Tag Archive for: Joko Widodo

Widodo’s defence budget won’t give Indonesia the force it needs

The Indonesian government’s announcement on 27 September of its agreed 2023 defence budgetary allocation leaves Indonesia no closer to having a military capable of wielding a ‘minimum essential force’ (MEF) by 2024, let alone, on its current trajectory, of transforming into the powerful nation envisaged in President Joko Widodo’s 2016 defence white paper or his more recent 25-year grand plan for the Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI).

On the face of it, Indonesia’s Defence Ministry was the biggest winner in this year’s negotiations on the 2023 budget between the government and the House of Representatives. The defence vote’s ‘indicative ceiling’ for 2023 rose by 3.2% from the 2022 figure to around $13.6 billion, making it the largest single allocation in the budget.

The 2023 budget will provide for some important acquisitions in the near term. According to French sources, Indonesia has provided a down payment for the first six of 42 Dassault Rafale fighter jets that it plans to buy, the first tranche of which is set to arrive in Indonesia in around 2026.

The funds are also reportedly destined for the purchase (at least in part) of two Airbus A400M military transport aircraft as well as possibly two Scorpene submarines.

These acquisitions, and the others currently planned, would go some way towards modernising and improving Indonesia’s military capabilities.

But, as at least one prominent Indonesian commentator on defence has observed, it is simply not enough.

In the first place, the allocation was less than half of the more than $32 billion ambit claim that Defence Minister Prabowo Subianto and his senior military officers had proposed, presumably in part with a view to making up for past shortfalls and reaching the 2024 MEF target. As TNI commander General Andika Perkasa explained to the House of Representatives Commission One (which is responsible, inter alia, for defence and foreign affairs), defence expenditure over the MEF’s current five-year plan (2019–2024) had fallen well below the annual allocations, partly as a result of other priorities arising from the Covid-19 pandemic.

Second, the 2023 budget allocation probably represents a real reduction from the 2022 allocation given the nation’s expected 2022 inflation rate of between 6.6% and 6.8% and the prospect of rates remaining above 3.2% for at least the first half of 2023.

It therefore also represents no effective change in the relatively paltry figure of 0.8% of GDP that Indonesia has averaged on defence spending under Widodo. That figure is substantially lower than those for the other major ASEAN countries, especially Singapore (3.2%), Vietnam (2.3%), Thailand (1.5%), Malaysia (1.1%) and even the Philippines (1.0%). It is also well below Australia’s 2.1% and China’s reported 1.7%.

These raw data also don’t capture the effective use—or otherwise—to which defence funds are put in Indonesia. Leaving aside such perennial questions as the corrupt diversion of moneys and the relative amounts spent on the army versus the navy and air force, the shift towards France as Indonesia’s preferred defence materiel partner, and the implications this has for Indonesia’s current arrangements with South Korea, risks repeating common patterns in Indonesian procurement. The Scorpene move in particular looks to have torpedoed any further purchases of the Nagapasa-class submarines that emerged from Jakarta’s defence relationship with Seoul, and, if realised, would mean that Indonesia will have a mixed fleet of three different kinds of diesel submarines (which also includes one Cakra-class boat). That is bound to have significant ramifications in terms of on-costs and capability.

Given Indonesia’s parsimoniousness on defence expenditure, Seoul is probably also wondering whether Jakarta’s commitments to their collaboration on the KF-21 Boramae multirole fighter aircraft will hold in light of the Rafale deal, notwithstanding Indonesia’s deputy defence minister, Muhammad Herindra, recently expressing his optimism that ‘one day the KF-21 Boramae will become part of the Indonesian air defense system’.

The budget outcome and Indonesia’s defence engagement generally yet again underline the inchoateness of Jakarta’s response to Indonesia’s unfolding strategic circumstances. Like its ASEAN counterparts, the Widodo government is certainly anxious about its external environment. It is not oblivious to the specific problems China’s assertiveness poses to its UN-sanctioned exclusive economic zone off the Natuna Islands. And there’s little doubt that this is contributing to its anxieties and is the major underlying factor in its efforts to strengthen its capacity to deter territorial infringements.

Yet, unlike some of its ASEAN partners, and certainly the likes of neighbours such as Australia, the Widodo government (with the possible exception of Prabowo) gives no indication that it sees a serious and urgent external threat to its sovereignty or scope for independent action—or, to the extent it does, that it is prepared urgently to make the requisite investment to protect them.

Instead, its default position—at least as its foreign ministry publicly enunciates it—is essentially to blame the deterioration in the region’s strategic environment on superpower rivalry rather than the hegemonic ambitions of one of them, and to insist that ASEAN be the central element in a process of cooperation and dialogue focused on alleviating tensions and any clash of interests.

Accordingly, it avoids denouncing Beijing for any behaviour that directly violates its rights (such as incursions into its EEZ by Chinese coastguard-shepherded fishing boats or hydrographic survey vessels), enabling it to maintain its access to the development financing that Widodo prizes above all else. And it allows Widodo to divert moneys that might have been allocated to strengthening Indonesia’s weak capacity to deter external threats to other priorities.

The pandemic’s exigencies certainly justified such a reallocation. More generally, Indonesia’s myriad socioeconomic challenges offer ample reasons for keeping defence outlays to reasonable, defensible levels, and for ensuring that every rupiah spent on defence is effectively and accountably used.

But other regional nations face similar challenges and still manage higher defence outlays. Whether any of those challenges will be met by Widodo’s pet project of a new capital in the Borneo jungle (which, if realised, will cost many billions of dollars), and whether what is left for defence meets decent standards of effectiveness and accountability, are questions that, at best, are moot.

In the meantime, the gap between Widodo’s periodic rhetoric about Indonesia’s becoming a major geostrategic actor capable of securing its growing suite of interests and its actual strategic weight looks set only to widen.

Unlocking foreign investment will drive Indonesia’s economy

President Joko Widodo has expressed frustration to his economic advisers in recent months over Indonesia’s failure to attract a ‘fair share’ of the foreign investment dollars going into Southeast Asia. Even as foreign investment into the region has recorded solid growth, its biggest economy has failed to attract a level of interest commensurate with its size.

Neighbouring Singapore absorbs the great majority of the region’s foreign direct investment (FDI)—close to half, according to ASEAN’s latest investment report. Indonesia, whose economy is three times larger than Singapore’s, saw the size of its cut of the Southeast Asian investment dollar slip slightly from 13.9% in 1996 to 13.3% in 2016. It is a state of affairs that the OECD, in its 2019 review of FDI regulatory restrictiveness, at least partly blames on an excess of regulation.

As he begins his second and—barring a change to the constitution—final five-year term in office, Widodo is looking to boost investment to fulfil an ambitious goal of turning Indonesia into a US$7 trillion economy by 2045, which would place it in the high-income club. He has structured the economic team in his new cabinet to place special emphasis on creating conditions more conducive to investment, both domestic and foreign.

