[Part 7]The Indonesian government has indeed prepared a draft of the Asset Forfeiture Bill, often referred to as RUU Perampasan Aset. This draft was finalised by the Ministry of Law and Human Rights in collaboration with institutions such as the PPATK, and its content has been refined to ensure it aligns with other pieces of legislation, including the newly enacted Criminal Code. The bill was first introduced under President Joko Widodo’s administration and was formally transmitted to the House of Representatives in May 2023. However, despite its political significance and the repeated calls from the executive branch for swift approval, the legislature has yet to begin formal deliberations.The delay is largely due to the legislative agenda of the DPR, which has prioritised other matters, particularly the ongoing revision of the Criminal Procedure Code, projected to be concluded by the end of 2025. Current signals from Parliament suggest that the Asset Forfeiture Bill may only be considered once this revision has been completed. In the meantime, the government has reaffirmed its commitment to the bill, with senior officials, including Coordinating Minister Yusril Ihza Mahendra, making clear that the executive is ready to engage with the legislature at any time. President Prabowo Subianto has also publicly encouraged its inclusion in the 2025–2026 National Legislation Programme, signalling continuity between his administration and that of his predecessor.The draft exists and is waiting on the legislative table, but its political journey remains dependent on parliamentary timing and consensus. The bill represents a serious attempt to strengthen Indonesia’s legal arsenal against corruption and financial crime, yet it also illustrates the complexities of legislative prioritisation in a crowded political calendar.The central innovation of the Asset Forfeiture Bill lies in its embrace of non-conviction-based forfeiture, a legal mechanism that allows the state to seize assets believed to be derived from crime without requiring a prior criminal conviction. In practice, this means that even when suspects evade prosecution—whether by fleeing the jurisdiction, manipulating evidence, or exploiting loopholes in criminal law—their ill-got wealth could still be confiscated through civil proceedings. This approach is not unique to Indonesia; it is part of the United Nations Convention against Corruption (UNCAC), to which Indonesia is a signatory. By aligning its legislation with international standards, the government hopes to close a long-standing gap in its anti-corruption framework.The draft bill also envisions the establishment of a specialised court mechanism to adjudicate asset forfeiture cases, ensuring that decisions are made with due process and judicial oversight. Assets subject to forfeiture would not be limited to those linked to corruption, but also to crimes such as narcotics trafficking, terrorism financing, and money laundering. Importantly, the bill outlines that assets seized would be directed to the state treasury, with the explicit aim of bolstering public finances and demonstrating that crime will not pay.Critics, however, have raised concerns about the potential misuse of such powers, fearing that without clear safeguards, non-conviction-based forfeiture could erode fundamental principles of justice, particularly the presumption of innocence. Supporters counter that the bill includes procedural guarantees, such as the right to challenge forfeiture in court and requirements for the state to demonstrate a reasonable connection between assets and unlawful conduct. Thus, the debate reflects a balancing act: empowering the state to recover stolen wealth while ensuring that individual rights are not trampled in the process.In the United Kingdom, non-conviction-based forfeiture is enshrined in the Proceeds of Crime Act 2002. This law enables authorities to bring civil recovery proceedings in the High Court to confiscate assets suspected of being linked to unlawful conduct, even if no criminal conviction has been secured. For instance, if an individual is known to live far beyond their declared income and credible evidence suggests illicit sources, the National Crime Agency can initiate action to seize assets such as luxury properties or bank accounts. Importantly, the burden of proof in civil proceedings is lower than in criminal trials, requiring a “balance of probabilities” rather than “beyond a reasonable doubt.” This makes it easier for the state to disrupt organised crime and prevent offenders from enjoying their unlawful wealth.In the United States, the mechanism is known as civil asset forfeiture. Federal and state authorities may seize assets believed to be involved in criminal activity without charging the owner with a crime. A notorious example involved large sums of cash transported along highways, where law enforcement officers confiscated money under suspicion of drug trafficking. While the system has been credited with crippling drug cartels