more on timor

ABC Australia says: "A top-level crisis meeting between members of the East Timorese government is yet to reconvene. The meeting has so far failed to settle differences between President Xanana Gasmao and his prime minister, Mari Alkatiri. Our reporter in Dili, Peter Cave, says it is now apparent that the prime minister, who is widely blamed for the political and security crisis will survive, but that the president will emerge with control over national security and defence."

There was undisguised contempt and frustration with Alkatiri amongst the whiteskins when we were there - but apparently he had a lot of support amongst locals. Enough to maintain his position anyway. Yes there have been various triggers in the past couple of months, but one has to wonder about political intervention. How much of this has been allowed to escalate because of personal battles at the top? It's an age-old situation - the road to hell was paved with good intentions, remember - but it still depresses.

And so does the looting, destruction and burning of buildings. This will sound a little naive, but I was amazed at how actual amount of buildings that are ruined shells - all over the country. Alomst 40% of structures were burnt out holes, still empty 7 years later. These palpable scars covered the landscape. And more are being added?

Sori tru.

and in the meantime, keep reading dili-gence

road trip, timor leste

One day in Timor, maybe a week and a half ago, we caught a bus out from Baucau. It was going east along the coast, then south down to the town of Los Palos; we wanted to stick to the coastal road so we got off at a village named Lautem. The plan was to catch a bus from Lautem to Com, a seaside village further east. We were unaware that there is very little traffic travelling this way. (If there had been a bus that day, it would have appeared very early in the morning; it was now around noon.) Seeing no bus, we decided to start the walk - 20kms to Com - and hopefully hitch a lift.

There was no traffic, no lift. We walked the 20kms.

On August 30 1999, the people of East Timor voted resoundingly for independence from Indonesian rule in a referendum. What followed was a nightmarish period of violence as the Indonesians withdrew; Indonesian army and police officers, and pro-Indonesian militia, killed hundreds; over half the population were displaced.

On September 25 1999, a militia team commander and several others drove from Com to Lautem. They said they were going to get rice from a warehouse near Lautem, but “[t]he most obvious indication that they were not in fact intending to get rice was that they drove right past the rice warehouse.” They were also armed with SKS automatic weapons (used by Indonesian security forces) and carrying machetes and knives.

About one kilometer past Lautem, the militiamen passed two young men pushing a cart. The militiamen chased the two men, hurling rocks and shooting at them. One of the men was wounded but managed to escape. The second was caught and tied to a tree near the side of the road.

The militiamen next set up a roadblock, placing large stones on the road. Some used a nearby hill as a lookout, and others took up positions in a ditch, aiming their weapons on the road. And then they waited.

“At about 2:30 p.m. the same day, a gray four-wheel drive vehicle came into sight from the direction of Lautem heading west toward Baucau. There were eight people in the vehicle, including two nuns, three Brothers/Priests, a journalist and two other lay persons.”

When the car stopped at the roadblock, three militiamen simply opened fire. The driver and some passengers were killed.

“As one of the surviving passengers tried to get out of the vehicle, a militiaman grabbed him and dragged him to the river where he was shot and killed. The same militiaman poured petrol over three other survivors and lit them on fire. One of the three ran from the car to the river”, but was shot and killed.

A nun got out of the car and, kneeling on the side of the road, began to pray. Someone slashed her with a machete. One of the nuns, Sister Erminia, got out of the vehicle and knelt down by the roadside to pray. As she prayed, a militiaman (Horacio) slashed her with a machete. Another militiamen shouted “Don’t kill a Sister!” but the commander roared: “Kill them all!”

Someone picked up the nun and threw her in the river, then shot her twice.

The militiamen pushed the car into the river. There was still one person alive in the car; he tried to get out, but was shot and killed.

The militiamen then remembered their earlier capture, one of the men pushing a cart who they had tied to a tree. One militiaman cut off his ear and hacked his neck with a sword, then pushed him into the river and shot him. “Finally [the commander] Joni Marques threw a grenade into the river, where the dead and wounded lay, to be sure that there would be no survivors.”



East Timor 1999 Crimes Against Humanity Geoffrey Robinson 2003

images from dili

View of Dili airport from the plane.

We saw the above sign at the airport, as we were leaving, and had a laugh about it. (And about the separate check-in desk reserved for UN personnel.) Less funny now.

"I can’t see things improving greatly for a number of days except if you are journalist. For them, this is what they get up in the morning for." We also enviously eyed some foreign correspondents, but as the above quote points out, there's ambivalence there too. Dili-gence writes some good tales about what has been happening, as it has been happening.