Disappointingly, Indonesia failed to book an anticipated windfall from the US–China trade dispute as global businesses relocated out of China to protect their supply chains. Vietnam has been the big winner there. FDI inflows into Indonesia at 1.9% of GDP last year look small compared with the contribution it makes to many other Southeast Asian economies.

To succeed, Widodo will require a far more energetic and effective economic reform program than he produced in his first five years. Despite the promise of a war on red tape, Widodo’s administration produced about 1,300 more ministerial regulations than in the last term of his predecessor.

Widodo’s legacy as president might in large part be measured by whether his policy actions can shift the investment numbers. But there are two big hurdles to Widodo’s aims to modernise the economy through an injection of domestic and foreign capital.

First, Widodo starts his term amid considerable uncertainty over the state of the economy. In briefings for the president, his most reliable economic adviser, Finance Minister Sri Mulyani Indrawati, has predicted that a combination of adverse external conditions and internal bottlenecks will weigh the economy down in the next two years.

Some analysts believe the extraordinary stability of economic growth since 2014, averaging around 5% a year, is too good to be true. The underlying economy is seen as much softer than official figures suggest. This is eroding state revenue, which in turn could force Widodo to curb spending on signature social and infrastructure programs. The government might test the statutory budget deficit limit of 3% of GDP.

Second, policy execution has always been, and is likely to remain, haphazard at best. Widodo’s plans to boost investment rely on the success of a broad policy program that includes increasing labour market flexibility, placing a renewed focus on education and training, introducing bureaucratic and tax reforms, streamlining approvals and regulations, liberalising foreign ownership rules, and improving the quality of infrastructure and logistics. He aims to push through a ‘big bang’ reform by the end of the year by combining dozens of pro-business measures in an omnibus law to overcome the usual procrastination of legislators.

Even as he embarks on this politically difficult agenda, there are contradictory impulses that stifle foreign investment. One example is a new law that establishes an elaborate set of requirements to certify that imported and locally manufactured products are halal or compliant with Islamic obligations; another is a suite of policy measures and decisions aimed at maximising national income and control in natural resource industries, previously one of the main draws of foreign investment.

Above all, an excess of regulation directly discourages investors. The OECD’s 2019 review cites Indonesia as one of the most restrictive countries assessed against a range of benchmarks, including ceilings on foreign ownership, approval procedures, restrictions on key foreign personnel, and other rules ranging from land ownership to corporate structure.

It found restrictions to be especially pronounced in services like communications, media and finance—industries that the OECD argues are powerful multipliers of growth and on which Widodo will rely to achieve his broader economic goals.

The array of nationalist political interests and vested business interests makes deep regulatory reform difficult. They are abetted by some historically rooted suspicions over the benefits of foreign capital. Prior to the 2014 elections, a major newspaper ran a series of articles warning of the perils of foreign ownership in key sectors.

In fairness, Indonesia has achieved a substantial opening since 1997 when it was hit by an economic crisis, yet so much more will be required to be competitive because other jurisdictions have been liberalising too.

Moreover, not all the relevant levers are in Widodo’s hands. Ministers often have their own agendas. The choice of key economic ministers is a mixed bag. Widodo added the title of ‘investment’ to the sweeping portfolio of his most powerful and effective minister, Luhut Panjaitan, a retired general.

He brought on board several ministers whose claims to office are grounded in business entrepreneurship, a pedigree that has not always translated to good stewardship in government. In the mix are several political-party appointees who risk being subject to expectations of competing loyalties.

Of perhaps greater significance is the divide between the macro and micro factors that determine the success and attractiveness of foreign investment. Foreign businesspeople cite a multitude of impositions, inconsistencies, inconveniences and inefficiencies that, while each seemingly small, collectively damage operations.

Their impact varies from enterprise to enterprise and industry to industry. Dealing with them will require a change of mindset that can only weakly be influenced from the top. There’s no doubt the president wants to throw open the door to investment and is willing to make some tough decisions to improve competitiveness. Since the start of his second term, he has moved to reduce restrictions on the types of foreign investment and make it easier to process paperwork.

But real progress is likely to be incremental. This won’t suit Widodo’s time horizons. He has two to three years to get things done before the election cycle turns the attention of his allies and appointees towards the presidential succession race.

Australian interests will be caught up in this as Canberra and Jakarta try to implement their Comprehensive Economic Partnership Agreement, due to come into force by early next year. It’s frequently remarked that business investment is an underdone part of the bilateral relationship. Total two-way investment amounted to just A$6.7 billion in 2018 in a combined economy of A$3.7 trillion.

One aim of the new free-trade agreement is to rectify that. Both sides will need to establish effective mechanisms to monitor and solve problems as they arise in individual cases. This will be labour-intensive and time-consuming, but it will be the only way to ensure success. The key will be to ensure engagement by business in the agreement’s implementation. Re-establishing a regular high-level business dialogue with relevant senior officials on both sides should be a near-term priority.

As a senior executive of a national business lobby recently commented, Indonesia seems to have an ‘allergy’ to foreign investment. The remedy might start with Widodo, and be aided by Indonesia’s economic partners.

But it will ultimately be determined by whether a wider constituency of government and business elites welcome the foreign dollar.

Will Indonesia wind the clock back to the New Order?

Joko Widodo begins his second term contemplating the legacy he will bequeath as Indonesia’s seventh president and with precious little time to do it. His inauguration on 20 October marked the start of what, according to the current constitution, is a final five-year term. In reality, he probably has no more than three years before the electoral cycle overtakes his administration, leaving him in lame-duck territory.

Widodo’s personal preferences, and the exigencies of the times, will incline him to again make economic development the centrepiece of national ambition. His inauguration speech was dominated by the theme of economic aspiration, to break the ‘middle-income trap’. He had nothing to say about preserving political liberties or the health of democracy.

But politics can mug even the most artful politicians. The two dominant Indonesian leaders of the 20th century, Sukarno and Suharto, could not resist the political tides or the backroom intrigue that exploited them.

Widodo’s desire to devote the energies of his administration to laying the foundations for an economically advanced Indonesia faces a significant risk of being overshadowed by a growing contest over the quality and function of its democracy.

It is a struggle that has been waged on several fronts over several years. Signs that democratic progress has stalled have steadily piled up, cumulatively eroding basic rights and protections. One shining accomplishment of Indonesian democracy remained: the conduct of free, fair and competitive elections.

Now, that too is open for debate. Politicians and party officials from across the spectrum would like to do away with direct elections for officeholders from the president down to mayor.

Widodo this week publicly distanced himself from those machinations. It would be better to concentrate on the external headwinds facing the economy than meddle with the electoral system, he said.

Still, the matter might not be in his hands. The power to decide how elections are conducted rests with the supra-parliamentary People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR), whose 711 members are mostly drawn from the same political parties that want to make the change. And if it does happen on Widodo’s watch, it’s still likely to be remembered as one of his great legacies.

