'Vietnam, Rising Dragon' Book Excerpt by Bill Hayton

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Introduction: Another Vietnam

'The Hidden Charm' is Vietnam's seductive tourist slogan. Many Vietnamese don't like it, but it teases foreigners' yearning for adventure and discovery. The phrase conjures an image which sums up the country: the peasant girl looks up, tips back the brim of her conical hat and reveals her shy smiling face beneath. The straw-coloured hat, the bright green paddy fields and the black buffalo grazing all around – a world pure and beautiful, hidden and charming. Make the effort, implies the slogan, and your reward will be a vision of tranquillity, grace and beauty. This Vietnam promises everything your modern world has left behind: delicate women, simple living and unspoilt landscapes. The country once torn apart in prime time has been reborn, its essence untouched by the predations of foreigners. Now it is available to the discerning visitor with the patience to find it.

Those without the time or the patience can still capture it – on canvas in one of the big-city sidewalk ateliers. Paint, tapestry and photography reproduce images of a country we know instantly is Vietnam: bicycle-riding girls in white ao dai, sun-aged women porting bamboo shoulder poles, boys astride buffalo and sampans piled high with fruit. It's overwhelmingly an aesthetic of details – paddy fields, peasants and pagodas – not wide landscape shots. The image of Vietnam we foreigners seek is a close-cropped study in 'otherness'. Zoom out from the girl in the conical hat and the newly erected pylon intrudes on the view. Turn away from the buffalo boy and the scene is 'spoiled' by his parents' new concrete house. Vietnamese development planners don't share the western tourist aesthetic. Call it socialist, call it proletarian or just call it ugly; they'd rather see an electricity substation than a pre-industrial rural landscape. The people want progress and prosperity. The fantasy country we seek is the one they want to leave behind.

We care about Vietnam for one reason above all. Through all the horrors the modern world could throw at it, it prevailed. No other country name has the same resonance: 'the lesson of Vietnam', 'the ghost of Vietnam', 'another Vietnam' – we know instantly all that these phrases imply. This 'Vietnam' has become an abstract place, trapped in a blood-soaked decade between 1965 and 1975. It lives on in daily discourse. 'Vietnam' has become a shorthand reference for so many cleavages within American society that on most days searching the newswires for 'Vietnam' will return more stories about the United States than Southeast Asia. A civil rights law will be described as 'Vietnam-era legislation', a motorist in an accident might be routinely described as a 'Vietnam veteran' and politicians and commentators wield 'the lessons of Vietnam' as a blunt instrument to defend their position on a gamut of foreign policy issues. Americans understand that these phrases imply far more than simply a faraway country.

This book isn't about that 'Vietnam'; it's about a country in Southeast Asia with almost 90 million inhabitants, the 13th most populous country in the world, the country which moved and inspired me and where I lived for a while until I was told to leave. It doesn't claim to be a view of the country untainted by all the different visions others have projected upon it, nor a vision of some 'essential' Viet Nam which exists behind these projections. Vietnam keeps its secrets well. Foreigners can live there a long time and fail to understand why things happen the way they do until Vietnamese friends patiently explain what, to them, is blindingly obvious – and things slowly fall into place. Many times I would finish a news report and think that I had made a breakthrough, that this time I really understood what was going on – only to have a friend or colleague, often from the BBC's Vietnamese Service, point out some vital element of the story that I had no idea even existed. Many times I felt I was just describing ripples on the surface, while beneath great currents were at work. This book is an attempt to describe those currents.

Vietnam is in the middle of a revolution: capitalism is flooding into a nominally communist society, fields are disappearing under new industrial parks, villagers are flocking to booming cities and youth culture is blooming. Dense networks of family relationships are being strained by demands for greater personal freedom and traditions are being eroded by the lure of modern living.

It's one of the most breathtaking periods of social change anywhere, ever. Vietnam is a very different place, even from a decade ago. When Robert Templer wrote Shadows and Wind in the late 1990s, Vietnam was a sclerotic country mired in economic crisis and unwilling to make the changes necessary to unleash its innate dynamism. It still faces mighty challenges and it does so with a severely strained political system but it is also a country in the middle of – to use the official slogan – renovation. There is ambition everywhere: from the kids crammed into after-school English classes to the political leaders who want their country to catch up with the Tigers of East Asia. The question is whether the leaders' ambitions will match those of the masses. Can Communist Party-ruled Vietnam meet the aspirations of its people?

