Worrying Development

In March 2025, chilling news emerged from the Ngada Regency, East Nusa Tenggara, whereby the regency’s police chief was found to have sexually abused three children, recorded his acts and uploaded the videos to an Australian-based pornography website. The Australian authorities alerted Indonesia’s Ministry of Women’s Empowerment and Child Protection after detecting the illicit footage online.

The perpetrator, AKBP Fajar Widyadharma Lukman Sumaatmaja, was later stripped of his position and charged with sexual and drug abuses.

This revelation underscores three intertwined offences: the physical, sexual violence against minors, the production and the digital dissemination of child sexual abuse material (CSAM).

Though this case did not involve the use of sophisticated technology, it points towards the imperative to criminalise AI‑generated CSAM in Indonesia. A pertinent question is this: to what extent should the law evolve to address artificial child abuse imagery to boost prevention, legal enforcement and child protection?

Despite the gravity of CSAM-related crimes, current charges under the Information and Electronic Transactions Act (ITE Law 1/2024) and Articles 55–56 of the Criminal Code merely carry a maximum penalty of six years’ imprisonment or a fine of up to Rp1bn.

Meanwhile, Article 45(1) of the ITE Law addresses distribution of child pornography; Article 4(1) of the Pornography Law 44/2008 tackles production of pornographic content and; Article 4(2)(c) of the Sexual Violence Law 12/2022 focuses on this very deed.

However, these provisions are applied in isolation, resulting in fragmented sentencing and legal loopholes. Notably, no statute explicitly criminalises synthetic or AI‑generated CSAM, leaving law enforcement ill‑equipped to tackle digitally fabricated child sexual abuse images.

Criminalisation is a Must

Cesare Beccaria, a pioneer in modern criminology, maintains in his magnum opus that the ultimate aim of punishment must be deterrence rather than vengeance. He posits that individuals are rational actors who calculate the potential benefits of wrongdoing against the likelihood and severity of punishment. When sanctions are both certain and prompt, the perceived risk of detection outweighs any criminal gains.

In the context of CSAM, his insights underscore the necessity of a legal framework in which consequences are clearly defined, consistently applied and swiftly enforced—thereby deterring would‑be offenders before any harm occurs.

The production and consumption of CSAM form a self‑reinforcing loop. Perpetrators generate imagery by abusing children, emboldening those who consume CSAM material to commit new offences. There is an imperative to cut off this chain of exploitation. By disrupting the creation, distribution or possession of CSAM, a jurisdiction can suppress the market for such material and protect vulnerable children.

Some International Responses

To make matters worse, recent years have seen an alarming spike in AI‑generated CSAM. The Internet Watch Foundation reported that from October 2023 to July 2024, roughly 3,500 newly produced AI‑generated images depicting child sexual abuse appeared on monitored dark‑web forums. Although the overall volume of content has ebbed, the number of materials classified as criminal has steadily climbed.

These synthetic depictions, though created without direct contact with real children, nonetheless perpetuate exploitative narratives and pose serious challenges to existing legal definitions of abuse.

Article 34 of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) obligates each of its 196 state parties to shield minors from all forms of sexual exploitation, including those enabled by novel technologies. As paraphrased from an article by media scholar Sonia Livingstone and her colleagues, the UNCRC’s preventive mandate must be interpreted in light of digital transformations, ensuring that emerging forms of harm – real or simulated – fall within its protective scope.

Thus, criminalising AI‑generated CSAM is aligned with the prevailing international commitment to prevent – rather than merely address – abuses against children.

Despite their artificial origin, AI‑generated CSAM images can cause genuine trauma. The Nepal ChildSafeNet report illustrates how highly realistic, AI‑crafted pictures and videos can trigger deep psychological distress among victims and the broader community, even when no actual child was harmed in their production.

Furthermore, a United Nations Interregional Crime and Justice Research Institute (UNICRI) study reveals      that some generative models are trained on datasets containing illicit material, effectively recycling real‑world abuses into new, synthetic content. This cycle of reproduction exacerbates victimisation, as the constant availability of seemingly authentic imagery can re-traumatise survivors and perpetuate the stigma of abuse.

In response to these evolving threats, the United Kingdom has enacted a legislation criminalising the creation, possession and distribution of AI‑generated CSAM. By erasing the need for law‑enforcement agents and prosecutors to distinguish between real and synthetic content – a task growing ever more difficult as generative algorithms advance – the United Kingdom’s approach fortifies child protection and streamlines judicial processes.

This development serves as an international precedent, demonstrating how preventive criminal law can adapt to encompass new technological modalities.

Indonesia’s Position

Indonesia, which ranked fourth globally and second in ASEAN for CSAM distribution, reported more than 5.5 million cases over the past four years. With 89% of children over the age of five using the internet primarily for social media, according to Indonesia’s Central Statistics Agency (2021), the nation confronts heightened risks of online exploitation.

The Ministry of Communication and Digital Affairs (Komdigi) has already established a digital child‑safety working group, reflecting its commitment to combating CSAM. Yet, to stay ahead of emerging threats –particularly synthetic content – Komdigi must expand its mandate beyond age checks to encompass technology‑driven harms.

First, Komdigi should spearhead a regulation explicitly outlawing AI‑generated CSAM. This might be the quickest solution rather than pushing the House of Representatives (DPR) to formulate and pass a law. By integrating such provisions into the national law, Indonesia would make clear its position on zero tolerance to any depiction of child sexual exploitation, real or artificial.

Second, Komdigi should pursue partnerships with social media and technology platforms to deploy advanced detection tools. Industry initiatives like the Robust Open Online Safety Tools consortium illustrate how public–private collaboration can accelerate the identification and removal of harmful content at scale.

Finally, Komdigi must convene expert working groups to draft comprehensive, future‑proof regulations. Anticipating the next wave of digital offences, such as deepfake abuse, will ensure that policies remain effective and futureproof as offenders adopt ever more sophisticated means.

Conclusion

Focusing solely on age verification risks neglecting the broader technological landscape in which predators operate. Generative AI not only generates new CSAM but also empowers abusers to evade detection and re-traumatised victims through eerily authentic imagery. By criminalising AI‑generated content, fostering cross‑sector collaborations for rapid removal, and preparing robust, adaptable legislation, Indonesia can strengthen its national duty to protect children and uphold its international commitments in the digital age.

Introduction

Even though Indonesia’s revised military law paves the way for active Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI) personnel to occupy certain civilian posts, the number and scope of these posts are limited. TNI has also lost some of the benefits it used to enjoy, as will be explored below.

In fact, concerns expressed by activist groups and students were partly accommodated by the House of Representatives (DPR) lawmakers, rendering the whole argument about the return of dwifungsi as somewhat inaccurate.

Initial Stages

Indeed, the revision process was fast-tracked by DPR’s Commission I (overseeing defence and security) and concluded in less than three weeks. In fact, the bill was last debated in DPR’s 2019-2024 period, though the process stalled and eventually failed.

The renewed interest in the process emerged when new lawmakers were sworn in last October. The discourse once again popped up in mid-February and was immediately included in DPR’s legislative plan, thanks to Deputy House Speaker Sufmi Dasco Ahmad’s machination, a Gerakan Indonesia Raya (Gerindra) politician.

The alarm went off when it was discovered that the revised bill was developed by the government instead of DPR lawmakers, contravening the proper lawmaking process.

Despite this, DPR invited relevant entities to convey their concerns with the bill. Dasco hosted a hearing session with Commission I lawmakers, activist groups and victims of past human rights abuse just hours before a plenary meeting with all DPR factions on 18 March 2025. That session was abrupt and believed to be a follow-up to his earlier meeting with activist groups a day before, in which he promised to accommodate their concerns.

Among the activists’ demands was a request to ensure that TNI personnel committing general crimes be tried in the public instead of the military court, which is closed to members of the public. However, this demand was not included in the revised law, as the section on the military court was outside the revision purview.

The revision process itself was led by Commission I’s Utut Adianto, a senior lawmaker from Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan (PDI-P), who chaired the working group. His appointment initially raised hope of a fair and transparent process, as PDI-P is perceived to be outside President Prabowo Subianto’s large coalition. However, as time went on, the PDI-P fraction did not seem to harbour any strong rejection towards the revision; instead, their lawmakers played along and proceeded with the process.