Since the launch of the democratic reform era in 1998–99, the conduct of elections has been an undoubted success, free from the violence and intimidation that accompanied the staged affairs conducted under the New Order designed to guarantee the re-election of Suharto.

Four direct elections for president have been held since 2004. Competitive direct elections have been held for the House of Representatives (DPR) since 1999, when the government permitted new political parties to join the three officially sanctioned under the New Order. Direct elections have been held for hundreds of provincial and municipal leaders and assemblies too.

Whatever problems have existed with the conduct of these elections, they have rarely been with the way the people in the world’s third biggest democracy exercised their vote.

Rather, the real problems with the electoral system have been with the behaviour of the political parties and their leaders, who commonly blend party responsibilities with active business lives. They have been drawn into a competition of diminishing returns in which they spend ever-larger sums on campaigning for elections that, of course, someone must lose. Fundraising has become an increasingly onerous burden and a driver of corruption, justifying calls for party finance reform.

But instead of pursuing some sensible remedies like public financing or reducing the number of parties, the parties fault elections themselves. In the case of the presidency and vice presidency, their solution is to revert to the New Order system of selection by the MPR, whose members come from the DPR and the Regional Representatives Council (DPD), a quasi–upper house that has an advisory function.

It would certainly be more convenient for the political parties. It would leave them free to cut deals over the presidency and invest someone who might struggle to win the allegiance of voters, such as a son or daughter of the political elite, or prevent an unpalatable choice, such as a hardline Islamist.

It would be considerably less expensive too, which would presumably be one of the justifications for what would be the biggest step back for democracy since the end of the Suharto era. As one observer put it, ‘It’s cheaper to buy the MPR.’

So far, the idea of reinstituting indirect elections for the presidency has been discussed mostly behind closed doors. There appear to be no concrete plans for what would require an amendment to the constitution.

One of the strongest proponents is the new head of the MPR, Bambang Soesatyo, a senior figure in the second strongest party, Golkar. Other proponents of restoring the powers of the MPR include senior members of Widodo’s own party, the Indonesian Democratic Party Struggle (PDIP), and its coalition partners, Nasdem, headed by businessman Surya Paloh, and Gerindra, headed by Prabowo Subianto, Widodo’s erstwhile opponent.

The interest of parties in exploring the option is evident from decisions by several to commission private polls and focus groups to test public opinion.

In the meantime, public and party attitudes to curtailing the extent of direct voting might be tested at the provincial and municipal levels. The home affairs minister, Tito Karnavian, who’s a former national police chief, has floated the idea of allowing governors and mayors to be selected by local assemblies or appointed by central authorities. He too cites the cost of elections.

The Home Affairs Ministry has hatched the peculiar idea of creating an index of democratic ‘maturity’ that could be used to determine whether individual electorates were entitled to the franchise.

Despite Widodo’s insistence that he is a believer in direct elections and has more important things to do, it’s uncertain how he will react when the time comes. He ought to be an opponent. It’s highly unlikely he would ever have become president under a system that allowed party leaders to haggle among themselves over who should get the job. His path from mayor to president was paved by popular voters.

The end of direct elections also would weaken the presidency in favour of the legislature. Although presidents currently need to be nominated by a party or parties commanding substantial voter support, the existence of a separate mandate provides them with considerable authority.

But it remains to be seen whether Widodo would be swayed by a suitable inducement. There’s talk among political parties of increasing the limit on presidential terms from two to three. That would give Widodo the chance to stand again in 2024. For now, Widodo insists he has no interest in another term. Proponents of change have also suffered a setback with the failure of Soesatyo’s bid this week to seize the Golkar chairmanship.

But might Widodo eventually find it tempting to blame the MPR and go along for the ride? He is already conscious that time to implement his agenda is limited.

Any extension of presidential term limits should be of more concern to democrats than a switch back to indirect elections for the leadership. The two-term limit was set after the fall of Suharto to prevent a recurrence of dictatorship. Setting a limit of 15 years in office could risk a future leader becoming entrenched.

Indonesia doesn’t need to seek popular endorsement to change the constitution. All that’s required is a simple majority in the MPR.

But the people might still have the final say. They have exercised surprising restraint in the face of various challenges to their democracy in recent years. They might be more vocal about the vote—something they appear to value based on a turnout at the last election of 80%.

Politicians have shown they are sensitive to public sentiment. A big enough demonstration of public disapproval might help them discover some democratic instincts. And for Widodo, it might come down to whether he wants to be remembered as economic moderniser or democratic wrecker.

Widodo’s big political gamble

Joko Widodo has taken a big gamble that he can run a more effective second-term administration by bringing in his strongest opponent. His political strategy, and possibly the success of his administration, will be defined by that move as he enters his final five years in office.

The decision is a product of both political culture and rational political playmaking—cultural, because Widodo’s Javanese roots dispose him to a political style that maintains at least the appearance of inclusion and aversion to open conflict, and rational because a large coalition potentially offers him a clearer path to enacting his agenda.

The political playmakers might applaud the appointment of Prabowo Subianto, Widodo’s challenger in the April presidential elections, to the post of minister of defence as the smart move. It contains Widodo’s biggest potential opponent and greatest point of resistance to the government’s program in the House of Representatives (DPR).

It gives Widodo, unique as a president in not controlling his own political machine, more scope to play the parties off against each other, including his nominal sponsor, the Indonesian Democratic Party Struggle (PDIP), and its proprietorial leader Megawati Sukarnoputri.

But there are four broad categories of risk for Widodo from bringing in a man who has run against him in two bitterly fought presidential elections and threatened to unleash civil and legal crises when he lost.

First, Prabowo, chair of the Gerindra Party, the third biggest in the DPR, could be a source of internal destabilisation. Throughout a long career in the public eye, the former army general has exhibited a strong authoritarian streak and a defiance of leaders. One has to wonder at the state of mind that permits Prabowo himself to believe that it’s a good idea to work as a minister under the man he only a few months ago dismissed as unfit for office.

In the ministerial line-up announced by Widodo last week, the defence portfolio will be overseen by Mahfud MD, the new coordinating minister for political, legal and security affairs. Mahfud once served as a chief justice of the constitutional court and as defence minister under former president Abdurrahman Wahid, when he was prone to accusing the US and Australia of running spying operations and clashed with ambassadors from both countries.

Mahfud was Widodo’s initial choice for vice president; yet he doesn’t look like being a substantial check on a headstrong Prabowo.

The irritation of other political parties in the governing coalition over the inclusion in the cabinet of the biggest opposition party only serves to compound the potential for internal tensions. Without an expansion of the size of the cabinet, parties that backed Widodo in the elections have had to make way.

The Nasdem Party, led by tycoon Surya Paloh, looks like one of the big losers in the new administration. It was forced to relinquish the Attorney General’s Office and the Ministry of Trade—two prized jobs—in exchange for others of lesser money-making capacity and influence.

