Terror Labels, the State and Indonesian Cases

Source: Vox/Feng Yu (Shutterstock)

Disclaimer: This essay was originally submitted as coursework at the University of Melbourne in late-2024.

Introduction

The usage of terror as a strategy by non-state actors to further their political goals challenges the state’s monopoly on violence. Indeed, the term ‘terrorism’ has now been deeply intertwined with national security and interests by states all over the world. Moreover, after more than two decades of war against terror, we have yet to see an indication of an end to the war. It is quite the opposite, as more and more states appear to see terrorism and terrorists everywhere. Considering the politically loaded discursive construction of the term, it begs the question, is terrorism no more than a label for one’s enemies? Drawing on Critical Terrorism Studies (CTS) regarding the construction and use of the term, particularly its connection to state sovereignty and legitimacy, I argue that terrorism is indeed a label for one’s enemies — and, by looking at Indonesia, it has also evolved into a powerful political tool.

This essay is divided into two main sections. The first section discusses the ‘loaded’ label that is ‘terrorism’, uncovering its highly politicised construction and political nature through existing CTS lenses. Secondly, I will then explore the relationship between the state’s use of terrorism as a label and the state’s sovereignty and legitimacy through post-colonial lenses. This discussion will then be followed by a discussion of Indonesia as a case study using the previously established concepts and connections, in which I will highlight two cases: the Indonesian government’s branding of ‘terrorism’ towards radical Islamic groups and the government’s designation of the West Papua National Liberation Army (TPNPB) as a ‘Separatist Terrorist Group’. Lastly, I will then conclude the essay by providing a summary of the discussion in the essay.

The ‘Terror’ Labels and State Legitimacy

Cry Havoc!

‘Terrorism’ is a loaded term, heavily politicised, propagated and manipulated post 9/11 to justify state-led warfare against a ‘tangible’ threat to support the ‘war on terror’. This perception of the term evolved within CTS, where scholars such as Jackson (2005) and Stohl (2019) argued that there exists a deliberate process to shape the term — and the discourse surrounding it — into a political tool by associating it with a powerful image of an enemy through a malicious interpretation of 9/11 as a tragedy, fabrication of threats to democratic value and the construction of a ‘good war’ narrative. This ‘securitisation’ process, where officials use carefully constructed ‘speech acts’, elevates terrorism as a national security issue, which, in turn, legitimises extraordinary security measures and has subsequently reshaped institutional practices, moving beyond conventional political debates. Subsequently, the term has been successfully institutionalised across academia, politics, and media, which further entrenched this constructed narrative (Blakeley 2007; Jackson 2008); leading to what Khan (2024, 14–15) describes as the ‘terrorism industry’ that exist to sustain the deliberately constructed definition of terrorism and what the term refers to as a real threat.

It is from such an understanding of how the term terrorism is constructed and what the term has become that we can then see the term terrorism has grown beyond just a label for one’s enemies but also a powerful political tool of justification. The rhetoric surrounding terrorism is tightly connected to the dichotomy of ‘good and evil’ (Jackson 2005, 153), where the state is painted as the ‘good’ side under attack by the ‘evil’ terrorists, whose violence is perceived as barbaric and unjustified. This binary framing is then followed by the utilisation and evocation of fear through public-facing institutions, selectively labelling certain groups as ‘terrorists’ based on their perceived threat to the state’s authority and values (Smith, Stohl, and al-Gharbi 2019). Fear plays a critical role in cementing state legitimacy, as the state cultivates an almost perpetual notion of impending danger that requires urgent action — or the fear of ‘next time’ (Frank 2015). By heightening citizens’ fear of terrorism, the state positions itself as the indispensable sovereign, with extraordinary measures framed as necessary for public protection. This created a self-supporting loop of fear that strengthened the state’s authority, as citizens increasingly saw the state as the only safeguard against a vaguely defined yet omnipresent threat.

Through this manipulation, terrorism is transformed into a tangible, ever-present threat identified with specific groups, turning it into a state-centric narrative of enemy identification. In Jackson’s (2011, 3) words, ‘terrorism’ and ‘terrorist’ have become a label shaped by specific social and political practices that develop uniquely in different contexts and times. Within CTS, studies on the rhetorics used behind terrorism and the effort to counter this constructed menace have established that Islam and Muslims are the identity behind the term both overtly and covertly in Western states (Sian 2017; Downing 2019). Regrettably, this particular definition, portrayal and political usage of the terms have become so widely institutionalised that states beyond the Anglosphere have begun to adopt it. Non-Western states like Turkey (Barrinha 2011) and Indonesia (Yunanto and Damayanti 2024), for example, have been observed to utilise terror labels to legitimise state actions against certain groups, especially political dissenters and separatists. The terror label has become a powerful political tool for states all over the world; it was borne out of politics and perfectly designed to be politicised by combining fear, ‘security’ and ‘national interests to label one’s enemy.

