Keith Jackson & Friends: PNG ATTITUDE

Let's kill the sacred cow of the Melanesian Way

JOHN FOWKE

I CAN TELL YOU THE REASON for the story of declining services, declining prosperity and declining well-being in Papua New Guinea (Service delivery? It’s all mauswara, Post Courier, 7 May).

It’s very simple. As coined by a group of Papua New Guinean intellectuals in the 1980s, the problem is “The Melanesian Way”.

There. It’s been said. The big, silent, grey elephant which has loomed in the background, nameless but recognised by many, is out in the open.

Tackle this elephant, or at least recognise it, everyone. Recognise it for the handicap that it has become in the struggle for modernity and fair distribution of the nation’s wealth.

A Bougainville manifesto: (1) People and culture

LEONARD FONG ROKA

This is the first of a ‘Bougainville Manifesto’ series of writings that I am creating at my own initiative to explore the Bougainville conflict from the pre-colonial era; through colonialism and into the boots of Papua New Guinea. Later I will look into the peace process and the present autonomy era.

I consider my island and people were badly treated by colonialism and the state of PNG since its independence in 1975 resulting in the loss of 10-15,000 innocent people.

Irredentism is our right. Besides, we have being subject to relegation, exploitation, some forms of genocide and institutional indoctrination especially under PNG rule with its rootless humanistic lies. The Bougainville Peace Process and the Autonomous Bougainville Government have also failed my people. Most of their demands do not really uphold the will of the people.

I will attack what I see as wrong; create what I see is needed and indicate a direction which I see Bougainville must move towards.

A Papuan answer to the Bougainvillean

JOHN FOWKE

IT IS EASY TO AGREE with every comment made about Leonard Roka's poem, A Bougainvillean song to the Papuan

And, as most of us have a fairly good understanding that the Bougainville crisis and what follows is the result of Australia's second of two great mistakes as caretaker of TP&NG, we can only empathise with what, in the circumstances, is actually a fairly restrained expression even if it highlights something that Papua's Motu-Koita are both frustrated and angry about in a way which may offend some.

As has been observed, this sort of pressure is felt in a number of places around the nation, especially in Lae, Goroka Mount Hagen and Madang. Much more may be said on this subject.

Old man, young wife, sorcery: the power of gerontocracy

JEFF FEBI

Gerontocracy - A form of oligarchical rule in which an entity is ruled by leaders who are significantly older than most of the adult population [Wikipedia]

ONE ADVANTAGE OF WORKING for ambitious oil and gas explorers is you’re taken to some quite remote places, where the slow pace of change keeps time-worn traditions alive.

In these places, you just might witness the tail-end of some weird and unpleasant practices and get a glimpse into an ugly world of old.

After the latest four weeks on a job and a good time breathing real fresh air and observing gloriously unrivalled flora and fauna, my five-year term was up.

The short helicopter ride to remote Wabo airstrip in the Gulf Province gave me another chance to observe the Purari from above.

This river did a majestic job - painting its meandering path a murky brown. In this seemingly endless evergreen jungle, it made its way into the belly of the Coral Sea.

Wantoks and business – seeking a good compromise

PHIL FITZPATRICK

THE WANTOK SYSTEM emerges from the idea of a clan sharing its resources. However sharing is not a good business model.

In western business, individuals seek to maximise profit with little regard for those upon whom losses are inflicted.  This approach is anathema to many Papua New Guineans.

However, like many traditional customs in Papua New Guinea, the wantok system has been subverted and corrupted for non-traditional purposes.

This is particularly so with people whose parents or grandparents migrated to towns and who no longer have any tangible connection to their original village and clan.

A guide to the PNG expat: Pasin bilong ol waitman

PHIL FITZPATRICK

MANY OF THE RESOURCE developers and entrepreneurs coming to Papua New Guinea conduct cultural awareness training for their staff. 

The idea is to give their staff some understanding of Papua New Guinean cultures so that they can cope better and not get into trouble. 

Some of the training is quite negative in nature.  One very large resource developer shows its new staff a documentary of a man getting hacked up with bush knives at the gates of the company compound!

If you couple that sort of experience with the generally held misconception that all Papua New Guineans had cannibal ancestors it’s no wonder that expatriate staff keep their relationships with Papua New Guineans at arms-length and are afraid to go outside the compound gate.

Worst people, worst places; a walk into dependency

LEONARD FONG ROKA | Supported by the Jeff Febi Writing Fellowship

ON THE SOUTH COAST of Madang town is Ward 17, Local Level Government, a precinct of some 10,000 people reached by an unkempt feeder road.

Neatly lined on either side of the road are swaying mango trees and areca nut palms that catch my breath, because I am a chewer.

I bumped into this place on a recent wet Friday with other Year 3 course mates from Divine Word University.

We were there to search for the peoples’ perceptions and experiences of community development and their willingness to undertake development.

Behind the Jewish mythology lies a story of strength

JOHN FOWKE

YESTERDAY’S ARTICLE IN PNG ATTITUDE, Indiana Jones and PNG’s ‘lost tribe of Israel', sent a few thoughts whirling through my mind.

First, I’m glad AusAID is not funding this project, given that it has the familiar hint of arrogance, hubris and selfishness (and uselessness) characteristic of many projects planned by Australian academics for their own, rather than the ‘recipient’ society's benefit.

The tens of thousands of dollars expended on travel and accommodation would be far better employed in endowing the hospitals in the Western province which are perennially short of consumables let alone capital equipment.

Next, to more charitable thoughts and a historical perspective.

Tok Pisin: expression of intermingled Melanesian culture

MICHAEL DOM

I’VE BEEN ENJOYING the discussion in PNG Attitude about the literary merits of Pidgin English. I think Tok Pisin can be a remarkably expressive language. But then what language isn’t?

With Tok Pisin, because of the challenge of not having a full complement of vocabulary for many words in English, there is a need to be much more descriptive.

For example, big, large, huge, enormous, gigantic, great, tremendous, etcetera are all represented by either bikpela or traipela in Tok Pisin.

Whereas, in the foregoing English sequence, from big to great to tremendous, the meaning and intention of the adjectives change.

The subtle but real differences in word meaning are what make English such a versatile language.

We implore you, Hon Byron Chan, Mining Minister....

NANCY SULLIVAN

I WORK IN THE KARAWARI region of the East Sepik where, for the past seven years, I have been leading a group of Papua New Guinean ethnographers and archaeologists in recording and conserving an enormous cave art system.

It riddles the northern escarpment of Mt MacGregor as it falls down the headwaters of the Arafundi and Karawari Rivers.

Some of the people we work with are amongst the last nomadic hunter gatherers in PNG, and they continue to live in these caves with stencils and images that date back, we believe, 20,000 years.

As yet we haven’t had the expertise to confirm their age, but they are very similar to caves found in Borneo and Western Australia which have been dated to that era.

Amazing Grace: Wilberforce & Papua New Guinea

EMMA WAKPI | Supported by the Rob & Meg Parer Writing Fellowship

WATCHING THE MOVIE Amazing Grace about the life and work of William Wilberforce made me curious to learn more.

So I turned to Wikipedia and was struck by a brief summary of his life philosophy -  “Wilberforce was convinced of the importance of religion, morality and education.”

Wilberforce of course was instrumental in the abolition of the slave trade in Great Britain. What a life: to be convinced of an ideal and to pursue it despite the backlash and threat of being ostracised from society.

But there were other things about my own country that I gleaned from this movie.

1. Wilberforce was a good man but he required challenge and support to do the right thing

Wilberforce was an impressionable young man with good intentions. He had a moral conscience and wanted to do the right thing.

Of wars & warriors: the persistence of conflict in PNG

PHIL FITZPATRICK

PAPUA NEW GUINEA IS A COUNTRY AT WAR.  But it is not at war with another country.  It is a war with itself.

Internecine clan warfare has been going on for thousands of years and it still persists today, albeit sometimes in a toned down and more subtle way.

In many parts of the country conflict is still the natural state of affairs.

In many of Papua New Guinean societies the cult of the warrior is still extremely pervasive. 

And I don’t mean a warrior in the romantic Homeric sense that many of them like to be portrayed.  I mean it in the dumb and brutal sense described by philosophers like Thomas Hobbes.

PNG 'witch' murder a reminder of our gruesome past

RICHARD SUGG | The Guardian (UK)

EARLIER THIS WEEK, police charged two people from Mount Hagen, in the western highlands of Papua New Guinea, with the  murder of Kepari Leniata, a 20-year-old mother.

Accused of bewitching a six-year old boy who had recently died in hospital, Leniata was stripped, tortured with a hot iron rod, doused in petrol, and burned on a pile of rubbish and car tyres.

Anyone with a reasonable knowledge of history will quickly think of the legalised witch killings of Europe and North America as comparisons. These offer a sobering broader perspective.

In Germany, Switzerland, Britain and New England, perhaps 50,000 alleged witches were tortured and killed by the most educated and powerful men in society. By definition, most of their supposed crimes were sheer impossibilities. But the forgotten history of witch attacks is perhaps more surprising still.

In England, the Witchcraft Act of 1736 outlawed any further prosecutions for witchcraft. Yet in the sleepy Hertfordshire village of Long Marston in 1751, the law did not protect 69-year-old Ruth Osborne.

Accused of bewitching cattle, she was watched by a large crowd at the village pond that April, where a man named Thomas Colley ducked and drowned her. Though Colley would hang, many stayed away from the execution in sympathy – but the witch attacks were far from over.

With a present-day population of around 800 and a late-Saxon church, Great Paxton in Huntingdonshire now looks charmingly picturesque. Its past is rather darker. One Sunday in April 1808 the church's minister, Isaac Nicholson, could be heard attempting to talk his parishioners out of their belief that Ann Izzard had bewitched several locals, including three girls who had fallen sick.

As Stephen A Mitchell notes, Nicholson was right to fear he had scarcely dented the prevailing superstitions. One night that May a mob dragged Ann, naked, from her bed into the yard outside her house. They scratched her arms with pins and beat her face, stomach and chest with a stick.

When Leniata was burned in Papua New Guinea, a surprising number of onlookers, including police, failed to save her. Though Izzard survived, her vicar had been powerless to help. That night, when she managed to dress and drag herself to the local constable, he too refused to protect her.

If this is a rather startling view of Jane Austen's England, matters were no better in Scotland. Near the church of Kirkpatrick Fleming in Dumfriesshire, a mill and a cottage faced one another beside Bettermont bridge, over the River Kirtle.

Things falling apart is a cultural issue in Melanesia

PHIL FITZPATRICK

TRADITIONAL SOCIETY IN Papua New Guinea was a ‘throwaway’ culture.

If a house started to fall down or a canoe started to leak the natural thing to do was build a new one.

This attitude is reflected today in peoples’ attitudes to infrastructure.

Rather than maintain what is already there, people are more inclined to simply spend money on a new one.

Westerners find this very frustrating.

A school or an aid post may be built in a community only, a few years’ later, to be found falling down with machinery like pumps and generators having ceased to operate.

In the workplace this is also common, with maintenance a low priority.

It takes acculturation to fix this problem, which takes time.

This attitude helps explain why infrastructure from before independence has fallen into disuse.

Hunters and gatherers in the Australian deserts are similar but to a much greater extent. A desert hunter's total possession might have consisted of a couple of spears and a woomera.

Until a few years ago abandoned near-new Toyota Landcruisers with seized motors were commonplace around outstations and homelands.

Europeans have a much more personal attachment to their stuff', especially prestige stuff like houses and cars, and tend to look after it.

When they look at them they see function but they also see dollars and cents.

Just ask Jared Diamond.

Afek – mother of the Min of the Star Mountains

PHIL FITZPATRICK

THE MIN ARE THE PEOPLE who live around the Ok Tedi Mine.  Their creation mother is called Afek.

The story of Afek varies greatly from place to place and the details are often contradictory and confusing.

No one knows the myth in its entirety. Rather, various groups know different parts of it.

