The Southeast Asia National Human Rights Institutions Forum (SEANF) Side Event: Defending the Defenders
Key Intervention by the Ombudsman for Human Rights and Justice of Timor-Leste, Virgílio da Silva Guterres “Lamukan”
22 April 2026 (Wednesday)
The Grand Mercure Kuala Lumpur Bukit Bintang & Zoom Platform
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- Timor-Leste is a relatively young democracy, and the PDHJ has grown alongside that democratic journey. What has that experience taught you about building protection for human rights defenders from the ground up?
Thank you for that important question.
If we measure from 20 May 2002, when Timor-Leste officially restored its independence, we see that our neighbouring and sister nations had already walked this path for many years:
- Malaysia gained independence in 1957 — that’s 45 years before us (in 2002).
- Indonesia in 1945 — 57 years.
- The Philippines in 1946 — 56 years.
- Mozambique in 1975 — 27 years.
What does this mean? It means we have big brothers and sisters from whom we can learn. We can choose elements from the paths of Malaysia, Mozambique, Indonesia, or others — and then decide what best suits our own nation.
With that wisdom, our Constituent Assembly drafted a Constitution that I am proud to say is very advanced and responsive as a foundation for our country. That Constitution built a solid foundation for protecting human rights defenders from the ground up.
Articles 16 to 61 of our Constitution clearly enshrine fundamental rights, freedom of expression, and freedom of speech. But more specifically, the Constitution also establishes the Ombudsman for Human Rights and Justice, and not just in one article, but in three: Article 27, Article 150, and Article 151. These provide the legal basis for defending human rights defenders. And let me add two more articles that directly speak to defenders: Article 10 grants political asylum to foreigners persecuted for defending human rights elsewhere, and Article 28 gives every citizen the right to resist illegal orders that offend their fundamental rights. So while the Constitution may not use the exact phrase “defender of human rights,” it builds an entire legal architecture around protecting those who speak for justice.
But we didn’t stop at the Constitution. In the early days of the restoration of independence, our founders also ratified and adopted many international conventions — including UNCAT, the United Nations Convention Against Torture, and others. Why did we do that? Because the spirit at the time was shaped by trauma: the deep fear that what happened in the past could happen again. Even after two decades of ratification, we have not yet fully fulfilled our obligations. But once ratified, it is ratified. The legal layer is now there. It is our call to fulfill it, and if not us, then the generations to come.
When the Constitution and international treaties already enshrine such protection, the work is no longer impossibly hard. It doesn’t matter how many times we fall, – we will reach our destination.
Beyond learning from sister and brother countries, we also draw strength from our own struggle for independence. I myself, along with other comrades, was once a human rights defender. We were imprisoned for the fight. We have tasted the bitterness and sorrow of being a human rights defender. Those experiences remain with us, and they form a moral foundation to create mechanisms that prevent us from falling into the same hole.
But how do we ensure we never forget our history? Through the recommendations of the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation (CAVR) — and also the Commission of Truth and Friendship (CTF). So many important recommendations came from the great work of CAVR. These are not just for us to remember — they are for us to fulfill.
Ultimately, the ground on which I fight for democracy is first the Constitution, then international law, and then leadership that is bold enough to act.
- As the head of a national human rights institution, you operate within the state, and yet your mandate is often to hold the state accountable. How do you maintain independence in that position, and what happens when the pressure comes from within government itself?
Thank you — this is indeed a tough question.
It is difficult not only because the institution I lead operates under the state, but because many of those now leading the state or government were once my comrades in the long struggle for independence. The current Prime Minister, Xanana Gusmão, was once my buddy in Cipinang prison. The Vice Prime Minister, Mariano Assanami Sabino, was someone with whom we swore loyalty in blood under RENETIL — the student movement for independence in Indonesia. And it is not only these two. Many more are now in parliament, in the judicial system, or in civil society organizations.
So how do I maintain independence in such circumstances? I have come to an awareness that the foundation of independence is the ability to differentiate between ideological ideas and personal relationships. Person to person, I have never forgotten who they are. I respect them as friends and as fellow freedom fighters. But when it comes to policy, I do not hesitate to criticize their policies. I criticize them openly, and then later I talk to them as friends — as usual. If they are hurt, then let time heal their hearts. The important thing is that my critique is not born of hatred, but of the mission I have sworn to uphold.
also remember the thought of our nation’s founder, Nicolau Lobato. He said: “The hero of today can become the traitor of tomorrow, and the traitor of today can become the hero of tomorrow.” That wisdom reminds me to filter every situation carefully and to use that as a compass to ask: are my comrades still heroes, or have they taken the path of traitors? And if they have, then it is my obligation to remind them.
