Religion is dangerous

It was clear, the Moderator of the Protestant Church in East Timor wanted us to see the great statue of Christ the King erected by President Suharto in 1997 on the promontory five kilometers east and north from the centre of Dili. t was built two years before the referendum that ended the last uneasy years of Indonesian occupation.

On a pleasant Sunday afternoon in early July 2005 we drove to where the steps start. There are a thousand or more, starting gradually at first, then climbing more steeply past each station of the cross to the base of this monument. This immense structure stands at least two hundred metres above the grotto of the empty tomb, the last of the fifteen stations of the cross.

The effigy of Christ, 27 metres high is modeled on the 30 metre one in Rio De Janeiro. It was made quite deliberately 27 metres high, representing the fact that East Timor was the 27th province of Indonesia. When, after millions of dollars it was finished, Suharto visited the island to give his gift of Christ the King to this predominantly Catholic province. He declared the outstretched hands were blessing the 27th province as part of Indonesia. What a powerful symbol.

Yet the power of a symbol can sometimes be turned on its creators. The Moderator of the Protestant Church in East Timor did just that. “Look closely at the hands,” he whispered through the city, “they are not raised to bless, they are held out palm upwards toward Dili. Jesus is not blessing Indonesian Dili, he is in fact questioning whether the Indonesians should leave!”

One can only imagine the way that would fizz through a community under oppression. The image was ever present to the eye during the day and lit at night, a living message read differently by invader and oppressed. It was not long before the lights at night were disconnected. But it was too late. By 2000 Christ the King had become the prophetic sign of a liberated country.

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