On the other hand, Deputy State Secretary Minister Bambang Eko Suhariyanto and Deputy Defence Minister Donny Ermawan Taufanto (retired vice marshal and marshal from the Air Force, respectively) represented the government’s interest. Their appointment is peculiar yet interesting: the Air Force has been traditionally placed at the margin compared to the Army and the Navy, thanks to ex-president’s Soeharto’s preference as an Army general.

On top of these two is Defence Minister Sjafrie Sjamsoeddin, believed to be the orchestrator of the revision from the government side, who played a critical role behind the scenes. He was in charge of interpreting Prabowo’s interest and wishes on this matter, which was made apparent by his constant calls with his deputy during the revision process, according to a source.

Later, some activist groups, including KontraS, made headlines by breaking into the meeting room where the working group convened for a two-day consignment in Fairmont Hotel on 15 March 2025. This is despite the working group chairman never explicitly declaring the meeting was closed to the public.

Questions in the Revision Process

Objections to the revised law could be traced to the circulating narrative that Prabowo’s administration was planning to make a wholesale accommodation of TNI personnel in civilian posts.

As evidenced during the revision process, this plan, if it existed at all, did not even feature in the debate. The passed law, additionally, only adds several posts that can now be occupied by TNI personnel. These include positions in the fields of disaster relief, anti-terrorism, coast guard, border management and the Attorney General Office (AGO). Proposals to include posts in the maritime and fisheries portfolio were dropped towards the end of the process.

The lawmakers’ chief argument for this was that transboundary issues (e.g. human trafficking, arms trafficking and disturbance in Papua as well as the maritime domain) could only be effectively tackled by the inclusion of TNI personnel within civilian bodies.

These positions will add on to a number of other posts that retired and active personnel are already occupying, such as in political-security affairs, defence, the president’s office, and others.

Meanwhile, to assume the office of civilian posts mentioned above, active TNI personnel are required to resign from service to signify their shift to civilian governance. The ball is thus on the government’s court to ensure that this requirement is properly met. Failure to do so would only elevate the public’s criticism on the matter, which has scrutinised the appointment of Teddy Indra Wijaya as cabinet secretary and Novi Helmy as director of the State Logistics Agency.

On another note, the revised law will also allow TNI personnel to serve longer. The age limit was raised from 53 to 55 for non-commissioned officers and privates as well as from 58 to 62 for middle- and high-rank officers. Furthermore, four-star officers, such as commanders and chiefs of staff, will be allowed to serve until they reach the age of 65.

This new regulation may seem generous, but it is actually done to match the standards applied to other public servants, such as the police, in terms of retirement age.

Unfulfilled Aspirations

The revised law is not all sunshine and roses for TNI—it might actually be displeased with the alterations made to its relationship with the Ministry of Defence.

For example, the previous law regulated TNI to be under the coordination of the Ministry, but the revised one places TNI directly under it, which means closer control will be administered over TNI by the Ministry.

A source from the TNI Headquarters stated that TNI was not invited by the Ministry in formulating this clause and that it would spread discontent among the personnel to be over-dominated by the Ministry.

This new relationship could be viewed as an attempt an increase in civilian control over TNI, as long as the Ministry is still dominated by civilian bureaucrats and technocrats, particularly in its high-ranking offices.

Moreover, the revised law also sets the Ministry to authoritatively design policies on military equipment maintenance. In other words, it would create extra layers of bureaucratic process for TNI to autonomously undertake this process, which could worsen the technical mismatch often experienced by the TNI as the end user of that equipment, according to TNI’s consecutive reports to Commission I over the years.

Another source said that the DPR working group rejected the idea of conferring the Air Force with an investigative power like the one possessed by the police and AGO, owing to its serious implications to the country’s criminal law. This aspiration was borne from the fact that multiple airspace violations by foreign airplanes remain unpunished. Instead, the working group chairman asked the government to consult with other law enforcement bodies before deciding on this matter.

Conclusion

In contrast to the criticism lodged by activists and students, it can be surmised that DPR has undertaken the revision process fairly within reasonable limits, especially since some aspirations of the public were accommodated during the revision process.

The fear over the return of dwifungsi remains overblown at this stage, as TNI is now a direct subject under the civilian government through the Ministry of Defence.

The imperative now is to ensure that the legal basis provided by the revised law could enable DPR lawmakers to supervise the civilian government, especially in its relationship with TNI. This legislative task remains challenging due to a lack of meaningful opposition to provide checks and balances to the ruling coalition.

Introduction

The financial scandal surrounding eFishery, one of Indonesia’s prominent agritech startups, has sent shockwaves through the nation’s investment landscape. Once hailed as a unicorn disrupting aquaculture, eFishery’s fall from grace in early 2025 was swift, thrusting it into domestic and international spotlights for all the wrong reasons.

An internal investigation uncovered large-scale fraud, exposing gaping discrepancies between the company’s published reports and reality. This incident not only tarnished the once-celebrated reputation but also raised pressing questions about the integrity and sustainability of Indonesia’s burgeoning tech sector.

Given the fraud’s sheer scale and public exposure, eFishery’s case offers hard lessons for future startup founders, investors, employees and policymakers alike. This report examines its impact on Indonesia’s business landscape and whether it could dim the country’s allure as a destination for foreign direct investment (FDI).

What Happened?

Founded in 2013, eFishery set out to revolutionise Indonesia’s aquaculture industry with innovative smart fish-feeding technology. Starting with automated feeders, it grew into an end-to-end platform offering feed, financing, and market access to fish and shrimp farmers.

By mid-2023, the company had raised more than US$294m from 28 institutional investors – including Softbank, 42XFund, Temasek, 500 Global and Northstar Group – achieving a US$1.4b valuation and the coveted “unicorn” status.

The unravelling began in December 2024 when a whistleblower alerted a board member to accounting irregularities. A subsequent investigation by FTI Consulting revealed a web of deceit, with eFishery’s top management having inflated revenues from US$157m to US$752m and reported a US$16m profit against an actual US$35m loss for the first nine months of 2024.

Signs of fraud could be traced all the way back to 2018, with the company maintaining dual financial reports – one for internal use, another for investors – while claiming 400,000 operational fish feeders against a true count of 24,000.

A fictional network of companies facilitated “round-tripping” funds through forged invoices and contracts, deceiving auditors from PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC) and Grant Thornton. In mid-December, investors ousted founder-CEO Gibran Huzaifah and co-founder-CPO Chrisna Aditya, installing interim leadership.

Too Noble to Fail

This elaborate deception did not occur in a vacuum—investors played a role too. What makes eFishery’s case unique is how the company is positioned – or positioned itself – in the grand narratives surrounding tech startups.

eFishery’s fraud hid behind a compelling mission: empowering marginalised fish farmers and boosting micro, small and medium enterprises (MSMEs). This narrative resonated deeply with Indonesian stakeholders, casting the company as a socially driven innovator.

This feel-good social mission was further hyped by eFishery’s public narratives conveyed during the onset of tech winter in 2022. During that challenging period that also affected other companies, many Indonesian tech startups underwent extreme downsizing and struggled to secure funding.

Surprisingly, eFishery stood out and seemed to be weathering the storm well.

It was able to secure Series C funding worth US$90m. Furthermore, the company brought forth the narrative that it contributes to 1.5% of total aquaculture GDP in 2022, prompting one of its key investors to say that the company was more profitable than GoJek, an Indonesian decacorn.

Later in 2025, the same investor changed his tone and called the eFishery situation “embarrassing”.

This blend of noble intent and apparent success made eFishery a poster child for tech startups, but it only amplified the shock when the scandal broke. eFishery’s financial scandal extinguished the dreams of many of its innocent employees who just want to work for a company with commendable socioeconomic missions, at least on paper.

What the Investors Missed

Early warning signs – like rapid scaling and outrageous revenue projections – are often dismissed amid Indonesia’s tech boom. Yet, fraud is hardly a rarity in business—its nature and scale varies widely.

