Almost all.

The political scene here is small enough that everyone knows each other. In some cases, this acquaintance borders on respect, even camaraderie. But in a few cases, familiarity has bred a special kind of contempt. As potential coalition line-ups are considered, the question, often enough, is which players are capable of sitting together in the same room long enough to agree about anything.

Though it was most pronounced in the 1990s, fickleness has been the hallmark of Vanuatu politics for almost two decades now. Outgoing PM Ham Lini survived a record 5 motions of no confidence against him during his time in office.

What’s remarkable about that record is not the number of motions, but the fact that he survived them all.

Stability has come at a price these last few years. Tolerance has been shown for ministerial shenanigans that would make even a Republican Congressman blush. The bar was set too low, many people say; all that’s required to remain in the Club is a guaranteed vote of support for the PM. You can wreck your car, beat your wife, make public debauchery your calling card – it’s all good as long as you’re there on the day of the vote.

Still, the stability that Ham Lini’s government has managed to muster these last 4 years is a notable departure from the game of musical chairs that characterised the late 1990s. And in fairness, just being sure that you’d be seeing the same faces from one day to the next has made some very important work possible. Not the least of these is the USD 68 million infrastructure investment from the Millennium Challenge Account. The (so far) successful liberalisation of the telecoms market is another feather in the governance cap that Ham Lini and Edward Natapei can rightly lay claim to.

But everything is up in the air again. The local book on a prospective VP/NUP coalition has it as next best to a sure thing. That gets them most of a simple majority, though the exact number is still unclear.

The only other major bloc would involve the UMP and VRP, but leaders Serge Vohor and Maxime Carlot Korman spent most of the 1990s trying to stick the knife in. It’s commonly said that they hate each other with a passion.

Plus, the talk around town is that Serge’s brief, abortive reversal of Vanuatu’s One China policy has made him toxic to the other major parties, most of whom have formally befriended the Chinese Communist Party. So, most people reason, there’s simply no safe way to include Vohor or his UMP in any governing coalition. In effect, sign a deal with him and you’re in the Opposition.

Thing is, Korman’s mercurial reputation is starting to give people pause as well. Even while he occupied the position of Minister of Lands, he was spotted around town professing the need for a change. The Daily Post reports that he’s making noises about requiring the PM’s position before his party joins any coalition. Most observers are openly skeptical about his chances, but everyone admits that stranger things have happened in the name of expediency.

So where does that leave us? Well Greens leader Moana Carcasses and PPP head Sato Kilman have apparently been trying to make common cause for a while. If the unofficial election results are any reflection of reality, they’ve got MPs enough to comprise the missing third piece of a stable coalition. Assuming, that is, that VP and NUP claims concerning affiliated independents pan out.

But there’s room for a great deal of squabbling over spoils. Even if Green/PPP operate as a block, there’s no doubt that both Sato, who’s already served as Deputy PM and Foreign Minister, and Moana, who most recently had a stint in Finance before being bumped into Opposition, would each expect to be rewarded handsomely in exchange for their support.

This could leave VP with few spots to give to their own. Local wags are quick to note that there’s no love lost between young buck Harry Iauko and some of the senior members of the VP establishment. If his remarkable vote numbers survive scrutiny, he’ll have demonstrated that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Party leader Natapei might even have to consider the prospect of passing his own party over for the top role in order to avoid a dogfight.

It’s early days yet. Many a bucket of kava will be emptied and many pigs will die before we spectators get a clear indication of what our next government will look like.

How the mighty have fallen. As Vanuatu counts the votes from Tuesday’s election, it’s becoming increasingly evident that some of the figures who have dominated the political scene in Vanuatu since Independence are falling by the wayside.

In my last column, I argued that policy and principle had suffered such neglect in recent years that Vanuatu voters had turned inward, trading their votes for the most direct and straightforward rewards. Saucepans and bags of rice had become the currency of the electorate, because promises never came to anything. A week later, we appear to be witnessing the demise of some of the strongest proponents of this practice.

According to some, that’s not entirely good news.

As the deadline approaches, preliminary results indicate that a number of younger candidates have made a forceful entry onto the political stage. Independent Ralph Regenvanu’s reform message appears to have given him one of the largest pluralities of any candidate in Vanuatu’s political history.

Bakoa Kaltongga, until recently Edward Natapei’s right-hand man, has used his extensive network in rural Efate to push past the post in a constituency previously dominated by strongman Barak Sope. The picture is muddy and conflicting reports are rife, but it appears lean numbers for Sope have left him on the razor’s edge.

In the south, VP candidates Ture Kailo and Harry Iauko look like they’ll provide the cap for a strong VP showing throughout TAFEA province. Iauko’s first-place finish in the decidedly fractious Tanna constituency has led some to moot the idea that a palace coup within the party might hamstring VP at the very moment of its victory.

Among those most at risk of elimination are people once deemed unassailable: Barak Sope, VRP headman Maxime Carlot Korman[*], NUP perennial Willy Jimmy, recently dethroned VP heavyweight Sela Molisa. It’s not yet clear who will survive, but the gauntlet has clearly been thrown. Many of these characters were in the thick of things in the turbulent 1990s, when instability and near-chaos reigned.

