Download Inside Indonesia 94 (special issue “West Papua: Inside

Inside Indonesia No. 94 (Oct-Dec 2008)
Special issue “West Papua: Inside Indonesia”?
Online at http://www.insideindonesia.org
West Papua: Inside Indonesia?
This edition of Inside Indonesia marks an important anniversary, and explores the
multiple faces of Indonesian Papua today
Jennifer Robinson
Photo: Leslie Butt
For many people, West Papua is unquestionably part of Indonesia and therefore a proper
topic for discussion in this magazine. For many others, it rankles. This difference in opinion
boils down to a significant point in Papuan – and Indonesian – history. Next year marks 40
years since a UN sponsored vote in 1969, the Act of Free Choice (AOFC), which determined
that West Papua would be integrated into Indonesia rather than become an independent state.
Of course, there was another big and much-discussed anniversary in Indonesia this year. May
2008 marked ten years since the downfall of President Suharto and the beginning of
reformasi. This anniversary prompted much reflection about the state of Indonesia’s
democracy. That the anniversary of the AOFC is looming is hardly less significant. The
contested histories arising from the AOFC – in particular concerning Papua’s status as a part
of Indonesia – are at the root of ongoing conflict in Papua.
This important marker in Papuan and Indonesian history offers a pertinent and appropriate
time for Inside Indonesia to dedicate a special issue to contemporary Papua. It has been seven
years since Inside Indonesia last dedicated an edition to this topic. The title then was: ‘A New
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Papua: Special Autonomy or Independence?’ Seven years later, the question remains as
relevant now as it was then.
This edition
In this edition we offer a range of articles that reflect upon contemporary concerns in Papua.
In addition to the poor implementation of special autonomy, these articles deal with human
rights abuses, demographic change, natural resource development and the HIV/Aids
epidemic. Such issues fuel discontent with the Indonesian government and drive Papuan
independence sentiment.
Our first group of authors concentrates on issues in Papua that may be familiar to Inside
Indonesia readers: politics and human rights. Richard Chauvel provides an overview of the
recent politics of special autonomy in the territory. He suggests that, although political
changes have been dramatic and there is now real electoral competition in Papua, the
repression of Papuan nationalism and the pro-independence movement means that Papuans
are not able to fully enjoy the freedoms now available to most other Indonesians. The article
by Muridan S. Widjojo represents an Indonesian view on paths to peace, offering a new
framework to address the Papua conflict within the framework of the Indonesian state,
arguing that Indonesia’s present security approach to conflict resolution creates unnecessary
and violent tension. Three authors then look at different aspects of the human rights situation.
Budi Hernawan reports upon state torture practices in Papua, Carmel Budiardjo reflects upon
the political assassination of prominent Papuan leaders, and Jennifer Robinson writes about
freedom of speech. Each of these articles reiterates the point made by Chauvel: in practice,
state policy in Papua is radically different than in most parts of Indonesia, and Papuans do not
enjoy the same civil liberties as most other Indonesians.
Beyond politics
The other contributions look at a range of social issues that may be less familiar to our
readers. Three articles are dedicated to the HIV epidemic in Papua, which stands out as one
of its most pressing social concerns. HIV infection rates in Papua are the highest in Indonesia
and five times the national average. Seventy per cent of those infected are indigenous
Papuans. Iskandar Nugroho explains how men engaging in sex with other men are at high
risk of contracting the virus, showing how this risk is exacerbated by taboos against
discussions of extra-marital sex and HIV prevention strategies. Leslie Butt and Jack Morin
show how systematic discrimination and structural inequities increase the risk of HIV
infection among indigenous waria (transsexuals), leading to higher infection rates among
indigenous Papuans. Sara Knuckey writes about community awareness and the need for
socially and culturally sensitive HIV education, describing one successful sexual health
education program involving Jayapura’s professional football team, Persipura.
The next three articles address a broad spectrum of social issues: the impact of large
development projects, the increasing political significance of traditional Papuan art, and the
emotional transformations accompanying modernisation in Papua. Paul Barber questions
whether the new BP Tangguh project will benefit local people or become yet another
resource curse. Kipley Nink describes how Papuan asylum seekers in Australia are using the
Asmat bisj-pole as a form of protest, explicitly linking this art form with their campaign for
independence. Sarah Hewat writes about romantic love in Papua, demonstrating that new
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understandings of love, passion and expectations of gendered relations have accompanied,
and been as dramatic as, the better documented changes associated with modernisation.
Our final article by Mike Cookson considers how ‘Papua’ is represented, used and exchanged
on the web. While cautioning readers that one must be critical when using web-based
material about Papua, Cookson provides readers with an invaluable guide to a far greater
range of information.
As Papua enters this significant year, Inside Indonesia hopes to bring you more articles about
the anniversary of the Act of Free Choice and about other contemporary developments and
challenges in Papua. ii
Jennifer Robinson ([email protected]) is an Australian lawyer and Rhodes
Scholar at the University of Oxford, researching international investment law and human
rights.
*****
Rulers in their own country?
Special autonomy and Papuan aspirations have been thwarted by Jakarta and
hampered by the administrative fragmentation sponsored by local politicians
Richard Chauvel
A peaceful demonstration against corruption at the local parliament building in Timika, 2008
Muridan S Widjojo
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Politics in Papua operates in two distinct realms. One realm is closed and partly
clandestine; the other is open and highly competitive. The first realm reminds one of the
repressive climate of Suharto’s New Order, while the second realm has many of the
characteristics of the democratic electoral politics that has developed throughout Indonesia
since the resignation of Suharto. Taken together these realms suggest that many of the
promises of the early reformasi years have not yet been fulfilled in Papua. Yet at the same
time, electoral politics and decentralisation have radically changed the pattern of politics in
Papua.
The first realm is the politics of Papuan nationalism. The overt articulation of independence
demands and public organisation for independence, dominated public life in Papua in the
first years after Suharto’s resignation. A team of 100 Papuan leaders met with President
Habibie in February 1999 and demanded that Indonesia recognise Papuan independence. In
2000 two mass public gatherings were organised. The second of these gatherings, the
Kongres Papua, was partly funded by then President Abdurrahman Wahid, who had earlier
permitted the change of name of the province from Irian Jaya to Papua and had allowed the
Papuan Morning Star flag to be flown alongside the Indonesian flag. An Indonesian
intelligence assessment prepared immediately after the Kongres Papua described the
atmosphere down to the village level in Papua as one of euphoria and enthusiasm for the
idea of Merdeka (independence). The detention of the Presidium leaders in late November
2000, the occupation of Jayapura by Indonesian troops and the severe curtailment of
celebrations of Papuan ‘Independence Day’ on 1 December closed down the public politics
of Papuan nationalism. These actions were followed nearly a year later by the assassination
of the Presidium leader Theys Eluay. Although the government also issued in 2001 a
Special Autonomy Law for Papua, it made it clear at the same time that there would be no
toleration for ‘separatism’.
The Indonesian authorities’ responses to the occasional public outbursts of Papuan
nationalism, like the flag raising incidents at the Papuan Adat Council Congress on 3 July
2007 and the march to mark International Day of the World’s Indigenous People at
Wamena in August 2008, demonstrate how restricted the realm of Papuan nationalist
politics has become. The national government issued a new regulation (77/2007) banning
the use of separatist symbols. In Papua the regulation led to the detention of three Papuan
women in January 2008 who were selling handicrafts incorporating the Morning Star flag
on the streets of central Jayapura.
The factors that have fuelled Papuan nationalism – mass migration, economic
marginalisation and the brutal behaviour of the security forces – remain part of the
Papuan experience of Indonesian rule
Yet in pointing out that the realm of Papuan nationalist politics has been closed down, I am
not suggesting that political sentiments have changed significantly since the heady days of
the Kongres Papua. Indeed, the factors that have fuelled Papuan nationalism – mass
migration, economic marginalisation and the brutal behaviour of the security forces –
remain part of the Papuan experience of Indonesian rule.
Democratic competition
The second realm of politics in Papua is that of elite and bureaucratic competition for the
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control of government positions and resources. In this realm, reformasi has dramatically
changed Papua. Electoral politics has created a new sphere of political competition in
Papua, as it has done elsewhere in Indonesia. These changes have seen a significant
increase in the numbers of Papuans in the executives and legislatures of Papua; their underrepresentation had been one source of grievance during the Suharto years. All the members
of the Papuan People’s Assembly (MRP), as determined by the Special Autonomy Law, are
Papuans. The governors and their deputies of the two extant provinces are Papuans and the
heads of district administrations are Papuans, while some of the deputies are Indonesian
settlers. The two governors and many of the district heads have been directly elected. Most
of the heads of local governments are from the districts they govern.
For example, in Jayawijaya, 1999 was the first time that a local politician had become
bupati (district head). In the early Indonesian period there had been two district heads from
Biak in Wamena, while those of the latter New Order period were Indonesians. Despite the
conviction for corruption of the first local bupati and a corruption investigation targeting his
successor, also a local politician, it is nearly unimaginable that a non-local politician will be
elected in the forthcoming elections. As will be discussed below, the competition for
bureaucratic and political positions has helped to fuel the creation of new district
governments and campaigns for new provinces. According to the simple logic of the newly
empowered local politicians, the more district and provincial governments, the more
positions and resources available for them.
Special Autonomy spans both these political realms. As a policy of the Indonesian
Government, Special Autonomy was a response to Papuan demands for independence. It
also established the institutional framework for the newly competitive electoral politics and
the greatly increased government revenues in Papua.
Special Autonomy
A 2005 demonstration rejecting special autonomy
Muridan S. Widjojo
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Special Autonomy was first enshrined as a policy goal by Indonesia’s supreme legislative
body, the People’s Consultative Assembly, the MPR, in 1999, which included the concept
in its ‘Broad Outline of Government Policy’ (GBHN) for the 1999-2004 period. The MPR
linked the granting of special autonomy to the objective of strengthening Indonesia’s
national integrity within the unitary state. After the Kongres Papua the parliament
instructed Abdurrahman Wahid to take decisive action against separatism in Papua (and
Aceh) and to implement Special Autonomy. During the brief ascendency of Theys Eluay’s
Presidium Dewan Papua – the so-called ‘Papuan Spring’ – the Papuan advocates of Special
Autonomy found it difficult to compete with the promise of independence. Few indigenous
Papuans were interested in their promise of compromise when full independence seemed to
be achievable.
There were some figures within the Department of Internal Affairs, the military and
the intelligence community who considered that the law was too generous to Papuan
interests
However, following the detention of some Presidium leaders and the cessation of
negotiations with those still at liberty, Special Autonomy became a more attractive option.
Governor Solossa’s team negotiated what appeared to be, by the standards of postindependence Indonesian governance, a generous allocation of autonomy to Papua. Special
Autonomy was significantly more generous in its allocation of government revenues and
decision-making authority to Papua than was the case under the nation-wide regional
autonomy laws of 1999. The Special Autonomy Law provided for an ethnic Papuan
Governor and Deputy Governor and a Papuan upper house charged with protecting Papuan
values and interests. The Governor’s team did not obtain all that they proposed in their
various drafts of the law, but the negotiating process with the Indonesian Parliament had
instilled a strong sense of ownership of the law, broadly felt across the bureaucratic and
political elite in Jayapura.
The Special Autonomy Law did not convince the supporters of independence, nor did it
overcome the scepticism of many others in Papuan society, including students, who, given
the long history of promises of autonomy since 1963, posed the simple question: why
should we believe Jakarta now? However, in retrospect, the greatest threat to the Special
Autonomy Law as a policy framework to resolve the conflict in Papua came not from the
sceptics in Papua, but from sections of the Indonesian government itself. There were some
figures within the Department of Internal Affairs, the military and the intelligence
community who considered that the law was too generous to Papuan interests. They feared
that if the law was implemented it would empower a Jayapura-based Papuan elite and pose
a threat to national unity.
These figures advocated the partition of Papua into three provinces. They sought to break
the symbolic nexus between the name Papua, the Morning Star flag and Papuan
nationalism. They persuaded President Megawati to issue a Presidential Instruction in
January 2003 to divide Papua into three provinces and establish four new district
governments.
