Rebuilding The Education Sector in East Timor During UNTAET International Collaboration and Timorese Agency 1st Edition Trina Supit

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Rebuilding the Education Sector
in East Timor during UNTAET
This original volume examines the collaboration between East Timorese

and international staff in the rebuilding of the education sector
during the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor
(UNTAET) 1999–2002. Using interviews, contemporary newspaper
articles and reports from UN sources and the World Bank, the book
enables a comprehensive analysis of Timorese agency.
Examining choices made by the Timorese and drawing comparison
with other former Portuguese colonies, the text considers the power of
the Timorese elite, the role of nepotism and corruption, the preservation
of the Indonesian curriculum and the selection of Portuguese as the
medium of instruction and official language – together with Tetum.
Concluding with a contemporary discussion on the educational
achievements for East Timorese children during UNTAET compared
with those of today, Rebuilding the Education Sector in East Timor during
UNTAET will be of interest to academics, researchers and post-graduate
students in the fields of post-conflict studies, post-colonial education and
language policy as well as East Timor more specifically. This book will also
benefit graduate students and scholars in teacher education.
Trina Supit completed her PhD at the University of Sydney, Australia.

She was a member of the UNTAET Division of Education.
Routledge Studies in Educational History
and Development in Asia
For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/

Routledge-Studies-in-Educational-History-and-Development-in-Asia/
book-series/HEA
1 The History of Education in Japan (1600–2000)

Edited by Masashi Tsujimoto and Yoko Yamasaki
2 Education, Industrialization and the End of Empire in Singapore

Kevin Blackburn
3 Decolonizing the History Curriculum in Malaysia and Singapore

Kevin Blackburn and ZongLun Wu
4 Rebuilding the Education Sector in East Timor during UNTAET

Trina Supit
Rebuilding the Education
Sector in East Timor during
UNTAET
International Collaboration
and Timorese Agency
Trina Supit
First published 2021
by Routledge
52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017
and by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an
informa business
© 2021 Trina Supit
The right of Trina Supit to be identified as author of this work
has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of
the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted
or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic,
mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
A catalog record for this book has been requested
ISBN: 978-0-367-34561-7 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-0-429-32655-4 (ebk)
Typeset in Baskerville
by Apex CoVantage, LLC
To Jan
Contents
List of Figuresviii
List of Tablesix
List of Abbreviations and Acronymsx
Terminologyxiii
Acknowledgementsxiv
Prefacexviii
Introduction 1
1 The East Timor Context 3
2 Colonial Policies in Education 30
3 East Timorese and the Internationals 61
4 Teachers and Their Recruitment 99
5 Appropriating the Portuguese Linguistic Heritage 132
6 Numbers on a Spreadsheet? East Timorese and

the World Bank 162
7 The Legacy of Education During UNTAET 196
Appendices220
References225
Index252
Figures
1.1 Portuguese 2 Euro Coin Commemorating 500 Years

Since First Contact With Timor 16
4.1 A classroom in Fatuahi in March 2000 101
4.2 Primary teacher qualifications in 2003 125
Tables
2.1 Population of Portuguese Timor According

to the 1950 Census 33
2.2 Students, Teachers and Schools in Portuguese Timor 36
2.3 Growth in Primary Education During the Indonesian
Occupation47
2.4 Primary School Distribution per District in the 1997/98
School Year 48
4.1 Primary Teacher Allocations per District in 2000 110
4.2 Primary Teacher Allocations per District in 2001 123
6.1 Emergency School Readiness Project Funding 166
7.1 Growth in Primary School Population Since UNTAET 203
Abbreviations and Acronyms
ACER Australian Council for Educational Research (used

in chapter 3)
ACT Australian Capital Territory
APHEDA Australian People for Health, Education and Devel-
opment Abroad
Apodeti Associação Popular Democrática Timorense (Timorese
Popular Democratic Association)
ADB Asian Development Bank
ANAO Australian National Audit Office
ASDT Associação Social-Democrata Timorense (Timorese
Social Democratic Association)
A/Res United Nations General Assembly Resolution
AusAID Australian Agency for International Development
BPG Badan Penataran Guru (Teacher Training Institute)
CAVR Comissão de Acolhimento Verdade e Reconciliação
(Commission for Truth, Reception and Reconciliation)
CIET Campaign for an Independent East Timor
CISPE Civil Service and Public Employment
CNRM Conselho Nacional da Resistancia Maubere (National
Council of Maubere Resistance)
CNRT Conselho Nacional da Resistancia Timorense
(National Council of Timorese Resistance)
D2 A two-year diploma course completed on graduation
from secondary school
DFAT Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (Australia)
EMBLI Edukasaun Multilingue Bazia Lian-Inan (Mother
Tongue-Based Multilingual Education)
EMIS Education Management Information System
ESRP Emergency School Readiness Project
ETTA East Timor Transitional Administration
Falintil Forças Armadas de Libertação Nacional de Timor
Leste (Armed Forces for the National Liberation of
East Timor)
Abbreviations and Acronyms xi
Frelimo Frente de Libertação de Moçambique (Front for the
Liberation of Mozambique)
Fretilin Frente Revolucionaria de Timor Leste Independente
(Revolutionary Front of Independent East Timor)
IEG Independent Evaluation Group (World Bank)
IFCU International Federation of Catholic Universities
IMF International Monetary Fund
INFORDEPE Instituto Nacional de Formação de Docentes e Profis-
sionais da Educação (National Institute of Training
of Teachers and Education Professionals)
INFPC Instituto Nacional de Formação de Professores Continua
INTERFET International Force in East Timor
JAM Joint Assessment Mission (World Bank)
KKN Korupsi, Kolusi, Nepotism (Corruption, Collusion
and Nepotism)
KOTA Klibur Oan Timur Aswain (Sons of Mountain Warriors)
KPG Kursus Pendidikan Guru
MoE Ministry of Education
NGO Non-Governmental Organisation
ODE Office of Development Effectiveness (Department of
Foreign Affairs and Trade-Australia)
OMR Optical Mark Recognition
Oxfam Oxford committee for Famine relief
PD Partido Democrático (Democratic Party)
PGSD Pendidikan Guru Sekolah Dasar
PISA Program for International Student Assessment
PKF Peacekeeping Forces
RDTL República Democrática de Timor-Leste (Democratic
Republic of East Timor)
RTP Rádio e Televisão de Portugal (Portuguese Radio and
Television)
S1 Sarjana 1 (Indonesian university degree equivalent
to a Bachelor degree)
Sekwilda Sekretaris Wilayah Daerah (Regional Secretary
SGO Sekolah Guru Olahraga
SMA Sekolah Menengah Atas
SMP Sekolah Menengah Pertama
SPG Sekolah Pendidikan Guru
SPGK Sekolah Pendidikan Guru Katolik
S/Res United Nations Security Council Resolution
SRSG Special Representative of the Secretary General
STL Suara Timor Lorosae (Voice of East Timor)
TFET Trust Funds for East Timor
UDT União Democrática Timorense (Timorese Democratic
Union)
xii Abbreviations and Acronyms
UNAMET United Nations Assistance Mission in East Timor
UNDP United Nations Development Programme
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural
Organisation
UNHCR United Nations High Commission for Refugees
UNICEF United Nations Children’s Fund
UNTAET United Nations Transitional Administration in East
Timor
UNTIL University of Timor Leste
UNV United Nations Volunteer
USAID United States Agency for International Development
WFP World Food Programme
Terminology
I have maintained the name, “East Timor” (or, when this would be repe-
titious, “Timor”) to refer to the country as it was generally known during
both the Indonesian occupation and UNTAET. Until 1976 the coun-
try was known as Portuguese Timor. The Indonesians called it “Timor
Timur”, invariably shortened to “Tim-Tim” (Timtim). Only from 20
May 2002 did the country became the Democratic Republic of Timor-
Leste (RDTL), often shortened to Timor-Leste. I usually refer to the peo-
ple as “East Timorese”, or when this would be repetitious, “Timorese”.
The western part of the island is Indonesia or Indonesian West Timor.
For the lingua franca and co-official language of East Timor, I use the
term “Tetum” in preference to “Tetun” and note that Dr Danielle Boon
in her doctoral dissertation (2014, p. 13), claimed the approval of the
National Linguistics Institute to do so. I have found that this is the usual
spelling in official documents such as the journal of parliamentary pro-
ceedings, Jornal da Repúblika (e.g. 29 October 2008) and ministerial state-
ments such as in Timor Agora (2018).
The national language of Indonesia is “Indonesian”. I do not use the
term, “Bahasa Indonesia” which simply means “Indonesian language”
(cf. la langue française versus “French”). “World Bank” and “Bank” are
both used interchangeably to refer to the World Bank. The East Timor-
ese Ministry of Education, Culture, Youth and Sport, I have usually short-
ened to “Ministry of Education”.
Translations from Indonesian, French, Portuguese and Tetum pas-
sages into English were made by the author.
Acknowledgements
Writing this book and the thesis which preceded it has left me indebted
to many individuals. I would like to thank Cecilia Maria Belo de Assis,
Director of Culture in 2012. Cecilia Assis facilitated interviews with mem-
bers of the East Timorese Ministry of Education who had been members
of the East Timor Transitional Administration. I am indebted to my col-
leagues from the East Timor Transitional Administration, with whom the
UNTAET Education Division strove to meet a succession of deadlines and
with many of whom I worked on my return to East Timor in 2003. In no
particular order and regardless of whether interviewed or not these are:
Fr Filomeno Jacob, Armindo Maia, Maria Manuela Gusmão, Antoninho
Pires, Delfina Borges, Raimondo Jose Neto, Rui da Costa Belo, Samuel
da Costa Alves, Luis Francisco Viana de Carno, Adelina Dos Reis Cal-
deira Noronha, Alberto da Costa, Rodolfo Henrique Aparicio, Armando
dos Reis, Augusto Manuel de Oliviera Carvalho, Alexandre de Araujo,
Manuel Gomes de Araujo, Antonio Moniz Mali (now deceased), Mar-
cos da Costa Dos Santos, Horacio da Costa, Francisco Martins da Costa
Pereira, Abilio Martins de Jesus Babo, Domingos Savio (now deceased),
Venancio Lafu and Bernardo Quintão.
I am particularly indebted to the enthusiastic cooperation I continue
to receive from my former colleagues and friends in the UNTAET Divi-
sion of Education: Rezene Hagos, Rumiana Decheva, Vacy Vlazna, Victo-
ria Markwick-Smith, Ana Noronha, and Zoraida Jacobs, all of whom have
shown interest in this project, allowed me to interview them and then
corrected dates and names. I would also like to remember our former
colleague, Benedita Fernandes, who left us all too soon.
A special thank you to the family of Filomeno Jacques Fernandes in
Bairro Pite, Dili, where I lived for more than three years and with whom
my family have maintained an on-going relationship, returning for wed-
dings and other family occasions. I fondly remember our evening meals
with the occasional glass of tinto where Bapak, Ibu, Dina, Nina, Donella,
Meta and members of their extended family shared insights into East
Timorese culture as well as life in Portuguese Timor and during the
Indonesian occupation.
Acknowledgements xv
The generous hospitality and continuing support of my dear colleague
in Portugal, Lúcia Serralheiro, former principal of the Portuguese school
in Dili, has been truly appreciated. I recall with affection the many times
we met for coffee and cake at the Tropical in Dili.
Gratitude is owed to my former PhD supervisors at the University of
Sydney, Professor Timothy Allender and Associate Professor Rachel Wil-
son for their generous support and encouragement. I am also apprecia-
tive of the constructive advice and criticism I received from Dr Helen
Hill, Professor Michael Leach and Professor Damien Kingsbury who
examined my thesis. Despite the support and advice from numerous
people in the writing of this book the usual provisos apply: any short-
comings are the responsibility of the author.
Finally, I wish to thank my sister, Marguerita Brodal-Rutherford for
accommodation, sustenance and encouragement while I was examining
Timorese newspapers at the Australian National Library, and last but not
least my husband, Jan, for always being there.
In October 2000 we will turn a new page in our history: for the first
time East Timorese children, teachers and parents, the entire education
community will start a new school year in a context of joy and hope. . . .
With love and dedication, we will raise our country from its ashes and
build a better future of peace, freedom, democracy and quality.
Dili, 30 Aug 2000
Xanana Gusmão
CNRT President
Source: World Bank. (2000, October 6). Trust Fund for East Timor Update No. 3.
Preface
I arrived in East Timor towards the end of January 2000. I had replied
to an AusAID email on the Department of Education website in early
November 1999 and sent off an application. Receiving no reply,
I promptly forgot about it. A few days before Christmas I was called from
New York and during an interview I explained how I had previously lived
as an Indonesian (not an expatriate) in a kampung while teaching in
Jakarta and outlined my current work with schools and their communi-
ties in Moree district in the northwest of New South Wales. I was subse-
quently told to go to Darwin as soon as possible and get myself on a UN
flight to Dili.
Work in the UNTAET education division was like being on a roller
coaster. Initially I worked at a desk in the UNICEF office together with
Bodil Knudsen, the first United Nations Volunteer (UNV) allocated to
the Division of Education, ordering school supplies and equipment for
sport and music before the budget was suddenly closed. I then partici-
pated in the development of questions for the primary teacher recruit-
ment test and helped with textbook selection, purchase and delivery.
I was also collaborating with East Timorese colleagues on teacher recruit-
ment and the development of position criteria for district and national
staff. For several months, I was professional assistant to Cabinet Member
Fr Jacob SJ.
As the first containers of textbooks landed in Dili, I organised with
Timorese colleagues to collect them from ships, find a safe place to park
the containers and have the textbooks transported to the 13 districts.
Interviews of prospective district and national education staff, the estab-
lishment of the media unit and initial preparations for school mapping
then occupied my time, until I eventually returned to Moree District
Office in the second half of 2001.
In early 2003, at the request of the Timorese Ministry, my state Depart-
ment of Education posted me back to East Timor to work in the Insti-
tute for Continuing Teacher Education where I collaborated with Maria
Manuela Gusmão and UNICEF in teacher training and supported pro-
jects in curriculum, English teaching and school twinning.
Preface xix
In the following years I read many articles, dissertations and books
which mentioned UNTAET, but what was written rarely accorded with
my experience. I determined to discover the background to the poli-
cies being implemented and the politics being played out in the field,
of which I was mostly unaware, being so preoccupied with my work in
the education division. I have now given conference papers on various
aspects of my findings and have appreciated being part of the commit-
ted and generous community of Timor-Leste scholars, attending con-
ferences and book launches as well as catching up when monitoring
elections in Maliana.
I am overwhelmed by the unexpected amount of help I have received
from individual scholars as well as librarians and archivists based in a
wide range of locations such as UN headquarters in New York; UNESCO,
Paris; the Portuguese army; the International Work Group for Indig-
enous Affairs (IWGIA); Timor Archives; the International Institute of
Social History (IISG); Portuguese Colonial Archives in Lisbon and the
Australian National Library.
This book is the result of the long but fascinating journey I have trav-
elled over a period of more than two decades since I first set foot in Dili.
Introduction
While there have been a plethora of articles and books on aspects of the
United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET),
little research has been carried out on the operations of individual
departments or divisions as they relate to the collaboration between East
Timorese and international staff. This book examines that collaboration
in the rebuilding of the education sector during UNTAET 1999–2002,
after the deliberate destruction of infrastructure and records by East
Timorese militias in the wake of the August 1999 referendum. Almost
80 percent of the population had defiantly chosen independence rather
than special autonomy within Indonesia. Subsequently, over 250,000
people fled or were forced across the border to Indonesia and a similar
number sought refuge in the hills surrounding their towns and villages.
Over half the population was displaced. The International Force for
East Timor (INTERFET) arrived on 20 September and quickly restored
peace and security albeit the occasional skirmish with militia infiltrators.
On 25 October 1999 the UN Security Council established the United
Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor. Security Council res-
olution 1272 gave UNTAET the mandate: to provide security and main-
tain law and order throughout the territory of East Timor; to establish an
effective administration; to assist in the development of civil and social
services; to ensure the coordination and delivery of humanitarian assis-
tance, rehabilitation of humanitarian assistance, rehabilitation and devel-
opment assistance; to support capacity-building for self-government;
and to assist in the establishment of conditions for sustainable develop-
ment (SC 1272 [1999]).
The first internationals arriving in Dili in 1999 described the coun-
try as terra nullius, the result of the mass violence, intimidation and
destruction which had begun even before the referendum results were
announced. The East Timorese were thus confronted by significant
challenges as they endeavoured to rebuild the education system in the
wake of the departure of Indonesian teachers and administrators along
with corporate memory, the destruction of all records and most infra-
structure. To keep their children off the streets East Timorese educators
2 Introduction
rapidly embarked on a recruitment of teachers during the “Emergency”
and then a second recruitment for the new school year 2000/2001.
Many interrelated issues emerged during the restoration of the sector:
the unique relationship between the East Timorese and the Portuguese;
the impact of education under both the Portuguese and Indonesians;
collaboration with the internationals; the clash over control between the
East Timorese and the World Bank and the contested issue of classroom
language which continues to bedevil education. The East Timorese
determined policy direction, developing a wealth of skills and experi-
ence in areas of the education sector where they had no previous experi-
ence and consequently displayed a high degree of ownership.
The book concludes with an overview and a brief comparison between
education achievements during UNTAET and those of today. This com-
parison highlights the increase in student numbers at all levels of educa-
tion, but also the ongoing challenges in providing a quality education
for East Timorese children.
1 The East Timor Context
From the dim recesses of his house the chief brought to us a small and
carefully wrapped bundle which he reverently unwrapped before us.
Enclosed within the wrapping was a stained and battered cloth, which, as
it was unfolded to the light, proved to be a flag. The linen, discoloured
with age, bore at its centre a large red cross of coarsely woven cloth, such
as sailors might use, and it was sewn to the finer white linen with large
masculine stitches. Printed beneath the cross, in ink now faded to red-
dish brown were the Portuguese words [which in English mean] Given
by Valenty Correa, gentleman, Lieutenant Belos to Phoupicão de Luz, ruler of
Same – given at Luro on 20 July 1693.
(King, 1963, pp. 156–157)
The Portuguese flag enclosed a book of Roman Catholic liturgy, pub-