It’s clear that we’re seeing the first signs of generational change in the political landscape, but numerous sources question whether this implies substantive change in policy or political practice. Regenvanu was categorical in his disappointment with the political landscape as it currently appears. “I thought more people would vote for change,“ he said.

Regenvanu is not alone in noting that many of the newcomers may not have sat in Parliament before, but they’re no strangers to the political scene. One observer noted wryly that this is very much a case of the apprentices defeating their masters.

For the most part, campaigns were conducted as they always have been, with lavish volumes of food, kava and other consumables at every rally. Regenvanu maintains that he is the only top-tier candidate in Port Vila who didn’t provide an operating base camp replete with all the emoluments that many voters have come to expect.

He claims it’s no coincidence that his approach appealed to voters from communities throughout Port Vila. “I was elected by the most diverse, most well-informed, well-educated constituency in Vanuatu,” he said, underlining the beneficial effects of transparency and information exchange on society.

He went on to contrast that with the community-centric bloc-voting approach of his competitors.

At this early stage, all signs point to VP and NUP forming the core of a coalition quite similar in composition to the last government. There’s even been scuttlebutt about the possible reunification of the two parties, now that most of the belligerents who brought about the split are out of the picture.
This might make political life more predictable, but it doesn’t imply fundamental change. Those who sigh with relief at the prospect of a reversal in the trend toward factionalism express reservations about slow progress in the same breath.

The question, then, is what role will be played by this new generation of political players? Some have demonstrated their adeptness at manoeuvring within existing party structures. Will they feel the desire or the need to use the traditional political toolkit differently, or to supplement it with new approaches?

Ralph Regenvanu’s campaign offers one compelling lesson: It is indeed possible to run against the traditional grain, to win votes across the board by running a populist, principled campaign. Whether others choose to follow his example remains to be seen.

It’s too soon to speculate about the roles and responsibilities these new personalities will take on in the new Parliament. Observers see far too many variables in play to feel confident in their prognostications. Will the powers that be try to co-opt these new entrants into the field? Will Iauko attempt to complete his ascendancy by vying for the VP crown?

And what to make of a fiery independent who has already drawn the ire of some of the aging establishment lions? Would it be better, as US President Lyndon Johnson famously said, to have him inside the tent, pissing out, or outside the tent, pissing in? When asked if he saw himself playing an Opposition role, Regenvanu laughed and said, “I sure hope not!”

This is gossip, not reporting.

Final Update: Okay, it’s time to call it a day on this thread. I’ve been cross-referencing sources all over town, and the only thing that’s clear is that nothing is clear. The electoral office is not releasing numbers, and until they do there’s just too much inaccuracy – some of it certainly agenda-driven – to rely on at all. I won’t suggest you completely disregard what lies below; just take it all with a bucketful of salt.

(Update: Note that this page seems to contradict the previous. Ralph’s site was down just a little while ago, so they might have reverted to an earlier version to get the site back online. One source told me that they kept updating until late into the night, but ultimately left off. I take this to mean that his site is not at all accurate at the moment. Only goes to show that everything we say about the results at this stage is nearly pure speculation.)

(‘Nother update: I’ve talked to a few more people, and though minor details vary, the numbers in the first link appear to be indicative of the situation, if not perfect in detail. Candidate names, as compared with three other sources, seem to be more or less correct, and increasingly complete. Just got feedback from someone who’s a bit of an authority on this stuff, and apparently there are some significant discrepancies in the list above. Unfortunately, there is no canonical site for this, and little authoritative information online anywhere. That doesn’t change much of the prognostication below, however.)

(September 4, 08:00: Updated yet again to reflect new information and comments below.)

As the passing of a single day has shown, it’s remarkably easy to be wrong about even larger details. This article is starting to look like wikipedia in the middle of an edit war, but I’ll not be removing details, no matter how embarrassing to me. I feel that this is the best testament to the fluidity of the situation, and perhaps the most persuasive argument possible for greater transparency and information sharing.

My back-of-the-napkin analysis is getting rather long-winded, but I’m not (yet) willing to split it out into separate posts, so I’ll push it below a cut. Many more details follow….

Perhaps most interesting is Ralph Regenvanu‘s significant victory. If the linked numbers are correct (and that’s increasingly likely) he’s won more votes in Port Vila than any other candidate in several election cycles (some say ever).

Update: This morning’s Daily Post is suggesting that Ralph’s vote count will likely come close to 2000. If that’s correct, it makes his election not only a landslide, but a strong argument for broad-based, populist political campaigns.

Consensus seems to be that this is a historic, record-setting win. No exit polling is done here, so it’s impossible to develop those lovely demographic crosstabs that pundits so love. Informal commentary seems to indicate, though, that Ralph has scored well across all polling stations. I’d love to know how many new voters figure in this number. Unfortunately, we’ll only ever have anecdotal data to work with on this count.

The question for historians is: Does this mark the rise of a popular candidate, or the start of a popular movement, or both?

Unless something else comes up before my deadline, this will be the top story of the election.

Depending on how some of the older party heavyweights feel about him – and some are really not amused – Ralph might well find himself with a hand on the balance of power. This might serve as a useful counterweight to Korman and his colleagues if a VP/NUP/VRP coalition (see below) actually eventuates. The problem is that Ralph might simply be seen as too much of a threat to the status quo to be countenanced in a government role.

