by Tim Flannery
At Christmas 1994 the OPM flag was again raised, following a church service in the village of Banti, just a kilometre from Tembagapura. The military opened fire, killing, according to my informants, seven people, including women and children. I was shown the spots where they fell. Some were in the public road, within easy viewing distance of Tembagapura.
By mid-1995 it looked as if the Amungme would be crushed yet again. Then an extraordinary thing happened. Bishop Munninghof, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Jayapura, released a document which reported on allegations made by an Australian aid agency. It accused the Indonesian military of gross abuses of human rights in Irian Jaya. This courageous act may have counted for nought, except that the matter was taken up by the Indonesian Human Rights Association, which had been recently set up and endorsed by President Suharto himself. This organisation forced an investigation of the bishop's accusations, and subsequently several privates and other junior army personnel were jailed for up to three years.
These events gave the people of Irian Jaya a sense of hope which they had never previously felt—and that hope precipitated a tremendous release of pent-up emotion. Amungme warriors invaded the lowlands town of Timika, where they danced in the streets for three days. The Indonesian immigrants wisely stayed indoors. Finally, it seemed, there was some check on the barbarous army, and the voice of the local people might be heard.
It was in this atmosphere that Kelly Kwalik and Judas Kogoya kidnapped the twenty-three biologists and their support crew at Mapnduma on 8 January 1996.
Whenever I asked about their motives or negotiating position, I always received the same answer from the Irianese who knew them. Kwalik, I was told, was kepala batu—stone-headed. He would listen to no argument about a release of the hostages except on his terms. And his terms were, and always have been, simply this: the hostages would be released when he received a document signed by President Suharto which guaranteed independence for his province. All other negotiating stances were simply ploys to gain time.
In January, a photograph purporting to be of Kwalik (which many of my informants claimed was of another man) appeared on the cover of Gatra, a leading Indonesian news magazine, and from that moment Kwalik was a hero to the Irianese, comparable in status perhaps to Australia's legendary bushranger Ned Kelly. In him, many saw a leader of the stature they had so long lacked.
These events galvanised the Irianese community. There was talk of all kinds of action against the mine. On the day I left Tembagapura for Australia, people were once more saying that tribesmen were gathering to attack the town's electricity or water supply, or to destroy the mill.
Two weeks later, riots rocked the towns of Tembagapura and Timika, causing millions of dollars worth of damage. Bulldozers were driven through company buildings and stones thrown through company windows. The mine ceased production for three and a half days. Riots have since followed in Jayapura and Nabire, and more kidnappings have occurred near Timika.
A few days before I left Irian Jaya in February 1996, I was given a vision of Irian Jaya's future as it was being moulded by Jim-Bob Moffet (CEO of Freeport) and the Government of Indonesia.
I drove out of Timika, a typically rambling, ramshackle Indonesian town, along a new dirt road to a great clearing in the jungle. There stood a scene of such enormity that my mind could not encompass it—Kuala Kencana, as the new town is known, virtually complete, but as yet uninhabited.
The site of Kuala Kencana has been cut out of the virgin lowland rainforest of southern Irian Jaya. It is a town of vast proportions. Designed for an initial population of 25,000, there were indications even before it was completed that rapid transmigration from other parts of Indonesia would soon swell its population to a quarter of a million, adding over 10 per cent to the population of the province.
Given this expansion, the land surrounding the site was clearly of commercial interest to those intent on making a quick buck. Under Indonesian law it does not belong to the Kamoro people who still live on it as they have for thousands of years. Instead, it has been acquired by extremely wealthy Javanese, who will bloat their bank accounts still further by selling it.
What struck me most about Kuala Kencana was its grandeur and silence. I stood on the edge of the expansive city square. Its immaculately manicured lawns and paths stretched seemingly forever in the burning tropical sun. In its very centre stood a copper sculpture. The size of half a house, it supposedly represented the burung Cenderawasih, the birds of paradise which had first drawn strangers to Irian's shore, and which are still seen as the quintessential symbol of the province. To my eye the sculpture looked like nothing more than a great green turban—an obscene authority symbol of a culture and religion entirely foreign to this place. In a land where fierce electrical storms occur almost daily, no-one had considered the advisability of attaching lightning rods to this monstrosity.