and dismantling financial networks, it has also been heavily criticised for abuses, with cases of innocent citizens losing their property due to weak oversight. This has led to calls for reform and stronger safeguards, with some states limiting or abolishing the practice altogether.These international examples provide both inspiration and caution for Indonesia. On the one hand, adopting such measures could dramatically improve the state’s ability to recover stolen assets and deter corruption. On the other hand, without rigorous safeguards, Indonesia risks replicating the controversies seen elsewhere, where asset forfeiture turned into a blunt instrument rather than a precise legal tool. Thus, the Indonesian draft bill must walk a fine line: learning from the effectiveness of foreign models while avoiding their pitfalls.The prospects for implementing non-conviction-based forfeiture in Indonesia are both promising and fraught with challenges. On the promising side, Indonesia’s entrenched problems with corruption and illicit financial flows make such a tool not merely desirable but arguably essential. Traditional criminal prosecutions often falter because suspects flee abroad, bribe investigators, or exploit procedural loopholes, leaving the state unable to recover stolen wealth. A civil-based system of asset forfeiture could therefore act as a vital corrective, empowering the state to strike at the financial core of corruption even when criminal justice proves ineffective. In a political climate where public frustration with corruption remains high, such legislation could also serve as a visible signal of reformist intent.Yet the challenges are equally significant. Indonesia’s legal system has long struggled with consistency, transparency, and public trust. Allowing the state to confiscate assets without conviction could raise fears of selective enforcement, particularly against political opponents or critics of the government. The risk is magnified by the fact that law enforcement agencies themselves are not immune to corruption, raising the possibility that forfeiture powers could be abused for personal or political gain. Without robust checks and balances, Indonesia may replicate the abuses seen in the United States, where civil forfeiture sometimes victimised innocent citizens.Another challenge lies in judicial capacity. Specialised courts for asset forfeiture would require judges with expertise in financial crimes, as well as investigators trained in tracing complex money trails. This demands resources, training, and an independent judiciary willing to resist political interference. Moreover, social acceptance of such a radical shift in legal culture cannot be assumed. Forfeiting property without a criminal conviction may strike many Indonesians as contrary to the deeply ingrained principle of presumption of innocence, unless carefully explained and safeguarded.
In short, Indonesia stands at a crossroads. If crafted with strong safeguards—clear evidentiary standards, judicial oversight, and avenues for appeal—the Asset Forfeiture Bill could become a landmark in the fight against corruption. If poorly designed or politically manipulated, however, it could deepen public cynicism towards the law and reinforce the very injustices it seeks to cure.
Civil society organisations and anti-corruption NGOs in Indonesia have generally welcomed the Asset Forfeiture Bill, but their support is cautious rather than unconditional. Groups such as Indonesia Corruption Watch (ICW), Transparency International Indonesia, and the Anti-Corruption Study Centre at various universities have repeatedly argued that asset recovery is the missing link in the country’s anti-corruption framework. They highlight how billions of rupiah in stolen wealth remain unrecovered even after high-profile convictions, leaving the state and taxpayers to suffer a double loss. For these groups, the bill represents a long-overdue attempt to plug a gaping hole in Indonesia’s legal arsenal.At the same time, these organisations have sounded the alarm about potential misuse. They warn that, without stringent safeguards, the bill could become a political weapon or even a new channel for rent-seeking by corrupt officials. Civil society has therefore demanded clarity on key issues: who has the authority to initiate forfeiture proceedings, what evidentiary standards must be met, and how affected parties can appeal decisions. They also stress the need for independent oversight bodies to monitor enforcement, ensuring that the law targets “big fish” rather than being selectively applied against weaker or politically unconnected actors.
In essence, NGOs view the bill as both a necessary tool and a potential minefield. Their position is not one of rejection but of insistence on accountability, transparency, and strong public participation in the drafting and implementation process. The legitimacy of the bill, they argue, will depend not only on its text but also on how faithfully it is enforced in practice.