One of our sources, a former global banker with insider knowledge on eFishery’s case, told us that he knows at least two other major Indonesian startups that have manipulated accounts. What makes the eFishery case particularly concerning is that, according to various reports, its investors had adhered to standard due diligence protocols yet still failed to detect the fraud.

At least four firms reportedly have conducted financial audits and due diligence on eFishery: PwC, Grant Thornton, EY and KPMG. PwC later denied such report. Investors also engaged six surveyor firms to validate eFishery’s market position. Additionally, Kroll was tasked with conducting background checks on the company’s executives.

Yet, despite extensive research and investigations, the fraud went undetected. eFishery’s investors reportedly interviewed former CFO and found no red flags. However, the departure of a key executive responsible for overseeing cash flow should have raised concerns—at the very least, a yellow flag.

It appears that the investors primarily focused on verifying numbers, figures and data found in company documents. While they did attempt to assess its market position by hiring survey firms, they failed to investigate whether eFishery had actually produced almost half a million fish feeder machines.

The investors likely understand the importance of thorough due diligence—not just financial, but also reputational and on-the-ground investigations. However, these procedures are often overlooked because they are considered time-consuming and expensive. Moreover, fund managers often operate under tight deadlines, making deep scrutiny difficult.

Nevertheless, the outcome of these instances of oversight is significant.

The magnitude of eFishery’s deception highlights the need for enhanced scrutiny on tech startups. Worse, it suggests that standard due diligence practices may not be sufficient for Indonesian businesses, especially in high-growth sectors like tech. A more investigative, forensic approach – one that includes independent verification of production claims, supply chain audits and anonymous employee interviews – may be necessary to truly assess risks.

Damage

Notably, this scandal is not an isolated case; similar failures, such as those of Theranos and WeWork, have occurred elsewhere in the globe. These incidents underscore the need for investors to balance optimism with scepticism, ensuring that due diligence processes are robust and comprehensive.

eFishery’s collapse, however, hit hard and wide. Employees uninvolved in the fraud activities face job insecurity and market stigma—social media posts already suggest some employers shun ex-staff from recent layoffs. Meanwhile, investors appear incompetent, creditors worry about repayment, and farmers grapple with disrupted orders and loans.

For risk-averse investors, the eFishery debacle serves as a stark reminder of the importance of stringent due diligence. Traditional investors may adopt more rigorous evaluation processes, incorporating investigative methods and reputational due diligence – usually employed alongside financial and legal due diligence – to uncover potential risks that may be hidden underneath piles of the company’s documents.

Conversely, while venture capitalists are accustomed to the high-risk nature of startup investments, the eFishery incident may prompt a reevaluation of risk assessment frameworks.

Moving forward, it is best that tech startups are also subjected to thorough operational audits, such as via site visits and employee interviews to determine a company’s procedures, processes, and management practices. These on-the-ground due diligence should be conducted openly or discreetly.

An example for the latter is to covertly investigate how many trucks or cargo vehicles come and go from a company’s site to determine its activities. A case from 2016 supports this. Then, a Singapore-listed company was caught red-handed attempting to mislead potential investors by falsely asserting that its FnB products were widely available in China—claims that were easily debunked by visiting retail outlets in key cities in the mainland.

The real victim, however, is Indonesia’s business ecosystem and economy, particularly pertaining to FDI. The erosion of trust caused by eFishery’s misconduct may deter foreign investors, especially major banking institutions, from considering Indonesia as a destination country due to heightened concerns over risk management. This scepticism could lead to a more cautious approach towards investing in Indonesia as a whole, not just its tech sector.

Moreover, this could weaken investor confidence beyond the tech industry, which could slow down mergers and acquisitions (M&A) as well as business partnership. This is because foreign investors would prioritise risk management and governance, which could hinder Indonesia’s efforts to attract FDI in higher value-added industries beyond raw materials.

Therefore, eFishery’s scandal would likely lead to a slowdown in investment activities as investors require more thorough due diligence encompassing financial, legal, operational and reputational aspects. This heightened scrutiny could extend decision-making timelines and increase transaction costs.

In addition, it might also cast a shadow over tech-centric business models, leading to increased scepticism and potentially hindering the growth as well as adoption of technological innovations. Tech startups might find themselves in a more difficult situation to secure funding, which could push them to come up with new buzzwords and “strategies” in an attempt to make themselves look credible in front of investors. Alternatively, they may need to go the “anti-startup” route, i.e. developing a more disciplined and accountable approach to its business model as well as adopting a more prudent approach to using investors’ money.

Fraud is Here to Stay

Despite the uproar, there is a potential that not many changes will take place when the dust finally settles.

While venture capitalists might take a pause and hold back, other investors might quickly put aside their concerns and explore the next new opportunities. The root cause of eFishery’s fraud is investors’ expectation of ultrafast and accelerated growth, which is a common phenomenon in the tech startup scene. Bear in mind that this is the industry that attracts moneyed individuals with such jingoism as “growth hacking” or “blitzscaling”.

So long as the expectation for an unrealistic growth pace rules the game, the eFishery debacle is unlikely to be the last of its kind.

Venture capitalists have an advantage over others because this is their playing field. They know the funding game and inherent risks attached to tech startups such as eFishery. Those who parked their money under eFishery would not have bet all their money on this one company, as they understand the importance of portfolio diversification. As such, it is difficult to believe that all of these big names acted so surprised in unison after the news broke.

Meanwhile, the reputation of the founders is tarnished. They have become a subject of ridicule in social media and discussed as a case study of a company-gone-wrong in MBA classes. They are also engulfed in legal suits.

The people, on the other hand, would eventually move on. Given Indonesians’ forgiving nature and tendency to forget history, eFishery’s  case would likely be forgotten soon, especially by those who were not directly impacted. The case might be different for the company’s employees, beneficiaries and MSMEs attached as part of its supply-chain ecosystem.

If there is one thing that we could learn from eFishery’s case, it is that history tends to repeat itself and we always struggle to learn from it to avoid a recurrence in the future. Just as past financial crises were fuelled by speculation, overvaluation and reckless risk-taking, we also see overvaluation, overspeculation, and overreliance on debts and external capital in eFishery’s case.

So long as these remain the practices in the business, we can expect similar cases to happen in the future.

Aftermath

In the short term, eFishery’s collapse would ripple through Indonesia’s tech sector, making funding – already scarce – even harder to secure. The fallout may also affect non-tech industries seeking foreign partnership, M&A or investment due to diminished trust. Additionally, the traditional tech mantra of “move fast, break things” might face greater scrutiny, with businesses promoting this approach viewed with scepticism.

Yet, this fallout opens doors for change. The eFishery’s debacle presents a multitude of opportunities, not only for the betterment of investment in the tech sector but also for new businesses to thrive and Indonesia’s chance to increase its reputation as a trustworthy FDI destination. The case could pave the way for the rise of firms specialising in business investigation – equipped with local knowledge and strong on-the-ground investigative skills – to strengthen investors’ due diligence process.

Ironically, the smallest victim might be the fishery sector itself, which eFishery tried to disrupt in the first place. While eFishery’s collapse is significant, it is unlikely to disrupt the overall farmed fish supply. eFishery is just a small fish in a big pond of Indonesia’s giant aquaculture industry, one of the largest in the world that employs more than six million people.

The case also presents opportunities for less popular players with integrity in the aquaculture sector to rise and fill the gap left by eFishery. Several startups are also engaged in the fishery sector, some of which have developed breakthrough aquaculture technologies such as an inland farming system for highly commercial saltwater fish like grouper.

We are aware of another fishery startup that competed with eFishery for a contract to supply fish to one of the country’s largest mining companies. Its approach to technology development and deployment is more conventional (focusing on hardware development rather than software) with less emphasis on digital tech.

With the lessons provided by eFishery’s case, these players can establish and execute a more feasible and balanced business model while still empowering local aquaculture farmers across the archipelago. Through the case, eFishery – inadvertently – might also provide a valuable experience and knowledge for their honest, hard-working employees who might even take up the mantle left by their employers and start their own high-impact, social-driven startups that continue to empower marginalised communities in Indonesia.

