Indonesia’s largest Muslim organization, Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), is facing one of the most disruptive leadership crises in its modern history. The contested “dismissal” of Chairman Yahya Cholil Staquf by the Syuriyah Council has ignited a national debate—not only about internal governance, but about whether Indonesia’s political elite now views civil society, including religious organizations, as strategic assets to be influenced, reshaped, or quietly absorbed.

The sudden spotlight cast by Defense Minister Sjafrie Sjamsoeddin on the private airport operated by the Indonesia Morowali Industrial Park (IMIP), the largest nickel processing center in the country, may look, on the surface, like a routine intervention about aviation safety and state authority.

President Prabowo Subianto’s decision to rehabilitate three former ASDP directors—after their corruption convictions had already become final—is not merely a legal anomaly. It is a political warning shot. Indonesia is sliding toward a system where judicial verdicts matter less than presidential mood, where the courtroom is secondary to the palace, and where the rule of law bends each time the President feels the heat of public pressure or elite discomfort.

The 212 Alumni Group (PA 212), a hardline Islamist coalition that traces its political birth to the massive anti-Ahok demonstration of Dec. 2, 2016, will once again stage a “Reuni Akbar 212” at the National Monument (Monas) on Dec. 2, 2025. The movement is attempting to reclaim relevance under a political landscape that has profoundly shifted. This year’s gathering, however, carries a different kind of political charge: for the first time, the organizers have formally invited President Prabowo Subianto.

Three meetings in five days between President Prabowo Subianto and Deputy House Speaker Sufmi Dasco Ahmad are not “coordination.” They are consolidation. And consolidation does not happen when things are going well — it happens when pressure is building.

The leadership clash inside Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) is being sold to the public as a routine organizational dispute — a matter of ethics, ideology, and administrative discipline. That narrative is convenient. It hides the real story.

Two national surveys released within days of each other paint a picture of an Indonesia overflowing with optimism. According to Adidaya Institute, public trust in President Prabowo Subianto’s ability to bring change now sits above 90 percent—an extraordinary number in any democracy. The same survey shows that 75 percent of Indonesians believe Vice President Gibran Rakabuming Raka will successfully carry out his mandate, and more than 70 percent support the possibility of Prabowo serving two terms.

The House of Representatives (DPR) has once again come under fire for passing the criminal procedure code (KUHAP) bill despite strong opposition from the public. Civil society groups and student executive boards are reportedly planning to challenge the enactment of the new KUHAP at the Constitutional Court. In a similar vein, five students have filed a judicial review on MD3 Law, requesting for direct public involvement in the dismissal of DPR members.

Indonesia’s political landscape is being redrawn not through party competition or legislative debates, but through a strategic restructuring of its coercive institutions. Under President Prabowo Subianto, the balance of power between the Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI) and the National Police (Polri) is shifting with a precision that cannot be dismissed as administrative coincidence. It reflects a deeper recalibration of political influence—one that weakens networks associated with former president Joko Widodo, strengthens Prabowo’s institutional base, and sets the stage for a new architecture of state power.

Purbaya Yudhi Sadewa, Finance Minister’s latest remark — claiming that journalists have gone too quiet, not fierce enough, and that this supposed passivity has contributed to the country’s economic stagnation — reveals more about the condition of the media ecosystem than about journalists themselves. It is an interesting provocation, delivered casually during a media-themed fun run, but it exposes a deeper anxiety: Why do Indonesia’s newsrooms feel quieter today? And is the silence a matter of individual courage, or something far more structural?