The signs, so far, are broadly positive. Vietnam has made great strides – delivering basic education, healthcare and a rising standard of living to almost everyone. Political leaders have passed on power without violence or crisis and are actively thinking about what they must do to remain in charge of a young, vibrant and ambitious society. Vietnam is proof that development can work; that a poor society can become better-off, and in a dramatically short period of time. International development agencies flourish there, basking in the reflected glory of the country's achievements. They hold up Vietnam as a model of economic liberalisation and political reform. The truth is not so straightforward.

Many people have assumed that, with billions of dollars of foreign investment piling into Vietnam, political change will inevitably follow. But liberalisation only began because of the need to feed and employ a burgeoning population and even now its limits are rigorously policed. The trappings of freedom are apparent on every city street but, from the economy to the media, the Communist Party is determined to remain the sole source of authority. Beneath the great transformation lurks a paranoid and deeply authoritarian political system. Vietnam's prospects are not as clear as they might first appear to outsiders. The risks of economic mismanagement, of popular dissatisfaction and environmental damage – made more dangerous by an intolerance of public criticism – mean the country's prospects are far from assured. Everything depends upon the Communist Party maintaining coherence and discipline at a time when challenges to stability are growing by the day.

The problem for the Party leadership is how to stay in control. The Party has never been a monolithic organisation; its rule depends on balancing the competing interests of a range of factions – from the army, to the bosses of state-owned enterprises and its rank and file members. In the past this gave it the flexibility to adapt and survive but now seems to prevent it from confronting the new elite who are twisting the country's development in their own favour and laying the ground for future crisis. As well-connected businesspeople build top-heavy empires with cosy links to cheap money and influence, people at the bottom are being squeezed by increases in the cost of living. The system often looks like, in the words of Gore Vidal, 'free enterprise for the poor and socialism for the rich'.

Vietnam has come a long way in the past 30 years but its evolution has often been through crisis. The contradictions inherent in simultaneously having communist control and eating capitalist cake have come to breaking point near the end of each decade: 1979, 1988, 1997 and 2008. Each time, the Party has found a peaceful way through but the resolution has only set the stage for the next battle. Future outcomes will depend on the balance of forces within the Communist Party and between the Party and outsiders. Anyone who has witnessed the motorised armadas of youth which circulate Vietnamese cities at weekends can appreciate the challenge the Party leaders face. Over the next few years a less hobbled society and vested interests will test and re-test the limits of what is possible while the Party centre tries to recapture power. Every day, petty conflicts are being fought in fields, cybercafés and offices. Whatever happens next is unlikely to be dull.

Copyright © 2010 by Bill Hayton. Excerpted with permission from Yale University Press.

**

There is an excellent review of this very candid book in the June 24, 2010 issue of The New York Review of Books, but it is available in full only to subscribers of the _online_ edition. I get the print edition and read it there. For the brief except available online, go to

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2010/jun/24/vietnam-now/?pagination=false

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Generation B - The Damage of Vietnam, Four Decades Later - NYTimes.com

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By MICHAEL WINERIP

SPRINGFIELD, Mass.

ON Aug. 26, 1966, Philip Van Cott’s Marine unit was ambushed in the jungles of Vietnam, a trip wire went off, a bomb exploded and shrapnel pierced a hole in his right hand. Mr. Van Cott, whose squad was in constant firefights during his five months in the jungle, was helicoptered to safety. He spent seven months in Japanese and American hospitals as the wound healed, completed his two-year tour in the States, then was honorably discharged.

In the years since, he has been married to the same woman, Karen, for nearly four decades, had two sons and a grandson, held several jobs, bought a home, owned a restaurant, spent 20 years with the post office and in 2006 at age 60, retired.

Nowadays, he paints in his studio several times a week, swims and lifts weights, attends 7:30 Mass on Sunday mornings, and travels with his wife. Every other Thursday, for the last 10 years, he has driven to the Veterans Administration Vet Center here where he gets therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder in connection with his Vietnam combat service.