Also of interest, Abel David has been elected as part of a return-to-kastom movement. I wonder how much his iconic image affected the outcome?

Update: One commentator notes that Abel is the leader of the Vete Land Trust, a Tongoa-based land rights group that has militated strongly in the recent past for recognition of their land claims on Efate, purportedly dating back to the reign of Chief Roy Mata.

Also, ex-Minister of Finance and perennial candidate Willly Jimmy has apparently been unseated. His National United Party ran a second contender beside him in the Port Vila constituency, the ex-Lord Mayor of Port Vila who has until now served as Public Relations Officer for the PMO, chair of the Vanuatu Broadcast and Television Corporation and right-hand man to Ham Lini. It looks like Lini has more or less cemented his position at the head of the party his older brother founded.

This manoeuvre is a trademark example of Vanuatu-style politics. Maintain a friendly, even demure, face at all times, all the while ensuring that circumstances align themselves such that a fortuitous outcome is likely.

(Note that a party running two or more candidates in the same constituency is common practiice here, because there are often multiple seats available. Ham Lini, for example, ran with 3 other NUP contenders on Pentecost island and all but one were elected. [That doesn't seem so clear now. Looks like the race is fairly tight for the last spot.])

While there are a number of new faces this time around, it’s interesting to see how many of them are mainstream party operatives. Southern Islanders Harry Iauko and Ture Kailo, both VP candidates, are examples of veterans who have stepped out of the back room and into the front rank. Pakoa Kaltonga, who was instrumental in the breaking of the telecommunications monopoly, also appears to be on the cusp of unseating one of the incumbents in the Efate Rural constituency.

(One commenter below notes that Ture Kailo is not a veteran. It’s true that this is his first run as a candidate. When I used the word veteran, I meant to say that he is no neophyte where politics is concerned. He’s got long experience as Director General of the ministry of Youth Development & Training, and knows his way around, so to speak. A lot of the gossip I heard last night pointed to him being the obvious choice for the Ministry of Education.)

Rough numbers indicate that the top three parties so far are Vanua’ku Pati with 10 9-11 seats, Nasonel Unaeted Pati with 7-8 7-9 and Vanuatu Ripablikan Pati with 7. [Ouch: Republican Party leader Korman seems to have fallen completely from the running in the latest unofficial listing.] Before the election, VP and NUP had a handshake agreement that, should the two achieve 30 seats together, they would form a government, and the party with the most votes would take the Prime Minister’s chair. They’re not close to that number, but some commentators are speculating that the likelihood of a VP/NUP/VRP government (with a sprinkling of independents) is the most likely outcome.

Update: If this morning’s numbers are right, Korman’s fall is a pretty big story. This might be read as an indication of a fairly strong desire for change throughout the electorate.

Update: Even before these results came out, one person that I spoke with suggested that there were other recipes available than the patently incorrect one I speculated about above. It appears that VP and NUP will have the numbers needed to make up the core of a multi-party coalition, and some of the players present for some or all of the last three years will likely be coming back for a second go-round. I’ve heard some people express cautious optimism that it is at least possible to envision a stable government with a better selection of competent and ethical MPs for cabinet posts.

Maintaining cohesion between VP and NUP has in recent years been an increasingly simple task. Willy Jimmy’s exit is likely to make the job even easier. VRP leadership is a different kettle of fish, if history is any indicator, but if leader Maxime Carlot Korman is given a plum similar to his last portfolio, he’d have more reason to stay than to go. Add an Independent or two to keep the outliers honest, and we just might see a fairly workable arrangement.

This scenario leaves Greens leader Moana Carcasses and UMP’s Serge Vohor to fight it out for leader of the Opposition, but doesn’t offer much of a prospect for either of them to sit on the government side of the House. Moana’s dynamic, charismatic leadership style doesn’t mesh well with traditional Vanuatu attitudes, and Serge’s turbulent months in the PM’s chair shortly after the 2004 election will not soon be forgotten. China in particular is not likely to quickly forgive Vohor’s physical assault on their Ambassador. [One commenter below suggests that I characterise it as an 'alleged' assault. Apprently, there's still some dispute as to whether the attack ever happened.]

Update: Some have suggested that Ralph Regenvanu would positively shine as the most competent and dynamic member of a rump opposition.

That said, prognostication in Vanuatu is a great way to make a fool of oneself. I hope the innumerable edits have amply demonstrated that. There are innumerable variables feeding into these equations, making the process inscrutable to even those closest to it. I, poor amateur that I am, reserve the right to be dead wrong in every respect.

My primary source for historical data is ANU researcher Mike Morgan’s fascinating explanation of the factors in Vanuatu’s increasingly fractionating political environment. The events described therein seem almost farcical until one considers that they came within a whisker of destroying the nascent state. It’s great Sunday reading for anyone who wants a free clue about Melanesian politics.