Anthropologist Robert Brumbaugh says the myth is the ideological device which the Min mobilise to deal with unprecedented situations arising from contact and development. It is a statement of identity and a map of relationships. It was invoked during the development of the Ok Tedi mine.

In the late 1970s its existence came under serious threat from a Christian revival movement. The Christians rampaged through villages destroying the men's spirit houses.

The main spirit house at Telefolmin was almost lost but the 'pagans' held fast and saved it. The government then moved to protect the spirit house from Christian attacks by declaring it a national monument.

So the Afek myth is still alive and well today thanks to the efforts of the 'pagans' and it still fulfils its age-old role in Min life.

Beyond the traditional context, such as trade, the myth has the ability to underwrite new types of connection as circumstances change.

Initiation into an Afek cult house does not produce a ‘fully initiated’ man who knows the whole story. Knowledge is ‘parcelled’ out rather than shared. No one person knows the full story of Afek. 

Some Min groups partition knowledge between ritual moieties, each excluded on principle from the full knowledge held by the other.  Only the collective knowledge of the Min encompasses the full story.

The epoch that Afek created began about 300-400 years ago and it was not intended that it should last forever. Afek predicted that it would not last beyond 27 re-buildings of the Telefolip cult house (27 is the base of the Min counting system). 

At that point the earth is destined to turn over and flood. Based on genealogical data and oral history the epoch has currently reached just beyond the midway point.

There were no people before Afek. The world before belonged to the Utungmin or ‘spirit people’. Afek drove them into the deep forest to make way for her descendants but they remain hidden there to this day, where they are sometimes encountered by hunters.

While there is no definitive account of Afek and the collective version is riven with contradictions and inconsistencies it is possible to construct a narrative of sorts. 

The outline of the myth below is constructed from the Telefolmin version of the myth as recorded by Robert Brumbaugh, which is largely followed by other Min groups like the Faiwolmin and Wopkaimin around Ok Tedi.

Why is that man standing on his head? Cultural awareness turned upside down

PHIL FITZPATRICK

ONE OF THE OCCASIONAL OFFSHOOTS of my social mapping activities is teaching cultural awareness.

Social mapping tries to provide resource developers with a range of cultural, historical, economic and social data so that they can understand the communities upon whom they plan to impose themselves.

The theory is that with such an understanding they are less likely to breach social protocols and upset people.  Good manners, after all, go a long way towards establishing useful working relationships. 

At the same time, although they are less likely to acknowledge the fact, it gives them an edge when trying to head off dissent and other costly hiccups.

The various pieces of legislation in Papua New Guinea that make social mapping and landowner identification studies mandatory, such as the Oil and Gas Act, do not explicitly cite the above elements as aims but the assumption of their value seems to be generally accepted by everyone involved.

Also accepted is the proposition that development is inevitable.  If there is a resource somewhere to be exploited it is a given that it will eventually be dug up, cut down or otherwise harvested.

The emphasis in the law is more about being seen to mitigate the impact of development and less about actually doing it. It is also largely about identifying the correct people to whom royalties will be paid – the people that both the government and the company need to suck up to and cultivate and get on side.

So pervasive is this need perceived that universities in Australia and overseas now offer courses in social impact analysis.  But don’t kid yourself that they are about helping the locals; they are all about making the developer’s road as smooth as possible.

Cultural awareness teaching sometimes follows social mapping.  It is generally an informal and hit-and-miss process that might involve a one-off session with company bosses in an air conditioned conference room somewhere with the usual power point presentation featuring colourful snapshots and impressive pie charts. 

At another level it might be simply talking informally to a bunch of scruffy riggers in a bush camp out in the jungle. 

In either case it can be guaranteed that the participants will forget everything they’ve been told within a day or so.  Either that or their innate hard-nosed corporate attitude will cause them to dismiss everything you’ve said because they really know better. 

The technical term for this attitude is ‘going through the motions’.  In these situations you come away with a sense of hopeless inevitability and a vague but disturbing gratitude that they’ve found time to humour you, if only for an hour or so.

Ritual widow-killing did not end in PNG until the 1980s

LAURIE GUY | New Zealand Herald

I WAS IN WEST NEW BRITAIN as a missionary from 1983-89 and can confirm that Jared Diamond's latest book, The World Until Yesterday, is substantially correct in relation to widow-killing in a language group of about 2,000 speakers in New Britain.

Diamond’s ideas do, however, need a little nuancing. First, Kaulong was viewed as a derogatory term (similar to bush kanaka).

The self-description of this language group was Arawe (or Arove). And the practice did not end in the 1950s but persisted in pockets of people until the 1980s.

Traditionally the Arawe were semi-nomadic, settling in small groupings (maybe only 10 or 20 people) for a few years and then moving on as soil fertility was depleted.

In 1981, a diminutive, feisty, German woman in her late 50s, Helen Held, trekked into a remote mountainous part of New Britain to share the Christian gospel with some of the Arawe people.

This led to several of these groups coming together to form a settled village, which I shall call 'A'. Two years later (two months before I arrived in New Britain) Helen went with some of the people from Village A to Village B and preached the Christian message there.

The message was immediately embraced by the whole village, largely because the sister of the primary headman had had a dream a little earlier which she had shared with the village. The dream indicated that people with white skins would come to the village bringing good news.

Village B underwent major transformation over the next few years. With World Vision help it planted coconuts (then absent from that inland area) to lift the woefully low protein levels.

Two of the men went off to do a short-term medical course (the remoteness of the village meant that till then basic health care was totally lacking).

A primary school was started. Because of the difficulty of attracting teachers to the location, the village later got some of its children into secondary school and teacher training to provide home-grown teachers. The overall effect was a remarkable holistic transformation.

Certainly there had been widow-killing among these people. My understanding is that this occurred with the co-operation of the widow, who wanted to be with the spirit of her deceased husband.

A key headman at Village A had earlier been involved in the death of his mother on that basis.

In 1988, the Christian gospel was being preached to further small groups of the Arawe people. A new village ('C'), partly Christian, began to form.

An Arawe graduate from the Bible School I led was placed there as pastor. A man died and his widow wanted to be killed - usually this was shown by the widow doing certain ritual acts to provoke the men to kill her.

Days of the Kiap: Constable Okomba & the cannibals

PHIL FITZPATRICK

IN 1968, WHEN IT WAS APPARENT that self-government and independence for Papua New Guinea was imminent, the Australian government issued orders for all the so-called ‘uncontrolled’ areas to be brought to heel.

The Department of District Administration instituted a program of saturation patrolling in these areas to speed up the process. A sizeable chunk of uncontrolled area existed in the Nomad area of the Western District.

Assistant District Commissioner Rob Barclay was given the job of pacifying the infamous Biami (Bedamini) cannibals once and for all. In an article published in Quadrant magazine in September last year he described the process.

Of the Biami, Barclay wrote….

Shooting pigs to deter primitive peoples from attacking patrols was standard practice, but it didn’t work with them. They wanted us out, never to return. There was an uninhabited buffer zone around the Biami homelands which provided some protection for the surrounding tribes, who were all potential items on the Biami menu.

Primitive men were deathly afraid of the dark. It was the time when the evil spirits were abroad. No sensible person would leave his barricaded hut to see what might be happening beyond the light of the fire.

The Biami had no such qualms. They moved through the jungle by the fitful light of the moon and by the faint starlight, earning for themselves the title of “meat-eating flying foxes”. The flesh of their victims was an integral part of their diet, and their only really satisfying source of protein.

Most cannibalism around the world is ritual, the aim being to imbibe the powers of your victims, making you ever stronger and eventually invincible. But the Biami had no such tradition; they only wanted meat.

Their approach was highly organised. Raiding parties would steal silently through the night, and carefully deploy through the tangled gardens of the targeted long house, stationing themselves at the minor exits.

At the first glimmer of dawn, making the maximum uproar to disorient the sleepers, some would leap through the main entrance, howling like madmen, indiscriminately clubbing and axing the occupants.

The remaining house dwellers would pour out through the lesser exits, or simply barge straight through the walls in a mad panic to escape. The waiting warriors would axe them down as they bolted out of the house, and chase the more agile through the gardens, finishing them off there.

The corpses would then be dismembered, the manageable portions stuffed into string bags and borne off by the triumphant chanting warriors to be partially roasted on the long house fires.

Brains, eyeballs and testicles were particular delicacies. Much of the catch would be eaten practically raw. Eligible young women captured in raids would be forcefully married into the Biami to produce more warriors and women workers. Barren women were eaten or became slaves.

The tribe that promised peace; & would kill to keep its word

BEN JACKSON

'The KomKui Who Made a Covenant with God' by Brother Pat Howley FMS, The DWU Press, dwupress@dswu.ac.pg, ISBN978-9980-9932-5-0

THE KOMKUI IS A RELATIVELY NEW TRIBE, formed in 1980 from the coming together of the of two Mokei tribes (the Komunka and the Kwipi) of the Mt Hagen region.

Both were descendants of the Melpa people who have lived in the Highlands for tens of thousands of years.

The amalgamation was a result of a push to end ancient grudges that existed amongst the Mokei causing continuing tribal tensions in the region.

While the original source of the angst had been long forgotten, the feeling and hatred passed down the generations resulted in sporadic incidents of fatal violence.

When the Covenant with God referred to in the title was agreed in 1980, the KomKui promised to never fight again.

The KomKui Who Made a Covenant with God was compiled to capture the history of the tribe and the Melpa language group from which they descend.

Through colonial diaries, anthropological evidence and cross-checked accounts, the book systematically examines the history of the tribe: ancient cultural practices, agricultural advancements and tribal splits; the arrival of the white man and the colonial era; Christianity; and tribal warfare.

Then there is the formation of the KomKui, the role religion played in this, some dubious business decisions, finally, the success of the tribe.

When author Brother Pat Howley began to write The KomKui, it soon became apparent that two of the figures central to the formation and continuity of the tribe were Pius Tikili and Andrew Dokta.

Tikili is a highly educated KomKui businessman who brought western capitalism to the tribe. While there were hiccups along the way but much of the stability of the KomKui today can be attributed to sound business investments.

Dokta is a charismatic musician, magistrate and Christian leader who drove the amalgamation of the tribes and the simultaneous commitment to peace.

Dokta can also be credited for addressing many social issues along the way, including sub-standard housing, raskol gangs, tribal grudges and community pride.

The two men present as similar characters in many ways - their incredible drive, self-confidence and belief that the ends justify the means.

But despite these similarities, their ideological differences created a long term rivalry between Tikili and Dokta.

Howley, in an attempt to free The KomKui of personal agendas, gives a balanced account of the achievements and shortcomings of both men.

When the book was made available to him in draft form, this approach satisfied Tikili.

However Dokta was unhappy about the inclusion of Tikili per se and demanded that The KomKui be rewritten entirely about himself.

In fact Dokta was so dissatisfied that he threatened the life of one of Howley’s associates when he was distributing free copies of the book.

This behaviour may seem surprising coming from a man who drove the KomKui to agreeing a Covenant with God to never fight again, however Dokta was no stranger to using his power to get his own way.

In the late 1970s Dokta had ordered his young followers to find older tribespeople still participating in traditional spiritual practices and order them to stop or be fined.

Dokta went further, using his power as a magistrate to threaten conviction to any member of the tribe who was not baptised and committed to a Christian god.

The paradox of the rivalry between Tikili and Dokta is that the KomKui needed the drive of both men to succeed in maintaining peace while the two men at the heart of this ultimately successful transformation couldn’t manage it themselves.

Pat Howley and his team of researchers have done a great service (albeit presently under-appreciated) with the publication of The KomKui by recording the tribe’s 25,000 year history. It was a story that was on the verge of being forgotten forever.

The KomKui has appeal on an historical level in its factual sections on both ancient practices and colonial times.

However readers will also derive a strong emotional draw from anecdotes of squabbles that escalated to tribal wars and the men who did so much to end them.

