The Cross and the Resistance: The Church’s Role in Shaping Timorese National Identity and Resistance

By: Dionísio Babo Soares

The foreign military invasion of Timor-Leste on 7 December 1975 ushered in a period of occupation that threatened the demographic, cultural and political survival of the Timorese people. In its final report, Chega!, presented in 2005, the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in Timor-Leste (CAVR) estimated a minimum of 102,800 conflict-related deaths between 1974 and 1999. The scale of this loss helps us understand the tragedy, without replacing the memory of the individuals, families and communities affected.

The United Nations did not recognise Indonesia’s annexation of Timor-Leste. Security Council resolutions 384 (1975) and 389 (1976) reaffirmed the Timorese people’s right to self-determination and called for the withdrawal of the invading military forces. This legal framework did not, however, translate into an international response strong enough to end the occupation. During the Cold War, strategic interests and geopolitical considerations helped keep the Timorese question on the margins of many governments’ priorities. The gap between proclaimed principles and effective protection of the population left a profound mark on those years.

In this context, the Catholic Church became a source of protection, belonging, and defence of human dignity. Its contribution must be understood through the relationship between the actions of Church leaders and the work of priests, religious sisters, catechists, seminarians and laypeople. It did not replace the armed resistance, clandestine organisation or diplomatic action, nor was it wholly identified with them. Through its pastoral and humanitarian mission, the Church preserved spaces for gathering and assistance that helped communities withstand fragmentation. This institutional and human journey deserves remembrance.

The Roots of an Institutional Presence

The Church’s transformation during the occupation did not begin in a vacuum. Throughout the twentieth century, parishes, schools and seminaries established enduring relationships with Timorese society. These institutions emerged within the colonial context and shared its limitations, but they also educated people and nurtured communities that would later assume responsibilities in very different circumstances. The transition from a Church associated with the Portuguese administration to one increasingly identified with the population’s needs was gradual, shaped by institutional continuities and concrete choices.

The Diocese of Dili was established in 1940. His Excellency the Most Reverend Jaime Garcia Goulart, a native of Pico Island in the Azores, was its first apostolic administrator and, from 1945 to 1967, its first bishop. During his episcopate, he promoted clergy formation and consolidated pastoral, educational, and social institutions. The development of parishes and seminaries strengthened the Church’s presence in the territory and trained Timorese pastoral workers. These institutional foundations proved important when the occupation radically altered the conditions under which the Church carried out its pastoral mission.

His successor, His Excellency the Most Reverend José Joaquim Ribeiro, a native of the municipality of Campo Maior, served as Bishop of Dili from 1967 to 1977. His episcopate spanned the final years of Portuguese administration, the civil conflict and the beginning of the Indonesian occupation. He was called upon to accompany a divided society and a population subjected to violence and displacement. Political uncertainty and deteriorating living conditions challenged the Church beyond ordinary parish administration and required urgent responses to provide shelter and assistance.

Religious formation and education also influenced intellectual and civic life. The seminary in Dili helped educate figures who would later participate in the nationalist movement, while the Catholic publication Seara provided a forum for debate. Peter Carey studied the relationship between religious renewal and the nationalist movement; Joel Hodge, in turn, examined the connection between suffering, solidarity and resistance in the Timorese Catholic experience. These perspectives help explain why religious life acquired such public significance during the occupation, without reducing faith to an instrument of political mobilisation.

After the invasion, many members of the Portuguese clergy left Timor. Others remained, alongside Timorese priests and members of religious congregations, among communities affected by military operations, hunger and forced displacement. Assistance to displaced people, support for families and the defence of those facing persecution became inseparable aspects of pastoral work. This presence neither eliminated violence nor guaranteed safety, but it sustained relationships of trust where other forms of organisation were severely constrained.

Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes: Speaking Out and the Duty to Protect

The Right Reverend Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes occupies a central place in this transformation. Born in Laleia, in the municipality of Manatuto, on 11 November 1918, he was ordained a priest on 18 April 1948 and served in different parts of the territory. In 1975, he was Vicar General of the Diocese of Dili and Bishop José Joaquim Ribeiro’s principal collaborator. His experience among local communities and his understanding of the population’s difficulties gave substance to the role he would undertake during the occupation.

