1 Introduction^1,2

Self-determination of European colonies in Asia and Africa started after World War II. The Dutch East Indies was a pioneer in this area as Indonesia declared independence on 17 August, 1945, raising questions over the fate of Portuguese Timor – half an island in the Lesser Sunda part of its archipelago. In the following quarter-century, much of European empires vanished in the Indian subcontinent, Indochina, and Southeast Asia, as well as in Africa, leaving a handful of cases of colonial persistence.

Portugal was a latecomer to decolonization as Salazar did not contemplate any substantial change to its colonial policies. Much as the winds of change blew in the international arena claiming for a new partition of powers, Portugal insisted on its “historical rights” to dominate foreign territories.

In the 1960s, nationalist movements in the African colonies initiated guerrilla wars. Salazar thought it possible to beat guerrilla warfare, and outright defense of the “overseas territories” remained a never-crossed red line, choosing to stay “outside the main narrative of European imperialism and decolonization” (McQueen 2018: 164–5). The Carnation Revolution of 25 April, 1974 would alter the situation in a radical way.

The program of Movimento das Forças Armadas, or MFA (Armed Forces Movement), contemplated “Three D’s” – democratization, development, and decolonization. However, “while the MFA knew what it was against, it was fatally unclear about what it was for in respect of Portugal’s place in the world,” and the ensuing process was one of “decolonization without agency” (McQueen 2018: 169). The breakdown of the Portuguese army coupled with popular rejection of the war, and the existence of military-equipped strong nationalist movements dictated a path to rapidly granting independence to all five African colonies. Timor could hardly escape being part of the overall process. However, the situation of that territory, and the conditions under which the process would evolve, were significantly different from the African colonies.

This essay highlights the singularities of Timor-Leste’s road from a Portuguese colony to an independent democratic republic. Three phases will be considered: the stillborn self-determination process initiated under Portuguese sovereignty (1974–1975); the military annexation of the territory by the Republic of Indonesia, moving through a process of recolonization (Hicks 2015) or “Third World Colonialism” (Weldemichael 2012), and the continuing struggle for a genuine act of self-determination (1975–1999); and the brief intervention of the United Nations in the “post-colonial” process (1999–2002). Considering the self-determination of Timor-Leste as a transnational issue that superseded the relations between a colony and its colonizers and involved other international actors (regional and global powers, multilateral organizations) as well a unique blend of official and “citizen diplomacy” backed by the mobilization of civil society throughout the world in pursuit of a goal that merged self-determination with a broader view on human rights, this essay purports to offer a fresh view of decolonization in the last quarter of the twentieth century.

2 Decolonizing: from Portuguese Timor to the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste

Much of the impetus that followed the return of Timor to Portuguese administration after the Japanese surrender – a period when the minister for the colonies, Marcello Caetano, claimed the Portuguese envisaged their action as “wealthy friends” – soon waned. This territory was kept apart from the “repressive developmentalism” that characterized Angola or Mozambique (Jerónimo 2018; Figueiredo 2018). Timor was also mostly kept apart from the contestation of colonial rule, save for a revolt promptly and brutally repressed in 1959 (Alexandre 2017). By the time of the Carnation Revolution there was no solid nationalist movement operating in the territory, and no military activity was present.

Contrasting with the African colonies, Timor shared a feature with other Portuguese possessions in Asia: a small territory surrounded by a gigantic neighbor harboring sovereignty claims (Pereira & Feijó, forthcoming). The Indian Union had claimed rights over the “Portuguese State of India” for an extended period before deciding for a military invasion (1961). The People’s Republic of China had assumed a de facto control over Macau (1966) and the UN changed its status to a “non-autonomous Chinese territory under Portuguese administration” (1972). The Republic of Indonesia had its eyes set on Timor even though Jakarta never officially challenged the UN classification as a “non-autonomous territory under Portuguese administration” (Leifer 2013). Portugal and Indonesia entertained diplomatic relations for much of that period (Fernandes 2006). This situation implied that the self-determination of Timor could not avoid contemplating (while not bending to) Indonesian interests and positions.

In May 1974, the governor of Timor, following instructions from the new authorities in Lisbon, allowed the constitution of “political associations” meant to propose ways to terminate colonial rule. Unlike Portuguese overseas territories where decolonization was unleashed by local movements, armed or not, or by the action of their neighbors, Timor is a unique case of self-determination being initiated by an impulse coming from the metropolis.

