The 20th century German author, Christian Morgenstern, wrote : “There is a ghost that eats handkerchiefs; it keeps you company on all your travels.”
I wish it were only handkerchiefs.
The 20th century German author, Christian Morgenstern, wrote : “There is a ghost that eats handkerchiefs; it keeps you company on all your travels.”
I wish it were only handkerchiefs.
Glenn Thomas, WHO media officer, profoundly influenced the course of my life and that of my husband. He was a catalyst for the change of direction we made, from BBC journalism into aid and development work. Without Glenn, my business may not have taken the direction it has – I certainly wouldn’t be surrounded by my inspirational, world-changing colleagues, most of whom I met through this kind, funny and committed man.
As communication officer for WHO’s TB campaign, he was innovative and dogged in his resolve to make us all aware of the dangers of tuberculosis. He was frustrated by the world’s slow response to the disease and the consequent proliferation of drug-resistant strains. This is one of the Big Three diseases – the others being AIDS and malaria. Its impact on people living with HIV is terrible – one in four now die of TB rather than AIDS.
Glenn was part of the WHO team who forged a partnership with the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation to address this. When the Foundation awarded a multi-million dollar grant to modernize China’s TB programme, Glenn announced this to us proudly over a drink. It was characteristic: his face lit up, his voice gentle: “We did it. We did it.”
My husband, Mervyn Fletcher and I met him when we were seconded to WHO in Geneva from the BBC and assisted him in preparations for World TB Day. This secondment was Glenn’s idea, nothing like it had been done before and he and the doctors we worked with were enthusiastic. It was February 2005, a few weeks after the tsunami. Mervyn and I had supper on our last night in Geneva with someone from UNICEF whom we’d never met before. Within a few weeks my husband had joined the agency. We sold up in London, cast ourselves off from the BBC mother ship and headed for the tsunami disaster zone in Banda Aceh, Indonesia.
I was the “trailing spouse”, without a structured career for the first time since I was 18. Suddenly, Glenn popped up with another New Idea just when I most needed him – this has become a feature of the past eight years. Working with formidable women from the US pressure group, Results Educational Fund, and the head of the Lilly Fund (until recently, Eli Lilly produced critical medication to be held in reserve for patients with drug resistant forms of TB) we devised a training course for people who have become known as “TB Champions”. Patient-activists, doctors and celebrities from all over the world were coached to give media interviews and challenge the politicians who control national health programmes. It was business like, targeted and very exciting. The first courses took place in the US. After a few days, the most outstanding “alumni” were whisked off on advocacy tours of the US and addressed senators and congressmen on Capitol Hill.
That the course continues today, in different African cities, is a tribute to Glenn and to his vision.
The TB Champions astonish me with their tenacity and energy, often in spite of chronic illness. Many would never have set foot outside their home towns had they not had the luck to survive TB and consequently become activists. Years have passed but I still remember the suffering of the young Ethiopian pharmacy student who was hospitalized for two years. He saw fellow patients commit suicide because they could no longer bear the toxic treatment for drug-resistant TB. The doctor from Botswana who wept as he described how he’d founded his own clinic in memory of his best friend. The medical director from Delhi who stood guard outside the hospital room of a female patient, preventing her husband from serving divorce papers because he couldn’t stand the stigma of his wife having the disease.
Had it not been for Glenn, I would never have met Carol Nawina Nyirenda, an alumni of our second course. Carol has since founded her own NGO in Zambia. Earlier this year, the Dalai Lama appointed her one of his “Unsung Heroes” at a ceremony in San Francisco.http://newunsungheroes.org/2014-event/2014-unsung-heroes-of-compassion/carol-nawina-nyirenda/
I am now the support person when she leads training sessions. I can’t begin to describe the depth of my affection and respect for this woman, nor how she and all our other champions have enriched my life. This weekend I helped Carol to prepare a session she’d be chairing at the Melbourne AIDS conference, interviewing the President of Botswana. What undreamed-of journeys she and I have made.