The Numbers Game

Vanuatu has a unique voter system. It consists of 17 constituencies, most of which are represented by multiple MPs. Every adult registered to vote casts one vote, and in a constituency with 5 seats, for example, the first 5 candidates to pass the post get a seat. Morgan:

The Anglo-French Condominium introduced [this] electoral system in preparation for the 1975 elections for the National Representative Assembly (NRA), the precursor to Vanuatu’s National Parliament. It allowed the colonial powers to avoid the involved and politically contentious process of setting up electoral wards and it kept the electoral system as straightforward as possible, which was considered crucial to allow for democracy to operate in a society with apparently limited literacy levels. Arguably, the system was also devised with the intention of dispersing the absolute electoral dominance of the VP [Vanua'ku Pati] in the lead-up to independence, ensuring some level of representation for the VP’s diverse, but minority opposition and hopefully lessening the impetus for rebellion, which was prevalent in the 1970s. It failed on both counts. The VP won the 1979 elections resoundingly, claiming an absolute majority in the National Parliament. Sparked by their losses in the election, sections of the Modérés attempted secession.

Let’s elaborate this a little. In 2004, there were a little over 19,000 registered voters in the Port Vila constituency. VP President Edward Nipake Natapei placed first with a little less than 1000 votes. The sixth place candidate was National United Party heavyweight Willy Jimmy, who scraped in with 738 votes.

I sat down today with a Maths major and we performed a series of gedankenexperiments based on 46 candidates competing for 6 seats here in Port Vila. It turns out that a 40 line pseudo-random Perl script returns a vote distribution similar to what we saw in 2004′s election. We used round numbers to represent the number of actual voters, then had each of them randomly select a candidate. The maximum and standard deviations were almost the same as 2004. The difference between 1st and, say, 10th places is difficult to distinguish from statistical noise.

King of the Hill

The electorate is utterly fragmented. There are so many candidates, each of them with their own tiny fraction of the electorate (usually all from the same village or island) delegated to them by chiefs or other community leaders, that it’s reasonable to expect success if you can attract 4-6% of the final tally. Democracy as it’s practiced in Vanuatu is the least representative of any true democracy I’ve seen.

As I considered this dynamic, I imagined a scenario in which a given candidate recognises that they probably won’t receive more than X votes. They’re faced with two alternatives: They can try to increase their own voter share, or they can make sure nobody else passes them. The former is difficult, to say the least. There is much distrust between communities, and the currency of policy and public works is so debased that people don’t see the point of it. Far better to get the direct benefits that accrue from selling one’s vote to someone close by. They, at least, can be relied on for a bag of rice and some free kava beforehand, and they’ll have to accept your invitation to the next fund-raising.

So it makes vastly more sense to undercut the next guy. You identify a community (or even a few families) that traditionally supported your opponent, and convince one of them to contest. It’s cheap enough: about 100 thousand vatu (USD 1,000) for the candidate registration fee, a million or so to buy posters and goodies with, and Bob’s your uncle.

I’ve asked around a bit to see if this utter fractionation is partly the result of people gaming the system. The consensus is that it’s entirely possible, perhaps even likely. But regardless of whether this tactic is being used, there are still dozens of others who are running of their own accord, for any number of personal reasons. Many – if not most – candidates enter the fray with banner aloft, rallying all others to their side. It’s ironic that many of them have chosen to do so precisely because they don’t trust anyone else to do it.

It gets worse after the elections. Everyone is so intent on joining government and grabbing a cabinet position that they’ll join just about every coalition mooted, then turn around and auction themselves back to the government before the ink is even dry. For what it’s worth, there are few significant policy differences between parties, and it’s common to see former Opposition MPs picking up the traces from exactly the point where their predecessor left off. This has led some participants in the governance process to put less emphasis on government stability and more on what they call policy stability. Faces may change, but the big issues remain fairly consistent.

Quantum Distances

As Vanuatu attempts to come to terms with the anomie of its 20s, observers love to speculate whether it will ultimately follow the same path as its Melanesian neighbours – that is, a fairly swift and inexorable decline into dysfunction. It’s fashionable to gloss over the differences and lump together Fiji’s flirtation with dictatorship, the ethnic tensions that characterise Solomon Islands politics, and the nepotistic kleptocracy of PNG. All of these have arisen for distinctly different reasons.

And Vanuatu circumstances are unique, too. I spoke with someone who was among the small group trying to keep the proverbial train on the tracks during the late 90s. He laughed when I said I’d never realised just how criminally farcical it all seemed. He admitted that things had been pretty touch and go for a while. If it hadn’t been for the quiet intercession of a sober few at crucial moments, Vanuatu might well have failed as a state.

But it never did.

It’s a peculiar thing, but rife as this nation may be with petty jealousies and opportunism, social mechanisms exist to keep the worst from happening. At the risk of reducing a very complex dynamic to a level of inane simplicity, I’d suggest there are two major social factors operating here:

• Everyone here has a sense, not of justice, but of limitations to behaviour. A man can, for example, beat his wife mercilessly inside his bamboo thatch house, because that’s ‘private’ space. But there will be trouble if he does the same in the front yard. It’s not like people aren’t vividly aware of what’s happening, but they can safely ignore it if it doesn’t obtrude on the public space. Nobody really wants to interfere, or cares particularly about the victim, but there’s an implicit sense that these two are causing problems for everyone if their problem intrudes onto the public stage. The man get penalised, not because he’s done wrong, but because he’s creating a disturbance.
• There are no kings here. Chiefs – and by extension most leaders -  exercise their authority by standing in the middle of a group rather than at the head of a column. Community leaders here resemble bellwethers more than anything. They lead, in effect, by knowing their constituents,  by rallying them to the cause they’re most likely to support. But people are jealous and opportunistic. Nobody here likes seeing someone else benefit, especially when it’s at their expense. If someone looks to be rising too high, he’ll be dragged back down. Heck, even if advancement doesn’t come at their expense, people are still wont to drag others down just as a matter of form. In that light, the unifying force of nationalism that gave Vanuatu a truly national government for the first decade of its existence was a notable – and timely – aberration.

