The Indonesian government’s controversial decision to award the title of “National Hero” to former President Suharto is not merely a question of historical interpretation.
It is a political act loaded with symbolism and consequence, one that speaks louder about the direction of President Prabowo Subianto’s government than about the to-be-awarded deceased autocrat’s legacy.
What is being proposed is not a mere recognition of a late leader, but the rehabilitation of an entire era whose authoritarian spirit continues to cast a long shadow over Indonesia’s young and fragile democracy.
Officials have insisted that the process is administrative, based on formal criteria of service to the Indonesian nation. They argue that Suharto’s leadership brought order, stability and growth after a period of political turmoil, and that his achievements in industrialization and infrastructure justify national recognition.
In this official narrative, Suharto’s 32 years in power are remembered as a time of modernization, development and unity. Yet beneath that polished rhetoric lies a far darker truth: Suharto’s long tenure was drenched in blood and fear.
The anti-communist massacres of 1965–1966, which took hundreds of thousands of lives, were the foundation upon which he built his New Order regime. For three decades, Suharto ruled through coercion, surveillance and control.
Dissent was silenced, the media was censored and public participation was hollowed out. The parliament became an ornament of legitimacy, while corruption and cronyism were institutionalized as the nation’s economic backbone, with business concessions given based on political loyalty.
To honor Suharto now is to trivialize that legacy of repression and to signal that Indonesia’s political establishment has learned little from its own democratic struggle. The “reformasi” movement of 1998 was not only a reaction to the Asian financial crisis but a rebellion against fear itself.
It was a declaration that Indonesia would no longer be ruled by intimidation and that power must be accountable to the people. To now elevate the very figure who symbolized the antithesis of reform is an act of profound moral dissonance. Indeed, it risks erasing the collective memory of resistance that gave birth to the modern Indonesian Republic.
Many who suffered under Suharto’s regime are still alive. They carry the physical and emotional scars of imprisonment, exile and censorship. For them, the state’s attempt to sanctify Suharto as a hero is not reconciliation, but insult.
It implies that their suffering has been conveniently forgotten, and that truth itself is negotiable when it serves political convenience.
New Order’s return
The timing of this proposal is far from innocent. It arrives under the presidency of Prabowo Subianto, a former general whose own past is inextricably linked to the legacy of the New Order, not least as Suharto’s former son-in-law.
Prabowo’s rule, in tone and strategy, increasingly mirrors Suharto’s. Through a calculated blend of nationalism, centralization and transactional alliances, Prabowo is reviving the New Order model that Indonesia once vowed to leave behind.
In the political arena, he has consolidated a supermajority coalition that effectively neutralizes opposition. Key figures from rival parties have been co-opted into his administration, ensuring political stability at the expense of democratic contestation.
The parliament once again risks becoming an echo chamber of executive will, while critical voices in civil society find themselves marginalized or intimidated by regulatory and bureaucratic pressures.
What is taking shape is not overt authoritarianism, but a subtler form of control reminiscent of Suharto’s approach to governance, where harmony is achieved by silencing dissent rather than accommodating it.
In the economic sphere, the same echoes are unmistakable. Prabowo’s policies emphasize national self-sufficiency and state-led industrialization under the banner of economic nationalism.
State-owned enterprises are once again being strengthened as instruments of political and economic influence, while private capital is being disciplined through a mix of incentives and pressure.
The carrot-and-stick approach toward business elites, offering lucrative projects to allies while freezing out critics, was a hallmark of Suharto’s political economy.
This strategy may deliver short-term gains, but it risks returning Indonesia to a familiar trap. During the New Order, economic growth came at the cost of deep inequality and systemic corruption.
Political power was concentrated in the presidency and the economic system was designed to serve political loyalty rather than merit. The danger now is that, under the rhetoric of nationalism and development, Indonesia once again prioritizes control over competition and obedience over innovation.
The decision to consider Suharto as a national hero cannot be separated from this broader pattern. It functions as a symbolic endorsement of a governing style that values order above accountability, loyalty above transparency, and stability above justice.
It is as if the current administration seeks to reclaim the psychological comfort of the New Order, where power was clear, authority was unquestioned and dissent was seen as disorder. Such nostalgia is dangerous, not only because it distorts history, but because it prepares the ground for history to repeat itself.
The cost of forgetting
National heroes are meant to embody the moral compass of a nation. They should represent sacrifice, courage and integrity.
Suharto’s legacy, however transformative in economic terms, fails that moral test. His record was one of calculated control, not of selfless service. The infrastructure he built was laid upon a foundation of coercion, fear and exploitation. To now portray him as a hero is to teach a new generation that morality can be measured by success and that power absolves wrongdoing.
Indonesia’s democracy is still young and fragile. Its institutions have not yet fully recovered from the structural damage inflicted during the New Order. Corruption remains pervasive, the military continues to exert influence in civilian affairs and the judiciary often struggles to assert independence.
In this landscape, symbolism matters deeply. To elevate Suharto to heroic status would not only whitewash the past but also weaken the moral foundation upon which Indonesia’s democratic identity rests.
Other nations have faced similar temptations and resisted them. South Korea, for instance, has never conferred its highest honor on Park Chung Hee, despite his economic achievements. The Korean people understood that democracy cannot be built on selective memory. Reconciliation with history requires truth, not glorification.
Twenty-eight years after Suharto’s fall, Indonesia stands at a crossroads. The promise of reformasi was not simply to replace leaders but to transform the relationship between power and the people.
To honor Suharto now would signal that this promise no longer holds meaning. It would suggest that the pursuit of democracy was a temporary detour and that the nation has grown weary of the messiness and noise of democratic freedom.
Indonesia’s path forward depends on remembrance. Democracy cannot thrive when history is rewritten to serve the present. It must be grounded in honesty about what was lost and what was learned.
The fall of Suharto was not merely an end, but a beginning – a second founding of the Republic built on the courage of ordinary citizens who refused to live in fear, who refused to be cowed. To betray that memory is to risk betraying Indonesia itself.
The government should withdraw this misguided proposal and reaffirm its commitment to the spirit of democratic reform. The true heroes of Indonesia are not those who ruled through fear, but those who resisted it. Honoring Suharto would not strengthen national unity; it would fracture it.
It would teach future generations that truth is negotiable and that power can rewrite morality. If Indonesia is to move forward as a democracy of conscience, not merely of form, it must remember what it once fought to escape. Suharto does not belong among the heroes of this nation, but among its most enduring lessons.
Ronny P. Sasmita is a senior analyst at Indonesia Strategic and Economics Action Institution, a Jakarta-based independent think tank.
