It Was Never Bright to Begin With: The Military Dual Function and Our Historical Amnesia

Since early 2025, the hashtag #IndonesiaGelap (“Indonesia in Darkness”) has become the rallying cry of student activists, leftist groups, pro-democracy advocates, NGOs, and even large parts of the anarchist circle. The slogan expresses public frustration and disappointment with the political system—particularly with Prabowo’s rise to the presidency, which some leftist figures and political analysts claim signals a shift toward dictatorship.

But these opposition-style outcries don’t always align with reality. In fact, both under the previous administration and the current one, several well-known militant leftist activists now hold positions within the government. So what exactly is behind the new hysteria of “Indonesia in Darkness”? Why are so many on the left jumping on this narrative—one that is often shallow, factually questionable, and seems to invite the public into a collective act of forgetting?

A few months ago several cities across Indonesia have been rocked by waves of protests—some escalating into prolonged clashes—against the newly passed Military Law (UU TNI), which many see as nothing more than a formal reinstatement of the military's dual function (Dwifungsi TNI). Officials and military leaders have denied these accusations. They’ve employed what George Orwell, in the mid-20th century, famously called doublespeak—language deliberately distorted to obscure the truth. They insist this is not a sign of the return of Dwifungsi. But let’s examine what’s really happening. When the military is integrated into civil institutions (politics and governance), when its role expands from defense and security to include social and political affairs—what else can we call that, if not a dual function? Dwifungsi, by definition. This is doublespeak in its purest form: declaring something is not A, while doing exactly A.

For those who have been paying attention—or living through it—this isn’t new. It’s been happening for quite some time, and now it’s happening again. Just imagine: 2,569 active-duty soldiers are currently holding ‘civilian’ positions. The military’s dominance is clearly resurrecting, now with legal backing to involve itself in all aspects of governance and political life. But this should come as no surprise. The road to military domination has been paved steadily since the Jokowi administration began. Many liberals, moderate, and even leftists still blindly glorifies the former President era as victory of pure civilian power. These are also the same people who once led uncompromising campaigns to abolish Dwifungsi TNI—back when Indonesia’s armed forces were still known as ABRI. There’s something really wrong with this. Frankly, I no longer understand what goes on in the minds of these so-called leftists. Even intellectuals broadly considered to be on the Left—such as Martin Suryajaya—who supported Jokowi back then. Love is blind, they say. And it seems, so are they.

Another common response among intellectuals is to play it safe—clean, calculated, yet still appearing to stand with integrity. I know a woman who considers herself critical, well-versed in philosophy and leftist theory. But even she crossed a line when commenting on Prabowo. She said we should no longer judge Prabowo based on his past, but instead focus on whether he can perform well as president.What a wretched apologism. Here’s someone who constantly flaunts her intellectual credentials, yet pretends not to see Prabowo for what he really is: a delusional relic of the New Order military, a man who still acts as if the world is locked in a Cold War mentality. And she dares to say we shouldn’t judge him by his past? If the past doesn’t matter, let me ask you this: Imagine you have a five- or six-year-old child, and you’re searching for a preschool. You find one with excellent facilities, a solid curriculum, and an affordable tuition fee. But then you learn that the principal is a convicted former pedophile. Would you still enroll your child in that school? Would you say, “Let’s not dwell on his past—let’s just see if he can run the school well”Legally and formally, she might be right. But my question is simple: would you trust your child with him?

Jokowi has been practicing what is known as pragmatic civilian control. In the field of Civil-Military Relations (CMR) studies, pragmatic civilian control is a contemporary theory developed by Donald Travis, a scholar of CMR in the United States. The theory emerged as a critique of classical CMR frameworks, which were seen as inadequate in addressing the complexities of modern national security realities—particularly in the U.S. context. In classical Civil-Military Relations (CMR) theory, two main types of civilian control are commonly recognized: subjective and objective. Subjective civilian control focuses on integrating the military into a country's social and political systems. In times of war, civilians are mobilized into militias, and in peacetime, they return to civilian life, taking up roles based on their individual skills and capacities. In contrast, objective civilian control emphasizes a clear separation between the military and the political-social spheres. Under this model, the military is expected to function as a professional institution. This professionalism is defined by several criteria: specialization in military functions such as warfare and defense; complete withdrawal from political activities; avoidance of careers or technical roles unrelated to military service (e.g., in agriculture, mining, or plantations); and unwavering obedience to legitimate political authorities, such as the president. For objective control to work effectively, the military must also be institutionally separated from civil society and politics, assigned strictly to defense roles, committed to traditional military values without being swayed by prevailing social ideologies, and able to manage its internal structure autonomously and independently.