Don’t say ethnic or tribal - the word is ‘customary’

ANNA SOMERS COCKS | The Art Newspaper

IN LONDON LAST NOVEMBER, the director of the Tate Gallery, Nicholas Serota, said that it would be spending around £2m a year—40% of its acquisitions budget—on art from outside Europe and North America.

The Guggenheim and Museum of Modern Art in New York have announced similar policies.

The question is, how to find out about art and artists in areas of the world that often do not have an evolved gallery system or, indeed, a defined history of contemporary art (what does “contemporary” mean, for example, in Papua New Guinea or, indeed, in China?).

There is one museum that has been working on this long before everyone else: the Queensland Art Gallery in Brisbane, which 20 years ago held the first Asia Pacific Triennial.

In 2006, the gallery opened the Gallery of Modern Art, forming Qagoma, whose acting director Suhanya Raffel says: “We now accept that contemporary art is syncretic and cross-cultural, that canonical assumptions about art history are routinely questioned.”

For this year’s star billing, Papua New Guinea, the Gallery of Modern Art has collaborated with the artists and the architect Martin Fowler, who grew up in PNG and has designed Papua New Guinea’s museum.

The first thing you see when you go into the Gallery of Modern Art is a huge painted gable of the kind found on ritual buildings in East Sepik.

Anyone can enjoy its splendid decorative qualities, but all kinds of ritual meanings are also bound up in it, and these have been respected by the gallery.

We are told that the senior artist of the team that came to Brisbane to paint it said the big spirit man, Puti, represented at the top of the gable, gave him permission to make this spirit house in Australia and to use synthetic polymer paints.

One may smile, but it is in earnest. There are also wonderfully decorative Papua New Guinean full-body masks.

The gallery has a good word for this art: “customary”, that is, the product of customs, which is much better than “ethnic” or, worse still, “tribal”, epithets that consign such work to the anthropological compound.

A stimulating essay in the catalogue is about how customary art is not static, as we tend to think, but evolves according to criteria of its own and in response to outside events. The message is: we have a lot to learn.

Bolga ingu – the pig kill as a victim of modernisation

FRANCIS NII | Supported by the South Pacific Strategic Solutions Writing Fellowship

SIMBU’S MOST CELEBRATED, friendship fostering, peacemaking, wealth and leadership mentoring tradition, the bolga ingu [pig kill], has sadly waned into the history lane through the callous forces of modernisation.

And I’m glad that I had the privilege of dancing in what I have now realised is a now extinct historical ceremony.

It was 1974, the year I did my second grade at the village community school and before PNG gained independence in 1975, that I danced in the bolga ingu conducted by my Yobai people of the Karimui Nomane district in the Simbu Province.

My father, Tultul (the title given to him by the colonial administration as deputy headman) Nii Duma, dressed me in the finest Simbu regalia and, along with other youths, we danced to the beat of the kundu and songs of the forefathers in the week-long singsing.

Leading to the day of the pig slaughtering, we sang the traditional songs, beat the kundu and danced; not realising that this  would be the last time this exuberant, colourful, fascinating and merry tradition was conducted in that part of Simbu.

Just as Papua New Guinea is so rich in economic resources, it is also rich in culture and tradition. Some are unfathomable, esoteric and perplexing. For example, the shark calling of the Kontu people of New Ireland  Province, the fire dance of the Bainings of East New Britain and the haus tambaran of the Sepiks.

Others are simply fascinating, friendly and economically beneficial. For example, the moka of the Western Highlands, the yam feasts of Milne Bay Province and the bolga ingu of the Simbu people.

Bolga ingu was a pig slaughtering ceremony and the phrase literally means ‘the year of pig killing’ in the Kuman dialect of the Simbu Province in the central highlands of PNG.

Once every ten or so years, a certain rest house ( a phrase used by the PNG Electoral Commission to define a cluster of clans that share common boundaries, social and economic interests, culture and traditions) would slaughter thousands of pigs and distribute them to old and new friends from other rest houses.

Before the pig killing, men, women and children would attire themselves in the famous Simbu traditional bilas (regalia) of birds of paradise feathers, malo and purpur made out of grass and cuscus furs, and colourful face painting.

For several months they would dance from one village to another within the pig killing rest house. Clans of other rest houses that would benefit from the pork were invited to take part in the singsing.

They would go from village to village singing and dancing. It was a period of resting, feasting and merriment from the years of hard work of raising the pigs.

That was the time nubile girls and young boys from inter-marriage clans eloped and married.

The pig slaughtering took at least some days because every family killed several pigs. The chiefs and clan leaders killed more pigs than the rest to maintain their status. This was the main reason for the chiefs marrying more than one wife in those days; to raise more pigs for killing.

Other people, particularly the widowers and the unmarried young men, helped out in the preparation and slaughtering of the chiefs’ pigs.

The pinnacle of the pig slaughtering ceremony was the pork distribution which was the end of the ceremony. It was really the epitome of festivity, dancing and pork feasting.

The singsing groups would take turns to perform in their finest regalia for the last time from one pig killing village to the other, on the same day receiving pork from their friends.

If daylight ran out, the singsing would continue into the night lit by bonfires and lamps until all the singsing groups completed the journey.

The chiefs would ensure that every member of the singsing groups had something to take home. No one would depart empty handed.

Apart from the obvious display of wealth and fame, the untold underlying benefit of this tradition was establishing and fostering friendship, respect, peace and harmony.

Since the introduction of western culture and Christianity, many of the customs, traditions, rituals, magic, and taboos have died out.

Some have died out because of intentional shift to Christian principles and values.

Others have died out by default dictated by the callous forces of modernisation.

They were no longer as relevant and valuable as they used to be.

Sadly, the famous bolga ingu of the Simbu  Province has fallen victim to modernisation in the same way.

I don’t know whether it would be viable to revive it but I am glad I had the privilege of taking part in what happened to be a great tradition.

Looking upon us with sad envy: reflections on the PNG Way

MICHAEL DOM

I LIKE VERY MUCH Jeffrey Febi’s statement that "many a brother or a sister from another country looks to us with sad envy; so many resource projects, yet we appear wretchedly poor."

I have seen this look of 'sad envy' too many times already, and I'm not even half way through my life!

There is a consensus on the relative truth of this statement among Papua New Guineans - even though we observe so many brand new Toyota Land Cruisers on the roads these days.

Certainly there is a more perceptible gap between the rich and the poor, which will eventually create far greater strains on our so called 'PNG Way'.

Our Melanesian society has always been egalitarian but now men of modern wealth are able buy their way into power and influence during special feasts or other customary occasions, oftentimes without having made contributions or taken active part in the day-to-day struggles of their people.

Some may do so through third parties representing them in the village and this seems to have been blindly accepted as being okay by most people.

But this is not the same 'Way' as before.

In traditional times the rise of a leader was observed by all within the community. All the leader’s actions (or inactions), triumphs and failures were witnessed by his people first-hand;  not through some proxy with vested interests.

There was a degree of transparency, albeit one that was guaranteed by the physical boundaries of the tribal zone.

It was preordained that, for future leaders’ stars to rise, they must align themselves with the elders of the clan and tribe whose character and leadership had been tested by time and who had brought the community to where it was at present.

There must be respect based on non-monetary indicators - values, speech and action.

Not so today, where the elders are almost totally ignored, especially by the younger male 'warriors', in favour of richer big men who are able to supply them with the pay that they desire; money, alcohol, women, vehicles, guns, a chance to travel and have access to other opportunities including education and employment.

By insidiously subverting 'our Way' the modern-day big men maintain their stranglehold on the wealth of this nation.

Their methods keep the rest of the population poor while seeming to dole out wealth to those who support them or, commonly, by providing some 'Christian or charitable' donation to other groups who then become their lackeys, since 'bekim dinau' [reciprocity] is also part of the PNG Way.

There's a lot more to say on this topic. Thanks again Jeffrey Febi.

Merry Christmas PNG, with love from Emma

EMMA WAKPI | Supported by the Rob & Meg Parer Writing Fellowship

MY DEAREST MOTHERLAND, I am writing this letter on the eve of Christmas to let you know how much I love and appreciate you. This time of the year reminds us of what we should be thankful for and of what love is really all about.

Often times we argue so much about what is wrong and right and how it’s supposed to be done nowadays but at the end of the day, you are family, you give me my identity and I find my comfort in your coarse gruffness which conceals a heart so fiercely loyal to me.

At times I pine for things other nations can offer their children and am ashamed to admit that in my youth I’ve oft rued the fact that destiny saw fit to make me a Papua New Guinean; but as I have grown and experienced what life has had to offer - as opportunities have allowed me to visit other countries and cultures; I have discovered that no one is perfect and even the most ideal of situations have their faults.

Looking back I realise the privilege of growing up as a Papua New Guinean and the unique traits that helped create my identity.

Nowhere else on earth can I find a family so diverse and realise the feat it takes to congregate hundreds of nations into the single entity known as PNG and to keep it functioning.

Individual identities are not smothered but like jigsaw puzzles are being pieced together to complete a picture. How this picture will turn out, only God knows.

I am an integral part of that overall puzzle - my piece of the picture you are designing. The way you are shaping me is altogether unique, the experiences and memories are what constitute my mind, body and soul.

I realise this now and do not want to take for granted the encounters which you have allowed to mould and shape me.

I therefore would like to reminisce and share with you the impact that you have had on me and how you’ve helped shape my life up to now…

I see myself blown up and shaped into a puzzle piece (for aesthetic purposes let it be the capital letter E). The top half of the letter is yellow with flecks of orange. 

These are the  times of my early childhood, the experiences of my village…

Adults sitting around the open fire in the evening as I lie at the back drifting hazily upon the quiet conversations about the garden and its yields.

That stubborn pig that’s always escaping from it’s fenced parameter.

The recounting of bygone days with revered ancestors admired for their feats of hunting, fighting, gardening.

Then rising at dawn to hear my grandfather sharpen his axe as he sings old chants; seeing his toothy, bearded grin as he stoops to enter the hut to prepare our smoky breakfast of sweet tea and roasted bananas – his specialty.

I hear my grandmother lovingly calling out to her pigs in the pig house as she ties ropes around the front ankles, leading them to good feeding grounds for the day.

My attention is caught and catapulted to the surrounding kunai hills as my uncle lustily exchanges the morning news with yodlling neighbours while my aunt and mother listen in and make ready their bilums with the supplies eeded for a day of gardening.

I see myself straddling my grandfather’s shoulders, clinging to his hair like a young kapul as he  ffortlessly carries me along, balancing his spade and other working tools on one shoulder while climbing the small hill to work the family garden.

And of him letting me sneak off to play with other children hunting cicadas, grasshoppers and any critters we can safely eat.

The bursts of emotional experience now sweep over me.

The sheer excitement as groups of children and older teenagers go mushroom hunting when the season has started and the cautionary voices of my grandparents telling us to bring everything home to identify before it can be consumed.

The feeling of complete contentment and fun as I see my mother and older cousins and aunts fill bilums full of bedding and clothes, talking and laughing as they take them to the nearby river to launder.

I find myself playing tag with other children, diving and splashing about in the cool shallow pools and drying ourselves, basking lazily like lizards on the big stones.

In the afternoon I follow my older cousins and their friends to the nearby hill which has been laboriously watered to make a slippery slope. Each child has brought along banana trunks with carved designs stylised from twigs and leaves.

The fun as teams are formed and pairs race each other to see who can reach the bottom first while successfully clinging to the banana trunk. The exhilaration of speeding down that hill and taking risk; whilst bathed a dusky red by the wet mud.

I see my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins clinging to me and crying as my father gently pries me away from them and carries me into an airplane. The people inside look fresh and crisp and I am in awe of the air stewardess.

The straight hair, red lips and pencilled eyebrows fascinate me but this is swooped aside and my heart soars as the plane takes off and a complete sense of surreal wonder overwhelms me as I watch everything fade and cars and houses become like the toys that Dad always brought home when he came on his breaks. 

He is taking my mother, sister and I to that place where he works. When we arrive, the place is green and dense, blanketing and swallowing up everything.

