The Struggle for Freedom

West Papua:

Nonviolent Resistance

and Resilience

Jason MacLeod

The Tasmanian Peace Trust

2009 Lecture –

Held at the Friends Meeting House

5 Boa Vista Road

North Hobart

Sunday, l I October, 2009

The first time I travelled to West Papua was in 1991. I was 19 years old. I arrived after travelling overland from Papua New Guinea. I was weak from malaria and after a diet of starch involving the Melanesian staples of sago and sweet potatoes; I was very much looking forward to eating spicy food. It was the first time I had ever been in an occupied country. Back then Suharto was still in power and the territory, like East Timor and Aceh, had been declared a military operations area.

Jayapura is the capital city of West Papua. It is a picturesque town perched on the edge of a tropical bay surrounded by hills cloaked in lush vegetation. It is also a colonised town and my immediate experience was one of economic apartheid. All the shops are owned by Indonesian migrants. The clerks in the banks were migrants. The minibuses which functioned as public transport were owned and driven by Indonesian migrants, with perhaps a Papuan teenager or primary school aged kid who collected peoples money and called out the vehicles destination in rhythmic chants from the open sliding doorways.

The only other commercial economic activity in which Papuan people participated in, was selling betel nut and fruit and vegetables, and this carried out virtually exclusively by women. In the centre of town the status of Papuans in their own land is laid bare. Every afternoon, on the pavement between KFC and the plush Yasmin hotel, a global symbol of capitalism on one side and a popular hotel for the wealthy on the other side, Papuan women gather to sell their produce. While the middle classes dine at KFC and the local elites and foreign tourists book in to Hotel Yasmin, Papuan women sell their food on hessian mats on tho dirt.

On my first day in downtown Port Numbay, the local naino for Jliyaipura, an older Papuan man approached. He took my hand in the gentle manner of highland men, gently clasping my fingers as we exchanged greetings. In hushed tones punctuated by furtive glances to see who was watching, he started to tell me some of his story. He spoke of great suffering, of ongoing military operations in the highlands, of decimated villages and people fleeing into the forest. But mostly he talked of merdeka — of freedom — and his longing for the international community to notice and support his people.

During that first trip and later as I travelled the country or co-facilitated workshops on nonviolent action with Papuan activists, the story has been the same: great suffering combined with an irrepressible desire to be free. To be tuan atas tanahnya; to be masters of their own land, as Papuans say, is an overwhelming desire. It is a longing that stands in contrast to a history of not being consulted, of being treated as objects and tools for the designs of others. What struck me most about my first trip to West Papua was that before I left no-one in Australia had told me what was going on there. Growing up I learnt about Papua New Guinea. I was taught about Indonesia. And as the Eighties turned into the Nineties I learnt about the wars in Aceh, East Timor and Bougainville. But West Papua or Irian Jaya — glorious Irian — as Suharto named it, was barely mentioned. It was if a huge expanse of Melanesia had been scrubbed from AustraIia’s collective consciousness.

West Papua is so close to Australia. I like to tell people it is swimming and walking distance from Australia’s northern border in the Torres Strait. When the tide goes down you can wade across the mud flats from Boigu and Saibai Islands in the northern most part of Torres Strait to the mainland of Papua New Guinea. Then, if you are fit, it is a walk to West Papua. But mentally, to most people, West Papua may as well be in Siberia. The Australian journalist Mark Davies calls it a “hidden story”. The attempt to erase West Papua from our national awareness has been deliberate.

What I would like to do now is outline a little of the history of West Papua, the root causes of the conflict, why the Indonesian government wants the territory and how they maintain control. I will then present a little of contemporary resistance to Indonesian rule and what ordinary people here in Australia can do.

A Melanesian nation in waiting

Located on the western rim of the Pacific, bordering the independent state of Papua New Guinea, West Papua is a Melanesian nation in waiting. In 1848, The Netherlands government in agreement with the Germans and the British partitioned the island of New Guinea in two, along the 141st meridian east of Greenwich. The border, like most colonial borders is totally artificial. It dissects entire indigenous nations like the Marind, the Ok and others. In the village of Wutung on the north coast, people have their food gardens in one country and their homes in the other.

Originally established as a buffer zone to protect the Dutch East Indies Company’s lucrative spice trade, this artificial colonial boundary became the eastern extent of official Dutch rule in the archipelago with vast tracts of West Papua beyond the reach of what historian Richard Chauvel termed “the light hand of Dutch colonial neglect”.

In other parts of the Dutch East Indies the Dutch maintained their power and authority though pre-existing local indigenous institutions and leaders, in West Papua they chose not to do this. Instead the Dutch operated a kind of ‘dual colonialism‘, with a second layer of administration run by Indonesian migrants brought in from other parts of the archipelago. While this experience deepened Indonesians’ — and by that I mean non-Papuans sense of nationalism and attachment to a State that included all of the former Dutch East Indies, the presence of migrants from Ambon, Sulawesi, Java and elsewhere who ran the day to day affairs of the country, it was a source of great resentment for West Papuans.

After Indonesia gained independence, the Dutch retained control of the territory, arguing that West Papua (or “Netherlands New Guinea” and later “Nieuw Guinea” as it was then called by the Dutch) was a distinct political entity from Indonesia with no significant administrative, historical or cultural connection with the rest of the Indonesian archipelago. This claim was vehemently rejected by Indonesian representatives to the United Nations who insisted that West lrian (as it was then called by the Indonesians) was part and parcel of a united Indonesia that included all the former Dutch East Indies. In doing so, Indonesia was following the successor state principle a that is, the understanding that decolonisation would not change the borders established by the colonial power — which for better or worse guided much of the post-war decolonisation process.

Few Papuans, however, advocated integration with Indonesia and during the 1950s the Dutch belatedly started to prepare Papuans for self-government. Self-rule was also supported by the Australian government and Papuan delegates actively participated in regional forums such as the South Pacific Commission, a forerunner to the Pacific Island Forum.

In 1961 Papuans were inducted into a national legislature. On December 1st 1961 symbols of nationalism were formally adopted. Hai Tanahku Papua (Oh my Land of Papua) became the national anthem, the name Papua Barat (West Papua) was agreed upon, and the West Papuan national flag the Morning Star, unveiled. Although there was never an official decloration of independence, for many Papuans this date marks the beginning of West Papua as an independent sovereign state.

In 1961, in a bid to strengthen Indonesian unity and to avert attention away from domestic discontent notably spiraling economic woes, Indonesian President Sukarno issued the “Trliora commands for the liberation of West lrian”. More a symbolic invasion to back up diplomatic efforts than a full-scale war, Sukarno’s actions, particularly his willingness to court Russian support in the form of soft loans and a transfer of military equipment, prompted an anxious United States embroiled in the Cold War politics of the time, to intervene. Brokered by the Kennedy administration, the 1962 New York Agreement was signed on the 15th of August 1962 by Indonesia and The Netherlands under the auspice of the United Nations.

Under the New York Agreement all parties: the United Nations, The Netherlands, and Indonesia agreed to guarantee Papuan rights to free speech, freedom of assembly, and freedom of movement. The New York Agreement also stipulated that an act of self-determination was to be carried out “in accordance with international practice”. Papuans, however, were neither involved nor consulted during this process, leading to a widespread view amongst Papuans that persists to this day that the Agreement is illegitimate and illegal.

On the 1st of May 1963, after a brief seven month period of United Nations transitional authority, Indonesia took over administrative control of the territory. From this date Indonesian nationalists felt that their mission to liberate West lrian was finally complete. Herlina, a Javanese woman who volunteered in the Trikora (three demands) campaign and witnessed the departure of the United Nations aptly describes the Indonesian feeling of time: “We had at last freed the people of West lrian from their colonial shackles and they could truly join the free and independent Indonesian people.”

