Since its arrival in July 2003, bearing the Operation Helpem Fren motif, ramsi has restored hope to a country that was ruled by the gun and on the verge of collapse. Led by Australia and staffed by nine South Pacific nations, the intervention force came with a big stick and plenty of boots on the ground: more than 2,000 men and women were deployed in that first wave to restore peace. Around 3,800 people have been arrested, including militia leaders, suspected murderers and extortionists. Dozens of allegedly crooked politicians, police and public servants are about to face judges and juries in criminal trials. A gun amnesty and a crackdown by authorities have resulted in the seizure of almost 4,000 firearms and more than 300,000 rounds of ammunition. In Leosa West, on the main island of Guadalcanal, a newly erected National Peace Council sign - one of hundreds all over the country - proclaims the community weapons free and cautions any would-be transgressor to please respect our wishes. Says council chairman Paul Tovua: "For rural people especially, the ramsi intervention gives us an environment of best hope. Women are tending their gardens, men are not worried about others with guns, and children are going to school."
That rapid improvement in security - which has not been achieved without risk or heroism - is looking like the easy part. The next step is into uncharted territory. Now, with the military component reduced to a mere 78 personnel, and a reborn police force under the close watch of foreign advisers, the mission's youthful bureaucrats are taking charge of battered economic and development institutions. The economy has gone steadily backward: per-capita income has fallen 50% since independence in 1978. The ethnic tensions and brutality of 1998-2003 masked a chronic illness in Solomon Islands, for which there is no off-the-shelf cure. "Our leaders have not lived up to the expectations of the people that have put them into power," says Central Bank governor Rick Hou, one of the country's most respected officials. "It's a pity the Solomon Islands Parliament is filled with con men."
The country's lackluster political class still oversees a system of corrupt and malign decision-making that has failed to meet the most basic needs of its 500,000 citizens. Trust in the public sphere is virtually nonexistent, and by almost every measure of well-being, Solomon Islanders are the region's poor relations, their natural resources sold cheaply or stolen. "It's like Solomon Islands fell down a well," says Johnson Honimae, until recently general manager of the Solomon Islands Broadcasting Corporation and now head of the government's information unit. "We are hurt, the water is up to our nose, and we need someone to throw us a rope to help us out. ramsi came, took us to hospital, and now we're recovering. But what will ramsi do next? Will they take us home when we're discharged but our leg is still in a cast? Will they help us to start a garden? Or will they just leave us to find our own way home?" In partnership with ramsi, the country's many brave, honest and able citizens have their best - perhaps last - chance to step up. Yet it's far from clear how long the mission will last, how much it will cost - or whether it is even possible to repair damage on this scale.