The Solomons' road to salvation

By GRAHAM REID

When former militants from the Malaitan Eagle Force hijacked a vessel in Honiara harbour recently, a surprising thing happened.

"For the first time, and finally," Bob Pollard, a spokesman for the peace office of the Solomon Island Christian Association, sighs in exasperated relief, "the police moved against a militant group.

"Then the MEF guys signed this advert in the Solomon Star saying they wouldn't be threatened and if the police moved on them again there would be trouble.

"But they had to take out an ad in the Star," he hoots, "because they knew society had had a gutsful of them and that was the only way of getting their message out."

In the Solomons, where there is a palpable undercurrent of tension behind the smiling faces, this is a significant shift: the police acting like police. And being taken seriously.

But it's happening quite often now.

At the Solomon Star newspaper a few kilometres from central Honiara, one of the journalists, Robert, laughs about a recent incident. They published a photo of a car which had rolled into a ditch. No big deal.

Then a guy turned up at their office in unglamorous Chinatown claiming to be the vehicle's owner. He demanded $S1000 ($320) by way of compensation. He announced he was an ex-militant. That means he probably had a gun.

"We had no idea whether he was an ex-militant or not," says Robert, "but you don't want to take a chance. This sort of thing happens all the time, these ex-militant guys make threats and people have to give in because you just don't know what they might do."

This is the way of it in the Solomons where uncatalogued numbers of ex-militants are "special constables" and are still an unpredictable factor in the fluid politics of these beautiful, damaged Melanesian islands.

But Robert's story has a coda: "The guy hung around the office demanding his money, so we rang the police. When they came he ran off."

The journalists laugh. But the point is made again: the police came. A year ago, even six months ago, they simply wouldn't have turned up or, if they had, they would have done nothing.

Today these are small but significant barometers of a country coming to terms with the need to impose civil order.

Since the Townsville Peace Agreement in 2000 there has been an uneasy standoff between the Malaitan and Guadalcanal factions. Now there are signs of ordinary life returning: parliament is sitting again, police are on the street, people flocked to a soccer tournament with Papua New Guinea, and there was a beauty contest in the upmarket King Solomon Hotel.

But the Solomons' recovery is still on hold. The civil service is stacked with "ghost workers" who pull a salary but don't exist. Power and water supplies are erratic, and the reputation of the police is seriously compromised by the "special constables" problem.

Lindsay Duncan, who heads the small but visible New Zealand police contingent in Honiara, says that situation is being resolved through redundancies and a sense of order is returning. But local police lack resources and their systems are antiquated, if they exist at all.

"They sit and wait for people to come to them because they don't have vehicles and notebooks, so they can't go to the scene and if they did they couldn't take notes."

Duncan - who heads the team of 10 - is sitting in their cool offices in a shopping plaza at Panatina, a few minutes south of central Honiara. They are well provisioned with vehicles and computers provided by the International Police Monitoring Team funded by Australia and New Zealand. Their three-year commitment to the Solomons is a mentoring and guidance programme for local police.

Duncan spent six months in East Timor in 2000 and says the Solomons is better organised and has great potential.

"I can see that with a few years of peace and stability, and a bit of confidence in the security of the place, the businesses would come back. People have a good work ethic and it's a pleasure dealing with the locals who appreciate us being here."

The job hasn't been without its frustrations.

"There are a lot of things here where you think, 'It's so bloody obvious, why don't you do it?' But when you dig a bit deeper ... "

One problem is the reluctance of police to deal even-handedly with offenders. In a wantok society - one talk, or common culture - some are unwilling to arrest offenders from their wantok. And they are nervous about dealing with rowdy ex-pats.

Some are not politically neutral. In Tulagi Central Province the police commander was one of the nominees of a candidate in the recent provincial elections and senior police were openly campaigning.

There is no promotion on merit (it comes through wantok associations), and village constables operate in an undefined area between their authority and that of the chief.

