Conflict of Interest (1)

In Indonesia, the 2025 revision of the Criminal Procedure Code (KUHAP) has attracted widespread criticism from human rights organisations, legal experts, and civil society groups. A central concern involves the expansion of police powers in arrest, detention, and investigation, often without sufficient judicial oversight. Certain provisions allow arrests without prior approval from a judge, creating opportunities for arbitrary detention and potential abuse of authority. Specifically, Article 90 permits detention for potentially “unlimited” periods under certain conditions, which civil society groups argue could lead to human rights violations. Extended detention without proper judicial scrutiny risks undermining the courts’ capacity to intervene in cases of procedural violations.

The new KUHAP also broadens investigative powers and authorises the use of covert techniques such as undercover purchases and controlled deliveries for all categories of crime. While intended to enhance law enforcement, these techniques could be misused to create entrapment scenarios, effectively “manufacturing” criminality. Civil society critics stress the necessity of strong oversight to prevent such manipulation. Investigators, including civil service investigators (PPNS), have been reinforced within the new KUHAP structure but remain under police coordination, raising concerns over the emergence of a “super-powered police” without adequate external control.

Access to legal aid under the revised KUHAP has also been called into question. Although regulations exist, there are provisions allowing the refusal or withdrawal of legal assistance under certain circumstances. The law does not establish clear consequences if defendants’ rights to legal representation are not fulfilled, potentially leaving individuals to face the judicial process unrepresented. Certain clauses even exclude some defendants from full legal aid, for example if they decline a lawyer or in cases involving specific penalties, raising concerns about violations of fairness and justice principles.

Judicial oversight through pre-trial review is considered weak. Pre-trial mechanisms can only be initiated after procedural violations occur rather than preventively, and examinations are primarily formal rather than substantive. Short deadlines for pre-trial hearings—seven days in the draft—and the possibility that pre-trial review becomes void once the main trial has commenced further reduce judicial scrutiny. Additionally, the burden of proof in pre-trial review often rests on the defendant rather than the authorities accused of illegal coercive measures.

Victims’ rights and avenues to report procedural violations remain limited. The revised KUHAP does not provide adequate mechanisms for victims to hold authorities accountable for arbitrary arrests, torture, or infringements of defendants’ rights. There is no dedicated, effective complaint forum beyond the narrow scope of pre-trial review.

Transparency and public participation in the legislative process have also been criticised. Civil society coalitions, including Amnesty International, note that the KUHAP bill was deliberated hastily with insufficient transparency. Public access to drafts, academic analyses, and updated revisions was limited, and meaningful participation was rarely achieved, with civil society feedback often ignored or left unanswered.

Potential violations of international human rights standards are a major concern. Komnas HAM has highlighted risks such as unlimited detention, coercive measures, restrictions on defendants’ rights, and unclear standards of evidence. Human Rights Monitor warned that the revision could undermine the presumption of innocence, particularly by criminalising individuals considered “uncooperative” in investigations. Court oversight over law enforcement is deemed insufficient, weakening the system of checks and balances that underpins human rights protection in criminal proceedings.

Finally, concerns regarding implementation and system readiness were raised. LBH Surabaya emphasised that immediate enforcement of the revised KUHAP without a transition period could cause disruption, as the legal infrastructure—including implementing regulations—is not fully prepared. The absence of completed governmental regulations increases the risk of inconsistent or abusive practices if the law is applied hastily.

In response to these issues, civil society coalitions have drafted an alternative KUHAP version, known as a “counter-draft,” which emphasises due process, checks on authorities, and the protection of citizens’ rights. Academic studies also highlight potential conflicts of authority between prosecutors and the police under the revised KUHAP, as the new distribution of powers could create overlaps or ambiguities prone to misuse.

In summary, the 2025 KUHAP revision is widely criticised for expanding police powers while weakening judicial oversight, limiting access to legal aid, and leaving victims and defendants vulnerable. The legislative process has been considered rushed with minimal meaningful public participation, and the potential long-term effects on the criminal justice system are substantial if the revision is implemented without reform.

When viewed from the perspective of conflicts of interest, the 2025 revision of the Criminal Procedure Code (KUHAP) raises several significant concerns. This analysis focuses on how law enforcement powers, the distribution of authority, and legal procedures could create opportunities for personal, political, or institutional interests to clash with the principles of justice.

