Azifah Astrina – On March 20, 2025, Indonesia's parliament passed a quiet but far-reaching revision to its military law. The new statute allows active-duty officers to serve in 14 government ministries and agencies without retiring from military service – reversing a post-authoritarian norm in place since 2004. The ministries include agencies responsible for cybersecurity, disaster management, narcotics control, and the judiciary.
The military's role, lawmakers insisted, was evolving. Indonesia's armed forces, they argued, were not returning to politics but modernizing for a more complex security environment. Their justification rested on an increasingly global doctrine: "Military Operations Other Than War," or MOOTW.
In Indonesia, MOOTW (Operasi Militer Selain Perang) has long provided a post-reform rationale for preserving military roles in peacetime. But the new legal codification signals a deeper shift – one that is not unique to Indonesia. From Manila to Canberra, and even in Washington and Brussels, MOOTW has become a widely accepted answer to the question of what soldiers should do when they are not fighting wars. Peacekeeping, disaster response, infrastructure, counterterrorism, and even economic coordination have all been folded into the military's domain under this label.
MOOTW is not just a policy framework. It is a conceptual tool, a vocabulary that allows states to expand the military's domestic presence without invoking martial law or raising alarms about democratic backsliding. What was once a doctrine of operational restraint has become a means of political normalization. Understanding its origins – and how far it has drifted – is key to recognizing why military roles in peacetime are becoming harder to delimit and why democracies and authoritarian states alike are increasingly turning to soldiers for solutions that civilians once managed.
From flexibility to permanence
The term "Military Operations Other Than War" originated in the United States in the early 1990s, during a period of strategic uncertainty. After the Cold War, the U.S. military faced missions that did not fit traditional combat models: humanitarian interventions, peacekeeping, civil support, and noncombatant evacuations. In response, the Department of Defense codified MOOTW in Joint Publication 3-07 in 1993, emphasizing restraint, civilian coordination, and legitimacy as central principles. These were not meant to be permanent military roles but politically bounded interventions in exceptional circumstances.
From the outset, however, the doctrine was vulnerable to conceptual overstretch. As Jennifer Morrison noted in her early critique of U.S. MOOTW planning, the term's greatest strength – its flexibility – was also its greatest liability. Nearly any operation not involving conventional warfare could be categorized as MOOTW, from riot control to foreign internal defense to pandemic logistics. The doctrine's breadth made it useful but also dangerously elastic. This ambiguity was not merely semantic; it had real institutional consequences. It allowed militaries to expand their operating mandates under the guise of necessity while bypassing the democratic debate about the limits of their authority.
Over time, MOOTW evolved from a niche doctrine into a broad rationale for military involvement in civil affairs. In fragile states, it became a lifeline for overwhelmed governments. In more stable democracies, it offered an expedient tool for rapid response. However, in both contexts, it gradually weakened the distinction between civilian and military spheres.
Abroad and at Home
The appeal of MOOTW is twofold. Internationally, it allows militaries to participate in peacekeeping, humanitarian relief, and stabilization operations – roles that boost prestige and professional image. Indonesia's Garuda Contingents, deployed to Lebanon, South Sudan, and the Democratic Republic of Congo, are widely praised. These missions embody the benign face of MOOTW: disciplined, time-limited, and multilateral.
Domestically, however, the doctrine takes on a different meaning. In Indonesia, the same legal logic that authorizes peacekeeping abroad also enables the military to operate disaster response units, assist in counterterrorism, and, increasingly, serve inside ministries.
Elsewhere, the same pattern appears. In the Philippines, military units have been central to domestic counterinsurgency, rural development, and disaster relief, often taking over governance functions in underserved regions. In South Korea, military intelligence and cybersecurity units have played expanding roles in civilian spheres, with growing concern over transparency and legal boundaries. In Australia, the Australian Defense Force (ADF) has taken on increasingly central roles in bushfire response, pandemic logistics, and border protection – raising debates over whether such roles should be civilian-led.
Even the United States, where the doctrine originated as a limit on military engagement, has seen MOOTW become a staple of domestic crisis response. During the COVID-19 pandemic, U.S. military logistics were vital in vaccine distribution. Following natural disasters like Hurricane Katrina, the Department of Defense supported overwhelmed local authorities. These deployments were necessary, but they also reveal the normalization of military presence in domestic life – even in a system with strong civilian oversight.
