Lynne Minion

From Lynne Minion, Hello Missus: A Girl's Own Guide to Foreign Affairs (HarperCollins, 2004):

Francisco Xavier do Amaral was President of Independent East Timor for the ten days between the end of Portuguese colonisation and the Indonesian annexation in 1974. As a result, he had job experience but he was no alternative to the hero Xanana. The old, deaf and frail Xavier knew he was in a one-horse race and he was comparatively lame. He was perfectly happy to lose, he said, he was merely running because UNTAET [United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor] wanted the appearance of democracy -- and apparently democracy requires choice, however unrealistic an option it may be.
[...] Back in Dili, despite the election result being a fait accompli, the competior, Xavier, has developed a taste for the political limelight, especially given the success of his well-attended rallies, and he accuses TVTL [Televisaun Timor Lorosa'e] of bias in its reporting, calling it Xanana TV. He complains about the coverage of a press conference he's given, saying that the whole 25-minute soliloquy should have been broadcast, uncut, into the 30-minute long news bulletin. He labels the Timorese journalists incompetent and refuses to cooperate with them until they apologise, indicating an alarming failure on his part to understand the principles and practices of an independent media.
The journalists respond by announcing that they, henceforth, refuse to cover his campaign at all, indicating an alarming failure to understand the principles and practices of an independent media. They demand not one apology, but two. Thanks to the intervention of the UN, the impasse ends when the aged and ill Xavier gives an incoherent apology on air on VTL, twice.
[Chapter 8, The Crusades, p. 63,69]
[...] I explain to them that I want to help, that I feel a great sympathy for those living in poverty, that I am happy to pay more than others, but sometimes it just feels like extortion. When they say "Hello, Missus!" I suspect they actually mistransate and what they really mean to say is "Hello, Money!" There's a two-tiered economy here, it's cause by every UN peacekeeping mission in the world, and it has disadvantages for all sides of the equation.
[Chapter 10, Duelling Econonies, p. 82]
Sitting here and typing away, I am convinced that democracy needs a free and questing media. It also strikes me, while reading through the testimonies of the staff here, that setting one up is more complicated than I'd imagined. In fact, it appears the we malae have taken a lot for granted. I mean, in Australia we know democracy, we grow up with it, we understand it, we expect it. We respect the range of institutions required to protect our freedom. Which is why I am engrossed by the translation of an interview on my screen. It's the comment of a local journalist, who replies, when asked if he understands the principles and practices of an independent media:
Whatever we are told to do we have to do it because we lost everything. We lost our houses, all our family are dead. We just want to work, we just do whatever we think we have to do. I'm getting very emotional. We lost everything, there's no way but to do as we are told. Even if they control now we don't mind. We are here to work.
I know that an independent media would be instrumental in preventing the horrors of '99 from occurring again; however he sees it as an indulgence right now, as he tries to rebuild his life. Yet disclosure, transparency, the check and balance provided by a worthwhile media are vital to him -- they are not a luxury item like a television or a washing machine or a fridge. I just wish we had taught him this, yet it seems we've failed. We assumed he knew it, but how could he have?
[Chapter 11, The Footlights, The Greasepaint, p. 87]
No wonder the UN prefers to control spin. In order to prevent
faux pas of this kind, UNTAET [United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor] has embarked on a publicity campaign which suggests that Timor is a happy little Utopia filled with razzmatazz, and there the UN presents a pert, shiny image. So, as the weeks plunge on towards the independence celebrations, journalists sit back and watch a spin that goes:
There is no dual economy.
There is no tension between the locals and the internationals.
There is no crime.
This is the most successful mission in United Nations history.
