Boy from
Balibo makes good
Television
news clips of Syrian asylum seekers desperate for a safe haven are distressing
enough, even for those who’ve never looked conflict and its awful aftermath in
the eye.
But for
Jose Antonio Morato Tavares the tragic scenes recall his time as a refugee.
Born in
Balibo on the Portuguese side of the border with Indonesian West Timor, Tavares
was a junior high school student in the capital Dili when a military coup in
distant Lisbon turned his life upside down.
His
prescient parents thought the strife would not be confined to the Iberian
Peninsula. The left-leaning Fretilin
Party and its rival UDT were edging towards a civil war. The family fled south and crossed the border
to Atambua.
“About
45,000 people were displaced,” Tavares said.
“Some went overseas to Australia and Europe, others moved into West
Timor. I was the eldest of nine; we
lived in a four-room house with relatives.
“For a year
I didn’t go to school. I could only speak Portuguese and Tetum. I just played
around.”
Like many
who’ve lived through searing times, the agreeable Indonesian Ambassador to New
Zealand, Samoa and Tonga is reluctant to expand on his experiences.
His father
lost his government job and the family its home. While they survived on the
generosity of others a great tragedy was underway. If there was a future of peace and hope it
wasn’t visible through the gunsmoke and sweat of fear.
In late
1975 the Indonesian Army crossed the border at Tavares’ birthplace killing five
Australian journalists covering the invasion, creating a wound in international
relationships that weeps still.
An
Australian coroner ruled special forces deliberately killed the TV crews;
Indonesia claims they were caught in crossfire.
Eventually
Tavares’ mother despatched her son to a high school in Bandung. Although he
doesn’t dwell on the situation, Tavares was clearly different; a Catholic teen
bobbing in a sea of Islam, clumsy with Indonesian and ignorant of Sundanese. Then there was the funny accent and a foreign
name.
A lesser
lad would have turned delinquent or run away, but Tavares was tough, determined
to excel and make his family proud.
That he did
splendidly. From school to Padjadjaran
University where he wrestled with English and memorized economic texts.
“I thought
of working with a non-government agency,” he said. “Instead I tried for the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs. About 7,000 applicants vied for
52 jobs. Wow! I was selected.”
Tavares’
career trumps cynics who claim the only way to advance in the Indonesian
bureaucracy is through nepotism.
“I had no
relatives in the military and I don’t belong to any political party,” he
said. “I wanted to be a better person
and make a difference to society.”
After a
year of in-house training and more English he won an Australian government
scholarship to Perth’s Murdoch University for a masters degree.
“I learned
to ask questions, something we didn’t do in Indonesia,” he said. “I was amazed that students who put their
feet up in tutorials could still pass.
The system was advanced and tough.
I studied 16 hours a day – even in the toilet. I loved it.”
Eventually
he penetrated the highest levels of the Ministry, the elite of all government
agencies. Along the way he even married
the daughter of his boss, deputy foreign minister Triyono Wibowo.
Diplomats
are different. Those at the summit breathe rarefied air. They enjoy exotic
lands and foods, use archaic French terms, make speeches where all applaud,
however bland.
Shaking His
or Her Excellency’s hand is greeting a nation by proxy, so first impressions
are vital: Dignified, though not aloof. Relaxed, yet respected. Gregarious but
not effusive.
An easiness with euphemisms is handy; a
volcanic row is presented as a ‘frank exchange of views’. ‘Further
consultation’ indicates a policy heading towards the trashcan.
A group
photo of sober suits smiling has probably been photoshopped.
Tavares,
55, and his diplomat wife Fitria Wibowo, 38, shatter the image. In egalitarian NZ they used a marae [Maori
meeting house] for the 70th anniversary, overseeing a spectacular
display of volunteers voted best ever.
Tavares welcomed VIPs and ordinary folk in fluent Maori, dazzling
locals.
There’s
another difference – a yawn in NZ but a wake-up in Indonesia
He’s
Catholic - she’s Muslim. Inter-faith
marriages are banned in the Republic.
The couple
had been colleagues in Jakarta, then posted apart. Tavares was ordered to Geneva but
objected. He’d done the meeting
marathons before; was the next agenda disarmament or beef quotas? Or was that yesterday?
His moans
were ignored, but illuminating the Swiss sameness was rediscovering “this
beautiful woman” across a crowded boardroom.
Tavares’ monochrome world burst into incandescence.
In 2012 the
refugee battler from Balibo, and the cosmopolitan lawyer raised in a diplomatic
household and educated in Vienna and New York were joined as man and wife at a
civil ceremony in Bangkok.
The
reception was in Surabaya, but the bride didn’t get the finery and egg-crushing
rituals of a traditional Indonesian wedding,
“Speaking
personally, I don’t think the prohibition against mixed-faith marriages is fair
or constitutional,” said Wibowo, who has just completed a master’s degree in
law at Wellington’s Victoria University.
“I come
from a liberal family that didn’t raise objections. About a third of my relatives are Catholic.”
Said her
husband: “Religion is personal. Fitria
has her faith, I have mine. We respect
each other’s beliefs and don’t interfere.
Sometimes she accompanies me to church.
“Mixed
marriages aren’t uncommon among diplomats. The former foreign minister Marty
Natalegawa has a Thai wife. [She reportedly converted to Islam].
“I’ve never
thought of changing my name or faith to get ahead. The basis of my Catholicism is love. Turning the other cheek and loving the enemy
is nearly impossible to do, but we must try.
“Religion
is a way to God. Everyone has their own path.
But the path is not God. It is so
tragic when people fight over faith, but I believe Indonesia is changing.”
##
(First published in The Jakarta Post 19 October 2015)
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