It was a typically warm and bright morning in February in the small East Timorese capital city, Dili. Groups of goats meandered along the city streets, chewing patches of grass along the roadside and keeping motorbikes and the odd car from moving to quickly. A pig squeal or a cock crow could be hear periodically, and by any casual account the day seemed much as any other day had been on the island for the past year. But a few hours earlier, coming back from his regular morning constitutional along the beach, the president of this small island nation was shot twice, and a similar yet less successful attack had been attempted on the prime minister.
The news got to me later that morning, as most news did on the island, by word of mouth. There was no noticeable difference driving around the streets, except perhaps a few more police vehicles than normal. The radio stations continued to play Indonesian Pop. No official security announcements, and any new information reached me via text message. At the time I was working as a manager and teacher at the only English language school in the country. We taught classed to local staff at foreign aid offices, international NGOs, and government ministries. I even had weekly one-on-one classes with the Attorney General of the National Parliament. After I got news of the shooting, I canceled all the classes at the school for the week and got in touch with the teachers to make sure they were all aware of the situation and safe.
As the day passed, my friends and I worked to piece together what had happened, mostly based on rumors as there was still no official account of events. It was clear that a few people had been killed, but hardly anyone had first-hand information. Supposedly a UN worker had driven by the president's house and seen bodies outside, which was the closest thing to a real 'fact' that we could find out. In the afternoon, it became somewhat certain that the rebel leader, Major Alfredo Alves Reinado, known affectionately as Major Alfredo had been killed in the attack. Indeed, Major Alfredo had been one of a small armed group that had gone to the president's house just outside the capital. There were also rumors that Tiger beer cans had been found in the rebels' jeep.
This news served to fuel the rumor fires even more. Was it a drunken joy ride? Maybe a last-ditch attempt at negotiations, hoping to avoid losing face if captured by the Australian military? A government conspiracy, complete with planted beer cans? My neighbors and many Timorese youth favored the conspiracy theory, unable to believe that Major Alfredo would have organized such a mission doomed to fail. One such neighbor who I spent a lot of time with told me with tears in his eyes, "Major Alfredo was a smart military commander. He was trained in Australia. He would not do this- I do not believe he is dead." Disbelief was the strongest sentiment, even in the days leading up to the funeral held for Major Alfredo a few days later.
A friend and I walked to the funeral held at Alfredo's parents house, which was just a block from the language school building. The whole neighborhood was dressed in black, and hundreds of people had come out to pay their respects. Many had come to accept that he was dead, although still skeptical of the manner of his death. Some said that he was clearly shot in the back of the head at close range, execution style. Despite the distrust and suspicion among many locals about the circumstances of his death, the general reaction was unexpectedly calm. It seemed that everyone was partly stunned by the events, as well as tired of one more violent news story about their already troubled country. As a foreigner living in a "post-conflict zone" that was often routinely uneventful, it was almost exciting to be present for one of those violent breaks from the monotony, but the ensuing calm and curfew was anti-climatic. I had expected all out civil war, dodging bullets in the street and a stronger reaction than the customary rock-throwing and tire burning that was already quite commonplace.
When I had first arrived in East Timor about 8 months before, I had heard the stories of the fighting in 2006 that left 150,000 homeless, mostly due to arson from rivaling political and street gangs throughout the country. The owner of the school where I was working had driven teachers to the airport through gunfire, evacuating all foreign staff and shutting down the school. There was definitely a precedent for violence and unrest, but for some reason this time was different. There was a large foreign military presence on peacekeeping detail from Australia, New Zealand, Portugal, and the UN, which may have discouraged any major violence. The prime minister, having escaped from an assassination plot himself, declared a 'State of Siege' for the entire country in the absence of the president, and enacted a curfew from 10pm until 6am. This changed very little in the daily life of the country, where people rarely left their houses after dark.
What surprised me throughout this whole experience even more than the high profile nature of the violence was the complete lack of solid information regarding what actually happened. Growing up in the US, with constant access to media sources from about current events from every political angle, it was almost incredible to think that the most powerful political figure in the country had been shot and the leader of a rebel group threatening the stability of the country had been killed, and the news about it was based on hearsay or brief stories in foreign news sources. I was reminded that the twenty-four hour news cycle is a fairly recent phenomenon and the rise and fall of human fortunes went by for thousands of years without it. I felt somehow transported in time during this period in some ways,
As the months went by, the president fully recovered after intensive care in Australian hospitals, the remaining rebels in Alfredo's gang surrendered and gave up their weapons. They all recieved a full pardon from the president, ever-mindful of his status as a Nobel Peace Prize recipient and a cautious eye on his prospective future as an international statesmen, possibly Secretary-General of the UN.
Copyright (c) 2011. Charles A Davis.