In a case of speaking too soon, this NZ army news release talks about the improvements in Timor-Leste over the past 7 years - a few days before the assassination attempts.
http://www.army.mil.nz/at-a-glance/...id={dab448be-a3e2-4030-9f9d-c18395c8132c}.htm
Even with 184 NZ defence personnel there and many more Australians (and others), it is not a stable place to live. We can only try to help. Eventually it is up to the citizens themselves. This goes for Afghanistan and the Solomon Islands as well.
Talking about NZ's presence in Timor-Leste, you may be interested to read this article that appeared in the Manawatu Standard on 2 Feb 2008.
A Day in Dili (part 1 of 2).
In May 2006, violence tore through the streets of Dili resulting in death, destruction and the return of New Zealand troops. But in a city where paved footpaths take priority over poverty, can we make a difference? Manawatu Standard journalist Christian Bonnevie visited for 24 hours to find out.
Bare-footed locals feign smiles as they stand in the devilish Dili heat holding up cellphone recharge cards to passing traffic. Others sit solemnly behind steel carts stacked with cans of Coke, lollies and bottled water. These supposed signs of progress are merely skin-deep allusions of western commercialisation.
The reality is etched in the faces of the old men who sit hopelessly on the roadside, washing themselves in the liquid dirt spewing forth from busted pipes, and the throngs of parentless children kicking empty plastic about the rubbish strewn streets.
Timor-Leste has been severely beaten since declaring independence from Portugal in 1975, the immediate invasion by Indonesia and the bloody process of reclaiming independence in 1999.
Derelict, bullet-riddled buildings stand condemned -sites of countless massacres that cost more than 200,000 lives during those tumultuous years. Hundreds of thousands more people fled their homes, most of them now in tent cities under the watchful eye of the United Nations.
Those who do work in the world's newest country are likely to earn less than $US1 an hour. For a nation propped up on international aid, it is not obvious where the millions are spent.
The newly elected coalition government is offering $US5000 to families if they return to their homes, but for many this is not an option. Land ownership records were mostly destroyed in 1999. Those whose homes survived would simply be killed if they tried to remove the new "owners".
Clean water is the biggest concern for most people, a problem made clear during a visit to a refugee camp in the grounds of a large nunnery.
The terracotta facade of the Portuguese structure is remarkably intact, but the canvas camp trapped between it and the roadside is a rancid dump. Dogs and pigs trawl happily through the waste as groups of youths sit idly by smoking cheap cigarettes.
The Kiwi soldiers who patrol the neighbourhood are regular visitors, often challenging the locals to a game of basketball on the concrete court - the only vestige of space left in the camp.
It's rice distribution day, courtesy of the World Food Programme, but there is only a small crowd gathered. Mateus, the short, comfortably dressed and seemingly good-natured young indigenous man essentially charged with keeping the residents alive, says food is not currently a problem.
There is enough rice to go around and local crops have fared well, including the coffee plantations which suffered heavily in 2006.
But despite it being the wet season, there is insufficient drinking water
available for the 8000 people who live in or frequent the camp, he says through a translator.
"It is hard. Sometimes we have only one tank of water, about 300 litres, for one day for everyone. Sometimes we have to go out and find water but then it's no good. They can get very sick and it's a big problem. We don't know what to do. It rains, but we can't get enough and then it is much worse when the rain stops," Mateus says grimly. "We are very glad to get help, but some do get angry because it is hard."
For those Timorese savvy enough to question why footpaths paved with coloured bricks take precedence over clean water or a sewerage system, this is a source of constant frustration.
Many are aware their seas are rich with oil and natural gas. The Bayu Udan field alone is worth $3 billion in royalties and its discovery has led to several foreign powers establishing flashy embassies - the United States being the best and biggest - in a bid to claim a portion.
But the lack of basic development has seen criticism levelled directly at the UN, with one newspaper editor running a full front page of aid staff sunbathing on the lush white shores under the headline: "Is this what the UN is doing for us?".