And Let Slip the Dogs of War

In using the label ‘terrorists’ or by crying out ‘terrorism’, states assert their role as the ultimate protector, leveraging the terms to reinforce their domestic legitimacy. By casting specific groups as threats to national stability and security, through securitisation, states portray themselves as indispensable forces against chaos and violence. What follows after states label non-state actors as terrorists are usually extraordinary measures, or ‘states of exception’ where there exists an imbalance between public law and political fact, or the suspension of ‘normal’ law (Agamben 2005, 1, cited in Polizzi 2021, 85) in the effort to counter the ever-present threat that is terrorism. As states continue to wage their war against terror, these states of exceptions entail the enactment of policies or actions to ensure the perceived threat is neutralised, which, more often than not, cause the loss of innocent human lives and the infringement of the so-called ‘universal’ human rights, all under the guise of Counter-Terrorism both within their borders and beyond. In the eyes of the states, they are the sovereign — the ultimate protector — exercising their power and their right to decide who gets to live and who has to die (Mbembe 2003). The creation of ‘sites of exception’ like Guantánamo Bay, the media restrictions in West Papua (Johns 2005; Philpott 2018) and the use of killer drones to execute extrajudicial killings abroad by the United States (Blakeley 2018) are just a few examples of the atrocities justified by state actors through the use of the terror labels.

Within these states of exceptions — the suspension of normal laws — we can then find the deeper underlying issue with ‘terrorism’: its state-centrism and its racialisation, which will allow us to broaden our approach to analysing violent extremism and unload the political charge contained within the term itself. The state-centric definition of terrorism is what makes the use of terror labels so powerful, and it is the key that enabled states to create the problematic states and sites of exception. This context enables the use of state violence under the guise of national security, utilising the terror labels as powerful tools to control and target specific populations or regions. In this framing, ‘terrorists’ cease to become a mere description of violent actors but also an identity imposed towards groups and individuals who challenge or exist outside of state-defined norms — reinforcing the state’s power to determine who belongs within or outside the bounds of legitimacy.

The discursive process of labelling is deeply tied to othering, a discriminative process towards perceived subordinate groups (Jensen 2011) where they are considered as inherent threats to what states consider a valid social order. Those labelled as ‘terrorists’ are marked as outsiders and existential dangers to the states’ integrity and values. By drawing these boundaries through the terror labels and othering, the state secures a ‘moral high ground’ reinforcing its legitimacy in the eyes of its citizens and positioning itself as the protector of ‘us’ against ‘them. This constructed dichotomy is critical to understanding how the terrorism label wields that much influence and serves as a means of consolidating state power and a powerful tool of justification. However, the use of terror labels is not, as I mentioned previously, confined to Western states alone; it has been adopted and modified by various governments globally to reinforce their own legitimacy and suppress perceived threats to their authority. In Indonesia, the politicisation of the terror labels has become particularly evident in its application against two distinct groups: radical religious groups and the West Papuan separatists.

The following section will focus on these two cases in Indonesia by applying the concepts and connections that I have elaborated on previously. By examining how Indonesia deploys these labels within its unique socio-political context, we can further unpack how the state strategically employ the terror labels to serve its interests.

Security from What? Security for Whom? The ‘Terrorism’ Label in Indonesia

Enemy Within: Pancasila Under Siege?

Indonesia officially joined the ‘war on terror’ and started to utilise the terror labels back in October 2002, after the First Bali Bombings. The violent attack opened the door for the United States and Australia to ‘export’ the terrorism industry into the country through formal multilateral security agreements (Maksum and Try Sjahputra 2022), which led to the conception of Indonesia’s counter-terror institutions Detachment 88 (Densus 88) and the National Counter Terrorism Agency (BNPT). However, this point in time was not the beginning of Indonesia’s relationship with violent and militant Islamic groups. As the country with the biggest Muslim population in the world, Indonesia’s relationship with militant Islamism can be traced back to its colonial history, as militant Islamic groups played a significant part during Indonesia’s struggle for independence. Understanding these historical nuances is the key to understanding Indonesia’s relationship with Islam and how the Indonesian Government’s use of terror labels to identify enemies works as a political tool.

