Chapter 3: Clean Campaign Culture – A Lesson in Civic Discipline

Of all the memories etched into my mind from that mission, the post-campaign cleanup in Jakarta remains one of the most vivid. It was more than just a cleanup—it was a gesture of responsibility, a ritual of renewal. As soon as the campaign period ended, supporters from various political parties moved in unison to strip away every banner, poster, and leaflet that had once shouted their political aspirations from walls, bridges, and lampposts. By nightfall, the city had returned to a semblance of normalcy, the streets as orderly as they had been before the rallies began.

This was not mandated by law or enforced by police patrols. It was, instead, a collective act of civic duty—an unspoken agreement among citizens that democracy did not end with campaigning. It carried a sense of decorum, of knowing when to speak and when to be silent, when to promote and when to reflect. The entire political community seemed to understand that elections were not just a time to persuade, but also a time to prepare the country, in spirit and in space, for the sanctity of the vote.

As a Filipino, I could not help but feel a pang of reflection—perhaps even regret. In the Philippines, our campaign seasons are notoriously loud, colorful, and, unfortunately, often wasteful. Streets remain plastered with posters and flyers long after election day. Political jingles continue to blare from roving vehicles, and public spaces are left in disarray, a chaotic aftermath that mirrors the often unruly tone of our politics. Rarely, if ever, do political supporters here take it upon themselves to clean up after their own campaigns.

What I witnessed in Jakarta was something that could—and should—be emulated. It was not about money, not about resources, but about mindset. About the kind of political maturity that sees the electoral process as a shared civic ritual, rather than a mere contest of popularity and power.

I saw teenagers scraping off campaign stickers, elderly men folding up banners, and women sweeping up paper confetti from the streets. These were not professional street sweepers; they were volunteers, loyal to their party but loyal even more to their nation. There was no sense of loss in their faces, only a quiet pride. Their part in the campaign was done. Now it was time for the voters to speak—and for democracy to work as it should.

This kind of campaign culture, rooted in discipline and dignity, held a mirror up to our own practices in the Philippines. It made me question why we tolerate so much disorder in our political life, and why we so easily accept that chaos is just part of democracy. The Indonesians had shown us otherwise. That order could exist in freedom. That respect could accompany passion. That cleaning up could be just as patriotic as campaigning.

And most importantly, they showed us that when the campaign ends, the real work of democracy begins.