April update
Never before did I imagine windstorms in tropical climates. But the final stretch of my time in Timor was nothing less than just that. The theoretical fundamentals anchoring my project violently tousled about and spiraled into a chaotic whirlwind that wouldn’t stay wrapped around my head. By theoretical fundamentals, I am referring to the ideas I went into Timor firmly believing—in particular the self-proclaimed resolution that a concept such as absolute justice exists. Why, I thought, of course there were rights and wrongs and I had no qualms pointing them out. But with the gradual maturation of the project came first the hesitation to speak with such audacity, which was then followed by a sincere silence fueled by honest introspection.
Seeking answers regarding positivist concepts such as justice seemed grossly inappropriate when the questions themselves opened up to so much theoretical reflection. My initial intention to point to moral absolutes in examining Timor’s historical injustices amounted to nothing more than the quintessential mistake internationals make when they come to Timor to ‘do good.’ That is—working from one’s own pre-conceived notions instead of adapting to the local circumstances and devising creative solutions. We see this in all types of international work—whether in law, development, health, etc.
I was frustrated by the rise of these questions not only because it suffocated that naïve hopefulness I came to Timor with but also because these mental stirrings brought my initial boiling enthusiasm to a simmer and thus tempered my productivity. On the other hand, I’ve tried to mitigate such suspicion by telling myself that this may be plain academic snobbery, and it might as well be. I, as an outsider who has a ridiculously small stake in this in comparison to the locals, have the leisure to step back and ponder these questions in the comfort of my California home.
I never expected a rainbow-colored happy ending. But right now no ending seems to exist. I had planned to criticize the current state and thereby impose moral judgments but I have come to wonder whether absolutes can have its place in a society where reality is best understood in relative terms. So here I am, awaiting departure from this country I have failed to fall in love with, but without the much-yearned-for conclusion regarding my initial inquiries. No, actually—the answers couldn’t be any clearer, but I want now, to lay them where I found them--there in its entire cacophonous array. I have thought and then thought again only to become more ashamed of the desperate effort at interpretation.
Four plus months of being in Timor also affected me physically and emotionally. The all-consuming nature and methodology of this study became nourishment for a type of existential depression and trying not to have it personally affect me because a daily and conscious task. Listening to painful confessions of victims became more exhausting as the hours added up, and interviews became a dreadful affair. In order to stay sane, I had to space out interviews so I could give myself some time to flush out emotional residue in between.
Timor is not letting go of its grip upon this phase of my life. This is not a mere metaphor, for I have found Timor to have such an effect on others as well. When asked, individuals express strong feelings about Timor. The opinions run extreme—they either hate it or love it--but one thing they can agree on is Timor’s ability to permanently change people. At the end of my period in Timor, I also felt that Timor impacted me in rather irreparable ways. Could it be a cynicism rooted in maturity? Could it be disappointment at a failed love? I can’t even pinpoint what exactly was the thing that changed me, let alone define how I have changed. But I am a different person in multiple ways and I can no longer go back to seeing the world in the light I did before this experience. I really am leaving a part of me behind in Timor.
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