[Kabar-indonesia] WP: In Remotest Indonesia, Unfinished Business - Fear, Distrust Simmer in Papua

[Joyo at aol.com]

The Washington Post
Sunday, June 25, 2006

In Remotest Indonesia, Unfinished Business 

Fear, Distrust, Insurgency Simmer in Papua 

By Ellen Nakashima Washington Post Foreign Service 

SILIBA, Indonesia -- Here, in the chilly central
highlands of Papua, Yumbologon Wandikbo wears nothing
but an orange-beaded choker and a covering known as a
penis gourd, a custom of his Dani tribe. "When we get
freedom," he said with a hint of defiance, "I will put
on clothes." Wandikbo, a tall man with a lithe stride
and a touch of gray in his sideburns, paused on a dirt
path near about a dozen huts topped with shaggy thatch
domes. Snorting pigs rooted around muddy trails. In a
free Papua, he said on a crisp, gray afternoon, the
young people will go to school and then find jobs.

A simmering dispute over the status of Papua, a region
absorbed into Indonesia under controversial
circumstances a generation ago, continues to fuel
fear, distrust and a low-level insurgency in this
remote land of ruggedly beautiful mountains and vast
virgin forests on the western half of New Guinea
island.

"I have never felt like I was part of Indonesia," said
Jelam Wandikbo, a former Dani warrior, sitting
cross-legged on the ground in a thatched hut an hour's
hike away. This clan elder, with five wives and 17
children scattered across several villages, is a
former tribal chief of war and a hero for the enemy
tribesmen he killed in his youth. Now, he posts scouts
around his hamlet, but not to fight. "I will run to
the forest," he said, eyes bright, his body still taut
and square-shouldered, "when the government troops
come." For Indonesia, which declared independence 60
years ago, Papua is the last major piece of unfinished
business. East Timor, a former province, claimed
independence in a 1999 referendum, although
international troops were called in recently to halt
fighting between the police and armed forces. A three
decade-long separatist uprising in Aceh province ended
with a peace deal last year, given impetus by the
devastating Indian Ocean tsunami. Indonesia insists
that Papua is an integral part of the country, a
position that almost all foreign governments accept,
even as some have expressed concerns over charges that
Indonesian security forces have engaged in human
rights violations.

The former Dutch colony, more than 2,000 miles east of
Jakarta, has the world's largest gold mine and
second-largest copper mine, owned by Freeport-McMoRan
Copper & Gold, a U.S. mining giant. But the villages
here are among the least developed in Indonesia. Papua
has the country's highest poverty level and the
highest concentration of HIV/AIDS. One-third of Papuan
children do not attend school. Nine out of 10 villages
do not have a health clinic, doctor or midwife.

Papuans voice their frustrations as a desire for
freedom, or merdeka . But freedom has various
meanings, from political independence to social
justice.

The continuing tensions were apparent again last
month, when security forces shot two protesters dead
at a courthouse in Wamena, the main town in Papua's
central highlands. The demonstrators were showing
support for their mayor, a native Papuan, who had been
charged with corruption. The police said they fired in
self-defense.

In March, activists staged protests against Freeport,
accusing the company of polluting the land and taking
the people's wealth. The protest turned violent, and
five security officials were beaten to death.
Forty-three Papuans recently sought asylum in
Australia; it has granted to all but one, sparking a
diplomatic row in which Indonesia recalled its
ambassador.

The Indonesian government, citing security concerns,
requires foreign journalists and researchers to obtain
special permission to visit Papua and has seldom
granted it in recent years. In rare interviews with a
foreign journalist recently, native Papuans in the
highlands near Wamena described living through three
decades often characterized by fear and political
uncertainty. Though a brief spring followed the ouster
of the authoritarian president Suharto in 1998,
renewed tensions in recent years have made them
reluctant to go to their sweet potato gardens, for
fear soldiers will arrest them. Their crops, they
said, are dwindling.

A Crucial Vote 

Worige Wandikbo lives about an hour's
walk from Siliba in a hut of sticks and thatch called
a honai . The dirt floor is strewn with dried grass to
make sitting more pleasant. There is no road, no
electricity and no store. Once, Worige walked all day
on muddy trails and a pitted road to Wamena, the
nearest town. There, she saw "people driving in a car
and living in nice houses." "I want to live like
that," said the strong-boned woman, her grim face
lined with conviction. "I want freedom." Her
expectations of a better life were shaped by an event
that took place before she was born. Simon Wandikbo,
Worige's brother-in-law and the village pastor,
recalled that in 1969 a special vote was held to
decide Papua's future. Simon's aunt was among 1,022
tribal elders selected to take part. The vote was
sponsored by the United Nations, with U.S. support.
The aunt, now dead, told him the elders were coerced
into choosing to remain with Indonesia, he said.
Studies by academics in the Netherlands and in
Britain, as well as declassified U.S. documents,
support her contention.