Firstly, the expanded powers of the police present a clear potential for conflicts of interest. The revised KUHAP grants law enforcement greater authority to detain, investigate, and employ covert investigative techniques without stringent judicial oversight. In practice, this could allow a conflict to arise between an officer’s duty to the state and their personal interests. For example, investigators might delay proceedings or target certain individuals due to political pressure, personal gain, or interference from influential parties. Provisions concerning arbitrary detention and temporary freezing of assets give officers broad discretion, which could lead to conflicts between public interests, namely justice, and institutional or individual interests.

Secondly, the relationship between the police and the public prosecutor under the new KUHAP may generate institutional conflicts of interest. The code emphasises coordination between police and prosecutors during investigations and prosecutions. Conflicts arise when institutional interests are prioritised over fair legal processes. For instance, prosecutors may pressure the police to prioritise cases that serve political or economic agendas. Such dynamics risk undermining the independence of law enforcement and blurring the line between public duties and political or corporate interests.

Thirdly, restrictions on access to legal aid can create conflicts between law enforcement and defendants. The revised KUHAP limits the rights of certain suspects to receive optimal legal assistance. Conflicts of interest emerge when authorities exploit the vulnerability of defendants—such as those who are poor or legally uninformed—to expedite investigations, secure confessions, or suppress evidence detrimental to the authorities or influential parties. This creates a tension between the duty to uphold justice impartially and the institutional interest in resolving cases quickly.

Fourthly, weak pre-trial mechanisms contribute to conflicts between the judiciary and law enforcement. Limited pre-trial review allows investigators greater control before judicial intervention occurs. Conflicts arise when officers can act according to personal or group interests without immediate legal consequences. Political or economic cases, for example, may be manipulated to confer strategic advantages to particular officers or stakeholders before the court has oversight.

Fifthly, there is potential for political conflicts. The revised KUHAP grants law enforcement broad authority, while oversight from the legislature, government, and independent bodies such as Komnas HAM remains limited. This opens space for conflicts between political interests and justice, for instance in cases involving demonstrations, the criminalisation of activists, or investigations targeting political opponents. Critics from Amnesty International, ICJR, and other NGOs emphasise the risk that KUHAP could be leveraged for political power rather than impartial law enforcement.

Sixthly, conflicts of interest may arise in the determination of evidence and the use of investigative techniques. The revised code allows extensive discretion in applying covert methods such as undercover buys, controlled deliveries, and the collection of electronic evidence. Conflicts can occur if officers interpret evidence subjectively to serve particular interests, such as concealing internal mistakes, meeting case-handling targets, or benefiting certain parties.

In conclusion, the design of the 2025 KUHAP revision inherently expands the potential for conflicts of interest. These conflicts may occur at the level of individual officers, legal institutions, and political authorities, especially when legal discretion is used for personal, group, or political gain. The main criticism is that the new KUHAP requires stronger oversight, transparency, and checks and balances to prevent conflicts of interest from undermining legal processes and citizens’ rights.

A conflict of interest arises when an individual entrusted with public, professional, or organisational responsibilities possesses personal interests—whether financial, relational, or preferential—that may distort, bias, or compromise the impartial judgment required to serve the broader public good. It does not require actual misconduct to be ethically problematic; the mere presence of competing interests is already considered a structural risk that can undermine trust, transparency, and the integrity of decision-making. Contemporary ethics, therefore, treats the identification, disclosure, and management of such conflicts as essential safeguards for any institution that relies on accountability and public confidence.

Conflict of interest can be analysed from multiple dimensions, each offering a unique lens to understand its causes, consequences, and remedies. From an ideological perspective, conflicts of interest challenge the principles of fairness, impartiality, and the public good. Ideologies that emphasise equality, transparency, or social justice see conflicts of interest as morally and politically unacceptable, because they allow private gain to undermine collective welfare. Conversely, more individualistic or market-oriented ideologies might treat them as natural tensions that require regulation rather than elimination.

From a philosophical perspective, conflicts of interest raise questions about ethics, virtue, and moral responsibility. Philosophers examine how personal desires, self-interest, and loyalty to specific groups can compromise rational judgment or moral action. They also explore dilemmas of duty, such as when an individual must balance obligations to oneself, one’s organisation, and the broader society.

From a political perspective, conflicts of interest are seen as threats to governance, legitimacy, and trust. Politicians, bureaucrats, or policymakers with conflicting loyalties may make decisions that favour narrow interests, eroding public confidence in institutions. Political systems attempt to mitigate these risks through laws, codes of conduct, disclosure rules, and enforcement mechanisms.

