Soeharto becoming a national hero seems unreal. His acts were so devastating to the nation that calling his name in a positive tone is just an insult. Mentioning his name in the same breath as other heroes is an insult to them and to the word itself.
Soeharto’s biggest criminal acts were not even the mass killings or normalizing collusion, corruption, and nepotism. His biggest crime was dehumanizing the Indonesian people, just as the colonial powers did to people in this part of the world before him. He halted the intellectual and moral growth of the Indonesian nation by destroying its creative mind and critical thinking for three decades. It was as if he took the very life out of the nation.
The democracy that now produces a society unable to compete and citizens who elect leaders like Joko Widodo and Prabowo Subianto is the direct result of that destruction.
Worse still, it was Soeharto who laid the foundation for Indonesia’s oligarchical system: an oligarchy that has now captured the state. The elites who flourished under his regime continue to dominate the economy, politics, and culture, dictating every aspect of people’s lives. From the pricing of essential goods to the ownership of media, from the content of our national narrative to the choices available in elections. Everything remains under the control of this post-Soeharto oligarchic network.
What Indonesia has today is not a democracy that liberates its people, but a democracy managed and manipulated by the very forces Soeharto nurtured.
With such unprecedented crimes, how could anyone think of Soeharto as a hero, let alone officially award him the title of a national hero? This act of glorification is not just historical distortion; it is a crime in itself. It disrespects millions of victims and generations whose futures were stolen. It sends a dangerous message to the nation, that oppression, corruption, and manipulation can be forgiven and even celebrated.
Elevating Soeharto, which comes under President Prabowo Subianto’s administration, is more than symbolic. It reflects a dangerous nostalgia: a longing for the illusion of “the good old days” under Soeharto’s authoritarian rule.
Many Indonesians, exhausted by years of chaotic democracy and disillusioned by unfulfilled promises, suffer from what can only be described as democracy fatigue. They are tired of voting in endless elections, only to see the same oligarchic elites rotate in power. To them, the memory of stability under Soeharto appears comforting, even if that stability was built upon fear, repression, and silence.
But such nostalgia is built on myth, not memory. The so-called “order” of the New Order was an illusion created through control, of media, of education, of minds. It was a peace enforced by the absence of freedom, and an economy sustained by debt, cronyism, and foreign dependence. If Prabowo wants to be the president of the future, not the custodian of the past, he must resist the temptation to exploit this nostalgia or to use Soeharto’s ghost as a shield for his own legitimacy.
And Prabowo actually doesn’t need to. He has every reason and resource to lead differently.
First, he was directly elected by the people in a landslide victory, granting him an unshakable legitimacy. In Indonesia’s presidential system, it is close to impossible to oust a president with such a strong mandate. He doesn’t need to revive military omnipresence or glorify Soeharto to secure power. He already possesses it through the will of the people.
Second, Prabowo is already in control of the military, both legally and symbolically. The constitution makes him the highest commander of the Armed Forces, and his long military background gives him informal influence few civilian presidents have ever enjoyed. Many in the military still admire and even idolize him. There is no urgent need for him to appease the generals or invoke Soeharto’s image. What he should do instead is ensure the welfare of soldiers and their families: provide decent salaries, good housing, and education opportunities. Real loyalty is built not through fear or myth, but through dignity.
Third, there has been no major protest movement directly targeting Prabowo himself. The massive demonstrations at the end of August were aimed at corrupt officials and members of the House of Representatives, not at the president. But by awarding Soeharto a national hero title, Prabowo risks provoking unnecessary backlash. The ghosts of 1998 have not vanished; they are only sleeping. It’s only a matter of time before students, human rights activists, and survivors of the New Order atrocities take to the streets again, not only against the myth of Soeharto but against anyone who attempts to rewrite history in his favor.
Fourth, recent failures of military involvement in civilian programs should serve as a warning. The army’s role in projects like the food estate and the free meal (MBG) has been ineffective and wasteful. These are not just technical failures; they show that the military, trained for defense and discipline, is not designed to manage complex civilian affairs. If Prabowo wants results, he should strengthen civilian institutions, not militarize them.
Fifth, Prabowo today has no strong or immediate enemies. The political opposition is fragmented, and most elites are trying to align with him. Even those who once opposed him are now seeking his favor. This is precisely why he can afford to lead with confidence, not coercion. History rarely grants a leader such a stable position. Wasting it on symbolism from the past would be tragic.
By all rational calculations, Prabowo has no need to resurrect Soeharto’s shadow or remilitarize society. Doing so will only trap him in the same cycle that has haunted Indonesia since independence: a cycle of repression, silence, and illusion. His true challenge is not to imitate Soeharto, but to prove that Indonesia can finally move beyond him.
To become the leader of a new era, Prabowo must confront the legacy of Soehartoism, not celebrate it. He must dismantle the oligarchic structures that keep the people poor and voiceless, rebuild trust in democratic institutions, and restore the people’s faith in freedom. He must show that order can come from justice, not fear; that prosperity can grow from equality, not favoritism; that unity can emerge from truth, not propaganda.
If Prabowo truly wants to be remembered as a statesman, not a strongman, this is his test. History does not need another Soeharto. It needs a leader who dares to break from the shadows, not one who deepens them.
Awarding Soeharto a national hero status is not a neutral historical act. It is a political statement, one that risks undoing decades of struggle for truth and justice. It tells survivors of the New Order that their pain doesn’t matter. It tells young Indonesians that integrity and democracy are optional. It tells the world that Indonesia, once a beacon of reform, is retreating into the comfort of its own illusions.
Soeharto may have died in 2008, but his system, his networks, his oligarchs, his way of controlling minds, remains alive. The only way to finally end his rule is not to glorify him, but to confront him, even in death.
Soeharto is not a hero. He is a reminder of who we must never become again.
Prabowo has come a long way to become his own man. In the end, he will have his own legacy to write, and to be remembered.
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Omong-Omong Media’s editorial is also published in The Jakarta Post every week.