[...] Sergio is certainly a wise man -- he is completely aware that, in the eyes of the world, the UN came too late to Rwanda and gathered significant criticism for Kofi Annan, who was responsible for an ill-advised memo prior to the violence there which stated that the situation wasn't as bad as other people thought; Somalia is seen as a catastrophe that led to a Hollywood blockbuster; Yugoslavia is revealed in French/Bosnian film about the UN's incompetence, self-interest and lack of care for the local population; the collapse of many Cambodian institutions after the UN handover is outlined in a scathingly written exposé; and on and on ... This has all left the long-term employee, Sergio, who has served with the UN in Bangladesh, Sudan, Cyprus, Mozambique, Peru, Lebanon, Kosovo, Cambodia, Yugoslavia and the Great Lakes region of Africa, with a concern for controlling the media's reporting about his organisation. Therefore, it is enough to be seen to be a success, even more than it is to be that success.
Frustrated international journalists have responded in East Timor by releasing a satirical magazine, the Xanana Republic Gazette, which says it quotes UN sources in articles titled "Crime Less Than Zero", for example. Fearing reprisal, such as the loss of jobs or the removal of their media passes (further evidence of the problem), these reporters - representing some of the world's most presitigious news organisations - distribute their lampoon anonymously.
[Chapter 11, The Footlights, The Greasepaint, p. 96-97]
Still, the show must go on with that old razzle-dazzle and with the curtain set to go up, Mario Zamorano tries valiantly to secure funding for the future of the media in East Timor post-Independence. He tries to push legislation through a new parliamentary system to establish a public broadcasting authority; he works hard to ensure the journalists don't rock the boat. Yes, the hapless Mario still understands the priorities of this circus, that is must appear to be a profound success. Which leads a malae staff member to comment about the UN's editorial intervention: "I think we all felt like marionettes. Pull here, pull there, say this, don't say that." And: "We're just clear about our task which is we are basically doing propaganda."
[Chapter 11, The Footlights, The Greasepaint, p. 103]
That night I wait until the late hours. Eventually BH1 walks in, dishevelled, exhausted, perturbed. He has a couple of small facial wounds but otherwise the damage isn't of a physical nature. "I cannot explain to you what today was like. I have never, in all my years of policing, seen anything like that. It was raining rocks. So many. Like hail." He is clearly shaken.
"Are you OK?"
"Oh, well, you have to be. God, Lynnie, their eyes. It is so difficult to explain what it looks like to see a mob of people all of them with eyes looking at us as though we should die. Pure hatred. These are battle-scarred people, Lynnie."
"That's what they've been raised with, I guess. They're socialised with violence."
"Yeah, they have a capacity for it, all right. The lot of them. In Australia you get an individual like this every now and then who is pretty rotten but it is beyond comprehension that you could have an entire group of people that is capable if terrible violence."
"What about the other international police?"
"The Brazillians thought it was a walk in the park."
"Ah, practice makes perfect. How did the GNR conduct themselves? They didn't damage any faces, did they?"
"They went in and got the prisoners into their cells and seized their weapons. They broke a few local bones doing it but it was never going to be a waltz."
"Broken bones?"
"Yes. The real damage was done once the prisoners were back in their cells and the Timorese riot police set upon them. By this stage, Lynne, the prisoners were unarmed and yet their bloody countrymen started beating the living shit out of them."
"That's a human rights violation."
"Absolutely. As well as being a fucken ugly thing to do, to be capable of. See what I mean about these people?"
"What did you do?"
"We had to dismiss the Timorese riot police, tell them to go home, which is the biggest insult we could give them."
"Oh gee, that'll learn 'em."
"You should have seen Viktor, the GNR commander, he came into the office and threw down his helmet in fury saying he'd never seen anything like it in his life, that these people weren't police officers."
"And this is the man who'd just overseen the breaking of bones himself."
"Yeah, but he did his job with minimal force, only as much as was required. The Timorese, though, they'd been terrified and cowering out the front, they'd refused to go in while the whole riot was going on, but once the prisoners were in their cells, unarmed, sitting ducks, they laid into them. Amazing."
"They clearly haven't been capacity-built in human rights and self-control."
"Exactly. Police have to understand the power they have and how important it is not to abuse it. It doesn't matter how pissed off the Timorese were, you just can't resort to brutal behaviour. Policing isn't about brute strength, it's about intelligenve and humanity. That's where you can see the difference between dickheads in uniforms and highly trained police. I was impressed with Viktor and his team. You know, he was genuinely upset to see the prisoners being abused. He's a good man [...]"
