A Life Half Lived

by Andrew MacLeod

  “This is not the real world, this is fantasyland. I’ve been in the real world”, I said. Australia is a wealthy country, and the majority of Australians can live their entire lives free from hunger, threats to their lives, or abuses of their basic human rights, and yet many Australians still find something to complain about, such as public transport, infrastructure or the political parties. Australia takes its lifestyle for granted. In 1999 no more than half a dozen countries in the world could claim a better quality of life than Australia. Melbourne first gained the title of ‘World’s Most Liveable City’ in 1990 and has never left the top 10 since, winning again in 1999, 2011 and 2012.

  Strangely, in 1999 I found it much harder to adjust to coming home than going away in the first place. Before going to war or conflict zones one has time to mentally prepare for the things that will be seen, the tragedy witnessed, and the sheer futility of war, but no one tells you that once you see these horrors, you are changed. It’s a gift to no longer take everyday peace for granted. The challenge, however, is how to adjust when confronted with frivolous wealth.

   4.

  Time in Timor: Are Small NGOs Different?

  From an early age the issues in East Timor and its independence were important to me. My best friend in primary school, Evan Shackleton, was the son of murdered Australian journalist Greg Shackleton, killed in East Timor in 1975. When the international community, with a little help from the Asian Financial Crisis, persuaded the Indonesians to allow a referendum, it was natural that I might want to play a small part in whatever possible way. On August 30, 1999 the people of Timor were due to vote in a ‘free consultation’ (or referendum) for their independence from Indonesia. On August 23, a C130 Hercules aircraft made its way to Dili, the capital of East Timor with me in the back. I had joined the Australia East Timor Volunteer Project (AETVP) with no idea of their background or knowledge of whether they were particularly professional. I just wanted to do my bit to help.

  Meanwhile, in Dili, a woman cast her eye down the list of incoming volunteers. Her eye stopped at my name and she thought – him, we’ll get him. When I disembarked in Dili that same woman was holding a sign with my name on it.

  “Andrew MacLeod?”

  “That’s me.”

  Off I went. The woman introduced herself to me as Janelle Saffin. It later

  emerged that Janelle, an Upper House Labour Party member of the New South Wales Parliament, had come to East Timor with the International Commission of Jurists, together with Supreme Court Judge and former Liberal Member of Parliament, John Dowd. Janelle had thought that AETVP wasn’t effective. She had come across my name somehow and decided that it would be better if we were together. Janelle deliberately arrived at Dili airport before the AETVP, wrote my name on the card, picked me up and took me away before I even realised that I shouldn’t have been with her. She is now a Federal Member of Parliament and we joke to this day that we first met when she ‘kidnapped’ me. So there I was in the wrong car with the wrong people.

  Janelle Saffin is an incredible person. She left home in rural Australia at the age of 14, worked in an abattoir until the age of 18, eventually achieving a law degree. Later in her life, she would sneak across the border into Burma from Thailand to give pro-democracy training to Aung San Suu Kyi and her people, acted as a main conduit for the Free East Timor Movement in Australia, and to this day is a leading advocate of freedom for Western Sahara. While doing all this she remains an active and strong supporter and fighter for her constituents. Janelle is magnificent. People underestimate her at their peril!

  Janelle, John and I were to monitor the referendum around the Ulmera polling station. The chief of the village was also the chief of the Indonesiancontrolled militia so we anticipated difficulty. Corvahlos, the village chief, was no supporter of independence. His brother had been killed in the lead up to the poll, so he was by no means sympathetic. No one knew whether the polling day would end in violence and we had to be prepared for all eventualities.

  We played a local role to keep things calm for polling day as international monitors. While the militias did occasionally ride around on their motorcycles, wielding machetes and threatening with the AK-47s, the day remained largely calm, as it did throughout Timor until the arrival of the 60 Minutes TV crew led by Richard Carleton. After their arrival all hell broke loose. In Ermera district, where 60 Minutes had been filming, a UNMET (United Nations Mission in East Timor) staff member was murdered after the close of the polling booths. That was an absolute tragedy in a day that was relatively calm.

