| diwas k |
Posted
on 05-Apr-02 03:25 PM
Here is to hoping that a similar piece will not be written about Nepal ... a hope that does not stand too high....
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Excerpt:
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Many have dragged out odd pieces of furniture so they can sit on ripped chairs and sofas, at lopsided tables, under the shade of trees.
Wheels are also prized, especially by those who have makeshift pushcarts to carry corrogated sheet metal to use as a roof, or other large, salvaged items.
Only a handful of people possess a bicycle, motorcycle, car or truck, because most vehicles were burnt, stolen or used for escape. All roads are virtually devoid of traffic, forcing most people to wearily plod on foot in search of food, housing or loved ones.
Some residents have set up wooden crates to sell items cherished for survival at the dawn of the 21st century: vegetables, salt, soap and cigarettes.
......
Read the entire article below:
The Killing Fields of East Timor
by Richard S. Ehrlich
DILI, East Timor -- Skeletons, burnt corpses, and clusters of rotting, decapitated bodies lay scattered across the countryside on this blighted half of divided Timor Island.
For those who are still alive, society has turned topsy-turvy.
Survivors stalk Dili's charred, rubble-strewn streets, hunting in the debris for anything to keep themselves alive, while gangs of angry young men hurl obscenities at departing Indonesian troops.
As a result of the extensive destruction, this Laissez Faire City Times correspondent is sheltering on the beachfront in an abandoned convent, sleeping in a nun's bed, under a large crucifix.
The nuns have disappeared. No one knows if they are dead or alive.
Smoldering fires burn in this wrecked city, including small piles of official documents and other items linked to the hated Indonesian regime, alongside campfires of pathetic families cooking outdoors.
Inside the governor's palatial, white-columned offices, all but the heaviest items have been stripped, including several steel safes which sprawl toppled, wrenched open and emptied.
Toilets in the offices of the governor and his civil servants are clogged with crunched-up, stamped and signed documents that are smeared with excrement after being used as toilet paper.
The back yard of the complex is littered with official books, identity papers, bureacratic pronouncements, insignias, plaques, and stationary bearing the letterhead and seal of East Timor's defunct "Gubernur."
Amid the garbage are promotional photographs, including Nobel Peace Prize Winner Bishop Carlos Belo in white robes and purple sash and cap, seated next to Indonesian military officers in green uniforms.
Grunting, hairy pigs wander amid the rubbish and along streets, ignoring the rumble of armored personnel carriers and other vehicles, which are packed with heavily armed international troops.
Foreign forces nervously patrol this provincial capital, erecting barbed wire barricades, diagonal spikes and other defenses.
Post-Nuclear On the Beach
Ironically, Dili is graced by a seafront where palm trees, beached catamarans and a delightful breeze creates a tranquil tropical scene.
But now, after Indonesia's military and militias slaughtered, pillaged and plundered East Timor throughout much of September because the territory voted for independence, many residents in Dili and elsewhere eke out a sort of post-nuclear war lifestyle.
They gaze through large brown eyes with gaunt, traumatized expressions, at the vast wreckage.
Dili is again relatively safe, thanks to United Nations-mandated soldiers, led by Australia's armed forces and including troops from the United States, Thailand, New Zealand, England, the Philippines and elsewhere.
For many East Timorese in this previously sleepy provincial capital, meanwhile, Stone Age priorities such as fire and water have suddenly become overwhelming obsessions.
Men, women and children cluster in front of obliterated buildings, and feed twigs into outdoor cooking fires, eating whatever scraps of food they can forage.
"With 90 percent of Dili's buildings destroyed, the local residents here need some help to re-establish themselves and their homes before the rains begin," said CARE International Team Leader Patrice Charpentier.
Many have dragged out odd pieces of furniture so they can sit on ripped chairs and sofas, at lopsided tables, under the shade of trees.
Wheels are also prized, especially by those who have makeshift pushcarts to carry corrogated sheet metal to use as a roof, or other large, salvaged items.