Within local and international Indonesian Islam and terrorism studies, many scholars, such as Muzakki (2014) and Dijk and Kaptein (2016), agree with Van Bruinessen’s (2002, 118) assumption that radical Islamism can be traced to two roots: national and transnational networks. The national roots, which I will extensively explore in this essay, stem from its early post-colonial history, particularly the Darul Islam (DI) movement and their dissatisfaction with Pancasila — the five core principles of the Indonesian State. This dissatisfaction is critical to highlight, as they underpin the political goal of many violent extremist groups in Indonesia, such as Jamaah Islamiyah (JI), Jamaah Ansharut Tauhid (JAT), Laskar Jihad (LJ) and Mujahidin Indonesia Timur (MIT) which was to establish a Caliphate in Indonesia or establish a Syariah Law within the country. Most of these groups are interconnected to one another either through key individuals or transnational networks and connections such as al-Qaeda between 2001 to 2012 and ISIS after that; sadly, tracing these connections is beyond the scope of this essay. Deciphering the connection between the ideas behind their violence and Indonesia’s Counter-Terror institutions, however, is necessary to gain a better understanding of the usage of the terror label in the country.

Nakissa (Nakissa 2020, 220) divides Indonesia’s counterterrorism effort into two main categories: The first one is the hard approach, which entails violent repression of the aforementioned violent groups utilising the police, military, national intelligence, and the elite Densus 88 Counter-Terror Unit (CTU). This approach is the typical counter-terror strategy employed by states all over but limited within Indonesia’s own borders. The second is the ‘soft’ one, where BNPT, as the central counter-terror institution, utilises preventative measures to reduce terrorist ‘threats’ to the state, including censorship, deradicalisation and additional physical security measures whenever necessary. What is interesting about the soft approach is that it requires identifying the target and who they are. In this matter, Nakissa (2020, 221) elaborates that the Indonesian state views radical Muslims as a threat to three key aspects: physical, human rights, and identity. Each and every one of these threat perceptions is tied to the goal of establishing an Islamic state in Indonesia, particularly after 2014, when violent extremism in Indonesia was seen as re-energised through connections and allegiances to ISIS (Temby 2020).

There was a marked shift in the targets of Indonesia’s violent extremist groups between the ‘al-Qaeda era’ (2001–2012) and the ‘ISIS era’ (2012 — present). Within the al-Qaeda era, targets of violent acts of extremism consist of anything ‘Western’, which aligns with al-Qaeda’s definition of jihad against the West. The two Bali Bombings, the 2004 Australian Embassy bombing and the 2009 Jakarta bombings, provide a clear picture of these targets. Meanwhile, after 2012, following the shift in allegiance to ISIS from some prominent violent extremist groups, targets of violent attacks have also shifted. Groups such as the Jamaah Anshorul Daulah (JAD), MIT and Jamaah Anshorut Tauhid (JAT) began targeting more Indonesians and state apparatuses, which culminated in the 2016 Sarinah Attack. This shift is in line with ISIS’s priority targets and goals, which are ‘apostate’ regimes and territorial control (Byman 2015). Following this shift in targets, BNPT (Badan Nasional Penanggulangan Terorisme 2016) stated that local violent extremist groups also follow ISIS-style recruitment as well, utilising the internet to ‘radicalise’ and bring more Indonesians into the fold. This statement, along with the increased effort in Indonesia’s ‘soft’ approach in dealing with the enemy, marks a step up in the ‘threat level’ of terrorism in Indonesia.

The most important example of the use of terror labels by the Indonesian Government is not from their ordinary counter-terror endeavour. It is the ‘bleeding’ effect of the perception of threat to domestic politics, where the government utilised special decrees signed by the President and multiple ministries to ban two prominent Islamic organisations, namely Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia (HTI), in 2017 and the Islamic Defenders Front (FPI) in 2020. Both decrees outlawing these two organisations explicitly mentioned that both organisations had ties with terrorist organisations and the ideas these organisations believe in stand in opposition against Pancasila as the justifying cause. By associating these organisations with terrorism, the government not only curtails their influence but also frames them as existential threats to Pancasila and national stability, legitimising its actions as necessary for upholding Indonesian unity.

For HTI, these are solid reasons, as they have been proven to disseminate their ideology through social media (Setia 2021). Against FPI, however, these justifications are questionable, particularly when we take into account FPI’s critical stance against the government at that time. FPI was an old Islamic organisation that had enjoyed political favour years before Joko Widodo came to power (Kurniawati 2020), and they had voiced their opposition to Joko Widodo even before he was elected President. During Joko Widodo’s presidency, they were active in organising mass protests against the government dubbed ‘Aksi Bela Islam’, accusing Joko Widodo of being ‘un-Islamic’ and communist. The real reasons behind FPI’s hard stance and their subsequent dissolution are unknown, but given FPI’s close history with the Indonesian political elite, the reasons are connected with domestic political manoeuvring. This shift from political ally to ‘enemy within’ reflects how the terror label can be applied selectively to silence opposition and secure political loyalty, even against organisations previously aligned with the state’s interests. Thus, the terror labels become a flexible instrument, adapted to target both radical elements and oppositional forces in Indonesia, invoking Pancasila, national security, and national identity as justifications.

