“The decision of the Commander of the Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI) to deploy troops to guard prosecutor offices has triggered two differing narratives. On one hand, it can be seen as a serious commitment by President Prabowo to protect law enforcement officers from external interference and pressure in their efforts to eradicate corruption especially in light of the growing threats toward the Attorney General’s Office recently, including physical intimidation and political pressure. On the other hand, we must not ignore the fact that military involvement in civil domains, particularly in legal institutions, must be approached with caution so as not to violate democratic principles and civilian supremacy. Indonesia has long worked to separate military roles from non-defense matters since the reform era post-1998.
In my view, the intention might indeed be noble—namely to safeguard the independence of law enforcement. But the mechanism must be reviewed thoroughly, to avoid setting dangerous precedents in the future. We must ensure the TNI’s role remains within constitutional boundaries, and that the fight against corruption is carried out by strengthening civil institutions, not replacing them.”
The deployment of TNI to guard prosecutor offices across Indonesia should not merely be read as a repressive act or military expansion into civilian affairs. Rather, it should be understood as a form of strategic vigilance and national readiness. This is a powerful political signal—that President Prabowo places the agenda of eradicating corruption on par with the agenda of national prosperity.
The core thesis is simple yet profound: This country is poor because it has been robbed. And if that’s true, then defending state assets from theft is not just an administrative action—it is an ideological one. In this context, the deployment of TNI is not merely physical security, but part of a larger mission—a mission to ensure that the nation’s wealth does not stop in the hands of rent-seeking elites, but reaches the kitchens of every Indonesian citizen.
In other words, this is not just about eradicating corruption—it is about reclaiming the people’s rightful share of prosperity. It is a symbolic and strategic move that shows the state is present, prepared, and unafraid to use all its power for justice and the people’s welfare. The deployment of TNI to guard prosecutor offices must be understood within the larger framework of accelerating justice enforcement. It is a response to the stagnation in anti-corruption efforts perceived during the previous administration—namely the era of President Joko Widodo.
While we respect his accomplishments, we must also acknowledge that in terms of fighting corruption, there has been a sense of inertia. What was once a burning spirit of anti-corruption became fragmented and weakened. Delays, tolerance of entrenched interests, and weak law enforcement led the public to lose faith in the system.
Thus, President Prabowo appears to be signaling a new chapter—with swift action and strong symbolism. The assignment of the TNI is not just a security tactic, but a political and ideological statement: that the state will no longer hesitate to act against those who plunder public wealth. And that the restoration of justice cannot wait for endless political compromise.
That such a move sparks controversy is natural. Every major reform—especially one that challenges entrenched power—invites resistance. But what sets great leadership apart is the courage to act—and this is where President Prabowo’s direction is being tested and revealed. The decision to place the TNI in charge of protecting prosecutor offices is not random. It comes with a clear message: that the legal process—investigation, prosecution, and trials—must proceed without disruption. Law enforcement must not be hindered by external interference, political pressure, or intimidation.
The Attorney General’s Office, as a key pillar in the justice system, needs not just symbolic but operational protection. In this context, deploying the TNI may seem dramatic—but it is precisely that drama which makes the message unmissable.
A fair question arises: Why the TNI and not the police? Isn’t security a matter for the police?
That is precisely where the strategic dimension lies. Choosing the TNI suggests that what’s being protected is not just the buildings or personnel of the AGO—but the mission itself. The state is drawing a firm line for a new era in the anti-corruption drive, using its full force, without compromise or pretense. It may also signal a lack of full confidence in the neutrality or effectiveness of the police—at least in this context.
This may be unusual—even controversial—but in politics and national security, extraordinary circumstances often demand extraordinary measures.
Naturally, people are asking: Why the Attorney General’s Office? Why not the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK), which is specifically mandated to fight corruption? It’s fair to interpret this as a form of institutional favoritism.
But if we look closer, it may reflect President Prabowo’s political and institutional calculation—one that prioritizes control and effectiveness. The AGO operates directly under executive coordination, allowing faster alignment with presidential goals. The KPK, while specialized, has undergone years of political and institutional turbulence.
President Prabowo seems intent on affirming the principle of equality before the law—that everyone, whether elites, officials, or ordinary citizens, must be treated equally. To enforce that principle clearly and firmly, the state must empower institutions that operate directly, consistently, and efficiently—namely the AGO.
To protect that institution from disruption or interference, the deployment of the TNI serves as a strategic backup. It’s not merely physical protection—it is a political statement that the state is fully committed to restoring justice and public trust, placing the AGO at the forefront.
This should not be viewed as weakening other institutions, but as sharpening focus. It’s not about who’s stronger—but about who can work faster, more effectively, and more directly in addressing core problems.
From a legal standpoint, the deployment of the TNI to protect civilian institutions is not a violation, as long as it operates within the framework of the TNI Law and is based on conditions that threaten national stability or involve matters of strategic importance. Corruption, in this case, qualifies as a strategic threat—not only for its financial damage, but for eroding public trust and hindering national development.
If we observe closely, there is a latent tension between the police and the AGO over jurisdiction in major cases. Some cases have even seen public struggles for control between these two bodies. Thus, it’s not surprising that the President would seek extraordinary steps to ensure neutrality and continuity in law enforcement.
The deployment of TNI is not just tactical—it is a strategic move to prevent conflicts of interest that may arise if police are tasked with protection. Especially if there are public doubts about the police’s ability to act impartially when elite interests are at stake.
Let’s be clear: The TNI would not have been mobilized in this context without direct presidential approval. This is not a technical decision—it is a reflection of President Prabowo’s political will to ensure that nothing stands in the way of eradicating corruption.