Despite the undemocratic process that led to the New York Agreement, under the terms of the Agreement, Indonesia and the United Nations were still required to guarantee Papuans rights, including the right to an act of sell-determination. This took place in 1969 and was called the Act of Free Choice. A cursory inspection of the process shows why Papuans call it the Act of No Choice. Leading up to the Act of Free Choice, Indonesia — in full knowledge of the United States, Australian, and United Kingdom governments — bombed Papuan villages from the air, strafed Papuans with machine-gun fire, detained dissidents without trial, and tortured, disappeared and executed those who dissented against Indonesian control. In the words of an U.S consular official at the time the territory existed in a “continuous state of semi-permanent rebellion”. Hugh Lunn, a Brisbane based journalist working for the Courier Mail, was in West Papua to cover a story that the international media abandoned. Lunn tells the story of Papuans approaching him and pressing blood soaked petitions into his hands, urging him to tell the World of their desire for a free and fair referendum on the territory’s political future.

While the world was preoccupied with events unfolding in Indochina, the Indonesian military began to crack-down on dissent. Two Papuan leaders, Wim Zonggonau, a Papuan political leader and member of the West lrian Assembly, and Clemens Runawery another Papuan leader, who had been helping organising democratic opposition to the Indonesian governments takeover, heard news that they were being hunted by Indonesian security forces. Planning an escape, the pair arrived in Australian administered Papua New Guinea. Their goal was to travel to the United Nations in New York to alert the international community to the travesty of justice unfolding in West Papua. The pair hoped the Secretary-General would ensure that a free and fair referendum was carried out. Once they arrived in Papua New Guinea, local Papuans and Australian ex-pats assisted them, helping raise funds to enable the two dissidents to travel to the United Nations.

When Adam Malik, the Indonesian Minister for Foreign Affairs at the time, heard of their plans he contacted the Australian Ambassador in Indonesia and Suharto’s golf buddy, Gordon Jockel. Picture the scene: as Zonggonau and Runawery climbed up the stairs to board a light aircraft on Manus Island to travel to the United Nations in New York, a car pulled up. An Australian official hopped out, arrested the two men and detained them. The international community never got to hear first hand testimony as to what was happening in West Papua. Worse still the Australian Government actively suppressed news of violent repression of Papuan communities by the Indonesian military, ensuring the story never reached the domestic and international press.

In theory the practice of self-determination in West Papua could have been democratic. After all, the New York Agreement stipulated that Indonesia — with the “advice, assistance, and participation” of the U.N. ~ was required to carry out “an act of self-determination in accordance with international practice” no later than six years after Indonesia took over as the transitional authority. Unfortunately, although Papuan nationalists widely interpreted “an act of self- determination in accordance with international practice” to mean “one person, one vote”, what “in accordance with international practice” actually meant, was not spelled out by the Agreement.

Jakarta argued that due to the difficult terrain and the lack of political and economic development in the territory, universal suffrage was neither possible nor appropriate. As a compromise position, the U.N.. chief representative in West Papua, Bolivian Diplomat Ortiz Sanz proposed a “mixed method” that would include voting in the urban areas and ‘collective consultation’ in the rural areas. Eventually, however, even the mixed method was abandoned in favour of ‘collective consultation’. Consequently 1025 participants with one late addition were hand picked by Indonesian authorities.

The process of selection of all participants for the Act of Free Choice was only partially observed by the United Nations, independent observers or the international press. In the end there was no vote. After a presentation by an Indonesian military official and a few rehearsed speeches by Papuans, those selected were simply asked to raise their hands if they wanted to remain with Indonesia. Not surprisingly, in an atmosphere of violence and intimidation, 100% of the 1022 Papuans (4 were sick and did not participate) who were selected to participate in the Act of Free Choice indicated their desire to remain with Indonesia.

The acquiescence of the international community was justified with the words of a British Diplomat who stated that, “I cannot imagine the U.S, Japanese, Dutch, or Australian governments, putting at risk their economic and political relations with Indonesia over matter of principle involving a relatively small number of very primitive people.”

In his final report to the U.N. Ortiz Sanz expressed a number of reservations. These included evidence of violence by Indonesian security forces, failure to adhere to a number of the Articles of the New York Agreement, and irregularities in the conduct of the Act of Free Choice. In addition there was protest from Papuans and some members of the United Nations General Assembly — notably a delegation of 15 African states lead by Ghana. However, all this was to no avail. On the 19th of November 1969, the United Nations General Assembly “took note” of the results of the Act of Free Choice and West Papua was formally integrated into the territory of Indonesia and removed from the list of non-self- governing territories awaiting decolonisation.

The dominant lndonesian government view is that the 1969 Act of ‘Free’ Choice was the last stage of a decolonisation process involving the transfer of a territory that was always meant to be part of the Republic of Indonesia, and that the result Act of Free Choice was officially and democratically endorsed by the United Nations. The dominant Papuan view, on the other hand, is that the whole decolonisation process was fraudulent, It fundamentally violated Papuan’ civil and political rights and was backed up by state violence with the full knowledge and acquiescence of the international community. The Papuan and Indonesian government views of history are so different it is as ns’ if they are talking about two entirely different events.

Scholarly research by Dr. John Saltford and a separate investigation commissioned by the Dutch Government and headed up by Professor Pieter Drooglever, reveals little doubt that the process was undemocratic, unjust and coercive. Less than 0.01% of the population participated in the Act of Free Choice and no Papuans participated in the 1962 New York Agreement that established the framework for the transfer of political power from The Netherlands to Indonesia. During the Act of Free Choice there was no universal suffrage. Instead, the Government of Indonesia hand-picked representatives while widely publicising that dissent would not be tolerated; a stance backed up by bombing, strafing of villages, disappearances, intimidation, arrest, imprisonment and killings.

Chakravarthi Narasimham, the U.N. Under Secretary-General responsible for the decolonisation process in West Papua recently described the Act of Free Choice as a “sham” and a “whitewash”. Since the Act of Free Choice the territory has been the scene of one of the most protracted, complex and volatile conflicts in the Pacific.

Why West Papua is so important to Jakarta

There are a number of reasons why Jakarta identifies West Papua so strongly as part of its territory. For many Indonesians, West Papua represents a place of exile for nationalist heroes who resisted Dutch rule. The territory has become in Ben Anderson’s words, a “sacred place in the national imagining” and a rallying point for Indonesian nationalism. It was a matter of national pride that Sukarno launched a ‘liberation campaign’ for an independent Indonesia that included the entire Dutch East Indies, from ‘Sabang to Merauke’.

The ensuing military struggle against the Dutch (led by Suharto) was viewed as a continuum of Indonesia’s revolution and fight against colonialism. This belief is still a strong part of Indonesian nationalism. This belief is widely held by even moderate Indonesians, many of who still perceive Indonesia as the liberator of Papua. The ‘endorsement’ of the ‘return’ of the territory by the international community through the United Nations, serves to further reinforce Indonesian perceptions of the legitimacy of Indonesian sovereignty over Papua.

Richard Chauvel argues that for early Indonesian nationalists the idea of a sovereign state was not related to religion or ethnicity, but was “rather a shared history, suffering, [and] fight against a common adversary.” According to the Indonesian argument, it was precisely because of the ethnic and religious differences between Papuans and Indonesians that the incorporation of the territory of West Papua became so important ~ a living demonstration that Indonesia was a political concept and not a state based on religion or ethnicity.

The Indonesian governments maintenance of a multi-ethnic state is still a source of pride for Indonesian nationalists.

Moreover, few if any states view with equanimity the prospect of losing territory. Indonesia is a complex archipelago made up of some 13,000 myriad islands and a multitude of different languages and cultures. Capturing and holding this complexity within one state is an extraordinarily challenging task, particularly given that the Indonesia government is also facing the gamut of difficulties that beset post-colonial states.

