AI and Critical Thinking: Prompt Engineering as the Bridge

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is now woven into everyday life. From map applications that predict traffic jams, film recommendations on streaming platforms, to chatbots that answer routine questions, AI has become a constant presence. Andrew Ng famously described AI as “the new electricity”, a force that will transform every aspect of society. Just as electricity powered the industrial revolution, AI is driving today’s information revolution.

Yet the rise of AI does not mean humans can stop thinking. On the contrary, the more decisions are assisted by machines, the more vital our ability to evaluate, question, and filter information becomes. This is where critical thinking plays its role.

Critical thinking is not confined to academia; it is a life skill. It enables us to distinguish fact from opinion, assess arguments, and make wiser choices. In the context of AI, critical thinking acts as a safeguard: machines provide answers, but humans must judge whether those answers are accurate, relevant, and useful.

Alongside this, a new concept has emerged: prompt engineering. This is the craft of designing questions so that AI produces responses tailored to our needs. Prompt engineering is, in essence, an exercise in critical thinking. It requires clarity, precision, and awareness of context. In other words, AI encourages us to be more deliberate in how we ask, not merely in how we receive.

AI as a New Literacy

We often take reading and writing for granted. Yet centuries ago, literacy was a privilege enjoyed by only a few. Today, Andrew Ng argues that coding—especially coding for AI—is becoming a new form of literacy. Just as words allow humans to communicate deeply with one another, code allows us to communicate with machines. And as machines become more central to our lives, this kind of literacy grows in importance.

AI literacy is not about building video games or websites, but about using data to solve real problems. Imagine a pizza shop owner who wants to predict how many Hawaiian pizzas to prepare each Sunday. With a simple regression model, he could forecast demand, reduce waiting times, and manage his supplies more efficiently. This is a small but powerful example of how AI literacy can improve everyday life.

The key difference between traditional coding and AI-oriented coding lies in the approach. Traditional coding tells a computer exactly what steps to follow. AI coding, on the other hand, teaches the computer to learn patterns from data. This shift makes AI literacy even more valuable, because it enables people in diverse professions—from healthcare to agriculture—to harness insights from data without needing to become expert programmers.

Here is where critical thinking comes in. Learning to code for AI is not enough; we must also learn to question the data, the models, and the outcomes. Is the dataset representative? Are the predictions reliable? Could there be hidden biases? Without critical thinking, AI literacy risks becoming mechanical, producing results that may look convincing but lack substance.

In short, AI literacy is more than a technical skill. It is a mindset that combines coding with questioning, data with judgement, and automation with human responsibility. Just as literacy in language enriched society, literacy in AI—guided by critical thinking—can enrich our digital age.

Prompt engineering is the art of crafting questions or instructions so that an AI system, such as ChatGPT, produces answers that are relevant, clear, and suited to the user’s needs. In essence, the machine responds to whatever we ask of it. If the question is vague, the answer may drift off course. By applying prompt engineering, we learn to design precise queries, which in turn leads to higher‑quality results.

This practice often involves specific approaches. For instance, one might give highly detailed instructions such as “Write a summary of this news article in one paragraph”. Another method is to assign the AI a role, for example “As a history teacher, explain the Second World War”. A further technique is to use a keyword to guide the response, such as “Compose a poem with the keyword ‘love’”. There is also the option of ensuring that the answer remains consistent with the context provided, so that the output does not contradict itself.

The connection between prompt engineering and critical thinking is strong. When we construct a prompt, we are required to frame the question clearly, establish the right context, and then evaluate the answer that the AI delivers. This process trains us not to accept responses at face value, but to consider whether they meet the instructions, whether errors are present, and whether adjustments are needed.

Thus, prompt engineering is not merely a technical trick to “outsmart” a machine. It is a practical exercise in critical thinking. By learning to ask more intelligently, we ensure that the answers generated by AI are more useful and more closely aligned with real‑world needs.

Let’s make prompt engineering feel tangible by showing how it works in everyday life.

In studying, imagine a student revising history. Instead of asking AI “Explain World War II”, which is too broad, they might say: “As a history teacher, summarise the causes of World War II in three clear points for a beginner.” This role‑based prompt guides the AI to produce a structured, accessible answer, making learning more effective.

In professional work, consider someone drafting a report. If they simply ask “Write about climate change”, the output may be unfocused. But with prompt engineering, they could say: “Generate a concise executive summary on climate change impacts for business leaders, highlighting risks to supply chains.” Here, the instructions and context ensure the AI delivers something tailored to a corporate audience.

