Introduction
Indonesia’s democratic institutions, once praised for their resilience, have increasingly and systematically weakened over the past few years. The return of the military’s role in civilian government, under the reinvented spirit of dwifungsi (dual function), has seemingly added an extra boost to this trend of deterioration. Its return is not facilitated through a coup or any other explicit coercion practice but through incremental involvement in the country’s legal, administrative and political domains.
Towards the end of March 2025, Indonesia saw a radical transformation to its political landscape. Approved unanimously by the House of Representatives (DPR), revisions to Indonesia’s military law pave the way for officers of Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI) to occupy civilian positions in the government.
The decades-long process of Reformasi seemed to have evaporated overnight as the military’s dwifungsi appeared to be making a return. During Soeharto’s reign, dwifungsi facilitated military generals and officers to oversee law, economic activities and governance on top of their security function.
For those who are unfamiliar with the New Order, picture this: ministers, district chiefs and governors were military men. Laws were applied under gunpoint, and political dissent was crushed under the weight of barracks and boots.
The onus is now, obviously, on President Prabowo Subianto. Will he seek to set himself apart from Soeharto’s mode of governance? As Soeharto’s former son-in-law and a self-described nationalist, his stance and policies on this will be closely monitored.
Unlike former president Joko “Jokowi” Widodo, whose military appointments were often transactional and limited, Prabowo’s steps in his first six months were only tinged with a certain favour of the military, instead of a full-fledged, open support.
Thus far, Prabowo’s strategy has not relied on overt military force but on restructuring governance through legal and bureaucratic channels, framed as necessary responses to national challenges.
By assigning military personnel to areas such as disaster management, food security, cybersecurity and counter-radicalism, his administration legitimises military expansion into civilian life under the justification of “efficiency,” “discipline”, and “national resilience”.
As such, his approach to dwifungsi is more subtle, at least for now. We might not find a clear militarism evocative of the New Order but rather a subtle, technocratic adaptation through legal, bureaucratic and narrative frameworks.
Public Response
Public opposition to these areas is low, and the involvement of military officers is seen as a sensible step that could close existing gaps. Nevertheless, these would still lead to the redesigning of civilian life based on security paradigms, stressing allegiance and discipline above ability or civic responsibility.
History has demonstrated that once the military gets involved in politics, it seldom gives up control freely. In Indonesia’s context, the Chinese wall dividing civilian and military domains seems to be crumbling recently.
The reasons – efficiency, modernism and national security – are frighteningly familiar. Not only does a government with troops in key civilian jobs have a more robust security infrastructure, but it also reflects military logic permeating politics, with command structures replacing democratic debate and the line separating elected power from military control blurring.
Reaction to the military’s increasing political influence is somewhat varied. Regular national polls reveal generally higher public confidence in TNI than in DPR or political parties.
A poll from 2023 shows that less than 70% of Indonesians indicated confidence in DPR while more than 80% showed faith in the military.
Public wrath or large-scale demonstrations have been subdued beyond activist circles, nevertheless. Those who protest are dismissed as national security threats, and alternative viewpoints are systematically suppressed.
The ambiguity on whether this indicates resignation, fear or an effective management of state narrative creates a political atmosphere where military re-entry is seemingly accepted rather than challenged.
Consequences
The phenomenon of “delegated democracy” introduces a disquieting paradox: elections continue while institutions representing accountability, transparency and civilian control progressively erode. At the same time, the military has an increased presence in civilian institutions.
This could have unintended consequences that contradict traditional modes of professionalism, e.g. promotions are based on loyalty over merit, and the decision-making process shifts into secrecy.
Initiatives such as the military’s management of the food estate program in Central Kalimantan, its logistical support of the General Elections Commission (KPU) during regional elections and the reactivation of territorial commands for non-defence purposes – including education and disaster relief – back this perception.
The shifting tide is made even clearer by the emergence of senior officers as directors of civilian agencies, technical ministries and governors. Examples include Major General Novi Helmy Prasetya as President Director of the National Food Agency (Bulog), Major General Maryono as Inspector General at the Ministry of Transportation and Major General (ret) Hassanudin who served as acting governor in two provinces.
Far from a simple administrative adjustment, this represents a fundamental shift in governance. The quintessential democratic question of “who governs?” becomes less clear. Control seems less vested in elected leaders and more in a militia-like uniformed class governed by internal ranks rather than citizen discussion.
Historical experience offers a cautionary lesson. During Suharto’s regime, dwifungsi blurred the lines between civilian and military spaces, centralising power across administration, lawmaking and commerce. Patronage networks proliferated, corruption thrived and the opposition was brutally silenced.
It took decades of constitutional reforms and persistent civil society pressure to dismantle this deeply entrenched apparatus. Today, these hard-earned achievements threaten to unravel not through a coup but by a gradual and deliberate institutional takeover.
Policies such as extending the retirement age of top military officials ensure a longer military presence at the highest levels of government. Meanwhile, vague legal boundaries regarding the applicability of civilian versus military law to military officials in civilian roles create a fertile ground for impunity. When a bureaucrat-affiliated official engages in misconduct, it remains uncertain whether civilian law will hold him or her accountable.
Such institutional changes set the stage for a government that is formally democratic while actual power resides behind military lines.
Where We are Going
Indonesia is at a crossroads. It is not yet an inevitable slide toward a military dictatorship but rather a systematic and incremental erosion of civilian authority. Each appointment and policy shift may seem trivial on their own, but collectively they redefine the terms of power.
Recently, student movements and civil society groups have begun mobilising resistance, but widespread mobilisation is still in its infancy. At the same time, past experience suggests that once the military gains power, it rarely relinquishes it without a fight.
The challenge that Indonesia is facing is not the sensational reimposition of dwifungsi as before but the development of a new, more subtle militarisation: one that seeks power through institutions, legislation and bureaucracy rather than explicit coups. DPR continues its sessions, polls are conducted as before, but actual power increasingly resides not among the elected but among the uniformed.
Now, at this pivotal moment, Indonesians need to acknowledge the stakes. Will this be the moment that Indonesia reaffirms its democratic values or the moment that it abandons them? The answer is not solely up to the country’s political elites; it also depends on the vigilance and willpower of the country’s civil society, activists, academics and ordinary citizens to protect the line between civilian and military authorities.
Prabowo’s steps will determine Indonesia’s future. While his electoral campaign centred on nationalism and unity, his past as a Suharto-era general and his long-held desire to “restore order” appear to suggest that he is open to a more militarised governance style.
In contrast to Jokowi’s retention of the veneer of technocracy while empowering soldiers, Prabowo seems more likely to actively follow a brazen civil-military blend. Appointing senior officers in key portfolios like agriculture and state-owned enterprises potentially grants the military a formal role in the “national resilience” project outside of traditional defence.
More than a simple reproduction of Suharto’s dwifungsi, Prabowo might institutionalise military rule by function rather than by form, legitimating the role of the military within policymaking through the rhetoric of effectiveness, discipline and patriotism.
The probable consequence is not a return of the overtly military regime but the creation of a hybrid security populism: adaptable, less ideologically marked yet more sustainable.