Enemy Without? The Grey Area in West Papua

While the use of the terror labels by the Indonesian Government towards radical and militant Islamic groups could be considered the ‘typical’ bleeding effect of the war on terror and its practice of enemy identification, the situation in West Papua provides a ‘neutral’ example of labelling, with minimal influences from Western states or institutions. West Papua is a clear ‘site of exception’ within Indonesian borders, as extraordinary measures have been taken to repress the separatist movement there under the banner of Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM). These extraordinary measures include media censorship and military presence since the New Order government designated West Papua as Daerah Operasi Militer or Military Operations Area. Post-1998, after reformasi, the new democratic government decided to loosen their military operations, opting for a more political approach, which culminated in 2001, when the central government granted a special autonomy status to Papua (Yunanto and Damayanti 2024, 2). However, tensions and violence between the government and OPM continue. Reports show that between 2010–2021, there were 299 incidents between OPM and the Indonesian Government, causing 395 deaths and 1579 people injured (Permana 2021).

In light of stagnating development in the region, in April 2021, the Indonesian Government officially designated the separatist movement in Papua, called the OPM, as ‘terrorists’, which makes the Indonesian government the only one to designate the separatist group as such. This new designation comes after the government amended its Anti-Terrorism Law in 2018, which grants law enforcement more leeway to detain suspected terrorists, as the amended law lowered the threshold for what actions the government can prosecute as acts of terror (Williams 2022). Following this change in designation, 400 extra troops were deployed to West Papua to ‘wipe out’ the OPM (Allard 2021). The terror labels assigned to the OPM were orchestrated through many institutional channels. Certainly, the official designation was delivered by Mahfud MD, the Coordinating Minister of Politics Law and Security, but other institutions such as the Indonesian State Intelligence Agency (BIN), BNPT, and a member of the Indonesian parliament repeatedly parroted the designation, mainly stating that OPM has fulfilled the state-made indicator as a terror group, and is therefore subjected to prosecution by terror law (Irawan 2024; Merdeka 2021). This new designation and the institutions supporting it are a clear indication of using terror labels to identify one’s enemy to justify tightening Indonesia’s military grip in the region.

However, the situation in West Papua is much deeper than just the recent labelling. A deep ‘othering’ effect is also present, albeit not in the overt ways of the Western world. While there is little to no actively constructed discourse ‘othering’ Indigenous Papuans by Indonesian state officials, the ‘othering’ process occurs through the government’s actions. The extraordinary measures to control West Papua, a population seen as inherently oppositional by the state, mimicked colonial emergency regulations, and the use of the terror labels would likely exacerbate what Berda calls an ‘axis of suspicion’ (Berda 2020). Reports of genocide against Indigenous Papuans in West Papua (Brundige et al. 2004), constant local media attention towards the violence happening in the region, and matters of West Papuan identity have implicitly defined Indigenous West Papuans as ‘second-class citizens’. The effect of this ‘othering’ by actions is apparent if we consider the hostile actions done by Indonesian state officials and citizens in the wake of the 2019 #PapuanLivesMatter nationwide protest. Authorities persecuted West Papuans, and counter-protesters hurled derogatory terms such as ‘monkey’ towards Papuans in Surabaya (Belau 2019).

The outlook on West Papua is worrying for both the region itself and Indigenous Papuans spread all over the country. The colonial emergency laws have challenged the notion of universal citizenship in Indonesia, and the designation of OPM as terrorists would further limit West Papua’s political agency, freedom of expression, and self-determination. It calls into question the use of the terror labels here, particularly the underpinning of ‘security’ inherent in the decision. Security for whom, exactly? Particularly when we consider the not-so-democratic and not-so-free 1969 ‘Act of Free Will’ referendum (Viartasiwi 2018, 151–52). Based on what is happening so far, the label is used for the security of the Indonesian state — for whatever reason, it may be political, geopolitical, or resource exploitation.

Conclusion

To conclude, terrorism as a label also operates as a political construct and tool, deeply intertwined with state sovereignty over its citizens and strategic interests. What is created through political means often ends up as a political tool. It is more than just a mere label to delineate threats; it has evolved into a powerful political justification tool. The terror labels justify the creation of states of exception where normal laws are suspended to ensure the identified enemies will be dealt with through whatever means necessary, which often incurs the loss of innocent lives and human rights abuses.

In some cases where domestic politics are mixed in, such as the case of the radical Islamic groups in Indonesia, it has also proven to be a tool to consolidate states’ power. In the case of West Papua and the designation of OPM as terrorists, the Indonesian state has effectively doomed Indigenous Papuans to more violence in West Papua, and stronger racial discrimination in other parts of Indonesia. Whenever states cry ‘havoc!’ by using the terror labels against non-state actors, their dogs of war — the sovereign’s instruments over life and death — will soon follow.

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