By Kusnandar & Co., Attorneys At Law – Jakarta, Indonesia
Time and again, the public is asked
to believe that the involvement of the Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI)
by the Attorney General’s Office is merely about “securing documents.” Yet this
is precisely where the problem lies. The state has grown increasingly adept at
blurring the line between civilian law enforcement and military presence
through semantic maneuvering. When armed soldiers carry documents out of a
civilian ministry, while authorities insist on calling it “data verification”
rather than a “search,” public suspicion is not only justified—it is necessary.
The concern is not merely about legal intent, but about how power is exercised,
displayed, and communicated.
In a democratic system, language
matters because it reflects intent and shapes public acceptance. By replacing
terms like “search” with softer administrative phrases, the state attempts to
neutralize public anxiety while maintaining extraordinary measures. This
linguistic sanitization does not eliminate the coercive symbolism of military
presence; it merely disguises it. The sight of uniformed soldiers performing
tasks in civilian offices sends a message far louder than any press release.
The Attorney General’s claim that TNI
involvement is “nothing new” only deepens the issue. Normalization is not
justification. Indonesia’s 1998 Reformasi firmly established the principle of
civilian supremacy, including in law enforcement. That principle was born from
painful historical experience, when military dominance over civilian affairs
eroded accountability and democratic control. When a civilian institution such
as the prosecutorial system now feels compelled to “secure” an administrative
process with military force, a fundamental question arises: is the state
admitting the weakness of its own civilian apparatus, or quietly conditioning
the public to accept the military’s return to civilian spaces?
The argument that documents might be
“lost” or “misused” is equally troubling. If such suspicion is directed at a
fellow state ministry, this is no longer simply a mining case in Konawe
Utara—it is a reflection of a deeper crisis of trust among state institutions.
The implicit message is stark: civilian bureaucracy cannot be trusted,
therefore weapons must be present. This logic is dangerous, because it frames
militarization not as an exception, but as a practical solution to
administrative inefficiency.
Moreover, once security logic enters
bureaucratic routines, it rarely retreats. What begins as “document protection”
risks evolving into a default posture in sensitive cases, especially those
involving large economic interests or political stakes. The result is a
chilling effect on transparency, where the presence of armed personnel
discourages scrutiny rather than ensuring integrity.
The Ministry of Forestry’s insistence
that “no search took place” sounds defensive and overly legalistic. The public
does not live solely within statutory definitions, but within visual and
symbolic realities. When citizens witness soldiers transporting documents from
a government office, the meaning conveyed is unmistakable: coercive state power
is at work. If the state fails to grasp this perception and instead blames
“social media narratives,” it reveals a widening gap between authority and the
public’s sense of justice.
Ultimately, the core issue is not
procedural legality, but the trajectory of habit being formed. Democracies do
not collapse overnight; they erode through routines that go unquestioned. If
every major case can be “secured” by military presence, civilian supremacy
risks being reduced to mere rhetoric. Strong law enforcement is not upheld by
the barrel of a gun, but by transparency, accountability, and the courage of
civilian institutions to enforce the law independently. If this trajectory
continues, what is at stake is not merely a single mining case—but the very
character of democracy itself.
K&Co - January 9, 2026
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