From Dictator to “Hero”? Indonesia’s Democratic Backsliding

Suharto Titled “National Hero”

On November 10 2025, Indonesia conferred the title of Gelar Pahlawan Nasional (“National Hero”) on former President Suharto, prompting widespread discussion. Such an act matters far beyond symbolic commemoration: it revives public debate over historical memory, addresses issues of transitional justice, and interprets the legacy of its authoritarian era.

Many domestic and international observers have read the award as part of a broader political moment in which military prestige and executive authority are being rehabilitated under the current President, Prabowo Subianto. 

Who was Suharto?

Suharto, also spelled Soeharto, was a former president of Indonesia from 1967 to 1998. Suharto’s three-decade authoritarian regime institutionalised “bureaucratic capitalism”, where the military and political elite controlled Indonesia’s economy through patronage networks. For example, the army expropriated land from peasants and exploited political prisoners as forced labour. Aid from foreign powers, especially the United States and Britain, played a covert but enabling role, viewing Suharto’s New Order, which prioritised stability and growth over civil rights, as a bulwark against leftism because of its anticommunist stance. Suharto achieved rapid economic growth through authoritarian control, censorship, and the suppression of dissent. 

A state official, who agreed to be interviewed by us and shall be named ‘Z’, framed Suharto’s economic achievements critically: “[Indonesia’s economic] development was due to large debt from the International Monetary Fund and a lot of controversy that much [of] the fund[s] were drained to Soeharto and his colleagues’ personal wallets.” They described this era as a “ticking time bomb” which eventually went off in 1998, when Indonesia suffered an economic crisis. Suharto was a former military officer before seizing power from Sukarno (Indonesia's first president and independence leader). 

In 1963, Suharto was regularly appointed head of a Jakarta-based force tasked with responding to national emergencies, which remained strongly anticommunist despite President Sukarno cultivating close ties with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) and China, caused by Sukarno’s proposal in which the president plays a greater role and begins focusing on implementing a form of socialist populism as the next stage of the revolution. 

On September 30, 1965, a group of left-wing army officers and some PKI leaders allegedly attempted to seize power in Jakarta, killing six of the army’s seven senior generals— Suharto being one of the highest-ranking officers to escape such an assassination. As head of the Jakarta-based task force, he stopped the coup within a few days. Due to suspicions of President Sukarno’s complicity in the coup, power began to shift to the army. 

Economic crisis, elite rivalry, and Cold War tensions converged into mass anticommunist killings following the alleged coup attempt. The military, under Suharto, used chaos to seize control from Sukarno. This was followed by an exaggerated form of vigilantes in a grand massacre of communists throughout the country, in which hundreds of thousands were killed. These killings are known as the 1965-66 Mass Killings. Violence served not only to eliminate political opponents but also to restructure the economy. 

One notable example of Suharto’s rule being associated with authoritarianism, suppression of dissent, and human-rights violations was Operasi Petrus (Operation Petrus), mostly prominent between 1983 and 1985, which was a series of extrajudicial killings and disappearances of people labelled as criminals in major cities. These killings were carried out in a covert fashion, where victims were often taken without a formal process, shot, and sometimes left in public places. The estimated number of victims varies widely, with some sources indicating “more than 1,000” deaths, while others suggest much higher numbers in the broader period. It earned its name “Petrus”, an acronym for penembakan misterius (“mysterious shootings”), due to unclear identities of the perpetrators. National human rights body, Komnas HAM, later investigated the case and reported that the killings appeared to meet elements of “crimes against humanity”, noting that they were conducted by or with the involvement of state agents, had a pattern, and were widespread. 

While there appears to be no publicly available verdict directly attributing orders to Suharto specifically, multiple observers place the operation within the framework of the New Order security apparatus under his authority. Some later sources say that the operation was an “official” policy, implemented in a way that bypassed due legal process.

Additionally, Suharto oversaw the Indonesian state apparatus during Indonesia’s invasion of East Timor and its occupation (until 1999), as well as the campaign against the Aceh separatist movement (and West Papua). Some human-rights sources describe the occupation of East Timor as amounting to genocide or crimes against humanity, noting mass killings, forced relocations, starvation, and suppression of culture. In Aceh, casualties are estimated in the thousands, mostly civilians, in the 1990s. However, establishing direct personal attribution of orders from him for every act remains more difficult in publicly documented sources. 

