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The Rediff Special/ James Traub

'Their discipline and self-restraint was a sign of their professionalism'

Up until a few years ago, these were little known blips on the world map. Places you couldn't point to, to win a bet.

Today, they are flashpoints. Epicentres of an increasingly restless, belligerent world. Easily identifiable by the crackle of artillery and the flash-bang of exploding ammunition.

Sierra Leone is one such. Racked by strife and rebellion, the little principality is one of the emerging hotspots that has the world's major powers in a tizzy.

The forces of sanity and sense, now fighting to restore peace in the troubled land, are spearheaded by the Indian Peace Keeping Force.

So what is a peace keeping force all about? What does it do? How does the Indian Army carry out its brief, in an alien land where it is difficult to distinguish friend from foe? New York Times reporter James Traub goes to the frontlines, to find out for himself. Another rediff.com exclusive:

Part I: 'We are not a war-making force'

Sharma had originally wanted to take me to Kailahun, where the rebellion had first broken out in 1991; but it took six or seven hours to drive the 70 miles from Daru, and it was considered far too dangerous to drive through remote parts of the countryside after sundown. The Indians were very proud of their role in Kailahun. The town had always remained a bastion of the Revolutionary United Front, as the rebels were called, and the mandate of the Indian battalion had been to establish a beachhead there, and thus to prove that no place would be off-limits to the peacekeepers.

About a month earlier, a convoy had crept over the shattered roads and reached Kailahun with no resistance at all. The town had been devastated by years of war -- there were trees growing through the middle of houses -- and the civilian population had left long ago. And so the Indians began a campaign to win the rebels' hearts and minds. They brought in an Indian doctor from Freetown who treated rebel soldiers, no questions asked; he requisitioned a helicopter to bring several of them to the hospital in Freetown for further care. They dug a well, and brought in a pump and water purification equipment.

One of the officers, a Major Yadav, made a heartwarming home movie in which rebel leaders, including one who hops up and down on a single leg, profess gratitude for the peace process. Sharma, less gullible, had met the RUF's chief theoretician, a Mr. Jonathan, who had delivered an impassioned denunciation of "capitalist roaders" which made the Lt Colonel nostalgic for his days at university.

Sharma and the local RUF commander were now on excellent terms. Sharma spent much of his time talking to the rebels. As we drove through Pendembu, a thoroughly wrecked town halfway between Daru and Kailahun, Sharma suddenly braked to a halt and backed up. He had just seen Major Sam, one of the rebel's brigade commanders and as such an important personage. Sharma beckoned him over, and Major Sam came obligingly to the car. He was wearing fatigues and a bulletproof vest, though he was unarmed.

The day before, Sharma had adjudicated a dispute between Major Sam and a couple of ex-Sierra Leone Army characters who had attacked Sam's driver and cracked the windshield of his beloved Toyota pickup. It was an incredibly complicated situation, and Sharma had gone to extraordinary lengths to untangle it, and thus to earn Sam's gratitude and co-operation. And in fact Major Sam seemed very deferential, as if speaking to a superior officer.

Sharma wanted to use this chance meeting to deliver a little lecture. "Sam," he said, "I want to tell you something, and I want you to tell your brothers. We don't want to hurt the reputation of the RUF; we want to work with you. But UNAMSIL is not going anywhere; we are here to stay." Sam nodded, and smiled.

Sharma had no illusions about Foday Sankoh, the rebel leader. The Indian battalion was policing one of the "disarmament, demobilization and reintegration" camps that had been established by the cease-fire agreement the previous summer. He knew that very few of the rebels had disarmed. "Foday Sankoh has told them to stop fighting," he said, "but he's also told them not to turn in their weapons; so they're waiting."

But Sharma also felt that if the peacekeepers remained resolute the rebels might begin to co-operate. There had already been some evidence that he was right. In mid-February a large Indian convoy had been halted by a few RUF characters with AK-47s at a place called Bendu Junction on the road between Kenema and Daru. Sharma had been called in to mediate, and he had told the local commanders that Foday Sankoh himself had promised the peacekeepers that they would be able to travel without interference. The rebels refused.

Within a few hours, there were 300 or so armed rebels standing at the roadblock, and the situation had become fairly ominous. Sharma ordered the convoy to fall back a mile or so, and there it remained for 36 hours. Finally, he said to the local commanders, "We're leaving, but you're going to see us again and again, until we get through." UNAMSIL got word of the incident to Foday Sankoh, and the following day one of the local commanders came to Sharma and said that the road would be clear if they wanted to try again.

I don't think that I could have found a more impressive face to put on UN peacekeeping than that of Lt Col Sharma. And there can't be much doubt that the campaign to win hearts and minds was working; since the Indian battalion had arrived, the population of Daru had swelled from 3000 to 30,000 as people from the interior, and refugees from across the border in Guinea, had repopulated the city. But none of that mattered in the end; the only thing that mattered was Foday Sankoh's state of mind. And the rebel leader wanted war, not peace -- either because he would not rest until he had taken the president's house on its lovely hill, or because peace was bad for the main business of smuggling diamonds.

Two weeks after I returned home, Sankoh apparently ordered his men to stop playing by the rules. Among the first peacekeepers whom the RUF captured were a group of Indian soldiers and civilians who arrived by helicopter in Kailahun, their great success story; other members of the Indian battalion were said to have been taken in the diamond town of Koidu.

It's now obvious, in retrospect, that the roadblock in Bendu Junction was part of larger pattern of testing and prodding, and that Foday Sankoh had learned what he needed to know: That the peacekeepers, unlike the Nigerians, would not shoot back if provoked. Their discipline and self-restraint was a sign of their professionalism; but this was a professionalism that was wasted on their adversaries. Indeed, the whole UN presence in Sierra Leone felt, in retrospect, like the collision of two mutually uncomprehending moral systems. It was as if Gandhi had tried practicing civil disobedience on the Soviets.

I wonder what became of Major Sam and the other "good guys" who were Sharma's interlocutors. Did they sit out the new campaign? I doubt it. I would guess that they wouldn't feel too many qualms about turning their guns on their Indian friends. After all, they had been bad guys -- very bad guys indeed -- until just the other day.

The Rediff Specials

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