Nasdem obtained no additional ministerial slots, despite increasing the number of its seats in the DPR from 36 to 59. There’s been rumbling in Nasdem’s senior ranks about walking out of the government if things don’t go better for them from here.

Second, if Prabowo adopts an expansive view of his authority as minister, he might set back the clock on civil–military relations. With a bloated officer corps in the military (TNI), there has been pressure to restore the practice of appointing military men to civilian posts. Prabowo also might aim to push for a gradual return of the military to internal security operations.

For the live security challenge posed by the Papuan provinces, the appointment of Prabowo sends a bad signal. Widodo appears to have a Papua strategy based only on two strands—the ‘stick’ of firm internal security measures and the ‘carrot’ of new development projects. That approach bypasses Papuan demands for political dialogue and accountability for past human rights abuses—both of which look much less likely to happen.

The defence ministry is also an often overlooked source of financial power. How Prabowo manages the budget will be closely watched by rival political parties.

Third, Widodo has injected another awkward dimension into Indonesia’s relations with Western countries. Prabowo hasn’t been able to get a visa for either the US or Australia for a number of years because of his implication in various human rights cases, including the kidnapping of political activists in the lead-up to the fall of his one-time father-in-law, the late president Suharto.

Both the US and Australian embassies had contemplated the circumstances under which Prabowo could be permitted to travel when he was putative opposition leader. They put it in the too hard basket.

Now, both countries will have to set aside any discomfort over visits and photo-ops to embrace him as a dialogue partner. They have too much riding on a strategic relationship with Indonesia to do otherwise. Certainly, none of the Asian states, most importantly China, will be troubled by Prabowo’s chequered military past.

But it could crimp the space for increased Western engagement and create a focal point for protests, particularly on hot-button topics like Papua. The US military is keen to step up cooperation with TNI’s special forces, Kopassus, including the resumption of lethal training. It remains to be seen whether Prabowo’s appointment is taken by congressional critics of military engagement as a signal that TNI will be wedded to the past.

Finally, the inclusion of the biggest opposition party in the government threatens to weaken Indonesia’s democracy. The country’s political elites have always struggled with Western notions of dialectic democracy. In their hearts, they prefer an insulated mode of governing which prevails in various Asian capitals.

They won’t lament the absence of a substantive opposition in the DPR (at the moment only the small Islamic Prosperous Justice Party appears seriously committed to the role).

Already some of Widodo’s youthful allies are abandoning his support groups in protest against the Prabowo appointment. One of the big worries for democrats is that the government will acquiesce to political party plans to restore the power of the supra-parliamentary People’s Consultative Assembly (MPR) to set policy guidelines and select presidents.

The elites might not like them, but direct elections have been very popular with Indonesian voters. They are unlikely to meekly accept an erosion of fundamental citizens’ rights.

That said, Widodo has taken steps to break up some old patronage systems and stave off the challenge to secular politics from Muslim activists. The appointment of retired general Fachrul Razi as minister for religious affairs breaks a longstanding linkage between Muslim politicians and a ministry that was rich in patronage opportunities. It sets up an effort to challenge religious radicalism.

But the Prabowo appointment is symbolic of a wider notion that weighs on Widodo’s second term. He oversees an administration that is politically mature in its habits and devoid of any of the excitement that accompanied his 2014 victory.

It always was probably wrong to assume Widodo was a social and political reformer of Western ilk. Increasingly, it looks like that was an expectation imposed on him by his youthful admirers, who believed his man-of-the-people image equated with a willingness to break the traditional pattern of elite politics. Widodo has shown he is a conservative governor in an Indonesian and Javanese meaning of that term.

He has taken a calculated bet that he can manage Prabowo and benefit from the weakening of external opposition. But it sets the tone for an administration that will be largely managerial, placing emphasis on economic invigoration and overcoming administrative inefficiency, even at the expense of the protection and advancement of social and political liberties.

Prabowo’s return will challenge Indonesia’s defence establishment

President Joko (Jokowi) Widodo’s inclusion of defeated presidential rival and Greater Indonesia Party (Gerindra) leader Prabowo Subianto in his cabinet appears to validate analysis pointing to a more authoritarian turn in Indonesia and the resurgence of the country’s oligarchic elites.

Certainly, the appointments of Prabowo as minister of defence and his senior party colleague, Edhy Prabowo, as minister of maritime affairs and fisheries integrate Gerindra firmly into the ruling coalition, effectively ending any substantive political opposition. However, the appointments also carry with them the risk of intra-service rivalries and bureaucratic tensions in Indonesia’s broader security and strategic policy apparatus.

Prabowo’s appointment as defence minister raises the prospect of strained relations between Indonesia’s defence ministry (Kemhan) and Indonesian Armed Forces Headquarters (Markas TNI). In Indonesia, both the TNI commander and the defence minister are cabinet members. The TNI commander serves in an ex officio capacity alongside the chief of the Indonesian National Police and reports directly to the president. The defence minister reports through the coordinating minister for political, legal and security affairs (Menkopolhukam).

With the dismantling of Indonesia’s powerful security–intelligence apparatus following the end of the Suharto regime, Kemhan was vested with authority over defence policy, strategy and budgetary issues. It has been considered less powerful than Markas TNI, which retained authority over military personnel, operations and equipment. Command responsibilities at Markas TNI are vested in four-star army, air force and navy service chiefs under a TNI commander, currently Jokowi loyalist Air Chief Marshal Hadi Tjahjanto.

Although Prabowo’s appointment doesn’t give him command authority over soldiers, he has previously commanded army special forces and for a short time led Indonesia’s Strategic Reserve Command (Kostrad). Prabowo is also the former son-in-law of the late president Suharto. In 1998, after his surprise call at the presidential palace with troops, Prabowo was stripped of his Kostrad command by the then TNI commander, General Wiranto, on the request of newly sworn-in President Bacharuddin Jusuf Habibie.

During the tumultuous years of Indonesia’s reformasi process from 1998 to 2004, independent chains of command (komando di dalam komando) posed a serious challenge for TNI professionalism. Human rights abuses, including extra-judicial killings in Papua, Aceh, East Timor and Jakarta, were allegedly ordered by both former and serving TNI officers outside formal command structures.

The emotional pull of officer corps linkages remains strong in Indonesia. The influence of enduring allegiances to Prabowo were evident in police investigations of a number of Prabowo’s former subordinates for reported links to the deadly May riots outside the Constitutional Court and rumoured coup plans.

Prabowo is not known for his deference to more senior military officers or indeed civilian executive officials. Given his forceful personality and command-style leadership, Prabowo’s ability to work harmoniously with Tjahjanto may be in question.

Furthermore, Prabowo’s ardent nationalism and fundamental belief in robust defence capabilities to protect Indonesia’s sovereignty and territorial integrity may see him assume greater control over the direction of Indonesia’s strategic policy, potentially creating friction not just with TNI command, but also with Indonesia’s foreign ministry (Kemlu).