Given this history it is not surprising that the Special Autonomy Law has dominated much
of the political discourse among Papuans since before its enactment in 2001. The present
Governor of Papua, Barnabas Suebu, made Special Autonomy the basis of his election
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campaign in 2006. He argued that Special Autonomy gave Papuans unprecedented
authority. He said Special Autonomy was ‘an opportunity and a vehicle that is going to take
us to develop a New Papua in the future’. Arguing against the celebration of 1 December as
Papuan Independence Day in 2007, the Governor asserted that: ‘With Special Autonomy
within the framework of the Unitary Republic of Indonesia, Papua is able to govern itself. I
use ‘Papuan freedom’ here to mean the freedom of self-government. Papuans have become
rulers in their own country through Special Autonomy, because it is all contained with the
Special Autonomy Law.’
Now, however, not all Papuans agree with Governor Suebu’s views. In August 2005
Dewan Adat Papua (the Papuan Customary Law Council) ‘returned’ the Special Autonomy
Law symbolically as a coffin to the central government because it had not been effective
and not been properly implemented. In April 2007 student protesters in Jayapura argued
that ‘access to education and health services in the interior was still very limited.
Employment opportunities were very narrow. Income was low, with many Papuans living
in poverty, despite the fact that Special Autonomy had allocated 9 trillion rupiah (about
A$1.2 billion) to Papua. Thus, we have concluded that for the six years Special Autonomy
has operated it has failed.’ Socratez Sofyan Yoman, the Baptist Church leader, has been a
persistent critic of Special Autonomy. In addition to the broadly held views that Special
Autonomy has failed to bring material benefits to Papuans, Yoman has argued that
Indonesian military and intelligence operations have intensified since the introduction of
Special Autonomy. There has been less discussion, however, about other changes that have
occurred under Special Autonomy.
Dividing Papua
Since Megawati’s Presidential Instruction of 2003, a new province, West Papua has been
created in the western part of Papua, with its capital in Manokwari. Megawati’s attempt to
establish a second new province of Central Irian Jaya had to be abandoned in the face of
riots in Timika. However, proposals to establish three new provinces – South Papua, South
West Papua and Central Papua –have found support in the respective regions as well as in
the national parliament. In January 2008, draft legislation was initiated in the parliament to
establish these three new provinces.
Jakarta’s unilateral creation of the province of West Papua in 2003 has done much to
undermine the goodwill and trust created by the negotiations for and the enactment of
the 2001 Special Autonomy Law
Apart from the establishment of two new provinces, Megawati’s Presidential Instruction
also created three new district governments and a municipality – Paniai, Mimika, Puncak
Jaya and the city of Sorong. In addition, twenty other district governments have been
created, making a grand total of 36 districts and municipalities for Papua and West Papua.
This meant the number of local governments has tripled since the Special Autonomy Law
was introduced. While there has been an increase in the number of local governments
throughout Indonesia, from 344 to 471, the proliferation in Papua has been much more
pronounced and the impact on governance more significant.
Megawati’s Presidential Instruction and the subsequent proposals to create further
provinces in Papua have been the focus of conflict between the central government, the
provincial government in Jayapura and other Papuan politicians. Much of the debate
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touches on the nature and extent of autonomy enacted under Special Autonomy;
specifically whether the relevant provisions of the law mean what they say or, alternatively,
that the central government retains the power to determine the provincial and district
government structures in Papua. Jakarta’s unilateral creation of the province of West Papua
in 2003 has done much to undermine the goodwill and trust created by the negotiations for
and the enactment of the 2001 Special Autonomy Law.
The objective of the Presidential Instruction was to undermine and devalue the Special
Autonomy Law, which some sections of the Indonesian Government considered to be too
generous in its concessions to Papuan interests and values and a threat to the unity of the
Republic of Indonesia. The Governor’s arguments likening Special Autonomy to
independence might be effective among his fellow Papuans, but such arguments have only
heightened the anxieties of those in the intelligence services, security forces and the
Department of Internal Affairs who opposed Special Autonomy from the beginning.
Local elites
However, it would be misleading to suggest that the proliferation of district governments
and the proposals for more provinces was simply a result of the central government’s divide
and rule policies. Some Papuan elites also have an interest in territorial fragmentation. The
proliferation of local governments created new arenas for political competition among the
Papuan elites for government positions and access to resources, greatly increased under
Special Autonomy, that go with these new positions.
It is as though there is an alliance of convenience between local politicians in Papua
and those in Jakarta interested in undermining the Jayapura-based political and
bureaucratic elite
Some of the advocates of new districts and provinces are local political figures, while
others are politicians and officials out of power in Jayapura who have seen advantage in
supporting new provinces and districts as a means of acquiring position and access to
resources. Two principal advocates of the province of South West Papua, Decky Asmuruf
and Don Flassy, had been senior officials in Jayapura. Decky Asmuruf had been an
unsuccessful candidate in the election for Governor in West Papua, while Don Flassy had
been a member of the pro-independence Presidium Dewan Papua. Lukas Enembe, who
narrowly lost the election for Governor in Papua to Suebu in 2006, was subsequently
elected as head of the district government in Puncak Jaya, his home area. Johanes Gebze,
the leader of the campaign for the province of South Papua, has been the Bupati in Merauke
for two terms and cannot be elected for a third term.
The proliferation of local governments has brought about the dispersal of political activity
and authority away from Jayapura. Campaigns to establish new district and provincial
governments have involved lobbying in Jakarta, especially with those sections of the central
government who have their own interests in fragmenting administrative structures in Papua.
It is as though there is an alliance of convenience between local politicians in Papua and
those in Jakarta interested in undermining the Jayapura-based political and bureaucratic
elite. Often the provincial government in Jayapura is seen as an obstacle to the creation of
more local governments.
In 2007 Lukas Enembe won the election in Puncak Jaya by defeating Elieser Renmaur, the
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incumbent district head and a Keiese. The heads of district (Bupati) in both Papua and West
Papua are Papuans, mostly from the districts they govern. The deputy heads are a mixture
of local Papuans, Papuans from elsewhere and non-Papuans. The dominance of local
government positions by indigenous local leaders itself conveys something of the
Governor’s sense of self-government under Special Autonomy. The introduction of
electoral politics in local government since the fall of Suharto together with Special
Autonomy has facilitated ‘Papuanisation’ and localisation of political leadership in local
government. Elieser Renmaur was the last of the non-Papuan bupati to lose his position.
The localisation of political leadership in district government as well as the proliferation of
administrations suggests a revival of local and regional identities, reversing the growth of a
Papua-wide identity evident from the last years of the Dutch regime, consolidated and
broadened during the Suharto years and the years of Papuan nationalist mobilisation that
followed it.
There are insufficient numbers of qualified Papuans to become officials. The
International Crisis Group estimated that about 85 per cent of the officials are nonPapuans in some of the new districts
It is worth noting that in contrast to ‘Papuanisation’ and localisation of political leadership
in district governments; the reverse pattern is evident among the government officials.
There are insufficient numbers of qualified Papuans to become officials. The International
Crisis Group estimated that about 85 per cent of the officials are non-Papuans in some of
the new districts.
Problems of proliferation
With respect to the proliferation of district governments in the central highlands, the
Catholic Church’s Office of Justice and Peace have wondered to what extent the
enthusiasm for even more local governments reflected the wishes of the people or just the
interests of the local political elites. Some Church leaders in the highlands considered that
proliferation of district governments was a means to compartmentalise Papuans, making
Papuan society easier to control with a greater military presence. In the campaign to
establish six more district governments during 2007, there was some opposition from
highland student groups, who argued that the new local governments would not benefit the
people’s welfare but merely expand the opportunities for corruption. The students
demanded that the Governor stop the establishment of the new governments. Suebu
declared that the decision was in the hands of the central government.
One obvious problem is that district governments in Papua, especially the newly created
ones in remote areas, are incapable of delivering even the most basic services. The lack of
capacity in service delivery has meant that the increased revenues provided under the
Special Autonomy Law have not resulted in any discernable improvement of welfare.
Governor Suebu had attempted to address the problem of weak district governments by
distributing development funds directly to villages, bypassing the district administrations.
One of the highland district governments created in 2008, Dogiai, was recently confronted
by the tragic circumstances of a cholera and diarrhoea outbreak that resulted in the deaths
of about 173 people. Church leaders noted the irony that the new local government had
been too busy celebrating the district’s foundation to take any action against the outbreak of
disease.
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Benny Giay, a Church leader from the affected region, urged the government not to busy
itself with the creation of new district governments, but rather provide quality health
services as dictated by the Special Autonomy Law. Giay and other Church leaders regretted
that the inaction of both the old district government in Nabire and the provincial
government had created suspicions in the community and exasperated tensions between
Papuans and immigrants, leading to the destruction of some immigrants’ houses. The
implication of the Church leaders’ criticism was that the new government in Dogiai did not
have the capacity to deal with the outbreak.
Looking forward
The advocates of more and smaller district governments argue that this will enhance equity
in development, bring government closer to the people and improve public services. There
has been no evaluation of whether these ideals have been realised by the new district
governments. Papua has particular challenges in its extensive and difficult terrain and very
limited transportation and communication infrastructure. The proliferation of administrative
structures over the past six years has been ad hoc, but it might not be too late for a
systematic assessment of what the appropriate structures of administration in Papua consist
of.
Hopefully, a newly (re-) elected Indonesian government will feel secure enough to
permit Papuans to enjoy the same democratic freedoms and responsibilities as their
fellow Indonesians
The national government and Papuan society have a shared interest in establishing
administrative structures that support good governance and enable Papuans to benefit from
the greatly increased government revenues generated by Special Autonomy. Expanding the
frontiers of democratisation and demilitarisation into Papua is a prerequisite for creating a
single political realm in which governments are held accountable and their activities are
transparent. Special Autonomy is the only policy game in town as far as the national
government is concerned in Papua. Its credibility and legitimacy in the eyes of many
Papuans was undermined because, simultaneously with its formulation and implementation,
the government closed down the reformasi political space and created what I have
described as the closed political realm of Papuan nationalist politics. Hopefully, a newly
(re-) elected Indonesian government will feel secure enough to permit Papuans to enjoy the
same democratic freedoms and responsibilities as their fellow Indonesians. ii
Richard Chauvel ([email protected]) teaches at Victoria University.
*****
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Papua road map
Conflict resolution should move from a security to a justice approach
Muridan S Widjojo
Abepura Court 2006: Justice remains a mirage
Tim Advokasi Papua Tanah Damai
The Indonesian government has so far treated Papuan claims for independence and
allegations of human rights abuse as potential threats to national security. The government’s
policy goal appears to be to paralyse the Papuan independence movement so it will not
endanger Indonesia’s territorial integrity. It is pursuing this goal through a security
approach: using military and intelligence operations.
This approach creates unnecessary and violent tension between those Indonesians and
Papuans who advocate the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia and those Papuans
who insist upon an independent Papua. As a result, resources in Jakarta and Papua are
wasted on political measures that are reactionary, symbolic and, ultimately, irreconcilable.
The security approach does not address the heart of the conflict. Rather, it breeds further
conflict and discontent.
A team from the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI) has recently drawn up the ‘Papua
Road Map’, a model for conflict resolution that adopts a justice approach. The aim of the
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Road Map is to provide new insight to decision makers within state institutions and the
NGO community. It hopes to encourage a shift in approach to the conflict and to stimulate a
willingness to take new steps to achieve justice for Papuans. The Road Map ultimately aims
to promote an outcome whereby Indonesia (with Papua inside) enters into a new,
constructive, and progressive phase. The justice approach has four key dimensions –
recognition, development, dialogue and reconciliation.
Recognition
Essentially, Indonesia must recognise Papuans as traditional ‘owners’ of the land.
Recognition requires that Indonesia respond to a number of pressing problems that have
caused the marginalisation of indigenous Papuans in Papua. First is the radical demographic
change that has brought dislocation and displacement. In 2005 the immigrant population
was estimated to account for 41 per cent of the population in Papua and this is expected to
jump to 53.5 per cent by 2011. Indigenous Papuans will soon become a minority in Papua.
