Anzac Pacific Dawn -Vanuatu 2002

ANZAC PACIFIC DAWN
It's still hot at 8pm on a still airless night in Vanuatu and before I hop into bed, so that I can be up at 4:30 to attend the Anzac day dawn service at the crumbling French first war memorial, on a hill by the Prime Minister’s offices (where I work) looking out across a blue bay towards the east and the open Pacific, I thought I would update those who wonder what I have been up to and remind those who have forgotten me that I am very much alive and working hard to see some of Australia's aid dollars ( some $16 MIL per annum in total) effectively spent.Some Preliminary Background-Vanuatu (our land) became independent in 1980 when the Anglo-French condominium ceded sovereignty, and after PNG troops supported by the Australian navy, put down a rebellion on Santo, which was bankrolled by dubious US interests and French property owners.Ten years of stable government followed and then several changes created chaos, a fast declining economy and the prospect of the kind of problems that have beset PNG, the Solomons and Fiji. The Asian Development Bank blew the whistle and a new government determined a programme of Comprehensive Reform (CRP) in return for which they were guaranteed enough aid to keep out the bad men and pacific island boat people off Queensland’s Gold Coast.I am a member of a small team working on the reform of the Public Service, other teams work on everything you can imagine, from the army to schools via the police, health, Infrastructure, justice, agriculture, customs etc. etc. and aid teams are here from UK, NZ, US Peace corps, Japan, France and failing all that, there is a Chinese Embassy waiting to step in should they give up.Our team is run by an aid contractor (you may be surprised to know that most Australian aid is contracted out to such companies who find people like me to do the job) We are closely monitored by AusAid, the Federal government's aid agency, which requires vast monthly reports accounting for our expense and effort, which must be used in Canberra instead of fuel oil to heat the offices, when expenditure on refugee camps and SAS in Afghanistan dry up the coffers and before another levy can be legislated on our super savings.My task in this my first of two 3-month tours of duty (return Feb 2003), is to assess the performance of the Directors General of the 9 Government ministries (yes, the Sir Humphreys of Vanuatu) and recommend and design development programmes for them and the best of some 60 subordinate Directors who run the departments. Needless to say those who have experienced my consulting work will guess that it has certainly not turned out as straight forward as my brief indicated and in short it is another one of those special forces efforts that seem to come my way (what the spy novels call wet jobs) although I hasten to add that the deluges of wet have been of rain and sweat, rather than blood, so far.But, with a general election due next week and two of the opposition parties swearing to sweep away CRP and all the ANZAC aid workers with them, who knows? I have suggested we re-enact Gallipoli tomorrow and this time successfully invade this place (with apologies to my grandad who died with the East Manchester regiment at cape Hellas in 1915 -yes 7000 Poms didn't come back also) so that we can work and the Nivans can stop pretending and go on permanent holiday.After 40 hours of interviewing everyone from the guys themselves to the Australian High commissioner and the PM, I now have the tricky task of somehow telling the truth about what is rotten in the 'state of Denmark' without demotivating the incumbents or upsetting others (especially the politicians.) One made a French restaurateur eat an election poster last week (without garlic dressing or tomato sauce)
At least George, the Chairman of the public service commission, with whom I work closely, went to school in Victoria's Western district and worked as a Jackaroo on sheep stations, is more Aussie than I'll ever be and has swear words beyond my ken-and is a tribal chief on his island too-let's hope the length of his pig's tusk is longer than our opposition's.All good fun and only four weeks to go before I start to wear socks again, sleep under more than a sheet, drive on the right side and prepare overhead slides in English without French and Bislama subtitles.On the bright side the people are lovely, they look you in the eye and say Alo or Goodnight or Bonsoir and the older men say sir and the young ones Mate-the women just smile and laugh. The prisoners at the local nick are particularly pally, through the fence, when they are not crossing to the store across the road for cigs-but then what's a bit of wife bashing or black magic inspired crime amongst boys??) Apart from the public servants who get houses and cars with their jobs, the basic citizen of Port Vila lives in villages of tin shacks where everyone seems to share the children, dogs and water stand pipe and from which they emerge neat, clean and cheerful at 5:30 am as I walk by, to collect baguettes and croissants from the Chinese bakery. At night the men play boule and drink kava in their Nakamals (where they used to keep enemies skulls, in the good old days before soccer and Aussie social justice arrived)At the other end of the scale expatriate houses can cost up to A$500,000 in the nice spots, there is no income nor capital gains taxes, but Vat is 12.5% and the excellent food in restaurants (especially those of French origin) is at Melbourne prices. So if you come here you really need to buy a cheap package because the food and internal trips will melt your plastic.Of course being an action learner, I have learned some things-like how several cultures within a culture can co-exist selectively with a western republican overlay and work in three languages, whilst believing in Christianity and black magic at one and the same time. I have learned to live a simpler life and get on alone in a strange place (even Aussie long termers do not fraternise with short term assignees) I am impressed with the Nivans dedication to retaining control of their land-you can only lease it and that despite the disparities in wealth and lifestyles, it is still safe to walk home on the darkest of nights-long may it last. Finally, a place without mobile phones (just arrived as I write) can be a blessing but what would one do without e-mail?-one of my accountant’s letters came via PNG!Well that's about all I have the energy to tell and the confidentiality clauses in my contract will allow-also it's 9:30 PM and I can hear Waltzing Matilda calling faintly on the south east trade wind as they prepare to cool me to sleep (along with the BBc's reading of Jane Austen's Persuasion) The more lurid and very interesting details will have to wait for that red wine lunch you may buy me at home or whenever. (But not in Lygon street, as my office is for sale and that passage of life is gone) For the record I will be back on 2 June (I have declined a 3 month extension just now) and will be contactable from then on my mobile 0417330504 or by e-mail of course.Melbourne looks extra good and it's especially comforting to know that I have the return to my friends and dear ones to look forward to. To the Aussies amongst you have a good Anzac day whatever you do.PS-sending this after the service-much better and warmer than at the Melbourne shrine of remembrance-the Vanuatu army band upstaged the KIWIS by marching off to waltzing Matilda and the rum in the coffee at breakfast back at the cafe Rossi will keep me going through the working day, hopefully.See you soon or sometime BARRY SMITH

VANUATU

The white ghosts came from the sea.
We gave them our timber.
We gave them our men and women
We cut their cane and dug their mines.
But we never gave them our land!



They gave us English and French.
They gave us Bislama and cargo cultism too.
We lent them our souls.
But we never gave them our land!


They gave us sharp tools,
Both our bush knife and the axe.
They gave us ‘kilim dead’ weapons,
including their guns and their law.
But we never gave them our land!




Then came new others,
saying nothing but ‘mate’ and ‘G’day!’
They brought us transparency,
equity and even gender neutrality.
They hooked us on bottomless aid.
But we’ll never give them our land!


But what is our Land?
It is we Ni-vans ourselves, our kastom life.
On which, with God, we stand!

Barry Smith-leaving vanuatu June 2002

BOOK REFERENCES;-The Great War by Les Carlyon. Publisher-Macmillan 2006.Walking With The Anzacs-A guide to Australian Battlefields on the Western Front by Mat McLachlan. Publisher-Hachette 2007