Looking up and beyond, this case can serve as an inflection point for Indonesia to seriously build a reputation as a trustworthy FDI destination. Starting in tech, particularly in tech investment, policymakers and stakeholders in this sector should utilise this momentum to create a healthier tech ecosystem, one that is grounded in governance and sustainable growth, not just hype and made-up numbers.

Introduction

On 22 January 2025, Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) and Muhammadiyah took part in a discussion on the revision of the Minerals and Coal Mining (Minerba) Law organised by Indonesia’s House of Representatives (DPR). This was a follow-up effort after both organisations decided to accept mining concessions from the government.

Their inclusion in the revision discussion signifies their shared approach to mining management and the participation of religious organisations.

On paper, the revision of the Minerba Law is intended to improve people’s welfare through equitable distribution of welfare founded upon the principle of economic justice. NU’s and Muhammadiyyah’s participation in the mining industry could also boost their organisational independence.

At first, the government’s offer of mining concessions could be perceived as a strategic move to address the CSOs’ frequent requests for funding to ministries and agencies.

However, critics argue that the organisations’ involvement would remove them from their grassroots bases while simultaneously detaining them in the elites’ political dynamics. Furthermore, by accepting mining concessions from the state, it could be posited that both NU and Muhammadiyah might have given up their independence as CSOs.

What this means is that both organisations have become integral components of the state – thus serving the interest of the government of the day.

The granting of mining permits to the two was finalised through the issuance of Government Regulation Number 25 of 2024. This new regulation allows NU and Muhammadiyah to establish mining companies or business entities under their wings. The two, however, have relatively different ways of managing their concessions.  

NU’s chairman, Yahya Cholil Staquf, mentioned that his institution had received a Special Mining License Area of around 25,000 to 26,000 hectares in East Kalimantan. NU has also formed a company engaged in mining, namely PT Berkah Usaha Muamalah Nusantara.

Meanwhile, Muhammadiyah obtained a coal mine in South Kalimantan, formerly managed by the Adaro group.

Regardless, the concession offers mark the shift in the relationship between these two CSOs and the state.

Shifting Dynamics

Signs of this changing relationship started to emerge during former president Joko “Jokowi” Widodo’s second term.

At the 34^th NU Muktamar (Congress) on 22 December 2021, Jokowi announced his offering of mining concessions to NU. This was not Jokowi’s only manoeuvre in the event – he also tilted the Congress to favour the election of Yahya Cholil Staquf, his close ally, as chairman of NU’s executive council over Said Aqil Siradj.

Similarly, Muhammadiyah has been offered mining concessions and management rights, though there is no evidence that any such offer was placed during its congress.

President Prabowo Subianto has also continued Jokowi’s tactic of bringing the two CSOs into the state’s fold. Like Jokowi, he has appointed elite NU and Muhammadiyah figures to important positions within the government structure. Such a tactic ensures that his administration receives solid support from Indonesia’s two largest CSOs.

These include the appointments of NU’s Secretary General Saifullah Yusuf (Minister of Social Affairs), NU’s Rais Syuriah Prof KH Nassruddin Umar (Minister of Religious Affairs) and General Leader of the Muslimat NU Arifah Choiri Fauzi (Minister of Women’s Empowerment and Child Protection).

Meanwhile, Prabowo also appointed Muhammadiyah’s Secretary General Abdul Mu’ti and former chairman of the Muhammadiyah Student Association Raja Juli Antoni as Minister of Primary and Secondary Education and Minister of Forestry, respectively.

All of these appointments are on top of numerous state supports, such as programmes that support universities affiliated with the two CSOs. The recent passing of the revised Minerba Law has also resulted in additional state backing.

For example, the state has assisted NU in the creation of 250 NU-owned enterprises and engaged NU to provide Makan Bergizi Gratis (Free Nutritious Meal) – Prabowo’s flagship programme – to students studying under NU’s pesantren. The state has also cooperated with Muhammadiyah in the MBG programme as well as in such areas as migrant workers, education and social affairs.

Convergence and Divergence

In general, the distance between the state and CSOs should not be underestimated. The political positions and attitudes of CSOs are closely related to the prevailing political dynamics shaped by the state. CSOs, thus, could either support or oppose government policies or programmes, depending on the nature of their relationship.

In the political context, NU and Muhammadiyah play an active role in influencing policy discourse from both outside and inside DPR.

Examples include their shared rejection of the Pancasila Ideology Direction Bill in 2020 and their simultaneous push for the government to pass the Sexual Violence Bill in 2022. These examples also illustrate the alignment of both organisations on national and social issues.

They have also diverged on particular issues. Muhammadiyah, for example, rejected the government’s move to revise the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) Law in 2019, while an NU element supported it.

This division is more apparent in the controversy surrounding the Constitutional Court’s (MK) decision to reduce the age limit for presidential and vice-presidential candidates. Following the verdict, a number of professors, rectors and students of Universitas Muhammadiyah Yogyakarta (UMY) voiced their opposition, stating their concern that the state’s institutions have failed to perform their functions.  However, their position was contradicted by the organisation’s leadership, suggesting that Muhammadiyah is also not united on this issue. In contrast, NU tended to remain silent on the subject, indicating that the CSO has aligned itself with the state’s interest.

Nuances such as these gave birth to the narrative that the two organisations have been “bribed” with the mining concessions in exchange for dialling down their criticism of the government.

Meanwhile, in practical politics, many NU cadres dabble as members of various political parties, though most are concentrated as members of Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PKB). The same dynamics can be observed between Muhammadiyah and Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN).

This is not a strange phenomenon in Indonesia’s political landscape, especially considering both PKB and PAN could trace their roots all the way back to NU and Muhammadiyah, respectively.

Both organisations also allow their cadres to partake in political campaigns or join national campaign teams (tim sukses) supporting contesting candidates.

CSOs No More?

Observing these examples above, several key points can be inferred. Firstly, both NU and Muhammadiyah were rather fluid in their relationship with the government – they can swing from being staunch oppositions (the Pancasila Bill) to ardent supporters (the Sexual Violence Bill). Secondly, NU and Muhammadiyah could channel their aspirations through their associated political parties in order to keep their distance from the government.

Despite these instances of divergence and opposition to the government, both groups display their convergence once again in their acceptance of the mining concession offer. This ensures that NU and Muhammadiyah have access to lucrative economic opportunities that could fund their activities while also retaining their seats in Indonesia’s elite political game. However, it should be underlined that it would also increase their dependence on the state and weaken their position as CSOs.

With two of Indonesia’s largest CSOs now orbiting around the state’s gravitational field, power will be increasingly centralised on the state and diminish the spirits of political reform and decentralisation spurred by reformasi.

The question now is this: with both organisations having accepted the concessions, do they still have the capacity to represent and channel the voice of the grassroots communities they claim to represent?

Conclusion

Since the beginning of reformasi, both CSOs have had complex experiences ranging from opposing to partnering with the government. Recently, however, there are instances showing that the state aims to influence the activities and orientation of the two organisations. The mining concession offer is just one such strategy employed by the state to secure the support and non-opposition from the two groups.

When that is achieved, then the state would not only obtain the loyalty of NU and Muhammadiyah but potentially also the associated political parties despite the distance that exists between the CSOs and the parties. As a result, CSOs are no longer considered independent and seem to have been successfully weakened through a process of political resource distribution that is entirely state-centred.

Introduction

Indonesia is gradually becoming an ageing society. According to the latest data, the number of elderly citizens in Indonesia has reached 31 million people, or about 11.04% of the total population.

This number is predicted to increase by around 20% by 2045, while by 2050 elderly citizens might number 70 million or 21.2% of the total population.

A rapidly ageing population carries bad luck in terms of national economic performance.

As of 2019, only one in eight elderly individuals received a regular pension in Indonesia – usually former civil servants and retired military personnel. Fast forward to 2024, this figure further declined to one in 20.

The low coverage of pensions in the social protection system for elderly citizens has caused many of them to continue working in low-paying jobs.

In August 2024, the head of the National Population and Family Planning Agency, Hasto Wardoyo, revealed that the peak season of demographic dividend in the nation, which was heavily tipped to come to fruition in 2030, has in fact passed. Consequently, the window of opportunity for Indonesia to elevate its status into the developed country category is getting smaller.