During his presidency Jokowi has adopted a model of pragmatic civilian control. In practical terms, this approach holds that civilian oversight of the military must be applied flexibly, depending on the nature of the conflict and the broader strategic environment. This flexibility is justified by the reality that the military operates within a pluralistic, democratic society. As such, both military institutions and individual personnel are seen as legitimate political actors. But isn’t this precisely what Dwifungsi TNI refers to—the military taking on both defense and political roles? What else could it possibly mean?

That said, it would be a grave mistake to simply scapegoat Prabowo while allowing Jokowi to walk away clean. Jokowi is the real architect. He laid the groundwork. He is the one who systematically paved the legal path for the military's return to political power in Indonesia. The militarization of Indonesian politics began as early as Jokowi’s rise to prominence—something both absurd and spectacular if you were paying attention. Did anyone notice how many retired TNI and police generals were involved in his early campaigns? While it's true that Megawati also involved military figures during Gus Dur’s era, she was never as aggressive, strategic, or deliberate as Jokowi in reinstating the military's dual function (Dwifungsi).

Yes, there are no formal laws forbidding retired officers from participating in politics. But their early involvement was a warning sign. In the 2014 election, Jokowi and Jusuf Kalla’s campaign team included nine retired officers, not counting the 23 others who supported from outside the formal structure. By 2019, six retired officers were officially part of the campaign, with even more backing him unofficially. Their motivation? It doesn’t take a genius to guess. Just look at their backgrounds: business. Who are these people? Luhut Panjaitan. Hendropriyono. Moeldoko. Just to name three.

Once Jokowi took office, it was no surprise that many of the retired military officers from his campaign team were rewarded with strategic positions and lucrative business opportunities. Just look at the list: Luhut Panjaitan, Wiranto, Prabowo Subianto, Doni Monardo, Agus Suhartono, and many others—a total of 28 military figures placed in key roles. When the pandemic hit, Indonesia followed the global pattern of states exploiting the crisis to militarize their response—but in this country, it was particularly blatant. Ask yourself: during the height of the pandemic, who was actually making the strategic decisions—medical professionals and scientists, or the military? No wonder the government’s response often seemed amateurish, riddled with vague messaging and unscientific claims—from promoting herbal concoctions to joking about the supposedly superior immune systems of Indonesians. None of it was funny. People were dying. Then look at the so-called Food Estate program. Who was tasked with clearing the land for this massive project? The military.

And has anyone asked what happened to the tons of timber extracted from some of the densest forests across Indonesia? Of course not. Do you know how much Merbau wood costs? A single piece measuring 3 x 10 x 400 cm can fetch Rp26 million—and that’s the lower end of the price range. Now imagine how many hectares of forest were cleared. Imagine the volume of timber. Where did it all go?

Then came Prabowo, stepping in after Jokowi’s failed bid for a third presidential term—a campaign that, in truth, was nothing more than an attempt to extend Jokowi’s own influence. Prabowo is merely his proxy. Now, the newly passed Military Law (UU TNI) further expands the military’s role—building directly on the foundations laid by Jokowi himself. Suharto took 32 years to consolidate power across multiple sectors. Jokowi? He only needed two presidential terms.

And now we’re surprised because suddenly the military want more?

Surprised that a Tempo journalist was sent a pig’s head? There was once a time when journalists received human heads—but you’ve all forgotten that, haven’t you. Surprised to learn that the mass organizations disrupting and confronting protesters in Bandung and other cities are coordinated by the military? There was a time when the military openly organized thugs under the name Pamswakarsa—armed civilian groups used to manufacture so-called horizontal conflicts by attacking anti-Suharto demonstrators. These groups were allowed to carry blades, to incite violence, to do whatever they pleased—while the military and police washed their hands of it all, claiming the violence was simply the result of “clashes between civilians” provoked by anti-government protests. So when chaos erupts, and people are hurt or killed—who gets blamed? The anti-government demonstrators. But you’ve forgotten that too, haven’t you?

Truly, if you were willing to remember, none of this should surprise you. The military has long been entangled in business in Indonesia, and it has always resisted any attempt to strip away its role in the social and political spheres. And do you even know when the doctrine of Dwifungsi was first introduced? 1958, in Magelang, by none other than A.H. Nasution. You know who he is, don’t you? The only one who survived the Cakrabirawa kidnapping in 1965. The same man many of you still regard as a national hero. The grieving father who lost his only daughter, Ade Irma Suryani, to that attack—and because of that tragedy, you gave him your sympathy. And in doing so, you chose to overlook the dangerous, far-reaching policies he created. Now set aside your empathy. If you oppose Dwifungsi TNI, then you should also know exactly who conceived it.