How many people can be described as genuinely bringing about change? Very few, especially those who, like the TB Champions, were rarely born into privilege. Yet, by force of circumstances and their own charisma they are holding to account the authorities who control their national health services.
They are modest and unaware of how remarkable they are. That epithet also applies to Glenn.
He never gave up. With gentleness, humour, charm and tenacity he was making a difference.
The conduct of the thugs at the crash scene in Donetsk disturbs me acutely. I cannot imagine the suffering of Glenn’s partner Claudio and his beloved family. I am trying to focus on the happy moments I spent with Glenn, sitting up late after training courses over beers or listening to him drily and affectionately recounting the camping holiday he’d arranged for his sister’s kids one chilly English summer.
I want them and Claudio to know how grateful I am to Glenn for putting my husband and myself on the road to a fulfilled life, surrounded by people who inspire us.
The world, also, has cause to be grateful to Glenn for the work he has done.
With the loss of so many community leaders, and everyday life resembling little of how it was before, there have been opportunities for strong characters with leadership qualities to come to the fore.
When Gia arranges one of the regular village meetings she knows she has to ensure the women speak up.She repeats what happened in her own training to be a facilitator. “I ask individuals for their views, give them a marker pen and get them to write up their ideas on a big chart I’ve pinned to the wall.”
Water supplies are at issue in much of tsunami-hit Aceh, especially as ground water has been contaminated by the sea.
“Water is an example of why women’s views must be taken into account during reconstruction, says Gia, 26.
“Most of women’s activities involve dealing with water – cooking, bathing children. It is essential that the aid donors and government listen to them and get them involved in planning the supply network.”
Australia (AusAID) is providing AUD 40 million (about US$ 32 million) to assist the Acehnese in building strong governance and re-establishing village communities. Two hundred community facilitators like Gia have received training in leadership, problem solving and negotiation.
This unique programme, to ensure that the tsunami-devastated communities of Aceh got their views heard in the reconstruction process, is being funded by the Australia Indonesia Partnership for Reconstruction and Development (AIPRD). Village facilitators, often survivors themselves, have been carefully chosen and trained to help people lobby government and donors. Women’s empowerment is key. The views of women are especially vital but in today’s Acehnese society women sit separately and often stay silent in meetings where men are present. To address this, half of the 200 facilitators are female as are most of their trained assistants, known as cadres.
The village Gia was assigned to, Meunasah Lhok, in the district of Lhoong, has recently relocated from beside the sea to a safer spot at the foot of mountains. During 30 years of conflict between the GAM rebels and the Indonesian army, which ended in 2005, this was a rebel area. It is a beautiful verdant setting, served by clean water from a river descending from the hills. a child is playing in the river, watched by his mother. There are rows of smart, new wooden houses on stilts, decorated with flowerpots. There are separate shower and toilet blocks and communal areas to wash clothes. If you didn’t know better, you would think it a contented place.
As I wade through long grass and mud (it has just rained) the loneliness is tangible. Only 100 people live here – 200 more died. Most of those who survived were away when the tsunami struck. Now many of them live in their new huts alone – most unnatural for Indonesians, who are accustomed to being in large family groups.
It takes Gia an hour and half to get there by motorbike, along the temporary unmade road from Banda Aceh. Children on their way to and from school run and wave until she stops to give them a ride. She’s had to deal with punctures and tumbles and she jokes that she always arrives covered in dirt and with lungs full of dust.
The villagers did not take to her at first – she is a strong character with, to them, a strange accent. The daughter of an Acehnese, she left as a schoolgirl and studied in the city of Medan, just over the provincial border in north Sumatera. “My father wanted a son and brought me up as a boy. He always encouraged me to speak up.” She returned to Aceh to join the relief effort.
To win people over, Gia endured the same harsh conditions and lived in a tent just like everyone else. However there were more shocks in store for them.
“I realised that the important decisions were being taken in the coffee shop, by the men. I went and joined them – something that’s just not done. I continued to do this and now they call me over to join them. I’m the only woman who’s invited though.”
