Bruised mangos

  BY Kelly Chandler
  Signature | March 2005
  http://spinach7.com/signature/sig-stories.php?id=365

(Kelly Chandler is a journalist trainer with 'The Independent' in Port
Vila.)

Late last year the prime minister of Vanuatu surprised the region, and
his own ministers, by opening diplomatic relations with Taiwan. For a
country reliant on foreign aid, thumbing its nose at the one China
policy was a risky move. But in Vanuatu � where the floorboards of
parliament are shiny from all the crossings � it was all in a day's
politics, writes KELLY CHANDLER from Port Vila.

It seemed harmless enough: a slightly pixellated image of Vanuatu's
beleaguered former prime minister slouched in his chair in parliament,
surrounded by empty chairs, clear desks and shiny floorboards.

Like a wet flag, drama after drama clung to Serge Vohor in the final
days of his rule, and his decisions were becoming more erratic. We put
the photo of him alone on the front cover of Vanuatu's weekly
newspaper The Independent to symbolise his increasing isolation.

In retaliation, Vohor's appointees banned all Independent staff and
employees from entering parliament.

I mustered some journalistic indignation and as the words "Censorship!
Interference with the press!" left my lips, I noticed how clich�d they
must have sounded to the reporters toeing their thongs in our news
conference. My editor shrugged his shoulders. At some time in their
careers most journalists in Vanuatu have felt the heat of
interventionist governments.

Everything moves slowly here. Nobody runs for anything � not for an
escaped umbrella rolling across the seafront, not the thief leaving a
nightclub with someone else's wallet, not the alligator-sized gecko
called Mr President who lives in the recesses of our home.

You can see it all coming at you, but you're so slowed down by the
heat and bureaucracy that you just wait for it to come � just like the
constitutional crisis that almost befell the country late last year.

After securing office in July 2004, Vohor moved to introduce a raft of
new legislation, including constitutional changes that would prevent
politicians from crossing the floor and make it impossible to eject a
government for two years of each four-year term. Everyone sort of
just, well, watched him push the changes through parliament.
Technically he should have put them to a referendum, but he got them
signed by the president and gazetted, and nobody really thought he'd
get the chance to use them before a referendum was called anyway.

There was a bit of hooharring, but no pitbull attorney general, no
vocal ombudsman, no outraged think tanks and no constitutional lawyers
to tap him on the shoulder and say "Excuse me, have you gone
completely mad?" Just a handful of journalists and an editor who said
simply that Vohor couldn't change these laws without a referendum so
let him have his bluster, it would make good news if he tried. The
chances were he wouldn't be in power for long.

Instability is the new black in Vanuatu. The floorboards of parliament
are shiny from all the crossings, and motions of no confidence are
passed like recurrent bouts of the runs. Traditional structures of
accountability, maintained through the indigenous chiefly system, have
been warped by missionaries and close to a century of joint colonial
rule by the French and British, known as the years of pandemonium.
Since the country gained independence in 1980, post-colonial democracy
has struggled to its feet, but it is weighed down by nepotism and
bribery. Vohor himself survived his first censure motion only one
month after coming to office.

The first sign of Vohor's impending demise came in November when he
flew Clandestine Air to Taiwan and signed a deal to open diplomatic
relations with the rebel province/country.

The prime minister was photographed drinking post-memorandum champagne
in honour of the new relationship, and there were various,
conflicting, reports about the amount of money that would flow from
the alliance. Many said the amount of aid would financially eclipse
Vanuatu's existing donor relationships. When Vohor flew home he
brought with him a Taiwanese delegation that set itself up in one of
the plush seaside resorts.

"We want to work with both China and Taiwan together in our country in
the Melanesian spirit of solidarity. Their fight has nothing to do
with us and we want to be friends with both countries because we need
the money," said Vohor upon his return from Taiwan, before taking
himself quickly to his home island of Santo.

"Vanuatu is a Christian country and we want everyone to come here. We
have Melanesian custom values. When people have problems we must solve
them. That is our way. If we can have a system where we are friends
with both countries it will help Vanuatu. We want to unite people.
This is a big issue. I am not interested in other countries only
Vanuatu," Vohor said. He remained in Santo and out of contact for more
than a week, while his council of ministers, the media and primary aid
donors lined up for a "please explain".

In his absence, the council of ministers raised the one China flags on
their bikes and backpeddled all the way to the Chinese embassy. China
puffed up, froze all its existing projects and declared indignantly
that the 18 luxury cars ordered by the prime minister would not be
delivered unless Vohor extinguished the Taiwanese communiqu� and bowed
to the one China policy.