  On referendum day, Richard Carleton, against all advice provided by the United Nations and the International Journalists Federation, asked people how they intended to vote or how they actually did vote, right under the noses of the watching militia. These actions were provocative to the militia, and directly endangered people’s lives. It is my view that if it hadn’t been for the actions of the 60 Minutes crew, no one would have lost their life that day. Richard Carleton was expelled from East Timor not long after that because of “visa irregularities”. When he left he didn’t have time to take his luggage with him, which included a number of cases of wine and cheese that he had brought. These were later enjoyed by a number of journalists.

  Some years later, in 2006, Richard Carleton was visiting Pakistan covering the earthquake relief. We shared a helicopter ride with the Australian Defence Force to their hospital compound in Danni, in Pakistancontrolled Kashmir. When we got off the helicopter, I smiled at Richard and thanked him.

  “What for?” he asked.

  “I never had the chance to thank you for your wine and cheese in East Timor,” I cheekily replied. Other than the Richard Carleton incident, polling day in East Timor was very special, and in many ways, a quite magical day. When we arrived half an hour before the opening of polls, long queues had gathered as the population lined up to have their say about the future of their country for the first time in their lives. Nearly 2000 people at our polling station in Ulmera marked the ballot paper.

  As the population was largely illiterate, people would mark their ballot by pushing a nail through their chosen box. For me, there have been few moments more pleasurable than to stand in a polling station and watch the smile on an old man’s face as he placed a marked ballot paper into the box. After depositing his ballot he walked back to the front door, looked at the crowd outside, smiled and raised his arms in victory. He was crying tears of happiness for the opportunity he had for the first time in his life to vote for the future of his country. On the bottom of one of the ‘all clear sheets’ used to certify that the vote in that ballot station was free and fair, is my signature. I had done my little bit.

  Janelle, John and I knew something was up when our vehicle didn’t arrive to collect us. We had one Indonesian soldier assigned to protect us and no vehicle. As night started to close in, we sat on a bench beneath a flickering light bulb as the militias began to circle in the shadows. Janelle convinced a passing Indonesian army truck to take her to Dili so she could sort out transport for John and I. I photographed Janelle as she hopped on the truck, hoping that the photo would not be needed later in a missing persons enquiry. The photo of Janelle and a couple of armed Indonesian soldiers still sits on a noticeboard in Janelle’s Parliament House office.

  After polling day the violence took off. People may recall the images on their TV screens of militias out of control, of Indonesian soldiers putting on wigs and dressing as civilians and then perpetrating horrific acts of violence. Janelle and John had to leave Timor early but Janelle instructed me not to leave East Timor until all of our team, and selected pro-independence leaders, were successfully evacuated.

  At one point a ship chartered by the International Committee for the Red Cross had arrived in Dili harbour. As the small world theory would have it, the head of logistics for the ICRC in East Timor was Robert Mackay, with whom I had worked in Rwanda. It would be a severe breach of ICRC neutrality to put people on board an ICRC merc
hant vessel. Robert let me know that, while the ICRC had chartered the vessel to come into East Timor, it was a free agent and not an ICRC vessel when it left the country. I managed to smuggle a number of people on board and into the engine room. We managed to get others out overland to West Timor in cars. The militia caught wind of our actions and at one stage shot towards the port. AK47 rounds fire at supersonic speed so when they pass close overhead one doesn’t hear a whistling sound, but a small crack like a sonic boom.

  My mobile phone rang as I was huddling behind a block and the bullets ‘twack-twacked’ just above me. The Australian phone company Telstra had parked a satellite above Timor to ensure communications during the referendum. The phone was the only form of communication I had. When it rang, I answered.

  “Hi Andy, it’s Dad”, said the voice from Melbourne. “We see the violence on TV. Are you OK?” I chose not to tell my father what was really happening at that point.

  “Sure Dad, I’m fine.” Twack. “I’m kind of busy just now though.” Twacktwack. “I’ll call you back later.” Not being able to call back for around 48 hours reminded me that when one enters difficult circumstances it puts tremendous pressure on those back home.

