Yesterday I was invited to a big shiny house paid for by the American government, where a friend explained Xavier do Amaral – declarer of East Timorese independence, now trollish, polyglot yoda-figure in Parliament – was going to show photos from 1975. Naturally, having spoken to Xavier about the 1950s in Dili and the Portuguese, as well as had run-ins with him on the issue of child rights (he believes a good whooping never hurt any kid, and that there is nothing wrong with girls marrying at age 13), I was curious.

We arrived to a crowd of half-Timorese and half-Malai admirers, enraptured by the black and white photos taken in 1975. Xavier, as normal, was talking at a mumble, near-whisper. Next to him was probably my least favorite government Minister, a fast-talking Australian-educated son-of-FRETILIN. Who is perhaps, behind the Prime Minister, the Vice-Prime Minister, and the PM’s goonish advisor, the most nostalgic and teary-eyed about the party. He spent the whole evening pointing out his famous uncle, who was in the first Fretilin cabinet. Alarico Fernandes was the famous radio operator in the jungle, and famously, in the end, is said to have surrendered to the Indonesians, giving up the guerilla forces’ one greatest asset at that time – the only connection to the outside world, a transistor radio.

But before the loss of the radio, and after Xavier’s declaration, a lot of nasty shit happened within the jungle. As would happen, I suppose, in any revolutionary guerilla movement. (See Bananas for a comic example.)

Perhaps others in the audience were not aware of the fact that Alarico Fernandes wrote the Fretilin “communique” which served as the indictment of Xavier in 1976 for treason. Xavier was tossed into a pig pen, and many of his supporters were apparently “taken care of.” Xavier was charged with maintaining a feudal relationship with his Mambai kinsman of the central mountain area, womanizing (!), and generally promoting a moderate stance towards Indonesia, which would have involved the surrender of the masses of civilians hiding up in the mountains, and a call for a UN referendum. These charges (the womanizing aside) were probably all quite true, but it seems to me that Xavier’s sins were harmless and that his view towards civilians and negotiation could have saved a lot of lives.

After spending months of living as a pig, up in an ad-hoc mountain ‘prison’, Xavier was captured by the Indonesians during a famous ambush on the guerillas. He was taken to Jakarta as a trophy, and spent the next dozen or so years in near obscurity. He reconciled his differences with the new Fretilin Central Committee in mid 2001, when Fretilin realized that they needed his parties’ support to form the majority they desired in parliament.

Xavier’s ‘feudal’ relationship to the Mambai mountain people continues, strengthened by his electoral victory in 2001. He became the Vice President of Parliament on the basis of his alliance with Fretilin, and would enjoy much influence if he were willing to wield it. But he maintains a Yoda-like posture, the small, wise old man, capable of the occasional wise-crack, otherwise above the fray of politics.

Back to our government Minister, who prided himself on growing up hanging on the pantlegs of the Fretilin Central Committee, nephew of Alarico Fernandes our radio-man and denouncer of Xavier.

The two are just sitting there, and Minister is just having a grand old time explaining to the assembled malai sira (foreigners) exactly what is happening in the fascinating black and white photos of the Fretilin armed forces. Xavier is rather quiet.

One photo comes up, of the famous Maria Gorete, a Timorese model of beauty, who was repeatedly arrested and ‘abused’ (read: raped) by Indonesian forces. Finally disappeared in 1979, after having attempted to save herself by marrying an Indonesian army bigwig. According to Minister, she was constantly spying and relaying information to the resistance.

Minister asks, “You were around then in 1979, right Sr?” Xavier replies a brief, “No.”

I couldn’t help but be shocked. So much goes unsaid in Timor. “No,” meaning “no, by that time I had been unjustly declared a traitor to my country – by your uncle and his friends -- , abused, captured by the enemy, humiliated and forced to comply with their wishes, and had to adjust to life in exile.”

Interestingly, though, I think that Alarico Fernandes had already gone over to the Indonesian side by that time. He too had left the extreme party and unforgiving guerilla resistance which he had helped to form. Ironically it is now HE that continues to live in obscurity, having married an Indonesian woman. He will probably never return to East Timor.

I guess the whole interaction is a testament to how the most successful people here are either victors, or the defeated who learned how let their defeat go. Just let it go. There are many people, however, who cannot let things go. Divides between Timorese run very deep. Not all old Timorese men can come back to their people and be received as some kind of messianic savior. Most die in poverty and obscurity.


posted by JG at 3/28/2003 08:48:00 AM