At the southern end of the great plaza lay a mosque—the most imposing and beautiful building in the whole town. To the north, barely visible, was the Christian church. To the east lay the building which would house the offices of PT Freeport Indonesia. Its architecture would not be out of place in New Orleans. It had already proved to be too small and an identical glass and steel structure was going up beside it.
All of this scene was entirely devoid of people. It was as if the town had been deserted, rather than waiting to be inhabited.
This surreal vision was surrounded on all sides by a crisp edge of newly cut rainforest. I knew, from studying its biology for over a decade, that this was not a benign edge. The forest was waiting, like a coiled spring, to reclaim the land taken from it. I could not help but speculate that one day it would shelter groups of angry Irianese, intent on the same mission. Perhaps then Kuala Kencana would resemble a Mayan city even more closely that it did on this day.
The suburbs of Kuala Kencana were constructed similarly to its centre. Each one formed a satellite community of a few tens of houses, all surrounded by the same towering forest, and each joined to the city centre by a system of sealed roads which would do a developed nation proud. The houses were all small-windowed block-houses, completely cut off from the outside world, and reliant on air-conditioning to make them habitable.
On the day President Suharto officially declared the city open, 3,000 members of the armed forces patrolled the surrounding jungle. Local Kamoro were removed from the area. The telephone services were restricted, and travel was curtailed. Hundreds of white doves were imported in baskets, to be released on completion of the presidential speech. The day was so hot, however, that many of the birds were prostrated. They refused to fly. Anxious assistants began throwing them skywards, and when this failed they tied helium-filled balloons to their legs. The peace they symbolised was off to a shaky start indeed.
This, then, was the beachhead into Irian which Freeport and the Government of Indonesia had jointly constructed. It would act very effectively, no doubt, in facilitating a rapid Asianisation of this particular piece of Melanesia. Yet it had more than one potentially fatal flaw. If the low-grade civil war which had rumbled on for decades flared once again, how defensible would Kuala Kencana be? What would happen if its electricity supply were cut? How safe would the inhabitants of Tembagapura, at present insulated from Melanesia in their high valley, feel here, dumped in the middle of a steaming jungle? Even clearing the forest would be no solution, for that would only create a suffocatingly hot and sodden plain, on which malaria and other diseases would proliferate.
Australians might recognise something familiar in this story of the conquest of Irian. Until the 1850s Australia developed slowly, and it was only in those areas where European-style agriculture flourished that the Europeans dominated. Just as environmental conditions in parts of Australia held back the European invaders, so those in Irian halted the eastward expansion of the Asiatic peoples. Then, in both cases, minerals were discovered. In Australia, gold provided the beachhead which Europeans used to make the continent their own. In Irian Jaya
, it is the fabulously rich gold and copper deposit exploited by Freeport which will provide the fertiliser that the Asiatic lifestyle needs to flourish.
The dire predicament facing the people of Irian Jaya was succinctly put as long ago as 1957:
Persons arrested under suspicion of ‘disturbing the peace’, which is the term traditionally used...for suspicion of involvement in democratic political activities, are none too kindly treated. There are reports that such people are sometimes beaten even before any investigation has begun as to their factual acts...
There are other reports...of the summary shooting of ‘disturbers of the peace’, and it was stated...that entire populations of suspected villages were being rounded up before dawn, and marched off at bayonet point for the securing of ‘confessions’...
These extraordinary allegations were made before the United Nations by the Indonesian ambassador to muster support for the removal of West New Guinea from Dutch control. Then, the human rights violations listed above were largely imagined. It was those who ostensibly strove for justice as they spoke these words who would make the violations real. The Indonesian Government still has time to avoid the catastrophe of genocide.
* Forbes Wilson, The Conquest of Copper Mountain, Atheneum, New York, 1981, p. 169.
Envoi
Just before I left Irian Jaya that February in 1996, I visited a Freeport exploration camp at Etna Bay, on the southern side of the Vogelkop ‘neck’. The camp is one of many in the province, which is fantastically rich in minerals. Etna Bay is a beautiful place, and I have never seen marine biolumines-cence as I saw it there. To dip one's hand into the water at night is to ignite a vast, swirling universe of red and green sparks of life, some up to a centimetre across.
