Broken Promises

Eve

ry day, the fancy jeeps cruise past Palmira Pereira's shack on the northern coast of East Timor. Sometimes, the passengers inside the air-conditioned vehicles raise their hands in greeting, and Pereira, or one of her 10 children, waves back. But the occupants of the cars—owned by the government, the U.N. or other organizations that are helping to run this infant country, which gained independence from Indonesia in 2002—have never stopped to meet the Pereiras. If they did, they would find a family that has not eaten rice in three months because of shortages that have nearly tripled the price. The younger children are already showing signs of malnutrition. "I love our country very much, but independence has given us nothing," says Pereira, her voice softening as she tries to soothe her hungry infant. "We are starving. Life was better during Indonesian times."

Pereira's wistful recollection of 24 years of brutal Indonesian rule shows just how little progress East Timor has made in its five years of freedom. As the nation prepares for its first post-independence presidential election on April 9, East Timor's 1 million people are ranked by the U.N. as Southeast Asia's poorest. Eight politicians have announced their candidacies, ranging from populist former resistance fighter Fernando de Araujo to Nobel Peace Prize laureate and current Prime Minister José Ramos-Horta. But even as such democratic rituals play out, the capital Dili has erupted into a battleground for gangs, internal refugees and supporters of a former army commander turned rebel, Alfredo Reinado. Last spring, tensions within the army spread to the civilian populace, sparking riots in which dozens died. On March 3, Reinado's forces engaged in a firefight with Australian-led peacekeepers. Four people were killed, but Reinado escaped. Earlier this week, mobs loyal to him thronged Dili's streets, burning tires and threatening to torch government buildings. "It can be hard to understand how things have gotten so bad so quickly," says Lucia Lobato, another presidential candidate. "Without a major change in leadership, I have no confidence that things will get better."

After the disasters of Somalia, Rwanda and the former Yugoslavia, tiny East Timor was supposed to prove that nation building was a feasible exercise. An independence referendum in 1999 forced the Indonesians out, but not before departing soldiers and sympathetic local militias practically leveled the country in a paroxysm of violence that claimed hundreds of lives. All in all, up to 200,000 East Timorese are believed to have perished during the Indonesian occupation. Determined to help reconstruct a country that had been birthed in such chaos, the U.N. set up shop in 1999. A constitution was written, universities were built. Charismatic former guerrilla commander Xanana Gusmão was elected President. Boasting pristine beaches and untouched coral reefs, the Catholic country—a legacy of centuries of Portuguese colonialism—was trumpeted as a future tourism destination. In 2004, the U.N.'s troops began withdrawing (though peacekeepers returned after last spring's violence), and East Timor was hailed as the little nation that could. The euphoria lasted long enough for World Bank president Paul Wolfowitz to visit Dili last year and proclaim: "It really is a remarkable story. In just a few years, the people of [East Timor] have built a functioning economy and a vibrant democracy from the ashes and destruction of 1999."

Just weeks later, East Timor again descended into conflict, and the country still simmers with strife. What went wrong? In reality, the simple narrative of East Timor's success hid a far more complex story line. Yes, the Timorese cherish independence. But no amount of freedom masks the fact that nearly 45% of the country lives on less than $1 a day. When the international community began decamping in 2002, thousands of jobs associated with its presence disappeared. The current government, run by the political party Fretilin, a key resistance force during the Indonesian occupation, hasn't improved the economic situation much. Although Fretilin's reputation is burnished by the brave ex-guerrillas and former exiled activists among its ranks, many members of East Timor's government are woefully inexperienced. "For many of these people, this is the first real job they ever had," says the head of the opposition Social Democratic Party, Mario Carrascalão, who even as the Jakarta-appointed governor to East Timor in the 1980s and early '90s spoke out against the excesses of Indonesian rule.