[Chapter 15, One Man's Treasure, p. 144-145]
Whay do som many songs sing about love and lack thereof? Doesn't it show a marked lack of imagination on the part of songwriters? What about sunsets as an alternative subject matter? They give joy, are consistent, stable, they rarely let you down. What about a great meal? Isn't that a gift in life, a sustaining, valuable gift that many in the world go without? What about shoes? Surely there could be odes to shoes, things that genuinely bring joy, until you choose to upgrade? Let's face it, shoes don't leave you, you discard shoes when you are good and ready. That's worth singing about, isn't it? [...]
[Chapter 28, It's a Small World After All, p. 257-258]
With independence has come disenchantment among the people. A threat of protest lies heavily over the streets as the memories of the celebrations fade and thoughts turn to poverty - a poverty that's deepening now the society isn't being subsidised by the Indonesians and UNTAET. Even most aid organisations have pulled out and moved on to other areas in worse crises. Therefore, the contribution here now pales by comparison and has left many Timorians unemployed, in the dark, with a new user-pays school system, filthy water, and many of their hopes dashed.
East Timor is the eighth-poorest country in the world - quite a statistic - and they don't like it. They don't like that they are free but they are poorer than before. After all, they are a democracy and democracies bring wealth - don't they?
I saw the same disappointment in a place that some of us remember as the Eastern Bloc. As I travelled around there post-1989, with country after country acceding peacefully to Independence, the favourite television show was Dynasty. The Polish, Hungarians, Czechoslovakians et al, simply couldn't understand why freedom hadn't brought them sweeping staircases, swimming pools, couture frocks with giant shoulder pads and jewels. In their place, they have skyrocketing rent, quadrupling food prices, escalating unemployment - problems that had all been controlled during communism.
Once the memories of celebrations had faded, families were forced to occupy tiny dwellings, students couldn't afford to stay at university, and crime became a career in these new market economies. The population may not have feared being trasported to Siberia any more, but they came to fear dying from the cold in their homes. Memories of the now defunct oppessive regime became curiously affectionate, hindsight prejudiced by an inability to pay for heating during the freezing winters.
The weather may sit at a consistent 30 degrees Celcius in East Timor but otherwise the story has parallels. History is repeating in this little half of an island, as it often does in international politics and foreign affairs. Every piece of disillusionment and each additional person living below US$1 a day could have been very easily predicted. A post-independence period is always going to be somewhat testy.
Especially if the gap between rich and poor is stretching to a gulf. The Timorese want to be able to feed their families, and they are pretty pissed off at the remaining malae who sup in style at oceanfront locales, enjoying vinho verde and barbecued seafood (most of it imported), with the extravagance of filtered water and lights powered by generator. And they're also pissed off at a few Timorese families, particularly the Prime Minister's that seem to have lifestyles in a similar vein. [...] While democracy doesn't guarantee instant riches distributed equally throughout a society, it does allow protest against a prime minister perceived to be getting too big for his boots. But just how violent will these protests be? In Australia, protests are touted as violent if there is a scuffle. In Timor, politics have often been influenced and enforced through violence. Many Timorese see violence and its threat as a means more powerful than the ballot.
East Timor is a nation of battle-scarred people. They've seen terrible things. They've all lost loved ones. Their education level makes it difficult for them to understand that democracy should give them other avenues of public debate. Their poverty makes them desperate. They have done terrible things too. Indonesian occupation lasted 24 years and, during that time, some of the male population was engaged in a guerilla war against the oppressors. Many Timorese men spent time in the mountains, living as Falantil freedom fighters - an emotionally charged name for people who, for a cause, committed murder.
