Australia could learn a lot about elections from Timor-Leste

I have just returned from Dili, in Timor-Leste, where I was one of around 30 self-funded Australian volunteer observers for the 2023 parliamentary elections.

As widely reported, the people of one of the world’s poorest and youngest democracies just peacefully changed their government, an astonishing accomplishment for a nation where so much blood was spilled not many years ago. The Timorese voters rejected the Fretilin-led coalition of Mari Alkatiri and, after an eight-year absence, have resurrected septuagenarian revolutionary hero Xanana Gusmao for a new spell as prime minister.

People queue up to cast their votes at a polling station in Dili.Credit: AP

I will leave the deep analysis of the reasons for and impact of the result to those far better steeped in the twists and turns of politics in our region. Separate from the outcome, but just as important, was how professionally and communally one of our nearest neighbours conducted their hotly contested election.

It was a privilege to witness first hand the overwhelmingly respectful way in which 860,000 registered voters went about the business of disagreeing with each other but still peacefully and calmly choosing their politicians. As one of my fellow observers remarked, “I was handing out how-to-vote cards in the last federal election, was spat at, screamed at, threatened and abused and had to call the police… it is so much better over here!”

The Timorese people’s clarity of communal purpose was the polar opposite of our increasingly fractious polity. We have not yet reached the Trumpian project of open armed insurrection, with wild mobs storming our parliaments, nor do we want to. But the temperature is rising, as ASIO boss Mike Burgess warned this week.

Anti-democratic activists and emboldened neo-Nazis are successfully using social media and public stunts for recruiting and their numbers are growing, just one sign our once-model democracy is losing its shine.

Just an hour’s flight north of Darwin, the contrast could not be clearer. Noisy but peaceful mass campaign rallies surged through the streets of Dili until 48 hours before the polls, then there was universal observance of a pre-poll blackout period. Party posters and bunting at polling stations are banned and there are no how-to-vote cards.

Voting is not compulsory, yet around 80 per cent of those registered queued to vote. Many illiterate voters mark their choice by using a nail to punch a hole through the ballot paper next to the logo of the party of their choice. Almost no ballots were declared informal. Afterwards, voters dip their index finger in ink to show they have voted, and to avoid fraud. In Australia voters tend to give the finger. Here they proudly display it.

A Timor-Leste woman shows the ink on her finger that proves she has voted.Credit: Jon Faine

People can only vote in the district where they are registered, so some citizens travel for hours – even by outrigger canoes and tuktuk – to return to their village so as not to miss out on having their say.

Just after dawn, in Bikeli village on Atauro Island (one of the three voting centres I visited), as the roosters crowed and the singing from Sunday church services wafted with fireplace smoke across the village square, the uniformed election teams transformed the school into a polling station much like it is done here.

The election staff voted first. In this village, despite knowing each other all their lives, they still checked each other’s identity cards as carefully as if total strangers.

A dignified, elderly woman emerged from the schoolroom wiping away tears. Loved ones died fighting for her right to vote. She honours them by doing so, despite the painful memories. I wiped my eyes, too.

There are no democracy sausages in Timorese elections, although some of my fellow observers reported the occasional civic satay. The overall mood was enthusiastic but serious, relaxed but attentive.

Equally compelling was the theatrical public counting of the votes after the 3pm cut-off. For every step of the day, from the displaying of empty ballot boxes at the start, the affixing of the numbered tags and sealing of the ballot box right through to the close, there are squads of party scrutineers and public officials monitoring.

Xanana Gusmao campaigns before the Timor-Leste parliamentary election on May 20. Credit: Raimundos Oki 

At the close, every single vote was unfolded and ceremoniously held up for the entire assembled village to see as they are declared and sorted into piles. The count took hours, but nobody moved or complained. They appreciate the true value of what is happening, having still fresh memories of the horrors that accompanied the alternative.

The Timorese commitment to democratic process is a national asset. It provides investors – and the occasional tourists – with reassurance that they can trust the people they are dealing with; that there is a genuine social licence for the decisions taken and promises made.

Huge numbers of people were participants on election day. Each of 17 parties recruit scrutineers for every polling station along with the national electoral commission having representatives everywhere. It may seem a swollen and inefficient cohort but in fact it is an investment in transparency, in civic capital, a safeguard against corruption.

Notionally we were there to make sure the election was fair and free, managed with integrity. I came home thinking that in fact we could learn a lot from the Timorese.

Jon Faine volunteered with The Australia East Timor Association/Victoria University Alumni Electoral Observation Mission.

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