Where next for Burma?

By Carole Reckinger (NewStatesman UK 8April 200

http://www.newstatesman.com/200804080007

Six months ago the world watched a courageous attempt led by Buddhist monks to replace military dictatorship with democracy. But what’s the situation in Burma today?

In recent days much of the world’s attention has been firmly fixed on Tibet and the plight of the Burmese people seems to have been all but forgotten.

And yet things are not improving in that country. Far from it. According to one renowned Buddhist leader, the situation is deteriorating six months on from the bloody military crackdown against the pro-democracy movement.

Many monks have been forced to cross into Thailand and Malaysia because of political persecution. There are widespread allegations of disappearances, murder and torture by the dictatorship.

All this seems to be continuing despite an announcement by the military junta that next month a national referendum will be held on a new constitution with elections following in 2010.

The state media reported that “the time has now come to change from military rule to democratic civilian rule”. Considering the junta’s numerous broken promises, the announcement to restore democratic civilian rule has been at best received with scepticism.

The constitution drafting process has been carefully engineered since 1993 and unsurprisingly contains no input from the public instead being drawn up by a handpicked assembly, without the participation of the country’s main democratic opposition and its leader Aung San Suu Kyi.

In fact draft constitution will bar her from holding government office because she was married to a foreigner. It is already clear that the constitution will ensure the military retains a stronghold on power in Burma and 25 per cent of the seats in the new parliament will be reserved for the armed forces.

Civilians will be permitted to enter parliament, but only if they show due deference to the military leaders. It furthermore allows stringent restrictions on any activities deemed “inimical to national unity” which covers a wide range of criticism and dissent.

Indeed, criticism of the draft constitution is punishable with up to 20 years behind bars, and criticising the referendum with up to three.

The question of how a free vote will take place in such a climate remains something of a riddle, and - unsurprisingly - the draft constitution has been denounced by critics as a ruse to consolidate the junta’s power. The rejection of an UN offer to send international monitors has only heightened these suspicions.

Than Shwe, Burma’s 75 year old leader, declared before an audience of diplomats that the military regime that has ruled Burma for 45 years had now “a sincere aim for developing the country without any cravings for power”.

He however, made no reference to the bloody oppression his regime is still perpetrating and one wonders who he can fool with this statement.

The world still remembers when thousands of Burmese took to the streets making a variety of demands reflecting the widespread dissatisfaction with the continued military rule and the policies of the ruling State Peace and Development Council.

At least 227 distinct protests in 66 towns were staged which resulted in the deaths of officially 15 people (independent estimates state at least twice this number). Approximately 6,000 people were arrested, including as many as 1,400 monks. It is estimated that at least 700 protesters and monks remain in detention.

The ruling ‘State Peace and Development Council’ has denied any knowledge of the majority of those it killed during the protests. No attempts have been made to identify the dead, return the bodies to the families or even give the dead the minimum Buddhist funerary rites.

Instead, numerous testimonies have revealed a strategy in which bodies were removed systematically to cover up the extent of the violence. The Human Rights Documentation Unit of the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma refers in Bullets in the Alms Bowl to persistent reports testifying to the fact that Ye Way Crematorium in North Okkalapa Township was operated from the 27th to the 30th of September by security forces to dispose most probably of the bodies of those killed.

By cracking down on monks, the junta took a calculated risk when violence against the country’s spiritual leaders was bound to inflame popular sentiments. Burmese monks are highly revered in Burmese society.

Considered to be ‘Sons of Buddha’ they represent the strongest institution in Burma after the military. Although according to the Buddhist monastic code, monks are not supposed to involve themselves in mundane politics, they have played an important social and political role in history.

Throughout British rule for instance, the so called ‘political monks’ played an important role in mobilising opposition to colonial excesses. After independence, monastic organisations pushed the new leaders to make Buddhism the state religion.

Attempts in the 1960s and 70s to bring Buddhism under tighter control was met with fierce resistance and Burma’s young and active Buddhist community of about 300,000 has had an uneasy relationship with the ruling generals.

During the 1988 democracy marches, the independent monks union emerged to support the students. The regime responded by issuing decrees to keep the monks in line and banning all independent Buddhist organizations.

Over the last two decades, the monks have observed a religious boycott of the regime and have refused alms from the military regime or simply overturned their bowls instead of collecting food and donations. By ruthlessly keeping monastic involvement in politics to a minimum since 1988, the role of the monks at the head of the recent protests took many, including the Government, by surprise.

Burma specialist Michael Charney points out that although it may appear that the State has successfully cowed the monks into submission, they have in the past survived more serious episodes of persecution.

“Given their importance in Burmese society and their resilience in past periods of political turmoil, it would be foolish to assume that they will not rebound from current setbacks,” he argues.

The authorities have resolutely tried to snuff out dissent and intelligence officers have systematically detained thousands of people believed to have participated in the protests.

Anger is still floating beneath the surface, and this is even the case for many people who were previously apolitical.

The crackdown has altered dynamics inside Burma and the country’s future is still unknown. The level of fear, but also anger is unprecedented.

More importantly, following international outrage over the brutal behaviour of the military regime, there were indications that differences have grown within the military itself.

Every government in Burma, going back to monarchical times has sought legitimacy through the Buddhist Sangha. Many within the military feel guilt-ridden and ashamed of their role in beating and killing monks.

There are no open splits yet, but there have been rumblings of mismanagement and corruption. The younger generation of generals is slowly beginning to realise change is inevitable.

When that change will actually come is harder to gauge.

East Timor forfeits its newest hero

by Carole Reckinger & Sara Gonzalez Devant (published RedPepper)

Following the attack on East Timor president Jose Ramos Hortes, Carole Reckinger and Sara Gonzalez Devant report on the complexities surrounding the current crisis

Two weeks ago, the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) news and analysis service reported that Timor-Leste’s quiescent security environment ‘breached only occasionally, as with two recent small explosions in Dili … and the rare provocation by Alfredo Reinado … is conducive for Timor-Leste to carry out its much needed reforms.’ The report was published only hours before Timor-Leste’s president Jose Ramos-Horta was shot and prime minister Xanana Gusmao ambushed on the morning of 11 February 2008. The president is recovering in a hospital in Australia, having regained consciousness after a ten day induced coma.

On the day of the attack a state of emergency was instated and arrest warrants issued against 17 people. Among them, Gastao Salsinha, reportedly in command of the defectors after their leader Alfredo Reinado, a former military police major, was killed during the attack on Ramos-Horta.

Incredulity and anger prevails in Dili. International forces dispatched to Timor-Leste to keep the peace have met with harsh criticism for their failure to prevent the attack. The incident has also triggered anger and distrust among the population. However, the significance of the attack does not lie in the security forces failings.

The assault on the supreme constitutional symbols – prime minister and president- the very heroes of the liberation struggle, lays bare Timor’s national identity crisis. Not only because the country was so close to losing its icons but because it lost its newest icon in Alfredo Reinado. He was given a hero’s burial in Dili, his coffin draped in the Timorese flag and, as BBC article reports, ‘his bearded face looked down defiantly from banners in a revolutionary pose that deliberately aped the portraits they used to host of Xanana Gusmao.’

Military and police under a single command
In an attempt to catch Reinado’s men East Timor‘s authorities have merged police and army under a single command.

The underlying rationale that it is necessary to guarantee the adequate mobilisation of security and defence forces during the state of exception. But the decision has sparked criticism.  The lack of a clear separation between internal and external security may be fatal for the nascent security institutions and lead to tension as it did in 2006. Then, after the sacking of mutinous soldiers, rioting resulted in at least 37 deaths and the displacement of over 150,000 people.

The 2006 crisis and the breakdown of security forces
In April 2006 Dili went up in flames after 600 soldiers protested against discrimination within the ranks of the newly formed Timorese army. The protesters, ‘or petitioners’, were summarily dismissed. Clashes between elements of the national police force (PNTL) and the military (F-FDTL) led to a power vacuum and the breakdown of law and order across the country.

Neither the PNTL nor the F-FDTL had the trust of the population or the capacity to provide adequate security and order. Repeated allegations of sexual harassment, human rights violations, illegal weapons distribution and engagement in illicit trade weakened the public’s confidence in the PNTL in particular. As the 2006 crisis demonstrated neither police nor military were politically neutral, both institutions fragmented due to mixed regional and political loyalties in the ranks, although ethnic and regional divisions had not previously been prominent in Timor-Leste.

With the collapse of the security sector and law and order in general, a multinational peacekeeping force was requested to restore order in late May 2006. Since then efforts have been made to resolve the multiple issues affecting both institutions, but reversing the breakdown is not a simple task.

Reinado, the symbol of a disillusioned Timor-Leste
Reinado, one of the leaders of the mutineers, emerged from the 2006 crisis as a key player. His popularity is remarkable, even after apparently leading an attack on the two most prominent (living) heroes of the liberation struggle. A BBC report cautioned that ‘there is something worrying about the readiness of East Timor‘s young to pass the hero’s mantle on to a man like Reinado, who took up arms against the government in the chaos of May 2006 and refused to lay them down. Reinado had nothing to offer East Timor except the continued idealisation of armed struggle as an alternative to the unglamorous task of building a country from very little.’