There have been a few talks about the probability of a second demographic dividend if elderly citizens were able to acquire a substantial amount of savings. The hope is that this would provide further boosts to the economic growth by 2045.

Beyond Jakarta, governments at regional levels are also expected to facilitate this objective through the implementation of Presidential Regulation Number 88 of 2021 on National Strategy of Elderliness. This document establishes five priorities to achieve the welfare of all elderly citizens, which are social protection, health improvement, development of elderly-friendly public spaces, enhancement of civic institutions and elderly rights compliance.

Therefore, the government at all levels, including subnational governments, is encouraged to take measurable and necessary steps to anticipate the potential for demographic disaster.

It is crucial to ensure the social security protection of the elderly people. In order to achieve that, Indonesia’s subnational governments (SNGs) – such as governors, mayors and regents – must play a more proactive role.

Gaps

Since reformasi, decentralisation has become a fundamental principle in the nation’s governance system and bureaucratic reform.

An important consideration is the often-forgotten obligation of numerous SNGs to take good care of their elderly residents. By exercising regional autonomy powers, these SNGs have most of the necessary tools to distribute annual revenues to improve the prosperity of the elderly citizens.

That additional income could mean life or death to many of them, particularly those who have lived under the poverty line for years.

Available data support this. Two provinces with the highest number of the elderly, the Special Region of Yogyakarta (17% of the national elderly population) and East Java (14.4% of the national elderly population), are each showing a staggering statistical fact. Just 10.2% of the elderly in Yogyakarta and 3.6% in East Java regularly receive pension funds.

This paints a bleak picture of the state of welfare of the elderly citizens. If Indonesia sincerely aims to put an end to the probability of demographic disaster once and for all, this shortfall must be dealt with as soon as possible.

It is true that those respective regions have already made some effort over the years. Yogyakarta currently has 40 community-based social welfare bodies which provide monthly empowerment programmes for the elderly, combined with a social security programme for senior citizens who happen to be excluded from any other government’s aid.

However, the so-called social security programme is insufficient, only catering to around 8000 poor senior citizens with each individual receiving Rp300,000 (US$18.08) per month. This figure is far below the real numbers of the elderly in the entire province.

East Java has implemented a similar social security programme since 2019. Every intended recipient receives around Rp2m (US$120.7) per year, with an estimated total of recipients approximately around 50,000 people.

Nevertheless, those programmes are simply not enough. A robust ageing policy requires the government to reach as many older agents as possible, facilitated by the presence of a comprehensive and systematic database.

Unfortunately, this is another classic problem in Indonesia’s bureaucratic system. Multiple state institutions store different data that could complicate the policymaking process, despite the presence of an integrated data-management service called the One Data Initiative. The integration process has been relatively slow.

To overcome those obstacles, SNGs must begin to take over the policy initiative. If every SNG has become fully aware of the incoming threat of demographic disaster, it would not be difficult to decipher which actions must be undertaken.

Paradigm Switch

Last year I conducted research in Jakarta, Surabaya and Medan, which are among the regions with the highest budgets. My study found that all three regions had more than enough fiscal capability to finance an innovative policy called minimum income guarantee for the elderly.

This is a fresh form of an almost-universal (or categorical) basic income-based policy that only excludes former civil servants and retired military/police personnel because they already receive a monthly pension from the state.

As a way of transforming this policy idea into an executable programme, the executive branch alone is insufficient. It is necessary to conduct some measured and systematic political lobbying towards the legislative branch as well. The designated goal here is that each of the city’s and/or special region’s parliamentary bodies would support the policy implementation by passing a specific regional law to complement the executive branch’s policy design.

In order to reduce the probability rate of political resistance, it is necessary to ensure the budget allocated must not surpass 16% of annual revenue realisation in each municipal/metropolitan area.

This calculation is based on a comparative assessment concerning mandatory spending on education (minimum allocation of 20%) and health sectors (10%).

If the minimum income guarantee policy budget exceeds the funding portion on education, this situation will trigger a considerable risk in terms of public perception. People would see that the government is prioritising elderly citizens over children, a narrative that would bring significant political resistance, especially from various members of local parliament.

Moreover, the issue of welfare and prosperity has always been intertwined with the quality of health service. A growing discourse about eliminating mandatory spending in the health sector from every subnational budget across Indonesia has a bigger chance to disrupt the improving level of health quality of elderly citizens.

In political terms, this minimum income guarantee for the elderly could be framed as something that would be able to bridge the gap to some extent.

The numbers look positive. By calculating and analysing Jakarta’s annual revenue in regions in the past five years, I arrived at the estimation that by 2032, its expected actual revenue would have reached a point of Rp100t (US$6.49b). By 2035, the amount would increase to Rp110t (US$7.14b).

This is more than enough to finance the aforementioned programme for the elderly.

Accelerating Poverty Reduction

The potential of this minimum income programme, which could facilitate the elderly group’s ascent above the poverty line, is a subject worth discussing.

By 2032, Jakarta’s expected actual revenue would have reached a point of Rp100t (US$5.93b). By 2035, we predict that the amount would have been at Rp110t (US$6.53b) and the number of Jakarta’s elderly residents would reach 1,640,000. Thus, it is quite realistic that every eligible individual, in today’s calculation, gets Rp10.66m (US$633.30) a year (15.9% of its estimated overall actual revenue that year) or Rp889,000 (US$52.79) a month.

If we compare the money to the Jakarta’s poverty line as of September 2024 (Rp846,085 or US$50.24/capita/month), the income alone would have enabled eligible recipients to get themselves above the poverty line.

In the case of Surabaya, the projected annual actual revenue by 2032 would be at least Rp13.8t (US$895.42m). Three years later, the city’s revenue realisation would likely reach Rp15.2t (US$986.26m), whereby approximately 530,000 Surabaya elderly residents could be included in the recipient list of the programme.

Therefore, any eligible person in Surabaya could get as much as Rp4.5m (US$292) a year or Rp375,000 (US$24.33) a month (15.7% of Surabaya’s expected overall actual revenue that year). Considering the city’s poverty line stood at Rp565,284 or US$34.08 per capita per month as of September 2024, this income would equal 61.9% of that threshold.

Medan could attain approximately Rp8.3t (US$539.82m) in terms of actual revenue realisation by 2032. By 2035, the city’s actual revenue might reach Rp9.1t (US$591.63m). Concurrently, around 465,000 elderly residents would be able to receive the minimum income. The distributed nominals would be at Rp3.12m (US$202.44) a year or Rp260,000 (US$16.87) per month (15.9% of the city’s expected actual revenue that year).

Medan’s poverty line, on the other hand, stood at Rp674,427 or US$40.67 per capita per month as of September 2024. The amount received by each eligible resident would equal up to 40.03% of that point.

We can observe that Jakarta has the fiscal capability to lift all poor elderly out of its regional poverty line, while Surabaya and Medan could offer substantial coverage for eligible participants who live below their respective provincial poverty lines.

President Prabowo Subianto is elderly himself. At 73, he has everything at his disposal to implement a robust and effective ageing policy. However, the probability of this happening is still distant. His landmark programme at this moment is the free nutritious meal, reflecting a mainstream way of thinking of almost exclusively maximising productive-age population.

So far, the country has not updated its outlook by considering the impact of those elderly citizens who are highly educated, technologically literate, financially independent and accustomed to thinking innovatively on the future growth of Indonesia’s economy.

Prabowo’s administration could address this problem by considering two things. Firstly, it must acknowledge that the elderly population has equal rights with the productive-age population. Secondly, it must acknowledge that the elderly’s welfare is key to maximising the demographic bonus.

Though it might seem contradictory at first, the elderly population is a national development asset who can still contribute to the economy if the state knows which policy could support and stimulate them.

Funds allocated for the minimum income guarantee programme would be difficult to embezzle because prospective recipients are only required to show a national ID card to ensure they are truly residents of the area. After that, funds are transferred directly to the recipient’s account periodically.

Conclusion

Unfortunately, at this stage, the elderly’s welfare remains overlooked. In terms of demographic dividend, their potential contribution is also ignored.

