily setting it aside to prioritize results. There is a blind spot both media and fans are overlooking. The naturalization strategy carries a hidden cost. Every naturalized player requires legal procedures, FIFA eligibility confirmation, and sometimes training compensation to his original federation. At the scale of Indonesia's current squad, PSSI is spending a considerable sum on a long-term investment with no guaranteed return. If results do not come, political pressure will rise, and the balance between local and naturalized players will collapse. Dropping the local strikers carries professional meaning, and a cultural signal as well. When a generation of players raised in domestic academies sees the national-team pathway narrowing, they may lose motivation. In the long run, this is a far greater risk than a group-stage defeat. The absence of Marc Klok — a Dutch-born naturalized midfielder who was once a pillar — is also notable. It may signal that Herdman is shifting away from older naturalized players toward a younger, more athletic group. That is a sound tactical decision, but also a delicate one on a human level. Captain Jay Idzes' absence complicates the picture further. A team losing its captain just before a tournament does not merely lose a centre-back. It loses the signal-caller, the tempo-keeper, the one who pulls young players close in tense minutes. Herdman will have to find a new leader in a squad where many have never worn the national shirt. Herdman stresses the players' commitment when wearing the Indonesia jersey. That is not empty talk. In a squad blending Indonesia-born, naturalized, and Europe-based players, building a shared identity is the hardest task of all. A team may have technique, may have physicality, but without a sense of belonging, it will crumble in the eightieth minute. On squad depth, the risk sits at centre-forward. If Ole Romeny or Mitchell Baker suffers injury or a dip in form, Indonesia have almost no proven backup. Excluding both local strikers and young naturalized forwards Jens Raven and Mauro Zijlstra creates a gap that will become obvious within weeks if anything goes wrong. It also signals that Herdman is prioritizing immediate results over long-term development. The conflict between Persib Bandung and the national team is worth reflecting on too. Persib are pushing toward the 2026/2027 AFC Champions League 2, and holding on to key players is financially rational. But when club interests clash with national interests, the national team suffers. This is not Indonesia's problem alone; it is a structural issue across Southeast Asian football, where clubs grow stronger and less willing to concede. Among rivals, Thailand and Vietnam remain the region's two most formidable forces. Thailand enjoy Thai League stability and a generation playing in the J-League; Vietnam rely on the well-built PVF and Hoang Anh Gia Lai academy systems. Indonesia, drawing on its diaspora pool, is trying to overtake both by a different road. That is a structural advantage the other two struggle to replicate, but also a gamble never before tried at this scale. Football does not measure absence in goals. With four local strikers left behind, Indonesia are entering a wager. Herdman may be right. He may be wrong. But whatever the outcome, one thing I believe firmly: people do not remember the match, they remember how a generation rose — or quietly walked away. And in those empty seats on the bench that night, there are untold stories still waiting for another page.