Then there is another group in Timor with the very same skill, the former militia members. Around the world, we saw the brutality of these individuals in '99, in massacres sponsored by the Indonesian military. We saw the Indonesians organising proceedings - in Suai and Liquica and elsewhere - where the Timorese mobs rampaged, and supposedly sage havens became awash with blood. But we also saw that the actual perpetrators were East Timorese. Yes, they were pro-Indonesian or manipulated by the occupying force, but I'd like to think that placed in the same circumstances and despite offers of cash and the provision of weapons I'd be disinclined to slit the throat of my next-door neighbour. I'd certainly be unlikely to disembowel a pregnant woman I'd known since childhood. In East Timor, however, for whatever reason - poverty, fear, an acceptance of violence or a disrespect of human life - murder has been a political instrument. And its spectre hangs over us now.
Although there is hope that the population will remember back to a time when it exercised profound restraint and, instead, used the instrument of peace. "José, in '99 why didn't Falantil fight back against the militias? They'd be waging a guerilla war for decades and then they put down their arms when they were needed most and they watched on as their families were killed."
"It was the decision of me and Xanana. We told them they couldn't fight, there would be no violence."
"But it must have been horrific, I mean you must have felt terrible responsibility for the people who were being murdered each day and Falantil must have been going crazy. Surely they wanted to fight back."
"Of course. It was the worst time in my life. God, many phone calls from people begging me and Xanana to let them fight back, every day hearing the stories of the massacres, stories of barbarity."
"Did you make that decision so the message of your struggle would be validated? It seems to me that a deliberate decision was made to lay down arms so there could never be any suggestion that it was a civil war, and that the Timorese could not be accused of merely being violent guerillas, because then the international community wouldn't intervene, is that right?"
"Yes. It was important that the international community see the actions of the Indonesians. How many media interviews I gave then, thousands. God, the stress, not sleeping, hearing the stories."
"And feeling a little responsible."
"It was the most painful time in my life but we had to be strong."
It was once of the rare times in history when peace was used as a powerful political tool. It was used deliberately for a certain outcome. Is that cynicism? No, rather Realpolitik. Nad it came with remarkable bravery - because it takes greater courage to use peace and not war. Gorbachev, José and Xanana; there are few examples in contemporary times of this type of valour and, rather than indicating weakness, it shows rare strength. As a general rule, borne out in the history books, men prefer not to retreat; power and machismo usually prohibit the laying down of arms; but, see, these can be used effectively and, in doing so, provide the measure of the true statesman.
[Chapter 30, Foreign Affairs, p. 278-282]
[...] It's my phone. "Hello?"
"Hello, Lynne Minion?"
"Yes, it is." It's an UNMISET adviser I've met a coupld of times. "Hi!" I chirp.
"Lynne, I've just had a call from an ABC journalist in Darwin saying you've spoken to her."
"Oh, really? I don't know any ABC journalists in Darwin but I'm happy to help. What's it about?" I really am so stupid.
"She says you've leaked information about protests aimed at the Prime Minister. She claims you are her source." This is so odd. I mean, no quality journalist would reveal her source.
"I have no idea what you're talking about but I think this is great. I'm happy to try and get a comment from the government for her."
"Did you hear me? I'm making serious allegatins against you and your professionalism."
"Professionalism. Right. I haven't been paid in months, actually, so if we want to get picky, whose professionalism are we referring to, exactly? And i can't see what i could possibly "leak" when everything anyone would want to know about any protests are on the public record already, like the front page of the Timor Post," which is one of a couple of independent newspapers in Timor.
Man, I continue to find it disgraceful that UN staff are so rude. And this whole discussion is outrageous because it shows that the UN remains determined to control the PR spin in East Timor. It wants the world to continue seeing the East Timor UN mission as a shiny success story, even if the people are protesting on the streets. "The media is not to be involved in this. I told the journalist that nothig is going on."
"And she believed you? Surely she'll go and get an interview with someone else who will be more forthcoming? Then we'll have a problem." Basic rule of journalism - speak to the other side of the story and be well aware of the propaganda machine of any organisation.
"Not a chance. I have diffused a problem caused by your conduct."
"What? I think it's a good thing that the media internationally is calling for comment. Particularly a quality broadcaster like the ABC. I'm happy to arrange for someone in the government to answer allegations and communicate about the work the government is doing. That's what the people want. Silence is the reason they're protesting ... and they will be protesting."
