Subject: FEER: Indonesian military looks set to sour
independence plans
From: "John M. Miller" <fbp@igc.apc.org>Received from Joyo:
Far Eastern Economic Review February 18, 1999
*East Timor Up in Arms
Indonesian military looks set to sour independence plans
By Dan Murphy in Barro Pite, East Timor
Martinho Fernandes stands four-square like an ageing middleweight, takes a pull on his
beer and declares that he doesn't want to fight--but will if he feels he has to. And he
may get that feeling. The 52-year-old civil servant leads a group of East Timorese who
favour integration with Indonesia. The prospect of a fast Indonesian withdrawal from the
territory fills Fernandes with foreboding.
He has the look of a man who is not to be trifled with, starting with his thick build,
down to the rough tattoo of a naked woman on his left forearm. He keeps a flak jacket
hanging on his bedroom wall and a rifle in his closet--both mementoes of his days as a
Portuguese soldier. Across from his bed is a clock sporting the Indonesian special forces,
or Kopassus, logo of red beret, mirrored sunglasses and hunting knife.
"Fretilin is still armed," he explains, referring to the independence group
that has waged a guerrilla action against Indonesia since shortly after it invaded the
former Portuguese territory in 1975. "If they put down their weapons, we won't need
weapons. But as long as they have them, and the military is no longer standing between us,
it's safer for everybody to put guns in our hands."
Like a lot of people, he predicts dire consequences if independence comes without
substantial preparation. "If Indonesia lets us go immediately, there will be
war."
There's no doubt the government is prepared to let East Timor go. On January 27, in an
unexpected turn, Indonesia said it would consider leaving the territory if East Timor
rejects a plan that would give it more autonomy. Under the autonomy proposal, the
territory would gain more control over its finances and government while remaining part of
Indonesia; rejection would lead to swift independence. Just 12 days later, however, in
talks with Portugal at the United Nations' headquarters in New York, Indonesia would not
agree to allow the East Timorese to vote on their future. A referendum, it said, would
lead to a civil war.
So far, it's unclear what mechanism will be used to determine East Timor's fate. But
judging by the mood on the ground, most East Timorese would choose independence, with
Fretilin almost certain to come to power.
That frightens the significant minority of people who have stood with Indonesia. They
have benefited handsomely under Indonesian rule and have everything to lose. Many of them
fought Fretilin in the civil war that erupted before the Indonesian invasion and fear
being at the mercy of their old enemies.
Those fears aside, the key variable for peace will be the behaviour of the Indonesian
military in the coming months. The armed forces, or Abri, have had a free hand in the
territory since the invasion: Intelligence operatives have penetrated most segments of
society and the military has a record of using civilians to sow fear or intimidate
citizens into supporting Indonesia.
Given that track record, many East Timorese fear the military will play on existing
divisions to undermine the independence process. Salvador Soares, a member of parliament
and editor of The Voice of East Timor newspaper, says Abri has invested too much time and
blood in the region to walk away quietly. The government threatened this week to remove
Soares from the legislature for his views.
However, he speaks for many who have grown alarmed by the military's recruitment and
training of pro-integration civilian guards, or Wanra, in the past two months--a
recruitment drive that was boosted by 1,000 new entrants in early February. The military
has no pretensions to arming anybody but pro- integrationists, and acknowledges that part
of its intention is to help them protect themselves against what it calls
"terrorists." But for the most part, the East Timor military command and the
central government insist the new militia are part of a national programme to provide
extra security during the country's June general election.
Though there have long been informal and armed pro-integration groups (Fernandes is the
leader of one) they bear little resemblance to the Wanra. The new recruits are younger and
hotter-headed and, in some cases at least, sport modern M-16 rifles. They have already
killed, most recently slaying four men in the town of Ainaro. A Western diplomat in
Jakarta worries that "they're little more than thugs." In a separate incident,
as many as 6,000 people fled their villages to take refuge in the town of Suai at the end
of January after what independence activists say was a Wanra attack.
Many residents fret that the Wanra have been mustered to limit East Timor's chances of
a peaceful transition. The military dismisses the accusations. "Abri adheres to human
rights and sticks to central-government policy. Our role is to protect the people,"
says Col. Mudjiono, Abri's second in command on the ground. He says that reductions in
military staffing have made it harder to protect everyone, though, and admits 100 rifles
were distributed to integrationists in January to even the odds between them and Fretilin
guerrillas.
Independence supporters and Catholic leaders like Nobel Peace Prize winner Bishop
Carlos Felipe Ximenes Belo don't buy the self-defence line, pointing out that the larger,
better-equipped Indonesian military is more than a match for Fretilin. "What are the
professional soldiers doing? What are they getting paid for?" Belo complains.
"In 15 years here, I've never heard of Fretilin raiding a village and causing 6,000
people to flee. Yet, the moment the Wanra are formed, 6,000 had to flee."
The military says the Wanra weren't responsible for the exodus from Suai and says the
Ainaro killings were an act of self-defence against a raid by Fretilin fighters, who it
accuses of "terrorizing" the local populace. "People have to protect
themselves," Mudjiono says, adding that Abri reclaimed the weapons after the
shootings. Villagers from Ainaro disagree. They say the killings were unprovoked.
Fernandes is no thug but he does support the general idea of arming civilians, using
his personal history to illustrate why. He joined Apodeti, a small party that favoured
integration with Indonesia (and had significant Indonesian backing) in 1974. He says his
reasons were practical and that Indonesia promised--and delivered--a much better life to
the territory after 450 years under Portugal, something he doesn't think the poor region
of 830,000 could have done on its own. "We had nothing; the people lived on dirt
floors," he says. "Now people have permanent homes, some even have cars! Under
the Portuguese, no one even had a horse."
He says he was jailed by Fretilin for about six months in 1975 for his political views,
and subject to periodic harassment until 1977, when Fretilin lost control of the region
around the town of Wikeke, where he grew up.
Fernandes put his military skills to work, acting as a guide and all-round assistant to
Kopassus as they hunted independence fighters across the island. Kopassus developed a
reputation for its own brand of brutality, often executing prisoners out of hand and
dabbling in so-called psychological operations. Though the special forces are a
particularly hated element of Indonesian rule, Fernandes is unapologetic, saying it was
war on all sides and that he was proud to be with them. "They're the best soldiers
the army has. The rest never wanted to work." Now he says he wants to give
reconciliation a shot--but he adds that he won't be able to trust Fretilin as long as it
remains armed.
Among the military's victims was the father of Francisco Gusmao, a relation of jailed
Fretilin leader Xanana Gusmao. When Francisco was five, he watched as his father was
executed by an Indonesian soldier who cut his throat. Fernandes later adopted the boy.
Francisco, now 26, says he has been pro-independence ever since his father's death--but
that he and his adoptive father get along well.
Ironically, their relationship illustrates one of the things peace has got going for
it. As in Belfast or Jerusalem, there is a tangle of tragic histories that many people
struggle to put behind them. But the key difference from those troubled cities is that
East Timor's divide doesn't break down on religious or tribal lines. In Dili, the lines
between the two camps are crossed every day, with political opponents attending church
together, doing business together and occasionally living together.
Though many in East Timor are clinging to hopes that those communal ties will help
prevent more bloodletting as they take their first steps towards independence, it's clear
the province's short-term stability is in Abri's hands. After 23 years of well-documented
extra-judicial killings and torture by the army, the local population isn't relying on its
good faith.
"After 23 years of abuse, they have a moral responsibility to see that the
transition is peaceful," says Francisco Gueterres, a politics professor at East Timor
University who's trying to promote reconciliation. "But will they?"
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