But analysis such as the BBC’s cites overemphasises the institutional failings of the Timorese state and pays little attention to the role of popular perception in articulating the country’s predicament. The crisis exists as much on the streets of Dili as it does at the state level. It is not quite as simple as glamour versus nation building. Nation building is a highly political moment, particularly after a major political crisis, and politics are key to Reinado’s popularity. But to understand his popular appeal focus must shift away from the institutional context and to a major societal crisis that has been ongoing since 2006- internal displacement.

Internal displacement
The vast majority of the persons displaced during the 2006 crisis have not returned to their homes. About 100,000 refugees remain in camps. Of these, 30,000 are in the capital Dili. To reduce camp populations and fearing some camps would become permanent, authorities decided to cut food rations in February 2008 with food aid ending completely by March 2008. But with the state of emergency this decision could not have come at a worse time.

Atul Khare, UN Special Representative for the Secretary General in Timor-Leste, has explained that resettlement is extremely complex, because it involves addressing land and property issues and community hostility. The UN humanitarian coordinator also said that ‘for many IDPs [internally Displaced People] it is simply not an option for them to return to their neighbourhoods as the people there don’t want them back… Six thousand of their houses have been burned and only 450 transitional shelters have been built to date. There is nowhere to go back to.’

The rise and fall of Alfredo Reinado
Reinado became a symbol of the disenfranchised – youths, the poor, veterans –and key to balancing peace in East Timor. Shortly after his arrest in 2006, he escaped from Becora prison along with 56 other inmates, later boasting that he waved at New Zealand soldiers as he left. In March 2007 the president at this time, Xanana Gusmao, sanctioned an Australian operation to capture Reinado after his men raided weapons from a police post. The operation resulted in several deaths but Reinado eluded capture, his popularity growing among Dili youths. He was able to represent the projected hopes of many of those for whom independence brought more disappointment and poverty.

Reinado was a liability but also bold and charismatic. His defiant messages to the authorities and vanishing acts made him a romantic figure that resonated with a generation that had lost its heroes. Journalist Max Stahl has likened him to Che Guevara, ‘a poster figure on laptops, and graffiti sketches around Dili.’

While most media reports have been quick to qualify the attacks as a coup or assassination attempt, others are more cautious. The emerging theory is Reinado was losing his support base among the petitioners. It is likely the attack, increasingly rumoured to have been an attempted kidnapping rather than an assassination attempt or coup, was a pre-emptive move to prevent the impending defection of his support base.

There is a thin line between rumour, misinformation and premature conclusions as reported in the media. Observers have increasingly focused on the fact very little is known about what actually happened on the morning of the 11 February. As one blogger has observed, even of what little is known there are conflicting reports:

’I have heard/read “Alfredo shot in a bedroom/shot at the front gate”, “shooting started at 6:50am versus Alfredo shot 30 minutes before the President”, “kidnap not assassination”, “PM Xanana knew nothing about what happened 40 minutes before / made fully aware”, my cyclist friend [who warned the President of gun-shots when he was returning home from his morning exercise, moments before he was shot] has been elevated to diplomat but downgraded to jogger.’

Reinado’s popularity even after his death attests to a social reality that is quite different from what appears in the international media-the hero of the disenfranchised, rather than the outlandish renegade. Timor-Leste may have lost its most recent hero in Reinado but the nature of his achievements is perhaps more emblematic of Timor-Leste’s youths’ frustrations and loss of purpose.

Osttimor: Aufstieg und Fall des Alfredo Reinado

Published Brennpunkt 241

Carole Reckinger & Sara Gonzalez Devant

Am 11. Februar 2008 kommt es in der Hauptstadt Osttimors zu einem mysteriösen Zwischenfall. Bei einer Attacke auf Präsident Ramos-Horta kommt es zu mehreren Todesopfern, darunter auch der mutmaßliche Anführer der Täter, Alfredo Reinado

Der Nachrichtenservice der UN-OCHA (UN-Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs) meldete im Februar 2008, dass die entspannte Sicherheitslage in Ost-Timor – nur gelegentlich durch kleine Bombenexplosionen und einige provozierende Aktionen von Major Alfredo Reinado gestört - das Ausführen der dringend notwendigen Reformen erlaubt. Wenige Stunden später, am 11 Februar 2008, wurde Präsident Jose Ramos-Horta niedergeschossen und der Premierminister Xanana Gusmao Opfer eines Hinterhalts. Seither liegt Ramos-Horta im australischen Darwin im Krankenhaus, wo er erst 10 Tage nach der Tat aus dem Koma erwachte.

Gleich nach dem Anschlag auf die höchsten Amtsträger des Staates wurde der Ausnahmezustand ausgerufen und Haftbefehle gegen insgesamt 17 Verdächtige ausgestellt. Über 1000 Polizisten durchkämmten die Hügel rund um die Hauptstadt Dili auf der Suche nach den Abtrünnigen. Gesucht wurde vor allem nach Gastao Salsinha, dem neuen Anführer der Rebellen, nachdem der bisherige Leader, Major Alfredo Reinado, bei der Attacke auf den Präsidenten getötet worden war.

Nach den tragischen Ereignissen richtete sich die allgemeine Wut vor allem gegen die internationale Schutztruppe, die zur Aufrechterhaltung des Friedens im Land stationiert ist. Der timoresische Brigadegeneral Taur Matan Ruak zeigte sich empört, dass die internationalen Truppen offensichtlich unfähig sind, eine Gruppe bewaffneter Männer daran zu hindern die Hauptstadt zu betreten und einen Anschlag auf die höchsten Würdenträger des Staates auszuführen. Der Bruder des Präsidenten bezeichnete die UN-Polizisten gar als Feiglinge, die sich eher verstecken würden als den Präsidenten zu schützen.

Doch die Bedeutung dieser Attacke liegt weniger in dem Versagen der Sicherheitskräfte; vielmehr wurde dadurch die tiefe Identitätskrise sichtbar, die das Land beherrscht. Nicht nur die Tatsache, dass das Land fast seine beiden nationalen Ikonen - der Premierminister und ehemalige Freiheitskämpfer Gusmao, sowie der Präsident und Nobelpreisträger Ramos-Horta – verloren hatte, bewegt die Gemüter. Der Tod des aufstrebenden Idols der Osttimoresen und mutmaßlichen Anführers der Täter, Alfredo Reinado, wiegt fast ebenso schwer. Dem Major wurde ein regelrechtes Staatsbegräbnis zuteil, sein Sarg eingewickelt in die Flagge Ostimors. Einem BBC-Artikel zufolge wurden während der Zeremonie Transparente geschwenkt, auf denen Reinado in der gleichen heroischen Pose dargestellt war, in der üblicherweise Freiheitsheld Gusmao abgebildet wird.

Um die augenblickliche Lage in Ost-Timor verstehen zu können, ist eine ausgewogene Betrachtung vonnöten, zwischen den abstrakten institutionellen Herausforderungen des Landes einerseits und der öffentlichen Wahrnehmung eben dieser Herausforderungen auf er anderen Seite. Was bisher fehlte, ist eine Perspektive die sowohl die institutionellen, als auch die gesellschaftlichen Aspekte beleuchtet.

Die Krise von 2006

Im Zuge der Suche nach den Anhängern von Major Alfredo Reinado haben die Autoritäten das Militär und die Polizei unter einheitliches Kommando gestellt. Die Zusammenlegung der PNTL (Polizei) und der F-FDTL (Militär) für die Dauer des Ausnahmezustands war vom Ministerrat in einer Resolution beschlossen worden. Der bereits oben zitierte Brigadegeneral Taur Matan Ruak versprach in einer Pressekonferenz „das in die Sicherheitskräfte gelegte Vertrauen nicht zu enttäuschen und Ruhe und Stabilität wieder herzustellen.“

Die Entscheidung hat aber sogleich Kritiker auf den Plan gerufen, die bei einer Zusammenlegung von Polizei und Militär auch eine diffuse Aufgabenteilung zwischen beiden Kräften befürchten. Ohne klare Trennung zwischen interner und externer Sicherheit kann es zu Spannungen kommen, ähnlich wie jene im Jahr 2006. Damals hatte eine Pattsituation zwischen beiden Institutionen eine landesweite Krise ausgelöst, die zu 37 Toten sowie 150 000 Flüchtlingen führte und von der sich Ost-Timor immer noch nicht erholt hat.

Im April 2006 ging die Hauptstadt Dili in Flammen auf, nachdem ungefähr 600 Soldaten, etwa ein Drittel der Streitkräfte, gegen Diskriminierung innerhalb der Armee protestiert hatten und daraufhin kurzerhand entlassen wurden. Heftige Zusammenstösse zwischen der Polizei und der Armee führte zu einem Machtvakuum und dem Zusammenbruch von Recht und Ordnung im Land.

Beide Institutionen besitzen heute nicht mehr das Vertrauen der Bevölkerung. Mehrere Fälle von sexueller Belästigung, Menschenrechtsverletzungen und Waffenschmuggel haben die Glaubwürdigkeit der bewaffneten Kräfte schwer beschädigt, insbesondere die der PNTL (Polizei). Der frühere Innenminister Rogério Lobato wurde angeklagt und verurteilt, als man ihm nachweisen konnte, dass er in den ersten Tagen des Konfliktes Waffen an Zivilisten aushändigen ließ.