From an economic perspective, conflicts of interest create inefficiencies and distortions. They can lead to misallocation of resources, corruption, or rent-seeking behaviour, where actors prioritise personal or corporate gain over socially optimal outcomes. Economists analyse incentives, risk, and monitoring systems to understand and reduce these costs.

From a social perspective, conflicts of interest affect relationships, networks, and trust within communities or organisations. When individuals suspect that others are acting for personal gain, cooperation breaks down, social capital erodes, and collective action becomes more difficult.

Finally, from a cultural perspective, the perception and tolerance of conflicts of interest vary across societies. Norms, values, and historical experiences influence how seriously people take such conflicts, how openly they are discussed, and how willing actors are to self-regulate or submit to oversight. Some cultures emphasise loyalty to family or group over abstract rules, which can create institutionalised or accepted conflicts of interest.

In sum, conflict of interest is not only a legal or administrative problem; it is deeply embedded in ideology, ethics, politics, economics, social structures, and culture. Understanding it fully requires integrating all these dimensions to see how human behaviour, institutional design, and societal norms interact.

In Governance: A Very Short Introduction (2014, Oxford University Press), Mark Bevir presents governance not merely as the act of ruling or administering, but as a complex web of interactions among multiple actors, institutions, and networks, each with overlapping responsibilities and sometimes competing interests. This perspective is particularly useful when analysing conflict of interest because it shifts the focus from the formal rules or laws to the relationships and incentives that influence decision-making.

Bevir emphasises that modern governance is increasingly networked, decentralised, and mediated through both public and private actors. In such an environment, a conflict of interest is less likely to emerge from a simple breach of law and more likely to arise from the natural tension between personal or organisational objectives and public responsibilities. For instance, a public official involved in policy-making might have connections to private firms affected by the policy, or a board member of a state-owned enterprise may have financial ties to a company that is a partner or competitor.

Through Bevir’s lens, conflicts of interest are not just ethical lapses but structural features of networked governance. They become visible and problematic when transparency, accountability, and oversight are weak. Governance, in his conception, requires mechanisms to align the incentives of individual actors with the public good, including disclosure, recusal, independent auditing, and multi-stakeholder monitoring. Without these mechanisms, even well-intentioned actors can inadvertently allow private interests to sway public decisions, producing risks to trust, legitimacy, and fairness.

Starting from Bevir’s framework, conflict of interest is best understood as a dynamic interaction between the actors, their incentives, and the governance networks they operate in, rather than merely as a violation of a formal rule or law.

Governance, as explained by Mark Bevir, refers to the increasingly complex and interconnected ways in which societies are governed beyond the traditional authority of the state. He argues that governance is no longer confined to government institutions alone, but instead emerges from networks, partnerships, and interactions between public bodies, private companies, civil society groups, and international actors. In his view, governance reflects a shift from hierarchical command structures towards more decentralised and negotiated forms of rule in which multiple actors participate in shaping policies, delivering services, and influencing collective decisions. Bevir also emphasises that governance cannot be understood simply as a technical method of administering society; rather, it is rooted in the beliefs, traditions, and narratives that different actors use to justify their authority and actions. Thus, governance becomes a dynamic field defined not only by institutional arrangements but also by competing ideas, contested meanings, and the ongoing reinterpretation of political practices in a changing world.

Mark Bevir explains that organisational governance refers to the internal processes, norms, and forms of oversight that structure how an organisation—whether public, private, or non-profit—directs and controls its activities. For him, organisational governance highlights the micro-level logics of accountability and decision-making within institutions, showing how beliefs and traditions shape the behaviour of actors who operate inside a particular organisational setting.

Corporate governance, in contrast, focuses on the mechanisms through which private companies are directed, monitored, and held accountable, especially in relation to shareholders, boards, and regulatory frameworks. Bevir treats corporate governance as an example of how market rationalities and neoliberal ideas have influenced governance, stressing that it embodies the shift toward efficiency, transparency, and managerial control in the corporate sector.

Public governance, meanwhile, concerns the ways in which the state and public-sector bodies deliver services, implement policies, and interact with citizens. Bevir argues that public governance illustrates the decline of hierarchical bureaucracies and the rise of networks, contracting-out, and partnerships that blur the boundary between the state and society. It is the domain where the transformation of the modern state becomes most visible.