Three major movements were formed: one supporting the continuation of close links with Portugal under a new “federative” model (UDT – União Democrática Timorense / Timorese Democratic Union); another standing for the integration of the territory into the Republic of Indonesia (APODETI – Associação Popular Democrática Timorense / Timorese Popular Democratic Association); and one favoring independence (ASDT – Associação Social Democrática Timorense / Timorese Social Democratic Association), which in September transformed itself into Fretilin (Frente Revolucionária de Timor-Leste Independente / Revolutionary Front for an Independent Timor- Leste) (Barbedo de Magalhães 2007; Kingsbury 2009; Hicks 2015; Cabral 2002). All three options were contemplated in UN Resolutions 1514 (XV) and 1541 (XV) in 1960 and deemed legitimate. In Timor, different “nations of intent” existed (Leach 2017, 2021), and nationalism was, from the very beginning, a pluralist phenomenon. Whereas in Portuguese Africa, independence was the sole purpose of the liberation struggles, in the Asian territories different options were on the table, namely the integration into their giant neighbors.

The absence of significant political links between the nationalist movements and Portuguese political parties was also remarkable, as was their international isolation. No Timorese group was ever a member of CONCP (Conferência das Organizações Nacionalistas das Colónias Portuguesas / Conference of the Nationalist Organizations of Portuguese Colonies).

The Portuguese Communist Party entertained close relations with all African liberation movements; the far-left groups also nourished their proximity with African nationalists, as did the Socialist Party. As for the Timorese nationalists, the only known relation was between some of young Fretilin cadres and a radical left organization in Lisbon, MRPP, which was far from the center of power.

In the background, the African liberation movements were supported by the USSR and to a lesser degree by China and Western nations like the Scandinavian countries and, in one case, even by the USA. None of the Timorese nationalist movements had the support of the USSR or China, as both countries were seemingly more interested in restoring their relations with Jakarta after the coup that brought Suharto to power and resulted in the annihilation of half a million “communists” in Indonesia (Kammen & McGregor 2012). In this light, the relationships between Cold War – which was often fought by proxy in the periphery (Gleijeses 2018) – and the fate of Timor are much less expressive than in other contexts.

By May 1974, Jakarta initiated its approach to the new Portuguese authorities. Indonesia congratulated Portugal on its decision to abolish colonial rule, provided that either Timor remained under Portuguese sovereignty, albeit in new clothes, or that integration into the neighboring country would be considered.

Arguing with security reasons, Indonesia would not consider Timor becoming independent. This was the beginning of a protracted relationship lasting until December 1975, during which Portugal sought to maintain a balance between the Timorese nationalist movements, with whom it was intent on pursuing negotiations (i.e., interactions with a view to obtaining an agreement by mutual concessions), and the Indonesian authorities, with whom it wished to engage in conversations (i.e., interactions destined to exchange information without intention to assume mutually binding compromises). In no other Portuguese colony did the design of the self-determination roadmap involve a third party – if only in an indirect manner (see Pereira & Feijó 2023: 95–126).

The position conveyed by President Suharto’s envoys was not unanimously espoused in Jakarta’s inner circle of power. Foreign Minister Adam Malik met José Ramos-Horta in June 1974 and wrote that “the independence of every country is the right of every nation, with no exception for the people in Timor” (Ramos-Horta 1986: 45). Malik prized Indonesia’s leading standing among the members of the Non-Aligned Movement and was careful in dispelling fears of disrespect for its principles (Leifer 2013). The first eighteen months after the Portuguese revolution would be accompanied by a significant debate among the Indonesian elite in matters pertaining to Timor (C. Fernandes 2021). President Suharto acted as a referee overseeing the maneuvering of different groups around him (Durand & Dovert 2016). If Portugal had its hesitations, so did Indonesia.

In Portugal, General Spínola’s stance on decolonization – one that considered that “political inclusion, social entitlements and cultural respect might be achievable within the structures of a redefined empire” (Thomas & Thompson 2018) – did not last long. In July, Constitutional Law 7/74 established “the recognition of the right to self-determination with all its consequences includes the acceptance of independence for overseas territories.” Independence for the colonies was henceforth enshrined in law without any exception, but the solution for Portuguese Timor remained shrouded in ambiguity.

Important members of the new ruling elite shared skepticism as to the extent to which decolonization should go. Mário Soares, who was foreign minister, in his Le Portugal Baillonné, wrote that “Timor is an Indonesian island with little connection to Portugal” whose fate “exclusively depends on the evolution of world politics” (2017 [1972]: 44, 84). António de Almeida Santos, minister in charge of decolonization, declared to the weekly Expresso: “[t]otal independence is not viable for financial reasons; an attachment to Indonesia does not seem possible given that this country is not interested; the last alternative is to remain associated with Portugal. To organize a plebiscite to legitimize this last option does not seem to me very realistic” (Santos 2006-II: 293).

After the replacement of Spínola, General Ali Murtopo, a personal envoy of Suharto, met the highest figures of the new regime. President Costa Gomes conveyed to him that independence for Timor was “unrealistic,” suggesting that the example of Goa could be invoked, and Prime Minister Vasco Gonçalves declared Timorese independence “nonsense” (Taylor 1999: 36).