Die Krise von 2006 hat gezeigt, dass sich weder das Militär, noch die Polizei politisch neutral verhält. Waren ethnische oder regionale Disparitäten ehemals nur wenig präsent in Ost-Timor konnte man innerhalb beider Institutionen eine klare Fragmentierung nach politischen und regionalen Loyalitäten erkennen, die während des Konfliktes auf die Bevölkerung überging. Seit Mai 2006 versucht eine multinationale Friedenstruppe für Ruhe und Ordnung zu sorgen, doch eine Neuaufstellung der nationalen Sicherheitskräfte kommt trotz Bemühungen nur schleppend voran.

Major Alfredo, Symbol eines desillusionierten Osttimor

Major Alfredo Reinado ging als starker Mann aus der Krise von 2006 hervor. Seine Popularität innerhalb der Bevölkerung ist auch heute noch ungebrochen, obwohl er im Februar 2008 den Anschlag auf die zwei prominentesten Protagonisten des Befreiungskampfes ausgeführt hatte und dabei umkam. Ein BBC-Bericht warnte: „Es ist Besorgnis erregend, dass die junge Generation bereit ist einen Mann wie Reinado als Helden zu verehren, der 2006 die Waffen gegen die Regierung erhob und nicht bereit war sie niederzulegen. Major Reinado hatte nichts weiter anzubieten als die kontinuierliche Idealisierung des bewaffneten Kampfes, als Alternative zu der unglamourösen Aufgabe, einen funktionierenden Staat aufzubauen.“

Solche Analysen überschätzen allerdings die institutionelle Schwäche des timoresischen Staates und ignorieren, dass die Krise schon längst die Strassen von Dili erreicht hat. Der Aufbau eines Staates ist eine politische Frage, umso mehr nach einem Konflikt wie dem von 2006. Die heutige Popularität von Major Reinado geht vor allem von einer sozialen Krise aus, die seit 2006 ungelöst ist: die internen Vertreibungen.

Interne Vertreibung

Die überwiegende Mehrheit der während der Auseinandersetzungen von 2006 geflüchteten Menschen ist immer noch nicht in ihre Behausungen zurückgekehrt. Etwa 100.000 Vertriebene leben noch in Flüchtlingscamps, vor allem in der Hauptstadt Dili. Aus Furcht, diese Lager könnten zu dauerhaften Siedlungen und schlussendlich zu einem Sicherheitsrisiko werden, beschlossen die Autoritäten im Februar 2008 die Nahrungsmittelrationen herabzusetzen und sie im März gänzlich auszusetzen. Eine Entscheidung die zum denkbar schlechtesten Moment kam, da zu diesem Zeitpunkt bereits der Ausnahmezustand ausgerufen war.

Nichtsdestotrotz sind sich die Autoritäten sehr wohl bewusst, dass das Problem überaus komplex ist. „Die Lage der Vertriebenen ist eine politische und humanitäre Frage, sowie eine Gefahr für die Sicherheit, die nicht kurzfristig zu lösen ist“, erklärte der Unterstaatssekretär für die Friedensmission in einer offenen Debatte des Sicherheitsrats. Atul Khare, der UN-Gesandte in Osttimor meinte, dass die Wiederansiedlung der Vertrieben deshalb so komplex ist, weil Fragen des Landrechts ungeklärt sind und Heimkehrende oft mit Feindseligkeit von Seiten der Ansässigen konfrontiert werden.

Sein Stellvertreter verdeutlichte die Situation in einem Interview: „Für viele Vertriebene ist unmöglich zurückzukehren, da die Menschen in ihren Heimatgebieten sie ganz einfach nicht haben wollen. Etwa 6000 Häuser sind niedergebrannt und nur 450 provisorische Hütten wieder aufgebaut worden. Sie wissen ganz einfach nicht wohin sie zurückkehren sollen. Und sogar wenn ihr Haus tatsächlich noch steht, wohnt möglicherweise bereits jemand anderes darin und es ist unmöglich festzustellen wer der rechtmäßige Besitzer ist.“

Aufstieg eines Idols

Desto weniger die Regierung in der Lage schien, die Folgen der Krise von 2006 zu bewältigen, desto populärer wurde Alfredo Reinado. Damals führte er eine Gruppe von Militärs und Sicherheitskräften aus der Hauptstadt Dili hinaus und obwohl er Premierminister Gusmao seine Gefolgschaft versicherte, blieb seine Rolle ungewiss. Er wurde schnell zum Idol der Jugend, der Veteranen und Armen in der Bevölkerung und zu einer Schlüsselfigur bei der Wiederherstellung des Friedens im Land.

Kurz nach seiner Inhaftierung im Zuge der Krise 2006, floh er aus dem Gefängnis Becora, zusammen mit 56 seiner Gefolgsleute. Später brüstete er sich in einem Interview damit, bei seinem Ausbruch den neuseeländischen Soldaten der internationalen Schutztruppe zugewinkt zu haben. In der Folge versteckte sich Reinado im Untergrund und alle Aufrufe Gusmaos, er solle sich der Justiz stellen, blieben vergebens. Im März 2007, nachdem die Männer Reinados ein Postamt überfallen hatten, bewilligte der Premierminister eine Operation der australischen Truppen die darauf abzielte, ihn gefangen zu nehmen. Bei der Aktion kam es zu mehreren Toten, doch Alfredo Reinaldo entkam – und wurde immer populärer.

Viele Menschen, denen die Unabhängigkeit bislang nur Enttäuschungen und Armut gebracht hatte, projizierten ihre Hoffnungen auf Major Alfredo Reinaldo. Charismatisch und mit einem Hang zur Theatralik, forderte er die Regierung immer wieder auf dreiste Art und Weise heraus. Von der jungen Generation, die ihre Helden verloren hatte, wurde er quasi zu einer romantischen Figur hochstilisiert. Max Stahl nannte ihn den „Che Guevara Osttimors“ : Ein Posterboy, dessen Konterfei in Graffitis auf die Mauern von Dili gesprüht wurde.

Gerüchte und Spekulationen

Und dann kam der mysteriöse Anschlag im Februar 2008. Die meisten Medien zögerten nicht die Attacke als Putsch- oder Mordversuch zu brandmarken, andere waren etwas vorsichtiger. James Dunn beispielsweise schrieb: „Wir wissen nicht genug über die Tat, da steckt sicherlich viel mehr dahinter als es auf den ersten Blick scheint. Es ist unwahrscheinlich dass es ein Putschversuch war, jedenfalls wäre er völlig stümperhaft geplant gewesen, was man sich bei einem ehemaligen Major der Armee nicht vorstellen kann.“

Es wird heute darüber spekuliert, Alfredo hätte durch die erfolgreichen Vermittlungsversuche von Präsident Ramos-Horta den Rückhalt innerhalb seiner Gefolgschaft verloren. Möglicherweise war der Anschlag - der mittlerweile mehr als Entführung denn als Mord- oder Putschversuch angesehen wird - ein Versuch den drohenden Verfall seiner Bewegung vorzubeugen. Die aktuellen Ereignisse in Osttimor haben jedoch zu einem regelrechten Durcheinander an Spekulationen und Vermutungen über die Hintergründe der Attacke geführt. Da nur wenige Informationen bekannt sind, konzentrieren sich die Mutmaßungen auf die möglichen Nutznießer eines Putsches und leiten daraus die Ereignisse des 11ten Februars ab. So verschwimmen in der Berichterstattung die Grenzen zwischen Gerüchten, Desinformation und voreiligen Schlüssen.

Major Alfredos Popularität, die auch nach seinem Tod andauert, bestätigt jedenfalls den sozialen Hintergrund der Krise: Er wird eher als der Held der Entrechteten angesehen, denn als gewaltbereiter Abtrünniger. Die Analysen sollten diesen Widerspruch berücksichtigen und der Frage nachgehen, warum dies der Fall war. Denn der Aufstieg und Fall des Alfredo Renaldo steht vielleicht sinnbildlich für die Frustration und die Perspektivlosigkeit der Jugend von Osttimor.

Rumour, Intrigue and the Demise of a Key Player in Timor-Leste’s’s latest crisis

Carole Reckinger & Sara Gonzalez Devant -February 2008 (published New Internationalist, Worldpress.org)

http://www.newint.org/features/special/2008/02/18/timor-leste/

http://www.worldpress.org/Asia/3073.cfm

http://towardfreedom.com/home/content/view/1239/1/

Timor-Leste’s President Jose Ramos-Horta was shot on 11 February by rebel soldiers in front of his idyllic home in the outskirts of Dili. It appears that he was attacked by a group of renegade soldiers. The President is in a ‘critical but stable’ condition, and he has been airlifted to Australia for further treatment. This incident is shocking, but shows how unstable the situation in Timor Leste still is. The ‘crisis’ that started in 2006 is far from over, and Timor Leste’s security forces are unable to provide security – even to the President himself. Once again, foreign troops and resources have been pledged to restore stability and development in East Timor.

The turmoil that has afflicted the country is a result of a complex political reality, and a society fractioned and weary after achieving the goal of independence. The attempted assassination of President and Prime Minister earlier this week must therefore be put into context.