Kemlu is committed to maintaining an inclusive, rules-based order, and sees ASEAN centrality as the key to managing the regional distribution of power amid escalating geopolitical tensions. Any lack of rhetorical discipline or unilateral decision-making by Prabowo that affects Indonesia’s relationships with China, the US, Japan, Australia and fellow ASEAN states could create headaches for reappointed foreign minister Retno Marsudi.

In the 2014 presidential debates, Prabowo’s discussion of the threat posed by China to ASEAN states’ maritime territorial integrity illustrated both his superior grasp of regional strategic issues and his willingness to call out China’s coercive behaviour.

Prabowo has also been critical of the use of Chinese labour and Beijing’s investment in Indonesia. His willingness to team with hardline Islamic groups that are deeply anti-Chinese in disposition was evident in the 2017 Jakarta gubernatorial elections and the 2019 presidential contests.

How Prabowo relates with new cabinet colleagues, such as former Constitutional Court chief Mohammad Mahfud MD, who has been appointed to the powerful role of coordinating minister for political, legal, and security affairs remains key. The former incumbent, Wiranto, drew on his extensive military command experience to manage destabilising political forces for Jokowi, albeit not without criticism. Mafud is the first civilian appointee to this portfolio and will need to exert his authority over Indonesia’s national security apparatus.

Jokowi’s inclusion of Prabowo in the cabinet was undoubtedly inspired by a number of factors, including a desire to achieve an integrated political coalition with Gerindra. Having Prabowo in the cabinet may well defuse the risk of further political instability, but it will not guarantee policy coherence across key strategic and security portfolios or unity within TNI.

There’s no doubt that Prabowo has extensive experience in defence matters, but the practical requirement to build consensus on key policy issues and maintain cabinet unity for effective governance may prove more elusive in Jokowi’s second term.

Jakarta rioters made their point—but it’s not clear what that was

It wasn’t quite up to the standard of the gilets jaunes of Paris. To suggest that it was the ‘worst’ rioting since May 1998, as some have, risks gross exaggeration. It only serves as a reminder of just how relatively peaceful Indonesian democracy has been in the 20 years since its resurrection.

But the rock-throwing demonstrators who closed down some major thoroughfares and inner-city neighborhoods in Jakarta for two days last week did enough to make a point. What that point was exactly hasn’t been easy to fathom.

It appears many of them were paid—the going rate according to the police was IDR 300,000 ($30) per person—and came armed for trouble. The hard core who were prepared to brave the tear gas and fetid water bombed on their heads from firefighting helicopters probably numbered in the hundreds. As paid demonstrators, it was hard to ascribe any motive to them, other than pecuniary and the diffuse anger that comes with being young, urban and poor.

Their masters, on the other hand, have been working hard for months now to undermine confidence in an election they always knew they were likely to lose. Their motives are more complex.

On 21 May, the Indonesian Election Commission declared that Joko Widodo had beaten Prabowo Subianto by 55.5% to 44.5% in presidential elections held more than month ago. The official result was released a day ahead of schedule, and in the early hours of the morning, to pre-empt attempts at disruption.

The margin of Widodo’s victory was almost 17 million votes. Despite this, and what turns out to be a pretty accurate ‘quick count’ on election day, Prabowo’s campaign has tried to cast doubt over the integrity of the process and every state institution involved in tabulating, verifying, monitoring and adjudicating the outcome.

In an election in which more than 154 million people cast a valid vote, irregularities were inevitable. There were bound to be disputes over the reconciliation and counting of ballots. There were reports that money politics was again rife at the grassroots level. Government resources were clearly used illegitimately to support the incumbent Widodo’s campaign.

Yet Prabowo insists that fraud and manipulation were so systematic and widespread that he was deprived of a real total of 54% of ballots. Is there even a remote possibility Widodo’s campaign could steal votes on such a massive scale without being caught? No.

The Prabowo campaign now will take its complaints to the Constitutional Court, which says it will start hearings after the fasting month holiday and bring down a verdict on 28 June. Commonsense suggests Prabowo will fail.

One of the obvious questions then is, why go to all the trouble? There are likely to be multiple reasons, many of them necessarily speculative. Prabowo’s own psychology undoubtedly plays a role. People who have spent time with him in recent days describe his mood as volatile.

He might well have convinced himself at mass rallies and whistle-stop visits around the country that he was on track to win. He did collect 68.7 million votes. His campaign advisers dismissed the mainstream public polls, pointing to internal polling that predicted a Prabowo victory. Pity the poor factotum who told Prabowo he would lose.

The defeat is a resounding personal blow for a man who has aspired to run the country for as long as he can probably remember. Some say he was groomed for high political office from an early age—the late economist Thee Kian Wie, who knew the family well, once described Prabowo’s father, Sumitro Djojohadikusumo, as the ‘Joseph Kennedy of Indonesia’.

On a more practical level, Prabowo might well calculate that he can increase his leverage in a post-election bargain over executive and parliamentary jobs and state policy and resources by keeping the pressure on Widodo. The carve-up of power and resources between political parties is only just starting. Two parties in the Prabowo coalition—the National Mandate Party (PAN) and the Democrat Party—are showing signs of defecting. No one wants to spend five years in the cold.

Moreover, Prabowo has surrounded himself with a cabal of old Indonesian military (TNI) officers, who act as key advisers. The motives of this group for supporting Prabowo’s attempts to de-legitimise the election likely vary. Some are simply long-term loyalists who moved up the ranks with Prabowo in the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s. Where he goes they go. Others are part of a group with fond memories of the New Order and the special place TNI occupied.

There’s no concrete evidence that TNI as an institution, or senior officers, have breached the obligation of electoral neutrality. But some officers are disgruntled over the privileged place of the police in the internal security power structure and the absence of opportunity this entails. The retirees are a conduit for this sentiment.

According to one veteran analyst of TNI, academy classes are too bloated and there aren’t enough senior jobs to go around above the rank of colonel. In his view, the recent push to restore a role for TNI in civilian life is less about turning the clock back to the New Order than of easing internal pressure in TNI. Still, there’s a widespread view that democracy has provided too much public space to forces that undermine the integrity of the state.

Adding to the peculiarity of Prabowo’s coalition is a mix of some of those figures who trouble old-school TNI—Muslim hardliners of the 2nd of December (212) movement, who campaigned to remove former Jakarta governor, Basuki Tjahaja Purnama, for insulting Islam—and various outliers like the Islamic Defender’s Front (PFI).

Their intention appears to be to either fatally wound Widodo’s presidency or undermine his authority to govern. For many of them, simply disrupting the system and eroding its credibility looks like a victory on the road to a more explicitly Islamic state.

Rounding out the eclectic mix of Prabowo backers at the core of his political coalition are his personal party vehicle, Gerindra, and the Muslim Prosperous Justice Party (PKS).

