ASEAN Beat | Politics | Southeast Asia

Indonesia’s Disinformation Bill and the Politics of ‘Foreign Propaganda’

In its bid to clamp down on fake news, President Prabowo’s administration is arming itself with some concerning powers.

Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto delivers a speech to announce the launch of the Danantara sovereign investment fund in Jakarta, Indonesia, February 25, 2025.

In the midst of global concerns over artificial intelligence, information manipulation, and the massive spread of fake news, the Indonesian government has begun pushing a bill aimed at countering disinformation and foreign propaganda. This bill, first publicly confirmed by Coordinating Minister for Law, Human Rights, Immigration, and Corrections Yusril Ihza Mahendra on January 13, is positioned as an instrument to protect the national information space, maintain public order, and strengthen national resilience. However, the most fundamental issue with this draft is not merely the threat of false information it seeks to address, but rather what kind of state power is being built in the name of responding to that threat.

The intention to expand these powers has been evident from the way this bill has been promoted and framed from the beginning. Discussions on this bill have not appeared in the 2025–2029 National Legislation Program or the 2026 Priority Legislation Program, even though regulations in the digital space are already covered by a number of other instruments, including the Electronic Information and Transactions Law, the Press Law, the Broadcasting Law, and Presidential Regulation No. 32 of 2024 concerning the responsibility of digital platforms. Even within this already crowded legal landscape, a new academic paper prepared as part of the bill’s drafting process calls for a new instrument that it claims is necessary to address threats described as systemic, organized, and cross-border. That move would give the state a stronger legal basis to increase the regulation of the digital information space.

The problem is that such an expansion of authority becomes dangerous when it is not accompanied by clear definitions of what constitutes disinformation and foreign propaganda. In the practice of regulating the digital space, these terms are never entirely neutral because they always leave room for broad interpretation. The primary risk is not merely the danger of misapplication, but the shift in the legal function of these regulatory instruments from tools for countering threats to tools for proscribing public expression deemed disruptive to the political interests of those in power. When the boundaries between false information, criticism, and political expression are not strictly defined, even legitimate voices can easily be positioned as threats.

These concerns become even more relevant when viewed within a broader political context. In recent times, public criticism and demonstrations have often been met with suspicions that they are being exploited by foreign interests or driven by parties that do not align with the Indonesian government’s agenda. This shifts criticism from the realm of freedom of expression to that of a threat to the state. When such a perspective is then supported by flexible regulations regarding “foreign propaganda,” the risk of abuse becomes far more tangible.

The Philippine experience offers a concrete illustration of how political labeling can evolve into a structured pattern. “Red-tagging” refers to the practice of labeling individuals or organizations as communists, rebel sympathizers, or parties linked to terrorism, and then framing them as threats to national security. The targets of this practice extend far beyond armed groups. Activists, journalists, students, labor unions, environmental advocates, indigenous groups, and civil society organizations have all been included among the targets. After persisting for over five decades, the practice of red-tagging in the Philippines was finally declared by the Philippine Supreme Court to be an act that threatens the rights to life, liberty, and security. Despite this, the intimidation of activists and journalists has not ceased. This is because the state has not addressed it decisively, while the stigma against critics continues to be perpetuated by political figures and state security actors through public statements, digital campaigns, and the use of the country’s anti-terrorism law.

In Indonesia, conditions conducive to a similar pattern are coalescing. Over the past year, pressure on journalists, the media, and human rights defenders has shown clear signs of worsening. The 2025 Annual Report of the Legal Aid Institute for the Press (LBH Pers) documented 96 incidents of attacks on the press involving 149 victims, the highest figure in the past decade. Coverage of government issues is particularly at risk, with 34 cases of violence related to public policy, corruption, and national strategic projects.

