PHIL FITZPATRICK

SOMETIMES neighbours can be annoying. Conversely, they can be a delight; friendly and helpful. Sometimes, however, they are bizarre.

I had some interesting neighbours in 1971.  They were the Biami family and they lived in a great big McMansion-style longhouse.

They didn’t get drunk or play loud music; neither did they have yappy dogs carrying on at unseemly times.

It was the relatives who were the problem, in particular their dead relatives. To be precise, it was the dead relatives in that transitory phase between this world and the next.

The Biamis liked to keep their dead relatives close, really close.

Letting them go was always difficult and it was necessary to smooth their path into the next world. The spirit world.

The Biamis knew that this spirit world, inhabited by their dead ancestors, actually existed. The proof was all around them and, if that wasn’t sufficient, they had mastered the knack of communicating with them. They did this at night using special mediums and incantations.

These scenes were remarkable affairs and so convincing that visiting sceptics tried using infrared photography to capture the phenomenon. However, the ancestors were too wily to be caught in this way.

To keep their dead relatives close, the Biamis put them on platforms in front of the longhouse.

The platform was built like an elevated basket and accommodated not only the dead relative but all the bits and pieces they might need on the journey to the afterlife: stone axes, bows and arrows, favourite ornaments, and a little bit of tucker in case they got peckish.

As you can imagine, my neighbour’s house from time to time tended to get a bit smelly. The women of the family had the delightful habit of sitting under the platforms and letting their dead relative’s bodily fluids drip on them before rubbing it into their skin.

I made a point of not shaking hands with any of these ladies when they were in the process of despatching someone to the next world.

When I politely suggested that burying their dead relatives wouldn’t do the amenity of the neighbourhood harm, my neighbours were appalled.

They quickly pointed out that my barbaric suggestion was impractical. What if the relative wasn’t actually dead? Putting them in a hole would smother them. And how could a dead relative dig out of the hole and get to the next world?

Furthermore, even if they could manage to exhume themselves, they would be blinded by the soil in their eyes and probably stagger around in the forest for days causing all sorts of mischief.

My next suggestion about maybe building the platforms away from the longhouse was also ridiculed. It would be impossible to keep wild pigs and dogs away.

How about burying them in a special place with a fence around it once it was obvious they were dead? More shaking of heads. If you think that will stop a wild pig, you are mad, kiap.

All right, what if I tell you that it’s against the law to keep smelly bodies next to houses? Guffaws this time. Is this law thing the same strange and amorphous concept that stops us making dinner out of the people over the river? Really! Get a life, kiap!

I didn’t get back to that neighbourhood for a long time but when I did the first thing I noticed was that it was no longer on the nose.

I see you’re using cemeteries, I remarked, and is that a church I see on the hill? What happened to the burial platforms?

The what? You’re kidding? What a disgusting idea. You must be talking about someone else, not us. Those people across the river maybe.

And, by the way, we changed our name, it’s not Biami anymore, we’ve gone upmarket, we’re now called Bedamini.

LAWRENCE KAIAPO GERRY

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Chamber of Mines & Petroleum
Award for Essays & Journalism

AS I was travelling on a bus the day before Anzac Day, I saw someone holding a placard with the motto “lest we forget”.

The first glow in the sky of Anzac Day arrived with enthusiastic people heading for dawn services.

Later, there was the music of marching bands - the army pipes and drums reminding us of the soldiers’ bravery.

That morning, as a first timer attending an official Anzac Day parade in Martin Place in the heart of Sydney, I felt a sense of awe. I also felt that all this was worthwhile. People from many walks of life gathered to participate and witness the occasion.

I could see tears of sorrow in the eyes of some bystanders. Australians commemorate Anzac Day with passion. The day has a special place in history for the people.

Among the crowd were some war veterans, men and women. Although very old, they were able to withstand the day’s activities. It was their time, the time to remember heroic achievements and to pay tribute to fallen comrades.

Although I have never been part of any war, this was really touching for me. I tried to put myself in the shoes of those who had gone through war. I also thought about how my country, Papua New Guinea, was involved in World War II in helping the Australian troops fight against the Japanese and the number of casualties accounted and not accounted for.

With that in mind, I prayed silently to God for peace and endurance.

I also had the opportunity to meet an old lady, a war veteran, sitting in her wheelchair. Daphne Dunne is 95 years old. Her husband, Albert Chowne VC, was a war hero who died in an action against the Japanese near Dagua in 1945 and who is buried at the Lae War Cemetery.

Daphne herself had been a Corporal in the Australian Women's Army Service. With Daphne’s permission, I took some photos of her which will always remind me of the tough times the brave soldiers went through to accomplish their missions.

“Chowne attacked an enemy position which was holding up further movement towards Wewak. Seeing that the leading platoon was suffering heavy casualties, Chowne rushed forward and knocked out two light machine guns with grenades and then, calling on his men to follow him and firing his sub machine gun from the hip, he charged the position.

“Although he was twice wounded in the chest, the impetus of his charge carried him forward 50 yards under intense machine gun and rifle fire and he accounted for two more of the enemy before he was killed. Chowne was awarded the Victoria Cross posthumously.” [Wikipedia]

Next to the monument in Martin Place, I was also fortunate to meet a gentleman whose father was a World War II veteran. He said that, without the war, Australia would not be like it is today. The war has a special place in the hearts and minds of Australians. He highlighted some events that unfolded after the war and the achievements of Australia as a nation.

As we were chatting, I saw a band marching towards the monument followed by a group of war veterans and their families. They placed wreaths at the monument as signs of honour, respect and reverence for the fallen soldiers.

Whispers of prayers were made to acknowledge the fallen soldiers. This was followed by the official laying of wreaths by the consuls of different countries, among them the Consul General of Papua New Guinea, Sumasy Singin (pictured above).

In some parts of PNG, there were also dawn services to commemorate Anzac Day. The Australian High Commissioner, Deborah Stokes, said, “Anzac Day is an opportunity to reflect on the spirit of Anzac forged at Gallipoli and continued in the jungles and mountains of Papua New Guinea.

“In World War Two, Australians fought alongside men of the Papuan Infantry Battalion. They were assisted by about 50,000 Papuan and New Guinean civilians who carried supplies, evacuated the sick and wounded, and built bases, airfields and other infrastructure.”

After participating in the events of Anzac Day, I can really see the importance of the words, “lest we forget”

In true spirit, we should always remember and treasure these people’s efforts in war, conflict and peace-keeping missions.

Lawrence Gerry is a PhD student at the University of New South Wales in Sydney

COMPILED BY KEITH JACKSON

AMIRAH Inglis (1926-2015), an Australian writer and feminist with a close association with Papua New Guinea, has died in Melbourne.

Inglis migrated to Melbourne in 1929 with her Polish-Jewish parents. She graduated from Melbourne University with a BA Hons in history, later studying at Canberra University College.

She followed her parents into the Communist Party at the age of 18 and worked on the communist weekly, The Guardian.

At 21 she married the communist intellectual Ian Turner and became a devoted and active member of the party during the most turbulent period of its history - the Menzies era, the Petrov Affair and increasing anti-communist sentiment. The marriage ended in 1962.

The family moved to Canberra in 1959 where Amirah taught music at Lyneham High School, was on the programming committee for Canberra's ABC concerts and was involved in the Canberra branch of the Communist Party.

In 1967 Amirah and her second husband historian Ken Inglis went to Papua New Guinea when he was appointed inaugural vice-chancellor of the University of Papua New Guinea. There she lectured in history at the Administrative College and mentored women university students.

Her book, Not a White Woman Safe, published in 1974, has been described as a thoroughly researched work that brought into focus the White Women’s Protection Ordinance of 1926 introduced by the Australian colonial administration in Port Moresby.

Passed into law on the watch of then Administrator of Papua, Sir Hubert Murray, this discriminatory piece of legislation was put into effect with penalties that were deemed draconian, even by the standards of that time.

This book clearly depicts Port Moresby of that era; an ultra-repressive “white man’s town” where the social castes were distinctively defined.

It explores the underlying myths surrounding the white man’s perception of the Papuans’ sexual mores leading towards resentment and paranoia that gave rise to the “Black Peril”: the unnatural fear of sexual attacks on white women and girls by black men, even when there was not a single recorded case of rape.

Her 1983 book Amirah: an un-Australian childhood explored the issue of migrant identity in Australia and described the frustrations and challenges of growing up in a country with different cultural, political, religious and philosophical traditions.

Inglis's second autobiographical work, The hammer & sickle and the washing up: memories of an Australian woman communist, described her struggle to balance her political commitments in a man's world with those of being a wife, mother and homemaker.

Inglis's other books reflect a desire to understand the complexities of her world within the framework of the humanitarian, internationalist, European-based communist ideology of her migrant parents and the completely new world of Papua New Guinea where she lived and worked between 1967-1974.

Sources: Nickson Piakal (‘White prestige in a colonial port town’, Hope Trek), Ros Russell (The Australian Women’s Register), Sarah Dowse (National Library of Australia).  End photo by Ken Inglis: Bill Gammage, Amirah Inglis, Hank Nelson, Canberra, 1966

BOB CLELAND

THE Aramia River in the Western Province of Papua New Guinea is home to plenty of crocodiles.

It winds through flat country and many shallow lagoons feed into it – ideal crocodile habitat.

The people living there call themselves Gogodala. They number about 15,000 today and live in well constructed villages on the lagoon edges. It is inevitable that Crocodile often clashes with Gogodala.

On the edge of the biggest lagoon lies the town of Balimo, taking its name from a large village on its shores. Also assuming that name was the government sub-district headquarters of the area.

When I first arrived there as Assistant District Officer in the late 1950s, there were many crocodile stories and legends, some handed down through generations, some more recent.

All were related with awe, bravado, humour or sadness by the Gogodala people. Several revolved around a huge old-man croc whose territory included the mouth of the Balimo lagoon.