"I've told her there is nothing going on and I don't want to hear that you have had any more contact with media or said otherwise." Despite the fact that it will be my job? Or the job I thought I would be signing up for.
"You told her what?" Basic rule of public relations: always tell the truth.
"We will not have any coverage about this, any beat-up. Dili is a town of gossip and the media doesn't need to react to every ridiculous story. That's what you need to learn."
I guess so because I happen to believe that the matter of people starving isn't ridiculous and, for the life of me, I can't see why, if there is nothing to hide, media coverage is being suppressed. It's undemocratic and paranoid. And it's interference - the UN doesn't run East Timor any more, this is a free country. As for the suggestion that there's nothing going on ... there is something going on! Critical articles - sans UN and government control - are popping out all over the world now, international investors want to know if they should cut their losses and run, and Timorese people are travelling into the capital this very minute, spilling out of the backs of trucks, sitting precariously up on cabin roofs, to confront the Prime Minister about their poverty and ask why they don't have jobs, why they can't feed their families, why they have to pay for their children to go to school, why they are worse off than they were before the independence they fought so long to have.
And anyway, the story is not all bad. Surely there's no reason for shame already, is there? It is important to show the world that this democracy is developing. There mere fact that people can come out onto the streets and demand these answers shows that this country may be poor but there is hope, because for the very first time in their history the Timorese are using their right to protest against their very own government.
[Chapter 32, Because Fortune is a Woman, p. 299-301]
"[...] But I can't believe that the UN doesn't have mandatory AIDS testing at the beginning of contracts." No matter how tenaciously I perservere, I usually lose."
"No, it's not possible."
"Surely you agree with me that this is mad? I mean, you have a full-blown epidemic on your continent!"
"I cannot do these things for you. You have to go yourself to Darwin and go to a doctor there."
It was in Darwin that the alarm first sounded that the UN mission had probably introduced HIV to East Timor and was certainly spreading it. The number of aid workers and peacekeepers presenting with the disease to Australian doctors caused the concern, and it was soon noted to correspond with a similar increate in diagnoses in the other popular R and R destination, Bali.
This information has been widely known for some time now, which is why I expected a mandatory AIDS test today. Yet no changes have been made and no responsibility taken, and so Thai girls are infected and they infect others and then it gets into the Timorese community. And while you may think this surprising - certainly it is an unacceptable tragedy - it's made worse by the fact that the UN unleased a plague of the very same kind in Camobodia ten years ago.
Some nations, including Australia, impose compulsory pre-deployment medicals, which include an AIDS test, on their police and peacekeeping forces. Others don't. This is a void the UN has to fill as a matter of urgency and conscience. How can it afford it? Diverting the budget used for the staff's bottled water would be an easy solution to the problem.
In this country there are fears of an epidemic exacerbated by the poor education level of the population and an extremely patriarchal society which sees women with no power and little voice. If a Timorese man wants to have sex with a Timorese female - whether his wife, his sister, his child or otherwise - he will generally do so. Those demands are unlikely to change if he has HIV. And he won't be wearing a condom, thanks to the Catholic fundamentalism in East Timor, which doesn't support the use of contraception.
The HIV/AIDS messages is difficult to disseminate even in the most aware and secular of nations. Australia has conducted a long and non-judgemental education campaign and even more men from there, especially over thirty, are unlikely to use a condom without the annoying, pressuring, pre-pentration let's-go-au-naturel, I'm-clean, it-feels-good-without-one issue raising its ugly head. And they are supposed to be enlightened!
Even worse, many nationalities have not had the luxury of being exposed to anti-HIV/AIDS advertisements, so their education has yet to begin and, thus, they bring their ignorance and even their infections along with them to a place that isn't able to understand or fight the disease. Conversely, some of the ignorant take new infections home.
[...] Sure, the UN does have an agency specifically mandated to contend with this disease worldwide, a disease that it claims is causing a disaster of catastrophic proportions, that is destroying people, communities, cultures and nations, especially in the Third World; and this UN agency goes by the usually unambiguous name of UNAIDS, which in the case of East Timor seems a little too close to the truth.
