A Stakeholder Perspective on Searches

for Security in

Karl GW Claxton

December 1999

A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy of the

University of New South Wales

I hereby declare that this submission is my own work and to the best of my knowledge it contains no material previously published or written by another person, nor material which to a substantial extent has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma at UNSW or any other educational institution, except where due acknowledgment is made in the thesis. Any contribution made to the research by others, with whom I have worked at UNSW or elsewhere, is explicitly acknowledged in the thesis.

I also declare that the intellectual content of this thesis is the product of my own work, except to the extent that assistance from others in the project's design and conception or in style, presentation and linguistic expression is acknowledged.

Karl Claxton

Canberra

December 1999 CONTENTS

Abstract i Abbreviations and Acronyms ii Maps v Acknowledgments x

Introduction: Purpose and Questions 1 Aims, procedure, and results 1 Outline of the thesis 3

I Chapter One: The Setting: Papua New Guinea in Outline 7 Physical features 8 Human characteristics and history 10 Modern political structures, style, and economy 17 Standard approaches in PNG-studies 26 Conclusion 28

Chapter Two: Papua New Guinea Security Conceptions in Flux 30 Movement away from conventional strategic security analysis 30 Official analysis: a focus on new threats to the state 39 Scholarly analysis: state versus society models 51 Conclusion 57

II Chapter Three: Theoretical Perspectives on Security in Developing Countries 58 Changing conceptions of security: rationale, approaches, and key terms 59 "Third World" security as a distinct subfield 68 The need for a new approach: lack of an analytic core focus 74 To broaden, to deepen, or to extend? 81 A security stakeholders model 86 Conclusion 105

III Chapter Four: "Law and Disorder" - an Overview of Principal Challenges 106 Three key concerns - Raskol crime, separatism, and intergroup conflicts 107 Existing explanations of the Bougainville crisis - Secession or succession? 115 Existing explanations of contemporary highlands warfare - "Tribal fighting"? 136 The overlapping nature of threats 160 Conclusion 161

Chapter Five: Case I: Security Stakeholders in the Bougainville Conflict 163 State institutions 164 Elites 170 Proponents of the nation 195 Communal groups 201 Ordinary individuals 204 Stakeholder interactions 210 Conclusion 215

Chapter Six: Case II: Security Stakeholders and Renewed Highlands Warfare 217 State institutions 218 Elites 227 Proponents of the nation 240 Communal groups 245 Ordinary individuals 250 Stakeholder interactions 253 Conclusion 257

Chapter Seven: Conclusions: Reconceptualising Security in PNG and Beyond 259 Summary and main findings 260 Implications for Papua New Guinea 265 Relevance for theory and for other developing countries 269 Further research 271

Bibliography ABSTRACT

The new theoretical literature on security in developing countries can contribute to the understanding of Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament. This study uses such ideas to reconceptualise the country’s security in a more comprehensive way.

Since the late 1980s, it has become widely recognised that conventional security analysis, which emphasises the military defence of states against foreign attack, cannot address the most pressing and violent challenges faced in Papua New Guinea. The term "security" is now applied to all manner of problems and goals, in official policy, academic commentary, and public debate. However, such accounts have tended to lack a unifying approach, and provide little guidance as to how the country's security predicament might be re-assessed as a whole. Two unanswered questions are pivotal. Firstly, it is uncertain whether official emphases of new security threats to the state or scholarly accents on security interests beside those of the state offer the superior basis for re-analysis. Secondly, the scholarly accounts are presented in terms of an over- simplified dichotomy of state and societal security, and it remains to be shown what the components and particular security imperatives of each might be.

The thesis turns to the specialist theoretical literature for tools to explore these questions. That literature readily explains the general circumstances —especially the structural challenges— faced by developing countries, but lacks a satisfactory analytic core focus for the practical investigation of actual security situations at the more immediate level. This focus is needed to help determine which of a very wide range of potentially relevant problems, goals, actors, and coping strategies should be considered, and how they ought to be explained. The thesis proposes a simple analytical framework to provide such a focus. This emphasises a consistent "search for security", based on the pursuit of a distinct core value, by each of five key categories of security referents or "stakeholders".

The thesis begins to test and refine the ability of this model to provide the core focus needed to address the practical questions indicated above. It does so through a survey of the principal challenges shaping Papua New Guinea’s security in the 1990s, and by examining a pair of case studies involving civil war on Bougainville and renewed highlands warfare. Initial results are quite encouraging. The model contributes to a deeper understanding of security in Papua New Guinea by helping guide the more precise disaggregation of state and societal security. This has implications for attempts to assess and improve the country's overall security situation, and may enrich the wider literature on security in developing countries, in turn.

i ABBREVIATIONS and ACRONYMS

ACFOA Australian Council For Overseas Aid ADB Asian Development Bank ADFA Australian Defence Force Academy AIDAB Australian International Development Assistance Bureau ANGAU Australian New Guinea Administrative Unit ANU Australian National University AusAID Australian Agency for International Development B Billion BCA Bougainville Constituent Assembly BCL Bougainville Copper Limited BFM Bougainville Freedom Movement BHP Broken Hill Propriety Limited BIG Bougainville Interim Government BP years before present BPC Bougainville People's Congress BRA Bougainville Revolutionary Army BRG Bougainville Reconciliation Government BSIP British Solomon Islands Protectorate BTG Bougainville Transitional Government CHNG Central Highlands of New Guinea CIS Corrective Institutions Service CPC Constitutional Planning Committee CRA Conzinc Rio-Tinto of Australia Limited CRC Constitutional Review Commission DCP Defence Cooperation Program DFAT Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade DIB Papua New Guinea Defence Intelligence Bureau DoD Department of Defence ed. edited by EDF Electoral Development Fund EHP Eastern Highlands Province ERP Economic Recovery Program EU European Union FCDB Foundation for Community Development in Bougainville ft feet FLOJ Foundation for Law, Order and Justice Fr Father GDP Gross Domestic Product GNP Gross National Product G17 Group of Seventeen Islands Region MPs IASER Institute of Applied Social and Economic Research IBRD International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (World Bank) ICRAF Individual and Community Rights Advocacy Forum ICRC International Committee of the Red Cross IGFA Intergroup Fighting Act 1977 IGO International Governmental Organisation ILO International Labour Organisation IMF International Monetary Fund INA Papua New Guinea Institute of National Affairs IR International Relations ISA Internal Security Act 1993 JCFADT Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade

ii

JSCFADT Joint Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade K Kina kg kilograms km kilometres LLDCs Least Developed Countries LLGs Local Level Governments LNA League of National Advancement Party LOSWG Law and Order Sector Working Group M million m metres MA Melanesian Alliance Party MEF Melanesian Environment Foundation MelSol Melanesian Solidarity for Justice, Peace and Dignity MFAT New Zealand Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade MHA Member of the House of Assembly MoU Memorandum of Understanding MP Member of Parliament MRA Moral Re-Armament NA National Alliance Party NANGO National Alliance of Non-Governmental Organisations NCD National Capital District NEC National Executive Council NGI New Guinea Islands provinces NGO Non-Governmental Organisation NGRU New Guinea Research Unit NICs Newly Industrialising Countries NIO National Intelligence Organisation NPC National Planning Council NPLA New Panguna Landowners' Association NS North Solomons NSPG North Solomons Provincial Government NZ New Zealand ODA Overseas Development Assistance OECD Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development ONA Australian Office of National Assessments OPM Organisasi Papua Merdeka OTML Ok Tedi Mining Limited P Tokpisin language Pangu Papua and New Guinea Union Party PAP Peoples Action Party PDM Peoples Democratic Movement Party PIR Pacific Islands Regiment PJV Porgera Joint Venture Limited PLA (old) Panguna Landowners' Association PM Prime Minister PMF Peace Monitoring Force PNG The Independent State of Papua New Guinea PNGDF The Papua New Guinea Defence Force PNGWC Papua New Guinea Watch Council PoM Port Moresby PPCC Peace Process Consultative Committee PPP Peoples Progress Party PSDA Provincial Social Development Authority RDU Police Rapid Deployment Unit RMTLTF Road-Mine-Tailing-Lease Trust Fund RPIR Royal Pacific Islands Regiment RPNGC Royal Papua New Guinea Constabulary iii

RSPacS Research School of Pacific Studies, ANU RSPAS Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, ANU RTZ Rio Tinto Zinc Limited SDSC Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, RSPAS SFU PNGDF Special Forces Unit SHP Southern Highlands Province SI Solomon Islands SMH Sydney Morning Herald SOG PNGDF Special Operations Group SPPKF South Pacific Peace-keeping Force TI Transparency International TMF Truce Monitoring Force UN United Nations UNDP United Nations Development Program UNICEF United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund UP University Press UPNG University of Papua New Guinea USA United States of America VMF Vanuatu Mobile Force WHP Western Highlands Province

iv

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I am deeply indebted to the many people who have helped me complete this thesis. Informal support has been as important to me as formal guidance and I have been fortunate to receive an abundance of both.

Most of all, I thank my supervisors. All three provided detailed comments on numerous chapter drafts. They indulged me when I was slow to heed good advice, and I learned much from the occasional frustrations and humiliations that accompanied the freedom to make some of my own mistakes. Dr Graeme Cheeseman offered wise counsel and unfailingly lent me the weight of his support in the department and around the college. Dr Paul Keal insisted that I present a more rigorous study than the one I originally envisaged, and helped me restructure the thesis in that direction. Dr Bill Standish could not have shared his expert knowledge more generously or been a more patient teacher.

I am grateful to the New Zealand Ministry of Defence which enabled me to undertake this project by waiving certain requirements of a previous scholarship. My doctoral studies were funded by a generous University College research scholarship. The School of Politics provided additional funding for several useful research trips and conferences.

In Canberra, distinguished Pacific Islands and Melanesia watchers made me feel welcome during frequent field-trips to the Coombs building at ANU. Greg Fry, Dr Ron May, and Dr Sinclair Dinnen were especially supportive and informative guides. I thank Dianne Cook, Tessa Hodson, and Peta Kennedy in the Administration at ADFA for their efforts on my behalf. Professor James Cotton was a considerate Head of Department. Shirley Ramsay and Beverley Lincoln in the School of Politics performed countless small feats, often unrequested, to make my life easier. Thanks to librarians everywhere, especially Christopher Dawkins at ADFA and Maureen Kattau at ANU. Stimulating conversations with many friends about international security, Papua New Guinea, and other important things, have also contributed to the development of this thesis. I particularly thank Peta Arbuckle, Nicky Baker, Professor Des Ball, Jacqui Drinkall, Fiona Gaylor, Euan Graham, Sheridan Kearnan, Paul Keating, Rhaspal Khosa, Aaron Matthews, Caroline Turnour, and Michael Ward. Chris Black's great company and intelligence (gathering) helped get me through the inevitable research troughs. This thesis owes much to the sharp mind and consistent good humour of my partner, Vanessa Robins.

In Papua New Guinea, Janaline Oh earned my eternal gratitude by introducing me to her circle of remarkable friends, including Brian and Liz Baldwin, Paul Barker,

x Dr Colin Filer, Greg Moriarty, Nikhil Sekhran, and Yasmin Padamsee. Nik and Yasmin were generous hosts for weeks at a time on several occasions. Nik's sceptical prodding spurred the first real tightening of my research focus, and Yasmin let me tag along with her on my first trip into the highlands. Brian and Liz also put me up for shorter periods, as did Karl and Tania Stoltz. I enjoyed many interesting discussions at UPNG, especially with Henry Okole. Interviews with ICRAF's Dr Brian Brunton, John Edwards from the Australian High Commission, John Millett from the INA, and with Sir Anthony Siaguru were particularly rewarding. I benefited from frank conversations with Emos Daniels, both when he was with the Department of Defence and later when he was Prime Minister Chan's chief-of-staff. Nao Badu provided insights and good company, first as a UPNG academic and later as a senior official in the Prime Minister's Department. Linus Osoba gave me some perspective on life as a junior officer in the PNGDF. I thank the formidable Mathias Kondo Emende for showing me sides of Port Moresby that I would not otherwise have seen. He also provided an entry and accompanied me up to his place of origin in the Asaro Valley of the Eastern Highlands. The people of Lindima Village graciously tolerated my ignorance and nosiness, and I especially thank Ellis Oroino who appointed himself my guide.

Further afield, Professor Mohammed Ayoob at Michigan State University took an early interest in my theoretical work and offered important feedback and encouragement. Professor Richard Harknett from the University of Cincinnati provided comments on a thesis-related paper that I presented at the 1997 International Studies Association conference in Toronto. Professor James Curry kindly granted visitor privileges at the University of Colorado after I moved to Boulder in 1998. Tony Edgin, Cristina Perez, Hugh MacMillan, Dr Peter Staab, and Dr David Trubatch made me feel very welcome there.

Many other friends and colleagues contributed in various ways to this thesis — I thank them all. My family was a constant source of support, hilarity, and vaguely relevant newspaper clippings from the Christchurch Press.

Naturally, all conclusions and any remaining errors in this thesis are my own.

xi INTRODUCTION — PURPOSE and QUESTIONS

Aims, procedures, and results This thesis presents a study of security in a developing country, Papua New Guinea. It draws on theoretical ideas to consider how we might arrive at a deeper understanding of the country's overall security predicament. That inquiry contributes, in turn, to the subsidiary goal of exploring some central questions in the new specialist literature on security in developing countries.

Unlike many earlier studies of Papua New Guinean security, this thesis explicitly takes account of current research into the different ways that security can be conceptualised. Prior to the 1980s, most scholars largely restricted security terminology to matters concerning the armed defence of states against foreign attack. It has since become widely accepted that this conventional approach is particularly inadequate for explaining security in developing regions. It is unable to address even the principal violent challenges to most developing states, let alone engage important broader issues in countries that face an especially complex range of dire pressures beside external threats.

Papua New Guinea was chosen as the setting for this study for three main reasons. In practical terms, the country is near to Australia, has been closely studied and documented by officials and scholars, and is renowned for its open political style. Secondly, Papua New Guinea exhibits many characteristics that qualify it as a broadly representative example of the very diverse category of developing countries. Most importantly, though, debate about what "security" now means in Papua New Guinea has already attracted some interest.1 Scholarly and official analyses began to acknowledge disparate new security pressures there in the mid-1980s, but have yet to provide a substantially enhanced basis for either diagnosis or prescription. A pair of unanswered questions seem especially important in this regard.2 Firstly, it must be asked whether the emerging official emphasis on new security threats to the state, or growing scholarly attention to security interests beside those of the state, is likely to be more fruitful? Secondly, if the latter is the case, as initial indications suggest, it must be asked just

1 Discussed in Ch. 2. Notable examples include D. Hegarty, PNG at the Political Crossroads? (Canberra, SDSC, 1989); PNG, Security for Development (PoM, Government Printer, 1991); N. MacQueen, ‘An Infinite Capacity to Muddle Through?’, in P. Sutton and A. Payne (eds.) Size and Survival (London, Frank Cass, 1993) pp. 133-54; A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994); Independent State of PNG, The 1996 Defence White Paper (Boroko, Department of Defence, 1996); & APNGFA & AIIA, 'PNG: Security and Defence in the Nineties and Beyond 2000', proceedings of a June 1996 conference in Sydney. 2 These are established in Ch. 2.

1 what actors are involved and what their particular security exigencies might involve? This matter is currently discussed in terms of an over-simplified dichotomy of state and societal security. Even Dinnen, who suggests that the blurring of state and society rather than a gap between them underlies problems of "law and order", does not indicate what lines they are blurred along, for example.3

The thesis looks to the specialist theoretical literature on security in developing countries for help to investigate such questions. Much has been done to re-assess the distinctive general security pressures that typically confront the central decision makers of such countries, especially broad structural forces. However, the specialist theoretical literature on so-called Third World security suffers from the lack of a satisfactory analytic core focus at the lower level where the practical examination of actual security situations, such as Papua New Guinea's, takes place. Such a focus is needed to help determine which of an almost endless range of potentially relevant problems, goals, actors, and coping-strategies should be considered, and how they should be examined and explained. Without a suitable analytic core, existing practical accounts tend to alternate between excessive narrowness —and thus inaccuracy— and unmanageable breadth.4 A second aim of this thesis, then, is to contribute to the development of theory in this area: to suggest a suitable framework for engaging as many pertinent factors as possible while preserving some of the coherence of more narrow conventional approaches. Such a model, it is hoped, will help to improve understandings of security in Papua New Guinea, and might even be useful for analysing the security predicaments of other developing countries, by providing a basis for the core focus necessary to help answer the sort of practical questions posed above. A simple analytical framework, designed to do so by reflecting the diverse security imperatives of five key categories of actors, or "stakeholders", is briefly outlined in the next part of this chapter.

It is argued that this stakeholders model contributes to a deeper understanding of security in Papua New Guinea by guiding the more precise disaggregation of state and societal security there, and that it offers a possible basis for helping investigate and explain the overall security predicaments of other developing countries. These propositions are examined against a survey of key security challenges in Papua New Guinea, and a pair of detailed case studies of major practical security problems, using

3 S. Dinnen, 'Law, Order, and State', in L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi (ed.) Modern PNG (Kirksville, Thomas Jefferson UP, 1998), p. 348. He is referring to the 1984 Clifford Report on law and order, which particularly emphasised a state-societal gap. Also discussed in Ch. 2. 4 This dilemma is evident to a lesser extent throughout the wider field of Security Studies, as is discussed in Ch. 3.

2 both primary and secondary materials.5 The ways in which the argument is developed, begins to be tested and refined, and is examined for wider implications, are discussed in greater detail below.

Outline of the thesis The thesis is organised into seven chapters.6 Chapter One provides essential background information to the setting of the thesis by introducing general conditions in Papua New Guinea. First, it describes the physical features of the country. Next, its basic human characteristics and precolonial, colonial, and post-colonial history are discussed. This is followed by a summary of Papua New Guinea's modern political structures and style, and its economic situation. Finally, the emergence and changing sway of standard approaches in "PNG-studies" are outlined.

Chapter Two begins the detailed investigation of security in Papua New Guinea by assessing the existing analyses of the situation. It begins by tracing the general impetus behind the rise of more multi-dimensional assessment there from the mid 1980s. This stemmed from declining perceptions of external threat and an accompanying feeling that the country's numerous "law and order" problems were taking on a political character and starting to assume dire proportions. The next part examines official efforts to reformulate security policy planning, which have tended to focus on new types of non-military threat to the state. The reasons why this has produced limited gains are considered. The third part of the chapter explores scholarly analysis of Papua New Guinean security, which has increasingly emphasised a wide and growing gap between state and society, and which has begun to consider the security imperatives of non-state referents. The reasons why this promising approach has also not yet greatly contributed to diagnosis or prescription are discussed. These particularly stem from a failure to systematically disaggregate and examine the components of state and society themselves. The shortcomings of existing accounts establish the basis for the re-analysis of Papua New Guinean security carried out below. The last part of the chapter identifies some key questions that might be expected to be

5 I was only able to spend two and a half months in PNG over the course of three visits. Although public figures were generous in granting interviews and these trips enhanced my understanding of the country, my time there was very short. This is a conceptually based political science thesis, rather than a fieldwork-based study. 6 The study contains three levels of headings which descend from chapter titles, to chapter-part headings, to section headings. Any emphasis marked in quoted text is derived from the original source, unless otherwise indicated. American spellings are Australianised in all short quotations. Non-English words are italicised. Terms and phrases in Papua New Guinea's lingua franca, Tok Pisin, are spelled according to the source being cited, and are followed by bracketed translations except where meanings are obvious. Since the thesis explores contemporary and recent events, the convention of writing entirely in present tense is not followed. References are fully cited the first time they occur in the footnotes of any chapter.

3 clarified by the specialist sub-literature on security in developing countries. In particular, it is asked whether the apparent superiority of a focus on referents rather than threats is likely to be theoretically borne-out, and, if so, how security stakes within the Papua New Guinean state and society can be more precisely disaggregated.

Chapter Three turns directly to the theoretical literature. It starts by introducing the exploration of changing conceptions of security in the broader field of International Relations. The main reasons why, and ways in which, conventional understandings of security have been reassessed are outlined, along with key analytical concepts and specialist terms. Next, the chapter shows why the study of security in developing countries continues to constitute a distinct subfield of security analysis. This is followed by a discussion of the unmet need for a satisfactory analytic core focus to assist the examination of the sort of detailed practical questions that will be central to the reconceptualisation of security in Papua New Guinea. Such a tool is necessary to help decide which of a very large variety of potentially important matters to consider, and how to explain them — and thus balance increased analytical breadth with the preservation of basic conceptual clarity and elegance. Each of three possible bases for such a focus —threats in addition to military ones, referents in addition to the state, and means of pursuing increased security beside national militarisation— are assessed. The more usual focus on non-military threats is rejected. The new security stakeholders model is then introduced to provide an analytic core focus for investigating the sort of practical security questions posed in Chapter Two. It is argued, firstly, that all matters that are immediately connected with violent political conflict, but none that are not, should be considered security pressures, and, secondly, that broad types of non-state referent and their security imperatives can best be emphasised in examining and explaining these. A distinct and consistent "search for security", in terms of a particular imperative or "core value", by each of five key categories of security referent is posited. These are claimed to occur regardless of what threats are faced or what coping- strategies are adopted. Specifically, it is suggested that state institutions mainly try to preserve sovereignty; national, local and transnational élites all pursue survival politics; certain components of the incipient country-wide national entity consciously and consistently promote the ideal of civil society; communal groups struggle for material and existential subsistence; and ordinary individuals mainly seek personal safety. A final part discusses possible avenues for the preliminary validity-testing and initial refinement of this new model in the rest of the thesis.

Chapter Four commences the detailed re-analysis of security in Papua New Guinea. It presents an overview of the principal challenges shaping security there. All pose violent dangers to the state and to other referents, and are components of what is

4 sometimes referred to as an overall "law and disorder" predicament. The chapter has two main purposes. The first is to test the practical indications in Chapter Two and the theoretical claims of Chapter Three that an analytical focus on threat-types is unlikely to offer a suitable basis for the desired core focus — basically by attempting such analysis. The second is to provide essential background material for the pair of case studies that will be conducted below. The chapter begins by introducing the three very broad types of political violence that constitute Papua New Guinea's key security problems. Violent crime by rural and urban raskol gangs, micronational and regional separatist activities, and major types of intergroup conflict, are outlined in turn. Next, the chapter examines the historical background to, and existing official and scholarly explanations of, the two practical problems subject to fine-grained analysis in Chapters Five and Six. Unanswered questions in the literature on the Bougainville crisis and about renewed highlands warfare are identified. In both cases the unmet need is for a synthesising lens or framework for the systematic integration of existing lessons which derive from disparate theoretical perspectives and which have come to be seen as inadequate by themselves but potentially complimentary. The fourth part of the chapter explicitly emphasises the overlapping nature of the three key challenges, the two more specific security problems, and of the military, environmental, economic, societal and political threats contained within them. Finally, it is suggested that the proposed security stakeholders model should be able to help to fill gaps in the existing literature on the two cases if it contains the potential to contribute to more far-reaching analysis.

Chapter Five investigates the operation of security stakeholders in the serious multifaceted security challenge constituted by the Bougainville civil war. That conflict, which erupted in late 1988 and is yet to be fully resolved, is examined as an in-depth case study to help begin to test and refine the model designed for the wider reconceptualisation of Papua New Guinean security. Each of the five categories of stakeholders identified in Chapter Three, is scrutinised in turn. Next, preliminary patterns of interaction between the stakeholders that emerged in the case are discussed. It is hoped that these may have implications for the task of starting to improve the theoretical model itself. The chapter suggests that the stakeholders model provides a useful tool for accurately and efficiently explaining the causes and course of the conflict.

Chapter Six conducts a detailed re-analysis of contemporary warfare in the highlands to explore a second case study of a multifaceted practical security problem. It proceeds along approximately the same lines as Chapter Five. Again, the security stakeholders model provides a useful framework for helping to explain the causes of,

5 and behaviour seen in, the case. The chapter also reveals some more patterns of interactions between stakeholder categories for the continued refinement of the model.

Chapter Seven concludes the thesis. It begins by providing a brief summary of the other chapters, and restating the main findings up to that point. Next, a reconceptualised account of Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament is tentatively offered, and the likely implications of this conception are considered. These especially relate to attempts by different actors to "improve" the situation. The security stakeholders model is then revisited in light of the patterns of behaviour revealed in the country study. The question of whether these findings have any wider relevance for the theoretical literature on security in developing regions, and thus for other such countries, is considered. A final part identifies areas that would particularly benefit from further study, and suggests a possible agenda for future research.

6 CHAPTER ONE The Setting: Papua New Guinea in Outline This chapter provides essential background material for the thesis. It has five parts. The first begins to outline the setting of the country study, by sketching Papua New Guinea's physical characteristics. Next the country's human traits and historical setting are summarised. Papua New Guinea's modern political and economic features are then discussed, in terms of both structures and style. This is followed by a brief survey of the emergence and changing sway of standard academic approaches to the study of politics and other matters, in what is often called PNG-studies. A short conclusion leads from this general background towards the more specific investigation of security there, which is begun in the following chapter.