He'd been shot at with gun and arrow, trapped in a traditional pit, and speared with wood and steel, but always got away and lived to attack another pig, dog, wallaby or Gogodala. I saw him several times basking on the river bank.

Working in the office one day, I heard angry voices rising and falling like the sound of surf. I wasn't particularly worried in this peaceful and friendly part of PNG, so stayed put.

Suddenly a police constable came running to say I'd better come as the Balimo and Kewa people were about to fight. A huge swell of angry voices and cries reached me as confirmation of the constable's message.

‘Come on Ian.’ I said to the patrol officer with me in the office. The walk to the commotion took us only two minutes. The rest of the police detachment were there and alert.

As for the antagonists, some had bows with arrows, some had bushknives, but none looked really serious about using their weapons.

With the help of the police and the station interpreter, we got the squabbling villagers sitting in two groups, still hurling a few insults, and were able to piece together the story.

In one of their long, graceful canoes the Kewa people had been paddling downriver from their upriver village. They spotted the old man croc sunning himself on the bank at the mouth of Balimo lagoon.

They were able to sneak up on him (maybe he was getting old) and get a very substantial barbed spear into him. He erupted into the water with the spear sticking out of his body. They didn't much like losing the spear, but accepted that it was gone for good and the croc would (as usual) live.

Several days later, a canoe-full of Balimo villagers, on their way out of Balimo lagoon, saw something unusual in a pool made shallow by the low water of the dry season. With great excitement, they found the crocodile feared by three generations, dead with a twisted steel spear in his side.

They quickly skinned the old croc from nose to tail-tip, extracted the spear and continued on their way, taking the rolled-up skin and spear with them.

The bush telegraph worked quickly and before long the two groups were arguing about who owned the skin. A big skin was worth a lot of money.

‘Ours,’ said the Balimos. ‘We found it and skinned it.’

‘No, ours,’ said the Kewas. ‘We speared it and killed it.’

An indissoluble argument, but at least they agreed they should go and let Gavman decide. Once onto the neutral territory of Balimo station, though, their patience ran out and tempers boiled over, leaving me to settle a dispute the like of which I hadn't seen since my time in the Highlands.

Well, I didn't come up with a Solomonic solution. I didn't even need to invoke the law. The croc must have been dead awhile before being found and the Balimo people didn't have any salt to rub in to preserve the skin.

The argument had been in progress for several days in this very hot, humid climate and when we ceremoniously unrolled ‘Exhibit A’, we found it to be rotten, putrid and crawling with the larvae of sundry insects. Quite valueless as a skin.

There was huge disappointment, loss of interest, cooling of passions. Everyone went their way with sad expressions and that was that.

But what a croc he was! That skin measured twenty-one feet, three inches (6.5 metres) from snout to tail-tip and its commercial measurement around the belly was 72 inches.

The spear, a solid length of five-eighth inch hexagonal steel, was bent like a piece of fencing wire.

FIDELIS SUKINA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Paga Hill Development Company
Award for Writing for Children

THE small boy walked along the road towards school. He looked tired and dragged his bag on the footpath.

“Hey boy,” a voice came from behind.

“Who me?” replied the small boy as he slowly turned around. “Uncle John,” the boy shouted excitedly.

“Why the gloomy face and the lazy stroll, Richard?” John asked.

“I’m hungry and there’s no food in the house,” Richard said, looking down at the footpath.

It was hard living in the city; things kept getting worse. The family had fallen into debt, and they owed a lot to loan sharks around the city.

John knew Richards’s dad had fallen on hard times but, he didn’t think it was this worse,

“I’m sorry my boy, here is a K20 get something for yourself” John said as he gave him two K10 notes

“I can’t get this uncle. I’m not supposed to get money. Dad might get mad,” he said reluctantly.

“Don’t worry, my boy, it’s our little secret; now go on, off to school.”

That afternoon Richard went home with a grin on his face and some food in a small plastic bag.

His mother saw the bag and was curious about the food.

“Mum, it’s some rice and tinned fish for dinner,” Richie said with caution.

“Where did you get it from,” his mother asked.

“I saved the money myself,” he said.

But his mother knew he couldn’t have saved the money.

“Now boy, don’t you lie to your mother,” she said to him strongly.

Richard had made a pact with his uncle, but he could not lie to his mother.

“I got it from Uncle John,” he said.

“What did you tell him?” his mother asked. “Tell me before your father comes home and sees the food.”

“Mummy, are you not happy for the food?” asked Richie. 

“It’s not that son,” she said. “It’s just that your father doesn’t like people to think we are poor.

Richie feared his father might give him a smacking.

Later his dad arrived. “Richie, where are you?” he shouted. “I got something for you son.”

Richie hesitantly walked toward his father and, to his surprise, saw a new bicycle.

His dad had secured a job and got an advance on his pay to sort out the family’s debt. Their prayers were answered.

It was a very happy night for the family as they sat and ate dinner. Richie forgot all about the plastic bag of rice and tinned fish.

MARLENE DEE GRAY POTOURA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Government Award for Short Stories

MAGGIE was the only one who knew about my Jekyll and Hyde problem. She recommended a doctor.

“Your brain is going bonkers Casse!” Maggie said for the hundredth time. “You need a medical check-up.

“You are losing your sanity, my dear friend. Your brain is going in reverse and playing tricks on you.

“Oh, and you need a man to keep you sane,” she suggested.

“Noooo, I don’t need a man, Maggie,” I exclaimed.

“Then your brain is truly reversing!” she yelled.

“Reversing? Are you kidding?”

“No, sister, something is definitely not right up there,” she declared, pointing to my head.

“Maggie, I might be jinxed or something,” I said, worried.

‘What!’ Maggie cried, her eyes popping out.

“Don’t ever believe in that crap. This is the twenty first century for goodness sake, Casse. I really confirm you are going bonkers and definitely need a medical doctor to scan your brain and set it on the right pace again.”

It was always very difficult to argue with someone like Maggie.

You couldn’t tell at first glance she was somebody not to be messed around with.

She is short and of very small build and has an hour glass figure. She has a soft sweet oval face with big almond-shaped eyes and a neatly shaped afro hairstyle.

Her looks are deceiving, because she is a straightforward woman who is strong and speaks her mind. Maggie even directs her over-demanding husband to leave the house budget in her care and concentrate on filling the bank account so she can handle home affairs.

I met Maggie, when I went to college to train as a teacher. The first time I saw her, I thought, ‘geez, she’s short’ (I am quite tall around 5 foot). But when she talked to me for the first time, I realised you can never tell anyone’s personality from their size or shape.

Her voice was strong and firm, but kind. A real school teacher’s voice.

We were roommates during our second year of college and in the last two years we couldn’t be separated.  It was during this time that she found out about my ‘reversing brain’.

I kept having the same dream about floating out of my body and Maggie said my brain had reversed its normal course and had to be scanned and redirected.

Gracious me. Never heard of that medical condition.

But Maggie was persistent that she knew what my problem was.

She became my really close friend, more like family and kept the ‘reversing brain’ problem to herself. I really trusted and admired her; she was a really great sister.

“Casse, in our Melanesian culture you can call families your blood and all that, but I don’t really go along with it. Anyone can come into your life and win your heart and then you can be closer to them then your real family.”

“Like you and Adam?” I asked, joking.

“Goodness, Casse, Adam is my husband and at any time he can find another woman to love and forget me.

“I am talking about sisterhood friendship. For someone of your education sometimes you asked the stupidest questions,” she said bluntly.

That is Maggie. A matter of fact woman and you just take her words as they come. When people meet her for the first time they think she is a real bitch, but as one get to know her she has a golden caring heart.

I usually don’t say anything back when she starts her speeches and explanations because with Maggie one can never win.

Adam is lucky she is such a good wife. She can go on raving over trivial matters but I know he has seen the goodness in her like I did. He smiles and never takes it as offensive.

Maggie is also domesticated and her house is spic and span. She cooks delicious meals and is kind and civil to Adam’s boss and his wife, with their undisciplined eleven-year old twins.

“Goodness, I don’t know why people have children if they cannot make them polite!” she once complained to me, rolling her eyes.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Last night, we went to Adam’s office barbecue and his boss’s twin boys brought firecrackers and set them alight next to the pool house. Well, the explosion, good grief, scared the hell out of everyone!

“I was about to call the cops to put those spoilt kids in some kind of juvenile home and send their parents to Siberia.”

Maggie was really upset over that.

Where we teach, at Hareth Ford Girls Grammar School, she is one of the senior teachers and looks after the girls marching group. The marching girls are very popular and, as they march, you can see Maggie Kilian doing her strut and shouting directions like she was born to it. She got awarded twice as a marching instructor.

Adam fell in love with her, as Maggie puts it, when he first saw her marching with the girls. After six months courtship, they got married at the Methodist church and I was maid of honour. Both of us got drunk at the reception afterwards and Adam was truly impressed. He still talks about it when the three of us are alone.

“I thought that teachers were sensible, but during my wedding reception I was proven wrong,” he says and laughs really hard.

, when he was laughing about our ‘wedding reception drinking thing’.

“I wondered if you thought I was a saint who was marching to eternity and would drag you along,” Maggie told him once, and then she winked at me. I gave her a hard look and didn’t smile.

So when Adam went to the toilet she said, ‘Goodness, Casse, men think that only they have good times to remember and clink glasses to. We go back a long way and stuff whoever has a problem with our drinking on my wedding day.”

“Maggie, he’s your husband now, don’t upset him,” I said kindly.

“For crying out loud, Casse, he better get use to my ranting or he won’t last.” Then we started laughing our heads off and when Adam returned he looked confused.

“Did I miss something?” and he looked at Maggie and then at me.

“Yes, honey, you did,” Maggie told him.

“What?” he asked perplexed.

“The man next to our table gave a loud thunderous fart,” then we all started holding our stomachs and laughing.

That’s another side of Maggie. She can be really funny when she wants to be. She has this sweet and sour kind of humour, especially if she is annoyed or can’t stand the conversation that’s floating around.