The diversity of the Prabowo coalition makes it hard to identify the purpose or affiliation of the protestors who besieged election agencies in Jakarta. This fact worried security forces, who feared the infiltration of provocateurs and terrorists.

But Prabowo’s Delphic attempts to claim that it was all beyond his control when it turned violent looked disingenuous. He had warned that the denial of his claims of victory could spark a ‘people power’ movement. His persistent allegations of cheating were an incitement to credulous supporters and served to discredit the electoral process and its institutions.

Even as the barricades come down and Jakartans return to work, the risk of further unrest will leave the city on edge as the political drama plays out in the coming weeks and months. And the real impact might outlast Prabowo’s ambitions in the form of lingering distrust of a political system that for reasons of its relative youth remains fragile.

Indonesian infrastructure isn’t quelling desire for independence in Papua

The killing of 16 workers on Indonesian President Joko ‘Jokowi’ Widodo’s trans-Papua road project shortly after demonstrations and mass detentions that marked the 1 December anniversary of Papua’s ‘independence day’ reminds us that Indonesia’s last regional conflict remains intractable.

The killings in the remote district of Nduga were the most significant armed action by the West Papua National Liberation Army (TPN) in recent years. However, the attack was not unprecedented. Between 2010 and 2014, armed resistance groups were responsible for some 122 deaths, and most of the casualties were members of the security forces. In earlier clashes with the security forces, as in Wasior in 2001 and Puncak Jaya in 2004, non-Papuan employees of timber and transport companies were killed.

Armed resistance against Indonesian rule has persisted since the beginning of Indonesian administration in 1963, although, since 2000, the mainstream of the independence movement has advocated a peaceful struggle. For the most part, the resistance effort has been localised, loosely organised, sporadic and poorly armed. It has never threatened Indonesian control in Papua, but has not been eliminated, despite the deployment of overwhelming numbers of police and personnel from the Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI). In the context of the current crisis, the former head of the National Intelligence Body (BIN), Sutiyoso, estimated that there were 25 resistance groups in the highlands, collectively numbering 685 combatants with 232 weapons.

Jokowi has visited Papua more often than any of his predecessors. Early in his presidency, he made commitments to resolve human rights abuses, remove restrictions on the access of foreign journalists and release political prisoners. While political prisoners have been released, little progress has been made on resolving human rights cases, and the pattern of abuses by the security forces is little changed. Foreign journalists still must negotiate Papua-specific regulations. Jokowi’s approach to Papua has increasingly been focused on economic development, particularly infrastructure, seemingly in the belief that, if material welfare can be improved, the difficult political, human rights and historical issues will somehow fade away.

The Trans-Papua Highway is the centrepiece of Jokowi’s infrastructure ambitions. He has identified the district of Nduga, with its extreme poverty, lack of services and isolation, as the source of his motivation to develop Papua. Nduga is the poorest district in the poorest province. It is also the base of one of the armed resistance groups. Nduga represents the complexity of the problems the Jokowi government faces in Papua.

From the perspective of the armed resistance, the TPN, the targeting of construction workers on the trans-Papua road was not coincidental. When TPN spokesman Sebby Sambom claimed responsibility for the attack, he explained it in terms of the TPN’s political objectives. ‘We don’t need development. What we need is the opportunity to determine our future through a referendum.’ He said that the TPN was willing to negotiate with the Indonesian government on the right of self-determination, provided the UN was involved as a third party. He regarded the trans-Papua road project as the work of the military. The construction team had been monitored for a couple of months and the workers were identified as military, he said. ‘As long as the TNI is involved we will attack. We are not going to wage war on unarmed civilians.’

Vice President Jusuf Kalla’s rejection of negotiations reflected Jakarta’s attitude: ‘Everything has already been given to the region (Papua), except independence. The budget allocation is much greater than before.’

Marking the 1 December anniversary has become part of the Papuan political calendar and a barometer of the restrictions on freedom of expression and organisation that constrain Papuans but not other Indonesians. Papuans were permitted to celebrate the anniversary in 1999 and 2000. Since then, Papuans observing the anniversary have risked long prison sentences. Most notably, pro-independence activist and government official Filep Karma served 10 years of a 15-year sentence for raising the Morning Star flag on the anniversary in 2004.

The demonstrations and detentions this year in Papua, Surabaya and elsewhere suggests a shift in government tactics away from heavy sentences for the leaders of peaceful flag-raising ceremonies to mass arrests of protesters. This year around the anniversary over 500 protesters were detained by police, nearly half of them Papuan students in Surabaya. The mass arrests confirm a pattern developed during the first two years of Jokowi’s administration; 1,083 people were detained in 2015 and 5,361 in 2016.

The arrests of students in Surabaya and elsewhere highlights another aspect of how the pro-independence movement is evolving. Scholars from the Indonesian Institute of Sciences argue that a younger generation of activists has emerged who support independence through a referendum and are less inclined than their elders to cooperate with the government. There have been several incidents, linked to issues of Papuan independence and human rights, involving Papuan students in Yogyakarta and other university towns over several years. These students are the potential elite of their generation. The activism of Papuan students raises the question of whether the experience of studying at Indonesian universities serves to facilitate identification with fellow Indonesians or consolidates a sense of Papuan difference.

Australia’s foreign minister, Marise Payne, expressed her condolences to her Indonesian counterpart, Retno Marsudi, over the attack in Papua. Perhaps this was all the Australian government could say.

Given the strategic importance and fragility of Papua New Guinea, Australia has an interest in the resolution of the conflict in Indonesian Papua. However, the long shadow of its role in East Timor’s separation from Indonesia means that any public expressions of concern are viewed with suspicion and Australia’s frequent statements recognising Indonesia’s sovereignty in Papua are doubted.

Will religious sectarianism change Indonesian foreign policy?

Earlier this month, Islamist groups held a major rally in Jakarta to call on Muslims to shun political parties and candidates that had backed the now-imprisoned former Jakarta governor Basuki Tjahja Purnama, or Ahok. The rally was yet another reminder that religious sectarianism still looms large over Indonesia’s presidential race.

As we head into the final five months before the election, it’s worth asking whether religious sectarianism will also shape Indonesian foreign policy after the victor is declared.

Presidential contender Prabowo Subianto found himself in hot water at home last month for implying that he had no problem with Australia’s mooted plan to move its embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. President Joko Widodo’s running mate, Ma’aruf Amin, also recently suggested that Indonesia’s ‘middle way’ Islam (wasatiyyah Islam)—characterised by neither liberal nor radical religious thought—should be promoted internationally.

But there’s been no call for an explicitly ‘Islamic’ foreign policy—where religious considerations dominate policy processes and goals—in the campaign platform of either presidential candidate. If anything, the two camps both reiterate the fundamental tenets of Indonesia’s ‘independent and active’ foreign policy. The difference between the two lies in how they intend to implement it.

