94 Australian Geographic
to tell at Arte Moris what’s art and what’s decaying ruin. But that,
in itself, is a perfect canvas for Timor-Leste’s edgy youth culture.
I find somewhere between a tattooist’s caravan and Osme’s
makeshift wood-carving studio to sit and chat with Mele and
Osme. They grew up in the 1990s in Lospalos, a hub for resistance
fighters and the clandestine movement. Osme was jailed at 12
for punching an Indonesian soldier and both were guerrilla fight-
ers by their mid-teens. Often starving in the hills, they ate dogs
to survive and stayed sane by playing music on whatever instru-
ments they could find. With others, they formed short-lived
garage bands, until, around the 1999 referendum, they founded
Galaxy Band, which quickly developed a cult following.
In 2003 Galaxy Band moved to Dili and set up home at Arte
Moris. Soon they were one of Timor’s leading rock bands,
playing a raw blend of grunge and reggae. After violence erupted
again in Dili in 2006 when a political-military crisis led to a
series of brutal clashes, they became heavily politicised, their
songs a cry from war-weary young hearts. “We write and sing
our songs to let the pain out,” Mele says, rolling a cigarette then
passing the tobacco to Osme. “But after 2006 we also had a
clear message to our government. It was to think about gov-
erning our country, not about money and cars.”
Issues regarding abuses of power are ongoing in Timor-Leste
and young people are voicing their opposition. For example,
‘Prado protests’ have been periodically staged during the past
few years in response to the government purchasing expensive
vehicles for officials while two-thirds of the country exists below
the poverty line. Although they rarely play together these days,
Galaxy Band’s hard-line approach to these issues has meant they
have been banned from playing at official government functions.
This, of course, has only enhanced their underground appeal.D
OWN IN THE VALLEY we’d viewed earlier, the rain has
finally stopped. Singer-songwriter and renowned
permaculturist Ego Lemos strides through the mud in
gumboots and shorts. He stops to assure musicians their sets will
go ahead as soon as the on-stage amplifiers are dry enough to be
safe, and jokes with students who’ve come from all over the
country to learn about permaculture but have spent a lot of time
huddled in tents trying to stay dry.
“It’s good for you,” says Ego, laughing. “Makes you appre-
ciate what we went through in the occupation.” His eyes scan
the sodden valley and the misty mountains that surround it.
The mountains of Timor-Leste are very beautiful in the wet,The mountains of Timor-Leste are very beautiful in the
wet, but are also reminders of a frightening past.
These women in traditional
dress were part of a street
march in Maubisse in 2018,
celebrating Independence Day.PHOTO CREDIT: SHAUN CAIRNS