Maggie is unique.

Once she came to work looking distraught and tired.

“Geez, Casse, forget about getting married. It’s a whole load of hard work and men have so many needs and demands,” then she rolled her eyes and moved onto to her office, before I could say anything.

At lunchtime that day, I caught her in the staffroom and asked what she was on about.

She said abruptly, “Oh that? Later, when you get married we’ll talk about it. Now it would be a sin to tell you.” She looked at me seriously and we both cracked up at the same time and Mr Moatz, who was about to put his coffee to his lips, shook his cup and the hot liquid dribbled down the front of his brown pants. He cursed loudly.

“What the hell? Can you women mind the level of your laughter and stop squealing?”

“Our apologies, Mr Moatz, we are just excited that Casse is getting married,” Maggie just let her usual smart words roll out of her mouth.

“Really?” Mr Moatz said in a much softer voice.

“Yeah, really, that’s why we’re squealing like piglets,” Maggie stood up and pulled my hand.

“Will keep you posted, Mr Moatz, and update on the progress of her courtship, starting from as I speak,” Maggie said loudly.

It was then I looked over at Mr Moatz and saw he got the message that Maggie was being sarcastic.

“Maggie!” I exclaimed as we went through the door.

“Well, he acts like he owns the staff room, but he doesn’t. We can  laugh as loud as we like, squeal as sexily as we can , fart as stinky as we want and say whatever we feel like saying,”. We both held our stomachs and laughed as we walked to her office.

“What if he asks me when the wedding is,” I asked.

“Well, you can tell him, I will still let you know or...,” Maggie stopped. “Tell him blankly, there is no wedding.”

“What if he doesn’t believe me.” I’d heard stories that Mr Moatz controlled half of the criminals in the city.

“Well then, tell him to take a hike or unfriend him,” Maggie laughed loudly.

‘Hey this is not Facebook!”

“Well, just tell him Maggie lied,” she said flatly. “He’s not our friend, relative or husband. Chill Casse.”

Then she rolled her eyes, put her hands on her hips and said, “Casse, are you going to see a doctor or not?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Casse, don’t give me maybe. I am more than a friend. I care for you, even though I know that you’re such a twerp!”. She was angry.

“You drove Neil away because he suspected there was something deep bothering you and you didn’t want him to be part of it!” she yelled at me.

“Neil was a real sob. I did the right thing,’ I said with a laugh.

“No, he really liked you, I mean loved you, woman,”’ she said in a much kinder voice.

“Oh please, Maggie, don’t make me cry angry tears. I usually only cry once every year.

“I didn’t like him or love him. Good riddance.”

“He was a nice man, who was willing to give you his heart,” she sounded like my mother and I laughed loudly.

“What is funny, woman?!” Maggie did her eye-popping serious school teacher face.

“Mags, I don’t want his heart or any other man’s stomach,” I said.

We looked at each other and cracked up in loud, uncivilized laughter.

“Okay, Mrs Kilian, organise a doctor for me,” I got up and hugged her.

“I already have,” she said taking her handbag from the bench.

“What?”

“Tomorrow we go to Dr Harrison at nine.” Maggie walked away as I tried to work out how she had already found a good doctor to unreverse my reversed brain.

GABRIEL RAMOI

Dedicated to all who have died in the cause
of a free and independent West Papua

PRIME minister Peter O’Neill’s earth shattering 5 February reversal of a 40 year policy of denial by Papua New Guinea of the plight of West Papua will be judged by history as the most important step taken by a sovereign state toward propelling West Papua towards political independence from Indonesia.

This followed on the heels of that lone brave voice of the prime minister of Vanuatu to the United Nations in 2013 to put West Papua back on list of UN trust territories.

O’Neill’s decision was a bold move and one not made lightly. It turned PNG’s foreign policy on its head and will no doubt rattle Australia and will keep academics busy in years to come analysing its significance and consequences.

Like his call on Ok Tedi the call on West Papua show the tenacity and inner strength of Peter Paire, the boy who grew up alone in the wilds of Las Wiru before he was acknowledged by his Irish O’Neill clan.

Peter Paire has performed a sacred and moral act in the cause of humanity by facing up to a bully and to tell the bully to stop killing its own citizens.

It is an act that all former prime ministers of PNG without doubt did not have the moral courage to face up to. The call by O’Neill rides on the force of a moral persuasion that Indonesia as a nation must confront and come to terms with.

Retired British banker and respected BBC radio commentator Jim O’Neil first coined the terms BRICS [Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa] and MINT [Mexico, Indonesia, Nigeria, Turkey] nations to identify the groups that are set to leapfrog from emerging to middle income economies

Jim O’Neil has a message for Indonesia. While he is convinced that Mexico, Nigeria and Turkey will reach middle income status by 2030 he’s not too sure whether Indonesia can make it.

In his BBC radio series on MINT nations - widely quoted and reported inside Indonesia - O’Neil said Indonesia had all the ingredients of a successful nation but there was something missing in Indonesia’s DNA that he was not able put a handle on that created doubts in his mind.

That lingering doubt can be traced back to a culture of denial of the dark historical events buried in the Indonesian subconscious for over 40 years until only three years ago when American film maker Joshua Oppenheimer came along and brought it back to life in an underground documentary, TheAct of Killing.

The powerful award winning film captured the genocide that occurred within Indonesia between 1965 and 1966 which saw more than two million of its citizen killed in a horrific bloodbath that ushered in the rule of President Suharto.

Indonesia turned in on itself in a frenzy of killing that saw it wipe out its elite and intelligentsia including teachers, union officials and village chiefs together with its ethnic Chinese merchant class. Historian and cultural critic Ariel Heryanto writing in Tempo magazine said:

“The Act of Killing is the most powerful political film about Indonesia that I have ever seen…. It witnesses the bloody destruction of a foundation of this nation at the hands of Indonesians themselves on top a mountain of corpses of our fellow countrymen rolled out on a red carpet for the growth of gangster capitalism and political Islam. The act of killing exposes the hypocrisy at the heart of our country’s notion of patriotism and justice.”

The human rights commission of Indonesia is quoted as saying: “If we are to transform Indonesia into a democracy it claims to be, citizens must recognise the terror and repression on which our contemporary history has been built and come to terms with it”

Andreas Harsono of Human Rights Watch writing in the New York Times in February last year, put it in perspective:

“Mr Oppenheimer’s film and the Indonesian government’s reaction to it are a powerful reminder of the culture of impunity and the lack of the rule of law that continues to weigh on Indonesia. This culture of impunity expresses itself in a systematic failure to hold accountable members of the security forces and Islamist militants who continue to commit abuse against religious minorities right throughout the country.

“The Islamic Peoples Forum, The Islamic Defenders Front and other Islamic groups are at the forefront of this intolerance. This groups continue to attack places of worship of the minority Shiite and Ahmadiyah sects as well as Christian churches.

“Although government officials have played a passive and even active role in the violence the government has failed to confront those responsible or to obtain redress for the victims. The legacy of impunity for crimes in 1965-1966 also extends to a lack of accountability for abuse by security forces operating in Indonesia most easterly provinces of Papua & West Papua.

“Over the last three years in particular the Human Rights Watch has documented hundreds of cases where the police, soldiers and intelligence officers have used unlawful force in dealing with Papuans exercising their rights to peaceful assembly. The government needs to provide accountability and to work towards dismantling the toxic culture of Impunity that vitamises Indonesia to this day.”

Unfortunately the attitude of the Indonesian government to the events of 1965-66 and currently with regard to genocide in West Papua remains stubborn and unrepentant. In October 2012 Political, Legal and Security Minister Djoko Suyanto justified the killings, saying: “This country would not be what it is today if the killings had not occurred.”

So what is the message for President Widodo as he visits Papua New Guinea on Monday?

The least the independent states in the Pacific can do for West Papua is to assist Indonesia, the Netherlands and the United States right the wrongs of history that led to the United Nations 1969 debacle over West Papua by admitting the United Liberation Movement of West Papua [UNLM] into the Melanesian Spearhead group [MSG] when it convenes in July.

While the Republic of Indonesia currently enjoys observer status in the MSG, the admittance of UNLM should not be at the expense of Indonesia, on the contrary both should be encouraged to share this forum and this should be the message given to the Indonesian President in two days time.

Indonesia continues to have a large population of people of Melanesian descent from Ambon to West Timor and therefore its presence as an observer in the MSG is essential.

As President Widodo visits our country, it is important for our prime minister not only to engage him on economic relations between our two countries but reaffirm his statement of 5 February to highlight the growing concern in the world community on the abuse of human rights in West Papua.

Widodo must be reminded that the enslavement of a people by another people is unnatural and Indonesia’s enslavement of the Melanesian people of West Papua is abhorrent to humanity especially to Melanesians as our societies do not keep slaves and we find the institution of slavery repugnant.

Indonesia should take the high moral ground in working towards West Papuan Independence just as Australia gave ours. Both Widodo and O’Neill can reach out to inspire a whole generation of their own people and the world by acting together to correct the injustices of West Papua.

The application of brute force and repression by states, to subdue their culture and religion through state sponsored acts of terrorism and to deny them their basic rights and force them to accept the predominant culture and religion have all come to naught since antiquity.

The images of unimaginable brutality committed against the people of West Papua by Indonesian state actors continue to upset our sense of humanity and decency.

It is now clear that PNG can longer watch from the sideline; it must constructively engage Indonesia to deal with the issue.

The road map for dealing with Indonesia over West Papua has been mapped out inside Indonesia and succinctly captured in a book by West Papuan priest and journalist Fr Neles Tebay, West Papua: The struggle for peace with justice [see link at the end of this article].

The road map proposed by Fr Tebay can be seen in the conclusion of his book. It calls on Indonesia to declare West Papua as a zone of peace and to allow for the demilitarisation of the region.

