So Timor-Leste finally got its membership card to the ASEAN club. Took them long enough. For 14 years they’ve been waiting, a political lifetime, and now President José Ramos-Horta, a man who's been pushing for this since the 1970s, gets to see his country’s flag finally hoisted on that conspicuously empty flagpole in Dili.
I can just picture it. The crisp snap of the fabric in the tropical air, the polite applause. A symbolic win. A monumental occasion. A long overdue recognition. Everyone’s patting themselves on the back.
Give me a break.
The ink wasn’t even dry on the accession papers before the "partners" started circling. This isn't a celebration; it's a dinner bell. And the first guests to arrive are bringing contracts instead of casseroles.
First Comes the Handshake, Then Comes the Bill
Let’s get this straight. Days—literally days—after joining the regional bloc, Timor-Leste’s state-owned fiber company, CTL, signs a Memorandum of Understanding with Telin. Who’s Telin? Oh, just the international arm of Telkom Indonesia. You know, Indonesia. The country Timor-Leste fought a brutal, decades-long war to gain independence from.
This is a bad idea. No, 'bad' doesn't cover it—this is a five-alarm dumpster fire of historical irony.
They’re calling it a "framework for cooperation." I call it Chapter One in the playbook of 21st-century economic colonization. The official announcement, titled Cabos de Timor-Leste and Telin to collaborate on telecoms projects, is a masterpiece of corporate nonsense, full of buzzwords like "knowledge exchange," "capacity building," and "digital transformation." It’s the same script every big company uses when it moves into a smaller, less-developed market. It’s like a fox offering a masterclass on "henhouse security" to a chicken. What possible "knowledge exchange" could be happening here that doesn't overwhelmingly benefit the massive Indonesian telecom giant?
Telin’s CEO said this partnership is about "connecting nations, empowering people, and accelerating digital transformation." Let me translate that for you: "We're building the digital toll roads into your country, and we'll be the ones collecting the fees." This isn't charity; it's market expansion disguised as altruism. And offcourse, it's not just Indonesia. An MoU with Malaysia was signed the week before. The line is forming.
The whole thing feels like watching a lottery winner get swarmed by "financial advisors" the day after hitting the jackpot. Everyone wants to "help" you invest your newfound fortune. Everyone has a can't-miss opportunity. Everyone promises a brighter future, as long as you sign on the dotted line. But what happens when the initial jackpot—in Timor-Leste’s case, its dwindling oil reserves—runs out? Who will own the pipes then? Who will control the flow of data, the very lifeblood of a modern economy?
A Seat at a Very Crowded Table
Look, I get it. For a nation like Timor-Leste, joining ASEAN is a massive deal. It's legitimacy. It’s a seat at the table with regional powers. As President Ramos-Horta says, it opens the door to investment, tourism, and trade. He’s not wrong. But getting a seat at the table doesn’t mean you won't be on the menu.
Timor-Leste is, by a huge margin, the poorest member of the bloc. It makes up just 0.1 percent of the regional GDP. It’s also one of the few genuine democracies in a club that includes repressive one-party states, a military junta, and an absolute monarchy. They rank high on press freedom and have outlawed the death penalty. They’re the idealistic new kid showing up to a high school full of jaded, cynical seniors who’ve been running the same scams for 50 years.
Ramos-Horta seems to know this. He talks about getting over the "hangover from the celebration" and getting back to work. He acknowledges that countries like Singapore warned him about the costs and the effort required. But I have to wonder if he truly grasps the speed at which digital infrastructure deals move and the long-term consequences of the agreements being signed right now, in the giddy afterglow of accession.
They're not just laying down submarine cables; they're laying down the tracks for the next 50 years of economic dependence. A physical railroad can be seen, protested, and maybe even nationalized. A fiber optic cable buried deep on the ocean floor... that's a different kind of power. It's invisible, essential, and once it's in place, damn near impossible to untangle.
Then again, maybe I'm just too jaded. Maybe this really is the start of something great for Asia's youngest nation. But history has a funny way of repeating itself, and these handshakes look awfully familiar.
So, Who's Really Getting Connected Here?
Let's be real. This isn't about "empowering" Timor-Leste. It’s about plugging a new, untapped market into the existing regional power grid, both politically and digitally. Timor-Leste gets a flag and a seat, and in return, companies like Telin get prime access to build the country's digital backbone. It's a strategic victory for Indonesia and a commercial bonanza for its state-owned enterprises. For Timor-Leste, it’s a gamble that they can leverage this new "partnership" without losing the very independence they fought so hard to win. Good luck with that.
Tags: timor leste