The Timor Man. Kerry B Collison

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      As they continued to chant and call for the Mayor to show his face, the students failed to notice the soldiers move quickly into position. One of the boys threw a rock through the Mayor’s front window and within moments others followed with a hail of missiles they had picked up off the road.

      A volley of shots cracked through the air over the demonstrator’s heads sending the students into a frenzied panic as they broke ranks and ran, knowing that their lives were in danger. A squad of soldiers trained in riot control moved forward quickly with their rifles held out directly in front, the deadly bayonets fixed alongside the muzzle of their weapons. As they were confronted by the mass of youngsters who pushed each other in their attempts to flee, the sharp blades glistened brightly as they moved savagely from side to side cutting through flesh and cloth amidst the screams and cries of disbelief.

      When he first heard the shots, Father Douglas was uncertain but when these were followed by the frightening screams which pierced the tranquillity of his small church, the priest knew for certain that the rumours had become fact. The students were demonstrating.

      Immediately he feared for them all and crossed himself quickly. They were just children. Foolish children at that, forever challenging the authority of their new colonialists, the Javanese. Father Douglas rose quickly from his knees and ran to the church’s side entrance. He opened the heavy teak doors and peered cautiously towards the main street and the incredible noise. He was stunned by the scene before him.

      It was as if the streets were engulfed by white, breaking waves as the mass of students ran hysterically, yelling and screaming as they fled from the barrage of bullets and soldiers’ bayonets. Two of the youngsters ran towards the church. Suddenly, the staccato sound of automatic fire hammered at his ears and both the students fell to the ground. Father Douglas closed and bolted the church doors.

      Albert Seda had not, at first, been as fortunate as his young stepbrother, Nathan. Bitter since childhood at the injustices that the Javanese soldiers had inflicted on the Timorese, Albert spent considerable time in the company of priests at the local Catholic church. Early on, Father Douglas identified the young man’s ability as a student and coached him, helping Albert become fluent in English.

      The priest’s hopes that Albert might even enter the priesthood were dashed when Albert, involved in the student rally, found himself incarcerated by the local garrison commander on charges of sedition.

      Albert had not really planned to attend the group rally. Like many of his friends he was just caught up in the excitement of the moment and the opportunity to protest on behalf of his people. He believed that to be his right. His responsibility.

      The students, all teenagers experiencing the first euphoria of knowledge without the benefit of an adult life’s exposure to disappointment and frustration, had gathered with placards pointedly aimed at the suffocating economic and military stranglehold the Jakarta-based garrison commanders had imposed on this poor province.

      Almost without exception the young boys and girls originated from humble and still struggling rural families whose parents, as had theirs before them, suffered the harsh hand-to-mouth existence of the impoverished farmer. They had seen the soldiers enter their homes demanding and taking whatever they wanted. Forced at gunpoint to stand by silent and helpless, they had witnessed the rape of their mothers, sisters and friends. At least one member of virtually every family in his village had suffered the humiliation and terror of being dragged outside their houses in full public view, where they were stripped, taunted and taken behind the trees where they were abused and left to struggle back home, their spirits broken from the torment and physical violation.

      They were angry but they were also naive. Had their parents known of their intent to demonstrate they would have forbidden such a rash and provocative act. There were less than two hundred students in the demonstration. The local garrison duty officer dispatched fifty well-trained troops. The results were devastating. When it was all over four dissidents lay dead. At least another twenty were seriously injured. Only a few of the youths escaped beatings and many just disappeared.

      Their parents lived in hope that their children had been taken to another province for indoctrination courses but, in their hearts, they knew that it was unlikely that they would ever see them again. And, of course, they had other and younger children to care for, to protect.

      Albert had been fortunate to survive the soldiers’first onslaught. He was knocked unconscious during the first few minutes as the soldiers commenced their methodical and brutal attack. When he awoke, he was shackled and in a dark foul smelling cell with two other detainees. It was then he realised that, although he was lucky to be alive, he had been locked up in the Lubang Maut, or Death Hole, underneath the detention cells within the garrison walls.

      These fearful cells had been built by Dutch plantation owners. Originally intended to break the spirits of peasants who protested the confiscation of their land, now they were used to deal with Timorese freedom fighters — what the Indonesians called political agitators. Now the underground caverns held the children of those who had struggled before them. Now the colonists were Javanese, and they demonstrated their cruelty to excess.

      He was beaten repeatedly each morning and, for some perverse reason, always within an hour of being fed the maggot-infested food. He was obliged to urinate and defecate within a one-metre radius of the damp corner to which his right leg was shackled. He was repulsed by the foul smells in the dungeon, suffering nausea and choking convulsions. Soon he sank into despair, punctuated by periods of prayer. Albert had no idea how long he had been detained.

      Then one day he was savagely prodded to his feet. A length of rotan was extended towards him at the end of which hung the key for his chains. These he clumsily unshackled, dropping the key into the slime around his feet several times before mastering its use. Even his jailers moved away from their prisoner to avoid the stench. The soldiers forced him to sit in the prison courtyard where he was roughly hosed down to remove the accumulated filth from his incarceration.

      He remained silent during this cleansing, his eyes shut tight against the brilliance of the sunlight. He had, Albert later discovered, not been held more than three weeks but he felt as if he had become an old man. Recovery was slow and extremely painful. His spirit was all but broken. His friends had all gone. Only his stepmother cared for him, the others too frightened to admit to his relationship with their family. He spent weeks, sitting quietly alone, living with the fear that the soldiers might return to take him back for further interrogation.

      And then, one day, a visitor came. At first he did not know Father Douglas, the blue-eyed priest who had taught him English, but when recognition came, Albert broke down and sobbed uncontrollably. The priest, at his mother’s desperate behest, had come to help him escape. Father Douglas had pleaded the young man’s case with the local authorities and agreed to arrange to have Albert sent overseas with the Church, should the Commandant arrange his release. Being a man of God did not deter the Father from encouraging the officer to accept a small token of the church’s appreciation, without which, Albert’s release would have been impossible.

      After a tearful good bye to his family, Albert and the priest took the road to the coast and boarded a fishing boat. It was not until they arrived in Darwin five days later that Albert could really believe that he had escaped and that he was to spend the rest of his life in another country.

      Albert was permitted a visa for entry into Australia and commenced studies in Melbourne. Within a year he met a young female staff member in the immigration hostel and fell in love. Two years from the anniversary of his release from prison, Albert Seda married. Immigration officials who investigated his case were satisfied that the union was genuine and subsequently permitted him to stay as a migrant. Initially he obtained casual employment at the hostel, acting СКАЧАТЬ