For decades, PSIS Semarang have stood as one of Central Java’s proudest football institutions — a club with deep roots, passionate supporters, and a legacy that stretches back to the early days of Indonesian football. But today, the once-proud Laskar Mahesa Jenar find themselves fighting for relevance in the Indonesian Championship, far from the bright lights of the top division they once called home.
Behind the poor results and empty stands lies a story that goes beyond tactics or transfers. For many fans and observers, PSIS’s decline is the consequence of years of political entanglement — and the fallout of one man’s shifting priorities.
For years, Yoyok Sukawi, businessman, politician, and member of Indonesia’s House of Representatives (DPR), was seen as both the architect and the face of PSIS. As club president, Yoyok oversaw the club’s return to the Liga 1 and the revitalization of the Jatidiri Stadium, becoming a popular yet polarizing figure in Semarang football politics.
To some, Yoyok was a modernizing force. To others, his dual roles blurred the line between civic duty and club loyalty.
“He made PSIS part of his political identity,” said Rizal Rahman, a journalist covering Central Java football for Radar Semarang. “When he succeeded in politics, PSIS benefited. When he stumbled, so did the club.”
That stumble came during the 2024 Semarang mayoral elections, when Yoyok failed to secure the city’s top seat — a defeat that, in the eyes of many fans, triggered PSIS’s subsequent downturn.
Since the election loss, PSIS have been a club adrift. Reports from Suara Merdeka and DetikSport detail reduced financial backing, internal disagreements, and a lack of strategic leadership. The club’s relegation from Liga 1 earlier this year marked the culmination of months of turbulence.
For some supporters, the timing was no coincidence. “It feels like he jumped ship,” said Dimas, a long-time member of supporter group Panser Biru, speaking to Bola.com. “PSIS was always his tool to win influence. Once he lost, he let it fall apart.”
Yoyok has rejected those accusations. In an interview with Suara Merdeka (August 2025), he insisted his commitment to PSIS remains strong: “I’ve never abandoned PSIS. The club is bigger than politics, and I’ll keep supporting its progress in any way I can.”
Still, the perception that PSIS became entangled in Yoyok’s political ambitions persists among the fanbase. The management reshuffles that followed his loss have only deepened the sense of instability.
On the pitch, PSIS’s Championship campaign has mirrored the chaos off it. Ten games into the season, the club sits in the lower half of the East Group, having recorded just three wins and enduring inconsistent form. Their goals have dried up, and Jatidiri — once a fortress — now hosts half-empty stands.
Caretaker coach Dwi Cahyo Nugroho, speaking to Kompas.com last month, admitted the team is still in transition. “We’re rebuilding, step by step,” he said. “There’s quality here, but what we lack is stability, both on and off the field.”
Meanwhile, supporters have taken their frustrations public. Online, hashtags like #SavePSIS and #BaleknoKebanggaan (“Return Our Pride”) trend after every defeat. Fan groups like Panser Biru and Snex have staged peaceful protests outside the stadium, calling for transparency in club management and greater accountability.
“PSIS is not a political project — it’s a football club,” said Andi Prasetyo, a Panser Biru spokesperson, to CNN Indonesia. “If the management keeps treating it otherwise, we’ll lose more than just matches. We’ll lose our identity.”
PSIS’s current plight highlights a recurring theme in Indonesian football — the heavy dependence on political patrons or regional elites for funding and legitimacy. While such ties can bring investment and visibility, they often leave clubs vulnerable to shifts in political fortune.
“PSIS is a mirror of a bigger problem,” football analyst Rendy Widodo told Tempo. “Too many clubs rely on political figures instead of professional management. When politics change, the clubs crumble. That’s exactly what we’re seeing in Semarang.”
The Indonesian Football Association (PSSI) has pledged to improve club licensing and governance structures, but reforms have been uneven. For now, PSIS’s struggles serve as a cautionary tale of what happens when sporting institutions become extensions of political ambition.
Despite everything, the spirit of PSIS’s supporters refuses to fade. At recent home matches, banners emblazoned with “Kami Tak Akan Pergi” (“We Won’t Leave”) have been displayed proudly across the Jatidiri terraces. For all their anger toward management, the fans’ devotion to the badge remains unshaken.
“The people of Semarang will always stand behind PSIS,” said Dimas, again speaking to Bola.com. “We’ve survived worse. All we want now is honesty and a proper plan for the future.”
For many, that future depends on whether the club can detach itself from politics and rediscover its footballing soul. Whether or not Yoyok remains involved, PSIS must rebuild trust — not just with players or sponsors, but with the people who fill the stands.
Because as one banner put it simply: “Politicians can come and go. But PSIS? PSIS is forever.”