On land, Etna Bay taught me another lesson. At the village of Kiriru I saw my first Melanesian village without pigs. Instead, a dilapidated mosque stood in the middle of the town. It was adorned with multicoloured party lights which ran in strings up its cupola. I rarely heard local languages spoken in the streets. Bahasa Indonesia was the lingua franca. Kiriru has had contact with the rest of Indonesia for well over a century. Is this what the villages of the rest of the island will look like next century?
As I put the finishing touches to this book, I receive news from Kwiyawagi. The settlement which Geoff Hope and Bren Wetherstone walked 250 kilometres to reach is now connected to Wamena by road. Unless the Indonesian military have learned from their mistakes, there will doubtless be a military post there too.
Acknowledgments
When I first began working in New Guinea almost twenty years ago, I had no idea that anything except my scientific research could possibly be of interest to anyone. I was a poor note-taker. In coming to write this book I was reluctant to reconstruct events in my early expeditions from memory alone, so I sought recourse to the fieldnotes of my expedition partners (particularly Geoff Hope), and also asked them to read my accounts to ensure that my recollection of events broadly concurs with their own. I am grateful to Ken Aplin and Geoff Hope for their co-operation in this.
It was difficult to write the section which deals with Arianus Murip. Some may accuse me of duplicity, or at least complicity with Freeport, because I accepted funding from the company and enjoyed good relations with it, only to expose the ghastly events of 1994 to public scrutiny four years later. In this, as in all my dealings with the company, I have acted according to my conscience.
Above all, I have tried to give a feel for what it is like to undertake biological fieldwork in New Guinea. In some cases, the events of several sequential expeditions (particularly those to Telefomin and the Torricelli Mountains) have been discussed together, with no clear distinction drawn between the separate expeditions. For those interested in the minutiae of where I was and when, my fieldnotes are kept at the Australian Museum, Sydney.
In New Guinea I have accumulated many debts of acknowledgment for companionship and help. Assembling them here is a daunting task. Inevitably there will be some inadvertent omissions, but this should not be mistaken for ingratitude. All have my heartfelt thanks.
Lester Seri, Boeadi, Alexandra Szalay and Geoff Hope shared the trials of repeated expeditions into the remotest parts of New Guinea. To each I owe in large part what measure of success our expeditions met with; to one I owe my life.
Others have accompanied me on fewer trips, including Ken Aplin, Robert Attenborough, Hal Cogger, Tish Ennis, Hickson Ferguson, Eric Fruhstorfer, Don Gardner, Pavel German, Michael Holies, Martin Krogh, Roger Martin, Gerry Maynes, Rory McGuinness, Toni O'Neill, Richard Owen, Rebecca Scott, Gary Steer and Steven Van Dyck.
For their hospitality in the field, I thank Judy Ebsworth, Peter Ebsworth, Maria Friend, Tony Friend, Father Patrick MacGeaver and Father Alexandre Michaellod. I will always be indebted to Sister Cecilia Prestashewsky of the Franciscan Missionary Sisters of the Immaculate Conception.
Without the assistance of the personnel of the Papua New Guinea Department of Environment & Conservation, Puslitbang Biologi, Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia (LIPI) and Departemen Kehutana Indonesia, my work could not have commenced or been completed. In particular, I thank Mahomad Amir, Iamo Ila, Karol Kisokau, Gerry Maynes, Sancoyo and Ucok.
I am grateful to Murray Eagle, Ross Smith, and Ian Wood of Ok Tedi Mining Limited for their invaluable practical help, and their trust in me. Several expeditions to central Irian Jaya between 1994 and 1996 were made possible by the support of PT Freeport Indonesia. For their generous assistance I thank John Cutts, Gordon Greaves, Howard Lewis, Bruce Marsh, Jim Miller, Paul Murphy, Terry Owen, David Richards, Charlie White, and Wisnu. I hope they will view my criticism of Freeport as being offered in a constructive manner.