Papua New Guinea gained independence from Australia on 16 September 1975. It contains four and a half million people from many diverse societies. Eight hundred and sixty-seven distinct languages are spoken there, as a result of rough terrain and traditional modes of social organisation.1 Its formal economy is based on primary products, especially minerals, crude oil, forestry, and coffee. All of these sectors except the last are dominated by foreign or multinational companies. In return, government expenditure is financed chiefly by taxation of their operations, and affected landowner groups receive modest payments. Papua New Guinea is classified as a Lower Middle Income Developing Country on the basis of a per-capita gross national product boosted to US$1 160 (compared to US$19 724 in Australia) by these receipts.2 However, this income is unevenly spread, and the country rates poorly in terms of most social indicators.3 At least eighty percent of the population resides in rural village communities and lives primarily according to neo-customary social rules and modes of production. The country inherited a Westminster-based system of unitary parliamentary government, and its liberal constitution is bolstered by a vigorous press and an independent judiciary. However political parties are weak and neo-traditional political style —based on freewheeling competition by autonomous leaders, partly on behalf of

1 Nearly half of all New Guinea languages have fewer than 500 speakers, but a few, such as Tolai (>70 000) and Engan (>160 000) are used by comparatively many (by no means united) people - J. Diamond, Guns Germs and Steel (New York, W. W. Norton, 1998) p. 306. By some counts, PNG's languages constitute nearly one third of all the those still used, about as many as are spoken in Africa. 2 AusAID, 'PNG - Country Brief', pamphlet, Canberra, August 1997. 3 In 1993, PNG ranked 129th out of 173 countries indexed by the UNDP. Life expectancy at birth (57 years) in PNG was the lowest among South Pacific countries and much lower than Asian countries with comparable incomes, PNG's infant mortality rate was nearly twice that of comparable countries, adult literacy was notably below that in most other South Pacific countries, and significant gender imbalances existed at all levels - see T. King & K. Gannicott, 'Pacific Human Development Draft Report', Economic Insights Ltd, Canberra, 1993. The 1999 UNDP human development report placed 129th out of 174 countries - Fiji Daily Post, 'Five Pacific Island Countries Featured', 13 July 1999. 7 communal group interests4— remains strong. High levels of violent conflict5 are spurred by —and in turn exacerbate— fading public regard for weak state structures, economic stagnation, societal dislocation, and declining levels of human development.

Physical features Papua New Guinea is principally composed of the eastern half of the second largest island in the world, extending from the one hundred and forty-first to the one hundred and fifty-first meridian and from two to eleven degrees south of the Equator.6 The island was formed as a result of the collision of the northward-moving Australian plate with the westward-moving Pacific plate.7 The country also includes the off-shore islands of Manus, New Britain, and New Ireland, plus their outliers, in the Bismarck Archipelago, as well as the smaller islands of the Louisiade Archipelago and the D'Entrecasteaux, Trobriand, and Woodlark groups. The westernmost of the Solomon Islands group, Bougainville and Buka, plus their outliers, make up the other parts of Papua New Guinea. The country is bounded on the north by the Bismarck Sea; on the east by the Solomon Sea; on the south by the Coral Sea, the Gulf of Papua, and the Torres Strait (the island inhabitants of which are Australian citizens); and to the west by the Indonesian province of Irian Jaya. It covers an area of just over four hundred and sixty-one thousand square kilometres, stretching about two thousand one hundred kilometres from east to west and one thousand three hundred kilometres from north to south.

For the most part, the country's terrain is extremely rugged. A mountainous spine dominates the mainland, while high rainfall and dense tropical vegetation cover much of the land-mass. The terrain is also particularly diverse. The coral reefs near the coastal town of Madang, for example, lie only a hundred kilometres from the alpine grasslands of the country's highest peak, Mt. Wilhelm (4509m). In some areas human impact has quite significantly changed the local land-scape, especially where hunting and agriculture have transformed drier lowland areas into grassland.

4 Eg. D. Lipset, 'PNG: The Melanesian Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism', in L. Diamond et al. (eds.) Democracy in Developing Countries (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1989) pp. 382-421. Discussed below. 5 In comparison to many other developing countries - discussed in Ch. 4. Violence was an important feature of precolonial life in many areas - see Ch. 6. 6 Greenland is larger. For background material and figures see Encyclopedia Britannica Macropaedia Vol. 12 pp. 1087-93; The Macquarie Illustrated World Atlas (Sydney, Macquarie Press, 1984) pp. 220-226; J. Griffin et al., PNG: A Political History (Melbourne, Heinemann, 1979); S. Dorney, PNG: People, Politics and History Since 1975 (Sydney, Random House, 1990); M. Turner, PNG: The Challenge of Independence (Victoria, Penguin, 1990); T. Wheeler & J. Murray, Papua New Guinea 5th Edition (Victoria, Lonely Planet Publications, 1993); J. Waiko, A Short History of PNG (Melbourne, Oxford UP, 1993); & J. Connell, Papua New Guinea (London, Routledge, 1997). 7 The low-lying southern plains of New Guinea are geologically part of the Australian plate, physically separated just 8 000 years ago by the shallow flooding of the Torres Strait. 8 Papua New Guinea contains four basic geographical regions. The characteristics of these have helped shape broadly shared societal patterns in each, as is discussed below. The most populous region is the highlands, usually defined by altitudes above one thousand five hundred metres. This comprises a sharply folded and uplifted volcanic cordillera, up to three hundred kilometres wide, containing fertile basins. The northeastern part of the island of New Guinea comprises the Momase region. One of the country's two great river systems, the Sepik, drains through swampy land towards the west of the Momase coast, which is rugged, wet and densely forested. The other great river system, the Fly, drains through the west of the Papuan/Southern region, which consists of the southeastern part of the island of New Guinea. The swampy lower sections of the meandering Fly have a gradient of just one metre of fall for nearly every twenty kilometres. The Islands region includes densely-forested mountainous crustal plates and volcanic terrain off the eastern coast and in the Bismarck and Solomon Seas. Many of the smaller islands are low-lying coral atolls.

The climate in New Guinea is generally hot and humid. Although basically tropical, it is also quite varied. Five (non-contiguous) climatic regions are commonly identified. Rainfall, which is dependent on a pair of wind systems, rather than temperature determines the seasons. A hot wet zone covers most of the country with an only slightly marked dry season from May to October. Rainfall there never drops below sixty millimetres per month, but can be as high as seven hundred and fifty millimetres in some areas, while an average temperature of around thirty degrees centigrade stays fairly constant. Along the coast near Port Moresby a separate hot climatic zone has a marked dry season from May to November and experiences comparatively little rainfall. A fully monsoonal hot-wet zone includes the Sepik catchment area, most of the Southern Plains, pockets along the north coast and the Islands region. The valleys and lower slopes of the central ranges comprise a warm-wet climatic zone with no marked dry season. Finally, the areas above three thousand metres in the upper parts of the highlands are designated cool-wet. Average temperatures drop to three and a half degrees celsius in a few places, and frosts sometimes occur there. Rainfall in this zone is between two thousand five hundred and four thousand millimetres annually.

Vegetation and animal life in New Guinea is diverse and abundant.8 Nearly seventy-five percent of the original forest cover remains. There are about nine thousand species of plants, some two hundred of which are tree sized. Mangroves, monsoon forests, tropical rainforests, grasslands, savanna, and high-altitude plants, all thrive

8 See N. Sekhran and S. Miller (eds.) PNG Country Study on Biological Diversity (PoM, DEC, 1995). 9 there. This floral variety is due to both the island's geological diversity and to its having been a centre of dispersal for plant species of all neighbouring regions. New Guinea's isolation from Southeast Asia during the Tertiary Period, sixty-five to seven million years ago, led its fauna to develop in relative isolation. Although nearly devoid of indigenous large mammals and freshwater fish, New Guinea contains some three hundred species of reptiles, at least sixty varieties of marsupials, two hundred and fifty kinds of bats, rats and other small mammals, many thousands of species of insects, and at seven hundred types of birds. Coral reefs provide rich marine biodiversity.

Human characteristics and history Knowledge about New Guinea's prehistory is inexact.9 However, it is certain that life was far from static before European influences were felt.

Archaeological evidence suggests that humans first arrived in mainland New Guinea between forty and fifty thousand years before present (BP). These settlers island-hopped across the Indonesian archipelago from Asia, aided by the fall in sea- levels associated with an ice age.10 They were speakers of Papuan/non-Austronesian languages that are now confined to Melanesia. Altitude offered certain military, nutritional, and health advantages in New Guinea. The earliest known highland occupation sites date back to twenty-four to thirty thousand years BP. However, the highlands were probably not extensively settled until after the climate began to warm from about fourteen thousand years BP.11 Most of New Guinea's major high valleys appear to have been occupied by about ten thousand years BP, by which time some of the world's oldest agriculture was being practiced there.12 Austronesian speakers, from a language family that originated in South China and extends from Madagascar through the Philippines to Micronesia and Polynesia, first appeared in the New Guinea islands about five thousand years ago. They settled north, east, and west coastal mainland areas at least two thousand years ago, and were in the process of expanding inwards at the time of European contact.

Precisely how Asian taro, bananas, pigs, and yams first reached New Guinea is not known, but it is thought that all had arrived four thousand years ago.13 Cultivation of taro was occurring in some lowlands areas up to thirty thousand years BP, and

9 D. Feil, The Evolution of Highland PNG Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1987) p. 19. 10 New Guinea was joined to Australia until 10 000 BP. Western Indonesia was part of the Asian mainland - see T. Flannery, The Future Eaters (New York, Braziller, 1995) & J. Diamond, Op. Cit. 11 Previously the high mountains had been permanently snowcapped and the tree line had sat at 2000m rather than today's 3500-4000m - P. Wiessner & A Tumu, Historical Vines (Washington DC, Smithsonian, 1998) p. 19. 12 For an overview see J. Golson, 'The Ipomoean Revolution Revisited', in A. Strathern (ed.) Inequality in New Guinea Highlands Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1982) pp. 109-36. 13 P. Wiessner & A. Tumu, Op. Cit p. 22. Of these, taro were being cultivated 30 000 years ago. 10 clearance of highlands forest for its planting began about five thousand years ago.14 Mechanisms for the circulation of certain commodities between coastal and highlands areas, and within regions, developed, despite high ambient levels of violence.15 The American sweet potato was probably introduced from Indonesia via Portuguese explorers or the Philippines via Spain just two hundred and fifty to four hundred years ago, but could also have arrived from Polynesia up to one thousand five hundred years ago. The significance of its introduction, especially in the highlands where it grows particularly well, remains controversial.16 The impact of the event, according to some, was such that the highlands 'do not, in many fundamental respects, represent a long- established or stable situation, socially or culturally.'17 However, belief that the episode had evolutionary rather than revolutionary consequences now predominates.18

Although no area has been more intensively anthropologically studied than New Guinea, there is not even a clear consensus as to whether or not its societies form a distinct and consistent cultural region. Some

scholars believe that Melanesia is an area where, at most, some culture traits occur with greater frequency than they do in surrounding areas. Others hold that New Guinea societies are marked by common traits—such as reciprocity, internal equality, the absence of large- scale political groups, the traditional absence of metalworking or use of the wheel, and richness of artistic expression—and may be considered as a reasonably cohesive cultural whole.19 As indicated above, Papua New Guinea's most well-known social feature is heterogeneity, and social and political organisation can vary greatly from one village to the next. In general terms, communities were typically small, discrete, territorial units that displayed quite little in the way of complex or permanent organisation compared to those to the east in Polynesia. They tended to develop in relative isolation, due to New Guinea's rugged terrain and because its original starch crops, such as sago palm, were relatively un-nutritious and could not be stored long (pigs probably only arrived about ten thousand years ago).

14 J. Golson, Op. Cit., p. 116. 15 Important trade items included axes, feathers, hardwoods, mineral dyes, salt, shell, stone, tree-oil, and woven baskets. 16 Kaukau are tasty, comparatively nutritious, quite easy to grow at medium-high elevations, and make good pig fodder. Their introduction made larger populations possible, creating greater pressure on land. Freedom from the extra labour of the earlier crops probably gave men more time for exchange and warfare related activities - M. Donaldson, 'Contradiction, Mediation and Hegemony in Pre- Capitalist New Guinea', in R. May & H. Nelson (eds.) Melanesia: Beyond Diversity (Canberra, ANU Press, 1982) pp. 435-59. 17 J. Watson, 'The Significance of a Recent Ecological Change in the Central Highlands of New Guinea', Ethnology Vol. 4 No. 2, 1965, p. 442. 18 Eg. J. Connell, Op. Cit., pp. 42-4. Also see H. Brookfield & J. White, 'Revolution or Evolution in the Prehistory of the New Guinea Highlands', Ethnology Vol. 7 No. 2, 1968, pp. 43-52. 19 Encyclopedia Britannica, Macropaedia Vol. 12, p. 1092. 11 Four cultural archetypes, reflecting broadly shared approaches to social and economic organisation, are widely used in the anthropological literature on New Guinea. They distinguish highlanders, highlands fringe-dwellers, lowlanders/coastals, and islanders.20 These stereotypes partly correspond to the geographical regions discussed above. Whatever veracity they have stems from a degree of similarity, within each, in economic, political, social and spiritual responses to altitude, climate, temperature and other characteristics of broadly shared habitats.21 Three ideal types of traditional political leadership also overlap considerably22, but are particularly associated with certain of the cultural archetypes. Big-men23 are most often equated with the true/central highland valleys; great-men24 are particularly associated with precolonial highlands fringe areas and some lowlands communities; and chiefly leaders25 are principally identified with certain lowlands areas and the islands region. Warnings that these ideals are somewhat overdrawn abound.26 Ostensibly more materialistic highlanders and more ritually inclined lowlanders27, for example, may be

20 Conventionally, highlanders are depicted as cultivators and swineherds, living in egalitarian, essentially patrilocal, martial societies. Highlands fringe-dwellers inhabit a less bountiful zone in the approximate 500-1500m range, and are usually characterised as having belonged to less cohesive but even more warlike groups. Lowlanders/coastals inhabit both Papua and Momase, often-swampy regions where typically sparse populations cultivated and harvested coconuts, sago palm, and taro, fished rivers and adjacent seas, and pursued mainly ritual military goals. Islanders are held to have lived in comparatively socially-stratified communities, where matrilineal inheritance was common, and fishing and gardening sustained life. 21 P. Brown, Highland Peoples of New Guinea (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1978) p. 16. 22 Eg. J. Liep examines (imperfect) examples of all three in Massim (the northern islands of Milne Bay province) - 'Great man, Big Man, Chief', in M. Godelier & M. Strathern (eds.) Big Men and Great Men (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991) pp. 28-47. Liep (and Modjeska in the same volume) claim other leadership-types have been largely 'bigmanised' by immediate-pre and post colonial processes. 23 The classic big-man is a self-made entrepreneur. His charisma, oratory, and manipulation of patronage allows him to acquire the wealth and recognition necessary to attract and retain several wives and a loose retinue willing to help him participate in competitive exchange in pursuit of personal and group prestige. Well known post-contact examples include Makis (Gahuku-Gama, Eastern Highlands) and Ongka (Kawelka, Western Highlands) - K. Read, The High Valley (London, Allen & Unwin, 1965); & A. Strathern, Ongka (London, Duckworth, 1979). Also see Chs. 4 & 6. 24 Great-men are held to flourish in societies 'where public life turns on male initiation rather than ceremonial exchange, on the direct exchange of women in marriage, and on warfare pursued as homicide for homicide': that is, where individual and group exchanges are designed to restore equilibrium rather than create disequilibrium/unequal exchange by substituting wealth for human lives - M. Strathern, 'Introduction', in M. Godelier & M. Strathern (eds.) Big Men and Great Men (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991) p. 1. Warriors, shamen, and ritual experts were the great-men of eminence. 25 The chiefly leader is epitomised by hereditary social rank in societies characterised by relative hierarchy (with nobles and commoners), generalised exchange, and centralisation of wealth. Chiefly societies are sometimes loosely termed "Austronesian", in recognition of their comparatively recent northeastern antecedents. Eg. see M. de Lepervanche, 'Social Structure', in I. Hogbin (ed.) Anthropology in PNG ( Melbourne, Melbourne UP, 1973) pp. 38-41. 26 Eg. P. Brown, Highland Peoples of New Guinea, p. 2; & M. Strathern, 'Preface' to M. Godelier & M. Strathern (eds.) Big Men and Great Men (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991) pp. xiii-iv. 27 Eg. P. Lawrence & M. Meggitt, 'Introduction', in P. Lawrence & M. Meggitt (eds.) Gods, Ghosts and Men in Melanesia (Melbourne, Oxford UP, 1965) pp. 1-26. 12 pursuing quite similar economies of prestige.28 Nevertheless, the models have proved anthropologically useful as broad shorthand designations. They have tended to be basically supported, but increasingly only as 'fuzzy sets'29 on the basis of both internal cultural variety and similarities with a general Melanesian type.30

Papua New Guinea's borders, like those of most developing countries, are a product of colonialism. As Nelson puts it, the 'shape of the map of New Guinea is a result of nineteenth century European high-mindedness, conceit and greed; Australian defence fears; and Indonesian ambition.'31 Colonialism in New Guinea was shaped more by negative strategic imperatives, aimed at excluding potentially rival powers, than by commercial ones. This helps explain the slowness with which it was carved up, centuries after discovery. New Guinea seemed large, daunting, and offered no obvious particular wealth, but certainly did contain some apparently fierce inhabitants.

Malay traders took plumes and slaves from New Guinea and exchanged goods with its coastal peoples for centuries before European contact. The first European sightings occurred in 1511 and the first actual contact occurred in 1526 when the Portuguese explorer de Meneses landed there en route to the Moluccas. His phrase Ilhas dos Papuas, meaning island of the fuzzy-hairs, stemmed from the Malay word papuwah. The Spanish explorer de Retez named Neuva Guinea in 1545, and the island was recorded on the Flemish geographer Mercator's map of the world in 1569. Thereafter, New Guinea was regularly encountered by maritime explorers, though the coastline was not properly charted until the nineteenth century.

The first direct claim to New Guinea was laid by the Netherlands, which asserted privileges in the western half of the island as part of the Dutch East Indies Empire. This was done to protect its dominance of the spice trade centred in the nearby Moluccan islands, after an unsuccessful attempt at colonisation directed by the British naval officer Lt. Hayes in 1793. Holland claimed to have indirectly administered the region since 1660, through its recognition of the Sultan of Tidore's sovereignty there.32 The Dutch maintained minimal contact with Papuans, even after the territory was made an official possession in 1828. Permanent administrative posts were not established until 1898.

28 Eg. see S. Harrison on parallels between so-called highlands "thing cultures" and lowlands "knowledge cultures" - 'The Commerce of Cultures', Man Vol. 28 No. 1, 1993, pp. 139-58. 29 T. Hays, 'The New Guinea Highlands', Current Anthropology Vol. 34 No. 2, 1993, pp. 141-64. 30 J. Golson, Op. Cit., p. 109. 31 H. Nelson, PNG - Black Unity or Black Chaos? (Victoria, Penguin Books, 1974) p. 11. 32 R. Osborne, ‘OPM and the Quest for West Papua Unity’ in R. May (ed) Between Two Nations (New South Wales, Robert Brown & Associates, 1986) p. 50. 13 The German New Guinea Company started operating in the northeastern quadrant of New Guinea in 1884. It concentrated on New Britain and New Ireland in the Bismarck Archipelago, where European planters were already expropriating land and working. Although colonisation initially took place for commercial reasons, the Imperial Government took over the economically troubled Kompagnie's activities in the Protectorate in 1899 mainly due to its desire not to be completely left behind in the geo-strategic scramble for colonial possessions.

These activities, in turn, sparked an acute Australian popular and military interest in the island to its north. By the 1860s, geographically large but sparsely populated Queensland was a colony 'preoccupied with safeguarding its boundaries.'33 Australians saw 'at their doors, in the intended New Guinea settlement, German soldiers, German fleets, German competition with their trade, a great rival German influence menacing their wealth, their institutions, [and] their independence.'34 The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 promised an increase in the significance of Torres Strait, further focusing attention to the north.35 Queensland illegally filed claim to Papua in 1883, to pre-empt possible German annexation. Britain was spurred to assume a Protectorate over the southern shores of New Guinea, which it did rather reluctantly in 1884, just as the Australian colonies were seeking decolonisation themselves. The day-to-day administration of British New Guinea, renamed Papua, was taken over by newly independent Australia in 1901 and formally transferred in 1906. The pragmatic, unorthodox, way in which it obtained Papua may have helped set the enduring tone of Australian administrative style.36

The outbreak of the First World War in 1914 presented Australia with the opportunity to seize German New Guinea. Australia was unable to annex the territory outright, but obtained a League of Nations mandate to administer it in 1921, after seven years of military rule. Prime Minister Hughes stated that the territory was vital to Australia's security interests since 'any strong power controlling New Guinea controlled Australia'.37 The comparatively harsh system of governance and the plantation-based economy was largely retained in ex-German New Guinea, for economic reasons.

The pursuit of gold in New Guinea led to the inadvertent discovery of nearly a million people, hitherto unknown of by Europeans, in the central highlands basins

33 P. van der Veur, The Search for New Guinea’s Boundaries (Canberra, ANU Press, 1966) p. 21. 34 D. Gordon, The Australian Frontier in New Guinea 1870-1885 (New York, Colombia UP, 1951) p. 267. 35 H. Nelson, Black Unity or Black Chaos, p. 36. 36 A. Healy, ‘Monocultural Administration in a Multicultural Environment’ in J. Eddy & J. Nethercote (eds.) From Colony to Coloniser (Sydney, Hale & Iremonger, 1987) p. 210. 37 N. Baker, ‘PNG's Internal Security: Dilemmas for Australian Planners’, unpublished MA sub-thesis, ANU, Canberra, 1992, p. 3. 14 between 1930 and 1933.38 The colony of Papua, meanwhile, remained separately administered, under the paternalistic influence of Lieutenant Governor Sir Hubert Murray. He personally dominated the territory from 1906 until his death in 1940. The ways in which fairly shallow administrative control and peace between communal groups was extended in the territories, especially in the newly contacted highlands, is closely examined in Chapter Four. This was done despite the absence of regionally accepted existing leaders necessary for standard colonial indirect-rule, and despite continual financial constraint.

Japanese bombers struck Rabaul on 4 January 1942, just a month after the attack on Pearl Harbour. It fell by the end of January, and Japanese forces occupied Lae on the mainland on 8 March. Landings began in neighbouring Dutch New Guinea in April. By June the Japanese were strategically on the defensive after the battles of the Coral Sea, which prevented their planned sea-borne invasion of Port Moresby, and Midway, which weakened the their aircraft carrier fleet. However, the Japanese still wished to secure Port Moresby to consolidate New Guinea as the southern pin of their possessions. In late July, three thousand troops attempted a rapid north-to-south advance over the rudimentary Kokoda Track. They were blocked by Australian troops.39 A military body, the Australian New Guinea Administrative Unit (ANGAU), took over from the civil government in both Papua and New Guinea on 15 February 1942, though some territory was not fully retaken until the final surrender of Japan.40 The war greatly influenced Papua New Guinea's future. Myths of inherent white supremacy were weakened, the organisational capacity of industrialised countries to create cargo and implement policies was demonstrated, many indigenous people participated in the cash economy for the first time, and a paternalistic but benevolent "debt of gratitude" to Papuans and New Guineans entered the Australian psyche.41

The newly independent Republic of Indonesia laid claims to Netherlands West New Guinea from 1949 and invaded in 1961. Its claims rigidly followed international principles regarding the intact transfer of colonial boundaries but ignored cultural and historical differences that were profound even for an archipelagic, avowedly multi-

38 See Ch. 4. 39 The seriously overstretched Japanese were also under attack by US-led forces at Guadalcanal in the Solomons. Eg. see P. Brune, Those Ragged Bloody Heroes (Sydney, Allen & Unwin, 1991) & D. Horner (ed) The Battles that Shaped Australia (New South Wales, Allen & Unwin, 1994). 40 90 000 Japanese remained on New Britain and 23 000 were still on Bougainville in 1945. 13 500 troops were also trapped south of Wewak on the mainland. 41 By 1944 there were around 55 000 Papuans and New Guineans employed in various guises out of a total population of only about a million. 7000 fought for the Allies in the PIR, 'M' Special Units, or with the Police - P. Colebatch, ‘To Find A Path: The Army in Papua New Guinea’, Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Sussex, 1974, p. 23. Also see J. Waiko, Op. Cit., pp. 108-151. 15 ethnic, state.42 Indonesia was faced by many pressing challenges at the time, and its actions in New Guinea may have been mainly due to intra-regime rivalry and the need to stimulate nationalism-building. The Dutch belatedly attempted to foster an indigenous Papuan élite as a basis for political and economic development and ultimate independence. However, the Indonesian government out-manoeuvred Holland in the United Nations (if not on the battlefield). Netherlands New Guinea was handed over to nominal UN administration in 1962, and temporary executive authority passed to Indonesia in 1963.43 Indonesia formalised its control in 1969, via a plebiscite of a thousand "representative" voters called the Act of Free Choice (also known as the 'act free of choice'44). The province of West Irian was renamed Irian Jaya in 1973.