The nexus between human rights violations and military involvement in gangster capitalism inside Indonesia and West Papua is rampant. Stealing by the military of resources, particularly illegal logging, has its roots in the Suharto era where businesses by Army units were encouraged to supplement the wages and conditions of Indonesian servicemen.

Since the fall of Suharto and the democratisation of Indonesia, this practice has been reduced but remains entrenched in West Papua.

As the son of a colonial policemen at the PNG Border outpost of Wutung between 1968 and 1971, I grew up in the shadows of the great events that unfolded in the new Indonesian republic and in Dutch New Guinea.

My father, Sgt Ramoi, was in charge of the small contingent of policemen under the leadership of District Officer Tony Try that witnessed acts of violence and cruelty committed by Indonesian security forces against Papuans prior to the Act of Free choice in 1969 and which has continued unabated since.

On 26 May 1969, I witnessed for the first time an incursion by the Indonesian military into a West Papuan refugee camp on PNG soil at Wutung. The troops indiscriminately opened fired on men, women and children.

It was also at Wutung on that date that PNG exchanged gunfire with Indonesia for the first time. The encounter was led by a young PNG cadet patrol officer named Jerry Moka and Sgt Ramoi. These events were the subject of reports filed by then New York Times correspondent Robert Trumbull who was covering the period leading up to the Act of Free Choice.

The continued violation of PNG sovereignty with impunity and indiscriminate shooting and killing by the Indonesian military of its own citizens in West Papua set a pattern that continues to this day.

The latest case is that of the ex-police chief of Merauke, Labora Sitorus, who last year was convicted by the Indonesian supreme court for failure to account for his vast wealth, gained as a result of illegal logging in Papua. Sitorus was convicted and sentenced yet today continues to live in his mansion in Merauke a free man.

In 1984, as a young member of parliament, I had the privilege to be part of our country’s delegation that engaged Indonesia in a dialogue on West Papua organised by the powerful Indonesian independent think tank The Centre for Strategic and International Studies.

I have continued to travel inside Indonesia to meet with Indonesian political and business leaders. In April last year I had dinner in Jakarta with the head of Panin–ANZ Bank, George Lee, and also met Franz Joku in Jayapura prior to the last election where he was a candidate for one of the ten seats representing West Papua in the 500 strong Indonesian national parliament.

Indonesia is a great country and can rise up and achieve middle income status as a MINT nation, but it must dismantle the last remaining vestiges of its toxic military culture which allows the military to participate in the economy as a state actor resulting in the Army using its might to gain advantage over tribal people and their resources.

The army is responsible for so many human rights violations against its own people particularly in West Papua. It is also becoming more apparent that West Papua does not want to be part of the Indonesian republic.

Our world today is very different to the one inherited by Sukarno and Hatta at the end of World War II and, indeed, even that which prevailed at the 1963 annexation of West Papua and the 1969 Act of Free Choice.

Enslavement of one people by another should not be allowed by the world community and as President Widodo makes his historic trip to PNG on Monday, he must be encouraged to continue with the ongoing process of democratisation of Indonesian society and to encourage Indonesia to take its place on the world stage.

But first it must deal with the ghosts of its recent past. It must deal with the 1965 genocide inside Indonesia by bringing those responsible to trial and it must move to give West Papua its freedom and independence.

Download the book West Papua: The struggle for peace with justice by Neles Tebay

JOHN KAUPA KAMASUA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Chamber of Mines & Petroleum
Award for Essays & Journalism

This article is dedicated to all women especially mothers on Mother’s Day 2015

IT is a well-documented fact that educated women are better able to look after their families than those who are not well educated.

These women’s children are also more likely to be educated, have better nutrition, attend school, have housing and generally have better prospects in life than the children of those who are less well endowed. 

Our Constitution calls for equal participation of all women in political, economic, social and religious activities. But, although the principles of the Constitution show a strong commitment to the equality of men and women, that is not the reality.

The view that women are subordinate because it is a time-honoured cultural practice in PNG is disputed by better educated women as well as by many educated males.

The conditions for women has not improved much over the last 25 years and for many in rural and isolated communities conditions have deteriorated.

Social development indicators have gone backwards for the majority of women with maternal mortality among the highest in the world. The situation with literacy and employment are also far from satisfactory.

The situation is not all gloom for women. Progress has been made on some fronts but much more needs to be done.

More women and girls are entering higher education. Women are entering into previously male-dominated trades and professions. However this cannot be said of their female counterparts in the rural areas of PNG.

The girls I went to school with are now holding down jobs and appear to have healthier families. The education and training of women and girls, as much as for men and boys, are important investments for PNG.

The subordination of women and girls comparative to men are mostly due to cultural and social factors.

The gap between the government’s rhetoric and women’s realities is still wide and education is one of the surest investments to close this gap.

In PNG, it makes development and human rights sense to support and encourage women and girls to participate in education, employment, development and social transformation.

My mother did not complete her education. That was because her father did not see the need for her to go to school. There were many things she could do at home.

She started school but, on the first day, my grandfather turned up, argued with the white sister in charge and took her away. She never went back.

But our mother always wanted us to get an education. She did anything and everything to raise the funds, buy our clothes and send us to school. For that I am grateful to her every day.

Education is a wonderful gift to give to a child, particularly a girl child. And encouragement and support should be provided to girls and women who are in school to delay marriage, stay longer in school and get a decent education.

ANTHONY KAYBING

BOUGAINVILLE’S Mekamui Tribal Government of Unity has pledged its support to incumbent President John Momis in this year’s general elections.

Mekamui Defence Force leader Moses Pipiro declared that the people in the Panguna area were fully behind President Momis’s bid to retain the Bougainville presidency at a political rally held in Panguna.

“The Mekamui Tribal Government of Unity stands behind President Momis as we see him as the person who will lead us to freedom,” Mr Pipiro said.

“The Mekamui faction has also started the realignment process with the Autonomous Bougainville Government that will see reintegration and unity amongst all Bougainvilleans.

“President Momis has been with us from the very start of our struggle for self-determination and he is the only one who knows where will go,” he said.

Former Bougainville president James Tanis was amongst a host of leaders from north, south and central Bougainville who endorsed President Momis’s candidacy.

Mr Tanis said that his decision not to stand for election was to allow Dr Momis to complete the long journey that is Bougainville’s move to self-determination and, should the people choose, total independence.

“President Momis is on the verge of completing what he started more than 40 years ago when he took up the fight for our people’s freedom,” Mr Tanis said.

“It would be unjust for me to usurp his leadership, as a respected elder statesman he has the necessary experience and will to lead us to independence.

“With Bougainville’s referendum to be held within the term of the third House of Representatives as stipulated in the PNG Constitution, Bougainvilleans must know the type of leader they want to lead them and President Momis is that leader,” he said.

JOHN FOWKE

UPON reflection - following the appearance of my piece on the wartime executions at Higaturu and in recognition that there is an efflorescence of internet commentary by a new generation of Australian Pacific experts in the year of the Anzac centenary - I think it is as well to recall in clarity the early days of Australia’s military intervention in Papua.

This article is derived from two pieces previously published in PNG Attitude. I also commend the blog’s archival section Past Times -WWII and Kokoda as a resource to newly-hatched Pacific experts and other people interested in the reality of Australia in PNG during World War II.

The original battalions of Australian soldiers to arrive in Port Moresby were not volunteers. As is well-known, they were conscripts. 

They were young men forced into service by the martial law then prevailing, as were the carriers and labourers – the so-called “Angels” - the many Papuan men who supported the Australian soldiers on the famous Kokoda Track, Lakekamu, Wau, Port Moresby, Milne Bay and elsewhere.

Besides carrying supplies and wounded men, these Papuan conscripts were employed building Army camps and digging drains and pit latrines at 6 Mile and elsewhere.

The Jackson's Airport we know so well was transformed from a tiny dirt landing-ground to a major airstrip capable of landing DC3's and other large aircraft. It was upgraded by these same Papuan conscripts equipped with shovels, picks and wheelbarrows.

The young Aussies were youths who had not volunteered to serve in the AIF [Australian Imperial Force]. They were lads who had remained in their jobs as office-boys, apprentices, labourers and farm-hands until they were compelled to enter training for service in a militia brigade.

Australia's mature, well-trained, volunteer infantry force had been sent to support British troops in the North African and Mediterranean countries invaded by Germany soon after hostilities began in 1939.

These other young militia men, untrained and often unwilling, were all that was left in Australia to form a second fighting force.

Under law it was illegal for an Australian militia detachment to be deployed overseas but, as Papua was an Australian protectorate, it was deemed by Canberra to be of similar status as mainland Australia.

It was on this basis the young militiamen embarked for Port Moresby. This is a point never, to my knowledge, taken up by the off-and-on Papuan separatist movement even though it is redundant in law.

The young soldiers were a very discontented lot when they realised they had been effectively tricked into service overseas, and when they apprehended what they were expected to do. Fight the Japanese.

They showed their anger by looting houses, shops and even the Anglican Church in downtown Port Moresby soon after their arrival. Eventually their mainly elderly, superannuated World War I-era officers managed to settle things down.

The young white men went on to find friends in the shape of the conscripted Papuan labourers and carriers who served beside them in the thick of battle.

Both sides saw they had much in common and they shared smokes and biscuits and mugs of tea along the track, at the same time learning something of each others customs and worldview.

This was illuminating for the Australian youths, but for the Papuans the dawning reality of white men as simple humans and the reality of their access to and rational explanation of the hitherto-marvellous consumable goods and artefacts of the outside world, was a huge influence and a lasting driver of change.

Here was the beginning of the legend of Kokoda which we recall every year. This legend, in a different form, became part of the cultural tidal wave which swept PNG post-1945.

The relationship established in the heat of battle developed into a strong bond between two peoples. We do ourselves and those brave men, black and white, a great injustice if we lose sight of the reality of this period in our common history.

For their part, the Papuans were rounded up by patrol officers in their villages from Daru in the west to East Cape beyond Milne Bay.