For many Indonesians, national unity is seen as inherently valuable and significant, and the risk of fracturing into smaller entities is a very real threat. It is this threat that has been used as justification over the years for the extraordinary and extensive power of the Indonesian military within every level of national life. Still smarting from the “loss” of East Timor, secessionist drives (whether violent or nonviolent) within West Papua resonate in Jakarta as a threat to the viability of Indonesia itseIf— a possible step towards a deeper unraveling. Unfortunately, Jakarta’s fear of disintegration often obfuscates legitimate and deeply seated grievances that fuel demands for merdeka (a word that can mean either freedom or independence).

Finally, West Papua is a leading contributor to Indonesia’s national economy, generating massive amounts of revenue from its extensive gold, copper, oil, natural gas, nickel, fisheries and timber reserves for the Indonesian state and for the Indonesian military in particular, because they run a network of legal and illegal businesses centred on economic development projects. Indonesia is also beset by endemic corruption and is rated toward the bottom of Transparency Internationals 2008 global index: coming in at 143 out of a list of 179 countries, and a confidence index score of about 2, out of a possible 10 points. While much of the finances generated by resource extraction in West Papua could support economic recovery and social welfare, at present vast sums of this public money are siphoned off and privatised, enriching small pockets of political and military elites.

These three prevailing historical, ideological, and economic factors reinforce Jakarta’s determination to retain West Papua at all costs.

Grievances

The Indonesian government has vigorously resisted efforts to broker some kind of internationally mediated third-party dialogue, which is what the ovenivhelming majority of Papuans, including those in government, are calling for. The state is sensitive to perceived foreign intervention and tries to restrict efforts by journalists, diplomats and non-government organisations wanting to report on the conflict. Jakarta downplays the extent of discontent among West Papuans and repeatedly argues that the conflict is an internal matter for the Republic of Indonesia to resolve. Despite some partial success in 2001 when the territory was theoretically granted a greater measure of self-rule by the Indonesian government in Jakarta, conflict has persisted and core grievances remain unresolved.

These grievances or sources of conflict are mutually reinforcing. In recent years there has been an emerging consensus on what the core issues are. Papuan scholars, foreign academics and Indonesian researchers from the highly respected Indonesian Institute of Sciences, LIPI essentially agree that the root causes of conflict include:

the way sovereignty was transferred from the Dutch to the Indonesian state;
State violence. After the Indonesian government formally took administrative control of the territory on behalf of the United Nations in 1963, West Papuans have been subject to ongoing security operations carried out by the TNI (Tentara Nasional Indonesia the Indonesian National Army). In recent years the pattern of direct violence perpetrated by the state has shifted from large-scale military operations to human rights violations by the police (particularly Brimob, the paramilitary mobile police brigade, whose members include few indigenous Papuans). Since the end of the DOM (Daerah Operasi Militer – Military Operations Area) period in 1998 the number of killings appears to have fallen sharply but military operations, intimidation and harassment of political activists and generalised violence towards West Papuans by the security forces is a regular feature of the socio-political landscape;
Economic injustice and disadvantage characterized by large-scaIe socially and environmentally destructive development projects. This conflict is made worse by the Indonesian military‘s predatory role in the economy. Some seventy to eighty percent of the Indonesian military‘s budget comes from the TNl’s involvement In legal and illegal business, including the provision of security to transnational corporations, giving the military a vested interest in maintaining conflict;
In addition there is chronic indigenous disadvantage in the areas of health, education and welfare;
State sponsored and spontaneous migration of Indonesians from other parts of the archipelago into West Papua, results in conflict and competition over land and resources between the migrant and indigenous populations. West Papua‘s abundant natural resources and an Indonesian state transmigration program has altered the demographics of West Papua. Migration by Indonesians to West Papua has intensified conflict and competition overland and economic opportunity;
Institutional racism and indigenous disadvantage and marginalization in the economy, education sector, security forces and bureaucracy. Institutional racism further exacerbates indigenous exclusion from widespread participation in the structures of the society. It also is used as an excuse for direct violence by the security forces. The police and military tend to criminalise Papuan identity, holding the view that all West Papuans are separatists.

These prevailing historical causes and the direct, structural and cultural forms of violence in West Papua are mutually reinforcing, making the conflict extremely resistant to resolution. They constitute demands that are both more than and less than political independence.

Following the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI) report entitled the Papua Road Map, and the Helsinki Peace Agreement concerning Aceh, there seems to be a renewed effort to initiate some kind of dialogue over conflict in West Papua. Where to meet, establishing a common framework for dialogue – whether it will be mediated by a third party or not, what to talk about, and who will participate will be difficult and contested issues.

How does the Indonesian government maintain power in West Papua?

The Indonesian government maintains power in West Papua in nine key ways. Firstly, and most importantly, it relies on the Indonesian security forces – the police, intelligence services and the military – whose presence in West Papua is ubiquitous. Force substitutes for political legitimacy.

Secondly, the internalised beliefs of West Papuans themselves help maintain Indonesian rule. West Papuan efforts for change have faltered as a result of disunity associated with tribal divisions, competitive Melanesian “big men“ politics, and internalised self-limiting beliefs such as a belief that Papuans are stupid (bodoh) or not capable of affecting change (belum mampu). Other factors include state neglect in education and indigenous leadership, and a type of widespread conservative Christian evangelism (with close links to the United States and Jakarta) that has focused on the hereafter rather than working for “heaven” on earth.. Thirdly, the lndonesian government has closed West Papua off to sustained international scrutiny, and thus has kept the violence and exploitation of the indigenous population as well as resistance in West Papua largely hidden from the outside world. In recent years Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch and the International Committee for the Red Cross have been banned from West Papua.

Fourthly, West Papua occupies a central place in lndonesia’s national imagination. A determination to retain West Papua “at all costs” unifies lndonesian opposition to West Papuan claims for independence. Fifthly, West Papua is resource rich, and the lndonesian Government controls large-scale economic development in the province, particularly in the mining sector.

Sixthly, in addition to the use of repression as a tool of control, the lndonesian Government maintains its authority through a montage of confusing and contradictory policies that have functioned to undermine opposition by generating elite competition and by playing West Papuans against one another.

Ruling through local political structures run by indigenous West Papuans is the seventh way the lndonesian Government maintains control of the territory.

Eighth, the lndonesian governments legitimacy and ability to rule in West Papua is heavily dependent on external sources of power: political, economic and military support willingly provided by the lndonesian governments elite allies (the United States, Australian, English, Dutch, Japanese governments and other ASEAN governments, in particular) and their domestic constituencies (such as workers, arms manufacturers and investors) in the societies of lndonesia‘s elite allies.

Lastly, institutional racism reinforces significant social and cultural distance between West Papuans and Indonesians from other parts of the archipelago. This distance works against the creation and maintenance of effective alliances and coalitions for change. It also frustrates West Papuans‘ ability to influence political, social and economic elites in Jakarta.

Resistance

l have already outlined some of the Papuan peoples’ grievances and political history of the conflict. Now I want to highlight the ways in which West Papuans have been working for change.

Contemporary nonviolent resistance in West Papua dates back to oppositional movements against colonial rule by the Dutch and Japanese. One of the most well known was a 30,000 strong unarmed insurrection on the island of Biak during the 1940s led by Angganita Menufandu that included tax resistance, refusal to participate in forced labour and defiance of bans of traditional singing and dancing. In 1965 armed resistance began. Later this was organised into the pro-independence TPN (Tentara Pernbebasan Nasional — National Liberation Army).

Despite the popular myth of Papuans resisting the might of the lndonesian army with bows and arrows, overwhelmingly, resistance to lndonesian rule in West Papua has been through the cultural sphere and popular nonviolent civilian based struggle. Nonviolent struggle has been the dominant form of resistance since the overthrow of Suharto in May 1998. One of the antecedents for nonviolent resistance is the Work of the cultural music group Mambesak established by West Papuan anthropologist and musician Arnold Ap in the 1970s and 1980s. Ap’s project of cultural revitalization and cognitive liberation was far-reaching at a time when to refer to oneself as Melanesian or West Papuan was considered politically subversive. Through collecting and performing traditional West Papuan songs and dances Mambesak and Arnold Ap helped create the consciousness of a shared national identity that was other than lndonesian before he was assassinated in 1984.