  The militias were actively hunting pro-independence leaders and supporters. One of the pro-independence leaders that Janelle asked me to help flee the violence was Abel Guterres. Abel was due to take the penultimate flight out of Dili. He was, understandably, nervous and fearful of his fate should the militia capture him. I escorted Abel to the airport, and used my accreditation to join him in the waiting lounge after security. We had been operating on the assumption that as the Indonesian police continued to control the airport then once Abel was inside the waiting lounge he would be safe. We were wrong.

  An armed group of militia entered the waiting lounge to take Abel away. As the militia approached I placed myself between Abel and his assailants. Abel stayed behind me, spoke only English and showed his Australian passport. Many pro-independence leaders had lived many years in Australia and had dual nationality. As the militia approached with Abel behind me, I sought to bluff saying “you take this man and you have just started the war between Indonesia and Australia”.

  A Mexican stand-off ensued. The militia were too scared to take Abel, but also couldn’t leave without him. Media in the waiting room unpacked their cameras as they gained the whiff of an event. The room went silent and the atmosphere chilled. I was tapped on the shoulder by someone who whispered into my ear “I am from the Chilean consulate, hold these people off, I will get help.” I never saw this man’s face but he ran to get help. Within a few minutes both security and Australian diplomatic representatives arrived and forced the militia to leave. Abel boarded the plane and escaped. He was saved by both passport and the mystery man who tapped my shoulder.

  My actions brought me to the attention of the infamous Aitarak Militia, led by Eurico Guterres (no relation to Abel). When the Aitarak militia presented a list of Australians that they were hunting to the diplomatic corps, my name appeared on the list. The militias wanted me out of the way. Gone, or dead. John McCarthy, the then Australian Ambassador to Indonesia, persuaded me to leave on the last flight out of Dili. As the militias were hunting me, and all of Janelle’s team had been evacuated, I kept my promise to her and sought to leave. Once at the airport, I found that the Aitarak Militia leader, Eurico Guterres was on the same flight from Dili to Jakarta via Denpasar. I asked my translator Helio, “He doesn’t know what we look like does he?”

  “No, but he wants us dead,” said Helio. So, surrounded by protection provided by the Australian embassy, and sure that Eurico knew our names, but not what we looked like, we approached the notorious militia leader and cheekily asked for a photo. To this day it appeals to my sense of humour that I have a photograph of me and Helio at Dili airport with a man who wanted us dead, but who had no idea what we looked like.

  East Timor Again In early 2001, again under the auspices of the International Commission for Jurists, I was sent a second time to East Timor, this time to help prepare the country for the parliamentary elections. After the successful independence referendum in 1999, Timor was to go through a period of transitional authority with sovereignty vested in the United Nations while the structures of the new country were created. Political parties and the political process had to be created from scratch. Xanana Gusmao was the leader, but the United Nations had sovereignty.

  My role was to train party activists in election-monitoring techniques so they could monitor their own elections free of international involvement if they so chose. I was pleased to be in East Timor, this time free of Indonesian control. We prepared around 100 people to monitor ballot boxes, ensure that there was no fraud in elections, and have faith in the election process that would soon be theirs. Many admired the work of Xanana Gusmao who was soon to be the country’s first president. I asked my translator, Innes Almeida, if it was possible to meet the president. She said she would pass my message on. The next day, while training a class of election volunteers, the whole room stood and went silent. I turned to see the man who would be the first free president of East Timor.

  “Andrew,” Gusmao said, “you are here to help my country. You do not need to come to me, I will come to you.” This was typical of the humility of Xanana Gusmao

  2002 saw my third trip to Timor, this time to attend the official handover ceremonies and to welcome East Timor’s first day as a fully independent nation. I went with John Thwaites, the Victorian Deputy Premier, as one of his team of advisers. When Bill Clinton arrived we all wanted to talk with him.

  “I would love to get my photo with the President,” said John. So after a quick chat with the former President I took John’s photo and then John took mine.

  “You are a cheeky bugger, Andrew,” said John mischievously, “you are the only ministerial adviser in the world that gets the Minister to take the adviser’s photo!”