No present without a past

In May 2005, the Special Representative of the UN Secretary General, in a speech marking the end of the UN peace-keeping operation in Timor-Leste, declared that the peacekeepers’ departure showed the world’s recognition of Timor as a safe and peaceful country, whose security agencies were able to take responsibility for its internal and external security. The outbreak of violence that started a year later sharply illustrates that this assessment was decidedly over-optimistic. In April 2006, the capital, Dili, went up in flames after the dismissal of 600 soldiers – nearly one third of the military – who protested against discrimination within the ranks of the newly formed Timorese army. The initially peaceful protest culminated in the death of at least 37 people and the displacement of two thirds of the capital’s residents. General frustration with the government’s failure to alleviate high unemployment and corruption, combined with objections to their response to turmoil in the defense force, encouraged numerous East Timorese to take up arms and join armed groups. Violent gangs of mostly unemployed youths joined the disaffected soldiers, roaming the streets of Dili, burning down houses and torching cars. Some members of the police force defected to join the dismissed soldiers, known as ‘the petitioners’, and openly confronted the military. Lethal clashes between elements of the national police force (PNTL) and the military (F-FDTL) were followed by widespread rioting and looting in the capital. Law and order broke down and within days the leadership of PNTL disintegrated.

Both the PNTL and the F-FDTL are not perceived to have the trust of the population or the capacity to provide adequate security and order. Past behaviour of some PNTL members while on duty reduced public confidence in the institution: some police members have been involved in sexual harassment, human rights violations, illegal weapons distribution and black market activities. The PNTL has been accused by a Human Rights Watch report of gross human rights violations and ‘police abuse has become one of East Timor’s most worrying human rights problems.’ Moreover, neither organisation is regarded as politically neutral.
Until the election in the summer of 2007, the F-FDTL fell under the control of President Gusmão – a former guerilla leader – while the PNTL reported to Rogerio Lobato who was a staunch Fretilin man – a long term rival of Gusmão, and also regarded as a liability by many within the party. The internal divisions within the leadership date back to the civil war and the Indonesian occupation.

Both institutions became internally fragmented due to their mixture of members from different regions and political backgrounds. Though ethnic and regional divisions had not previously been prominent in Timor-Leste, the April 2006 dispute had a significant regional component, and such affiliations quickly gained currency. Most of ‘the petitioners’ came from the West of the country and complained that they suffered discrimination in a force dominated by officers from the East (reflecting the force’s origins in the eastern-based, pre-independence, anti-Indonesian, armed resistance movement). A similar scenario could be observed in the police force, where some members served under the former Indonesian police – mainly from the West – while others were former members of the armed resistance – mainly from the East.

Almost 70% of disciplinary cases within the military resulted from confrontations with police personnel, many of whom were recruits from the former local Indonesian police force.[1] The problem culminated in a massacre in late May 2006, when F-FDTL soldiers killed 10 unarmed police officers under UN protection. Regional tensions affected not only the security forces, but increasingly Timorese civilians who identified themselves with either the East or West. Violent groups of youths from different parts of the country took advantage of the situation and made street-fighting a regular occurrence in Dili. A catholic priest described the situation as ‘East against West, soldiers against soldiers, police against soldiers, everyone against everyone … It’s total madness.’[2]

In the midst of the chaos, after a request from the Timorese government, Australia formed a multinational peace-keeping force to restore order in late May 2006. The removal of the Fretilin-led government and the subsequent electoral victory of the new government led by Xanana Gusmao took place under the guardianship of a United Nations-authorised Australian and New Zealand International Stabilisation Force (ISF). Up until the attempted coup, there were approximately a thousand international military personnel and 1,500 members of the United Nations police in Timor-Leste. Fresh troops from Australia have arrived in Dili.

Major Alfredo, the romantic?

Amidst the generalised mistrust of institutions that were meant to provide security and a leadership that was meant to honour the constitution, certain individuals became popular symbols among the population. Major Alfredo Reinaldo became a crucial figure at the time of the crisis. He led a group of military personnel and members of other security forces out of Dili. There, the Major and his men pledged allegiance to Xanana and Major Alfredo’s role in the crisis became both ambiguous and iconic over time. The Major became a symbol of the disenfranchised – youths, the poor, veterans –and he became key to balancing peace in East Timor. The Major was arrested in 2006, but escaped from Becora prison, downtown Dili, together with 56 other inmates, and later boasted in an interview that he waved at New Zealand soldiers as he left. The Major stayed in hiding, and calls for him to submit himself to justice failed. He remained defiant and after his men raided weapons from a police post in March 2007, President Xanana Gusmao sanctioned an Australian operation to capture him. The operation in Same resulted in several deaths, but Reinaldo eluded the Australian operation and his popularity grew among Dili youths. Reinado was able to accept the projected hopes of many of those for whom independence brought more disappointment and poverty. The youth in particular has become increasingly frustrated by the lack of government response. Combined with boredom, lack of opportunities for constructive activity and extensive alcohol abuse, Dili’s unemployment rate of a staggering 70% contributes to the volatile situation.

Major Reinaldo was a liability, but he was also bold and charismatic. His defiant messages to the authorities and vanishing acts made him a romantic figure that resonated with a generation that had lost its heroes. Max Stahl has likened him to East Timor’s ‘Che Guevara’: ‘A poster figure on laptops, and graffiti sketches around Dili’ and ‘Like a poster character, the meaning of his protest shifted its ground.’

While most media reports have been quick to qualify the assassination attempt as a coup, other are more cautious. James Dunne, for example, ‘Clearly, there is more to this than meets the eye and we need to know a lot more about it’ and said further that ‘As a coup, it was a very unlikely coup, totally botched and certainly one not in keeping with somebody who served as a major’. Stahl suggests that one possibility is that the assassination attempt was a desperate measure after 77 of the petitioners were reinstated in the army last week. Perhaps he feared losing his position of being a key figure in the balance of maintaining peace in Timor-Leste.

At this point, it is too early to tell. However, a final reflection on the role of Major Alfredo in Timorese society and the political scene as it is perceived by the population, may perhaps be provided by the rumours that have circulated in Dili in the hours after the attack. Rumour is often cited by observers to play a conspicuous role in crises, particularly in East Timor. Although it is impossible to compile rumours at any given time, at the early stages of an emergency there is little reliable information circulating, and rumours become the common ‘knowledge currency’. One blogger writes ‘Usually, the unconfirmed stories are about 90% correct but that 10% error can affect conclusions by 100%. Some local media were reporting that the President had died which everyone seems to agree is not the case. It is rarely straightforward here.’[3] These forms of misinformation may say more about the situation than is commonly assumed.

Some bloggers may provide the key to understanding the situation in East Timor better than media reports that are more readily available. A blogger on http://xananarepublic.blogspot.com cites Radio Timor-Leste reporting that Major Alfredo was in fact staying as a guest in the President’s home. Ramos-Horta is known in Dili to house guests on a regular basis. This, if true, would prove not only ironic but incongruous with most portrayals of the ‘renegade major’. If proved untrue, it still shows that the Major was perceived, not as a man on the margins of the Timorese political scene but as an essential part of it. This is a perception that does not always transpire in the international media.

In fact, Timorese authorities had been negotiating with a sometimes cooperative Alfredo, from the beginning of the 2006 crisis. Although he had become increasingly defiant and uncooperative, the authorities had decided that it was best to engage him in dialogue. On Tuesday the Australian Foreign Minister acknowledged that the President and Prime Minister of East Timor had requested that the International Stabilisation Forces halt the hunt for Alfredo nine months ago, and that the best way forward had been deemed to engage Major Alfredo in Dialogue.[4]

In a country with many heroes, and one great enemy (the Indonesian occupier and its stooges), it is difficult for outside observers to let go of eternal heroes, and to submit to the confusing reality of the Timorese political scene today. The events of February 11 have been shocking and tragic for, above all, the Timorese people themselves. Observers must portray the situation in its full complexity.

The problems Timor-Leste faces are numerous and multidimensional. The final report of the Commission for Reception, Truth, and Reconciliation in Timor-Leste warned that ‘the deep divisions in our society from 25 years of conflict, and the violence which entered East Timorese political life in 1975, remain a potential stumbling block to the development of a sustainable culture of democracy and peace in Timor-Leste.’[5] These factors, combined with very high unemployment, widespread poverty, and pervasive trauma provided a fertile ground that allowed what could have been a manageable protest to explode into protracted violence. The turmoil that has afflicted the country in recent years has put additional layers of complexity in the Timorese reality.

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[1] International Institute for Strategic Studies (The), 2006, Turmoil in Timor-Leste: Nation-building unravels.

[2] Barker, Anne, 2006, ‘Total madness’ as gangs fight in Dili, ABC Australia news Saturday, May 27, 2006

[3] http://wombathole.com/dili-gence/

[4] http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2008/02/12/2160982.htm

[5] Commission for Reception, Truth, and Reconciliation Timor-Leste (CAVR), 2005, Chega! The Report of the Commission for Reception, Truth, and Reconciliation Timor-Leste.