Still hard to reconcile good holiday memories with the terrible news of what has been going on in Dili. Had some excellent adventures, and have lots of stories, but still feeling a bit tired after a lot of travelling - and there's still a big pile of washing to do (how much I wish PNG had Bali's amazing cheap laundry services, where everything is scrubbed and comes back wrapped in plastic and only takes a few hours. Ah, travel can spoil you..) and work to get back into and oh some dirty harry movies to watch (yay! thanks n) and so stories will come later.

Dili beach, two weeks ago

so: bali

strange place - some great sections, but a lot of touristy places crammed full of shops shops shops. am amazed at how many shops they can squeeze into a block, and how many of these shops simply sell the same things. it all seems to revolve around shopping; if you don't buy into the capitalistic pastime there's almost nothing to do (and the beaches aren't all they're cracked up to be). but i'm just feeling a little jaded. flying in from a developing country into this makes you a bit cynical.

anyway, flying out tonight/tomorrow at 2.30am - onwards to jayapura - vanimo, png.

dili update

dili = hot and quiet today. caught a bus back in to the capital from los palos; close to the city, passed a guy lying in the middle of the road, face-down; bus stopped, then roared on. Not sure what condition he was in. Up and over a ridge, a rock was thrown on to the bus roof; all the passengers looked scared and the bus driver put his foot to the floor. 5 mins later a branch was thrown on the bus. Everyone was silent now. When the trouble happened in Dili a few weeks ago, thousands (literally) of people fled Dili to their villages. Only now are they starting to come back (on our bus there was at least one full household + baggage moving back), but people are still very afraid. I'm not sure how real the risk is though; everything appears based on rumour. And other than that, we've had an excellent time - so much more safe and relaxed than PNG! Mixed feelings about returning to the secure-compound-restricted-life there - but hey that's still a week away. Tomorrow flying out to Denpasar

air niugini? nogat

ok so last trip i did with air niugini, flight out was delayed 4 hours. flight back had two legs; both were cancelled and rescheduled and cancelled etc.

this time - flights ok. only - THEY LEFT MY LUGGAGE IN GOROKA

ps I love Cairns! Surprised, but true. Also - broadband 20mins AUS$1. Unbelievable.

for both my sisters

It is black and cold outside. My sister knocks at my door and we move together, starting up the road. Our house is positioned mid-way in a valley, half way up or down, at that mid point. Down is a dead end. To go anywhere, we have to hike up over a hill (the one to the front, the one to the side, or the one at the back).

We walk fast up the hill in front. This is the best hill to walk up: there is a little dip before it slowly and steeply curves up. It is quiet; no one else is out on the street, or even awake it seems; lights are off inside houses.

When we reach the top of the hill, we turn left and start to jog. There are no cars out at this time, so we can claim the road as our own. The road follows a ridge; it inclines and curves a little, past the kindergarten we both went to, and then it descends gently. This is the nice stretch; legs are moving, breath is coming out into the cold air, we are jogging past an orange street light feeling good. The road turns and we cross the train bridge; now and then we’ll see the Overland coming through, arriving from Melbourne.

A big steep hill is right in front; here the run really starts. Down to our right – if you leap over a fence and roll downhill – is the freeway, also connecting to Melbourne. A few cars are moving along, their lights illuminating the way to Adelaide.

Somewhere around this time, I notice that the sky is changing. It’s gone from black, to black-blue. I hear some birds; I see the outlines of trees. Then it’s blue-black. Then that faint silvery blue that appears like a mist until suddenly it floods the sky, always happening so quickly.

We’re still running. Keeping up a steady rhythm fills up my mind; there’s no room for feeling amazed. But before this light comes, before the world sharpens back into the definitive real, there is a space that I remember now, about twelve years later. In that space the world is blue-black and I am jogging with my sister in a land of cut outs by jan pienkowski. I don’t need to look over to know that she’s there; things might be made of distinctions and sharp edges, but we’re not. It feels like we’re two arms of the same thing, running along a road through a forest, with the sky huge and beginning to swirl with colour, above us.

yes i did

On friday, to get a visa to visit a neighbouring country, I had to officially declare that I had been briefed by their embassy about "the recent security situation at the border" (um...no...) and that I am willing to "bear all the risk that might be occurred and will excemption the Embassy and the Republic ... from any object or subject of sue or law or policy".

