Theology becomes a barrier to solidarity when doctrine matters more than survival.
In a nation where more than four in five citizens oppose the US-Israeli campaign against Iran, Indonesia's Muslim majority finds itself united in its rejection of Western military power yet quietly divided by a theological fault line as old as Islam itself. The Sunni-Shi'a schism, long simmering in Indonesia's religious landscape, has surfaced as a complicating force — not through state policy, but through the amplifying power of social media preachers who frame solidarity with Iran as a theological compromise. What appears from the outside as a coherent bloc of Muslim opposition is, on closer examination, a contested space where geopolitics and doctrine are difficult to separate.
- Eighty-three percent of Indonesians reject the US-Israeli assault on Iran, and the country's largest Islamic institutions have condemned it as unprovoked aggression — yet this consensus is more fragile than it appears.
- Influential Salafist and Islamist preachers with millions of social media followers are actively discouraging solidarity with Iran, framing Shi'a Islam as heresy rather than a legitimate branch of the faith.
- Shi'a communities in Indonesia — numbering just 2.5 to 3 million among 240 million Muslims — have long faced discrimination, anti-Shi'a bylaws, and social pressure, making the current debate a continuation of a decades-long pattern of marginalization.
- The Syrian civil war and Iran's support for Assad's government hardened theological objections into geopolitical ones, giving transnational Sunni movements a recent and vivid grievance to point to.
- Liberal Muslim intellectuals offer political critiques of Iran's theocracy, but their voices lack the popular reach of doctrinally-driven preachers who shape youth opinion through YouTube and Instagram.
- Indonesia's lack of formal anti-Shi'a legislation — unlike Malaysia — has paradoxically empowered grassroots Sunni pressure campaigns, filling the regulatory vacuum with social coercion.
Indonesia's Muslim majority overwhelmingly opposes the US-Israeli military campaign against Iran. Polling shows 83 percent disapproval, and the country's two largest Islamic organizations — Nahdlatul Ulama and Muhammadiyah — have issued strong condemnations of what they call unprovoked aggression. Even the combative former leader of the Islamic Defenders Front has called for Sunni and Shi'a Muslims to face their common adversaries together.
Beneath this apparent unity, however, lies a significant fracture. A powerful current within Indonesian Islam — rooted in transnational movements that emphasize doctrinal purity — regards Shi'a Islam not as a legitimate tradition but as heresy. With 240 million Sunni Muslims and only 2.5 to 3 million Shi'a, this theological objection carries demographic weight.
Two preachers illustrate the divide. Khalid Basalamah, a Salafist figure with 3.7 million YouTube followers, has argued that Indonesian Muslims owe Iran no solidarity, dismissing the conflict as a staged facade and repeating disputed claims about Shi'a origins. Felix Siauw, a former Hizbut Tahrir activist with 2 million Instagram followers, acknowledged the Sunni-Shi'a split over succession after the Prophet's death and advised neutrality. Both men reach young Indonesians at scale, and their arguments spread rapidly online.
This is not a new tension. During the Yudhoyono presidency from 2004 to 2014, local governments issued anti-Shi'a bylaws under pressure from Sunni groups. The Syrian civil war — widely framed as a sectarian conflict — deepened the divide, as Iran's backing of Shi'a militias supporting Assad sharpened theological objections into geopolitical ones.
Some liberal Muslim intellectuals have criticized Indonesian support for Iran on political grounds, pointing to its theocratic governance and support for militant groups. But these voices lack the popular reach of the doctrinally-driven preachers.
The contrast with Indonesia's neighbors is telling. Singapore and Malaysia show comparable skepticism toward US-Israeli military action, yet anti-Shi'a sentiment does not visibly shape their public debates in the same way. Malaysia has formal anti-Shi'a laws; Indonesia does not — a gap that has paradoxically encouraged Sunni activists to fill the regulatory vacuum with social pressure.
What emerges is a portrait of Muslim solidarity fractured not by disagreement over Western power, but by internal theological divisions amplified through modern media — leaving open the question of whether local Islamic tradition or transnational doctrinal movements will ultimately define Indonesia's response to Middle Eastern geopolitics.
Indonesia's Muslim majority overwhelmingly rejects the US-Israeli military campaign against Iran. Polls show 83 percent of Indonesians disapprove of the war, and nearly 69 percent believe the American-Israeli alliance stands on the wrong side of history. The country's two largest Islamic organizations—Nahdlatul Ulama and Muhammadiyah—have issued categorical condemnations of what they call unprovoked aggression. Even Rizieq Syihab, the combative former leader of the Islamic Defenders Front, has called for Sunni and Shi'a Muslims to set aside theological disputes and face their common adversaries together.
Yet beneath this apparent consensus lies a fracture that complicates the picture considerably. A significant strain of Indonesian Islamic thought—rooted in what scholars call transnational Islam, movements that operate across borders and emphasize textual purity—views Shi'a Islam not as a legitimate branch of the faith but as heresy. This theological objection has become a barrier to unified support for Iran, which is predominantly Shi'a. Among Indonesia's 240 million Muslims, roughly 237 million are Sunni. The Shi'a population numbers somewhere between 2.5 and 3 million, a small but visible minority.