Wachsende Instabilität

Carole Reckinger - February 2007 (published WOXX Nr. 941)

Am vergangenen Montag wurde der Präsident von Osttimor, Jose Ramos- Horta, von rebellierenden Soldaten angegriffen und durch Schüsse verletzt. Der Vorfall ereignete sich in seinem Wohnhaus einige Meilen außerhalb der Hauptstadt Dili. Er befindet sich in einem „kritischen, aber stabilen“ Zustand und wurde für die weitere Behandlung per Hubschrauber
nach Australien transportiert. Der Vorfall zeigt, wie unsicher die Situation in Osttimor noch immer ist. Die „Krise“, die im Jahre 2006 begann, ist noch lange nicht vorbei und Osttimors Sicherheitskräfte sind unfähig, für die nötige Sicherheit zu sorgen. Nicht einmal für die des amtierenden Präsidenten.

Anhaltende Krise

Im Mai 2005 hatte der Sonderbeauftragte des UN-Generalsekretärs in einer Rede zum Ende des UN-Einsatzes zur Friedenssicherung in Osttimor erklärt, der Abzug der Friedenstruppen zeuge von der weltweiten Anerkennung Osttimors als eines sicheren und friedlichen Landes, dessen Sicherheitsbehörden fähig seien, die Verantwortung für die interne und die externe Sicherheit zu übernehmen. Der Ausbruch der Gewalt im darauffolgenden Jahr zeigte deutlich, dass
diese Bewertung der Situation viel zu optimistisch war. Im April 2006 kam es in der Hauptstadt Dili zu Aufständen, nachdem 600 Soldaten - fast ein Drittel der Armee - entlassen wurden, weil sie gegen die Diskriminierung in den Reihen der neu gegründeten timoresischen Armee protestiert hatten.

Die anfänglich friedliche Protestaktion endete mit dem Tod von mindestens 37 Menschen und der Vertreibung von zwei Dritteln der Bewohner der Hauptstadt. Die allgemeine Unzufriedenheit angesichts der Unfähigkeit der Regierung, die hohe Arbeitslosigkeit und Korruption zu bekämpfen, kombiniert mit Vorwürfen bezüglich der Handhabung des innermilitärischen Konfliktes, ermutigte viele Osttimoresen, zu den Waffen zu greifen und bewaffneten Gruppen beizutreten. Gewalttätige
Banden, größtenteils bestehend aus arbeitslosen Jugendlichen, haben sich den aufständischen Soldaten angeschlossen
und streifen nun durch die Straßen Dilis, brennen Häuser nieder und setzen Autos in Brand. Einige
Polizisten wechselten die Seite, taten sich mit den entlassenen Soldaten - den so genannten „petitioners“ - zusammen und gingen offen gegen die Armee vor. Auf tödliche Auseinandersetzungen zwischen der nationalen Polizei (PNTL) und der Armee (FFDTL) folgte ein großer Aufruhr in der Hauptstadt, gekoppelt mit zahlreichen Plünderungen. Die öffentliche Ordnung brach zusammen und innerhalb weniger Tage zerfiel auch die Führung der PNTL.

Mangel an Vertrauen

Weder der PNTL noch der F-FDLT wird zugetraut, dass sie das Vertrauen der Bevölkerung genießen oder die Fähigkeit besitzen, für Sicherheit und Ordnung zu sorgen. Das frühere Verhalten einiger PNTL-Mitglieder während ihrer Amtszeit hat das Vertrauen der Öffentlichkeit in diese Institution zerstört: Einige Polizisten waren an sexueller Belästigung, der Verletzung von Menschenrechten, der Verteilung illegaler Waffen und am Handel auf dem Schwarzmarkt beteiligt. Die PNTL wurde in einem Bericht von „Human Rights Watch“ der groben Verletzung von Menschenrechten bezichtigt. Der Bericht stellt fest, dass „polizeiliche Übergriffe zu einem von Osttimors beunruhigendsten Menschenrechtsproblemen
geworden sind“. Zudem wird keine der Organisationen als politisch neutral eingestuft. Bis zur Wahl im Sommer 2007 wurde die F-FDLT von Präsident Gusmão - einem früheren Guerilla-Führer - kontrolliert, während die PNTL mit Rogerio Lobato
in Verbindung gebracht wird, einem Anhänger der Fretilin und langjährigen Rivalen von Gusmão. Die Streitigkeiten
innerhalb der Führungselite in Osttimor datieren zurück auf den Bürgerkrieg und die langjährige Besetzung
durch Indonesien.

Beide Institutionen sind wegen der unterschiedlichen regionalen und politischen Herkunft der Mitglieder
intern zersplittert. Obwohl ethnische oder regionale Aufteilungen bis dahin keine Rolle in Osttimor spielten, hatte
der Konflikt vom April 2006 doch eine wichtige regionale Komponente. Die meisten der „petitioners“ kamen
aus dem Westen des Landes und beschwerten sich über die Diskriminierung innerhalb einer Armee, die
von aus dem Osten des Landes stammenden Offizieren dominiert wird (was auf den Ursprung der bewaffneten
antiindonesischen Widerstandsgruppen aus der Zeit vor der Unabhängigkeit
zurückzuführen ist).

Eine ähnliche Situation kann bei der Polizei beobachtet werden. Einige Mitglieder stammen aus der früheren indonesischen Polizei und kommen überwiegend aus dem Westen, während andere aus der bewaffneten Widerstandsbewegung kommen, vor allem aus dem Osten. Fast siebzig Prozent der armeeinternen Disziplinarverfahren sind auf Auseinandersetzungen mit Polizisten, von denen viele aus der früheren lokalen indonesischen Polizei stammen, zurückzuführen.
Ende Mai 2006 beispielsweise töteten Soldaten der F-FDTL zehn unter UN-Schutz stehende unbewaffnete Polizisten. Diese regionalen Spannungen haben nicht nur Konsequenzen für die Sicherheitskräfte, sondern auch für die timoresische
Bevölkerung. Diese identifiziert sich zunehmend entweder mit dem Osten oder dem Westen des Landes. Banden aus verschiedenen Teilen des Landes nutzen die Situation aus und liefern sich in den Straßen von Dili Kämpfe. Ein katholischer Priester beschreibt die Situation als „Osten gegen Westen, Soldaten gegen Soldaten, Polizei
gegen Soldaten, Jeder gegen Jeden… der totale Wahnsinn“.

Fehler beim Aufbau Der Zusammenbruch der öffentlichen Ordnung ist der Höhepunkt der vielen Probleme, die PNTL und
F-FDTL auf individueller, aber auch auf institutioneller Ebene haben. Die Krise vom April 2006 ist noch nicht
beendet, und das Land wird immer noch regelmäßig durch Kämpfe aufgerüttelt. Beispiele hierfür sind die Gewaltwelle, die es nach den Wahlen im Sommer 2007 gab, sowie das aktuelle Attentat auf Präsident Ramos-Horta. Die Bildung und die Entwicklung der Sicherheitskräfte hat auch zu diesen Problemen beigetragen. Beide wurden unter der „United Nations Transitional Administration“ (UNTAET), als Teil der Vorbereitungen zur Selbstregierung Osttimors, gegründet. Trotz jahrelanger UN-Regierung und der Milliarden, die für den Wiederaufbau Osttimors investiert wurden, mehren sich die
Anzeichen für einen Staatszerfall.

Eine unzureichende Planung des Aufbaus der Sicherheitskräfte sowie eine zu geringfügige Beteiligung der lokalen Bevölkerung, haben zu der aktuellen spannungsgeladenen Situation geführt. Die Geschichte der Entwicklung des Polizeidienstes und der Verteidigung in Osttimor unter den Vereinigten Nationen ist größtenteils geprägt von unorganisierter Planung und einfallsloser Führung. Den Sicherheitskräften fehlt das Vertrauen
der Bevölkerung und sie sind nicht fähig, gegen die Unruhen und Wellen der Gewalt vorzugehen. Die Probleme,
denen sich Osttimor stellen muss, sind dennoch zahlreich und mehrdimensional. Der Abschlussbericht
der „Commission for Reception, Truth, and Reconciliation in Timor-Leste“ warnt, „die tiefen Spaltungen, die in
unserer Gesellschaft durch 25 Jahre an Konflikten entstanden sind, und die Gewalt, die ab 1975 das politische Leben Osttimors bestimmte, stellen immer noch einen potenziellen Stolperstein für die Entwicklung einer nachhaltigen Kultur von Demokratie und Frieden in Osttimor dar“. Diese Faktoren, zusammen mit einer sehr hohen Arbeitslosigkeit, großer Armut
und einem allgemein präsenten Trauma trugen dazu bei, dass ein an sich kontrollierbarer Protest zu einer lang anhaltenden Gewaltorgie werden konnte.

Link to ‘Displacement in the 2006 Dili Crisis: Dynamics of an Ongoing Conflict’

Sara Gonzalez Devant, Refugee Studies Centre Oxford Working Paper, published January 2008

An upgraded version of my Masters Dissertation. The dissertation won a prize for best dissertation 2006-2007 at the Refugee Studies Centre, University of Oxford. It was published as a Working Paper at the Centre in January 2008.

http://www.rsc.ox.ac.uk/pub_working.html

Islam and Democracy, an oxymoron?

Carole Reckinger - November 2007 (published Forum 272)

Whether Islam and democracy can coexist within the same socio-political space has been much debated in the post 9-11 world. Islam has come to enjoy a somewhat uneasy relationship with the West and the Islamic resurgence has been stereotyped in negative and confrontational terms. While the winds of democratic change are sweeping across the Middle East, much mistrust still has to be overcome.