A joint administration over the Australian Territory of Papua and the United Nations Trust Territory of New Guinea was established between 1946 and 1949 under the leadership of J. K. Murray.45 Postwar reconstruction and agricultural development was subsidised, though not especially generously at first, by Australian taxpayers. Provision of rudimentary health and education services for the indigenous population was largely left to the Christian missions until the 1960s.46 The benign neglect of a colonial power mainly concerned with the low-cost maintenance of its strategic 'inert shield'47 can be overstated.48 However, enduring popular belief in both countries that Australian governance, occurring so late in the world history of overt colonialism, was essentially paternalistic and comparatively non-rapacious is not baseless. Even at the time, it was often characterised as 'a benevolent type of police rule'.49

Efforts to develop the colony were greatly accelerated in the 1960s. In June 1960 Prime Minister Robert Menzies admitted that Australia would probably not remain in New Guinea permanently.50 A 1962 visiting UN mission, led by Sir Hugh Foot, urged

42 It was an era in which Katangan secession in the Congo and the Biafran rebellion against Nigeria were condemned in the UN as reactionary or racist capitalist-backed intrigues. 43 Causing considerable alarm Canberra. See D. Jenkins, ‘Indonesia’s Armed Forces and Irian Jaya’, paper presented to the AIIA Inside the Triangle: Australia, Indonesia, and PNG conference, Melbourne, March 1986, p. 2. 44 R. May (ed), Between Two Nations (Bathurst, Robert Brown and Associates, 1986) p. vi. 45 It was labelled Papua-New Guinea from 1945-49, Papua and New Guinea from 1949-71, and Papua New Guinea from 1971. 46 40 European refugee doctors, not allowed to practice in Australia, were recruited for service in Papua and New Guinea. Indigenous orderlies were trained, and 1 200 local aid posts were operating by 1962. The Papuan medical College, the first tertiary institution in the territory, opened in 1959 - F. Bunge & W. Cooke, Oceania: a Regional Study (Washington, Department of the Army, 1984) p. 156. 47 M. Turner, Papua New Guinea, p. 7. 48 The attitudes of many Europeans remained far from egalitarian - eg. see E. Wolfers, Race Relations and Colonial Rule in PNG (Sydney, ANZ Book Company, 1975). 49 M. Turner, Papua New Guinea, p. 7. 50 On his return from the June 1960 Commonwealth PMs Conference, where his British counterpart and fellow conservative, Harold Macmillan, acknowledged the "winds of change" - K. Ross, Regional Security in the South Pacific (Canberra, SDSC, 1993) p. 102. According to D. Denoon, 'cabinet was terrified at the prospect of three million Melanesian Australians' and a unified independent PNG was, 16 Australia to encourage an indigenous nationalism and to foster an educated élite capable of assuming a national leadership role. The public service expanded from less than four thousand in 1960 to over twenty thousand by the end of the decade, and began to provide rural education, health, and agricultural extension services.51 Serious political development goals also began to accompany economic development and equalising efforts. Local Government Councils, the first of which had been established in 1950 but which covered less than twenty percent of the population by 1961, encompassed eighty- five percent of the population by 1969. In 1961 the Legislative Council gained a majority of elected non-official members, nearly a third of whom were Papua New Guineans (of which half were elected by assemblies of delegates).52 Elections for a House of Assembly were held in 1964, 1968 and 1972.53 The first concrete sign of indigenous élite nationalism appeared with the founding of the Pangu Pati in 1967.54 In December 1969, Australian opposition leader Gough Whitlam broke with bipartisan policy by announcing a draft timetable for transition to self-government by 1972 and independence in 1976.55 Papua New Guinea gained self-government in December 1973, and joined the international system, as The Independent State of Papua New Guinea, on 16 September 1975.

Modern political structures, style, and economy Over ninety-five percent of Papua New Guinea's approximately four and a half million people are Melanesians.56 Population growth rates there are among the highest in the world, at nearly two and a half percent per year. More than fifty percent of Papua New Guineans were under twenty-six years old by 1996. Several lingua franca are used. The most common is Neo-Melanesian Pidgin (Tok Pisin), which employs a mixture of

in fact, an Australian solution —just one of several possible— to an Australian problem - 'The Invention of PNG', unpublished paper, Canberra, March 1999, p. 5. 51 Although two thirds of its employees were Papua New Guineans, expatriates continued to dominate middle and upper level posts - M. Turner, Papua New Guinea, p. 12. A differential 60:40 salary scale —created in 1964 to avoid making a localised bureaucracy unaffordable later on— caused much resentment. 52 The 29 person strong Council was established in 1951, but initially with only 3 indigenous nominated members and 16 "official" members appointed from the administration. 53 It was established in 1964. Elections took place under universal suffrage, but were dominated by local rather than national issues and the 10 appointed members were able to dominate the 64-strong House. 54 It was launched by 2 Australian and 7 Papua New Guinean members of the House of Assembly and a group of educated PNG public servants. It advocated "home-rule" in the 1968 election. However, the white settler and conservative highlander-dominated United party's preference for a cautious transition more accurately reflected popular opinion. Even in 1972, Pangu formed a government on the basis of just 24 out of 102 seats (compared to United's 42) - S. Dorney, Op. Cit., pp. 49-51. 55 Before then it was agreed that Papua New Guineans should set the agenda. Though much earlier than standard forecasts, a visiting UN mission endorsed the dates in 1971. Whitlam became PM in 1972. 56 The rest are Polynesian, Micronesian, and Chinese or expatriates. The total population was estimated at 4.4m in July 1996. Except where otherwise indicated, figures in this section are drawn from M. Wilson, 'Papua New Guinea', in B. Bishop and D. McNamara (eds.) The Asia-Australia Survey 1997-8 (Melbourne, Macmillan, 1997) pp. 308-29 or AusAID, 'The Economy of PNG', booklet, Canberra, January 1998. 17 English, German, and Malay words and a simple syntax. Police Motu, which is based on a Papuan trading language that was officially promoted between the World Wars, is declining in use. English is taught in schools and is the language of government and formal commerce. Religious faith is quite strong in Papua New Guinea. Well over half of the population belong to standard Roman Catholic or Protestant denominations, while newer evangelical sects making inroads.57 Many —perhaps most— Papua New Guineans, including Christians, hold some traditional spiritual beliefs.

Papua New Guinea operates a parliamentary democracy based on the Westminster system. The head of state is the British sovereign who is represented by a governor- general. The country's liberal constitution was drafted after extensive public consultation, but strongly reflects the outlook of its framers: a particularly idealistic and nationalistic section of the small independence-era élite.58 Papua New Guinea has a three-tiered system of national, provincial and local government. The provincial level was introduced after independence, from 1976, due to the devolutionary bent of most Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC) members, and the need to accommodate widespread regionalist sentiment and some separatist pressures.59 National level government dominates through a constitutional right of veto, budgetary control, and the power to suspend lower level bodies. In June 1995 the 1977 Organic Law on Provincial and Local Level Governments was amended to reduce the size and power of the middle tier. This was variously interpreted as an efficiency measure, aimed at reducing the cost and duplication of a frequently incompetent and corrupt level of government, or as a crude centralising power-grab. Both views contain some truth.60 National legislative power is vested in a unicameral parliament, and elections are held every five years for its one hundred and nine seats.61 The main executive body is the National Executive

57 Approximately 22% are Roman Catholic, 16% are Lutheran, 8% are Presbyterian or Methodist, 5% are Anglican, 4% belong to the Evangelical Alliance, 1% is Seventh Day Adventist, 10% are in other Protestant denominations, and 34% mainly accept indigenous beliefs or did not indicate a persuasion. The growing popularity of newer charismatic sects may be partly due to millennial apprehension. 58 Eg. see Y. Ghai, 'Establishing a Liberal Political Order Through a Constitution', Development and Change Vol. 28 No. 2, 1997, pp. 303-330. Also see Chs. 4-6. 59 The latter included tensions in East New Britain, Papua, and especially Bougainville. See B. Standish, Provincial Government in PNG (PoM, IASER, 1979); & A. Axline, Decentralisation and Development Policy (PoM, IASER, 1986). The CPC was established in September 1972 to explore opinions on constitutional issues such as citizenship, central/district/local government relations, and legislative-executive relations. Discussed in Chs. 4-6. 60 J. Connell, Op. Cit., pp. 293-6; & B. Standish, 'PNG Provincial Government', ASAONET anthropology discussion group article, posted on 28 October 1998. The reforms are 'proving both expensive and unwieldy', and K588m (40% of government expenditure on services) is still allocated to the provinces - M. Manning, '1999—Another Year of Uncertainty', unpublished paper, p. 2. 61 89 seats are elected by open constituencies, while the 19 provinces and the NCD elect regional members/"governors". (Governors replaced premiers as heads of the provincial governments/"assemblies" in 1995. PGs are no longer directly elected mini-parliaments, but comprise of national MPs, the chairpersons of the 284 new LLGs, and scaled-down provincial bureaucracies). 18 Council (NEC). This is composed of ministers chosen by a prime minister. He or she62 is the leader of the largest coalition of politicians in the House to emerge after a national election or a sitting Prime Minister is displaced.63 Five general elections have been held and eleven governments have ruled since independence.64

In practice, Papua New Guinea-style politics is little explained by reference to formal mechanisms alone. The country is a vibrant democracy, in which elections are passionately contested, but in which national policy is almost wholly unresponsive to the will of voters. It lacks the disciplined ideological parties which make that function possible in mature parliamentary democracies.65 Instead, parties consist of loose, shifting factions of charismatic personalities, regional stakes, and special interests.66 Political competition is primarily over access to spoils and patronage rather than philosophical issues or substantive policy agendas.67 Party affiliations play little role in the choice calculus of most voters.68 High voter turn-out stems, rather, from a prevailing 'parochial handout mentality'.69 Candidates typically try to augment a base-

62 In practice, formal politics is dominated by males. There were no women MPs 1987-97. Two women were elected MPs in 1997. See O. Sepoe, 'Women in the Election: Casualties of PNG Political Culture', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) pp. 105-21. 63 All ministers are MPs. In turn, all MPs want to be ministers, and coalition-maintenance can become a PM's most time-consuming duty, occasionally depending on direct cash payments. In 1991 the constitution was amended to increase a new PM's period of grace from votes of no-confidence from 6 to 18 months. (Such motions are avoided in the last 12 months of a parliament's life, when they would automatically trigger a general election.) Long adjournments are sometimes made to preserve governments. The principle that Parliaments should sit at least 9 out of any 52 weeks has long been considered directory rather than mandatory, but in June 1999 the Supreme Court ruled PM Stake's December 1998 7 month recess in breach of the constitution - SMH, 'Skate Defiant', 28 June 1999. 64 No PM since independence has been able to survive a full five year term. Michael Somare who was Chief Minister under self-government became PM at independence and won the August 1977 general election. In March 1980 obtained the prime ministership via a vote of no confidence. Somare regained office after the August 1982 election. He was replaced by after a November 1985 vote of no confidence. Wingti also won the next election in August 1987 but was ousted by a vote of no confidence in July 1988. He was replaced by Rabbie Namaliu. Namaliu survived six votes of no confidence but lost to Wingti in the June 1992 election. Wingti fell in August 1994 when the Supreme Court disallowed his snap resignation-reinstatement (designed to avoid a vote of no confidence) of the previous year. He was replaced by his deputy Chan, who governed until the July 1997 election. Chan was succeeded by who ruled for two years but resigned before an impending vote of no confidence in July 1999. Sir is the current PM. 65 By producing the basic accountability to policy manifestos. 66 All advocate a mixed economy and rapid economic development. On a simple left-to-right scale MA and PANGU are somewhat more committed to redistributivist principles, while PDM and PPP, for example, are more business-oriented. The vast majority of candidates are non-affiliated independents. 67 In 1992 only 7 of 109 MPs received over 50% of their electorates' votes, while 52 won with less than 20%. An average of 15 candidates contested each seat, while approximately 60% of incumbents lost office. Fragmented social organisation, combined with the simple plurality (first-past-the-post) electoral system, 'means that there is no effective electoral accountability, because politicians need only cultivate a tiny sector of their electorate .... [while] the rewards of office are extremely attractive - power, status, high salary, big cars, better housing, company directorships, travel and business opportunities' - J. Connell, Op. Cit., p. 275 (citing Standish 1981 and Turner 1990). 68 Party affiliations are sometimes organisationally important for some candidates. 69 C. Filer questions the precision but not the general validity of this model - 'Steak and Grease', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) pp. 168-218. 19 group of local support by swaying a targeted group of potentially swinging voters with cash, gifts, and promises of post-election largess.70 This 'commoditisation of the vote'71 is easily rationalised by most villagers, who (correctly) argue that they see little else in the way of "governmental development", and may feel it resonates with traditional models of leadership, gift-giving, and reciprocity.72 Elections, and politics more generally, are increasingly accompanied by a degree of violence, intimidation, or other illegal activities, especially in the highlands provinces.73 Saffu states that elections 'continue to be free and fair', but warns that this verdict stems from the narrow criteria of freedom from governmental interference.74 He predicts that any alternative electoral system would just as quickly be 'adaptively domesticated'.75

Papua New Guinea's gross domestic product (GDP) is about A$7B per year.76 The country has accumulated a total external debt of approximately A$3.5B since independence.77 The 1999 national budget allocates slightly over A$1.6B in government spending.78 Papua New Guinea's unit of currency is called the Kina (K).79

70 The Tokpisin term is greased. Incumbents have the advantage of being able to allocate discretionary "slush funds". By 1995 MPs these reached K300 000 in Electoral Development Funds (EDF) and K200 000 in Minor Road Funds per year. Provincial assemblies also help apportion the funds, and proper records are meant to be, but are frequently not, kept. Tertiary students and the World Bank have campaigned against the EDF, but with only limited success - see J. Connell, Op. Cit., p. 278. Each MP now spends a total of about K1.5m of discretionary funds in their electorate (and provincial governors can spend an extra K0.5m) - M. Manning, Op. Cit., p. 2. 71 A. Strathern, ‘Violence and Political Change in PNG’, Pacific Studies Vol. 16 No. 4, 1993, p. 47. 72 D. Lipset portrays a 'Melanesian Ethic' dominated by 'primordial political idioms' in which democracy 'has not been denuded of its cultural background'. He points to 4 major determinants of the ethic: units smaller than language groups are the salient social and moral categories, an ethos of suspicion and egalitarian competition pervades even the smallest such units, relations of production are often organised according to gender, and political power and succession to leadership is primarily won in small scale sociodomestic rivalries. Thus, the ethic depends on efforts to reign in tendencies towards rampant individualism through the manipulation of systems of exchange within a rhetoric of kinship. It is 'intrinsically fissile ... [and] constantly subject to particularistic relapse' - Op. Cit., pp. 410-12. 73 Eg. see A. Strathern, ‘Violence and Political Change', pp. 41-61; & B. Standish, 'Towards Gunpoint Democracy?', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) pp. 277-322. Discussed in Chs. 3-6. 74 Y. Saffu, 'Continuity and Change in PNG Electoral Politics', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 41. 75 Ibid., p. 34. 76 PNG's GDP reached A$6.75B (K6.939B/US$5.174B) in 1996. That year it exported US$2.3B worth of merchandise and US$246m worth of services, while it imported US$1.5B worth of merchandise and US$609m worth of services. Principal exports were gold, crude oil, copper and logs, while principal imports were machinery, transport equipment and food. Main export destinations were Australia (33%), Japan (23%), and Germany (12%), while main import sources were Australia (51%), Singapore (13%), and Japan (9%). Inflation fell from 17% in 1995 to under 4% in 1997 but rose again to 22% by mid 1999. 77 National, 'Lasaro Invokes the Power of Prayer to Ride Out Problems', 20 April 1999. 78 Total spending is set at K2.73B, of which 28% is allocated for debt servicing, 28% is for the public service, 18% is for the development budget, 15% is for goods and services, and 12% is to be transferred to provincial governments - National, 'Govt is Paying K2m Debt Daily', 19 April 1999. 79 PNG used the A£ until 1966 when the A$ entered circulation. The Kina was introduced in January 1975, at parity with the A$. It is divided into 100 Toea (t). It initially appreciated against the A$, 20 Presented with little apparent scope for alternative choices, the pre-independence architects of a future Papua New Guinea state opted for an economic strategy based on the receipt of comparatively generous Australian budgetary aid and the export of unprocessed commodities in return for a tax income intended to fund rural development.80 The country is quite well endowed with natural resources. Approximately eighty percent, or about thirteen million hectares, is covered by commercially valuable tree species. There are substantial reserves of several valuable metals. Low-grade porphyritic copper deposits, with associated gold enrichment resulting from geological movement, provide the main mineral resource. Medium-scale gold-mining was underway in the Wau-Bulolo region by the 1920s. Prospecting confirmed a large copper ore concentration on Bougainville in 1964, and other deposits were subsequently found on the mainland. Hydro-carbon reserves in commercially significant quantities were discovered by Niugini Gulf in Western Province during 1983. A "minerals boom" saw natural resource extraction projects planned for or underway in most provinces by the mid 1990s.

However, this natural wealth has encouraged Papua New Guinea's formal economy to depend on a narrow export base that is vulnerable to international commodity price shocks, such as the 1997-99 Asian financial crisis.81 It has also increased reliance on an enclave model of development. This depends on massive — and thus mainly international— capital investment, specialist expertise, and automated equipment. As a result, it does little to promote domestic employment. There are only about two hundred and twenty thousand jobs in Papua New Guinea's formal economy, sixty thousand of which are in the public sector.82 In comparison, fifty thousand young

reaching A$1.25 by 1979. It stayed at about that level until it was devalued for flotation in 1994. Low 1998-9 exports caused a sharp depreciation to A$0.59/US$0.39 by mid 1999. 80 Early planners were mostly Australians but also included IGO representatives and an initially small but growing number of indigenous leaders. Planning took place from the 1960s. Initially the goal of economic growth was played down while the aim of self-reliance and more equitable distribution was emphasised. But without detailed alternative plans, and in a political environment in which 'almost everyone wanted more of almost everything', a pragmatic common commitment to rapid economic development quickly emerged - J. Connell, Op. Cit., pp. 19-40 (citing Garnaut 1981). Each of the four major political parties formed business arms shortly before independence. An explicit official commitment to economic growth was first announced in the 1984 Medium Term Development Strategy - M. Turner, Papua New Guinea, p. 48. Also see Ch. 5. 81 For a concise economic overview see R. May, 'From Promise to Crisis: A Political Economy of PNG', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) pp. 54-73. 82 About 200 000 people live in Port Moresby. Other important cities include Lae (80 000), Madang (27 000), Wewak (23 000), Goroka (18 000), Mt Hagen (18 000), and Rabaul (17 000). The urban growth rate reached 10% by the mid 1980s, but unemployment there is high and most recent arrivals live in semi- or un- official shanty-towns called settlements. The wantok (shared speech) system creates a strong duty of reciprocal care between relatives, clansmen, and friends. Extending well beyond the immediate family, this provides a rudimentary urban social support network. The materially advantaged are obliged to assist others with gifts, money, housing, food, or jobs. The salaries and wages of public servants, service industry workers, and even labourers often support many people - eg. see M. Monsell-Davis, 'Urban Exchange: Safety Net or Disincentive?' Canberra Anthropology Vol. 16 No. 2, 1993, pp. 45-66. 21 people leave school every year.83 Neither is the revenue that the government receives thanks to resource projects —though significant by developing world standards— great enough to stimulate vigorous manufacturing or services sectors that might produce a strong formal economy.84 GDP per capita, a crude measure of average wealth, is nearly twenty times smaller in Papua New Guinea than it is in Australia, while the cost of store-bought goods and services is generally comparable or higher.85 Partly as a result, the cost of labour is high compared to that in many developing countries. The weakness of the country's infrastructure also impedes economic growth (as do high crime rates and the complexity of land-tenure, which are discussed below).86

A "hard kina strategy" —the macro-economic policy of encouraging stability and low inflation by supporting the national currency and strictly controlling spending— was followed by all post-independence governments until the late 1980s. It was undermined by a combination of low international commodity prices; dissatisfaction at the sluggish expansion of employment and production in the formal sectors, and low economic growth generally; decreased government revenue after the start of the Bougainville crisis87 in 1988; the influence of neo-liberal (globalising and market- oriented) laissez-faire economic philosophy; and problems associated with windfall revenues from new resource projects88. In 1989-90 the government agreed to a structural adjustment program in return for an emergency rescue loan negotiated with international donors under the auspices of the World Bank and the IMF.89 The early 1990s saw minerals-driven GDP growth that was amongst the highest in the world.90 However, loss of discipline over expenditure, and the continued stagnation of all the

83 M. Ijape, untitled conference paper delivered at the APNGFA/AIIA conference on 'PNG: Security and Defence in the Nineties and Beyond 2000', Sydney, 28 June 1996, p. 16. Jobs are created for only about 10% of new entrants into the labour market each year - J. Connell, Op. Cit., p. 39. 84 The 1993 attempt to "kick-start" growth of the formal sector with expansionary policy underwritten by revenue from the minerals sector (combined with the economic impact of the Bougainville crisis) caused PNG's worst ever economic crisis in 1994, as predicted in J. Millett, 'A Note on "Beyond the Minerals Boom" ', INA discussion paper, PoM, March 1993. 85 Mainly because many such goods and services are imported. Property rental is also expensive. 86 Its weakness is partly due to difficult terrain. The national capital is not linked by road to any other major centre. Only 686 out of 19 600 km of roads are sealed. 19 paved and 476 unpaved runways are sometimes used to convey vegetable produce to market but air transport has high associated costs. 87 Government expenditure fell by K100m and the Kina was devalued by 10% in 1989-90 after closure of the Panguna mine. The crisis was triggered by local disputes over the distribution of royalties and compensation payments. The deployment and actions of the security forces exacerbated a complex mixture of new and existing local, provincial, national and international tensions. In 1989 some prominent insurgents called for secession and disorder engulfed the entire province. See Chs. 3-5. 88 The phenomenon is known as "Dutch disease". Problems stem from the rapid, unproductive, over- absorption of new revenues from a mineral price boom, which causes wage inflation and exchange rate appreciation, leading to the decline of non-mining export goods, since their production costs rise and domestic manufacturing becomes less competitive - see J. Connell, Op. Cit., pp. 147-8. 89 Agreed measures involved deregulation, privatisation, trade liberalisation and lower governmental expenditure. In the event, the government was able to disregard important provisions of the program. 90 It reached 17% in 1993 (though real GDP was lower). See G. McColl et al., Economic Survey of PNG (Canberra, AusAID, 1997) pp. 10-15. 22 non-resources sectors of the economy, produced a serious fiscal deficit and foreign exchange reserves crisis in late 1994. In response, the Kina was floated and a new emergency loan/structural adjustment package was organised by the World Bank and IMF.91 Many of the measures demanded seem quite equitable, at least in principle.92 However, the will, ability, and immediate-term need of Papua New Guinea's leaders to pursue them have proven limited.93 The few measures attempted have 'so far failed to elicit a significant supply response.'94 Subsequent dealings with the economic IGOs have been fractious and inconclusive.