The immigrants, meanwhile, are already dominant in most sectors. For example,
immigrants have been more successful in commercial agriculture, and they have gained
control of local markets. This contributes to a collective Papuan sense that they are under
threat in their own land.
Recognition must also focus on Papuans and their identity. It should include a social
strategy of positive affirmation. It should support processes that will help individuals and
local institutions compete more effectively in the market and be better able to protect their
interests in the struggle for control of resources. This will assist Papuans to negotiate more
effectively for status and resources in this period of rapid social change, to ensure Papuans
enjoy the benefits of development. In practice, this will mean providing Papuans with better
schooling to create a well-educated class. Specialist business and economic training is
needed to develop sufficient numbers of Papuan businessmen. Government policy should
provide the necessary bridge between preparing individual Papuans to compete
independently and raising the general level of prosperity of Papuans.
Finally, recognition must also accommodate the symbols and other expressions of Papuan
culture, and treat them as part of the richness of Indonesian culture.
Development
Economic development has long been a government aim, but in practice it has left many
vulnerable groups behind. A new paradigm for development in Papua is necessary to raise
the quality of life of Papuans to the level of other Indonesian citizens. This is linked closely
with the training advocated as part of the policy of recognition. Development programs
must be able to meet the basic needs and rights of Papuans in education, health and
economic welfare. Papuans must have the capacity to participate effectively in and feel
themselves part of the project of social change in Papua. This will ensure that Indonesia and
Indonesian-ness is considered integral to the provision of public services, which will
gradually help Papuans to feel comfortable in and proud of being a part of Indonesia.
…resources in Jakarta and Papua are being wasted in pursuit of political measures
12
that are reactionary and symbolic in nature and, ultimately, irreconcilable
A new development paradigm for Papua is required because indigenous Papuans are not yet
fully enjoying the benefits of being part of the Indonesian state in terms of receiving public
services in education, health, infrastructure and community empowerment.
The present paradigm has failed, partly because of the contrast between Papuan culture and
that of the state apparatus, the business world and immigrants who dominate the economic
and social changes taking place in Papua. Little has been done so far to create inter-cultural
links to facilitate understanding within indigenous communities of development initiatives,
or to prepare Papuans to participate actively in these initiatives, which impact on their social
and economic conditions. The social-cultural interaction is mutually foreign, stereotypical
and replete with stigmas and misunderstandings.
Dialogue
2007 Anti Torture Campaign in Jayapura: Make friends not violence
ALDP Papua
Both the establishment in Jakarta and the Papuan movement for independence have
developed strong narratives about the history that has made Papua what it is today. Papuan
mistrust and refusal to recognise the authority of Jakarta is largely based on an account of
the history of Papua’s decolonisation that is contrary to the Indonesian state’s version of
history. This has fed the tension between Papuan and Indonesian identities. Both Papuans
13
and Jakarta stand firm in their respective positions. Different constructions of history and of
the political status of Papua are the major barriers to relations between the central
government and the Papuan people. These differing constructions have never been
discussed in an open and frank manner. As a result, stigmatisation, mistrust, and mutual
rejection have deepened. Unfortunately, within the context of the Papuan conflict,
experience on both sides has given the term ‘dialogue’ a bad name. For Papuans, ‘dialogue’
has been a means to achieve the objective of an independent Papua. Jakarta, on the other
hand, is averse to dialogue because it considers the demand for dialogue to be synonymous
with the ‘disintegration’ of the state. This aversion grows greater when the proposal is for
‘international’ dialogue. For Jakarta, Papua is a domestic matter.
Both sides must therefore reconsider what true dialogue is. It is the framework for reaching
agreement on issues and problems. Dialogue is followed by negotiations, which leads to a
compromise through making concessions. Dialogue can end the present political stalemate
and cycle of violence and build mutual trust between Jakarta and Papua. If it was possible to
negotiate a resolution to the Aceh conflict, then it is possible to negotiate on Papua.
The challenge is to persuade the parties in the conflict of the potential of dialogue at local
and national levels, with or without international mediation. The strategic agendas to be put
forward will be determined by agreement between Papua and Indonesia. Without a doubt
there will be many difficult questions, beginning with a decision on the team of acceptable
negotiators. The involvement of a well-respected international third party mediator would
help. Paranoia about the involvement of foreigners on the basis of so-called ‘nationalism’
should be discarded.
Reconciliation
Reports show that state violence against Papuan civil society has occurred since the 1960s.
Following the fall of Suharto in 1998, state violence towards Papuans has continued. The
years between 1998 and 2006 were dominated by political violence perpetrated by the
security forces (both TNI and the police) against Papuans. Indonesia has failed to prosecute
and punish perpetrators or to restore the rights of the victims. In light of this, at the very
least, Indonesia must acknowledge the truth as a first step on the path to reconciliation.
Reconciliation can be pursued through two potential transitional justice mechanisms. The
first is through prosecutions before the Human Rights Court. The potential for
reconciliation through prosecutions seems, however, to be limited. Past experience with the
Court has demonstrated that victims are unlikely to obtain justice. Moreover, there is
limited community involvement in such judicial processes. Individual cases focus on the
facts relevant to that particular case, rather than on the history of violence. And for these
individual cases to succeed, the greatest impediment is the passage of time. By the time
cases are prosecuted, much of the material evidence is likely to have been lost, while many
of the witnesses have passed away. The danger is that the perpetrators could be acquitted
because of the lack of witnesses and available evidence to prove guilt.
The second possible mechanism involves the creation of a public record of events through a
truth commission. The Special Autonomy Law provides the legal basis for the creation of a
truth commission, but no action has yet been taken. Truth commissions focus on the
experiences and testimonies of the victims, which form the basis for exposing the pattern,
motive and the extent of the crimes. Truth commissions aim to create an historical record of
14
the events, providing restitution and reparations to victims and restoring their dignity. They
do not punish perpetrators (though they may recommend prosecutions).
To be effective, a truth commission would need access to secret archives and to government
officials, past and present. It would need to create a public record of events and publish the
names of both perpetrators and victims. Civilian and military officials demonstrated to have
been involved in past violence would need to be removed from official posts. The state must
also acknowledge victims and their suffering through public apologies and statements of
determination that such violence will not recur. The state may erect monuments in memory
of victims. Reconciliation along these lines will strengthen participatory democracy and
reinforce basic human rights in Papua.
Moving forward
At present, few officials in Jakarta and Papua are willing to discuss the four key dimensions
addressed in the proposed Papua Road Map. Instead, policy discussion remains focused on
development alone. Given that the government is succeeding in its objective of paralysing
the independence movement by force, there seems little incentive for the government to
open discussions. The negotiations between Papua and Jakarta during the Habibie and Gus
Dur administrations seem but a distant past. Yet the issues of recognition of Papuans as
traditional ‘owners’ of the land, human rights abuses, and claims for independence will
never fade from the hearts and minds of Papuans.
The central government must address these issues through open and genuine dialogue with
Papuan leaders. A justice approach, as opposed to the security approach, offers a means of
doing so. Pressure must be brought to bear to ensure the central government comes to the
negotiating table. Papuan leaders, both in government and in civil society organisations,
must also synergise their resources to negotiate with Jakarta and fight for justice for the
Papuan people. ii
Dr. Muridan S Widjojo ([email protected]) is Coordinator of Papua Conflict
Research in the Centre for Political Studies within the Indonesian Institute of Sciences
(LIPI), Jakarta. This article is an extract from a report authored by the LIPI research team
(2008): Muridan S Widjojo, Adriana Elisabeth, Amiruddin al-Rahab, Cahyo Pamungkas,
and Rosita Dewi. The Papua Road Map can be downloaded from
http://www.arts.usyd.edu.au/centres/cpacs/docs/PAPUA_ROAD_MAP_Short_Eng.pdf.
*****
15
Torture in Papua
Human rights groups report on abuses
J. Budi Hernawan OFM
BRUSSELS, parliamentary briefing
Anselina Temkon tells her story at a European Parliament briefing in Brussels
Budi Hernawan
Anselina Temkon’s son, Arnold Omba, took part in a major demonstration against Freeport
Mining Company on 16 March 2006 in Abepura. The demonstration at one of the world’s
largest gold and copper mines turned to chaos, with protestors killing four police officers
and one air force intelligence agent. In response, the police launched house-to-house
searches in Abepura. Unable to find the perpetrators, they arrested, detained and charged
student protesters with murder. The court sentenced 23 suspects, the majority of whom are
students, to between five and 15 years in prison.
Arnold was one of the protest coordinators. Because the police were unable to find and
arrest him, they arrested and detained Ms Temkon in order to force her to tell them where
her son was hiding. Anselina was interrogated for three days at the Papua Police
Headquarters in Jayapura. After she told them where he was, the police continued to
interrogate her, showing her pictures she didn’t recognise and asking her who they were.
When she asked the police to show her a picture of her son stoning the police, no such
picture could be produced. By the second day, Anselina was hallucinating, but still they
16
kept interrogating her. By the third day, she felt as if she was going mad.
Anselina’s story is representative of hundreds more recorded stories of torture in Papua – as
well as many other untold ones – that have shaped the collective memory of Papuans. Her
case is one of 242 individual torture cases reported to the UN Committee against Torture
(UN CAT) in Geneva during its 2008 review of torture in Indonesia. Presented in a report
on a decade of torture, these testimonies revealed the number and patterns of torture cases in
Papua, as well as the impact of torture on the Papuan community.
Torture is a common practice in Papua. The police and the military employ methods
including beating with blunt instruments, the use of electric shock, humiliation in public and
interruption of normal sleeping patterns. In most cases, torture is perpetrated against those
who are considered separatists, suggesting a strong relationship between the practice of
torture and government policy towards West Papua. In all reported cases, the degrading
treatment of Papuans appears to be linked to racial discrimination by members of the
security forces who believe that they have the right to do whatever they want towards
indigenous Papuans because they are racially superior.
Combating torture in Papua
JAYAPURA
The Papua Police Headquarters in Jayapura where Anselina was detained and interrogated
Budi Hernawan
17
The Abepura case was the first case to be brought before Indonesia’s Permanent Human
Rights Court in Makassar under the Law No. 26 of 2000. The two accused, Senior
Commissioner Daud Sihombing and Senior Commissioner Djoni Waenal Usman, were
acquitted. Both officers were later promoted. The fact that the perpetrators were not
punished also means that victims have been unable to pursue legal remedies for the
suffering they have endured.
While torture is recognised under the Human Rights Court Act as a crime against humanity
if committed on a widespread and systematic basis, individual acts of torture are not
recognised as a crime under the Indonesian Criminal Code (KUHP). But although reports of
other cases have been submitted to the relevant authorities at both the local and national
level, no other torture case has been pursued. Meanwhile, victims are unable to complain
through ordinary domestic legal mechanisms, and no independent complaint mechanism is
available. Without effective mechanisms, it is no easy task to address the problem of torture
in Papua.
Anselina’s story is representative of the untold stories of torture in Papua that have
shaped the collective memory of Papuans
The report’s authors recommended that the UN Committee Against Torture urge the
Indonesian government to implement laws criminalising individual acts of torture and
creating complaint mechanisms. Indonesia must also prosecute perpetrators and provide
justice and compensation for victims. In order to do this, Indonesia should make a
declaration under Articles 21 and 22 of the Convention Against Torture, which would
enable Indonesian citizens to file international complaints with the Committee Against
Torture. It should also ratify the Optional Protocol to the Convention Against Torture, under
which it would be legally bound to establish a mechanism to allow individuals to file
complaints against the state and to provide compensation to victims.
The continuing use of torture and the authorities’ failure to provide justice, medical
treatment or any other form of compensation to ease victims’ suffering has galvanised
antipathy towards the government – and particularly the security services – in Papua. These
issues must be addressed before the community can even begin to think about moving
on. ii
J. Budi Hernawan OFM ([email protected]) is the Director of the Office for Justice and
Peace of the Catholic Diocese of Jayapura, Papua. The report to the UN Committee
Against Torture was completed by the Office for Justice and Peace of the Catholic Diocese
of Jayapura, JPIC GKI in Papua, Progressio Timor Leste, Imparsial, Elsam and HRWG.
