TRIBAL WARFARE

TRIBAL WARFARE,  A NATIONAL PAST TIME.(1986)

The Catholic mission at Par in the Southern Highlands nestles peacefully in a wide fertile valley. Actually, it looks like an outpost that could be put under siege. All that is missing around the compound with its church, school, priests’ and Brothers and Sisters’ residences is a wall with rifle embrasures for defence! It is situated in a war zone. Up till my time there it was off limits for the many tribal clashes in that wild area of Enga province. Things might have changed.

As part of my brief in 1986, in heading up the Religious Studies department in Divine Word Institute was to ensure that our diploma students followed a six weeks pastoral training experience. As they fanned out from Madang   for the Christmas holidays, each had a supervisor in various locations. I was to accompany Br.Clem, a highlander himself and Br. Emil whose village was along the coast for Madang. This entailed   a flight up to Mt. Hagen and then a 3four hour drive up and over a high range, quite exciting in itself and then  further on down to Par. Now and again, on that trip, we passed small groups walking along the road and for the first time in my life I saw the men sporting “assgrass” as a kind of local  very basic dress to cover private parts.  I would see a lot more.

We popped into the raw and rough township of Enga, recently hacked out of the wilderness and I was pleased to meet Bishop Rausch. We chatted about the Church and prospects as well as problems. I gaped when he told us that they were celebrating just 25 years of Catholic presence in this province. The people were all first^t generation Catholics! I made a quick comparison with Paul preaching to the Greeks- but they had centuries of culture behind them. Here, most were illiterate. The old ways, that had helped them survive in a land with endemic tribal hates and flaring battles has barely begun to change. You could say that the people were hardly out of the stone  age and the culture shock of the west had unsettling affects on their lives. And yet, the missionaries and catechists had really had a strong impact in bringing the Good News. When you think that until the 1960s any white man penetrating those parts needed a police detachment with him you had to be impressed by the progress. But one precaution was well in place; this was a ‘dry’ province, no grog allowed.



HIGHLAND VISIT IN 1969

 The Marist community was a good-humoured combination of local Brothers with Australian. The younger men taught in the primary school of boys and girls who came trickling down from the surrounding villages. Br. Chris, a trained nurse, worked alongside the Sisters in a clinic further up the valley. A Kiwi and Aussie priest manned the mission there ( Fr. Des later became bishop)

If I had expected a picnic time there I was suddenly jerked out of any composure the very first morning. We were at breakfast when Fr. Bourke was knocking at the door with a most unusual invitation. He was about to grind up the mountain road with two of his catechists in an attempt to stop a tribal war about to erupt…or planned for that afternoon. Would I like to accompany them as it would be instructional in terms of a better understanding of the culture  where my men would be working. I briefly considered and being assured there was no danger to me as a non-combatant, I agreed.

I was stuffed in the back of the land rover and soon the five of us were rattling along the valley before a very stiff climb up to 8000 ft and more. Soon enough were passing warriors strolling along, looking almost casual to me. But they were all armed with quite an array of weapons: bows and arrows, shields, spears, axes and clubs- nothing had changed in 1000 years, except the axes were now sharp steel. But one tall man in a coat was sporting some hi-tech update; he was carrying a length of galvanised iron for full body protection! We must have passed scores of these, mostly battle hardened warriors all heading for predetermined points for muster.

Now and again we stopped and the local catechists engaged in fiery conversations before we moved on. We must have gone thirty minutes when we suddenly pulled over to the side a very slippery road. Fr. Bourke explained that there was a large group of warriors here and we needed to engage them. We climbed up the bank and over a low fence. A weird scene unfolded. There was much devastation. It must have been a village that had been completely torched as well as the gardens and trees wrecked- spoils of revenge of the victors of the last clash. And in the midst of the ash and misery were some 100-200 warriors all hunkered down and being harangued by two grizzled old grey beards. I got the impression they were the coaches and they were explaining the tactics for the afternoon match. The catechists engaged them.

It seemed very intense and angry to me, but maybe this was a normal exchange in bartering. That’s what the church leaders were doing. Their aim was to deflect these “generals” from employing an old strategy of having the battle spill over into another clan’s land, so that these  then sided with one side and so the war was enlarged and more casualties resulted. I learnt that this kind of war was highly technical with various bands operating under their “general”. Napoleon would learn a thing or two!

