One year after his inauguration, President Prabowo Subianto faces accusations that his administration is gradually eroding civil liberties — from arresting activists and suppressing demonstrations to putting pressure on media outlets.
This is done not through open prohibitions as in the past, but by framing dissent as something that must stay within safe limits. This may not be a direct imitation of his father-in-law Suharto’s regime, but it echoes the same logic — stability over freedom, order over the voice of the people.
During the New Order era, freedom of speech was considered a threat to stability. Criticism of the government could lead to censorship, surveillance or arrest without due process. The press was prohibited from writing about anything that was considered disruptive to order, while books were confiscated and public discourse was filtered through the lens of national security.
Twenty-five years after the reform era began, the old pattern seems to be reappearing, albeit in a more structured form. Today, fear is no longer enforced with weapons, but grows through legal procedures and controlled discourse that slowly reshape the limits of people’s courage to speak out.
These symptoms are most clearly visible on the streets. Last August, when thousands of people took to the streets demanding transparency and justice, 12 people were killed and 6,719 others were arrested. The police claimed to be maintaining order, but many were detained without adequate explanation. Of those thousands, 959 are still suspects to this day.
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One person in the spotlight is Delpedro Marhaen, director of the Lokataru Foundation, who is accused of inciting students to demonstrate through social media. His legal team argued that the designation was procedurally flawed, but the pretrial motion he filed was ultimately rejected, making Delpedro an official suspect. The case reveals how the legal system is now used to manage dissent.
The pressure on freedom of expression does not stop on the streets. In the newsroom, threats are more subtle but still oppressive. Francisca Christy Rosana, a journalist and host of the podcast Bocor Alus Politik, received a package containing a pig’s head and a dead rat at the Tempo newsroom. The incident serves as a reminder that critical journalism in Indonesia still faces forms of violence that are not always visible.
Pressure on the media is also evident in the lawsuit filed by Agriculture Minister Amran Sulaiman against Tempo over a report titled “Poles-Poles Beras Busuk” (Polishing Rotten Rice), with damages sought amounting to 200 billion rupiah. Such a lawsuit reflects a new strategy of control – not to silence directly, but to weaken the media resilience through legal and financial pressure.
Different from the past, when censorship was carried out through political decisions, now pressure comes through courtrooms. The media can still write, but no longer feels safe. Every critical report can be responded to with a lawsuit; every satirical illustration can be read as an insult. In this situation, press freedom does not die with prohibition — it erodes from within, driven by fear.
Amid an increasingly tense situation, the government’s decision to officially grant Suharto the title of national hero has become difficult to ignore. The timing of the award, coinciding with growing criticism over Indonesia’s shrinking civic space, reinforces the impression that the state is seeking to close the circle of history by glorifying a figure once blamed for suppressing dissent.
For some, Suharto remains a leader who preserved national cohesion and drove economic growth. However, for many others, he is a symbol of repression, corruption, and state violence.
This award marks how Indonesia’s collective memory is being rewritten. By placing Suharto in a honored position, the state seems to be ignoring the suffering of thousands of victims and their families who were targeted by repressive policies during his reign.
This decision reflects how the state is rehabilitating a figure once synonymous with fear while blurring the very meaning of heroism. In this context, the award is not merely a personal gesture of respect from a son-in-law to his former father-in-law, but an ideological statement about the political direction now being pursued.
What distinguishes Suharto and Prabowo is not their political goals, but their methods of maintaining control over the public sphere. During the New Order, repression was direct and visible. The army was present on campuses, journalists were monitored and fear was instilled through overt violence.
Today, the law has replaced weapons and procedures have replaced censorship. The authorities no longer come with long barrels, but with summonses and defamation charges.
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Although its form has changed, its essence remains the same. The state wants to maintain an image of stability by regulating what can be said. The military no longer monopolizes repression, but its presence is once again celebrated as a symbol of order.
Many retired military personnel occupy civilian positions, and the language of discipline has regained its place in public discourse. This new model of control is more subtle, legally grounded and therefore more pervasive. The boundaries of freedom are no longer imposed, but are quietly formed through instilled fear and obedience.
History does not always repeat itself in the same way. Sometimes it returns in a gentler guise, wrapped in good intentions and legal language. Prabowo’s year in office shows how freedom can gradually fade without any explicit prohibitions. There are no gunshots, no decrees of censorship, but there is also no guarantee that people can still speak without fear.
For many people, this may seem like a reasonable price to pay for stability. But behind this calm, there are signs that democracy is beginning to lose its breath. When silence becomes the norm and courage seems like a nuisance, what is lost is not just freedom of speech — It is the belief that the voice of the people still matters.
Kamilatul Farikhah is a researcher at the Center of Muslim Politics and World Society (COMPOSE) at the Universitas Islam International Indonesia.
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