The New Zealanders - five on the street, two working in CID on fraud cases - are the frontline of an $NZ8 million project. The Australians also have a presence in the middle tiers of policing and the justice system, and soon a British police commissioner will be appointed, all part of plan to restore credibility to a tarnished force.

The upper tier of society - the government - is equally tainted, mostly by accusations of corruption. Some progress is being made here, too, and the government, effectively broke and operating on half the income it had five years ago, is trying to put its house in order.

New Zealander Lloyd Powell, permanent secretary to the minister of finance, says he frequently feels like giving up and going home when faced with the complexity of the task.

"People here are enormously constrained by what is a complete breakdown in law, and that's not just in criminal behaviour. It's the recognition of a fiduciary duty as a member of a board, the concept that people won't forge my signature, that they won't get their relatives to break into the computer system to produce cheques in the middle of the night and arrange for them to be signed by other people.

"I sign every one and attempt to have an understanding of every cheque that is signed. If you think about that, it's a lunatic task but it's the best we can do."

Not one cheque has bounced since he started in the job in May 2000 "and the year prior to that one bank made half a million dollars in bad cheque fees".

"We are trying to pattern people into the certainty that if cabinet says it will be paid and the cash flow is available no cheque will bounce. In itself that's an achievement, however small.

"In terms of true and fair accounting this country hasn't had a clean set since 1984, hasn't had audited ones presented between '96 and '99. Foreign capital will tolerate a lot, but not arbitrary decisions. That's what happens here. But bankable projects have to conform to the club rules."

One of the clubs prepared to pump big money into these scattered islands is the European Union which has around €6.7 million (NZ$13.3 million) ready to be released, most aimed at rural development. But it is contingent on social stability, transparency in government and clean accounts.

"It is in a bank account in Europe where it is earning interest," says Hendrik Smets, the commission's resident adviser.

"If the government survives this parliamentary session and the budget is accepted then I am optimistic. If that doesn't happen then I cannot be.

"You don't feel they are in an emergency situation because they speak in the long term. This is a country in an emergency situation - but everybody speaks about the sex of the angels," he says with a Gallic shrug.

Yves Gillet, from the commission's rural development and fisheries unit, agrees the situation is serious which is why donors have spoken with one voice to influence the government to make the necessary reforms. And quickly.

"When you have a nearly dead body you have take immediate measures to resuscitate it . Then in the medium term you can look at how to have a complete recovery. But first you have to do the emergency curing."

Federal reform and offering a measure of autonomy to the provinces, which is part of an inquiry by the United Nations Development Programme, may not be the answer either. That could simply create a schism between have and have-not provinces. But political reform of some kind seems essential in a country where two systems overlap: wantok and the inherited Westminster parliamentary system.

In wantok the "bigman" bestows gifts and influence. Where once this came from tribal authority it is now seeded by political position, which leads to high-level corruption.

But while constitutional reform would be welcomed by many, others say the priority is dealing with the grievances of the recent past.

Pollard, of SICA, is one of many who have suggested a Truth and Reconciliation Committee to hear the stories of victims during the ethnic tensions, some of whom have received meagre cash compensations for loss of family or land.

"We're living in society now where there is a lot of collective guilt, where the people are really brassed off with Malaitans. A truth commission would help clear that up, that it's not 'Malaitans', it's this individual or these groups of people. If we don't do it we'll pay a higher price.

"Let's look at what happened from the victims' perspective and get away from chequebook diplomacy. All that has done is fuel the militants and kept them in power. A truth process would enable some sort of genuine reconciliation. There is a strong propensity here to forgive and the stories would enable us to get our national unity together."

SICA has produced 10,000 booklets outlining its proposal and Pollard says politicians would be unwise to ignore this association of the five main churches which has 90 per cent of the population affiliated to one or other.

"The commission should also have the power to investigate things like the killings in the hospital. The guys shot people in the beds. People know who did that and as a society that has to be dealt with.