*****
18
Arnold Ap and Theys Eluay
Political assassinations targeted West Papua’s culture and political identity
Carmel Budiardjo
When Indonesia seized control of West Papua on 1 May 1963, one of the first things
the Indonesian armed forces did was to stage a public display of the suppression of
Papuan cultural identity and the destruction of Papuan political activities.
The day following the seizure, a huge bonfire was organised in the main square of
Jayapura, presided over by Indonesia’s Minister of Culture, Rusiah Sardjono.
Symbols of public life, cultural artefacts, school textbooks and Papuan flags were set
ablaze. About 10,000 Papuans were herded into the square to watch the ceremonial
burning of what was described by Mrs Sardjono as ‘their colonial identity’.
Later that month, Presidential Decree No 8 imposed a ‘political quarantine’. All
Papuan political activities were suspended and all Papuan political parties were
disbanded. In doing this, the Indonesians recognised that the Papuan people had a
distinctive culture and a thriving political life which had to be suppressed in order to
make sure that Indonesia’s grip would not be challenged.
Although the Congress decided to pursue the path of dialogue, eschewing
violence, alarmed army intelligence officers set up a special task force, which
identified a number of ‘target persons’, including Theys Hiyo Eluay and other
leaders of the PDP
The political assassination of two prominent Papuans illustrates this broader policy.
The first was Arnold Ap, an anthropologist and popular broadcaster who was
dedicated to fostering the cultural traditions of his people. He died in 1984. The
second was Theys Hiyo Eluay, elected as the head of the Papuan Presidium Council
(PDP) in 2000, and assassinated the following year.
19
Arnold Ap
Arnold Ap was the curator of the
Anthropology Museum in Jayapura
and a member of a music group called
Mambesak, which promoted
traditional Papuan music and
broadcast a popular weekly program
on local radio. He was arrested by
troops of the elite corps, Kopassandha
(now known as Kopassus), on 30
November 1983, during special
operations that had been under way for
several months. After interrogation
and maltreatment, Ap was transferred
to the regional military command with
four other detainees. A month later,
they were handed on to an intelligence
officer of the local police. On being
informed of Ap’s arrest, the Rector of
Cenderawasih University temporarily
dismissed him as curator, on the
Arnold Ap
grounds that he had been arrested ‘on
suspicion of subversion’. When the
Carmel Budiardjo
Indonesian daily, Sinar Harapan,
reported that Ap’s family were being denied contact, the newspaper was publicly
reprimanded.
After being held in military and police custody for three months, Ap was transferred
to the public prosecution authorities. It was thought that formal charges would be
made. On 14 April 1984 he was seen on campus escorted by an officer. A week later
it was announced that he had escaped from prison with four other detainees. However,
it turned out that the ‘escape’ had been organised by the authorities. An officer of
Brimob, the police special forces, who later fled to Papua New Guinea, said the
military authorities regarded Ap as ‘extremely dangerous because of the activities of
his Mambesak players and wanted him sentenced to death or given a life sentence but
could not find evidence for a charge in court’.
On 21 April, a Papuan police officer unlocked the cell doors of five detainees and
ordered them out. They were driven by a Kopassandha officer to a coastal base camp.
One of the detainees managed to escape and later fled to Papua New Guinea, where
he described what had happened. The remaining detainees were told to swim out to a
boat. One detainee, Eddy Mofu, was struck on the head and stabbed in the neck and
thrown into the sea. The others took shelter in a cave. Four days later, when Ap left
the cave to urinate, the area was surrounded by elite troops. He was shot three times in
the stomach and stabbed in the chest. He was taken to hospital where he told a nurse
that, should he die, his ring should be given to his wife. Other hospital staff said that
he was dead on arrival.
20
Theys Hiyo Eluay
The Papuan Presidium Council (PDP), which strongly
supported independence, was set up at the Second
Papuan Congress in May–June 2000, attended by
many thousands from across West Papua. Theys Hiyo
Eluay, chief of the Sentani tribe and a well-respected,
high-profile community leader, was elected as its
head. Back in August 1969, Theys was one of a
number of West Papuan tribal chiefs who had been
coerced into voting for the Act of Free Choice which
sealed West Papua’s fate as part of Indonesia. He
later made it clear that he had been taken from his
home in the middle of the night and intimidated into
supporting West Papua’s integration into Indonesia.
Although the PDP decided to pursue the path of
dialogue, eschewing violence, alarmed army
intelligence officers set up a special task force, which
identified a number of ‘target persons’, including
Theys Hiyo Eluay and other leaders of the Council.
Theys Eluay
Richard Samuelson
On 10 November 2001, Theys, was invited to a
Heroes Day celebration at the headquarters of Kopassus troops in Hamadi, near
Jayapura. On the way home, his car was ambushed, the driver was forced to flee and
the car was driven away. The driver, Aristoteles Masoka, rushed back to the Kopassus
base to report what had happened, but he was never seen alive again. The next day,
Theys’s body was found 50 kilometres from the site of his abduction. The vehicle was
upturned close to a ravine, creating the impression that there had been an accident.
His face was black, with his tongue hanging out. An autopsy later confirmed that he
had died of suffocation. His burial on 17 November was attended by over ten
thousand people from all parts of West Papua.
Later, in the face of international outrage at the killing, seven Kopassus officers were
tried and convicted of the crime; they were given three-and-a-half year sentences or
less, while a senior Indonesian army officer hailed the convicted men as ‘heroes’.
Deserving of respect
Both Ap and Eluay were targeted for peacefully campaigning on behalf of the Papuan
people for recognition of their distinct cultural and political identity. Their role in
defining Papuan identity was outstanding and deserves respect by all who seek to
understand the suffering and continued suppression of the Papuan people under
Indonesian rule. ii
Carmel Budiardjo ([email protected]) is founder and co-director of TAPOL, which
promotes human rights, peace and democracy in Indonesia, and co-author of West
Papua: Obliteration of a People (1988).
21
Freedom of Expression
Whether Papuans support autonomy or independence, they should be allowed to
speak freely
Jennifer Robinson
Yohana Pekei and Nelly Pigome sell
handicrafts by the road in Jayapura. In
January 2008 they were interrogated by
Indonesian police and intelligence agents
because of the bags they make and sell.
What could possibly be so dangerous about
a bag sold by the roadside by two West
Papuan women? Woven into the design of
their bags was the Morning Star flag; a
regional and cultural symbol of huge
significance for indigenous Papuans, and the
symbol of Papuan nationalism.
Yohana and Nelly were reportedly targeted
in police crackdowns throughout Papua on
the use of the Morning Star flag, under
Article 6 of Government Regulation No.77
of 2007, which prohibited the use of ‘any
Fashion statements:
flag or logo used by separatist movements’.
This law seemed to backtrack on the
provisions of Special Autonomy under Law
No.21 of 2001, which allows the use of
Papuan regional symbols as an expression of
Papuan cultural identity. While the Morning
Star flag was not specifically listed as a
protected regional symbol in the Special
Autonomy Law itself, during Wahid’s
presidency, display of the flag was permitted
as a matter of government policy. In July
2007 the Papuan Tribal Council and Papuan
People’s Council (MRP) recommended that
the flag be made an official regional symbol
in draft by-laws designed to implement
special autonomy. Yet the policy of
subsequent Indonesian governments has been
to respond to flag raisings with violence and
such bags are now banned in Papua
arrests. The prohibition of the flag, and the
harassment of people like Yohana Pekei and Nelly Pigome, takes existing restrictions even
further. Legally speaking, Yohana and Nelly can no longer make their bags. Nevertheless,
women like them continue to sell their handicrafts in Jayapura today. Governor Suebu has
pledged that he will not authorise police to arrest or imprison women and children for these
22
activities. But informal assurances provide little comfort as long as the law stands.
Continuing restrictions
In the past, the Indonesian state restricted free speech and communication of information,
including peaceful criticism of the government, through criminal prosecution of ‘hate
sowing’ offences. Articles 154 and 155 of the Indonesian Criminal Code criminalised
‘public expression of feelings of hostility, hatred or contempt toward the government’ and
prohibited ‘the expression of such feelings or views through the public media’. The crime
attracted prison terms of up to seven years. Political dissidents, critics, students and human
rights defenders in Papua – as elsewhere in Indonesia – were targeted under these laws
during the Suharto regime.
Indonesia is – and should be – praised for the steps it has taken towards democracy
since the fall of Suharto
In July 2007 Indonesia’s Constitutional Court declared the ‘hate sowing’ offences in
Articles 154 and 155 to be unconstitutional because they violated the right to free speech
protected in the 1945 Constitution. Described by Amnesty International as a ‘landmark
ruling for freedom of expression’, the decision has been welcomed as a sign of Indonesia’s
transition to democracy and to greater protection of the right to freedom of expression in
Indonesia.
23
West Papuan refugee Herman Wanggai leads a demonstration at Parliament House, Canberra, 15
August 2007. In Papua, use of the flag in peaceful protest can attract prison sentences
Kipley Nink
Despite this Constitutional reform, most of the criminal offences used to suppress political
opposition in Indonesia remain in effect. For example, Article 106 of the Criminal Code
makes criminal any acts which are conducted with intent ‘to separate part’ of the territory of
the state. The maximum penalty is life in prison. This catch-all offence uses extremely
broad language, allowing prosecution for a broad range of acts associated with ‘separatism’.
For example, in 2005 Filep Karma and Yusak Pakage were sentenced to 15 and 10 years in
prison respectively for organising peaceful pro-independence celebrations and for flying the
Morning Star flag. This provision – which has historically been used to target non-violent
political activists across Indonesia – continues to be used in this way in Papua against those
advocating self-determination. In March 2008, nine people were arrested for raising the flag
in a peaceful demonstration against the new regulation prohibiting the Morning Star flag. In
July 2008 forty-six more people were arrested after another flag-raising in Fak Fak, Papua,
in protest against the 1969 Act of Free Choice. Most have now been released, but six remain
in prison and face prosecution.
Papuans continue to be intimidated and arrested for expressing their political views
and for taking part in peaceful protests
In Papua at least, then, the decision of the Constitutional Court has not had any real
practical impact. According to Human Rights Watch’s February 2007 report, laws continue
24
to be used in Papua to suppress free speech. Then in November 2007, Iwanggin Sabar Olif,
a Papuan human rights lawyer, was arrested for forwarding a text message that stated that
the Indonesian government had ordered the ‘elimination’ of the Papuan people. He was
charged with ‘agitation’ under Article 160 of the Criminal Code, a crime attracting a six
year prison term, and faces trial in Jayapura. Many see his arrest and prosecution as
evidence of authorities’ surveillance and intimidation of human rights defenders. Public
intellectuals and academics are also targeted through the censorship of books and
intimidation by authorities. In December 2007 the Indonesian government outlawed a book
by Sensius Wonda about Indonesia’s role in West Papua. According to Sri Agung Putra,
Chief Prosecutor in Jayapura, Wonda’s book contains elements that ‘discredit the
government’, ‘disturb public order’ and ‘endanger national unity’. This is the second
Papuan book to be banned in recent times. Another book about the assassination of Papuan
leader Theys Eluay was banned in 2002. The author, Benny Giay, a prominent Papuan
academic, has been routinely threatened by Indonesian authorities ever since.
A long way to go
Indonesia is – and should be – praised for the steps it has taken towards democracy since
the fall of Suharto. But progress is not equal across the archipelago. Restrictions in Papua
remain, as Papuans continue to be intimidated and arrested for expressing their views. In
fact, in many ways, state action and policy in Papua continue to resemble the repression
experienced under Suharto. Many assert the need for peaceful dialogue in Papua. But there
cannot be genuine and meaningful dialogue without freedom of expression. Whether
Papuans support autonomy or independence, assert contested versions of the Act of Free
Choice, or simply criticise the current implementation of Special Autonomy, their right to
express such views must be protected. The fate of Indonesia’s democracy depends on
it. ii
Jennifer Robinson ([email protected]) is an Australian lawyer and
Rhodes Scholar at Balliol College, University of Oxford.