Liberal democracy and secularism

A tendency has gained ground that takes for granted that there is only one basic model of democracy: a liberal model with certain institutions and rules that have developed in Western Europe and the United States. In the broadest sense democracy has come to mean a form of government that has regular and free elections with at least one opposition party. Defining democracy strictly in terms of regular and fair elections however, is a narrow and technocratic definition where the concept degenerates from the ethical ideal of the ‘rule of the people’ to the procedural technicalities of multi-party competition.

The Western democratic model is based on the principle of separation between religion and politics and is therefore only concerned with the worldly welfare of the people. Islamic scholars have pointed out that the absence of universal values and a firm moral anchor has led to a series of failures where the standards of right and wrong are subject to the whims of the people, who have come to change their ethical values as they change their fashion. Secularism, in fact, is in direct contradiction to the predominant Islamic world view in that it negates the role of religion in shaping the public order of society. By demanding that religion be silent and neutral on social and political concerns, secularism deprives religion of its ethical foundation, its essential concern with moral questions relating to peace, injustice or poverty. What seems to be often forgotten is that Islam is not a religion in the limited sense, but a complete code of conduct and an all embracing way of life that covers all aspects of human existence.

Interpretations of Islam

The question of whether Islamic beliefs are compatible with a democratic culture differs widely and ultimately depends on how Islam is interpreted. The articulation of religion is framed by the interests and worldviews of the interpretive communities in question. If we define Islam in the radically exclusivist vision of Sayyid Qutb, which posits a sharply polarized world pitting the party of God (Qutb’s ideological followers) against the party of Satan (everyone else), then Islam and Democracy can not be compatible. More recently however, a growing number of both lay and clerical Islamic intellectuals have articulated an Islam and a democracy that are mutually harmonious. Longstanding Islamic concepts of consultation (Shurah), consensus (ijma) and independent interpretive judgment (ijtihad) are highlighted as affirming the compatibility between Islam and democracy.

Islam and the clash of civilization

The Middle East suffers from entrenched authoritarianism and observers often blame Islam for the lack of democracy. If one looks at politics of the region more closely, however, one realizes that none of the regional authoritarian regimes in power claim Islam as their raison d’être or are even perceived to be Islamic by their population. This fact notwithstanding, a significant number of Western scholars keep arguing that Islam as a religion and culture poses serious obstacles to the consolidation of democracy. Francis Fukuyama, an American philosopher and political economist recently declared that “Islam is the only cultural system that regularly seems to produce people like Osama bin Laden or the Taliban who reject modernity lock, stock and barrel”[1]. On a similar line the controversial clash of civilization theory identifies people’s cultural and religious identity as the primary source of conflict in the post cold war era. This theory became more prominent after the 9-11 terrorist attack on the United States, and gained notoriety in Samuel Huntington’s ‘Clash of Civilizations?’, where Islam more generally is seen as a barrier to the successful consolidation of democracy. Huntington argues that some of the ‘undemocratic’ nations will develop interests that are deeply contrary to the West, and Islam is identified as the most likely trouble spot. Writing on the prospects of the spread of democratic regimes, Huntington argues that it depends on a number of factors such as economic wealth and equality, social structure, external environment and the cultural context. In terms of cultural context, differences in the receptivity of states to democracy exist among societies with different cultural traditions. For instance, Huntington points out that a strong correlation exists between Protestantism and democracy on the one hand, and the inhospitability of Islam towards democracy on the other hand[2].

However, it was once thought that the ‘protestant ethic’ was more closely adapted than Roman Catholicism to liberal democracy, yet history has shown this claim to be wrong. Furthermore, the perceived incompatibility of Western democratic ideas with other cultural contexts is not peculiar to Islam. Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew’s idea of specifically ‘Asian Values’ contests the individualist presupposition of Western liberal democracy, implying that the more collectivist consciousness found in some East Asian societies demands a different kind of political regime.

The spread of political Islam

Since the 1970s, Islam has become a major force in politics in the Muslim world. It was feared that groups like the Islamic Salvation Front in Algeria or Nahda in Tunisia might be able through the democratic process to win the support of a majority and gain control of governments. Furthermore, the events in Sudan, Afghanistan or Iran, indicated that several Muslim countries have sought to build confessional polities. For the secular West, this is an unacceptable and incomprehensible development that contradicts the idea of modernity and progress. With a closer look however it becomes clear that today’s Islamic movements are different from the movements of the 1970s and 1980s in the sense that instead of striving to replace the secular state with an Islamic state they now fight against authoritarian rule through participation in the existing political system. A better way of looking at it might be to see it as a form of a social movement instead of seeing it as the End of History of the Muslim world today; it is but a social movement like any other - communism, nationalism, liberalism, fascism, socialism - which is subject to internal contradictions, ebbing and flowing and has to compete fiercely with other social movements in order to attract and mobilize followers. In fact, the tumult of the recent decades has led many people in Muslim countries to aspire to a just and egalitarian public order and Muslims have turned to their religious beliefs to make sense of the world around them.

Islamic movements have resurrected across the Islamic world where the state’s response in dealing with acute socioeconomic and political problems has been slow or ineffective. The new found attraction of Islamic values for political leadership in Muslim countries furthermore manifests the utility of Islam for social mobilization. The bulk of the support for Islamic movements still comes from the poorer strata of society that comprise by far the vast majority of the people in Muslim countries. The widespread Islamic awakening can be seen in relation to its domestic capacity to oppose what are perceived as oppressive governments and it is primarily in civil society that one sees Islam at work. It is often observed that Islamic groups have wide access to the larger population through grassroots movements. By making reference to socio-economic grievances which affect the majority of the people in Muslim countries, they can mobilize a large platform of support.

It is not Islam that is restricting the development of democratic freedoms in Muslim countries. Rather, the reasons are purely political and relate directly to the desire of any authoritarian regime to remain in power. Religious leader face the same dilemmas than secular leaders when pursuing the interests of their followers and become susceptible to the ‘corrupting elements’ of Realpolitik. Once they take state power, as in Iran, and are faced with tremendous socioeconomic and political problems, religious leaders in control of the state tend to behave like any other state leader. The capacity to deliver economic goods and basic political rights then becomes more important than the politics of ideology and rhetoric – Islamic or not.

Islam and Democracy, an Oxymoron?

Islam and democracy are both contested concepts and they are subject to a diversity of interpretations and definitions. Therefore to ask if Islam and democracy are compatible one has to first ask which democracy and which Islam. Political systems that have claimed to be democratic have ranged very broadly but all attempts of democratization outside the Western world are measured and judged against the western liberal model. What is important to keep in mind is that democratic values might not necessarily be defined in the same way all over the world and the imposition of western ideals on other cultures might be counterproductive in the long term. Democratic ideals have to grow out of the society in question, and only then is it productive in the long term. Imposing ‘our’ ideals will only lead to frustration and rejection.

Muslim countries share many of their socio-economic difficulties with other developing nations, and barriers to the successful consolidation of democracy might be found in other areas than religion and culture. Poverty, high social and economic disparities, patrimonialism and authoritarian leaders that hide behind the façade of democracy are more important factors.

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[1] The Guardian, Francis Fukuyama, The West has won, Thursday October 11, 2001, http://www.guardian.co.uk/waronterror/story/0,,567333,00.html, accessed 18.12.2006

[2] Samuel Huntington, Will More Countries Become Democratic?, Political Science Quarterly Vol. 99, No. 2 (Summer, 1984), pp. 193-218

Africa and Development: Challenges in the new Millennium. The Nepad Debate

Carole Reckinger - October 2007 (published in Progress In Development Studies)

Adésinà, J.O., Graham, Yao and Olukoshi A., editors 2005: Africa and Development: Challenges in the new Millennium. The Nepad Debate. Dakar : Codesria ; London : Zed Books, xvi + 288 pp. £ 65 cloth, £ 19.99 paper. ISBN: 9781842775943 cloth, ISBN: 9781842775950 paper.

When asked what Nepad is, Nigerian President Olusegun Obasanjo replied: ´Africa’s youngest wife and as you know people talk about the youngest wife more than they talk about all the other wives in the house’ (ALRN, 2003: 3). Indeed, the launch of Nepad (New Partnership for Africa’s Development) and its strategic framework document has generated countless scholarly articles on virtually every aspect of its strategic framework. Released in 2001 through the merging of two plans for the economic regeneration of Africa (the Millennium Partnership for Africa’s Recovery Program, inspired by President Thabo Mbeki and the OMEGA plan of Senegal’s President Abdoulaye Wade) as well as the ‘Compact for Africa’s Recovery’ developed by the UN Economic Commission for Africa (UNECA), Nepad claims to be the cure for Africa’s underdevelopment and reverse the scenario in which Africa is the beggar to Africa becoming the master of its own destiny. Its overall aim is a commitment by African leaders to place the continent on an accelerated path of social, technological and economic development. As a political statement however, it has been widely criticized as failing to include a rigorous analysis of Africa’s developmental constraints. The important contribution of Africa and Development: Challenges in the New Millennium is that it is a major attempt by African scholars and policy makers to evaluate the meaning of Nepad in concrete terms.