Skepticism as to the feasibility of independence was not limited to prominent Portuguese figures. Rather, “[t]he doctrine establishing independence as the ultimate end of the colonial period was solidly established across the political spectrum after the Second World War” (Saada 2018: 86). But much of what was to be done on this front had already been achieved. Portugal, as a latecomer, could experience different solutions for some of its colonies. Many anti-colonial leaders internalized the “bigness bias” believing that small territories were militarily vulnerable, politically weak, and economically unviable, assuming that independence was not the inevitable result of the decolonization process. The tropes of size, primitivism, and backwardness rivaled the popularity of the clear-cut anti-colonialist discourse on independence as a virtuous solution. The increasingly popular developmental discourse closely articulated political viability with economic sovereignty and control over natural resources: “[e]ven as they grudgingly moved towards accepting some notion of self-determination as a human right, colonial powers sought to limit its application to the narrowest possible sphere” (Simpson 2018: 427). By the mid-1970s, the idea of self-determination was no longer as popular as it had been. For one, “the leaders of the African struggles against colonialism and racism had spoiled their records by becoming heads of corrupt, factious and often brutal regimes” (Chatterjee 1993:1). The focus of self-determination was gradually moving in unexpected directions, recasting the theoretical foundations of that notion that would materialize later in the century (Sterio 2013; Miller 2020). One may concur with Thomas and Thompson, who stated that, in the case of Timor, “decolonization was not ineluctable nor unavoidable. Rather, it was an outcome actively politicked over terms of rival claims many of which did not posit the complete rupture of imperial attachments” (2018: 6).

In November 1974, a new governor – Major Mário Lemos Pires – was dispatched to Díli. His assigned mission was to maintain close relations with all political movements on an equal footing in order to delineate a roadmap for self-determination (Lemos Pires 1991). Jakarta was kept informed of new developments, namely in a secret high-level meeting in London (9 March, 1975). Portuguese confidence in the success of negotiations was materialized in a significant demobilization of military forces under the command of the new governor and the consequential increase in importance of the native Timorese who served in the army.

Following extensive exchanges with the main nationalist movements, Portugal organized the Macau Summit (June 26–28). Fretilin declined to take part, but it had not raised substantial objections to the draft document discussed in previous meetings. Convinced a broad agreement had been reached (and Indonesia was duly informed of its content without challenging its foundations), Portugal issued Law 7/75 on the decolonization of Timor. This bill “reaffirms the right of the Timorese people to self-determination with all its consequences,” including (a) the acceptance of its independence; (b) the appointment of a high commissioner and five members of his governing team, two from Portugal and one from each of the nationalist movements; (c) the staging of elections by direct and secret universal suffrage and in accordance with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights on the third Sunday of October 1976, respecting the equal rights of all participant parties; (d) the Constituent Assembly thus elected would have two years to “define the political and administrative statute of the territory”; and (e) Portuguese sovereignty would cease on the third Sunday of October 1978.

This roadmap enshrined a vision of the “exemplary decolonization” that Portugal sought, articulating the outcome of the self-determination process with the respect for “the genuine wishes of the Timorese people” formally expressed in a democratic way, and following UN recommendations. Mário António (1982) speaks of a “laboratorial decolonization.” In other African colonies not ravaged by war – Cape Verde and São Tomé e Príncipe – similar schemes had been devised but failed to materialize (Lopes 2013; Newitt 2003). In the case of Timor, there seemed to be no reason not to pursue the principled, democratic approach, namely because three different organizations had emerged. Moreover, news coming from Timor stressed that APODETI had failed to gain grassroots support while UDT was strong among some sectors of the population, including cadres of the colonial administration that constituted part of the local elite, but Fretilin appeared to be the strongest of all with substantial popular support, thereby suggesting that independence would be the most likely outcome of a democratic procedure.

The consensus that Portugal thought had been achieved through the new law soon evaporated. In August, UDT launched MAC (Movimento Anti-Comunista / Anti-Communist Movement) as a front for conservative activists and staged a coup d’état, seizing important arsenals and recruiting from among the Timorese in the army and the police. Governor Lemos Pires decided not to use the military power at his disposal and preferred to seek a negotiated settlement arguing that he “did not want to antagonize the one political movement that stood for close relations with Portugal” (1991: 198). A brief but rather bloody civil war erupted as Fretilin organized a response and formalized its armed wing, FALINTIL, while Portuguese forces withdrew to the tiny island of Atauro (Cabral 2002). It was the first time that differences between political forces in the colonial empire turned to actual infighting – a situation that would be faced in Angola on the eve of independence. Just like in the African theaters of war in 1974, the Portuguese army virtually collapsed in Timor in August 1975.

President Costa Gomes tasked Almeida Santos to travel to the UN, Jakarta, Canberra, and Timor-Leste in search of a political solution, both for the end of the civil war and the medium to long term. In New York, the office of UNSG Kurt Waldheim was not keen to contemplate the internationalization of the issue – a move that Portugal also regarded with suspicion and wanted to avoid given the pending situation in Angola, but was ready to admit as a last resort. The Indonesian authorities wanted a “formal invitation” from Portugal to dispatch military personnel – something Portugal did not accept. Australian Prime Minister Gough Whitlam showed no inclination to sponsor an international military peacekeeping force.

