Eastern Mennonite University
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Contents

 

 

 

A Canossian

Sister who

witnessed it all is

still somwhere—

shocked,

traumatized, and

I am very sure

working hard to

be healed of the

gruesome

memory.

 

 

 

 

There is a place

inside of me

where tired

resides

I touch it

helplessly and

sigh

Shrinking back

I find some

senselessness

and hide

I pray to God to

give me strength

He smiles as one

and wipes me

clean

Energy slowly

trickles in and for

a time I'm full

again

Randy Puljek-Shank, Sept. 7, 1995

 


Why Peacebuilding?

The following is an edited version of an e-mail message sent by 1998 SPI participant from East Timor, Maria Ida Deng Giguiento. It was sent to a CTP associate who then forwarded it others at CTP with this note, "This is a message that makes me understand again why we're doing what we're doing!"

4 p.m.

Today, exactly this hour one year ago, I was flying over Dili in an Australian C140, crying as I saw Comoro burning. I was being evacuated together with 80 others. Ours was the second to the last plane to fly ex-pats out of East Timor. Today I am in our staff house in Comoro, preparing for 27 more staff from our Atambua office who are being evacuated here. I feel like crying and told myself, I have come full circle.

I really do not know where to begin. I was in Suai yesterday, witnessing the anguish and pain of a people who have lost three pastors and countless others. They were killed in the church and then the bodies were dumped together, gasoline poured over them and burned. A Canossian Sister who witnessed it all is still somewhere—shocked, traumatized, and I am very sure working hard to be healed of the gruesome memory.

The day before yesterday we stopped in Maliana. Mass was being said for one of the bodies identified. We were hoping it was the body of my friend's father. He was one of the local leaders. He had run to the police station for protection. Then on September 8, the militia came into the police station and massacred 48 people while others tried to escape. They were herded back by men with guns who surrounded the station while the killing was going on. My friend's father managed to escape, but was pursued and killed along with 12 others. On Tuesday, my friend's youngest sister said "Mama, I am happy for our neighbors because they have found the body of their father, but I am sad for us because we have not found our father's body yet." It wasn't his father after all. We asked where my friend was and they informed us that he was attending another exhumation, hoping he will find his father's body among the remains.

That night, we were in Bobonaro. I heard some shouting and came running out. I saw Dedy running towards our house shouting "Senhora, halo favour halai iha leten! Milisi iha!" (Missis, please run up. There are militias!) I could not believe my ears! I heard the people banging on things to create a lot of noise. I heard the Sisters shouting and running down from their convent. I heard so much ruckus. I started to run up and then realized, "Where will I go? I don't know my way around the area. I took my flashlight and started out into the dark. I realized it was the worst thing to do because, if the militias had guns, they would definitely know whom to hit first! Then I heard the people shouting "Oho! Oho!" (Kill, kill!) and I felt so bad and then saw a Sister take up stones and throwing them. Another Sister said "La bele tuda fatuk, Madre!" (You should not throw stones, Sister!)

Much later, the priest and I sat down and reflected on the path to peacebuilding. It is a long hard climb and one has to be persistent and consistent in trying to influence people to do better. Seminars are just the beginning. The Sister who threw the stones was the one who was traumatized last year. I had sat with her and listened to the anger in her heart. I felt so bad because I wanted to stay in the village to journey with the people still trying to come to terms with their anger, while they are doing so much to serve the poor people and trying to build peace. (Sigh!)

In Suai, we were witness to the wailing and crying of people as they brought flowers to the place where the people were slain. There were tiny signs "Here are the clothes of the women who were burned by the militia." (These women were raped and then killed.) "Here is where they killed two women and one child." "Here is where the priest was killed." The Bishop spoke a very moving homily: That if we wanted our independence, then we had to have our share of martyrs. That we are not mourning only for the three priests but for everyone killed. That they all died like Jesus who was innocent yet was killed. That he was glad to see the young people around—so many young people, the future of East Timor. He urged the people of Suai to work together to rebuild their lives and communities in the spirit of reconciliation.

Today we came home. We are waiting for our colleagues. I found myself assigned to the house and receiving them. We worked at putting up tents, sorting out sarongs and towels. A colleague asked "How did you feel when you were evacuated?" I felt like crying so hard because my heart was so full. It is a feeling that one cannot explain. I would understand what they were all going through now.

10 p.m.

They have arrived, 27 of them: nine women and 18 men. We met them at the airport. When they came to the house, I rushed out and there were handshakes and hugs and of course the tears. I had to hold one woman in my arms and say "It is going to be all right." I was remembering the very same thing had happened to me in Darwin when a colleague had hugged me so tight. I felt like crying so hard when she hugged me tight and said "I am so afraid!"

Extra help came and cooked a huge meal. Everyone who came was hungry (they had not eaten a single meal!) and gobbled up everything. There is no soap or toothbrushes. A friend brought some over later. We still have to find clothes for them. Meanwhile, we are all tired and trying to sleep. We have four guards to guard the two houses tonight. We all told our colleagues from Atambua, "Go to sleep. You are safe now. Tomorrow will be another day!"

12:10 a.m. (after midnight)

We have just finished our meeting. What struck us was one Atambua colleague saying, "Thank you for taking care of us. We are glad we have colleagues to help us." I remember being scared in Darwin because I had no colleagues there. But, I was still blessed because I had the Christian brothers who took care of me. So, tonight I remembered what it was like for me as a "refugee".

Keep well, folks and God bless. Tomorrow is going to be another day!

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