Suharto’s legacy was later highlighted by figures such as Munir Said Thalib, a prominent human-rights lawyer and activist who co-founded human rights organisations such as KontraS and Imparsial, documenting military and state-linked violations in Indonesia, including the 1965-66 killings, Aceh, Papua, and East Timor. Munir was assassinated in 2004 by arsenic poisoning on a flight to Amsterdam, in a killing linked to intelligence operatives. 

By the late 1990s, corruption, cronyism, and economic collapse during the Asian Financial Crisis eroded public trust and triggered mass protests that forced Suharto’s resignation in 1998, leaving behind enduring legacies of elite dominance, economic disparity, and militarised governance that continued to shape Indonesia today. 

Indonesia Today

The decision to name Suharto a national hero is set against the backdrop of a resurgence of military influence in civilian life under President Prabowo’s administration, rhetorical echoes of the old New Order era, and concern about democratic backsliding. 

Since taking office in October 2024, Prabowo’s administration has taken several steps that have raised concerns among analysts about democratic regression. In March 2025, the Parliament approved amendments that expanded the locations where serving military officers may be posted within the civilian bureaucracy, which critics claim echo the New Order and risk eroding civilian oversight. The Human Rights Watch, The Diplomat, and several outlets flagged this as a central driver of concern about democratic backsliding. 

Since early to mid-2025, the administration has authorised or arguably encouraged the expansion of military involvement in economic and social programmes and in governmental roles. This intensified debate about the TNI’s appropriate role. Additionally, mass protests erupted across Indonesia in late August 2025 against perceived elite privileges and economic grievances, such as a reported monthly housing allowance of approximately 50 million rupiah (3,075 dollars) for members of the Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (Indonesian Parliament), and the death of Affan Kurniawan, a delivery driver, during protest-police clashes. 

But these protests were not just about the allowance: they reflect deeper frustrations with cost-of-living pressures, economic inequality, austerity policies (including cuts in education and social support), and concerns about elite privilege and military involvement in civilian life.

In response to the unrest, President Prabowo ordered revocations of some parliamentary perks and a cabinet reshuffle. Despite the unrest, President Prabowo maintains a high approval rating (approx. 78%), but dissatisfaction with the political situation is notable (only roughly 31% satisfied). 

However, the crackdown on protesters has been harsh: security forces used tear gas, water cannons, and stun grenades. More than 3,000 people were reportedly detained nationwide, and approximately 10 deaths have been reported by Human Rights Watch, and many were injured, although numbers vary by source and region. 

The Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK), a state institution tasked with implementing efforts to eradicate corruption, which was a symbol of post-1998 reform, has faced legal and institutional challenges in recent years (including the 2019 legal amendments to the KPK laws). Analysts warn that KPK’s independence and reach have been weakened. 

Currently, Indonesia faces challenges on both economic and social fronts: inequality, cost-of-living issues, and investor confidence shaken by policy uncertainty and state intervention. 

Placing Suharto in Indonesia Today

The ceremony conferring Suharto the title of national hero was presided over by Prabowo Subianto, a former general and Suharto’s former son-in-law. The government defended the move on the grounds that Suharto played a key role in Indonesia’s independence era (through the military) and in stabilising the country's economy. The naming of Suharto signals a possible shift in Indonesia’s trajectory: from the Reformasi era (post-1998) towards a politics that tolerates greater military-civil overlap, stronger executive control, and less public scrutiny of past abuses.

Indonesia is still grappling with the legacies of the 1965-66 killings. Under Suharto’s rule, the state suppressed the memory of the killings, framing them as a “necessary victory” against communism while erasing victims’ suffering. Despite his fall in 1998, the New Order narrative still dominates Indonesian political and institutional life. The military’s impunity, lack of prosecutions, sealed archives, and persistent propaganda have perpetuated structural silence and fear, discouraging transitional justice or reconciliation. Activists and scholars have tried to challenge this through oral histories, grassroots memorials, and international efforts, such as the 2015-2016 People’s Tribunal in The Hague, which controversially classified the massacres as genocide. 