The passing of the old post-independence economic order has been widely, though not universally, lamented.95 Whether or not as a direct result, the changes were accompanied by a further decline in the already limited capacity of the bureaucracy to provide much-needed education, health, and agricultural-extension services.96 Widespread criticism of the size of the public service may be unfair.97 Dissatisfaction with its very low output, however, is quite warranted, considering the proportion of national resources it consumes.98 Its poor performance is seen in a failure to conduct field patrols and progressive withdrawal of services outside the provincial capitals, high absenteeism, the padding of project payrolls with friends and relatives, and low morale, for example.99 Such problems stem from a lack of adequate transport and other basic equipment, meagre non-salary budgets, insufficient training, non-meritocratic promotions, and the deterioration or closure of government housing in rural areas.100 Even such stalwart and vital institutions as the judiciary are affected.101 Christian missions, now supplemented by NGOs, are regaining much of their old share of service delivery. The 1986 Public Services Management Act reduced the independence and

91 Agreed in 1995. Principal lenders were the governments of Australia and Japan and the ADB. 92 Major aims were shifting expenditure from recurrent spending (on public service salaries) in Port Moresby towards capital investment in social and economic projects in rural areas, increasing international investment in such a way that monopolies or unnecessary tax concessions would be avoided, developing a sustainable forestry policy for the first time, acknowledging the seriousness of the challenges faced, and increasing government transparency and accountability. 93 For reasons that are explored in Chs. 5 & 6. 94 AusAID, 'Economy of Papua New Guinea', p. 14 95 Eg. a recent editorial in the National described the hard kina strategy as an artificial chimera that had created a small comfortable niche world for 1% of the population that was irrelevant if not detrimental to the other 99% - 'Fear Not the Fallout from a Shattered Illusion', 12 May 1999. However, the plunging Kina hurts villagers with increasing prices for imported goods and foodstuffs. 96 Eg. one third of the country's aid posts are currently closed - M. Manning, Op. Cit., p. 2. 97 It is often denounced as a bloated colonial relic. However, PNG's ratio of public servants to population grew much less quickly than it did in many other decolonised countries (in 1990 it was 2.2 per 1000 persons while the developing country average was 3.7). This ratio has been declining since 1983 due to population growth - M. Turner, Papua New Guinea, p. 137. 98 Its high cost is partly a product of quite generous salaries (compared to, say, the minimum wage). 99 Ibid., pp. 135-41. 100 Ibid., p. 135-41. 101 See Ch. 6. 23 power of the Public Services Commission as part of an attempt to increase bureaucratic efficiency and effectiveness. However, it is widely felt that this move was counterproductive, and that its main effect was to further politicise appointments and dismissals.102 The 1999 national budget announced plans to retrench or relocate seven thousand public servants, but it remains to be seen how far this can be accomplished and what effect it will have on service provision.103

Over eighty percent of Papua New Guineans depend on agriculture, forestry and fishing for their livelihood. Few are much involved in the highly monetised parts of the sector.104 Instead, most people chiefly operate in what is called the informal or subsistence sector. Clan groups hold ninety-seven percent of the country's land under complex systems of customary ownership and usage rights. Most consumables are produced by households for their own use. Yams, taro, sago, and bananas are the staple lowlands foods, while more frost-resistant sweet potatoes are the highlands mainstay. Foodstuffs, especially pork, continue to have particular cultural significance in the ceremonial exchanges that accompany weddings and other rites. Lower levels courts recognise neo-customary law, and neo-traditional models of leadership remain important in rural villages.105

Even in the informal sector, access to at least some money has become indispensable. It is necessary for traditional exchange purposes, for purchasing manufactured goods, such as clothes, tools, beer, rice, tobacco and tinned fish, and for obtaining educational, medical, and church services with fees and dues. Consequently, smallholder cash-cropping has greatly expanded since the 1950s.106 Despite formal concern for integral human development goals107, Papua New Guinea's social indicators

102 These are now often made by department heads and ministers - eg. National, 'Accountability at All Time Low: Chief Ombudsman', 7 May 1999. 103 It was estimated that retrenchments would cost K90m - Post-Courier, '7000 Public Servants Facing Axe', 17 November 1998. The 1999 budged planned a 35% cut to appropriations, due to lower than forecast revenue collection. (1998 was a particularly difficult year for PNG, due to the Asian financial crisis, depleted foreign reserves and low international investor confidence, legal and financial pressure from Sandline mercenaries, weak gold and copper prices, conflict with the World Bank/IMF, Australia's continuing shift away from budgetary aid, the Aitape tsunami disaster, and drought). By August 1999 the total size of the public service had actually grown by 3000, but many of those had been taken on to teach tok ples (local languages) in elementary schools - M. Manning, Op. Cit., p. 10. 104 Smallholder coffee and cocoa are partial exceptions. Although the agriculture, forestry and fishing sector produces 26% of monetised GDP, less than 15% of PNG's labour force is employed in the formal wage economy. Commercial fisheries and forestry employ rather few nationals, while 66% of PNG's palm oil is plantation produced, for example. The Highlands Labour Scheme, which provided contracted workers for coastal plantations from 1950, was ended in 1974. 105 Eg. see R. Scaglion (ed.) Customary Law in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1983). Also see Ch. 6. 106 This mainly involves coffee production in the highlands and cocoa growing in coastal areas. Eg. see R. Stewart, The Political Economy of an Export Industry (Boulder, Westview, 1992); & Chs. 4 & 6. 107 See the Eight Aims, which were formulated in December 1972, and the National Goals and Directive Principles of the 1975 Constitution - reproduced in M. Turner, Papua New Guinea, pp. 187-8. 24 are worse than those in comparable neighbouring countries, and many are declining.108 The example offered by official embrace of resource-led economic growth in the 1980s, frustrations over stalled rural development, and widespread perceptions that politicians are corrupt, have encouraged local communities and their leaders to try to capture income directly from resource extraction projects.109 This pursuit of short term gain frequently takes place without regard for the overall long-term welfare of the country or even the communities themselves.110 Already high levels of violent crime have also increased alongside development pressures associated with the growing importance of money.111

Foreign relations have been 'regarded with ambivalence by successive governments in Papua New Guinea'.112 The country's key strategic relations are examined in Chapter Two, and its complex overall relationship with Australia is discussed in Chapters Two and Four to Six.113 Several phases of foreign policy have been seen. After independence, the new state followed a conveniently imprecise universalist course, summed up by the slogan "friends to all and enemies to none". A 1981 White Paper outlined a slightly stronger regional focus, dubbed "active and selective engagement". A more truly activist phase of foreign relations began in 1985. Security treaties with Australia and Indonesia were signed in 1987, while full associate membership in ASEAN was gained that year, and the pan-Melanesian "Spearhead" movement within the South Pacific Forum (now the Pacific Islands Forum) was formalised in 1988. However, Spearhead activism114 was soon dampened by tensions with the Solomon Islands caused by the Bougainville crisis. The unequal nature of Papua New Guinea's relationships with Australia and the ASEAN countries was also becoming increasingly apparent by then. In 1996 a new White Paper, entitled Reinforcing PNG's Core Relationships, revived an assortment of prior themes,

108 Eg. in 1997 the National reported that PNG had only 6 doctors and 75 nurses per 100 000 people (compared to Fiji's 80 doctors and nearly 1000 nurses) - 'Need for Closer Dialogue', 2 January 1997. 109 Eg. C. Filer, 'Compensation, Rent and Power in PNG', in S. Toft (ed.) Compensation for Resource Development (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1997) pp. 156-89; & J. Burton, 'Mining and Maladministration in PNG', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) pp. 154-82. The causes and consequences of this are discussed in Chs. 3 - 5. 110 Eg. massive local environmental destruction can accompany logging operations that were initially welcomed into communities. 111 In particular, urban and rural gangs of raskal youths are increasingly associated with the activities of politicians and bisnis figures. See Chs. 3-6. 112 It has mainly been valued as an 'indicator of national independence' - N. MacQueen, 'National Identity and the International System', in L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi (ed.) Modern PNG (Kirksville, Thomas Jefferson UP, 1998) p. 55. 113 In 1996 there were an estimated 12 000 Australian residents in PNG (and 10 000 PNG residents in Australia). Australian investment in PNG totalled A$1.7B, which was 1.1% of overseas investment - the 10th largest share. Total Australian ODA to PNG was A$320m. A$143m of this was still budget support. A$155m was programmed aid, earmarked for projects in the health, education, resources, community/justice, and transport/communications sectors - M. Wilson, Op. Cit., pp. 318-25. 114 It was a vocal critic of nuclearism (particularly regional testing, which ended in 1995) and continuing European colonialism, especially in New Caledonia (ameliorated by the May 1998 Noumea Accords). 25 recommending that the country look north, work the Pacific, and take a global view of issues and opportunities. Although Prime Minister Bill Skate's clumsy personal bid to shift longstanding diplomatic recognition of mainland China to Taiwan in return for a soft loan facility did contribute to his downfall, it helped perpetuate the image of a lack of serious regard for foreign policy.115

Standard approaches in PNG-studies Many scholars from diverse fields have shown varying degrees of interest in modern Papua New Guinean politics. Anthropologists, development studies analysts116, human geographers,117 and political scientists have been particularly involved. Area specialists who focus on Papua New Guinea from within any discipline are sometimes collectively labelled Melanesianists. They practice what is often called PNG-studies. Authors from most such fields are represented in each of seven election studies, for example.118 These important volumes use the national elections as discrete and observable public events to provide political "snapshots" that can be usefully compared with a body of similar previous work. A rich academic literature on post-contact Papua New Guinea is now available.

As a creation of hundreds of social scientists, built up over at least five decades, this literature has naturally reflected shifts in the prevailing intellectual climate. Broad trends in social theory have altered the relative weight accorded to structure and process, history and agency, and continuity and change, in accounts of Papua New Guinean politics. These have shaped the interpretation of events in three basic phases, which are briefly summarised below.

The serious study of society, politics and development in Papua New Guinea began to come into its own with the great 1950s-60s surge of anthropological research into the recently-contacted highlands. This mainly focused on societies in the immediate pre-colonial period.119 Nevertheless, arriving as it did in the 'heyday of ecological and social approaches'120, it rather accorded with the then dominant

115 Eg. Australian, 'Skate Junket Raises Hackles', 6 July 1999. 116 Mainly development economists. 117 Most focus on agricultural production or resource issues. 118 These are D. Bettison et al. (eds.) The PNG Elections 1964 (Canberra, ANU Press, 1965); A. Epstein et al. (eds.) The Politics of Dependence (Canberra, ANU UP, 1971); D. Stone (ed.) Prelude to Self-Government (Canberra, RSPacS, 1976); D. Hegarty (ed.) Electoral Politics in PNG (Waigani, UPNG Press, 1983); P. King (ed.) Pangu Returns to Power (Canberra, Department of Political and Social Change, 1989); M. Oliver (ed.) Eleksin - The 1987 National Election (PoM, UPNG, 1989); & Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996). Each provides a mix of thematic and constituency-based case study chapters. 119 It described their supposedly "pristine" condition in terms of "the ethnographic present". 120 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare: A Theoretical History', Oceania Vol. 60 No. 4, 1990, p. 279. Structural-functionalism explains cultural traits —even outwardly calamitous ones— and social organisation as profitable adaptations to physical and political environment - see Ch. 4. This can 26 "political development" school, by treating such societies as closed fixed units ripe for rapid "modernising" transformation. Political development theory assumes that all societies can and should quickly mature into, or be assimilated within, strong nation- states, and that newly mobilised élites will naturally incline towards capitalist democracy. It is more prescriptive than descriptive, and some tracts offer set steps for overcoming impediments to evolution.121 Modernisation theory had some influence on the first few Papua New Guinea election studies, but these were mainly practically focused, and the doctrine never smoothly fitted events there.122

By the time that Papua New Guinea was attracting much attention from political scientists in the run-up to independence of the early 1970s, modernisation theory was under sustained attack from competing approaches. This criticism stemmed from the empirical failure of problem-laden real-life developing countries to "evolve" as forecast, and from what was increasingly perceived as its conceptual crudeness.123 It was gradually eclipsed by dependency theory. This explained the circumstances of post- colonial countries with a particular emphasis on the impact of their peripheral position in the global political economy.124 Despite its greater sophistication, it was no less mechanistic — leaving little room for the political choices or cultural backgrounds of agents. A generation of neo-Marxist Melanesianists emerged in the mid 1970s. They tended to focus more on the rather ambiguous emergence of new capitalist classes accompanying changing modes of production, than on the extremely powerful economic, political and social constraints imposed by Papua New Guinea's late emergence on the world stage.125 Today, the neo-Marxist school of PNG-studies is

neglect the effects of outside forces on local communities, essentialising and depriving them of historical trajectories of their own - discussed in M. Ward, 'Keeping ples?', unpublished MA thesis, ANU, February 1999, pp. 34-7. 121 Eg. W. Rostow, The Stages of Economic Growth (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1960); G. Almond & J. Coleman (eds.) The Politics of the Developing Area (New Jersey, Princeton UP, 1960); & L. Pye, Aspects of Political Development (Boston, Little Brown, 1966). Research into poor countries in that period was shaped by the close involvement of social scientists in the project of 'saving them from communism' - G. Myrdal, Asian Drama (New York, 20th Century Fund, 1968) p. 13. 122 B. Standish, ‘Simbu Paths to Power’, unpublished PhD thesis, ANU, May 1992, p. 9. 123 Eg. C. Geertz, 'The Integrative Revolution: Primordial Sentiments and Civil Politics in the New States', in C. Geertz (ed.) Old Societies and New States (New York, Free Press, 1963) pp. 105-57; & S. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven, Yale UP, 1968). 124 Eg. A. Frank, 'Sociology of Development and Underdevelopment of Sociology', in A. Frank (ed.) Latin America: UnderDevelopment or Revolution (New York, Monthly Review Press, 1969); & I. Wallerstein, The World Capitalist Economy (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1979). 125 They paid particular attention to entrepreneurial 'big-peasants' in the highlands - eg. D. Howlett, 'Terminal Development: from Tribalism to Peasantry', in H. Brookfield (ed.) The Pacific in Transition (London, Arnold, 1973) pp. 249-73; A. Amarshi, K. Good & R. Mortimer, Development and Dependency: the Political Economy of PNG (Melbourne, Oxford UP, 1979); P. Fitzpatrick, Law and State in PNG (London, Academic Press, 1980); R. Gerritsen, 'Aspects of the Political Evolution', in R. Gerritsen, R. May & M. Walter (eds.) Road Belong Development (Canberra, RSPacS, 1981) pp. 1- 60; R. Stewart, 'Coffee, Candidates and Class Struggle', in P. King (ed.) Pangu Returns to Power (Canberra, RSPacS, 1989) pp. 119-38; & H. Thompson & S. MacWilliam, The Political Economy of PNG (Manila, Contemporary Asia Publishers, 1992). 27 widely though to have over-rigidly imposed theoretical frameworks that were probably more suited to other regions on events.126

In turn, the influence of dependency theory on PNG-studies was supplemented from the mid 1980s, and superseded in the 1990s, by theories of social practice.127 These seek to correct the perceived over-separation of structural and agency-based pressures in neo-Marxist analysis.128 Political scientists recommenced the study of political choices shaping state behaviour partly on this basis.129 In anthropology, the same broad movement helped produce the 'discipline-bending' trend towards the synthesis of past paradigms and insights.130 Most students of violence and social change in Melanesia rejected unadulterated neo-Marxist analysis in the mid 1980s, before theories of social practice were widespread. They pointed to the complicated mutual transformation of the weak new state and weak but tenacious older social forms, both of which are confronted by pressures which are to some extent global.131 This theme has been widely taken up and theoretically refined in the 1990s, in ways that are discussed in Chapter Two.132

Conclusion This chapter has provided essential background information about the setting of the country study by sketching Papua New Guinea's physical characteristics, its human

126 Eg. J. Connell, Op. Cit., pp. 249-58 & 303-4. For earlier discussion, see A. Strathern, 'Two Waves of African Models', in A. Strathern (ed.) Inequality in New Guinea Highlands Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1982) pp. 35-49; M. Turner, 'Problems of Social Class Analysis in PNG', in R. May (ed.) Social Stratification in PNG (Canberra, RSPacS, 1984) pp. 55-62; & B. Standish, 'Big Men and Small', in R. May (ed.) Social Stratification in PNG (Canberra, RSPacS, 1984) pp. 256-95. 127 For a clear example, see J. Finch, 'From Proletarian to Entrepreneur to Big Man: the Story of Noya', Oceania Vol. 68 No. 2, 1997, pp. 123-33. 128 The approach contends that close attention to structural constraints must not entail the neglect of process/the decisions of agents, and that each greatly shapes the other. Eg. see G. Acciaioli, ‘Knowing What You’re Doing: A Review of Pierre Bourdieu’s Outline of a Theory of Practice', Canberra Anthropology Vol. 4 No. 1, 1981, pp. 23-47; & A. Giddens, The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration (Berkeley, California UP, 1984). 129 P. Evans, D. Rueschemeyer, & T. Skoçpol (eds.) Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1985). 130 This occurred from the mid-late 1980s. Discussed in L. Josephides, 'Metaphors, Metathemes, and the Construction of Sociality', Man Vol. 26 No. 1, 1991, pp. 145-61. Also see R. Foster on the new Melanesian ethnography and history - Social Reproduction and History in Melanesia (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1995) esp. pp. 1-21. The focus on self- and communal identity in postmodern anthropology can be seen as an outgrowth of this. 131 Esp. W. Clifford et al., Law and Order in PNG Vol. 1 (PoM, INA, 1984); A. Strathern, A Line of Power (London, Tavistock, 1984); & R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Law and Order in the New Guinea Highlands (Hanover, New England UP, 1985). Discussed in Ch. 2. 132 Eg. B. Standish, ‘Simbu Paths to Power'; & A. Strathern, ‘Let the Bow go Down’ in R. Ferguson and N. Whitehead (eds.) War in the Tribal Zone (Santa Fe, School of American Research, 1992). Analysis of state-society interactions in Melanesia has been quite strongly influenced by the work of the development studies theorist Joel Migdal - eg. see P. Larmour, 'Migdal in Melanesia', in P. Dauvergne (ed.) Weak and Strong States in Asia-Pacific Societies (Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1998) pp. 77-92. Also see Chs. 2 & 3. 28 traits and historical setting, and its modern political and economic features. The chapter also outlined the standard scholarly approaches to the study of politics there. The chapter provided some very preliminary indications of the likely magnitude of problems of political violence in Papua New Guinea. This introduction to general conditions in Papua New Guinea provides the basis for main undertaking of the thesis, which is the detailed investigation of security there. The next chapter begins that inquiry in earnest.

29 CHAPTER TWO Papua New Guinea Security Conceptions in Flux This chapter commences the detailed investigation of security in Papua New Guinea. It reveals the inadequacy of existing analyses of Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament. This establishes the need for close-grained re-analysis of the situation, as is conducted in the rest of this thesis. From the mid 1980s, governments and commentators in and outside Papua New Guinea have increasingly recognized that the external military focus of conventional strategic security analysis neglects many of the pressing challenges facing the country, including some that involve considerable violence. The term "security" is now used to refer to all manner of problems and goals there, not only in everyday conversation, but also in official policy and in scholarly and public debate. So far, though, this has tended to weaken the coherence of security assessment, commentary, and planning rather more than it has enhanced comprehensiveness or precision.

The chapter begins by outlining the reasons for the shift towards use of broader conceptions of security. Foremost among these was the gradual replacement of externally-focused military anxieties by a growing sense of internal crisis among the political élites in Port Moresby. Advice from the government of Australia also helped to produce the shift. The second part of the chapter considers official efforts to reformulate security policy. These mainly involve defence planning, but have also involved certain other spheres of public policy. They have tended to focus on domestic and non-military threats to the state, whether emphasising internal security or more truly multidimensional ideas such as food- and health-security. However, this has produced limited gains due to a combination of practical and conceptual difficulties, which are discussed. The third part of the chapter examines scholarly analysis of security in Papua New Guinea. This has shifted away from a fairly narrow military focus and now addresses numerous political factors, especially a wide and growing gap between the state and society. The reasons why this promising approach has not yet greatly contributed to either diagnosis or prescription are explored. These chiefly stem from a tendency to treat state and society in an over-simplified, basically dichotomous, way. Finally, it is suggested that ideas from the specialist theoretical literature on security in developing countries might be expected to help clarify some of the questions raised here, especially in regard to possible bases for more systematically disaggregating state and societal security.

Movement away from conventional strategic security analysis

The term security primarily referred to external military matters in formal Papua New Guinean discourse into the mid 1980s. Considerable debate about an official security apparatus for the new state, including some suggestions that traditional military

30 principles and structures might be inappropriate, had actually preceded independence.1 In the event, though, the externally-oriented conventionally-structured defence force, recommended by the Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC) in 1974 and promoted by the government of Australia, was accepted.2 Many observers note that the coincidence of Papua New Guinean independence with the Indonesian invasion of East Timor, the "fall" of Saigon, and the fading of Superpower détente, had seemed rather inauspicious. In fact, the main reason for the retention of conventional security structures was simply the preoccupation of the new government with more immediately pressing matters.3 However, taking the 'line of least resistance' here resulted in the preservation of official security structures more suited to Australian needs than those of Papua New Guinea, and saddled the new country with a 'militarily unbalanced, expensive and non-viable' force.4 The "finest hour" of the defence force (PNGDF) — its celebrated intervention in the crisis accompanying Vanuatu's move to independence in 1980— prolonged unwarranted complacency about its presumed competence and relevance.5

Even by the mid-1980s, assessments of Papua New Guinea's strategic circumstances, and of South Pacific security generally, remained quite firmly focused on Soviet and even Libyan "flags over the horizon", though comments to the effect that the red menace was starting to look like a red herring were occasionally heard.6 By the end of the decade, the sudden end of the Cold War, the fall of the uncompromising Chirac government in France7, and much more stable relations between Papua New

1 R. May summarises many of the opinions advanced in the New Guinea journal at the time - The Changing Role of the Military in PNG (Canberra, SDSC, 1993) pp. 1-13. Also see P. Colebatch, 'To Find A Path: The Army in PNG', unpublished PhD thesis, University of Sussex, 1974; & J. Sinclair, To Find a Path, Vol. 2 (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1992). 2 This was formed around the existing Pacific Islands Regiments (PIR) of the Australian army. Force structure continues to be based on two battalions of light infantry, with a smaller engineering battalion, plus modest air and naval elements. Authorised total strength is under 5000. There are three army bases in or near the capital, and the other major bases are located near Lae and Wewak - see M. O'Connor, Defending PNG: A Study in National Maturity (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) pp. 13-14. 3 A desire to prevent the future politicisation of the PNGDF also prompted its conventional organisation and constitutionally limited role. See R. May, Changing Role of the Military, p. 15. 4 C. East, 'PNGDF: Colonial Legacy or Independent Force?', Pacific Defence Reporter, November 1985, p. 11. East notes that 'the Australian Government at the time found it easier to hand over what was basically a force-in-being than to replace it with a force specifically suited to an independent nation's needs.' He claims that the result was 'cosmetic surgery' on a 'white elephant', which created 'a financial albatross around the necks' of both governments - p. 11. 5 N. MacQueen, 'An Infinite Capacity to Muddle Through? A Security Audit for PNG', in P. Sutton & A. Payne (eds.) Size and Survival: The Politics of Security in the Caribbean and South Pacific (London, Frank Cass, 1993) p. 134. Also see M. Gubb, Vanuatu's 1980 Santo Rebellion: International Responses to a Microstate Security Crisis (Canberra, SDSC, 1994). 6 Eg. D. Hegarty, Libya and the South Pacific (Canberra, SDSC, 1987); South Pacific Security Issues: An Australian Perspective (Canberra, SDSC, 1987); cf. Stability and Turbulence in South Pacific Politics (Canberra, SDSC, 1989). 7 Chirac fell in June 1988. The de-escalatory "Matignon" accord between pro- and anti-independence leaders in New Caledonia was signed almost immediately. Nuclear testing was suspended in 1992 and permanently ended in 1995 (after a brief resumption by a new Chirac government). 31 Guinea and the Republic of Indonesia8, had deprived the region of a plausible, conveniently straightforward, external security focus (though such matters continued to be written about, almost with nostalgia, into the mid 1990s.9)

Saffu traces the emergence of a 'new orthodoxy' on Papua New Guinea security matters to the country's 1988 Defence White Paper.10 This recognised the marked improbability of a military invasion, but distinguished 'inextricable backward and forward linkages between development and the law and order problem'.11 In the wider South Pacific, state security had long been assessed with some regard for non-military dimensions.12 The late 1980s, though, saw a general regional movement much further away from wholly military conceptualisations of security. The New Zealand government-sponsored South Pacific Policy Review Group, for example, reported that 'Pacific Island Governments do not view security primarily in military terms.'13 The old external military focus was partly replaced by new attention to the environmental, economic, and other vulnerabilities of regional states, which were widely referred to as 'small-s security' concerns.14 Successive, albeit rather imprecise, multidimensional security initiatives became a regular feature of South Pacific regionalism, especially in the Forum.15

The language of expanded security thinking has certainly caught on in public debate in Papua New Guinea, possibly due to the prevalence of personal insecurity

8 PNG and Indonesia signed a treaty in October 1986. Their bilateral relationship is discussed below. 9 Eg. F. Mediansky, Strategic Cooperation and Competition in the Pacific Islands (Sydney, Centre for South Pacific Studies, 1995). 10 Y. Saffu, ‘The PNGDF and Short to Medium Term Security Concerns' in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 125. There is not quite a consensus on the issue - eg. M. O'Connor warns that integrating military elements into the internal security system would leave the country without an external defence capability and would 'tend to attract predators' - Op. Cit., p. 28. Such views, though, are now rare. 11 Y. Saffu, 'The PNGDF and Short to Medium Term Security Concerns', p. 133. 12 Eg. R. Herr offered a 'Lilliputian' view of security in the region to supplement more standard analysis as early as 1978 - 'South Pacific Defence', in S. Inder (ed.) Pacific Islands Yearbook (Sydney, Pacific Publications, 1978) pp. 29-31. G. Fry was another early examiner of some distinctly oceanic security concepts - eg. 'Prospects for Security Co-operation Among the States of the South-west Pacific', unpublished paper from a conference on the security of PNG, PoM, 2-4 July 1982, pp. 1-3. 13 J. Henderson et al., Towards a Pacific Island Community (Wellington, Government Printer, 1990) p. 222. It claimed that regional governments were most concerned about the immediate need to provide (vaguely defined) economic, social, and environmental security. 14 D. Hegarty & P. Polomka, ‘New Thinking on Security' in D. Hegarty & P. Polomka (eds.) The Security of Oceania in the 1990s Vol. 1: Views from the Region (Canberra, SDSC, 1989) pp. 4-6. 15 A Committee on Regional Security Information Exchange (CRSIE), created after the 1987 Fiji coups, was replaced by a Regional Security Committee (FRSC) at the 1990 21st Forum meeting at Port Vila - see Forum Secretariat, 'Regional Law Enforcement Needs Assessment', discussion paper, Suva, 1991. The Forum Regional Security Arrangements (RSA) program is a more recent PNG initiative - National, 'PM to Push PNG Initiatives', 18 September 1997. The 1999 Forum meeting in Palau called for member states to draft appropriate national legislation to facilitate the regional security arrangement envisaged in the Honiara Declaration on Law Enforcement Cooperation but also warned of the "millennium bug" as a new threat to regional security - National, 'New Name for SP Forum', 7 October 1999. Also see G. Haas on non-Forum mechanisms -The Pacific Way (New York, Praeger, 1989); & G. Fry on collective security, Peacekeeping in the South Pacific (Canberra, RSPacS, 1990). 32 there. Recent newspaper reports have referred to economic-security, environmental- security, ethnic-security, food-security, gender-security, health-security, human- security, livelihood-security, personal-security, public-security, and water-security, for example.16 In terms of health-security, it is feared that Papua New Guinea may already face a 'time-bomb' of up to ten thousand people infected with the HIV virus.17 Population growth is increasing one and a half percent faster than food production, prompting warnings that Papua New Guinea could become a 'food insecure' country.18 In everyday conversation, the term security is most often heard in relation to the booming private guard industry. Approximately two hundred registered and unregistered security companies employ about ten thousand staff — more than twice the number of uniformed police.19 For businesses operating in Papua New Guinea, these and other "security" expenses typically add five to thirty percent to production costs.20

Not all commentators feel that alternative security terminology is particularly appropriate in South Pacific contexts21, and supporters of multidimensional security analysis are familiar with the charge that their projects primarily stem from the employment needs of academics and bureaucrats in the wake of the Cold War.22 The enthusiasm with which the shift towards analysis of non-conventional security matters was embraced in the region seemed to confirm these doubts in some minds. Many of the concerns, such as the prospect of the sea-level rising —although ultimately weighty— bear little relation to matters about which security analysts can claim particular expertise, to matters likely to directly prompt substantial violent conflict in the medium-term, or to matters likely to be treated more seriously or competently for being designated security problems.23 The 1997-8 drought crisis, which was sometimes discussed in terms of environmental-security, produced some new sources of violent

16 Examples from The National and The Post-Courier 1996-98. 17 National, 'Many Blame AIDS on Black Magic', 27 February 1998. AIDS has already become the leading cause of death at the Port Moresby General Hospital - National, 'AIDS to Become Biggest Killer', 14 May 1999. 18 National, 'UN Report on 'Poor Nation' Status Alarms Agriculture', 13 January 1999. 19 S. Dinnen, 'In Weakness and Strength — State, Societies and Order in PNG', in P. Dauvergne (ed.) Weak and Strong States in Asia-Pacific Societies (Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1998) p. 53. 20 G. McColl et al., Economic Survey of Papua New Guinea (Canberra, AusAID, 1997) p. 23. 21 For example, see P. Jennings, Searching for Insecurity (Canberra, ADSC, 1994). Cf. P. King, 'Redefining South Pacific Security', in R. Thakur (ed.) South Pacific: Problems, Issues and Prospects (New York, St Martin's Press, 1991). 22 Eg. E. Ferris, ‘Peace, Security & the Movement of People in the Post-Cold War Era', in K. Clements (ed.) Peace & Security in the Asia Pacific Region (Tokyo, UN UP, 1993) p. 145. 23 As S. Lynn-Jones puts it, the natural response of many strategic analysts to global warming might be to recommend the pre-emptive stockpiling of fluorocarbons as a bargaining chip - ‘The Future of International Security Studies', in D. Ball, & D. Horner (eds.) Strategic Studies in a Changing World (Canberra, SDSC, 1992) p. 78. Cf. G. Prins & R. Stamp, Top-Gun's & Toxic Wales: The Environment & Global Security (London, Earthscan, 1991). 33 conflict while removing some others24, and involved large-scale military relief operations25, but did not seem to have been handled especially capably or badly for having been relabelled as such. High levels of domestic violence against women are sometimes discussed in terms of gender security.26 However, this typically has a limited and indirect effect on wider security repercussions, except where it sparks major clashes between communal groups.27 A study of 'economic security' provides a detailed analysis of mineral resources development policy, but does not directly place this in Papua New Guinea's wider security context.28 In the general public debate, the security-suffix is usually attached to such issues simply to stress their importance. Although it can add some extra meaning to the consideration of particular cases, such reflections are not intended to explore how the overall security predicament of the entire country might begin to be addressed.