The most popular expression of nonviolent resistance to lndonesian rule has been the raising of the Morning Star flag, the banned symbol of the West Papuan independence movement and a symbol of national and cultural identity. There have been countless actions of this type since the 1960s, many of which have resulted in harsh repression by the security forces.

After the fall of former lndonesian President Suharto in 1998 the struggle for self-determination and independence underwent a transformation from a poorly armed and decentralised network of guerrilla groups fighting in the mountains and jungles to a popular nonviolent civilian based movement in the cities and towns. When Suharto was overthrown in 1998 it was as if the lid was taken off long repressed desires for freedom. Protest erupted across Papua. Dissent took the form of raising the Morning Star flag, large demonstrations, and the formation of human rights and independence organisations. Despite decades of military rule and the appearance of passivity created by widespread repression, the movement quickly gained popular support. Support continued to grow even after the Biak massacre in 1998. Over 100 Papuans were killed by the Indonesian military, who then dumped their bodies out to sea.

Following a series of informal meetings in West Papua and Jakarta in 1999, FORERl, (Forum Rekonsiliasi Rakyat Irian Jaya — the Forum for Reconciliation of the People in lrian Jaya — an organisation established in August 1998 by a broad cross-section of Papuan civil society leaders) organised a team of 100 civil society leaders to travel to Jakarta to meet President Habibie.

In the meeting with Habibie, the leaders of Team 100, a group widely considered to have represented the best and brightest of Papuan society, announced they wanted independence from Jakarta. As soon as the word ‘independence’ was mentioned, however, dialogue stopped right there. Stunned and clearly misinformed about the depth and extent of discontent in West Papua, Habibie put aside his prepared response and appealed to the Papuan delegation to reconsider their desire to separate from lndonesia. Although there was no clear outcome from the meeting, the Papuan struggle had exploded onto centre stage and the team returned home to a hero’s welcome.

After the Team 100 meeting, the movement for merdeka, justice and peace fractured as a result of internal disagreement. It divided into two parts: a parallel government wing and a nongovernmental civil society wing. Political activists formed the Dewan Presidium Papua (Papua Presidium Council), a parallel government consisting of a 500-member panel representing geographic areas and a 31-member executive representing key social constituencies. Most of the executive was based in Jayapura, the capital.

The PDP emerged at a time of openness under the Indonesian president, Habibie and his successor, Abdurrahman Wahid and when the central government had not consolidated its power after the fall of Suharto. The PDP formed after two popular consultations involving tens of thousands of Papuans, some of whom walked for a month to attend the gatherings. For the first time the long-banned Morning Star flag flew tree. At the same time, members of the churches and civil society organisations active in human rights advocacy established Elsham (the Institute for the Study and Advocacy of Human Rights). Elsham, which was based inside West Papua, immediately began creating and mobilising a well-connected domestic network of investigators who were linked into an international network of advocates.

West Papuan moderates and Indonesian allies (living in West Papua who had close associations with Papuan elites) took advantage of the political space that had opened up and began drafting a far-reaching Special Autonomy package that incorporated many Papuan aspirations for change that could be realized through the framework of the Indonesian state. By 2001 Special Autonomy had become law. By then the Indonesian state had begun to re-consolidate power. Many in the central government felt that Special Autonomy conceded too much to the independence movement. And while some Papuan demands were embraced, repression was renewed by the new Indonesian government led by Megawati Sukarnoputri against the more hard-line independence activists. Five prominent civil society activists were jailed and later released. In November 2001, one of the five previously arrested, the chair of the PDP, Theys Eluay, was assassinated.

These attempts by the state to weaken the independence movement were largely successful. In the face of state repression, the PDP collapsed with no clear substitute. The capacity of Elsham to continue its advocacy declined after the Indonesian military won a defamation court case and the organizations charismatic international spokesperson, John Rumbiak was forced into exile and suffered a stroke.

In recent years the underground movement has begun to reorganize. However, initial efforts to unify resistance have faltered after competing alliances failed to form a single umbrella organisation for the independence movement that is guided by a coherent and shared strategy. Civil society groups continue to find room to work for change but their political space to do so has been greatly reduced. Ex-PDP activists have eschewed overt politics and instead formed the Dewan Adat Papua (DAP — the Council of Customary Leaders) to advocate an agenda of change through strengthening indigenous governance and promoting indigenous rights and cultural recognition. The Churches have played a leadership role through developing the ‘Papua Land of Peace‘ campaign calling for dialogue, demilitarization and respect for human rights. The Churches are one of the few organisations since 1996 that have persistently and consistently raised a collective critical voice.

The 2001 Special Autonomy package was designed to return tax revenue generated by resources projects that previously went to the central government in Jakarta back to provincial government in West Papua. The legislation allowed Papuan symbols, like the Morning Star flag, previously associated with the independence movement and banned by the government, to be displayed. Under the law structural mechanisms like an Indigenous senate (known as the MRP – Majelis Fiakyal Papua) were instituted to facilitate a measure of Papuan self-rule. However, in recent years this success has been undermined, partly by lack of capacity within the civil service and also because of a failure by the provincial and central governments to implement the various legal mechanisms that would enable policy to be operationalised.

Map

Progress towards self-rule and democratic transition has been further hampered by disunity in the movement, endemic corruption by local Papuan leaders at the level of local regencies and provincial governments, by a culture of impunity and ongoing human rights violations, by the lndonesian police and military, and by a confusing and contradictory policy mix that has seen Jakarta divide the territory into two separate administrative areas. The nonviolent movement for self- determination and independence continue but competition and factionalism among resistance organisations has worked against success. The unified movement that burst into prominence in 1998 has been heavily repressed and the expression of Pan-Papuan nationalism has reduced in visibility.

Since the civilian-led overthrow of the Suharto dictatorship, democracy has spread throughout Indonesia. West Papuans are now in key positions of authority in West Papua. Unfortunately, this has created a culture of competition and corruption, where Indigenous elites vie for favour from Jakarta and compete against each other for position and power.

Democracy in West Papua has shallow roots. Richard Chauvel argues that two distinct, but overlapping, political realms exist in West Papua. There are the official government structures that work with Jakarta to maintain Indonesian government policy and rule in West Papua, even when that contradicts popular aspirations and in spite of the personal views of those in power that often support Papuan aspirations for freedom. These structures are the central government based in Jakarta; provincial governments (there are two provinces in West Papua: Papua and lrian Jaya Barat); the Kabupaten (Regency); and the Kecamatan (local government).

Operating at the subterranean level is the clandestine political sphere, often invisible and regularly repressed, but striving for independence. In the overlapping space are political leaders like members of the MRP who criticise the provincial and central governments and civil society activists working on campaigns of economic, social and cultural rights and issues of civil and political rights.

The goal of freedom is both more than and less than independence West Papuans want freedom. What that looks like depends on who you talk to. Papuans, politicians and policy makers in Jakarta (and other outsiders for that matter) frame merdeka in critically different ways, For Indonesian nationalists embroiled in a liberation struggle against colonial Dutch rule in the 1940s, writes Anthony Reid, merdeka was the “battle cry with which the citizenry was summoned to support the cause, the salute with which revolutionaries would greet each other, the cry of solidarity at every mass rally, and the signature at the end of every republican document.”

This popular understanding of ‘merdeka as independence’ is reinforced through symbols and national rituals like Independence Day celebrations held across the country every 17 August Brigham Golden, however, observed that tor Papuans merdeka “holds a sublime, almost spiritual significance” that in reality simultaneously means both more and less than political independence. Together with the emergence of an animating ideology of adat (tradition), merdeka has become a powerful unifying and transformational ideology that overcomes class and tribal affiliations.