The Taiwanese flag was raised and lowered outside the plush resort
several times, each time with more fervour and more senior involvement
� the foreign minister Barak Sope even ordered the flag to be lowered
and days later, Sope found himself reshuffled to a less senior
ministry. Sope �convicted and jailed for forgery, pardoned by the
former president a year ago and now back in a ministry � refused to
pack up and move out of his office, and for a while there were two
foreign ministers.

Perhaps there was some master plan in the making, to be revealed when
the prime minister finally faced the growing chorus of concern from
his unruly alliances. There were reports trickling in that
politicians' family members were attempting to change large sums of US
currency at the banks in Port Vila � sums so large they would have to
be reported to the Reserve Bank. The Chinese embassy was whispering
chequebook diplomacy into the media's ear, alleging the prime minister
was motivated by personal gain.

Over the coming weeks in the kava bars at dusk our reporters were told
that politicians of all stripes were offered cash incentives from both
China and Taiwan to sway allegiances.

Vanuatu is a country where international aid is considered by the
finance department as a primary source of income; where a giant cheque
can solve a giant budget shortfall.

Australia, which supplies more than half Vanuatu's aid each year and
has earmarked AUD$31 million for 2004�5, was not amused. Relations had
soured since August when Vohor labelled Australian volunteers and
advisers "spies" and kicked the Australian Federal Police out of the
country. After the political situation in Vanuatu had stewed for a few
months like bruised mangos in the tropical heat, a high-powered
delegation from AusAID and the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade
was dispatched to Port Vila with an ultimatum that used keywords like
"good governance" and "transparency" and the "rule of law".

"Without reaffirmation from the government of Vanuatu of these core
principles, including their full implementation through the
government's legislative and administrative actions, the Australian
government will review the full range of Australia's bilateral
relations with Vanuatu, including the aid program," the officials said.

Australia offered AUD$10 million in funding if the Vanuatu government
promised to: confirm its commitment to an independent police,
judiciary and public service; provide "a free trade and investment
climate that recognised the crucial role of foreign direct investment
in building a prosperous Vanuatu"; uphold the concept of a free and
independent media; and acknowledge the importance of combating
transnational crime, which included the acceptance that the Australian
Federal Police had a constructive role to play in Vanuatu.

Within a month Vohor was out of a job and Alexander Downer had tweaked
his South Pacific itinerary to include a stopover in Port Vila, to
secure the new government's commitment to anti-corruption et al
through a meeting with the new prime minister, Ham Lini, whose brother
was the late Father Walter Lini, the revered father of independence in
Vanuatu.

When asked whether the Australian "lecture or threat to withdraw aid"
had much impact on the parliament's decision to vote Vohor out of
office, Lini said: "Yes. Within the few weeks that have passed we have
had a lot of threats from almost everywhere, so what we have now
signed this morning has put us in the right place again."

Downer's visit was pure photo opportunity. How obedient we were to
photograph the two leaders coming down those national flag-coloured
stairs, to point microphones and ask polite questions. We laughed when
Downer danced around whether Vanuatu or Australia had tastier beef and
only the Radio Australia correspondent copped an indignantly raised
eyebrow over a question about the status of Australia's "threat" to
withdraw aid from Vanuatu. Judging from the crinkles above it, that
eyebrow has been used theatrically in this manner on more than one
occasion.

Vanuatu has a new government now � one that recently tried illegally
to prevent all Taiwanese nationals from leaving the country, in
relation to the bribery gossip that swept through the kava bars before
Christmas. The Chinese ambassador was photographed with the new
government in front of an over-sized cheque for US$2 million that
normalises relations between those two countries, and in a move that
gives Australia the honour of supplying more than half the aid that
comes into the country, the Downer visit confirmed that AUS$10 million
is available to the new government.

And all the while, the people of Vanuatu keep smiling, taking
everything at half speed and stopping to cool down under the shade of
a mango tree in fruit, spreading news most effectively through the
gossip networks they dub "radio coconut". Their disdain for politics
is evident in generally low turnout at the polls and the rising number
of independent candidates. While politicians talk of increasing the
number of ministries and their perks, and upgrading the government
fleet, the number of people living in Vanuatu below the US$1 a day
poverty line is 40 per cent � the highest in the South Pacific, a
convoluted education system flounders, roads are desperately in need
of repair, an increasingly Westernised diet puts diabetes near the top
of a suite of health issues and the outer islands desperately need
better transport, communication and trade systems.

And still the only people, it seems, who descend into hissy fits are
expatriates who haven't been here long enough, and the ex-prime
minister. For the moment, The Independent is again allowed in the
grounds of parliament house.







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