He first went for help after threatening a supervisor at the post office, and nearly losing his job. “I had rages, and I was getting worse,” he said. “I was constantly embarrassing my family, screaming and hollering at people.”

He got into fistfights at Little League and high school football games. At night, asleep, he’d have nightmares, break into cold sweats, scream and flail at his wife. “It’s been going on so long, now she hears me wind up and wakes me before I do it,” he said.

When a V.A. psychiatrist diagnosed the disorder, Mr. Van Cott did not believe it — Vietnam was so long ago. They had him join a therapy group for Vietnam veterans. “I figured these guys were doing it to collect a disability check,” he said. “It took two to three years before I started realizing what I was doing was crazy.”

He now takes medications for anxiety and depression. And in therapy, he works on anger control. His wife thinks it’s helped, but he’s not sure. “I don’t know if you can escape what you are,” he said. In mid-August, he stormed out of a session at the Vet Center because he was sure his therapist was snubbing him. “He was late for our appointment, then walked by three times without saying anything,” Mr. Van Cott said.

While studies estimate as many as 20 percent of those now returning from Iraq and Afghanistan suffer from P.T.S.D., it is veterans like Mr. Van Cott, from a war nearly a half-century ago, who still dominate the administration’s P.T.S.D. caseload. In 2008, of the 442,695 people seen at veterans hospitals for P.T.S.D., 59.2 percent were Vietnam-era veterans, while 21.5 percent served in the Iraq, Afghanistan or Gulf wars.

The most authoritative study conducted on the disorder and Vietnam veterans, in 1988, the National Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Study, estimated that at the time, 500,000 of the 3.14 million Americans who served in Vietnam had P.T.S.D., and a total of 1 million had experienced it at some point.

Even as Vietnam veterans now enter their 60s and begin to die off, the number seeking P.T.S.D. treatment is growing — up 11.6 percent from 2003 to 2005, the latest figures available. “We have new Viet vets coming in every week,” said David Bressem, who runs the Vet Center clinic here and is Mr. Van Cott’s therapist.

On so many fronts, the country still pays for the Vietnam War. A veteran diagnosed with P.T.S.D. may receive over $3,000 a month if judged 100 percent disabled. That stipend comes out of the veterans compensation and pension system, which this year is expected to pay $44.7 billion for a variety of benefits, with the biggest share going to veterans of Vietnam and the current conflicts.

In Mr. Van Cott’s case, his therapist believes his problem predated the war (Mr. Van Cott was a tough kid who grew up on the streets of Brooklyn and liked to fight) and then was severely exacerbated by war.

Mr. Bressem said a large number of the Vietnam veterans he sees were slow to get help. P.T.S.D. wasn’t accepted as a formal diagnosis by the American Psychiatric Association until 1980 — years after many of the soldiers returned — and it took many more years for the V.A. to build the extensive mental health outreach system that exists today.

Karen Van Cott said that for first 20 years of their marriage, her husband never spoke of Vietnam. Only in the late 1990s, when he began going to reunions of Mike Company 3rd Battalion 7th Marines and she overheard the conversations, did she begin to understand his rages.

Said Mr. Van Cott, “I thought you go to Vietnam and kill a few people and forget about it. I thought guys who complained were full of it.”

Mr. Bressem said the aging Vietnam veterans who walk into his clinic are often in crisis — a third divorce, a lost job, an arrest — and have built up a lifetime of bad habits.

“That’s me,” said Mr. Van Cott. “I’ve been like this so long, I don’t know any other way.”

Mr. Bressem said they’re trying to reach the Afghan and Iraq veterans right away to prevent bad habits from developing. Asked how a veteran could still experience P.T.S.D. 40 years later, the therapist — himself an Army helicopter pilot shot down and severely wounded in Vietnam — turned to Mr. Van Cott and said, “How many firefights were you in?”

“Three or four a week.”

“And how long before you were wounded?”

“Five months.”

“Do the math,” Mr. Bressem said. “That’s 70 times in five months someone was trying to kill Phil here. Pretty intense experience.”