"They promised that we would belong to a great nation
and have great homes and we would be wealthy," Simon
said his aunt told him. "That was in the 1960s. Now
it's 2006. Nothing has changed -- except for the
worse." "They said we would never live in honai
anymore," Worige added. "We're still in honai." Like
many adults in her village, Worige has never been to
school. Unable to read or write, she votes in
elections by poking a pinhole in the picture of the
candidate she likes.

Papua does not suffer from a lack of teachers or
schools, but from the unequal distribution of
resources, which flow to the cities at the expense of
remote areas such as the highlands, the World Bank
said. Simon said that many Papuan parents in the
highlands take their children out of school so the
children can marry or help raise pigs or vegetables.

Once, the villagers tried to open a kiosk, an effort
at commerce, said Simon, one of only six people in the
village of 250 with a high-school education.

"But we sold just Coca-Cola," said Biruk Wandikbo,
Worige's husband, the current tribal chief of war.
"And nobody bought it." Papuans in the highlands who
were educated during the highly centralized Suharto
era spoke of how non-Papuan teachers made no effort to
hide their disdain for Papuans, whose Melanesian
features -- dark skin, nappy hair, broad noses and
lips -- distinguish them from the ethnic Malay
majority.

Papua has an indigenous population of 1.6 million; in
all, 2.6 million people live in the region. Native
Papuans now outnumber non-Papuan teachers in
elementary grades, though not at higher levels, one
expert said. But the sting of discrimination lingers.
"They said we weren't smart," said the man, who has a
university degree and spoke on condition of anonymity,
fearing reprisals from authorities. "They didn't let
us speak our own language. They called us all kinds of
rubbish words." 

Addressing the Past 

In an effort to redress long-standing grievances, the government
passed a law in 2001 giving Papua, which is about the
size of California, greater revenue and
decision-making power than other provinces. The
government also gives Papua more money per capita than
any other province except East Kalimantan.

In the towns and cities, members of the educated
Papuan elite have tried to work with the central
government to advance special autonomy, which includes
the creation of a people's assembly of ethnic Papuan
tribal, women and religious leaders. But the council
has little clout, and police keep close watch on the
leaders and political activists.

Local government bureaucrats, increasingly native
Papuan, often misuse the money, to the people's
detriment, analysts said. The villagers noted that the
mayor in Wamena was recently charged with misusing
funds that should have gone to roads, medical services
and factory construction.

People point to the recent shooting of protesters as
reason for fear. The military points to such incidents
as justification for a continued presence. There are
15,000 soldiers and 8,200 police officers and
paramilitary forces in Papua and West Irian Jaya, the
two provinces that make up the Papua region, according
to military and police officials. The clashes often
begin with a dispute over control of natural
resources.

Security forces are battling a small, separatist
insurgency called the Free Papua Movement, which has
tried since the mid-1960s to gain momentum. But it is
scattered, ill-equipped and lacking a central command,
analysts said. Some activists allege that as many as
100,000 Papuans have been killed since Indonesia took
control of Papua in 1963.

But analysts who have researched the issue said they
see no evidence of genocide or a massive military
buildup. However, the area's remoteness and
restrictions on entry make documentation difficult,
they said.

When it comes to criminal justice, Papuans said they
do not trust the courts to be fair.

Theys Eluay, a charismatic leader who advocated
separatism through peaceful means, was murdered in
November 2001. A military court in 2003 convicted
seven soldiers. The longest sentence was 3 1/2 years.

A year and a half ago, two men led a peaceful ceremony
to raise the Morning Star flag, the symbol of Papuan
independence. They are serving 10- and 15-year prison
sentences for rebellion.

President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono has admitted the
government has made mistakes, including human rights
violations. But now, he said, "the government is
firmly committed to upholding human rights." He
recently announced that he would issue a decree to
ensure that the $1.4 billion in special autonomy money
that Jakarta sends to Papua is spent wisely, on
poverty relief, health and education.

Danny Mofu, 30, a itinerant pastor who lives in
Wamena, wants to see Papuans help themselves.

"There's a popular slogan at the moment: Be a king of
your own land. But the problem is, a lot of people
take it wrong. They want to be a king but don't want
to work," said Mofu, who hikes for days to reach his
church members in the hills and valleys. "It's about
awareness, and are Papuans willing to be leaders of
their own people, to build their own people?" Biruk
Wandikbo, Jelam Wandikbo's oldest son, is adamant
about what he wants: "Our own president. Our own
military chief. Our own police. Our own pilots. Our
own Freeport." Asked if he would see freedom in his
lifetime, Jelam Wandikbo, the old tribal chief of war,
paused and then smiled.

" Wa. Wa. Wa. Wa ," he said, using a Dani word. "I
hope so." 

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Joyo Indonesia News Service
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