By rehabilitating Suharto’s image, the government appears to be redefining “national pride” in ways that blur the lines between authoritarianism and heroism. “Prabowo seems to have a fetish for Soeharto,” Z commented. Meanwhile, he explains that “his style is nothing new. His free meal program [is] most likely inspired by the same program run by Soeharto. I would not be surprised if he also does the same pattern as Soeharto to keep his reign.” 

On the other hand, younger Indonesians often have no lived memory of Suharto’s dictatorship, making it easier for nostalgia to grow. “I think the young are engaged to politics, and they should be more critical to the government. Without it, the government will sit comfortably in their thrones without caring for the people.” Official rehabilitation can have generational consequences. Scholarly observers warn that state-led history shaping makes it harder to sustain a plural, contested public memory.  

The enduring influence of the military, culture of impunity, and suppression of dissent continue to shape governance and social hierarchies. This legacy also persists in the persistence of inequality, corruption, and weak legal accountability under today’s democracy, all conditions rooted in the authoritarian stability and Western-backed economic liberalisation Suharto institutionalised. 

Reactions, Debates, and the Indonesian Diaspora in the Netherlands

In modern day, supporters credit him with political stability and long periods of economic growth. Meanwhile, critics, including human rights organisations and activists, condemn Suharto’s legacy due to widespread human rights violations, suppression of political dissent, and the use of torture. 

Human-rights organisations, victims’ families, and many academics denounced the award as “whitewashing” and an affront to victims of past atrocities. Activists and NGOs (including KontraS and Amnesty-linked voices) publicly urged the government not to proceed. Additionally, protesters rallied in Jakarta and other parts of the country, carrying placards such as “Stop the whitewashing of the general of butchery.” Observers abroad, such as scholars, think tanks, and rights monitors, framed the move as part of a broader rollback of Reformasi-era norms and as potentially deleterious to Indonesia’s human rights reputation. 

At the moment, the dominant public reaction among Indonesians abroad is overwhelmingly critical of the government's move to rehabilitate Suharto’s image, with open letters and statements from human rights groups (like KontraS) and student networks. There are pockets of positive or nostalgic sentiment (especially on some social media threads and among older generations).

Dutch reporting emphasises that many in the diaspora view the honour as historical revisionism and a betrayal or Reformasi. Dutch human-rights commentators and Indonesian activists in the Netherlands have framed the decision as erasing victims’ experiences.

The Netherlands and Indonesia share a deep and painful colonial history. Currently, Dutch universities host important archives, academic studies, and communities concerned with Indonesia’s past. Meanwhile, Dutch public debates, museums, and academic centres often engage with Indonesian historical memory. This makes Dutch civil society and academic audience natural interlocutors for Indonesian victims’ groups and diaspora activism. 

Indonesian student mobility to the Netherlands offers another facet to the Indonesia-Netherlands relationship relevant to university-affiliated medical care and networks of accountability. It is also important to note that the Indonesian diaspora in the Netherlands includes political exiles and descendants of the 1965 victims. This means that, historically, they have been active in advocacy and memory work (archives, testimony projects, university seminars). The rehabilitation of Suhartio has and will likely continue to spur renewed diaspora activism and solidarity campaigns, especially in cities with active Indonesian student communities. 

Among Indonesian students in the Netherlands, members of Gen Z and younger Millennials tend to lead or sympathise with the 1998-style pro-reform sentiment. PPI Belanda (the umbrella Indonesian student association in the Netherlands) and local PPI chapters have been very active at congresses and issuing statements in 2025, and are likely the vehicle for collective positions. Student networks in the Netherlands publicly expressed solidarity during the August 2025 protests and related incidents, including a statement from PPI Belanda over the death of Affan Kurniawan.

At the same time, social media conversations show a split: some online threads and commentators praise the stability and economic development attributed to Suharto’s era, while activists, victims’ families, and rights groups dominate mainstream media coverage. 

