Long after the ballots had been cast, counted, and recorded, and even as the Indonesian people awaited the official proclamation of their newly elected representatives, I found myself deep in reflection—about them, yes, but also about us. Indonesia, in many ways, held up a mirror to the Philippines. What I saw in that reflection was both illuminating and humbling.
The most vivid image that stayed with me was the discipline of the Indonesian electorate. From the orderly queues at polling places to the dignified silence during the 45-minute prayer before voting began, it was evident that the people understood the sacredness of the act they were about to perform. Voting wasn’t treated as a chore, or worse, a spectacle—it was regarded as a responsibility, a duty to country and community.
In our own elections in the Philippines, discipline is often the first casualty. Campaigns overflow with noise and pageantry, and election day is sometimes marked by confusion, delays, and even disorder. While passion is undeniably part of our political culture, it is worth asking: does passion excuse chaos? Must spirited participation come at the cost of civility and order?
The Indonesians showed us that it need not be so. Passion and discipline can co-exist. And when they do, democracy flourishes.
Equally striking was their reverence for procedure. The fact that polls opened exactly at 7:00 a.m., not a minute earlier or later, was not just a logistical feat—it was a symbolic gesture of collective respect for the process. And when the KPPS officials conducted the opening rituals and oath-taking, there was no sense of routine or hurry. They moved with purpose, grounded by the belief that what they were doing mattered.
Do we, as Filipinos, still feel that sense of gravitas in our electoral proceedings? Or have our elections become so frequent, so transactional, that we’ve forgotten the deeper meaning behind them?
What stood out, too, was the Indonesians’ meticulous post-election clean-up. Campaign materials were removed promptly, with party members themselves taking responsibility. No posters littering lampposts, no streamers sagging across streets for weeks. There was an unspoken ethic of closure—that campaigning must give way to reflection, that the end of voting marked a transition from division to unity.
Contrast that with the Philippines, where political paraphernalia often remain long after the polls, as if clinging to the past. It’s a small thing, perhaps, but one that speaks volumes about our collective discipline and sense of accountability.
Yet, these comparisons are not meant to romanticize Indonesia or criticize the Philippines unfairly. Rather, they are a reminder that democracy is an evolving process. And like all processes, it requires constant introspection. We are not less capable than our Indonesian neighbors. If anything, we have shown time and again—from EDSA to countless peaceful transitions—that we too have the democratic spirit. What we sometimes lack is consistency, discipline, and a sense of civic mindfulness.
In observing the Indonesians, I saw not perfection but aspiration. And in that aspiration, I saw a path that we, too, could walk.
Democracy, after all, is not about who shouts the loudest or who garners the most followers. It’s about building systems and cultures where every citizen, no matter how humble, feels heard, valued, and empowered.
The mirror that Indonesia held up to us did not show a stranger. It showed a kindred nation—flawed, hopeful, and resilient. It reminded me that while our journeys may differ, our destinations are the same: a society where democracy is not just practiced, but honored.
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