Despite the fact that Papuan nationalists associate merdeka with independence, many Papuan aspirations inherent in the word merdeka, such as protection of local community land, resources, traditions and identity, and the desperate need for health and educational services,do not necessarily point to independence as the only possible answer. Issues like corruption, governance, lack of local capacity, and a participatory development policy that simultaneously meets local needs for employment and services, and protects the fragile environment and diverse Papuan culture, will also not necessarily be resolved by independence. In fact it is possible that an independent state could make some problems worse. Yet the desire for merdeka in West Papua has often been represented exclusively as the desire for independence.

Papuan demands for merdeka are far more nuanced than the simple demand for a separate and sovereign state. Papuan understandings of merdeka represent an ongoing individual and collective struggle for liberation that encompasses six overlapping and mutually reinforcing meanings. These meanings, observes Brigham Golden, have their roots in West Papua’s long history of Melanesian cultural resistance and political millenarianism.

Merdeka as the struggle for an independent and sovereign political state

Merdeka is most often portrayed as a demand tor an independent and sovereign Papuan state. Stimulated by a potent combination of injustice and repression, this demand “is stronger today than it was in 1961, when the Morning Star flag was first raised” writes Richard Chauvel. However, as Eben Kirksey rightly points out, Papuan demands for ‘merdeka as independence‘ don’t necessarily imply that Papuan nationalists consider that the end point of the struggle is the State. Indeed many Papuan activists express hopes “for new systems of governance based on indigenous modes of authority“ that transcend the State. In a similar vein to discussions in the Solomon Islands about ‘Melanesianising‘ the State, there has been discussion amongst Papuans of, for example, small self managing communities for each indigenous group in West Papua, held loosely by guidelines laid out by a national parliament in a highly devolved state.

Merdeka as Hai

Papua has a long history of what anthropologists describe as “cargo-cults’ or millenarian movements. instead of the phrase ‘cargo-cults’, West Papuan anthropologist, sociologist and theologian Benny Giay prefers to use the Amungme word Hai, which he describes as the irrepressible hope of an oppressed people for a future that is peaceful, just and prosperous. Giay argues that Hai is a universal phenomena, expressed whenever popular movements struggle for a more peaceful and just world, free from oppression and domination. However, it is also important to note that some of the sociopolitical religious movements that have emerged in West Papua are also exclusive in nature, carried out by groups who are less concerned with the liberation of West Papua as a whole and more preoccupied with their own localised hopes for terrestrial paradise. Often local Hali movements fuse Christianity with local belief systems, enthusing new religious movements with socio-political aspirations. Regardless of their focus, Hai movements may inspire unrealistic expectations of what merdeka will bring (a time, for example, where everybody will have unlimited wealth and no-one will have to work).

Merdeka as a Papuan liberation theology

Merdeka has also been described as a kind of Papuan liberation theology says Golden, “in which a Christian desire for a world of human dignity and divine justice is finally manifest in Papua.” This reflects the role of the Church in Papua as an institution that is viewed as independent and uniquely Papuan. The Church, says Benny Giay, is a “liberating institution a fortress of last resort, [and] the bearer of a new hope”. For Giay the bible “portrays a new world, free from manipulation, intimidation and trauma. it lifts up the eyes of those who are oppressed to a new world.” When people read Bible says Giay, “sometimes [they] see a New Papua, an independent West Papua”, where freedom from all kinds of oppression and violence are guaranteed.

Merdeka as an adat led restoration and recovery of local traditions, local indigenous forms of governance, and identity

To many Papuans living in the isolated areas merdeka can be understood as an adat led restoration and recovery of local forms of community governance, traditions, culture and identity. It means being able to control their own lives, resources, and identities. it also means the right to veto development projects and receive just compensation when land is appropriated by the state. After years of being marginalised by successive colonial authorities and state-led development schemes, adat leaders (tokoh adat) from the Baliem valley speaking to a group of USAID researchers studying indigenous governance and the revitalisation of adat, said that they were less concerned about the political statusof West Papua and more concerned with being able to meet the needs of their communities. And for many Papuan leaders meeting the spiritual, cultural and material needs of their communities involves re-discovering indigenous structures and processes. Adatis showing signs of also developing into a parallel political ideology alongside merdeka, as indigenous communities seek ways to regain control of their lives. This is most clearly reflected in the rise of the Dewan Adat Papua (Papuan Tribal Council) as the most prominent and respected Pan- Papuan organisation beyond the church.

Merdeka as mobu

In a land where foreign companies like the gargantuan Freeport McMoRan — Rio Tinto gold and copper mine make millions of dollars profit a day but schools remain empty, chronic hunger prevails, and a lack of medical care results in widespread morbidity, the demand for basic services necessary for a healthy life animates many Papuans’ demands for merdeka. The Mee people of the central highlands articulate the realisation of this desire as mobu, which literally translates as “full or satisfied”. Br. Theo van den Broek, of The Catholic Office of Justice and Peace in Jayapura (Sekretariat Keadilan dan Perdamaian), says that mobu “implies a sense of material and spiritual satisfaction where no one need suffer from hunger, poverty, or disease”. This concept exists amongst other indigenous groups. Among the Dani, for instance, writes van den Broek:

The duty of a leader is focused on “ensuring fertility”, which means that all members of the community should be given the opportunity to develop and have equal access to collective forms of wealth, such as land and resources. Similarly, each member of the community deserves equal right to be healthy and educated. In brief, welfare means that all basic needs of every person, not just a minority of people, are fulfilled.

Merdeka as movement to restore human dignity

The story of suffering in West Papua is often recounted as story where Papuans describe themselves as being treated as if they were less than human; as if they were animals. it is a feeling of persecution and discrimination that is repeated across West Papua. Merdeka therefore is also about an end to the destructive racism that pervades Papuan society. Given the way Papuans have been marginalised and displaced by migration, addressing Papuan disadvantage has to include the ability for Papuans to restrict and control migration. Animating culture to direct positive social change, and celebrating and being proud of indigenous Papuan identity are also seen as an important means of achieving this end.

Towards Freedom and Liberation

Although merdeka is translated as ‘freedom’ in Bahasa Indonesia, Jakarta equates Papuan demands for merdeka with the narrow meaning of freedom as ‘independence’ and the desire for a sovereign state. In doing so, legitimate Papuan objectives such as a discussion about the history of West Papua, as well as demands for greater equality, participation in decision making, and an end to the impunity of the Indonesian military are marginalised. For Papuans, however, the deeper meaning of merc/eka is more akin to liberation (pembebasan in Indonesian). The problem for Jakarta is that given the history of the last forty years and the lack of trust Papuans have in Jakarta, few Papuans believe that their aspirations for peace, justice, equality, and democracy can be met within the framework of the Indonesian state.

The meaning of merdeka is often summed up in the oft heard desire “to be rulers of one’s own land” (Tuan di atas tanahnya), expressing a deep understanding of self-determination that has meanings that are at once national and particular, both more and less than the desire for independence. Nonetheless much of the substance of the wider meaning of merdeka inherent in Papuan demands is consistent with the goal of social justice for all, the fifth pillar of pancasila, the Indonesia state ideology. By limiting perceptions of “freedom” to “merdeka as independence“, security forces and policy makers in Jakarta — as well as outside activists, development practitioners, and policy makers — lump all Papuan aspirations together as a demand for independence, thereby making it difficult to respond to demands for merdeka that can be met within a framework that does not necessarily imply support for a political outcome of independence.