It does not help that the UN compound could be mistaken for a Toyota dealership, such is the number of signature four-wheel-drives parked within the gates. The running joke is that there is 1.3 vehicles for each of the grim faced staff members.
Even the Kiwi soldiers, who steer clear of any idealistic confrontation, readily admit the UN workers struggle to connect with the general population.
Perhaps it is the regularity with which they drive passenger-less in convoy, unflinching in their steely gazes despite the windmill of young arms seeking a friendly gesture.
The Kiwis, in turn, are polar opposites.
A short excursion by van off the sealed roads and into the bush-lined residential zone finds us walking through the open doors of an old brothel. The large staircase and marbled floors hint at its previous grandeur, but the crumbling exterior and tired, leaking roof offers little comfort.
Here live two sections of a New Zealand platoon. They sleep in their
individual tents, inside the building. There is no airconditioning to combat the relentless humidity, a luxury afforded to those who live at the main base, Kiwi lines.
Ten young soldiers have returned only moments earlier from a patrol and are now relaxing in the customary black stubbies and brown T -shirt combo. Out in the dusty backyard, a troop of six youngsters have gathered to throw a rugby ball around. They are yet to master the spiral pass.
"We basically run a kindergarten," Corporal Norm Rutene laughs,' leaning back on a wooden bench. "This is nothing though. On the weekends about 30 of them will turn up and we put up the volleyball net, play some sport and stuff. "It's good, you know. The older ones, the teenagers are real sweet too. They come running over and tell us when something's going down. Nothing gets past them, so we always know what's happening. "
Cpl Rutene, a Timor veteran on his third deployment, says they have not encountered much violence since arriving six weeks earlier. Youth gangs cause the most trouble, the result of half the country's million-strong population being under the age of 25. A whopping 43 percent of urban youth are unemployed, many for lack of effort but most for lack of opportunity.
Their weapons of choice tend to be stones, Cpl Rutene explains. But they do not attack patrols. The hostilities are generally played out between rivals. "There are good people here and they don't want us to go," he says, gesturing at the kids.
"They don't have much but they are happy with what they do have. Some people say they don't try to help themselves, that theyjust do enough to get by. I think in some ways that's true. But then I think they probably don't know anything different."
His observations appear to be on the mark. Driving the streets of Dili it is impossible to count the number of dark-skinned bodies lazing under the trees, some sleeping and others squatting, staring into space.
The heat makes hard labour undesirable, with most in the city choosing to sell anything they can -the large scooter population relying on fuel sold in empty water bottles on the roadside.
But the true signs of hope lie beyond the cellphones, soft drinks and
counterfeit clothing labels, in the large flourishing markets.
Fresh fish, meat and vegetables fill tables and handmade souvenirs have begun appearing, aimed at capturing the eyes of soldiers, aid workers and, potentially, tourists.
And it is here the work of the New Zealand armed forces is most visible.
Only when the security situation in Timor-Leste is stable can the economy strengthen and the people see any change in their living conditions, says Commander Wilson Trumper, the top ranking Kiwi in the Australian-led International Stabilisation Force.
"The first things that disappear when trouble is brewing are the markets. To see them open and growing for lengthy periods is a great tribute to what we're doing.
"It's stable but it's tense right now. It can change very quickly from a relatively small incident. If we were to leave now, I have no doubt it would turn.
"The ISF can't function without the Kiwis on the streets," he states matter of factly during a last minute interview at Dili Airport.
The difficulty, Cdr Trumper asserts, is that the conflict is generational. The gangs of youth remember the machete massacres and fires of 1999 and the animosities that followed between East and West Timorese.
There's also a new government trying to find its feet without the benefit of a democratic history to fall back on, he says.
"Right now the security situation is good. But you can't just rebuild a
country in one, two or three years... there's still a big journey for Timor to go. But so long as there is peace then there is hope."