It is a colour I’ve never experienced - my own village canopy allowed sunlight to at least filter through and tinge everything a yellowish gold; it is not so here, and it is a bit frightening.

But slowly it grows on me and envelopes me in its mountainous embrace, solid and soothing. It is in this mass of green comfort that I learn to speak and read English, to bond with my nuclear family, to make friends in church and school and to become comfortable with neighbours from other countries.

There is a sense of wonder at the modern world I’ve stepped into. Walking into our kapa house for the first time, it seemed hollow and so full of air and light. Everything is new, white and exciting – the light and fan switches, faucets, shower basin, flushing toilet and we even have a washing machine.

Oh the wonder of turning things on and off at the switch of a button or a twist of a knob – no smoky lamp and fires to blow, no running down the slope to cart water from the watering hole, no more pit toilets in the middle of the night where my
imagination terrorises me with shadows cast from the kerosene lamp. 

And dad shows me the television for the first time. What words can describe that feeling? (I learn to speak and read English watching Sesame Street and Play School every morning and afternoon with mum.)

The sense of awe extends to the start of my education. As I walk into my prep class, Mrs Bignal intrigues me. The red hair, nails and lips contrast sharply with her pale countenance and she seems rather stern but I soon find out she is fun as she untangles me from behind my mothers’ skirt and tells me to go play.  

Mr Canham, my 2nd grade teacher (reading a portion of the Arabian Nights every afternoon), introduces me to the world of books and helps me discover the magic of the cool library with soft bean bags and captivating shelves holding imaginations of every kind.

Many a lunch and after school session finds me holed up devouring anything that grabs my interest.

The jungle green now transforms into a deep red hue with flickers of black. This is the dawning of my self-realisation - of trying to discover who I am and how I should live in this country called PNG.

My existence consists of several dimensions -my family, my culture, my peers, my faith; I attend high school and university and interact with various nationalities and cultures. How do I balance them all?

I find my friends “don’t get” my village life so that becomes my private world where I escape to every school holidays to fall into the loving arms of family and where modern amenities are exchanged for a more primitive setting in smoky huts as I snuggle close to my grandmother and listen to her singsong voice retelling tales of old.

Of squatting next to my grandfather as he operates on the slaughtered pig for our “family Christmas” feast.

Of wandering into the jungle with my aunt and uncle to see them clear land for new gardens, of following my cousins as they participate in the Christmas games of volleyball and basketball where the rules are made up and which I find a bit too rough for my now town bred self.

But I enjoy watching and cheering and every now and again brave the swinging arms and thrusting hips to play.

My culture has certain expectations of me as an educated man’s daughter. How I conduct myself in the village, how I dress, how I react to situations, knowing my place - there is a structure which places me on a certain level and this is in stark contrast to the independence I am so used to in school.

I huff and puff and grumble but know that I must comply or else bring shame to my family.

How do I do it so I don’t feel as if I’m being coerced into something? How do I do it so that I am not condescending but sincere? I realise love, respect and understanding of world views is crucial to achieving this balance.

Having been exposed to a broader view of the world and having decided toward the end of my high school days to accept Christ and follow his teaching, I realise that unconditional love and seeing things from another’s perspective brings understanding.

For this I am thankful for my parents counsel; they too have had to tread this path - my nuclear family helped me fit better into my extended family, culture and Papua New Guinea as a nation.

And now, as I accept myself and my place, I can with understanding address issues that to me are wrong - the flickers of black. Not all things are rosy recollections. There
are kinks in the cultures and ways of my people and I continue to struggle against them.

But for the most part I am at peace, I love and am loved fully in return and find
contentment in my identity – I have a place in this world where I can wholly belong - to know who I am even as I interact and am drawn in by an ever increasingly global world and its persuasions. 

My dear PNG, as I ponder all this, I realise the privilege and richness of my life.

I thank God for creating me and choosing me to be your citizen and placing me in your care to be shaped and fitted; to experience what I have experienced and to work toward an even better future.

I love you and honour you and this Christmas, as we reflect on the meaning of giving; of love unconditional bestowed with abandon to all mankind, I pray God grant me the
grace to live out a life of integrity and love so that I can make you proud.

Merry Christmas and forever yours, Emma :-)

Canoe of hope: risking the Pacific to bring climate news

MANUAI MATAWAI | Supported by the Chalapi Pomat Writing Fellowship

THE DREAM IS NOW REALISED. I had dreamt about this voyage five years ago and started building the beautiful Climate Challenger canoe two years ago.

This was the biggest canoe I had ever built and was to take me and others on an historic voyage.

In early September this year, the time was near to depart the shores of Manus. There would be stormy and rough seas, I knew that, but what concerned me most was to ensure the crews was safely returned.

I thought to myself, “Can I make it?” But, despite the question, I was confident and full of determination.

I knew my ancestors and the spirit of the wind and ocean would guide me and return us safely back to Manus.

On 4 September last, a cultural initiation was about to begin in my village of Pere. The crew and I would have to go through some rituals to get the blessing from the spirit of our ancestors.

The ceremony started just after 7pm. Our aunties (Dad’s sisters or cross cousins) whom had the cursing powers led the procession.

I sat upright and watched as my Dad’s sister Piwen Pitylu with a handful of mashed sweet potato locked in her hand called upon the spirit of our ancestors to come and bless it.

“Come, as we put together our hand on this food, give him the strength, wisdom and courage,” Piwen Pitylu said. “Open his eyes so he can see the danger ahead, let our spirit stay with him and guide him from enemies and bring him safely back to Pere so we all can see him back.”

Then she pushed the sweet potato into my mouth like a toddler waiting to be fed. I said thank you.

There was one last initiation to be done. We had to sail to Baluan Island to seek spiritual blessing from our wind nation leader, the late Sir Paliau Maloat, whom we regarded as our last prophet.

So we sailed to Baluan Island on 5 September. The next day we dressed in white and marched to Freedom House, home of the last prophet. The crew entered the house with silence guided by Sumu, a local guide and faith member.

Each crew member had to seek strength, wisdom, protection and guidance from the Wind as our God. The spirit of Sir Paliau was invited to join us on this journey as our navigator, skipper and captain.

At around 6 pm on 6 September, we left Baluan Island setting a course to Kavieng in New Ireland, a 400 km stretch of ocean. Our journey had begun.

As we pulled out, we were set upon by strong winds and covered by a thunder storm. Huge waves started rocking our canoe.

I looked at each crew member only to find all in silence as though mourning a dead person.

So I opened a carton of beer and gave a bottle of beer to each one. I started cheering them up to draw away their fear and forget about home. Everyone was talking after taking a second bottle.

More resources needed to promote PNG literature

HON BOKA KONDRA | Minister for Tourism, Arts & Culture

A DEEP AND ABIDING RELATIONSHIP exists between a nation and its literature.

There are two interconnected aspects to this relationship. The first uses literacy as a basis to talk about the educational and intellectual development of a nation. The assumption is that a literate population must also be one that is able to make informed and better judgments about issues and questions that are affecting their lives.

This aspect of the relationship between a nation and the need for raising the levels of literacy amongst our people has policy and budgetary implications. When cast in this light then we would have seen that so much time and money have been committed to the basic objective of making our population literate.

A combination of both methods and policies has been used to achieve such an objective including the introduction of vernacular education into our school systems around the country. All in all, literacy has been identified as an index that measures our general sense of economic growth and development.

The second aspect of the relationship between a nation and its literature comes from the assumption that the style, the themes, and the narratives that are canonized in its literature will come to define a country’s national character.

Thus for example, in the United Kingdom we find how Shakespeare’s volume of works has become such a pantheon of highly valorized and legitimated texts which has since, their appearance, have come to inspire a life time of scholarship and reflections.

The experiences of a country, of a nation, are marked by distinctive set of values, tensions, myths and aspirations, or psychological foci that are then inscribed in various forms of national literatures including novels, plays, short stories, poetry, and sometimes in other media such as films too.

In America and Australia, for example, the kind of national character that is revealed in a variety of its literature is the idea of rugged and self-reliant individuals who work hard to bring both individual and national prosperity.

These kinds of literature capture and portray certain cultural values that define a nation’s sense of national culture and morality.  But this is not all that is to the relations between a nation and its distinctive literature.

As for Papua New Guinea, one can argue that the peculiar relationship between the nation and its literature become crystalised in the early 1960s when the spirit of nationalism was in ferment.

Literature was credited with the ‘power of a pen that is mightier than a sword’ because of its ability to inspire and generate cultural and therefore national consciousness.

Huli book of secrets crept too cheaply into the world

HELA WANE*

JUST LIKE OUR GAS AND OIL was sold cheaply to foreigners to exploit and drain, so was the identity and heritage of the Huli culture.

My grandfather and great-grandfather would turn in their graves if they know that I now know what they had done as Chief Priests in the gabe anda (places of worship).

Friday 9 November, 2012, marked a milestone for Hela literacy.

A renowned and well known Hela chief, soldier, theologian and politician, Damien Arabagali LM, launched the book Datagaliwabe was working in Huli.

The book in itself is a significant achievement as Mr Arabagali took the honour of being the first Hela author. In Hela less than 10% of the population is literate.

This quote from Papuan Wonderland by Jack Hides, cited in the foreword to Datagaliwabe was working in Huli, really shook me.

As I gazed on this fertile valley, this wonderland where practically any crop will grow, the question of the future of this people occurred strongly to me and I wondered whether the introduction to civilization would make them any happier then they appeared to be when we first came into contact with them.

Changes came and destroyed the Huli culture and heritage and now LNG is destroying our land, water, family ties, religion and brotherhood.

And so I will answer Jack Hides’ question on behalf of my ancestors. No sir, your introduction of civilization did not make us any happier, it broke our spirit and our land.

The content of Datagaliwabe was working in Huli gives away sacred traditional knowledge and custom, known only to a few chief priests and warriors.

The Hela ‘wigman’ is one of the most famous traditional costumes, and often used to sell PNG tourism. However, not much is known about the deep tradition and culture behind the colourful dress.

As Arabagli states, the knowledge was sacred and not shared, therefore, missionaries often referred to it as paganism and many Christian churches made it their aim to destroy it.

My mother came from the priestly Tagapua clan mentioned in the book and I often used to listen to how she – as a child - used to follow her father to the places of worship (gabe anda) for sacrifices to Datatagaliwabe (God, according to the book).

My mother was not allowed near the sites; therefore she would wait until her father finished the ceremony.

I also grew up with the tales mentioned in the book as bedtime stories, especially the Haroli legend, Ira hari, Bayabaya etc. However the true knowledge was forbidden to us.

Damien Arabagli, in his attempt to prove that God was working in Huli before missionaries came, sold this sacred knowledge to the world rather cheaply.

After half a century, a Kalam language dictionary

BERNARD YEGIORA

THE CODIFICATION OF INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE is a very interesting process. But I was amazed to see how long it took Andrew Pawley, Ralph Bulmer, John Kias, Simon Peter Gi and Ian Saem Majnep to produce the Kalam language dictionary.

The dictionary has just been launched Divine Word University in Madang with Pawley saying he started the project 48 years ago, taking some 10, 000 hours to document the Kalam vocabulary.

The compilers had to first learn the language, understand the context in which it was used and spend a great amount of time with the Simbai people.

On top of that, Pawley had to proofread the final copy of the whole document six times before it was published in Thailand.

Pawley (pictured autographing books) is Emeritus Professor in Linguistics in the School of Culture, History and Language at the Australian National University. He studies Austronesian and Papuan languages and has worked on the Kalam language since 1963, a span of nearly 50 years.

The Kalam language is an Austronesian language spoken by the Simbai who dwell in the border area of the Jiwaka and Madang provinces. Madang Governor Jim Kas, who launched the book, mentioned that half the Kalam speaking people are part of the new Jiwaka province.

The Kalam language, according to Governor Kas, who is an eloquent speaker of the language, is the most commonly spoken in the Madang Province.

