A little over a week ago, a young ojol (ojek online) driver named Affan Kurniawan was killed. In a video widely circulated online, witnesses gasp in panic as a police “protest control” vehicle runs over Affan—who seemingly stumbles right before being hit by the vehicle—and then continues forward. Affan is rushed to the hospital, where he is pronounced dead within five minutes.
But Affan was not even a protester; he was just doing his job, delivering food like thousands of other ojol drivers across Indonesia. His death was needless–a product of reckless force and a disregard for public safety. Yet, even more shocking is how unsurprising this tragedy feels. We have seen this story too many times before, in different places and under different circumstances, but always with the same actors and the same lack of accountability.
From Kanjuruhan, where more than 130 lives were lost after police fired tear gas in a packed stadium, to the murder of Brigadier J by his own colleagues, the Indonesian police have left a trail of violence in their wake; often accompanied by an inevitable cover up. In 2025 so far, police violations of civilian liberties were found to be the most common (52 cases), in comparison to the military (4 cases) or the government (6 cases).
Each episode sparks outrage, hashtags, and investigations that (often) go nowhere. Beyond the headline cases, many smaller abuses unfold every year: forced confessions to close cases, torture and sexual assault in custody, evidence tampering to protect the guilty.
Between 2020 and 2025, KontraS collected data on violent practices involving the police in Indonesia, with a total of 3,197 cases found. At the same time, countless reports filed by ordinary citizens go nowhere, as police fail to investigate or deliberately stall cases. This is why the hashtag #PercumaLaporPolisi (#NoUseGoingToThePolice) has long resonated so strongly, and why ACAB/1312 has been frequently seen online. People do not just doubt the competence of the police, they doubt their integrity and intent. And so when we talk about institutional reform, how could we forget the police force?
In this installment of The Reformist, we put forward that the systematic violence and impunity within the Indonesian police is not only the result of individual misconduct – instead, it is perpetuated by a deeply-flawed institutional structure. To reform the police force, we must (1) decentralize authority, (2) strip away non-policing tasks, and (3) reverse accountability to make officers answerable to the public they are meant to serve.
Reform 1: Decentralization
The Indonesian police operate as a single, national force, under the National Police Chief (kapolri, or Kepala Polisi RI). In theory, this centralization should ensure efficiency. In practice, it breeds impunity. When a low-level officer misbehaves, his superiors are incentivized to cover it up, because every failure reflects badly on the chain of command. This is perhaps why bodycams are resisted, or why CCTV mysteriously breaks at critical moments. It is a system designed to protect itself rather than the public.
This structure also insulates the police from democratic accountability. A police chief in Yogyakarta does not answer to the governor or the sultan, but to a Kapolda (regional police commander), who in turn answers only to the Kapolri (national police chief), who alone reports to the president. No local mayor or governor has the authority to discipline or remove a failing police officer, no matter how badly he performs. This is concerning, fundamentally because the police are responsible for day-to-day law enforcement. This includes regulating protests, issuing permits, investigating crimes, and maintaining order in neighborhoods – among many other tasks. So, this means that those who feel the impact of police actions most directly—ordinary citizens and their elected local leaders—have no meaningful authority over the institution.
Contrast this with the fire department, which falls under the authority of elected officials. Firefighters are more trusted by the public, and even admired, because they are seen as consistently showing up in moments of crisis without asking for anything in return. This is arguably because they report to the regional mayor or regent, officials who must seek reelection and therefore have every incentive to ensure the service delivers. If they fail, local residents can demand their elected official to take action. The police, by design, are shielded from that same mechanism.
So this is where our first reform comes into play: localization. Quite simply, everyday policing, as mentioned above, should fall under the authority of local government – much like sanitation, firefighting, and waste management. Regional police commanders should answer to, be appointed and removable by local administrations. This would delineate a regional police force with our national police force – which can then focus on cross-jurisdictional crimes like terrorism, drugs, and human trafficking. Naturally, law enforcement would be shifted into a local political issue, one that citizens can hold their leaders accountable for.
Reform 2: Task Adjustments
The second reform is to remove non-policing tasks. For decades, the Indonesian police force has accumulated functions far beyond their core mandate of enforcing the law and protecting the public. Today, they not only investigate crimes and maintain order, but also manage driver’s licenses, control vehicle registrations, oversee traffic, and even issue permits for everyday activities. In this sense, the police play a crucial role in the Indonesian socio-political landscape, spanning law enforcement, security, and public order – on both administrative and enforcement levels.
Take driver’s licenses as an example. There is no reason why a law enforcement officer should be in charge of whether a citizen can legally operate a vehicle. Licensing is a technical and bureaucratic task, better suited to a civilian agency under the Ministry of Transportation or even local governments. Yet, because the police monopolize the process, it has become a notorious (and normalized) source of corruption. It must be noted that this reform has previously been proposed by a DPR representative – to the dismissal of Ministry of Transportation representatives, who claimed that the Ministry lacked the capacity to take over, and did not have experience in the area. Instead, they claimed that they had to focus on terminals and weighbridges.