Suharto’s role in stabilising Indonesia, Z further describes, “was a bare minimum that a leader should be… [where] he should be adequately called the ‘father of development’, but making him a national hero, along [with] Marsinah, [who was] one of the victims of his reign, was an utterly disgusting political irony.” Marsinah was an Indonesian worker, murdered in 1993 due to her leadership of a strike with 500 fellow workers, despite the dangers brought while under Suharto’s dictatorship. She has since become a symbol and inspiration for the workers’ struggle in Indonesia.   

Is Democracy Dying?

Scholars, journalists, and activists have warned of “democratic backsliding” or the “death by a thousand cuts” of Indonesia’s democratic institutions. After two decades of Reformasi (post-1998), which had expanded civil liberties, press freedom, and checks on military power, recent trends have reversed some of those gains.

State official Z agrees with this sentiment: “I would personally say it is a fake democracy… started before Prabowo rose to power.” He noted the controversial 2023 decision by the Constitutional Court to lower the age limit for the presidency from 40, allowing former President Jokowi Widodo’s son to run. At the time, Anwar Usman was the Chief Justice of the Constitutional Court, who was married to Jokowi’s sister-in-law. “It was a moment that democracy in Indonesia took a huge step back,” Z commented. 

Jokowi Widodo and Prabowo were rivals in two consecutive presidential elections from 2014 to 2019, with Jokowi winning both. In a surprise move, Jokowi invited Prabowo into his second-term Cabinet in October 2019, where Prabowo became the Minister of Defence (one of the most powerful cabinet posts). This move was widely interpreted as Jokowi’s strategy to neutralise opposition, consolidate elite stability before the 2024 succession, and build a political alliance between PDIP (his party) and Gerindra (Prabowo’s party). Their relationship deepened in 2023-2024, when Prabowo chose Jokowi’s eldest son, Gibran Rakabuming Raka, as his vice-presidential running mate, made possible by the 2023 Constitutional Court's decision to make an exception to the 40-year age rule, allowing Gibran (who was 36 at the time) to run. Many Indonesians, including Z, credit Prabowo’s victory in the 2024 election to Jokowi’s endorsement of him. 

Prabowo “controls the ‘muscle’ of the government by increasing funding for the police and military, granting them multiple roles outside the main duty... etc.” Z points out further: “Also, he controls the House of Representative[s] via his party… [ensuring] his policy… [is] supported by the House of Representative[s].” Prabowo’s policies, such as reinstating the military’s presence in civilian bureaucracy, echo Suharto-era governance. Independent anti-corruption bodies, such as the KPK, have been curtailed, and dissent has been met with arrests or surveillance. 

Z also points out the corruption of politicians, where they “use money to gain vote[s], and when they rise to power, they only focus on enriching themselves, leaving people… susceptible to power. This poverty then will be used again by the politicians to gain vote[s] by giving money. And thus the circle continues and no [one] seems to be able to break the chain.”

Conferring national-hero status to Suharto is not only a memorial choice; it is a political statement about whose versions of the past count and which institutions will protect or interrogate that past. For many victims and activists, the award is a repudiation of Reformasi values. For some supporters, it is a restoration of stability-oriented narratives. 

At stake are Indonesia’s democratic trajectory, the possibility of transitional justice, social cohesion, and the rule of law. How domestic civic actors—and transnational networks (including the Indonesian diaspora and students in cities like Maastricht)—respond will partly determine whether this moment is an inflexion point toward further democratic erosion, or a catalyst for renewed demands for accountability.

This does not necessarily mean that democracy in Indonesia is dead, but it may be dying slowly, as public apathy and state narratives dull critical engagement. “Supremacy of law is a must,” Z finalises, “[but] the will to implement them is low. If this does not change, we will stand on the same spot for another hundred years.”

Disclaimer:

The views, interpretations, and analyses expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not represent the views, editorial stance, or institutional position of the Maastricht Diplomat or its editors. While this piece aims to provide an observant and factual account, any statements that may be read as evaluative, interpretive, or opinion-based reflect the author’s individual perspective alone. The Maastricht Diplomat bears no responsibility for any potential implications or repercussions arising from the publication of this article, including any political sensitivities or interpretations.