Just as people were moving out of their tents and into their new permanent homes, calamity threatened again. After heavy rains, torrents of water were descending from the hills and threatening to flood them. The only bridge, newly constructed by an American team, was damaged and villagers feared it would be rendered unusable. As it was their only route onto the road this would be disastrous. Gia waded waist high through water until she found a motorbike. She rode 10 kilometers along the rocky, temporary road and persuaded the American team to bring out their heavy equipment. They repaired the bridge while she lamented the loss of her AIPRD raincoat, which had been washed away.
We talk inside the hut belonging to one of the village cadres, Darmawi. He is the one on whom she relies the most.
“One of my responsibilities was to choose a team of five assistants who would receive training themselves in leadership and negotiating skills,” she says. “I was looking for those who, in spite of what had happened, were in relatively high spirits. At the meetings, Darmawi would always be there with ideas for the future.”
“Darmawi is a 28 year old fisherman who was at sea when the tsunami struck. It took him a month to get home, to find that all 38 members of his family had perished. “
In his new one-roomed hut, we sit on the floor to chat. The mattress is propped against the wall. There’s a single burner stove in one corner, a frying pan, and a broom. Jeans and t-shirts are tossed across a line. In the early days, he saw Gia as the means for him to look beyond his own tragedy. He happily tolerates what would seem to some men bold behaviour. As we chat, Gia lights a cigarette. It is highly unusual for women here to smoke. Moreover, it is the fasting month. I raise my eyebrows and she grins and explains she has dispensation from all the fasting rules because she is menstruating.
Darmawi explains how the cadre training gave him confidence.
“I learned how to negotiate,” he says. “First I went to our old village chief and suggested to him that he could take a rest – it was time for the younger men to take on this hard work.
“What we needed was somewhere safe to live. I approached villagers near here to ask if we could buy some of their land to live on. It was difficult to reach a price but my training definitely helped me.”
He then asked the government agency responsible for tsunami reconstruction, the BRR, for money. Once they’d agreed, rebuilding could then begin.
Encouraged by Gia, villagers have formed self-help groups and with money provided by NGOs they are starting small businesses.
Gia looks back on the past year:
“I have made an impact here. The community was so pessimistic when I arrived. I encouraged them to become more active. But I followed their rhythm patterns, I didn’t impose anything. Gradually they have taken control and made change.”
Gia would concur with the widely held view that women in Aceh have long been considered more outspoken than their sisters in some other Indonesian provinces.
“The Acehnese are traders. For generations they have had to sell their wares by being forthright and shouting,” says Professor of Humanities at the University of Indonesia, Gadis Arivia,(pictured, right) who spent holidays in Aceh with her grandmother during the 1980s. Recently she has been a guest lecturer in women’s studies at Syiah Kuala University in Banda Aceh.
“During the conflict between GAM and the Indonesian army, women as well as men were victims. They had to take on extra responsibilities because their men were dead. They had to earn money and bring up their children alone.
“Some young women even had their own rebel unit, Inong Bale, where they were taught to be tough and to defend themselves.”
In 2002, sharia law was introduced. It became compulsory to wear the jilbab. Women could go out after dark only if accompanied by their “muhrim” – a male relative.
“Many women now will tell you their role is to stay at home and raise their children. Of course, the poor continued to work because they had no choice and the tsunami further changed circumstances.
“Life is so difficult for those affected by the tsunami. All their energies have been put into how to survive, get food and put the kids through school.”
Professor Gadis and her team from the University of Indonesia visited Aceh in March 2005 to survey how women and children were faring in temporary barracks.
“Life was tough. Terribly traumatised women were doing all the work – cooking, washing, fetching water, taking care of the children without having time to take care of themselves. This is why it’s so important to listen to what they need.”
Two hours up the road from Gia’s village, in Ruyung, west of Banda Aceh, is Dewi, 23.
Dewi had been studying to be a counsellor, living in a students’ hostel in Banda Aceh. “I was in my room on the day of the tsunami. I felt the earthquake then people started shouting that water was coming. I just ran. I could feel it wasn’t far behind but I managed to get to a two-storey house and shelter there.”