Similarly, traffic management could—and should—fall under local transportation offices. Deploying police officers with batons and guns to manage congestion not only intimidates ordinary drivers but also creates daily opportunities for petty extortion. In fact, several legislative and executive orders (incl. UU No. 22/2009 and PP No. 79/2013) gives the Department of Transportation power over traffic management. In cases where the Department has taken over, results have proved promising.
Stripping away these non-policing tasks achieves two important things. First, it reduces corruption by cutting off opportunities for bribery that have become embedded in routine interactions between citizens and the police. Second, it refocuses the institution on what should be its true purpose: law enforcement and public safety. When the police spend less time chasing traffic violations and miscellaneous paperwork, they have fewer excuses for mishandling serious criminal investigations – and corruption.
Simultaneously, shifting administrative responsibilities to local civilian agencies makes everyday governance more accountable. If a licensing office fails, citizens can pressure their mayors or governors to fix it. If traffic management collapses, voters can demand better from their local officials. In both cases, the responsibility rests with democratic institutions—not with the insulated, militarized bureaucracy that makes up our police force today. By narrowing the scope of police authority to actual policing, Indonesia can reduce both corruption and public resentment, while strengthening democratic control over the basic functions of daily life.
Reform 3: Oversight and Reverse Accountability
The third pillar of reform must be making the police accountable to the people they serve. Today, Indonesia’s oversight institutions are essentially powerless in interactions with the police force – the National Police Commission (Kompolnas) and Ombudsman can only issue non‐binding recommendations, and no independent civilian complaints board exists to bring abusive officers to justice. In practice, most investigations of police misconduct are handled internally, “in the hands of the police themselves,” which predictably breeds impunity. Under this status quo, citizens have virtually no avenue to challenge abuse or demand transparency.
We must flip this model upside down by empowering truly independent oversight. As other critics have suggested, the National Police Commission (Kompolnas) should be given statutory powers to investigate and sanction officers, away from external (read: political) interference. Theoretically, officers would then answer to an authority that represents the public they serve – not just their chain of command. In addition to this, the International Crisis Group (ICG) have previously argued that Indonesia needs “a competent civilian body that can police the police” so that abuse has tangible consequences. In the short term, implementing these reforms would mean that police misconduct (from rogue superiors to rank-and-file) is no longer swept under the rug by internal affairs alone, but is subject to civilian review and public scrutiny.
But oversight on its own is not enough. Accountability must also be reversed. Right now, victims carry the heavy burden of proving that police misconduct occurred, a nearly impossible task when evidence is controlled by the institution itself. The burden should instead fall on the police: every time they make an arrest, disperse a crowd, or fire a weapon, they must be able to prove in court that their actions conformed to standard operating procedures. If they cannot provide that proof, the case should be dismissed, and disciplinary or even criminal sanctions should follow. This flips the incentive structure. Suddenly, it would be in the police’s own interest to ensure body cameras are running, CCTV is functional, and reports are properly logged. Rather than resisting transparency, officers would embrace it as their shield. Body cameras could exonerate officers falsely accused of brutality just as they could expose those who abuse their power.
By making officers answer to the public instead of only to their superiors, Indonesia can break the cycle of impunity. In a healthy democracy, the police are public servants, not a law unto themselves. We must dismantle the current hierarchy by ensuring that no officer is above the law. Only when the police know they will face real, public checks can Indonesia begin to restore trust and guarantee that force is used to protect citizens.
The urgency of reform
Unfortunately, the latest drafts on the revisions to the current criminal code do not seem to be leading us into this direction. In fact, it might be leading us to the complete opposite – with this, police investigators can supervise other investigators (e.g. Civil Servant Investigators) – thus opening doors for interference. The new Criminal Procedure Code (RKUHAP) bill actually eliminates a crucial mechanism in pre-trial motions to prevent arbitrary action by law enforcement institutions that had appeared in earlier drafts, which required all arrests to be reviewed in a pra-peradilan court before proceeding — a mechanism somewhat akin to a grand jury review. By scrapping this provision, the new draft tilts the balance toward law enforcement discretion and away from judicial oversight. This shift risks making arbitrary arrests easier and weakens one of the few checks civilians could rely on against coercive state power. Reform, therefore, must be reframed. It should not be about expanding police authority, but about building structures that guarantee accountability and create lasting trust.
After all, a police officer trusted by the community is more effective than one feared by it. These reforms will not eliminate abuse overnight, but it would take away many of the most visible and routine opportunities for exploitation. Officers who know that misconduct will end their careers, are more likely to think twice before resorting to violence or intimidation. Similarly, communities that know they have the power to discipline or remove a bad officer, can hold leaders accountable. Indonesia has spent years promising police reform, usually in the form of more training or new codes of conduct. But you cannot train away impunity. When authority is too centralized and accountability too distant, abuse becomes inevitable.
What we need is not another seminar or declaration, but a redesign of the institution itself. Localize authority, divest non-policing tasks, and reverse accountability. Until then, the police will remain what they are today: feared and dangerous. Affan’s death is not just another tragedy, it is a reminder of how much we have failed to fix.