There are a number of other factors that come into play, including the effect of kava on violence in general and the counteractive force of family bonds against urban drift and materialism. But the big factors in keeping things from spinning completely out of control are the two above.

And the five others that I’ve left for another day….

The 1990s were a time that many in Vanuatu might prefer to forget. Internecine political disputes resulted in a government more changeable than the weather. Senior ministers fought a running legal and ideological battle with Ombudsman Marie-Noelle Patterson. They were so distracted that they utterly ignored the business of governing. Failure to table a budget in 1996 led the VMF to abduct President Lenelcau in order to force payment of nearly 100 million vatu in outstanding allowances. The gutting of the National Provident Fund by politicians and senior government officials brought angry rioters into the streets and resulted in widespread damage.

This culminated in a tragicomedy of errors involving huckster Amarendra Nath Ghosh, a bogus ‘world’s largest ruby’, and the issuance of illegal bonds that would have beggared the nation. The gemstone is the only thing of enduring value. It serves as a paperweight in the Ministry of Finance.

To the casual outsider, it beggars imagination that most of the people responsible for this ungodly mess still enjoy broad voter support. To many ni-Vanuatu, though, the question doesn’t even bear asking.

Kastom doesn’t give much weight to abstractions such as Right or Wrong. Natural Justice, especially in the form of plaintiff and defendant, doesn’t come naturally here. The simple fact is that small island communities can’t afford to have winners and losers. They need everyone to stick together, all the time. To that end, a loosely circumscribed space exists for bullying, cheating and other pathologies: As long as what you do benefits your community, do as you will. If you over-reach or turn on your own, however, you won’t be protected.

Fewer and fewer outside supporters cleave to those perennial candidates whose fingerprints remain on the serial debacle that marked Vanuatu’s teenage years. In 2004, nearly half of all incumbents lost their seat. This shift in voter allegiance represents a return to old habits. Wholesale desertion of the erstwhile champions of nationalism led to record low voter turnouts accompanied by an increasing tendency to look toward inward, not outward, to protect local interests.

Every election since 1979 has seen new parties, new faces and increasingly narrow interests brought to the electoral table. Man Vanuatu has been replaced by Man Ifira, Man Erakor, Man Santo.

The worst effects of an increasingly fragmented and insular electorate are only enhanced by Vanuatu’s unique multi-seat constituencies, in each of which several candidates are elected based on raw vote numbers. In Port Vila, with over 20,000 registered voters, experts predict that the top one or two candidates are likely to win their seats with barely a thousand votes each by combining their base language group vote with broad appeal. The bottom three or four candidates need only poll in the hundreds to creep across the line. Remember that one candidate won just 352 votes out of about nine thousand to win a seat in 1998.

This is cause for real concern. One researcher writes:

“Given the geographic, ethnic and cultural diversity of Vanuatu, an increasing emphasis on local networks and local knowledge will in all likelihood create an equally diverse Parliament with no unifying ideologies.”

Voices calling for unity of purpose are many, but few actively campaign beyond their own community. Fewer still have treated policy and principles as anything more than window dressing. Those who do face a distinct challenge. They must swim against the decidedly contrary current of family- and village-based bloc voting by identifying themselves with more abstract principles.

Efforts to organise the smaller evangelical churches into a coherent party foundered within months. The so-called Independent bloc is bound together mostly by expediency. Many of them portray themselves as opposition figures, but experience shows that the greatest cause of instability in government is individual MPs clawing past one another to secure cabinet positions and (more to the point) their perquisites.

In spite of all this, we do see one or two veterans campaigning on their performance on the national stage. With characteristic humility, PM Lini has stated that he will stand or fall based on his past performance. Likewise, Edward Natapei has left Futuna behind, relying primarily on the demise of the telecoms monopoly to garner broad support from Port Vila voters.

Facing somewhat longer odds are issues candidates like Ralph Regenvanu. He has arguably the most clearly elaborated platform in the country. Precisely because of his articulacy and his Obama-like popularity among ‘change voters’, many establishment lions have been seen pouting and puffing disapprovingly about him.

Regenvanu is seeking to ride a current of impatience for change that runs through all communities. His strategy appears to be to snatch a few votes from everybody, rather than wrap up any single constituency. Ironically, he’ll require fewer than 1000 votes of the 21,000 or so on offer to succeed, if past elections are any indication.

The prospect of a coherent, effective, policy-driven government is fast receding. Community affiliation appears still to trump ‘western’ ideals. This system of localised political debt will make it far too easy for short-term opportunism to triumph over principle and long-term gain.

On Monday, the Pacific Institute of Public Policy officially launched ‘The political parties and groupings of Vanuatu’. The 60-page booklet is a treasure trove of information about Vanuatu’s political past and present. It lists the major political parties along with a brief history, key membership and policies. Already, there are over 500 Bislama copies in circulation. This number is expected to double before the election.