In terms of more far-reaching and more formal analysis, however, the new focus on non-traditional aspects of South Pacific security was lent considerable weight by its emphasis of the central problem of political disorder.29 A historical turning-point for the region had been signalled by the 1987 coups in Fiji. The closing stages of the Cold War approximately corresponded with the end of the post-independence "honeymoon period" of many South Pacific countries. Some contain significant internal tensions. All are economically fragile and face pressures arising from rapid political and social change. The comparatively larger Melanesian countries are naturally the most severely affected.30

For Papua New Guinea, which is by far the largest and most internally heterogeneous of these, fears that the state was becoming 'marginally viable' were

24 It disrupted the formal economy, caused large movements of people, and prompted emergency prison closures, for example - see T. Levantis & A. Gani, 'Labour Market Deregulation, Crime, and PNG's Severe Drought', Pacific Economic Bulletin Vol. 13 No. 1, 1998. Robberies on the Highlands Highway increased - eg. National, Looters Hit Food Trucks', 21 October 1997. Some new tribal fights arose, while other old ones were suspended - eg. National, Father Kills Son Over Food', 3 October 1997; cf. National, 'Hard Times Force Warring Tribes to Make Peace', 10 October 1997. 25 450 Australian military personnel helped provide 3.5m kg of food aid to 60 000 people in the 6 month A$30m joint AusAID/ADF Operation Sierra - National, 'Relief Operation Largest Ever: Downer', 2 April 1998. 26 Eg. F. Hukula examines violence against women and makes policy recommendations for sentencing and other relevant matters -Women and Security in Port Moresby (PoM, NRI, 1999). 27 A more usual effect is increased absenteeism in the formal economy, for example - National, 'PNG's Terrors - Alcohol, Guns Biggest Enemies, Says Narokobi', 14 September 1999. Possible difficulties in trying to neatly distinguish violence in PNG's "public" and "private" realms are discussed in Ch. 4. 28 This defined as 'ensuring access to more and a greater range of desired goods and services, with less variability in provision' - P. McGavin, Economic Security in Melanesia (Honolulu, East-West Centre, 1993) p. ix. Discussed in Ch. 5. 29 A. Siaguru, ‘Small ‘s' Security for Small Island States', in D. Hegarty & P. Polomka (eds.) The Security of Oceania in the 1990s (Canberra, SDSC, 1989) pp. 22-3. Eg. see A. Selth, Politically Motivated Violence in the Southwest Pacific (Canberra, SDSC, 1990); & D. Robie, 'Human Rights: Abductions and Torture', in D. Robie (ed.) Tu Galala (Wellington, Bridget Williams, 1992). 30 K. Ross, Regional Security in the South Pacific - The Quarter-century 1970-95 (Canberra, SDSC, 1993) pp. 95-155. 34 resurfacing after more than a decade of relative optimism.31 There, 'the country's chronic crime problem acquired an increasingly political dimension in the later 1980s', and the disappearance of 'externally generated security concerns coincided with the emergence of major internal anxieties'.32 Economic development is seen by most élite and many non élite Papua New Guineans as both the chief cause but also the sole potential remedy for growing instability in the country. In turn, it is widely felt that 'improved internal security is a prerequisite for Papua New Guinea's economic, political and social development'.33 Call-outs of the PNGDF in support of police for states of emergency and for elections had become quite frequent by 1987.34 By 1990, internal security challenges involved three main problems, tribal fighting, separatism, and crime, according to Papua New Guinea's then Defence Secretary.35 The last of these — encompassing many highly interrelated activities, including assault and robbery by rural and urban gangs of raskol youths, election-related disorder, very high levels of violence against women, and fraud and corruption36— was assessed as being the most dangerous to the state, despite the alarming situation on Bougainville by then. Others warned of dangers inherent in the increasing heavy-handedness, growing politicisation, and declining levels of discipline, of the disciplined forces themselves.37 Thus, MacQueen declares that security

in short, has been reconfigured in PNG as an issue affecting first and foremost the legitimacy of the state and its agencies within, rather than beyond, national frontiers.38 Papua New Guinea's relatively benign international environment also allows increased attention to be paid to non-conventional and internal security matters, while the governments of some neighbouring countries have played an important role in encouraging this shift of focus.39 Successive Australian governments have been especially involved. Although officials in both countries have had cause to wish it

31 Australian Financial Review (editorial), 'Drunk and Disorderly', 2 December 1997. (Such doubts, quite common amongst pre-independence expatriates, had seemed misplaced and probably a product of simple racism up to the late 1980s.) Also see D. Hegarty, PNG at the Political Crossroads? (Canberra, SDSC, 1989); C. Ashton, ‘PNG: A Broken-Backed State?', in D. Anderson (ed.) The PNG- Australia Relationship (Sydney, Institute of Public Affairs, 1990); R. Callick, ‘Pacific 2010 A doomsday scenario?' in R. Cole (ed.) Pacific 2010: Challenging the Future (Canberra, NCDS, 1993). 32 N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., p. 134. 33 JSCFADT, PNG Update (Canberra, Commonwealth of Australia, 1997) p. 13. 34 R. May, Changing Role of the Military, p. 41. The military was involved in 8 formal states of emergency and curfews from 1982-94 - J. Connell, PNG - the Struggle for Development (London, Routledge, 1997) p. 287. 35 S. Mokis, ‘PNG and Australia' in D. Ball (ed.) Australia and the World: Prologue and Prospects (Canberra, SDSC, 1990) p. 304. 36 As is shown in Ch. 4, all these activities are also associated with both tribal fighting and separatism. 37 PNG Government, ‘Report of the Defence General Board of Inquiry into Administration and Management of the PNGDF and the Defence Department', Department of Defence, Boroko, 1989. 38 N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., p. 134. 39 The 1996 PNG Defence White Paper states that 'there is no identifiable external threat to PNG and that such a threat would be both distant and improbable' - PNG Government, ‘The 1996 Defence White Paper - Defence in National Development', DoD, Murray Barracks, Boroko, June 1996, p. 6. 35 otherwise, the overall security environments of Australia and Papua New Guinea remain inextricably linked. From the unauthorised attempt by the Colony of Queensland to annex Papua in 1883 until the late 1980s, Australian activities in New Guinea were shaped mainly by an overarching desire to deny lodgment to potentially hostile powers there as a "springboard for invasion". The 'ghosts of Kokoda', produced by New Guinea's importance to Australia during the Second World War, have reinforced 'lingering tendencies in Australia to view Papua New Guinea as something of an exclusive preserve in both security and economic terms.'40 The current shape of the PNGDF continues to reflect successive Australian military buildups in response to perceived 1950s-70s threats, such as Indonesia's konfrontasi against the establishment of Malaysia.41

The abiding interests of the Australian government in New Guinea continued to be based primarily on perceived strategic imperatives into the 1990s.42 However, the nature of these interests were fundamentally altering. A shift in Australian defence policy, away from Cold War alliance-based preparation and towards planning based on the country's own strategic geography and "credible" regional contingencies, was implemented in the mid 1980s.43 Since then, the security interests of the government of Australia in Papua New Guinea have increasingly focused on the maintenance of the latter's strategic stability.44 This goal of promoting order and stability presents the government of Australia with a more immediate and complex challenge than the unlikely prospect of the invasion of Papua New Guinea does. It has long been claimed that Australia would be easier to defend if the whole island of New Guinea 'sunk under the sea'.45 However, substantial Australian residence and commercial investment there means that its instability cannot be ignored by Australian officials.46 The Australian government also faces considerable domestic and international pressures to be seen to

40 S. Woodman, ‘The Ghost of Kokoda: The Role of PNG in Australia's Strategic Outlook' in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1995) p. 41. 41 See P. Mench, ‘A Review of the PNGDF on the Eve of Independence in the Context of Security and Stability Problems in an Independent PNG', Lecture to the United Services Institute of the ACT, Canberra 7 August 1974, p. 4. 42 JCFADT, Australia's Relations with PNG (Canberra, Senate Publishing Unit, 1991) p. 1. 43 The shift had begun in the 1970s. See P. Dibb, 'Review of Australia's Defence Capabilities', Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1986; & Australian DoD, The Defence of Australia 1987 (Canberra, Government Printer, 1987). 44 Australia's interests 'can be broadly defined as the pursuit of a stable, self-reliant and cohesive PNG' - A. Behm, untitled conference paper delivered at the APNGFA/AIIA conference on 'PNG: Security and Defence in the Nineties and Beyond 2000', Sydney, 28 June 1996, p. 72. Also see N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., p. 146. R. Garnaut has warned of the huge refugee flows into Australia that could accompany 'real development failure' (though many doubt this scenario) - cited in B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State' in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 87. 45 Eg. J. Andrews, ‘New Guinea and Australia's Defence and Foreign Policy' in J. Wilkes (ed.) New Guinea and Australia (Sydney, Angus and Robertson, 1958) p. 177; & T. Millar, Australia's Defence (Victoria, Melbourne UP, 1965) p. 150. 46 For a critical view see N. Maclellan, 'Policing the Economy in Papua New Guinea', Arena No. 86, Autumn 1989. 36 operate effectively as the principal security manager of the region.47 These circumstances have reinforced standard Australian governmental policy of promoting the territorial integrity, capacity and sovereignty of the Papua New Guinea state.48

The review by the government of Papua New Guinea which led to the 1991 document entitled Security for Development, discussed below, was established at Australian insistence.49 The 1991 'Agreed Statement on Security Cooperation Between Australia and Papua New Guinea' marked a significant departure from the more conventional, externally-oriented, 'Joint Declaration of Principles' signed just four years before. Its replacement of the older language of "defence" planning with "security" terminology represented a largely Australian attempt to institutionalise a 'comprehensive, integrated and planned approach' to the multifaceted challenges to Papua New Guinea's stability and development — especially in regard to what was increasingly discussed in terms of "internal security".50 The proportion of Australian aid allocated to law and order in Papua New Guinea also continued to increase in this period.51 The bilateral security relationship is further discussed in the next part of this chapter.

Papua New Guinea shares a seven hundred and sixty kilometer land border with its other crucial near neighbour, the Republic of Indonesia. Uneasy bilateral relations continued to produce concerns even after the advent of the pro-Western, stability- focused, New Order regime in 1966. Fresh tensions stemmed from border crossings and skirmishes in 1977-78, 1982 and 1984, as well as anxieties caused by the 1975 invasion of East Timor and the transmigration program of the 1980s.52 Some support for the very weak guerrilla movement known as the Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM) in Irian Jaya remains in the westernmost provinces of Papua New Guinea, where about ten thousand refugees have settled, and in Port Moresby.53 However, the signing of the 'Treaty of Mutual Respect, Friendship and Cooperation' in October 1986

47 A recent statement by PM John Howard on Australia's place in Southeast Asia and the South Pacific has been widely interpreted as embracing the role of 'deputy to the US in the region' - Australian, 'Role Shift Fans Regional Critics, 27 September 1999. 48 Eg. R. Smith, 'Australian Interests - Bougainville and National Unity', in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville: Perspectives on a Crisis (Canberra, SDSC, 1990). 49 R. May, 'Comments', in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 163. 50 See Australian and PNG Governments, ‘Agreed Statement on Security Cooperation', Canberra, 2 September 1991; cf. Australian and PNG Governments, 'Joint Declaration of Principles Guiding Relations', Canberra, 9 December 1987. (Both are reproduced in A. Thompson (ed.) Op. Cit., pp. 183-7 & 209-11.) 51 N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., p. 145. 52 See R. May (ed.) Between Two Nations - The Indonesia - Papua New Guinea Border and West Papua Nationalism (NSW, Robert Brown and Associates, 1986). 53 Jakarta calls the OPM the Irianese Security Disturbance Movement (GPK) - National, 'Rebels Torch Border Tower', 7 January 1998. The group is small, factionalised, and poorly organised, and the old gibe that the term Organisasi flatters the movement still holds - E. Wolfers, 'The Indonesia-PNG Border', paper presented to the AIIA 'Inside the Triangle' conference, Melbourne, March 1986, p. 10. 37 greatly stabilised the bilateral relationship54, and periodic border incidents have been handled very cautiously since then.55

Indeed, the security objectives of the Suharto regime and its heirs in regard to Papua New Guinea have been based on a desire for greater stability there, rather than any expansionist designs.56 In 1990, the government of Indonesia requested that Australia increase its military efforts in support of Papua New Guinea against the Bougainville insurgents, for example.57 Contingency plans for a joint response to a total breakdown of order in Papua New Guinea are also reported to have been discussed between Canberra and Jakarta.58 Correspondingly, the central security concerns of the Papua New Guinea government in regard to Indonesia focus on its neighbour's domestic stability, especially in Irian Jaya. These concerns are fairly abstract compared to more immediately pressing anxieties, and hardly rated a mention in a 1997 Papua New Guinea National Intelligence Office (NIO) assessment of the main security problems facing Port Moresby.59 The Asian economic crisis that has subsequently weakened the New Order regime has led to a rise in violent discord throughout Indonesia, but this has only moderately increased strains on the Irian Jaya-Papua New Guinea border.60

Rather, certain members of the national élite in Papua New Guinea, including some officers in the disciplined forces, have been attracted to security mechanisms that have helped to support nearby states or regimes.61 Such mechanisms include Malaysia's Internal Security Act and the ketahanan nasional theory of comprehensive security which underpinned the dwifungsi role of the Indonesia's armed forces and the pancasila ideology of the New Order regime. In 1992, then Defence Secretary Peter Peipul announced that 'we may be able to learn from Malaysia on handling domestic security and from Indonesia on civic action'.62

54 See N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., p. 141. 55 Eg. Independent, 'OPM Man Secretly Handed Over to His Rivals', 23 January 1998. 56 J. Mackie, ‘Does Indonesia have Expansionist Designs on PNG?' in R. May (ed.) Between Two Nations (NSW, Robert Brown & Associates, 1986); H. Crouch, ‘Indonesia and the Security of Australia and PNG', in D. Ball & C. Downes (eds.) Security and Defence: Pacific and Global Perspectives (Sydney, Allen & Unwin, 1990); & N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., p. 142. 57 Australian, 'Indonesia Urges Canberra to Intervene in Bougainville Rebellion', 26 July 1990. 58 Post-Courier, ‘PNG Strife Plans - Indonesians Ask for Australia's Contingency Cooperation', 11 July 1995. In 1991, the JCFADT reported that 'Australia and Indonesia increasingly understand each others perspective on events in Papua New Guinea. Both seek strategic stability' - p. 167. 59 National, 'Crime, B'ville Biggest Threats', 19 August 1997. 60 Eg. Independent, 'Freedom Call Stuns Jakarta', 19 March 1999; & National, 'PNG Deploys Soldiers on Border', 14 May 1999. 61 Revelations that two former PNGDF commanders had received generous gifts from the Commander of the Indonesian army sparked a scandal and fears of a military intervention in politics in 1987 - Y. Saffu, 'January-December 1987', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) pp. 442-4. 62 Quoted in R. May, Changing Role of the Military, p. 17. 38 Papua New Guinea also has modest formal defence ties with six other countries besides Australia, Indonesia and Malaysia.63 The governments of Indonesia, Malaysia, New Zealand, and the United States have all provided material support and overseas staff training, but only on a small scale.64 The New Zealand government has expressed its willingness to reorient an expanded, but still limited, Military Assistance Program (MAP) effort towards helping stabilise and restructure the PNGDF.65 Papua New Guinea has provided training for the Vanuatu Mobile Force (VMF) with the help of Australian funding. Papua New Guinea's sometimes uneasy but relatively minor political and economic relationship with the nearby Solomon Islands is discussed in Chapter Five.

Official analysis: a focus on new threats to the state This second part of the chapter discusses official attempts to reformulate security policy in Papua New Guinea. These have mainly involved defence planning, but also affect some other spheres of public policy, especially in the broad field known as law and order where the education, home affairs, policing, and certain other portfolios are important. Such efforts have tended to focus on "new" types of domestic and non- military threats to the authority and capacity of the state. However, the widespread acknowledgment of such threats has not led to great progress in ameliorating law and order problems or other forms of insecurity in Papua New Guinea.66 This is mainly simply due to the magnitude of the challenges faced, and to familiar difficulties with the design and implementation of sound programs in all arenas of public policy. These difficulties stem from poor institutional capacity, which is further diminished by the transformation of the weak state by relatively strong elements of Papua New Guinean society, as is discussed in the third part of this chapter and throughout the rest of the thesis. However, the limitedness of the gains made also stems from continuing conceptual weakness, as is shown by the failure of overseas (mainly Australian) officials to address insecurity in Papua New Guinea much more convincingly. Below, it is suggested that a relative over-emphasis on new threats and corresponding neglect of non-state security referents lies at the heart of these conceptual problems.

It would be unrealistic to expect hypothetical recognition of the multidimensional challenges to Papua New Guinea's security to readily translate into bold policy and effective programs in an environment which has seen the most basic logistical

63 The others are China, Germany, Great Britain, Israel, New Zealand, and the United States - National, 'PNG Now Has Military Ties With China, says Waieng', 13 May 1999. PNG has also provided Australian-funded training for the Vanuatu Mobile Force (VMF). 64 The U.S. International Military Education and Training (IMET) program, for example, has provided stateside training for PNGDF personnel valued at about US$80 000 per year. 65 National, 'NZ Army Chief Offers to Assist in PNGDF Restructure', 20 March 1998. 66 The de-escalation of the Bougainville crisis, examined in Ch. 5, is widely held to have occurred in spite of rather more than because of the actions of the PNG government. 39 requirements of the security forces mismanaged and in which a decade-long insurgency has stretched all three disciplined services.67 In fact, 'one can be fairly certain about the direction of policies in the security area only until the next change of government ... [despite there being] no ideological differences among parties that participate in the National Executive Council game of musical chairs.'68 Even without changes of government, policy is often symbolic at best. Under the Wingti government, plans to radically increase and to substantially decrease the size of the PNGDF stood concurrently, while neither scheme eventuated, for example.69 The Defence White Paper approved by Cabinet in 1996 was never fully implemented, mainly due to repercussions of the "Sandline crisis".70 An ensuing White Paper, published in May 1999 and discussed below, persists in calling for the acquisition of large patrol vessels and other non-essential prestige equipment despite its emphasis of the need to meet tight and falling defence budgets.

Nevertheless, Papua New Guinea's defence establishment has tried to keep up with the terminology and ideas of reformulated security thinking. The 1988 Defence White Paper identified low level conflict contingencies as the most likely scenario for use of the military, but did explicitly focus on the concept of security.71 In marked contrast, the 1996 White Paper began with a discussion of comprehensive security, and devoted separate chapters to security contingencies and to internal security. It frankly acknowledges the roots of Papua New Guinea's internal security problem in strains arising from the development process.72 A June 1996 conference on defence in Papua New Guinea saw the then Foreign and Defence Ministers, Defence Force Commander, and the Secretary of the Prime Minister's Department, all outline conceptions of

67 For example, police cars have periodically been unavailable to the RPNGC for lack of fuel, while jails have been shut and their prisoners released for lack of funds - National, 'Murder Suspects Go Free', 15 October 1997. Defence expenditure, although declining, stood at twice the budgeted level in 1995 - IISS, The Military Balance 1996/7 (London, Oxford UP, 1996) p. 175. A food-supply crisis has periodically beset all PNGDF bases since 1996 - Post-Courier, 'Free Food Fiasco', 5 February 1998. 68 Y. Saffu, ‘The PNGDF and Short to Medium Term Security Concerns', p. 125. 69 Ibid., p. 124. 70 The Sandline crisis, which began in February 1997, was a military revolt and movement of civil protest that aborted the imminent deployment of foreign mercenaries on Bougainville - see Chs. 4 & 5. Failure to implement the 1996 White Paper is discussed in National, 'Building a New Role for Army', 2 February 1999; Post-Courier, 'Army to Recruit Women', 10 June 1999; & National, 'Mapping a New Future Defence Force', 24 June 1999. 71 Even internal security was mentioned only as the last of six priorities - PNG Government, ‘Defence White Paper - 1988', Department of Defence, Murray Barracks, Boroko, 1988, p. 2. 72 It grants that 'rapid population growth, mobility and the growing number of young unemployed provide the recipe for internal security problems ... [while] sluggish and uneven economic development, increasing social disparities, limited employment opportunities and a deteriorating system of infrastructural support and generally poor delivery of government services contribute to escalating social discontent' - PNG Government, ‘The 1996 Defence White Paper', p. 25. 40 comprehensive security. Each was based on a slightly different understanding of major threats to order, stability and governmental authority.73

Such efforts, though, proved to be of limited use as planning tools. The model of comprehensive security outlined in the 1996 White Paper suggested that Papua New Guinea faced a combination of political, economic, social, and military threats. However, it acknowledged that these considerations are 'not for Defence nor the government alone.'74 In fact, Defence was hardly seen as an appropriate tool to address three of these four issues at all, beyond what was described as the short-term containment of law and order problems.75 Proposals to improve PNGDF capabilities in this containment role were duly made. As was conceded, however, the seventy-five to eighty percent of the Defence budget allocated to salaries, wages and recurrent expenses allowed little flexibility in the conduct of operations, let alone restructuring — jargon of 'down-sizing', 'rationalisation' and 'corporate planning' notwithstanding.76

The language of multidimensional security has spread into official thinking beyond the core security field of formal defence planning. In most areas, such as agriculture where the idea of food security has been taken up to meet international obligations and as part of a tactical bid to protect funding for certain projects, the practical effects of the new terminology are modest.77 However, the discourse of expanded security greatly influenced governmental initiatives concerning political discord and disturbances to public order, from the mid 1980s until 1997 when the severity of the Sandline crisis refocused attention on more traditional military issues. By the early 1990s, the term had partly replaced the previously ubiquitous phrase law and order. It referred to roughly the same concerns about disorder, but was preferred for indicating sensitivity towards the complexity of the broad challenges facing the country and giving rise to political instability and violence. The encyclopedic quasi- official Morgan and Clifford Inquiries into the broad causes of socio-political disorder, of the mid 1980s, featured comprehensive analysis of societal characteristics as well as state structures, and called for replacement of the phrase law and order by a more general and positive expression for 'improving security', but did not emphasise the term.78 In comparison, the National Law and Order Policy of May 1993 was

73 All are reproduced in APNGFA/AIIA, 'PNG: Security and Defence in the Nineties and Beyond 2000', Proceedings from the 28 June 1996 conference in Sydney. 74 ‘The 1996 Defence White Paper', p. 2. 75 Ibid., p. 25. 76 Ibid., pp. 49, 54, & 55. Introduction of total quality management principles was subsequently attempted - National, 'TQM in Defence will Mean Greater Efficiency at Less Cost', 17 May 1999. 77 A coordinating committee of government departments on food security was established to implement the Rome Declaration on World Food Security - National, 'PM Calls for Food Security Panel', 4 November 1997. 78 W. Clifford et al., Law and Order in PNG Vol. 1: Report and Recommendations (PoM, INA, 1984) p. 131. The report complained that the phrase law and order, although on everyone's lips, had 'been destroyed by overuse', and that the expression had two contrary meanings in PNG: 'peace and good 41 established specifically to provide 'a safe and secure environment for human development', for example.79 That year, a broadly but imprecisely mandated Office of Security Coordination and Assessment (OSCA) was set up within the Prime Ministers Department.80 Similarly, the resources-focused 1995 South Pacific Forum meeting in Madang was titled "Securing Development Beyond 2000", while the January 1998 Lincoln Agreement applied to "Peace, Security and Development on Bougainville", for example.

