who can know their pain?

12 november 1991 - a day of horrific bloodshed at the Santa Cruz Cemetery where Indonesian soldiers closed in on Timorese who were mourning the death of Sebastiao Gomes - an 18 year old who was killed 2 weeks before by the Indonesians at Motael Church while protesting for independence. Timorese families lost loved ones and till this day, do not know where they are now.

Today there is a huge cross in the Santa Cruz Cemetery where flowers and garlands and candles are offered to the hundreds who were killed and their bodies never found. That massacre has gone down the annals of history and ironically, without the bloodletting, Timor could still now be part of Indonesia.

According to G, Sebastiao's father did not cry when his son was killed, he said his son died a resistance hero. It was because of Sebastiao's death that led to the Indonesian plot to kill all those who gathered at the cemetery - after all, what better time to fire upon thousands of Timorese children, women, men, armed with nothing but kerchiefs and flowers while penned up within the cemetery walls? The guns were fired, people killed, injured, and shanghaied to places that, till now, nobody knows. It is said that 400 people died that day.

Thankfully, there were courageous (or should we say 'crazy') journalists there to record this display of bloodthirstiness. Amongst the many was Max Stahl who is now renowned for showing the world, evidence of the massacre. He buried his videocassette into the ground and handed to the soldiers, blank tapes and his video camera which they broke. Amazingly, his life was spared. To this day, MS remains in Timor dedicated to archiving the country's past and making films to show the new generations of the struggle for freedom.

I visited the Santa Cruz Cemetery today - along with hundred others as they took part in a ceremony to remember the massacre. I had always hesitated to visit the cemetery because i did not want to be a disaster/tragedy tourist but today i knew i had to go.

I asked to see Sebastiao's grave and was led there by G. Already, there were flowers and candles placed there, with his photo there - frozen in time - at 18 years old. If he was alive, he would be 33, just a couple of years older than me. But if he were alive, would Timor be a free country? Would i be there at Santa Cruz to visit his grave?

G and I stood under the shade and she began to share her stories for the first time. In 1991, she was only 10 years old and remembered running home from school with her little sister, seeing people with blood a nd wounds on the street. She hid under the bed at home and cried endlessly. Their father had attended the mass that morning to remember Sebastiao and everyone thought he would be dead - like the hundreds lying atop graves at Santa Cruz. When he walked through the door, they were all shocked.

By Providence, he had not joined in the procession but went to buy medicine for G's mother instead. He escaped death. G's family - like many others - were in the resistance, clandestine and overt. Once her father disappeared and for 40 days they could not find him anywhere. On the 40th night, he returned home and they thought they saw his ghost because he was so emaciated, and had a full face of beard. That massacre may be 14 years ago but the pain that remains is indescribable nor fathomable by us.

G said that a friend J had bullets removed from his chest just 3 years ago - bullets that were fired on 12 November 1991. Can you know that pain? For 11 years, those silver nuggets were lodged in his body, reminding him ceaselessly of that day. His flesh may have grown around to bury them but it was impossible. But in contrast, physical pain is the lesser evil compared to mental trauma and anguish. 2 of J's sisters were raped by the soldiers - one died while the other survived. How can you bury that hatred, that anger? How can you look at another Indonesian again and not want to plunge a knife into his heart? But the Timorese have managed to reject that vengeful spirit.

G said, initially they just wanted to kill any Indonesian in sight, but soon, they were able to see where the DEvil really is. In fact, there were many courageous Indonesians too, who stayed on to help the Timorese. Some also worked within the system, by giving information and protecting people. I have met many Indonesians who now call themselves Timorese, speak Tetum and love the country fiercely. They are now working in NGOs to make this country better together. Isn't it such a relief that for every baddie in this world, there are many saints to make this world a sane place?

'Moving on' - how do you do that after such a traumatic past? For some people, 24 years of their lives were dedicated to this resistance. 24 years of clandestine operations, of living in fear, of whispering, of listening for footsteps, of not laughing without a care. How do you put all that aside and 'move on'? It's no wonder, many remain locked inside their minds.

But the majority have managed to laugh again. Sometimes you forget that you are speaking to a people who just bade farewell to violence so recently.

I admire the Timorese. Their resilience overwhelm me. I wish i had a big kerchief to wipe all their tears away and make them smile again. But first we'll need some time to sew that big kerchief.

