“Then came the great war, the World War Two, and the Japanese and your people came and fought here, many, many thousands. But you were like a wave breaking on a rock: You came and then you left again and still the land was ours and we were left in peace.
“But then the war ended and the Dutch tried to reclaim their colonies in Indonesia, but the time of colonies was past. Sukarno led a rebellion against them and the Dutch were driven out once more.”
The chief gestured to the ground. “Everywhere but here. Here for a time they stayed. They knew by then that the age of colonies was past as well, and they began to work with our people, educating them, teaching them technical matters and administration. They said that soon they would be gone and we would be free, our own nation to find our own way. The Indonesians, Sukarno’s government, claimed that Papua belonged to them. They used the promise of uniting Papua with the rest of Indonesia as a rallying cry to draw their people to them, promising them land and wealth — our land… our wealth!”
“Did they ever ask if you wanted to be united?” Amanda inquired.
The chief chuckled mirthlessly. “They launched their konfrontasi campaign against the Dutch with terrorism, propaganda, and political pressure against the Dutch ‘colonialists.’ In 1962 the Dutch went home and the Indonesians came to ‘liberate’ us. We were promised an ‘Act of Free Choice,’ a vote of our people on whether to join permanently with Indonesia or to become an independent nation. It was to happen in 1969, but when the time for the voting came, Sukarno decided we were too primitive, too savage and ignorant, to understand voting and to choose our own destiny. Instead, only special representative voters would take part in the election.”
The chief held his leathery palm up flat. “As the Indonesians got to choose all of the representatives, is it a surprise that the vote was unanimous for joining with Indonesia?
“Since then we have found our brown-skinned colonial masters a heavier burden to bear than our former white ones. They tear open our mountains for the minerals there. Papua has the largest and richest copper mines in the world. The Indonesians share them with us. Jakarta takes the metal and the money and we get the poisons in our rivers.
“They share more, the transmigrasi, the surplus population from Java and their other islands. They gather them up and bring them here in their thousands every year, dreaming of the day when they will outnumber us. Walk in the coastal towns like Jayapura, Biak, and Wamena and look at the color of the skin of the shopkeepers and policemen and officials. Then look at the skin of those sweeping the streets, carrying the loads, and working as houseboys. Then you will see why the Morning Star has risen. Let the Dutch come back: We would greet them as brothers. But the Indonesians we will drive into the sea!”
The old man had never lifted his voice once. But his passion was plain.
“I can understand your cause. There is justice in it.” Amanda glanced at the man sitting beside her. “But you are allies with Harconan, and he is an Indonesian.”
The chief shrugged. “He hates Jakarta as much as we. He needs men to fight for him and to guard his bases here on Papua, and he pays us well with the supplies and arms we need for our battle. We shall be — what is the word? — yes, his mercenaries, for as long as it benefits us both.”
She continued to gaze at Harconan. “Even if Harconan stands accused of being a pirate and criminal? It could damage your cause in the eyes of the world.”
Chief Akima shrugged. “Harconan gives us guns, which is more than the world has given us.”
“He tells quite a story, doesn’t he?” Harconan said, standing with foot propped up on the palm log.
“He certainly does,” Amanda replied, looking out to sea in the dimming light of the afternoon.
Akima had faded into his jungle, leaving the two alone on the cliff edge.
“Maybe you are willing to admit that things are not quite as simple as you think?”
Amanda sighed. “Makara, I’ve always been willing to admit that there is nothing simple in this part of the world. But I can’t see how the murder of the crew of the INDASAT Starcatcher is justified by the Morning Star rebellion.”
“In war there are casualties.”
“And when did Australia and the United States declare war on you?”
“Damn it, Amanda”—Harconan took his foot off the log and paced a frustrated step or two—“you are a very frustrating woman.”
“And you expected me not to ask these questions?”
“No… not at all. You’re not stupid.”
“Thank you for agreeing.” She smiled.
“Then you agree there is a problem here — that something must be done!”
“I quite agree, Makara. Something must be done. But as a military officer, l must point out that war is a last best choice for the resolution of any problem. You are a man of great power in this part of the world: economic power, political power, personal power. If you want to help the Free Papua Movement you could do so in a hundred better ways than fomenting an escalation in what is bound to be an exceptionally bloody and ugly conflict.”
“But it’s not just the Morning Stars, Amanda; it’s what is being done to the entire archipelago. Not just to New Guinea, but to all of the islands and all of the cultures here.”
There was a fervor in Harconan’s voice and an intent glint in his eye that told Amanda she was close to another truth with this man, the real motivation beyond mere wealth. She was coming close to where he lived.
“What is happening to them, Makara?” she prompted.
“They’re being buried alive. You heard Chief Akima: The same story is being repeated with all the other islands as well. Indonesia has never been a representative government, it’s always been Java-centric. The Javanese dominate the government and they want to dominate our cultures as well. Their battle cry is their national motto, ‘Bhinneka tunggal ika,’ ‘The many are one’ “—Harconan spat the phrase out—“but the only many that count are the Javanese, and the only one that rules is Jakarta. Is that a right thing, Amanda?”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed somberly. “But what is there to take its place?”
The taipan sank down on the log beside her, lost in an image within his mind. “We go back to what Indonesia was before the coming of the Dutch and the Portuguese. Just islands in the sea. Each island independent unto itself, answerable to no one but itself. Each people and culture free to grow and develop in its own way.”
“In some places that’s called Balkanization, Makara. It’s generally considered to be a bad thing.”
“But not here, Amanda; this was how it was in Indonesia’s golden age, and we could go back to what it once was.”
He kept saying “we.” What “we” was he speaking of? And the earnestness of him touched her. He wanted her to see his golden islands and revived glories as he did.
She covered one of his hands with hers. “I’m sorry, Makara, but a writer in my country once said that ‘Paradise is inevitably either ahead, around the next corner, or back around the last.’”
“But it could be here and now, Amanda. If I had the right… help to do it. A confederacy of independent Indonesian states, each free in their own right but each united by…” He hesitated.
“Tell me, love, united by what?” Amanda challenged gently. “Or by whom?”
The moment was broken. Harconan stood abruptly. “It’s getting on towards dark. We’d better get back down into the tunnels.”
Amanda followed him silently. However, just before she entered the tunnel mouth, she looked back sharply over her shoulder. For a moment she had experienced that inexplicable but unnerving sensation of being stared at.