The Telegraph
Since 1st March, 1999
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It was romantics like Paul Gauguin who seduced the world into believing that tropical islands are palm-fringed paradises where people are nicer and more innocent than elsewhere, but they did have help from the ďsmall is beautifulĒ crowd. Surely, they murmured, much of the ugliness and cruelty of mass societies comes from their sheer scale. So let us consider a few small islands.

Start with the Maldives: 1,190 low-lying coral atolls in the Indian Ocean, with about 300,000 people scattered around 200 inhabited islands. President Maumoon Abdul Gayoom, who has been in power for 25 years, wants another term, but young Maldivians have decided they have had enough. In two nights of violence on September 20-21, mobs of youths burned the election commissionís office, the high court, and several police stations in Male, the capital.

Gayoom has done a good job of raising living standards in the Maldives: 10 per cent annual growth for the past 20 years. An average income now nearing $ 2,000 a year is not bad for a chain of barren atolls which live exclusively off tourism, fishing and trade. The price, however, has been arbitrary arrests and long jail sentences for government critics. So the younger generation, having benefited from the education their parents could never afford, has turned against the patriarch who has outlived his usefulness. Just like anywhere else.

Nodding heads

Gayoom will win next monthís referendum: this is just the first outburst of resistance in the Maldives. Things have gone much further in the Solomon Islands, 4,000 miles to the east, where a five-year civil war between the Isatabu, the dominant population of the main island, Guadalcanal, and immigrants from the neighbouring island of Malaita has already devastated the country. Schools are shut, there is little water or electricity, and export earnings have fallen by 80 per cent in five years.

A multinational force led by Australian troops arrived in the Solomons in late July, but it has not yet managed to disarm the militias. Last week the shaky truce was threatened when Selwyn Sake, commander of the Isatabu militia for the capital, Honiara, was found dead and mutilated in his car. The Solomonsís 465,000 people speak 70 different languages, and the prospects for a lasting peace deal are slim.

Go north-east just a few hundred miles to the tiny, lonely island of Nauru, and the ethnic complexity diminishes: most of Naruís 12,000 inhabitants at least speak the same language. But after European traders introduced guns and alcohol in the 19th century, there was a ten-year war between the islandís 12 major clans ó and they are still at war, in a way, though these days they play the game out through more or less democratic politics. The resulting chaos is so great that Nauru is now on its fifth president.

Hell is other people

If oil is the curse of the Arab world and diamonds have been the nemesis of Sierra Leone, then fertiliser has been the downfall of Nauru. In 1899, prospectors realized that the whole interior of the eight-square-mile island was practically solid phosphate, and strip-miners began to transform the island into a moonscape. Eventually the local people got their hands on the revenues, and became for a time the richest people of the third world ó but now the phosphate is nearly gone, their investments have melted away through bad management, and they are at each otherís throats.

In January, President Rene Harris was unseated by Bernard Dowiyogo, who tried to curb the money-laundering industry but died on a US visit in February. Parliament chose Derog Gioura as president, but he was replaced by Ludwig Scotty after an election. Scotty closed Nauruís US embassy and seemed set to go back into the tax haven business, but was replaced in another parliamentary revolt by Rene Harris. Nobody knows how long he will last either.

Small island countries arenít nicer than other places; theyíre just smaller. The people are the same, too, except that thereís no way to get away from them. As another Frenchman remarked ó Jean-Paul Sartre, this time ó hell is other people.

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