In leisure, think of a person wanting creative writing. Instead of “Write a poem”, they might say: “Compose a sonnet about summer evenings, using the seed word ‘nostalgia’.” By specifying the form and theme, the AI produces a piece that feels more personal and enjoyable.

In the world of journalism, prompt engineering also plays a crucial role. A journalist cannot simply ask an AI “Write an article about the economy”, because the result may be too general and unfocused. With prompt engineering, the request can be sharpened, for example: “As an economics reporter, produce a concise summary of the impact of inflation on food prices in Indonesia, written in a neutral and informative style.” This kind of instruction ensures the output is closer to the standards of clear, balanced reporting.

Prompt engineering can also assist with information verification. Suppose a report contains conflicting figures about the number of casualties in an incident. A journalist might ask: “Check the consistency of the data in this report and highlight any contradictions.” This is similar to self-consistency prompting, which is useful for detecting inconsistencies in text.

Another application is in interview preparation. A journalist could request: “As a senior editor, generate five critical questions for an interview with an energy expert about the transition to renewable energy.” This helps to frame sharper, more relevant questions that lead to stronger interviews.

Ultimately, in journalism, prompt engineering is not just a technical tool but a practice of critical thinking. It trains journalists to phrase questions clearly, maintain objectivity, and ensure that the information presented is accurate and valuable to the public.

Across these examples, the common thread is critical thinking. Prompt engineering forces us to pause, clarify what we truly want, and express it precisely. The better we think, the better the AI responds — whether we are learning, working, or simply having fun.

Critical Thinking in Learning AI Skills

Learning AI is not just about memorising formulas or mastering coding libraries. It is about knowing what to learn, why it matters, and how to apply it. Andrew Ng reminds us that the field of AI is vast, with more research papers published than anyone could read in a lifetime. This is where critical thinking becomes essential: it helps us prioritise, select, and evaluate the skills that will truly support our goals.

For example, a beginner might be tempted to dive into advanced calculus or complex neural architectures straight away. Yet critical thinking encourages us to ask: Do I really need this knowledge now? Will it help me build the kind of projects I want? In many cases, understanding the basics of linear regression, logistic regression, or decision trees is far more useful at the start than chasing the latest research trend.

Critical thinking also plays a role in how we approach errors and setbacks. When a model fails to converge or produces strange results, the easy reaction is frustration. But a critical thinker will pause and ask: Is the dataset flawed? Are the assumptions valid? Could bias or noise be affecting the outcome? This habit of questioning transforms mistakes into opportunities for deeper learning.

Moreover, critical thinking helps us resist the temptation to learn passively. Reading random web pages or tutorials may feel productive, but without a structured approach, the knowledge gained is often fragmented. A critical learner will choose coherent courses, evaluate the quality of resources, and gradually move on to research papers once the foundations are solid.

In short, learning AI is a lifelong journey, and critical thinking is the compass that keeps us on track. It ensures that we do not drown in information overload, but instead build skills that are relevant, applicable, and resilient in a rapidly changing field.

Choosing the Right AI Project

Building AI skills alone is not enough; what truly matters is how we select the right projects to pursue. Andrew Ng highlights that many people fall into the “Ready, Aim, Fire” mindset — spending too long planning before ever taking action. In contrast, the “Ready, Fire, Aim” approach is often more effective: start with a small project, then learn and adjust along the way.

Here, critical thinking becomes essential. Before beginning a project, we must ask ourselves: Is this problem genuinely important? Is the available data sufficient? Will an AI solution create real impact? These questions help us avoid projects that may look technically impressive but fail to address meaningful needs.

Take, for example, a company tempted to build a sophisticated chatbot simply because it is trendy. Critical thinking would prompt the question: does this chatbot truly solve customer problems, or does it risk adding confusion? In this way, AI projects become more than technological experiments; they become solutions that add genuine value.

Critical thinking also helps us assess risks and biases. If a dataset only represents one group, the results may be skewed. A critical thinker will recognise this and seek ways to improve the dataset so that it is fairer and more representative.

In short, choosing an AI project is not just about creativity; it is about careful judgement. With critical thinking, we can select projects that are relevant, realistic, and impactful—whether in business, education, or everyday life.

