Editor’s Note: Asia Democracy Chronicles is running a series of ‘as-told-to’ narratives from civil society and pro-democracy actors in the region who have dedicated their lives to championing democratic ideals and defending human rights – in their home countries and elsewhere. Here they offer firsthand accounts of how they have pursued their vision of democracy, inspiring others to join the fight for a truly just, equitable, and humane society. |
A lifelong peacebuilder and veteran of the anti-dictatorship movement against Ferdinand Marcos Sr., Augusto “Gus” Miclat, Jr. co-founded the Initiatives for International Dialogue (IID) in 1988 and has since been involved in campaigns on Burma, Mindanao, southern Thailand, West Papua, Aceh, and Timor-Leste. In 2022, the Davao City (in southern Philippines) settler was awarded the Ordem de Timor-Leste, Timor-Leste’s (formerly East Timor) most prestigious award, for spearheading a solidarity movement for the Southeast Asian country’s independence in his capacity as a co-convenor and coordinator of the Asia-Pacific Coalition for East Timor (APCET).
He recently talked to Asia Democracy Chronicles about the continuing importance of south-south solidarity in confronting anti-democratic forces.
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rowing up, I remember being exposed early on to the notion of being fair. Of not wanting an unjust situation to persist around you unchecked. To some extent, I was influenced by my parents, both humanitarians in their own way: my mother, who was a social worker, and my father, who was a writer.
Before I knew it, I was noticing the contradictions around me, and which surrounded even institutions I was enamored with. For instance, in my elementary years, the parochial school wouldn’t allow you to attend classes on Monday if you didn’t hear mass at the church close to our school, even if you had attended mass elsewhere.
Even when activism became the necessary response to the call of the times, the whole thing about being an activist initially struck me as something of a fad. I was a nonconformist through and through.
Soon, however, there were things happening that couldn’t be ignored. History couldn’t be ignored. This was Martial Law [under the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos Sr.]. I eventually joined a group that we believed was the vanguard of the emerging anti-dictatorship movement. A revolution even. It provided the analysis, ideology, alternative, and framework through which I could make sense of all the contradictions and the events that were unfolding before my eyes.
This helped me navigate the complex narrative of the EDSA People Power in 1986 that toppled Marcos Sr. and the aftermath of this peaceful revolution. I remember I was with journalist Sheila Coronel and other colleagues somewhere in Davao City in the southern region of Mindanao when former Senator Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino, Jr. – Marcos Sr.’s arch political rival – was assassinated. We looked at each other and knew that the political murder had just changed everything.
Less than three years later, I drove to Camp Crame, national headquarters of the Philippine National Police, one early dawn with my little jalopy car after hearing about an attempted coup. There was just a handful of people outside the gate; I was even able to park nearby. Then I left for home to rest a bit and a few hours later, the crowd had swelled and the rest, as they say, was herstory.
Even then, the long view tells us that EDSA was the last drop, and it wouldn’t have any meaning if the other drops, the more militant and even violent aspects of that struggle, weren’t there. After Marcos was whisked away, I was on Mendiola street, a stone’s throw away from Malacanang Palace [the official residence of the Philippine president], where the organized militant forces were converging.
At one point I found myself right outside the Palace gates and I asked someone cutting the barbed wires if I could have a piece. He looked at me and said, “Sure, we’re all Filipinos here.” I decided not to go inside the Palace and contented myself with touching its gate. When I began to process what was happening, it struck me how it felt like a pyrrhic victory.
After all these years, here we are again, back to a neoliberal democracy. What happened? The Philippine experience of democracy is complex and convoluted in this way. But for myself, these events put in motion what was to be a lifelong involvement in pro-democracy and solidarity work.
I took part in building international solidarity in the movement against Marcos. After we ousted the dictator, we felt that it was just right to give back to the world that helped us. What we lacked in resources, we made up for in political or experiential support. We shared our struggle, our experiences. This idea of south-south solidarity was the context of establishing the Initiatives for International Dialogue (IID), a Philippine-based non-government organization.
From a very ambitious and lofty vision of changing the world, as it were, over the years we narrowed down our focus eventually to Southeast Asia – in East Timor (or Timor-Leste), Burma (now called Myanmar), South Thailand, Aceh – areas that could benefit from our experience.
We launched the Asia-Pacific Coalition for East Timor (APCET) and networks for Democracy in Burma, among others. When former Philippine president Joseph Estrada declared an all-out war against the Muslim secessionist movement in the Philippines in 2000, we realized Mindanao and the Bangsamoro, an autonomous Muslim-majority region in the southern Philippines, could also benefit from our south-south solidarity initiative. So we decided to do peace-building work there and bring in peoples and sectors to the table where they could talk and dialogue.