Only a handful of people possess a bicycle, motorcycle, car or truck, because most vehicles were burnt, stolen or used for escape. All roads are virtually devoid of traffic, forcing most people to wearily plod on foot in search of food, housing or loved ones.
Some residents have set up wooden crates to sell items cherished for survival at the dawn of the 21st century: vegetables, salt, soap and cigarettes.
Hundreds of thousands of terrified refugees, meanwhile, dwell in misery in the countryside, including camps across the border in West Timor, which is Indonesia's half of the island.
Most towns and villages in East Timor are smashed and often deserted. About 1,600 people are hiding in caves on the island's eastern tip.
Horror is widespread.
Manholes and Body-O-Rama
One Australian civilian who visited several villages told The Laissez Faire City Times, "In village after village, I saw dozens of decapitated bodies, and graves, and corpses lying by the side of the road.
"There are bodies everywhere. It's body-o-rama out there," he added.
An Australian soldier, laughing in stressful gallows humor, said to The Laissez Faire City Times, "You know what we call it when we find a well stuffed with dead people? A manhole."
Hundreds, possibly thousands, of East Timorese were killed by Indonesia's military and militias during September, according to diplomats, United Nations officials and others.
Civilization has also been slashed. Banks, shops, restaurants and schools no longer exist.
At the Bank of Indonesia, a family lives in the front yard, behind a barbed wire fence which failed to protect the building from being ravaged.
The family, under a large Banyan tree, plays a tape recorder through tinny speakers which bleat a 1980's disco song: "It's a freak show, baby, baby, on the dance floor, such a freak show..."
Scattered around them are leftovers from the looters' attack on the bank, including red fire extinguishers tossed in the driveway near the bank's smashed front doors, and a slew of floppy computer disks curling in the sun.
Similar to other trashed banks in Dili, the Bank of Indonesia's interior is littered with thousands of bank documents, ledgers, receipts and other financial paperwork.
Gnarled metal filing cabinets, and aluminum ventilation units, lay amid books, smashed-up furniture, broken glass and fly-covered excrement.
Green and white paper strips read: "Bank of Indonesia, 5,000,000 rupiah" -- about 670 US dollars -- from vanished stacks of 50,000 rupiah currency notes, 100 to a pack.
The countless stacks of money are gone, and the labels flutter in the wind.
Looting the Vault
The bank's interior also reveals a six-foot tall, walk-in Chubb vault, built into a wall, with its handles wrenched off in a failed attempt to open the door.
Unable to crack the vault's door, someone sledge-hammered a hole through the thick cement wall next to it, then cut the wall's interior steel reinforcement bars.
They twisted the steel bars back, allowing enough space for a person to wriggle through the hole in the wall.
Inside the formerly impregnable vault room, stacks of financial documents fill the shelves, but no cash.
Further down the road, dozens of departing Indonesian soldiers were busily loading the last of their military vehicles onto a ship for their final departure, leaving behind a dwindling number of Indonesian troops who will remain until East Timor's unscheduled independence day.
A screaming mob of about 300 young East Timorese men maniacally made sure they had the last word, and condemned the departing Indonesian troops at the dock.
Poking their thin arms over the dockyard's fence, the East Timorese stuck their middle fingers out from their fists in an obscene gesture, while yelling at the Indonesian troops, "F**k you! Go f**k your mothers! Go to Hell!" and repeated their abuse and taunts throughout the sweltering afternoon.
The Indonesian troops -- in uniform and carrying assault rifles -- continued to load their ship, while glaring at the mob.
A few armed, but calm, Australian troops ensured no violence erupted.
This time, the Indonesians could only grimace, unable to kill East Timor's newly won freedom of speech.
(from The Laissez Faire City Times, Vol 3, No 41, October 18, 1999)
(lifted from http://zolatimes.com/V3.41/killing_fields.html _diwas
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