Between 1975 and 1976, while still a child, I took refuge in the bishop’s residence following the civil conflict and the subsequent invasion. During that time, I spent every day with Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes. I remember him sitting among the refugees and children seeking shelter there, talking with us through long, uncertain afternoons. I cherish that memory as a testament to his closeness to people. Before I understood the public significance of his actions, I knew he was willing to stay beside those who needed comfort and support. That experience helps me understand the continuity between his pastoral care and his public defence of the population.

Following Bishop José Joaquim Ribeiro’s resignation, Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes was appointed Apostolic Administrator of Dili in October 1977, becoming the Church’s highest authority in the territory. He was never ordained a bishop, however. Rowena Lennox chronicled his life in Fighting Spirit of East Timor: The Life of Martinho da Costa Lopes, placing his experience within Timor-Leste’s political and religious transformations.

Initially, he prioritised discreet contacts with the military authorities, conveying reports of atrocities, hunger and forced displacement. As the situation deteriorated, he spoke out more publicly. From 1981 onwards, he transmitted information abroad through Church leaders and other international contacts. Restrictions on access to the territory made independent reporting difficult; information from those who remained alongside affected communities therefore took on particular importance. Speaking out sought not only to make suffering visible, but also to create the conditions for protection and assistance.

Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes condemned the forced mobilisation of civilians and denounced the killing of civilians in Lacluta in 1981. He also highlighted hunger, disease, and deprivation in forced resettlement areas. The difficulty of establishing exact figures for certain events does not diminish the gravity of the documented violations. Rather, it requires us to distinguish between contemporary accounts, subsequent estimates and the findings of historical research.

The approval of liturgical celebrations in Tetum in 1981 marked another important development during his administration. This was not the language’s first use in religious life, but it consolidated a pastoral choice with far-reaching implications. Amid restrictions on Portuguese and the promotion of Indonesian in administration and education, Tetum enabled closer communication with communities and brought people from different regions together. Its use in the liturgy helped preserve shared cultural reference points and strengthened the sense of belonging to a Timorese community.

This choice should not be interpreted solely as a political decision. Worship in a language the population understood met a pastoral need. Under occupation, however, bringing communities together, preserving the memory of the dead, and sustaining their own forms of expression also took on cultural and civic significance. A parish church could simultaneously be a place of worship, assistance and mutual recognition. This overlap of functions helps explain the Church’s importance without assuming that every religious act was conceived as organised resistance.

Speaking out publicly had consequences. The authorities portrayed Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes’s sermons and statements as expressions of nationalism, and pressure to remove him intensified. His position can be understood as a refusal to allow the violence suffered by the Timorese people to remain unknown abroad. When direct protection was limited, bearing witness became a form of service and responsibility to the communities.

In May 1983, Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes relinquished the apostolic administration and departed for Portugal. Exile did not end his advocacy: he continued to defend human rights and Timor-Leste’s self-determination until he died in Lisbon on 27 February 1991. Distance from the territory limited his direct work among the communities, but not his commitment to making the Timorese people’s situation known.

His significance lies not only in the abuses he denounced. Under his administration, a conception of pastoral responsibility linking the defence of life with justice and peace became more visible. This approach did not eliminate tensions within the Church, but it helped bring the institution closer to the population’s needs. His successors consequently inherited relationships of trust, practices of assistance and channels of communication that enabled this work to continue under equally difficult conditions.

Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo: Bringing Self-Determination to International Attention

His Excellency the Most Reverend Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo continued defending the population and gave it particular international prominence. A Salesian priest, he succeeded Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes as Apostolic Administrator of Dili in 1983. His appointment initially met with reservations among Timorese priests, who feared a less resolute stance towards the occupying authorities. His interventions against detentions and abuses nevertheless demonstrated the continuity of that commitment. He was ordained a bishop on 19 June 1988, with the titular see of Lorium, while retaining responsibility for the apostolic administration of Dili.

On 6 February 1989, Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo wrote to United Nations Secretary-General Javier Pérez de Cuéllar, calling for a referendum that would allow the Timorese people to decide their future freely. His appeal framed the question in terms of decolonisation and the right to self-determination: a legitimate solution required consultation with the population. Made public that year, the letter faced opposition from Indonesian authorities and support from Timorese communities and solidarity organisations. Its significance extended beyond ecclesiastical affairs because it challenged the notion that the territory’s future could be considered settled without the expressed will of its people.

The letter resonated among Timorese students attending Indonesian universities. Some organised a petition supporting a United Nations-supervised referendum. These young people were in a vulnerable position: they were studying in the occupying country, and many depended on scholarships to continue their education. Their university experience did not, however, require them to abandon their Timorese identity. For some members of that generation, access to education also provided the means to examine the occupation critically and articulate the demand for self-determination in the language of international law.