And err they currently have my passport and I well kind of need it to leave the country on Friday and it's now getting a little close, particularly if we remember that this is PNG where anything can happen ... So did I sign away my rights? Yep.

coffee ball, 2006

Last night was THE social event on PNG's annual social event calendar (on which there is...well nothing else up here in Goroka): the coffee ball. The theme was gold. There were predrinks at a friends place, and then a predrink in the downstairs bar, before heading upstairs to join a queue to get inside (so much like a school formal). There were little corsages for the ladies upon entry (nice touch) and gift bags (one per 16 person table) with perfume, gold cartier lighters (bottom of pic) and golden bows that were broaches. Unexceptional food came and went. There was terrible music, but a bit of dancing (one mate drunkenly danced with the governor of our province, something I will tease her about forever). There was the company of some excellent friends. It was probably the last coffee ball I will ever go to; feeling a bit tarnished today, but will be right by tomorrow. And now I'm just waiting to get my passport back from the Indonesian embassy - hopefully with a visa inside it - and will head off for some more adventures on Friday. 5 sleeps.

another one from the festival

There's so much to look at that you often don't notice simple but stunning touches, like a headress. Until a tired performer sits down in front of you and there's a different view.

looking damn fine

I went to the coffee festival today. I went last year as well; and overall last year was a bit better – it hadn’t been raining as much, so it wasn’t so muddy; there were a few less stalls but better organised (rather than this year: few more stalls, but no organisation at all, just, say, a sign). But also last year I knew less – so who had a stall and who didn’t was something I didn’t understand – and last year the stalls themselves were interesting, whereas this year I could just walk on by … (only I didn’t; I was sucked in by the prisoner rehab program and bought prisoners’ peanut butter, and even prisoners’ peanut biscuits – not just for me, but enough to give away. I always fall for the prisoners! At Christmas I remember buying really crappy bookmarks made by local prisoners. Why? Why? It’s partly a joke, but…not entirely. And what was that pencil portrait of Osama bin Laden, hanging proudly in the local grammar school’s exhibit? And this must be one of the last places American British Tobacco can sponsor events and have their logo proudly displayed everywhere.)

And yet there’s something about the coffee festival that’s better than the bigger, more famous Goroka Show later in the year. It’s smaller, and fewer white tourists come. Somehow – despite its commercial underpinnings – there’s a good feel about it.

The singsings and bilas are fantastic. What is captivating are the elements of innovation each time people get dressed up and prepare their dances; it might be a new thing for them, or it could simply be something that I myself haven’t seen before. But it’s those details that keep me fascinated. And it’s also simply a lot of fun, being around people – and knowing a few – who are dressing up in their cultural finery, and feeling proud and beautiful. They show it off and each region is competitive and they’re looking damn fine and … it’s a feeling, too. (Also you ARE in amongst it: you can move amongst the dancers, get any pics you want, people are happy to pose, or not; no one has to stand behind a rope, and there’s no antagonism; it’s pretty good.)

This year too I saw a Tolai whipping dance: a man would hold out his bare arm, or offer his back, and another would, simply, whip it. It sounds barbaric, but there was a fair amount of performance in the offering of body parts, and the emphasis was on the stamina. A friend whispered that they rubbed something on their bodies beforehand to limit the pain; I’m not sure if it was true or not, but I have to confess that I was captivated by the whole thing. And it certainly attracted one of the biggest crowds.

we need some heroes

Our optimism, at times euphoria, was, of course, not quite justified. We all underestimated the power of the multinationals and the corrupting effects of power.

(Ulli Beier, reflecting on “the scene” in Port Moresby just before Independence)

**

Number of doctors in PNG:

In 2000: 275

In 2003: 191

**

- Few weeks ago: finance portfolio stripped from well-performing MP and passed on to corrupt Minister rumoured to keep PM comfortably endowed with cash

- Today: finance portfolio through latter Minister set to give out 35.6 million kina to MPs in open cheques (approx $400,000 each); they don’t have to submit project proposal or expenditure summary. It’s interpreted as $$$ to spend on getting re-elected next year.

- Today: magistrates desperately need $65,000 kina to fund leadership tribunals (charges and investigations into alleged crimes committed by leaders ie politicians).

[Don’t like their chances]

**

“The old men want to eat rice and tinned fish before the die. That’s the only thing they think about.”

[Young person I spoke to today. Oil has been found in the village. The community elders want to sign the first contract that's been offered by an international company - the one who found the oil. There's no thought of what they're signing away, as well as what they're signing up for. They don't even want to get a second opinion, or future payment options: they want cash, and they want the cash now. The young in the village are fighting to be heard, worried about the realities of development, thinking about local precedents.]