Looking back in anger at a life less ordinary

From an Australian paper, theage.com.au. Notice the date.

Tom HylandJune 1, 2006

HE'S the face of the army rebels at the centre of East
Timor's chaos, the swaggering military policeman who
is now taking pot-shots at his former comrades, who
was trained in Australia and wants Australian troops
"to bring some VB for us".

He's a quotable, charismatic braggard who works well
for the cameras. But there's more to Alfredo Alves
Reinado than boastful bluster.

Behind the bravado of the army renegade is a terrible
story that is a microcosm of his sorry country's recent
history.

It's the story of a man who, during the savage years of
the Indonesian occupation, saw things no one should
ever see. It's the story of an 11-year-old child forced
onto the battlefield to witness rape, murder and famine;
who was abducted to Indonesia in a box and forced to
work as a domestic slave. It's a story of secret work in
the East Timorese underground resistance and of a
daring escape to Australia.

It's also the story of a man who personifies the fractious
personal and political divisions in East Timor's armed
forces that have plunged the newly independent nation
into chaos. Reinado's frustrated ambition is a key factor
in the crisis.

The events of the past few weeks in East Timor have their
roots in 24 years of terror that ripped a society apart and
left its people scarred and haunted by unimaginable trauma.

Reinado gave his account of what happened to him during
those years in testimony to the Commission for Reception,
Truth and Reconciliation (CAVR), the body set up by the
UN and the East Timorese Government to document East
Timor's ordeal from 1974 until 1999.

The notes of his testimony said he spoke for two hours, his
listeners gripped "by both the events of his tale and his spirit
of resilience and compassion."
This is an edited account of what he said:

"I was born in Aileu in November 1966. After the Indonesian
invasion, in 1976, we moved south to a place near Turiscai.
My father and older sister had fled to Australia.
"The following year, when I was 11 years old, I was separated
from my mother and three of my younger brothers and sisters.
I travelled with some people that I didn't know until eventually
my mother and I met up again.
"On that journey I witnessed immense suffering: people dying
of hunger, parents killing their children because they were
making too much noise and they were worried they would alert
the Indonesian military; children leaving their aged parents to
die; decaying corpses; and members of political parties killing
other Timorese because of political differences. The men who
killed for political reasons were very cruel. There was no
difference between them and the Indonesian army.

"I had to find my own food at that time and once I went into
an area controlled by Indonesia. They shot at me and a bullet
grazed the right side of my head.
"One day at school in Maubisse, Sergeant A (the names of
all Indonesian soldiers were suppressed in the CAVR report,
at the insistence of President Xanana Gusmao) approached me.
He knew me, and he said that I had to become a TBO (the
Indonesian acronym for Operations Assistants, boys forced to
work for the army as porters).
"I was only 11 years old and my mother protested but it made
no difference. I was taken away.
"I had to work at the base camp and accompany Sergeant A
when he went to fight. I had to lie down behind the soldiers
and fill up the magazines of their guns.
"One day one of the TBOs who was carrying a heavy load,
refused to accept more weight to his load. The soldier became
angry. When they arrived back at base camp, all the soldiers
in the platoon and the TBOs were gathered together. The
commander said that a TBO is not allowed to refuse to carry
something. He said the army had come to help and to bring
independence.
"After that, the TBO who had refused to carry the goods
was called and before everyone's eyes he was shot dead.
They told us that if we refused to comply, our fate would
be the same.
"During the time with the army I saw horrific things. During
an operation in Turiscai I saw them tie the men to trees and
rape the women. I saw women being dragged away by two or
three men who then used them in whatever way they wanted.
"We were carrying out an operation from Turiscai in the south
and then we headed towards Baucau. One day we came across
people in the jungle. All of those people were shot dead except
a two year-old-girl called Amelia.They shot the parents dead
right in front of the little girl. A sergeant called B took the little
girl with him.
"So often we talk as if the only violations that occurred were
those of 1999 ( during the independence vote). But violations
were occurring right through 1975, 1980, 1985. They haven't
been recorded because there were no international people to
record them and the victims often choose to remain silent.
"Being kicked and beaten were everyday occurrences for us.
If we cried we did it silently and we didn't complain.
"After that operation, we returned to Aileu where our battalion
was preparing to go home. Little Amelia, five TBOs, a boy from
a concentration camp, and I were taken to Dili.

"I kept asking when I would be returned to my mother because
for a whole year she did not know where I was. One day I
overheard the army commander say that the soldiers were not
allowed to bring children home with them to Indonesia.
"Sergeant A told me that I could come along to see the port. I
was very excited because I thought that in a few days I would be
free to go find my family. On the last day, Sergeant A told me I
could come and see the port again and he told me to get inside
a box so that the prime minister wouldn't see me. I was kept
inside that box for hours and I was sweating like crazy.
"Finally they let me out. I looked out and saw that I was on
the ship and that there were other friends there, too, looking
"Then I noticed that Dili was fading into the distance. I realised
I was not going to be reunited with my mother. I felt very sad
and wept. All the children that were being taken away on that
boat were crying, except little Amelia. She didn't have any
understanding of what was going on. I had not seen my mother
since I was taken from the school yard in Maubisse two years
before. I left East Timor in February 1980, aged 13."
Reinado spent the next five years in Indonesia. With the
help of a sympathetic Indonesian army officer, he eventually
made his way back to East Timor, where he was re-united
with his mother and got work with an uncle, driving a truck.
In 1987 he became a member of the "clandestine movement",
which supported the Falintil guerillas in resisting the Indonesian
occupation. In July 1995 he captained a boat bringing 18 refugees
to Australia.
Reinado's testimony ends with his escape to Australia, but his
story doesn't. He stayed in Australia, working in a Perth shipyard,
until he returned to liberated East Timor in 1999.
He joined his country's new armed forces in 2002 — one of only
three from the western part of the country to be given a senior
rank. From the start, he was resented by the senior command of
the new army — all of them easterners, veterans of Falintil who
had held out longest and suffered the most during the Indonesian
occupation.
And his personality didn't help, says a senior Australian army
officer who knows him.
"The senior hierarchy didn't like westerners, but in particular
they didn't like Alfredo," says the officer, who spoke on condition
he not be identified.
Reinado was given command of East Timor's tiny two-gunboat navy,
based at Hera outside Dili. "He was the most blunt-talking abrasive
action man and that rubbed the senior commanders the wrong way."
In July 2004 he was sacked as navy commander and appointed to a
desk job.
In July last year he was sent to study at the Australian Command
and Staff College, followed by an attachment to Australian navy
patrol boats operating out of Darwin. But instead of returning to
the navy, he was appointed to command a new military police
section of the army.
"He always strongly resented the fact that the love of his life, the
navy, was removed from his command," the officer said.
Last month Reinado took his military policemen out of Dili, joining
600 soldiers who had deserted in protest at discrimination by the
eastern-dominated high command.
Reinado says his action was motivated by disgust at the way the
army put down protests in support of the rebel soldiers on April
28. But his history suggests his motivation is deeper and more
complex.
Now he has fired on his former comrades and blood has been spilled.
"This really makes resolving this all that more difficult," says the
officer. "Blood debts will be held for a long time."