The province also has other languages including the Rai Coast, Bogia, Karkar and other groups.

The Kalam speakers who turned up for the book launch were very proud of this masterpiece, which now immortalises their culture.

According to Pawley, the dictionary is ‘a monument that honours their language’. Such words by one referred to as a father figure fascinated the crowd. Pawley’s ability to switch from Pidgin to Kalam to English was a highlight of the evening.

Pawley said the reason why they chose to study Kalam was because he and his colleague, the late professor Ralph Bulmer, found the “language and culture fascinating, extraordinary and beautiful”.

Pawley’s ability to communicate with a diverse range of people was also mirrored by the President of Divine Word University, Father Jan Czuba, whose speech in Pidgin and English made the occasion more entertaining.

Unfortunately, many of the people who contributed immeasurably towards the project have now passed away.

They include the late Ian Saem Majnep (1948-2007) who, as a youth, assisted Bulmer in his field research in the Kaironk Valley and later wrote two books and a number of articles with Bulmer on Kalam knowledge and birds, mammals and plants.

In 1989 Majnep was awarded an honorary doctorate by the University of Papua New Guinea for his contributions to ethno-biological research.

Pawley described him as someone who was popular around the world because he was featured in Time magazine. He spoke about Majnep’s interesting career from being a Grade 2 drop out to someone awarded an honorary doctorate.

Majnep was represented by his son, who expressed his gratitude to Pawley and others on behalf of his father, saying that today was one of the proudest moments of his life as a Kalam man.

The racial attitudes of whites in PNG 50 years ago

JOHN FOWKE

I THINK BOB CLELAND’s recent article in PNG Attitude, Expats missed boat on attitude shift, was a very fair summation of the situation as it was before independence.

Like Mrs Short, I too like Lady Cleland’s book Pathways to Independence, and I still refer to it occasionally.

It is a sympathetic and accurate record of so much important minutiae; of happenings and of the personalities and attitudes giving rise to them.

All this is long forgotten and it is valuable for us to consider what is said in a retrospective focus spanning many years and great changes.

And I liked Bob Cleland’s mum, too. I wonder if she ever tell him about the guestroom toilet in the District Commissioner's house at Kikori?

The late John Stitt together with Hugh Milne and I were barmen and general usefuls at the reception for Administrator Cleland and his lady on their 1958 visit to the then headquarters of the Gulf District.

Combining pragmatism, dignity and acuity with a good sense of humour, the Clelands were exemplary figures in an increasingly-complex setting.

The collapse of the termite-eaten thunder-box - unused for years as official visitors were rare at Kikori - was treated with forbearance and humour.

District Commissioner Dick White, a bluff, plain-spoken single man, suffered only his own great embarrassment at the occurrence.

What Bob Cleland says about race relations in his piece is all quite true. But things changed very rapidly from around the time of the first elections in 1964, being the onset of the decade when short-term contract-employment was introduced in the Administration and the era in which the prohibition of  social relationships between white officers and local women was relaxed.

The situation changed rapidly, also, as the result of the repeal of laws prohibiting native consumption of alcohol.

On that particular historic day I was at Ihu in the Gulf, by now no longer a kiap but a cooperatives officer.

The Co-op coastal ship, MV Hiri, captained by the redoubtable Frank Gorogo, arrived on the afternoon tide. That night, in my house, together with Paul Wilson the Department of Native Affairs clerk and the late, likeable and much-missed Bertie Counsel, I entertained Frank together with Kila Kone from Co-op HQ, Michael Oraka, the Senior Co-op Inspector at Ihu and his assistant, young Ravu Makara.

The first legal beer for the three older men, but by no means their first taste of alcohol.

It was a good night, a happy one, and memorable. Ravu, then a young man who had genuinely never touched alcohol before, had to be helped home.

Three years before this, in my earlier guise as a Cadet Patrol Officer, and also at Ihu, I encountered the late Vincent Eri, author of the first novel by a Papua New Guinean, The Crocodile.

Papua New Guinea – where there is no word for slavery

PETER KRANZ

THIS MAY BE CONTROVERSIAL - but I ask your advice, my friends.

Rose - my Papua New Guinean wife - discovered a video of Gone with the Wind and watched it. She asked what it was about. I explained the Americans had a war between themselves about 160 years ago. North against South.

She asked, "What was this about?"

I gave a halting explanation that it was something to do with slaves and economic domination.

Rose asked, “What are slaves?"

Have you ever tried to explain this to someone who has no understanding or concept of what is a slave?

I said, "Well European people sailed to West Africa and kidnapped local people at gunpoint and took them in chains to America and made them work on farms.

“This is where the American black people came from - mostly Nigeria and the Congo in Africa."

Rose said, "Why did this happen"?

I tried to explain, saying that white people thought the black people could be captured like animals and taken to America to work on the farms.

I made the point that many died in the process.

I asked Rose to watch some old films, including Amistad and Gone with the Wind.

My wife, being from the Highlands of PNG, has no understanding of slavery, or it's history.

For that I praise her, and Papua New Guinea.

But how do you explain this?

The strangeness of Musingku: money, politics & Papaala

LEONARD FONG ROKA | Supported by the Jeff Febi Writing Fellowship

PAPAALA IS A STREAM in the village of Aitara just south of the Tonu station in the Siwai area of Bougainville.

To the people of Siwai, Papaala has great significance in their local mythology which was why Noah Musingku named his operation after this stream.

By scrolling through the blog, Papaala Chronicles, one can work out that the said Kingdom of Papaala is a pure fantasy of money, politics and religious fanaticism created for the people of Bougainville by insane Bougainvilleans.

Noah Musingku [left] lives the life of a recluse in Tonu protected by heavily armed guards who are trained by the single remaining Fijian. He lives on one meal a day in fasting and prayer to fulfill the covenant he says he has with God to liberate the people of Bougainville.

Despite his isolation, Musingku says he long talked of unity with the late Francis Ona and his Meekamui.  Ona always denied that.

In ABC Foreign Correspondent’s interview with Francis Ona (the reporter was Shane McLeod), Ona claimed he “does not know whatever Noah Musingku is up to”.

Despite Musingku crowning Ona a ‘king’ and Ona having nurtured Musingku in his backyard at Guava village, Panguna, Ona still denied him to the world.

Musingku does not travel from Tonu but remains in his house working on computers connected to the internet. His rare public appearances occur on ceremonial days where he emerges wearing a gold crown. He gives a short speech and hides away.

Recently he is said to sponsor a mini-sports events in Tonu and provide a little philanthropy to some elementary schools. His ‘army’ is paid regularly. They regularly desert but, when rumours of money are in the air, they return. But many leave and never come back.

My informant states that Noah Musingku is always sealed off from the sun, protecting his health with umbrellas. Musingku, as the saviour of Bougainville, has to be protected from direct sunlight. Likewise with his siblings and extended family. Nobody knows why, but that is what they do.

In our world, man must labour to get something on the table.

In post conflict Bougainville the economy is still staggering due to political and economic complexities and people’s unsettled mindsets centered on the Melanesian culture of compensation.

It was in this context that Musingku took advantage of our people in their time of desperation.

With Papaala money, politics, and religion converge as a single realm of activity with Noah Musingku at the centre.

The religious with little formal education are the hardcore followers of Papaala. To the illiterate Musingku is a legend.

Out of nowhere, he has created his own calendar; the Papaala calendar. July, which is the galip-nut season in most of Siwai, is the New Year. Musingku throws a celebration of feasting for his followers.

To the Papaala, the days are not Sunday to Saturday but they are aligned with the Genesis creation myth. Sunday is ‘Light Day’ and Saturday is ‘Rest Day’. Months are not named as January and so on but are called after the many precious minerals referred to in the Bible.

In Papua New Guinea, peace comes with a price tag

BRUCE BOWER | Science News

AFTER 15 YEARS OF INTENSE WARFARE, Papua New Guinea’s Enga society recently gave peace a fighting chance.

Outdoor village courts, which had formerly settled local disputes, resolved many bloody conflicts between Enga clans by determining how much communities should compensate one another for murders and other offenses.

The Enga demonstrate that small-scale societies can devise effective, sophisticated means for peacemaking, say anthropologist Polly Wiessner of the University of Utah in Salt Lake City and Nitze Pupu, a lawyer and researcher at the Enga Tradition and Transition Center in Papua New Guinea.

Researchers have documented higher rates of murder and warfare in many hunter-gatherer groups and village-based societies than in modern nations.

The new work underscores an often overlooked tension in non-state societies between the constant danger of violence, particularly from young men, and efforts to restrain lethal conflicts, usually organized by women and older men, says Harvard University psychologist Steven Pinker.

“These homegrown peacemaking measures are not sufficient to maintain law and order in complex societies, where the might of a state is needed,” Pinker says. “And the Enga, even at their most peaceable, have homicide rates several times higher than those of modern Western nations.”

Enga villagers grow sweet potatoes and raise pigs in highland Papua New Guinea. The researchers consulted historical accounts of 84 Enga wars going back 350 years. Village court data on 501 clan wars that took place between 1991 and 2010, records from 129 village court sessions and national census data were also analyzed.

Wars among bow-and-arrow–wielding Enga clans broke out shortly after sweet potatoes reached their island 350 years ago. Around 1850, clans began making peace with enemies via payments of pigs and other valuables.

Village courts were established in 1974 to rule on local disputes and expanded in 1982 to handle clan conflicts.

In 1990, young Enga males aligned with hired mercenaries began using guns to conduct ambushes and raids on various clans, causing a spike in warfare. Clan wars killed 4,816 people between 1991 and 2010, about 1 percent of the Enga population. Today, Enga clans consist of 350 to more than 1,000 people.

Starting in 2005, the number of killings and the length of wars declined steadily. Clan and church leaders, exhausted by years of carnage, turned to village courts as peacemakers.

Armed with cell phones and vehicles to reach trouble spots quickly, village court magistrates handed down rulings on how much one clan should compensate another for various offenses.

The Enga’s style of peacemaking represents one way in which small-scale societies tamp down feuds, characterized by members of rival groups committing revenge killings out of a sense of honour, remarks anthropologist Christopher Boehm of the University of Southern California in Los Angeles.

Hunter-gatherer populations also use restitution and other strategies to defuse revenge killings, and have probably done so for at least the past 45,000 years, Boehm adds.

Contrary to their reputation as cauldrons of endless revenge killings, small-scale societies frequently reward adept conflict mediators with perks that include arranging high-status marriages for peacemakers’ children, Wiessner says. State societies were built on peacemaking tendencies honed in small-scale societies, she proposes

Listen, learn, respect – all so simple yet too hard for some

PHIL FITZPATRICK

A LITTLE WHILE AGO two interesting events in the Southern Highlands were reported on a number of blogs, including one called Mangi Tari.

The first event involved blasting by contractors to enable the PNG LNG pipeline to be laid between Hides and Iagifu Ridge in Fasu country.

The second event involved the capture, killing and consumption of an unusually large python.

According to the blogs what followed both events was catastrophic but entirely predictable.

The area where the blasting took place is a sacred site which local people avoid at all costs; they don’t hunt near it or gather food there.  The reason why they fear the place is because it is the domain of a gigantic mythological snake ancestor.

What followed the blasting and the killing of the snake, according to the blogs, was that “the mountains started trembling and the rivers started flooding to unprecedented levels” and there were deadly landslides.

As a result the construction of the pipeline was halted and sections that had already been laid underground were exposed by the flood.

On a personal level, a girl who had handled the dead snake was mysteriously crippled and the house of one of the clan leaders who ate the snake was submerged in the flooding.

The Huli, Duna, Fasu, Foi and other groups in the Southern Highlands have a complex and interconnected set of creation myths which includes sacred sites dispersed over the landscape which are associated with the deeds and abodes of their mythical ancestors. 

These places are connected by great subterranean networks.  From time to time these mythical ancestors require placating and reification through appropriate rituals.

The place that was blasted was the home of one of these ancestors.  The “Man” who was captured and eaten, the blogs intimate, might have been a fleeing ancestor.