*****
25
Underground and at risk
Men who have sex with men in urban Papua.
Iskandar Nugroho
‘Protect yourself by using a condom, Protect Papua from HIV’: a poster used in Papua to educate
about condom usage
Papua Province AIDS Commission
It’s a Saturday night in downtown Jayapura. A group of young men queue patiently for
access to one of the ten computers in a popular internet cafe. They sit together on plastic
benches, staring at mobile phones that beep constantly with a stream of incoming messages.
Among the crowd waiting to use a computer is Valentino (not his real name), 21 years old
and born and raised in Sorong, West Papua. Valentino is of mixed Papuan and Kei
background. He left home two years ago to enrol as a student in economics at Cendrawasih
University in Jayapura. Every Saturday night he spends time online, browsing the internet
and checking emails, as well as joining in an Indonesian language gay chat room. He enjoys
the chance to share feelings and experiences, but his main agenda is to find someone for
sex.
The delayed recognition of the existence of male to male sex and sexual networking in
26
Papua is a huge issue in the fight against HIV/AIDS.
As long as the internet cafe isn’t hit by one of the rolling electricity blackouts that plague
the city, he can always find someone to spend his Saturday night with, usually back in the
house where he rents a room. If the internet does fail, he still has other options: less than 50
metres from his usual internet cafe is one of the Jayapura ‘hotspots’, or meeting places for
men who have sex with men (MSM).
Undercover sex
Undercover meeting places for men like Valentino have long been part of Jayapura’s MSM
scene. The main shopping mall, the taxi terminal and city parks are key sites for the scene.
But there are also less ‘appropriate’ meeting places for people in search of casual sex, like
the grounds of Jayapura’s main mosque. There, men looking for sex with other men mix
with people selling, or in search of, other forms of casual sex, all divided according to their
different groups.
Those in the MSM ‘category’ include men who are prepared to pay, or be paid, for sex,
usually as a way of supplementing their meagre incomes. Sometimes ‘payment’ takes the
form of ‘phone money’, or money for alcohol, which is consumed in large quantities in
urban Papua. They often congregate with people of their own ethnic background, but a form
of networking exists between different MSM groups. Waria (transgendered or transsexual
males), for example, will sometimes make a contact on behalf of a man looking for a
different type of MSM partner, or vice versa.
An internet-based sub-culture
In the wider world of urban Papua, same sex behaviour is still heavily stigmatised and
relationships between men are not recognised. In fact, social and cultural taboos make it
impossible to openly discuss sex outside marriage. Men are under strong pressure to marry
and fulfil their roles as husbands and fathers, and any man known to have engaged in sex
with another man is a source of shame for his family and community. As a result, married
men in search of sex with other men are constantly on the move, seeking partners far
removed from their own family, church and community environments. These taboos are
extremely dangerous. Papua has the highest rates of HIV infection in Indonesia, five times
the national average. In fact 30,000 people out of a population of only 2.5 million are
estimated to be infected with HIV. MSM groups are at high risk of contracting the virus,
because of their ‘no talk, just sex’ attitude and behaviour.
… social and cultural taboos make it impossible to openly discuss sex outside
marriage.
The internet plays a role, especially for young and educated Papuans, in getting around
social sanctions. It allows them to engage in private conversations, arrange meetings and
check out a prospective partner’s profile, often complete with a photo. These young men are
part of a mushrooming trend all over urban Papua: from internet cafes to private homes and
offices internet usage is booming. The internet is cheap and easily accessible, linking cities
like Jayapura not only with other towns all over Papua, but with the world at large. In Papua
itself, it enables sexual contacts to be made between men of all types, from the main urban
27
centres to the outlying districts. The reach of the internet parallels the mapping of the HIV
epidemic, which has now spread all over Papua and through all age groups of the
population.
Valentino was introduced to the internet, and especially its gay chat rooms, by a Papuan
friend studying at a university in Makassar. Like many other men all over urban Indonesia,
Valentino and his friend have found the main Indonesian language gay chat room to be an
ideal meeting place. They show no interest in seeking out a long term cohabiting partner,
perhaps because social norms in Papua would make this unimaginable. But the internet
supplies them with what they are looking for: direct contact with both locals and visitors in
search of MSM. Since becoming a regular visitor to the chat room, Valentino has met up
with men from a wide range of different backgrounds, ethnicities and professional and
educational levels. Even when he is back home on holidays in Sorong, the internet keeps
him in touch with local MSM activity. Men like Valentino also put their internet contacts in
touch with those who have no internet access. They regularly share contacts with each other
and the wider MSM community, meaning that once someone becomes part of the network,
phone calls, SMS and MMS (image inputs) from strangers is an everyday occurrence. There
is no privacy and no confidentiality. It is all seen as a form of MSM solidarity.
A huge challenge
Valentino’s own sexual history began at an early age, and has involved multiple partners.
Apart from having a sexual relationship with his girlfriend, he has had sex with men aged
between 18 and 40, including students, civil servants and military personnel from all over
Indonesia, and even with foreign tourists visiting Papua. He and his MSM partners all
distinguish themselves from waria, and don’t themselves have sex with waria. Like
Valentino, most of them have girlfriends, and plan to marry. For them, sex with men is just
casual fun. It is usually associated with alcohol, confirming a 2006 Cendrawasih University
study which found that in Papua, alcohol is widely believed to enhance personal image and
confidence, as well as sexual drive.
Overall, there is a dangerous lack of information and awareness about the risks
associated with unprotected sex among MSM in Papua.
Condom use by men like Valentino is extremely low, and also inconsistent. One finding
suggests that condoms are associated in most men’s minds with sex between prostitutes and
immigrants, which they believe is the only sexual activity that carries a risk of HIV
infection. Many of those interviewed on the subject say that condoms are only necessary if
someone has sex with a sex worker in a designated prostitution zone. Those who have been
exposed to education campaigns, or have been outside Papua, are better informed. But many
still do not use condoms for fear that their ‘secrets’ will be discovered by their wives or
girlfriends if they are found to be in possession of condoms. This means that their regular
female partners are also being exposed to high levels of risk. Overall, there is a dangerous
lack of information and awareness about the risks associated with unprotected sex among
MSM in Papua.
28
The first ‘Papua Condom Week’ being celebrated in the Jayapura taxi terminal, February 2008.
Members of the Jayapura Transgender Association (Iwaja) were actively involved with the campaign
Iskandar Nugroho
Valentino himself is one of a very small group of men in Jayapura who were exposed to a
trial condom promotion through internet chat rooms. His participation in the program not
only made him aware of the importance of condom use in the prevention of HIV – it also
caused him to come forward as a volunteer informant on the undercover MSM scene,
providing information about a closed community that will be crucial to future intervention
campaigns. As an educated young Papuan who is an avid fan of the Persipura national
champion soccer team and is sexually active in the context of MSM networking in Papua,
he is a perfect target for HIV/AIDS educational campaigns.
The delayed recognition of the existence of MSM and sexual networking in Papua is a huge
issue in the fight against HIV/AIDS in Indonesia’s far eastern provinces. Much more needs
to be done in order to raise awareness of the need for behaviour modification and regular
testing among at risk groups like MSM. ii
Iskandar Nugroho ([email protected]) recently completed an assignment
for the AusAID-funded Indonesia HIV/AIDS Prevention and Care Project in Papua. The
views expressed in this article are his own and not necessarily those of AusAID.
*****
29
Papuan waria and HIV risk
Indigenous waria face systemic discrimination, increasing their risk of HIV infection
Jack Morin and Leslie Butt
A World Vision educational AIDS poster in Wamena
Jenny Munro
Statistics about HIV infection rates released by the Indonesian Ministry of Health last year
confirm a pattern that has long been suspected by advocates and researchers. HIV
prevalence among indigenous Papuans is almost twice as high as among non-indigenous
residents. In fact almost 70 per cent of people infected with HIV in Papua are indigenous,
suggesting that almost three per cent of indigenous Papuans may already be infected.
Epidemiologists call this a generalised infection, which means that persons who are not
identified as high risk, such as housewives, are testing positive for HIV across the province.
Structural inequities have led to higher rates of HIV infection among indigenous
Papuans
Many have already suggested that indigenous sexual promiscuity accounts for these
alarming statistics. But this is victim-blaming. It’s much harder to acknowledge that the
30
fundamental inequities in the province of Papua make it very difficult for Papuans to live a
safe and prosperous life free from the risk of HIV. Economic need often forces rural Papuan
men and women into short-term work far away from home. Migrating for work increases
the chance of unsafe sexual encounters, because it undermines the tribal cultural values that
might otherwise act as a buffer against HIV risks. Papuans are also less likely than migrants
to know what a condom is, how to use it or where to get one. To make matters worse, HIV
prevention materials are often culturally irrelevant, and usually presented by migrants who
are often seen as ‘talking down’ to indigenous Papuans.
Indigenous waria: at greater risk
As a group, waria – men who dress as women and identify themselves as women – are
readily blamed for the transmission of HIV. Waria are a recognisable part of life in
Indonesia, and their presence in Papua reflects the increasing impact of Indonesian cultural
values and social practices in the province throughout the past two decades. Within Papua,
we estimate that there are at least three hundred waria, of whom approximately two hundred
are Indonesians from outside of Papua. Papuan waria come from several ethnic groups
along the north and south coasts of the province, and from urban centers, such as Sorong,
Abepura and Jayapura.
One prominent feature of Papuan waria is their involvement in the province’s commercial
sex trade. Having sex in transient locations, with partners who are often drunk or on drugs,
in places where there is no security, puts all sex workers at risk of sexual assault and
violence. Waria face even greater risks. Within Papuan society, men who have sex with
other men are generally condemned as violating the tenets of major religions such as Islam
and Christianity. Waria thus engage in homosexual practices with extreme discretion in
order to avoid stigmatisation and persecution. Secrecy increases risk because waria have sex
in isolated locations and without a network of potentially protective friends.
The presence of waria in Papua reflects the impact of Indonesian cultural values and
social practices
All waria, like other street sex workers, are at high risk of exposure to HIV. In interviews
with several Papuan waria about their relationships, their sexual practices and their
awareness of HIV and AIDS we have found Papuan waria to be the group at highest risk of
contracting HIV. This is a result of the patterns of risk encountered in their everyday
practices. In particular, waria use condoms less often than other types of sex workers – even
less than migrant waria. Lessons about condom use, which are starting to have an effect
among heterosexual sex workers in the brothel programs and on the streets, have had little
effect among Papuan waria, who have less access to organised waria associations which
provide safety and support. They also charge less for sex, and so are likely to find
themselves in conditions where violent and unsafe sexual practices may take place.
But Papuan waria are also targeted more often because of existing patterns of racial
discrimination which see Papuans as inferior to migrants. Papuan waria are less able to
draw on resources such as the police or the law to protect their rights.
31
Miranda’s story
Miranda’s story shows how
economic conditions,
discrimination, the conditions of
the sex work industry – and a
strong search for love – put
Papuan waria like Miranda at
exceptional levels of risk.
Miranda is a young Papuan waria
from the Genyem tribe who now
lives and works in Abepura. She
calls herself a ‘young waria’
(‘waria pemuda’), which means
she does not often dress in
women’s clothes, but she wears
heavy makeup and has permed
her hair. Miranda drinks a lot,
and describes herself as insecure
and troubled. She was the victim
of several episodes of sexual
violence at a young age, and
since the age of seventeen has
been having sex in exchange for
money. She regularly earns up to
Rp100,000 (A$13) for sexual
encounters, but often charges far
less.
Like her other Papuan waria
counterparts, Miranda has sex on
the street, in abandoned lots,
when drunk, and in hotel rooms.
An indigenous Dani man, a migrant waria, and a Muslim
schoolgirl—all help make up Wamena’s increasingly diverse
She rarely uses a condom, and
population
only when a client asks. She
never uses a condom with her
Leslie Butt
boyfriend – the last in a long list.