Two preachers exemplify this divide. Khalid Basalamah, a prominent Salafist figure who follows the interpretive methods of early Islamic generations, commands 3.7 million YouTube followers. In a recent podcast, he argued that Indonesian Muslims should not rally behind Iran, dismissing the conflict as a theatrical "facade" and claiming—without evidence—that Shi'a Islam was founded by a Jewish convert named Abdullah Bin Saba, a claim disputed by Shi'a scholars. He further contended that unlike Gaza, Iran does not face genocidal war, and therefore deserves no special Muslim solidarity. Felix Siauw, a former activist with Hizbut Tahrir who reaches 2 million Instagram followers, acknowledged theological differences between Sunnis and Shi'as over succession after the Prophet Muhammad's death. But he highlighted fringe Shi'a sects that deny the Qur'an's completeness or the finality of Muhammad's prophethood—views he called heretical—and advised Indonesian Muslims to remain neutral observers of the Iran conflict.
These voices carry weight. Both preachers influence young Indonesians through social media, and their arguments spread rapidly online. Their positions reflect a persistent reality: for years, Shi'a communities across Indonesia have endured discrimination from Sunni neighbors. During the presidency of Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono from 2004 to 2014, local governments issued anti-Shi'a bylaws under pressure from Sunni groups. The Syrian civil war, framed widely as a sectarian struggle between Sunnis and Shi'as, intensified this sentiment. Iran's backing of Shi'a militias supporting Bashar al-Assad's government sharpened the theological divide into a geopolitical one.
Some liberal Muslim intellectuals—Luthfi As-Syaukanie and Saidiman Ahmad among them—have critiqued broad Indonesian support for Iran, but their objections are political rather than theological. They point to Iran's theocratic governance and its support for militant groups, which they argue have made it a pariah internationally. These voices, however, lack the reach and popular appeal of Basalamah and Siauw.
The result is a landscape of competing narratives. Pro-Iran sentiment may dominate mainstream and social media discourse, but it masks genuine diversity of opinion rooted in sectarian theology. This fracturing distinguishes Indonesia from its neighbors. Singapore and Malaysia, both with substantial Muslim populations, show similar skepticism toward US-Israeli military action—over 70 percent in each country oppose it. Yet anti-Shi'a sentiment does not visibly shape their public debate. Malaysia, notably, has formal anti-Shi'a laws and restrictions. Indonesia has no such legislation, which has paradoxically prompted anti-Shi'a Sunni activists to push back more aggressively against Shi'a communities, filling a regulatory vacuum with social pressure.
What emerges is a portrait of Muslim solidarity fractured not by disagreement over Western power, but by internal theological divisions weaponized through modern media. The question facing Indonesian Islam is whether transnational movements emphasizing doctrinal purity will continue to fragment Muslim responses to Middle Eastern geopolitics, or whether organizations rooted in local tradition can rebuild common ground.
Citas Notables
Muslims should not support Iran in its fight against the US and Israel, dismissing the conflict as a theatrical facade— Khalid Basalamah, Sunni Salafist preacher
Indonesian Muslims should act as onlookers in the Iran war due to theological differences between Sunnis and Shi'as— Felix Siauw, Islamic preacher and former Hizbut Tahrir activist
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does theology matter so much here? Isn't the geopolitical question—whether the US and Israel are right to attack Iran—separate from whether Shi'a Islam is legitimate?
In theory, yes. But for many Indonesian Muslims influenced by transnational movements, the two questions are inseparable. If you believe Shi'a Islam is heretical, then Iran's government—which claims to represent Shi'a Islam—becomes suspect. You can't simply support Iran's right to exist without endorsing what you see as a false version of Islam.
But the mainstream organizations—Nahdlatul Ulama, Muhammadiyah—they seem to have solved this problem. They condemn the war without the theological hesitation.
They have, because they're rooted in Indonesian Islamic tradition. They see Islam as lived practice, embedded in local culture. Transnational movements, by contrast, see Islam as a set of texts to be interpreted correctly. That difference in approach creates very different conclusions.
So the preachers with millions of followers are essentially telling young Indonesians: don't support Iran because Shi'as are wrong about Islam?
Not exactly. They're more subtle. They say theological differences exist, acknowledge them, but then use those differences to argue for neutrality. It sounds reasonable until you realize it only applies to Iran—not to other conflicts where Sunnis are involved.
What happens to the Shi'a communities caught in the middle of this?
They've been pressured for years—bylaws against them, discrimination from neighbors. The Syrian war made it worse because it looked like proof that Shi'as were a problem. Now, with Iran in the headlines, that old suspicion resurfaces, amplified by social media.
Is there any sign this could shift?
The fact that even PKS, which is ideologically aligned with the Muslim Brotherhood, sometimes works with Shi'a figures suggests pragmatism can win. But it requires leadership willing to say that geopolitical solidarity doesn't require theological agreement. That's harder to do when your followers are watching online.