Recently, Army Chief of Staff Maruli Simanjuntak dismissed critics of the new Military Law (UU TNI), calling them "uncultured." Perhaps he’s not entirely wrong. After all, Indonesia has never truly broken free from military dominance in social and political life—except for a brief illusion that we had. So if we were never truly free of it, how can we now claim that Dwifungsi is “returning”? In fact, perhaps the words of a TNI commander stationed in West Papua were more accurate: “This isn’t Dwifungsi anymore. This is Multifungsi.” Well said.

That notion is reinforced by West Java Governor Dedi Mulyadi, who recently stated that the provincial government has partnered with the Indonesian Army in nine areas of cooperation—from road construction and waste management to home repairs and disaster response. This means the military is already operating in a multi-functional capacity—not as a future plan, not pending legal approval, but already happening on the ground.

As Karlina Supelli astutely observed: when it comes to this Military Law, implementation precedes legality. The law is simply a formality. What we’re seeing now is just the process of making official what has already been quietly taking place. No surprise there—this has long been Jokowi’s modus operandi: restructure laws that don’t align with his will, so everything he wants becomes legal retroactively. And this is what your so-called “civilian heroes” have brought you. Look around. You were the ones urging everyone to vote for Jokowi—championing the supremacy of civilian leadership. You elected him, didn’t you? And isn’t Dedi Mulyadi—who calls himself Kang Dedi to sound folksy—supposed to be the embodiment of clean, law-abiding, pro-people governance? The very man so many of you once praised?

Now look at where he stands. Look at what he’s been quietly enabling: a multifunctional military. Beautiful, isn’t it? Soon, everything will fall under military jurisdiction. Imagine what that might look like—because you should. We all know what Murphy’s Law tells us: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.But you’ve been lulled by how casually the government brands itself. And you fell for all of it.

You forgot that behind all this carefully crafted civilian charm, the military has been quietly reclaiming control over every aspect of your lives.

I’m not saying this former president have certain unique power. Not at all. Jokowi the humble civilian, Prabowo the brutal general turned cat-lover, and of course Gus Dur the blind humanist—just different brands of the same soda. Coke, Pepsi, whatever—they all fuel the same machine. Jokowi, like every other president, serves the same fundamental interests. They create, reinforce, and perpetuate the same values—something even Indonesia’s so-called intellectual left has consistently failed to grasp.

But don’t get me wrong, I fully support efforts to demilitarize civilian life—including supporting protest actions, whether peaceful or disruptive. Violent or non-violent. But I’m also aware that my foundational perspective differs from most of yours. Many of you still cling to the hope of a clean civilian government, a pure embodiment of civilian supremacy. Me? I don’t believe in the democracy you advocate. I don’t trust any government—civilian, democratic, or otherwise. Not the one that gave you Jokowi here. Not the one that gave Obama in the U.S., or Macron in France. Nor do I place hope in the so-called alternatives idolized by people like Dina Sulaeman—Khamenei, Xi Jinping, Modi, Putin, Erdogan, or Julani in Syria. But neither do I endorse the idea of a “proletarian state” under communism—whether the models are Lenin, Mao, Castro, Chávez, Ho Chi Minh, or Pol Pot.

I will only celebrate the day when hierarchical social relationship and capitalist economy collapses—nothing less.

And as for the TNI’s so-called multi-functional role?

Let’s be honest—between your historical amnesia, your performative opposition, and your loyalty to the ever-changing face of the "lesser evil," this is exactly what you signed up for: banality, obedience, and powerlessness.

Epilogue
When the TNI Bill first stirred controversy—back when it was still just a draft—I reached out to an old friend, a former PRD (a marxist-leninist party) member who's now active in the Prima Party. Their chairman, Agus Jabo, currently serves as the Deputy Minister of Social Affairs in the Red-and-White Cabinet under Prabowo. Yes, the same Agus Jabo who, not long before the election, messaged me personally to convince me to vote for Prima.

I replied right away:
"Ah, of course. I forgot that it was the PRD without a seat in power who used to shout about abolishing ABRI’s dual function."

One check mark.
Still one check mark to this day. And no more profile photo.

Back in 2015, when Agus Jabo was still the chairman of PRD, he declared at their 8th Congress:
"We emerged when the public had lost faith in the government."
A line my friend repeated proudly when pitching Prima to me—claiming the spirit was still the same, just dressed in a new uniform. As if they were the saviors of the republic. Here I come to save the day… real Superman vibes.

But that was then.
Now?
Well, we all know the story: classic leftist behavior.