[Chapter 33, Humanitarian AIDS, p. 305-306]
There are two cubicles further to the right and one of them is empty - that's right, desk, filing cabinets, phone, all the paraphernalia I'd love are actually lying vacant. However, I can't sit in there, according to the Prime Miniature's Timorian adviser, José, who sits at the next desk along, because the UN should give me what I need to do my job, which would be a great suggestion except that the UN says it has porvided my services to a new Independent East Timorese Government that needs to provide its own resources from now on. Hence the cobbled-together deskette arrangement I've managed to construct in front of the French doors. I'm a professional bag lady - all I need is some cardboard boxes for my files.
[Chapter 35, Seat of Government, p. 322]
Now then, I need to create a prime ministerial letterhead: with no template in the office, I take the government's symbol - a crest of crossed swords and the motto "HONRA, PATRIA E POVO" - place it at the top of the page, and beneath it I paste the words "PRIMEIRO GOVERNO CONSTITUCIONAL DA REPUBLICA DEMOCRATICA DE TIMOR LESTE", then "GABINETE DO PRIMEIRO MINISTRO" in the most authoritative font Microsoft provides. There can be no doubt that this dispatch will convey tremendous weight to the few people in the country who can understand what it says - and to the vast majority who can't.
I've been careful to use Portugese. The Prime Miniature insists, apparently (what would I know? I'm hardly his confidante), that the Portugese language be strictly adhered to as the language of government. This requires documents to be translated and retranslated and translated again, time, energy, manpower and money as an additional problem for a student administration. Imagine the law courts when they are operating! Testimony given in Bahasa Indonesia - the language of the people - translated into English - the lingua franca of the UN and aid organisations - translated into Portugese - for the benefit of the leadership who spent 24 years outside the country and speak the latter.
I've been at meetings where a question is asked by a Timorese person in the language he understands, bahasa, and an answer has come back in the language he can't, Portugese, from a Timorese minister. It all gives the Prime Miniature and his cronies an advantage over the people who remained here during the Indonesian occupation, which is why the Prime Miniature determinedly holds on to his Portophilia.
Any wayward use of the nomenclature "East Timor" could get me sacked so I make sure I use "Timor-Leste". [...] and I'm thinking how curious it is that the PM refers to Germany as Alemanha when it should be Deutshland, and Switzerland as A suiça when it should be Confoederatio Helvetica, if we are to follow the Timor-Leste example.
Oh look, I'm sure my boss is right and the world should see the tremendous power of the Portugese language. The internet should switch to it immediately. [...] it is a complicated language, and conjugating verbs with any enthusiasm is something I can't quite master. So, for now, I prefer Tetum because it's easier to learn.
Tetum is the second new official language, according to the Constitution, a more indigenouschoice for those in the Dili area who speak it. However, it comes with problems of its own. Timorese people in other regions speak their own dialects and languages, so it's not an all-embracing alternative to Bahasa. And it was a language spoken by a generally illiterate people and, therefore, had no official written form. It's now being used in translations of government documents and, when it comes to the legal papers, for example, the langauge simply doesn't contain the words required. In fact, as a langauge it is rudimentary. Verbs don't change according to the subject or tense (has gone/is going/will go to trial) and instead a tone or gesture indicates whether something has occurred, is occurring or will occur - and this isn't easily represented in the written form. Then there is the added disadvantage that the language doesn't have a great deal of reach, given that it's not spoken in any other country in the world. So much for my lessons.
Actually, I recant from the latter point because my lessons have been invaluable - Tetum helps me in my Timor-Leste workplace because I can listen in on Rita's gossip with the maids, as I sit at my deskette until there comes a time when I have to interrupt, I'm sorry to say, in English, "Rita, where's the OUT tray? I want to send my memo." There's no literal translation in Tetum; the language of subsistence farmers has no need for words meaning memo. [...]