The polarisation of all Papuan demands for merdeka as being synonymous with the demand for independence has tragic consequences for Papuans who suffer persistent and horrible human rights violations at the hands of the security forces who have repeatedly responded violently to any perceived threat to the territorial integrity of the Indonesian state. Jakarta’s fear of ‘merdeka as independence‘ and consequent security based approach to prevent this, ironically pushes Papuans further towards identifying the realisation of merdeka with the goal of political independence. In the process the wider meaning of freedom as social justice, equality, and democracy is lost.

However, as Brigham Golden points out, the apparent contradiction of both ‘independence without merdeka‘ and ‘merdeka without independence‘ is possible. The latter idea could be Jakarta’s objective. “But to achieve that goal“ says Golden, Jakarta must be capable of truly and explicitly addressing the moral aspirations of merdeka through its policies and institutions. Until this occurs, there is little hope for resolution in Papua. Further, as long as the term is understood by Jakarta only as a threat to nationalist symbols or political sovereignty, the government will ignore and even violate the very moral tenets that could form the basis of compromise. In this way Jakarta would ensure that merdeka comes to signify only “political independence” and reinforce its nightmare of disintegration.

Conversation over West Papua quickly becomes polarised once it shifts to questions of territory, but remains open if the discussion focuses on other substantive issues, captured by the wider meaning of merdeka. Drawing from the Bougainville experience of negotiations in the early 2000s, dialogue might be aided by initially setting aside difficult questions like self-determination, or reframing them at the community level rather than at the political level. The Bougainville negotiations created enough space to allow the parties to focus on what they could talk about, while slowly building sufficient trust to tackle the bigger issues. By emphasising the meaning of merdeka in the Papuan context as a fearless and shared commitment by migrants and Papuans alike to justice, equality and democracy, it might become possible to start to talk about how to resolve conflict, while in the short-term avoiding the more difficult question of sovereignty and political self-determination. Although regardless of how much de-linking of issues takes place, political questions concerning sovereignty will eventually have to be discussed.

The peace accord in Aceh also offers hope for West Papua. Under the Helsinki Agreement both parties agreed that although Aceh would remain part of the Indonesian state, the Free Aceh Movement or GAM (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka) would be allowed to form a political party and contest local elections. This decision was a radical departure from Indonesian political conventions which prior to the Aceh peace agreement only allowed national political parties to form and operate. Any talks concerning conflict in West Papua, however, will not only need to be inclusive of all parties, they need to make space for understanding the deeper more expansive meanings of merdeka.

Resistance in contemporary Papua

While popular support for merdeka remains high, active and organised campaigns tor independence have waned since the high-water mark of the “Papuan Spring” in the years immediately following the fall of Suharto between 1998 and 2001. Targeted repression, generalised fear and trauma amongst local Indigenous populations, Papuan political leaders cooperation with Jakarta’s policy (sometimes for pragmatic reasons and sometimes out of self-interest), tribal suspicion and rivalries, and competition amongst political factions have mitigated against those seeking to challenge Jakarta’s rule in West Papua. Despite this there is still widespread support for a free West Papua, even from those Papuans in power.

Nonviolent action is a weekly, if not daily, feature of political life in West Papua. The most strident voices for liberation are students. Student led demonstrations for free speech, political dialogue and a referendum are a regular feature of political life in West Papua, despite the repression.

Other prominent campaigns include efforts by highland and island women market sellers in Jayapura to secure a permanent venue to sell produce. This sounds like a straight forward campaign but the demand for a Papuan-owned and managed economic space has been vigorously and at times violently resisted. When this campaign succeeds the policy will potentially be able to be replicated across West Papua.

Another campaign is the successful action by Tongoi Papua, West Papua’s first independent labour union. The Indigenous mine workers organisation burst into prominence when a strike erupted in 2007. Over three thousand Papuan mine workers employed by Freeport Rio-Tinto stopped work for three days. Remarkably both highlanders and islanders, and tribes with a history of inter-generational enmity worked together under one organisation. More extraordinary still, the Indigenous Freeport workers reached out to non-Papuan lndonesian workers, eschewing demands for independence and instead articulating shared labour grievances and pledging to support the interests of migrant workers as well. The local Muslim organisation gave their support to the strike. The strike concluded with significant concessions won by Tongoi Papua. These included a 100% wage increase for some miners, the removal of particular mining department heads known for discriminatory behaviours, the reinstating of several Papuan workers who were unfairly dismissed, welfare provision for Papuan miners’ families, and opportunities for Indigenous Papuan workers to advance.

Survivors of torture have also formed an independent organisation, BuK — Berstlu untuk Kebenaran or Unite for Truth. ln the face of a culture of impunity and a history of a tainted judiciary, they continue to advocate for the rights of survivors and political prisoners.

There have been courageous cross-border actions like the flight of the forty-three West Papuans. When their homemade Serui island canoe beached on Cape York in January 2006, they ignited a political firestorm. Months later all forty- three received temporary protection visas and the lndonesian Government withdrew their ambassador in protest after failed efforts to have the group forcibly returned to Indonesia.

The plot was hatched by Herman Wainggai and other key leaders from the Star group” after they were arrested in 2002 and sentenced to jail for two years. The activists were charged with rebellion and subversion after organising nonviolent demonstrations for independence. Wainggai is no stranger to political agitation. His uncle was Thomas Wainggai who fused Melanesian identity politics with nationalism, cultural and religious renewal, and nonviolent action. Thomas Wainggai was arrested in 1988 after organising a rally and flag raising attended by hundreds. His Japanese born wife was jailed for six years for her part in sewing the flag. He died in jail in Jakarta in 1996. Herman‘s cousin, Thomas Wainggai‘s son Jack Wainggai, was sentenced to three and a half years prison for raising the Morning Star flag in 2008.

Herman selected a diverse group of activists who had a strong claim for asylum and represented West Papua’s cultural and religious diversity. For two months Herman and others laboured; carefully constructing the canoe from the giant tin angtree, in the manner of traditional Serui Islanders. When they were ready to leave the north coast of Papua they took with them evidence of human rights violations and a video camera to document their journey. For over six weeks they travelled. First they traversed along the north coast before rounding the Birds head and making their way along the crocodile infested waters of the south coast. Finally they landed in Merauke.

When they arrived in a town the group would quickly disperse, staying in different houses in order to not draw attention to themselves. At night they would re-group and continue their journey. Four times they were questioned by military officials, each time Herman and the others said they were visiting family. Finally they arrived in Merauke. Based on local knowledge Herman anticipated that the journey from Merauke to the Australia would take approximately 16 hours. The group knew that under Australia‘s refugee laws they had to reach the Australian mainland for their claim for political asylum to be accepted. Up to two hundred student activists were waiting to depart from Merauke. But fearful that the security forces had been alerted of their plans the group of forty-three departed early and the remainder were unable to join them.

Now Herman and the others have permanent residency. Four have returned back to Indonesia. Herman continues his activism from exile and communicates regular with students inside West Papua, offering advice and coordinating action. There are also actions by indigenous groups, like the Mooi, a forest people who have been resisting logging in West Papua for around 20 years. The Mooi are a large language group living in the Sorong area. When the timber company lntimpura came in the 1990s they Mooi organised marches, blockades, occupations and sabotage. Sometimes they even attacked logging camps. For the Mooi the land is their mother. When l met Mooi leaders in 2002 they told me of an entire village that has been wiped out because of logging. The people have been forced to eke out an existence on the city outskirts of Sorong.

Where are the fish. Gone.“ But the Mooi have not given up. Recently they have taken to film-making and because appeals to the Indonesian government tall on deaf ears they have gone straight to the international community. Supported by ElA, the Environmental investigation Agency, an environmental NGO based in London, they have made a film about their plight. They have travelled to Europe to campaign against agro-fuels, which drive the destruction of forests in West Papua by causing replacement with palm oil plantations. The film Tears of the Mother Mooi can now be watched on YouTube.

l could keep telling stories like this. But you get the point. Papuans are resisting violence. They are actively working for justice. Overwhelmingly this is through nonviolent means.

