When it comes to elections, Timor-Leste and its
system of voting has given its citizens a reason to feel excited
about democracy, writes GJ Burchall.
THE FIRST OF MANY things that strike you at polling places in
Timor-Leste is the total lack of assaults on voters by how-to-vote
card boosters the sort that swarm all over Australian voters
like demented, malaria-lugging mosquitos.
Party flags, banners and shills must keep at a respectful
25-metre distance. Ditto the automatic weapons.
It was different in the weeks leading up to election day. Rival flags were flown outside
houses and shops, adorned cars, mikrolets and motorbikes (some
pillion riders even wore large flags as capes, which made them look
like party superheroes as they shot past).
Parties were assigned rally days on a clogged campaign calendar
and allocated streets over which they could string their pennons.
All day and into the early evening, traffic on main thoroughfares
was blocked by trundling trucks, whose open trays carried mobs of
chanting, flag-flapping youths.
In Australia, not only is truck-bed travelling banned, but youd
struggle to find this level of election enthusiasm.
This is, no doubt, due to its compulsory, chore-like,
non-democratic, fine-threat essence. Timor-Leste, in contrast,
unable to vote for 500 years, has warmly embraced the activity.
Voting is not compulsory, yet they can boast regular turnouts of
over 80 per cent from 860,000 registered voters, even if some must
travel great distances to do so.
Your mission is to observe the election, iterated the
agent at the official briefing:
Youve all studied the protocol manual, so you know how
things are supposed to run. If you do see any breaches by electoral
officers, under no circumstances engage: do not interfere or try to
correct them. Just make a note, stick it in your report.
We glorious 43 were a delegation of volunteers convened by the
Australian East
Timor Association and Victoria University, just one of several international
gangs who descended upon Timor-Leste to...