Not to worry, Rita loves to practice English because she's realistic and she may be going for a training course in Australia for personal assistants soon, and I want to help her get there as much as possible because, Jesus, she could do with it. "Leeen, not possible," and she rolls her eyes. She's always rolling her eyes at me.
[...] "Rita, how do I send mail then?"
Leeen, you take mail," she mimics the movements. "You go to post office, you take stamp," she licks the air, "you give to them, they send it, weeeee!"
[Chapter 36, Prime Miniature's Shoe and Handbag Emporium, p. 329-331]
[... Rita] certainly never allows work to interfere with her day, which is a reason why the office has ceased to operate, unless you like shoes and handbags.
You see, Rita has started running a show and handbag catalogue service from the Prime Minister's office, which means that these days it gets a little crowded around the metting table, and from my confined spot I watch on, fascinated. Indonesian catalogues are being passed around a group of excited women who are pointing at their selections, shrieking with joy at each turn of the page.
Now, I'm an advocate of shoe appreciation, of course, and there are very few priorities that i place above shoes, but I have to wonder about the appropriateness of dealing in mail-order shoes from the meeting table in the middle of the office of the leader of the nation. Although, I concede it might be nice for VIPs to come in for their audience with the PM and pick out a nice pump in a red size 9 at the same time.
[Chapter 36, Prime Miniature's Shoe and Handbag Emporium, p. 331-332]
During my sojourn around I'm impressed at the remarkable prevalence of PhDs in the government, indicated by their prefixed Dr (masculine) and Dra (feminine). Well, to be clear, I'm impressed at the gall because it's not what it seems. Following the Portugese example, anyone with an undergraduate degree can call him or herself a doctor. That's demoralising enough for all those PhD students around the world working diligently to contribute to their chosen disciplines, but even bolder are all those ministers and secretaries of state who have no degree at all and do it because it is a symbol of the elite. Certainly it's a creativity that means the Timorese Council of Ministers looks to be one of the most educated in the world, which is remarkable given where we are. But those Drs and Dras don't fool me, and if the UN is referred to as The Smurfs, as it is, then the government, such as it is, should be called the Banana Splits.
[Chapter 37, One Banana, Two Banana, Three Banana, Four ..., p. 339]
[...] A little while later and another individual joins. I guess that's a start but glancing at the time i can see that it's just about scheduled to begin. [...]
I'm not giving up yet, though, because I am actually praying for Timor time: the Timorian habit of being a leisurely half an hour or so late. Timor time is their firm belief that time is fluid and flexible construct that depends mailing on their smoking habits. [...]
[Chapter 40, One Must Imagine Sisyphus Happy, p. 368]
[...] "I'm going to be strong, capable, feminine yet not too feminine, what do you think?" I ask him.
"Perfect. All of those qualities are conveyed accurately with that dress," he replies.
"I the big scorch mark down the front a benefit? Does it show that I, too, am living in a hardship mission, doing it tough, sacrificing for this country?" Elsie has had one of her ironing mishaps and I think it lends a certain authenticity and context to the look.
"Smart yet a little deteriorated. It's a good combination."
[Chapter 46, I Spy With My Little Eye, p. 427-428]
The path chosen by the rampaging mob seems deliberate, not random. So what point are the roters trying to make? "They're burning down Alkatiri's house!" yell people with phones to their ears. The executive leader of a nation's house is collapsing into cinders at this point, and, as far as protest messages go, this is much more effective than any placard I've ever seen. I can't conceive of this occurring to The Lodge, the White House or Number 10 Downing Street. I'm not talking about security, either. I'm talking about the will of a people to take such symbolic action.
"The ANZ house is being looted!"
"What? Why?"
"It's owned by Alkatiri's brother," someone yells.
Regardless of the breadth of the Alkatiri real-estate portfolio, why won't the peacekeepers intervene? Doesn't a violent attempt to destabilise a nation's leadership satisfy the mandate? The place is made I'm thinking, as I sit in the bar and wait for the news on a TV that is showing Australia's Channel Seven. And what about the Prime Miniature? Will he now accept that dialogue will get people to communicate in more constructive ways? Can peaceful debate find a place in East Timor's society?