That has been the crux of our mission: peace-building with a solidarity lens. We bring our solidarity and peace-building work in the region and in Mindanao, and vice versa. We have our macro lens, as it were – the regional work supporting respective struggles and campaigns, be it in Thailand, Myanmar, or Mindanao. As a result, when the coup broke out in Myanmar three years ago, we were ready to assist, again with solidarity from all over.
In the Philippines we have a saying, “Sakit ng kalingkingan, dama ng buong katawan.” What afflicts the little finger affects the entire body. East Timor is a kalingkingan. West Papua is a kalingkingan. Aceh, Myanmar, Mindanao. The body is the people. The world. The planet.
What ails us is deeply connected. One concrete example is a 1990s initiative called the Brunei Darussalam-Indonesia–Malaysia–Philippines East ASEAN Growth Area, or BIMP-EAGA, which was set up ostensibly to help grow the less developed areas in these countries. In Samal Island just off Davao City, an Indigenous community was being displaced by a company in the name of mass tourism. In Sarawak (a Malaysian state on the island of Borneo), another Indigenous community was being subjected to a similar fate to make way for the construction of a dam. One Malaysian company was responsible for both. Part of our goal was to bridge the affected Indigenous communities, and engaging BIMP-EAGA became our point of entry.
This recognition of the urgent need to bolster solidarity across borders is also the principle behind the formation of the Asia Democracy Network (ADN). I was there from the beginning. I was also part of earlier initiatives such as the World Forum for Democratization in Asia (WFDA).
While institutions may change, the raison d’etre has always been the same: to galvanize and expand democracy forces in the region. This means supporting each other and pushing back against authoritarianism and militarism. To this we once again bring our solidarity lens, consistent with my role as a coalition builder.
A decade of work teaches valuable lessons. For example, institutions like ASEAN provide a valid space for engagement, but they should be but a part of a broader struggle, which has, at its heart, mass movements. Institutions are entities that can be transformed in the long run, but only if you have a massive people’s movement locally and nationally that can exert pressure and influence.
A testament to this is the successful pushback against Timor-Leste after it invited the junta’s Myanmar Election Agency to observe its 2023 elections and attend a seminar on electoral democracy. Such an invitation could only lend legitimacy to the junta’s brutal rule, we said.
Thanks to pressure from civil society and others, the Timor-Leste government not only disinvited the agency, they even invited the foreign minister of Myanmar’s legitimate National Unity Government to the oath-taking of the new prime minister, driving a wedge within ASEAN when it comes to dealing with Myanmar.
But all this is only possible if you are firmly rooted like trees, first in your struggles, and eventually zoom out to take a sight of and understand the forest. To understand how one can’t be without the other.
It is crucial to keep bridging peoples and groups and beliefs. To remember that dialogue means not just talking but also listening, because negotiations can only happen if one listens. Listening and negotiating mean a broad readiness to look for consensus points and common ground – without papering over differences. It’s a process that can unleash the power of the collective.
It’s akin to conducting an orchestra, which may consist of different instruments but, when harnessed together, produce a harmony that transcends their respective capacities.
This urgent need to unite and consolidate our ranks springs from the bleak reality that the anti-democratic forces are deeply united. They are strong, they have the resources, and they don’t have scruples about doing what they want to do.
In the Philippines, despite the myriad crises and setbacks, democracy persists thanks to the vigilance of people who assert and push back, which to some extent might be traced back to the promise of EDSA more than three decades ago. There is much work to be done and we shouldn’t be comfortable with what we have.
A critical challenge for democracy work is how to correctly read the pulse of the people, be it via research and evidence-based work or simply by being ready to listen to what one may find disturbing.
Elsewhere, the passing of the baton across generations of activists and advocates needs to be more consciously done. Some of the old guards are in the midst of burnout, while the energy and at times seeming arrogance of some members of the new generation can get in the way. But when harnessed well, both sides have much to offer.
The question is, how to bridge the gap between differences. Yet I am so encouraged, for instance, by this generation’s temerity for pushing back, as we’ve seen in Myanmar and Thailand.
As peace builders and democracy advocates, optimism should be in our DNA. We need a combination of a marathon mentality that’s cognizant of the long haul, a steeple chase mentality that’s mindful of the many hurdles, and a relay mentality that recognizes the need to pass the baton. This way, you realize that the goal is also the struggle itself.
After decades of work, this realization keeps me grounded and upbeat. And I continue to dream. ◉