I never dreamed I’d be riding on the back of a motorcycle once owned by a revolutionary martyr, speeding along the beach with him. I’ve also shared skewers with him on East Timor’s shores, sipped milk tea in a Hong Kong-style cha chaan teng, and listened to him recount his “years in the shadows.” At our first meeting, it was hard to believe that the man before me—of modest height, slender build, with a perpetually sunny smile and a warm, helpful nature—was Osorio, who had once joined the revolution as an intelligence officer for his country’s independence and democracy.
This church was the birthplace of the independence revolution
To understand his story, you need some historical background. He comes from East Timor, which declared independence in 2002 and became Asia’s youngest country. It is located near Indonesia. In the 16th century, due to its rich agricultural produce such as cotton and coffee, it attracted Portuguese invasion and endured 400 years of Portuguese colonial rule. However, the Portuguese government never seriously developed the region, and issues of poverty and backwardness persisted. During World War II, when Portugal could no longer manage the territory, Japanese forces took advantage and occupied it. Nearby Australia, fearing the war would eventually reach them, promptly sent troops to East Timor to resist the Japanese, leading to clashes between the two sides. After WWII, Portugal regained control of East Timor but continued to mismanage the area. In 1975, neighboring Indonesia invaded East Timor, beginning decades of brutal rule.
His revolutionary story began with a childhood in exile.
Most three-year-olds are playing tag in the park. In 1975, when Osorio was three, Indonesian forces invaded and landed in East Timor that December. His father, just out of surgery the day before, immediately fled with him and their family into the mountains. For four years, he ran barefoot through the forests with his family, dodging bullets and narrowly escaping death. Those same four years marked the initial phase of Indonesia’s invasion and occupation of East Timor, during which the regime carried out mass killings. The population plummeted from 653,211 to 498,778—a staggering loss of about 23% of the population. Osorio’s father and older brother were both killed.
Gazing at East Timor’s breathtaking natural scenery and experiencing the warmth and friendliness of its people, it’s hard to imagine this place was once ravaged by war.
From studying history to living it firsthand, he deeply understood the harm that dictatorship and colonial rule had inflicted on the people of East Timor over centuries. He decided to join the revolution as an intelligence officer. He told me how they used to “smuggle bullets in beef.” Revolutionaries would prepare large quantities of beef and hide bullets inside the meat. Soldiers conducting inspections would usually glance at the beef and let them through.
He said that in the 1990s, communication in East Timor was extremely primitive—there were only three mobile phones in the entire country, and he owned one of them, which he used to gather intelligence on the enemy. Whenever he obtained information, he would find a way to alert his teammates in the mountains or on the front lines. Face-to-face meetings were another common method of exchanging intelligence, and he shared some of the covert ways spies arranged to meet. Before a meeting, both parties would be briefed by their superiors on the time, location, the other person’s name and distinguishing features, as well as a secret code phrase. Beyond that, they knew nothing about each other’s backgrounds. The reason was simple: they had to be prepared for the possibility of arrest. If caught, no matter how brutally tortured, the captors would only learn their name and appearance. He said many assume frontline soldiers face the greatest danger, but that’s not necessarily true. In battle, the worst that can happen is death. I widened my eyes and asked, “Isn’t losing your life the greatest danger?” He replied, “Dying in battle is usually just a moment of pain. But if an intelligence officer is captured, they won’t be executed right away. Instead, they endure unimaginable torture—far worse than death. And in the end, death is almost inevitable.”
I couldn’t help but ask, “Was it worth it?” He said firmly, “Absolutely. Life and death are personal matters, but as long as the country remains unliberated and undemocratic, cruel rule will only be passed down through generations. We were willing to sacrifice for the future.” Easy to say, but facing death every day, constantly risking capture and torture during intelligence exchanges—wasn’t he afraid? Osorio smiled at me and said, “You’re wrong. From the moment we joined the revolution, we considered ourselves already dead. How can a dead man fear death every day? If, by some luck, we survive, then it’s just a bonus.”
Osorio had visited Hong Kong before, and I took him to try authentic Hong Kong milk tea
This “soldier of destiny” ultimately survived. In 2002, he witnessed his fellow citizens vote in a referendum, casting their ballots to finally declare East Timor’s independence and make it Asia’s youngest country.
