Turning war veterans into agents of peace

Nearly 14 years after Mozambique's civil war ended, bitterness and resentment remain a common currency among veterans from both sides of the conflict. With the signing of the 1992 peace agreement, 90,000 soldiers were demobilised. Some were incorporated into a new army comprising government Frelimo troops and the anti-government forces of Renamo. But for the majority of fighters the peace dividend was unemployment. About 30km from the capital, Maputo, is a rundown farming collective established by former government soldiers. With no access to finance, the dreams of these ex-combatants have crumbled like the farm's derelict social centre, designed to host fundraising activities. Among the 15 government soldiers who spoke to IRIN, some drunk and visibly angry with their lot, was 52-year-old Chambane Juma. The father of eight fought in both the war of independence against the colonial power, Portugal, and the subsequent civil war against Renamo. Juma used a small demobilisation payout to set up a kiosk selling food and buy himself an old car. The car soon broke down and the business failed. "I feel offended when I think of my life in the war. My friends who did not join the army were able to study; they have skills, they are doctors and so on." Once the continent's economic basket case, Mozambique has posted growth rates of 10 percent for many years - among the highest in Africa - but has not been able to eradicate the grinding poverty. In 2003, only 521,000 of the seven million workforce were in formal employment. Most economically active people eke out a living from subsistence farming and the informal economy. Discontented, idle ex-soldiers and the continued existence of arms caches is a concern for the local NGO, ProPaz. In a recent report, 'Struggles in Peacetime', published in conjunction with the Netherlands Institute for Southern Africa, the NGO said, "the painful truth is that most ex-combatants are disgruntled, feel alienated and unrecognised, and live lives characterised by social and economic marginalisation". The organisation, which operates in six of the country's 11 provinces, works with about 4,000 ex-soldiers in peace initiatives that range from locating arms caches and demining projects to conflict resolution training and advocacy in their communities. "Unemployment is a problem for everyone, but ProPaz directly works with ex-combatants because they have access to arms," executive director Jacinta Jorge said in an interview with IRIN. The peace process was an ongoing struggle: "There are still arms hidden away, and there are still Renamo soldiers who have not been demobilised." Last year the NGO hosted a three-day conference on the "Role of ex-combatants in peace-building in post-war countries in Southern Africa" in Maringue, a former Renamo military base about 280km from Beira in the central province of Sofala. "In our work we mix both former Renamo and Frelimo combatants, so that they work together," she said. Renamo was established by white-ruled Rhodesia's Central Intelligence Organisation, with the objective of destabilising newly independent Mozambique. After Zimbabwe gained independence in 1980, apartheid South Africa assumed sponsorship of Renamo, promoting a brutal civil war in which over five million people were displaced and up to one million killed or starved to death. "There had been no programme of trauma therapy for ex-combatants," said Jorge. "Many of the former combatants were really victims. Many in Renamo were just children - they should have been studying." Alice Cuinica, 42, joined ProPaz 10 years ago. Her education was cut short during the civil war after Frelimo conscripted her to the military in 1977. Now living in Dondo, near Mozambique's second city of Beira, part of her struggle has been convincing "conservative" parents that girls also deserve an education, and demystifying the Renamo legacy of Maringue. "People are still convinced that if you go to Maringue they will never see you again. So when I, my colleagues and even foreigners go there and actually come back alive, it helps to change the views that people have of the place." Armando Muharu, 37, was abducted by Renamo in 1980 while on his daily 20km walk to school in Chibabave village. "We were just walking all the time. Our commander would not hear of any rest - he was a tough man. Sometimes we went for two weeks without food. We easily covered up to a thousand kilometres, walking [in four months], carrying up to 35 kilos of arms, not counting your own personal protection and supplies." Muharu lives in the port town of Quelimane in Zambezia Province. His work for ProPaz takes him to villages where he holds discussions about ways to solve conflicts and "the dangers of having arms hidden in the communities". "During the war I was part of another type of politics," he said. "That is now all in the past. That was a kind of politics no longer for me." ra/go/he/oa