lished in Prague in 1660.
(King, 1963, p. 157)
Overview
The Portuguese have had a profound influence on East Timor. They did
not set sail from Lisbon intending to buy sandalwood or to colonise East
Timor. It took about 80 years from when they first sailed south along the
coast of Africa until they arrived in Timor to trade. It was the Domini-
cans who first settled on Solor, a small island to the north of Timor from
where the Portuguese launched annual trading visits to Timor. From
Solor sprang the topasses known as the “black Portuguese”, the offspring
of Portuguese and local women. By strategic alliances with local king-
doms thereby acting as conduits of both political and economic power,
the topasses kept the Dutch and Portuguese at bay for 200 years eventually
confining the Portuguese to Dili and the Dutch to Kupang.
For centuries, the Portuguese commanded loyalty with the judicious
gifts of army titles and other insignia, such as the flag and liturgy men-
tioned earlier. These they gave to rulers of petty kingdoms and other
nobles. Over time such gifts became sacred objects or lulik, a reminder
of Timorese links with the Portuguese crown and the Portuguese. Priests,
too, were a kind of lulik and the Catholic Church was central to the trans-
mission of Catholic and Portuguese cultural values. Even though Portu-
guese administration was absent from the interior of Timor, the church
was there. Yet, “five hundred years of Portugal’s ‘civilising mission’ had
little if any impact on Timorese animist religion and culture” (Ramos-
Horta, 1996, p. 14) and conversion was slow until the Indonesian occu-
pation in 1975 when all Timorese had to choose a religious affiliation.
Most then became Catholics at a time when only the Church could speak
out and protect them.
Indigenous Religion
Timor has a long history. The majority of the population has Malay-
Polynesian and Papuan origins and there are minorities of Chinese,
Arabs and Europeans (Government of Timor-Leste, n.d.). Recent finds
in caves indicate that East Timor was inhabited by humans from 42,000
BC (Marwick, Clarkson, O’Connor, & Collins, 2016; O’Connor, 2007).
Excavated pottery reveals that “techniques, forms and even clay sources”
from 4,000 years ago, can still be matched to the distinct pottery styles
found in different areas in East Timor today (Glover, 1986, p. 14).
By the time the Portuguese arrived, Timor consisted of two roughly
equal sized areas in the east and west of the island. The hereditary kings/
chiefs of the petty kingdoms within them were known as liurai of which
there were 46 in the eastern half and 16 in the western half of the island
(Durand, 2006, p. 52; Cribb, 2000, p. 99). The eastern petty kingdoms
still relate to the postos [sub-districts] in East Timor today. A posto consists
of a number of hamlets with each hamlet made up of a number of vil-
lages. Society was hierarchical and everyday life was organised around
kinship and place. The liurai were sacred and ruled with almost absolute
power (Niner, 2005, p. 39). They sat on the highest level in a hierarchi-
cal social system, followed by dato [nobles]. When a noble died, human
sacrifice was still prevalent in the 1750s (Episcopal Pastoral, 1752, cited
in Boxer, 1948, p. 197). The next level consisted of the ordinary people:
ema, also referred to as ema rai (people of the land) or ema foho (people
of the interior). At the bottom of the social hierarchy were atan (slaves).
A person’s rank was derived from that of their parents, although educa-
tion, marriage, occupation and fluency in Portuguese were among the
attributes which could enhance a person’s status (Hicks, 2015, p. 19).
Animism was widely practised. Even though over 95 percent of the pop-
ulation are now at least nominally Christian, the concept of lulik, or its
ethnolinguistic equivalent, is still found in every ethnic group on Timor.
In lulik belief systems ancestor spirits and the living co-exist (Niner, 2005,
p. 39). According to Trindade, an East Timorese researcher, “lulik refers
to a spiritual cosmos that contains the divine creator, the spirits of the
The East Timor Context 5
ancestors and the spiritual root of life including sacred rules and regula-
tions that dictate relationships between people and people and nature”
(2012, p. 1).
The aim of lulik is to achieve harmony between the real world and the
cosmic world drawing on the teachings of the ancestors. Trindade admits
that many Timorese today have only a superficial understanding of lulik,
although just hearing the word is enough to make most people stop and
“pay full attention, they pay full respect, they are afraid, and it makes
them obey without hesitation” (Trindade, 2012, p. 1). Xanana Gusmão
contended that only the Bible and colonialism were able to break “the
bonds that tied the Timorese to their pair of goats, their vegetable plot
and their beliefs in sacred sites” (Gusmão, 2000b, p. 4).
Luliks can also be objects. This chapter opens with a quotation from
King recounting being shown a venerated 270-year-old Portuguese flag
which wrapped an even older Catholic liturgy. The chief of the clan told
King that the flag and the liturgy were his strongest family lulik, never
before seen by anyone apart from senior male members of the family
(King, 1963).
Timorese Sandalwood Traders

The Timorese had been trading in sandalwood since at least the twelfth
century although Cribb (2000, p. 97) speculates trading may have begun
as early as the seventh century. The renowned white sandalwood of
Timor, prized in Indian religious ceremonies and as incense in Chinese
temples (Boxer, 1948; van Leur, 1955), is mentioned in the fourteenth
century Ming chronicles. A Chinese chronicle from 1436 notes that the
mountains in Timor were covered in sandalwood trees but that noth-
ing else was produced there (Boxer, 1960, p. 350). This chronicle also
mentions 12 places where sandalwood could be purchased indicating a
sound knowledge of the geography of Timor and a trade that already
had an extensive history (Ormeling, 1957). Lifau on Timor was the
favourite place for traders from Macao to source sandalwood, but they
also traded with villages on the north and south coasts of the island for
beeswax (for Javanese batik), slaves and Timorese horses (Boxer, 1960;
Yoder, 2011). In January 1522, Antonio Pigafetta who sailed around the
world with Magellan recorded that white sandalwood was to be found on
Timor and nowhere else (Pigafetta, 1522). It was sandalwood which first
enticed the Portuguese to Solor and surrounding islands and eventually
to Timor. The earliest European reference to Timor is in the Suma Ori-
ental of Tomé Pires written while he was in Malacca from 1512 to 1515:
Timor means ‘east’ in the language of the country. . . . There is a

great deal of sandalwood. . . . It is very cheap because there is no
other wood in the forest. . . . The islands of Timor have heathen
kings. . . . The Malay merchants say God made Timor for sandal-
wood. . . . They go to this island every year from Malacca and from
Java and the sandalwood comes to Malacca. It sells well in Malacca
because it is used in all the nations here, more especially among the
heathen. . . . [In return for] a little merchandise [mostly cloth], they
load their junks with sandalwood. The voyage to Timor is remunera-
tive and unhealthy.
(Cortesão, 1512/1944, p. 204)
Timor and its sandalwood entered Portuguese literature in the 1572

epic poem about Vasco da Gama’s voyage. Da Gama was eulogised by
the national poet, Luís Vaz de Camões (1524–1580), in The Lusiad, the
Portuguese equivalent of The Aeneid of classical Rome. In Canto X stanza
134, among visions of future discoveries he included:
Ali também Timor, que o lenho manda /Sândalo, salutífero e cheiroso;

There also lies Timor which sends/ the fragrant and health-giving
sandalwood;
Chinese sources from 1225 call Timor, Tiwu, “rich in sandalwood and
owing allegiance to the Hindu-Javanese kingdom of Kediri” (Ormeling,
1957, p. 95). Canto 14.5 in the Old-Javanese poem, Nagarakertagama,
written by Prapanca in 1365 A.D., lists Timor as one of the islands which
tunduk kepala (bows its head) i.e. accepts the overlordship of the Hindu-
Javanese kingdom of Majapahit (successor to Kediri) although this usu-
ally invoked a trade connection, not direct administration.
Arrival of the Portuguese in Southeast Asia

The golden age in Portuguese history known as the Discoveries began
with Henry the Navigator. When Prince Henry in 1434 sent his ships
to inch their way along the west coast of Africa past the “cape of no
return” (Cape Bojador) his initial aim was to find Prester John, a fabled
Christian king in Asia with whom Portugal could unite in the national
crusade against Islam, but the opportunity to source slaves and gold soon
became more important as a way to fund further expeditions, although
Portuguese and Timorese nationalist discourse is now coy on the for-
mer (Boxer, 1973; Kammen, 2003; Russell, 2001; Watkins, 2003). By the
time of Henry’s death in 1460 his ships had sailed as far as Sierra Leone
preparing the way for Portuguese discoveries. By 1498 Portuguese ships
under Vasco da Gama (still on the hunt for Prester John as well as gold
and spices) had rounded the Cape of Good Hope and reached India
(Boxer, 1961; Watkins, 2003). In 1510 the Portuguese under Alfonso de
Albuquerque captured Goa and in 1511 took Malacca on the Malay Pen-
insula. Malacca was the commercial hub of Southeast Asia, the centre of
the spice trade and main trading port for vessels coming from the South
China Sea, Java Sea and Indian Ocean (Boxer, 1973). The incredible
riches that flowed from the spice trade now entered Europe via Lisbon.
The Portuguese were able to dominate trade in the Indian Ocean for
most of the sixteenth century by brutally occupying a string of strategic
trading ports along the Asian sea routes (van Leur, 1955). In the south
China seas, however, they were just one more peddling power, trading
on terms determined by China (Boxer, 1973). Travel depended on the
monsoons. Arriving in the archipelago with the west monsoon, ships had
to wait for the east monsoon in order to return to India or China (Moor-
head, 1957). Most of the Indonesian spices such as pepper, cinnamon,
cloves, mace, nutmeg and ginger were sold by the Portuguese to Asian
traders in Malacca, Goa and Ormuz. In 1518–1519 spices accounted for
40 percent of Portugal’s annual income (Schwartz, 2007). An attempted
Portuguese monopoly failed as the sixteenth century progressed when
the trading hub shifted to Makassar. The Portuguese had no interest
in the production of goods. The only new element they brought to the
Asian trade was their military superiority. They exercised their authority
“to ensure the financial, fiscal exploitation of trade, shipping and port
traffic, with the higher officials and religious dignitaries recruited from
the Portuguese aristocracy” (van Leur, 1955, p. 118).
With the arrival of the Dutch and their capture of Malacca in 1641, the
Portuguese were reduced to the status of a minor power in the South-
east Asian region. The Dutch captured their coastal settlements one
by one until only Macao and the Flores-Solor-Timor islands remained
(Boxer, 1961). The Portuguese presence was “fragile, mainly consisting
of Dominican missionaries who negotiated with local powers” (Bethen-
court, 2007, p. 210). Macao was cut off from trading with Goa but sub-
sequently “developed new markets in Indochina, Macassar and Timor”
(Boxer, 1959, p. 18).
Rise of the Topasses, the “Black Portuguese”