Though an error, there is still some time to rectify this fallacy. A reform in the national outlook, which connects aspects of health, economic empowerment and elderly citizens’ intellectual contribution – while being fully supported by SNGs – must be undertaken before the demographic bonus window is completely closed.

Failing to do this would only elevate the state and regions’ fiscal burden to provide health financing and social security for the elderly. Every SNG in Indonesia could improve the elderly’s welfare and help deliver the long-awaited social justice for them.

Introduction

After years of debate, Indonesia’s military law, which was first enacted back in 2004, is officially revised. This process, however, seems rushed and lacks clarity.

The legislative discussion, which was not even a prioritised item in the national legislative programme, was conducted behind closed doors without adequate meaningful public participation, contrary to the prevailing norms in a democratic system.

The rushed deliberation process, coupled with the fact that it took place in a luxurious five-star hotel, raised suspicions about the government’s motives. This is compounded with the fact that officers of Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI) and Kepolisian Negara Republik Indonesia (Polri) were deployed to guard the House of Representatives compound, complete with dozens of tactical vehicles, a day before the plenary session.

Rushed Revision

Even more problematic is that the revision process was held in the midst of President Prabowo Subianto’s budget cuts to finance his ambitious programmes and promises.

The points included in the revised law are not entirely negative. For example, the addition of the phrase “military diplomacy” should be appreciated, as it justifies an increase in TNI’s international cooperation with its regional and international counterparts. This is especially important at a time when global security dynamics are highly uncertain, as signified by President Donald Trump’s mercurial policies and the response from the rest of the world.

Additionally, expanding TNI’s primary task to include operations other than war – such as cybersecurity operations and protection of overseas citizens – demonstrates TNI’s ability to adapt to the evolving nature of threats.

Concerns abound nonetheless. The expansion of TNI’s duties, such as in the field of counternarcotics, could easily overlap with the jurisdictions of Polri and Badan Narkotika Nasional (the National Narcotics Agency – BNN). Although counter-narcotics was finally excluded from the list of military operations other than war, BNN is still cited as one of the bodies that can be occupied by active TNI personnel. This is clearly contradictory and has opened the potential for multiple interpretations in the future.

There are also missed opportunities. The government, for instance, could have pushed for the establishment of a cyber force to complement the works of the army, navy and air force – an imperative in the wake of the hacking scandal targeting TNI’s Strategic Intelligence Agency. Additionally, the establishment of a space unit within the air force could improve TNI’s ability to safeguard Indonesia’s national airspace.

Controversies

Unfortunately, the focus of the law’s revision was not on the technical areas that would improve TNI’s professionalism and combat readiness.

One of the most controversial aspects of the revision is Article 47, which significantly expands TNI’s authority to place active personnel in civilian positions. The number of ministries and institutions that can be occupied by active TNI personnel has now increased from 10 to 14.

The government justified this by pointing out that several ministries and institutions, such as Badan Keamanan Laut (the Maritime Security Agency – Bakamla), Badan Nasional Penanggulangan Terorisme (the National Counter Terrorism Agency – BNPT) and others, have long been occupied by active TNI personnel.

Even though various government representatives have expressed assurances that the placement of active TNI personnel in civilian positions would be strictly regulated, the public needs to remain cautious, given that Prabowo ordered a management and business course for active duty soldiers to prepare them for roles in both state-owned and regional-owned enterprises.

Furthermore, the government’s one-sided claim that assigning active TNI personnel to civilian positions could alleviate human resource shortages is also questionable. This argument appears weak and suggests the government lacks a real solution to the surplus of TNI personnel.

Previous administrations explored various avenues to address this particular issue, such as the establishment of the Defence University and the expansion of TNI’s organisation. Prabowo has also pursued another option – increasing the number of TNI figures in his cabinet.

However, these solutions have often resulted in policies that contradict the principles of reform, such as placing high-ranking officers in non-military positions without removing their military status.

Furthermore, the government’s insistence on extending the age for active service is counterproductive. For one, this is pursued without instituting a moratorium on recruitment. Worse, it could afford Prabowo an undue influence, particularly over four-star generals. This appears to be politically motivated and could seriously hinder TNI’s meritocracy principle.

Challenges to Military Administration

In fact, even without the law revision, TNI personnel have been holding civilian positions for quite some time. As many as 2,569 active personnel are already serving in civilian roles, with 29 of them holding positions in ministries or institutions not stipulated under the old TNI law.

It is unfair that job opportunities available for civilians must shrink to accommodate TNI personnel who are stuck in their careers due to a surplus of military personnel. Evidently, this would also disrupt the career paths of civilian employees in the institutions they are serving.

Rather than revising the TNI law, it seems more urgent to revise the military court law in order to uphold equality before the law and ensure fair trials.

An ongoing problem is when active TNI personnel who hold civilian positions are involved in criminal offences—they are still processed in military courts, not public courts. This hampers the legal process because of the different characteristics between military and public courts, particularly in terms of independence, transparency and accountability.

The polemic between the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) and TNI regarding the arrest of the former head of Badan Nasional Pencarian dan Pertolongan (the National Search and Rescue Agency – Basarnas) offers a chaotic picture surrounding law enforcement on TNI personnel.

Meanwhile, military courts trying corruption cases involving TNI personnel do not apply as strict legal processes and pass more lenient sentences compared to those in the corruption courts.

The military criminal procedure law mentioned above is not the only problem; the military administrative procedure law is equally problematic. The main issue is the lack of procedural laws governing military administration and institutional structures to examine, address and settle disputes in this area.

Although the military court law mandates that such procedural laws be established through a government regulation within three years of the law’s enactment (the military court law was enacted in 1997), there has been a 25-year legal vacuum in this regard. This gap reveals a troubling reality: all TNI legal products cannot be challenged, leading to a system of impunity.

Conclusion

Despite the controversy, TNI remains the most trusted and popular in Indonesia. Many Indonesians view TNI as a versatile problem solver. This high public trust is due to the fact that TNI is considered capable or sufficiently distanced from political or civil affairs. For those who grew up under Suharto’s authoritarian regime, TNI’s involvement in socio-political affairs is also seen as necessary and natural.

However, if its role continues to expand, there is a fear that it would alienate this public trust, which could backfire on TNI itself.

This recent, heated public debate could have been avoided if the government had been more transparent about the revision process. The government’s response to civil society’s strong rejection, claiming that the draft being circulated was not the one under discussions, highlights its poor public communication and a lack of transparency—both of which go against the principles of meaningful public participation.

If the government is serious about enhancing TNI’s professionalism, there are more effective steps it could undertake. The proposed revision, which focuses on extending the service period of active TNI personnel and granting them access to civilian positions, is both a shortcut and a lazy solution.

Instead, the government should focus on the welfare of TNI soldiers and modernise its weaponry system. TNI’s performance allowance currently accounts for only 70% of salary, which is lower compared to other institutions like Polri (80%) or the Ministry of Finance (100%).

More pressing is the task to modernise TNI’s weaponry system, considering Indonesia’s failure to meet its Minimum Essential Forces target by the end of 2024.

As for the surplus of personnel, rather than expanding their authority to fill civilian roles, the government should implement a moratorium on TNI recruitment or at least review its current practices. Another option is to increase TNI participation in peacekeeping missions and send more personnel abroad for educational purposes.

Partnered Content

Assalamu’alaikum and greetings!

CCIGE is pleased to invite you to our upcoming Webinar Session via Zoom. Come and join us for an engaging and insightful discussion with Dr. Zouhir Gabsi. The session will be opened and moderated by Assoc. Prof. Dr. Danial Yusof (Director, CCIGE).

 Date: Thursday, April 10, 2025

 Time: 11:30 AM (Kuala Lumpur Time)

 Platform: Zoom

 Join Zoom Meeting:
https://iium.zoom.us/j/99543389366?pwd=mrJI2z6pSqXk3G5I3HAYLprjbkmM6b.1

 Meeting ID: 995 4338 9366

 Passcode: 613359

Looking forward to your participation! 

Please feel free to share this invitation. 

Introduction

Indonesia’s political landscape has solidified following major elections last year. President Prabowo Subianto has continued his predecessor’s political consolidation strategy of sporting a big coalition of parties in the parliament, thus almost effectively neutralising any potential opposition.

