The commander of an Indonesian special forces unit accused of murdering five Australia-based journalists in East Timor in 1975 has more lately styled himself as a champion of free speech. Mohammed Yunus Yosfiah was a captain when Indonesian forces overran Balibo in October 1975 and, according to evidence before an inquest into the deaths of the five men, was first to fire on at least three of the journalists as they tried to surrender.
Under the former Indonesian strongman Soeharto, Yosfiah rose to the rank of lieutenant-general, but as Soeharto's authoritarian regime crumbled in 1998 Yosfiah quickly re-invented himself as a political reformist. As the first post-Soeharto information minister it was Yosfiah who abolished decades of censorship, media licensing restrictions and harassment of the press in one fell swoop. This recent history is worth recalling in assessing the latest howls of protest from the Indonesian Government and a couple of hundred angry protesters in Jakarta. Democracy in Indonesia is now almost a decade old.
For Jakarta to profess such profound offence over the request for an Indonesian official to testify at the inquest during a recent visit to Sydney – and to continue to insist the Balibo case is closed – is an unfortunate flashback to the darker days of the Soeharto era. The proper legal process unfolding in Sydney is nothing more than the long overdue airing of a tragic truth. Whatever predictable diplomatic row now ensues, the core issue is this: respect for judicial processes and freedom of information in a democracy is not selective – no matter how unpalatable the truth or how prominent the officials involved.
Certainly, the evidence before the coronial inquest in Sydney tells a grim story. It wholeheartedly damns the Indonesian military and the Soeharto government, but it also does Australia's politicians and policy makers of the era no credit.
At the centre is Yosfiah, identifiable from evidence before the coroner as one of two individuals who the counsel assisting the coroner believes could be successfully prosecuted for war crimes under the Geneva Conventions – although as a mere captain at the time he was almost certain to have been acting on orders. Yosfiah has always denied any involvement, and the Indonesian government has consistently claimed the men died in crossfire – a position earlier Australian inquiries have endorsed despite intelligence reports to the contrary.
Yosfiah and a second man, Christoforus da Silva, are highly unlikely to ever face an Australian court, because this would require Jakarta's co-operation in extradition. This reality does not undermine the value of the inquest. As truth commissions in nations such as South Africa and El Salvador have shown, the mere process of airing the truth is immensely important for surviving family members and in establishing credible historical records.
In East Timor, where the 24-year Indonesian military occupation cost some 200,000 lives, only a handful of local Timorese have been jailed for their part in decades of terrible human rights abuses. And Dili has pragmatically chosen not to pursue senior Indonesian officials. Australia, however, has no such need to kowtow to a sensitive Jakarta over such a clear violation.
When Indonesia launched its full-scale invasion in December 1975, seven weeks after the Balibo raid, a plaintive cry was picked up by radio in Darwin: "They are trying to take over all Timor... Indonesians... SOS, please help us." But Australia was well aware of the illegal invasion plan and willing to turn a blind eye, over decades, to avoid offending the powerful Soeharto regime. It was also argued in 1975 that Australia had reasonably feared instability in the former Portuguese colony off its northern coastline and so preferred East Timor's incorporation into the Indonesian state. Realpolitik leads governments to make many difficult choices, but Australia's stance on East Timor arguably weighed the interests of the state too heavily against fundamental values of human rights and international law. The former prime minister Gough Whitlam referred to the five journalists as "foolhardy" and criticised them for not heeding warnings to leave East Timor. Journalists should not expect special privileges in a war zone but, like civilians, they must not be deliberately targeted. The revelation at the inquest that "nearly everybody in a position to know" in Canberra believed the five men had been deliberately killed – while the government peddled the crossfire line – discredits a succession of Australian officials. In retrospect, Australia's complicity in the occupation probably exacerbated bilateral tensions, rather than smoothed them, because of the endless protests it provoked in Australia.
After more than three decades, and much cynical obfuscation on both sides of the Timor Sea, a credible, if deeply disturbing, picture is finally emerging of how the Channel Seven reporter Greg Shackleton, 27, cameraman Gary Cunningham, 27, and sound recordist Tony Stewart, 21, and Nine cameraman Brian Peters, 29, and reporter Malcolm Rennie, 28, died. Whether the visiting Governor of Jakarta, Sutiyoso, who was a special forces officer at Balibo, should have been approached in his hotel this week is a side issue.
Indonesia is a democracy. Indonesia's press is free to criticise Australia, and it does so with vigour. Indonesian courts are free to prosecute Australians within their jurisdiction, and they do. Mr Sutiyoso is an aspiring presidential candidate who well understands the demands of democratic openness. He is perfectly entitled to feel "deeply humiliated".
However, if any apology is due it is only because the police may have let themselves into his hotel room using a master key. They should have knocked.