My greatest debt, and deepest appreciation, is to the many individuals who shared their knowledge of the forests and wildlife of their lands. In particular, the following have been my patient teachers and friends: (in Papua New Guinea) Kaspar Seiko and the people of Miwautei in the Torricelli Mountains; Simon of Fas in the Bewani Mountains; Amunsep, Willok, Tinamnok, Seki and the people of the Telefomin area; Anaru, Ambep and the people of the West Miyanmin area; Freddie, Serapnok and Fresta of Bultem in the Star Mountains; Peter Keno of Kosipe, Central Province; (in Irian Jaya) Benjamin of Je'ute in the Arfak Moutains, Bogaubau Ba Bolobau of Pogapa in the West Maokop; Yonas Tinal of Ilaga; Tegiorak, Pastor Manas and Jot Murip of Kwiyawagi; Julius Adi, Maria Magiu and Vedelis Zonggonau at Tembagapura.
Frank Rickwood read an early draft of the manuscript and offered invaluable criticism and comment. Eric Fruhstorfer, Lucy Hughes Turnbull, Malcolm Turnbull and Chris Ballard commented on vital parts of later drafts.
Finally I express my deepest gratitude to my son David and my daughter Emma. I was away far too often when you were growing up, yet you have continued to love me.
Index
Aborigines, Australian 311
Afektaman 152–154
Agus 252, 256
Aikwa River 275
Albert Edward, Mount 12–16, 24, 170
Ambep (a Miyanmin) 77–79, 81, 82–84
Amungme (people) 99–101, 267, 275, 279, 281, 307, 308–313
Amunsep (a Telefol) 117–118, 122–124, 138, 140
Anaru (a Miyanmin) 60–62, 65–69, 74, 80, 84, 109
Antechinus 14–15
Anton (of Wilbeitei) 203–204
Aplin, Ken 15, 24, 26–27, 40, 42, 43–44
Araucaria 113–115, 132–133
Archer, Michael 48
Arfak Mountains 251–260
Astrapia, Splendid (Astrapia splendidissima) 114–115, 168
Atbalmin (people) 59–60, 65–66, 94–95, 130, 131
August River 51–52
Baiyer River Sanctuary 33
Baliem River 227–228, 239–240
Banti 312
Barcelona 153–154
beech, Antarctic 242
bees, sweat 67
Benjamin (of Je'ute) 257–258
Berrypecker, Crested (Paramyt
hia montium) 244
Betavip 55–58, 70
Billingeek 240, 243–248
Bird of Paradise, Black Sicklebill (Epimachus fastuosus) 207
Bird of Paradise, King of Saxony (Pteridophora alberti) 169–170
Bird of Paradise, Macgregor's (Macgregoria pulchra) 170–171, 244
Blood, Neptune B. 36
Boboyomin see rat, giant
Boeadi (biologist) 250–251, 253–256, 260, 264, 286, 289–290, 292
Boobiari, Mount 56, 61, 63–64, 66, 69, 84
Boroko 10
Bower-bird, Vogelkop (Amblyornis inornatus) 254–255
buai 10, 11
Bulmer, Susan 146
Bultem 145, 148, 162
Buzzard, Long-tailed (Henicopernis longicauda) 64
Calaby, John 36
cannibalism 59, 65–66, 78, 94–95
Capella, Mount 168
Carstensz, Mount 264
Carstensz glacier 264
Carstensz Meadow 288–289
Carstensz Range 100
Christianity, missions and missionaries 16–23, 76, 95, 128, 130–132, 185–187, 230
cicadas 255
clothing 86–87, 111–112, 225–226, 229–230
cockroaches 192
Cogger, Hal 167, 173
crabs, mud 125–126
Crichton, Michael 146
crocodiles 106–107
cruelty 11, 28–30
cuscus (Phalanger matanim) 127
Cuscus, Black-spotted (Spilocuscus rufoniger) 69, 193, 200–201
Cuscus, Ground (Quoyam) (Phalangergymnotis) 69, 128, 129
Cuscus, Silky (Phalanger sericeus) 38, 127
Cuscus, Woodlark (Phalanger lullulae) 201–202
customs and beliefs 57–60, 65–66, 69,71–72, 76, 77–78, 82–84, 94–97, 109, 114–117, 127–133, 148, 149, 188, 194–198, 199–202, 225, 273, 295–298, 308