Almeida Santos’s mission yielded no palpable results, but the war in the territory was over while he was still in the region. Fretilin took effective control over the territory; UDT, APODETI and other forces in MAC withdrew to Indonesia; the Portuguese administration remained confined to Ataúro.

An additional singular issue appeared: both sides had captured Portuguese military; while Fretilin soon released those it had imprisoned, UDT placed those in its custody under de facto Indonesian control. Henceforth, the issue of the prisoners of war would play a role at the negotiation table (Feijó 2019; Nuttall 2020).

In Lisbon, the Fifth Provisional Government contemplated the idea of “accelerating the process” and recognizing the supremacy of Fretilin, just as had been done in other cases in which the military aspect was dominant. However, the change in the relation of forces enshrined in the new Sixth Provisional Government, and the support of President Costa Gomes to its minister of foreign affairs, Major Ernesto Melo Antunes, reset Portugal’s official position: all efforts should be deployed to return to the full framework of the roadmap. This implied contacts with all the Timorese nationalist movements as well as with Indonesia.

Contacts with Indonesia included a high-ranking meeting between the two foreign ministers (Roma, 1–2 November) with little consequence. Both parts agreed that asking for UN intervention was not an avenue to be pursued. As for the Timorese nationalist movements, many attempts were made to hold a joint meeting, or at least a meaningful meeting with each movement separately. However, practical obstacles stood in the way of any advances.

Fretilin pressed Portugal to secure the return of the governor to Dili while refusing to allow the return of UDT, APODETI, and others who had fled to Indonesia, and insisting to be treated as “the sole legitimate representative of the Timorese people.” In a way, Fretilin believed Portugal might yield to pressures just as it had done in Cabo Verde and São Tomé e Príncipe. This stance openly contradicted the political option of Lisbon to pursue the previously defined roadmap with all parts involved.

Even though Fretilin controlled the territory, Indonesia staged several limited attacks along the border. Fearing Indonesia might scale up hostility, Fretilin took a bold step: the unilateral declaration of independence (28 November, 1975). Portugal refused to accept this declaration. Indonesia manipulated the Timorese leaders of UDT and APODETI and forged the so-called “Balibó Declaration” asking for assistance and integration (Carrascalão 2002; Carrascalão 2006; Sampaio 2015). As the day broke on 7 December, Indonesian soldiers parachuted into Díli and invaded from navy vessels, initiating a blood bath and bringing the self-determination of Portuguese Timor to a (provisional) end.

3 Recolonizing: from Timor-Timur to the Second Decolonization

The Indonesian invasion had long been in the making amidst contradictory pressures within Suharto’s regime (Durand & Dovert 2016). The unilateral declaration of independence by Fretilin precipitated the course of events. Military action anticipated political control and the economic, social, and cultural forms of domination that can be subsumed under the label of “Third World Neo-colonialism” (Weldemichael 2012; Nixon 2012). Even among Indonesian scholars like Mubyarto (1991) the idea that a “neo-colonial” status had been imposed was sustained. As opposed to the previous period in which the fight for an idea (a “nation of intent”) was paramount, this might be characterized as a “separatist war,” that is, one in which a specific people was fighting for a specific territory.

The military operation ordered by Suharto had the blessing of the USA and other important Western nations like Australia. More than oppose an alleged “communist threat,” the USA wanted to extend new assurances to its partners that the debacle of Indochina would not reverse its aid policies and strategic commitments.

Indonesia installed cadres from APODETI and UDT in a “Provisional Government” and initiated procedures to legitimize their move. On 31 May, 1976, a ceremony was hosted in which “traditional leaders” handpicked by Indonesian officers under duress requested integration into the Republic of Indonesia. Suharto accepted the petition and parliament approved legislation instituting the territory as Indonesia’s twenty-seventh province, Timor-Timur (Tim-Tim). This was supposed to represent an act of self-determination, in line with the so called “Act of Free Choice” organized in 1969 in Western Papua / Irian Jaya with UN acceptance. This time, however, the episode was dubbed the “Act of No Choice” and its results were not recognized internationally. The UN would not acknowledge that a genuine act of self-determination had taken place, and officially kept Timor as a “non-autonomous territory under Portuguese administration.”