Stories of this procedure were told to me by my boss when I worked as a Co-operatives Officer, the late ‘Speed’ Graham (known widely as Io Gram - the whiteman who always says “ yes”, a consequence of his initials being EO or “yes” in Motu).

At age 20 Speed, a newly-fledged patrol officer had been sent west from Port Moresby to recruit in the Orokolo and Purari Delta villages, now within the Gulf Province.

As the census roll was called, each male with hair under his arms, excluding those with grey or white hair on their heads, was lined up and loaded aboard a waiting vessel. These brought them to Port Moresby and several years of often dangerous service with the Australian Army.

The friendship and understanding between black and white conscripts blossomed and led to an association which was set down in an emotional poem published in the Australian Womens Weekly magazine in 1943. Here the unforgettable name ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels’ was coined and came into common use.

The young Australians, faced with the reality of the Kokoda Track and the Japanese opposition to their advance, changed overnight. Together with the seasoned soldiers who returned from the Middle East some months later, they established the legend of Kokoda-Buna-Gona.

They served with great bravery and took many losses, killed and badly wounded.

It is sobering to reflect that, at Bomana, more than 9,000 Australian servicemen and women lie buried. These are those whose bodies were found. Others lie in Lae and Rabaul, but some remain where they fell or crashed from the sky, unseen and lost forever.

There is no officially-designated and consecrated burial ground for the Papuans and New Guineans of the military labour force who fell beside their Australian and American allies in the war.

Those men, who were already members of the two territorial police forces and the Papuan Infantry Battalion, were ultimately awarded medals and received service pensions upon their retirement from employment.

As a patrol officer in the then Gulf District I was still paying out war-service and war-damage compensation to individuals and family representatives as late as 1960.

There have been efforts within PNG over many years to recognise the Angels nationally, but the process has not run smoothly.

I am aware for instance of the aged father of a friend of mine, an old Angel from the Malalaua area of the Gulf, who often made trips to Port Moresby when rumours of medals and parades were about but he never met with a welcome and the recognition he deserved. He died a disappointed old man some 15 years ago.

The Angels, unknowingly, were the real pioneers of a modern, independent PNG by being actively and fearlessly among those who together faced, fought and ultimately subdued the rapacious Japanese Empire.

They were heroes in this context and this needs to be said, loud and clear.

The services they provided to Australians were a subsidiary issue, and we do the memory of PNG's World War II servicemen, Police, and Angels great insult by placing them in a historic role as loyal, smiling, simple native helpers of the Australians.

They were warriors in their own right and served and fought bravely often in special-force-like defence of their own land.

The truth needs to be told for the benefit of young, present-day Papua New Guineans, to correct the egregious sales pitches of the Kokoda tour operators and the predilections of emerging Pacific experts.

The truth is that the Fussy Wuzzy Angels, the Papuan Infantry Battalion and the Royal Papuan Constabulary were the pioneers of modern, independent PNG.

Not the Pangu Pati, outspoken and confident in its white socks and polyester shorts, nor the United Party with its Australian Country Party contacts and fears of the rise of a hegemony of “black masters.”

It was the fighting men who were the real blood-sweat-and-tears pioneers who helped to ensure that their proto-independent nation remained free of Japanese imperial conquest and then helped protect Australia from a similar fate.

We must remember them as they were. The first heroes of PNG, the free and independent nation.

MICHAEL DOM

SOMETIMES we try to cook up convincing arguments to back up our case. Sometimes someone else gives us the arguments.

But last night, while thinking about whether to petition Papua New Guinea’s parliament to provide more PNG-authored books to our schools - and whether or not it was a good idea - a simple thing happened that galvanised my confidence that a petition is the right thing to do.

I’m studying in South Australia and my partner Isidora was at home in PNG giving baking lessons to a colleague’s young daughters.

While they were relaxing in the lounge waiting for the dough to rise, the girls happened to come across a copy of my first book, At Another Crossroads, sitting on the coffee table.

These are the text messengers Isidora sent me:

Isidora: The girls found your book under the table.

Michael: What book?

Isidora: At the crossroads.

Michael: Whose girls are in my house reading my book? (I can be a meaner when I want to be.)

Isidora: (Ignoring the meaner) Peter and Tony’s girls are here to learn to bake.

Michael: Oh, ok.

Isidora: They found your book – you should see their faces – complete silence. Then slight smiles. And all of a sudden… Uncle Michael em brain box ya!!!

After laughing a little, I recalled that there were two books left from the 28 copies I bought at the UPNG Bookshop to help with sales. They cost K50 each, which is pretty steep for most PNG pockets.

Such charming and loyal friends I have, they insisted I give them a free signed copy – thanks guys. I owe the UPNG Bookshop K1, 400.

But hey, what’s the price of fame?

Anyhow, there were two copies left after the last ten we sent off for another worthy cause, so I messaged back to Isidora.

Michael: You can give them each one book.

Isidora: Really!!! Wow…they are in complete silence!!!

Isidora: (A few minutes later) Peter’s big girl’s fav…Beauty is in da wata. Everyone is beaming and going frantic!!! Giggling like a child given a lolly. Rahab is going… “I will covet it”. She says she will put it into her bilum and take to school every day for inspiration. And they say thank you. Other girls are saying as soon as it hits schools, they will take their signed copy and preach to all their friends… Author is our uncle and we got the first copies and they are signed.

Isidora: (An hour later) Oh no…while waiting for the buns to come out…we’re all reciting poems. Rahab is willing to study the Anthologies and select her fav for reciting. Natalie, Peter’s daughter, is eager too.

And that’s all it takes, folks.

I don’t have any better argument to offer for the benefit of getting the Crocodile Prize into the hands of young Papua New Guineans.

My good mate’s son and little daughter read my book and agreed, “Uncle Mike is cool”.

So I want to thank these kids tonight – Rahab Giri, Natalie Wamblia, Gwendalyn Peter, Zulicca Pewa, Mikael and Osmond Yalu. You make all this worthwhile.

K1,400 is peanuts – those reactions were pure gold.

I think about my fellow writer’s in PNG and wonder at the stories they have about the reception of their books back in their homes and communities.

The struggles and triumphs, the pride and joy; all of that shared good stuff!

Think about what would happen if we multiplied that by many more writers and many more books.

I think about all the other schoolkids who might know an author and how they would feel about bringing a signed copy to school to show off to their friends.

I think about how they would contend that “their uncle/aunt was cooler” because of their writing.

I think about this at three in the morning when I’m 3,000 kilometers away from home. I’m awaiting a shipment of 30 of my latest book -The Musing of an Assistant Pig Keeper - to arrive so I can haul them back to PNG as luggage.

Writing is our labour of love and we pay for it too.

We don’t need official recognition – the kids give us that.

We don’t need government approval – the kids endorse us.

But what we do need is that kids in PNG are given the same opportunity to read their wantoks stuff. And that is something I believe every government has a responsibility to do.

____________

At Another Crossroads, a collection of poems by Michael Dom is available from Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/At-Another-Crossroads-Collection-Poems/dp/9980879211

The Musing of an Assistant Pig Keeper, poetry and prose by Michael Dom is available from Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/Musing-Assistant-Pig-Keeper-Poetry/dp/1490505970/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1431121834&sr=1-2

HAMISH McDONALD | The Saturday Paper

IN his first couple of years as Australian foreign minister, Alexander Downer had a lot of bombs explode in his portfolio.

Among them was the 1997 Sandline affair in which Papua New Guinea’s government brought in South African and other mercenaries to try to end the bitter conflict on Bougainville that had closed the giant Rio Tinto gold and copper mine there since 1989.

An army mutiny in Port Moresby scotched that idea, a truce with the Bougainville Revolutionary Army followed, and talks held in a New Zealand army camp led to a peace agreement in 2001 that set up an Autonomous Bougainville Government (ABG).

Throughout the talks, New Zealand sources say, Downer was out to prevent what he called the “Balkanisation” of Australia’s strategic arc of friendly states to its immediate north-east.

The Kiwis were somewhat sceptical this could be avoided. Anyone who’s read the Lloyd Jones novel Mister Pip might agree.

An election starting today among Bougainville’s estimated 300,000 people brings the issue closer to decision. Sometime during their five-year term, the Bougainville government’s new president and legislature will hold a promised referendum on whether the island stays in PNG or goes independent.

John Momis, who is the current ABG president and favourite for re-election against eight other candidates, is adding another explosive issue.

After getting a new mining law passed in March this year, he is pushing for the reopening of the Panguna copper mine that was the original cause of the civil war. With only 11% of his government’s budget coming from local revenue, the rest mostly from Port Moresby grants, the mines are the only prospective source of revenue to make either autonomy or independence a reality.

The island has plenty of other goldmines, feverishly worked over by about 10,000 panhandlers who aren’t taxed, but it would take much longer for other, less socially burdened medium-scale mines to eventuate.

According to Anthony Regan, an ANU constitutional law professor who advises the Bougainville government, most Bougainvilleans would prefer Rio Tinto to return to Panguna, under stricter local consent and environmental provisions.

“They prefer the devil they know,” he said. Whether Rio Tinto wants to spend the $US5.2 billion it estimates it will take to reopen the derelict mine is another matter.

Other interests are hovering. Momis suspects that PNG Prime Minister Peter O’Neill wants to buy out Rio Tinto’s 53.83% shareholding in Bougainville Copper Ltd, adding it to his contentious nationalisation of BHP’s former Ok Tedi mine at the other end of the country.

Momis said this would lead to a demand for immediate independence. O’Neill denies any such plans.

A new face on the scene is Anthony Johnston, of Sydney-based waste disposal firm United Resource Management (URM) and sponsor of the Manly-Warringah Sea Eagles.

Johnston and his old schoolmate, lawyer Ian de Renzie Duncan, have been cultivating former rebels around the mine who call themselves the Me’ekamui Government of Unity.

