E. Timorese reporter tells of his great escape

This is an account of an East Timorese journalist's escape from his homeland early this month. His story is typical of those fleeing persecution from pro-Indonesia militias. The journalist requested that his identity be concealed, because he fears for the safety of family members still in East Timor.

Dili was already very tense on Wednesday (Sept. 1). People were talking about a massive sweeping operation by pro-Indonesia militias. Many dismissed the rumors. Even if they believed them, they stayed. After all, they said, they experienced it in 1975.

When the result of the ballot was announced on Saturday (Sept. 4) at 9 a.m., the shooting began. They were mainly targeting the office of the United Nations Mission in East Timor (UNAMET) in Dili and foreign journalists.

Most people stayed home -- terrified. There were militias everywhere. We saw police officers in the street, but they did not do anything. We even saw them helping refuel motorcycles and cars used by the militias to roam the streets.

On Sunday morning there was a brief lull. The militias let people pray in churches. After 9 a.m. the shooting resumed.

There was no real armed conflict. It was just the militias firing at will. Falintil (the proindependence armed organization) did not retaliate. They kept their side of the bargain to keep their weapons in designated cantons.

Many East Timorese were disappointed with Falintil's inaction. But understandably, they did not want to be provoked. If they had fired back, it would have provided legitimacy to the pro- Indonesia campaign of terror.

The militias forced people to leave their homes. If they refused, the militias would set fire to their houses. If they complied, they would only break the windows and doors.

These people were forced to find temporary shelter, such as at police or military stations and at churches. I took my family along to the police station.

I tried to leave on Monday (Sept. 6) through Komoro Airport. I was listed as a staff member of a Japanese media organization, which was being evacuated from the town like all the other foreign media then.

But I, along with other East Timorese booked on that flight, was prevented from boarding the plane by militias guarding the airport. They recognized me as an East Timorese journalist.

"You can't go. We all die here together," the militiamen said.

There was a brief argument as the police escort and the Japanese journalists tried to convince the militiamen that I was really a staff member of the Japanese consulate. The argument ended when the militia pointed the gun at me and said: "Either he stays behind, or nobody leaves."

We gave up, and I agreed to stay. I was forced to leave the terminal building and the militiamen sent for their friends to come and collect me.

Fortunately, a police officer was kind enough to smuggle me back in the police van which earlier took me to the airport. I was driven back to the police station before the militiamen came to pick me up.

The police station was not necessarily a safe place.

I was warned by officers there to make my presence as inconspicuous as possible, because East Timorese journalists were being targeted by the militias, who regularly came and checked on people sheltering at the police station.

By now, the militias hated all East Timorese journalists, just like they hated students and intellectuals. They accused us of passing on information to foreign journalists. They did not want their brutality exposed to the world.

The officers at the police station told me to arrange my own way out of East Timor. "We can't protect you here. We will be in peril if we try," one officer said.

That's when I began thinking about an escape.

A friend, who was planning to travel with his family by land over to East Nusa Tenggara, offered help. The truck was part of an 18-car convoy that left Dili on Monday night and which headed for the town of Atambua on the western half of Timor island.

He had his truck filled with his belongings, and I made room for myself between two mattresses. His family rode on top of the belongings.

During the six-hour ride to Atambua, the convoy was stopped at eight checkpoints, all but the last one were manned by militias. There was not a single police officer or soldier in sight. They inspected the truck, though not thoroughly, and asked questions. I was safe in my hiding place.

The last checkpoint, at the East Nusa Tenggara border, was entirely manned by Indonesian police officers and soldiers.

In Atambua, we found gun-toting militias roaming the camps. The people in the convoy did not feel safe so they proceeded to Keva. The situation was not all that much different here. As soon as I felt safe, I came out of hiding.

On Tuesday, I took a bus to Kupang, and stayed with journalist friends there. They helped me find accommodation and arranged to get me a seat on the first available plane to Jakarta.

Kupang is not all that safe. We saw a jeep full of militias waiting outside the airport terminal, checking on people who come and go.

I saw the incident when two United Nations refugee officials were attacked in a refugee camp on Wednesday. Both were injured.

Kupang people felt restless, not only because of the presence of so many refugees, but because of the behavior of militias who are roaming about in UN cars which they seized in Dili.

Although I got a seat on a Merpati Nusantara flight bound for Jakarta on Friday (Sept. 10), I did not want to take chances with the airport being so closely watched. I disguised myself as much as I could, wearing sunglasses and a cap.

I felt safer and relieved the moment I was inside the airport's waiting room.

Although the journalist is now out of East Timor, he fears for the safety of family members. Some made it to Atambua, but others are still in Dili, sheltering at the military headquarters and waiting for a ship to take them out. He had not heard from his widowed mother, whom he believed fled to the hills. When the family planned their evacuation, it was decided that the young adults should flee because they were being targeted by militias. They decided that their mother, like most other elderly Dili residents, would stay behind.