Postcard from Aceh

Most Australians had never heard of Aceh before Boxing Day 2004.

Then a massive earthquake and tsunami struck the west coast of North Sumatra destroying everything in its path and killing over 150,000 people.  Ten days later Australia committed $1 billion of aid to Indonesia, and a short time after that I was on my way to Banda Aceh.

Aceh province had been closed to all but the most intrepid western travelers for decades. A violent, protracted campaign for autonomy was being waged, the province was isolated from the rest of Indonesia, traditional Islamic (Sharia) law had been imposed and the security situation made it a difficult and dangerous environment in which to work.

No previous professional or personal experience prepared me for that.  The physical remnants of the disaster —large tracts of coastline, including suburbs, destroyed and reclaimed by the sea; boats stranded in fields 3km inland from their moorings; wrecked homes — were obvious.  But worse were the personal stories of tragedy and survival, the trauma of searching for lost children, parents and partners, the shock of losing everything and the regular earth tremors.  
Our driver was a civil engineer whose employer and his business was washed away. Our architect had pulled her daughter from the rapidly rising floodwaters. Our education adviser had spent three horrible days trying to get home, not knowing if his family was alive. Everyone had lost someone or something.
Heavily armed soldiers were everywhere.  I dressed in the Acehnese style — head covered and long sleeves and trousers to attract less attention.  I was taught how to detect a car bomb, what to do in a terrorist attack, how to stem the bleeding from a gunshot wound and how to avoid kidnapping.  Thankfully I have had no need of those skills.  I had to quickly learn to observe some of the customs and the behaviours of women in Aceh in order not to offend or anger our hosts.  There was no yellow instruction book or JB on this trip — just keen observation, common sense and good luck!

In a disaster of that magnitude and impact it was always going to be difficult to decide how best to assist.  There was so much to do in the early days.  Apart from establishing our own basic infrastructure and operational procedures there were hundreds of other donors, all with different expertise and expectations.  There was a new reconstruction authority with a strong mandate but no infrastructure, no policy or procedures to support their work, and non-existent or depleted government systems, personnel and assets.

However, no amount of money or system substitutes for effective leadership.  I saw this in action when we visited Payung, a fishing village that had suffered terrible loss of life and property.  The community’s leaders had perished and those remaining were in dire straits, poor shelter, no water and sanitation, no income and no boats or nets with which to fish. 

One of the survivors, Pak Suleman, dismayed by his village’s situation, approached us for help and worked with his villagers to identify their needs and priorities.  
Over the next months, Suleman advocated for his community to aid agencies and government officials to get access to better shelter, basic services and tools to fish. He likened himself to Kofi Annan—talking to UN agencies, aid officials and government and sorting through what they could offer to identify and access appropriate services.  Suleman was a reluctant leader, but he understood and communicated his people’s needs, he had a plan for getting what he wanted, he asked for help when he needed it and he worked hard to achieve his goals. 

When I next visited, Payung was a neat village of purpose-built temporary houses with water and sanitation services, new boats and fishing equipment.  Villagers had identity cards and the children were at school.  Basic health services had been restored.  Suleman and others like him are now part of a network of village leaders helping other communities develop village reconstruction plans and access resources to help rebuild.

I learnt that even a desperate and traumatised community needs time to grieve, to absorb their situation, to talk and to make decisions about what to do next.  Despite tremendous international attention and pressure to rebuild, the biggest mistake we could have made was to jump in and solve people’s problems for them.  Many did make that mistake, building the wrong things in the wrong places; not targeting the right people, duplicating other work or not meeting the greatest needs first. Communities that were supported to make their own decisions ultimately did better, and the impact of our assistance was greater.

It is now more than three years since the tsunami.  The physical scars are fewer —there are houses where there were ruins, trees are growing, there’s a baby boom and people are getting back on their feet.  For me, working in Aceh has been an incredible experience, truly life changing, and the start of an enduring passion for development in our region.