Two days before the elections, our delegation was deployed to different regions across Indonesia. I was among the twenty-three volunteers assigned to East Java, one of the country’s most populous provinces and a key political battleground. From the capital, we boarded a domestic flight to Surabaya, the bustling heart of East Java. It was a smooth, hour-and-a-half journey—but it felt like entering another layer of Indonesia, one further from the political pageantry of Jakarta and closer to the pulse of the everyday voter.
From Surabaya, four of us—myself, a university dean, a businessman, and a priest—were sent even farther out to the small city of Jember. It was a quiet, modest city about four hours by land from Surabaya. The drive was smooth, the roads flanked by rice paddies, low hills, and the occasional glimpse of rural life: children playing by the roadside, old men chatting outside small roadside stalls, motorbikes weaving their way through local traffic with practiced ease. Here, far from the capital’s headlines, democracy felt quieter—but no less important.
Each of us had a specific assignment. I was tasked to observe twelve kecamatans, the Indonesian equivalent of municipalities or towns. It was a considerable area to cover, but I welcomed the challenge. After years of tracking legislation in the halls of the Philippine Congress, I found the idea of monitoring the frontlines of democracy both exciting and grounding.
Accompanying me was a local team composed of an Indonesian driver, an interpreter, and an election monitoring officer (EMO) from Forum Rektor, Indonesia’s local counterpart to NAMFREL. They were warm, professional, and as committed to the mission as we were. From them, I learned the intricate details of how their electoral process functioned, how preparations were handled at the grassroots level, and how community trust was being built—after decades of centralized control and political opacity.
We were issued advanced communications equipment, including a high-tech handy phone that allowed us to report in real time. This device became my lifeline to the rest of the delegation and served as a symbol of how seriously Indonesia and its partners took the process of electoral transparency.
Upon our arrival in Jember, we were courteously received by the city’s chief of police. In a gesture of hospitality and precaution, he offered us each two personal police escorts. While we appreciated the offer, we politely declined, each of us feeling secure enough in the prevailing environment of peace and cooperation. There was something reassuring about being among people who, though still finding their way back to democracy, radiated goodwill and sincerity.
My days in East Java allowed me to see Indonesia not as a distant neighbor, but as a fellow traveler on the road to democratic maturity. Each town I visited, each election official I spoke to, each local resident I greeted—added layers to my understanding. This wasn’t just about checking whether votes were being cast correctly. It was about witnessing how a nation, long held in the grip of authoritarianism, was now learning to breathe again—slowly, cautiously, but with hope.
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