The Indonesian House of Representatives (DPR) and political parties hold the Asset Forfeiture Bill in a delicate grip, one that reflects both public expectations and their own political calculations. On paper, many parties express support, aware that standing against an anti-corruption measure would be deeply unpopular with voters. In practice, however, enthusiasm is muted. Legislators frequently cite “technical issues” such as the need to first complete revisions to the Criminal Procedure Code before turning to the bill, thereby delaying its entry onto the legislative agenda. Behind these procedural excuses lies a more uncomfortable truth: the bill threatens entrenched interests, some of which have benefited from weak asset recovery mechanisms in the past.For certain parties, the bill represents a political risk rather than an opportunity. The potential of non-conviction-based forfeiture to target unexplained wealth could place not only corrupt officials but also political financiers under scrutiny. Given Indonesia’s campaign financing environment—where opaque money flows often decide electoral outcomes—such provisions are viewed with unease. Thus, while no party dares openly oppose the bill, many appear to prefer slow-walking its progress, waiting for either political cover or a compromise that reduces its sharpest edges.There is also the matter of power dynamics within the DPR itself. Some lawmakers have floated the idea of limiting the scope of the bill to “serious crimes” only, while others seek to dilute the independence of any special court envisioned in the draft. These manoeuvres suggest that parties are not merely debating legal details but attempting to shape the bill in a way that shields themselves from its potential bite. The result is a legislative dance: appearing committed to reform while ensuring that reform does not cut too deeply into political networks of wealth and patronage.The media and public opinion have emerged as crucial forces shaping the trajectory of the Asset Forfeiture Bill. Indonesian news outlets, both mainstream and independent, consistently highlight stories of vast corruption scandals in which billions of rupiah vanish into offshore accounts or luxury assets, only for the state to recover a fraction, if anything at all. In this narrative, the bill is framed as a long-awaited solution to a recurring national tragedy: the inability to reclaim wealth stolen from citizens. Public discourse on social media amplifies this framing, with ordinary Indonesians voicing exasperation at the apparent impunity of “big fish” who live lavishly despite ongoing investigations or prosecutions.This growing sense of frustration has turned the bill into a litmus test of political sincerity. When legislators delay discussion, the press is quick to accuse them of protecting corrupt networks, and commentators warn that further stalling will deepen cynicism towards the political class. For many Indonesians, the bill is not just a technical piece of legislation but a symbol of whether their leaders are genuinely willing to act against corruption. As such, media coverage is less about the fine print of non-conviction-based forfeiture and more about the morality of standing either with the people or with the corrupt elite.The risk for Parliament is that prolonged hesitation may backfire politically. In an era where scandals trend online within hours and public outrage can mobilise rapidly, DPR leaders are under pressure to show progress, lest they appear complicit in protecting stolen wealth. Thus, while the political class manoeuvres behind the scenes, the court of public opinion continues to remind them that the electorate is watching closely—and impatiently.In conclusion, the Draft Law on Asset Confiscation reflects both the determination of the Indonesian state to combat corruption and the challenges it faces in balancing justice, politics, and public trust. Its journey has been long and complex, marked by bureaucratic hesitations and political delays, yet it also demonstrates a growing awareness that extraordinary crimes demand extraordinary measures. Whether this bill will eventually become a transformative instrument for integrity, or simply another unfulfilled promise, depends not only on legal drafting but also on the sincerity of leaders and the vigilance of citizens.
Back to our topic.
