Liberia Goodbye to all that? Aug 14th 2003 | MONROVIA From The Economist print edition Charles Taylor, Liberia's brutal president, has gone. Peace might, conceivably, return to his devastated homeland PERCHED on a velvet throne under a generator-powered chandelier, Charles Taylor bade farewell to the country he has done more than anyone else to wreck. During a sweaty, cant-filled ceremony on August 11th, Mr Taylor repeatedly drew parallels between himself and Jesus Christ. “I would be the sacrificial lamb,” he thundered. He was stepping down as president of Liberia, he said, in the interest of peace, and because he was being forced to by the Americans. “God willing,” he added, “I will be back.” Most Liberians hope not. A clutch of supporters wept as Mr Taylor and his well-fed wife, Jewel, boarded a jet for Nigeria, where they have been granted sanctuary and a sumptuous villa. But back in Monrovia, Liberia's shattered capital, far larger crowds breathed a collective sigh of relief. There was little sign of joy, however. Mr Taylor's soldiers, many of them drug-addled teenagers sporting guns, wigs and lipstick, were squared off against rebels across a mid-city front line, as Nigerian peacekeepers started nervous street patrols. Famished townsfolk have already eaten their neighbours' dogs and are reduced to scrounging for snails. Such is Mr Taylor's legacy. He started a civil war in 1989, with the stated aim of overthrowing the dictator Samuel Doe. Doe was overthrown the next year, and tortured to death on the orders of Prince Johnson, a former ally of Mr Taylor's. (The death was captured on videotape by a Palestinian journalist, who had been filming a hostile documentary about Doe, whose regime recognised Israel. The tape is still commercially available.) Despite Doe's demise, the war continued, as rival warlords fought for control. Eventually, Mr Taylor emerged on top. He was elected president of Liberia in 1997, having made it clear that, if voters snubbed him, he would go back to war. “He killed my ma, he killed my pa, I'll vote for him,” went his campaign song. Although Mr Taylor's regime was crooked and thuggish, life grew slightly better in the first years of his presidency (see chart), mainly because people could at least step outside without being shot. Mr Taylor angered his neighbours, however, by sponsoring revolts in Sierra Leone, Côte d'Ivoire and Guinea. He is accused of profiting from the theft of Sierra Leonean diamonds, and has been indicted in Sierra Leone for alleged war crimes. His attempts to get the charges dropped before he went into exile were rebuffed. To retaliate for Mr Taylor's intrusions on their territory, the Guinean and Ivorian governments backed two rebel groups in Liberia, called LURD and MODEL. The rebels' military success, aided by international trade sanctions and American pressure, was what prompted Mr Taylor to stand down. Had he not done so, he might have ended up like Doe. African leaders rarely censure their brothers, but they made an exception with Mr Taylor. Three fellow presidents, including Thabo Mbeki of South Africa, flew to Monrovia this week to make sure that the slippery despot, who once escaped from an American jail, actually boarded that aircraft. Mr Taylor surrendered power to his deputy, Moses Blah, a quiet former comrade-in-arms, who called for peace and offered the rebels a vice-presidency. Will Mr Taylor's departure really end the war? There are hopeful signs. On August 12th, LURD leaders promised to pull back from central Monrovia to allow aid workers to move food and medicine through the port. But they remain hostile towards the rump of Mr Taylor's regime, and unfriendly towards each other. An interim government is supposed to be formed by October; the LURD chairman, Sekou Conneh, says it should be done sooner, and he should be president. Meanwhile, in Buchanan, Liberia's second city, fresh fighting broke out between MODEL and the army. Outsiders are poised to help. About 1,000 Nigerian peacekeepers have been deployed: the vanguard of a proposed West African force of more than 3,000. South Africa, unexpectedly, has promised to send soldiers. And, after much hesitation, President George Bush started to send in some marines to secure the port, patrol the air and protect aid deliveries. Three American warships are floating close to the Liberian coast; the Pentagon said 200 of the 2,300 troops on board might soon come ashore. To outsiders, Liberia can seem baffling. It is easy enough to understand why so many of the fighters carry toys—many are children. But why do they also dress up in wigs, masks and looted bathrobes or wedding dresses? Asked, some reply that it is to terrify their enemies. But others admit that it is for mystical reasons. In parts of Liberia, cross-dressing is a symbol of the passage from boyhood to manhood, which is why some adolescent soldiers wear dresses when going about the manly business of war. Masks play a role in traditional religious rites. Many Liberians have long believed that the spirit within a sacred wooden mask can possess the wearer, and imbue him with its power. Soldiers today make do with anything that will change their appearance, from Halloween masks to shower caps. This allows them to distance themselves from responsibility for their actions, and also, many believe, makes them immune to bullets. In the past 23 years, Liberia has regressed almost beyond measure. The flawed but fairly orderly society of the 1970s was swept away, to be replaced by mayhem. Those who would fix the country will need to understand why it broke down, which requires some knowledge of its unusual history. Liberia was colonised, not by Europeans, but by freed American slaves, who declared an independent republic in 1847. Like other colonists, the Americo-Liberians believed that they had a mission to civilise the natives. They brought with them the manners and mores of the old American south: top hats and tail-coats, despite the dizzying humidity, and Christianity. They inflicted