Mr. Van Cott said that during his tour, he knew about a dozen men who were killed. His Marine unit was the subject of one of the great Vietnam documentaries, “A Face of War,” by Eugene Jones, who followed the soldiers for three months of combat. Of the 18 Marines the film focused on, 12 were wounded (Mr. Van Cott is seen being hit and going down in the film); one was killed; and only five got out of Vietnam without a physical wound. There are also scenes of Vietnamese villages being burned to the ground by Mr. Van Cott’s unit for cooperating with the enemy and Vietnamese peasants dying.

When people ask how World War II veterans adjusted to civilian life in an era without a P.T.S.D. diagnosis, Ms. Van Cott mentions her father. He fought in North Africa, was honorably discharged, worked two to three jobs at a time to support his family and in his late 40s had what was then called a nervous breakdown — probably severe depression. He spent several weeks at a V.A. psychiatric hospital. “They sent you away back then,” she said. “They called it shell shock.”

At his most recent therapy appointment with Mr. Bressem, Mr. Van Cott started by discussing why he’d stomped out of their previous session angry. “Three times you walked right past me and ignored me,” Mr. Van Cott said.

“I passed you on my right side,” said Mr. Bressem. “Notice anything about my right eye?” Mr. Bressem is blind in the right eye, from his war wounds.

“I was talking to you,” Mr. Van Cott said.

“These don’t always work,” Mr. Bressem said, fingering his two hearing aids — also vestiges of the war.

“Geez,” Mr. Van Cott said. “You sound like my wife — you’re saying it’s not all about me. I spend my life apologizing to people.”

The session lasted an hour. Sometimes Mr. Van Cott talks about Vietnam; this time he didn’t. As he drove home on Interstate 91, some young punk tailgated him, then raced past. Mr. Van Cott started to raise his voice, his eyes flared, but then he let it go.

E-mail: Generationb@nytimes.com

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"The Last Resistance Generation": The Reintegration and Transformation of Freedom Fighters to Civilians in Timor-Leste

PAPER PRESENTED AT THE RMIT UNIVERSITY ‘HARII NASAUN IHA TIMOR-LESTE URBANU NO RURAL’ CONFERENCE, DILI, 8-10 JULY 2009.

Based on the research paper, ‘Forgotten Heroes or Bandidos? Timor Leste’s High Risk Youth: The long road to stability.’ [Sousa-Santos, draft, July 2009].

Contact Details: jss@sc-et.com

The Last Resistance Generation’:

The Reintegration and Transformation of Freedom Fighters to Civilians in Timor-Leste[1]

Jose Kai Lekke Sousa-Santos

The process of nationbuilding is a notoriously exclusive exercise despite the often used, but ill-exercised catch-cry ‘principle of participation’. The reality tends to be that the best intentions of the members of the international community often create an environment in which elements of the new society are often sequestered to the margins. In the case of Timor-Leste, these elements are mostly comprised of the last generation of freedom fighters to form the resistance movement and armed struggle against the Indonesian occupation. Referred to here as ‘the last resistance generation,’ this paper advances the argument that the failure to reintegrate and transform elements of this young demographic – many of whom are disenfranchised, unemployed, and poorly educated – has been a critical but not unforseen oversight of ten years of nationbuilding.

The failure to reintegrate and transform the last resistance generation is a paramount issue which continues to be, and has the potential to remain, in the worst case scenario, one of the central pillars or dynamics of instability in the process of nationbuilding and security sector reform(SSR). On the other hand, the best case scenario is that this issue will remain a fundamental socio-economic challenge to current and future leaders which will be responsible with the critical tasks of addressing the challenges of nation and statebuilding in a complex state such as Timor Leste. This paper examines the lack of a holistic approach addressing the reintegration and transformation of former informal and formal resistance groups leading to the marginalisation and disenfranchisement of this significant demographic, . This paper also highlights past and current state and international initiatives to reintegrate former recognized independence fighters into society, as well as unrecognized or uncategorized members of the resistance movement and also explores methods to positively transform, and engage this invaluable albeit potentially destabilising demographic.