Since Nepad was launched in 2001, a central theme is that Africans must take control of their own destiny. The collection of 11 essays in this book has emerged from a joint conference on the key development challenges facing Africa at the dawn of the new millennium. The Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA) and Third World Network Africa (TWR-Africa), both independent research organizations that operate with the goal of facilitating research and promoting the exchange of information and views among African researchers, put together this meeting in 2002. Organized with the vision to critically engage with past, current and future challenges facing Africa, it was attended by over 100 African academics and activists. Since its launch, Nepad has been promoted as being based on the principles of African ownership over development issues. Considering that this book has developed through a conference attended both by African scholars and activists from all kinds of backgrounds, it exemplifies this approach as well as showing on an academic level how such African ownership can manifest itself. The conference in fact managed to create a framework for an experimental joint discussion between African academics and the growing community of civil society intellectuals on a scale that does not frequently happen in Africa.

The procedural and substantive controversies around Nepad form the starting point for a wider discussion about Africa’s development challenges, both in contemporary and historical perspectives. The book reflects the broad ideological and discursive visions and addresses key questions about Nepad’s ability to integrate Africa with the global economy, bringing about regional development as well as overcoming the challenges of poverty. The book addresses these topics in three parts. The first section is concerned with an assessment of the Nepad document. The first chapter written by Adésinà is highly critical of the neo-liberal foundations of Nepad and gives a good insight into a broad range of criticisms of the partnership. This view is balanced out by the following contribution, where Taylor argues more along a frequently repeated view of blaming endogenous agents for Africa’s development failure. He explores the extent to which the forces driving Nepad represent part of an ‘emerging transnational elite’ and argues for an unrestricted commitment to global free trade at the same time as seeking a fairer, more equitable global regime that delivers development for Africa. The final contribution in this first part, written by Maloka attempts to build a bridge between Nepad and its critics.

The following section is concerned with the main sectoral challenges in Africa’s quest for sustained development. This part uses the Nepad document as the discursive premise but goes on to advance specific policy priorities and, in some cases, alternatives for addressing Africa’s development. Moyo’s chapter for instance examines the efficacy of Nepad’s agricultural strategy, and criticizes the document for not providing any coherent industrial strategy. He reminds us that the ‘Nepad agricultural strategy is entangled in an institutional framework … that has… overseen the demise of African agriculture’ and offers an alternative framework that requires an ‘integrated development strategy’ driven by core elements such as land reform, rural infrastructure development and regional integration. Dot Keet in the same section examines the trade dimensions within Nepad as well as their direct and indirect implications. He criticizes the preoccupation with trade without development and notes that Nepad attaches no importance to the active and proactive role of the kind of regional and continental development funds and public financial instruments that the Plan for African Economic Community (AEC) and the African Alternative Framework to SAP’s (AAF-SAP) propose. In the remaining three chapters, an industrial policy for African countries is mapped out by Sangare and information/technology issues as well as educational and scientific policies are critically analyzed by Ya’U and Chenntouf respectively..

The third part addresses the financing of Africa’s development. Randriamaro focuses on the gender dynamics and the failure of Nepad to address issues facing poor women. She calls for a ‘new partnership for women’s economic empowerment’ and the advancement of the interests of the poor more generally. Uche’s chapter examines the experience of the ECOWAS Fund for Cooperation, Compensation and Development as an example of the effort to develop local institutions for development financing and condemns the ECOWAS history as a failure. In the final chapter, Anyemedu examines the problems associated with the financing of Africa’s development through aid flows and the antinomies of such a ‘development’ strategy. He furthermore examines private capital flows and domestic savings as sources of development financing and challenges the thinking that informed the claim in the Nepad document that what Africa needs is to attract more private capital funds. He outlines specific steps that could be taken in helping to deliver on the declaratory statements and sentiments expressed in Nepad, such as the need for Africa to rely on its own resources if it wants to be fully in charge of its own destiny.

The book has two main strengths. First, although most of the analysis of the collection is critical of the discourse and prognoses that underscore Nepad, its approach is varied and does not argue along one ideological line. The book is a collection of diverse ideas with no single discursive framework or ideological commitment towards Nepad or the development question. Opinions on both sides of the development and Nepad debate as well as the equally reflected concerns, scepticisms and optimism make this book so objective and interesting. A second strength is while the book does carry the Nepad debate as its sub title, the concern of the collection is much wider and the issues covered represent an engagement of the intellectual and policy challenges of development alternatives in Africa. The reader is provided with a rich texture of diverse opinion, situating Nepad in the wider development framework.

African Labour Research Network (ALRN). 2003: Nepad: A new partnership between Rider and Horse? http://www.alrn.org/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=236&CAMSSID=41aaac291dab745d6aee2b5b9d4a7bd3

Political Time Bomb Burma

Carole Reckinger - September 2007 (published Forum 270)

Despite an increasingly bloody crackdown, the peaceful sea of chanting monks in maroon robes continues to fill the streets of Burma’s major cities. The number of injured monks is rising, and it has been reported that large numbers of monks and protesters have been dragged away in trucks to unknown locations. The once confident and repressive military regime has been shaken by a wave of peaceful demonstrations led by thousands of monks. The protests were sparked earlier this summer by the regime’s decision to sharply increase fuel prices. The stakes for the military regime are rising as every day the number of people willing to risk their lives and join the protests is growing. The key question is how the regime will respond to the growing challenge to its authority: will it repeat a 1988-like crackdown, or will it solve the present deadlock with the least bloodshed possible? The repressive record of the Burmese army, and the junta’s warnings to senior monks that strong ‘action’ will be taken (despite growing media attention worldwide), makes the first option look increasingly likely.

A reminder of 1988

The large numbers of protesters and the prospects of a bloody crackdown by the military regime make for a chilling reminder of the summer of 1988. On the 8th of August of that year, protests by thousands of people calling for democracy culminated in a bloodbath by the Junta. Over three thousand people were killed, and in the following months the army consolidated its power base. An unknown number of people were executed, put in labor camps or simply disappeared. Two years later, in May 1990, the first elections since the military takeover in 1962 took place. The reportedly free and fair elections led to a landslide victory for the National League for Democracy led by Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi. The junta has up to now ignored the electoral results, and instead persecuted, killed and put under house arrest candidates, members and followers of the party.

Sons of Buddha

Burmese monks are highly revered in Burmese society. Considered to be ‘Sons of Buddha’ they represent the strongest institution in Burma after the military. Burma’s young and active Sangha Buddhist community of about 300,000 has had an uneasy relationship with the ruling generals. During the 1988 democracy marches, the independent monks union emerged to support the students. The regime responded by issuing decrees to keep the monks in line, and banning all independent Buddhist organizations. Until a week ago, when underground monk unions called for a mass uprising, the monks observed a religious boycott of the regime. Over the last two decades they have refused alms from the military regime or simply overturned their bowls instead of collecting food and donations.

Under the repressive military rule, civil society has had little space in which to develop. Because of the high levels of repression, most activists, in the past, have retreated into passivity, hoping that somehow change will come without the need to take risks. From 1962, the military regime slowly co-opted or eliminated the backbone of civil society: there are no legal human rights groups in Burma, the media is extremely restricted, and strict censorship is instituted. Access to communication technology is very limited. In 2001, there were only 5.5 telephone lines per 1000 people, with the cost of cellular phones being prohibitively high. The military regime has been as well extremely reluctant to provide e-mail and internet access. Anyone caught possessing a computer fax/modem or fax machine without permission can be sentenced to seven to fifteen years in prison.

The regime has been very concerned about the emergence of independent politically minded groups which could develop an action program. Intelligence gathering capabilities have been expanded in order to prevent domestic upheavals. An extensive network of agents and informers has developed to monitor campuses, monasteries and even military posts. The main goal is to isolate and demoralize activists, and also punish those who continue to associate with them. The repressive control of the regime however, has been challenged by the monks. Despite the highly restricted access to communication technology and the oppressive climate, the monks managed to coordinate and organize the largest protests that Burma has seen in the past 20 years. Both the pro democracy protests in 1988 and the current street protests are a reminder to the ruling party that they will not be able to repress their people for ever and that their power is contested. Indeed, no matter how they will react to the protests, their end might be approaching faster than they wish to think.

The end of the Tatmadaw?

The Burmese army – the Tatmadaw – has a long history of repression. Since the declaration of independence in 1948, different ethnic groups have demanded independence or more autonomy – often through violent insurgencies. The SPDC, as its predecessor, rules with an authoritarian fist in pursuit of two main objectives: maintenance of national solidarity and the Union, and perpetuation of national sovereignty. When the highly mobile counterinsurgency army for instance confronted pro-democracy protesters in 1988, it came to see them in the same light as the insurgent enemies it fought over the last 40 years- as a threat to national unity.

Historically the Tatmadaw has remained remarkably unified by Asian standards. While over the last half century the officer corps in Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines has been periodically torn apart by factionalism, the Burmese military leadership has not yet faced serious challenges from within its ranks. This, however, could change rapidly if the end of the regime seems imminent.

There have been several reports that the generals are gearing up for action. It has been reported that troops dressed as monks acting as agent provocateurs have been dispatched. With growing media attention, however, the shooting of peacefully marching Buddhist monks could mean the end for the junta. The public outrage that would ensue might pressure their few remaining allies to distance themselves. In fact, many observers believe that Burma has so far been cautious because of pressure from its most important trading ally: China. A bloody act of repression by one of its regional allies would overshadow China’s long awaited Olympic showcase next year.

