[Congressional Record Volume 143, Number 30 (Tuesday, March 11, 1997)]
[Senate]
[Pages S2151-S2152]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                   HUMAN RIGHTS ABUSES IN EAST TEMOR

 Mr. FEINGOLD. Mr. President, on Sunday, March 2, 1997, the 
Washington Post ran two op-eds profiling how the award of the Nobel 
Peace Prizes to Asian democratic activists in recent years have helped 
draw attention to the terrible human rights situation in Burma and in 
East Timor. The two companion articles highlighted the work of 1991 
Nobel winner Aung San Suu Syi and the 1996 cowinners Bishop Carlos 
Ximenes Belo and Jose Ramos Horta.
  I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Ramos Horta late last month, and he 
told me how--since the Nobel Committee's announcement in October--the 
attention of international policymakers and the press on the plight of 
East Timor has increased dramatically.
  Mr. President, the joint award to Bishop Belo and Mr. Ramos Horta, 
followed by the attention in the United States focused on political 
campaign contributions from Indonesians, has made United States policy 
toward Indonesia and human rights issues related to East Timor the 
subject of heightened interest. The Nobel Committee said it hoped the 
1996 award would draw international attention to the situation in East 
Timor, and help build momentum for resolution of the conflict there.
  I commend the Nobel Committee's decision, because I believe the more 
light that the international community sheds on the horrible abuses 
taking place in East Timor, the sooner we will come to a resolution of 
this conflict.
  Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the text of the March 2, 
1997, Washington Post article be printed in the Record.
  The article follows:

                [From the Washington Post, Mar. 2, 1997]

         In East Timor, Teetering on the Edge of More Bloodshed

                          (By Matthew Jardine)

       ``Hello, Mister. Where are you from?''
       I had just arrived at the tiny airport in Dili, capital of 
     Indonesian-occupied East Timor. The man, clad in civilian 
     clothes, didn't identify himself except to say he was from 
     Java, Indonesia's principal island. His questions--and the 
     respect he seemed to command from uniformed officials at the 
     airport--led me to believe he was an intelligence agent. As 
     the only obviously non-Indonesian or East Timorese on this 
     daily flight from Bali a few months ago, I attracted his 
     attention.
       ``Are you a journalist?'' the man asked, examining my 
     passport. ``Where are you planning to stay?''
       I mentioned a local hotel and told him I was a tourist, a 
     common lie that journalists tell to avoid immediate expulsion 
     from places such as East Timor. I wasn't surprised by the 
     scrutiny: During my first trip to East Timor in 1992, I was 
     frequently followed and questioned as I traveled around the 
     tropical, mountainous territory, which makes up half of an 
     uncommonly beautiful island at the eastern end of the 
     Indonesian archipelago, 400 miles north of Australia.
       But the beauty belies a harsh reality. In the more than 21 
     years since Indonesia invaded East Timor and annexed it, more 
     than 200,000 people--about one-third of the country's pre-
     invasion population--have died as a result of the invasion, 
     Indonesia's subsequent campaign of repression, the ensuing 
     famine and East Timorese resistance to the ongoing 
     occupation, according to Amnesty International.
       East Timor was a backwater of the Portuguese colonial 
     empire until April 1974, when the military dictatorship in 
     Lisbon was overthrown. Two pro-independence political parties 
     sprung up in East Timor; this development scared the 
     Indonesian military, which feared that an independent East 
     Timor could incite secessionist movements elsewhere in the 
     ethnically diverse archipelago or serve as a platform for 
     leftist subversion.
       Indonesian intelligence agents began covertly interfering 
     in East Timor's decolonization, helping to provoke a brief 
     civil war between the two pro-independence parties. Amid the 
     chaos, Portugal abandoned its rule of the island. Soon after, 
     Indonesian troops attacked from West Timor (Indonesia has 
     governed the island's western half since its own independence 
     in 1949), culminating in a full-scale invasion on Dec. 7, 
     1975. They met with fierce resistance from Falintil, the East 
     Timorese guerrilla army. But the war turned in Indonesia's 
     favor with the procurement of counterinsurgency aircraft from 
     the Carter administration.
       The Indonesian military was able to bomb and napalm the 
     population into submission, almost destroying the resistance 
     as well. An Australian parliamentary report later called it 
     ``indiscriminate killing on a scale unprecedented in post-
     World War II history.''
       Until 1989, East Timor was virtually closed to the outside 
     world. Then the Indonesian government ``opened'' the 
     territory to tourism and foreign investment, but continued to 
     restrict visits by international human rights monitors and 
     journalists.
       As my taxi left the airport, I saw immediate evidence of 
     change since my 1992 visit: On a wall near the airport 
     entrance, someone had boldly spray-painted ``Viva Bishop 
     Belo,'' a tribute to Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo, the head of 
     East Timor's Catholic Church. Belo and Jose Ramos Horta were 
     awarded the 1996 Nobel Peace Prize for their opposition to 
     Indonesian oppression.
       During my 1992 visit, most East Timorese seemed too afraid 
     to make direct eye contact with me. This time, many people 
     greeted me as I walked the streets in Dili, a picturesque 
     city of 150,000. Some, particularly younger people, flashed a 
     ``V'' sign for victory, a display of their nationalist 
     sympathies.
       East Timorese with the means to own a parabolic antenna can 
     now watch Portuguese state television (RTP)--which beams its 
     signal into the territory over Indonesia's objections--and 
     catch glimpses of pro-independence leaders in exile or those 
     hiding in the mountains. During my visit, RTP broadcast a 
     documentary on Falintil, which now numbers around 600 
     guerrillas. The documentary, clandestinely made by a British 
     filmaker, contained footage of David Alex, a 21-year veteran 
     in the struggle against the Indonesian military and third in 
     the Falintil command. He is well known to the East Timorse, 
     but few had ever seen him or heard his voice until the 
     broadcast.
       Despite these openings, East Timor remains a place where 
     few dare to speak their minds in public and even fewer dare 
     to invite foreigners into their homes. ``We are very happy 
     that the world has recognized our suffering with the Nobel 
     Prize,'' a middle-aged woman told me in a brief conversation 
     on a shady street, ``but we still live in a prison.'' Our 
     talk ended abruptly when a stranger appeared.
       The streets of Dili are empty by 9 p.m. Accordingly to 
     several people I interviewed, Indonesian soldiers randomly 
     attack people, especially youths, who are outside at night. 
     Matters are worse in rural areas, where the Catholic Church 
     has less of a presence. ``Outside the towns, people are at 
     the total mercy of the Indonesian military,'' one priest 
     said.
       Increasing international scrutiny has forced Indonesia to 
     be more discreet in dealing with suspected pro-independence 
     activists. But arrests, torture and extrajudicial executions 
     are still common, human rights researchers say.
       Such repression, however, has not stilled opposition to 
     Indonesia's authority. Open protests have been a sporadic 
     occurrence since November 1994, when 28 East Timorese 
     students and workers occupied the U.S. Embassy in Jakarta 
     during President Clinton's visit to Indonesia. Demonstrations 
     and riot erupted in Dili and in other towns.
       Protesters sometimes target Indonesian settlers and 
     businesses, a manifestation of the deep resentment caused by 
     the large scale migration of Indonesians into the territory. 
     There are upwards of 150,000 Indonesian migrants in East 
     Timor (out of a population of 800,000 to 900,000), according 
     to researchers. This influx, combined with administrative 
     corruption and the destruction caused