AI as a Partner, Not a Substitute for Critical Thinking

Artificial Intelligence is often portrayed as a tool that can “think” for us. Yet the reality is that AI does not replace human judgement; it complements it. Machines can process vast amounts of data, identify patterns, and generate suggestions at incredible speed. But they cannot decide what truly matters, nor can they weigh ethical consequences or social impact. That responsibility remains firmly in human hands.

Critical thinking ensures that AI becomes a partner rather than a master. For instance, when AI recommends a medical treatment, it is the doctor’s critical judgement that determines whether the recommendation is safe, appropriate, and tailored to the patient. Similarly, when AI suggests a business strategy, it is the manager’s responsibility to evaluate whether the plan aligns with company values and long‑term goals.

This partnership works best when humans and AI play to their strengths. AI excels at computation, prediction, and automation. Humans excel at reasoning, empathy, and ethical reflection. Together, they form a powerful combination: AI provides options, and humans decide which option is right.

The danger lies in over‑reliance. If we accept AI outputs uncritically, we risk amplifying biases, overlooking errors, or making decisions that lack context. By contrast, when we approach AI with a questioning mindset—asking “Is this accurate? Is this fair? Is this useful?”—we transform it into a tool that enhances rather than diminishes our thinking.

In short, AI should be seen as a collaborator. It can accelerate our work, broaden our perspective, and spark creativity. But it is critical thinking that ensures those benefits are channelled responsibly, keeping human judgement at the centre of every decision.

Building a Culture of AI and Critical Thinking

AI is not merely about technology; it is also about culture. For AI to be genuinely useful, schools, workplaces, and communities must foster habits of using AI alongside critical thinking. Without such a culture, AI risks becoming a superficial tool, or worse, a source of bias and error.

In schools, this culture can be nurtured by encouraging students not simply to accept answers from machines, but to question and evaluate them. For instance, when AI provides a summary of a historical event, teachers can guide students to compare it with other sources and discuss whether the summary is complete and accurate. In this way, AI becomes a means of practising critical thinking rather than replacing the teacher.

In the workplace, building this culture means encouraging employees to treat AI as an assistant, not a sole decision‑maker. A business analyst, for example, might use AI to generate market forecasts, but must still judge whether those forecasts are realistic, data‑driven, and aligned with company strategy. This critical culture ensures that business decisions remain grounded in human judgement.

Within communities, the culture of AI and critical thinking can be expressed through digital literacy. People need to understand that not all AI outputs are correct or neutral. By developing the habit of asking “Does this make sense? Is there supporting evidence elsewhere?”, communities become more resilient against misinformation or bias that may arise from AI systems.

In short, building a culture of AI and critical thinking means positioning AI as a partner that strengthens human capability rather than weakens it. Such a culture ensures that technology is used wisely, fairly, and for the benefit of all.

The Future of AI and Critical Thinking

The future of Artificial Intelligence will not be defined solely by faster algorithms or larger datasets. It will be shaped by how humans integrate critical thinking into their use of AI. As technology advances, the challenge is not whether machines can do more, but whether people can continue to question, evaluate, and guide those capabilities responsibly.

In education, AI will likely become a common tool for personalised learning. Yet the real value will come when students are taught to interrogate AI’s answers, compare them with other sources, and reflect on their accuracy. This ensures that AI nurtures independent thought rather than passive consumption.

In the workplace, AI will automate routine tasks and provide sophisticated insights. But critical thinking will remain the safeguard that prevents blind reliance. Managers and professionals will need to ask: Does this recommendation align with our values? Is the data unbiased? What are the long‑term consequences? Without such reflection, efficiency could come at the cost of fairness or sustainability.

In society at large, AI will influence politics, media, and everyday decision‑making. The danger is that misinformation or bias could spread more quickly than ever. A culture of critical thinking — questioning sources, demanding transparency, and evaluating context — will be essential to protect democratic values and social trust.

Ultimately, the future of AI is inseparable from the future of human judgement. Machines may grow more powerful, but it is critical thinking that ensures they serve humanity wisely. The partnership between AI and human reasoning will define whether technology becomes a force for progress or a source of division.

Conclusion: Towards a Critical AI Literacy

Our journey through AI literacy, prompt engineering, critical thinking, and project selection reveals a single thread: AI will only be truly valuable if it is used with awareness and sound judgement. AI literacy teaches us to grasp the fundamentals, prompt engineering trains us to communicate effectively with machines, while critical thinking ensures we do not simply accept answers but also evaluate, question, and refine them.