This pressure is not limited to the press community. Throughout 2025, LBH Pers received 188 complaints, 43 of which were related to freedom of expression. The complainants included 32 activists, 58 members of the general public, 17 workers, and 10 organizations, collectives, or communities. This escalation is also reflected in attacks on human rights defenders, one of which was the acid attack on KontraS activist Andrie Yunus on March 13, which was widely condemned by Indonesian civil society. Taken together, these developments show that the space for criticism in Indonesia is already under real pressure, even before the state acquires new legal instruments to regulate it further.

In such situations, the category of “foreign propaganda” becomes problematic both because its definition is vague and also because it can provide a more formal legal basis for political suspicions that already exist. This context is evident in President Prabowo Subianto’s statement in June 2025, in which he claimed that foreign powers were channeling funds to NGOs to sow discord among the Indonesian people. Statements like this demonstrate that the narrative of foreign interference is already present in official political discourse. If such a category is subsequently incorporated into the legal framework, civil society organizations working on human rights, anti-corruption, environmental, or gender and disability issues will be more easily cast as suspicious actors.

The impact of this will be felt most acutely by women’s groups and marginalized communities, as much of their advocacy work relies on support organizations, assistance services, and solidarity networks that frequently involve external support. In a climate prone to labeling things as “foreign,” such work may first be viewed with suspicion and then lose legitimacy in the eyes of both the public and the state. Consequently, the struggle to access justice, support victims, and voice experiences of injustice will become increasingly complicated. At that point, vulnerable groups will face a range of pressures, both in their freedom to speak out and in maintaining the support that has long sustained their struggle.

Undoubtedly, the need to address disinformation remains a pressing concern. The manipulation of information, attempts to influence public opinion, and the circulation of misleading content can indeed undermine the quality of the public sphere. However, this does not automatically justify the creation of new legal instruments that grant the state overly broad discretionary power in a political climate that already tends to view criticism with suspicion.

Ultimately, the Bill on Countering Disinformation and Foreign Propaganda has strayed far from its initial intention of being an effort to combat misinformation. It opens the door for the state to decide which information may circulate, which criticism still counts as legitimate, and whose voices can be treated as threats in the name of national security.

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In the midst of global concerns over artificial intelligence, information manipulation, and the massive spread of fake news, the Indonesian government has begun pushing a bill aimed at countering disinformation and foreign propaganda. This bill, first publicly confirmed by Coordinating Minister for Law, Human Rights, Immigration, and Corrections Yusril Ihza Mahendra on January 13, is positioned as an instrument to protect the national information space, maintain public order, and strengthen national resilience. However, the most fundamental issue with this draft is not merely the threat of false information it seeks to address, but rather what kind of state power is being built in the name of responding to that threat.

The intention to expand these powers has been evident from the way this bill has been promoted and framed from the beginning. Discussions on this bill have not appeared in the 2025–2029 National Legislation Program or the 2026 Priority Legislation Program, even though regulations in the digital space are already covered by a number of other instruments, including the Electronic Information and Transactions Law, the Press Law, the Broadcasting Law, and Presidential Regulation No. 32 of 2024 concerning the responsibility of digital platforms. Even within this already crowded legal landscape, a new academic paper prepared as part of the bill’s drafting process calls for a new instrument that it claims is necessary to address threats described as systemic, organized, and cross-border. That move would give the state a stronger legal basis to increase the regulation of the digital information space.

The problem is that such an expansion of authority becomes dangerous when it is not accompanied by clear definitions of what constitutes disinformation and foreign propaganda. In the practice of regulating the digital space, these terms are never entirely neutral because they always leave room for broad interpretation. The primary risk is not merely the danger of misapplication, but the shift in the legal function of these regulatory instruments from tools for countering threats to tools for proscribing public expression deemed disruptive to the political interests of those in power. When the boundaries between false information, criticism, and political expression are not strictly defined, even legitimate voices can easily be positioned as threats.