What looks like a good situation – sex with a boyfriend rather than a client – turns out also
to be high-risk. Their relationship is highly exploitative. Miranda will agree to almost
anything in order to keep her boyfriend from leaving, for she says it is a relationship of
‘mutual attraction’. As a result her relationship is rife with abuse and violence.
Risk and everyday life
All waria suffer discrimination and violence. All waria are at risk for HIV. But being a
Papuan waria is riskier still because the structural inequities in Papua mean that Miranda is
that much more likely to have unprotected, risky sex.
Her case is just one of many. But it reminds us of the human stories and the personal
32
struggles behind contemporary Papua’s starkest and most troubling statistical fact: structural
inequities have led to higher rates of HIV infection for indigenous Papuans. Redressing this
fact means facing inequity head on. It means facing the reality that HIV is transmitted not
because of ‘primitive’ sexual practices, but because economic, social, and political
conditions have made everyday life rife with risk for all indigenous people in the
province. ii
Jack Morin ([email protected]) is the director of the Population Research Institute at
Cenderawasih University in Abepura, Papua. Leslie Butt ([email protected]) is co-editor of the
recent volume Making Sense of AIDS: Culture, Sexuality, and Power in Melanesia.
*****
Brothers in arms
Papuan footballers score goals against HIV.
Sara Knuckey
Persipura footballers educate Papuan men in Abepura about sexual health
Anton Imbenai/Persipura
Persipura football players, known as the Black Pearls, demand respect. Jayapura’s
professional football team were runners up in the 2005 Indonesian National Football League
33
competition. They are magicians with the ball, and heroes to Indonesian youth.
But more recently, team members have been thinking about more than football. Persipura’s
management and coaches have enlisted a mix of senior and younger players as ambassadors
to promote awareness of sexual health amongst younger teams in the Jayapura competition.
Black magic
The team’s ambassadors were selected according to their sense of humour, mental agility
and capacity to communicate with younger members of the Persipura family. They
organised a program of events incorporating dance and entertainment. Musicians played
Papuan folk songs about birth, love and death. The ambassadors spoke at these events about
manhood and what it means to be responsible, about gender, sex, love and desire, HIV and
AIDS, and how to care for each other by using condoms. Their speeches were informal and
in a local dialect. Participants laughed until they cried, joked, sang, cheered each other and
celebrated their manhood nurtured by a mix of traditional culture and mateship.
One of the billboards around the capital of Jayapura featuring the Persipura football
34
team
Papua Province AIDS Commission
The ambassadors’ evenings were supported by innovative health promotion messages on
and off the field, using advertising billboards and on-field announcers at Persipura home
matches. A giant inflatable condom cartoon character holding a football floated above the
spectators, and free condoms were distributed to young players through the club coaches.
Ambassadors also met with the under-18 and under-23 players at trials for the new season
and discussed sexual health and how to use condoms correctly, alongside tips about how to
stay fit and keep healthy, and demonstrations of ball handling skills.
Now you’re talking my language
The ambassador program was successful because the footballers spoke the same language in
a context where AIDS has become part of the politics of resentment and misunderstanding.
Like other Indonesians, Papuans distance HIV and AIDS from themselves by focusing on
foreigners. Many people believe that the spread of HIV is part of a program of ‘unofficial’
genocide, in part a reaction to the steady stream of Indonesian sex workers from other
provinces arriving on the inter-island passenger ferries. To make matters worse, many
Papuans’ understanding about sexual and reproductive health remains poor due to the
assimilationist approach of the Indonesian education and health systems. As a result,
Papuans living with HIV and AIDS are alienated from their family and community, and
experience shame, blame, and stigma.
Ambassadors discussed sexual health and how to use condoms correctly, alongside tips
about how to stay fit and keep healthy, and demonstrations of ball handling skills
In Papua, the feeling between people is more important than the message. It is important the
storyteller or messenger is known and credible, preferably from the same extended family
or tribal group. This reflects the fact that traditional ways of knowing rely on the oral
traditions in which the structure, content and mode of transmission of the message are
critical to the retention of knowledge. As a result, storytelling and personal relationships are
crucial factors to enable a two-way communication process to begin at the individual and at
the community level.
AIDS has become part of the politics of resentment and misunderstanding towards the
policies of the Indonesian government
The ambassador program is a first step towards developing a popular culture which supports
behaviour change and promotes social norms that can address a whole range of issues
related to gender imbalance, domestic violence and alcohol consumption. There is no time
to waste in developing this and other effective indigenous community education strategies
to increase understanding of both HIV transmission and prevention. ii
Sara Knuckey ([email protected]) is a development communications specialist
who worked on HIV programming in Papua from 2002-2008.
*****
35
36
Faith, flags and festivities
Images of highlanders at home and abroad
Jenny Munro
Young people from Wamena, the urban centre of the Papuan highlands, frequently find
themselves having to sort out how to fit their traditions and aspirations into circumstances
that emphasise modernisation and Indonesian nationalism. As there is no road transport to
the highlands, it is often assumed that the area and the main indigenous group, the Dani,
are isolated from ‘modern’ influences, or are even ‘timeless’. Highlanders feel, on the
contrary, that their lives have changed significantly in the last 30 years. Older people see
and feel the changes, but young people are more often actively in the middle of things. For
example, today’s youth have been to school, and are fluent in the Indonesian language. As
a result, they are more expected to portray their support for national Indonesian values, and
yet also have more opportunities to pursue their own agendas. Some desire new
experiences outside Papua. During 2005-2006 I spent 16 months with young people from
Wamena while they were attending universities in North Sulawesi and also while some of
them returned home to visit their families. In this photo essay I include some of the more
memorable images of this time. Christian faith and Papuan nationalism give Wamena’s
youth a strong sense of who they are, while cooking, eating, and celebrating with friends
and family helps them manage the complexities of being Papuan highlanders in Indonesia.
37
01 - Students celebrate the end of examinations in North Sulawesi with a bakar batu (pig
feast) in an isolated part of the National University of Manado (Unima) campus. In North
Sulawesi there are several thousand Papuan students, approximately 500 of whom are from
the Wamena area. Although it may seem unusual to be preparing hot rocks and banana
leaves to steam pork, cassava, and vegetables on campus, Wamena students always
celebrate their accomplishments this way, and have been doing so in particular spots on
campus since the mid-1990s.
38
02 - Female students and older married women prepare cassava for a graduation feast in
North Sulawesi. Although there are not many female students, the gardens they tend in
addition to regular campus activities make celebratory feasts possible. Students tend to
study economics, administration and engineering, and after graduation they return to Papua
to seek employment in the public service.
39
03 - These images of the Papuan independence flag, the Bintang Kejora, and Jesus, are
decorations on a young man’s bedroom door in the Wamena dormitory on the Unima
campus. Faith and Papuan nationalism are critical to youth culture, and much of their offcampus time is spent in student organisations that incorporate both Christian activities and
discussions about politics. Highlanders strongly support Papuan independence, and
Wamena has been the site of several major incidents in which indigenous people have been
arrested or killed while participating in raising the flag. Students are active in
independence politics and see themselves using their education to push for equality and
self-determination.
40
04 - A young man from the Puncak Jaya region near Wamena is baptised in North
Sulawesi. North Sulawesi is dominated by evangelical Protestant Christians. Many
Papuans, who are also predominantly Christian, get involved in churches where they mix
with local people and with student migrants from other regions. At home in Wamena,
ethnic tensions keep young people largely separated from non-Papuans, thus these
relationships are important new experiences. Still, even though they may bond over
Christianity, students still experience racist stereotypes in North Sulawesi.
41
05 - Every year young people in Wamena dress up for karnaval. The parade, put on by
school children, is held in August as part of Independence Day celebrations. Depending on
what their school decides to showcase, they may dress up in ‘traditional’ costumes or as
future teachers, priests, nuns, soldiers, doctors and sports heroes. This is one way that
youth are involved in promoting Indonesian nationalism in Wamena.
42
06 – During karnaval youth carry signs with messages representing important national
agendas, such as ‘bhinneka tunggal ika' (unity in diversity). The city of Wamena is home
to equal numbers of indigenous people and non-Papuan settlers from diverse backgrounds.
Non-Papuans overwhelmingly hold positions of economic, social, and military power, and
thus indigenous people may associate even seemingly ‘average’ settlers with injustice,
violence and the Indonesian state.
43
07 - Young Dani women dress in noken (netbags) for karnaval. Noken are woven bags
women wear over their heads to carry things; they are also important as gifts. They are not
traditionally worn as clothing.
44
08 - A young bride eats pork at her wedding in Pugima, a village near Wamena. Even
though young women may attend school in the city or further afield, they may also marry
at a young age and start a family.
45
09 - High school students in uniform line the streets in anticipation of President
Yudhoyono’s visit to Wamena in July 2006. It was the first time any president of Indonesia
had visited the highlands. Students featured prominently in the celebrations, but the streets
were blocked to other locals who wore traditional dress to welcome the president.
46
10 - Students prepare Wamena’s famous buah merah (‘red fruit’) brought back to North
Sulawesi by friends visiting home. The red fruit is reputed to have curative powers, and
students sometimes distill it and sell it for extra cash. This is another way that students
bring ‘Wamena’ with them into their new circumstances.
47
11 – Fans celebrate a match by Wamena’s soccer team, Persiwa, in North Sulawesi.
Students love to spend time playing soccer themselves, and are proud of their team, partly
because it often wins matches against teams from wealthier and more developed
regions. ii
Jenny Munro ([email protected]) is writing a PhD thesis on highlanders'
experiences of discrimination in North Sulawesi. She is based in the Department of
Anthropology, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National
University.
*****
48
Beyond the Museum
Asmat bisj-poles gain new meaning in a Papuan refugee protest in Melbourne
Kipley Nink
Stefanus Akanmor (yellow shirt) carves the bisj-pole with chisel and hammer
Stefanus Akanmor
In November 1961 Michael Rockefeller, son of the millionaire philanthropist Nelson
Rockefeller, disappeared, presumed drowned, after his boat capsized at the mouth of the
Betsj River in West Papua. Some of the material he collected on this, his second and final
trip to the Asmat region, is now on display in a dedicated wing of the Metropolitan Museum
of Art in New York. Among the most spectacular exhibits in the collection is a wall of nine
bisj-poles, traditionally carved from the buttress of a mangrove tree to honour recently
killed warriors in some Asmat communities. But, unlike Rockefeller, after whom this wing
of the museum is named, the ancestors these poles commemorate are now nameless.
The Rockefeller exhibition is just one example of the way in which bisj-poles have become
divorced from their original context and meaning. More recently, they have been
reproduced by non-Asmat people to represent West Papuan and Indonesian art, appearing
on T-shirts and key rings and in carvings at significant sites such as Jakarta’s Sukarno-Hatta
airport. They have also been used outside Indonesia to promote tourism and cultural
diplomacy.
Through the Peace Child Concert, Asmat art became explicitly linked with the asylum
seekers’ campaign for independence in their homeland
49
But as Papuan refugees living in Australia have shown, bisj-poles can still have meaning for
contemporary struggles. In March 2006, the 43 West Papuans who had arrived on the shores
of Cape York in far north Queensland two months earlier were granted temporary
protection visas by the Australian government. Two of the 43 asylum seekers, Alfons
Pirimapun and Stefanus Akanmor, are Asmat carvers. In December 2006 they produced a
bisj-pole for the ‘Peace Child Concert’, a festival at Federation Square in Melbourne that
represented a collaboration between West Papuan and Japanese artists. Through the
Concert, Asmat art became explicitly linked with the asylum seekers’ campaign for
independence in their homeland.
Reclaiming cultural territory
Why did the carvers make a bisj-pole? Why
not a shield? Or a drum? When I asked
Alfons and Stefanus this question, the two
carvers looked puzzled. In some ways, the
ubiquity of bisj-poles today – and their
symbolic association with West Papua –
makes it a clear choice. As Alfons replied,
as though stating the obvious, ‘It’s popular’.
The composition of the bisj-pole produced
in Melbourne echoes the traditional bisj-pole
style. It consists of carved figures placed one
on top of the other in black, red and white.
