There are other signs of lingering turmoil too. Three days after a UN peacekeeper from Australia accidentally killed himself on August 9–shot in the chest when his rifle apparently jolted free and discharged on a bumpy road–I walked into one of Dili’s two Thai restaurants and saw a group of 25 Australian soldiers sitting down to dinner, their semi-automatics at their feet. I knew that the death of their colleague had forced their officers to disclose 77 separate incidents of “accidental rifle discharges” since their arrival in the country. “Keep that pointing the other way,” I said in what I hoped was a light-hearted tone to the soldier nearest my table. “No worries, mate,” he replied reassuringly–just as a waitress stumbled over the gun.
It didn’t discharge and I laughed, if a little nervously. But for the 8,000 Blue Berets from 32 nations, patrols in the area of the 100-mile border with Indonesia are no laughing matter. Two soldiers, a Nepali and a New Zealander, have been killed in recent weeks by the pro-Indonesia, anti-independence militia bands roaming the area. The New Zealander’s ears were cut off, presumably to secure a bounty. Three other Nepalis, as well as a civilian, have been injured.
UN military spokesmen says the militias are not a major threat. Still, there is concern that they may planning to make a strike on or around 30 August, the first anniversary of the day on which the people of East Timor voted overwhelmingly–78 percent–for independence from Indonesia, which had ruled the territory since it invaded in 1975 following the sudden ending of 400 years of unproductive Portuguese rule. In the three weeks following the announcement of that result, the Indonesian army, police and the militias they controlled wreaked a terrible retaliation. Hundreds died and about 80 percent of the territory’s buildings and utilities were burned and smashed; 300,000 people were displaced.
On the ground in Dili today, what hits you is the rubble and dust. Which is why the announcement of the rebuilding of the town’s main hotel–the Mahkota–is such a powerful symbol. The poll result was announced in the three-story hotel complex, once the biggest in Dili and home to many foreign and Indonesian journalists. It was an immediate target for revenge-hungry militias. After reconstruction it will provide jobs for about 200 people.
In a country that is, literally, picking up the pieces there is officially no government. “You should not call us the government,” counsels UN spokesperson Barbara Reis. “We are the United Nations Temporary Administration for East Timor,” or UNTAET. It is, however, the government in all but name, with its own multinational UN police force and its own army, the UN Peace-Keeping Force–and, since July, its own revenue collection service. Its white four-wheel-drive vehicles form a significant proportion of the territory’s vehicular traffic. Other transport is unregistered, unlicensed, uninsured and often uninterested in the rules of the road. I saw a boy who could not have been more than 10 driving down a main street: he appeared to be standing in order to see over the steering wheel.
This month UNTAET appointed the first of 9,000 permanent Timorese civil servants. Its “president” is the Brazilian head of UNTAET, Sergio Vieira de Mello, who points out that this is the first time the United Nations has actually run a country, one that is being rebuilt from scratch. “The truth is, the United Nations has never done this before. There is lots of trial and error,” he admits. “But now we’re moving forward with assurance.”
At about this time next year the UN will hand over to an elected government and East Timor will formally become independent. “President” de Mello will almost certainly be succeeded by a genuine president, Xanana Gusmao, who led the liberation struggle and whose disarmed Falintil guerrillas currently await a new role or formal demobilization.
In the meantime, the UN inhabits the white-walled oceanfront building that housed both the Portuguese and Indonesian governors. Some Timorese see the current administration, with its huge salary gaps between international and local staff and its limited knowledge of local languages, as yet another alien presence–though there is deep appreciation of the UN’s role in organizing the independence referendum and even deeper anxiety that the departure of the UN Blue Berets would result in a resurgence of cross-border militia violence.
Many administration staff live opposite the Governor’s office, sharing small cabins aboard a floating hotel. Judging by the breakfast conversations in the boat, the strain of sharing with a partner not of one’s choice is a major stress factor in what is officially a hardship post. Officially, too, this is a “no spouses” post, though a growing number of couples show they have learned how to bend the rules. Coincidentally or not, this was the first UN mission to have a staff psychiatrist.
There are compensations. Sunday is beach day for the “internationals”, and cafes selling passable cappuccino and espresso are rising from the rubble to meet demand created largely by the UN presence. More money has been promised from a World Bank small-loans scheme, but it has been painfully slow off the mark. The Transitional Administration has declared the US dollar to be the official currency, but for the moment most ordinary Timorese still use grubby Indonesian rupiah notes.
Indonesia’s legacy is also evident in the law code, which UNTAET has declared to be in force except where it contravenes international human rights conventions–though the justice department does not have a complete set of Indonesian laws and the law is still rarely applied. UN police prefer to pacify, caution and counsel. Three appeals court judges took the oath in August, but no trial has yet been completed.
Looming like a menacing shadow behind the relatively few day-to-day problems of law and order is the awkward question of bringing to book the perpetrators of last year’s massacres, murders, rapes and destruction. UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan has promised that justice will be done, but the UN is resisting an international war crimes tribunal in the hope that trials in Timor and Indonesia will deal with the problem. Few Timorese expect anything from Indonesian justice, any more than they believe UNTAET’s repeated assurances that the Indonesian army is genuinely cooperating in efforts to curb the militias.
Jakarta’s cooperation is also crucial for the future of the estimated 90,000 refugees still in militia-dominated camps on the Indonesian half of the island.
Although there are fears for the immediate future and anger and sadness over the immediate past, a territory that is not yet officially an independent country, ruled by an administration that says it is not a government, will savor this month’s anniversary of its historic vote for freedom. “What happened here was terrible,” says stick-thin Mateus, one of Dili’s many unemployed as he tries to sell bananas to a burly Australian UN security guard, “but at least we are free.”