The first European colonisers in Africa and Asia maintained power by
union with indigenous women. The offspring of these alliances were
“conduits of social power” (Gillen & Ghosh, 2007, p. 25) in both cul-
tures as well as converts to Catholicism. These offspring usually held
an intermediate position in colonial society. Their descendants were
granted privileged positions in colonial society (Gillen & Ghosh, 2007,
pp. 14–15). Ramos-Horta found that any European in Portuguese Timor,
regardless of ability, was regarded as superior to locals (1996, p. 9).
The first recorded settlement of the Portuguese in the area was in 1566
when the Dominicans built a fort on the island of Solor “to protect both
their trading interests and their converts” (Cribb, 2000, p. 99). However,
already in the Moluccas the Portuguese “had gained a bad reputation for
rapacity”. St Francis Xavier, the pious Jesuit priest, who arrived in Ambon
in 1546, wrote that “the knowledge of the Portuguese in the Moluccas
was restricted to the conjugation of the [Latin] verb rapio, in which they
showed an amazing capacity for inventing new tenses and participles”
(Hall, 1964, p. 222).
There is every reason to believe that morals were similarly lax among
both laity and clergy on Solor (Boxer, 1947, p. 12; 1960, p. 352) where a
settlement grew populated by Portuguese soldiers from the colonies and
traders from Malacca and Macao who married local women (Andaya,
2010; Boxer, 1948). Their offspring were called topasses or “black Por-
tuguese”. This hybrid community, typical of other Portuguese colonies,
became powerful due to the respect granted to their Portuguese identity
by other Timorese. A special potency was attributed to their Catholic
icons and religious objects, kept in family chapels away from public view
until Easter each year, reinforcing their Catholic identity (Andaya, 2010).
The Portuguese made annual visits to Timor to collect sandalwood.
All other activities were based on the island of Solor until the Dutch cap-
tured its fort in 1613 while all the Portuguese military were in Timor buy-
ing sandalwood (Heuken, 2002, p. 142). After their ejection by the Dutch
the settlement moved to Larantuka on Flores and eventually to Lifau on
Timor (Andaya, 2010; Yoder, 2011). The topasses alternately supported
and fought the Dutch and Portuguese, sometimes uniting with and
later opposing local liurai. The Portuguese-Dutch treaty of 1661 ended
50 years of Portuguese-Dutch warfare in the archipelago. During the sec-
ond half of the seventeenth century the viceroys in Goa tried to exert
authority over Solor and Timor by appointing governors in the name
of the crown, but the Dominicans combined with the topasses to keep
them at bay. The viceroys complained of the intractability and immoral-
ity of the Dominicans, but the topasses refused to have them replaced by
Jesuits and remained loyal to the Dominicans who had brought them
the gospel (Boxer, 1960, p. 352). In fact, the topasses were so loyal to the
Dominicans that in 1658 they drove out a Jesuit mission which attempted
to secure a position in the region. The Dominicans relied on the topasses
several times when they were under attack from the Dutch (Gunn, 1999,
p. 77). According to Hägerdal (2012) the topasses consistently appeared
as good Catholics, subject only to the King of Portugal. By the end of
the seventeenth century they were in control of most of Timor except
for the Kupang area to the west where the Dutch were established. The
Portuguese-Dutch peace treaty of 1661 was of particular benefit to their
trading enterprises in sandalwood, beeswax and slaves.
Portuguese Timor was first “ineffectively” administered (Bethencourt,
2007, p. 210) from Goa then from Macau until 1896. It was not until
1702 that a governor, Antonio Coelho Guerreiro, appointed from Goa,
was able to establish an “an embryo settlement” (Boxer, 1948, p. 185)
on Lifau with an earthen fort and eight guns. This became a permanent
Portuguese position and marked the transfer of authority from Flores to
Timor. His stay was marked by hostilities with the black Portuguese led by
Domingos da Costa. In an attempt to equalise the power of friendly liurai
he conferred on them the rank of colonel and gave lower ranks to lesser
nobles. Flags, drums and other insignia were also given; a custom which
survived to the end of Portuguese rule (Boxer, 1960). Hägerdal (2006)
asserts that the Portuguese were able to hang on against the Dutch and
black Portuguese because they were able to manipulate symbols and per-
ceptions while the topasses, who established themselves in Larantuka on
Flores and on Timor, engaged in trade and diplomatic alliances with
local liurai and eventually proved to be “a stable group” in the “turbu-
lent politics” of Timor (Hägerdal, 2012, p. 197).
William Dampier, the famous English explorer, sailed into Lifau in
1699 and found it “a place of pretty good trade” (Dampier, 1709/1729,
Chapter 2) with the topasses in control. He counted 40–50 palm-thatched
houses and one church. He described the inhabitants as “a sort of
Indian” with black hair who spoke Portuguese and regarded themselves
as Portuguese (i.e. topasses). During his time there he only saw two “white
men” and one of these was a priest (Dampier, 1709/1729). There were
also a few Chinese. He reported that 20 ships from Macao called each
year to trade for gold, beeswax, sandalwood and slaves and an occasional
ship came from Goa (Dampier, 1709/1729).
The Fiction of a Portuguese Administration

The history of Timor in the eighteenth century is one of petty squabbles
and rivalries between the Dutch in Kupang and Portuguese in Lifau,
battles against the topasses and inter-tribal warfare. It was primarily by
marriage alliances that the topasses consolidated their power and influ-
ence with the liurai, the chiefs/kings of the petty principalities. They
were a formidable force: refusing to submit to the Portuguese Estado da
India (administration in India); driving out from Lifau the first governor
sent from Goa in 1702 and all subsequent administrators sent from Goa;
involving the local liurai in their battles with the Portuguese; eventually
forcing the Portuguese to establish a settlement in Dili, to the east in
1769 (de Castro, 1867, pp. 87–88). Only in 1780 did a rapprochement
between the Portuguese governor and the topasses occur (de Castro,
1867, p. 89).
While the Dutch consolidated their position in the west of Timor, the
Portuguese would have been driven from Timor had there not been
disunity among the Timorese. Warfare took its toll and by 1750 (Boxer,
1960, p. 354) there were only about eight European Portuguese on the
island besides the Dominicans. The sandalwood trade also declined as
the trees (which take decades to reach maturity) had been cut down.
When the Portuguese governor, under attack by the topasses abandoned
Lifau and fled to the safer port of Dili, the Dutch were left in control of
the southwest of the island, the topasses in Lifau in control of the sandal-
wood trade in the centre and the Portuguese in the northeast. Neither
the Dutch nor the Portuguese really controlled much beyond their main
settlements. Governor Affonso de Castro complained from Dili in 1860,
that the Portuguese government on Timor: “est plus fictive que réelle”
[is more a fiction than a reality] (de Castro, 1862, p. 505).
A century after Dampier, the Dutch captain, Kolff, made a brief visit
to Dili. He notes that the governor of Portuguese Timor and his offic-
ers derived most of their income from slaves caught in the interior and
delivered to Dili. Kolff had to repeatedly refuse the offer of two small
children, 7 and 8 years old “loaded with heavy irons” (1840, p. 34),
whom the Governor and others were keen for him to buy. The Portu-
guese also monopolised the trade in beeswax and sandalwood “which
the [disgruntled] natives are forced to deliver up at a small and almost
nominal price”. During his stay from 2–6 June 1825, Kolff reports not
seeing any European women, apart from the wife of a ship’s captain and
only sighted two or three “mixed breed” women although the popula-
tion was “numerous” (1840, p. 35). Kolff is struck by the lack of any
visible signs of prosperity in Dili. This extended to the residence of the
governor, a small wooden house “at the back of the fort” (1840, p. 34).
Only one other vessel was in port: a large ship from Macao.
The famous English naturalist, Alfred Russell Wallace, spent four
months in Timor in 1861. His observations confirm Governor Affonso
de Castro’s earlier assertion when he (famously) records that:
Except for a few half-breeds in town there are no native Christians

in the island of Timor. The people retain their independence in
great measure and both dislike and despise their would-be ruler,
whether Portuguese or Dutch. . . . The Portuguese government in
Timor is a most miserable one. Nobody seems to care the least about
the improvement of the country and there has not been a mile of
road made beyond the town [Dili] and there is not a solitary Euro-
pean resident anywhere in the interior. All the government officials
oppress and rob the natives as much as they can and yet there is
no care taken to render the town defensible should the Timorese
attempt to attack it.
(Wallace, 1890/2000, p. 151)
The naturalist, Henry Forbes visited Dili in 1882 and recorded

(1885, p. 428) that “no such thing as a road exists anywhere in Timor”.
Although Dili had vastly improved since Wallace’s visit 20 years before,
its “hibiscus-lined streets” still looked “poor and uninviting” (H. Forbes,
1885, p. 417). As for the Timorese themselves, Forbes found them inde-
pendent and self-assured. He writes of the great “sang froid” with which
Timorese would sit on chairs meant for Europeans and not even get up
for a government official unless asked. They would then stand up will-
ingly as if their earlier use of the chair was just a mistake. They clearly
felt they were the equal of anyone, except their own kings to whom they
showed “deference and respect, if not servility” (H. Forbes, 1885, p. 419).
Portuguese Extend Control Over East Timor 1896

The arrival of Governor Celestino da Silva (1894–1908) coincided with
Timor becoming an administrative district separate from Goa in 1896
and the outbreak of a series of rebellions (in 1894, 1895, 1903, 1904
and 1907) in various places in Timor with liurai, who, unconnected by
kinship ties, united in blood oaths (juramentu) at opportune times (de
Castro, 1867, p. 55; Trindade & Castro, 2007; Trindade, 2012), a practice
revived by Xanana Gusmão during the Indonesian occupation (Feijó,
2016, p. 104). These alliances of convenience were a major military prob-
lem for Governor Celestino who was determined to exploit the interior
for coffee produced by cheap labour. Celestino’s military incursions
were costly both financially and in the heavy toll they took on Timorese
lives. To reduce the power of the liurai he made the colonial administra-
tion the arbiter of disputes at village level (Gunn, 1999).
In 1912 the Portuguese savagely suppressed a revolt threatening Dili
with the help of troops sent from Mozambique and Lisbon and a large
army led by indigenous chieftains (liurai). One source estimates between
15,000 to 25,000 Timorese died during this uprising (Pélissier, 1996,
p. 292). The Argus (1912, August 26, p. 13), in an article entitled, Great
island battle, reports that 3,000 rebel Timorese were killed and another
4,000 taken captive. Government losses were unknown. Civil govern-
ment was only introduced to Portuguese Timor in 1913 when the last
of a series of wars against local rulers ended (Weatherbee, 1966). Coffee
was introduced as a cash crop and the traditional tribute was replaced
by the hated poll tax. Forced labour to pay the poll tax was often cru-
elly implemented as witnessed by Australian soldiers in Timor during
World War II (White, 2002) and the future Bishop Belo as a young man
(Kohen, 1999, p. 68). Brutal Portuguese reprisals against the Timorese
were also witnessed during World War II (Callinan, 1953; Wray, 1987,
pp. 131–132).
Instability in Portugal, Confusion in East Timor

In 1910 the Portuguese monarchy was abolished and replaced by the
Portuguese republic. The new republican flag caused confusion among
the liurai who for generations had regarded the royal flag as a lulik and
could not understand a new regime and change of flag. Adding to this
confusion the new anti-clerical government expelled the Jesuits from
Soibada and about 20 Canossians as well. Priests also were regarded as a
kind of lulik by the Timorese (Gunn, 1999). There followed 15 years of
instability in Portugal until a military coup in 1926 dissolved parliament.
The new Finance Minister, António de Oliveira Salazar, gradually
acquired power and influence and, as Minister of the Colonies brought
all colonies under the direct control of Lisbon. In 1932 he became prime
minister. By the 1960s, Portugal was fighting costly wars of independence
in its African colonies of Mozambique, Angola and Guinea Bissau and
conscription was compulsory. Unlike the African colonies, East Timor
was not a theatre of war. Portuguese historian, Ricardo Roque, suggests
that influential Portuguese families in the 1960s and 1970s may have
organised for their sons to serve out their military service in Timor (R.
Roque, personal communication, August 27, 2013) where they would be
comparatively safe, but very bored (Nicol, 1978) completing their “two
years of tedious duty in the province” (Ramos-Horta, 1996, p. 7). The
Timorese writer, Luís Cardoso, describes the Dili of his youth as being
“full of Portuguese soldiers, who having no war to fight, wandered the
beaches and tarmac streets not knowing what to do with themselves . . .
this far from the wars being waged in the other Portuguese colonies”
(Cardoso, 2000, p. 67). Some of these young, well-educated conscripts
began teaching in schools (Saldanha, 1994, p. 58) and by 1973 there
were 11,935 primary students in Escolas de Acção Social do Exército (Army
Social Action Schools) (A Voz de Timor, 1973, December 7, p. 1).
Decolonisation and Civil War 1974–1975

