After the Storm

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In Honiara, and in the provinces, bored youths are turning to marijuana and a nasty moonshine called kwaso. "Young people are coming to the lights of Honiara for work," says police commander Peisley. "And the jobs aren't there. So we're seeing youths gather with nothing to do, and that can lead to street crime and drug and alcohol abuse. Kwaso is becoming a huge issue in the provinces, and it's leading to domestic violence and major and minor assaults." Makira's youthful premier Stephenson bemoans that loss of potential. "Our greatest need is education," he says. "We don't have enough teachers. Most of those we do have are untrained, and facilities are at a low level. It means the quality of the students we produce is poor." Reuben Buarobo, who comes to Honiara's U.S. war memorial for the great view and to listen to reggae on his radio, hopes to be part of the solution. The past six years have been wasted because of the conflict, but next year he intends to start training as a primary school teacher. After searching in vain for a sponsor to pay for his tuition - he was knocked back by aid organizations - Buarobo says his fees will be paid by an "honorable man," his Malaitan M.P., Fred Fono. And why would he do that? "Because I voted for him," the earnest, clean-living Buarobo replies.

Batley understands that Solomon Islanders want basic services, but feels even those expectations are unrealistic. "A lot of Solomon Islanders don't make the connection between good policy and what that means for the delivery of government services and for a growing economy," he says. "The work required to return the social infrastructure and administration not only to functionality but to really being effective and efficient is an enormous challenge, and it will take years." It's a hard message to sell to a public that's been let down for so long. Batley and other ramsi officers are wary of the mission being blamed down the track for not delivering what it has never promised. "ramsi is not the answer to every problem in the country," he says. "We are very anxious that the government steps up and is seen to be running its own agenda."

After a gleeful hymn to "Jeee-susss," the Church of Melanesia's 60 Sunday schoolers bolt like whippets out of the starting box; it's playtime for the children of trainee Anglican priests and their wives. A smiling but intense Father Brown speaks about the scarcity experienced in rural areas during the tensions and the role of the Anglican Melanesian Brothers in making peace. "ramsi has started the process to get to a solution," he says. Across the country, people are amazingly resilient. They may still identify as Malaitans or Guadalcanalese, rather than as Solomon Islanders, but they're united by their miserable circumstances. They have not come to rely on, or even expect much from, government. People did not go hungry during the strife. Traditional communities remain strong, and the civil-society movement is gaining influence. In the Solomons today, a little good goes a long way. Perhaps the fools, drunks and thieves of Parliament will end up in Rove prison and young leaders will take charge. "If there is a struggle anywhere in the world, the cause - and answer - is leadership," says Father Brown. "I actually believe in problems. They should be seen as a way to guide ourselves into the future, not to dwell in the past." By that measure, Solomon Islands has no shortage of signposts.