Indonesia’s non-indigenous naturalization: Paes and Romeny as a strategic warning for Vietnamese football

In February 2026, striker Ole Romeny took the oath of Indonesian citizenship. Nine months earlier, goalkeeper Maarten Paes – born in 2026 – completed his federation switch from the Netherlands to Indonesia, approved by FIFA in August 2026. Both are key players; neither carries indigenous blood. For Vietnamese football, this is not just news – it is a strategic signal that needs careful decoding. The legal basis lies in Article 20 of Indonesia’s Citizenship Law No. 12/2026: the government may grant citizenship for “state interest.” After approval by Indonesia’s House of Representatives (DPR), a player must pass a second gate – FIFA’s “substantial connection” criterion. FIFA allows a player to represent a federation if a grandparent was born on that federation’s territory. Paes and Romeny are descendants of the Dutch “blijvers” – Europeans who stayed permanently in the Dutch East Indies, leaving a deep demographic imprint on modern Indonesian society. The current Southeast Asian context makes this move even more significant. Thailand still relies on its domestic core; Malaysia and the Philippines are scanning naturalization candidates. Indonesia, however, is acting systematically. They focus on pivotal positions rather than spreading resources. This is where the empty spaces begin to tell what rankings do not yet reflect. The space never lies – and the biggest space in a national team is usually the central spine: goalkeeper and centre-forward. Paes is a goalkeeper born in 2026, a former Dutch youth international, accustomed to top European pressure. Such a goalkeeper allows Indonesia’s back line to step higher with confidence, reducing pressure on defenders who rarely train together. Romeny is a modern striker: able to drift wide, attack space behind defenders, and arrive at the right moment in the box. Adding two of the highest-leverage positions in football creates a far clearer boost than naturalizing a shuttling midfielder or full-back. In a region where many teams depend on isolated stars, Indonesia has just upgraded its backbone. For Vietnam, this is more worrying than a marquee transfer. When two teams compete for the same goal – a World Cup berth or an AFF title – the difference often comes from who better controls the penalty area and the zone 28 metres from goal. Indonesia has taken that control by naturalizing two European players into exactly those positions. Indonesia’s path follows three steps: find diaspora descendants with a grandparent born in Indonesia; request DPR to grant citizenship under the state-interest provision; then let FIFA confirm the substantial-connection criterion. There is no transfer fee, no club negotiation, no wage race in the market sense. It is a “zero price” recruitment channel in financial terms, but it carries administrative and political costs. Paes’s case is clear: having played for the Netherlands U21 team, he needed FIFA’s change-of-association approval, which came in August 2026 after persistent lobbying by the Indonesian side. The 2026 World Cup qualifying context sharpens every calculation. Indonesia and Vietnam may end up in the same group, where every point is vital. Adding a European-level goalkeeper and striker not only raise Indonesia’s quality but also change how opponents prepare. Vietnam’s defence will face a striker who can hug the touchline, hold up play, and make intelligent runs. Vietnam’s attack will have to break down a goalkeeper with strong reflexes and good feet. That is a completely different problem from facing a team that is strong only in the final third. The Indonesian federation has shown high execution capacity. But the sustainability question remains. The “blijvers” pool is not renewable. It is a closed historical population, and each passing generation reduces the number of eligible descendants. Indonesia’s naturalization model therefore has an expiry date. Unless youth development is accelerated in parallel, the country may face a talent vacuum once the diaspora source runs dry. The blind spot is in the narrative. Some articles call this a “legal loophole.” But in fact, the grandparent-born-on-territory criterion is a deliberate FIFA rule, not a system bug. It lets a player choose a federation based on family origin, without demanding indigenous blood. Paes and Romeny are compliant under both Indonesian citizenship law and FIFA regulations. The “legitimacy” debate may therefore be a media story, not a real legal problem. For Vietnam, staying calm in this environment helps avoid joining a race it has no structural advantage in. Indonesia’s immediate risk is dependency. Paes and Romeny are so prominent that a long-term injury to either would quickly test the “strength surge” story. There is also a substitution effect: each naturalized slot is one fewer slot for homegrown players, and poorly managed policy could demotivate youth academies. This is a lesson from other leagues that chose to buy quality instead of producing it. Vietnam cannot easily copy a diaspora naturalization strategy because of different colonial history and a thinner football-ready diaspora. That does not mean Vietnam loses in the long run. The sustainable advantage of a national team is cohesion and squad depth built from internal strength. A team stacked with naturalized players often needs time to absorb the coach’s philosophy; Vietnamese football, with a familiar core and a generation that has played together for years, holds something Indonesia must buy with time. Luck repeated twelve times becomes a model. But a naturalization model is sustainable only if it goes hand in hand with a domestic foundation. Indonesia has just shown it understands the value of reinforcing the spine. Vietnam’s answer does not have to be identical. It can choose internal development, nurture a generation loyal to the shirt, and build a solid dressing room – something no citizenship clause can buy.