I remember being one of the Timorese students who signed that petition supporting Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo’s letter. For us, signing was not an abstract political gesture. Adding our names to the appeal meant accepting personal, academic and professional risks in a context where support for the resistance could lead to surveillance, interrogation, the loss of scholarships or other forms of intimidation. Nevertheless, we signed. We believed that silence would allow others to speak on our behalf and that Timor-Leste’s future could not legitimately be decided without the freely expressed will of its people.

This experience shows that the bishop’s appeal was not an isolated intervention. It reached a generation seeking peaceful forms of participation, both within and beyond Timor-Leste. Student mobilisation connected a sense of identity with networks of information, protest and solidarity. In my case, signing expressed a clear conviction: the Timorese question remained unresolved, and the United Nations continued to bear responsibilities towards our people’s right to self-determination.

Later that year, His Holiness Pope John Paul II’s visit on 12 October 1989 brought renewed international attention to Timor-Leste. At the Mass celebrated in Tasi Tolu, attention to human rights and the population’s situation acquired particular significance. At the end of the celebration, young Timorese expressed their desire for freedom before the foreign journalists accompanying the visit. The security forces’ intervention demonstrated that apparent administrative normalisation did not mean that the political question had been resolved.

The presence of international observers and journalists increased opportunities to publicise events, but did not eliminate repression. Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo was subjected to surveillance, intimidation and threats. Church premises could offer some protection to young people facing persecution, supported by the Church’s authority and international relationships, but they were not inviolable. Reporting abuses and seeking interlocutors abroad therefore ran alongside the daily provision of shelter and assistance, sustained by many people whose names rarely became public.

Bishop Alberto Ricardo da Silva: Pastoral Care and Formation

His Excellency the Most Reverend Alberto Ricardo da Silva played a prominent part in this work. During the occupation, he served as a priest and did not become Bishop of Dili until 2004. Born in Aileu in April 1943, he was ordained a priest on 15 August 1972 and served as Vicar General of Dili from 1980 to 1992. His diocesan responsibilities and parish ministry brought him into contact with different aspects of the population’s suffering and needs.

I came to know the then Father Alberto Ricardo da Silva personally when he was parish priest of Motael. As an altar server, a member of the Motael Catholic Youth Organisation (ORKAM), and one of the choir’s leading members, I spent weekends with him rehearsing, attending Mass, and accompanying him as he administered Holy Communion to patients in hospitals. On Sundays, we often had breakfast together as part of the community’s routine. This regular contact deepened our friendship, and I sometimes accompanied him on visits to families as part of his pastoral and evangelising work.

The closeness I remember in Motael formed part of a wider pastoral ministry. Father Alberto Ricardo da Silva’s travels and contacts with priests from other regions enabled him to follow local difficulties, support displaced families and maintain communication with isolated communities. Religious ministry fostered relationships of trust that could also facilitate the transmission of information and requests for help. This network mattered for its continuity and knowledge of the people, not for any unlimited capacity to protect them.

The formation of the clergy was another dimension of his ministry. He served as spiritual director of the seminary in Dare and later as rector of that institution and of the Major Seminary of Saints Peter and Paul in Dili. As institutions of religious formation, the seminaries brought together young people from different backgrounds and prepared leaders to serve their communities. This educational role helped nurture a sense of social responsibility and sustain the Church’s continuity in circumstances of profound instability.

Motael and Santa Cruz: Protection, Violence and Witness

The events at Motael in 1991 made the fragility of that protection particularly clear. Young activists who feared arrest had sought refuge in the Church of Saint Anthony of Motael, where Father Alberto Ricardo da Silva welcomed them. Sebastião Gomes was killed during the attack on the church compound on 28 October. I was then a member of a Motael youth group and was present that day. This personal recollection forms part of an episode whose gravity was documented by human rights organisations and by the priest’s own subsequent testimony.

On 12 November 1991, following a Mass in memory of Sebastião Gomes, a procession made its way to Santa Cruz Cemetery. Large numbers of Timorese, many of them young, participated in a demonstration that combined remembrance of the deceased with a demand for freedom. Near the cemetery, Indonesian soldiers opened fire on the unarmed crowd. The massacre and subsequent persecution affected participants and survivors, deepening fear among families and making it more difficult to establish the victims’ fate.