Global governance refers to the structures, norms, and institutions that guide collective decision-making on a global scale in the absence of a world government. Bevir emphasises that global governance emerges from international organisations, multinational corporations, transnational civil society movements, and informal networks. It captures how globalisation redistributes authority away from nation-states and towards multi-level, polycentric arrangements.

Good governance, finally, is a normative concept that prescribes how governance ought to work. Bevir notes that this term is often used by international agencies, development institutions, and reform-oriented governments to promote ideals such as transparency, accountability, participation, and rule of law. However, he is careful to point out that “good governance” reflects particular narratives—often neoliberal or managerial—instead of neutral standards, and therefore embodies contested ideas about what counts as good or legitimate rule.

Bevir distinguishes these terms not by treating them as separate theoretical systems, but by showing that they are different applications of the broader shift from hierarchical government to decentralised governance. Each term foregrounds one arena in which governance operates—organisations, corporations, states, the global sphere, or normative reform agendas—while all of them share the same underlying themes of networks, narratives, and dispersed authority.

Corporate governance in the Indonesian context reveals the influence of oligarchic interests on both the economy and politics. Many large corporations are controlled by conglomerates whose economic power allows them to negotiate directly with policymakers, shaping regulations and state contracts to their advantage. Bevir’s approach highlights that corporate governance is not merely about shareholder accountability, but about the narratives and institutional cultures through which companies exercise influence. In Indonesia, these networks of corporate power often intersect with political networks, creating conflicts of interest where regulatory agencies may prioritise corporate or elite agendas over public welfare.

Organisational governance can be applied to understand how bureaucracies, ministries, and public institutions manage internal processes and decision-making. In the Indonesian bureaucracy, informal networks, patronage, and hierarchical traditions often dictate organisational behaviour more than formal rules. Bevir would interpret these patterns as evidence that governance is deeply shaped by narratives and institutional norms: procedural reforms may exist on paper, but actual practices are mediated by culture, loyalties, and discretionary behaviour of officials. Conflicts of interest arise when organisational priorities clash with public duties, allowing elites to advance personal or political agendas under the guise of routine administration.

Public governance provides a lens to examine state-society relations and the delivery of public services. In Indonesia, decentralisation and networked governance have increased the influence of local elites, political brokers, and informal power holders over public policy. Bevir’s framework underscores that public governance is not neutral; it is a site of negotiation, contestation, and interpretation. Policies—such as infrastructure projects, budget allocations, or law enforcement priorities—are shaped not only by legal mandates but by the interplay of competing interests, making conflicts of interest and unequal power distribution central to understanding policy outcomes.

Global governance offers insights into Indonesia’s interactions with international institutions, trade networks, and transnational civil society movements. Bevir emphasises that authority is increasingly polycentric, and decisions are influenced by global norms, foreign investment pressures, and multilateral agreements. In Indonesia, this dimension can explain why certain economic or legal reforms align with international expectations while local concerns, such as inequality or indigenous rights, are marginalised. Conflicts emerge when the state balances obligations to global actors against domestic accountability, revealing tensions between sovereignty, neoliberal policy frameworks, and local social demands.

Finally, good governance provides a normative framework to evaluate whether Indonesia’s governance structures meet principles of accountability, transparency, participation, and rule of law. Bevir reminds us that “good governance” is a contested narrative: it is often promoted by international agencies and reformist elites as a model, but in practice, it may mask selective enforcement, institutional capture, or technocratic reforms that do not address structural inequities. Applying this lens, one can critically assess whether anti-corruption efforts, regulatory reforms, or procedural amendments genuinely improve fairness or merely reinforce existing networks of power.

Taken together, Bevir’s typology of governance allows a multi-layered reading of Indonesian problems. Corporate and organisational governance show how internal and economic networks enable elite dominance, public governance exposes negotiation and discretion in policy implementation, global governance situates local issues in an international context, and good governance offers a normative standard against which to measure whether reforms genuinely reduce conflicts of interest and the influence of informal power networks. By combining these perspectives, one can trace how oligarchy, patronage, and institutional culture intersect to shape policy, law enforcement, and public service outcomes in Indonesia.

