THE crowd called out one name: “Hakim, Hakim!” Drink in hand, Hakim Afonso happily joined the singer on stage. He waved his hands to the beat with revellers who sang along to Labarik Lakon – the missing children.
“Yes, I must learn,” the Tetun language, he told me. With one brother and a sister, the three were among thousands of children taken from their families by Indonesian soldiers and “foundations” during the Indonesian rule of East Timor, now Timor-Leste.
Hakim speaks Indonesian, English with an Australian accent, and Sundanese – as he was raised in West Java since he was about five years old. His family was among a lucky few who could be reunited after some 20 years in their home in the eastern Viqueque district.
One woman who managed to return was driven away by her sister, a victim of rape by an Indonesian soldier: “Why should I meet her? She’s Indonesian!” said the sister, as quoted by an activist working with survivors of sexual violence.
Hakim had haltingly shared his story at a human rights seminar the previous day. “I just want to live in peace,” he repeated.
Tears aside, he and another brother joined a night of dancing, to celebrate 25 years of the “popular consultation” of Aug 30, 1999, which led to Timor-Leste’s independence from Indonesia. Worse than denials of Timorese’ experience is the average Indonesian’s ignorance of East Timor; hence the “ironic” commemoration, remarked Pat Walsh, the editor of Chega! (Enough!), the report of the nation’s Truth and Reconci-liation Commission (CAVR).
The only news on Timor-Leste in Indonesian media at the end of August was the visit of Pope Francis. Among the Pope’s impromptu address before some 600,000 Catholics was his unclear warning against “crocodiles […] that want to change your culture, your history.”
Regardless of any threats, or the embracing of Timorese leaders with their Indonesian counterparts, the plaques of sitiu istoriku (historical sites), such as the one marking the former Indonesian military command in Dili, show Timorese are preserving their history.
Former United Nations mission chief Ian Martin was in town for the commemoration. At the seminar he recalled the shooting and destruction all around, the murder of civilians including UN staff; the astonishing turnout of Timorese to vote, despite the risks to their lives, and the result of 78.5% opting for independence.
Martin signed copies of the new Indonesian edition of his 2001 book, Self-Determination in East Timor. Yet Timorese are not waiting for Indonesian history books to acknowledge the 24-year occupation, and all the atrocities reported in Chega!
Similar to the ignorance of nationals of former colonisers, like the Japanese, Dutch, and British, any suggestion of Indonesians’ cruelty in East Timor sounds incredulous. Surely those who took the Timorese children were helping impoverished families in war-torn villages?
Hakim, for one, now has a fairly stable job in Australia.
“Wait a minute,” says Hakim; are he and his siblings supposed to be grateful for their traumatic life? Promises made to children that they would get a good education and live happily ever after did not materialise.
Many found they had to work for almost free in their new homes and were mocked for looking different. “We were brought to the big mosque in Dili with other children,” Hakim said.
The next day, he recalls, they were all dressed in white with caps for the boys, and a cleric led them to read the shahadah – the proclamation of the Islamic faith.
After living at a pesantren (Islamic boarding school) in Bogor, West Java, Hakim was adopted by a fairly caring family.
Having reconciled his identity, he uses the name he is more familiar with, followed by his Timorese name “Afonso”. Reconciling history, though, is the big “No return” in the nation of some 1.3 million people.
As in post-Khmer Rouge Cambodia, every family has or had a witness. The state body assigned to follow up on the Chega! report – the Centro Nacional Chega! (CNC) – has fanned out again to the 13 districts, to gather more testimonies to add to its five volumes.
Despite the report’s recommendations for accountability, no one is trying to drag Indonesian generals to court. Indonesian Military (TNI) leaders were already acquitted of crimes around the 1999 referendum by the ad hoc Human Rights Court – even though a number of the militia had testified to being recruited and trained by TNI officers, both to the CAVR and the Indonesia-East Timor Truth and Friendship Commission (CTF).
The Timorese have focused on the urgent and feasible; for public education, the “Chega! Mobile” programme brings the historic report to schools. The CNC has also facilitated 1,400 “community reconciliation processes” for those requesting out-of-court settlements, provided the general prosecutor does not categorise the crimes involved as serious crimes.
In communal meetings called nahe biti bot (rolling out the mat), perpetrators of violence make public confessions. Victims can confront them; they may be forgiven after a public apology.
A “community reconciliation agreement” stating requirements for the “defendants” is then filed with the district court. Other victims resort to more private, and hopefully safer, settlements.
On April 5-6, 1999, pro-Indonesia militia attacked locals in Liquica, west of Dili, as part of attempts to discourage voting in the referendum. A survivor, Jose Serao, said he was “saved by his son”.
The two-year-old clung to his father, as the attackers attempted to pull him away so they could finish off Serao, whose neck was almost severed. Years later, Serao told visitors that his son constantly asked him who the perpetrator was. But he has kept silent, “rather than all the violence erupting again”, and has forgiven the man who confessed to his deed.
The curving scar under his bald head is a reminder of the terror enveloping the coastal town. No communal or private “settlements” are available for most victims of sexual violence. Just don’t turn history around, and claim the women were consenting partners, survivors say.
They are grouped in Pirilampu – the Fireflies forum of survivors of sexual violence. More of the “stolen children”, survivors of massacres and rape are finding their voice.
Even the children born out of rape are strengthening their mothers. Indonesians should at least listen, to better understand how we “helped” the former Portuguese colony.
The knowledge could also help ourselves to move forward – from believing in excessive security approaches and turning a blind eye to massive trampling on human dignity. — The Jakarta Post/Asia News Network
Ati Nurbaiti is a freelance journalist who was invited to a regional seminar on transitional justice in Dili, Timor-Leste, held by the Asia Justice and Rights (Ajar) and the Centro Nacional Chega! in August.
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