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East Timor
images of hope
by Lara McKinley
Excerpts:
Heading up into the hills of East Timor last August with close friend and journalist Marianne Kearney felt as carefully orchestrated as the opening scene of a movie . . . The scenery passes as if in an overhead helicopter panning shot, rough and rugged. Strong and assertive female vocals provide a suitable soundtrack as they blast over the speakers of our jeep. As we leave the capital Dili, squads of young men wearing militia-red bandannas add tension to the scene, marching together and kicking up dust into the Indonesian flag. The movie abruptly cuts to our destination of Suai as pro-Indonesian gangs prepare their weapons. The audience senses before the characters do that trouble is brewing.
The tragedy of East Timor lies in just how carefully scripted the violence was. In August, 1999, everybody involved in East Timor knew trouble was brewing - the Timorese, the UN, journalists, the international community and not least the Indonesians. And nothing was done; perhaps nothing could be done to stop the wave of violence that swept across the country. The Indonesian military were the puppet masters, the Timorese virtually powerless, the UN unarmed, the international community paralyzed by diplomacy and confused allegiances.
When I was in East Timor, the referendum that was to decide the territory’s future -- independence or integration with Indonesia, which invaded and annexed East Timor in 1975 -- was just two weeks away.
On August 30, 1999 an incredible 98 percent of those eligible would vote, despite threats and intimidation. On September 4 the results were announced, with nearly 80 percent opting for independence. Two days later, the militias embarked on a wave of violence, a rampage that human rights groups say was carefully planned by the Indonesian military.
The militias killed, looted and burned. More than 500,000 East Timorese were displaced, and 200,000 of them were moved to West Timor. The UN was forced to evacuate. International witnesses went with them. Today, the dead are counted from mass graves.
I was in East Timor for just one week. Although it was a time of fear, it was also a time of hope and of prayer. Boys played and girls smiled shyly. UN officers were still unarmed. Churches still existed from which to pray. Refugees still believed that the boundaries of a church would protect them. The future promised change. There was still a promise of a future. . .
