On the morning of Wednesday September 1st 1999 I set out with three other photographers, Dan Groshong, an American, Siem Vaessen from the Netherlands and Indonesian freelancer Kemal Jufri. We had learnt that Militia had allegedly killed a man the night before in a Dili suburb not far from UNAMET headquarters so we drove there in a taxi we had hired for the day to investigate. On reaching the area we came across what looked like a small police station with an adjoining room. Inside were a number of frightened villagers taking refuge. On leaving this room we were led to the spot where the killing allegedly took place. An image of Jesus Christ had been carefully placed next to a large pool of blood, drag marks and a blood trail. We walked on a little further when a group of Aitarak Militia came around a bend, machetes andhomemade pipe-guns already raised. As soon as they spotted us the Militia charged forcing us to run like hell. Through backyards, over fences we eventually made it back to the small police station. There was a stand off for some time before a truck load of Indonesian police escorted us out of the area. In a surreal turn of events about twenty minutes later I was sitting in the back of a truck with a group of Aitarak going to cover the funeral of Militia member Placido Ximenes, allegedly killed during a clash in Becora some days before. That afternoon we had news of a clash between pro-independence supporters and Militia. I set out with a human rights observer Danny Brown, photographers Kemal Jufri, Siem Vaessen to record the clash. As we got close to the action we heard shooting and could see a running battle between stone throwing independence supporters and Militia armed with pipe-guns and machetes. Danny and I got out of the car to take a closer look. The others asked the driver to turn the vehicle around in case we needed to get away quickly. As we got close to the action a small group of militia spotted us and immediately gave chase. We turned and ran for the car. We could hear shots and yelling but never looked back. Just before we got to the car the driver panicked and started to drive off. Kemal grabbed the hand brake just giving us enough time to throw ourselves into the back seat. We ducked as one of the Militia threw his still loaded gun through the rear-window of the car shattering it, showering us with glass. Our driver hit the gas and we drove off at speed. We then decided to drive around the corner, parked the car a safe distance from the action and proceeded by foot to cover the clash from the pro-independence supporter's position. From there we were able to cover young men facing gun and machetes with stones and slingshots. Eventually we were overrun taking refuge within the UNAMET compound. Militia then fired their weapons into the compound grounds. Some three hours later Indonesian troops came and evacuated the journalists back to their hotels. There were times when the attacks felt all too real, that the militia intended to do real harm. Other times it was obvious the attacks were about intimidation, something we learned may have been official policy masterminded by elements within Jakarta to encourage the media to pull out of Dili. The tactic worked as most us left, along with a feeling of guilt at leaving a story unfinished and a brave people abandoned to their fate. What journalists went through in trying to do their jobs was nothing compared to what the East Timorese had gone through. On returning to Dili to cover the securing of East Timor by Interfet troops we discovered bodies and listened to stories of murder and rape. The people of East Timor had shown incredible courage in voting for independence as well as a faith in the notion that the UN would be there to protect them. For a remarkable account of' East Timor's descent into hell I highly recommend reading 'A Dirty Little War' written by friend and colleague John Martinkus (Random House)

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