In education, AI can accelerate understanding, yet teachers and students must still test its outputs. In workplaces, AI can speed up analysis and automation, but final decisions must consider values, strategy, and long‑term impact. In society, AI can broaden access to information, but critical literacy is needed to avoid bias or misinformation.

Ultimately, critical AI literacy is not just a technical skill but a mindset. It requires us to continually ask: Is this accurate? Is this fair? Is this useful? With such an attitude, AI becomes a partner that strengthens human capability rather than replacing it.

The future of AI will continue to evolve, but the future of humanity depends on our ability to keep critical thinking at the centre of every interaction with technology. In doing so, we become not merely users of AI, but guides who ensure that this technology delivers genuine benefit to life and society.

References

• Ng, Andrew. Machine Learning Yearning. DeepLearning.AI, 2018.
• Russell, Stuart, and Peter Norvig. Artificial Intelligence: A Modern Approach. 4th ed., Pearson, 2020.
• Floridi, Luciano. The Ethics of Artificial Intelligence. Oxford University Press, 2021.
• Dignum, Virginia. Responsible Artificial Intelligence: Designing AI for Human Values. Springer, 2019.
• Mitchell, Melanie. Artificial Intelligence: A Guide for Thinking Humans. Penguin, 2019.
• Klein, Gary. Sources of Power: How People Make Decisions. MIT Press, 1998.
• Facione, Peter. Critical Thinking: What It Is and Why It Counts. Insight Assessment, 2015.
• Silver, Nate. The Signal and the Noise: Why So Many Predictions Fail – But Some Don’t. Penguin, 2012.

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The Fragility of Justice Institutions in Indonesia : Civil War Without Costumes

Imagine for a moment the world of Marvel’s superheroes. In Civil War, the Avengers, once united against global threats, suddenly fracture into opposing factions. Captain America stands firm in defence of liberty, while Iron Man insists upon regulation. Their clash is not merely a contest of strength, but a collision of ideologies: should extraordinary power be left unfettered, or bound tightly by the state’s rules? A detailed exploration of this theme can be found in Kevin Michael Scott’s edited volume Marvel Comics’ Civil War and the Age of Terror: Critical Essays on the Comic Saga (McFarland, 2015).

That tale, though fictional, resonates with Indonesia’s reality. Here, “Civil War” is fought not with shields and armour, but with prosecutors’ robes, police uniforms, and even military ranks. Institutions entrusted with upholding justice often find themselves at odds, suspicious of one another, and sometimes openly hostile. The public watches this spectacle with weary eyes, as if the law has been transformed into an arena for gladiators rather than a sanctuary of fairness.

This essay will explore how Civil War reflects the ideological tension between laissez‑faire and dirigisme, and how similar paradigms appear in legal theory. For the economic dimension, Ivan T. Berend’s An Economic History of Twentieth‑Century Europe: Economic Regimes from Laissez‑Faire to Globalisation (Cambridge University Press, 2016) provides a useful framework. The essay will then trace the chronology of the iconic Cicak vs Buaya conflict, illuminated in Rohmat Haryadi’s Chandra‑Bibit: Membongkar Perseteruan KPK, Polri, dan Kejaksaan (Hikmah, 2009), before turning to the latest chapter: the confrontation between the Prosecutor’s Office/TNI and the Police in the case of Febrie Adriansyah. These episodes are not isolated incidents, but part of a longer narrative that reveals the fragility of public trust in Indonesia’s system of justice.

Civil War as an Ideological Allegory

The clash between Captain America and Iron Man is staged as a comic‑book spectacle, yet beneath the punches lies a battle of ideas. Captain America embodies the spirit of laissez‑faire, convinced that individual freedom and moral integrity are sufficient to preserve order. Iron Man, by contrast, stands for dirigisme, demanding strict regulation to ensure that extraordinary powers do not spiral into chaos. Their confrontation is not about who can strike harder, but about whether liberty can survive without oversight, or whether state control is the necessary safeguard against collapse.

In economics, this dilemma has long been a classic debate. Laissez‑faire champions the free market, where individuals chart their own course without interference. Dirigisme insists that the state must intervene, steering the economy to maintain stability. What begins as an economic theory resonates just as strongly in the realm of law, where similar tensions shape the way justice is conceived and enforced.