MOOTW's duality – legitimizing peace abroad while embedding power at home – explains its utility and its danger. What appears as competence can become a cover for consolidation.
The politics of professionalism
MOOTW is so politically attractive because it masks power as professionalism. It offers a narrative in which militaries appear not as political actors but as reliable public servants – disciplined, efficient, and above the fray of partisan squabbles. Governments can deploy the military in peacetime without invoking a state of emergency, and citizens can welcome military involvement without acknowledging its long-term institutional implications. Soldiers laying asphalt or delivering aid seem to embody a national ethos of duty and order. Especially in countries where civilian institutions are seen as corrupt, fragmented, or incapable, military actors enjoy a comparative advantage in legitimacy, if not legality.
But this image of competence is often constructed and strategically deployed. What appears apolitical is often deeply political. As Muhamad Haripin demonstrated in the Indonesian context, MOOTW has not depoliticized the armed forces; it has reauthorized their presence through legal and bureaucratic means. The military's territorial command system – established under Suharto's authoritarian rule – allows the military to project influence at every administrative level; it did not fade with the end of Suharto's authoritarian regime but was rebranded as essential to local resilience and rapid response. This shift has not been accompanied by equivalent investments in civilian capacity, meaning the military fills voids it has helped maintain.
Elsewhere in the region, similar patterns are emerging. In the Philippines, the armed forces' involvement in development projects under "whole-of-nation" counterinsurgency approaches risks displacing local civilian governance. In South Korea, recent controversies over military surveillance and data-sharing with civilian ministries have raised concerns about institutional overreach. Although widely supported in Australia, the ADF's growing role in disaster and pandemic response has prompted debate about whether such authority is appropriate for an institution with limited public accountability.
Thailand follows a similar logic. Military coups are routinely justified as acts of national correction necessary to restore stability and reset dysfunctional civilian rule. The Thai military's framing of its repeated interventions as temporary, professional, and reluctant belies the long-standing reality of political tutelage. MOOTW – like justifications are implicit in the military's rhetoric: the armed forces are not seizing power, they claim – they are safeguarding the state.
Even in more robust democracies, the illusion of military neutrality under MOOTW can be problematic. In the United States, the Department of Defense's domestic deployments under Defense Support to Civil Authorities (DSCA) have increased in both frequency and scope. During natural disasters and the COVID-19 pandemic, military logistics and planning were essential. But as Jennifer Morrison and the RAND Corporation noted early on, expanding military roles in civil domains – even under conditions of consent – can weaken civilian initiative and delay reform. When the military becomes the go-to solution for everything from vaccine distribution to border surveillance, it subtly erodes incentives to build up independent, accountable civilian capacity.
The broader risk is a quiet institutional displacement. Ministries grow dependent on military resources and decision-making frameworks. Legislatures defer to generals on matters that require civilian judgment. Civil society and the media become hesitant to scrutinize the military's expanding roles for fear of being perceived as undermining national unity. In many states, military involvement in education, policing, or disaster relief is normalized – not as an exception but as an unremarkable extension of state power.
This transformation carries long-term costs. It confuses the division of labor between institutions, blurs chains of command, and dilutes the ethos of both soldiering and public administration. When the military manages agricultural subsidies, customs enforcement, or digital infrastructure, it stops being a defense institution and becomes a parallel state. When civilian leaders and the public accept this drift without contestation, they constrain the democratic capacity to set limits. The consequence is not always overt authoritarianism, but a hollowing out of civilian governance that can be just as corrosive.
Drawing the line
None of this is to say that militaries should play no role in crisis response or peacetime support. In many countries, especially those with limited state capacity or fragmented bureaucracies, the armed forces are often the only institutions with the discipline, reach, and logistical capacity to manage large-scale emergencies. In disaster zones, health crises, and border regions, the military's ability to act quickly and at scale is not just desirable – it is indispensable. To deny this would be both unrealistic and ahistorical.
The challenge, then, is not the presence of the military in non-combat roles but the permanence and institutional ambiguity that often accompany that presence. MOOTW was initially designed as a doctrine of restraint: a recognition that military force could serve political ends beyond war, but only under defined, time-bound, and legally accountable conditions. That foundational logic has too often been lost. Instead of exceptional deployments, MOOTW has increasingly become a structural strategy – an embedded feature of governance rather than a temporary supplement to it.