Governance is closely tied to the problem of conflict of interest because it distributes authority across multiple actors whose goals, motivations, and institutional loyalties often diverge. Mark Bevir argues that when governance shifts from a centralised state to a network of public, private, and civil society actors, the potential for conflicting interests becomes more visible, as each actor brings its own narratives and rationalities into the policy process. In this sense, governance highlights the fact that political decision-making is no longer insulated within the bureaucratic hierarchy of the state but emerges through negotiation, persuasion, and contestation among parties that may be driven by profit, ideology, public duty, or organisational survival. For Bevir, conflicts of interest are not anomalies but structural features of a governance system that is inherently pluralistic and fragmented.

In Bevir’s interpretation, power in governance is no longer exercised solely from the top down, as in the classic Weberian model of the modern state. Instead, power circulates through networks, partnerships, and collaborative arrangements in which actors influence one another through expertise, resources, discourse, and shared norms. He emphasises that networks do not eliminate power but redistribute it, often in ways that make authority less visible yet more pervasive, because informal relationships and narratives play a crucial role in shaping outcomes. Bevir therefore shifts attention from formal institutions to the beliefs and stories that guide actors, suggesting that power works as much through meaning-making as through coercion.

Regarding state transformation, Bevir maintains that the state has not disappeared but has been reimagined. Governance reflects a transformation in which the state adapts to new social expectations, economic pressures, and global influences by outsourcing, collaborating, and interacting with non-state actors. This transformation does not signify a simple weakening of the state; rather, it reveals a change in how the state governs—moving from hierarchical control to complex and negotiated forms of coordination. In Bevir’s view, the modern state becomes a node within broader governance networks, both shaping and being shaped by the ideas and practices of other actors.

The 2025 revision of the Indonesian Criminal Procedure Code can be read through Mark Bevir’s conception of governance as a shift from hierarchical state authority towards a complex web of networks, narratives, and dispersed power. From this perspective, the debate surrounding the revised code is not merely a legal question but a reflection of how various actors—state agencies, political elites, legal bureaucracies, and even informal power brokers—compete to shape procedures that will ultimately structure the administration of justice. Governance, in Bevir’s sense, helps reveal that legal reforms are never neutral; they embody particular beliefs, traditions, and political rationalities that benefit some actors while constraining others.

Conflict of interest becomes particularly evident when the revision expands or concentrates procedural authority within institutions that are themselves embedded in political networks. By shifting more discretion to investigators, prosecutors, or the police, the revised KUHAP potentially reinforces the dominance of actors whose institutional agendas may not align with the public interest. Bevir’s theory suggests that when governance is dispersed across multiple centres of influence, formal rules often mask deeper struggles among competing narratives—such as security, efficiency, political control, or accountability—which determine how the law is actually implemented. In this light, the revision may be seen as an attempt by certain institutions to protect their interpretive authority and preserve their organisational traditions, even when these traditions enable abuses of power.

Unequal power relations within Indonesian law enforcement become even clearer when governance replaces a singular state command model. Instead of one coherent state, the legal system functions as a network of agencies whose interactions are shaped by informal relationships, patronage, bureaucratic interests, and political alliances. Bevir’s framework highlights that power in such a setting does not operate solely through statutes, but equally through narratives—how institutions justify their role, how political actors frame “public order,” and how legal procedures are interpreted by those who wield operational control. The revised code risks amplifying these inequalities by granting procedural tools to agencies that already dominate the governance network, thereby allowing them to steer investigations, shape detentions, and negotiate outcomes in ways that reflect their institutional worldview.

Viewed through governance, the revision of KUHAP 2025 also exposes how the state itself has been transformed. Rather than being a neutral guarantor of justice, the state becomes a node within a broader governance network where political interests, bureaucratic incentives, and informal elites exert influence. This transformation raises questions about transparency and accountability, because governance through networks can obscure responsibility: decisions may appear bureaucratic but are often driven by unseen negotiations or alignments among powerful actors. The revision, therefore, can be understood not only as a legal reform but as an institutional move within a contest for interpretive power in which law enforcement bodies seek to solidify their position in the governance landscape.

Ultimately, using Bevir’s ideas allows us to see that the core issue is not merely whether the revised KUHAP is technically sound; rather, it is whether the governance structure surrounding its implementation can prevent the concentration of power, mitigate conflicts of interest, and ensure that legal practice is guided by democratic narratives rather than institutional self-preservation. Without addressing these structural dynamics, legal reform risks becoming a mechanism for reinforcing existing asymmetries instead of correcting them.

[Part 2]

Bahasa