In the meantime, Fretilin organized “support bases” and “liberated areas,” taking advantage of the significant number of weapons retrieved from the colonial army (Sousa 2019). These areas were object of fierce attacks and a continuous reduction in size, until limited to the perimeter of Mount Matebian, which fell at the end of 1978 by means of the “Operation Encirclement and Annihilation” that used US-supplied OV-10 Bronco aircraft capable of extensive land attacks with Swiss-produced napalm. The actual control of the entire territory by Indonesian forces achieved more than three years after the invasion would imply a structural change in the Resistance strategy. CAVR (Comissão de Acolhimento, Verdade e Reconciliação / Commission for Acceptance, Truth and Reconciliation), tasked with conducting exhaustive research of human rights violations between 1975 and 1999, estimated the minimum for the number of conflict-related deaths at 102,800 including 18,600 direct killings and 84,200 deaths due to famine and disease. CAVR’s accepted upper limit is 186,000 deaths, but flaws in the database used to compute these figures may hide an even higher number, in excess of 200,000 – a figure that the International Red Cross often quoted. Although these numbers refer to the whole period, “the estimated pattern of fatal violations over time shows a high concentration of killings and deaths due to hunger and illness during the initial post-invasion period between 1975 and 1980” (CAVR 2013: 488).

If one accepts a middle figure of 150,000 excessive deaths and compares it to the estimated population in 1975 (c.650,000), about 23 percent (but maybe as many as one third) of the population would have been wiped out. In Cambodia’s “Killing Fields,” the Khmer Rouge eliminated through killings, hunger and disease 1.7 to 2 million, representing between 21 and 25 percent of the entire population, concentrated in the years 1975–1979 – exactly when Indonesia was slaying the Timorese.

CAVR also reports extensive non-fatal violations of human rights such as unlawful detentions, torture, rape, sexual slavery, forced marriage, recruitment and labor, unfair trial, destruction of homes and livestock, and massive displacements. It has now been established on “reasonable ground standards” that Indonesian violence verged on genocide (C. Fernandes, 2023).

The scope of violence endured under Indonesian rule has no parallel in any other former Portuguese colony in spite of guerrilla wars and massacres such as the Wiryamu (Mozambique). Pedro Marques de Sousa estimates the number of casualties in the three-front, thirteen-year African struggle to reach 44,600, including Portuguese soldiers, civilian population, and liberation movements personnel (2021: 97).

Timorese nationalism grew stronger in parallel to Indonesia’s failure to actually integrate Timor-Leste into the body of the nation. Benedict Anderson (1993) asks why has Indonesia’s attempt to absorb Timor-Leste failed. How does one explain the rapid spread of Timorese nationalism? His tentative response was that Indonesians faced difficulties to “imagine the Timorese as Indonesians,” replicating an attitude that fed Indonesian nationalism against Dutch colonialism. “The commonality of ‘Indonesia’ is fundamentally one of historical experience and mythology,” and in this sense, its long-term membership in the Dutch East Indies is a powerful element that left Timor-Leste outside its realm. From this stance, Anderson derived the idea that “nationalist projects can turn into ‘colonial’ projects.” Weldemichael would elaborate that “in pursuit of their own national interests, or those of a small ruling elite, important African and Asian powers implemented policies towards weaker entities that were no less colonial and sought no less imperially grandiose than Europe’s” (2013: 2).

Initially, the resistance to Indonesian occupation was led by Fretilin and centered on the defense of “liberated areas.” With the fall of Mount Matebian and its logistic base, this strategy was abandoned and a new one emerged: to rely on a triangle composed of a small, token guerrilla force that conducted military actions; a clandestine network of activists providing support to the “armed front” and discharging their own initiatives; and an external front whose mission was to keep the Timor issue alive in diplomatic circles and in international public opinion. This “golden triangle” of the Timorese nationalists struggle is unique in its configuration.

Timor-Leste being just half of a small island surrounded by Indonesian territory, safe havens for the guerrillas and a weapons supply were non-existent The guerrillas had limited military capacity and assumed a symbolic aspect as the embodiment of the virtues of resisting oppression. There was never a question of the guerrillas winning the war as happened in Guinea-Bissau (McQueen 2015).

Fretilin’s early response to the invasion was to accelerate a radical, sectarian move towards a “Marxist-Leninist avant-garde party” (Niner 2009). This drive led to internal strife and to a reduction of the support base (Sousa 2019). It was kept until 1980s. After the assassination by Indonesian soldiers of Nicolau Lobato (31 December 1978), a reorganization was necessary, and it fell on Xanana Gusmão to lead a new approach (Mattoso 2005).

In September 1982, Xanana had a secret meeting with the Apostolic Administrator of Díli, Mgr. Martinho da Costa Lopes. The prelate revealed the evolution of the Church from a benevolent expectation of Indonesian rule to a shrewd opposition to its offensive misdemeanors. The bishop of Díli at the time of the invasion is supposed to have uttered, “I saw soldiers descending from heaven like angels – only to realize they were really devils from hell.” And he would confide to a priest “[w]e have been betrayed” (Lennox 2000: 128). A Jesuit priest wrote crude words about the behavior of the invading troops, who did not spare the Catholic Church facilities and perpetrated acts of naked violence (Martins 2014). These attitudes would be consequential as the Catholic Church moved from its initial position of complacency towards Indonesia to a critical pillar of the nationalist movement.