Chiefs, government representatives and members of civil society all voiced their support for the report. Without simple, reliable information like this, voters rely on intuition and (often hollow) promises to choose a candidate. Prior to this, the task of sifting the wheat from the rhetorical chaff was near impossible.

Rebecca Olul, manager of Save the Children’s Youth Outreach project, shared some lively and nuanced insights with the audience at Monday’s presentation. Her short speech cast a jaundiced eye on the vague blandishments that sometimes pass for policy. Without resorting to rank cynicism, she encouraged readers of the report to carefully weigh their candidates’ words and actions.

The 25 year old knows the challenges facing young people today, the competing tensions between Vila and village, kastom and 21st Century culture. She combines 6 years of living and learning overseas with the intimate understanding of life in the islands that only those born into it can possess.

Vanuatu society is among the rapidly diminishing number that still guarantee their members a place and a purpose in life. Traditional life is clearly delineated – not to say boring – in almost every way. Family ties, rank and gender define every aspect of one’s existence. If you are an adult male in a family in good standing, life is very good indeed. But the situation degrades from there.

Young people in Vanuatu are mostly expected to listen, not talk. Young women especially. They learn early on to avoid drawing attention to themselves. For most of them, they only ever receive the wrong kind. Village affairs, they’re taught, are best left to those in charge. If they do have some useful skill, they’ll be told how and when to use it. Advice and opinion find their only outlet in kitchen gossip.

Options for young men are not much broader. Though some, especially those with rank, are sometimes used as pawns or knights in village affairs, most of the time they’re little more than muscle, performing public chores and supporting the family.

This state of affairs exists for a reason. Kastom is a fluid formula for peaceful coexistence that’s been innovated, tried, tested continuously over the course of 3000 years. But it exists for the benefit of the community, not the individual. Tension arise, therefore, when it butts up against Enlightenment concepts of individual rights, equality and natural justice.

So what happens when a young, educated woman stands up in the nakamal and starts asking questions? Right now, the idea is inconceivable to most, both young and old. Many youth today create a space for themselves by leaving the village and kastom behind. They are disengaged, disinterested, adrift in the gulf between Western culture and their own. In some cases, they’re more inspired by the liberation philosophy of Rastafarianism or the materialistic yearnings of rap and hip-hop than they are by their own leaders.

Olul’s work tries to reconcile these competing cultural influences, to replace some of the adversarial thinking so common in Western culture with the spirit of accommodation and compromise integral to kastom. She cites Chief Selwyn Aru of the Malvatumauri Council of Chiefs. He accepts that the disparities between kastom and basic human rights need to be reconciled, But he is quick to note that work must proceed carefully:

The best way to get breadfruit, he observes, is neither to cut down the tree nor to throw stones in the hope that some of the fallen fruit will be ripe. A bamboo pole should be used to cull only those fruit which are ripe and ready. That way, more of the fruit can be shared by more people.

Asked how change can be usefully achieved, Olul demurs somewhat. There is no party, no movement that can empower youth without directly challenging authority and provoking conflict. Comprehensive change must be achieved in increments. Individuals need to educate and inform themselves, and look for levers to change perspectives bit by bit in their individual milieu.

She looks to a new generation of independent political actors to advocate intelligently, without cynicism or self-interest.

PiPP’s Political Parties book gives people the information they need to assess their candidate. It won’t immediately stop family- and village-based block voting in exchange for gifts. But it will at least make it clear just how ripe this fruit is that the community is dining on.

Young ni-Vanuatu are told to wait their turn, to know their place. The incremental change espoused by Olul and others just might be enough to build a sense of enfranchisement within the community. Our youth need to see a place for themselves in achieving change, and to know that the time to start is now.

September 2nd promises to be a bloody day, in political terms. In Vanuatu’s 9th general election, at least 334 candidates will battle for one of 52 seats in 17 different constituencies. These candidates represent over 30 political parties, many new, some old. They are opposed by the largest contingent of independent candidates ever fielded. Over 80 will run.

Port Vila voters will witness nothing short of a battle royal. Some of the most venerable names in Vanuatu politics, including ex-PMs Natapei and Korman, minister Willy Jimmy and Opposition Leader Moana Carcasses, are facing numerous serious challengers. Among the most notable contenders: Constitutional Lion Silas Hakwa, Leba president Ephraim Kalsakau, firebrand Independent Ralph Regenvanu, backroom veteran Manina Packete and the ever-popular Moses Steven. In all, 46 candidates will duke it out for 6 seats.

While some seats are safer than others, no candidate can rest easy. Nationwide, roughly 8 candidates are fighting for each available spot. Even worse than the battle to be first past the post will be the positively Byzantine post-election horse-trading that ensues. Right now, it’s hard to see how an actual working government will emerge from the carnage.

Not everybody is pessimistic about the prospects. Prominent Independent Ralph Regenvanu states plainly that he’s glad of the fragmentation. He maintains that because of their ingrained networks of personal obligation and vested interest, the incumbent parties couldn’t change if they wanted to. His campaign slogan, ‘Inaf!’ succinctly encapsulates grassroots impatience with a generation of one-time freedom fighters who, some say, have forgotten what they once stood for.