But it is also unique. An obvious point of
difference is the smaller size of the carving,
which reaches to no more than three metres.
In Papua itself, in a ceremonial context
especially, bisj-poles can reach up to six
metres or more. It also lacks the protrusion,
or tsjemen, normally found at the top of the
carving.
There is more to this story however, than
simply another evolution in form. By
Stefanus Akanmor holds the completed bisj-pole reappropriating a carving tradition that has
carving at the Peace Child Concert in Melbourne’s been commodified in Indonesia and the
Federation Square
west, these carvers and their community
have asserted their control over the form,
Stefanus Akanmor
repossessing one of the most symbolically
charged pieces of Asmat art. The Melbourne bisj-pole highlights the political significance
that the bisj-pole can have, something which is not acknowledged in books about the
Asmat, or in exhibitions such as the Rockefeller display in New York. In this way, it
challenges the characteristically apolitical way Asmat art is used in festivals, museums and
galleries. In doing so, it brings a cultural artefact onto centre stage in a claim for West
Papuan independence. ii
Kipley Nink ([email protected]) is a curator at the National Museum of Australia. She is
currently completing an honours thesis on Asmat art at the Australian National University.
50
Tangguh goes onstream
BP’s massive LNG project is due to begin operations in late 2008, despite social
and environmental costs
Paul Barber
Jetty at Babo, looking towards Bintuni Bay
Liem Soei Liong
The Tangguh Liquid Natural Gas project in West Papua province, operated by the UK
multinational BP, is one of Indonesia’s largest foreign investment projects. According
to BP, it involves the extraction of around 14.4 trillion cubic feet of gas from six
fields near Babo in the Bintuni Bay area of the Bird’s Head region over a period of
25-30 years, at a cost of between US$5.5 to US$6 billion. An entire community of
over 120 households and more than 650 people has been relocated to make way for
the project facilities on the south shore of Bintuni Bay.
Indigenous residents had no real say in whether the project should go ahead
BP claims that Tangguh has been designed and implemented with a view to ensuring
corporate social responsibility and compliance with international human rights
standards. The company employs sophisticated public relations techniques to convey
the message that, although local people are experiencing massive changes to their
lives, overall the development will benefit those living nearby and Papuans in general.
51
However, the indigenous residents had no real say in whether the project should go
ahead. The principle of Free Prior and Informed Consent– whereby indigenous
peoples have the right to decide to accept or reject a project on their land – was never
applied to them.
A number of key issues remain unresolved which are a source of potentially serious
problems.
Human rights concerns
Anecdotal reports point to increased activity in the area by police and army special
forces and intelligence agents. A company of around 100 troops has been permanently
deployed to Bintuni town, police numbers are set to increase, and there are plans to
establish a small naval base in Bintuni Bay. Although Bintuni town is some distance
from the Tangguh site, it is reasonable to assume that the troop deployment is related
to the project development. The past record of the Indonesian military (TNI) suggests
that those seeking to protect the rights of local communities may be stigmatised as
‘separatists’ and will be vulnerable to intimidation if not more serious consequences.
The security forces afford a higher priority to protecting business interests than
defending local livelihoods.
Ominously, the Indonesian National Defence Institute is conducting an assessment of
security in the area in anticipation of Tangguh operations. It is considering whether to
recommend upgrades to the local police posts and sub-district military commands. A
panel set up by BP to advise on the non-commercial aspects of the project has warned
that the situation could become less stable if new police or TNI units are stationed in
the Bintuni area.
BP has attempted to
forestall human rights
problems by operating an
Integrated Community
Based Security (ICBS)
programme, which uses a
community policing
system in cooperation with
the local police. The
credibility of the
programme was called into
question, however, when it
transpired that an
agreement between BP and
the police had been signed
Quayside, Babo
by a police commander,
Timbul Silaen, indicted on
Liem Soei Liong
crimes against humanity
charges in East Timor. BP is keen to proclaim the success of ICBS, but it has not yet
been tested by an incident deemed to threaten Tangguh as a national strategic asset.
Human rights would be at severe risk if the military is brought in to respond to such
an incident.
52
Disrupted livelihoods
The resettled south-shore villagers have seen some material benefits from the
provision of new housing and infrastructure, but the longer-term impact of the social
upheaval on their livelihoods is uncertain. Access to gardens and forest resources in
the vicinity of their former village and to traditional fishing grounds is no longer
possible. One villager has complained that they are now living in ‘gilded cages’,
expensive homes with empty kitchens and nothing to cook. BP argues that such an
opinion is not representative and points to the steps it has taken to compensate or
assist affected villagers. Despite that, some villagers have been unable to adapt to
their new livelihoods and have decided to sell their new houses and move out of the
area.
There is ongoing tension among non-resettled villagers who feel they have been
unfairly treated by BP. This applies in particular to villagers on the north shore of
Bintuni Bay who claim customary rights over some of the gas being exploited. In
addition, there are tensions and unresolved disputes over claims to land affected by
the project.
The demobilisation of up to 10,000 construction workers, who include more than
6,000 in-migrants from other parts of Indonesia, will have to be carefully handled if
problems are to be avoided. Less than 2,000 people will be employed during the
operating phase. As they will include a higher proportion of managerial and skilled
workers, the long-term employment prospects for unskilled Papuans are not
promising.
Environmental impact
Tangguh is located in the
middle of a sensitive
coastal ecosystem with the
world’s third largest
mangrove area. A degree
of degradation is inevitable
no matter how careful BP
is to ensure minimal
impact. Its record in other
parts of the world, which
includes responsibility for
the largest oil spill in
Alaska’s history, does not
inspire confidence.
Mangroves near Babo
Also of concern is the
Liem Soei Liong
problem of CO2
emissions. Around 12.5
per cent of the Tangguh gas reserves consist of CO2, which will be ‘vented’ into the
atmosphere unless it can be reinjected into the ground. There is currently no
agreement between BP and the Indonesian government to proceed with a technical
53
appraisal of reinjection. The expectation now is that the CO2 will be vented into the
atmosphere for at least the first four years of operations.
Who benefits?
It can be reliably assumed that the project will generate huge profits for the
shareholders of the operating companies and substantial tax revenues and royalties for
the Indonesian government. The Papuan people should receive a 70 per cent share of
the royalties under special autonomy provisions, but no benefit will accrue to them
until after the project costs have been recovered around 2016. The Indonesian
government is currently attempting to renegotiate its LNG sales contract with China
to reflect worldwide price increases, but the Papuans are not given any say in these
talks and it is not clear whether they will gain from improved terms.
Some Papuans would argue that Tangguh, far from being beneficial to them, is
yet another resource curse
There is confusion about how the Papuans’ share of the royalties will be allocated
given the controversy over the division of the territory into the two provinces of
Papua and West Papua and the lack of clarity over how revenues derived from West
Papua province will be apportioned under special autonomy. Until recently, the
special autonomy legislation did not apply to West Papua province. Even now, seven
years after its introduction to Papua, it is generally accepted that special autonomy has
not been properly implemented and has failed to address key human development
needs such as improved access to health and education services.
Some Papuans would argue that Tangguh, far from being beneficial to them, is yet
another resource curse, whereby the presence of natural resources may actually cause
more problems than benefits for local people. They regard the project as an obstacle
to them realising their right to self-determination and BP as a collaborator with
Jakarta’s exploitation of their natural resources. There is the risk, therefore, that
Tangguh will represent a potential source of instability in the region until these
concerns are addressed and Papuan rights are fully realised. It is in BP’s interests not
only to respect Papuan rights, but also to actively promote them in the widest possible
context, for example by lobbying against local and regional security upgrades. At the
same time, the project must be closely monitored and international pressure
maintained at every stage of the process to ensure that BP accounts for its impact on
local communities and the Papuan population in general.
The company has rather pretentiously claimed that Tangguh aspires to be a ‘world
class model for development’. It remains to be seen whether it will regret giving this
hostage to fortune by the problems that will undoubtedly arise during the course of
Tangguh’s operations. ii
Paul Barber ([email protected]) is research and advocacy coordinator for TAPOL,
which promotes human rights, peace and democracy in Indonesia.
54
Papuan romance
New norms about love and marriage alter the rules for the young
Sarah Hewat
A lot to think about: a group of youths in Jayapura
Sarah Hewat
In Papua, girls like my 17 year-old friend Janet would once have expected to have their
marriages arranged by their parents and family. However, things have changed in Papuan
society over recent decades, and love and marriage are no exceptions. This is not to say
material considerations no longer play a part in selecting a spouse, nor that romantic love
was in the past unknown in Papua. But young Papuans such as Janet now expect to form
their own marriages based on love, or at least on attraction, in a way that did not happen
before.
In some areas, such as the highland town of Wamena, the demand to choose one’s own
partner is still very new. In others, such as Manokwari in the Bird’s Head region, lovemarriage is already regarded as ‘traditional’. The impact of this ‘modern love’ is most
keenly felt in larger Papuan towns, where beauty salons increasingly hire out white wedding
gowns to Papuan brides to wear to their Victorian-style white weddings. The sale of love
magic on the streets of urban centres also responds to the new interest in romance, even
though it is a duplicitous way to make someone fall in love.
55
Learning to love
The importance of Christianity in the lives, worldviews and relationships of most Papuans
cannot be overstated. Most Papuans see love-made marriage as an integral part of being
Christian. They may or may not love more than one wife, and they may or may not take
other traditional perspectives on marriage, but the linking of love and marriage is
remarkably similar across Papua.
A less documented but powerful influence that is changing Papuan attitudes towards love is
the media: television shows, movies, karaoke clips and magazine articles. Romantic themes
are central to many media productions and are consistently used in advertising, which uses
the pleasure and satisfaction that love promises to promote the consumption of
commodities. Papuans today enjoy Indian and western films, Javanese and Mexican soap
operas, and Ambonese or Papuan karaoke clips. Their different aesthetics give Papuans new
ways of relating and feeling. And even in the remotest villages, magazines with articles
about ‘how to rekindle romance’ circulate.
Confronting tradition
The impact of the media
couldn’t be clearer in how
young Papuans talk about love.
As my friend Janet told me,
‘When I like someone I let
them know by giving them a
card on Valentine’s Day. If
they send one back I am
overjoyed, you know like that
girl in the film Titanic.’ But
when young Papuans like Janet
pursue romance, they come
face to face with the dominant
conservative sexual ethos in
Papua. It may be modern and
Christian to marry for love, but
the process of building
intimacy with a potential
spouse reeks of sexual
immorality. As a result, getting
to know a member of the
opposite sex is a dangerous
process that leaves people
vulnerable to gossip and other
punishments.
Across Papua, the institutions
of church and state are united
Sarah Hewat
in their message that the only
good sex is sex within marriage. This ideology of ‘saving yourself’ dovetails with the
Friendship: overlooking Jayapura
56
message sent by adat (customary) leaders that the obedience and chastity of Papuan youth is
a foundation of ethnic integrity. Young people who transgress these sexual boundaries risk
being subjected to traditional retributive justice. For most of Papua, adat is synonymous
with the bride-price economy, where ‘free’ sex is most definitely bad management practice.
In a nutshell, bride-price assumes that female sexuality and reproductivity are clan-based
resources, not individual ones. When a man’s family pays bride-price, the rights to his
wife’s reproductivity are transferred to him. The offspring of their union are incorporated
into his clan. In theory, at least, any sexual activity outside these relationships amounts to a
kind of theft, deserving of compensation.
Secret affairs
In practice, cunning and luck are more likely to determine the fate of illicit sexual relations
than any set of rules. But given the anxiety around pre-marital sex, the only socially
legitimate form of courtship remains that which is public, sexless, and morphs hastily into
marriage. The ideal partner is of a similar age to you, is Christian, and has graduated from
high school or university. He should have a job or, at least be industrious. As these ideals
are impossibly high for many Papuans, ‘suka sama suka’ (mutual attraction) relationships
are frequently formed in secret. But these kinds of liaisons are definitely dangerous,
especially for women.
