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The Catholic Leader, April 21, 2019
www.catholicleader.com.auNews
JUST as we have been remembering
the horrors of Rwanda 25 years ago,
another anniversary passed almost
unnoticed this month – the 20th an-
niversary of a Church massacre on
Australia’s doorstep, in East Timor.
In April 1999, five months before East Ti-
mor’s vote for independence, dozens of people
were killed inside a priest’s house and church
courtyard in the idyllic coastal town of Liquisa.
The figure could have been much higher – up
to 200 people – the remnants of a crowd of about
2000 who had attended a morning church gather-
ing on April 5.
At that time I was the ABC’s Indonesia cor-
respondent, and I had found myself travelling
almost constantly between East Timor and my
base in Jakarta.
Only days before, I had interviewed the chief
of one of East Timor’s feared militia gangs – the
Besi Merah Putih (the red and white iron).
He had vowed that “fire and blood” was soon
to be unleashed on anyone who opposed Indone-
sian rule in East Timor.
His prediction of terror was coming true.
I stood in the APTN new agency office in Ja-
karta watching video footage that had just been
satellite-fed from East Timor.
I stood aghast at what I saw – a boy lying on
his side on a white, tiled floor, his back to the
camera, with a deep, long gash down the side of
his body – the signature of a machete.
There was a pool of blood and he was gasping
for breath, barely alive.
Several injured and hysterical people huddled
around.
We were watching the aftermath of a mas-
sacre, and within a day I found myself back in
Liquisa with ABC cameraman David Anderson
trying to piece together what had happened.
We found Liquisa deadly silent – no traffic, no
one in the markets or on the streets.
We headed for the church São João de Brito.
I won’t describe the horror of what we saw in
the courtyard, even though attempts had been
made to wash it clean.
In the nearby house of the priest, Father
Rafael dos Santos had been ransacked, and we
found the floor in one room – the white tiled
floor from the video – covered in blood.
We learned that the priest had escaped with
others to Dili.
However Carmelite Sister Maria Immanuella
had stayed to try and calm emotions.
Nevertheless, I found her overcome by the
horror of what had happened.
“I don’t know how many were killed,” she
said
“According to Fr Rafael seven were killed in
his house. The situation here is tense. Everyone
is afraid.”
I began searching for witnesses.
Nobody in the town was willing to be inter-
viewed for a TV report, so I took notes that I
would use to file a report for ABC radio.
Here are the notes I took:
“About midday a group of up to 500 armed
pro-Indonesia paramilitary – members of the
Besi Merah Putih (red and white iron) – chased
residents of Liquisa to their church. The militia-
men stood outside shouting threats. There were
also Indonesian troops present.
“They stood behind the militiamen outside the
church grounds, and as the tensions increased
they fired warning shots into the air – but
significantly they made no attempt to stop what
happened next.
“An old man who had been inside the church
told me that people around him panicked when
they heard the sound of gunshots.
“Some ran outside into the churchyard. Others
ran to the priest’s house. It was then that militia-
men attacked with machetes. He said people got
their throats cut. Soldiers fired tear gas into the
priest’s house to drive out those who had sought
refuge. One witness said he saw blood dripping
from the ceiling.”
Timor massacre remembered
Violence:
A
pro-Indonesia
militia member
brandishing a
home-made
gun. A “red
and white”
civilian army
inflicted
violence and
murder before
and after East
Timor’s vote
for independ-
ence in 1999.
Later, when I entered the house, I found slit
marks across the entire ceiling, which suggests
the militiamen must have thrust their machetes
into the ceiling to try and stab anyone who may
been hiding in the roof.
East Timor’s spiritual leader, Bishop Carlos
Belo, said the death toll was 25, a figure he was
told by the local Indonesian military commander.
People I spoke to in Liquisa said the toll
was much higher, and by 2003, when a serious
crimes investigation finally took its investigation
to court, the figure was said to be up to 200 – no-
body knows for certain because the bodies were
taken away in a truck.
The court heard detailed testimony about how
the Besi Merah Putih militia held a ceremony
before the massacre in which each member was
allegedly forced to drink a cocktail of alcohol,
animal blood and drugs to prepare themselves
for the church killing.
Testimony implicated the direct participation
in the attacks by Indonesian soldiers, who were
allegedly dressed in civilian clothes to look like
militia members.
Some of East Timor’s most prominent pro In-
donesia militia figures, including Eurico Guterres
and João Tavares, were the primary suspects and
leading figures during the massacre.
The court heard from one eyewitness, Her-
minia Mendes, how the militia along with the
police and the military attacked the church.
“They fired shots into the air to give the signal
to the militia to enter the church, and then they
started shooting the people,” she told the court
in 2003.
“Wearing masks that covered their faces the
militia and the military then attacked with axes,
swords, knives, bombs and guns.
“The police shot my older brother, Felix, and
the militia slashed up my cousins, Domingos,
Emilio, and an eight-month old baby.”
Ms Mendes described how she desperately
tried to flee with others to the Carmelite convent.
“The militia, police and military had prepared
a truck to carry people to the district administra-
tor’s house,” she said.
“When we arrived the militia continued their
actions and continued beating and stabbing
civilians.
“After about three hours Augustinho (a civil
servant)… made an announcement to the people,
saying, ‘Go home and raise the Indonesian flag.
And tie it to your right hand to show that we are
all people who are prepared to die for this flag’.”
By the time David and I arrived in Liquisa we
found most houses in Liquisa were flying the red
and white flag of Indonesia.
People were petrified of another attack and
were flying these colours for protection.
As David and I walked the streets we saw
many strange and disturbing sights.
In one neighbourhood the air was filled with
smoke from piles of leaves burning in the gutters
– it gave the place an eerie, nightmarish look.
Youths loitered in the street watching us and
moving away.
They looked weary and drained of all spirit –
like zombies.
Many wore tattered red and white headbands,
or had red and white crepe paper wrapped
around their arms and bodies.
In any other circumstances they could have
been mistaken for football fans trailing home
after losing a big match.
But in Liquisa, after a massacre, they were
simply trying to avoid provoking further attack
from a crazed and unpredictable enemy.
It was still many months before East Timor’s
vote for independence and the pro-Jakarta militia
were doing everything they could to intimidate.
And where were the United Nations’ peace-
keepers in this chaotic situation?
It wasn’t until May 1999 – a month after the
Liquisa massacre - that East Timor’s former
colonial power, Portugal, signed agreement to
allow East Timorese to vote on their future.
That deal was endorsed by the UN and sig-
nalled the start of the UN’s participation in the
voting process.
Significantly, the UN allowed the Indonesian
police force to be in charge of security in the
lead up to the August ballot.
That proved a poor decision.
As well as more attacks and killings leading
up to the August ballot, violence erupted once a
majority of eligible East Timorese voters chose
independence from Indonesia.
Some 1400 civilians died.
About 250,000 people – more than a quarter of
the population fled to West Timor, where many
were housed in refugee camps.
Martial law was imposed.
The UN then sent in an authorised force
(INTERFET) – consisting mainly of Australian
Defence Force personnel – to restore order and
rebuild.
I returned to Liquisa a few years later.
A youth choir was singing in the church São
João de Brito.
Their voices were sweet and beautiful. Peace
had finally come.
Destruction:
A burnt-out street in Dili East Timor, after pro-Indonesia militia gangs ran riot in 1999.
Journalist Mark
Bowling reflects on
a shocking event in
East Timor in 1999
Independence fighter:
East Timor guerrilla
leader and later president, Xanana Gusmao
meets with journalist Mark Bowling.