Politicization of Law

 

At three o’clock in the morning, a loud knock echoed through Indra Wijaya’s apartment in South Jakarta.

“Mr. Indra Wijaya, open the door! This is the police!”

Indra woke up, his heart pounding. Beside him, his wife Rina sat up, startled.

“What’s going on, Mas?” she whispered anxiously.

Indra took a deep breath, got up, and walked to the door. As soon as he opened it, several plainclothes officers stormed in.

“You are under arrest for alleged corruption of social aid funds,” one of the officers declared, showing a warrant.

Corruption? Indra’s body trembled. He was a law scholar turned anti-corruption activist. He had never touched public money—not a single cent.

“I’ve never done that! This must be a mistake!”

But the police ignored him. His hands were handcuffed, and within seconds, he was dragged outside.

Outside, journalists were already waiting—as if his arrest had been staged for public spectacle. Camera flashes blinded him. Rina could only cry as her husband was taken away in an instant.

At the police station, Indra sat in the interrogation room. The cold air from the AC did little to calm him. He knew this wasn’t about justice. This was politics.

A man entered, dressed neatly in an expensive suit.

“Prosecutor Andika,” Indra muttered, recognizing him.

Andika sat calmly across from him. “We meet again, Mr. Indra. Unfortunately, you’ve become too dangerous for the political balance of this country.”

Indra smirked bitterly. “So this is about my criticisms?”

Andika sighed. “You’re too vocal. You’ve exposed too many scandals. And now, it’s time for you to be silent.”

Indra stared at him sharply. “I’ll never confess to something I didn’t do.”

The prosecutor chuckled. “You don’t have to. The media’s controlled, the court’s arranged. Soon, you’ll be behind bars.”

Indra clenched his fists. He knew this wasn’t just about him. It was a warning—to every activist and defender of justice: whoever dares to resist, will be silenced.

The next day, Indra’s arrest dominated television and online headlines.

“Ex-Activist Involved in Social Aid Corruption”

“Indra Wijaya: From Legal Fighter to State Criminal”

But on social media, resistance rose.

Students who once learned from Indra began to move. The hashtag #FreeIndra went viral. They knew their lecturer was an honest man who always fought against corruption.

An independent journalist, Sita Ramadhani, started investigating the inconsistencies.

“The documents used against Indra came from a testimony by someone recently released from prison. Why would a convicted corruptor suddenly gain freedom after accusing Indra?”

But every time Sita tried to publish the story, her newsroom came under pressure. Her phone was constantly threatened.

“Stay out of this, Sita,” a coworker warned nervously.

But Sita didn’t back down. For her, truth was worth more than fear.

Indra’s trial moved quickly—like a play with a predetermined script.

Prosecutor Andika presented witnesses who were clearly coached.

Standing tall before the judges, Indra said, “I’m not asking for leniency. I’m asking for justice. If I must go to prison for defending the truth, let it be a lesson for those who still believe that law should not be a tool of politics.”

But his words only echoed within the courtroom. The verdict fell: 10 years in prison.

Outside, Rina wept. The students chanted, “Free Indra!”

Behind his thin smile, Prosecutor Andika was satisfied. This wasn’t about law—it was about power.

Inside the prison, Indra reflected. But he didn’t lose hope.

In his spare time, he began writing a journal, documenting every irregularity in his case.

Meanwhile, outside, Rina and Sita refused to stay silent.

“We must prove this was a setup,” Sita told Rina.

They began collecting new evidence—hunting for recordings and witnesses to expose the conspiracy.

Sita knew it wouldn’t be easy. But she believed justice could still be fought for.

One night, a mysterious man approached Sita.

“I have proof that Indra’s case was fabricated,” he said, handing her a flash drive.

When Sita opened it, she found an audio recording—Prosecutor Andika speaking with someone in the inner circle of power, discussing their plan to frame Indra.

“Finally, we have a weapon,” Sita whispered.

But before she could publish it, her office was raided. Her computer was seized. She barely escaped arrest.

Now, she was a fugitive.

With help from students and fellow activists, Sita spread the evidence online.

International media began covering the story. Pressure mounted from all sides.

Inside prison, Indra heard the news. He smiled.

“The truth can’t be silenced forever,” he murmured.

Prosecutor Andika and his allies began to panic.

“We have to stop this before it goes too far!” shouted a high-ranking official.

But it was too late.

Under public and international pressure, Indra’s case was reopened.

A new judge was appointed. The fabricated evidence was reexamined.

In the retrial, Indra was finally acquitted.

Outside the prison, he was greeted by Rina, Sita, and the students who never stopped fighting for him.

Andika? He now sat in the defendant’s chair.

Indra returned to activism, now with deeper understanding of how the law could be twisted.

Sita continued her path as an independent journalist.

And in that country, the struggle against the politicization of law carried on—

Because justice may be delayed, but it will never die.