Regan said URM’s interest appears to be in brokering the entry of a new mine operator to Panguna. At a meeting with ABG president Momis in February, which Regan also attended, Johnston and Duncan had argued that while Rio Tinto should be given first refusal, it should be given six months to make a decision. Johnston did not return calls to his Sydney office.

How will the Bougainvilleans vote in the referendum? Dark-skinned, like many of the peoples in the adjacent Solomon Islands, from whom they were separated by colonial rivalry between Germany and Britain in the 1890s, they regard the lighter-skinned people from the other parts of PNG as alien “redskins”.

Efforts by Port Moresby to put resources into the ABG may have come too late to overcome bitter memories of the counterinsurgency campaigns by national police and soldiers in the 1990s.

“Lack of support for the ABG from Moresby has loaded the dice towards independence,” Regan said.

So the fear of a chink opening in our belt of Melanesian buffer states could be realised. Yet there’s a sting in the peace agreement. At Downer’s urging, it left implementation of the referendum result to the PNG national parliament, contingent on disposal of weapons and development of good governance in the ABG, rather than making it automatic.

Regan says there’s some legal opinion in Port Moresby the referendum can be stopped on these grounds. Any such effort, or to block the result, could reopen conflict.

Bougainvilleans accepted the compromise after Downer argued the international community would support implementation of “a free and fair referendum with a clear outcome”, Momis told his outgoing parliament ahead of the election. “The truth is that we may need to rely on international community support at that time,” he said.

MARTYN NAMORONG | Namorong Report

TODAY the president of Indonesia, Joko Widodo, visits Papua New Guinea. What follows here is my, an atheist’s, interpretation of the theology of the West Papua issue.

There is the famous story of the Good Samaritan that is told in the Bible. A story really not aimed at how good the Samaritan was but what a bunch of hypocrites the priest and the Levite were.

As the biblical story goes, a man was robbed and beaten and left on the side of the road to die. Along came a priest, who just ignored the victim and passed by.

Then came the Levite (a person from the priestly tribe), who also just walked past.

Then came the Samaritan (the outcast), who rescued the victim and provided care. According to the Bible, the Samaritan had done the Christian thing.

Well now let’s apply this story to West Papua.

The people there are being robbed of their land and resources and are being raped, tortured and murdered by Indonesians.

This has been going on for decades, right across the border from PNG, whilst the priests (churches) and Levites (Christians) have hidden their heads in the sand like ostriches.

If there’s one reason why many Christians in PNG should rot in hell, it’s because they did not do what the Good Samaritan did and speak up against the victimisation of West Papuans.

To those idiots who turned up to welcome the 400 year old Bible: that was an act of idolatry.

You now need some penance and my suggestion is that you get your sinful asses down to the airport to “welcome” the President of Indonesia when he comes to visit PNG.

Remind that leader of a murderous nation that Melanesians in West Papua have been free for over 50,000 years and have never ceded sovereignty to Indonesia.

Remind Jokowi that it is time to let go of West Papua and end decades of colonial rule.

GARY JUFFA

I am proud of Tonga and Fiji. Here are nations led by leaders who are compassionate and visionary, each determined to forge an economy and a future their people can own. And they are doing it.

It saddens me to observe that here in Papua New Guinea we are very much out of reach of our economy and our future.

We are peering into an uncertain future designed and owned by others and ours is a role of subservience and spectatorship.

Our taxes punish us and reward giant corporations. The financial institutions are not ours and rarely serve PNG interests.

Our resources are in the hands of foreign entities, many just transnational criminal entities that employ elaborate tax evasion schemes and most in hostile postures towards us, unfair and uncaring in their conduct.

Our government services are delivered through inflated contracts and are of poor quality and not durable.

Our businesses are unprotected and suffer from delayed payments from customers, causing many to fold leaving behind bitterness and shattered dreams.

Our jobs are unprotected and many capable employees reluctantly leave for better conditions overseas.

Crime is ever more violent while justice is available only for those who can afford it.

It is a long list.

So where did we go wrong?

Our leaders of yesterday were a caring lot and set the platform for development but the politicians of today have sold that platform for 30 pieces of silver, betraying our future generations.

Should we blame our leaders or the people who elected them? For is it not lack of education and awareness, and thus poor choices at the ballot, that direct us into an uncertain future?

It is said people get the government they deserve. Is this true in PNG? Do we deserve this?

It is the most economically vulnerable who pay the price - sometimes with their lives.

Whoever is to blame, there is a present need for review and correction. The general election of 2017 approaches and the stakes get higher every election.

When we get to the polling booths will we do the same thing again by electing the same kind while expecting different results (sometimes offered as a definition of insanity)?

Will we make the same mistakes while we watch the progressive packaging and selling of PNG to ruthless transnational criminal entities?

Will the same actors emerge and lead sheeple to the polls? Will the same parties who have been selling PNG to outsiders re-emerge and the people wholeheartedly embrace them weeping tears of hope and crying in joy?

Only to suffer again and then weep bitter tears of disappointment and cries of despair only to gnash their teeth for another five years?

Take a look at your children, what is their future? You decide.

Questions to ponder people....

BOMAI WITNE

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Chamber of Mines & Petroleum
Award for Essays & Journalism

THE feast day of Christian brothers founder, Saint Edmund Ignatius Rice, falls on 5 May each year when his life is celebrated all over the world.

Not many people in Papua New Guinea know about this Irish man who committed a much of of his time and wealth to establish schools for children in many parts of the world including PNG.

Edmund started his life in his home village of Callan in Ireland. The Christian brothers he founded arrived in PNG in March 1950 and spread all over the country.

The people of Eastern Highlands Province were blessed with the establishment of a school in 1982, the Mt Sion Blind Centre. The staff and students of Mt Sion gathered last Friday to pay homage and celebrate the life and journey of Edmund.

Father Mathew Landu, a local priest, served the mass to mark which began with music and singing from Mt Sion Blind Band and choir. Staff and students also took part in the bible procession.

In his homily, Fr Mathew reminded us of Edmund’s philosophies. He was a person who believed that if people were doing things for God then, whether they succeeded or not, God would reward them in his own way and time.

Edmund always knew that God was the provider and people need not worry about much in His service.

Edmund was driven by his faith to live a selfless life of giving and sharing what he had with people around him; most of them children of unfortunate parents.

His personal experience of raising his only and disabled daughter as a single father motivated him to invest time, money and other resources to build schools for children like his own daughter.

Mt Sion and other enterprises under the auspices of Callan Services, now called the Special Education Resource Centres (SERC), throughout PNG, are manifestations of the dream of Edmund.

After the mass, selected representatives of students, staff, community and invited guests were called to the podium to make a few remarks.

The speeches started with a young blind person, Israel Polau, a proof reader for Braille writing. Israel thanked the former and current staff of Mt Sion and everyone who gave time to the cause of adults and children living with disabilities.

Israel told the audience that he knew the staff at Mt Sion worked with very limited resources. The life, journey and vision of Edmund had been embraced and shared by Christian brothers who continued to serve the needy at Mt Sion and other parts of PNG.

He concluded by saying that he would forever remain grateful to God, Saint Edmund and the Christian Brothers and staff of Mt Sion Blind Centre.

In between the speeches, the Mt Sion Blind Band belted out some local songs which kept the elementary school students on their feet. Students with hearing impairment danced and communicated using sign language.

Mount Sion was established in 1982 to cater for people with vision impairment and later took on the challenge to cater for people with hearing impairment and other disabilities.

The head teacher said Mt Sion established an elementary school in 1996 to cater for children with disabilities and surrounding village children.

The elementary school was special with the normal children shared learning facilities with children with disabilities.

It showed that, whatever form of disability children possess, it could not stop them from learning and participating in community activities. But they need an appropriate environment and adequate support to put their potential to help and inspire others in the community.

A single mother, who raised her 18 year old disabled son, joined the queue of speakers to express her appreciation for Edmund, the Christian Brothers and Mt Sion staff.

“My status as a single mother is already a problem. To raise a disabled son is a responsibility that comes with unimaginable challenges,” she said tearfully.

She challenged parents, communities, businesses and provincial and national governments to support Mt Sion and other similar facilities throughout the country.

The guest speaker was Dr James Aiwa, Head of the Inclusive Education and Curriculum Division at the University of Goroka, who had joined the staff of Mt Sion in 1985.

Dr Aiwa noted that Edmund was born in a small thatched roof house in Ireland on 1 June 1762. He grew up among nine siblings, went to school for two years and later inherited a business from his uncle.

Edmund’s wife died in a horse accident in 1789 when she was nine months pregnant, leaving behind a disabled daughter. Edmund started a school in Ireland in 1802 and invited children from the street to attend. Later, he sold his business to train teachers and expand his school.

Later he founded Christian Brothers and the Presentation Brothers. These institutions grew in numbers and their members travelled all over the world to build schools and educate children and people with disabilities.

They bore the motto, “The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the Lord forever”.

The Christian Brothers arrived in Rabaul in March 1950. They have expanded their pastoral work to many parts of PNG since then.

“Edmund lived to share his life with children and educated them,” Dr Aiwa said, concluding his speech. “Now, what are the teachers of Mt Sion doing? Are you giving your life like Edmund to serve these children that come to this school? Or are you just here to fight for position and money?

“Let us reflect on the life and journey of the person who started this school many years ago to learn a few things from his life values.

“God has blessed me in many ways and sometimes, in ways that I don’t expect. It all started at Mt Sion in Goroka.”

STUART SCHAEFER | Devpolicy Blog

AS the former head of aid in Papua New Guinea, I was often asked, “why are we still giving $500 million a year in aid to PNG”?

“Why are we not giving more?” one may well ask.

To put Australia’s aid to PNG in perspective, the Australian Capital Territory government spends more than the whole PNG aid budget on our public hospitals alone ($900 million in 2012-13).

As many Devpolicy readers know, PNG’s population of 7.5 million (around 20 times that of the ACT), is spread over rugged and unforgiving terrain around twice the size of Victoria. Moreover, PNG is still a relatively young nation with highly distinct ethnic groups that is marking just 40 years of independence this year.