The first dedicated attempt to reformulate the Papua New Guinea government's approach to security began with the establishment of the Security Review Taskforce in October 1990. This was set up to prepare for, and then to outline the government's response to, Prime Minister Rabbie Namaliu's February 1991 National Summit on Crime. The ensuing government paper, entitled Security for Development, defined security as 'safety or certainty' and proclaimed the challenges to these values 'the overriding issues in and for Papua New Guinea.'81 The document assessed the country's overall security predicament as being intimately linked to the paradox by which both development and lack of development give rise to crime, instability, and political disorder.82 It was suggested that social, political, and economic threats jeopardise Papua New Guinean security, but these were neither convincingly disaggregated nor carefully scrutinised. The short-term 'law enforcement' and longer- term 'socio-political' measures that were proposed consisted of a mixture of vague general wishes and soon-to-be abandoned or forgotten administrative changes.

The focus of security thinking under the Wingti government, which gained power in July 1992, although still much removed from conventional externally-oriented military matters, took on a more traditionally coercive flavour. An August 1992 advertising campaign by a coalition of NGOs proclaimed nearly two dozen indicators of 'the militarisation of Papua New Guinea society'.83 In fact, the campaign admitted that most of these had begun under the previous government. Nevertheless, the draconian Internal Security Act (ISA) rushed through Parliament without debate in May 1993, seemed to herald a new style, reversing the burden of proof for certain crimes and

order'; and 'peace and good order established by the state' - W. Clifford, Op. Cit., p. 6. Both charges are also relevant to the term security. Clifford claimed crime prevention should be regarded as at least as important as defence planning 'since it is internal defence' - Ibid., p. 131. 79 See Australian and PNG Governments, 'Draft Final Report of the Law and Order Sector Working Group', PoM, 2 July 1993, p. x. 80 Its actual responsibilities were rather vague. 81 Security for Development (PoM, Government Printer, 1991) p. iii. 82 Ibid., p. 15. It claims that crime has 'diverse social, political and economic causes, including both changes and lack of change' - p. ii. 83 Eg. Post-Courier, advertisement: 'Address to the People of PNG, New Parliamentarians and the National Government on the Militarisation of Society and its Implications', 7 August 1992. 42 overriding eight constitutionally guaranteed freedoms.84 (The key clauses of the Act were quite quickly rejected by the Supreme Court.) Perennial eagerness to employ foreign security consultants —to create a police special operations units, to establish new resource protection bases in the highlands, and to instruct a national youth service— seemed unusually keen under Wingti, but also failed to eventuate.85 Nevertheless, the inclination of security forces to dispense "rough justice" hardened, with semi-official shoot to kill policies, for example.86

A National Law, Order and Justice Council, established to help draft and approve the Wingti government's May 1993 National Law and Order Policy, actually did address the needs of referents beside the state. It did so by reaffirming Clifford and Morgan reports' identification of the community as an appropriate focus for crime prevention, control, and punishment.87 It aimed to improve the coordination of responses to problems of violence and disorder, through community development and mobilisation by NGOs at the national level, new decentralised justice centres at the sub- provincial level, and the Village Services Program at the local level. However, its treatment of "the community" remained quite vague.88 In any case, the whole policy was decisively undermined by the almost simultaneous tabling of its complete antithesis, the ISA, and by the loss of influence of the political patrons of the Village Services Programme.

Another official initiative, the 1996 Constitutional Review Commission report on security, drafted during the Chan government, also began by concentrating on conflict between the state and social groups. At its outset it asserts that

PNG's security issues are much more complex than those that appear on the surface. We have to understand that PNG, through processes of State formation, has created a dual social system. The state being one and village communities (tribal, linguistic and, or cultural groupings) the other. Internal security threats against the State operate at the State and social group levels. Since many people are strongly attached to their customs, villages

84 Y. Saffu, ‘PNG in 1993 - Toward a More Controlled Society', Asian Survey Vol. 34 No. 2, 1994, pp. 133-4. 85 Such schemes are periodically sponsored by individual Ministers, mainly to advance their own interests - see S. Dinnen, 'Trading in Security: Private Military Contractors in PNG', in S. Dinnen, R. May & A. Regan (eds.) Challenging the State: the Sandline Affair in Papua New Guinea (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) pp. 124-7. 86 B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 74. 87 It was established partly under the auspices of the Australian International Development Assistance Bureau (AIDAB) through the Law and Order Sector Working Group (LOSWG). The planned 5 year program involved six areas: local level relations and wider socio-economic concerns; research and information systems; manpower, facilities and equipment; coordination and efficiency; corruption and mismanagement; and budgeting and planning - see S. Dinnen, ‘Public Order in PNG - Problems and Prospects', in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p.111. 88 'Draft Final Report of the Law and Order Sector Working Group', pp. 73-80. 43 and tribal groups, their daily security issues are handled through traditional village ways rather than through the State's regulatory mechanisms.89 However, by page four the report had abandoned this promising but complicated approach to focus on the more obvious theme of threat types. The remainder of the document consists of a state-centred examination of an apparently almost random assortment of unclearly defined political-, economic-, environmental-, food-, health-, and resource-security issues. The ensuing twenty two recommendations —which range from the extremely specific to the very broad90— are provided without much apparent optimism. Taken together, discussion of the six threat types affords a reasonable general impression of the country's overall security predicament. However, it offers little practical guidance for security planning, since the goals and actions of people pursuing political or economic security, for example, could extend to almost any conceivable objective or manoeuvre. Pressures involved in tribal fighting, separatism and crime —such as land degradation, population growth, generational conflict, and the unequal distribution of wealth— do not consistently fit any one of the six named threat types. Rather, they may fit one or other, several, or even all six, at different times, according to changing circumstances. This is especially so because

within Melanesian societies distinctions between economy, politics, religion or social organisation are weak, and unlike those in other regions, hence drawing conclusions about the extent and significance of change in particular spheres is fraught with uncertainty.91 Nor has movement towards more multidimensional approaches to Papua New Guinean security much advanced the government of Australia's objective of enhancing regional stability, despite its part in establishing and encouraging that shift. The comprehensive effort needed to help address fundamental non-military security problems in Papua New Guinea has 'yet to be achieved' by Australia.92 This is because of dilemmas which arise 'when significant security issues require approaches outside what might be considered appropriate responses by a defence cooperation program or a development cooperation program.'93 These dilemmas stem from the natural tendency of government-to- government assistance projects to tackle challenges to the recipient state rather than directly assist non-state actors, and from inevitable problems when they begin to attempt the latter in the security realm, as is discussed below.

89 T. Masani, ‘Interim Report on Initiative No. 1 (Security)', CRC Reports 1994-97 Vol. 3 Pt. 1, PoM, 30 June 1996, p. 3. 90 For example, to 'enforce universal education up to Grade 12' - Ibid., 8.3.2; cf. to 'restructure the national Parliament to stabilise and strengthen parliamentary democracy' - 3.6.1. 91 J. Connell, PNG - the Struggle for Development, p. 259. A. Wanek and A. Strathern separately make the same point - The State and its Enemies in PNG (Surrey, Curzon Press, 1996) p. 4; & 'Compensation: or Moving Swiftly Over Broken Ground', in S. Toft (ed.) Compensation for Resource Development in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1997) p. 2. This claim is returned to in Ch. 4. 92 Australian DoD, Defence Cooperation - Program Evaluation (Canberra, DoD Inspector General Division, 1995) 6.1.7. 93 Ibid., 6.1.7. 44 Australia's overall development assistance relationship with Papua New Guinea, although not designed as such or so named, is sometimes depicted as a comprehensive security undertaking of sorts.94 Amendment of the Treaty on Development Cooperation in 1992 shifted the aid program away from direct budgetary support towards jointly programmed aid in six sectors.95 Institutional strengthening projects were created in the education, health, law and order, infrastructure, renewable resources, and private-sector domains.96 Generous multifaceted aid in these fields was described as a 'commission for Australia's peace of mind' by a Papua New Guinean high commissioner.97 If understood as a sweeping security enterprise, these sectoral projects can be seen as addressing intertwined threats to the authority and capacity of the state, such as unemployment, crime, and environmental degradation.

However, the overall aid program faces serious problems as an integrated security scheme. With every myriad challenge to governance in Papua New Guinea potentially constituting a security threat, gains by the sectoral projects have tended to be more than offset by the enormity of the problems faced. The rows of neat new Australian- provided police houses standing in several parts of Papua New Guinea, for example, 'are nice houses for the occupants for a time, but the underlying inability of the host province[s] to commit funds to maintenance means that this is actually band-aid.'98

Such problems stem partly from the requirement that the aid program be a government-to-government undertaking, while the development process itself exacerbates tensions between the state and the public in Papua New Guinea.99 The sectoral approach of the aid program to broadly-conceived security threats encourages an emphasis on institutional capacity-building which, although partly inevitable, is somewhat problematic. The explanations of socio-political disorder and violence offered by the Morgan and Clifford reports remain telling here.100 These argued that discord in Papua New Guinea stems not from a lack of social control but rather from a large totality of authority spread widely amongst many rival groups.101 Institutional strengthening schemes can be sensitive to this dilemma, for example when advisers in

94 For example, see L. Engel, ‘The Australian Aid Program and Its Role in Supporting PNG's Law and Order Policies' in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 153 & p. 157. 95 The original treaty was signed in 1989. Australian development assistance to PNG is worth about A$330m annually. Budgetary assistance is scheduled to be phased out in 2000. See AusAID, PNG Program Profiles (Canberra, AusAid, 1998). 96 Bougainville Restoration, Drought Relief, and Gazelle Peninsula restoration are treated separately. The Law and Order sector has been renamed Law and Justice but is not one of the three new areas of emphasis. The Infrastructure sector is also known as Transport and Communications. Ibid., pp. 5-9. 97 Canberra Times, ‘Australia Ignoring Us Claims PNG's Envoy', 7 July 1995. 98 J. Burton, 'Mining and Maladministration in PNG', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) p. 176. 99 This point is discussed in the next part of the chapter. 100 Discussed in J. Millett, Developments in Law and Order 1991 (PoM, INA, 1991). 101 Eg. W. Clifford, Op. Cit., pp. 101-7. Also discussed in S. Dinnen, 'Public Order in PNG', p. 103. 45 the Constabulary Development Project try to foster a new community policing culture. By their very nature, however, such projects are mainly focused on trying to build up just one node of authority, the state — often with dire results. Past institutional- strengthening efforts in the law and order sector may have prolonged official misconceptions that crime is simply a function of the state's lack of resources and not also 'an issue of the appropriateness of state responses.'102 However, alternatives to institutional strengthening that would both satisfy Papua New Guinean sovereignty requirements and be likely to be effective have proven difficult to formulate. Although a scheme has been designed to fund NGO projects that could assist 'community development' and thereby alleviate some of the problems giving rise to law and justice problems103, most Papua New Guineans live in some thousands of residential communities, each of which could absorb considerable funds without necessarily becoming more crime-free, for example.

Australia's defence establishment provides military aid to Papua New Guinea through the bilateral Defence Cooperation Programme (DCP), which is administered separately from the broader Australian aid program.104 The DCP has also been affected by movement towards more multidimensional analysis of security in Papua New Guinea. However, the Australian defence bureaucracy keeps its preference for tidy, essentially externally-focused, programs, such as the Pacific Patrol Boat and the maritime surveillance projects.105 Internal security commitments, by contrast, are inevitably seen as untidy. They offer the Australian government little prospect of either domestic or international acclaim but provide considerable scope for criticism, growing expenditure, and escalating involvement. An Australian inclination to actively engage Papua New Guinea's diverse internal security challenges on one hand, and the desire to

102 Ibid., p. 109. 103 See PNG Program Profiles, p. 8 & pp. 55-57. 104 In 1972, the Australian Minister for Defence gave an undertaking to support an independent defence force for PNG. Arrangements concerning status of forces (SOFA), the use of loan personnel in politically sensitive situations, and a supply support (SSA) were formalised on the basis of a February 1977 Joint Statement - reproduced in B. Maketu, Defence in PNG (Canberra, SDSC, 1988) pp. 23-8. Australia's international defence assistance activities developed out of bilateral arrangements with Malaysia and Singapore from 1963, and the DCP was formally established in 1974-5 - see S. Merchant, 'Australia's DCP and Regional Security', in D. Hegarty and P. Polomka (eds.) The Security of Oceania in the 1990s Vol. 1 (Canberra, SDSC, 1989) pp. 71-2. In 1975-76 A$16m of defence aid to PNG represented nearly 60% of DCP assistance to all countries. This percentage fell steadily to 35% (A$16m) in 1985. It slowly rose to a height of 56% (A$52m) at the height of the Bougainville crisis in 1990-91, before again steadily falling to 25% (A$20m) by 1995 - Australian DoD, Defence Cooperation, annex H. DCP aid does not provide budgetary assistance to the PNGDF. Rather, it meets the salaries of Australians serving with the PNGDF and PNG personnel training in Australia, and funds agreed major projects including some exercises - R. May, Changing Role of the Military, p. 16. In 1991 it was estimated that 90% of PNG's officer corps had trained or studied in Australia - Ibid., p. 16. There were still 68 DCP-funded Australian military personnel serving in PNG by August 1997 - Post-Courier, 'Call to Review Defence Ties', 8 August 1997. By mid 1999 the DCP-PNG sub- program had shrunk to A$10.3m and only 27 attached ADF personnel - B. Standish, 'Crisis of Governance', Parliamentary Library Research Paper, Canberra September 1999, pp. 22 & 32. 105 Australian DoD, Defence Cooperation, 6.4.6. 46 avoid becoming directly entangled on the other, has caused strains in the bilateral relationship.106

Despite occasional post-colonial strains, official defence ties were among the closest links in the bilateral relationship for so long as there was little serious prospect of the PNGDF having to operationally deploy. However, a 'growing dissonance between Australian and Papua New Guinea concepts of mutual security interests' has been exacerbated by the Bougainville conflict.107 The government of Australia initially quite strongly supported attempts to regain control in the province. However its practical and moral support for a military solution declined from the early 1990s as the depth of the stalemate there became apparent.108 The PNGDF's use of Australian- supplied helicopters to commit human rights abuses (contrary to agreed conditions of use) quickly revealed just how little influence over operational procedures Canberra could expect to exert, and how little responsibility it would welcome, in return for its assistance. For the Papua New Guinea government, the assertive but cautious disposition of the Australian government means that its key defence partner is at once prone to meddle in its security affairs while being inclined to withhold support at critical moments.109 Accordingly, the defence relationship has been allowed to drift — further reducing the Australian government's influence in Papua New Guinea and its ability to promote stability there. The repeated failure of independently sustainable PNGDF capabilities to grow out of DCP programs has increased Australian frustrations. The 1995 review of the DCP by the Australian Department of Defence warned against unreasonable expectations that Papua New Guinea should or could 'respond to the problems it faces as a developing nation in a fashion similar to that which Australia would adopt'.110 However, evidence of a growing fixation on bringing 'more discipline to the sub-Program' emerges even in that report.111 Its emphasis on accelerating the transition away from directly filling capability gaps and towards promoting PNGDF self-reliance seems to signal a shift away from the sort of intimate internal security cooperation envisaged in 1991.112 The Papua New Guinea defence

106 See N. Raath, 'Moral Support? - Australia's Response to PNG's Internal Security Problems', Parliamentary Research Service Background Paper, Canberra, December 1991. 107 M. O'Connor, Op. Cit., p. 32. The Bougainville crisis, which began at the end of 1988, is explored in Chs. 4 & 5. 108 This reduced Australian officials' fear of a potentially destabilising demonstration of the PNG state's profound weakness vis-a-vis social forces, but also indicated that a further increase in aid to the PNGDF would be unlikely to produce outright victory. 109 I have heard senior PNG officials describe Australia's position on defence matters as "passive aggressive". Official Australian objections to a new military push on Bougainville were explicitly stated in Canberra in June 1996, and the need for the PNGDF to obtain provisions for the offensive from new sources helped expose the planned operation - Australian, 'PNG Buys Arms for Invasion', 20 June 1996. Defence relations prior to then were already 'frosty' - Australian, 'PNG Defence Deal in Crisis', 5 July 1996. 110 Australian DoD, Defence Cooperation, 6.3.5. 111 Ibid., 6.3.6. 112 Ibid., 6.2.3. Cf. Australian and PNG Governments, ‘Agreed Statement on Security Cooperation'. 47 hierarchy was eventually forced 'kicking and screaming' into a commercial support contract for its aviation group, for example, but only after a lengthy and bitter tussle with Australian officials in which most of its small air-fleet was grounded.113

The willingness of the Australian government to tolerate growing animosity and misunderstandings in the DCP and over Bougainville partly reflected its paternalistic general demeanour towards South Pacific economic and political performance — dubbed "tough-love" or "castor-oil diplomacy"— during the period.114 However, the consequences of that stance quickly proved unexpectedly dire for Australian interests. Whether or not the growing rift in the bilateral security relationship helped produce the Sandline mercenary crisis of 1997 as is sometimes claimed, the shift towards more multidimensional analysis of security in Papua New Guinea and Australia's closer involvement in its internal security had certainly failed to deliver the strategic goal of greater stability there.115 In early 1998, confronted by a combination of Sandline- related and other crises, Foreign Minister Alexander Downer was reportedly spending up to forty percent of his office time on Papua New Guinean matters.116

In the wake of the Sandline Crisis, official security thinking has shifted away from conceptual inquiry and back towards more prosaic concerns. The need to stabilise the military is considered especially pressing. Indeed, many Papua New Guineans, including ex-Opposition leader Bernard Narokobi, consider the demoralised and disorganised post-Sandline PNGDF a menace to the state in its own right.117 The main difficulties in formulating solutions to such challenges have been practical and intractable ones. These have been intensified by the economic impact of a severe drought and the Asian financial crisis, which happened to follow the Sandline crisis, and which cut the military's budgetary allocation to its lowest ever real level, for

113 S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair - Politics and Mercenaries and the Bougainville Crisis (Sydney, ABC Books, 1998) p. 138. Financial constraints have prevented much improvement. 114 For example, G. Bilney, 'The Philosophy and Process of Australia's Aid Partnership with the South Pacific Region', speech to the Centre for South Pacific Studies, UNSW, Sydney, 27 October 1994. G. Fry discusses this 'new doomsdayism ... a forthright salvationist message ... [mainly evincing] how Australians see themselves' in 'Framing the Islands: Knowledge and Power in Changing Australian Images of "the South Pacific"', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 9 No. 2, 1997, pp. 305-6. 115 It has been argued that Australian-orchestrated international sentiment against any further PNGDF offensive on Bougainville forced to turn it towards extraordinary sources of military equipment - eg. National, 'Global Censure Sealed PNGDF Buildup', 28 January 1998. The desire for a genuine helicopter gunship capability after the Operation High Speed II debacle of mid 1996 was reflected in the initial proposals by, and the eventual contract with, Sandline Ltd. 116 Australian, 'Tasman Rivalry Over Bougainville, 15 January 1998. The cautious tone of the post- Sandline statement on a 'New Defence Partnership' seemed to indicate continuing unease in the bilateral security relationship - Australia and PNG Governments, 'Joint Statement by the Ministers for Defence of PNG and Australia', Canberra, 22 October 1997. The DCP was about to face yet another acrimonious review by a new Papua New Guinea government - National, 'PM Wants to Review Aussie Defence Ties', 16 March 1998. 117 National, 'Govt Seeking Military Backing: Narokobi', 27 October 1998. 48 example.118 However, such difficulties are not unrelated to conceptual confusion in official security planning, while conceptually based analysis can help explain why some basically sound plans to restructure the defence force have not been implemented.119

Both the new prime minister, Bill Skate, and Opposition leader Narokobi stressed the urgency of restructuring the PNGDF in the immediate aftermath of the crisis.120 However, this goal was announced almost simultaneously with the promotion of yet another five lieutenant-colonels to full colonel rank — adding to rather than subtracting from the pool of senior officers competing in what is known as the 'Murray Barracks cup'.121 Although plans to retrench unneeded senior officers were announced these were immediately shelved due to the lack of the K3-5m needed for redundancy packages.122 The PNGDF Commander, Brigadier Leo Nuia, intended to reinstate some of his 'old guard' contemporaries to 'restore discipline' to the force.123 However, Skate sacked Nuia and reappointed his ally and Sandline rebellion leader Brigadier Jerry Singirok in mid October 1998, fuelling simmering tensions within the force.124 Singirok rededicated himself to three defence priorities: protection of sovereignty and resource security, internal security by way of continuous assistance to civil police, and nation building through expanded civic action programs.125 However, a new round of promotions and demotions in the PNGDF (and lesser convulsions within the RPNGC hierarchy126) seemed to mark greater than ever politicisation of the security forces.127

118 Post-Courier, 'Disciplined Forces Facing New Era', 17 November 1998. The PNGDF was allocated K80m for 1999 - K6m less than 1998's budgeted level. RPNGC and CIS funding were also hard-hit. 119 Manoeuvres in pursuit of institutional and personal interests by leaders of the PNG security establishment are further discussed in Chs. 5 and 6. This helps to verify the centrality of security interests besides those of the state. 120 In addition, the PNG Defence Act was scheduled for review and plans were made to consolidate civilian DoD posts - National, Defence Department Plans Major Restructuring', 29 December 1997. The Opposition leader called for the Defence Board of Inquiry into Sandline, unilaterally disbanded by Defence Minister in December 1997, to be reconvened with terms of reference wide enough to consider the future role and structure of the PNGDF - National, 'Narokobi: Bring Back Defence Probe Panel', 3 April 1998. 121 M. O'Connor, Op. Cit., p. 22. Headquarters there are a site of particular rivalry and intrigue. 122 Post-Courier, 'We Need Young Army, Says PM', 13 March 1998. By 1996 the PNGDF had four Brigadiers while only one filled an authorise position and had fourteen full colonels when only six were allowed - P. Dibb & R. Nicholas, Restructuring the PNGDF (Canberra, SDSC, 1996) p. 88. 123 National, 'Major Reshuffle Looms in PNG Top Brass', 7 January 1998. The 'old guard' are first generation Papua New Guinean officers who received their elementary training at Portsea in Australia. The previous PM, Sir Julius Chan, had sacked his earlier appointee (and head of the 'new guard'), Jerry Singirok, and appointed Nuia to the position of Commander at the height of the Sandline crisis. 124 Skate regarded Nuia as too closely allied to Chan. Suspects for the arson at 1RPIR headquarters at Taurama Barracks accompanying Singirok's reappointment have been identified but not charged - National, 'Change of Guard', 18 January 1999. 125 National, 'Singirok Keen on All-Purpose Army', 29 December 1998. The RPNGC and the PNGDF were directed to jointly operate Port Moresby's planned anti-crime helicopter, for example - Post- Courier, 'Eye in the Sky to Track Criminals', 26 October 1998. 126 See B. Standish, 'Crisis of Governance', p. 8. In particular, Police Commissioner Peter Aigilio sacked NCD Police Commander John Wakon (who had just requested that the PM be interviewed over allegations of insurance fraud) for 'running a little mini force at Boroko that had severed all 49 The PNGDF remained deeply divided along junior-senior officer lines, and disgruntled soldiers were involved in the theft of nearly sixty automatic rifles from barracks armouries in three raids within six months.128 The Defence Ministership was reshuffled three times to meet coalition-balancing needs in the first nine months of the Skate government.129 Tensions also remained within the Department of Defence.130 Transfer of part of the Engineering Battalion to Banz was finally begun, but this was mainly due to the intensive lobbying of a group of highlands MPs whose electorates would benefit.131 A Defence Intelligence Bureau (PNG-DIB) report warned the new Morauta government that its appointment of Colonel Karl Malpo —a prominent "anti-Singirok" colonel during the Sandline crisis— as Acting Commander could aggravate politicisation in the army.132

