The myth of Indonesia's development of East Timor

October 14, 1998
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The myth of Indonesia's development of East Timor

By Simon Andrewartha

The latest round of UN-sponsored talks between Indonesia and Portugal this month keeps the door of hope open for East Timor's supporters. Yet the daily reality in that country is a sobering reminder of how past talks have distracted international attention from the truth of Indonesia's "development" of East Timor.

Indonesia insists that it has brought social and economic development to its "youngest province".

Government mouthpieces never tire of trotting out the statistics on the number of roads, bridges, schools and medical clinics it has constructed. The next, predictable line in its propaganda formula is to compare these figures with the meagre achievements of some 400 years of Portuguese colonial administration.

Like the oil that stains the earth around the derelict well heads left by Australian oil companies on East Timor's southern coast, the dark rumour of human rights abuses has continued to seep out of East Timor. However, the problems of health, education and livelihood that the East Timorese bring to missionaries each day are less well known.

PictureOne of the few missionaries to remain after the 1975 Indonesian invasion, Father Balthazar (not his real name), sits erect in the sparsely furnished guest room of the house which is his "prison".

This prison lies within what he calls the larger prison of the town, which in turn is encompassed by the great prison that is East Timor.

Inside the room, his soft voice is barely audible as he talks of the oppression he has witnessed daily for the last 23 years. We both strain to hear signs of the arrival of the Indonesian priest and house-mate who keeps tabs on his daily movements and the guests he receives.

Parodying the Indonesian government's treatment of the East Timorese, Fr Balthazar pats an imaginary dog that represents the people of East Timor, stroking it lovingly, showing the world that the people of East Timor are in good hands. In the meantime, while talks and "dialogues" are conducted ad infinitum, the killing continues relentlessly. This he silently emphasises with a repeated chopping action to the side of his neck.

Fr Balthazar unburdens his conscience of the insurmountable problems he confronts every day. Among these are the never-ending stream of East Timorese youth who beg him for financial support for everything from daily needs and education fees to medicine. I leave feeling extremely depressed, powerless and angry.

Later, when relating this story to a visiting community development worker, I found myself disagreeing with his argument that Fr Balthazar's charity is creating dependency.

According to my guest, this old-fashioned style of church aid has to be replaced with programs by which the East Timorese make themselves self-supporting. To me, however, these idealistic notions show little appreciation of the degree to which 23 years of armed occupation have robbed the Timorese of the ability to help themselves.

On the street corners of Dili, Timorese men can be found lying on the pavement. Their listless stare, layered grime and matted dreadlocks conjure images of beggars in India, or Hindu ascetics. Commonly referred to in Indonesian as orang gila — lunatics — these derelicts are a growing phenomenon.

I remember one in particular, more active than most, equipped with helmet, whistle and baton, "directing" the traffic in and out of Dili's only petrol station. This "madness" seemed symbolic of the desire of those who have lost everything to demonstrate some form of control over their lives.

Less publicly on display is the suffering of women and children. Countless Timorese women have been raped by Indonesian troops. As well as psychological trauma, rape victims also suffer ostracism from their own community.

Large numbers of children grow up as orphans under the care of Catholic nuns. Orphanages seem almost as much a part of the landscape in East Timor as churches and schools.

Men, women and children are now not only more in need of aid than 23 years ago, but are less able to take advantage of the self-help style aid promoted in today's "user pays" development business.

Perhaps Indonesia's most lauded achievement in East Timor is the construction of roads and bridges. This is a capital-intensive investment that symbolises Indonesia's commitment to developing East Timor. It is also the most tangible evidence of how it has outdone Portugal in the development stakes.

The reality is much less impressive. Indonesia has simply misrepresented the facts.

As recently as two years ago, the immediate approach to Dili from the west along the main trunk road involved fording no fewer than seven flooded streams in the wet season. In the wet season, it is not uncommon for both coastal and mountain roads to Dili to be cut, leaving no approach to the capital by land. The quality of the roads is well below what is required for such conditions.

The road between Baucau and Viqueque, bisecting East Timor from north to south, was so full of giant pot-holes as to make it unnavigable for the average sedan or minibus. Access to the town of Viqueque depended on an ageing bridge from the Portuguese era.

Where new bridges have been built, they are liable to be rendered useless by floods that destroy the road on either side of the bridge. This is true even of the trunk road from West Timor where it crosses a major river, the Lois, soon after entering East Timor.

All bridges are nevertheless commemorated by large plaques. These invariably bear the signature of the minister for defence, and unintentionally serve as reminders of the obvious military function of roads in an occupied territory.

Indonesian government propaganda quotes the minuscule number of kilometres of sealed road existing in East Timor under the Portuguese, contrasted with the amount of paved road Indonesia has made in the last 20 years. This comparison overlooks the fact that while the only asphalted road in Portuguese Timor may have been in the capital, Dili, it was not the only road the Portuguese built.

A large portion of the mileage of "new" roads that Indonesia includes in its tally is pre-existing, unsurfaced roads to which the Indonesians have added a layer of bitumen. The scenic coast road leading into Dili from the west, and the two roads leading from Dili over the rugged mountain ranges to the interior, are examples of Portuguese engineering which has received a coat of Indonesian asphalt.

Like its crumbling asphalted roads, Indonesia's bid to convince the world that it has fulfilled its social contract with the people of East Timor consists of a thin layer of propaganda, in which gaping holes are evident. The enduring reality underneath this veneer is grinding poverty for the East Timorese.

As Fr Balthazar explained, the Timorese under Indonesia are at best expendable and peripheral to any real economic growth taking place there. At worst, they are the targets of a military machine for which roads and bridges are the means by which a rebellious population can be pacified.

Indonesia, a developing country now burdened with its own economic crisis, can no longer pretend to offer any assistance to the people of East Timor. The only assistance which remains within the Indonesian government's power to bestow on East Timor is cooperation in the decolonisation process which it interrupted 23 years ago.

[Simon Andrewartha spent three years in East Timor, 1992-95, as a volunteer development worker. He revisited Timor last year. He teaches Indonesian language in Melbourne.]

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