By Hamish McDonald
The Age (Melbourne) - April 22, 2002
In this land where mountain warriors have
maintained feuds for generations, no one knows better than Jovito Araujo the
difficulty of quelling the yearning for revenge among the Timorese.
Although he has been a Roman Catholic priest and fighter for human rights for
nearly six years, Mr. Araujo admits he still feels the passions of a feud that
has split his own family.
Now he has joined a panel to expose and heal the mental pain and guilt of a
quarter-century of atrocities involving Timorese as victims and perpetrators
during the transition from colony to nation.
Mr. Araujo is deputy chairman of the Commission for Reception, Truth and
Reconciliation, whose job during the next two years is to investigate human
rights violations by all sides, from the start of Portugal's decolonisation
program in April, 1974, until the departure of Indonesian occupation forces in
October, 1999.
The commission aims to set up a "truth-telling" process for victims and abusers
to acknowledge what happened, community reconciliation procedures for lesser
crimes, and to refer serious crimes for prosecution.
The commission starts this week by launching public hearings into the exile of
thousands of political suspects in the early 1980s by Indonesian authorities on
Atauro, a small and arid island that lies off Dili, where they suffered hunger
and abuse.
In part, the reconciliation effort is designed to encourage former rank-and-file
members of pro-Indonesian militias to return from West Timor by enabling them to
settle their moral debts with their home communities rather than face a lifetime
of hostility.
It will not be easy, says Mr. Araujo. "Timorese are not a people who find
it easy to forgive. They keep everything a long, long time. Especially
revenge. They will not forget something that hurt them. They will
keep it going a very long time, generation to generation."
Although he sometimes feels that Christianity has only touched the Timorese as
deeply as the batter around a pisang goreng (fried banana) snack, he notes that
during the Indonesian occupation formal church membership rose from about
one-third to nearly everybody among the East Timorese.
From being an "instrument of colonisation" with heavy Portuguese character, the
church became an institution that identified with the Timorese and fought for
them.
"This background gives us hope," he said. "The Catholic Church will be a strong
mechanism, a strong pillar, an institute that can help people to reconcile."
The commission could only help, he said. "The revenge that is inside the
people's hearts, only the one who owns this revenge can take it out." He
said political leaders should also study their past conduct.
A month after Mr. Araujo was ordained, he was serving in Dili's picturesque
waterfront Motael church in December, 1996, when there were clashes between
crowds and Indonesian security men. A young man ran into the church
seeking refuge after stabbing a government spy. Mr. Araujo hid him for
several days, and smuggled him out to a resistance group.
Recently the man returned. In 1999 he had been caught by the Indonesian
militias, beaten so badly his skull was fractured, and almost thrown down a
well. But when the same militia members returned to Dili a few weeks back, he
went to the airport to receive them back.
"He is a crazy guy, but how could he get this strong courage to welcome those
who wanted to torture him, to kill him?" Mr. Araujo asked. "I don't know.
There is no reason to explain this. I don't understand. He just said
to me, 'I think it's over'."