In this environment, the discussion paper of a DCP-commissioned consultancy on restructuring the PNGDF never stood much chance of being fully implemented.133 That report offered a clear prescription for reorganising the force. However, its failure to make allowances for the very limited capacity of the military for change was curious, given past warnings by the Australian Department of Defence against anticipation of rapid progress there.134 Accordingly, the Papua New Guinean security planners who

communications with Police headquarters' - National, 'Narokobi Seeks Judicial Probe into Removal', 20 January 1999. 127 Four more lieutenant colonels were promoted, while another six "anti-Singirok" Colonels were sacked in January 1999 - National, 'Four Officers Promoted', 8 January 1999; Post-Courier, 'Colonels Sacked: Changes in Defence Force Hierarchy', 29 January 1999. 128 National, 'PNGDF Under Fire Over Armoury Theft', 17 June 1998. Suspects in one case were acquitted when the state failed to produce key witnesses due to a lack of funds for their transfer from Kavieng Jail - Post-Courier, 'Missing State Witness Was in Custody', 23 April 1999. 129 National, 'Skate Plans Another Ministerial Reshuffle', 21 April 1998. The PM briefly held the portfolio himself. 130 For example, the Minister of Defence suspended the Departmental Secretary for insubordination in a dispute over a K18m debt, but the Secretary successfully appealed the decision in court - Post- Courier, 'PNGDF at Critical Debt Level', 30 October 1998; National, 'Waieng Suspends Lupari', 3 December 1998; National, 'Lupari Resumes Duties', 9 December 1998. A year later, a (different) acting secretary was suspended to allow investigation into the alleged mismanagement of Defence funds - National, 'Pogo Suspends Defence Secretary', 10 December 1999. 131 National, 'Building a New Role for the Army', 2 February 1999. Plans for the ambitious sort of national service scheme repeatedly shown to be untenable continued to circulate in Port Moresby for similar reasons - Post-Courier, 'Defence Act Review May See Youths Conscripted', 24 March 1998; cf. T. Boyce, Introduction of the Civilian National Service Scheme (Canberra, SDSC, 1991). 132 Malpo led the unofficial Special Operations Group (SOG) established by Nuia to counterbalance the Special Forces Unit (SFU) that was loyal to Singirok and led the anti-Sandline revolt - National, 'Malpo "Not Ideal Choice"', 27 August 1999. The SOG contained eight reinstated "recon group" soldiers, discharged for refusing active duties on Bougainville in 1996, and linked to a security company owned by the Chan family - National, 'SFU a Legal Force', 8 October 1997. 133 It was intended to assist preparation of the 1996 Defence White Paper - a public version was published as P. Dibb & R. Nicholas, Op. Cit. 134 As was noted above. (See Australian DoD, Defence Cooperation, 6.3.5, an unpublished version of which was available by 1994). The Dibb and Nicholas report seemed to presuppose that the Bougainville conflict was over and irrelevant to restructuring (eg. pp. 38-43). Its levels-of-force based circumspection on the possibility of integrating the security forces (p. 100) was also curious, given that the army and police should both use minimal violence in any likely scenario but are prone 50 drafted the 1996 White Paper and its successor simply disregarded some of the difficult but central recommendations of the report. Meanwhile, continuing instability in the PNGDF forced a resigned Australian government to directly supply its most elementary provisions under DCP auspices on a 'short-term emergency basis'.135

The new defence White Paper eschews close attention to the concept of security and explicitly distances itself from the sort of commitment to internal security that its predecessors had been moving towards. The document is candidly presented as a response to both 'the Government's concern about the current state of the Defence Force' and the opportunity to begin to stabilise the military presented by relative calm on Bougainville.136 The new policy appears to be premised on the PNGDF being quite dangerous enough without increasing its responsibility to meet complicated and difficult mini-crises on a daily basis. As such, it employs the Independence Constitution to sanction a shift back towards the three more "traditional" of the four tasks set out in Section 202. These involve external defence and sovereignty protection, contributing to international and regional stability, and assisting nation-building projects.137 The pressing need to stabilise the PNGDF is beyond doubt. However, the likely fulfilment and the basic relevance of the three nominated tasks remains highly doubtful.138 Even more seriously, the refusal of the White Paper to engage Papua New Guinea's internal security predicament may prove non-viable, given the enormity of those problems and an overall situation in which the under-strength police force has been ordered to shed a thousand personnel to save money.139

Scholarly analysis: state versus society models Although academic accounts of security in Papua New Guinea have tended to address non-state referents rather more directly than the official accounts discussed above, they are yet to do so in a truly deliberate and sustained way. The shift from militarily- oriented to mainly political explanations of Papua New Guinean security of the mid to late 1980s demanded at least tacit acceptance of other security referents beside the state.

to do the opposite. This probably reflected the Australian government's assertive but cautious posture, noted above - cf. National (editorial), 'A United Force May be the Answer', 13 November 1998. 135 Eg. National, 'Aussie Gear Worth K1.6m for PNGDF', 30 March 1998. 136 See PM Skate's Foreword to The 1999 PNG Defence White Paper (Boroko, DoD, 1999). 137 Ibid. See the Introduction by the Defence Council. The second of four main roles set out in S. 202, involving aid to civil authorities for the restoration of public order and security, is de-emphasised. 138 The white paper asserts the country's 'uniquely favourable strategic location' vis-a-vis external threats - p. 1. The government has also just declined to participate in the early stages of the first regional peacekeeping force (outside PNG itself) for several years, due to funding constraints and sensitivities regarding the bilateral relationship with Indonesia - National, 'PNG Will Join Third Phase of E Timor Operation', 8 October 1999. Some progress towards increased civic action/nation-building projects is evident, but greater success is undermined by administrative and funding problems. In any case, such projects are an expensive way to carry out public works - Post-Courier, 'Army Signs Deal to Go Bush', 12 October 1999; & National, 'Defence Engineers Pullout of Project', 1 October 1999. 139 The RPNGC will have lost 700 personnel by the end of the year - National, 'K12m Needed to Bail Out Cops', 29 September 1999. 51 The very broad equation of security with the myriad political problems facing the country in those political accounts was lent a degree of focus by subsequent attention to the gap between state and society there. Inquiry into state-society relations has prompted some elementary considerations of "societal security" but has not been widely taken up or moved far beyond the identification of a basic disjunction between nebulously conceived state and societal interests. Earlier discussions of law and order also provide useful insights into state-society interactions in Papua New Guinea's security realm. However, even where these have gone beyond representing state and society in terms of an oversimplified dichotomy, they have been content to classify actual components of each in miscellaneous ways.

The shift from narrow external military accounts of Papua New Guinean security to very broad politically-oriented studies in the 1980s was introduced in the first part of this chapter. Typical analyses conducted in the new style asked whether the many different challenges facing the Papua New Guinea state truly placed it at "the political crossroads"? Among the challenges considered were rising levels of violent crime, the insurgency on Bougainville, problems facing the national economy, the growing militancy of landowner groups, and parliamentary politics conducted with little regard for the national interest. Most scholars concluded that the general circumstances facing Papua New Guinea, and aspects of its political culture and organisation —especially the accessibility of national elections which, for all their faults, act as a safety-valve by facilitating the upward mobility of discontented élite figures— impeded both centralising authoritarianism and regional separatism, placing the country at a 'pre- crisis' rather than full crisis stage, and allowing some continued latitude for 'muddling through'.140

Although such studies could hardly fail to address security referents other than the state, their very breadth seemed to preclude their proceeding from the general predicament to more specific challenges and on to prescriptive suggestions, as narrower military analyses had often done. They tended to implicitly point to the importance of non-state actors in shaping insecurity in Papua New Guinea without following up with the further inquiry that this could have sparked. MacQueen, for example, declares that the idea of security there has 'imploded, geographically and ideologically, and the view of the island state as a rational actor, preoccupied with the pursuit of national security in the international system, [become] increasingly untenable.'141 However, he declines to ask precisely who or what the focus of security inquiry should be on, if not the island state as rational actor? Similarly, Hegarty announces 'a qualitative change in the

140 Especially see D. Hegarty, PNG at the Political Crossroads?, pp. 12-14; & N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., pp. 150-152. Some more recent assessments are less optimistic - eg. J. Ketan, 'The Name Must Not Go Down', unpublished PhD thesis, University of Wollongong, 1998, pp. 307-23. 141 N. MacQueen, Op. Cit., p. 134. 52 character of political and social dissent [in which] the development process, the expansion of democratic forms and practices, and rapid politicisation, have unleashed a new range of effervescent social forces which are beginning to alter the style and rules of political conflict.'142 However, he neglects to closely engage the specifics of those effervescent social forces.

The early politically-oriented accounts of Papua New Guinean security began to acquire a sharper focus in the early 1990s, thanks to the influence of growing interest in state-society interactions among Melanesianists generally. Many anthropologists, economists, political scientists, and others, now use state versus society and state-in- society models to help explain contemporary politics and culture in Papua New Guinea.143 These models resonate with pressures stemming from the growing conviction of many Papua New Guineans that they can only hope to participate in the formal economy by seeking a slice of governmental revenue, for example.144 Since the 1980s, local "landowner" communities and their leaders in the areas adjacent to, and most affected by, resource extraction projects have captured an ever-increasing percentage of this income. Appropriation of these funds takes place in two basic ways. Firstly, it occurs directly, through litigation, the post-1989 Development Forum process, special support grants, and the infrastructure tax credit scheme, for example. Secondly, and more importantly, it occurs indirectly, through pressure on the weak state apparatus by relatively strong (and some quite weak) elements of Papua New Guinean society. Many scholars have discussed the second of these phenomena using terms such as 'upward colonisation'145, 'interpenetration'146, 'tribalisation'147, 'reverse colonisation'148, 'adaptive domestication'149, 'capture'150, and 'incorporation'151. This

142 D. Hegarty, PNG at the Political Crossroads?, p. 2. He briefly cites M. Oliver (1989) on '"the gap" - the absence of a linkage mechanism which political parties usually provide - between rulers and ruled [which Oliver considers] to be the greatest threat to PNG's future stability' - p. 11. 143 These models were briefly introduced in Ch. 1. They are used to explore broad developmental issues, such as political competition, resource compensation, law and order difficulties, and practical problems of governance. 144 By employment in, or support from, the public sector. The coffee and, to a lesser extent, the copra and forestry industries (as well trade in betel nuts, alcohol, and illegal drugs) are partial exceptions. The National newspaper reports that only about 6000 of the 50 000 skilled and trained people produced every year can be absorbed into the formal employment sector - 'UNDP Urges Equitable Distribution of Wealth', 17 October 1997. 145 This is a 'two-way process of penetration [which] started in the late 1960s' - R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Law and Order in the New Guinea Highlands (Hanover, New England UP, 1985) p. 181. They introduced but did not fully develop this theme. 146 B. Standish, 'Simbu Paths to Power: Political Change and Cultural Continuity in the PNG Highlands', unpublished PhD thesis, ANU, May 1992, p. 250. 147 A. Strathern discusses PNG's 'traditionalised modern' rather than 'modernised traditional' society in 'Let the Bow go Down' in R. Ferguson and N. Whitehead (eds.) War in the Tribal Zone (Santa Fe, School of American Research, 1992) p. 242 & p. 247. Earlier, he had predicted dual cultural and material causes of similar social processes, but had not proposed a general theory of social change on their basis - A Line of Power (London, Tavistock, 1984) pp. 111 & 115. 148 P. Larmour, 'State and Society', Pacific Economic Bulletin Vol. 10 No. 1, 1995, p. 42. 53 process has led to the breakdown of once quite strictly differentiated public and private roles, to the virtual abandonment of the principal of public ownership of sub-surface resources, and to the diversion and consumption of funds meant for investment in the national infrastructure by politicians and their immediate core constituencies, among other things.152 The benefits of these spoils are very limited even for the minority who receive them.153 However, the costs are substantial for those outside the new mini- realms of 'quasi-government' provided by resource companies.154

In terms of more dedicated security commentary, the new focus on state-society interactions strongly influenced many of the contributors to a 1994 volume on security in Papua New Guinea.155 One chapter, by Standish, offers a preliminary but explicit consideration of 'societal security' there.156 It presents a catalogue of the likely 'human security' concerns of a variety of Papua New Guineans, in an analysis that shifts from the state to town to village.157 However, the exercise was intended as a practically- based corrective to traditional military and state focused security analysis, rather than as a theoretically-based general explanation, and as such its inventory of security referents and their security interests is ultimately miscellaneous. Dinnen concludes another chapter by stressing a 'fundamental need to improve the linkages between state and local societies', listing a few particular referents as he does so, but his treatment of security is even less conceptually-based and he does not attempt to classify the parts of "society" or "the community" that are discerned.158

149 Y. Saffu, 'Continuity and Change in PNG Electoral Politics', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 34. 150 S. Dinnen also uses the terms 'penetration', 'interaction', and 'negotiation', - 'In Weakness and Strength', p. 58. 151 J. Ketan, Op. Cit., p. 28. 152 According to R. Gordon and M. Meggitt, the government is no longer principally seen as a mechanism for development but as an instrument to be used to establish and extend patronage ties - Op. Cit., pp. 145-89. 153 Eg. see B. Knauft on the experiences of Fasu clans near Chevron's Hides Gas Project at Kutubu, & D. Hyndman on the experiences of the Wopkaimin near the Ok Tedi copper and gold mine - 'Like Money You See in a Dream', Oceania Vol. 64 No. 2, 1993, pp. 187-90; & Ancestral Rain Forests and the Mountain of Gold (Boulder, Westview, 1994). 154 These accelerate the decline of governmental health, education, and agricultural extension services — further entrenching the situation. See Chs. 5-7 on the consequences. For an overview see C. Filer, 'Compensation, Rent and Power in PNG', in S. Toft (ed.) Compensation for Resource Development in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1997) pp. 156-90; J. Connell, PNG - the Struggle for Development, pp. 121-66 & pp. 302-17; J. Burton, 'Mining and Maladministration in PNG', pp. 154- 82; & R. May, 'From Promise to Crisis: A Political Economy of PNG', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) pp. 54-73. 155 The book stemmed from an ADSC conference, entitled 'Papua New Guinea—Issues for Australian Security Planners', held at ADFA in Canberra in November 1993 - see A. Thompson (ed.) Op. Cit., 156 B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 51. 157 Ibid., pp. 58-9. 158 S. Dinnen, 'Public Order in PNG', p. 112. Dinnen normally uses the term security to denote operations by the PNGDF, police, or private guards - eg. see 'Violence, Security and the 1992 Election', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) pp. 77-104. 54 The evolving literature on law and order in Papua New Guinea, though even less alert to theoretical debates about the concept of security, also offers some useful insights into what amount to security interests besides those of the state.159 Even before independence, the 1973 Paney Committee report on renewed tribal fighting in the highlands had warned of a widening credibility gap between government officers and the village level, for example.160 A decade later, the Clifford Report on Law and Order identified a dangerous and growing disjuncture between 'the state and its citizens'.161 In contemplating renewed highlands warfare, Gordon and Meggitt examine the sometimes violently negotiated 'nexus between the governors and the governed'.162 Saffu describes the 1985 Goldie River "gang retreat" conference of raskols and government representatives in terms of an attempt 'to initiate a dialogue between representatives of State and Society and those of gangsterdom'.163 Similarly, Schiltz calls contemporary violence in the highlands partly a matter of 'society against the state'.164 In discussing 'the compromised character of the post-colonial state'165, Dinnen warns that 'it is not so much the gap separating state and society that underlies current problems of order in Papua New Guinea, as the blurring between them.'166

Various actors are naturally discussed in such analyses of law and order, but no matter how labelled the actual components of state and society have not been systematically differentiated in the course of this (or earlier167) research. The re- emergence of quite widespread violent conflict in Papua New Guinea from the 1960s,

159 Many of the important reports and studies are quasi-official, having been government-commissioned or sponsored but written mainly by academics and professionals. 160 P. Paney, Report of the Committee Investigating Tribal Fighting (PoM, Government Printer, 1973) p. 3. Discussed in Ch. 4. 161 W. Clifford, Op. Cit., p. iii. 162 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 237. See Chs. 4 & 6. Constitutionally, 'government refers to both the political executive and to any part of the administrative arms of the national or provincial governments.' - P. Bayne, 'Law, Order and Rights', in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, RSPacS, 1986) p. 43. 163 To 'enable the former to learn directly from the gangsters why they had turned to crime, and what could be done to turn them from a life of crime' - Y. Saffu, 'January-June 1985', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 403. 164 M. Schiltz, 'War, Peace, and the Exercise of Power: Perspectives on Society, Gender and the State in the New Guinea Highlands', Social Analysis Vol. 21, 1987, p. 13. (He suggests this conflict stems from a Melanesian 'ethos of equivalence' - p. 5 & p. 8, discussed in Ch. 6). 165 S. Dinnen, 'In Weakness and Strength', p. 59 166 S. Dinnen, 'Law, Order, and State', in L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi (ed.) Modern PNG (Kirksville, Thomas Jefferson UP, 1998) p. 348. 167 Actors are sometimes categorised in discussions of precolonial violence, but in diverse ways. Eg. G. Herdt separately examines children, adolescents, and adults - 'Aspects of Socialisation for Aggression', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 59 No. 4, 1986, p. 160. The early general anthropological texts linking warfare, agricultural factors, expansion and social segmentation were partly organised according to (variable) types of individual, group, intergroup, and regional levels, but were not specific to Melanesia and only considered precolonial societies - discussed in G. Morren, 'Warfare on the Highland Fringe', in R. Ferguson (ed.) Warfare, Culture and Environment (Orlando, Academic Press, 1984) p. 172 (citing Sahlins 1961 and Vayda 1961). 55 after a interval of several decades, is often described as a return to 'violent self-help'.168 The last word in that phrase is relatively straightforward. If the pacification of Melanesians meant their temporarily relinquishing the 'right to secure by force their safety, gain and glory'169, the "help" of contemporary violent self-help is simply that right reclaimed. In contrast, the "self" part of the expression is anything but simple. The nature of personhood, community or grouphood, and society in Melanesia is very complicated and sometimes controversial.170 Nor is it adequately explained by the sort of government/village, state/citizen, governors/governed, or state/society dichotomies referred to above. Yet, types of actors and their imperatives are obviously central to violent conflict in Papua New Guinea, where 'the student of crime is confronted with social phenomena that are overwhelmingly collective in character'.171

Strathern comes closest to directly considering this question among the analysts of law and order, in a discussion of what he calls processes of 'disintegrative- integration'.172 However, even this concept is intended to provide an overall portrayal of violence in Papua New Guinea rather than to offer a framework for its detailed further investigation. He states that by

integration here I refer to the incorporation of local areas into district, provincial, and national political structures and processes. By disintegration I mean that the very processes that link local clans to the state also produce within and between clans a heightened potential for conflict through competition for resources and political offices. If policy is to be devised to modify the dialectics involved in this two-way traffic between the state and local groups, the approach must be to recognise from the beginning that the problems are produced through many interactions of politicians, public servants, and local leaders that have consequences beyond those intended by the individuals concerned.173 Elsewhere, though, he lists social scientists, diverse local groups, individuals, international companies, representatives of provincial and national level interests, international NGOs, and legal firms as policy 'players'.174 In another account, he explores the competition of politicians, businessmen, raskols, and clan leaders as 'factors and processes at work' behind increasing violence in the highlands.175 Such

168 Eg. M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument (California, Mayfield, 1977) p. 163; P. Brown, 'Conflict in the New Guinea Highlands', Journal of Conflict Resolution Vol. 26 No. 3, 1982, p. 541; B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 78. Earlier, the expression was common in anthropological and ethnographic discussion of precolonial warfare - eg. L. Langness, 'Violence in the New Guinea Highlands', in J. Short & M. Wolfgang (eds.) Collective Violence (Chicago, Atherton, 1972) p. 182; & K. Koch, War and Peace in Jalémó (Cambridge, Harvard UP, 1974) p. 166. 169 M. Cooper, 'On the Beginnings of Colonialism in Melanesia', in M. Rodman & M. Cooper (eds.) The Pacification of Melanesia (Ann Arbor, Michigan UP, 1979) p. 25 (citing Sahlins 1968). 170 Eg. see M. Strathern, The Gender of the Gift (Berkeley, California UP, 1988). Discussed in Chs. 4 to 7. 171 S. Dinnen, 'Violence, Security and the 1992 Election', p. 80. 172 A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in Papua New Guinea', Pacific Studies Vol. 16 No. 4, 1993, p. 57. 173 Ibid., p. 57. 174 A. Strathern, 'Compensation: or Moving Swiftly Over Broken Ground', p. 1. 175 A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow go Down', p. 234. 56 categories are formulated and used in ad hoc ways, and do not establish precisely what their "many interactions" are.

Conclusion This chapter has begun the security country-study by presenting the shortcomings of existing analyses of Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament. It confirms the need for close-grained re-analysis of the situation, which will be attempted in the following chapters. Official efforts to formulate more multidimensional security policies have been greatly hindered by practical obstacles but have also suffered from serious conceptual failings. I have suggested that the relative overemphasis of "new" threats to the state and a corresponding neglect of non-state security referents are central to the latter.176 In comparison, scholarly assessments have started to seriously engage non-state referents, partly thanks to their increasing acknowledgment of dissonance between state and societal security there. However, they have not methodically explored the composition or precise security exigencies of either "the state" or Papua New Guinean "society".

Those scholarly works provide the point of departure for this thesis. A satisfactory basis is needed to help to systematically distinguish the key components of Papua New Guinean state and society, for identifying the security imperatives of these components, for assessing how they singly and jointly affect the country's overall security predicament, and perhaps for considering how such interactions might be encouraged to take place in a more positive-sum manner. The most likely location of such a conceptual tool is in the specialist theoretical literature on security in developing countries. Accordingly, that material is turned to in the next chapter.

176 It would be helpful to see if a focus on referents beside the state, rather than new threats, is borne-out theoretically. 57 CHAPTER THREE Theoretical Perspectives on Security in Developing Countries This chapter directly engages the specialist theoretical literature on security in developing countries to try to locate conceptual tools to help guide the investigation of the practical questions raised in Chapter Two. It is particularly hoped that these could help indicate whether a focus on new threats or referents beside the state is likely to be superior, and how the components and imperatives of state and societal security could systematically be further disaggregated. It is found that the existing theoretical literature, which typically operates at a general explanatory rather than a close-grained practical level, has tended to emphasise security pressures felt in a structural or international rather than a domestic way. As such, it does not directly provide the sort of tools that are required here, but it does offer a solid basis for constructing this sort of apparatus. The chapter duly proposes a simple analytical framework designed to help investigate and explain the very many diverse security pressures that must be taken into account in practical analysis conducted at immediate levels.

The chapter has six parts. It starts by introducing changing conceptions of security in the broader field of International Relations. The main reasons why, and ways in which, conventional understandings of security have been reassessed are outlined, along with key analytical concepts and specialist terms. The second part of the chapter shows why the study of security in developing countries continues to constitute a distinct subfield of security analysis. Next, the unmet need for a satisfactory analytic core focus to assist the examination of the sort of detailed practical questions that will be central to the reconceptualisation of security in Papua New Guinea is discussed. Such a tool is necessary to help decide which of a very large variety of potentially important matters to consider, and how to explain them — and thus balance increased analytical breadth with the preservation of basic conceptual clarity and elegance. The limited ability of existing models to provide this focus is pointed to. The fourth part evaluates the three most-likely potential bases for such a focus: threats in addition to military ones, referents in addition to the state, and means of pursuing increased security beside national militarisation. It argues for an emphasis on non-state referents. The fifth part constructs a new model on this basis. It has two main elements: a very simple criterion for initially determining what matters should be examined as security pressures; and the identification of five distinct and consistent quests for particular security imperatives (or "core values") by key categories of referents. It is suggested that the intersection of these searches for security may chiefly shape the overall security predicaments of developing countries. The last part of the chapter shows how the new model will begin to be tested and refined in the rest of the thesis as a possible basis for the reconceptualisation of overall security in Papua New Guinea.

58 Changing conceptions of security: rationale, approaches, and key terms It is necessary to situate the specialist literature within the context of the broader debate on changing conceptions of security before the more specific matter of security in developing countries can be engaged. This part of the chapter contains three short sections on different aspects of the general security literature. These summarise the various rationale behind, and main approaches to the reassessment of the concept. They also outline key analytical concepts and terms used throughout the rest of the thesis.

Why reconceptualise security? Descriptions of security as an 'ambiguous symbol', an 'essentially contested concept', and an 'underdeveloped concept' are hardly new.1 Interest in security is currently in at least its third cycle in the American social science literature alone.2 However, it is only in the post-Cold War era that investigation of the nature and meaning of the term has become a 'staple' of International Studies.3

Dictionary definitions and everyday understandings of the word security primarily refer to freedom from risk, danger, doubt, anxiety and fear.4 However, the dominant political meanings of the term have conventionally been as narrow as everyday ones are broad. These essentially designate national security. National security planning formulates military protection for states from organised violence caused by armed foreigners.5 This topic has traditionally been the preserve of official policy-makers and academic analysts in the discipline of Strategic Studies.6 Its key tenets proceed from Clausewitz's realist depiction of warfare as a rational tool of state policy in a more-or- less anarchical international system of sovereign nation-states.7 The prevalence of these

1 A. Wolfers, 'National Security as an Ambiguous Symbol', in A. Wolfers (ed.) Discord and Collaboration (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins UP, 1962) pp. 147-66; W. Gallie, 'Essentially Contested Concepts', in M. Black (ed.) The Importance of Language (New Jersey, Prentice-Hall, 1962) pp. 121- 46 (culture, equality, freedom, justice, love, peace, power, and the state are other examples); B. Buzan, People, States, and Fear 1st edn. (Chapel Hill, North Carolina UP, 1983) pp. 3-9. 2 Earlier, less intense, phases began in the 1940s (eg. with the framing of the US National Security Act of 1947) and in 1970s (with increasing attention to economic, energy, population and environmental problems). The current phase began in 1989 - D. Bobrow, 'Complex Insecurity: Implications of a Sobering Metaphor', International Studies Quarterly Vol. 40 No. 4, 1996, p. 438 (citing Romm 1993). 3 K. Krause & M. Williams, 'Broadening the Agenda of Security Studies', Mershon International Studies Review Vol. 40 No. 2, 1996, p. 229. Also M. Alagappa, 'Rethinking Security', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) p. 43. 4 It derives from the Latin securitas which means without care - S. Del Rosso, ‘The Insecure State’, Daedalus Vol. 124 No. 2, 1995, p. 183. 5 Ibid., p. 183. 6 Strategic Studies, examines 'the relating of military power to political purpose' and 'the art of bringing forces to the battlefield in a favourable position', and is a highly practical, often partisan, field - C. Gray, Strategic Studies: A Critical Assessment (Connecticut, Greenwood Press, 1982) p. 4; B. Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age (New Jersey, Princeton UP, 1959) p. 13; & see B. Buzan, An Introduction to Strategic Studies (London, Macmillan Press, 1987). 7 K. Waltz provides the defining statement of realist thought, arguing that of three possible causes of war -the nature of man, the domestic constitution of states, and the shape of the international system- the "third image" is by far the most powerful - Man, the State and War (New York, Columbia University 59 more formal meanings of security in political discourse is mainly due to the perceived importance of war, and since the mid-seventeenth century the idea of the sovereign nation-state, in the international system.8

However, since the end of the First World War there has been a gradual scholarly and practical movement towards the reconceptualisation of political meanings of security. This is driven by a pair of compelling doubts about conventional strategic security analysis.