A large number of these individuals and groups gained international notoriety as a consequence of the 2006 crisis. An underlying theme of this paper – in the words of one such prominent figure, “are we forgotten heroes or bandidos? And if they continue to call us bandidos, we will show them bandidos.” Unfortunately due to the attitudes sometimes shown by the international security forces, United Nations Police, and certain INGOs, the inadvertent demonization of these former heroes of the struggle for independence continues to occur and entrenches this culture of marginalisation.

Ten Years On

Timor-Leste now faces the same central predicament that most nations emerging out of war or civil strife experience: how does the state integrate those who fought or actively supported the struggle for independence and self-determination. Ten years of internationally managed or assisted initiatives, have yet to resolve this fundamental issue. Key grievances arisen from this demographic remain only partially addressed. Many of the youth who fought or were actively engaged in the struggle for independence – the last resistance generation– remain unacknowledged and are not included or able to fully participate in the economic, educational and state development accessible to many. This is mainly due to the traumatic factors which these young men and women faced during the Indonesian occupation from 1975-99. Moreover, during the ten years since the referendum, the opinions and solutions espoused by many well-meaning countries, humanitarian agencies, and international NGOs, on how to build the national security infrastructure,[2] have failed to fully take into account the historical and socio- cultural complexities. Hundreds of thousands of dollars and countless man-hours have been spent addressing the issue of security sector reform as part of the broader nationbuilding exercise – issues deemed by international stakeholders as paramount to the future stability of an emerging democracy in Timor-Leste. This paper does not advocate an across-the-board identification or solution to all these problems but rather seeks to address one of the key topics which, Timorese NGOs[3] advocating for disenfranchised youth and disaffected groups have red flagged as one of the few critical issues yet to be addressed and resolved.

The Marginalisation and Disenfranchisement of the ‘Last Resistance Generation’

Comprising what is termed here as ‘the last resistance generation,’ are a complex mix of countless remnants consisting of young former FALINTIL fighters; ritual arts groups and semi religious sects, of secret societies and clandestine youth cells incorporated into the structures of martial arts organisations. All were critical components of the resistance and independence movement which now ten years on from the referendum, continue to struggle with issues regarding cultural and national identity, deep-seated trauma, the loss associated with no longer fulfilling a vital role in society, and a fundamental sense of not belonging in mainstream civil society. The ongoing marginalisation of the last resistance generation by – and from - the process of nationbuilding underway in Timor-Leste since 1999, reflects a failure to genuinely acknowledge and address the historical role that many young Timorese played in the fight for independence, and threatens to undermine contemporary statebuilding efforts. The issue of marginalisation and disenfranchisement is by no means exclusive to this category. However, the inclusion, meaning participation and not just representation, of the last resistance generation, is of critical concern in the context of both security sector reform and national development.

The last resistance generation which played such a critical role during the final years of the struggle for independence now feel marginalised and/or discriminated against due to the lack of recognition for both their roles and involvement during the resistance leading to a loss of opportunities in education and socio-economic prosperity. A singularly common denominator – and occasionally unifying factor - amongst the majority of individuals and elements within these groups scattered throughout urban and rural Timor-Leste is the poverty of opportunity they have experienced and an overriding sense of not belonging. It is of no coincidence that a proportion within these groups are well-represented by a frequently quoted and critically important demographic fact: the largest demographic within Timor-Leste’s population is our youth and up to two-thirds of Timorese youth are either directly involved with or affiliated to martial arts, ritual arts or disaffected groups. This demographic combined – this last resistance generation – is potentially volatile as demonstrated during the 2006 crisis and presents an uncompromising security landscape which needs to be understood and engaged with by stakeholders, not demonised or further marginalised. This militaristic and often feared demographic should and could become Timor-Leste’s greatest resource.

Early DDRR Initiative

Despite early efforts in disarmament, demobilisation, reintegration and rehabilitation (DDRR) programmes, many young former FALINTIL remain at the margins of society. Over 1000 former FALINTIL fighters went through the reintegration program, but thousands of others remained dissatisfied with their treatment and the manner in which the new army had been established.[4] In 2001 this dissatisfaction led to the creation of a number of veterans’ organisations and riots in December 2002.[5] Former FALINTIL fighters under the age of 35 who do not qualify to be considered as veterans under current government legislation are to a large extent uneducated, lacking in vocational skills, and suffering from extensive post-traumatic stress disorder. For instance, young former FALINTIL fighters who were not integrated into the newly-formed defence or police forces mainly due to high levels of post-traumatic stress disorder and / or the lack of educational skills, such as literacy and numeracy, are relegated to accepting menial positions in the very State that they have sacrificed so much to create.

