On July 10 last year, Indonesia’s President Joko Widodo, better known as Jokowi, signed a special government regulation to amend the 2013 Law on Mass Organisations, ostensibly aimed at combatting radical groups by stipulating that those which do not support the state ideology of Pancasila are illegal.

Using the new law, the government singled out Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia (HTI) by slapping an official ban on it ‘for spreading and supporting the idea of setting up a caliphate in Indonesia.’

One year on, how has the ban fared? Has it stopped Islamic radicalism in its track?

For a start, it is difficult to avoid the impression that the amendment was a political reaction to the huge mass protests from late 2016 to early 2017 under the banner Aksi Bela Islam (In Defence of Islamic Action) to pressure the government during the blasphemy trial of Jakarta Governor Basuk Tjahja Purnama.

The rallies in the capital were organised by several Islamist groups, notably, the Islamic Defender Front (FPI), the Islamic Ummah Forum (FUI) and HTI. They drew hundreds of thousands of people,  in what remain the strongest show of force by political Islam in Indonesia in recent memory.

In particular, the November 4 rally and its large turnout reportedly rattled the president so much that he at first refused to deal with it, leaving Vice President Jusuf Kalla and senior ministers to see representatives of the protesters.

Following condemnations of his absence, President Jokowi only deigned to face the crowds during the following rally on December 2.

The aftermath saw the president and his senior aides spend the better half of 2017 lobbying various Islamic groups, issuing warnings and preparing counter measures against the rise of political Islam, culminating in the special government regulation and its subsequent ban on HTI.

There was no question that HTI had a role in the rallies but it was patently FPI and its leader, Rizieq Shihab, who benefitted the most from the protests, emerging with a greatly enhanced stature.

For the first time in his life Mr Shihab became a leading figure representing Islam in the country, so much so he was unofficially dubbed the Grand Imam of Indonesia.   

So why was HTI singled out by the government?

Terrorism researcher Sidney Jones characterised the transnational HTI as ‘highly disciplined’ but ‘non-violent’.  It operated in Indonesia by recruiting members and sympathisers among the country’s educated middle class by targeting the likes of university students and government employees.

By contrast, FPI is notorious as a thuggish vigilante group that often resorts to violence and vandalism in its bid to enforce ‘Islamic laws’ on members of the public.

It has been known to ransack businesses caught selling food during the fasting month of Ramadan, storm church services and harass various minority groups in Indonesia since its founding in the late 1990s.

What differentiates FPI from HTI is the former’s ability to galvanise the masses and the support of violence-prone shock troopers experienced in carrying out public demonstrations; which is what the government seems to fear above all things.

But it was also crucial that the government contain and deter further detrimental action by Islamist groups. So, to send a message, instead of taking on the alpha of the pack ─FPI ─ the government picked HTI, safe in the knowledge that the non-violent HTI could hardly mount an insurrection.

To further deter FPI, in the lead-up to the HTI ban, Mr Shihab suddenly found himself wanted by the police for a ‘pornographic chat’ on WhatsApp messenger with a woman. This eventually led to his departure to Saudi Arabia where he still remains today.  

The choice of a wooly charge against Mr Shihab is significant, as later developments prove, and suggests that it was only meant to humiliate the cleric and get him out of the way.

This is because the police could have easily slapped him with more substantial charges of hate speech against various minority groups or, as FPI leader, acts of violence carried out by his followers.

The criminalisation of Mr Shihab and the HTI ban initially appeared to be successful, resulting in less intransigence from FPI towards the government.  

Immediately after the ban, FPI lawyer Sugito Atmo Pawiro declared FPI to be a ‘nationalist and Pancasilaist’ organisation.

A month later, at a public rally to mark the anniversary of its founding, FPI invited the chairman of the Indonesian Council of Churches to attend, ostensibly to dispel perception of its hardline stance.

At the same event, new Jakarta Governor Anies Baswedan - the direct beneficiary of the Islamist protests against his predecessor - called on FPI to show the world how it is ‘actually a defender of Pancasila’.

So, by the virtue of commanding boisterous masses and nominal, if not lip service subscription to Pancasila, a radical group like FPI has escaped the fate of HTI and continues its thuggish way unmolested.

In a moment of anticlimax, the Indonesian Police recently also dropped the pornography charge against Mr Shihab, citing ‘lack of evidence’.

Many interpret this as the result of a ‘secret deal’ between the government and FPI in the lead up to the 2019 presidential election.

FPI started out as a fringe radical group but the events of the past two years have catapulted it into mainstream Indonesian politics.

Ridwal Kamil, the populist former Bandung mayor who last week won the gubernatorial election for West Java, in his bid to prove his Islamic credentials, had to defend himself from accusations that he anti-FPI.

President Jokowi’s special regulation and his ban on HTI may have averted further tussle between his government and Islamist groups but it has hardly tamed them.

Its less than stringent and arbitrary interpretation has allowed FPI to exploit a loophole by suddenly declaring itself for Pancasila, even if its actions prove otherwise.  

As a legal framework to curb radicalism, it has turned out to be a dud.

As a political weapon, it has gone off with a whimper, not a bang.  

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Johannes Nugroho is a writer from Surabaya.