This has raised concerns about the weakening of the checks and balances system, the absence of alternative policy debates and accountability.

His ability to accommodate multiple political parties from various backgrounds, including various Islamic ones, influences the makeup of his big and fat cabinet. These Islamic parties have successfully secured ministerial positions despite their opposition of one another in pre-Prabowo years. They prioritise influence and political access to power and policy making rather than disputing issues of governance, indicating a conformity with pragmatic and transactional form of politics.

This article attempts to critically examine the dynamics and future trajectory of Islamic political parties.

Decline of Votes

In the 2024 general election, Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (PPP) only secured 3.87% of the votes, which effectively pushed them out of the legislative body for the first time (the parliamentary threshold is at 4%). Prior to this, Partai Bulan Bintang (PBB) was the last Islamic party that lost all their parliamentary seats, which happened in the 2009 election.

However, despite PPP’s decline, the remaining Islamic-based parties experienced a slight increase in votes. Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PKB) secured 11,72% of the votes, Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) gained 9,14% and Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN) earned 8,28%. These three parties now occupy 169 out of the available 580 seats.

The decreasing number of Islamic parties in Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DPR) could point to the dimming vibrancy of political Islam in the legislative body. This also proves that the majority of Muslim voters do not vote for Islamic parties, which comprise less than a third of all DPR seats.

For example, members of Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) prefer to vote for Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan (PDI-P) and Prabowo’s Gerakan Indonesia Raya (Gerindra) over PPP or PKB, to which NU has historical affiliation and attachment. A reason for this is that nationalist parties like PDI-P has attracted more NU adherents by establishing Islamic wing organisations such as Baitul Muslimin Indonesia (BAMUSI).

Pragmatic Politics

Meanwhile, new Islamic parties such as Gelora Party and Ummat Party emerged, participated and failed in the last election. Like PBB, both parties obtained a very small fraction of votes (less than 1%). This seems to point out that the appetite for new Islamic parties, instead of the more established ones, is still very low.

Based on the past trends, it is almost impossible for new parties, including non-parliamentary ones, to get plenty of votes instantly. This explains why the parties’ elites shifted and adjusted their strategy in order to survive in the current landscape. 

For example, these non-parliamentarian Islamic parties pragmatically chose to foster an alliance with Prabowo’s Koalisi Indonesia Maju (Onward Indonesia Coalition – KIM), instead of improving the cadre and internal systems.

Elites of Gelora and PBB also campaigned for Prabowo, for which they were well rewarded with strategic positions in the cabinet. PBB’s Yusril Ihza Mahendra is now Coordinating Minister of Law and Human Rights. Gelora’s Anis Matta and Fahri Hamzah are both vice ministers in different portfolios (Foreign Affairs as well as Housing and Residential Area respectively).

This is despite their parties failing to pass the parliamentary threshold.

PKB’s pragmatism is also on full display, having joined Prabowo’s KIM that later became KIM Plus, despite previously backing his rival Anies Baswedan. Prabowo later teased the party for “returning to the right path” after their accession to his coalition.

PKB was later awarded two crucial positions. Its chairman Muhaimin Iskandar now serves as Coordinating Minister of People’s Empowerment while its executive Abdul Kadir Karding functions as Minister of Migrant Worker Protection.

Similarly, Prabowo’s loyalist PAN secured nine ministerial positions, whereas PKS, which joined under the KIM Plus arrangement, obtained one.

Securing a cabinet position is significant to these parties for multiple reasons.

Firstly, it accords access to state resources which, through various means, could be utilised to strengthen their base and finance operations such as future political campaigns. By controlling a ministry or a state institution, a political party has the ability to create and distribute jobs as well as projects that keep its internal members occupied.

Secondly, it allows parties to shape policies and control programmes that align with their political agenda. Moreover, a minister’s good performance will reflect positively on their party’s public image and credibility.

Thirdly, securing top ministerial position ensures a degree of political protection from legal scrutiny and law enforcement, although this may depend on that party’s relationship with coalition leaders and Prabowo himself.

All of these suggest that Islamic parties are moving in the same direction, further casting into question the purpose of the party’s Islamic ideology and identity. Evidently, what is relevant to them now are power, access to financial opportunities and bureaucratic connections. The line between Islamic and nationalist parties has thus become blurrier. 

This strategy to “play safe” clearly aims to avoid risks of becoming an opposition. It seems that to these parties, electoral survival and political influence outweigh ideological rigidity. Consequently, however, it also contributes towards the disappearance of diverse voices and views in the political landscape, thus a symptom of Indonesia’s declining democracy.

Status Quo Yes, Opposition No

In February 2025, student protests and demonstrations erupted across big cities in Indonesia. Under the banner of Indonesia Gelap (Indonesia in Darkness), such demonstrations aimed to express public dissatisfaction with Prabowo’s policies, such as the free meal programme, budget cuts and many more. Some students were arrested by local police while others were allowed by local governments to share their opinion.

These protests reflect the public’s growing frustration towards the perceived government’s failure to deliver goods and services. Yet, despite their magnitude, Islamic-based parties remained silent.

In the last decade, PKS had actively positioned itself as the primary opposition. They had challenged government policies and advocated for the needs and aspirations of the conservative Muslims, its vote base.

However, PKS’ recent reluctance to criticise the government shows a shift in the political dynamic, one that marks the erosion of the checks and balances system as alternative voices become restricted.

Likewise, the largest Islamic organisations, NU and Muhammadiyah, might replicate the attitude of these Islamic parties, contributing to a homogenised political discourse in which dissenting views struggle to gain traction. A key figure in Muslimat NU, Khofifah Indar Parawansa, recently stated that NU will continue being a loyal supporter of Prabowo’s administration.

This situation raises concern about why more religious elites are taking part in maintaining the status quo rather than becoming an opposition.

Ideally, an opposition serves the fundamental role in any democratic system by providing scrutiny, offering policy alternatives and acting as a counterbalance to the government. Without it, policies risk being unchecked, leading to lack of accountability and potential overreach.

Conclusion

All in all, the stance of Islamic-based parties today is clear: they are close to the government and reluctant to be an opposition. Consequently, they cannot be relied on to express alternative voices and provide checks and balances against the government. This forces the people to take to the streets to express their dissatisfaction and dislike towards the government’s policies. If this trend continues, Indonesia’s democratic space would continue to shrink under the weight of political conformity, while demonstrations and online protests would become more frequent.

Actors in the current political landscape can be said to adopt the “wait and see” approach to Prabowo’s policies. It remains to be seen how Islamic political parties would react to key government agendas and legislative priorities, especially if these could affect their chance at getting re-elected in the next contestation.

Agriculture has long been the backbone of Southeast Asia, contributing significantly to food security, economic stability, and rural livelihoods. The ASEAN region, rich with diverse agricultural practices and resources, faces common challenges such as climate change, urbanization, market volatility, and policy discrepancies. As countries navigate these complexities, understanding the socio-economic dimensions of agriculture within the ASEAN context becomes crucial for fostering resilience, sustainability, and collective growth.

In light of these challenges, Yayasan Strategik Lestari (YSL) and stratsea are honored to create a platform for dialogue and knowledge exchange to achieve three primary aspirations: to cultivate a society that understands international relations, to identify Malaysia’s role in addressing agricultural socio-economic issues through expert perspectives, and to gather recommendations for further research and policy benchmarking.

The webinar will delve into critical questions such as:

• What are the socio-economic dynamics shaping ASEAN’s agricultural sector?

• How can collaboration among ASEAN countries enhance agricultural productivity and resilience?

• What policy interventions are necessary to address the impacts of climate change and market volatility on the region’s food security?

• How can Southeast Asia harness its agricultural diversity for mutual benefit and sustainable development?

Webinar Details

Date: Friday, 11 April 2025

Time: 09:30 AM (Indonesia/Thailand) / 10:30 AM (Malaysia/Philippines/Singapore)

Speaker Details

Dr. Dona Laily Wahyuning is a prominent scholar in agribusiness management, specializing in agricultural competitiveness, trade dynamics, and rural socioeconomics. As Head of the Agribusiness Management Laboratory at Universitas Pembangunan Nasional Veteran Jawa Timur, her research offers valuable insights into Indonesia’s agricultural landscape and its regional implications.