Xanana briefed the prelate on the results of the “Reorganizing Conference” of March 1981 (still insisting on the “Marxist-Leninist path”) and asked him to take several documents to the “external front,” which he accepted to do, assuming a cooperative attitude that was to mature over the years. On his side, Mgr. Martinho urged Xanana “to put nationalism first” and drop Fretilin’s new political ideology in favor of a broader approach that he and the wider social strata could support (Lennox 2000: 188–191). This meeting has been regarded as a foundation for a new political approach that eventually materialized later in the decade when Xanana’s resigned from Fretilin to style himself as a “national” rather than “partisan” leader of an increasingly vast opposition to Indonesian rule. FALINTIL ceased to be Fretilin’s armed branch, appearing as a “national liberation army” without partisan affiliation (Sousa 2019). In the meantime, opposition was fast increasing at the grassroots level, using what James Scott labeled “weapons of the weak” (1985), with a growing number of civilian actors (such as the recently educated youth), including several who had initially supported foreign rule. These were the actors of the “clandestine front.”

These organizations provided support to the “armed front,” and developed initiatives of their own. Among the most significant were the staging of a pro-independence demonstration at the time of Pope John Paul II’s mass at Tasi Tolu (1989) and the organization of the march on Santa Cruz cemetery that resulted in the infamous massacre (1991). Both events were covered by international media, and the message of widespread dissatisfaction clearly broadcasted worldwide.

The clandestine front was also critical in pursuing a new strategic approach – the “Indonesianization” of the conflict, that is, the effort to bring to Indonesian soil the plight of the Timorese. A major example of this was the coordinated invasion of foreign embassies in Jakarta, which attracted international attention and mobilized public opinion and the governments of targeted countries. Pocut Hanifah (2023) has shown how this activity in Indonesian territory provided incentives for the forces opposing the New Order regime to adopt a sympathetic attitude towards Timor-Leste from the mid 1990s. One may see in this an echo of the African liberation movements’ attempts to liaise with Portuguese opposition organizations and to sow the seeds of dissent at colonizers’ home.

In this broad and long process of dissatisfaction maturation, the Timorese Catholic Church played a significant role (Kohen 1999, 2000; Carey 1998). Considering itself independent from Indonesian Catholic structures, and navigating the ambiguities harbored by the Vatican, it became a national entity attuned to grassroots sufferings, which was also integrated in a worldwide network of sympathetic activists. The local Church provided a rallying point for the emerging national identity (Mendes 2005; Leach 2017). Testimonies are abundant of the role that clergymen performed in articulation with the organized resistance, and of their initiatives in favor of a negotiated settlement. One of the most relevant was the letter of Bishop Ximenes Belo to the UNSG Perez de Cuellar in February 1989, urging him to support the organization of a referendum (Kohen 1999: 168–169).

The close identification of the Timorese Catholic Church with the plight of its people denied the Indonesian claims that the Resistance was a small bunch of “radicals,” even “communists,” and offered an alternative vision of “moderates” fighting for human rights. Far from espousing the “liberation theology” popular in South America, the Timorese Catholic Church maintained a conservative stance. Parallels are to be found in Poland, where the Church had a very significant role in the demise of communist rule while advocating conservative principles. The importance of a religious organization in the process of national liberation in Timor offers a significant contrast to the experiences of the other Portuguese colonies in Africa, where this element was mostly absent (with the exception of some Christian Churches in Mozambique).

Before the invasion, Fretilin had established an “external front” with cadres that left the country to defend its positions in international fora and before international public opinion. With the passing of time, the “external front” became increasingly independent from Fretilin and encompassed cadres from other persuasions, under the towering figure of José Ramos-Horta.

The “Timor issue” would be raised by Portugal before the UN Security Council and General Assembly immediately after the invasion, prompting those two bodies to issue condemnations of the operation. After long months during which Portugal (and Indonesia) had sought to avoid the internationalization of the question, new avenues were open, and Portugal would liaise with the Timorese in order to oppose the Indonesian takeover.

However, the relations between the Resistance and Portugal were not always easy. Portugal had other foreign policy priorities, and the accession to European Economic Community was first above all else – including suffering, fighting, and pressures from European countries willing to pursue commercial deals with Indonesia without diplomatic constraints (Mendes 2022). Moreover, the Portuguese constitution of 1976 bestowed shared powers over the Timor issue (and that of Macau) to both the president of the Republic and the government, which in a semi-presidential regime need not converge. It took time for principles to overcome “reality.” In those difficult years, the “external front” relied heavily on the diplomatic and financial support provided by new African countries like Angola and especially Mozambique (where a significant number of cadres were established).

