The remote and primitive Portuguese fiefdom of East Timor in the Lesser Sunda islands may have been the closest thing ever to a colony that no one really wanted. Discovered by the Portuguese in the 16th century, it has been theirs by default ever since. A mountainous wilderness roughly half the size of Maryland, East Timor has 650,000 inhabitants, mainly illiterate natives. Colonial mastery, such as it was, lay in the hands of an appointed governor, several hundred Portuguese militiamen, and a handful of coffee planters.
All that began changing rapidly two years ago. The Portuguese, spurred by their anticolonial revolution at home, wanted out. Led at the time by Marxist Premier Vasco Gonçalves, they encouraged formation of a pro-Communist Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor (Fretilin), which finally seized control and began butchering members of opposing political factions. Suddenly, East Timor became a minor source of international tension. Indonesia, which holds adjoining West Timor, professed horror at the thought of a Communist toehold. In turn, that renewed neighboring Australia's suspicion of Indonesia's expansionist ambitions in the region.
Six months ago, Indonesian President Suharto struck. He sent thousands of marines and paratroops to Dili, the capital, where the fighting was bloody but short (TIME, Dec. 22). Suharto's problem then was that he earned international disapproval for his invasion. Some show of popular acceptance was needed for the annexation. Last week just such an extravaganza took place as pro-Indonesians welcomed the idea of union with Indonesia. TIME'S Robert Kroon was one of about 50 international observers at the event. His report:
The invitation was from the "Provisional Government of East Timor," addressed to 25 ambassadors in Jakarta and a selection of Indonesian and foreign correspondents. The occasion: "To attend the session of the People's Representative Council of East Timor on the exercise of the right of self-determination of the people of East Timor."
When we boarded a spanking new Garuda Indonesian Airways jet, the diplomats were uncomfortably outnumbered by some 40 newsmen. Only India and Iran sent their ambassadors; Malaysia, Saudi Arabia, Thailand, New Zealand and Nigeria sent lower-level dignitaries. The U.S. and the Soviet Union declined, as did the Common Market countries, Australia, and even such close
Indonesian allies as Singapore and the Philippines. One reason might have been that Portugal, despite little active interest in the money-losing colony, had filed a complaint with the United Nations Security Council after the invasion.
Five hours later, we reached Dili. Crowds of dark-skinned Timorese lined the dusty streets between Dili's pink-and-white stuccoed houses, some of which had been hastily painted over to erase Fretilin slogans. Gongs and cymbals clanged, and drums sounded amidst cries of "Merdekaf (Freedom) and " Viva Presidente Suhartor No Indonesian armed forces were in sight, only a handful of local militiamen in ragtag colonial uniforms and wide-brimmed hats, carrying a variety of antediluvian weapons. Finally, we reached a grubby, squat sports hall adorned with a sign saying "We wish you a happy conference." The 28-member People's Representative Council had already started its historic session.