She worked as a children’s counsellor until she joined the facilitator programme.
“It’s interesting how my life has changed and how confident I’ve become. I remember I couldn’t wait to leave village life behind and get to Banda Aceh as a student, but now I love the dynamics of working in a small community.”
She has had to learn to deal with men and show them she means business. “I dress carefully, to engender respect. The young ones know they can’t hassle me.”
At first, when she was collecting information about the survivors, she realised that they were so wary of what she would do with it that they wouldn’t tell her the truth.
“I had to use all my skills of persuasion – something else that was covered in facilitator training. I explained that I had been a victim too, and would not misuse the data. It took a month or two. Now I feel accepted as one of the family.”
AIPRD recently provided an infrastructure grant to Ruyung and Dewi’s role was to help the community decide how to spend it. After rigorous meetings they drew up a list of priorities.
“My training – both as a facilitator and before that as a counselor – enabled me to show them the alternatives and the possible results. In the end they chose to build a bridge to replace the one that was severely damaged in the tsunami.
“This is a fishing community and without the bridge they’ve had to wade through the water, carrying their catch to the road. With the bridge they can transport the fish by motorbike.”
She pictures herself as a flea! “I’m always there, jumping from place to place, from problem, to problem.”
With the loss of so many community leaders, and everyday life resembling little of how it was before, there have been opportunities for strong characters with leadership qualities to come to the fore. One of those is 19 year old Ermalisa, who lives on the coast at Paya Kaneung, 40 kilometers west of Banda Aceh.
Her mother had drowned as the family crossed a river to safety. Ermalisa took over the care of her 3 younger siblings and her father. The village elders spotted that she had the qualities to inspire and voted for her to be a cadre. In a meeting with older cadres and the village chief, she is not afraid to voice her opinions, even interrupting them.
“The training course forced me to speak in public on different topics. I am far more confident,” she explains.
She has focused her energies towards her peer group. She feels there’s not enough to occupy teenagers and children in the village. During Ramadhan she was busy organising games and competitions. Her village facilitator had arranged a computer course for youngsters and she used her new skills to write letters to NGOs asking for money for prizes. She’s now also using the computer to help her as she studies to be a teacher.
The man responsible for the facilitator and cadre program is Lalu Suhaytman, of AIPRD. He designed the training and took part in the recruitment.
“The cadres are the agents for change in every village,” he says. “Many of the bright ideas in the redevelopment process have been from them.”
Women formed a micro-credit collective which men were not allowed to join.
In Calang, a devastated area still struggling to recover, cadres in one village noticed that women weren’t turning up to meetings. They arranged a special “women-only” gathering. One of the topics discussed was the idea of small loans – or microcredit. A women’s collective was formed. They received training in book-keeping and how to manage their money. They opened a joint bank account, using loans to develop their businesses – typically small shops and fisheries.“They started with 10 members and quickly grew to 80,” says Lalu. “Men are allowed to borrow money, for example to pay for motorbike repairs, but they’re not allowed to be managers. If the cadres hadn’t arranged that special meeting none of this would have happened.”
Professor Gadis acknowledges that the facilitator and cadre programme is positive.
“Getting women into decision making and giving them access to information, giving them the courage to ask questions is all very important.”
Lalu is planning to extend the facilitator and cadre programme. Another 1,500 cadres will be trained before the end of the year.
“At the beginning of this project my vision was to support the people so they could rebuild their lives. I never imagined that, within a year, there would be all these hundreds of people working towards that same goal. I am very proud.”
How does someone who loses everything and everyone they have loved — in a few minutes — continue with their life? The most remarkable aspect of my work as a feature writer for the AusAID reconstruction programme in Aceh was meeting people who were emerging as leaders, managing to think about the future, having ideas. In one village, one of those leaders was a 19 year old girl (see my feature: Women of Aceh Find their Voices).
And in the run-up to the first elections for governor and deputy governor in Aceh, tiny tsunami-hit communities organised their own local elections to international standards.