[[Page S2152]]

     by the war, has overwhelmed the indigenous population. 
     Joblessness and underemployment, especially among the young 
     East Timorese, are high.
       Indonesia maintains order through a highly visible military 
     force of 20,000 to 30,000 troops and an extensive 
     administrative apparatus. But a sophisticated underground 
     resistance in the towns and villages challenges its 
     authority. The underground has strong links to Falintil 
     guerrillas in the mountains and to the resistance's 
     diplomatic front abroad, led by Ramos Horta.
       I saw this firsthand when I spent 24 hours during my trip 
     with David Alex and 10 of the 150 Falintil guerrillas under 
     his command. Underground activists drove me to a rural safe 
     house, where I was taken on a lengthy hike to the guerrillas' 
     mountain camp. My transport in and out of the region relied 
     on the cooperation of numerous people from many walks of 
     life, exposing the hollowness of Indonesia's claims that the 
     resistance is marginalized and isolated within East Timor.
       Many East Timorese told me that only the United States, 
     Indonesia's longtime military and economic patron, has the 
     clout to pressure the Jakarta government into resolving the 
     conflict. Successive U.S. administrations have provided 
     Indonesia with billions in aid since the 1975 invasion, 
     despite United Nations resolutions calling upon Indonesia to 
     withdraw and allow the East Timorese to determine their own 
     future.
       Bill Clinton, who called U.S. policy toward East Timor 
     ``unconscionable'' before he became president, seems just as 
     beholden as his predecessors to the lure of Indonesia, which 
     Richard Nixon once called ``by far the greatest prize'' in 
     Southeast Asia. The Clinton administration has provided 
     Indonesia with almost $400 million in economic aid, has sold 
     or licensed the sale of $270 million in weaponry.
       Meanwhile, East Timor teeters on the edge of increased 
     violence. On Dec. 24, 100,000 people gathered in Dili to 
     welcome Bishop Belo back from receiving the Nobel Prize in 
     Oslo. Youths in the crowd, apparently fueled by rumors of an 
     Indonesian military plot to assassinate Belo, attacked two 
     men who they suspected of being in the Indonesian military 
     and killed another carrying a pistol and a walkie-talkie. 
     (Belo had announced a month before that the military had 
     twice made attempts on his life.)
       In the past three weeks, rioting has broken out in two 
     different regions of the territory. Indonesian troops have 
     responded with a major crackdown and numerous arrests. Rep. 
     Frank Wolf (R-Va.), after a recent three-day visit to East 
     Timor, described the atmosphere as one of ``terror'' and 
     ``total and complete fear.''
       Some East Timorese I met on my recent visit expressed fears 
     that the violence and repression will intensify. ``The people 
     here are desperate,'' one priest said. ``If the situation 
     does not change soon, there will be much more 
     bloodshed.''

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