His wavy hair has been greyed by a quarter-century of battle and flight, hunger and hiding, jungle and jail. His eyes are dark, infinitely deep and inexpressibly sad. He stands on the steps of a ruined Government House and, at last, talks to his people. He talks of sacrifice and victory, rebuilding and, here among the wreckage, even of forgiving. Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, be happy.
Someone fails and gives a single, wrenching sob.
It runs like a tremor through the crowd until all are in tears. And now Xanana weeps, too. HE WAS born Jose Alexandre Gusmao in the beautiful north-coast town of Manatuto. It was either the night of the 20th or the early morning of 21 June 1946. But already the rebel Xanana was being formed.