Among her notable works is the analysis of rice farming competitiveness in Bojonegoro Regency, which explores strategies to enhance productivity and resilience in one of Indonesia’s key rice-producing areas. She has also examined factors influencing rice imports in Indonesia, shedding light on trade policies and food security challenges. Additionally, her study on the competitiveness of Indonesian cloves compared to Tanzania and Madagascar provides critical perspectives on global spice markets and Indonesia’s position within them.

Dr. Dona’s research reflects a deep commitment to strengthening agricultural resilience and market performance, making her a valuable voice in advancing sustainable agricultural development across ASEAN.

Introduction

Indonesians have a popular saying about misjudging other people: kukira cupu, ternyata suhu (I thought [they are] inept, turns out [they are] experts). This adage is perfect for understanding the politics of pesantrenin the current political and digital landscapes.

For decades, Indonesianists have tended to put pesantrenin the periphery of national politics. Clifford Geertz, for instance,depicted kiai – leaders of these institutions –as cultural brokers, normally functioning as a translator of global and national vocabularies to local constituents. This localised and apolitical strategy was particularly effective in enduring the systematic oppression of Suharto’s regime against the Muslim population during the New Order era.

However, in contemporary times, there are traceable shiftsthat should raise scrutiny of whether this traditional role of kiaiis still relevant, considering many of them have become prominent players in national politics. This evidently places the institution of pesantren in an awkward position.

In other words, are kiai inept or experts in contemporary Indonesian politics?

Recent Trends

In the past few years, we have seen how kiai – and inadvertently the pesantren they are managing – play a central role in political contestations.

The victory of Ridwan Kamil-Uu Ruzhanul Ulum in the West Java 2018 Gubernatorial Election was of note. While Ridwan Kamil was quite popular in his own right for his creative movement, Uu benefitted from the political support of rural Muslims in West Java due to his status as the grandson of the founder of Pondok Pesantren Miftahul Huda in Tasikmalaya.

Former president Joko “Jokowi” Widodo replicated the same formula by picking Ma’ruf Amin, a senior kiai, as his running mate in the 2019 Presidential Election. While in most cases the support from kiai is subtle, Jokowi’s presidency showed a more coherent form of political participation of kiai in national politics.

In his final months, Jokowi even signed a presidential decree on mining concessions that enabled religious organisations – including pesantren – to profit from the community-based mining industry. Some politicians consider this as a payback from Jokowi for these organisations’ support of the Prabowo Subianto-Gibran Rakabuming Raka pair.

Meanwhile, President Prabowo appointed Gus Miftah as a Special Envoy for Religious Tolerance and Religious Infrastructure Development, a central position equal to a minister. This is yet another proof that religious leaders are now key actors in national politics, despite his very short stint in the position due to his derogatory comment against an iced tea seller that sparked a scandal.

Against this backdrop, a critical question arises. Even if kiai have become prominent political actors, have their santri benefitted equally?

Offline Life

At least two interesting events demonstrate Jokowi’s acknowledgement of the significance of santri. Firstly, in 2015 Jokowi declared 22 October as Hari Santri Nasional (National Day of Santri). Secondly, on 1 August 2024, amid all the public outcry regarding Indonesia’s democratic decline, Jokowi-Ma’ruf Amin held a mass prayer in the National Palace where all elites and government officials were required to wear the outfit of santri.

But these bear little significance to the development of santri. Unfortunately, their political participation remains limited owing to limited access to byproducts of democratisation and modernisation in Indonesia, which include the Internet and advanced technology.

My doctoral research in Miftahul Huda and Cipasung in Tasikmalaya shows that santri and pesantren continue to be influenced by traditional and rural attitudes in academic pursuit.

This is exemplified by the enduring practice to sustain prolonged, offline academic learning and training in pesantren. The reason given is mass media and ICT continue to be perceived as a weapon of cultural imperialism, a symptom of the larger urban-rural divide that will be explored below.

Furthermore, pesantren maintain the traditional mode of teaching, in which santri are required to study within close proximity of an ustadz or kiai for a long period of time. The prevailing view is that such a practice would confer barakah (blessing) that could lead santri to a fruitful and successful life.

The fact that each santri typically devotes three to 12 years of religious study full-time means that they also spend a prolonged period of time learning under pesantren’s traditional mode of teaching. While products of modernity and globalisation are frowned upon, santri nonetheless lose the opportunity to construct their political interest and worldview due to limited exposure to national and global affairs.

In contrast to all these, urban Muslims have the flexibility to attend religious sermons whenever they wish, including even via online methods. Their different lifestyle also means they can choose to pursue religious studies and interests part-time, instead of dedicating the majority of their focus and energy to these.

Consequences

If kiai insist on maintaining this offline mode of learning, it could contribute to further alienation of santri from prevailing societal discourses that typically circulate through online platforms. Two consequences are possible.

Firstly, the lack of digital access in these institutions could be harmful to santri’s future mobility in all aspects of their lives. With the looming impact of artificial intelligence in education, santri might find themselves left further behind their peers who go to conventional schools.

Secondly, santri would become politically illiterate, which would impact their strategic position as voters and as a group that represents certain political interests. In West Java alone, the Ministry of Religious Affairs counted that there were 1,054,562 santriin the 2022/2023 academic year. This is a significant figure, and yet one that various Islamic political parties cannot benefit from, as santri are not exposed to different political discourses that spread online. Worse, in elections, santri are usually expected to cast their ballots for candidates approved by their kiai, further diminishing their capability as a political actor. This would lead to a political Islam that is less vibrant despite Indonesia’s label as a “democratic” nation.

Furthermore, it is unclear how santri – in their politically diminished state – have contributed to the overall votes of Islamic political parties in national-level elections since 1999. Until 2024, these parties consistently failed to dominate the polls, despite the sizeable number of santri nationwide. This beckons further questions as to the cohesiveness of Indonesia’s political Islam as a whole, one that demands further study into santri’s voting patterns.

Urban-Rural Tension

Santri’s relative distance from modern lifestyle can be explained by the underlying tension between urban and rural Muslims, which became increasingly apparent following the emergence of Islamic revival among urban Muslims in the 1990s.

It is the byproduct of three decades of cultural politics and uneven development during the Suharto era. To secure his position against the challenge of political Islam, the ex-president employed strategies to maintain the secular and apolitical tendency of urban Muslims. The result was a systemic sidelining of Islam.

In the public space, these include policies to ban hijab in academic institutions and the mainstreaming of American popular culture in Rajawali Citra Televisi Indonesia (RCTI) TV station, in an attempt to depoliticise the youth.

Politically, his vehicle Golongan Karya (Golkar) also pushed aside Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (the United Development Party) as the only Islamic-leaning political party. Suharto also dissociated himself from the two biggest Islamic organisations, Nahdlatul Ulama (NU)and Muhammadiyah.

Despite this repression, rural Muslims and pesantren communities (which are typically situated outside urban centres) managed to remain as pockets where Islamic conservatism could be practised and expressed through social and cultural means.

The digitalisation in the 2000s brought about change, with Islamic finance, banking and fashion gaining popularity among the urban middle class. Driven by the democratisation and liberalisation of media, this group, which has been exposed to the American popular culture, began to synthesise modernity, religion and political interests in their worldview.

The same could not be said to rural Muslim and pesantren communities, however, where adoption of modern articles, technology, outlook and even behaviour was found distasteful. This is the same worldview that continues to influence the way pesantren are run these days, with profound consequences to santri’s digital access.

Conclusion

Returning to the popular adage of kukira cupu, ternyata suhu, it is fundamentally unfair that while kiai are the “experts” and play central roles in national politics, santri systematically remain as “inept” in national politics due to lack of exposure to societal discourses. They are also still subject to political mobilisation by their kiai.

This piece offers some constructivist answers as to why kiai insist that santri must be kept at an arm’s length from modern technologies, which thus distinguishes pesantren from other academic institutions that have been touched by modernity. While this retains the charm and appeal of pesantren to some, it could bear some consequences to santri’s political outlook and Indonesia’s political Islam in general.