I was trying to look very insignificant but scanned the scene, disappointed that I did not have my camera. But then maybe that incitement might have sent an arrow zinging my way! They wore the strangest assortment of clothes or coverings. Of course “assgrass” was the favoured dress for the lower parts but there were many in shorts. In these cold parts coats, mostly greasy and dirty, were prized. Then I spotted one younger man wearing a sloppy joe with ILLANOIS blazoned across it. I was even more surprised to see one, looking desperately uncomfortable and wearing a wrist watch! I later found he was the accountant at a local saw mill and had been drummed back into the ‘army’. There were a bunch of young braves, maybe still in their teens. They seem to relishing the opportunity to get into the action. Maybe they were on their way to a certain stardom as valiant warriors. The explosive sort of interchange went on for quite some time, first the leaders blazing at the troops and then the catechists having a crack at them. After 30 minutes we withdrew. It seemed there was some agreement to keep the action contained.

We moved on. In similar fashion we came across three or four groups and negotiated.

We did not wait around for the “match”. I learnt that the whole “process” is based on the ancient practice of compensation. An eye for an eye is fervently practised there. Now, in some cases the payback can be demanded in the ultimate price barter PIGS. Never did find out how many pigs compensated for one man killed….maybe it depended on the value of the man. Overall, not all that many are killed in such battles of swift movement and tactics. I heard later, that only one was kllled that afternoon but many more with arrow or spear wounds. I was aghast to find that the Catholic clinic had posted an edict : No wounded warriors will be treated here. Very unchristian?? Well, from bitter experience they had learnt the necessity of this rule. On several occasions when enemies found that there were wounded in the clinic-hospital, they stormed in and chopped them up in their beds!!!

Somebody asked me once “Why don’t the police stop it?”

Yes, there seem to be a lot of coastal men in blue up there; but really, they have learnt from experience that it’s a hopeless exercise. They also fear reprisal on their own folk far, far away. Often, they arrive too late, maybe by design. Or they become spectators to this unstoppable

One of the most creative actions to stop a fight was by a young Brother at school. He marched the school out onto the designated battleground and sat down! The battle had to be cancelled or postponed. Being a Brother he had a certain  immunity.

In the meantime, in the intervening years, there has been a huge escalation. The ancient weapons have given way to high powered rifles. The world scourge of arms dealers, merchants of death have reached these parts with disastrous effects. The toll is much higher and those old tactics have given way to sort of guerrilla warfare. There seems to be no safe place now. The sanctuary that the church once commanded has gone. My friend, Br. Kevin Murray, a veteran of Solomons, Bougainville, and the Highlands has experienced it first hand. At the mission of Pompabus which was a thriving centre where staff provided training for young men in manual arts, agriculture and assorted skills, they were engulfed in a tribal feud. People were killed, the church, the school and the houses all torched. I could never really grasp this aspect of a culture which seems quite determined to “cut off the nose to spite the face” in a totally destructive, almost nihilistic manner. Kevin had to beat a retreat back to Australia.

I sometimes weep when I think of so many good people who gave given so much, both from other countries as missionaries and NGOs and the teachers and students and many friends I met in this rich, rich country. Even in tourism it could have netted millions, billions in offering the most exotic and unusual attractions. But right from the start, from Independence in 1975 there were glaring inequalities and the virus of corruption working. This gave rise to gangs of youth, the “rascols” who had missed out, or had even finished high school and then had no opportunities, taken the law into their own hands and terrorised the general community. With the passing of years, crime has descended to new levels and become endemic. While the Highlands continue to suffer the scourge of tribal war, even the towns and cities have become virtual war zones, especially after dark.

Will peace ever come in this spiral of violence? It’s hard to see how. Australia is concerned about the possibility of a “failed state” immediately to its north. The epidemic of HIV AIDS is rampant without any sign of let up. And yet, the situation calls for greater commitment to the people. I continue to be amazed at the local peace makers, the teachers and others, as well as the continuing stream of missionaries who commit themselves to bring hope to a suffering people, caught up in a maelstrom of violent social change.