Reclaiming MOOTW's original purpose demands more than rhetorical caution. It requires legal specificity: clearly articulated missions, sunset clauses, and statutory definitions that distinguish military from civilian tasks. It requires institutional independence: even where militaries provide support, command, and strategic direction must remain with civilian agencies. It also requires robust oversight: parliaments, independent auditors, and watchdog organizations must be empowered not just to monitor outcomes but also to contest and potentially revoke military roles that overstep their mandates.
Some countries have demonstrated that this model is not just theoretical. In Chile, the armed forces have long been involved in earthquake relief, forest fire containment, and infrastructure support in remote areas. Yet, these roles are tightly bound by law and subject to civilian command. The 2010 earthquake and tsunami, which displaced over 1.5 million people, required large-scale military assistance. However, the Chilean armed forces remained under the direct control of civilian authorities, and once the immediate emergency subsided, they withdrew without political friction. The episode is often cited in Latin American civil-military studies as a rare example of effective military professionalism within a healthy democratic framework – proof that militaries can serve the state without substituting for it.
Such successes, however, remain the exception. In most countries, the expansion of MOOTW into domestic governance has not been accompanied by equivalent growth in civilian capacity or democratic oversight. In Indonesia, the revised TNI law illustrates the danger. By embedding MOOTW into the legal architecture of the state – expanding both the number of institutions that active-duty officers may lead and the duration of their service – the country has crossed a threshold. It is no longer simply asking the military to support civilian authorities; it is institutionalizing the military's role within the civilian state itself.
That shift may appear pragmatic. It may even seem necessary. But it sets in motion a gradual redefinition of governance itself, one in which the logic of command displaces the logic of consent. Over time, the symbolic line between soldier and citizen, between service and sovereignty, fades. And when it does, the nature of power changes with it.
Civilian rule, or rule by soldiers?
MOOTW was born in a moment of post-Cold War uncertainty, a time when militaries were being asked to do more with less, and the boundaries between war and peace were increasingly blurred. The doctrine was intended to bring order to that ambiguity – a framework to guide military involvement in operations that were political, humanitarian, or preventive rather than overtly combative. It was supposed to be a doctrine of discipline, one that recognized the utility of military force while reaffirming its subordination to civilian leadership and its limited place in public life.
Today, however, MOOTW risks becoming something else entirely: not a tool of flexibility but a doctrine of quiet permanence. The term once meant to signal bounded exceptions now increasingly justifies the military's continuous presence in civilian affairs – managing pandemics, overseeing infrastructure, supervising border enforcement, and even filling the roles of bureaucrats, judges, and development planners. In such cases, professionalism is no longer a virtue of military restraint but a rationale for political absorption.
The question confronting governments is no longer whether militaries are useful in peacetime. In many cases, they are the only institutions capable of coordinating national responses to disaster or dislocation. Rather, the question is whether their growing domestic roles are enhancing democratic governance or replacing it. The difference lies in how military involvement is defined, constrained, and eventually unwound.
Examples like Chile show that it is possible to harness the logistical strength of the armed forces without sacrificing civilian authority. There, the military has responded to natural disasters, supported humanitarian logistics, and provided critical infrastructure – but always under civilian command, with a clear legal mandate and a defined exit strategy. In contrast, countries where MOOTW is used to institutionalize military participation in civil administration tend to experience slow erosion in political accountability, ministerial capacity, and democratic contestation.
Indonesia's recent military law revision illustrates the stakes of that choice. But the pattern it reflects is far more widespread. In authoritarian and democratic systems, MOOTW has become a policy language that obscures political consequences behind a facade of pragmatism. It allows governments to sidestep difficult debates about institutional reform, public investment, and civilian resilience. It also gives militaries an increasingly central role in national security and governance.
Doctrine, like law, is never neutral. It serves as both justification and design. If MOOTW is to remain a framework for peace rather than a pretext for encroachment, it must be demilitarized in practice – not just symbolically, but structurally. That means returning it to its original intent: a doctrine for what the military can do in times of crisis, not what it is allowed to become in times of peace.