These concerns become even more relevant when viewed within a broader political context. In recent times, public criticism and demonstrations have often been met with suspicions that they are being exploited by foreign interests or driven by parties that do not align with the Indonesian government’s agenda. This shifts criticism from the realm of freedom of expression to that of a threat to the state. When such a perspective is then supported by flexible regulations regarding “foreign propaganda,” the risk of abuse becomes far more tangible.

The Philippine experience offers a concrete illustration of how political labeling can evolve into a structured pattern. “Red-tagging” refers to the practice of labeling individuals or organizations as communists, rebel sympathizers, or parties linked to terrorism, and then framing them as threats to national security. The targets of this practice extend far beyond armed groups. Activists, journalists, students, labor unions, environmental advocates, indigenous groups, and civil society organizations have all been included among the targets. After persisting for over five decades, the practice of red-tagging in the Philippines was finally declared by the Philippine Supreme Court to be an act that threatens the rights to life, liberty, and security. Despite this, the intimidation of activists and journalists has not ceased. This is because the state has not addressed it decisively, while the stigma against critics continues to be perpetuated by political figures and state security actors through public statements, digital campaigns, and the use of the country’s anti-terrorism law.

In Indonesia, conditions conducive to a similar pattern are coalescing. Over the past year, pressure on journalists, the media, and human rights defenders has shown clear signs of worsening. The 2025 Annual Report of the Legal Aid Institute for the Press (LBH Pers) documented 96 incidents of attacks on the press involving 149 victims, the highest figure in the past decade. Coverage of government issues is particularly at risk, with 34 cases of violence related to public policy, corruption, and national strategic projects.

This pressure is not limited to the press community. Throughout 2025, LBH Pers received 188 complaints, 43 of which were related to freedom of expression. The complainants included 32 activists, 58 members of the general public, 17 workers, and 10 organizations, collectives, or communities. This escalation is also reflected in attacks on human rights defenders, one of which was the acid attack on KontraS activist Andrie Yunus on March 13, which was widely condemned by Indonesian civil society. Taken together, these developments show that the space for criticism in Indonesia is already under real pressure, even before the state acquires new legal instruments to regulate it further.

In such situations, the category of “foreign propaganda” becomes problematic both because its definition is vague and also because it can provide a more formal legal basis for political suspicions that already exist. This context is evident in President Prabowo Subianto’s statement in June 2025, in which he claimed that foreign powers were channeling funds to NGOs to sow discord among the Indonesian people. Statements like this demonstrate that the narrative of foreign interference is already present in official political discourse. If such a category is subsequently incorporated into the legal framework, civil society organizations working on human rights, anti-corruption, environmental, or gender and disability issues will be more easily cast as suspicious actors.

The impact of this will be felt most acutely by women’s groups and marginalized communities, as much of their advocacy work relies on support organizations, assistance services, and solidarity networks that frequently involve external support. In a climate prone to labeling things as “foreign,” such work may first be viewed with suspicion and then lose legitimacy in the eyes of both the public and the state. Consequently, the struggle to access justice, support victims, and voice experiences of injustice will become increasingly complicated. At that point, vulnerable groups will face a range of pressures, both in their freedom to speak out and in maintaining the support that has long sustained their struggle.

Undoubtedly, the need to address disinformation remains a pressing concern. The manipulation of information, attempts to influence public opinion, and the circulation of misleading content can indeed undermine the quality of the public sphere. However, this does not automatically justify the creation of new legal instruments that grant the state overly broad discretionary power in a political climate that already tends to view criticism with suspicion.

Ultimately, the Bill on Countering Disinformation and Foreign Propaganda has strayed far from its initial intention of being an effort to combat misinformation. It opens the door for the state to decide which information may circulate, which criticism still counts as legitimate, and whose voices can be treated as threats in the name of national security.

Kamilatul Farikhah is a researcher at Legal Aid For the Press (LBH Pers), Indonesia.

Indonesia Bill on Countering Disinformation and Foreign Propaganda

Indonesia freedom of speech

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