Several prominent figures within the Socialist tradition align with the view that socialism ought to advance through democratic means, transparency, and gradual reform—rather than through the revolutionary fervour characteristic of communism.One of the most prominent was Eduard Bernstein (1850–1932), who is often remembered as the father of “revisionist socialism.” In his Evolutionary Socialism (1899, Dietz Verlag), Bernstein argued explicitly that socialism must be achieved through democratic institutions, parliamentary reforms, and transparency in governance. He rejected the idea of sudden revolution, believing instead in gradual progress that would secure equality without sacrificing freedom. In this, he strongly anticipated and echoed Kautsky’s later arguments. Evolutionary Socialism: A Criticism and Affirmation by Eduard Bernstein (Schocken Books, 1963) is essential in understanding the shift toward ethical, democratic socialism and played a transformative role in 20th-century political thought. The book unfolds in three major parts, and each of them reflects Bernstein’s effort to rethink socialism at the turn of the twentieth century, when capitalism seemed far more adaptable than Marx had imagined.The first part of the book begins with a frontal critique of orthodox Marxism. Bernstein refuses to accept the claim that capitalism is doomed to collapse under the weight of its contradictions. Instead, he observes that capitalism has adapted and survived through new forms of credit, banking, and industrial organisation. This reappraisal is crucial, for it challenges the fatalistic element within Marx’s theory of historical inevitability.In Eduard Bernstein’s Evolutionary Socialism, the term that is most commonly used is materialism, rather than materialist, because he is referring to a broad philosophical orientation rather than simply to the identity of those who subscribe to it. The debate over materialism was central to late nineteenth-century socialist thought, largely because Marxist orthodoxy was built upon what is often called historical materialism. This doctrine maintained that the driving force of history lay in the material conditions of production, class relations, and the economic base of society, rather than in ideas, morals, or individual willpower. For Marx’s followers, to deny or soften this doctrine was seen as diluting the very essence of Marxism.Bernstein, however, raised the uncomfortable question of whether materialism in its strict form was truly adequate to explain the complexities of modern social life. The late nineteenth century was a time when the industrial working class was not simply becoming more impoverished, as orthodox theory predicted, but was also achieving certain gains through trade unions, cooperative societies, and parliamentary reforms. These developments suggested to Bernstein that rigid economic determinism did not capture the whole truth. For him, socialism needed to admit that moral aspirations, democratic practices, and cultural changes could play as vital a role as sheer economic forces.Thus, materialism became a recurring battleground for socialists of that era, not only because it was theoretically central, but also because it had profound political implications. To insist on strict materialism often meant insisting on revolution as the sole path to socialism. To question it, as Bernstein did, was to open the door for gradual reform, parliamentary democracy, and a more pluralist understanding of social change. In that sense, materialism was not merely an abstract philosophical debate but a coded argument about how socialism should actually be pursued in practice.Eduard Bernstein’s doubts about strict materialism placed him at odds with Karl Kautsky, who was considered the principal guardian of Marxist orthodoxy in the Second International. For Kautsky, materialism—specifically historical materialism—was non-negotiable because it preserved the intellectual coherence and revolutionary thrust of Marxism. He argued that social development followed objective economic laws, and that capitalism would inevitably collapse under its own contradictions, making socialist revolution both necessary and inevitable. In his view, to weaken materialism was to risk reducing socialism into a mere ethical ideal, divorced from its scientific grounding.Bernstein, by contrast, maintained that this so-called scientific certainty had become an illusion. Observing the resilience of capitalism, the gradual improvement of workers’ conditions, and the growth of democratic institutions, he argued that socialism could not simply be explained or justified by deterministic materialist laws. Instead, socialism needed to be defended as a moral and political project, guided by ethical principles and democratic practices. For him, materialism in the strict Marxist sense risked turning socialism into a rigid dogma rather than a living, adaptable movement.The debate between Bernstein and Kautsky thus encapsulated a deeper tension within socialism: whether it should remain loyal to the revolutionary determinism of Marx or evolve into a reformist, democratic path. Kautsky feared that Bernstein’s position would turn socialism into little more than bourgeois liberalism with a human face. Bernstein, on the other hand, believed that without adapting, socialism would condemn itself to irrelevance in a changing society. The clash over materialism, then, was not a purely philosophical dispute but a struggle over the very identity and future of the socialist movement.In the second chapter of his book, Eduard Bernstein turns his attention to the question of the distribution of wealth in modern society, challenging the deterministic