The two main areas of the “external front” activities were the UN (and formal diplomacy that goes with it), and international public opinion, where some form of alternative “citizen diplomacy” was developed. The latter was initially limited to small militant groups – such as TAPOL in the UK or CIDAC in Portugal – but eventually grew in numbers and importance. In the 1990s it was present from the USA and Canada to Australia, Aotearoa/New Zealand and the Philippines, from France to Germany, and from Brazil to South Africa. Citizen initiatives raised public awareness of the situation of Timor, and organized pressure activities to compel national governments to take principled stances in their relations with Indonesia. Events like the broadcasting of Max Stahl’s footage of the Santa Cruz Massacre (12 November 1991) or the bestowing of the Nobel Peace Prize on Bishop Ximenes Belo and José Ramos-Horta (1996) had a profound impact on international public opinion. Those effects were amplified by the persistent activity of solidarity organizations.

At the time, a shift of focus was perceptible: rather than putting all eggs in the basket of “self-determination” per se, campaigns stressed the blatant violation of human rights, which were graphically exposed, and the need to stop those actions (Rothschild 2023). Public opinion campaigns were accompanied by interventions at the UN Human Rights Commission (Pereira & Feijó 2023, chapter 10). This shift was a novelty in decolonization issues, and it proved capable of counteracting the waning appeal of traditional claims based solely on the right to self-determination.

The UN remained a major locus for diplomatic initiatives. Until 1982, resolutions approved at General Assemblies were critical of the Indonesia takeover. However, the number of countries supporting those resolutions was diminishing every year. A new strategy emerged, making a direct appeal to the UNSG to take the issue under his tutelage. During the terms of Perez de Cuellar (1982–91) and Boutros-Ghali (1992–96), Portugal and Indonesia entertained conversations at the UN without significant success. The election of Kofi Annan (1997) brought a new impetus. The new UNSG appointed a high-ranking diplomat as a mediator to the talks (the Pakistani Jamsheed Marker, a Pakistani Muslim diplomat – as such, capable of dispelling fears the issue might be perceived as a “religious war” – with close relations with the Indonesian foreign minister, Ali Alatas) and after several years of façade talks, real negotiations were initiated (Marker 2009). Benefitting from the Asian financial crisis that rocked the Indonesian economy and led to the downfall of Suharto, and the increasingly vociferous public opinion detached from the strictures of the Cold War to gain wide-ranging support in critical countries, new opportunities were seized in New York that eventually led to a major event. On 5 May 1999, an agreement was signed under the auspices of Kofi Annan between Portugal (in close articulation with the Resistance) and Indonesia. This stipulated the organization of an UN-supervised act of self-determination – a “popular consultation” for which an electoral registration of citizens was duly prepared. The imprint of the United Nations was thus present in the last episode of the Timorese saga, bringing an unprecedented feature to the self-determination of this territory.

The electoral register recorded 451,792 citizens living in Timor-Leste and the diaspora, and 98.93% turned up to cast their vote on 30 August 1999. From that grand total, 94,388 (21.5%) voted in favor of the “special autonomy” offered by the Republic of Indonesia; 344,580 (78.5%) preferred to severe links with the occupying power and opted for independence. A major step had been taken, unparalleled in decolonization in general, not only in the Portuguese empire.

4 Building an Independent State: the United Nations’ Kingdom of Timor-Leste

This section borrows an expression crafted by Jarat Chopra’s article in which he discusses the unique extension of UN’s powers in Timor-Leste in the period between the referendum and the restoration of independence – 20 May, 2002. Oisin Tansey claims UNTAET (United Nations Transitional Administration of East Timor) received one of the most powerful mandates in the organization’s history, and certainly in the context of decolonization processes (2007: 65–66). For Damien Kingsbury, the UN “assumed most of the functions of a colonial power,” and thus dubbed its intervention as “benign colonialism” given that it “imposed control over East Timor’s key decision-making process” (2007: 77).

Following on the public announcement of the referendum’s results, “hell descended on earth” (Sir Jeremy Greenstock quoted in Carey 2008: 362). The UN acted swiftly. First, it dispatched multinational military force – INTERFET (International Force for East Timor) (UNSC Resolution 1264, September 15). Then, after the national parliament of the Republic of Indonesia voted by a small margin of 355 to 322 to accept the results of the referendum (17 October) (Neves 2019: 364), it passed UNSC Resolution 1272 (25 October) establishing UNTAET “endowed with overall responsibility for the administration of East Timor and empowered to exercise all legislative and executive authority, including the administration of justice.” Among its goals, one finds “to support capacity-building to self-government.” The Brazilian-born UN high-ranking officer Sérgio Vieira de Mello was appointed Special Representative of the Secretary General (SRSG), heading a group of international “secretaries.” Vieira de Mello was compared to a “pre-constitutional monarch in a sovereign state” (Chopra 2000). The sudden collapse of the Indonesian administration was much more profound than in similar situations, and contributed to define the UN’s role in a unique manner: to support the reconstruction of a state apparatus and lay the foundations for democratic self-government. The combination of these two aspects is a singularity that defies academic consensus on the precedence of a functioning public administration over democratizing processes (Linz 1997). It also goes beyond a mandate to guarantee a genuine act of self-determination and to uphold the results of the referendum, in a manner that had no parallel in the history of decolonization.