For an account of what happened that day:
http://www.motherjones.com/news/special_reports/
east_timor/evidence/nairn.html

Foam party in Acanuno

foam party in akanuno
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

this is a bittersweet moment for me... While this young gal is having foamy fun - like a child - she's also doing the entire household's laundry, like a mother.

this whole week, i have been at a workshop to develop Marta - an animation character - who is meant to be a tool to advocate for girls' rights in Timor.

there are so many issues facing girls here - as with many other societies. Early marriage "kaben sedu" when girls get married off at 14 years; early pregnancy when girls become mothers at 15 or 16 and face high risks because their bodies are too young to sustain such stress; lack of education because girls are the first to drop out of school when the family's too poor, or when she gets married off, or when she has to look after 8 other siblings; etc.

although in TL, there isn't an overt discrimination against girls unlike in China for example, women still face greater challenges than men.

It's especially disheartening when you go to the local markets and see the men gambling with wads of US dollars in their hands, while the womenfolk are sitting on the roadsides and markets selling their produce or wares.

it's not just here in Timor you see such behaviour. In Vietnam, i saw hordes of men drinking coffee at all hours and no women doing so - they were out working in the fields or on the streets peddling their wares.

Someone told me, "we're not trying to bash the men but trying to make life easier for the women."

The men in TL have struggled hard too -for the country's independence but so have the women - they fought alongside as soldiers and clandestine supporters - and also bore children, fed the families and looked after the sick.

WOMEN and MEN were made by God to be companions and to serve GOD together.

high heat

the heat in Dili is reaching unbearable heights...
even walking to work at 0730hrs is an ordeal, as the hot sun scorches down mercilessly. i now have to start walking at 0700hrs in order to escape the blinding sun that has been waking up earlier each day.
Somehow Mother Nature has worked it out this way - the heat gets so intolerable, you are happy when the rains come.
You might remember me bemoaning the early onset of rains a few weeks ago but now it is the smell of rain, the rumbling in the skies, and the shady clouds that i most welcome
it's just too hot here - so hot that yesterday, after 3 hours out in a village, i came back with a terrific headache, suffered mild heat exhaustion and puked out my dinner in the middle of the night
i can only imagine those who live without any electricity - how do they bear the heat? the air becomes so still, you feel like a fly in a thick, creamy soup.
in singapore - our solution to heat is hopping from one shopping mall to the next, linked by an endless maze of underpasses that are also airconditioned
LKY was right to say that the airconditioner was the greatest modern invention
arghh
my sweat glands are protesting from overdrive
yucks. tomorrow another day of sweating.

festival of lights

modern lights
Originally uploaded by tumbleweeed.

i went to a Diwali celebration hosted by 2 indian couples and a German couple - all of whom are from or had stayed on the Indian Continent for years. We had great vegetarian food (which i now wished i had photographed but i was too busy gorging myself) and a wonderful evening sitting in Elke's backyard which was bathed in soft lights emanating from cute chinese lanterns and dragonflies, while the garden was lined with flickering candles.

I was reminded of that incredibly romantic scene in The English Patient when the Sikh soldier lit up shells filled with oil for the nurse on her birthday. Aw....


But what struck me most that night was that it was my first Diwali celebration! Now how could that have been? I was celebrating Diwali in a mostly Catholic country where there were maybe 20 Indians in total while i have never joined in festivities in Singapore? Why is that so?
It's sobering to think that despite being so famously multicultural, the mix of ethnicities and races in Singapore is still less than desired.

I remember my former Malay neighbours in Bedok South who would invite us for kueh kueh whenever they celebrated festivals - and it was pretty often. I was a greedy young child (and still is!) so I always looked forward to an invitation to a feast.

Alas, after moving to a bigger apartment in Bedok North (yes, still in the east) those neighbourly relations have disappeared. Most people prefer to keep their doors shut and less keen to chit chat and get to know each other. Thankfully a new neighbour with 3 grandkids have moved in and our families have become closer.

Well, returning to that point about friends of other ethnicities. I have realised for some time now that i have few friends who are Malay or Indian. There were a few at work and an even fewer in my inner circle. Why?

Hmm... ain't got no answer for that yet. i'm going to mull over that longer.