“Our election has been conducted to the same rigorous standards as the Indonesian presidential election. The count was no different to the counting for the House of Representatives”
says Khusnun, the election chairman for the village of Kareung in the sub-district of Lhoong, a former conflict area 55 kilometers from Banda Aceh.
Kareung is now a tiny community of 140 – a third of its original size. Most of the residents are men who were away when the tsunami struck. The mosque was the only building to survive and became a potent image. Khusnun, 45, is a man of extraordinary resilience. He had been away with his wife, returning to discover his entire extended family had perished. As a school principal, he also lost more than half of his pupils.
First, he turned his attention to rehousing those villagers who remained. He raised funds from an NGO to enable the villagers – mostly farmers and fishermen – to buy a disused clove plantation in the mountain foothills. As you approach their temporary settlement, it looks colourful and bright, a contrast to the still devasted landscape surrounding the mosque a kilometer away. There are gardens stocked with flowers, fruit and vegetables all surrounded by fences to protect them from the goats. Further up the mountain they are planting chilli and peanuts to compensate for the lost rice paddies.
Khusnun’s temporary home is comfortable. A photograph of his two daughters, now dead, is on the wall. There’s a large radio in the corner. A neighbour nurses her new baby in an adjoining room as he sits with his colleagues from the election committee on the floor.
Khusnun is a veteran of three elections for village chief, or geuchik.
“The difference this time was in our planning and the look of our ballot paper. These were ideas we got from our election workshop,” Khusnun says.
He came up with the idea of a workshop when he discussed plans for the election with Kareung’s “community facilitator”, Badlisyah.
Badlisyah, 22, had been living and working in the village for about six months, as part of a program called LOGICA – the Local Government and Infrastructure for Communities in Aceh project. His role has been to help traumatized people to identify and decide what they will need when their villages are rebuilt. He then works with them to lobby aid donors and the government so they have well-planned homes and utilities.
LOGICA is sponsored by the Australia Indonesia Partnership for Reconstruction and Development (AIPRD) and is staffed almost entirely by Acehnese. Australia is providing AUD 40 million (about US$32 million) to assist the Acehnese in building strong governance and re-establishing village communities. Two hundred community facilitators like Badlisyah have received training in leadership, problem solving and negotiation. Hundreds more villagers have trained as their cadres, or assistants. There have been grants to fund smaller projects which nevertheless help a community get back to normality, such as building fences, bridges, roads and village halls.
LOGICA has two other major programmes in addition to its communities project: it is re-establishing land ownership through land mapping (carried out by Acehnese engineering and architecture graduates) and spatial planning; and it is strengthening sub district governments by building completely new offices or providing equipment and training.
The community yearned to move forward but for a while they couldn’t see how.
Badlisyah was a chemistry student at IAIN – Institut Agama Islam Negeri Ar-Raniry, or the State Institute of Islamic Studies, before the tsunami. He too was a survivor, sheltering in a mosque while his family was saved by hanging onto trees.
“Afterwards I thought: there must be something I can do to help people, by sharing my experience and skills.”
In his discussions with Khusnun about an election, he drew on his own experience of student democracy.
“I suggested that the village might like a more modern election by getting the candidates to take part in a debate and present their manifestos. This was how we did it at the university.”
The two men approached LOGICA for information. The upshot was a seminar organized by LOGICA’s local governance adviser, Mohammad Najib, with the sub-district head. Representatives of four other villages who were planning elections also attended. They saw examples of polls in India and Pakistan, and went into detail about the Indonesian electoral process. They looked at different types of ballot papers and counting methods.
Leaders of the workshop raised difficult questions, such as: “What happens if a candidate is related to a member of the election committee?”
During detailed discussions villagers decided which methods would work best for their particular circumstances.
“For the count, the sub-district suggested having a box for each candidate. People would put their ballot papers into the box of their choice,” says Khusnun.
“But we decided instead to have one ballot paper with photographs of all the candidates. We followed the example of the presidential election. From a practical point of view it helped our elderly voters who have difficulty seeing to read.”