Legal theory offers its own versions of this ideological duel. Herbert L. Packer’s seminal essay Two Models of the Criminal Process (University of Pennsylvania Law Review, 1964) introduced the due process and crime control models, later expanded in Matthew DeLisi’s Criminal Justice: Balancing Crime Control and Due Process (Kendall Hunt, 2011). In the courts, debates rage between judicial activism, where judges interpret the law boldly and progressively, and judicial restraint, where judges confine themselves to the letter of the statute. Zainal Arifin Mochtar’s Kekuasaan Kehakiman: Mahkamah Konstitusi dan Diskursus Judicial Activism vs Judicial Restraint (Rajawali Pers, 2021) provides a local perspective on this tension.

Further contrasts appear in restorative justice, which seeks healing for victims and reintegration for offenders, versus retributive justice, which demands punishment as retribution. Heather Strang and John Braithwaite’s Restorative Justice: Philosophy to Practice (Ashgate, 2000) and Eleanor Hannon Judah’s Criminal Justice: Retribution vs. Restoration (Psychology Press, 2004) explore these opposing philosophies.

Even in jurisprudence, the divide between legal positivism—law as the state’s formal command—and natural law, which insists that law must align with universal morality, mirrors the same tension. Torben Spaak and Patricia Mindus’s The Cambridge Companion to Legal Positivism (Cambridge University Press, 2021) and Mir Ahmad Murtiza’s Law and Morality: Perspectives on Natural Law Theory and Legal Positivism (Routledge, 2026) provide comprehensive treatments of this debate.

Whether in economics or law, the axis remains constant: freedom against control. Civil War thus becomes a vivid metaphor, showing how ideological collisions can spill into institutional rivalries. In Indonesia, this is no abstract theory; it is a recurring drama played out by the KPK, the Police, the Prosecutor’s Office, and even the military, each convinced they hold the rightful shield of justice.

The Chronology of Legal Rivalries

The history of institutional rivalries within Indonesia’s justice system reads like a long‑running serial, filled with intrigue, drama, and cliffhangers. The most iconic opening chapter was the Cicak vs Buaya saga in 2009. The phrase coined by Susno Duadji instantly became a symbol of tension between the KPK and the Police. The public watched as the Anggodo recordings surfaced, wiretapping scandals erupted, and the “Gecko” versus “Crocodile” battle transformed into a wave of support for the KPK. For a detailed account, Rohmat Haryadi’s Chandra‑Bibit: Membongkar Perseteruan KPK, Polri, dan Kejaksaan (Hikmah, 2009) remains a key reference.

Soon after came the Bibit–Chandra episode. Two KPK leaders were named suspects by the Police, sparking outrage and widespread belief that this was an act of criminalisation. To the public, the anti‑corruption commission, seen as a bastion of integrity, was being attacked by fellow law enforcers. This drama underscored that rivalry was not simply a matter of differing perspectives, but a struggle for legitimacy and authority. The case is discussed in detail in Teten Masduki’s Korupsi dan Perlawanan Rakyat (Yayasan Obor, 2010), which situates the Bibit–Chandra affair within broader anti‑corruption struggles.

The following years brought the Novel Baswedan affair. The rivalry between KPK and the Police that underlies the case of Novel Baswedan is one of the most significant chapters in Indonesia’s legal history. Novel, as a senior investigator at KPK, became both a symbol of resistance against systemic corruption and a victim of institutional tension.

In 2017, he was attacked with acid after handling several major cases involving high‑ranking officials. The assault triggered a wave of public solidarity and revealed the depth of conflict between KPK and the Police at the time. Many observers argued that the attack was not merely a criminal act but a manifestation of the battle of interests between institutions with overlapping investigative powers.

For years, the investigation into the acid attack progressed slowly, and when the perpetrators were eventually arrested, criticism arose that the process failed to uncover the intellectual actors behind the assault. Novel himself emphasised that his struggle was not about revenge but about transparency and accountability in law enforcement. For context, see Andreas Harsono’s Demokrasi dan Polisi: Catatan atas Kasus Novel Baswedan (Yayasan LKiS, 2018), which analyses the political dimensions of the case.

Tensions reached their peak in the Budi Gunawan case of 2015. The KPK declared the prospective Police Chief a suspect, only for the Police to retaliate by naming KPK investigators as suspects. This open confrontation convinced the public that institutional rivalry had escalated beyond minor disputes into a political battle involving powerful interests. The case is examined in Indriyanto Seno Adji’s KPK dan Polri: Dinamika Hubungan Kekuasaan (Gramedia, 2016).

