November 12

November 12 is an important day in East Timor’s recent history. Twenty- five years ago, the Indonesian army was fed up with students calling for restoration of independence.


The funeral procession for Sebastao Gomes was too long, and growing. Students from schools en route from Motael Church to the Santa Cruz Cemetery joined in.

The army funnelled students through the narrow gates, and opened fire. As Bob Crane’s translator Mickey told us on my first Friday here, bodies piled up.

This morning, I walked over to the monument across from Motael Church, to see what this year’s commemoration would be like. The street was closed off; clearly there had been a ceremony at the church, and young people, many wearing their school uniforms were getting ready to march.

I stayed on the periphery, a little uncomfortable and a lot curious. The students had home made banners -- sharpies on sheets. One would lead a cheer; others would shout “Viva! Viva! Viva!” In return. The kids were excited; the adults respectful. It was predominantly a young crowd.

A 40-something man in a brown shirt encouraged me to follow. Timor television cameramen standing in the back of a black pickup truck got crowd shots.

I hung back, then followed. Another much smaller group soon came in the opposite direction. They were led by a member of the clergy, carrying a heavy wooden cross. The followers were mostly women, voices raised in a melodic hymn. The contrast was startling

Rather than follow the parade three kilometres to the cemetery, I first tried to visit the museum to brush up on my facts, then had lunch. The museum was closed, and it was a wee bit early for lunch, so I went to the Jardin de Cinqo de Mayo, and read for a bit.

When I eventually made it to the cemetery, the road was blocked off and sun shelters has been erected in the street. But the biggest surprise was the man in brown who encouraged me to follow was speaking.

This language barrier is a nuisance. All I can tell you was that he was passionate and the crowd was responsive.


I didn't stay; it was hot and I didn't understand.


I thought I'd spend the 25 cents and take a microlet home. Trouble was, because the road on the route I wanted to take was closed, I didn't actually see one til I was about 300 meters from my corner. Hardly worth it at that point. Google maps tells me the return journey was about 5.25 kilometres. I had a nap when I got back. After drinking two glasses of water.


The trials of being a Westerner.