Prabowo’s foreign policy platform is currently underdeveloped. He plans to restore Indonesian leadership and the country’s role on the international stage, assist in Palestinian independence efforts, accelerate negotiations over maritime boundaries, improve protection of Indonesians overseas and involve the country’s diaspora in advancing the national interest.

But these promises are offered without any elaboration, which is hardly surprising. During his first run against Jokowi in 2014, Prabowo stated that his foreign policy would simply continue the policies of former president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono.

As the incumbent, Jokowi’s foreign policy platform is more concrete, but it is underwhelming in its vision and riddled with jargon. He calls for strengthening Indonesian leadership in multilateral forums from ASEAN to the United Nations, and for boosting the country’s position as an archipelagic state and maritime fulcrum between the Indian and Pacific oceans.

The platform also lists pre-existing initiatives—from maritime to humanitarian and culinary diplomacy—and focuses on low-hanging fruit such as protection of citizens and economic cooperation. But there’s hardly any mention of Indonesia’s global role through the G20, middle-power diplomacy, or democratic values projection that characterised the Yudhoyono era.

Significantly, the platform also includes the Palestine issue along with the call to promote Indonesia’s ‘middle way’ Islam. While that won’t transform the country’s foreign policy, it gives a nod to the growing complexities of domestic religious sectarianism that both Jokowi and Prabowo have had to navigate recently.

Regardless of who wins the election, the foreign ministry as the executor of the president’s agenda may not be able to escape the reality that some domestic Islamic groups might try to influence parts of Indonesia’s foreign policy.

There is precedent, after all, for such involvement. In the mid- to late 2000s, the foreign ministry under Hassan Wirajuda engaged key Islamic groups like Muhammadiyah and Nahdlatul Ulama to promote Indonesia’s ‘bridge building’ role between ‘the West and the rest’ through global interreligious dialogues.

One study notes that promoting some Islamic groups that toe the state’s line in foreign policy denies credence to other more radical groups as the ‘voice’ of Indonesian Islam. Policymakers considered that approach useful when the domestic debate over moderate and radical Islam polarised after the 2002 Bali bombings. Similar debates have now returned in the wake of the banning of Hizb ut-Tahrir Indonesia and the downfall of Ahok.

Palestine could be one issue that the foreign ministry could use to engage domestic Islamic groups. The ministry has sought to raise Palestine in various platforms over the past year and was reportedly holding back on signing the bilateral free trade deal with Australia over its Israeli embassy review.

Global interreligious dialogues are another way to engage domestic religious groups on foreign policy. The ministry’s 2014–2019 strategic planning document mentions interreligious dialogues as one of Indonesia’s soft-power platforms but doesn’t provide any specific plan of action. The attempts to facilitate the Afghan peace talks and the ‘World Muslim Scholars’ high-level consultation (both held in May 2018) show how the model might be expanded.

While Palestine could still be a sensitive pressure point and Indonesia might push for more interreligious dialogues, its foreign policy is unlikely to be driven just by religious concerns. An ‘independent and active’ stance and faith in multilateral institutions will continue to underpin Indonesian foreign policy.

But the changing domestic political landscape means that the foreign policy establishment in Jakarta might have to spend more time looking inward that outward. An inward-looking Indonesian foreign policy isn’t going to provide the best response to the growing strategic flux in the Indo-Pacific.

Simultaneous Indonesian elections could kill off smaller parties

It is finally dawning on Indonesia’s political elite that holding presidential and legislative elections on the same day next April could sound the death knell for as many as four of the 10 political parties holding seats in the current 560-seat House of Representatives.

Recent polls show that one of the unintended consequences of the amended 2017 election law is that President Joko Widodo’s ruling Indonesian Democratic Party for Struggle (PDI-P) and the Great Indonesia Movement Party (Gerindra) of opposition rival Prabowo Subianto now stand to dominate like never before.

‘Parliament essentially saw it as a cost-saving venture’, says Australian electoral expert Kevin Evans, noting an Indonesian obsession with keeping parties to a minimum. ‘The parties would have been exposed to a range of views, but they wouldn’t have listened to them.’

Previously, parliamentary and then presidential elections were staged three months apart, allowing parties that cleared the old 3.5% vote threshold to form coalitions ahead of the country choosing a new national leader.

But already under pressure from a new 4% threshold, the remaining 12 parties in the 2019 field (including four newcomers) aren’t enjoying the same coat-tail effect; an Indonesian Survey Circle (LSI) poll puts PDI-P ahead with 27%, trailed by Gerindra on 20%.

That has left the once all-powerful Golkar Party on 10%—still four percentage points short of its showing in the past two elections—and just three of the other parties hovering on the threshold that permits representation in the newly expanded 575-seat chamber.

‘We didn’t realise how difficult it was going to be without a presidential candidate on the ballot’, admits one senior Golkar official. ‘Now we have to try and convince voters that a vote for us is also a vote for Jokowi [Widodo]. Nobody planned for this.’

Golkar has fielded presidential candidates in two of the past four elections, but despite never winning, it has always ended up as the main pillar of the ruling coalition. Next year, it may well find itself with fewer cards to play in securing cabinet posts.

The National Awakening Party (PKB) looks safe, thanks to the support of the mass Muslim organisation Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), whose former supreme leader, conservative cleric Ma’ruf Amin, is Widodo’s controversial vice-presidential candidate.

Former president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s Democrat Party (PD) and media mogul Surya Paloh’s National Democrat Party (Nasdem) also look out of danger, but the Sharia-based Justice and Prosperity (PKS) and United Development (PPP) parties are both in jeopardy at this point.

Chief political minister Wiranto’s People Conscience Party (Hanura), a member of the ruling coalition, is almost certain to fall by the wayside, and the National Mandate Party (PAN), a Prabowo ally, is struggling to stay relevant, with its leaders pulling in different directions.

Electoral experts recall doom and gloom forecasts prior to previous elections, but they acknowledge that simultaneous elections introduce a different dynamic given the way PDI-P and Gerindra appear to be sucking all the oxygen out of the room.

Politicians complain that the country’s 191 million eligible voters only have eyes for the presidential race, and most analysts agree that it will take a minor miracle—and a serious economic crisis—for Prabowo to haul back Widodo’s commanding 57% to 30% lead in the LSI poll.

It’s a much different race from 2014, when Prabowo’s late charge had Widodo’s supporters on tenterhooks before he emerged with a winning 6.3% margin. This time the challenger seems almost reticent, the money isn’t there—and a very focused president has the power of the incumbency behind him.

The LSI survey gives Widodo massive leads in populous East and Central Java and even a slight edge in the hotly contested battleground of West Java, the country’s biggest province and one of the four regions in which Prabowo was victorious in 2014.

Prabowo claims his campaign is self-funding, but his running mate, Sandiaga Uno, acknowledged during a recent session with foreign journalists that the money flow has been slow. It’s also clear that there’s a lack of cohesion among the four parties that make up his opposition coalition, again because of the twin-election syndrome.