Phones ring and buzz again and this time the news is of a tragedy made immense by its very uselessness. It's an echo of the past, and so people of disparate nationalities are crying in Obrigado Barracks. All of us feel sorrow to hear that events have escalated into new, yet familiar, territory. The Timorese riot police, those who have remained in their uniforms, have opened fire on a group of rioters. They've shot into the crowd indiscriminately, mowing down their countrymen.
UN police officers tried to stop them, they shouted for their Timorese colleagues to lay down their weapons, instead the fear has spilled over into the most terrible of violence, not shops, not houses, but people. Broken and bloodied bodies are being carried through the streets now - five dead, many more wounded. The wails of mothers are poised to rent the air.
It's so soon after '99 for wounds to be opened with this bloodshed. Again these scenes will be broadcast around the world. Once more, the Timorese people must rebuild. And, inexplicably, they have to mourn their dead one more time.
[...] In the morning I make coffee for the people who stayed with me overnight, taking every available space, their homes deemed unsafe. Then curiosity urges two of us to drive around town to observe the aftermath. Buildings lie in ruins, still smouldering. The white government building has sustained cracked windows but is otherwise undamaged. The Prime Miniature's house is a destroyed and mangled mess, the charred wreck of a police motorcycle out the front. A burned out Tata sits in the middle of the road of the main café strip. I take photos with my disposable camera of a country that has turned on itself.
Still, I'm hopeful that from these riots all parties will take responsibility, adopt humility and recommit to working better towards a common goal. Surely this was the wake-up call everyone required? It's time to face the truth, free of agenda, with the world's democratic institutions acting in concert for the good of the Timorese people.
Ring, ring. My phone. "Hello."
"I've tried to call you three times."
"Who is this?" It's an Australian radio producer. [...]
"You've got me now, how can I help you?"
"I want to know what's going on now, an update of the situation."
"I've just been for a drive through town and all is calm. I'd even describe it as tranquil." I have no doubt the UN would approve of my description.
"It can't be. We've just had the news go to air saying the riots continue."
Right. "As I've said, I've literally just been around town and it is completely calm, tranquil in fact."
"It can't be."
[...] In the days that follow, peacekeepers move Dr Alkatiri into a new oceanfront casa he's been having renovated, from where the lion, presumably wide awake now, bites the hand that feeds him when he blames the UN for allowing the carnage. Then he warns the pro-Indonesian enemies of a democratic East Timor against provoking him, which leads Indonesia to respond that this time Timor's going to have to do some introspection. And the ANZ manager receives a call, directing the bank to refurbish the house it rents from the Prime Miniature's brother. It's pointed out, with all due respect, that the bank rebuilt the property at great expense post-'99, that the inability to insure a property in Timor means the investment went up in smoke when it was destroyed thanks to the link to Alkatiri, which leaves the PM no choice but to have the manager's passport seized.
So everything's back to normal. Everyone continues to focus on their own agendas, without thought to the real story: the day-to-day misery here. Which brings me to the woman whose charred body was found on the beach. [...] It had nothing to do with the riots at all, actually. She was killed by her husband for producing a substandard lunch. Which to me is more illustrative of the situation than any smouldering house, even if it is the Prime Miniature's. Yes, it was just another day in the wa zone.
[Chapter 48, The Phoenix Falls, p. 447-451]
"Yeah, because maybe I have PMS." And looking back at a truck that's full now, the women smile at me as they're jolted around, and I realise I'd hate to have PMS if I was stricken with poverty, too. "It's not all bad," I turn back to J-Lo and say, "I only have 138 PMSs left in my life."
"You count down your PMSs?"
"Sure, I have to be aware that I still have 138 more oportunities to make catastrophic decisions that would never be made on the remaining 23 days of any lunar month."
"I've changed my mind, you are mad."
"Only for the other five days." [...]
[Chapter 50, Tour of Duty, p. 461]

	This page last changed: 5 Jan 2005
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