Thirty-Two Years After Susi Susanti: Indonesia's Women's Singles Problem

Thirty-Two Years After Susi Susanti: Indonesia's Women's Singles Problem

Istora Senayan is never truly silent. Even before the umpire calls the players' names, drums roll down from the stands onto the green mat, merging with the long, wave-like chant of "In-do-ne-sia." I sit in the second-tier commentary booth, noise-cancelling headphones on, and still feel the vibration through the wooden floor. Some players walk out there for the first time and their hands shake on the very first serve. Others turn the noise into fuel and blow their opponents away in two straight games.

But the detail I remember most from those Istora nights is far smaller: the coaching chairs behind the women's singles court are usually emptier than those behind the men's singles court. A tiny gap, and it tells a thirty-two-year story.

The voice behind the microphone does not judge; it only shines a light on the rally. This time, that light falls on a dark corner a proud badminton nation would rather not face.

A long anthem, and the silence inside it

Indonesia is one of the greatest badminton powers in Olympic history. According to International Olympic Committee records, the country's eight badminton gold medals stretch from Barcelona 2026 to Tokyo 2026. The list reads like an epic: Alan Budikusuma and Susi Susanti in 2026, Rexy Mainaky and Ricky Subagja in 2026, Tony Gunawan and Candra Wijaya in 2026, Taufik Hidayat in 2026, Markis Kido and Hendra Setiawan in 2026, Tontowi Ahmad and Liliyana Natsir in 2026, then Greysia Polii and Apriyani Rahayu in 2026.

Read closely, and a pattern emerges. Of those eight golds, only three came in singles, and exactly one in women's singles, Susi Susanti's, at the first Olympics where badminton was a full medal sport. Since then, no Indonesian woman has reached the top of the singles podium. Most of the remaining golds came in doubles, where speed, reflexes and telepathic understanding are elevated into art.

At Paris 2026, Gregoria Mariska Tunjung won bronze in women's singles. It was Indonesia's first Olympic women's singles medal since Susi Susanti, a milestone the domestic press called a "turning point." She entered the draw as a low-seeded outsider and worked through the rounds with patient, low-error play. When the medal was confirmed, a generation of Indonesian fans exhaled.

But what were they exhaling about? A player who had surpassed herself, or a badminton nation that had gone too long with nothing to hold on to?

Why men's doubles breeds legends while women's singles dries up

Based on my experience watching matches at both Istora and neutral arenas, Indonesian badminton is built on a clear foundation: short serves, net interceptions, fast flat exchanges and attacks from the front half of the court. That is the language of doubles. In men's doubles, every quality is optimized for it, wrist reflexes, split-second redirection, an understanding so deep the partners do not need to look at each other. Three Olympic men's doubles golds are powerful proof that the system works.

The problem is that women's singles demands a different skill set. The modern women's singles court, in the era of An Se-young, Akane Yamaguchi and Chen Yufei, is a battle of stamina and patience. Rallies run long, direction changes pile up, and the winner is usually whoever keeps their accuracy in the final minutes of the third game. A women's singles champion needs a reliable kill shot, a straight smash or a cross-court drive, plus the physical base to sustain it across three games.

Gregoria Mariska Tunjung has almost everything except that weapon. She defends brilliantly, reads the shuttle well, moves at the net with skill, and is especially durable in long rallies. But when a match reaches its decisive phase, she often lacks an attacking option sharp enough to end points quickly. The top players know it. They drag her into long rallies, accept the exchange, then wait for their chance on the fifteenth or twentieth shot.

That is why the Paris 2026 bronze is both an achievement and a reminder. It proves an Indonesian player can crack the world's top four on defense and spirit. It also shows the gap to the leaders is intact: climbing from fourth to first requires a shot this badminton nation has not produced in women's singles for thirty-two years.

More broadly, the problem is not one individual. It sits in the talent pipeline: a young Indonesian prospect grows up in an environment where success is measured in doubles medals. Players with singles qualities, who need space and time to build an aerobic base, are often pulled toward doubles, where the spotlight arrives sooner and the path to the national team is shorter.

A rally holds three truths: the player's, the umpire's and the crowd's. Here too. Gregoria's truth: she gave everything her body and technique allowed. The coaching staff's truth: they have not found a way to turn a defender into an attacker. The Indonesian crowd's truth: they are celebrating a bronze as if it were gold.

The contrarian view: money is not the problem

The instinctive reaction after Paris 2026 is that Indonesia needs to invest more in women's singles. It sounds reasonable, but the data does not fully support it.

If money were everything, Thailand, with a smaller sports budget than Indonesia, would not have produced Ratchanok Intanon and then Kunlavut Vitidsarn. If talent were everything, Japan would not have produced Akane Yamaguchi and a deep women's singles generation in succession. Indonesia is not short of money; it is short of a selection system willing to bet long-term on women's singles players who need five to seven years to mature.

There is another blind spot rarely discussed: the Istora effect. A home arena with roaring fans is a real weapon, but it is also a soft pillow. Many Indonesian players perform best when the home crowd fuels them, then run out of gas in neutral arenas, where there are no drums and every point must be taken by hand. The Paris 2026 bronze matters precisely because it came at a neutral venue, with no Istora behind it.

The bigger worry is how Indonesia reads its victories. A bronze labeled a "turning point" can lull a system that needs change. The couch taught me that an empty stadium still has applause, but it also taught me that applause in your head cannot replace a real smash.

What to watch

I stepped off the court to pick up the microphone, but I never left the court. Thirty-two years after Susi Susanti, the question for Indonesian badminton is no longer who comes next, but which system will produce whoever comes next. If the next Olympic cycle still yields only a women's singles bronze, Indonesians will have to ask themselves: are they celebrating progress, or getting used to a ceiling?