Timorese impatient to control their destiny

By ANDREW PERRIN Herald correspondent

DILI - Adriano Almeida da Carmo owns the most popular restaurant in the mountain town of Ainaro, in central west East Timor. There is little to recommend it.

Chair legs slip through the cracks of the homemade bamboo floor where customers precariously perch, the food is poor, the beer is warm, and, when night falls, the restaurant is plunged into pitch black.

Electricity is a luxury da Carmo, aged 35, cannot yet afford. But his customers, mostly United Nations and foreign aid workers, come nonetheless. They have no choice. Da Carmo's restaurant, which opened in June, is the only one in town.

"Welcome to independent East Timor," da Carmo tells all his new customers. "We have nothing, but soon we can have everything."

It is a clarion call now ringing throughout this devastated land, where exactly a year ago today the independence vote that ended 24 years of Jakarta rule sent Indonesian military and their militia sidekicks on a rampage of violence and destruction.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, were killed in the ensuing fortnight of mayhem, entire towns and villages were razed, and the civil service and all functions of government completely collapsed.

It was assumed that the UN mission which stepped in to administer the territory last year with the sweeping mandate to rebuild the country from scratch, and prepare it for self-government, would be here for at least three years.

On arrival in East Timor in November, one senior UN official, staggered by the scale of destruction and the magnitude of the task before the UN, said in private that the mission might have to be extended.

But times have changed. UN administrators have announced that they are preparing to hand over the reins of power to Timorese leaders, possibly as soon as the middle of next year.

According to the new handover timetable, East Timor could become the first new nation of the 21st Century by January 2002.

The reasoning behind the change of plan is simple, says Sergio Vieira de Mello, the Brazilian diplomat who established the UN presence in Kosovo and now leads the United Nations Transitional Authority in East Timor (Untaet).

"They [Timorese leaders] have gained a taste for leadership and are impatient for it," he said. "Let's face it, after being under colonial and independence rule for so long I understand why they are in a hurry."

On the surface, the rebuilding of East Timor appears on track. The momentous task of putting a roof over the head of at least 500,000 people is moving ahead at full speed as the nation embarks on a building frenzy.

Stockpiles of timber and galvanised steel can be seen in every town and village, and the thud of nails driven into wood echoes throughout the countryside.

In many areas, power has been restored, roads are being repaired, and the telecommunications system is once again operational.

Most encouraging of all, farmers - the backbone of East Timor's market economy - have returned to the fields. And in devastated towns like Ainaro, the markets are again open for business and a sprinkling of entrepreneurial Timorese with big ambition but little capital like da Carmo have stepped into the void left by the departed Indonesian businessmen.

But to physically rebuild a country upon the ashes of the old is one thing, transforming it into a democratic state with all the trappings of government in place is another.

As de Mello himself is quick to point out, the departure of thousands of Indonesians, who virtually ran the local government, education and justice systems and the territory's commercial life, has left the country devoid of any infrastructure.

Rebuilding these institutions from the ground up is a monumental task and critics of the new handover timetable suggest de Mello's plan to fast-track the road to nationhood and self-rule will lead to trouble.

At the heart of the criticism is his decision in April to bow to the demands of the National Council of Timorese Resistance (CNRT), a coalition of pro-independence parties, led by former resistance leader Xanana Gusmao, and allow them a greater decision-making role in government.

The new political structure has led to the creation of an executive cabinet that answers to de Mello, and whose top positions CNRT officials occupy.

"We talk about democracy but when have we ever experienced participatory democracy?" asked a high-profile member of the Timorese independence movement under Indonesian rule, now scathing in his criticism of the CNRT leadership.

"We have been bound by the chains of colonial and Indonesian rule for centuries. We need a strong period of civic education to educate the people about political process.

Now in 12 to 18 months we are supposed to have a democratic country. We don't have a constitution. We don't have a security or civil force. And we don't have any economy to speak of. It's absurd."

De Mello has heard the criticisms before. And he is unmoved. He claims that established political philosophy had to be thrown out of the window in favour of pragmatic decisions that respond to the difficult reality on the ground.

Since deciding to allow the CNRT more say in the decisions of government, he has been impressed with the progress.

But genuine concerns remain about the kind of country Timor's new leaders will inherit once the $US520 million ($1.2 billion) conscience money from international donors has dried up, and the UN has departed.

Even before last year's destruction, World Bank and Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development figures ranked East Timor as one of the poorest places on the planet.

According to one UN official in an economic development unit, it will take years of stability and a wise government before the Timorese can expect to enjoy a standard of living similar to what they were used to under Indonesian rule.

Neither stability nor a wise government are assured, the official dryly noted.

But more troubling still, the culture of violence and mistrust that has infiltrated Timorese society following more than two decades of repressive Indonesian rule now threatens to explode into mass civil and social unrest.

In the capital, Dili, gangs of unemployed youths patrol the streets at night and murders and petty crime have become commonplace. Throughout the country, children play a game called "militia" with remarkably realistic toy automatic guns made from bamboo.

"We are used to solving our problems with guns and machetes, not reason," said Joao da Silva Sarmento, the president of the East Timor Student Solidarity Council.

The culture of violence is no stranger to Luis Carrilho. A Portuguese policeman serving on his third UN mission, Carrilho runs the Police Training College in Dili, with a staff of 25 instructors from around the world. Like everything in this reborn nation, to create a new police force Carrilho has had to start from scratch.

"We have had to get through to our trainees that the police force is to protect citizens, not to protect the state against citizens," he said.

"Our students initially wanted more training in self-defence. We told them that the brain and the pen are the best weapons. They got the message."

But the lessons learned inside the training academy may have little value once the graduates take to the streets. During a lecture on police procedure, 50 students listened attentively to an instructor describe the process of getting a case to court.

"The first stage is collecting evidence at the scene, then have it analysed in the laboratory, then by a pathologist, then you have an exhibit to take to court," he said. But in East Timor today there are no trained laboratory technicians, no pathologists and the legal system, though operational, could not yet be described as functional. De Mello admits his mission is flying by the seat of its pants.

"We are pioneering here. We are improvising. We are inventing new models for this kind of mission."

Whether it will be successful, only time will tell. Yet at CNRT headquarters, bunkered down in the UN compound in Dili that came under heavy militia attack during what Timorese called Black September, the future is not feared.

"We have the confidence that our people can work and rebuild our nation," said Jose Ramos Horta, the winner of the Nobel Peace prize and the man already flagged to become East Timor's first foreign minister.

"People say we are not ready. But we have been preparing for this moment for 24 years ... Now is the time for us to work, not to complain."

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