What silly superstition you might think.  The events were simply unrelated incidents with no connection to cause and effect.

That may be so but it doesn’t get away from the fact that many people in the Southern Highlands believe explicitly in these myths and they form a large part of their personal cosmos and universe.

The blasting of the sacred site also begs an important question.  Why didn’t the contractors ask someone whether it was okay before setting off the charges in that particular spot?

The answer points to one of the most significant failings of resource developers in Papua New Guinea.  Further, it encapsulates what is one of the biggest banes of those dedicated community affairs officers working in the industry.

From my experience, I would guess that someone probably did ask the question.  In fact I would guess that a community affairs officer probably told the contractor that they were in danger of damaging a sacred site and should find a way to go around it.

If I’m right, why did they blast it?

Clan leaders in Sydney to reclaim their stolen legacy

The Age

CLAN LEADERS FROM PAPUA NEW GUINEA’s Kerewo clan are to discover what an Australian adventurer stole from their people almost a century ago.

Kenneth Korokai and Andrew Dieri have travelled to the Australian Museum in Sydney to inspect photos and cultural items that could include the remains of their ancestors.

The University of Southern Queensland's Professor Bryce Barker said adventurer and photographer Frank Hurley took the items from the remote Kikori River Delta in 1921.

''We don't know what Frank Hurley collected,'' Professor Barker said. ''He didn't ask permission, he just stole stuff.

''The Australian governor didn't let him come back into PNG because he upset so many people.''

Mr Dieri said many stolen artefacts had a history that was not passed on with them.

''How can these two things not go together?'' he said.

John Howard’s values & a deliberate Melanesian people

ERASMUS BARANIAK

"When modern man goes to extrinsic sources to understand his own existence and his own past, we Melanesians reach deep within to find and know ourselves..."

THE AUSTRALIAN NEWSPAPER on the Australia Day weekend of 26 January 2007 had an insightful cartoon of the unmistakably short, bespectacled and bushy-browed John Howard, prime minister of Australia, head slightly tilted to the left, looking up to a fluttering American flag, counting its many a spangled stars and singing “Twinkle twinkle little star / How I wonder who we are…”. 

It was a telling caricature of not only the times we lived in post-Nine Eleven. In just a few wiggly lines, the cartoonist cleverly opened our eyes to take a rare glimpse of the heart and soul of a nation, its people and its destiny as perceived by its leaders.

It was a weekend that saw flags raised in almost every town in Australia extolling the virtues of Australian society and its values.  Equally in just about every pub, many schooners and stubbies of beer were raised.

In city halls and malls, politicians and local government aldermen handed out Australia Day awards and medals in elevation of certain individuals in society as model citizens of that year.  Some even became new citizens that day swearing to abide by Australian values.

A curious Melanesian visitor passing through Australia that weekend would have been excused for pondering about what exactly were Australian values.  What exactly were those national values Howard was talking about as differentiated from private or individual values?

There is a prevailing view today that a nation has no values of its own; it merely reflects the common values shared and practiced by its citizens; some shaped by history with ancient origins while others by modern contemporary culture or religion. 

Writers like Steven Covey of the school of effective leadership, take a more incremental approach and argue that values are more like mission statements, each deliberately laid out by leaders or chief executives of entities to guide policy or shape organizational behaviour.

Be that it may, we cannot deny the critical role values play in defining a nation and its people.  They can set a people apart and gives them meaning, purpose and direction.  It is the sacred place of noble design, the deepest well from which a people’s hopes aspirations and their loftiest dreams are drawn and crafted into attainable goals for the kind of future and society they envisage for themselves and their children. 

They shape, drive and guide policy and lawmakers.  As such, the contrary is true of a nation without values: it is bared of substance and soul and, like a rudderless ship, is cast upon the vagaries of internal politics, social expediency and economic self-interest.  Without values a nation can have neither soul nor the substance of a vision for the future.

Melanesian values and a different take on well-being

BOB MAKIN | Vanuatu Daily Post

SURVEYS AND REPORTS are not generally riveting reading. Here is an exception. Alternative indicators for well-being for Melanesia - a Vanuatu pilot study is compulsive reading - and proves a lot of things we have suspected all along.

For example 79% of ni-Vanuatu have access to customary lands (92% of those living in rural areas); 90% of ni-Vanuatu know their customary land boundaries; 88% of people feel they have enough or more than enough customary land to meet their needs; and 95% of people with access to customary lands make their homes and grow food for personal consumption on that land.

And all that is just for a start.

Alternative indicators of well-being for Melanesia was launched at the Chiefs’ Nakamal on Thursday. The study is a joint report of the Malvatumauri National Council of Chiefs, Vanuatu National Statistics Office, and Vanuatu Kaljarol Senta.

It has been greatly assisted by the Christensen Fund and Secretariat of the Pacific Community, and endorsed twice by leaders of the Melanesian Spearhead Group.

Jamie Tanguay, coordinator of the project to establish indicators for well-being in Melanesia, started his presentation by explaining the need to change the way progress is measured in Melanesia.

On the one hand, Vanuatu is regarded as a least developed country (LDC). The broad criteria involved in being awarded LDC status are low gross national income: we are down at 141 on the World Bank’s latest listings.

We have “weak human assets”. With a labour force of less than 100,000 and only 30% of the country receiving secondary education, we are definitely weak. And then there is economic vulnerability, and especially for small island developing states.

Earthquakes and natural disasters like cyclones also bring us down to LDC level. That said, LDC countries tend to be typified by war, genocide, disease, starvation, homelessness, pollution and lack of clean water. We have none of those.

Furthermore, the New Economics Foundation and Lonely Planet have seen fit to describe Vanuatu as the ‘Happiest Country in the World’.

Tanguay emphasised that for far too long economists have used income and expenditure patterns to paint a picture of a society’s well-being. “We have failed to develop an international standard for measuring well-being,” he said.

He continued:

Vanuatu is lucky. Because Vanuatu still has a vibrant traditional economy that has served it well for thousands of years. It has supported a population several times larger than the present one with enough healthy organic food for all men, women, and children, and continues to do so for most ni-Vanuatu today.

It supported living conditions for extended family units – with housing, cooking and sanitation facilities – supported community organization by providing places for congregation and interaction, and continues to do so for most ni-Vanuatu today.

The traditional economy is culture. It is how society organises itself to provide for the livelihoods of its members.

Cultural protection: a big win for the honest citizens

PHIL FITZPATRICK

ON 6 NOVEMBER LAST YEAR, Julius Violaris, the owner of Nawae Constructions and President of the Board of Trustees of the National Museum and Art Gallery in Port Moresby, gave a speech.

“It is a sad fact that the Museum has been on a downhill slide for the last decade or more,” he said. “The people that were running it did not care about it and its functions. They were more interested in what they could get out of it, steal the money and some of the artifacts and sell them.

“They have no shame, no compassion for the customs and traditions of this country and its future generations. For a few kina, they allow the export of national treasures, irreplaceable artifacts that will never be made again”.

The minister responsible for the museum, Charles Abel, had earlier joined with Julius and the other board members to try to remedy this appalling situation.

It was a hard road. “At every step of the way, we have been blocked by the crooks and thieves both inside and outside the Museum,” Julius explained. “They use the legal system to tie the hands of honest people and they have succeeded in stopping us from appointing a decent director, to manage the NMAG”. 

“We as trustees have been threatened with arrest, jail and all sorts of things, and this from very senior policemen,” he added.

It all looked pretty bleak but the board never gave up. “We will prevail. We have taken on the task and we aim to complete it” Julius said last November.

And last week the Board achieved its aim and appointed a “good and honest man” as the new director.

Dr Andrew Moutu is from a village located on the mountains along the west coast of Wewak and received his education at the University of Papua New Guinea and completed his Masters and PhD Degrees in Social Anthropology at Cambridge University.

For his doctorate, Andrew carried out field research in Kanganamun village on the Sepik River during which time he was also inducted into the men's initiation ritual.

PNG Attitude and its readers followed the drama at the museum last year with a mixture of incredulity, anger and disappointment. 

However some stories have a happy ending.

Images of Koki and Vabukori: colours & contrasts

TIM ASHTON

ONLY FIVE MINUTES FROM ELA BEACH and in view of many of the luxurious expatriate apartments on the peak above the Port Moresby CBD is the settlement of Koki, tucked in behind the public motor vehicle interchange and the famous markets.

The markets are supplied by local entrepreneurs some of whom work gardens on the few unsettled and undeveloped areas of the steep hillsides over looking Fairfax harbour.

Those with gardens sell primarily sweet potato and taro, with other vendors selling bananas, coconut, fish and mud crab.

We Australians and other foreigners are strongly advised not to venture into such areas without security, but it is here one meets the real face of Papua New Guinea and, like people the world over, the friendship and generosity offered from people who, by western standards have nothing, is humbling.

Within Koki settlement, there is a mixture of the original inhabitants and those who have left their villages and come to the city seeking jobs and the good life. The despair of these immigrants from the highlands and elsewhere is palpable and the feeling for outsiders is fraught.

A 20-minute ride by PMV to the outskirts of Port Moresby is the village of Vabukori. This is an original settlement, whose inhabitants have lived there for centuries.

Historically, like most of the coastal communities of the region, they were raided by the tribespeople of the hinterland who would come down to steal women to marry and work their gardens.

So, for protection, the Vabukori people built their homes on stilts over the sea, thus protecting themselves from raids.

The land is not rich, blasted day in day out by the trade winds, but these people are fishermen so anything grown in their gardens is a bonus

Since independence, life in Vabukori has been on a downwards spiral as corruption, incompetent governance and migration from the highlands has reduced services and increased competition for the few jobs available.

By 2005 with unemployment hovering at around 85%, school attendances plummeting and youth resorting to hombru (homemade alcohol) and marijuana, the traditional chiefs and elders took the future of their people into their own hands.

Lacking the capacity to create employment they organised team sport. Vabukori became the Pacific powerhouse volleyball team and in 2009 won the gold medal at the Arafura Games.

Despite unemployment still at 85%, the result has been spectacular. Community pride has returned, substance abuse is unheard of and school attendance is at an all time high.

Within Melanesian society the position of chief is not hereditary; they are selected by the existing chiefs and elders for their wisdom and ability to take the community forward.

The lesson to be learnt from this is that the position of traditional chiefs and elders within these societies must be supported, especially in law, because it is within these traditions that lie the strong social fabric which has the capacity to carry these people forward.

Ask any of the old people who remember colonial times and they will tell you Australia was a good colonial power; but the people have been very let down by the process of decolonisation which placed too much emphasis on forcing a Westminster system of government and paid too little attention to their traditional customs.

See more of Tim Ashton’s splendid Koki and Vabukori photos at http://socialdocumentary.net/exhibit/Timothy_Ashton/1279

The traditions of the Bena Bena people

ANTHONY KIPPEL

THE BENA BENA SPEAKING PEOPLE of the Eastern Highlands are found towards the north-eastern side of the provincial capital Goroka, sharing the border with Madang Province to the north, Lufa District to the south and Henganofi District to the east.

Today, the number of people who live in this district number about 50,000 and are distinguished by the different dialects of the Bena language that they speak; namely Upper Bena, Lower Bena and Kona Bena. One can easily distinguish the origin of the person by the dialect they are speaking.

The Bena Bena area was one of the first highland regions to be opened and exposed to modern civilization when the Leahy brothers came prospecting for gold up the Bena River. 

An airstrip was established at Hapatoga with the first mission school opened at Hogisopagu by the Seventh Day Adventists. Some of the later products of this school include Benais Sabumei, a former defence minister and member for Ungaii-Bena and his eminence, Sir Akepa Miakue.

The legacy of the Leahy brothers includes the former Collins & Leahy group of companies, East-West Transport, Bena Cooperative Society, Bena Coffee Factory and Magitu Tobacco factory.