view that capitalism would inevitably lead to the absolute concentration of property into fewer and fewer hands. He argues instead that, while wealth is certainly unequally shared, the structure of ownership has shown greater flexibility than Marx and his followers had anticipated. The growth of the middle class, the spread of cooperative enterprises, credit institutions, and shareholder companies, in his view, demonstrates that capitalism produces not only polarisation but also new layers of participation in economic life. Bernstein maintains that the process of wealth distribution under capitalism has been far more complex, creating gradations rather than a simple division between the very rich and the propertyless poor. By highlighting this, he insists that the socialist movement must reckon with reality as it is, rather than cling to dogmas of inevitable impoverishment and collapse. For him, the modern community is marked by both concentration and diffusion of wealth, which together shape the terrain upon which socialism must advance.In his discussion of “Crises and Possibilities of Adjustment in Modern Economy," Bernstein challenges the orthodox Marxist belief that capitalist crises must necessarily grow deeper and more destructive until the system collapses. He observes that while crises are indeed inherent to capitalism, they are not absolute death blows but rather recurring disturbances that can, and often do, give rise to mechanisms of adjustment. He points to the development of modern credit systems, improvements in communication, the diversification of industries, and the increasing intervention of the state as forces that soften the severity of economic downturns. For Bernstein, capitalism shows a remarkable capacity for adaptation, turning each crisis into an opportunity to reform its structures and correct imbalances. This resilience, in his view, undermines the notion of an automatic revolutionary breakdown. Instead, it suggests that socialism must be pursued through conscious political action and gradual reform rather than waiting for capitalism to collapse under the weight of its own contradictions.In his reflections on The Tasks and Possibilities of Social Democracy, Bernstein outlines a vision of socialism that departs from revolutionary inevitability and instead embraces reformist responsibility. He argues that the central task of social democracy is not to await a mythical collapse of capitalism but to work actively within existing institutions to secure progressive change. For Bernstein, parliaments, trade unions, cooperatives, and municipal governments are not bourgeois distractions but genuine platforms where the working class can extend its influence and achieve meaningful reforms. He stresses that these reforms—improved labour rights, social legislation, education, and welfare—are not minor concessions but the very building blocks of socialism in practice. Social democracy, in his view, must demonstrate both realism and moral purpose: realism in recognising the adaptive strength of capitalism, and moral purpose in striving for justice and equality through democratic means. By redefining the socialist project in this way, Bernstein transforms it from a distant utopia into a practical programme, rooted in everyday struggles and the steady enlargement of democratic life.
In his treatment of The Political and Economic Preliminary Conditions of Socialism, Bernstein makes clear that socialism cannot be conjured out of abstract theory or revolutionary slogans, but must grow out of concrete historical developments. He insists that the political maturity of the working class, the expansion of democratic institutions, and the development of a complex modern economy are all necessary foundations for any socialist transformation. For Bernstein, socialism is inseparable from democracy: it requires political freedoms, representative institutions, and the rule of law in order to thrive. On the economic side, he stresses that industrial progress, technological innovation, and the growth of collective forms of ownership—whether through cooperatives, trade unions, or shareholder enterprises—create the soil in which socialism can take root. Far from being a sudden leap, socialism is for Bernstein the natural outgrowth of tendencies already visible within capitalist society. His vision thus anchors socialism not in prophecy but in the ongoing evolution of political and economic life, where each reform lays the groundwork for deeper social transformation.
In his reflections on Economic Capacities of Co-operative Associations, Eduard Bernstein sees cooperatives as one of the most promising demonstrations of socialism within the shell of capitalism. He argues that cooperative associations, whether in production, distribution, or credit, prove that collective ownership and democratic management can function successfully in modern economic life. For Bernstein, cooperatives embody the principle that workers and consumers are capable of organising and managing enterprises without the dominance of private capitalists. At the same time, he avoids romanticising them: he recognises that cooperatives face limitations in scale, competition, and access to capital. Yet these very difficulties highlight the importance of broader social and political reforms to support cooperative development. Bernstein insists that cooperatives should not be seen as isolated experiments but as part of the gradual transformation of the economy towards more social ownership and democratic control. They are living laboratories of socialism, offering both practical benefits to members and a vision of how production can be organised beyond the capitalist profit motive.