The fight for independence in the African colonies of Mozambique,
Angola and Portuguese Guinea took a toll on both the Portuguese army
and economy. Salazar died in 1970 but the authoritarian regime con-
tinued under Marcello Caetano until he was dismissed from office fol-
lowing a bloodless army coup known as the “carnation revolution” in
April 1974. The new military government in Lisbon wanted to disengage
from all colonies as soon as possible.
It was the educated elite who formed the first parties in East Timor.
Four parties were established in 1974: União Democrática Timorense
(UDT) [Timorese Democratic Union] a conservative party founded
on 11 May 1974 which envisaged an independent Timor in association
with Portugal; Associação Social-Democrática Timorense (ASDT) [Timorese
Social Democratic Association] later to become Frente Revolucionária de
Timor Leste Independente (Fretilin) [Revolutionary Front of Independent
East Timor] founded on 20 May 1974 (Ramos-Horta, 1996, p. 35). Freti-
lin was more left wing with some members newly returned from studies
in Portugal and its African colonies. The other two parties were Klibur
Oan Timur Aswain (KOTA) [Sons of Mountain Warriors] made up of
liurai, and Associação Popular Democrática Timorense (Apodeti) [Timorese
Popular Democratic Association] established on 25 May, which proposed
integration into Indonesia (Hill, 2002; Jolliffe, 1978). Apart from Apo-
deti, which advocated making Indonesian language compulsory in sec-
ondary schools (together with the right to the enjoyment of Portuguese
language and culture), all parties proposed Portuguese as the future
national language ignoring the fact that very few people at the time
could speak it – only members of the elite who had attended Portuguese
schools and formed the first political parties. Most of the party leaders
were sons of liurai or other assimilados, (assimilated people) educated at
the Jesuit primary school in Soibada with secondary school at the Jesuit
seminary in Dare after which they joined the colonial civil service becom-
ing ranking officials (Hicks, 2015; Jolliffe, 1978). In order to be classi-
fied as an assimilado a Timorese had to be baptised as a Catholic, bear a
Portuguese name and be able to read and write Portuguese (Lutz, 1995).
The offspring of deportados were another source of leadership. Portugal
deported political dissidents as well as criminals to its colonies. Accord-
ing to a British source cited by Gunn (1999, p. 211) in a group of about
100 deportados in Timor in the interwar years, 60 percent were demo-
crats, 30 percent were communists and about 10 percent were ordinary
criminals. The father of José Ramos-Horta, a founder of Fretilin, had
been exiled to Timor by the Salazar regime in Portugal, as had the father
of the land-owning Carrascalão brothers, leaders of UDT. Horta’s sister,
Rosa, married João Carrascalão (Jolliffe, 2014; Ramos-Horta, 1996).
When a brutal civil war broke out between the main Timorese political
parties in August 1975, members of the Portuguese administration fled
to Atauro, an island off Dili. Fretilin won the civil war and established
a short-lived government, proclaiming East Timor independent on 28
November 1975, but kept the Portuguese flag flying. The Portuguese
abandoned East Timor when Indonesia invaded nine days later on 7
December 1975. However, they left behind an educated elite, fluent in
Portuguese and with a strong affinity to the Lusophone/Portuguese-
speaking world.
After his capture by the Indonesian army in Dili in 1992 Xanana was
sentenced to life imprisonment. He had written a 28-page statement
in Portuguese which he was not allowed to read in court. However, the
statement was smuggled out and published around the world. As his life
sentence was read out, observers heard Xanana say softly in Portuguese:
Viva Timor Leste! (Long live East Timor!) (X. Gusmão, 1993, p. 7).
The Portuguese Legacy

Portugal, its language, culture and religion, was the focus of the Por-
tuguese civilising mission. The peoples they colonised were to regard
themselves as Portuguese and for this to occur they needed to speak
Portuguese and take up Catholicism. King (1963, p. 32) cites the noble,
civilising mission espoused by Alfonso de Albuquerque, part of which
reads:
Colonies . . . are to be regarded as extensions of Portugal and the

object to be aimed at is, that those who live in them, whatever their
colour, should feel and believe themselves to be Portuguese, enjoy-
ing the same liberties and inspired by the same ideals, upholding the
same traditions and governed by the same constitution.
Visitors to places occupied by the Portuguese such as Dili were struck

by the fact that the local lingua franca was not used in Portuguese colo-
nies. Instead the inhabitants spoke Portuguese (cf. Dampier, 1709/1729;
A. Forbes, 1887). Henry Forbes was particularly impressed to find that all
business in Dili in 1882 was carried out in Portuguese and not in Malay,
the lingua franca of the archipelago. This was in stark contrast to the
Dutch who used Malay as the lingua franca in the Dutch East Indies. He
commented that:
It is a feature of all countries occupied for any length of time by the

Portuguese that they have so indelibly imposed their own speech on
the rude natives they have conquered that its words have remained
part of their language centuries after their rule has passed away.
(1885, p. 417)
His wife, Anna, noted in her diary on 2 January 1883: “It is strange
to hear no Malay in Timor. This language is heard otherwise all over
the civilised archipelago, but natives here must learn the language of
the possessors [i.e. Portuguese] if they will have any contact with them”
(A. Forbes, 1887, p. 241).
Boxer, agreed with Henry Forbes. One of the factors to which Boxer
attributed the “greater permanence of Portuguese influence” (Boxer,
1961, p. 55) (compared to that of the Dutch) was the acceptance of
the Portuguese language as common trade language along the coasts
of Africa and Asia by the time the Dutch arrived. The Muslim regents
in Makassar spoke fluent Portuguese and, according to Boxer (1961), a
form of Portuguese was still in use in the spice-islands such as Ambon in
1961. Even in Jakarta (previously Batavia), which had only been used by
the Portuguese as a trading port, a creole form of Portuguese was spoken
by slaves and servants who came from the Bay of Bengal. The Dutch used
it as well (Boxer, 1961). Sixty years after the visit of Anna Forbes, Calli-
nan, too, found that hardly anyone knew Malay in Portuguese Timor as
the Portuguese administration “discouraged” its use. However, in 1942
as he and his men moved around the interior, he found that “The offi-
cial native language was Tetum, which was taught in the schools and used
in all dealings with the natives” (Callinan, 1953, pp. 19–20).
Another factor in the persistence of Portuguese influence was Catholi-
cism. Wherever the Portuguese were successful in planting their religion,
“it usually took deep root” (Boxer, 1961, p. 62). Hence whilst few Dutch
Calvinist communities exist in the archipelago today, Catholic communi-
ties, established by the Portuguese, still remain strong, such as those in
Flores and surrounding islands in eastern Indonesia.
The Portuguese Enter Timorese Legends

By 1974 the Portuguese had been firmly incorporated into East Timorese
legends and rituals which served to legitimate their position on Timor.
This was discovered by Traube while researching the Mambai, a major
Timorese ethnic group, who live in central Timor. The Mambai are a
hierarchical community. The eldest son would traditionally remain in the
parental house while the younger sons left to establish their own houses,
but they all returned for ritual occasions, bound by mutual obligations.
Leadership was divided between active political authorities who were the
actual holders of power and passive ritual authorities who legitimised the
power held by the others. Ritual authorities were the mythical ancestors,
who having established their supremacy, renounced the power of rule
embodied in the insignia of office, swords, spears, Portuguese flags and
drums in order to watch over rock and tree (Traube, 1995; Hohe, 2002).
The Mambai story of the origins of colonial rule tells of a younger
brother, one of the first children in the cosmic house of heaven and
earth, bathing in white water and going far away across the sea taking
with him all the insignia of office which denoted power. His elder black
brother, left behind in Timor with only rock and tree and unable to gain
the respect of the people, set off for Portugal where his younger brother
gave him the regalia to found a kingdom and promised to return one
day. After many generations, Portuguese ships sailed into Dili harbour
where their older brothers welcomed them as the legitimate defenders
of order and hence began the ritual exchanges that linked the Portu-
guese on the coast to the Mambai in the interior (Traube, 1986, 1995).
This story legitimises Portuguese rule and the tribute system and sig-
nifies the obligations the Portuguese had to the people. The harshly
enforced poll tax broke this relationship yet the Mambai did not blame
the Portuguese. Instead they put the onus on their local chiefs who, they
believed, had tricked them. The fact that Portugal wanted to disengage
with Timor in 1974 was very unsettling to the Mambai who believed it
was a harbinger of cataclysmic events to come (Traube, 1995).
Timor in Portuguese Myths

The Portuguese, too have their enduring myths about Portuguese-Timor
contact as shown on the Portuguese €2.00 commemorative coin in 2015
Figure 1.1 Portuguese 2 Euro Coin Commemorating 500 Years Since First Con-
tact With Timor
Source: Copyright permission from Imprensa Nacional-Casa de Moeda (National Mint of
Portugal)
(Figure 1.1), celebrating 500 years since first contact with Timor (Val-
ory, 2015). They arrived in Malacca in 1511, but there is no evidence to
put them on Timor in 1515 despite a plaque with that date in Oecusse
and a possible visit in 1516. The first “explicit description” of Timor in
Portuguese is that of Pigafetta in 1522. A related myth is four hundred
and fifty years of Portuguese colonial rule. This view is promoted by the
Portuguese and the Timorese elite alike as it provides strong historical
legitimacy for the Portuguese-Timorese relationship and the use of Por-
tuguese as official language. In reality it was only in the early twentieth
century that indirect rule ended and the Portuguese could really claim
to control East Timor.
The Catholic Church

The Catholic Church was central to the colonial system. From the arrival
of the Dominicans in Lifau, the Catholic Church was a major vehicle for
Portuguese language and administration in East Timor often holding
“informal power” (Bethencourt, 2007, p. 220). The Church was instru-
mental in imparting Catholic and Portuguese cultural values, but until
the Indonesian invasion it was still regarded as foreign. This changed
when East Timorese were appointed to lead the Church in East Timor
from 1977.
The relationship between Church and state was formalised in an
agreement signed by Salazar, Portuguese Prime Minister, in Rome in
1940 (Archer, 1995) the year that the diocese of Dili was separated from
Macau and the first apostolic administrator of Dili (1940–1958) was
appointed. After 1941 the Catholic Church became an integral part of
the local Portuguese administration with responsibility for the educa-
tion system. For centuries, it was the Catholic Church and not the Por-
tuguese administration that was visible in the hinterland. The Church
provided a low level of education in a small number of schools. Most
people were animists with the church claiming just 28 percent of the
population as Catholic in 1973 (Durand, 2004). In times of crisis such as
World War II and at the outbreak of fighting between political parties in
1975 the priests and nuns fled to Portugal or Australia. Some also man-
aged to escape to Australia or Portugal in December 1975 when Indo-
nesia invaded. Those that remained fled to the mountains and suffered
with the people.
From 1976 Timor was no longer part of the Portuguese Catholic
Church. Timor was administered directly from Rome via the Pro-
Nuncio’s Jakarta office and not from the Indonesian Bishops’ Conference.
This meant that the Catholic Church in East Timor was the only institu-
tion with direct links to the outside world. The Vatican followed the UN
stance and did not recognise Indonesia’s claim to Timor (Kohen, 1999).
In 1983 the Indonesians succeeded in replacing the outspoken Apos-
tolic Administrator, Monsignor da Costa Lopes (1977–1983), who was
critical of the Indonesian occupation, with the younger Monsignor Car-
los Filipe Ximenes Belo from the Salesian order. Lopes was popular with
the people because he had spoken out against Indonesian abuses and
protected people from human rights’ violations. The Timorese clergy
opposed his removal, but the Indonesians wanted someone they thought
would be more amenable. Belo, from a liurai family, was born in 1948,
ordained as a priest in 1980 and consecrated as a bishop in 1988 (Kohen,
1999). To the chagrin of the Indonesians, Belo, like his predecessor,
defended the people against human rights’ abuses despite Indonesian
pressure for a compliant church. In January 1985, the Timorese Catholic
clergy in East Timor protested against the Indonesian occupation with a
statement signed by Belo, part of which read:
In East Timor, we are witnessing an upheaval of gigantic and tragic

proportions in the social and cultural fabric of the Timorese peo-
ple and their identity is threatened with death. . . . An attempt to
Indonesianise the Timorese people through vigorous campaigns
to promote Pancasila [the state philosophy of Indonesia], through
schools or the media, by alienating the people from their world view,
means the gradual murder of Timorese culture. To kill the culture
is to kill the people.
(Archer, 1995, p. 124)
After Portuguese was banned, the Catholic Church in Timor resisted

attempts to impose Indonesian as the language of liturgy. In Octo-
ber 1981, the Diocese of Dili obtained Vatican permission for Tetum
to be used in mass. Belo implemented this decision on becoming Apos-
tolic Administrator in 1983 (Budiardjo & Liong, 1984; Kohen, 1999).
Such insubordination was appreciated by the people. It spread the use of
Tetum and made becoming a Catholic more acceptable to the majority
of the population, who prior to the Indonesian invasion, had maintained
their indigenous beliefs.
Indonesian law requires all citizens to adopt a recognised faith. By
1990 more than 80 percent of the East Timorese population had nomi-
nated Catholicism as their religion. Belo attributed the growing number
of new Catholics to “large-scale conversions of former adherents of local
mysticism” who found that there were “many similarities between Cath-
olic rituals and their former mystic rituals” (Crowe & de Groot, 1993,
p. 7). Yet also, according to Belo, “the Catholic faith of the people is a
kind of symbol to unite them, it is a way of expressing the fact that they
are Timorese” (Timor Link, 1993, p. 7). An Indonesian report in 1990
acknowledged the influence of the Catholic Church and, by default, the
failure of the Indonesian government to win hearts and minds: “The
Catholic Church controls an important resource – the people-but lacks
other resources such as wealth and coercive power, while the Indonesian
government does not have any ‘possession’ over the people” (Archer,
1995, p. 130).
The Catholic Church as Key to the Development of an East