The Kareung election committee went away and nominated three candidates who had to prepare manifestos and take part in a debate. The eventual winner, Salahuddin, a 28 year old construction worker, admits to having been apprehensive and surprised.
“They turned up at my house one evening and asked me to stand. They said they wanted me to prepare a speech and take part in a debate with two other candidates.
“I was nervous on the day but I’d reached the point of no return so I just did it.
In my presentation I said I would work honestly and strive to make the village prosperous. I promised I’d only take decisions based on discussions in community meetings, I wouldn’t act alone.”
Villagers posed questions, asking, for example, what would happen if an NGO came to the geuchik and offered money. Would he involve them in the decision as to how to spend it?”
Salahuddin promised them: “I will never hide anything. If I can’t keep my word I will step down.”
The community say they chose Salahuddin because he has been active in the reconstruction and rehabilitation of their village. The son of a religious leader, they see him as honest and dedicated to their welfare.
Before election day, all voters received an invitation letter which they took along to the polling station. When they collected their ballot paper they inspected it with a member of the election committee to ensure it was clean and unused. On the back of every ballot paper were official logos and stamps to allay any fears of fraud.
Separate polling booths were protected by curtains for privacy. Voters punched the photograph of their favoured candidate with a nail, folded it and put the paper in a box.
The head of security for the election, Mukhtar, only just had time to vote before he was called away – his wife had gone into labour in Banda Aceh! But the procedures he’d put in place prevailed on the day.
“The counting was no different from the House of Representatives,” says Khusnun. “Before we opened the box we asked the candidates and people present if we needed more time, as some students who were away in Banda Aceh hadn’t been able to get here. Once the majority decided we should proceed, we unlocked the box.
“We asked LOGICA representatives to be witnesses. They were shown every paper before it was counted.”
Of the 87 registered voters, 69 took part in the ballot. Salahuddin was the clear winner, with 40 votes He formed a community forum to choose the village secretary and other leaders. The secretary’s post was filled by one of the other candidates, Abdulrahman.
“Both Abdulrahman and my other opponent, Muhibuddin , are strong characters with leadership qualities. They could fill several different posts,” says the new geuchik.
The committee will shortly receive training from LOGICA in all aspects of village administration, from letter writing to filing.
“In five years time, when my tenure is up, I want to see roads restored and in good condition.
“By then our temporary houses will have outlived their life and I would hope we will all be resettled on our old land in permanent brick homes. We’ve already started to build them. That is what I shall be working for.”
Khusnun will be concentrating on his school.
“I lost six of my teachers. Two others who live in Kareung have joined me and I have recruited young graduates.
“My school had won awards in the past. It was the best in the area. My ambition is to bring it back to its old standards but that will take around five years.”
The young community facilitator is full of admiration for these two men who have faced down catastrophic loss.
“I respect the way these two men take decisions. They always have meetings and forums. That’s why there is so little dispute.”
He praises Khusnun:
“He is the type of man every village needs. With his background as a school principal he has integrity and despises corruption and nepotism. What makes him a truly great person is that he encourages the participation of people, he doesn’t push himself forward.”
The new village chief lost 36 members of his family that day.
Badlisyah also pays tribute to his new geuchik. “He is so active in all community affairs. He’ll often stay up until three in the morning to finish reports on what he’s done. He is slow but sure. He speaks slowly and softly but he’s always focused. He knows what he is talking about.”
“The community yearned to move forward but for a while they couldn’t see how. The election gave them the opportunity. It has been a huge boost. Their achievement is something other villages can learn from.”
Indeed, already there have been 4 elections organised by communities who attended the same workshop.
Mohammad Najib, LOGICA’s local governance adviser who helped run the original workshop, also sees the election as a positive step:
“Acehnese people look up to their leaders and the key to a village’s recovery is the quality of the leadership.”
He is passionate about what has been achieved.
“Even in the villages where people may not be highly educated they enjoy the electoral process, they take it seriously. The villages are setting the example.”
A version of this story appeared in Tempo Magazine, Indonesian Time, on December 4, 2006.