The FALINTIL Reinsertion Assistance Program or (FRAP) developed in 2000 under the UNTAET administration attempted to assist in the social and economic reintegration into civilian society of the 1,308 guerrilla fighters not selected to join the new East Timor Defence Force. Although a package consisting of: transport to their host communities; a transitional safety net of USD$500.00 provided over a 5 month period; a reintegration package or income generating activity; training; as well as job and medical referrals, it was not a long-term solution but rather provided initial support to the former combatants and did not engage or guarantee participation in the broader nation-building process.[6]

The Alkatiri / Fretilin Government created a secretary of state for veteran’s affairs and undertook the registering of veterans with the intention of granting pensions.[7] The caveat, however, is that only 350 veterans with service of fifteen years or more will receive monthly payments of calculated at USD$407 ($100 more a month than the public service salary). Veterans who have served eight to fourteen years only become eligible to receive a pension after the age of fifty-five. For many young fighters experiencing difficulties in accessing employment, education and vocational training, feel this to be unjust and discriminatory.

The transition from combatant life to civilian is shaped by context and it is arguable that for the transition, and therefore reintegration and transformation, to have a lasting impact, the unique cultural, historical, and social fabric and context of Timor-Leste must be an integral part of any strategy that seeks to address this issue. Particularly, the role of traditional leadership and power structures within Timor Leste, which comprises of large numbers of former combatants and clandestine elements – as central figures. The difficulties regarding the identification and validification of members of the clandestine movement has meant that as of yet there have been no similar programmes or initiatives to address and support the needs of these former clandestine elements and groups.

Former key elements of the independence movement such as formal and informal clandestine groups; ritual art groups; cells and elements within martial arts groups are at risk of morphing into disenfranchised and violent armed groups, organised criminal elements, and / or guns for hire.

Trauma and A Sense of Not Belonging = Violence and Instability

One of the critical and largely unaddressed consequences of the occupation is the widespread trauma experienced by those engaged both directly and indirectly in the struggle. Severe and untreated post-traumatic stress disorder has led to the elements who have contributed to the struggle being left at a disadvantage as opposed to the youth demographic which was not involved in the struggle for independence and was able to pursue and access a semi-normal life, for example, through educational, employment, and health care opportunities. Access to opportunities has better enabled this demographic to more easily integrate into an independent Timor-Leste and thereby overcome a certain level of trauma. Those who have little or no experience beyond the jungle and minimal opportunity to develop their skills beyond that of guerrilla warfare, civil disturbances, and the instigation of instability during the occupation, now find themselves within a vacuum regarding their identity, skill-sets, and a place and means in which to contribute to a now independent Timor-Leste. The lack of opportunity and sense of not belonging compounded by post-traumatic stress disorder can manifest in deep-seated resentment which will continue to maintain the availability of these groups as a source of political and civil instability.

A Source of Instability: Alternative Security Structures

The reintegration and transformation of young resistance veterans – including both FALINTIL and clandestine - into mainstream society is an essential component of nationbuilding and the mitigation of future conflict. It is of little coincidence that a number of the martial arts and ritual arts groups involved in the 2006-07 violence have their origins in the clandestine and guerrilla movement. Strong affiliations to both of the respective national security institutions – the F-FDTL and PNTL – as well as political parties and / or economic elites further necessitates the need for a comprehensive and holistic understanding and approach to transform past security and clandestine structures into the state apparatus. Due to their moral authority and legitimacy established during the occupation, many of these groups pose a challenge – and legitimate alternative - to state authority, specifically to the security sector and administrative institutions at the local and national levels.

Where to from here?