In his reflections on Democracy and Socialism, Bernstein makes perhaps his most decisive break with orthodox Marxism. He insists that socialism is not only compatible with democracy but wholly dependent on it. For Bernstein, democracy is both the means and the goal: without political freedoms, representative institutions, and the rule of law, the socialist project would lose its ethical foundation and risk degenerating into tyranny. He rejects the idea of a dictatorship of the proletariat, warning that it would merely replace one form of domination with another. Instead, he argues that democracy itself is the field in which socialism grows, as it enables workers to organise, form unions, participate in parliaments, and gradually shape legislation. Socialism, in his eyes, is the ethical completion of democracy, extending the principle of equality from the political sphere into the economic one. Thus, Bernstein transforms socialism from an apocalyptic rupture into a democratic evolution, built on the active participation and moral maturity of the people.
In his reflections on The Most Pressing Problem of Social Democracy, Bernstein argues that the central challenge facing the socialist movement is not to prophesy about a distant utopia or a dramatic revolutionary collapse, but to determine how the party and the working class can achieve concrete, lasting improvements in everyday life. For him, the most urgent task is to reconcile socialist ideals with the realities of democratic politics, ensuring that the movement does not lose itself either in sterile doctrinal purity or in opportunistic compromise. He emphasises the need to strengthen organisation, deepen political education among the working class, and secure reforms that expand both economic justice and democratic freedoms. Bernstein sees the problem as one of direction: whether social democracy will embrace its role as a reformist force, building socialism step by step within democratic institutions, or remain trapped in the hope of a miraculous breakdown of capitalism. To him, the answer is clear—social democracy’s true strength lies in practical work, ethical conviction, and the steady advance of democracy.
In his famous reflections on The Final Goal and the Movement, Eduard Bernstein delivers the line that would forever be associated with his name: “The movement is everything, the final goal is nothing.” With this phrase, he does not mean to abandon the vision of socialism, but rather to insist that the value of socialism lies not in some distant, utopian endpoint, but in the continuous struggle for progress, reform, and justice. Bernstein argues that the fixation on an abstract “final goal” paralyses practical action, whereas the focus on the movement—its institutions, reforms, and daily struggles—keeps socialism alive and relevant. For him, socialism is not a single dramatic leap but a historical process, made real through democratic participation and ethical commitment. The final goal, in his view, is not a fixed point but the spirit that guides the movement’s actions, while the movement itself is the living embodiment of socialism. By stressing this, Bernstein transforms socialist politics into a permanent journey of reform and moral advance, rather than a prophecy of sudden revolution.
Diverging opinions are meant to be addressed through counterarguments, not by resorting to police reports, as seen in the so-called “Termul” crowd. Rosa Luxemburg, for instance, responded to her disagreement with Bernstein not by denunciation, but by writing an entire book.Rosa Luxemburg entered the debate with her famous polemic Reform or Revolution (first published in 1899), which directly targeted Bernstein’s arguments in Evolutionary Socialism. Unlike Kautsky, who defended orthodoxy in a more restrained manner, Luxemburg attacked Bernstein with fiery passion and uncompromising clarity. For her, Bernstein’s rejection of strict materialism and revolutionary inevitability amounted to the betrayal of socialism’s core.Luxemburg argued that while reforms within capitalism were possible and even desirable, they could never substitute for the revolutionary transformation of the system itself. To her, Bernstein’s position was dangerously naive: he mistook temporary improvements under capitalism for evidence that the system was evolving toward socialism. She insisted that capitalism’s crises, exploitation, and contradictions were intrinsic, and that only revolution could truly abolish them. Without the perspective of revolution, she warned, socialism would dissolve into a mild form of liberal reformism, stripped of its transformative power.Thus, Luxembourg’s confrontation with Bernstein was not just theoretical but strategic. She defended materialism as the scientific basis of socialism, but she also framed revolution as a matter of political will and mass action. Bernstein’s gradualism, in her eyes, risked disarming the working class and reconciling them to a system that would ultimately never serve their interests. Her polemic became one of the defining texts of the Marxist debate at the turn of the twentieth century, and it ensured that Bernstein’s revisionism remained a topic of controversy for decades to come.
[Part 5]