Timorese Identity
It took the Indonesian occupation for East Timorese to develop a com-
mon national identity. The Catholic Church had a role in this as well. The
Portuguese had kept East Timor isolated from and ignorant of Indonesia
and the rest of Asia, Australia and the Pacific. The only links cultivated
were those with Portuguese speaking countries. Portugal and Portuguese
were the focus. A Timorese identity was not pursued (Anderson, 1993).
Most people only related to their suco, cultural kinship group.
Before the December 1975 Indonesian invasion, most people in East
Timor had been animists (Traube, 1995; Durand, 2004). Profound effects
followed the mass conversions to Catholicism after 1975; being a Catholic
meant having the protection of the Church. Catholicism “emerged as an
expression of a common suffering” (Anderson, 1993, p. 6). When the
Church insisted on the use of Tetum as the language of liturgy, it was
the first time the East Timorese had a language to express their religion
and affirm their identity (Anderson, 1993). Xanana explained “how he
had only really acquired a love of country and a sense of Timorese iden-
tity after the Indonesian invasion” (K. Gusmão, 2003, pp. 174–175). In
an ABC interview after his release from house arrest in 1999, Xanana
expanded on this:
In the Portuguese time for hundreds of years, all people fought from
generation to generation, and it was a tradition in our history that
from those wars people could not accept, people still remind, “Oh,
your grandparent killed my grandparent”, and something like this.
But suddenly in ’74, after the invasion, all this vanished, because
we all fought together, we were united by another perception and
another ideal.
(Bullock, 2000)
For the first generation of East Timorese leaders all of whom were
Portuguese-educated and proud to be civilados (Wigglesworth, 2016,
p. 96), Catholicism was a social distinction. However, for the second
generation of Indonesian-educated leaders, it was the Catholic Church
which inspired a sense of Timorese nationalism (Carey, 1999). The role
of the Church was acknowledged by Xanana Gusmão in his 1990 inter-
view in the mountains of Timor:
The Catholic Church has played an essentially moral role, as well

as a political role and it is involved in the popular resistance. This
almost unseen action of the Church is felt deeply by our people,
because this situation also supports our resistance.
(Domm, 1990, p. 8)
Evolving Portuguese Attitudes

Despite the cruelties and harsh repression of the Portuguese colonial
administration, Timorese found that throughout the long years of Indo-
nesian occupation it was the African Portuguese-speaking countries that
supported their resistance: “Between 1976 and 1982 Fretilin was virtually
alone in the lobbying effort at the United Nations. Our closest friends
were not always there” (Ramos-Horta, 1996, p. 128). Portuguese sup-
port grew from the late 1980s. Beginning with a media campaign by
the Timorese resistance, subsequent events in East Timor drove a reas-
sessment of the Timorese-Portuguese relationship, and gradually won
over the affection of the Portuguese people. At the initial declaration
of independence on 28 November 1975, the first president of Fretilin,
Francisco Xavier do Amaral, could only secure official recognition from
the Portuguese speaking countries in Africa although many of the other
African countries had initially declared their support (Jolliffe, 1978).
Throughout the Indonesian occupation, the UN continued to recog-
nise Portugal as the administrative power in East Timor and it was Por-
tugal that kept East Timor on the UN agenda. Portugal had the Security
Council convene on 22 December 1975 to discuss the Indonesian inva-
sion. A resolution was passed calling for the territorial integrity of East
Timor to be respected and for the withdrawal of Indonesia. There were
another nine such resolutions moved by Portugal and passed by the UN
during the Indonesian occupation, but all were in vain (Cabral, 2003;
Fernandes, 2015). When Expo ’98 was held in Portugal the East Timor-
ese were given their own pavilion “in which to showcase their struggle
and cultural identity” (K. Gusmão, 2003, p. 200).
A dramatic change occurred in the attention given by the Portuguese
media to East Timor. In 1975 there had been just 25 stories about East
Timor in Expresso, a major newspaper, and 47 items broadcast by Rádio
e Televisão de Portugal, the Portuguese public broadcasting corporation
known as RTP, (Monteiro, 2002). Portuguese journalists visited East
Timor after it was opened up. José Luis Ramos Pinheiro, Information
Director of Rádio Renascenca, visited East Timor in February 1996. He
concluded that “If Indonesian occupation has achieved anything, it has
been to make the Timorese forget that Portugal abandoned the Timor-
ese to fate in 1975” and gave examples of Timorese nostalgia for the Por-
tuguese: “They tell stories and remember the names of many Portuguese
who once passed through Timor. . . . ‘With the Portuguese, we were free
and it was with you that we learned the meaning of liberty – Portugal has
to come back!’ ” Outside a church one Sunday after mass,
A handshake was not enough. Men, women carrying babies and

many children all wanted to kiss my right hand. They knew I was not
a priest. It was enough for them to know that I was Portuguese, that
I had come from the metropole.
(Pinheiro, 1996, p. 22)
Thus, in contrast to 1975, events in East Timor in 1999 resulted in

1,126 news items and mobilised Portugal. Once news was received of
the reign of terror in East Timor following the August 1999 referendum
results, there was a call for three minutes of silence on 8 September 8
1999. Almeida (2001, p. 585) records what happened in Lisbon:
I went outside a few minutes before the set time expecting noth-
ing to happen. But my scepticism (and maybe even cynicism) were
countered: at exactly three o’clock, in a neighbourhood that was not
central and in which one would not expect a public performance of
any significance, the traffic stopped and people got out of their cars.
The stores around closed and people came out onto the sidewalk.
Everyone was still. Someone shouted “Fascist!” to a car that did not
stop. Above the skyline of buildings, I noticed that traffic crossing
the 25 de Abril bridge had also halted.
Almeida gives four more examples of coordinated mass action on

behalf of East Timor all of which he interpreted as a part of a “national
catharsis” around issues of colonialism and identity made possible by a
“selective forgetting” of rebellions in the former colony (Almeida, 2001,
pp. 592–593).
“What did the Portuguese people think about Timor-Leste in 1974,
after the [carnation] revolution? Nothing, not much, little. Nothing.
Their thoughts were about the revolution and their relatives in the Afri-
can territories”, former Governor Mário Lemos Pires, giving testimony
to the Comissão de Acolhimento Verdade e Reconciliação (CAVR, 2003,
Part 3, para. 39). For almost a decade after 1975 the Portuguese heard
very little about East Timor. This seems to have been politically inten-
tioned. A spokesperson for the Armed Forces Movement, which had
taken over in 1975, told the press that “Timor was not worth 30 seconds
of television nor one newspaper page” (Monteiro, 2002, p. 279). The
growing media awareness of the East Timorese resistance transformed
this lack of attention. From the mid-1980s, short interviews and films
were sent to Portugal. By then the resistance also had a face: Xanana
Gusmão. The series of events, which followed, served to keep Timor
on the front pages: the Santa Cruz massacre in 1991; the capture of
Xanana Gusmão in 1993; Nobel Peace Prize awarded to Jose Ramos
Horta and Bishop Belo in 1996. The Max Stahl film of the 1991 Santa
Cruz cemetery massacre which revealed East Timorese Catholics being
shot while apparently praying in Portuguese, served to bond the Por-
tuguese to the East Timorese. The disturbing images haunted the Por-
tuguese, reminding them of their guilt. It appeared that the last resort
of the Timorese “was the religion and language the colonisers had left
behind” (Monteiro, 2002, p. 281). During the September 1999 vio-
lence in East Timor the Portuguese media focussed on evidence of the
special affection the East Timorese held for Portugal although it was
the older Timorese who were interviewed, with the media uncomfort-
ably aware that young Timorese, unable to speak Portuguese, could
not conform to the stereotype being presented (Almeida, 2001). East
Timor gradually rose in the affection of the Portuguese people. Origi-
nally a somewhat despised place, renowned for its fevers, a place for
criminals and political opponents of the Salazar and Caetano regimes,
it gradually became an inspiration to the Portuguese who harboured
a lingering shame about the abandonment of their former colony,
especially when they saw (or thought they saw) a people linked to them
by religion and language.
After Xanana was released from prison in February 1999 and moved
into house arrest in Jakarta there followed innumerable requests for
meetings, interviews, phone calls, as well as the arrival of large numbers
of people without notice. Xanana spoke to his many visitors in Portuguese
with others acting as interpreters (K. Gusmão, 2003). On 6 May 1999, the
day after the historic agreement was signed by Indonesia, Portugal and
the UN for a popular consultation to be held under the auspices of the
UN Mission to East Timor (UNAMET) Xanana, still under house arrest
in Jakarta, sent a letter of thanks to the Portuguese Prime Minister, Anto-
nio Guterres, in which he expressed his “deep gratitude” to the entire
Portuguese government.
Xanana Gusmão said thank you for the way the Portuguese
government – and in particular Antonio Guterres – had taken up the
cause of the freedom of the people of East Timor and the d
edication
and determination with which it transmitted the Timorese voice and
cry for their right to self-determination.
(BBC, 1999)
Portuguese government officials were assiduous in their attention

to Xanana on his release from house arrest and maintained a very
close relationship with the likely leader of an independent East Timor.
Dr Ana Gomes from the Portuguese Embassy in Jakarta organised pay-
ment of costs associated with Xanana’s brief stay in the Mandarin Hotel
(K. Gusmão, 2003) on his release in September 1999. After arrival in
New York late September 1999 for meetings at UN headquarters, it
was the Portuguese ambassador who took Xanana to buy new clothes
in which to address the UN press conference. In Washington, DC,
Xanana and partner, Kirsty, stayed at the Portuguese Embassy which
also served as the ambassador’s residence. From there they were flown
on a Portuguese government plane to a hero’s welcome in Lisbon.
Three days later the same plane flew them to Ireland. On Xanana’s
first walk around Dili in October 1999 he was accompanied by jour-
nalists from the Portuguese RTP network and BBC. Jorge Sampaio,
the President of Portugal, telephoned Xanana at 7 a.m. on 31 Octo-
ber 1999. Later that day Xanana was telephoned by the national overseas
bank of Portugal (BNU) just before he was to meet with the Interna-
tional Monetary Fund (IMF) to discuss the currency to be adopted
by East Timor. By then Xanana had met the Portuguese diplomatic and
humanitarian missions already established in Dili (K. Gusmão, 2003).
By 2002 East Timor was receiving 9 percent of Portugal’s foreign aid
budget (La’o Hamutuk Bulletin, October 2002). Portugal was the sec-
ond largest donor (after Japan) at the Tokyo donors’ conference in
December 1999 (UNTAET, 2000, March, p. 19). Although the Portu-
guese police and military were a major component of the international
peacekeeping forces under UNTAET, promotion of the Portuguese lan-
guage was the principal target of Portuguese donations.
East Timorese Response

In return, the Timorese elite were generous in their response to Portugal
and critical of those whom they thought did not appreciate the Timorese-
Portuguese relationship. Timor Telecom, a Portuguese company, was
awarded the contract for telecommunications after Telstra (an Austral-
ian company) withdrew. The Technical University of Lisbon, “after much
justification” (World Bank, 2001, p. 12) was given a US$480,000 contract
for school mapping without needing to compete at tender (World Bank,
2003a, p. 22).
One notable member of the East Timorese elite was particularly harsh
in his judgement of UNTAET’s use of English. At the 2002 Tokyo debrief-
ing, a keynote address was given by Roque Rodrigues who had been Vice-
Minister for Education, Culture and Youth Affairs from September 2001,
and, from 20 May 2002, was Secretary of State for Defence (Azimi &
Chang, 2003, p. xvii) similar to the position he had held in 1975 when
he was Minister of Defence in the Fretilin government (Hill, 2002; Nicol,
1978). Rodrigues had been educated and radicalised in Portugal in the
1970s returning to Dili in 1974 with a degree in psychology, making him
one of the most qualified East Timorese in the country.
Minister Rodrigues, not long returned from Mozambique, where he
had spent the Indonesian occupation, (“I am not used to the title of
Minister, I prefer to be treated as a freedom fighter”, 2003, p. 25), was
adamant that the UN failed to deal appropriately with the language ques-
tion because they did not acknowledge East Timor’s historical and cul-
tural heritage. He complained about English being used as the official
language of UNTAET although it was spoken by only about 2 percent of
the population. (The other official UN languages are Arabic, Chinese,
French, Russian and Spanish. Portuguese is not an official UN language.)
Ignoring the fact that Timorese educators were already implementing
CNRT language policy where Portuguese was being phased in while
Indonesian was being phased out and the fact that Portuguese language
training was already in place throughout the country, he preferred to
criticise UNTAET:
The UN failed to recognise that East Timor was undergoing a lin-

guistic transition, and should have developed a strategic plan to
phase out the Indonesian language (which was imposed on the
East Timorese) and re-introduce the Portuguese language while at
the same time strengthening the partnership between Tetum and
Portuguese. It is true that Portuguese is only spoken by a small per-
centage of the population. However, it is part of East Timor’s history
and identity. What must be understood is that the survival of Tetum
as a national language is dependent upon the re-introduction of
Portuguese. This unfortunately was not understood by UNTAET.
(Rodrigues, 2003, p. 29)
A typical example of the returned elite, as detailed by Memmi (2004),