The approach advocated in this paper is a far more holistic, comprehensive, and socially appropriate approach that challenges those involved in SSR – the Government, the United Nations, international security stakeholders and INGOs– to engage this demographic not only in discussion but also into the security sector reform and nationbuilding process itself. Programmes initiated by local Timorese NGOs such as Uma Juventude, Ba Futuru, and many others, where selected young leaders from groups such as(7-7, 5-5, 3-3, 12-12, Fitar bua Malus, PSHT, KORK, Colimau Duah Ribuh and Sagrada Familia as well as Former FALINTIL fighters under the age of 35) were given the opportunity to engage in intensive training in conflict mediation, peacebuilding, and nationbuilding techniques, after completion of the programs the majority of participants have shown their effectiveness as agents of conflict mediation and change both at the grass-roots and national levels.

Academics and practitioners alike need to think outside the box and utilise programmes such as those conducted within the region in response to conflict in Bougainville and the Solomons Islands which gave young combatants the opportunity to experience possibilities beyond the jungle.

For instance, in response to the protracted civil war in Bougainville, the New Zealand Government invited leaders from the two warring factions from Bougainville on a study-tour of New Zealand where they were able to meet with Maori representatives and discuss traditional methods of maintaining nationhood and identity within a modern democratic state.

This eventuated in a change of attitudes on the part of the leaders of these warring factions, created bonds and understanding between the leaders based on mutual experience, and opened their eyes to the possibilities and benefits of dealing with long-standing conflicts and animosity through peaceful means within cultures similar to their own. This enabled Bougainvilleans to then peaceably address the long-standing self-determination movement between the Bougainvillean people and the Papua New Guinean state.

It is critical for the future peace and stability of Timor-Leste that all stakeholders involved in security sector reform – from the Timorese Government to the United Nations and all in between – that increased engagement with the last resistance generation is prioritised as it this group who themselves hold both the answers and the key to long-term security and stability in Timor Leste.

Selected References

International Crisis Group, ‘Timor-Leste: Security Sector Reform,’ Crisis Group Asia Report No 143, 17 January 2008.

King’s College of London, ‘Independent Study of Security Force Options and Security Sector Reform for East Timor,’ The Centre for Defence Studies, King’s College, London, September 2000.

McCarthy, John, ‘Falintil Reinsertion Assistance Program (FRAP), A Final Evaluation Report,’ (USAID: Dili, East Timor), June 2002.

Rees, Edward, ‘The UN’s failure to integrate FALINTIL veterans may cause East Timor to fail,’ Online Opinion Australia, 2 September 2003

Sousa-Santos, Jose, ‘Forgotten Heroes or Bandidos? The Last Resistance Generation of Timor-Leste’ [draft research paper], July 2009.

Sydney Morning Herald, ‘East Timor at flashpoint as disillusionment sets in,’ 14 December 2002.


[1] This paper was presented at the RMIT University‘Harii Nasaun iha Timor-Leste Urbanu no Rural’ conference, Dili, 8-10 July 2009, and is based on the research paper, ‘Forgotten Heroes or Bandidos? Timor Leste’s High Risk Youth: The long road to stability.’ [Sousa-Santos, draft, July 2009].

[2] The earliest and most influential of which was the King’s College of London, ‘Independent Study of Security Force Options and Security Sector Reform for East Timor,’ The Centre for Defence Studies, King’s College, London, September 2000. For a recent critique of security sector reform initiatives, see International Crisis Group, ‘Timor-Leste: Security Sector Reform,’ Crisis Group Asia Report No 143, 17 January 2008.

[3] Such as the national NGO Uma Juventude

[4] For a critical evaluation of the Falintil Reinsertion Assistance Program, see John McCarthy, Falintil Reinsertion Assistance Program (FRAP), A Final Evaluation Report, (USAID: Dili, East Timor), June 2002.

[5] ‘East Timor at flashpoint as disillusionment sets in,’ Sydney Morning Herald, 14 December 2002.

[6] John McCarthy, Falintil Reinsertion Assistance Program (FRAP), A Final Evaluation Report, (USAID: Dili, East Timor), June 2002, ibid. See also, Edward Rees, ‘The UN’s failure to integrate FALINTIL veterans may cause East Timor to fail,’ Online Opinion Australia, 2 September 2003.

[7] International Crisis Group (2003), ‘Timor-Leste: Security Sector Reform,’ p.20.