But what does all this mean for people here in Australia?

I want to suggest an approach that has three broad features. The first concerns the way we talk about West Papua. The second thing l would like to suggest is that as civil society groups in Australia we focus our efforts on where we have leverage. Lastly, there is a need for organisations in Australia to take up the cause as well as for small groups of people to strengthen the number and density of linkages with people and groups in West Papua.

Telling the story of West Papua

Let’s begin with the first point: telling the story of West Papua. People need to know where West Papua is and what is happening there. But we need to tell that story in ways that decentre violence and human rights violations and instead, amplify how West Papuans themselves are working for change. lf we tell the story in ways that privilege violence and oppression we run the risk of oven/vhelming people and communicating hopelessness.

The reality is that people in West Papua are organising for change and in the face of great odds have achieved significant successes. Above all Papuans have sun/ived as a people. There have also been some tangible achievements. Churches have successfully resisted moves to divide West Papua by maintaining a single organisational structure across the two provinces. Tongoi challenged the power of the military backed multinational Freeport and secured significant concessions for Papuan workers. Umbrella groups like the National Coalition for Liberation have unified resistance groups and created space for the clandestine movement to talk and organise. By themselves, these initiatives may or may not be sufficient to bring about the change needed, but they are significant. By adding your voice and joining hands with Papuans you will amplify the power of Papuans to realise their goals forjustice and peace.

As well as engendering hope through amplifying stories of determined Papuan resistance we can frame our solidarity in ways that resonate with broader support. There are two particular ways of talking about the problem and Papuan desires for recognition and rights that l believe are helpful. The first is by highlighting environmental concerns.

West Papua is one of the worlds most bio-diverse places. Where else in the world can you stand on a glacier 5000m above sea level and look down on the equator? The territory also contains the world’s third largest rainforests after the Amazon and the Congo.

A focus on the environment has a number of advantages. it avoids what Theo van den Broek calls the paralysation of polarisation. A focus on environmental issues breaks the deadlock of a discussion revolving around mutually exclusive rigid positions: independence or integration. Third-parties — including members of the international community and progressive lndonesians — won’t be drawn into campaigns for independence. They can, however, be mobilised around environmental issues. In the process, some may come to understand other aspects of the conflict: violence by the state, the military’s stranglehold on the economy, contestation over history, and indigenous demands for participation in the economy and decisions that affect them. A focus on the environment and efforts to protect West Papua’s forests in particular, can also be linked to the critical issue of climate change, the world’s largest social change movement. Deforestation contributes to around 20% of global carbon emissions and is the second highest contributor to greenhouse gases.

We can also frame the issue by talking about what is happening in West Papua as a struggle for democracy, and a continuation of the reformasi project that saw Suharto overthrown. Great strides have been made in Indonesia since Suharto. The spread of democracy in Indonesia, however, is uneven. In West Papua the political system remains autocratic. Journalists and even diplomats are routinely refused entry to the territory. Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have been refused permission to carry out field work. Even the Red Cross was recently booted out of West Papua. Unlike Aceh, Papuans cannot form political parties. Papuan symbols like the Morning Star flag are banned and those displaying it are often jailed for long periods. Yusak Pakage and Filep Karma, for instance, were gaoled for ten and fitteen years respectively, for raising the Morning Star flag at a nonviolent action in December 2004. When it comes to expressing political opinions, even when articulated peacefully, a repressive security approach prevails.

When l met with those displaced, a Mooi elder greeted me. His face was etched with the sadness of a people whose life world has been utterly violated. He asked simply; “Where is the wild pig? Gone. Where is the cassowary? Gone. Where are the fish. Gone.“ But the Mooi have not given up. Recently they have taken to film-making and because appeals to the Indonesian government tall on deaf ears they have gone straight to the international community. Supported by ElA, the Environmental investigation Agency, an environmental NGO based in London, they have made a film about their plight. They have travelled to Europe to campaign against agro-fuels, which drive the destruction of forests in West Papua by causing replacement with palm oil plantations. The film Tears of the Mother Mooi can now be watched on YouTube.

I could keep telling stories like this. But you get the point. Papuans are resisting violence. They are actively working for justice. Overwhelmingly this is through nonviolent means.

But what does all this mean for people here in Australia?

Telling the story of West Papua

Despite this, in his state address on 16 August 2005 the Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono said that the Government of Indonesia would resolve the Papuan conflict peacefully, justly and with dignity by stressing the approach of dialogue and persuasion. Calls for a more open society in Papua and demands for free speech are supported by moderate and progressive Indonesians in power.

Design campaigns that have leverage, abandon those that don ‘t

The second feature of an approach to change I outlined above is for civil society groups in Australia to focus our efforts on where we have leverage. Essentially, I would argue that this means that civil society groups focus the bulk of their efforts on how the Australian government and Australian companies support oppression in West Papua. While West Papuans and progressive Indonesians can work to alter the Indonesian government’s willingness and capacity to oppress the Indigenous population, Australians have little influence over what the Indonesian government does. We have more influence over what the Australian government, the Australian military and Australian corporations do. And we should be clear here; Australia enables oppression in West Papua. Let me give you three concrete examples.

Firstly, as I shared earlier, the Australian government actively supported the Act of Free Choice in 1969. They prevented Clemens Flunaweiy and Wim Zonggonau from travelling to the United Nations and suppressed information about Indonesian repression. The Australian governments current position on Indonesian policy in West Papua is to offer support for the much discredited Special Autonomy proposal, which while giving the appearance of justice, has not been implemented. In addition Special Autonomy has been rendered ineffectual by contradictory laws and decrees dividing the territory into separate provinces, weakening the power of the Majelis Flakyat Papua (a kind of Indigenous upper house tasked with overseeing the Special Autonomy Law), and criminalising the display of Papuan cultural and political symbols.

Secondly, Australian corporations support oppression in West Papua. Take the giant Freeport mine as an example, the scene of decades of military violence and environmental destruction. The Anglo-Australian giant, Flio Tinto is the largest partner in the mine. Freeports supply base is in Cairns, the Australian town most integrated with the Indonesian economy. The provision of supplies for the mine and the three towns sen/icing the mine is coordinated by International Pun/eying Incorporated (IPI) who purchase supplies from some 740 Australian companies, including 246 in Cairns. IPI sends these goods to the mine site on its boat, the Java Sea which tracks back and forth between West Papua and Cairns every two weeks.

Thirdly, the Australian government continues to arm and train the Indonesian military. If people want to stand up for West Papua we need to change the ways in which Australia supports the problem. I want to share one campaign focus that I believe could be transformational -— ending the use of merbau and kwila timber by Australian consumers.‘ This tropical hardwood is used in decking, furniture making and boat building. In 2002 I stayed with the community of Seremuk. Their entire forest homeland had been clear-felled. The local head of the military police in Sorong worked hand in hand with the Malaysian logging company Flirnbunan Hijau. When villagers from Seremuk protested what was happening they were harassed and intimidated. The destruction of the Seremuk forest, and subsequent planting of palm-oil, also fuelled climate change. The conflict timber from Seremuk was then mixed with so-called ‘clean’ wood and then sold in your local hardware. A focus on reducing Australian consumption of merbau/kwila will not only allow ordinary Australians to exercise their purchasing power and buy ethical alternatives it will also open the door to understanding other issues in West Papua. Working to reduce timber exports of merbau/kwila also helps address climate change and creates opportunities to build connections and shared campaigns with climate change activists. Toward this end, a goal of banning non-sustainably han/ested merbau could be widely sought.