In short, we have a large developing country right on our doorstep. Aid is complimentary to our investments in diplomacy and defence, and a cost‑effective instrument to support sustainable development and security in our region.

In recent times, PNG has managed to achieve strong economic growth and wealth creation, largely through natural resource extraction. Over the past decade, economic growth in PNG averaged around 6 percent a year in real terms.

Yet, PNG is not on track to meet any of the MDGs. By stark contrast, neighbouring Fiji and Vanuatu are on track to meet at least some of the MDGs, including a reduction in child mortality.

In Save the Children’s submission to the PNG aid inquiry, we have argued that economic growth is not the issue in PNG, inclusive growth is.

The central focus for Australia’s aid program should be in helping the PNG government transform the benefits of its natural resource wealth into improved well-being for all Papua New Guineans.

To that end, we are not convinced that a compelling case has been made to re-prioritise 30 percent of the aid program to private sector led growth and aid for trade (see PNG aid assessment).

Of course, the private sector drives economic growth. Aid investment decisions, however, should be based on the comparative advantage of aid in any given country and the best return on investment for Australia’s aid dollars.

In PNG, this includes investment in health and education. If large-scale aid investment is contemplated in the private sector, this should be non-government service providers, including the churches.

In PNG, 13,000 children die each year before the age of five, largely from preventable causes. Preventable and treatable diseases like pneumonia, diarrhea, measles and malaria are the biggest causes of child deaths. No child should die from preventable illnesses, especially when there are simple and low-cost solutions that can help.

We are deeply concerned about any rapid transition away from service delivery. In PNG, spending on core services is insufficient. For example, public health expenditure is only 12.6% of total government expenditure in PNG (this includes aid funding); in Australia health is 17.8% of total government expenditure.

There are major gaps in service provision and it is the most marginalised and deprived that are missing out. With private wealth accumulating from natural resources projects, there is a serious underclass developing in PNG.

To its credit, the PNG government has started to implement free education and health policies. This is a costly and complex exercise, particularly in reaching populations in remote areas who risk being left behind.

There is much the Australian government can do to assist. Performance benchmarks should continue to focus on Australia assisting PNG to spend more on services and to spend better.

We also welcome the aid program’s strong focus on gender equality, particularly in PNG. Gender inequality in PNG manifests itself in extreme violence. Alongside targeted interventions to support women and girls, we recommend more engagement with men and boys (already starting to happen) and investment in reducing child abuse and neglect (currently, minimal investment).

We recognise that child protection work is very difficult, even in Australia. DFAT leading by example with its own child protection policy is a good first step. The Australian Government could also support PNG to develop its own Child Protection Policy and establish a specialised unit to facilitate implementation.

With a renewed commitment to Australian aid assisting the PNG Government to meet the needs of all Papua New Guineans, incredibly difficult policy dilemmas will arise. In my time, Australia cancelled funding for the distribution of quality assured medical supplies due to a compromised procurement process.

The decision to withdraw was extremely difficult. A prior evaluation found quality‑assured medical kits had saved lives. However, this was an important stand for the Australian Government.

It reflected a groundswell of public opinion in PNG that this procurement process was corrupt. Corruption as an issue gained traction because of the impact on services and ordinary people’s lives.

Forty years is a relatively short time in a nation’s life. Australia should stand firm on aid commitments to drive inclusive growth and shared prosperity in PNG.

Echoing the words of Australia’s former Prime Minister Gough Whitlam at independence, “Papua New Guinea is embarking on that most difficult of all courses – the effort to make democracy work. Nowhere in the world is this – man’s noblest experiment – altogether beyond challenge, beyond the possibility of failure”. 

Development in PNG is a long game and one that we cannot afford to lose.

Stuart Schaefer was head of Australian Aid in PNG from 2012 to 2014 and is now Director of International Programs at Save the Children

FIDELIS SUKINA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Government Award for Short Stories

IT was a dull day at the university and we all knew what we had coming: another day of tinned fish and rice.

As we walked past the students’ mess, we could see the dreaded shipping container containing the tinned catch of the day.

“Seriously dude, tinned fish again… someone please end my misery,” I shouted. We all laughed and handed out high fives.

This low cost dining was nothing like we’d imagined it would be at university. The students were starting to lose their nice chubby figures from home.

“Guys look at Nelson, he looks like he went for liposuction surgery,” I hooted.

Some of us even tied plastic around our trousers to keep them from hitting our ankles.

“Dude buy a belt, you look like a marginalised street rat.” We could not stop making fun of ourselves.

The campus looked like a success story for some obesity camp. Even the fat students lost weight just by eating three square meals a day.

“I’m so skinny I look like President Obama,” Ian Paul said as we sat in the dormitory smoking and chewing betel nut.

You faced the inevitable each time you stepped in a meal queue with the rest of the country’s so-called elite. You knew constipation and hunger would be your companion over the coming days.

But, despite the rancid smell of the grease trap and the occasional container rat, we survived.

We had fun and rugby union provided the brotherhood and comradeship.

“Oi guys, time for training, let’s go!” And just like that every idiot in the room playing on my laptop would run out with boots in hand heading across to the field for a game of touch footy.

That was the routine: mornings we had classes; afternoons we had training; and then we met up with the gang and had the worst dinner of our lives.

On Saturdays we played our hearts out and on Sundays we would just laze around chilling and looking for ways to get snacks.

“That’s it, I’m calling my mum to send me money,” Smith Young said. “Yes yah, woo hoo, that’s it, lets go,” everyone in the room shouted.

So it was me, Ian Paul and Smith Young who walked to the ATM to get the money his mum had sent earlier.

As soon as they heard we had money, a horde of friend s came and buzzed around us like flies.

“Guys, guys! Not much. Just a coke and some biscuits.”

“Shit dude lets ditch this place,” I said. “But where’s Ian Paul?”

The dude was once again killing time chatting to a senior. I had to do something.

“Dude you got a better chance with a dead moose than her,” I told him and we burst out laughing as we walked away.

When we opened the door of the dormitory it looked like a concentration camp. Skinny shirtless dudes playing computer games, puffing on roll your owns and using a coffee cup for an ash tray.

It was manna from heaven. A sip of cold Coke and a taste of biscuit kept us going till we met our fate at the dinner table.

Later, like a band of depleted miners, we slackly, made our way to the mess.

Along the way we’d shake hands with everyone who passed us.

“Guys its chicken!” I could smell it. “Seriously man,” the guys asked.

In the mess hall we could see hunger stricken faces munching on drum sticks.

I could almost taste the moist succulent chicken, but like on any chicken day the queue stretched so far you would be lucky to get a sniff of a feather unless you came early.

“Someone  pray for a miracle so we can get come chicken,” I said, but the boys didn’t respond.

We were now ten minutes into the long wait and it seemed to be tin fish again as the chicken had run out.

There were grim faces and grumbling and murmuring. So close yet so far away.

KEITH JACKSON

THESE are the trophies that, in September, will travel from their place of manufacture in south-east Queensland to the Papua New Guinea highlands to be presented to the winners of this year’s Crocodile Prize.

Along with K5,000 prize money in each of the eight award categories, travel and accommodation to the event at Kundiawa and guaranteed publication in the 2015 Anthology, they represent the reward for outstanding talent and effort.

As you can see from the statistics at the top of this home page, with about seven weeks to go to its 30 June closing date, the Prize is closing in on 500 entries.

There are still some categories which are rather light-on for entries (and thus where the competition is not so intense) and these should be attracting the attention of more writers.

After an absence from the pages on PNG Attitude for quite a few months, it was good to see Martyn Namorong roaring back into life in April with some incisive and confronting writing.

Martyn’s recent move from Port Moresby to Mt Hagen coincided with the first anniversary of the establishment of the Simbu Writers Association, just down the road. Some synergies will surely be created should these two forces of nature enter a collaboration.

Despite some rumblings and grumblings from other parts of PNG over the last year, the SWA is the only active group promoting PNG literature at a provincial level.

The sustainability of the current surge, now in its fifth year, is dependent upon the leading PNG writers adding the management of a literary culture to their obvious talents on the keyboard.

Otherwise the second great flourishing of written PNG literature, including the Crocodile Prize, could, like the first around Independence, flicker once more into a feeble flame.

Now to those articles, stories, poems and illustrations that most captivated readers’ attention, comment and approval during April.

MOST COMMENTED UPON IN APRIL

22 comments - The band-aid isn’t working: More good radicals needed in PNG (Martyn Namorong). This article neatly complements my previous comment about the future of the current literary revival. Maryn wrote: “The people who bring development build our roads and bridges and schools but what happens once they’ve packed up and left. The band-aid is revealed.” The band-aid is what you have left when development is extrinsic and never entrenches itself within its host. Perhaps more radicals are needed in PNG – but so are more people who will take the talk and do something with it. Like the SWA….

20 comments - Australia's dwindling moral authority in PNG (Mark Evenhuis). Mark posited that the use of Manus as a dumping ground for asylum seekers who are primarily Australia’s responsibility is costing Australia credibility and authority with PNG’s intellectuals and future leaders. I’d go further than Mark and say that the Manus agreement is corrupting of both countries and the sooner its expunged the better.

17 comments - I will be asking your foreign God for a refund on the bible (Martyn Namorong). “So that 400 year old story book about a zombie has finally arrived in Papua New Guinea with a rousing welcome from part-time Christians and corrupt politicians,” wrote Martyn of the over-the-top ceremonials that greeted the landfall in Port Moresby of the King James Version of the Bible from, of all places, Indiana. Martyn continued:“I wonder what the man Jesus would think about spending thousands of kina on a junket trip to the United States whilst children beg for food on the streets of Port Moresby and Lae.” Vintage Manorong.

