The other victims of the Bali bombing are the Balinese who are left behind

One interpretation of the peace message from the banjars (village councils) of Kuta, Legian and Seminyak, printed on leaflets scattered on the tables of an Ubud café still frequented by Western devotees of vegan wholefood - and a cynic might say clearly pitched to that market - put it like this:

Do not bring malice into our world. What has happened has happened. Stop talking about the theories of who did this and why. It does not serve the spirit of our people. Words of hate will not rebuild our shops and houses. They will not heal damaged skin. They will not bring back our dead ... The overwhelming scenes of love and compassion at Sangiah hospital show us the way forward into the future. If we hate our brothers and sisters we are lost in Kali Yuga. If we can Love all of our brothers and sisters, we have already begun to move into Kertha Yuga. We have already won the "War Against Terrorism".

But now, says Judy Pratt, as the economic situation has deteriorated, especially in the last few weeks, she sees a growing desperation emerging against what she calls "a quiet background of anger". Like all painful emotion, this anger has to go somewhere. And like hurt people everywhere, the Balinese seem to be directing it, albeit quietly, as Judy notes, at the "other" they deem responsible for their suffering.

Who is this responsible "other" in Bali? Most obviously, they are the terrorists. A T-shirt worn by bicycling children on the Kuta-Ubud road was emblazoned with "F**K TERRORIST" in angry red letters. The "other" are Muslim Javanese. They are the alleged Bali bombers Amrozi, Ali Ghufron (Mukhlas) and Imam Samudra. And when Balinese spoke to me, as an Australian, of that October night last year - calling it, always with reverence, "the bomb", "the accident", or "the tragedy" - they made it very clear they wanted no part of, nor punishment for, whatever motivated that action. They urged me to go home and do something, anything at all, to communicate their great sadness for the Australians killed and for their loved ones. And their hope that Australians would return to Bali.

But what will happen if Australians - and Americans, Europeans and Japanese - do not return some time soon in large numbers, to spend hard currency pampering themselves in the day spas, boutiques and bars of Bali? Will there be a destructive collision of conflicting spiritual, cultural and economic imperatives in Bali, a new kind of ground zero? Will Balinese anger at their plight overspill into any kind of retributive violence? If so, against what or whom will it be directed?

Western expatriates and Balinese alike show unease at the instability of their foreseeable future on the island. The Australian International School has received a bomb threat in recent weeks; the police and Indonesian military presence on the streets is high, visible and visibly armed; the turmoil of Aceh lurks in the corner of many conversations; and when Balinese speak of Amrozi and his ilk, many flatly and frankly wish them dead. Many are also concerned about the Indonesian elections coming up in May next year, expressing disappointment and lack of confidence in Indonesian President Megawati Sukarnoputri. The perception that her leadership lacks necessary definition and strength at this volatile time seems widespread, even among her former supporters who say they expected her to deliver more for the "middle down" rather than the "middle up".

On my last night in Bali, Ketut Janna, the 30-year-old proprietor of a formerly bustling warung across the road from my hotel in Ubud (it is now empty; his workforce has dropped from 15 to three), spoke longingly of the days when he could drive into Kuta, "Bali's Bangkok", to taste the wealth, excitement and difference of the outside world. No uncritical slave to Western culture and capital, however, this marketing graduate also told of visiting California and being shocked at the grinding poverty of hard-working Mexican immigrants who claimed him as their own because of the colour of his skin.

"But you know, here in Bali, we do not think the colour of your skin is so very important," he said. I wondered about this, at the end of eight days of being most conspicuously white, wealthy and Western-and feeling a lot like a walking wallet. "What really matters," he went on, "is what goes on in your head, and in your heart."