Creating challenger institutions and engaging in non-political politics

The last element that I want to mention has two parts. The first is the need for organisations in Australia to take up the cause. The second is for small groups of people to strengthen the number and density of linkages with people and groups in West Papua. The first part is about building further organisational muscle in support of West Papua. It is important that not only new organisations are formed to support change in West Papua but that existing organisations incorporate West Papua work into what they are already doing. The second part is what Clinton Fernandes calls “non-political politics“. When organisations like churches, schools, universities, sporting clubs and other social groups start building relationships with people and groups in West Papua, this will take action into more places. This action does not have to be overtly political. School or church twinning, for example can make an enormous difference. Because it is non-political the work can continue in a relatively unhindered way. But at the same time it also politicises people, enables people to engage in solidarity work and assists information to get out.

Still want to do more?

Beyond this, there are four practical things people can do:

Write to a political prisoners. Send a letter to West Papua Political Prisoners vigil,

c/- Catholic Peace and Justice Commission of Brisbane, 3 Abingdon St, Park Road 4101 and we will ensure it gets delivered to West Papuan political prisoners.

Make sure your superannuation is not funding corporate exploitation and military violence in West Papua. Hunter Hall and Australian Ethical Investments Superannuation Fund are the only two funds where you can be sure your money does not profit plunder.
Help fund training and education in nonviolent approaches to transforming conflict.
Form a group – educate yourselves, pick an issue, choose a target, formulate some objectives, develop a plan, and take action.

To conclude I want to end with a story. lt is one of the founding creation myths of the people of Biak. The tale also forms part of the narrative of the banned Morning Star flag, an enduring symbol of resistance in West Papua.

The Biak islanders sing an epic of a woodcarver named Manarmakeri, a man who embodied great spiritual power. Manarmakeri means both ‘scabious old man’ and ‘old man of the star’. Manarmakeri was both the rejected one and at the same time the link between those less than human and the divine.

One day, on top of the mountain, Yamnaibori, a spirit from the land of souls spoke to him from a flat stone in his food garden, telling him he was like a flower about to open, ready to begin a l ong journey. Manarmakeri descended the mountain and travelled to the island of Meok Wundi where he took up the practise oi distilling palm wine. One day he discovered his wine had been stolen. Hiding, he caught Kumeseri (also called Sampari), the Morning Star, stealing his wine. Manarmakeri held Sampari and refused to let the Star go. Frightened because of the coming dawn, Sampari offered Manarmakeri the secret of the Morning Star to share with his people. Manarmakeri told the Star that he would refuse to keep the secrets for his tribe alone and instead sought the gift of peace and renewal for all people. To this Sampari agreed and Manamakeri let Sampai go. Sampari gave Manarmakeri a manes fruit, one of the tropical fruits of West Papua, telling him to throw it at the breasts of a young woman when he returned to his village. Manarmakeri did as Sampari said and a young woman, lnsokari soon became pregnant. No-one one knew who the father was until lnsokari’s son, Konori, recognised him.

Manarmakeri performed many miracles. He drew a boat in the sand which became real. He burnt his old skin, stood in the fire and was renewed as a young man. Seeing his skin was too light, he stepped back into the fire. This time, his skin was the right shade. Leaving his village Manarmakeri went on another journey. This time he journeyed towards Sorong then overseas. When Manarmakeri left, Biak islanders became poor; but one day they believe Manarmakeri will return to West Papua with others and his return will herald a new age of freedom, peace and justice.

lf freedom is the highest human aspiration, then standing alongside people in their search for freedom is the greatest privilege. Papuans invite us to take that journey.

West Papuans sometimes say: “Maybe Manarmakeri came to Australia? Maybe he wants you to help him free West Papua?”

Maybe he does indeed.

Further Reading

Budiardjo, C. and Liem Soei Liong, West Papua: The Obliteration of a People, Surrey, TAPOL, 1988.

Chauvel, Fi. (2008). Rulers in their own country? inside Indonesia, Vol 94: West Papua: inside Indonesia 7,

http://www.insideindonesia.org/content/view/1128/47.

Chauvel, R. (2005). Constructing Papuan Nationalism: History, Ethnicity, and Adaptation, in Policy Studies 14, East West Centre, Washington D.C.

Chauvel, R. and Bhakti, l. N. (2004). The Papua Conflict: Jakarta’s Perceptions and Policies, in Policy Studies 5, East West Centre, Washington.

Fernandes, C. (2006). Reluctant Indonesians: Australia, Indonesia, and the Future of West Papua, Scribe, Melbourne.

Giay, B. (2000). Menuju Papua Baru: Beberapa Pokok Pikiran Sekitar Emansipasi Orang Papua, Deiyai/ELSHAM Papua, Jakarta.

International Crisis Group. (2006). Papua: The Dangers of Shutting Down Dialogue. In Asia Briefing No. 27, international Crisis Group, Jakarta/Brussels.

International Crisis Group. (2003). How not to Divide Papua, international Crisis Group, Jakarta/Brussels.

King, P. (2004). West Papua and Indonesia since Suharto: Independence, Autonomy or Chaos? UNSW Press, Sydney.

MacLeod, J. (2007). ‘Self-determination and Autonomy: the Meanings of Freedom in West Papua‘, (Ed), Security and Development in the Pacific islands: Social Resilience in Emerging States, Lynne Rienner, Boulder, London.

MacLeod, J. (2007). Nonviolent Struggle in West Papua: ‘We Have A Hope’. In Encyclopaedia of Lite Support Systems (EOLSS), Developed under the Auspices of the UNESCO, Eolss Publishers, Oxford ,UK, [httpt//www.eolss.net]

MacLeod, J. The Role of Strategy in Advancing Nonviolent Resistance in West Papua in Luc Reychler, Julianne Funk Deckard, and Kevin HR Villanueva, eds. (2009). Building Sustainable Futures: Enacting Peace and Development. University of Deusto, Bilbao.

Martinkus, J. (2002). Paradise Betrayed: West Papua’s Struggle for iInependence, Quarterly Essay, Black Books Inc, Melbourne.

McGibbon, R. (2004). Plural Society in Peril: Migration, Economic Change, and the Papua Conflict, East West Centre, Washington D.C.

Osborne, R. (1985). lndonesias Secret War: The Guerrilla Struggle in lrian Jaya, Allen and Unwin, Sydney.

Saltford, J. (2003). The United Nations and the Indonesian Takeover of West Papua, 1962-1969: The anatomy of betrayal, Routledge Curzon, London.

Singh, B. (2008). Papua: Geopolitics and the Quest for Nationhood, Transaction Publishers, New Brunswick, USA and London.

Tebay, N. (2005).West Papua: The Struggle for Peace and Justice, Catholic Institute for International Relations, London.

Tebay, N. (2006). Interfaith Endeavours for Peace in West Papua, Pontifical Mission Society Human Rights Office, Aachen.

Widjojo, M. Adriana Elisabeth, Amiruddin, Cahyo Pamungkas, and Rosita Dewi (2008). Papua Road Map: Negotiating the Past, Improving the Present and Securing the Future, Indonesia Institute of Sciences, Jakarta.

About the Author

Jason MacLeod is based at the Australian Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies (ACPACS) at the University of Queensland in Brisbane, where he teaches nonviolent struggle and researches West Papuan resistance movements.

He is a co-director of the Change Agency (www.thechangeagency.org), a not-for-profit NGO providing training and education to civil society groups in Australia and the Asia Pacific, and working on campaigns for social and environmental justice.

Jason is an activist as well a researcher and educator. He formerly worked for Peace Brigades International in Indonesia and on a range of campaigns for global justice, anti~militarism and human rights. He lives in Brisbane on Jagarra Country with his partner and two children.

Acknowledgement

To John Waddingham, for his kind permission to publish the centrefold map of West Papua

Welcome to the Tasmanian Peace Trust

Tasmanian Peace Trust

2009 – The Struggle for Freedom in West Papua: Nonviolent Resistance and Resilience

The Struggle for Freedom

Jason MacLeod

A Melanesian nation in waiting

About the Author

The Struggle for Freedom

Jason MacLeod

A Melanesian nation in waiting

About the Author

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