Peaceful resolution of the situation might prove to be hoping for too much. Burma has shown in the past that it cares very little about public opinion. The fact that Aung San Suu Kyi was transferred from house arrest to the notorious Insein jail shows that the junta feels increasingly cornered and might take decisions with disastrous consequences. By the time of writing the situation was volatile but still under control. Considering past actions of the junta, a 1988-like crackdown does not seem impossible. No matter what the upcoming responses of the generals will be, the peacefully marching monks have made a deep impression on the foreign press and global civil society. The end of one of the most repressive dictatorial regime might yet come soon.

Election Aftermath in Timor Leste

Carole Reckinger & Gilles Bouche - August 2007 (published in Forum issue 269)

Dili is burning, once again. Or so we thought, as we followed the international media coverage in early August. The images of angry young men throwing stones and burning tyres, houses going up in flames and UN vehicles with broken windshields cleaving their way through dark smoke seemed all too familiar.

Timor-Leste has known many critical moments in the last decades. In 1999, days before withdrawing after a 24 year long illegal and often brutal occupation, the Indonesian army and the pro-Indonesian militias sacked the whole country, killing, burning, and looting on their way out. The Timorese who were not forcefully removed to refugee camps in the Indonesian province of West Timor witnessed the destruction of 70 % of their infrastructure. Even school benches were carried off to Indonesia. In the capital, whole neighbourhoods were flattened to the ground, the scars of which can still be seen today.

When Timor-Leste regained its long awaited independence, these pictures of violence and destruction seemed a black shadow from the past, thoroughly confined to the archives of the Commission for Reception, Truth, and Reconciliation (CAVR). But in April last year, the hope for a peaceful future was dealt a first severe blow. The capital went up in flames after the dismissal of 600 soldiers – nearly a third of the military – who protested against discrimination within the ranks of the newly formed Timorese army. In the ensuing chaos, at least 37 people were killed and 150,000 were left homeless.

Many people who fled the violence of April-May 2006 remain lingering in camps for internally displaced people. Clusters of colourful tents are spread all over Dili and have turned into a permanent sight. Even today, the events which shook the country continue to haunt the Timorese as “the crisis”. For many, the crisis never ended.

The latest outburst of violence was triggered on August 6^th by President Ramos Horta’s announcement of a new government. Most of the unrest erupted in the eastern districts of Baucau and Viqueque where, according to a UN report, 323 houses were torched and 4,000 people displaced. President José Ramos-Horta hastened to blame the media for “once again doing a great job in exaggerating” and to praise the international police forces for doing “a great job in controlling the violence”, which he described as “sporadic and isolated”.

The fragile optimism which re-emerged in the last months has given way to disappointment and anxiety. Timor-Leste seemed to be on the right track after the intervention of an Australian-led international stabilisation force brought the civil unrest under control. Disaffected youths organised in so called martial arts gangs and armed with rocks and rama ambon (short iron darts) continued to pose a threat, but seemed largely contained after a massive crackdown in February. Above all, the presidential and parliamentary elections held between April and June and intensively monitored by local and international observer groups were predominantly peaceful and transparent. The successful conduct of the national elections – the first managed by Timorese authorities – was seen as an important stepping stone in consolidating Timor Leste’s young and fragile democracy. So what went wrong?

As widely predicted, the parliamentary elections marked the transition from the dominance of the former liberation party to a more even distribution of votes and political power – a typical development in post-colonial states. While Fretilin remained the strongest party winning 21 of 65 seats, it fell far short of preserving its absolute majority. Three other strong political groups emerged: the social-democrat coalition of PSD and ASDT (11 seats), the Partido Democrático (PD, 8 seats), and Gusmão’s newly founded Congresso Nacional de Reconstrução Timorense (CNRT, 18 seats). In the wake of the elections, they formed the aptly named Alliance with a Parliamentary Majority (AMP).

Unwilling to accept their defeat, the leaders of the Fretilin party invoke an ambiguous passage of the Timorese constitution. The constitution demands that the government be formed by “the most voted party or alliance with parliamentary majority”. Interpreted as the Fretilin party intends, this would not require the support of an absolute majority. .

Even if Fretilin’s legal interpretation were accepted, a Fretilin-led minority government would not find the approval of the parliament, thus leading to new elections. Uniting representatives of Fretilin and AMP in a government of national unity seemed a more probable alternative advocated by President Ramos-Horta. However, when the negotiations between the political rivals failed, AMP emerged as the only stable coalition backed by an absolute majority.

The decision to invite Gusmão to form a coalition infuriated Fretilin General-Secretary, Mari Alkatiri, who rejected it as “completely illegal and against our constitution”. Fretilin members walked out of parliament in protest and refused to attend the Prime Minister’s swearing-in ceremony. Groups of young Fretilin supporters took the protest to the streets, erecting roadblocks, throwing rocks and burning houses. The reaction of the Fretilin leadership has been ambivalent: while strongly condemning the violence, Alkatiri has endorsed the frustration of his supporters and thus has risked to be seen to legitimise their illegal actions. There is however no evidence suggesting that the violent protests are orchestrated by the Fretilin party.

The differences between Mari Alkatiri and Xanana Gusmão are not new but date back to the early years of the Indonesian occupation. They flared up again during last year’s crisis and resulted in open confrontation: Gusmão denounced Alkatiri’s endorsement of dismissing the protesting soldiers. When the crisis unfolded Alkatiri was forced to step down from his Premiership- a decision seen by many Fretilin members as an attempted coup d’etat.

The enmity between political key figures has particularly grievous effects on Timorese politics because the latter is highly personalised. In spite of the efforts of local NGOs to highlight political programs and foster public debate, personal attacks took centre-stage during the election campaign.

Supporting a political party is seen by many Timorese not merely as a matter of electing representatives likely to promote one’s interests and ideas, but also as a matter of loyalty towards groups and individuals. Family ties and regional identities play an important role in determining political allegiance. Consequently, political opposition is seen as divisive and threatening rather than as an effective means of ensuring competition and accountability among politicians. Timor-Leste’s dramatic history explains part of the anxiety, as political opposition has repeatedly taken violent forms in the past, leading to a civil war in 1974 and to the formation of militias in 1999.

Unsurprisingly, the idea of a government of national unity is popular among the Timorese population. Whether an inclusive government would indeed be more efficient in dealing with the pressing issues and better suited to Timorese mentalities is far from evident. Moreover, the idea risks being instrumentalised by political parties, in this instance by Fretilin, in the political power struggle – a very dangerous game, which gives parties an interest to promote the circumstances in which a government of national unity seems most desirable, namely by keeping alive a climate of insecurity.

Clearly, however, the opposition between Fretilin and the parties united in the AMP is not exclusively nourished by personal animosity. Key to the violence is the extent of poverty experienced by the majority of the population. The youth in particular has until now been frustrated by the lack of government response. Combined with boredom, lack of opportunities for constructive activity and extensive alcohol abuse, Dili’s unemployment rate of a staggering 70% contributes to the volatile situation. Additionally, an estimated 70% of young men are members of martial art gangs. These groups play their own political role in the violence.

Developing the economy and raising living standards of the one million Timorese is one of the key factors for a sustainable and peaceful future. Budgetary constraints have hampered economic development in the past. For example only a little more than US$1 million annually was made available for desperately needed infrastructure development during the previous administration. Very low government salaries have compounded the problem, driving many of the most competent civil servants to work for international organizations, where drivers can earn twice the monthly salary of senior government officials. Some of this could change under the new government as this year Timor-Leste will be able to use significant revenues from the oil and gas extracted from the Timor Sea.

A major programmatic difference between Fretilin and CNRT concerns the investment of Timor Leste’s oil revenue. Fretilin favours a policy of slow but controlled economic growth, whereas CNRT has campaigned to increase public expenditure by relaxing the regulation governing the management of the Petroleum Fund. This furthermore would entail incurring foreign debt, something that the Fretilin government has until now actively avoided.

Besides foreign aid, the exploitation of oil fields located in the Timor Sea constitutes Timor-Leste’s only substantial source of income. In order to prevent corruption and mismanagement, the late Timorese government has created a Petroleum Fund which is subject to strict rules of transparency and accountability. In order to assure the long-term balance of the fund, the government is prevented from withdrawing more than the “sustainable income”. While the fund has already crossed the US$ 1 billion line and will increase, the sustainable income, and hence Timor Leste’s national budget, will continue to hover at around US$ 300 million a year (less then US$ 300 per capita).

With the injection of public funds, Gusmão and his coalition hope to kick-start Timor Leste’s economy. Until details of CNRT’s investment policy are revealed, it is impossible to predict, however, whether economic growth can be boosted substantially without risking mismanagement and high inflation.

While accelerating Timor Leste’s economic development remains a precondition for peace and stability, a range of other, maybe less tangible, issues need to be tackled. Among others, the new government has to heal the wounds of regional division and of decades of traumatising violence endured by the civilian population and has to counteract the climate of impunity and lawlessness reigning in the streets, notably by strengthening the overstrained justice system.

While Timor Leste is far from becoming a “failed state”, it will take years of resolute efforts before the Timorese may confidently hope that the pictures of looting and burning have been relinquished to the past, once and for all.