“We arrive in Dili and see devastation and poverty. The whole city is burning. The heat hits you like a brick wall as we get off the Herc. The smell of the city burning, the smell of rotting vegetation and other things. People being shot at. It’s terrible.”
These are the recollections of Avalon’s Tamara Sloper-Harding as she steps off a Hercules aeroplane in East Timor, in 1999.
Some honeymoon! Tamara has only been married a few days. She learns of her deployment at her wedding at St Patrick’s, Manly, to dashing Army Officer Adrian Harding, moments before the speeches at the reception.
By this stage in her military career she has risen to the rank of Officer in the Royal Australian Navy, following in the footsteps of her dad.
The Timor-Leste deployment is extreme and being there takes a mental toll on all involved. “But those who serve in Afghanistan have it much worse,” she quickly adds.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is not a new thing. But after this darkness, sometimes, when the dust somewhat settles, positive outcomes emerge. Tamara is someone who has experienced this dichotomy, and knows how both despair and elation can co-exist in a person.
On the positive side, one of her biggest joys comes as the founder and manager of the charity Friends of Soibada. Soibada is a remote East Timorese village and for more than 17 years Tamara has been its champion, a relentless fundraiser for this once-isolated forgotten community. “When I first went there it took 17 hours from Dili,” she says. “Now it’s about four hours.
“There are some wonderful things happening in this community.”
Then there is her mental anguish. 
During the Timor-Leste conflict, 200,000 Timorese lose their lives. “No-one can see what happened there and be the same,” she says. Cumulative exposure to this accounts for the majority of her PTSD, but what happened to her as a young woman at the Australian Defence Force Academy (ADFA) also plays a part. It’s here she experiences deeply inappropriate behaviour which is profoundly damaging.
“The resulting trauma undermines my confidence, sense of safety, and trust in the institution that is meant to shape my future,” she says.
“When we land in Dili in 1999, I am more fearful of seeing army officers I’d trained with at ADFA than seeing the militia or the Indonesians – and that’s not right.”
Tamara says that you don’t really get over PTSD but these days the psychological community has a different way of approaching it. “Rather than it being an illness or a disadvantage, they call it ‘post-traumatic growth’, and focus on the positive things that come from it. I find volunteering helps me.”
In fact, Tamara sits on nine different Boards, including Veterans Housing Australia, veterans’ welfare charity Carry On, Avalon RSL Sub-branch and Rotary. She is the Social Justice Director at Pittwater Parish and, among a number of other organisations, is a member of Avalon Armchair Gardeners.
She says: “My husband Adrian comes home from the Army on weekends and says ‘what have you signed up to volunteer for this week’?
“I just want to know that I am able to make a difference in the world,” she says. “And I like it that you don’t need to be rich or famous to make a difference.”
An old, large wooden dining table takes up most of the area in Tamara’s garden room where we meet. We’re surrounded by green. Many different plants clamber for attention. Ice tea is poured. The foliage around us is calming.
Tamara and Adrian have four young-adult children, each doing their own thing in the world. The youngest is presently studying and working in East Timor, as well as being a part-time intern for the country’s President.
“I love gardening,” Tamara says. “I have just come back from Timor-Leste and this (gesturing to the plants) needs work. At the Armchair Gardeners we get together and exchange cuttings and plants. Watching something grow is very good for mental health.”
Tamara says she still doesn’t sleep; when she does, night sweats are a real thing. “And I always have to sit somewhere where I can see all the entrances – but that’s pretty normal for PTSD.
“It’s more noticeable when the children are little. I can’t take them to the beach or the park because I am always terrified something will happen.” She says the beach in particular, brings back harrowing memories of what she saw on beaches in ‘99.
Today, largely thanks to its Friends, Soibada is going ahead in leaps and bounds – schools, training programs, health initiatives, dental projects, sustainable development programs and much more.
Ironically, Tamara says her PTSD is better when she is in Timor – the place where this disorder is largely forged. “It’s a beautiful place,” she says. “Soibada is surrounded by tropical jungle and has stunning Portuguese-style buildings – amazing architecture. These were riddled with bullet holes when we first went there in 2009.”
There is still no running water and electricity to the village is intermittent. “The church bell rings when the electricity comes back on, and everyone rushes to charge things,” she says.
She loves anything to do with her family, spends time reading and doing craft, and is a great supporter of her son’s rock band, Bangalley. “They rehearse here,” she says. “Fortunately, they’re good!” She also loves craft and crocheting, and frequently visits local schools to teach younger children about the role of peacekeeping in tricky situations.
Tamara says she is ecstatic when things work out in Soibada: “Or when I take a phone call from someone who says they can lend a hand.”
Her words imbue with admiration when talking about the resilience of the Timorese. “They’ve gone through so much but they’re still so lovely.” She is cognisant of the fragility of life and although she claims it doesn’t bother her, admits: “There is still so much to do, but not enough time.”
And finally, the hats? What’s going on with these?
“I just love hats,” she says. “I wear them as a young girl at St Kevin’s, Dee Why, in primary school, and a silly little hat at Mater Maria, Warriewood, in high school. I love them all. And of course I wear them in the Navy.
“I have to say I feel much better in a hat.”