The numbers of those killed, wounded and missing have been the subject of differing estimates, and no single definitive count has been established. The removal of bodies, detentions and restrictions on information hindered identification and documentation. This uncertainty does not alter the central fact: Indonesian forces used lethal force against unarmed civilians in an episode that remains pivotal to national memory. For families, establishing what happened to their relatives remains an essential part of the recognition owed to the victims.

Following the massacre, Father Alberto Ricardo da Silva assisted the wounded at the Motael premises, where a polyclinic operated. In testimony preserved in the George W. Bush Presidential Centre’s Freedom Collection, he recalls sheltering the young people, the arrival of the wounded and the interrogations to which the authorities subjected him. Caring for the wounded and protecting people under threat extended the pastoral mission he had already been carrying out before the massacre.

The footage recorded by Max Stahl and smuggled out of the territory, together with survivors’ testimonies, broadened international awareness of the violence. Its dissemination depended on journalists, clandestine networks and contacts abroad. Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo helped two witnesses reach Geneva, where they testified before the United Nations Commission on Human Rights. The combination of images, testimony and solidarity campaigns made the massacre more difficult to conceal and increased pressure for a political solution.

From the Continuation of the Resistance to the Popular Consultation

On 20 November 1992, Xanana Gusmão was captured in Dili. His imprisonment did not end the resistance, and his contribution to its strategic direction continued during his captivity. Armed struggle, clandestine mobilisation and diplomatic action performed distinct and complementary functions. Within this context, the Church continued to provide shelter and assistance and to speak out as part of its mission, without assuming leadership of the resistance organisations. The continuity of the national cause depended on this diversity of contributions and on the ability to sustain relationships of trust under adverse conditions.

Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo continued to advocate dialogue and a political solution grounded in the right to self-determination. His efforts sought to link protecting the population with opening a credible consultation process. The Church’s international reach enabled him to contact religious and political leaders, but the authority of those appeals also depended on their connection to lived experience in Timor-Leste. Speaking out carried its full weight only when supported by concrete information and a record of assistance recognised by the communities.

On 11 October 1996, the Norwegian Nobel Committee announced that it would award the Nobel Peace Prize jointly to Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo and José Ramos-Horta for their work towards a just and peaceful solution to the conflict in Timor-Leste. The prize strengthened international attention to the Timorese cause and to the search for a diplomatic solution based on self-determination. It neither ended the occupation nor replaced political negotiations, but gave greater prominence to efforts undertaken within the territory and abroad.

Three years later, on 30 August 1999, the Popular Consultation took place under United Nations auspices. The result rejected the proposed autonomy within Indonesia and opened the way to independence. The consultation fulfilled the demand for the population’s free participation that the 1989 appeal had placed at the centre of the debate. Between the letter and the vote, however, lay ten years of mobilisation, repression and diplomatic work; the relationship between these moments must be understood within that collective process, rather than as the consequence of a single initiative.

The violence that followed the announcement of the result again targeted the Church and the people seeking refuge within it. Pro-integration militias, supported by elements of the Indonesian forces, attacked communities, destroyed property and forcibly displaced people. Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo’s residence was attacked and set on fire on 6 September 1999, forcing him to seek safety outside Dili and subsequently to leave the territory temporarily. The vulnerability of places of refuge demonstrated once again that ecclesiastical authority was not a sufficient guarantee against violence.

After independence, the Church’s responsibilities shifted to a sovereign state, with its own institutions and new demands for civic participation. Alberto Ricardo da Silva was appointed Bishop of Dili in 2004 and served until 2015. His episcopate connected his experience of assisting the occupation with the tasks of formation, reconciliation and support for communities in the new national context. Upon his death, Timor-Leste publicly recognised his contribution to liberation and the protection he had afforded young people facing persecution.

State-building did not remove the responsibility to clarify past violations and attend to victims. Reconciliation is essential, but it does not dispense with truth, accountability or the protection of the most vulnerable. Remembering the Church’s actions during the occupation also requires us to recognise that defending human dignity extends beyond any particular political moment. It must continue to guide the relationship between institutions and citizens, both in addressing the past and in responding to present needs.

Faith, Belonging and Resistance: An Account Without Idealisation

In this sense, I understand the spiritual dimension of the Timorese resistance. Faith offered many people a way to make sense of suffering, sustain community ties and find reasons to persevere. A Mass for the dead preserved memory; a procession brought communities together; a pastoral intervention could expose an abuse. The growth of the Catholic presence during the occupation should be understood in the light of this experience, without attributing it to a single cause or assuming that all Timorese experienced the same relationship between religion and national identity.

