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
Now that I'm finally re-settled back into life in Dili, I'm looking through old photos to blog - sorta like filling in the blank spaces left by the illness. This was one taken at Maubara in Liquica District when my parents came to visit me in Timor! This visit was something i had been praying to God for a long time because my dad had been very resistant to the idea of coming to Timor ever since I was posted here. He, like many Singaporeans, have heard and seen only the chaos so well-captured on cable news and have visions of crime, theft, and riots etched into his mind. So when I first asked them to visit me many months ago, the answer had been "you just come home quickly!" So it was indeed God's grace that helped my mom persuade Dad to join a group of Catholics (from Legion of Mary) to see this country. During the first few days of their visit, I was up in a retreat center in Maubara for training so Armando drove them up to see me instead. I think my parents got to see the beauty of this country, especially when they went up to Gleno where it was cool and when I brought them to see the spectacular beaches of Timor.
But it is no doubt a harsh environment for city people. After being pampered by clean tap water, cool air-conditioning, and dust-free air in Singapore, the sizzling heat in Dili and the generally lower standard of living certainly tested my parents. This was not a conventional HOLIDAY for them. Mind you, they are not rich folks who travel in first class or are mollycoddled, but they still found it a challenge. 