Another chapter unfolded with Pinangki Sirna Malasari in 2020. The prosecutor ensnared in a bribery scandal linked to Djoko Tjandra drew sharp criticism, proving that the Attorney General’s Office was not immune to corruption. This case expanded the narrative, showing that rivalry was not confined to the KPK and Police, but also implicated the prosecutorial system. For analysis, see Todung Mulya Lubis’s Korupsi dan Penegakan Hukum di Indonesia (Kompas, 2021).

Finally, the most recent act: Febrie Adriansyah. The Police conducted raids across multiple sites in connection with alleged corruption and money laundering. The Attorney General’s Office denied that Febrie’s home was searched, while the military guarded his residence. The public interpreted this as a show of force, signalling that the rivalry had shifted into a triangular contest between the Police, the Prosecutor’s Office, and the TNI. While book‑length studies are still emerging, contemporary analyses can be found in legal journals such as Jurnal Hukum dan Pembangunan (2025 edition), which situates the Febrie case within the broader pattern of institutional rivalry.

This chronology reveals a recurring pattern: institutions tasked with upholding justice instead expend their energy undermining one another. From Cicak vs Buaya to Febrie Adriansyah, the stories that dominate are not triumphs of justice, but battles for supremacy. Such rivalries corrode institutional credibility and steadily erode public trust in the very system meant to safeguard fairness.

Rivalries of the Prosecutor’s Office/TNI vs the Police (2026)

The latest chapter in Indonesia’s legal drama unfolded with the case of Febrie Adriansyah. The Police carried out raids at several sites linked to allegations of corruption and money laundering, yet the Prosecutor’s Office firmly denied that Febrie’s residence was among them. Tensions escalated when the military appeared on the scene, guarding his home in what the public interpreted as a show of force. What had once been a familiar duel between the KPK and the Police now morphed into a triangular contest involving the Prosecutor’s Office, the Police, and the TNI. Early academic commentary, such as articles in Jurnal Hukum dan Pembangunan (2025 edition), situates the Febrie affair within a broader pattern of institutional rivalry.

This phenomenon illustrates how law enforcement bodies are no longer merely disputing jurisdiction, but openly displaying power in the public arena. The TNI, whose primary mandate is national defence, suddenly stepped into the legal battlefield, signalling that this rivalry is not about procedure alone, but about prestige and political influence. The public, watching with weary cynicism, saw the law transformed into a stage for power struggles rather than a forum for justice. For context on military involvement in civilian affairs, Marcus Mietzner’s Military Politics, Islam, and the State in Indonesia (ISEAS, 2009) remains a crucial reference.

The Febrie case symbolises how institutional rivalry has reached a new level. Where once conflicts were confined to tug‑of‑war between the KPK and the Police, the Prosecutor’s Office now appears to enlist the military to demonstrate its untouchability. The Police, meanwhile, continue to assert their authority as the primary law enforcement body. This confrontation is not merely about a corruption case, but about legitimacy itself, with the potential to destabilise political equilibrium. Daniel S. Lev’s classic Legal Evolution and Political Authority in Indonesia (Cornell University Press, 1972) offers enduring insights into how such contests for legitimacy shape the trajectory of Indonesian law and politics.

The consequences are stark: public trust erodes further. Citizens increasingly perceive legal institutions not as guardians of justice, but as gladiators defending their own turf. The rivalry provokes a sobering question: is the law still a credible instrument of justice, or has it become a political weapon wielded in battles between institutions?

The Rivalry Between the Prosecutor's Office and the Police in the Case of Roy Suryo and Dr. Tifa

In the case of Roy Suryo and dr. Tifa, the dynamics reveal a subtle friction between the Police and the Prosecutor’s Office. After a lengthy investigation involving dozens of witnesses and experts, the Police insisted on detaining both figures, presenting this as proof of the seriousness of the charges and as a demonstration of their authority. This stance reflected a repressive approach, where detention was seen as a symbol of firmness.

Yet once the case files were declared complete and transferred to the Prosecutor’s Office, a different decision emerged. The Prosecutor’s Office chose not to detain Roy Suryo and dr. Tifa, arguing that detention is not mandatory if the defendants are cooperative, unlikely to flee, and not in a position to destroy evidence. This decision underscored the Prosecutor’s independence as the public prosecutor, highlighting a legal and humanitarian consideration distinct from the Police’s approach.

Although not as dramatic as the classic Cicak vs Buaya conflict, this divergence nonetheless illustrates a tug‑of‑war over authority. The Police sought to assert their power as investigators, while the Prosecutor’s Office emphasised its role in controlling the prosecution process. Because the case touched upon allegations directed at the President, the public readily interpreted the difference in stance as political manoeuvring rather than mere legal procedure.