The lives of Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes, Bishop Carlos Filipe Ximenes Belo and Bishop Alberto Ricardo da Silva reveal complementary dimensions of that commitment. Public denunciation, international advocacy, formation and pastoral care intersected within their responsibilities. This is not a matter of assigning each an exclusive role: all depended on collaborators and communities that sustained their daily work. The focus on prominent figures must not render invisible the priests, religious sisters, catechists and laypeople who shared the risks of that presence.

The Church’s influence arose from the combination of its local presence and international relationships. Parishes, seminaries and religious congregations maintained contacts within the territory; dioceses, humanitarian organisations and solidarity networks abroad provided interlocutors for advocacy and assistance. These channels did not always function in the same way, nor were they free from disruption. Nevertheless, they were important resources for transmitting information, supporting families and drawing attention to situations that the authorities sought to control or conceal.

Recognising this contribution does not justify presenting the Church as the resistance’s leader. The Armed Front sustained the struggle in the mountains; the Clandestine Front provided mobilisation, information and support; the Diplomatic Front sought recognition and action abroad. Local communities, women, students and solidarity movements bore responsibilities that cannot be subsumed into the history of a single institution. The Church engaged with these realities through its own mission, and some of its members collaborated directly in initiatives to provide protection and support. Recognising this diversity is more accurate than attributing a uniform political orientation to the entire ecclesiastical structure.

This history must therefore be told without idealisation. Church leaders did not always agree on strategies, and the Holy See’s diplomacy did not always meet the expectations of Timorese priests and activists. The removal of Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes exposed some of these tensions. Not all clergy confronted the authorities in the same way, and opportunities for intervention varied by place and circumstance. The Church’s contribution emerged from decisions made by particular individuals and communities, rather than from an automatic and homogeneous response.

My conclusion is that the Church provided important moral, cultural and institutional support for the Timorese people’s continued existence as a community. It helped preserve spaces of belonging, protect people and communicate to the outside world what was happening in the territory. The cross did not replace the other fronts of the resistance, nor did it belong to a political party. For many, it was a source of faith and courage in extreme circumstances. Remembering that role calls for gratitude, but also precision: liberation resulted from a collective effort, and memory becomes more just when it recognises the diversity of those who contributed.

Honouring the Four Prelates and Preserving National Memory

The national tribute of September 2026 forms part of this duty of remembrance. The mortal remains of Bishop Jaime Garcia Goulart, Bishop José Joaquim Ribeiro and Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes arrived in Timor-Leste from Portugal on 1 September. The tribute also includes Bishop Alberto Ricardo da Silva, already buried in Dili. The programme brings together the Church, the State and local communities to honour four leaders who shaped different periods of diocesan history. Remembering them together connects the development of ecclesiastical institutions, the experience of occupation and the responsibilities assumed after independence.

The visit to Laleia and the tribute held in Manatuto connect the memory of Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes with the communities from which he came. On 3 September 2026, a ceremony was held to name the Manatuto bridge in his honour. The significance of this recognition extends beyond the naming of a piece of infrastructure: it recalls that the history of the resistance does not belong to the capital alone. It forms part of the experience of municipalities, villages and families that endured violence and preserved bonds of solidarity.

The programme is scheduled to conclude on 10 September with a Mass in Tasi Tolu, followed by funeral ceremonies at Dili Cathedral. The burial of the four prelates together offers a way of recognising the continuity of the mission they carried out in different periods and circumstances. Bishop Jaime Garcia Goulart consolidated the early diocesan structures; Bishop José Joaquim Ribeiro accompanied the transition into a period of profound adversity; Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes became prominent in denouncing violations and defending self-determination; and Bishop Alberto Ricardo da Silva combined pastoral care with formation and service in independent Timor-Leste.

This tribute can help pass on to younger generations an informed memory, capable of recognising the service rendered without erasing history’s difficulties and contradictions. Respect for the four prelates and their collaborators is expressed not only in commemoration, but also in caring for people, preserving testimonies, and defending human dignity. Through that commitment, the memory of the Church and the resistance retains its meaning today.

DISCLAIMER: This article is a personal opinion and is presented for academic purposes. The views expressed do not represent those of the institutions with which I am associated. The personal testimonies included here reflect my own recollections.