Yudhoyono has refused to campaign for Prabowo until the final month, instead focusing on his party’s efforts to win 10% of the vote in the legislative elections, roughly the same as in 2014 when the outgoing president was no longer the vote-getting factor he had been five years before.

After failing to team his elder son, Agus Harimurti, with first Widodo and then Prabowo, Yudhoyono had no choice but to stay in the opposition coalition; a party that doesn’t endorse a presidential candidate for 2019 can’t endorse a candidate for the next election in 2024.

Democrat Party sources say the former president is fixated on positioning Harimurti for the presidency in 2024, when he will be much more seasoned politician. His rivals then could well include Uno, Jakarta governor Anies Baswedan and possibly Puan Maharani, daughter of PDI-P chair Megawati Sukarnoputri.

Prabowo may get some consolation from seeing Gerindra overtake Golkar as the second biggest party. Distracted by his alleged involvement in a power station corruption case, new Golkar chair Airlangga Hartarto will almost certainly be deposed at the party’s December 2019 congress if the election goes badly.

The Widodo camp, for its part, appears to have largely shaken off the ill-effects of the president’s choice of Amin as his running mate, a move that persuaded the opposition to eschew religion as a weapon and home in instead on a sluggish economy. ‘Any time spent away from the economy would be a waste of time’, says Uno. ‘It [Islam] just hasn’t come up in any of our focus group discussions with constituents.’

Jokowi’s vice-presidential turmoil

The expression on Indonesian President Joko Widodo’s face as he fronted the media late on 9 August said it all: looking uncomfortable and cheerless, he announced flatly that the nation’s most prominent religious scholar, Ma’ruf Amin, would be his running mate for the April 2019 presidential election.

A short distance from the press conference, a dismayed Mahfud MD, a law professor and former chief justice of the Constitutional Court, who had been, until a few hours before, Widodo’s choice for vice-presidential candidate, was removing the bright-coloured ‘Jokowi’ T-shirt that the palace had asked him to don for what it confidently expected to be his nomination that afternoon.

Ensuing media reporting and commentary were full of accounts of how coalition parties had forced the president to abandon Mahfud at the last moment in favour of Ma’ruf. What should have been a display of political ascendency by an incumbent far ahead in the polls ended up being a humiliating backdown.

To make matters worse, the next day, his presidential rival, Prabowo Subianto, announced Jakarta deputy governor Sandiaga Uno as his running mate. Unlike Jokowi, Prabowo had stared down his coalition partners and appointed his preferred candidate from within his own party. In contrast to Jokowi’s vacillation and weakness, Prabowo appeared assured and in control.

How did Jokowi find himself in this position and what does it tell us about his political skills? To begin with, Jokowi, unlike his predecessor Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and Prabowo, doesn’t have his own party. He is a member of Megawati Sukarnoputri’s PDI-P, the largest party at the last election, but it is Megawati rather than him who directs the party and she has often been at loggerheads with the president on senior political appointments and policy issues. In 2014, PDI-P insisted that Jokowi accept Jusuf Kalla as his running mate, against his objections—a development that led to a similar stony-faced announcement that year. Jokowi’s attempts in recent years to use his presidential status to increase his influence over the party have yielded little.

In addition, Jokowi relies on a broad coalition of six parties, including PDI-P, to ensure his healthy parliamentary majority. He has distributed cabinet seats and plum bureaucratic and state-owned enterprise positions to coalition party cadre and benefactors to lock in their support. But as the election has approached, Jokowi has come under growing pressure from several of these parties to choose a vice-presidential candidate from among their ranks. Leading coalition candidates included Golkar chairman Airlangga Hartarto and PKB chairman Muhaimin Iskandar. PKB even threatened to split from the coalition if its candidate wasn’t chosen. So not only did Jokowi lack his own dedicated political vehicle, he also had to contend with demands from increasingly fractious coalition partners.

A third factor was Jokowi’s growing sense of vulnerability to attacks from Islamist groups. In the 2014 presidential election, black campaigns accused him of being a foreign-born non-Muslim and tool of anti-Islamic interests, which dented his popularity and contributed to a much closer than expected election outcome. And in 2016–17, his political ally, the Christian Chinese governor of Jakarta, Basuki Tjahaja Purnomo (Ahok), was vanquished after massive protests from Islamic groups during the gubernatorial election. Jokowi fears a repetition of these attacks against him next year.

Despite all of these political pressures, Jokowi had resolved by early August 2018 to select Mahfud. Mahfud was unaligned to any party, had the highest popularity of any of the vice-presidential candidates and was broadly respected across society for his role as a jurist and commentator on legal affairs. If Mahfud had been elected, Jokowi could have relied upon him to make a major contribution to government and to have behaved in a statesman-like manner. He also felt Mahfud had sufficient appeal in the Muslim community to buttress the president’s religious standing.

But nominating Mahfud was a political gamble for Jokowi and one on which he miscalculated. He badly underestimated the resistance of his coalition parties to Mahfud. All parties opposed having a non-party vice-president who might use the position to run for the presidency in 2024, thereby interfering with their plans to nominate their own candidates for that election.

Many of his coalition partners, particularly Golkar and PKB, were also furious at his failure to clearly signal his intentions to them. Airlangga, for example, had been convinced until 9 August that he was Jokowi’s choice. In this regard, Jokowi’s deep aversion to confrontation, and his hope that he could make Mahfud’s nomination a fait accompli by leaving the announcement to the last moment, backfired.

When confronted by angry party chairmen on the afternoon of 9 August, Jokowi panicked and hastily reversed his decision on Mahfud. He was especially alarmed by warnings that the Islamic party PKB, and its main constituent, the 45-million-member Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) organisation, would withdraw their support for him. That would have imperilled millions of votes in the populous provinces of East and Central Java and left him more exposed to conservative Muslim criticism.

When Muhaimin proposed the name of NU president Ma’ruf Amin as an alternative to Mahfud, Jokowi quickly acceded. Ma’ruf is a conservative Islamic figure with a record of divisive stances on sensitive religious and social issues, but at 76 years of age, he’s unlikely to run in 2024. While Ma’ruf has low popularity as a vice-presidential candidate, he is held in high regard in Islamist circles and would shield Jokowi from attack on Islamic issues.

Opinion polling shows that Ma’ruf’s nomination has slightly reduced Jokowi’s electability, but it has increased the president’s Islamic support. Overall, support for Jokowi and Ma’ruf is almost double that of Prabowo and Sandiaga.

While the selection of Ma’ruf is not without its advantages, Jokowi’s handling of the nomination process exposes a certain lack of political nerve and a sense of susceptibility to coalition demands. If, as appears likely, Jokowi is elected in April 2019, his willingness to buckle to pressure over the past month will undermine his authority and embolden coalition parties in championing their own interests.