As in many other societies of Papua New Guinea, the Bena Bena have their own culture, legends, folklore and myths unique to their setting and environment.  This environment is comprised of savannah grassland, rolling hills and plains surrounded by guardian-like mountains. Mt Otto, to the north, is called Smanuga Sma, which means ‘mountain where snow and mist never fades’. Migipa stands to the East and Ungaii to the South West.

The author was privileged to be able to witness the transition from a traditional culture to a modern western culture brought about by the influences of religion, education and the need to acquire modern wealth. 

For the Bena Bena, the SDA church had a very profound effect causing the abandonment of their culture & traditions.  Today, the Bena Bena people are predominantly SDA’s (myself included) and the majority of the SDA’s in Eastern Highlands are from the Bena Bena District).

The same has happened in many other PNG societies and include the influence of the Lutheran Church in Morobe, the Catholic Church in East and West New Britain and East and West Sepik and the United Church in Central, Milne Bay and Oro.  The latter churches have, however, incorporated and integrated some traditional cultural practices into their teachings and doctrines.

What is happening in all of PNG is that many cultural aspects, such as singsings, legends, folklore, dances, stories, practices and even languages are dying ‘a natural or cultural death’ through a combined effect of outside factors and influences.

My objective in describing the following traditions is that it will serve as an inspiration for modern day Bena Benas to take a moment to reflect back on their cultural and traditional history and, if possible, resurrect some of it in their own way.

‘Dullest culture on earth’ frowns upon sex, bans play

PSYCHOLOGY TODAY

WHAT DOES A CULTURE LOOK LIKE when recreation is forbidden? The Baining of East New Britain value work as the highest human ideal, and view play as the domain of animals.

This has led some anthropologists to deem them "unstudiable" because of their failure to do anything interesting. British anthropologist Gregory Bateson spent 14 months attempting to study the Baining in the 1920s before giving up entirely.

But a successful study of the Baining reveals some fascinating details about this unusual culture.

An article in Psychology Today notes that studying the Baining has proved challenging because their daily life is so mundane. They are small-scale farmers with no institutions outside of the family — no political or spiritual leaders.

They have little in the way of traditional stories, mythology, or even gossip. They do not engage in recreational play. Their daily talk is mostly about the gathering and preparation of food.

The exception, as the picture suggests, is that they do have costumed dances, which are elaborately choreographed and which only adult men may participate in and observe.

Jane Fajans, now an associate professor of anthropology at Cornell University, studied the Baining in the 1970s and 1990s, and discovered that they have a fascinating belief system.

The Baining eschew the natural, believing that work and productivity are unique to humans. In order to separate themselves from the animals, the Baining focus their lives on work. Play, being the natural state of children, is punished (sometimes going so far as to stick a child's hand in a fire) until children learn to overcome their natural urges and accept work.

Similarly, sex, being natural, is frowned upon (though they do have children), and adoption is highly encouraged, to the extent that Fajans found that 36% of children were adopted.

Even cooked food is preferable to raw food because it is the product of human labour. What is valued in Baining society is not the natural, not your own desires, not biological ties, but what you can turn raw materials into, including how well you can turn yourself into a productive person.

From the outside, Baining society looks quite colourless, but Fajans found these strict beliefs result in a radically egalitarian, anarchistic society. She published her findings in her book They Make Themselves: Work and Play among the Baining of Papua New Guinea.

The fascinating history of Tok Pisin & Hiri Motu

THE BASEMENT GEOGRAPHER

  

WHEN PEOPLE WHO DON’T SHARE A COMMON LANGUAGE begin interacting with one another, often a pidgin language develops between them: an impromptu, simplified language using basic words derived from their respective native languages.

As European colonial empires spread throughout the world over the past 500-plus years, the number of pidgin languages around the world exploded.

In cases where use of these pidgins became widespread, many of these pidgins eventually developed into full fledged creoles, fusing traits of their parent languages into new stable, regularised languages that became adopted as mother tongues by large groups of people.

In a select few countries, creoles have evolved to the point where they have become a primary means of communication not just for private citizens but have achieved the status of being official languages of government.

Tok Pisin and Hiri Motu: Papua New Guinea is unique in that not only does a creole language share full official language status, but a pidgin language shares that status as well. In this case, Tok Pisin is the creole; Hiri Motu is the pidgin.

As you may have guessed, the name ‘Tok Pisin’ literally derives from the English words talk and pidgin, although it has long graduated from pidgin status to that of a full creole; nevertheless, most speakers of Tok Pisin will simply refer to the language as ‘Pidgin’ when speaking in English.

80 percent of the lexicon is derived from English, but the syntax used is Austronesian. Tok Pisin’s most notable trait is it use of only two prepositions: blong (sometimes shown as bilong), meaning of or for, and long, used for all other prepositions.

With its English base, Tok Pisin has served as a unifier for the people of Papua New Guinea, a country home to more indigenous languages than any other place on Earth.

Not forgetting that PNG had its own complex history too

BERNARD YEGIORA

I TEACH COLONIAL HISTORY at the moment and this brief article defines the direction I want my students to take in considering the history of their country.

We have looked at the events in Europe like the Renaissance, Reformation, Industrial Revolution and others. These events played a major part in the evolution of Europe.

Then we have also, just on Tuesday, talked about pre-colonial society in Papua New Guinea using as a basis on John Waiko's book, A short history of PNG.

This produces the realisation that we Papua New Guineans had our own social, economic, and political systems that long pre-dated colonialism.

Our ancestors were interdependent on the physical environment, people, spiritual and non-physical beings for their survival.

Socially, our ancestors had a communal society where land and everything was shared based on our kinship system.

Economically, our ancestors had a very complex trading system; in Waiko's words, like a spider’s web.

They traded their surplus for what was scarce. For the Hiri trade the Gulf people traded sago for Motuan clay pots.

Politically, we had the Big Men in the highlands and the Chiefs down on the coast.

These systems were working perfectly for our ancestors up until the age of exploration and discovery.

Bernard Yegiora’s grandfather was one of the early colonial policemen from the coast who helped the Australian Administration build the highway to the highlands. After gaining university degrees in PNG and China, Bernard now teaches at Divine Word University in Madang. You can read more from him at his blog, The Yegiora Files

Oh my gourd; guard those jewels with your vegetable

DOUGLAS MARAU | Solomon Star

TAKE A WALK TO the Papua New Guinea stall at Honiara’s Pasifika village and you will come across a long unusual men’s traditional underwear.

Called a penis guard [sic], the traditional wear is used by men to cover their penis.

Bertha Saki from Angoram in the East Sepik who displayed the penis guard [sic] said it is made from bush fibre and decorated using red and black soil.

“It takes a day to make one,” she said.

She explained that it has been a tradition passed down from their forefathers to the young generation and is still being used today in cultural ceremonies.

The penis guard [sic] has since attracted both local and international tourists.

Some said they have never seen something like that but were happy to learn from the culture and traditions of PNG.

It is commonly used by men from East Sepik Province and Sandaun Province on cultural occasions.

The migration of the Wanigela to Tufi in Oro

GOLOVA MARI

LONG AGO MY VILLAGE PEOPLE of Wanigela in the Central Province lived harmoniously.  They shared common bonds by living, cooperating and working together in everyday life.  But one day something happened which separated some people from my village.

Altogether there are 17 clans in my village.  One day some people from the Marugai clan went to the bush - hunting and gathering food.  On their way they came across some dead trunks from some fallen mangrove trees. 

They stopped to cut up the trunks for firewood and also to extract the edible worms.  Worms from dead mangrove tree trunks are good and tasty, either cooked or eaten raw when they have been washed and cleaned properly.

The people collected plenty of edible worms and firewood from the dead mangrove trunks and returned to the village.  They planned to return to their find and get more worms and firewood the next day.

But the news of the discovery reached some other people from the same clan and they went out very early the next day and collected the worms and returned to the village before they were discovered.

When the people who had discovered the dead mangrove trunks returned to the spot later in the morning, they discovered that the worms had been stolen and none were left.  This upset them and made them uneasy and they went home after cutting some firewood and hunting birds and animals.

Back in the village they found out who the culprits were, and a fight arose among the people within the Marugai clan.

After the fight, the original victims vowed to leave the clan and the village of Wanigela.  They began to build a lakatoi, or double hulled canoe.  It took them several months to build it and, upon its completion, they loaded the lakatoi with food, water and their wives and children and sailed eastwards, after bidding farewell to the village people. 

The village people were very sad as they watched their own people sailing away.

And so they sailed eastward towards Milne Bay Province.  When they ran out of food and water, they made stopovers at coastal villages.  They sailed close to the mainland in case the lakatoi was blown off course.

After sailing for weeks and months they arrived at Samarai in Milne Bay and, after restocking with food and water, sailed northward to Oro and Collingwood Bay.

They found this area was very beautiful with long sandy beaches and swaying palm trees and friendly locals so they decided to settle near Tufi.  The locals gave them land to settle on and they built a settlement.

The local people were very sad when they told them the story of why they left their own village and sailed away in search of a new land.

From that time the settlement has grown to become a village and the name given to it was Tufi Wanigela.

The Tufi Wanigela people intermarried with the local people and slowly the culture and language of the old Wanigela disappeared as the new culture and language was adopted.

Today the Tufi Wanigela people still look similar in appearance to those people of Wanigela village in Central Province and, wherever both Wanigelas meet in life, we call ourselves brothers and sisters.

This is how the second village of Wanigela came into existence in Oro Province in Papua New Guinea.

Google throws weight behind endangered languages

PETER KRANZ

ABOUT HALF OF ALL world languages— more than 3,000— are currently on the verge of extinction. And the country with most languages under threat is Papua New Guinea.

The Google organisation hopes to stem the tide with its Endangered Languages Project.

Google has teamed up with the new Alliance for Linguistic Diversity, a coalition of global language groups and associations, to give endangered-language speakers and their supporters a place to upload and share their research and collaboration.

The site is at an early stage of development and is not yet fully functional, but there is useful information about the project available here.

The site currently features posts submitted by the Endangered Languages community, including linguistic fieldwork, projects, audio interviews, and transcriptions.

The country with the largest number of threatened languages is PNG, with 222 identified. This is massively disproportionate to the population and shows the richness of PNG's languages and cultures.

The sheer number of languages facing extinction is cause for great concern.

Currently there seems very little information on the site about PNG languages, and this provides a real opportunity for PNG academics, researchers and community groups to get involved.

For example, the valuable information collected by SIL over many years could be uploaded to kick start the PNG effort.

Is it too much to hope that a coordinated national PNG effort could be made to provide information for this valuable project?

With the resources and tools that Google aims to provide this could be a major advance in using technology for recording, documenting and helping to preserve some of PNG's threatened languages and cultures.

A lot of language and cultural research has already been undertaking by PNG and Australian universities and researchers over many years. This could be integrated, updated and made much more accessible by this exciting project from Google.

Wakai wei diwa!

Upholding the spirit of the people: the return of Kono

TREVOR FREESTONE

KONO IS MY STEP MOTHER and, like the spirit of most New Guinean Highlands villagers who like her have passed on, she shows a great interest in her relatives and clansmen:

Kono [pictured right with Kariango and me] wants everyone to understand that the Highlanders never considered themselves poor. Their interpretation of wealth was far different from that of Westerners.

The Highlanders have always measured their wealth in the amount of land the clan owned and what their share of this land was.

This land provided food, water, building materials and a source of supply for bilas and objects for traditional ceremonies.

Their wealth was measured by the number of valuable feathers the family owned and these would be proudly displayed at every opportunity. Pigs were also an important indication of wealth.

A large number of pigs was an indication that the owner must have the use of a lot of the clan’s land on which to grow food for the pigs. Some pig owners even had more than one wife so their pigs would receive the attention they deserved.

The rainforests that belonged to the clan were divided, with each family allocated an area. My family had the use of large areas of rainforests in the Daulo area which was a source of the beautiful feathers that everyone treasured.

The rainforest also supplied us with unpolluted water for washing and drinking.