No less than 8 of the 30-plus parties contesting this election were formed in the last 18 months. But this year’s explosive fragmentation in political affiliation should surprise no one. The trend toward factionalism has been evident since 1991, when Walter Lini split from his own VP to form NUP. Since then every major falling-out has been accompanied by the hoisting of a new political banner. Many feel that tactics like the 2004 NUP/VP alliance, wherein both campaigned on a common platform, will not suffice to keep the ‘traditional’ parties in power.

In all likelihood, the next Parliament will more closely resemble the traditional village nasara than a party-dominated assembly. Individual views will need to be polled constantly, and consensus will become that most precious – and possibly rarest – commodity.

In this particular nasara, though, determining who the chief is will likely prove difficult. One hopes that we do not descend into a fractious, back-biting mess reminiscent of the 1990s, which saw 8 different Prime Ministers in a 10-year period.

There might be cause for hope. An upcoming report on political parties by the Pacific Institute of Public Policy and the Australian Labor Party’s International Projects Unit shows that many of the newer parties promise to operate in a manner that more closely emulates kastom practice.

The booklet, which profiles 21 parties, provides a succinct and fascinating snapshot of elections past and present. This timely and invaluable addition to the public dialogue is available in English and Bislama. It will be launched on Monday noon at the Seafront Stage in downtown Port Vila.

Perhaps most interesting is the report’s contention that political parties are the best vehicle to drive a truly national policy debate, something that has been missing since Independence. This stands in stark contrast to the common perception among voters that an MP’s primary role is to deliver wealth and development to their own supporters, starting before the votes are even cast.

Reading the policy stances of the various parties, one is left a little bemused. Emphasis aside, there is really very little divergence from one to another. But the contrast between platform and performance is sometimes immense. It would be comic if it didn’t matter so much.

In contrast, some Independents’ platforms provide a distinct departure from many parties’ staid political bromides. Assuming they garner sufficient popular support, they might well broker a renewal of purpose that the parties couldn’t manage on their own.

The PiPP report rightly observes that this election will be more about personalities and promises than policy. The most likely result will be a Parliament stacked to the rafters with competing political debts.

An apocryphal story from China recounts how the Emperor once broke a priceless vase. He commissioned the most talented artisan in the Empire to make it exactly as it was before. The frightened artisan surveyed the broken fragments with dismay, certain that there was no saving the vessel. At last he struck upon a plan. When he presented the finished work to the Emperor, he warned that not even he could hide the cracks, so he had filled them with gold. Indeed, the vase was more beautiful than before.

Vanuatu’s political apparatus resembles that vase. But with the proper application of skill, diplomacy and sane compromise – an amalgam of all that is best in kastom – it might be possible to create a true masterpiece: A government that truly represents its people, is still capable of guiding the nation and embodies the best of Vanuatu’s traditions.

Being an honest, ethical and competent MP isn’t something that a candidate can easily stump for. That’s mostly because it’s not easy to distinguish yourself from your pathologically dishonest opponent, who’s made a career of lying to everyone, even himself. It’s a rare politician indeed that doesn’t promise to be effective and to stand up for the principles of the people he’s speaking to at the moment, whatever they may be.

Despite innumerable past disappointments, honesty, ethical behaviour and competence should be assumed. They should be right there in the job description.

Should be.

In countries the world over, the political scene attracts the same kinds: There’s the Mercenary: charismatic, mercurial, willing to say or do anything as long as the price is right. There’s the single-minded Missionary: often blinded by the brilliance of his own vision. There’s the Manager, who finds herself organising others because if she didn’t nothing would ever get done. There’s the Monarch, for whom power is an end in itself, not a job but a state of being.

All of these are required in order for a government to operate, though each in its measure. Take any one away and things break down. Allow too many of a given kind… and things break down. The chemistry of government relies as much on manoeuvrability and opportunism as it does on organisation and direction.

It’s a strange thing to have to work against one’s better nature in order to achieve a greater goal. But the day inevitably comes when the Missionary is forced to accept half-measures, the Mercenary works on spec, the Monarch must justify his tenure and the Manager just stands by and lets the chips fall where they may.

There’s a fifth kind of politician, the kind we rarely get to vote for. This is the Alchemist, whose demeanour hides a keen student of human motivation. Occasionally guided by principle, the Alchemist is an eminence grise, the power behind the throne whose machinations are forever felt and seldom seen.

The Alchemist understands a few things that the others don’t. He knows that nothing is achieved whole hog, that everything arrives in pieces. He knows that politics is about balance, that those who worry about winning or losing will inevitably experience both.

The Alchemist is not always a person. Sometimes it’s an ethos, the spirit of tradition, an echo of the will of our forebears. Until recently, the Constitution served as a check to the worst tendencies of the US governments. Sometimes, as in England and China, social inertia suffices to define what governments can and can’t do. That’s not always a good thing.

Business as usual for many governments is defined by the sense that it’s best to get what you can while you can. Hesitating only means that the other guy steals what could have been yours. In an environment like that, a conscience is a handicap.

When a government goes off the rails, the first job is to re-establish the culture, a set of guidelines which everyone recognises, even if only in mockery. The best way to keep a dishonest politician in line is to trap him in his own pretence. A watchful alliance between the Missionary and the Mercenary may run against the Missionary’s every instinct, but it has be result of keeping the Mercenary where he can see him.

A more curious effect is watching the Mercenary start to act as if he actually believes what he’s saying. Say something often enough and it inevitably begins to sound like the truth.