great harm, notably, in the early 20th century, by enslaving the locals. But they also brought roads, schools, written laws and economic development. After the second world war, other African independence movements saw Liberia as a model. By the late 1960s, it was one of the continent's most prosperous nations. The settlers formed an aristocracy, but it was one which educated indigenous people could join, by talent or by marriage. Such aspirations were encouraged. The two presidents who ruled from 1944 until 1980, William Tubman and William Tolbert, tried to persuade their subjects that they should not be content with being peasants, but should strive to join the industrialised world. Unfortunately, this raised unrealistic expectations and, since the ruling class was ostentatiously corrupt, resentment. Both Tubman and Tolbert ruled through patronage, doling out jobs and favours in return for support. Those who did not share in this largesse grew bitter. In 1979, Tolbert caused a riot by announcing an increase in the price of rice, from which his family stood to benefit. The next year, a band of young soldiers broke into his bedroom and disembowelled him. Their leader, a semi-literate master-sergeant named Samuel Doe, moved out of his tiny shack and into the palace, declaring himself president. The coup was greeted with elation: Doe promised to liberate the indigenous people from the Americo-Liberian yoke. To emphasise the point, he had 13 of Tolbert's inner circle stripped, humiliated and shot by drunken firing squads. Much of Liberia's educated class fled the country. Clinics, factories and schools ceased to function. Despite half a billion dollars of American aid, which Doe secured by letting the CIA spy on Libya from Liberian soil, income per head shrank by three-quarters during his decade in power. Then came two partly tribal civil wars, one that brought Mr Taylor to power, and one that toppled him. Perhaps 200,000 people died, and the UN estimates that there are now 450,000 internal refugees in Monrovia. No one has much clue about conditions in the countryside, but the direction of the refugee flow suggests that life there is even worse than in the capital. Liberia has rubber, timber and diamonds, but today the main industry seems to be looting. Mr Taylor's men are thought to be marginally worse, but the LURD are bad, too. Warehouses in Monrovia were attacked by both sides, who carried off food, liquor, building blocks, tubs of hair wax and so on, sometimes pausing to shoot each other. Some stolen bags of food aid have been distributed to hungry civilians, but the Robin Hood spirit is rare. “Everyone is chopping,” said a bearded Indian trader, huddled with friends on a balcony overlooking the free-for-all. The Congress building has been stripped to an echoing husk. Debris litters the corridors. Offices have been cleaned out, their carpets torn up. Clumps of electrical cables hang from the ceiling. Last week, as the lawmakers who had not fled the country met to rubber-stamp Mr Taylor's resignation, a group of women walked off with the last valuables: a pile of sofa cushions. The mother of all clean-ups In Ghana, representatives of the government, rebels and civil-society groups are negotiating the form and composition of Liberia's promised interim government, and a timetable for elections. But the war may not yet be over and, even if it is, rebuilding Liberia will be an awesome task. Unarmed Liberians all want peace, but the men and boys with guns are less sure. To persuade them to disarm, they need to be taught other ways of making a living. That will cost money, which Liberia lacks. Various countries have started to pledge funds for peacekeeping and reconstruction, but it will require thousands of peacekeepers, and an aid programme spanning several years. This, in turn, will work only if there is a Liberian government with which outsiders can work. Some Liberian politicians, such as Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, a former presidential candidate, make the right noises about democracy, the rule of law and respect for human rights. Recent history, however, is not encouraging. Once in power, all politicians face pressure to steal public money and share it out among their supporters and kinfolk. A former minister once wrote that even the Archangel Gabriel, if he were president of Liberia, would “become totally and irrevocably corrupted”. And most would-be politicians are not angels. Religion may have a part to play in healing Liberia. Prince Johnson, Doe's killer, is now an evangelical preacher, and General Butt-Naked, a warlord so called because his men charged into battle naked, also claimed to have been born again. Some former foot-soldiers have found, in Christianity, a way of coping with their guilt. In a country overrun by drugged, traumatised gunmen, every crutch helps. The long climb back to the level of development Liberia enjoyed in the 1970s will require peace, hard work, competent government and lots of foreign assistance. How much aid Liberia receives may, and should, depend on what efforts Liberians make to help themselves. Some seem willing. Joseph Roberts, a member of Mr Taylor's notoriously vicious “Anti-Terrorist Unit”, says his fondest ambition is to go to school. “If you can learn, nobody can play with your mind,” he said. Then, pointing to the AK-47 on his shoulder, he added: “You can learn to forget about this __________________________________________________ Yahoo! Plus - For a better Internet experience http://uk.promotions.yahoo.com/yplus/yoffer.html ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To Search in the Gambia-L archives, go to: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/CGI/wa.exe?S1=gambia-l To contact the List Management, please send an e-mail to: [log in to unmask] To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L Web interface at: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/gambia-l.html ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~