Letter from West Papua

At Wamena's three-room airport a sturdy young man in military uniform whips a stick at a small crowd that has gathered, shooing them off like stray dogs.

The Indonesian soldier's Javanese features set him apart from the Papuans in this remote mountain valley. His aggression and scorn are contrasted by the crowd's disbelief and fear as they scurry to safety.

For three years I have been visiting Papua regularly to coordinate on a Canadian-funded peace building project. Upon arrival this time, I was struck by this scene and the rise in tensions it signified.

Kornelius, the assistant director of a local group working to protect the rights of the Lani tribespeople in and around Wamena, came to meet me. Shaking my hand, his eyes were fixed sideways on the soldier. "We should get to the office, better if you report to the police later." I agreed, and we were soon off on the back of Kornelius" motorcycle.

Later, in Kornelius" office, we planned my visit. "We can"t take you too far out of town because of the new military checkpoints," he pointed out. A couple of months earlier some weapons were stolen from Wamena's military headquarters, and in response the military has been raiding and burning Lani villages.

Kornelius explained how his group has been working with the police and legal aid groups to mediate the conflict, but despite their efforts the consequences have already devastated his community. Sixteen people have died from starvation and disease after fleeing their burning homes and taking refuge in the forest.

Working with Kornelius and other community groups who attempt to mediate similar conflicts, his story has become painfully common, regularly alerting me to the tragedy stemming from increased military activity in Papua.

In 2001, soon after the fall of the Suharto government, most of my colleagues from community development and human rights groups were optimistic that a peaceful resolution to the self-determination struggle in Indonesia's eastern-most province was possible. But hopes have deteriorated as the government in Jakarta adopts increasingly aggressive approaches to isolate and undermine the Papuan community. They are disturbed to witness the Indonesian government begin to seal Papua off, and initiate a military campaign to silence all voices of dissent.

On the night before I left Wamena, Kornelius and a group of friends gathered in my hotel room, saying in hushed voices that they want to talk about "politics." Over the next couple of hours they described their fears about the arrival of Islamic militias in Wamena and their attempts to stir up mistrust between Christian Papuans and Muslim migrants. "If Papua gets closed off, there will be much more freedom for the militias and the military to continue these attacks. It will be chaos here, just like in East Timor, and no one will know."

The next morning at the airport, Kornelius sent me off. The crowd in front was gone, and where before there was one soldier, now stand ten. We part saying, "until we meet again," in warm assurance. But turning our separate ways we both knew that that this would not be possible if the situation continues to deteriorate.

By Kam Reed