The most difficult aspect of righting the ship of state is dealing with a malingering crew. A political culture typified by dishonesty and opportunism almost always infects the highest levels of the bureaucracy, and often extends throughout the rank and file. Re-establishing a sense of discipline, professionalism and – gulp – responsibility sometimes looks like an un-winnable war.

In a dysfunctional environment, the lowly worker has no incentive to perform. In fact, everything militates against action. The simplest way to avoid being punished for incompetence is to avoid being involved in any way with something you know will fail. Given that most everything fails in a broken bureaucracy, that means avoiding all work at all times.

Turning that environment around requires a curious alignment of Missionary, Monarch and Manager, in which the Monarch aligns his ‘divine’ right with the Missionary’s vision and then, contrary to his nature, allows that authority to devolve to the Manager and even, on occasion, to the Mercenary.

Over the last half-decade or so, Vanuatu has gradually been emerging from a state of near-collapse, returning to a fairly respectable level of operation. Whatever its shortcomings – and they are many – it compares favourably indeed with other Pacific nations.

Make no mistake, there is many a mile yet to travel. But the good news is that right now, momentum is pushing us in the right direction. It’s a perfect time to inject some new energy into the scene.

Missionary, Mercenary, Manager and Monarch: Vanuatu needs them all, but each in the appropriate measure.

Election season is well underway. For most people, it’s unrolling as it always has. The usual gifts are handed out to the usual suspects. A chief receives a free vendor stall at the Independence ceremonies in exchange for delivering his community’s support. A prospective candidate rounds up a few dozen friends and spends an evening doling out kava and chatting. An MP tours from village to village with a truckload of pots, pans and bags of rice. A prospective MP buys the truck itself.

Generally, these transactions are notably free of platform or policy discussions. The tradition doesn’t really work that way. It’s not that candidates don’t have agendas; they do. Nor are they hiding anything, necessarily; it’s just that, at this level, they don’t play the policy game.

As they’ve done for thousands of years, leaders invest their time and wealth in buying the support of the dominant personalities in their community. They do so by the most direct means possible: bags of rice, pots and pans, a favour here, a favour there. It’s simple, direct and tangible for all involved. The price of a vote is lamentably low, but that’s just a reflection of the value voters put in today’s government.

Occasionally, though, there arises that rarest of political creatures, a candidate with a conscience, and a policy platform to prove it.

On the off chance that there might be one or two out there this year, and on the even offer chance that they’re looking to this column for inspiration, I offer the following….

Distinguish between policy and practice. For example, taking a stance against chronic corruption and incompetence in government is good and all, but that’s not a policy. That’s called doing your job. By all means raise the standard (please!), but that alone is not enough for voters.

It would be funny if it weren’t so tragic, but running as an ethical candidate is no mean feat here in Vanuatu. First, the continuum of honesty must be traversed. Convincing people even to come to a meeting that doesn’t feature free kava, entertainment and possibly a beer or two to round out the experience requires a rare mix of leadership, moral suasion and sheer obstinacy. Then, every single assertion made on the podium needs to be reinforced privately:

“You know that promise about ending vote buying? I meant it.”

“Of course, you did. Silly business that, expecting someone to deliver votes for… I guess the current price is 5000 vatu each…?”

“No, I really meant it.”

“Oh yes. Wouldn’t doubt it for a second. So… 4500 each, and maybe you could help out with my boy’s wedding?”

“I told you, I will not buy a single vote. There should be no one in the voting booth except the voter and their conscience.”

“Ah, I see. Why don’t you buy me and my five friends a shell and we’ll talk about this some more….”

Yes, establishing oneself as a principled and ethical candidate is a terribly difficult business. It’s necessary too, but that ethics alone won’t get you elected.

If you’re going to be the kind of candidate who offers nothing up front, you’d better make sure it’s clear to voters that their patience will be rewarded. You will eventually be required to bring home the cargo, and it better be more or less as you promised. More importantly, it better have direct, measurable value to your constituents.

Legal reform is terribly important. Equally important is administrative reform and accountability. We all yearn for MPs and ministers who take the job of governing seriously. The ones who currently do are rare gems indeed. But the deplorable truth is that it’s not a vote-winning policy. The Family Protection Act and Land Reform Summits are commendable undertakings, but they attract as many detractors as supporters. Keep these things under your hat except among friends.

So what works? A chicken in every pot.

• Improvements in infrastructure are key right now. Imagine being the one telling voters that they can now phone their family in the islands thanks to your efforts. Something like that has value. Now imagine doing the same with small-scale rural power generation. It can work village to village, but imagine taking it on nationwide.
• There’s still tons of work to do where communications are concerned. Community Internet is a winner, as are low-cost laptops for children.
• Lower-cost transport is a tougher prospect, but one that everybody benefits from.
• End primary school fees. Really. It’s entirely possible to do this. The only hard part is convincing your parliamentary colleagues that just reducing them a bit won’t suffice.
• Housing in municipal areas is being completely neglected. Owning this initiative is a guaranteed winner if you’re running in Vila or Santo.

Vanuatu desperately needs honest, ethical and competent candidates to contest this election. But voters also need to know that their vote is worth more than the bag of rice they’re being offered. Unless a candidate can promise voters more tomorrow than they’re getting today, all the competence in the world won’t get them elected.