17 comments - Is it time to recognise gay rights in PNG? (Phil Fitzpatrick). Of the many vexed issues in PNG, homosexuality would be right up there somewhere near the top. It’s a subject that most Papua New Guineans would walk a long way to avoid confronting. But that never stopped Phil Fitzpatrick. “It makes me wonder why homosexuality is still unlawful in PNG. After all, it was a practice that was acceptable in many traditional cultures. The reason most posited is that PNG is a Christian country, but that doesn’t make a lot of sense when you look at what is happening in other Christian countries.”

15 comments - The allure of those trusty old Papuan work boats (Phil Fitzpatrick). Here was an opportunity for Phil, and a number of other readers, to wallow in nostalgia, and it wasn’t missed. “I have no idea how old they were or where they were built.  The Jade was kitted out in white livery with dark green trim.  The interior was painted a beige-come-brown colour.  She had a cabin of sorts for the Kiwai skipper and his crew of one and a solid overhead canopy that ran back from the wheelhouse to the stern with canvas awnings on the side that could be lowered in inclement weather.”

15 comments - A story demanding to be told: Meet Amos Nepehi (John Kaupa Kamasua). Amos is a cleaner at the University of PNG. An unpretentious man in an unpretentious job, but one he does with commitment and style. John Kamasua decided his story should be told as an example of dedication to the job, the institution and the nation.

14 comments - Conservation – Melanesia’s neglected community value (Tanya Zeriga-Alone). “The thrust of conservation should not be about nature, but about changing people’s attitudes toward nature,” writes Tanya, who also asks what happened to the tens of millions of dollars PNG was given for projects in biodiversity and climate change. “Conservation in Melanesia and in PNG should be about education that makes the link between people and the consequences of their actions on their natural resources; actions that will eventually impact upon their livelihood.”

13 comments - In which I ask readers to contribute to a roundtable.... (Keith Jackson). During April the Lowy Institute participated in a roundtable event entitled PNG in 2015: At a crossroads and beyond. I asked readers for their views on PNG’s future and improving people-to-people relations between Australia and PNG. As soon as the Chatham House rule stricture is lifted from my shoulders, I’ll be reporting back.

12 comments - 285 shades of red (Derrick Dusava). A rollicking romp of a story most of which takes place on a Port Moresby bus. It was Derrick’s first outing in PNG Attitude and we hope to see much more from a writer of great talent who really knows how to deploy his wonderful sense of comedy. Great insights for anyone wanting to sue public transport in the national capital.

12 comments - Manus - ugly Australian self-interest but not a concentration camp (Chris Overland). “Critics of the Australian government's policy on asylum seekers, led by the Greens Party, have condemned the PNG government for being complicit in the operation of what they regard as a ‘concentration camp’ on Manus Island,” wrote Chris.“The Australian government has been described as losing its moral authority in PNG as a consequence of its policy.” A follow up to Evenhuis’s piece (above) and it sure attracted a lively correspondence.

MOST LIKED IN APRIL

89 likes - The band-aid isn’t working: More good radicals needed in PNG (Martyn Namorong)

31 likes - PNG’s sporting revolution – we never had it so good (Benny Geteng)

30 likes - Torn between two worlds (Emmanuel Landu)

22 likes - Evil of capital punishment: Bishops pronounce on death penalty (Bishop Arnold Orowae)

21 likes - That an old bible in parliament can transform PNG is a fraud (David Ephraim)

19 likes - Unexpected secret: two sisters; same boyfriend (Jimmy Awagl)

16 likes - I will be asking your foreign God for a refund on the bible (Martyn Namorong)

15 likes - Australia's dwindling moral authority in PNG (Mark Evenhuis)

15 likes - Reading culture is declining in PNG educational institutions (Jimmy Awagl)

14 likes - Keep off our turf: Momis warns PNG about buying control of BCL (Autonomous Bougainville Government)

14 likes - The constraints of Bougainville’s ‘old-man-knows-it-all’ politics (Leonard Fong Roka)

14 likes - A story demanding to be told: Meet Amos Nepehi (John Kaupa Kamasua)

CLIVE HAWIGEN

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Government Award for Short Stories

“OI STOPIM, nau tasol you stopim. Nogut bai mi kisim dispela guitar na brukim antap long het bilong you!” he shouted.

Stooooooooopimmm! The angry crowd shouted in unison as they advanced towards the accused.

Dispela em bullshit! Scripture em tok Sundayem taim bilong malolo! I no taim blong go long lotu! Sabbathem trupla taim bilong lotu!” the preacher shouted with confidence knowing that he had the backing of the crowd.

He was angry, the rest of the crowd were too. Who dared speak those blasphemous words?

Panic kicked in. The accused tried to explain but it fell on deaf ears.

He too was a preacher.

His flock, about 20 in all, cowered behind him. The tambourine girls in their white meri blaus and the band members in white shirts and black pants were frightened. They didn’t know what would happen next or what to do. The crowd was surely testing their faith.

Again he tried to explain. Again no one wanted to listen.

“Fuck stap isi! Nogut bai mi kam na paitim you!” someone in the crowd shouted.

Then someone silenced the voice from the crowd.

“Noken tok nogut. Yupla laik toktok ok stretim lo gutpela way. Em lotu samting,” he said.

Then the crowd advanced towards the congregation.

Most were men, a majority of them street preachers.

One, maybe a street preacher, took hold of one of the speakers and attempted to pull it away together with the cables connecting it to the amplifiers.

The band of accused were helpless; too afraid to stop him. They stared in disbelief.

A man of God trying to steal? How can that be?

Then another hand from the crowd stopped him.

“Lusim dispela speaker stap. Em no mekim wanpela samting. Toktok wantaim ol dispela lain na noken stilim samting blong ol,” Michael said with an amused smile.

He looked too dirty to be a preacher, unlike the others shouting vehemently at the congregation. And he seemed to be enjoying himself. A cheeky smile was spread across his face.

He, a drug body, good for nothing vagabond, was often picked upon by these preachers as a nuisance to the community.

Once a preacher offered to pray over him to rebuke the devil within him. He sounded convincing too, but not enough to make Michael think something was wrong with him. “Give your blessings to someone else,” he blubbered, drunkenly dragging himself home.

Now Michael was witnessing something he hadn’t seen before. This required his full attention. He wanted to witness these ‘goody-two-shoes’ exchanging fists.

“Hypocrites, that’s what they would be if they resorted to smashing each other face in. No way am I going to miss this,” he thought.

Suddenly there was some kind of commotion at the back.

Turning around to see what was happening, he spotted Pastor Ambo making his way through the cheering crowd. He had arrived and, like the messiah, they made way for him as he floated through.

Pastor Ambo was perhaps the most famous of them all. He had the pull factor wherever he preached. Whether it was at the old Best Buy, now Papindo Shop, or down at the National Park or even outside the gates of the Yanepa building, he commanded attention.

His preaching were of 666, the signs of times, Revelation and many other thought provoking sermons. His voice demanded reverence.

Michael thought he sounded more like a conspiracy theorist than a preacher.

Pastor Ambo’s head was high; he looked confident. It was as if he was walking on water calming a brewing storm.

He had come to fight their battle.

At 160cm tall, slim, skinny even. He had bony fingers and, when he pointed to the crowd, one of them was crooked at the tip. He had a crew cut similar to a police recruit and his clean shaven face showed a scar on the upper lip above shiny white teeth.

He had neatly tucked, black pants, a homemade belt, purple long sleeved shirt, its colour faded from excessive wear, and black gentlemen’s shoes that had seen better days; all complemented by a dusty old backpack.

When he reached the front, Pastor Ambo was greeted by the other preachers who briefed him on what had happened. Deep in concentration he listened, nodding his head when he agreed and at other tkimes shaking his head profusely in disagreement.

“Em yah gim em wanpla blo ol dispela pepa ol lain yah wok long givim aut,” someone said from the crowd.

By now they had moved several meters away from the accused towards the cement flowerbeds that separated Peace Park and the National Broadcasting Corporation office from the main road. Across the road were the Post Office and the Police Station.

Pastor Ambo made his way up onto the flowerbed. There he could see everyone and everyone could see him.

“Dispela pepa ol givim aut em stap ya. Yu ridim na skelim na tokim mipela,” said a fellow preacher and handed him a leaflet.

He looked at the gathering crowd. They seemed genuinely concerned.  The street preachers had also made their way to the flowerbed and were discussing the leaflet.

Pastor Ambo squinted to read it. The afternoon sun was hot and too bright. He skimmed through it, skipping words he couldn’t pronounce and coming to his own conclusion about what it meant.

Everyone waited in anticipation. The noise had quietened down. What would he do? What would be the next step?

Pastor Ambo knew he had their attention. This was his biggest congregation yet. An opportunity to shine.

All attention shifted towards him while the accused were frantically packing up their gear, ready to get away as soon as possible.

Michael too was eager to know what Pastor Ambo would do next.

Five minutes had gone by but it felt like eternity when he finally spoke.

“No! No! No! No! Dispela em giaman,” he spoke with a commanding voice. “Yumi go long police station na stretim. Go na kisim dispela man yah kam na yumi go.

“Dispela em fucking bullshit,” he said followed by agreement from his fellow preachers as they headed for the station. Someone had to go back to fetch the accused.

Losing interest, Michael and his friends took their leave, turning right towards the airport and strolling towards Genoka.

Better to leave the preachers argue about what they believed as the true interpretation of the bible, he thought. For now he was content to find the next buai market where the events that took place would be discussed amongst his peers.

BENITA BAGASEL

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

It’s a long road, rough stretchy road
Road that many dare not to take
Full of uncertainty and bubbles of doubt

Oh how a few have journeyed beyond it,
Describing it in many different languages
How the sunshine and rain, storms and calm got the best of them

Many gave up along the stretchy road
Some lost their way
Other simply could care less

Questions fill the mind
Doubts overtook the conscience
For the few, the compass was set to determination and commitment mode

Now looking back with a sigh of relief, joy and reward overcome
Making and breaking were the only options it offered
To know is to see through to what the heart feels