In any international observation mission, one always wonders how the host nation will receive foreign eyes watching over their most sacred civic exercise. Will they be suspicious? Guarded? Will they see observers as allies in democracy—or as outsiders, perhaps even intruders?
In Indonesia, the answer was immediate and unmistakable.
From the moment we arrived, the hospitality extended to the Filipino NAMFREL observers was both generous and genuine. While observers from other countries—Americans, Australians, Europeans, and Japanese—were all treated with professional courtesy, our delegation received something more: warmth.
It was evident in the way local officials smiled when they learned we were Filipinos. It was in the way they spoke to us, not with polite distance, but with a kind of cultural closeness—as if we shared a history, a spirit, a common struggle for freedom and democracy. In many ways, we did.
There were nods of recognition when we mentioned NAMFREL, our grassroots electoral watchdog. Indonesians knew of its role in restoring Philippine democracy after the Marcos dictatorship. They respected its legacy. More than once, local election officers and civic leaders told us they had drawn inspiration from our 1986 People Power movement and the citizen-led vigilance that surrounded it. It was deeply humbling.
At the local level, in the precincts and communities we visited, that warmth was even more palpable. Whether we were in city halls or rural polling stations, people greeted us with smiles, handshakes, and sometimes even embraces. Conversations would often slip into the personal—where we were from in the Philippines, how we felt about Indonesian food, what similarities we saw between our peoples.
It wasn’t just the cultural or geographic proximity. I believe it was something deeper: a shared journey. Both our countries had endured long periods under authoritarian rule. Both had struggled to rebuild democratic institutions. Both had relied on the quiet courage of citizens to protect the ballot.
One local teacher in Jember told me, “You Filipinos know what it’s like to fight for your voice. That’s why we listen when you speak about elections.” I had never thought of it that way before—but in that moment, I understood why we were welcomed so openly. We weren’t just observers. We were fellow witnesses of what democracy costs—and what it’s worth.
This connection went beyond formality. It affected how we did our work. Doors opened more easily. Conversations flowed more freely. People were not just cooperative—they were eager to share, to show us how far they had come, to ask questions about how we did things back home.
As an international observer, it is easy to feel like an outsider. But in Indonesia, we felt like family. That emotional bond allowed us to do more than just watch—we were able to listen, to empathize, to exchange lessons with sincerity and respect.
At the end of each day, as we returned to our temporary lodgings, I often found myself reflecting on this rare privilege. We had come as volunteers, as technical monitors of a foreign electoral process. But we were leaving with something more enduring—a sense of solidarity, of shared purpose, of Southeast Asian democracies walking together into a new century, hand in hand.
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