Our health was a real asset, and my ancestors survived for many thousands of years without a hospital or aid post. They had developed treatments and resistance to many of the diseases that occurred.

Our children were also part of our wealth. We treasured them and this was shown at our ceremonial singsings when each family would try to outdo its neighbours in decorating and showing off the children.

The children were our future and the big men of the clan would give them strict rules to follow and enforce these rules.

Each clan fiercely defended itself, its property, and its families. This gave each clan a sense of community which was another form of wealth.

It was not until outsiders entered our domain and brought with them disease and the idea that money was real wealth that I saw problems arising. New diseases, corruption and a breakup of the family unit as our children left home to chase the almighty kina.

The villagers’ real wealth is still their land, as is their rainforests and the clear water that flows in the streams.

My concern is about the lack of knowledge and understanding of the leaders of my country, Australia, and many of the large mining companies.

Who gave the government the right to pass laws that could take my people’s land, their minerals, and even take away their rights? This is simply wrong.

Our land belongs to my people and just by passing laws in some far off Haus Tambaran doesn’t make it right to alienate it.

To send in troops to enforce these new laws shows a complete disrespect for my people’s traditions and customs their rights and their belief in their entitlements as citizens of Papua New Guinea.

PS, Who is Bob Carr?

Time flows uphill for remote PNG tribe

BY ANIL ANANTHASWAMY
NEW SCIENTIST

"HERE AND NOW", "BACK IN THE 1950S", "Going forward"... Western languages are full of spatial metaphors for time, and whether you are, say, British, French or German, you no doubt think of the past as behind you and the future as stretching out ahead. Time is a straight line that runs through your body.

Once thought to be universal, this "embodied cognition of time" is in fact strictly cultural. Over the past decade, encounters with various remote tribal societies have revealed a rich diversity of the ways in which humans relate to time (see "Attitudes across the latitudes"). The latest, coming from the Yupno people of Papua New Guinea, is perhaps the most remarkable. Time for the Yupno flows uphill and is not even linear.

Rafael Núñez of the University of California, San Diego, led his team into the Finisterre mountain range of north-east Papua New Guinea to study the Yupno living in the village of Gua. There are no roads in this remote region. The Yupno have no electricity or even domestic animals to work the land. They live with very little contact with the western world.

Núñez and his colleagues noticed that the tribespeople made spontaneous gestures when speaking about the past, present and future. They filmed and analysed the gestures and found that for the Yupno the past is always downhill, in the direction of the mouth of the local river. The future, meanwhile, is towards the river's source, which lies uphill from Gua.

This was true regardless of the direction they were facing. For instance, if they were facing downhill when talking about the future, a person would gesture backwards up the slope. But when they turned around to face uphill, they pointed forwards.

Núñez thinks the explanation is historical. The Yupno's ancestors arrived by sea and climbed up the 2,500-metre-high mountain valley, so lowlands may represent the past, and time flows uphill.

But the most unusual aspect of the Yupno timeline is its shape. The village of Gua, the river's source and its mouth do not lie in a straight line, so the timeline is kinked. "This is the first time ever that a culture has been documented to have everyday notions of time anchored in topographic properties," says Núñez.

Within the dark confines of their homes, geographical landmarks disappear and the timeline appears to straighten out somewhat. The Yupno always point towards the doorway when talking about the past, and away from the door to indicate the future, regardless of their home's orientation.

That could be because entrances are always raised, says Núñez. You have to climb down - towards the past - to leave the house, so each home has its own timeline.

"This study is an important landmark," says Pierre Dasen, an anthropologist at the University of Geneva in Switzerland who was not involved in the work. "It demonstrates both universality of cognitive processes and a fascinating cultural difference."

Lera Boroditsky of Stanford University in California agrees. "Each one of these discoveries isn't just telling us something about other people, it's telling us something about us," she says. "A lot of English speakers think that it's natural to think of time as a straight line. But that's an illusion. It doesn't have to be that way."

Takuu - My atoll, my home, place of my ancestors

BY RAROTEONE TEFUARANI

MY ISLAND OF TAKUU/MORTLOCK lies about 250km northeast of Kieta in the Autonomous Region of Bougainville, Papua New Guinea.

Takuu is the name given to the southernmost and largest of the islands. This island is distinctively broken in half where one half makes up the cemetery and the other half make up our individual family gardens. It is common knowledge that cemetery and gardens hold a very high significance in any cultural society.

We come from the land of Takuu but in actual fact our population inhabits the neighbouring island to Takuu called Nukutoa.

It is a well known fact that Takuu islanders have grown ‘taro’ for nearly as long as the Chinese has grown rice and the land has provided so generously over the years despite the water table rising.

We also have banana and coconuts that are well suited to our environment and provides for us all year round just as the taro does. Taro for us has a lot of value and is used a lot in many important traditional gatherings.

Then there is the cemetery where our ancestors and those lost rest. So many generations rest on this island, their graves are decorated with their belongings whether it is a cup, a plate or even their clothes. If we leave we contradict what our very own culture has taught us and that is to respect our dead and families of those buried lose everything of sentimental value.

For some time now it has been evident that sea levels have risen due to climate change and tectonic plate movement, threatening not only food crops but my island home’s very existence.

We are not the only atoll affected by the forces of climate change. Also sharing the same fate are our neighbouring atolls Nuguria/Fead, Nukumanu/Tasman and the Cartarets.

The Papua New Guinea government has come up with a plan to relocate my people to mainland Bougainville but this is yet to be fully implemented.

Among the young people there is growing acceptance that maybe it is time to move on, but for the majority of the older generation it is hard for them to accept this change.

I am strongly against the relocation of my people and will present to you a few facts as to why we should not move.

Takuu has many exquisitely divine islands that surround it and all of them have something in common - and that is their white exotic sandy beaches and crystal clear waters. Amongst these are two main attractions that say so much about our history and should be preserved.

What my fathers taught me: a tribute

BY EMMA WAKPI

AT A TIME WHEN THE FOCUS of the world is upon Papua New Guinea and its attitude toward women, I have been reflecting upon the male influences in my life.

I know there are good men in PNG and we need their support and encouragement in order to create a safer more equitable society for both sexes. I want to introduce to you three such men who have impacted my life - my grandfather, uncle and father.

These men influenced me in unique ways and the lessons learned were not from longwinded lectures (although they were prone to those too) but rather from observing how they lived their lives.

What my grandfather taught me

Every individual is unique and must be accorded dignity.

My grandfather had a soft spot for the scorned and oft ignored of our clan and would strive to let them know they mattered. He had a way about him which made it seem that you were the favoured one, that you were special.

Most times upon his return from a feast, often the best meat cuts were quietly slipped to the widows, divorcees or the least favored wife of a clansman.  He would cut smaller portions, wrap them in banana leaves and hide them in various locations then give their children riddles to find them – a treasure hunt of his creation.

This was something he did regularly with his grandchildren and we thought we were the only ones with whom he played this game. At his funeral however I was overwhelmed by the amount of people (most I did not know well) who told of his generosity and recalled his treasure hunts.

He also made it a habit to every so often, visit the homes of the aforementioned women. He would ask them how they were and if there was something that needed doing. If they required assistance, appointments were made and at the set time he and his family would team up and help; fencing gardens, making new gardens, harvesting kunai to thatch roofs.

To us children he made such outings an event and would teach various chants and games turning work to play. Firewood distribution was another duty he took upon himself and would ensure that not only his own household was provided for but that of those who did not have a man to look after them. He never made any help seem like charity for he would call on those assisted to reciprocate by helping him in his garden etc.

Words cannot describe the bond I had with him and even though he has left us, his memory and the continuing of this legacy gives life a feeling of completeness.

Australia riding a wave of Pacific culture

BY SAM BOLITHO
ISLANDS BUSINESS

BANANA TREES IN THE GARDEN, leafy greens for lunch, the childhood of Lisa Hilli [pictured] was like many others in the Pacific. Only she grew up in the Queensland capital Brisbane, hundreds of kilometres from her ancestral home in Rabaul, Papua New Guinea.

“It was just like a little jungle,” the 32-year old artist says. “My mum pretty much transplanted PNG to our suburban backyard.”

Hilli was born to a PNG father and an Australian mother, and migrated to Australia aged two.

It was only when she got older that she began to feel uncomfortable with her place in Australian society as a child of mixed heritage.

“I’m neither completely PNG or completely Australian. I have always been made aware growing up that I never fitted in as well. I’ve always felt as though I’m struggling [between] two cultures.”

It’s a struggle many Pacific Islanders experience living in Australia. But increasingly there are more places for Pacific Islanders to “connect” in Australia. Some have dubbed it the ‘Pacific Wave’.

Hilli has played an influential role in fostering this burgeoning community. Two years ago she co-founded the Pacific Women’s Weaving Circle, a group that gathers each month in Melbourne’s west.

The women weave baskets, mats and fans that they sell at markets around Melbourne. But the group is about much more than weaving, Hilli says.

“It’s also about sharing culture, sharing food, sharing laughter and stories. The group was created out of a desire to connect with other Pacific Islander women, particularly because we don’t live near our families so we were feeling quite isolated.”

And while they might not use the traditional pandanus, their wares are made in the Pacific tradition—using what’s available. “We use anything we can get our hands on, ribbons, raffia, wire.”

Hilli has also taken a lead role in the Wantok Stori project, a filmmaking collaboration between Australia’s Pacific communities and young people living in Solomon Islands.

In April, she went to the capital Honiara with Melbourne-based documentary filmmaker Amie Batalibasi to facilitate the project.

Over two weeks they helped five young Solomon Islanders produce a short film on the theme ‘Culture in Harmony with Nature’ that will premiere at the Pacific Arts Festival in Honiara in July.

Those selected to participate in the project had contributed to an online discussion group (facebook.com/wantokstori) about issues affecting young Solomon Islanders, which was later used as inspiration for the film. 

Male initiation in Orokolo culture

BY KIRSTEN IPI ARIA

PAPUA NEW GUINEA IS SAID to have over 800 different languages, stemming from its colourful collection of diverse cultures.

I want to write about a significant part of my own culture which is fascinating in both its concept and methodology.

Unfortunately, though, the topic here - the male initiation process - has died out in practice from the Orokolo culture due to various factors.

But I believe a revisit into what was this practice will be educational and helpful for today’s young people.

The male initiation played a vital and major role in how effectively the traditional society functioned. In fact, it provided the foundation in which our traditional society took its roots.

To begin, it’s worth mentioning that in the days of our forefathers, the family unit did not live together under one roof as is the case today. This is because while the women and children lived in the family house, the men mostly dwelt in an elavo or mans-house.

The elavo, a towering structure with its pointed thatch roof jutting out menacingly at the fore, was a men-only zone. Females were strictly forbidden from entering it or even loitering about within its perimeter.

The elavo was more than a house of assembly for men. It was the arena for the male initiation endeavour.

The initiation process, or the rite of passage into manhood for a young male child, began when he was taken to the elavo at an age of between 10 and 12 years old. Upon entering the elavo, the boy was wholly entrusted into the care of his kinsmen and elders within.

This meant that he would not see his mother, nor would she see him, for the duration of his stay in the elavo. This would not be significant but for the fact that the initiation process would last over the next 15-20 years of the boy’s life.

It is for this reason that I use the term initiation ‘process’ and not initiation  ceremony as this was not a ceremony or ritual that lasted a couple of days or months but, as stated, took years to complete.

The boy who entered the elavo would have to get accustomed to growing up with the men. Having had all relations with his mother severed, he quickly learned that he had entered into the next phase of life, wherein he had to abandon any childish behaviour or mindset which he may have displayed prior to entering the elavo.

While the boys remained in the elavo, the elders decided what, how and when things would be done for them. Even the meals they took were monitored. For instance, whenever a boys’ mother brought him food, an elder would receive it and taste-test the food before giving it to the boy concerned.

A woman knew that if the elders didn’t approve of the food she brought it would be rejected. Therefore, she made sure to prepare and deliver the best meal for her son in the elavo.