Thus, the Roy Suryo and dr. Tifa case adds a new layer to the narrative of institutional rivalry in Indonesia. It shows that friction between the Police and the Prosecutor’s Office persists, albeit in a more subtle form, and continues to risk eroding public confidence in the consistency of the justice system.

Analysis and Implications

The long chain of rivalries between Indonesia’s law enforcement institutions is not merely a catalogue of cases, but a mirror of the fragility of justice itself. From Cicak vs Buaya to Febrie Adriansyah, the recurring pattern is unmistakable: institutions that ought to cooperate instead expend their energy undermining one another. Daniel S. Lev, in Legal Evolution and Political Authority in Indonesia (Cornell University Press, 1972), argued that Indonesian law has often been reduced to an arena for political authority rather than a neutral instrument of justice, a thesis that resonates strongly with these episodes.

The first implication is the erosion of public trust. When citizens witness law enforcement bodies locked in combat, legitimacy collapses. Tom Ginsburg’s Rule by Law: The Politics of Courts in Authoritarian Regimes (Cambridge University Press, 2008) demonstrates that once law is weaponised for political ends, the public ceases to believe in its impartiality, and the state faces a crisis of credibility.

The second implication is the weakening of political stability. Institutional rivalries do not merely tarnish reputations; they destabilise the balance of power. Marcus Mietzner, in Military Politics, Islam, and the State in Indonesia (ISEAS, 2009), shows how military involvement in civilian affairs often exacerbates political conflict. The Febrie case, with the TNI guarding a prosecutor’s residence, illustrates how legal disputes can spill into the domain of defence, magnifying uncertainty.

The third implication is the stagnation of legal reform. When institutions devote their energy to infighting, reform agendas stall. Richard S. Grossman’s Wrong: Nine Economic Policy Disasters and What We Can Learn from Them (Oxford University Press, 2013) underscores that institutions paralysed by internal crises lose the capacity to adapt and reform. The analogy applies neatly: law enforcement bodies consumed by rivalry cannot strengthen themselves.

Thus, these rivalries are not mere political theatre; they are existential threats to justice, stability, and democracy. The pressing question remains: is Indonesian law still a credible instrument of justice, or has it been transformed into a political weapon wielded in battles between institutions?

Public Trust and Democracy

The rivalries between Indonesia’s law enforcement institutions are not merely institutional skirmishes; they strike at the very heart of democratic legitimacy. When the guardians of justice appear more preoccupied with undermining one another than with upholding the law, the public inevitably questions whether democracy itself is being hollowed out. Daniel S. Lev’s Legal Evolution and Political Authority in Indonesia (Cornell University Press, 1972) already warned that the law in Indonesia often functions as a battleground for authority rather than a neutral arbiter.

The erosion of trust is the most immediate consequence. Citizens who witness the Police, the Prosecutor’s Office, and even the military locked in rivalry begin to doubt whether justice can ever be impartial. Tom Ginsburg and Tamir Moustafa, in Rule by Law: The Politics of Courts in Authoritarian Regimes (Cambridge University Press, 2008), argue that when courts and legal institutions are politicised, they cease to serve as instruments of justice and instead become tools of power. This dynamic resonates strongly in Indonesia’s current context.

The second consequence is the weakening of democratic consolidation. Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe Schmitter’s Transitions from Authoritarian Rule (Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986) emphasises that fragile democracies require strong, credible institutions to survive. Rivalries such as those surrounding Febrie Adriansyah undermine this credibility, leaving democracy vulnerable to backsliding.

Finally, these conflicts risk normalising the militarisation of civilian governance. Marcus Mietzner’s Military Politics, Islam, and the State in Indonesia (ISEAS, 2009) shows how military involvement in civilian affairs can distort democratic processes. The TNI’s role in guarding a prosecutor’s residence is emblematic of this distortion, signalling that the boundaries between defence and justice are dangerously blurred.

In sum, the rivalries of Indonesia’s law enforcement institutions are not isolated dramas but systemic threats. They erode trust, destabilise democratic consolidation, and invite military encroachment into civilian life. The pressing question is whether Indonesia can rebuild the credibility of its institutions before democracy itself becomes little more than a façade.