…the only socially legitimate form of courtship is that which is public, sexless, and
morphs hastily into marriage
Affairs are usually exposed through pregnancy, and the implications of a ‘shotgun wedding’
are very much alive in Papua. In adat courts, the ideal outcome is usually to see the girl wed
and the man accused pay a fine as well as bridewealth. But a daughter’s untimely pregnancy
can be economically disadvantageous for her and her family in two ways. Firstly, her more
desperate status lowers her bargaining position in bridewealth negotiations. Secondly,
pregnancy is likely to force her to leave school, which damages her chances of finding
secure work and future economic security.
In Manokwari at least, when young women contemplate having a secret affair, their greatest
fear is not that they will be labelled a sinner. Nor do they tend to fear sabotaging their
economic security by falling pregnant, or becoming infected with HIV. Rather, the greatest
fear associated with hiding romantic relationships is that, if exposed, great shame will fall
upon their parents.
Heartache either way
For many couples whose union would not be approved because one or both spouses do not
meet family standards, ‘shotgun weddings’ work in their favour. Yet even if the couple start
their marriage in love, the pressures of living with the husband’s family – which a
combination of poverty and tradition makes a common practice in Papua – can erode
newlyweds’ amorous feelings. I have met many unhappy households where an unchosen
daughter-in-law is said to have brought disharmony to the household due to her ill-temper
or laziness.
On the girl’s part, moving into an unsupportive household can affect her well-being,
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especially if that household is far away from her own family. The norm of following a
husband (ikut suami) refers not only to his family home but also to his religion. When
attraction leads a Christian woman to marry a Muslim, or even a man from another
Christian denomination, it can cause considerable emotional pain since it typically means
she will depart from the family church, an institution which is central to the identity and
spiritual passion of most Papuans. This outcome creates great rupture within a family.
Marriages contracted by the spouses themselves can also lead to other heartaches that were
less likely in a time when kin arranged marriages. Women traditionally move to their
spouses’ villages, but in the past this rarely meant going far away. Now they choose their
spouses from a pool that includes men from other parts of Indonesia, and even further
afield. As a result, distance can make it harder than ever for wives to maintain relationships
with their families of origin.
Like women everywhere, Papuan women face the possibility that a charming boyfriend can
become a nightmare husband. When women hold out hope for more egalitarian and
respectful relationships, the revelation that lovers are in fact liabilities, spending the family
income on gambling, sex workers and alcohol, only intensifies their disappointment.
Young Papuans such as Janet now expect to form their own marriages based on love
Emotional transformations taking place in Papua are as dramatic as any in the sociopolitical and cultural realms. New understandings of love, new expectations of gender
relations and new experiences of romantic passion have inevitably accompanied the more
documented changes associated with modernisation. For my friend Janet and her peers,
pressure to conform to highly conservative moral expectations, as espoused by
representatives of church, state and adat, all too often clash with youthful desires for
romantic adventure and intimacy. And even when young women negotiate this cultural
clash and successfully wed their beloved, new obstacles arising from economic hardship
can conspire to dash their hopes of living happily ever after. ii
Sarah Hewat ([email protected]) is a PhD student at Melbourne University.
She is writing a thesis on romantic courtship amongst Papuan youth in Manokwari.
*****
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Papua webs
Web-based resources related to Indonesian Papua and West Papua
Michael Cookson
Mapping Papua on the web
Touchgraph search
Inside Indonesia’s last review of web-based resources for Papua in 2001
(www.insideindonesia.org/content/view/467/29) inspired the creation of the World Wide
Web Virtual Library for Papua (see www.papuaweb.org/vl). The virtual library hosted by
Papuaweb.org is an annotated list of web-links related to Papua. Since 2001 there has
been a tremendous increase in the volume of coverage of Papua on the web and those of
us involved in the virtual library do our best to keep up. As well as a lot of Papua-specific
sites, some general sites are worth investigating for their Papua content. Social networking
in and on Papua is also a growing trend. This article is meant as a guide through these
resources. The hotlinks show the reader how to navigate through the web to find Papuarelated sites, using the virtual library for Papua as a starting point.
Papua-specific sites
There is a range of websites which privilege Papua-related content and are run by
individuals and groups who consider themselves to be key stakeholders in Papua.
Prominent websites in this category include local media
(www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/01.html) as well as the local administrations of Papua and
West Papua and their elected officials (www.papua.go.id and www.ijbprov.go.id). Some
Indonesian national government agencies with branch offices in these provinces also have
dedicated Papua websites. Government institutions are responsible for a variety of
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services to communities in Papua. They are typically well-funded and their web-presence
is an important mechanism by which they promote public accountability and build popular
legitimacy (www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/02.html). The state universities of Papua and
West Papua have a similar public mandate and as educational institutions might be
expected to be at the cutting edge of web innovation in the region. Yet their web presence
(and that of more than a dozen private counterparts) is marginal. It is only through
research collaborations like Papuaweb.org that Papua’s higher education institutions
achieve significant web exposure (www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/08.html).
Several Papuan civil society organisations (CSOs) are represented on the web, but most of
them struggle to build or maintain a web presence due to funding and other capacity
constraints. Major religious groups in Papua have virtually no direct web-presence
(www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/07.html) although the website of the Catholic Office of
Justice and Peace serves has a bi-lingual information clearing-house for ecumenical and
inter-faith campaigns in Papua (www.hampapua.org). FOKER, a secular Forum for
Papuan non-government organisations (NGOs) helps create a web-profile for its members
(www.fokerlsmpapua.org), but many smaller and regional NGOs are not in the Forum
(see www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/05.html). Individuals and NGOs working inside
Indonesia or abroad to promote Papuan rights and self-determination are also represented
on the web (www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/06.html). Assorted other sites represent tourism
operators, the primitive art market, and the interests of individuals or groups who have
visited or worked in Papua (www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/03.html).
Other sites
A second important category of relevant sites is non-Papua specific websites with Papua
content. These are frequently hosted by institutional actors, including Indonesian national
government departments as well as bilateral or multilateral donors and agencies. Included
in this category are international advisory groups (such as the International Crisis Group)
and other international NGOs who today rely on a significant web presence to disseminate
and promote their work. While some multilateral donors are influential enough to
implement programs in Indonesian Papua with few administrative obstacles, most bilateral
agencies and international NGOs are obliged to provide a clear rationale and justification
for their work there. Many international aid initiatives in Papua for this reason are framed
as part of broader national or international programs of action. This approach has helped
foreign project partners to deal with the vagaries and political sensitivities of work in
Papua and been crucial to the success of recent bilateral and international NGO programs
(www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/02.html).
Papua’s history and culture is best represented on the web by cultural and government
institutions outside Indonesia. There are no Papua-based museums, libraries or archives on
the web and national institutions in Jakarta have little online content related to Papua. By
contrast, the National Archive of The Netherlands hosts more than 6000 historical images
related to New Guinea. Other sites in The Netherlands and elsewhere host significant
digital collections of relevant documents, maps, photos, news-reel footage, radio
broadcasts and multimedia material (www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/11.html). With a
staggering 27000 objects online the Dutch Museum of Ethnology is the largest single
repository of New Guinea artifacts on the web
(www.rmv.nl/index.aspx?toplevel=collectie&identifier=423).
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Papua’s history and culture is best represented on the web by cultural and
government institutions outside Indonesia
Prominent multinationals include Papua in their suite of investments, capitalising on the
fabulous resource wealth of the region. Freeport McMoran Copper and Gold, once
predominately a Papua-based concern, has diversified its interests to minimise commercial
risk and now has a global portfolio of assets worth more than US$100 billion. Others
multinationals, like BP and BHP Billiton, also count Papua among their assets
(www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/04.html). At the opposite end of the corporate spectrum are
booksellers with publications about Papua. Reflecting the meager market for books on
Papua, major Indonesian booksellers like Gramedia don’t even bother listing their Papua
catalogue online. However, many Papua-related books are available online through the
websites of not-for-profit organisations like PACE (www.papuaerfgoed.org) and
Papuaweb (which hosts a new books page at www.papuaweb.org/dlib/baru/_buku.html).
These online books may be supplemented by collections from digitisation projects like
Project Gutenberg and Google Books (www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/11.html).
Social networking
Social networking sites with Papua content are an emerging phenomenon on the web.
None of these sites have a major stake in Papua. With innovative and easy to use content
management systems these sites have transformed the web from the preserve of
technologically savvy elites into a truly public domain. Social networking sites (like
Myspace and Facebook), new blog sites and image and video sites (like flickr and
YouTube) are beginning to attract the interest of people in – or interested in – Papua.
Papua is appearing on social networking sites in concerned members groups (see the
‘West Papua cause’ on Facebook at http://apps.facebook.com/causes/15221) and through
the desire of individuals to find a space of their own on the web (see
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=149378032).
Other users are discovering that blogs (web-logs) are a convenient way of presenting news
and views on Papua (see the website of Elsham Papua and their subsequent blogs at
www.elshamnewsservice.tk, http://elshamnewsservice.wordpress.com and
http://ipahr.wordpress.com). A list of blogs on Papua is available online
(www.papuaweb.org/vl/www/01.html).
Online multimedia repositories are another important and rapidly growing form of social
networking. The ‘Papua’ and ‘West Papua’ pools on flickr have thousands of photos and
provide a forum for members to share, sell or discuss their images
(www.flickr.com/groups/papua and www.flickr.com/groups/westpapua). Other image
repositories also have large ‘West Papua’ collections (see http://picasaweb.google.com
and http://photobucket.com) while sites like Panoramio merge Google Earth technology
with photos from around the world (visit the new Swiss-Bel Hotel at
www.panoramio.com/photo/5662822). YouTube, Google video and other video
repositories host growing collections of past and recent footage related to Papua.
Social networking sites appear to offer relative anonymity with few commercial or
political restrictions. Many people say the web is an inherently democratic technology
which encourages free speech. Such presumptions embolden web-based critiques and
commentary about Papua. However, the role of the web in cultural change is poorly
understood.
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Go ogle without Google
Finally a word about
searching for Papua-related
material. Google is the most
popular search engine on the
web, but it is not without its
limitations. Google
Corporation remains tightlipped about its search
technology and criteria for
ranking web-resources.
Choosing the right search
terms is crucial to your results
(Papua, West Papua, West
Web-resources on Papua (Redzee search)
New Guinea, West Irian, Irian
Jaya, Nieuw Guinea, etc) but few of us realise the importance of choosing the right search
engine. Standard alternatives to Google are worth considering, such as Yahoo
www.yahoo.com, Altavista (www.altavista.com) and Hotbot (www.altavista.com) - or
you can help rank web resources for Papua yourself by using Digg (http://digg.com). Blog
sites are often best found with a blog search engine like Technorati
(http://technorati.com), while other sites like Ditto allow you to view stills of mixed media
(www.ditto.com). You can also find answers to your questions about Papua online
(www.ask.com) or preview websites before you open them with Redzee technology
(www.redzee.com). Search engines like Clusty group results by topic or category
(http://clusty.com) while others like Touchgraph use similar clustering principles to
visually depict the relationship of different web resources to one another
(www.touchgraph.com/TGGoogleBrowser.html). And remember, when searching for
web-resources on Papua it pays to be creative and when using web-based material about
Papua it pays to be critical.
The web in Papua
This article has discussed web-based resources about Papua and the structural changes and
innovations in the way individuals and groups are using this information. In 2001, there
were severe infrastructure constraints to internet access in Papua. Since then, the major
expansion of a ‘third generation’ (3G) telephone network across the 36 district capitals of
Papua and West Papua has made high-speed wireless connectivity possible. Today the
main constraint on internet uptake in the region is not technical; it is a socio-political
malaise across the region. Addressing this challenge requires the financial resources and
political commitment of all levels of government to improving educational and economic
opportunities for disadvantaged and disaffected communities across Papua and West
Papua. Such measures, together with the effective implementation of existing policies and
programs, may help build peace and prosperity. The web has an important role in helping
to promote transparency, accountability and social capital. It can become a tool to help
local communities realise their aspirations to renew Papua. ii
Mike Cookson ([email protected]) is webmaster of www.papuaweb.org and
recently completed a PhD on Indonesian Papua at the Australian National University.
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