Rodrigues is one of the older Portuguese-educated elite who still hold
sway in East Timor. His complaint demonstrates the intensity of feeling
among those who had spent the 24 years of the Indonesian occupation
overseas, in Mozambique or other Portuguese-speaking countries and
found the language changed on their return to Dili. They demanded
the purging of all Indonesian words which had entered Tetum over the
previous 24 years and their replacement with Portuguese terms. They
wanted nothing less than the restoration of “the linguistic order prevail-
ing in decolonised East Timor of 1974/75” (Hull, 1999, p. 2).
An Enduring Relationship
East Timor has been linked to Portugal for almost 500 years; a tenu-
ous link at first, but one which gradually strengthened. The Timor-
ese incorporated the Portuguese into myth and ritual. The Catholic
Church was central to the transmission of Catholic and Portuguese
cultural values. Even though the Portuguese administration was absent
in the interior of Timor, the church was there, the priests becoming
a kind of lulik venerated and respected just like Portuguese flags and
other colonial regalia. Under Indonesia, a far harsher colonial mas-
ter, the Timorese were nostalgic for earlier times. Their affection for
Portugal increased as it became apparent from the late 1980s that they
could rely on Portugal to provide political and physical support to their
resistance struggles.
Many of the Timorese leaders in 2002 had been the young turks of
1975, the elite, the assimilados educated in Jesuit seminaries and fluent in
Portuguese. This had given them a window on the outside world which
Tetum and the other indigenous languages could not. In 1974 they had
accused the colonial education system of trying to make the Timorese
“black, fascist Portuguese” with a curriculum which taught nothing
about the history of East Timor nor its place in Southeast Asia, but was so
focussed on Portugal that “even the songs and dances taught were Portu-
guese” (Campaign for Independent East Timor [CIET], 1974b, p. 11).
Most had spent the Indonesian occupation overseas in Portugal, Mozam-
bique or other Portuguese-speaking countries and were regarded as
“more Portuguese than the Portuguese” (lebih Portugis “daripada” orang
Portugis sendiri) by their fellow countrymen (letter to the editor in Suara
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
ja itse tarjoutuneen matkustamaan Venäjälle vaikuttamaan hankkeen
toteuttamiseksi, kuin myöskin että hän oli ottanut toimeksensa saada
tuota alaikäistä kuningasta kutsumaan valtiosäädyt koolle Falun'iin ja
niiden avulla palauttamaan tuo Kustaa III:nen vähää ennen
kuolemaansa määräämä hallitus sekä vihdoin, että venäläinen
laivasto lähetettäisiin Ruotsiin, antamaan hankkeen toteuttamiselle
suurempaa vaikutusvoimaa. Rikoskaaren 4:nen luvun 1 §:n mukaan
oli siis Magdalena Charlotta Rudenschöld, — joka oli tietänyt näistä
salaisista hankkeista, vaan ei ollut vaaran estämiseksi näitä
asianmukaisesti ilmaissut eikä koettanut niitä ehkäistä —tämän
osallisuutensa tähden tehnyt itsensä arvottomaksi aatelissäätyyn
kuulumaan jonka tähden hän, Magdalena Charlotta Kaarlontytär
tuomittiin menettämään kunniansa sekä tavaransa ja sitte
mestattavaksi.
Magdalena kuulteli tuomiotansa kyyneltäkään vuodattamatta.

Elämän katkeruus oli saavuttanut hänet niin äkkiä ja runnellut hänen
sielunsa sekä murtanut hänen mielensä, ja hän tunsi haluavansa
kuolla.
Valtionvalvoja kääntyi nyt kunkin tuomitun puoleen, kehoittaan

heitä jättämään selityksensä hallitsijalle sekä anomaan armoa.
Neiti Rudenschöld vastasi silloin, ett'ei hän haluaisi

minkäänmoista muutosta tuomiossansa, koska hänellä ei kuitenkaan
ollut mitään oikeutta odotettavissa.
Kaikki näytti Magdalenasta tällä hetkellä aivan yhdentekevältä,

mutta pian oli hän kuitenkin tunteva, ett'ei niin ollutkaan. Kovin
rangaistus häntä vielä odotti.
Palattuaan jälleen vankeuteen tuli sinne milt'ei samassa tuokiossa
Reuterholm'in sihteeri, Edman.
— Minulla on kirje, — lausui hän, — Armfelt'ilta eräälle

ystävälleen, tehkää hyvin ja lukekaa tämä.
Neiti Rudenschöld piti tuon kokoonkäärityn kirjeen muutamia

silmänräpäyksiä kourassansa, ja sanomatoin ahdistus täytti hänen
mielensä, — mitähän tuo lemmitty olikaan kirjoittanut, koska herttua-
hallitsija oli kirjeen kuoreen piirtänyt: Oppikoon neiti Rudenschöld
kerrankin tuntemaan sen konnamaisen ihmisen, jolla hän on
uhrannut menestyksensä.
— En tahdo lukea tätä kirjettä, — lausui hän äkkiä.
— Teidän täytyy… herttua on sen nimenomaan käskenyt.
— Noh, minä teen sen siis, en sentähden, että hän on minua

käskenyt, vaan että Armfelt'in rakkaiden sanojen lukeminen minusta
kuitenkin aina on mieluista.
Magdalena silmäili nyt läpi tämän kirjeen, jossa paroni Armfelt

puhui hänestä mitä loukkaavimmilla sanoilla, vieläpä teki pilkkaa
hänen lemmestänsäkin. — Käsiala, lausetapa, hänen
sukkeluuksiensa sekä sanasutkauksiensa yhtäläisyys, kaikki
vakuuttivat hänelle kirjeen todellakin olevan Armfelt'ilta. Pakahtuvalla
sydämellä luki Magdalena sen läpi useamman kerran, sanat
painuivat ikäänkuin tulikirjaimilla kirjoitettuina hänen mieleensä,
jäinen kylmyys virtasi hänen suoniinsa, ja kylmä hiki tippui hänen
otsaltansa suurissa pisaroissa.
Salaisella riemulla huomasi Edman hänen kasvoistansa koko
hänen sielunsa tuskan ja, vaatien saadaksensa kirjeen takasin, jota
Magdalena piti värisevässä kädessänsä, kysyi hän, mitä hänen tulisi
sanoa herttualle.
— Sanokaa hänelle, ett'ei paroni Armfelt'in käsialaa oltu osattu

kyllin hyvästi jäljitellä, pettääksensä minun silmiäni, — vastasi
Magdalena, jota, vaikka olikin täydellisesti vakuutettu tämän kirjeen
olevan Armfelt'in kirjoittaman, ei kuitenkaan saatu myöntämään sitä
sille, jonka hän piti vainoojanansa.
Ei, kaikki ei ollutkaan hänestä yhdentekevää! Ah, miksi ei hän

saanut kuolla, ennenkuin hän oli tuon julman kirjeen lukenut, —
kuinka hän halusikin kuolla! — Ja hyljätyksi tuntemisensa koko
tuskalla peitti hän kasvonsa käsillään.
KUUDESKYMMENES LUKU.
— Hänellä mahtanee olla luja mieli, tahi kentiesi ovat kärsimiset

tehneet hänet välinpitämättömäksi kaikesta, — lausui herttua-
hallitsija, joka kahdenkesken suosikkinsa kanssa usein puhui tästä
asiasta, mikä näytti kovin makaavan hänen mielessänsä, ja jatkoi: —
Sillä neiti Rudenschöld ei näy laisinkaan olevan tyytymätöin
tuomioonsa.
— Teidän kuninkaallinen korkeutenne tarkoittaa Magdalena

Kaarlon-tytärtä, — lausui Reuterholm synkällä katsannolla.
— Niin, niin, Kaarlon-tytärtä; mutta miten lieneekään ollut,

sanotaan hänen tuomiota julistaessa olleen erinomaisen kauniin.
— Pimeyden ruhtinaskin oli enkeli ennen lankeemistansa…

Kaarlontytär on samoinkuin hänkin saanut kauneuden epäsiveellisen
ja turmellun sielunsa peitoksi.
Herttua vaikeni hetkisen, jonka tehtyä hän epäröiden jatkoi: —Jos

ei hän nyt pyydäkään armoa…
— Niin tulee hän kuolemaan, — keskeytti Reuterholm

kylmäverisesti.
— Mutta minä en saa sitä päähäni… totta puhuen ystäväiseni,
minä pelkään kansan rupeavan arvelemaan meidän menneemme
liian pitkälle, tuomitessamme hänet kuolemaan, ja jos tuomio nyt
toteutettaisi…
— Olkaa huoletta teidän kuninkaallinen korkeutenne, kansa ei

häntä laisinkaan sääli. Olettehan te, armollinen herra, omin korvin
kuulleet, miten he leski kreivitär Rudenschöld'in omien akkunain alla
ovat hoilailleet tuon lutkan maankavaltajalle Kustaa Mauritz
Maununpojalle kirjoittamia rakkaudenkirjeitä!
— Niin, niin, todellakin… se oli hirveätä! —
— Kansa kunnioittaa hallitsijaa, jolla on tukeva käsi ja luja tahto.

Vakava lujuus tässä asiassa tulee vastaiseksi tukahuttamaan kaikki
kapinanyritykset; jokainen ajatuskin sinnepäin tulee hälvenemään
siitä seuraavan rangaistuksen pelosta. Te, armollinen herrani, tulette
tällä teidän lempeälle sydämellenne raskaalta tuntuvalla
ankaruudella suojelemaan maatamme, samoinkuin itsestännekin
torjumaan uudistetun kapinanyrityksen vaaran. Esimerkki on
näytettävä.
— Olet kentiesi oikeassa… häntä on rangaistava, vaan ei

kuolemanrangaistuksella.
Magdalena Rudenschöld ei ollut pyytänyt, eikä ollut aikonutkaan

pyytää armoa; ja nyt, kun hänen tuomionsa oli hovioikeudessa
julistettu, oli hän saanut sen lohduttavan tiedon, että hänen
omaisiensa sallittaisiin käydä häntä tervehtimässä.
Kepein askelin astui hän edestakasin vankihuoneen laattialla —

tulisikohan kukaan hänen luoksensa? Ah, hänen sukulaisensa olivat
kentiesi jo katkaisseet ne siteet, jotka hänen ja heidän välillänsä oli
olemassa! Oliko asia niin, sen tulisi hän nyt pian saamaan tietää…
riensiväthän minuutit… kohtaamisen hetki löi.
Ilon säde virtasi hänen murheelliseen mieleensä, raskaita telkiä

vedettäessä ovelta, ja ääneensä itkien suljettiin hän nuorimman
veljensä syliin.
— Pentti, Pentti! — olivat hänen ainoat sanansa, ja nuot iloiset

lapsuuden päivät lensivät valoisana kangastuksena hänen
mieleensä,— leikit ja pikkuriidat, viattomuus ja rauha.
— Kuinka olenkaan ikävöinyt saada sinua nähdä, — nyyhki hän.

— Voitko suoda anteeksi kaiken sen levottomuuden, jonka olen
sinulle matkaansaattanut?…
— Tuhannet kerrat olen käynyt täällä ulkopuolella…
— Voitko suoda anteeksi kaiken sen häpeän…
— Vaiti, älä kiusaa itseäsi niin, Malla. Olethan sinä minun

sisareni… rakkain, lemmityin sisareni.
— Sisareni, — lausui Karolina Ehrenkrona joka, lymyttyään Pentin

takana, nyt astui esille.
— Sinäkö, oletko sinäkin täällä! Sinä, jonka minä jo luulin ijäksi

menettäneeni!
— Ilon ja erhetyksen päivinäsi niin; mutta murheen ja kärsimysten

päivinä… ah, Magdalena, tässä minä nyt olen! — Ja nuot molemmat
sisarukset sulkeutuivat hellästi toistensa syliin.
— Lapsi-raukka, minä olen ollut liian ankara sinua kohtaan… minä
luulin siten voivani palauttaa sinut… luulin voivani temmata sinun
sydämestäsi rakkauden, joka… niin, hyvä Jumala, kuinka suurta
surkeutta se on matkaansaattanut!
Magdalena antoi päänsä vajota: — Minä olen paljon rikkonut, —

lausui hän, — ja kärsimisen! olen minä ansainnut… ei kuitenkaan
valtiollisen rikoksellisuuteni tähden. Ei, ei, — lisäsi hän entisellä
vilkkaudellansa, — minä luulen rangaistuksen johtuneen
rikoksellisesta rakkaudestani, — lisäsi hän vitkallisemmin ja
hiljaisella äänellä.
— Sinä lemmit kelvotointa, — lausui Pentti, kyyneleet yhä

silmissänsä; — minä en milloinkaan tahtonut saattaa sinua
levottomaksi niiden viittauksien kertomalla, joita minä usein
tovereiltani sain, enkä niiden kulkupuheiden, jotka minun korviini
tulivat…
Magdalena puristi, anteeksi anoen, hänen kättänsä. Veli ja sisar

istuivat lavitsan reunalla käsivarret kiedottuina toistensa kaulalle.
— Minä lemmin ja uhrasin kunniani, — jatkoi Magdalena puoleksi

kuiskaen, — uhraus ei tapahtunut tuskatta… Minä olen suuresti
hairahtunut; mutta en ikinä ole ehdollani tahrannut itseäni
minkäänmoisella rikoksella, en milloinkaan! Mutta kuinka rikokselliset
minun tunteeni lienevät olleetkin… niin… Jumala katsoo sydämeen,
ja hän tulee antamaan anteeksi, sillä, ah, minun lempeni oli oikeaa
laatua… puhdasta, väärentämätöintä kultaa! Minä sanoin oli, sillä
sitä tunnetta ei enään ole, sitä ei saa olla, vaan se on kuten
rikkaruoho perattava pois, koska hän, jonka autuudeksi minä kaiken
uhrasin, hän…
— Älä puhu hänestä, Malla… itke tässä minun rinnoillani!
— Entä äitimme… tuskin rohkenen häntä kyselläkään.
— Hän on sairas… on ollut jo muutaman viikon, mutta ininä tuon

sinulle hänen terveisensä.
— Rakkaani, kuinka minä haluankin kuolla!
— Kuolla, — kertoi Karolina, — ei Magdalena, tämä halu sinun