"Even the militants have a story to be told and many want their names cleared. I also don't think they have the capacity now to be troublemakers," he says, citing the MEF being reduced to advertising in the newspaper.

Others dismiss a Truth and Reconciliation Committee as an intellectual nicety. The say people just want to work and get on with their lives. But the reality is the country is bankrupt and dependent on outside aid.

Jennifer Poole, a World Vision programme manager, says introducing resources into a resource-scarce environment can create tensions so care must be taken. World Vision has village projects which occupy youth and give them marketable skills but is finding it increasingly hard to keep up the sponsorship.

"It has been challenging to find sponsors for kids in the Pacific. They are absolutely gorgeous and they look all chubby and happy. But the other reason is the media focus on the desperate plight in Ethiopia and Afghanistan which really needs immediate attention. No one here is actually starving.

"People here are helpful, great to work with, and want to get things done. I don't think this place is going to hell in handbasket. There are a lot of dedicated people trying to make it get better. The country has potential, it's just got no money.

"It is chronically undereducated, however, and that makes it hard because many can't run a functional business. We need to give them those skills."

Upstairs from her modest office is a man doing just that. With an annual budget of $S30,000 ($10,000) provided by the New Zealand government, Andrew Sale manages the Small Business Enterprise Centre which provides four week-long courses in business training. Each costs $S150.

"The fact they are prepared to spend that shows they are serious. We have an accountant in the office who will do the books for those who have been on the courses cheaper than elsewhere. But we have the attitude nothing is free and we don't entertain that attitude. This is business and we have to teach that and conduct ourselves in that way."

On this week his courses are full with redundant civil servants looking to change their careers. The centre invites successful business people to speak - the Chinese keep to themselves and don't want to share their secrets, he says - and they are helpful in telling people how to negotiate their way around wantok.

"Wantok is our safety net but some people abuse it. People in villages come to Honiara and take advantage to the point where it may kill a small business."

As with policing and aid programmes, this is bottom-up progress. There are healthy signs: the People First Network (Pfnet) is gradually getting the information highway into small villages in a country where there are few passable roads. Powell, in the finance ministry, says small businesses are growing and international investors are slowly coming back.

The natural resources didn't vanish during the tensions and fisheries have enormous potential. A national network has been established to share and save seeds for crops; the Taiwanese are involved in logging and made a US$65,000 ($125,900) contribution to a hydro scheme; the Japanese government has committed to the development of Honiara's Henderson Airport; Australian money is building roads; New Zealand dollars go into policing and aid projects.

Big money-earners, such as the Gold Rich Mine, which was abandoned during the tensions, haven't yet re-opened. Powell says it is more important to establish a climate of good business practice and get other things moving.

There are reservations that "white-guy money" is becoming the expectation and the Solomons is becoming too aid-dependent.

"There's a sense here among some," says an aid worker who wouldn't be named, "that if you just leave it, white-guy money will arrive to take care of things."

But for sponsors, the European Commission, the government and people on the street the priorities are simple: law and order, and rooting out corruption. Even the recent beauty queen competition was plagued by suggestions of a jack-up.

IT IS mid-afternoon in Honiara's listless market. People mill around, the women all sell much the same thing: peanuts, vegetables, pineapples. In a corner the bad boys are playing over-and-unders with dice at 50 cents a throw.

I buy 10 sweet bananas for $S2 (70 cents) and sit. In less than a minute David comes up and shakes my hand.

"We are very tired of the fighting now," he says. "Solomons people are very friendly, very nice. But it is hard here now. We will be all right, but we need help."

I think of what Mark, a Telecom worker, told me. He wouldn't turn his computer off because it would rust. You could almost see the rust growing on it, he said. It seemed an emblem for this country struggling with its past, moving to an uncertain future, and so dependent on outside assistance. In its absence, it might turn to rust.

Herald feature: Feature: Solomon Islands