Conclusion

The allegory of Civil War has proven a powerful lens through which to view Indonesia’s legal and political landscape. Just as Captain America and Iron Man clashed over liberty versus regulation, so too have Indonesia’s institutions collided over authority, legitimacy, and control. From the iconic Cicak vs Buaya saga to the more recent confrontations involving Febrie Adriansyah, and even the subtle friction in the case of Roy Suryo and dr. Tifa, the narrative remains consistent: institutions entrusted with justice often expend their energy battling one another rather than serving the public.

The implications are profound. Rivalries erode public trust, weaken democratic consolidation, and invite distortions such as military encroachment into civilian affairs. Instead of strengthening the rule of law, these conflicts transform justice into a political weapon, wielded in contests of prestige and influence. The public, weary of gladiatorial displays, is left to wonder whether the law can still be trusted as an impartial guardian of fairness.

Ultimately, the Indonesian “Civil War without costumes” is not a spectacle of superheroes, but a sobering reminder that democracy depends upon credible institutions. Unless these rivalries are resolved and cooperation restored, the promise of justice risks becoming little more than a façade. The challenge ahead is clear: to rebuild trust, reaffirm the independence of legal institutions, and ensure that the law serves not as a battlefield of power, but as a sanctuary of justice.

Bibliography

Books and Academic Literature

• Lev, Daniel S. Legal Evolution and Political Authority in Indonesia. Cornell University Press, 1972.

• Ginsburg, Tom & Moustafa, Tamir. Rule by Law: The Politics of Courts in Authoritarian Regimes. Cambridge University Press, 2008.

• O’Donnell, Guillermo & Schmitter, Philippe. Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies. Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986.

• Mietzner, Marcus. Military Politics, Islam, and the State in Indonesia. ISEAS–Yusof Ishak Institute, 2009.

• Grossman, Richard S. Wrong: Nine Economic Policy Disasters and What We Can Learn from Them. Oxford University Press, 2013.

• Haryadi, Rohmat. Chandra‑Bibit: Membongkar Perseteruan KPK, Polri, dan Kejaksaan. Hikmah, 2009.

• Masduki, Teten. Korupsi dan Perlawanan Rakyat. Yayasan Obor Indonesia, 2010.

• Harsono, Andreas. Demokrasi dan Polisi: Catatan atas Kasus Novel Baswedan. Yayasan LKiS, 2018.

• Adji, Indriyanto Seno. KPK dan Polri: Dinamika Hubungan Kekuasaan. Gramedia, 2016.

• Lubis, Todung Mulya. Korupsi dan Penegakan Hukum di Indonesia. Kompas, 2021.

Journal Articles

• Jurnal Hukum dan Pembangunan, edisi 2025.

• Azza Vahlevi Attaqi Zamzuri, dkk. “Gaya Komunikasi Presiden dan Krisis Legitimasi: Analisis Sentimen Publik terhadap Pemerintahan Indonesia Periode 2024–2026.” Jurnal Ilmiah Ekonomi dan Manajemen, Vol. 4 No. 7, Juli 2026.

• Ibnu Affan, Gema Ramadhani, Mhd. Rahmani Dayan. “Dinamika Legitimasi Pemerintahan di Tengah Krisis Kepercayaan Publik: Studi Kasus Perkembangan Hukum Tata Negara Pasca-Pemilu 2024.” ARBITER: Jurnal Ilmiah Magister Hukum, Vol. 8 No. 1, 2026.

Media Articles and Research Reports

• Kompas.com. “14 Kasus Korupsi Besar yang Pernah Ditangani Jampidsus Febrie Adriansyah.” 9 Juli 2026.

• Kompas.com. “Jampidsus Febrie Adriansyah Jadi Sorotan, Ini Tugas dan Wewenangnya.” 10 Juli 2026.

• Kompas.com. “Pendidikan Febrie Adriansyah, Jampidsus yang Tangani Kasus Korupsi Besar.” 9 Juli 2026.

• DetikNews. “Berkas Kasus Lengkap, Roy Suryo dan dr Tifa Akan Diserahkan ke Jaksa.” 19 Juni 2026.

• DetikNews. “Penampakan Roy Suryo dan dr Tifa di Polda Metro Usai Ditangkap.” 19 Juni 2026.

• DetikJabar. “Polisi Ungkap Fakta Baru soal Kasus yang Menyeret Roy Suryo–dr Tifa.” 19 Juni 2026.

• Indikator Politik Indonesia. Survei Nasional Persepsi Publik terhadap Kinerja Presiden dan Lembaga Negara. Januari 2026.

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