pitää tukahuttaa! Katumuksessa vietetty elämä voi sovittaa, mitä sinä
olet rikkonut… sinun, niinkuin niiden muidenkin kuolemaan
tuomittujen, tarvitsee koettaa saada armoa!
— Minä en voi enkä tahdo!
— Sinä voit ja sinun tulee se tehdä. Sielusi ijankaikkinen autuus…

ajattelehan tätä, sisareni! Olkoon niinkin, että elämä näyttää sinusta
kärsimiseltä; mutta kuolema ei olekaan mikään loppu. Elä, jotta
sinun henkesi kerran voi eritä puhdistettuna taistelusta, elä, jotta
sinun sielusi tulisi saamaan ijankaikkisen autuuden Jumalan luona!
— Ijankaikkisen autuuden… Jumala, oi Jumala! — Magdalena oli

peittänyt käsillään kasvonsa, ja kyynelvirta valui nyt hänen hienojen
sormiensa lomista. — Niin, hänen sisarensa oli oikeassa, hän ei ollut
vielä valmis kuolemaan… ei vielä arvollinen astumaan Jumalan
kasvojen eteen!
— Tahdon siis elää, jos se on Korkeimman tahto, koettaakseni

sovittaa, — kuiskasi hän, — johda minua, Karolina, oikealle tielle, tue
minua, ett'en horjuisi.
KUUDESKYMMENESENSIMÄINEN
LUKU.
Tuomio oli nyt mennyt tavallista tietä ja jätetty korkeimman oikeuden

tutkittavaksi sekä sieltä (kuten sanottiin) kuninkaalle.
Jos tuomitut aikoivat lähettää armon pyyntöä kuninkaalle, olisi se

tehtävä viimeistänsä elokuun 29 päivänä. Sisarellensa antaman
lupauksensa mukaan kirjoitti siis neiti Rudenschöld seuraavaa:
Suurvaltaisin, Kaikkeinarmollisin Kuningas!
Kuninkaallisen hovioikeuden tuomitsemana ei minulla ole muuta

keinoa kuin turvautua valtioistuimeen, jossa hallitsijan jalomielisyys
ja lempeys vielä voi elähyttää pian sammuvan toivon heikkoa
tuiketta. Minä rohkenen ottaa tämän viimeisen askeleen, ei
välttääkseni onnettomuutta, ei, se on tullut minusta
luopumattomaksi, vaan ainoastansa siinä tarkoituksessa, että,
mikäli mahdollista, pääsisin sen raskaammasta taakasta.
Kiellettynä näkemästä kaikkea, jota kunnioitan ja johon tunnen
ystävyyttä sekä mieltymystä, olen jo omasta kohdastani kuollut;
nämät suloiset tunteet, jotka ennen olivat elämäni viehätys,
täydentävät nyt vaan tuskieni lukua. Näin kurjassa tilassa ei minun
pitäisi koettuakaan jatkaa elämätäni, jonka hallitsijan epäsuosio,
lain uhka sekä vankeuteni hirmuisuus on tehnyt minulle tukalaksi;
mutta elämästä luopuminen minun ijälläni rikoksellisena, jota
kuolinhetkellä vaivaa omantunnon nuhtelemiset omaisieni ja
masennetun äitini minun onnettomuudestani tuntemasta murheesta
ja tuskasta sekä seurattuna hautaan kansalaisteni epäsuosiollisilta
arvosteluilta ja pidettynä arvotoinna saamaan kuninkaani
sääliväisyyttä ja närkästyneen hallitsijan anteeksi antamasta, —
kaikki tämä on kauheampaa kuin kuolema ja saattaa minun sieluni
suureen ahdistukseen.
Jos minä, vietellyn mielikuvitelman harhaan johtamana, olen

kiihoitetuilla mietteilläni mennyt lain rajain yli, ei se ole tapahtunut
isänmaani vahingoittamisen aikeessa eikä loukatakseni sen
suuriarvoista hallitsijaa. Oikeuden tarkkuus ja tuomarein mitä
ankarin tutkintokaan eivät ole huomanneet minua muuhun
syylliseksi, kuin että olen ollut ilmiantamatta noita häälyviä
hankkeita, joita minun rakkauteni niiden yrittäjään ei sallinut minun
luulla olevan olemassakaan. Tätä, ei kerrallaan tahi missään
kokonaisuudessa, vaan katkonaisesti ja monenlaisten muiden
asioiden sokaisemaa, silloin tällöin saatua ilmoitusta alituisesti
vaihettelevista ajatuksista ja mielioikuista ei kentiesi voitane pitää
todellisena tietona tuosta pääasiallisimmasta, valtakunnan
hallitusmuodon muuttamista tarkoittavasta aikeesta, jonka tuottama
vaara ei ole, asian näin ollen, tullut minun huomioonikaan ja jonka
estäminen on osaksi näyttänyt minusta tarpeettomaltakin, sittekuin
kaikki nämät hankkeet minun kehnon käsitykseni mukaan jo aikoja
ennen olivat hyljätyt jo sillensä jätetyt. Tutkinnossa ja viimeksi
hovioikeuteen jättämässäni selityksessä olen laveammin, kuin nyt
rohkenenkaan kertoa, ilmaissut kaikki ne lieventävät seikat, jotka
tässä asiassa puhunevat minun puolestani. Sidottuna lain ankaraan
kirjaimeen, ei oikeus ole voinut ottaa niitä mihinkään huomioon;
rohkenen kuitenkin vielä kerran huomauttaa niitä hallitukselle, jolla
on mitä suurin kyky eroittamaan rikosta hairahduksesta ja
omanvoitonpyynnön, koston tahi kunniahimon rohkeita yrityksiä
harhailevien tunteiden erehdyksistä ja jolla on tuo nimenomainen
oikeus, joka sille on milt'ei ainoa palkinto valtikan tuottamista
huolista, nimittäin armahdusoikeus. Tämäpä valtikkaan
eroittamattomasti yhdistetty oikeus voi ainoastansa minultakin
hälventää ne onnettomuutta uhkaavat pilvet, jotka minun
ympärilläni kulkevat, ja ainoa lohdutukseni on, että sillä nuorella
kuninkaalla, joka nyt Ruotsin valtaistuinta kaunistaa, sekä sillä
jalolla ruhtinaalla, jonka valveilla olevan viisauden kautta
kaikkinaiset vaarat tulevat estetyiksi, on sydän joka heltyy
onnettoman huutaessa. Jo epäileminenkin armon ja pelastuksen
löytämisestä Vasa-suvun hallitusistuimelta, olisi heidän
majesteetillisyytensä loukkaamista, enkä olekaan vielä kylliksi
epätoivoisena tätä epäilemäänkään. Ollen ensimäinen nainen,
jonka ruotsalaiset aikakauskirjat tietävät kertoa takertuneena
rikokseen valtikkaan pyhyyttä vastaan jätetyksi tuomarein
tutkittavaksi, älköön laki minussa nähkö ensimäistä
järkähtämättömän ankaruutensa uhria.
Luottamukseni herättyä kuninkaan ja hallitsijan armoon,

rohkenen nöyrimmästi anoa helpoitusta ylitseni julistetussa
kuolemantuomiossa. Tulkoon minulle suotu anteeksiantamus koko
Europassa julkisesti todistamaan lempeyden pitävän
perintöoikeudella Ruotsin valtikkaa; valtaistuimelta lähteneen
sääliväisyyden hyvittämänä vakuutettuna hallitsijan
anteeksiantamisesta sekä suopeudesta, tulen saavuttamaan
kaiken sen onnellisuuden, joka minulla enään voi olla
saavutettavissa ja kärsivällisyydellä kestää muut onnettomat
kohtaloni, jotka kuitenkin pian tulleevat avaamaan hautani.
Olen syvimmällä alamaisella kunnioituksella, Suurivaltaisin,

Kaikkein armollisin Kuningas! Teidän Kunink. Majesteettinne nöyrin
ja uskollisin palvelijatar sekä alamainen
Madelaine Rudenschöld.(65)
Tämä anomuskirja lähetettiin syyskuun puolivälissä hovioikeuden

muiden asiakirjain mukana kuninkaallisen majesteetin tutkittavaksi.
Asia otettiin vihdoin punnittavaksi valtioneuvostossa, joka oli

kutsuttu ko'olle Drottningholm'iin, missä hovi tavallisesti suvisin
oleskeli.
Kuolemanrangaistus peruutettiin heti; mutta kysymyksessä, mikä

rangaistus pantaisiin sen sijaan, syntyi monta eri mieltä.
Valtiokansleri Fredrik Sparre, joka oli äksyissänsä niistä pilkka- ja

herjaussanoista, joita neiti Rudenschöld oli Armfelt'ille kirjoittamassa
kirjeissään hänestä lausunut, ehdoitteli häntä pantavaksi kaakkiin
sekä saamaan kolmekymmentä paria vitsoja.
— Minä hyväksyn, — lausui nyt paroni Reuterholm, — sepä

rangaistus soveltuukin hänen rikoksellisiin tekoihinsa, ja…
— Ei sanaakaan enään! — keskeytti Fredrik-ruhtinas, jonka

entinen rakkaus Magdalenaan oli muuttunut todelliseksi
ystävyydeksi; — ei sanaakaan enään, hyvät herrat, — huudahti
ruhtinas, nousten kiivaasti seisovallensa ja paiskaten tuolinsa
seinälle: — Joko ajakoon veljeni pois neuvostostansa konnamaiset
ihmiset, jotka sellaisia ajatuksia hautovat, tahi en minä enään tahdo
olla sen jäsenenä.
Valtionvalvoja, kreivi Wachtmeister, joka vaikka ollen neiti

Rudenschöld'in heimolainen itse oli häntä sangen säälimättömästi
kohdellut, harjoittaaksensa siten mitä ankarinta oikeutta, sekä
antanut nykyään hovioikeudessa molemmat äänensä hänen
kuolemaan tuomitsemiseksi, tunsi itsensä kuitenkin tässä
silmänräpäyksessä sangen iloiseksi, löytäessänsä jonkun, jonka hän
voisi työntää edellänsä sen sääliväisyyden tunteen vaikuttaessa,
joka hänet oli vallannut, ja hän lausui nyt suoraan kolmenkymmenen
vitsaparin olevan vastoin lakia.
Mutta hallitsija ei häntä kuunnellut. Kiihkoisena sekä väristen

kiukusta kääntyi hän Itägötlannin herttuaan ja vastasi yhtäläisellä
kiivaudella, jolla Fredrik-ruhtinaskin oli puhunut.
— Jos veljeni ei tahdo olla neuvostossa, on hänellä vapaus siitä

poistua!
Luomatta hallitsijaan silmäystäkään, meni Itägötlannin herttua heti

pois; häntä seurasi taas valtionvalvoja, ja Magdalena Rudenschöldin
vainoojilla oli nyt vapaa valta.
— On joitakuita, jotka soisivat, ett'ei tämä Magdalena Kaarlontytär

saisi laisinkaan rangaistusta, — lausui Reuterholm, samassa kun
hänen tuliset silmänsä tähystelivät neuvoston jäseniä, joiden
hämmästynyt enemmistö heti valtionvalvojan sanat kuultuaan oli
herennyt ajattelemasta noita ehdotettuja "kolmeakymmentä
vitsaparia" sekä valmistuisivat aivan äänettöminä antamaan
erimielisyyden myrskyn vapaasti raivota heidän päänsä yli. Mutta, —
jatkoi suosikki, — vaikkapa se olisikin vastoin Ruotsin lakia, vannon
minä hänen tulevan rangaistavaksi!
Varoittava, milt'ei rukoileva silmäys sattui Reuterholm'iin

hallitsijalta, joka häntä keskeytti:
— Hänen rikoksellensa määrää laki kyllä rangaistuksen, ja jos ei

yksi…
— Minä pysyn yhä vaatimuksessani vitsarangaistusta, — keskeytti

Sparre rohkaistuna, tietäessänsä Reuterholm'in hyväksyvän hänen
sanojansa.
— Minä kuitenkin pelkään, ett'ei se käy laatuun, - virkkoi hallitsija,

epäillen, pitäisikö hänen tälläkin kertaa noudattaman suosikkinsa
toivoimusta.
— Minä puolestani en huomaa tämän rangaistuksen tarvitsevan

minkäänmoista muuttamista ja pysyn vaatimuksessani
vitsarangaistusta. vaikkapa hän saisi yhden ainoan parin. (66) —
jatkoi Sparre, pysyen kovapintaisesti kiinni tässä rangaistustavassa.
— Palatkaamme ensi kokouksessa tähän asiaan, jota täytyy mitä

tarkimmin punnita, — lausui herttua-hallitsija, ja saatuansa
Reuterholm'lta tulisen silmäyksen, lisäsi hän, nousten seisovallensa:
— Tämä nainen ansaitsee todellakin mitä ankarimman
rangaistuksen!
Huhu tästä vitsoihin tuomitsemisesta kulki ikäänkuin kulovalkea

yleisön kesken, joka hämmästyksellä sekä kauhistuksella otti
vastaan tämän uutisen; hovikin tunsi siitä mitä suurinta suuttumusta,
ja sen mielipiteellä oli sangen suuri vaikutus tämän asian
ratkaisemiseen.
Herttuan puoliso sekä hänen hovinaisensa kulkivat vaitonaisina

ympäris, eivätkä vastanneetkaan, herttuan tahi Reuterholm'in heitä
puhutellessa; tätä viimeksimainittua he tuskin olivat
näkevinänsäkään. Tässä ylhäisessä piirissä oli muuan kreivi
Sköldebrand (67), joka päätti koettaa kaikkia, pelastaaksensa
Rudenschöld'in nimeä tästä hirmuisesta häpeästä.
Päästäksensä siis herttua-hallitsijan pakeille, asettui hän tämän