The majestic role of Vieira de Mello, concentrating executive, legislative, and judicial powers, appears as a contradiction to the purpose of establishing a liberal democratic polity based on Montesquieu’s tripartite division of powers. Various authors have labeled UNTAET’s mandate as a “benign” form of autocracy (Beauvais 2001), despotism (Chesterman 2004), or even dictatorship (Powell 2008). It certainly reveals a paradox: how to create a democracy by non-democratic means.

UNTAET’s period witnessed an ambiguous relationship between the Timorese and the malae (foreigners), and resentment regarding the ways that UN power was being exercised according to a template designed in New York that paid little attention to local conditions (Kingsbury 2007). In the weeks leading up to the design of the mission, the UN disregarded all suggestions made by Xanana Gusmão on behalf of CNRT, siding with DPKO (Department of Peace Keeping Operations) – used to deal with situations in which warring factions were present that needed to be offered parallel advisory roles – and its usual template, disregarding the wisdom of DPA (Department of Political Affairs) – which had been involved with the Timor-Leste issue for a long time and knew the situation was not comparable as the referendum had already clarified the scenario. The SRSG’s first resolution was the creation of NCC – National Consultative Council (our emphasis) – composed of members of CNRT and other pro-independence sectors along with Indonesian partisans (UNTAET Reg. 1999/2). NCC was tasked with advising – not making executive decisions. Once again, decisions were left in the hands of foreigners. Many Timorese felt they were being kept from designing their own future, and Vieira de Mello addressed the Security Council defending changes to the model. These would materialize in July 2000 when the council was rebranded as National Council (NC) and its composition altered to reinforce the independence camp (UNTAET Reg. 2000/24). Still, its advisory capacity was kept unchanged. In parallel, SRSG proposed a new “transition cabinet” with the participation of Timorese – among its eight members, four were Timorese (two Fretilin, one UDT and one independent close to the Timorese Catholic Church) (UNTAET Reg. 2000/23). Xanana Gusmão was elected president of NC. The Transitional Government was enlarged to include José Ramos-Horta (as an independent) in charge of foreign relations.

Late in 2000, SRSG requested the NC’s advice on the roadmap to independence. The NC decided to hold public hearings, and the majority of those who testified supported the idea of rapid transition to full Timorese sovereignty – as opposed to the idea of a five to ten-year long process touted in New York – as a reaction to the secondary role they were being offered by UNTAET. They further suggested that the NC might elaborate a new constitution that would be put to the vote of the electorate, keeping in tune with the “consensual democracy” prevailing in CNRT. The transitional government under the advice of Peter Galbraith decided otherwise: elections should be held for a constitutional assembly after political parties were given a short period to register formally – a position only Fretilin supported. Important leaders like Xanana or Ramos-Horta publicly criticized this decision and did not stand as candidates in the elections scheduled for 30 August, 2001. Multi-party competition was thus introduced at an early stage by virtue of an UNTAET deliberation that generated opposition among credible Timorese leaders. Xanana resigned his position in the NC in protest. Once again, foreign actors exercised strong conditionality on the Timorese own future, generating dissatisfaction.

The constitutional assembly discharged its functions in a way that assured the Timorese would be free mostly from outside interferences. The constitution was approved in March 2002 with the votes of Fretilin and the new ASDT, all others having voted against it. After the election of August 2001, the government was reorganized, Mari Alkatiri (Fretilin) being promoted to “chief minister.” SRSG status and executive powers remained unchanged.

Having witnessed the approval of the new constitution, UNTAET was ready to wind down its operations. Elections for the presidency were held on 14 April, 2002. Running formally as an “independent” candidate (but supported by many political organizations), Xanana defeated the first president, Francisco Xavier do Amaral, running under the banner of the new ASDT (82.7 to 17.3 percent). The constitutional assembly voted to transform itself into the first National Parliament of Timor-Leste.

A formally correct democratic process, contested in several of its aspects, had come to its end. The officially named restoration of independence was scheduled to midnight on 20 May, 2002, and at that precise time, in Tasi Tolu (outskirts of Dili) the flag of the new country rose before an emotional crowd and foreign dignitaries like UNSG Kofi Annan, Portuguese President Jorge Sampaio, Indonesian President Megawati Sukarnoputri, former US President Bill Clinton, Australian Prime Minister John Howard, and a personal representative of Pope John Paul II. A long period of twenty-eight dramatic years was finally closed. Timor-Leste emerged into independent statehood equipped with democratic structures, and its political power (president, government, parliament) was legitimized through competitive, free, and fair elections, as a pluralist democracy and its state committed to uphold human rights and follow the precepts of the rule of law. No other Portuguese colony achieved independence in similar conditions. A few months later (29 September), the UN voted unanimously to accept the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste as its newest member (the 191st), the first new nation of the twenty-first century.