To act independently, I must remember every single word I spoke during my swearing-in. But for me, it goes further than that. We swore not only to the Constitution but also to the hundreds of thousands of our brothers and sisters who sacrificed themselves for our nation’s independence. Thinking of them makes independence not a difficult burden — but a call of the motherland.
Now, when pressure comes from the government, I must first ask: is this pressure on me as Virgílio the person, or on me as the Ombudsman? I do not think of myself as Virgílio the person in this role. I think of the position I hold — because that position is a constitutional mandate. The pressure that truly presses me is the pressure of the Constitution itself. Person to person — yes, I have seen this kind of pressure before. And I have said many times: if the 200,000 dead for this country’s liberation is not enough, and if one more life is needed to complete the number, then take me.
So the foundation of independence is this: a deep reflection on history, on your own journey, and on the true motivation of our fight for liberation. When you remember why we fought — for dignity, justice, and human rights — then independence becomes not a choice, but a duty.
- National human rights institutions occupy a unique space, close enough to government to be heard, but with a mandate to speak on behalf of those the government may overlook. From your experience, what has that positioning allowed the PDHJ to do for defenders that civil society alone could not?
First, the PDHJ has a constitutional mandate. That is not a soft mandate — it is written into the supreme law of the land. Civil society organizations advocate and persuade, but they do not carry that constitutional weight. When we speak, we speak not just as an institution, but as part of the fundamental architecture of the state itself.
Second, although we depend on the government for our budget, the Constitution guarantees us sufficient allocated resources to push our work forward. That budgetary dependence does not mean subordination — because our mandate is constitutional, not administrative. We do not rely on donor funding cycles or external priorities, which gives us a different kind of stability. We can plan, investigate, and speak out year after year.
Third, our alignment with international human rights networks — GANHRI, APF, SEANF, and others — provides a strong backup to our voice. And with the PDHJ holding GANHRI “A status,” we have even greater authority to echo the concerns of defenders at the international level. That status means we are recognized as fully compliant with the Paris Principles. Civil society organizations, no matter how effective, cannot step into that same formal international space on behalf of the state’s human rights obligations.
Having said all of that, I do not ignore the vital role that civil society plays in defending defenders. In fact, we are strongest when we work together. The PDHJ can open doors that civil society cannot, but civil society can go places and say things that we as a state institution sometimes cannot. We are partners, not competitors. The unique positioning of the PDHJ allows us to amplify their voices, protect their space, and take their concerns directly into the rooms where decisions are made — while they remain the heartbeat of the human rights movement on the ground.
- Looking across the region, what do you think national human rights institutions like yours can contribute to a stronger, more connected ecosystem of protection for human rights defenders in Southeast Asia?
First, we can contribute our constitutional mandate. Not every country in this region has a national human rights institution with a constitutional foundation like ours. But where such mandates exist, they carry weight. We can stand defender to defender, institution to institution, and say: our constitutions or our laws give us a duty to protect those who speak for the voiceless. That shared duty can become a foundation for regional cooperation.
Second, we can contribute our experience of building from the ground up. Timor-Leste is a young democracy, but we have learned hard lessons. We have learned that protection for defenders does not come from laws alone — it comes from memory, from trauma, from a collective refusal to repeat the past. That moral foundation is something we can share with our neighbours. We are not here to preach. We are here to say: we have walked a difficult path, and we are still walking it. Let us walk together.
Third, we can contribute through our international networks — GANHRI, APF, SEANF. These networks already connect us. But a stronger ecosystem requires more than meetings and statements. It requires us to speak with one voice when a defender in one country is threatened, and to hold each other accountable when a member institution fails to act. With our “A status,” we have a responsibility to lift up the voices of defenders across the region, not just inside our own borders.
Fourth, we can contribute our independence — fragile as it sometimes is. In Timor-Leste, we maintain independence by remembering our history, by separating policy from personality, and by swearing ourselves not to governments but to the constitution and to the hundreds of thousands who sacrificed for our freedom. That same spirit of principled independence is what the region needs. Not institutions that serve power, but institutions that serve justice.
Finally, we must be honest. No single NHRI can protect defenders alone. Civil society remains the heartbeat. But what we can do is create a regional ecosystem where defenders know that when their own government turns against them, there is another institution — in another country, at another level — that will speak. That is not interference. That is solidarity. And solidarity is the only thing that has ever truly protected human rights defenders anywhere.
So my answer is this: we contribute our mandates, our hard-earned wisdom, our networks, our independence, and our willingness to speak when silence would be safer. If every NHRI in Southeast Asia does that, then defenders will no longer stand alone.