läheisyyteen, ja herttuan sekä Reuterholmin pyytäessä
Sköldebrandia, keskeyttääksensä tämän synkän syysillan
haudankaltaista äänettömyyttä, soittamaan klaverilla, hän sen
tekikin; mutta hän lauloi lisäksi kappaleen eräästä murhenäytelmästä
niin surullisella äänellä, että Reuterholm, johon soitanto erinomattain
vaikutti, vasten tahtoansakin alkoi väristä, ajatellen sitä
murhenäytelmää, jonka hän itse pian oli toteuttamaisillansa.
Levotoinna nousi hän seisovallensa ja syyttäen äkillistä
pahoinvointia, meni hän pois, kovin liikutettuna mieleltänsä.
Pian menivät myöskin muut seurassa olleet pois, ja, jäätyänsä

kahdenkesken hallitsijan kanssa, astuskeli Sköldebrand nyt hänen
rinnallansa edestakasin, ollen hänen kanssansa vakavassa, juuri
tätä vitsarangaistusta koskevassa keskustelussa, ja hän teki
herttualle tuon kipeän kysymyksen, eikö tämä kuolinhetkellänsä
kauhistuksella tulisi muistelemaan sitä rangaistusta, jonka hän aikoi
heikon naisen antaa kärsiä? Hallitsija näytti liikutetulta, ja kentiesi
vaikutti tämä keskustelu, että mainittua rangaistusta ei pantu
täytäntöön.
Hovioikeuden langettaman kuolemantuomion muutti sitte neuvosto
seuraavana päivänä, paljon keskusteltuaan sinne tänne, tuntikauden
seisomiseksi kaakissa sekä elinkautiseksi vankeudeksi
kehruuhuoneessa.
Samalla hetkellä, kun tämä tuomio tuli kuuluksi, meni Itägötlannin

herttua Magdalenan sisaren, paronitar Ehrenkronan, puheille,
pyytäen häntä heittäymään hallitsijan jalkoihin eikä päästämään tätä,
ennenkuin hän oli saanut armoa onnettomalle sisarellensa.
— Tuomion sanotaan tosin olevan lievennetyn; mutta tässä

lievennyksessäkin näen minä hirmuista julmuutta, — lausui Fredrik-
ruhtinas, jonka hienot, ihanat kasvot ilmaisivat mitä suurinta tuskaa.
— Ei, en voi ajatellakaan Magdalenaa, tässä hyljätyssä, kauheassa
tilassa! Minä olen, paronitar-hyvä, häntä lempinyt, olen tarjonnut
hänelle käteni… minä tunnen hänen jalon sydämensä ja ylevän
mielensä; — rajattoman lempensä, jota hän tunsi kelvotointa
kohtaan, harhaan houkuttelemana, on hän uhrannut tälle kaiken; —
jos tätä lempeä voi moittiakin, ei voi kuitenkaan muuta kuin ihmetellä
sen lujuutta. Ja mitä pontevuutta sekä vakavuutta hän tämän
koettelemisensa ajalla onkin näyttänyt! Minä ihmettelen häntä,
samalla kertaa toivoen että hän olisi saanut kärsiä paremman asian
puolesta.
— Niin, minäkin tunnen hänet, — nyyhki paronitar Ehrenkrona, —

ja tiedän hänen ansaitsevan paremman kohtalon!
— Kuinka vähän me ennakolta voimme aavistaa, mitä tässä

maailmassa tulee tapahtumaan, — jatkoi Fredrik-ruhtinas hetken
vaijettuansa, — jos Magdalena olisi voinut aavistaa… niin, olenpa
kylläkin itsekäs toivomaan, että hän olisi kääntänyt sydämensä
minun puoleeni… Muistan kerta sanoneeni hänen ansaitsevan
kantaa kruunua, ja sitä ei hän ole voinut välttääkään. Armfelt'in lempi
panee nyt martyyrikruunun hänen päähänsä!
— Jumalan avulla toivon hänen kärsimisensä… tarkoitan sitä

vainoamista, jolla häntä kohdellaan, pian tulevan loppumaan!
— Loppumaan, — kertoi herttua, vilkaisten äkkiä rouva

Ehrenkronaan.
— Sillä minkälainen tuomio tulleekin olemaan, on minulla kuitenkin

täydellä syyllä toivoa sen muuttumisesta. Ensiksikin on minun
mieheni matkustanut kohtaamaan Sofia Albertina-ruhtinatarta ja
pyytämään hänen välitystänsä…
— Sen tiedän, — keskeytti ruhtinas, — ja paroni Ehrenkrona saa

tietysti häneltä tämän lupauksen; mutta siitä huolimatta, paronitar-
hyväni…
— Ah, minä olen ollut paroni Reuterholm'in puheilla, joka on mitä

ystävällisimmin vakuuttanut, ett'ei mitään pahaa tulisi sisarelleni
enään tapahtumaan… hänkin arvelee Magdalenan jo kyllin
kärsineen ja on kunniasanallansa luvannut neuvoston tuomion
tulevan peruutetuksi, ja Magdalenan saavan täydellisen armon…
Kaiken pyhän nimessä on hän tätä vakuuttanut ei ainoastansa
minulle, vaan koko suvullemme ja kaikille ystävillemme. Ah, minä
tulen viemään Magdalenan mukanani, me tulemme asumaan maalla
yksinämme sekä levossa ja rauhassa… meidät tullaan unohtamaan,
ja kentiesi tulemme mekin kerta unohtamaan murheemme.
Vähäinen hymyily ilmaantui rouva Ehrenkronan kalpeille kasvoille,

ja hän lisäsi:
— Tästä ehdoituksestani olen antanut tiedon herttualle, ja minä
tahdon tästälähin olla edesvastauksessa Magdalenasta, eikä herttua
enään tule saamaan vihastumisen syytä… jo huomena saan
vastauksen tähän pyyntööni.
— Mutta minä neuvon teitä jo tänään heittäymään hallitsijan

jalkoihin. Olkoon paroni Reuterholm houkutellut häntä mihin tahansa,
Kaarlo on helläsydäminen ja hän tulee säälimään Magdalenaa ja
hänen nimeänsä. Rudenschöld! Ei kukaan Lovisa Ulrikan pojista saa
unohtaa tätä nimeä… ilman teidän isäänne, paronitar, ei meidän
nerokas, korkeasti nukkunut äitivainajamme olisi ollut Ruotsin
kuningattarena! — Tuo ritarillinen ruhtinas lausui tämän
tunnustuksen kaikella luonteensa lämmöllä sekä jatkoi: — Lovisa
Ulrika tunsi aina ystävyyttä teidän isäänne ja sukuanne kohtaan;
Kaarlo ei tule tätä unohtamaan, vaan noudattamaan hänen
esimerkkiänsä; nyt on aika hänelle näyttää, ett'ei entisiä palveluksia
unohdeta. Rohkeasti siis, paronitar, älkäätte luottako välityksiin eikä
lupauksiin, vaan ainoasti omaan itseenne ja menkää viipymättä
herttuan puheille!
Näin lausuen meni Fredrik-ruhtinas pois, mutta ei ainoastansa

tämä ruhtinas eikä herttua: hallitsijan puoliso sekä hoviväki, vaan
yleinen kansakin ilmaisi julkisesti säälivänsä tuota neiti
Rudenschöld-parkaa, ja silloin ei säästetty hallitsijaa eikä hänen
neuvonantajiansakaan; mentiinpä vielä niinkin pitkälle, että
isommissa seuroissa "vartijahuutona laulettiin Marseillen laulua."
Ruhtinaan kehoituksesta meni kuitenkin paronitar Ehrenkrona

suorastansa hoviin.
Hallitsijan etehisessä tunkeili herroja virka- ja juhlapuvuissansa;

siellä näkyi myöskin joukko tummansinisiä hännystakkia,
tulipunaisilla ompeluksilla ja vapaamuurarein risti kullatuissa
napeissansa. Tähän huoneesen ohjasi nyt paronitar Ehrenkronakin,
puettuna mustiin suruvaatteisin, askeleitansa. Tuntemansa
levottomuus, joka ruhtinaan käytyä hänen puheillansa oli lisääntynyt,
ajoi häntä nopeasti eteenpäin, ja missä tahansa hän näyttäytyi,
väistyttiin kunnioittamisella hänen tieltänsä.
Niin, hän tulisi heittäymään hallitsijan jalkoihin eikä hän tulisi tästä
erkanemaan, ennenkuin hän saisi Magdalenalle täydellisen armon!
Heti rouva Ehrenkronan jälkeen astui paroni Reuterholm

huoneesen.
Korskeasti ja ylpeästi tervehti hän vartoavia ja, nähdessänsä
Katharina
Ehrenkronan, pysähtyivät hänen askeleensa silmänräpäykseksi, ja
heleä
puna nousi hänen uljaille kasvoillensa.
Nuot sohvilla ja tuoleilla istuvat ylimykset olivat nousseet

seisovallensa, kaikkein selät notkistuivat, ja ne henkilöt, joita paroni
Reuterholm astuessaan suvaitsi puhutella muutamilla vähäpätöisillä
sanoilla, näyttivät loistavan ilosta sekä jo tuntevansa tuon armon
auringon suloista vaikutusta, joka suosikin suosiollisella luvalla tulisi
valtaistuimelta heille virtaamaan.
Siten, väliin astuen eteenpäin, väliin pysähtyen, oli Reuterholm

pian ennättänyt sille paikalle, jossa paronitar Ehrenkrona maltillisesti
varroten odotti.
— Minä käsitän paronitar-hyväni, miksi te olette tänne tulleet, —

lausui hän äkkiä ja suurella kohteliaisuudella; — mutta te voitte olla
levollinen, vaikk'ette tänään saakaan puhutella hallitsijaa, joka
äkkinäisen pahoinvoinnin vuoksi on täytynyt mennä vuoteesen — ja
nyt, kääntyen muihin odottaviin, lisäsi hän ääneensä:
— Hyvät herrat, hänen kuninkaallinen korkeutensa, herttua-

hallitsija ei päästä tänään ketäkään puheillensa!
Vahtipalvelusta tekevä kamariherra näytti hämmästystä, jota hän

kuitenkin äkkiä koetti peittää, ja syvään kumartaen vetäytyi hän
Reuterholmin taakse, joka yhä kestävällä kohteliaisuudella saattoi
oukamustunutta paronitar Ehrenkronaa etehisestä, tämän
tankatessa murtuneella äänellä esityksiä ja rukouksia.

Rebuilding The Education Sector in East Timor During UNTAET International Collaboration and Timorese Agency 1st Edition Trina Supit

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Rebuilding The Education Sector in East Timor During UNTAET International Collaboration and Timorese Agency 1st Edition Trina Supit

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Rebuilding the Education Sector in East

Timor during UNTAET International

Networks and Collaboration in the Public Sector

Collaboration and Public Policy: Agency in the Pursuit

Multimodality in Architecture: Collaboration,

On Ops Lessons and Challenges for the Australian Army

History of East Timor Between Myths Memory Realms Macau

Digital Agency in Higher Education Transforming

Technology and Agency in International Relations

Local Researchers and International Practitioners

This original volume examines the collaboration between East Timorese

Trina Supit completed her PhD at the University of Sydney, Australia.

For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/

1 The History of Education in Japan (1600–2000)

2 Education, Industrialization and the End of Empire in Singapore

3 Decolonizing the History Curriculum in Malaysia and Singapore

4 Rebuilding the Education Sector in East Timor during UNTAET

1 The East Timor Context 3

2 Colonial Policies in Education 30

3 East Timorese and the Internationals 61

4 Teachers and Their Recruitment 99

5 Appropriating the Portuguese Linguistic Heritage 132

6 Numbers on a Spreadsheet? East Timorese and

7 The Legacy of Education During UNTAET 196

1.1 Portuguese 2 Euro Coin Commemorating 500 Years

2.1 Population of Portuguese Timor According

ACER Australian Council for Educational Research (used

The Portuguese flag enclosed a book of Roman Catholic liturgy, pub-

Timorese Sandalwood Traders

Timor means ‘east’ in the language of the country. . . . There is a

Timor and its sandalwood entered Portuguese literature in the 1572

Ali também Timor, que o lenho manda /Sândalo, salutífero e cheiroso;

Arrival of the Portuguese in Southeast Asia

Rise of the Topasses, the “Black Portuguese”

The Fiction of a Portuguese Administration

Except for a few half-breeds in town there are no native Christians

The naturalist, Henry Forbes visited Dili in 1882 and recorded

Portuguese Extend Control Over East Timor 1896

Instability in Portugal, Confusion in East Timor

Decolonisation and Civil War 1974–1975

The Portuguese Legacy

Colonies . . . are to be regarded as extensions of Portugal and the

Visitors to places occupied by the Portuguese such as Dili were struck

It is a feature of all countries occupied for any length of time by the

The Portuguese Enter Timorese Legends

Timor in Portuguese Myths

The Catholic Church

In East Timor, we are witnessing an upheaval of gigantic and tragic

After Portuguese was banned, the Catholic Church in Timor resisted

The Catholic Church as Key to the Development of an East

The Catholic Church has played an essentially moral role, as well

Evolving Portuguese Attitudes

A handshake was not enough. Men, women carrying babies and

Thus, in contrast to 1975, events in East Timor in 1999 resulted in

Almeida gives four more examples of coordinated mass action on

Portuguese government officials were assiduous in their attention

East Timorese Response

The UN failed to recognise that East Timor was undergoing a lin-

A typical example of the returned elite, as detailed by Memmi (2004),

Magdalena kuulteli tuomiotansa kyyneltäkään vuodattamatta.

Valtionvalvoja kääntyi nyt kunkin tuomitun puoleen, kehoittaan

Neiti Rudenschöld vastasi silloin, ett'ei hän haluaisi

Kaikki näytti Magdalenasta tällä hetkellä aivan yhdentekevältä,

1 The East Timor Context 3

2 Colonial Policies in Education 30

3 East Timorese and the Internationals 61

4 Teachers and Their Recruitment 99

5 Appropriating the Portuguese Linguistic Heritage 132

7 The Legacy of Education During UNTAET 196

ACER Australian Council for Educational Research (used