  We attended the official dinner and at midnight we had the honour of being at the official ceremony at which Xanana Gusmao gave his first speech as the first free President of East Timor. When he came off stage as President just after midnight, Xanana shook hands and thanked the United Nations Secretary General, the President of Indonesia, the Prime Minister of Australia, President Clinton and then caught my eye. He came over, remembering me from the training the year before and gave me a hug.

  The next morning the sun rose to East Timor’s first full free day. As well as the rest of the Victorian team, we also had with us Shirley Shackleton, the widow of Greg (murdered in a town called Balibo by Indonesian troops during the 1975 invasion of East Timor) and mother of my best friend in primary school, Evan. The death of Greg in 1975 started me on the journey that ended here in Timor. The Balibo house where Greg was killed is now a community facility for the people of Timor, funded by the people of Victoria. It’s a good project.

  Shirley and I took a car and drove the few hours’ to Balibo. There, for the first time, Shirley was able to see the place where her husband had been murdered 27 years before. We sat on the stoop outside the house, turned on my mobile phone and called Evan in Perth. The three of us had a long chat. It may have taken 27 years but finally, the good guys won.

  In 2010 a large earthquake hit Chile. I received an email from a friend Duncan Harris who, knowing my work in post-earthquake Pakistan [see later chapter], asked me to assist in Chile. In my reply I recounted the story of the day in Dili. I wrote that I had never seen the face of the Chilean diplomat who helped me, nor did I know his name. But owing a debt of gratitude I was happy to help. The Chilean Consul General was copied into the email.

  Diego (the Consul) replied.

  “I know the story. That was me.”

  Abel had just been made Timor’s Ambassador to Australia, and John

  McCarthy had just retired from Australia’s diplomatic service and returned to Melbourne. I organised for the four of us, Diego, Abel, John and I to have dinner. One night in 2010, 11 years af
ter the event, four men of three nationalities who shared one experience in Dili, East Timor, were reunited over steak and very good red wine in Melbourne, Australia. It was a wonderful night of storytelling.

  It makes you think. In Australia we have compulsory voting. Sometimes you hear people complaining and asking for voting to become noncompulsory. Just over 78 per cent of Timorese voted for independence. Two of my treasured possessions now are a nail that was used in the voting and a marked ballot paper that the UN let me keep after the counting was complete. They have huge significance for me because I have seen people die trying to win their right to vote. For me, voting is not a right, it is an obligation.

   5.

  My Own Election Campaign

  After my first trip to Timor in 1999 the Labor Party chose me as their candidate for the electorate of McEwen, Victoria, at the 2001 federal election in Australia. McEwen, was one of the close constituencies, having changed hands each time – bar one – that government changed. It was a seat we needed to win.

  Through 1999 and 2000 the polling was looking good for Labor to win the election and replace John Howard, the Liberal Party Prime Minster, with Kim Beazley, the Labor Party leader.

  Then came 2001 and the Tampa. In 2001, increasing numbers of people attempted to travel to Australia by boat in order to seek asylum as refugees. While Australia had been previously generous to asylum seekers, concern started to rise within the electorate about the border protection for Australia. Previously refugee and asylum issues had been dealt with in a bi-partisan way, with only those on the extreme right seeking to make a political issue. The Howard government moved to the right.

  Many asylum seekers arrived off Christmas Island, an Australian territory in the Indian Ocean, 2000 km off the northwest coast of Australia and 500 km south of Jakarta, Indonesia. Hundreds of people arrived on tightly packed, unseaworthy vessels, and many paid large amounts of money to people smugglers for their passage to Australia. At dawn on August 24, 2001, a 20-metre wooden fishing boat, the Palapa 1, with 438 mainly Hazara unauthorised arrivals became stranded in international waters about 140 km north of Christmas Island. On August 26, Rescue Coordination Centre (RCC) Australia, which had been aware of the vessel’s distress requested all ships in the area to respond. Of the ships that acknowledged the request, the MV Tampa, a Norwegian freighter was closest to the site and proceeded towards the distressed boat.