The first misgiving is essentially normative. Most alternative security enthusiasts who operate principally on this basis —Booth calls them 'new thinkers'9— hold a common-sense understanding of the term security. For them it is a positive value, akin to well-being or welfare, that should be increased and spread. Normative security reconceptualisers are heirs to a long-standing idealist tradition in the social sciences and in international governance.10 The traditionally close association of formal security discourse with national defence lends it a privileged position. Officially acknowledged security issues tend to command ample resources and can be powerful mobilising calls- to-arms. Normative security reconceptualisers claim that the term has been distorted and debased by its frequent deployment for repressive purposes.11 They advocate its

Press, 1959). This entails three essential premises: that security threats inevitably arise out of the material capabilities of potential opponents in a self-help world, that states are the key if not sole actors and appropriate objects of inquiry, and that this situation can be managed but not transcended - M. van Creveld, The Transformation of War (New York, Free Press, 1991) pp. 35-7. Thus, for realists, 'the will to security is born out of a primal fear, a natural estrangement and a condition of anarchy, which diplomacy, international law and the balance of power seek, yet ultimately fail, to mediate' - J. Der Derian, ‘The Value of Security’ in R. Lipschutz (ed.) On Security (New York, Columbia UP, 1995) p. 27. 8 The 1648 Treaty of Westphalia which ended the Thirty Years War is widely held to have marked the start of the modern era by strengthening the principle of state sovereignty. It concluded the 150 year era of Europe's Religious Wars (which had also had imperial, inter-state, and inter-élite dimensions) by reconfirming the non-intervention principle for nearly 300 German cities and small states. However, Clausewitz's trinitarian conception of the nation-state as government, army and people reflects the mass nationalism and industrialising economy of post-revolutionary France. (Other proto- realists, such as Thucydides, Sun Tzu, and Machiavelli wrote about earlier pre-modern states.) 9 New thinkers aim to treat the concept holisticly, multidimensionally and comprehensively - K. Booth, 'War, Security and Strategy', in K. Booth (ed.) New Thinking about Strategy and International Security (London, Harper-Collins, 1991) pp. 336-54. 10 Both were greatly expanded in response to the scourge of two world wars and the dangers of the dawning Cold War. IGO treatments of security include R. McNamara (then World Bank President), The Essence of Security (New York, Harper and Row, 1968); W. Brandt, North-South: A Programme For Survival (London, Pan Books, 1980) on food security; O. Palme, Common Security: A Program for Disarmament (London, Pan Books, 1982); Commonwealth Secretariat: Vulnerability: Small States in the Global Society (London, Commonwealth Secretariat, 1985); G. Brundtland, Our Common Future (Oxford, Commission on Environment and Development, 1987) on environmental security; B. Ghali, Agenda for Peace (New York, UN Secretariat, 1992) on common security; UNDP, Human Development Report 1994 (New York, UNDP, 1994) on human security; & Commission on Global Governance, Our Global Neighbourhood (New York, Oxford UP, 1995)p. 81. 11 Eg. see C. Egan, ‘National Security Regimes and Human Rights Abuse: Argentina’s Dirty Wars’, in E. Azar and C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, CIDCM, 1988); & C. Nordstrom, 'The Dirty War: Civilian Experience of Conflict in Mozambique and Sri Lanka', in K. Rupesinghe (ed.) Internal Conflict and Governance (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1992). 60 "recapture" and "demilitarisation" for progressive use in the global interest.12 Consequently, they are particularly inclined to attach the security suffix to eclectic problems and goals.13 These are relabelled as such to indicate their seriousness or worthiness. Human security models, for example, emphasise the linkages between low levels of human development and high levels of violence in order to promote basic needs-directed aid to poorer countries.14 Some new thinkers explicitly link the pursuit of security to human 'emancipation' goals.15

The second basic objection to traditionally narrow security analysis focuses on its conceptual shortcomings. It is based on the conviction that conventional strategic security analysis addresses interesting and important problems but simply cannot accurately engage these. Theoretical inquiry was begun in earnest with the publication of the first edition of Buzan's People States and Fear in 1983. Buzan argued that the concept was so weakly developed as to be inadequate even for the task of explaining national security problems.16 Some of the most nuanced analyses conducted on this basis depict security matters as unfortunate affairs that should be further delimited rather than proliferated (and certainly not equated with well-being).17 Nevertheless, studies conducted in this tradition treat security as a crucial topic, with serious consequences, that must be better understood if it is to be better managed. Even most of those who argue that Security Studies should remain focused on inter-state war acknowledge that the actual boundary between internal and external conflicts is blurred

12 "Tactical" reconceptualisation is attempted because 'winning the right to define security provides not just access to resources but also the authority to articulate new definitions and discourses of security ' - R. Lipschutz, 'On Security', in R. Lipschutz (ed.) On Security (New York, Columbia UP, 1995) p 8. Also see A. Groom, ‘Paradigms in Conflict: The Strategist, the Conflict Researcher and the Peace Researcher’, in J. Burton and F. Dukes (eds.) Conflict: Readings in Management and Resolution (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1990); & E. Boulding (ed.) New Agendas for Peace Research: Conflict and Security Reexamined (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1992). 13 Including particular environmental or health security threats and specific food or gender security objectives, for example. Early egs. concerning environmental security include L. Brown, 'Redefining National Security', World Watch Institute Paper No. 14, Washington DC, October 1977; & R. Ullman, 'Redefining Security', International Security Vol. 8 No. 1, 1983, pp. 129-53. 14 UNDP, Ibid., Also see D. Ghai, The Basic Needs Approach to Development (Geneva, ILO, 1977); R. Coate and J. Rosati (eds.) The Power of Human Needs in World Society (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1988); & J. Burton, Conflict: Human Needs Theory Vol. 2 (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1990). 15A boundless goal that 'means freeing people from those constraints that stop them carrying out what freely they would choose to do, of which war, poverty, oppression and poor education are a few' - K. Booth, ‘Security and Emancipation’, Review of International Studies Vol. 17 No. 4, 1991, p. 313. 16 B. Buzan, People, States and Fear, 1st edn, p. 1. In 1983, security was essentially seen either as a derivative of power by realists (in the sense that an actor with enough power to reach a domination position would acquire security), or as a consequence of peace by idealists (in the sense that lasting peace would provide security for all). A more fully developed concept of security, Buzan claimed, could lie between the extremes of power and peace and enrich both by bridging the gap normally separating them - Ibid., 1st edn. p. 2. 17 Since they can sanction disregard for the rule of law and normal standards of decency - eg. O. Wæver, 'Securitization and Desecuritization', in R. Lipschutz (ed.) On Security (New York, Columbia UP, 1995) pp. 46-86; & B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, Security: A New Framework for Analysis (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1998) p. 29. Discussed below. 61 and that diverse pressures can be catalysts of both.18 Krause and Williams distinguish three pressures behind the current prevalence of conceptual inquiry into security: dissatisfaction with the neorealist theoretical foundations of the field, a need to accommodate the uncertain post-Cold War security order, and a desire to make Security Studies relevant to contemporary concerns.19

Approaches to the reconceptualisation of security Current debate about the multidimensional nature of security is followed by many social scientists, and is an important theme in several sub-fields of International Relations.20 In practice, there is both considerable overlap between competing approaches to the re-examination of security, and much variation within them.21 They are broadly differentiated by their answers to the key question of what the analytical focus of security inquiry should be on, if not the military defence of states against foreign attack. This is sometimes referred to as the 'wide versus narrow' or 'content' debate.22

This debate stems from a dilemma facing all those who wish to move beyond narrow strategic conceptions of security. It arises from an inescapable tension between conceptual breadth and conceptual clarity.23 To be analytically useful, or even meaningful, security issues must at some point be distinguished from the universe of all political problems and goals.24 As a result, an unfortunate 'trade-off' of theoretical sophistication for coherence or coherence for sophistication can seem almost

18 Eg. P. Morgan, 'Safeguarding Security Studies', Arms Control Vol. 13 No. 3, 1992, pp. 464-79; C. Gray, Villains, Victims and Sheriffs (Hull, Hull UP, 1994). Cf. T. Homer-Dixon, ‘On the Threshold: Environmental Changes as Causes of Acute Conflict’, International Security Vol. 16 No. 2, 1991, pp. 76-116; & K. Rupesinghe, ‘Disappearing Boundaries Between Internal and External Conflicts’, in K. Rupesinghe (ed.) Internal Conflict and Governance (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1992). 19 K. Krause & M. Williams, Op. Cit., p. 229. 20 Some economists, academic feminists and international political economists, for example, embrace the idea of multidimensional security. They do so mainly to highlight particular problems. Most conceptual investigations occur in the Political Science sub-fields of IR Theory, Development Studies, Peace Research and Strategic Studies - surveyed in K. Claxton, 'Insecurity in Developing Countries', unpublished paper, Toronto, March 1997, pp. 12-28. 21 Each school tends to overstate the distinctive characteristics of its rivals and emphasise its own complexity as part of that competition. Discussion of the approaches conducted below also employs rather ideal types for the sake of clarity. 22 B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit., p. 2; D. Bobrow, Op. Cit., p. 437. 23 Discussed in D. Deudney, 'The Case Against Linking Environmental Degradation and National Security', Millennium Vol. 19 No. 3, 1990, pp. 461-76. 24 R. Dorff, 'A Commentary on Security Studies for the 1990s', International Studies Notes Vol. 19 No. 3, 1994, p. 27. Not all commentators believe the concept can, or even should, be precisely delimited. Eg. Bobrow suggests that security should be presented simply as a broad 'orienting metaphor' appropriate to unavoidable complexity and diversity. He argues that specialists on particular forms of insecurity could operate to mutual advantage within such a metaphor - Op. Cit., pp. 435-450. However, this does not deny the need for those specialists to establish shared working definitions of central concepts such as security within their own subfields. 62 inevitable.25 This tension is evident in each of the four basic responses to the content debate summarised by Bobrow. 'Expanders' are prepared to consider all phenomena and agents that could pose or generate potential dangers across the boundaries of states or communities; 'replacers' de-emphasise traditionally central military content in favour of diverse problems, goals, actors and coping strategies; 'bounded adjusters' acknowledge the importance of non-military factors, but only insofar as they directly affect international conflict; and 'core maintainers' attempt to preserve professional clarity and vigour by counselling against going too far with even those limited expansions.26

These different positions reflect the normative and paradigmatic aims and assumptions of the scholars involved. According to Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde, three overall schools dominate the study of security as a concept.27 Each is shaped by the location of its analysts along a constructivist to objectivist spectrum. Constructivists regard the nature of security issues, and of social relations generally, as being mainly socially constituted by the beliefs of people, and thus potentially alterable but not perfectly knowable. Objectivists, on the other hand, consider security issues and other social relations to be shaped more by fixed material laws, and thus almost immutable but potentially fully discernible.28 The most objectivist of the three schools is Traditional Security Studies.29 This continues to focus on the assessment and management of tangible, mainly military, threats to states, caused chiefly by systemic pressures such as the balance of power.30 The second school, Critical Security Studies, embraces a constructivist view of social relations, though not necessarily of security itself.31 It aims to unlock 'potentialities to change the world' by showing that the

25 R. Rockwell, & R. Moss, ‘Reconceptualizing Security: A Note about Research’, in B. Bagley, & S. Quezada (eds.) Mexico: In Search of Security (New Brunswick, Transaction, 1993) p. 32. Specific schemes for addressing this problem are discussed below. 26 D. Bobrow, Op. Cit., p. 437. 27 B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit., pp. 203-7. Each of Bobrow's four basic responses to the content debate fits within one of these. 28 For a general discussion see A. Wendt, 'The Agent-Structure Problem in International Relations', International Organisation Vol. 41 No. 3, 1987, pp. 335-70. 29 It is sometimes called International Security Studies, and is the heir to realist Strategic Studies. M. Williams argues that its structural-materialist/empiricist-positivist stance, which discourages a focus on subjectivity and agency, is actually the product of a normative project. This sought to 'construct a realm of objectivity' by marginalising identity — the primary source of violence, disorder in the early modern era - 'Identity and the Politics of Security', unpublished paper, Toronto, March 1997, p. 15. 30 Eg. S. Walt, 'The Renaissance of Security Studies', International Studies Quarterly Vol. 35 No. 2, 1991, pp. 211-39. 31 According to K. Krause, it has three key concerns: examination of the construction of threats and appropriate responses, consideration of the construction of "objects" of security, and evaluations of the possibilities for transformation. It makes six central claims: that the principal actors in world politics, including states, are social constructs produced by complex historical processes; that their identities and interests are not unchanging, since they are constituted through political practices; that international structures are thus only weakly determining, since world politics is not static and unchanging; that our knowledge of world politics cannot be fully objective because organisation and explanation of "facts" is a social process; that the appropriate methodology for the social sciences is interpretive rather than that of the natural sciences; and that although there can be better or worse interpretations of events, the purpose of theory is not explanation and prediction within a framework 63 dominance of states and military issues in established discourses is contingent.32 However, it retains the objectivist tendency to declare what security "is" (various progressive values) and "is not" (militarism), and its more-is-better logic which equates security and well-being has been criticised by members of the third major "Copenhagen" school.33 The treatment of security by this new school is self-described as 'radically constructivist'.34 As such, it declines to categorically declare what security is or should be, but instead offers a general framework for the investigation of individual situations. It introduces the concept of "securitization" and adapts "security complex theory", both of which are outlined below, to help distinguish security matters from broader political affairs on a case-by-case basis and to guide the examination their interactions.35

Some key terms Security studies has accumulated its share of specialist concepts and terms. This section briefly introduces important ideas from the general security literature that are used in the thesis.

New meanings of security are created along three main axes in the academic realm.36 These dimensions are somtimes expressed as a set of questions asking 'who or what is being secured, from what threats, and by what means?'37 When analysis is widened to take actors in addition to the state into account, the units being considered are known as referents. A security referent object 'is that to which one can point and

of trans-historical generalisable causal claims, but contextual understanding and practical knowledge - 'Critical Theory and Security Studies', unpublished paper, Toronto, March 1997, pp. 8, 18, & 21. 32 K. Booth, 'War, Security and Strategy', p. 372. Eg. see K. Krause, & M. Williams (eds.) Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases (Minneapolis, Minnesota UP, 1997). 33 The term is B. McSweeney's - 'Identity and Security: Buzan and the Copenhagen School', Review of International Studies Vol. 22 No. 1, 1996, p. 81. It has since been used by members of the school themselves. The school's original focus was on "societal security" in Europe (introduced below). Its main text is B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit. The school regards formal security concerns as negative rather than positive affairs because they tend to sanction "by whatever means necessary"-type calculation (discussed above and below). 34 Based on its understanding of security as 'a self-referential praxis' - Ibid., p. 204. It is self-referential in that objectively "false" issues, such as threats to German national culture from refugees, could still count. However, it is not regarded as totally subjective or completely self-defined - p. 39. (The role of analysts and "securitization" criteria for determining when a political matter becomes a security issue is discussed below). The Copenhagen school is rather less constructivist in its handling of general social relations, which are regarded as socially formed but durable - Ibid., pp. 204. 35 The actual sequence for specific analysis is not precisely spelt out. Essentially, it is to (1) determine what issues have assumed security dimensions; (2) identify the security units at stake and the pressures facing them; and (3) examine the pattern of interactions among them - Ibid., pp. 168-9 & 195-7. Discussed below. 36 E. Rothschild, 'What is Security?', Daedalus Vol. 124 No. 3, 1995, p. 55. Also see H. Haftendorn, ‘The Security Puzzle: Theory Building and Discipline Building in International Security’ International Studies Quarterly Vol. 35 No. 1, 1991, pp. 3-17. 37 K. Krause, & M. Williams, 'Broadening the Agenda of Security Studies', p. 242. 64 say it has to survive, therefore it is necessary to... .'38 Referents are specific entities, predominantly but by no means only found in the middle levels of analysis.39 Scholars who try to include referents besides the state in analysis are called deepeners.40

When analysis is widened to take account of challenges in addition to military ones, the problems considered are called threats. According to an influential classification, these occur in five major sectors of threat: economic, environmental, military, political, and societal.41 Of these, the first three are straightforward, while the last is explained separately below. Political security threats refer to the imprecise residual category of non-military hazards to state sovereignly or organisational stability, and equivalent challenges to political units other than states, that can be caused by the denial of recognition, support, and legitimacy.42 The endeavour to include a wider range of potential threats in security analysis is termed broadening.43

When analysis is widened to take account of coping strategies for attaining security besides national militarisation, the efforts under consideration are labelled means to security. Various multilateral formula for the better management of international conflict are advocated by Peace Researchers and some other scholars. These approaches could be based on notions of common, cooperative, comprehensive, or collective security, for example.44 Neoliberal International Relations theorists discuss such approaches in their analysis of regimes.45 Analysts who call for increased attention to non-military strategies for attaining security are often labelled extenders.

38 B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit., p. 36. (They suggest the analyst should distinguish actual referents from the actors that designate them security matters and other functional actors that may affect security dynamics but continue to pursue everyday rather than security goals - p. 36.) 39 Five levels of analysis —locations of 'where things happen rather than sources of explanation themselves'— are commonly used in the study of international relations. These are international systems (currently the whole world), international subsystems (regional and functional organisations such as ASEAN and OPEC), units (such as countries and transnational firms differentiated enough to have standing at the higher levels), sub-units (such as bureaucracies and lobbies that can try to affect the behaviour of the unit of which they are a part), and individual persons - Ibid., pp. 5-6. Realism in IR has focused mainly on the effects of the structure of the international system on nation-states. 40 K. Krause & M. Williams, 'Broadening the Agenda of Security Studies', p. 230. 41 B. Buzan, People, States and Fear, 2nd edn. p. 19. 42 B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit., pp. 141-5. 43 K. Krause & M. Williams, 'Broadening the Agenda of Security Studies', p. 230. 44 A. Mack, Concepts of Security in the Post-Cold War (Canberra, RSPAS, 1993) pp. 5-16; D. Dewitt, 'Common, Comprehensive, and Cooperative Security', Pacific Review Vol. 7 No. 1, 1994, pp. 1-15; & R. Thakur, ‘Changing Conceptions of Security’, unpublished paper presented to the Northeast Asia Program Workshop, ANU, Canberra, December 1995, pp. 23-9. 45 Neoliberalism holds that states, and the influence of the international system on them, are crucial. Unlike neorealism, it allows a genuine harmony of interests between states and the possibility of the deliberate creation of positive security communities. Eg. see R. Keohane, 'Institutional Theory and the Realist Challenge after the Cold War', in D. Baldwin (ed.) Neorealism and Neoliberalism (New York, Columbia UP, 1993). 65 Some commentators consider core values a separate fourth major dimension of contemporary security discourse.46 Core values are fundamental imperatives or convictions (and sometimes ideologies) that are perceived to require protection or enhancement to ensure the security of a referent. Depending on the referent concerned, these could involve independence, the increase of distributive justice, or social homogeneity, for example.47

The security dilemma refers to a basic tenet of realist International Relations which holds that an increase in the military power of any country must threaten the safety of its neighbours, thereby intensifying a vicious cycle of dangerous competition. The security dilemma is a structural concept, depicted as a product of the international system that must occur regardless of the offensive or defensive intentions of the countries involved.48

As it originally appeared, the notion of the security complex referred to a 'group of states whose primary security concerns link together sufficiently closely that their national securities cannot realistically be considered apart from one another.'49 It identified distinctive clusters of countries in regional sub-systems, within which inter- relational security dynamics are strong, mainly due to simple proximity.50 Analysts from the Copenhagen School have since proposed that the idea of the security complex could be used as a template to help map patterns of interactions between security referents in addition to states.51 These scholars refer to the examination of even more complex patterns of security dynamics in terms of security constellations. 52

The idea of societal security is based on collective identity. This can lead to conflict 'when communities of whatever kind define [or are manoeuvred into

46 Eg. M. Alagappa, 'Introduction', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) p. 16. 47 Early treatments of core values considered those of states. At a minimum these entailed national independence and territorial integrity. W. Lippman, for example, argued that 'a nation is secure to the extent to which it is not in danger of having to sacrifice core values if it wishes to avoid war, and is able , if challenged, to maintain them by victory' - cited in A. Wolfers, Op. Cit., p. 150. 48 See R. Jervis, 'Cooperation Under the Security Dilemma', World Politics Vol. 30 No. 2, 1978, pp. 167-214. The idea has been a central tenet of realism in IR for most of its five or six decades. 49 B. Buzan, People, States and Fear, 1st edn, p. 106. These sub-systems are impermanent but durable. Examples include South Asia and the Middle East. 50 The sub-systems are described as 'miniature anarchies'. Security relations between their component parts range from the enmity of conflict formation, to security regimes in the middle of the spectrum, to the amity of pluralistic security communities - B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit., pp. 11-13. 51 This would also consider non-military threat types. Ibid., pp. 15-20, 163-93, 200-3. 52 The term is used to emphasise that 'it is not the units themselves in a static way that make up the whole; it is the way their movements, actions, and policies relate to each other that forms a truly political pattern at the level of relations of relations.' For example, 'a security complex consists not simply of India and Pakistan; it consists of an Indian set of perceptions and policies as they form a specific constellation with Pakistani perceptions and policies' - Ibid., p. 191. 66 perceiving] a development or potentiality as a threat to their survival as a community.'53 Advocates of the concept call for the interposition of a many-sided concept of social relations between and around the terms state and individual.54 In principle, any shared identity constituting a 'common social we' can be a referent object of societal security analysis.55 In practice, however, societal security has typically been presented in terms of a simple duality with state security, and as the concern of "the nation".56

Finally, analysts from the Copenhagen School designate the "speech act" of naming a matter not hitherto considered a security concern as such securitization. The concept is designed to help distinguish security threats, referents, and coping strategies from broader "merely political" affairs. It serves constructivist analysis by providing a device for observers to appraise the self-understandings of participants in security affairs 'without shifting from the role of analyst to securitizing actor.'57 The concept has evolved since it was first introduced in the early 1990s. In a 1995 essay advocating the reduction rather than expansion of security issues, Wæver emphasised the special ability of state élites to invoke security discourse. He argued that by moving particular developments into the security realm, and thereby claiming a special right to use whatever means are necessary to block them, state élites help reproduce the hierarchical conditions that have traditionally characterised security practices.58 Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde employ the concept as a central component of their 1998 new framework for security analysis. Being designed to explore a wider agenda, this acknowledges that standard institutionalised securitization by state élites may sometimes be supplemented with securitizations by other social entities.59 Three criteria must be met for matters to be successfully securitized. They must present an existential threat to a unit under consideration, legitimise extraordinary emergency action, and have significant repercussions for other inter-unit security relationships.60 Successful securitization is established not simply by being claimed, but by being accepted by a significant

53 Ibid., p. 119. 54 Especially see M. Shaw, who argues that 'what is needed is a deepening as well as a broadening of the [security] agenda' - ‘There is No Such Thing as Society: Beyond Individualism and Statism in International Security Studies’, Review of International Studies Vol. 19 No. 2, 1993, p. 160. 55 M. Williams, Op. Cit., p. 13. 56 The notion of a straightforward country-wide societal security derives from studies of Western Europe and is problematic even in that context. Its shortcomings are multiplied in developing world circumstances. Attention to the security of sub-state actors insufficient in both contexts. 57 B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit., p. 40. 58 O. Wæver, 'Securitization and Desecuritization', p. 55. He claims that the special right to name a certain development a security problem will 'in the final instance always be defined by the state and its élites'. This is because formal security discourse is a 'specific field of practice', that has a particular meaning only within a certain social context. Consequently, 'the discourse on alternative security makes meaningful statements not by drawing primarily on the register of everyday security but through its contrast with national security' - pp. 54, 50, & 49. 59 B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde, Op. Cit., pp. 21-47. 60 Ibid., pp. 25-6. 67 audience, acted on, and reacted to. It is at once a more extreme version of, and the opposite to, politicisation.61

"Third World" security as a distinct subfield Having introduced the general security debate, it is possible to turn to the specialist literature on security in developing countries. It is necessary to describe the emergence of this sub-literature, and to indicate its continuing relevance, before its specific shortcomings can be addressed. This part of the chapter begins by outlining the general characteristics that broadly distinguish the very heterogeneous category of developing countries. Next it traces the appearance of specialist inquiry into security in developing countries in the 1980s. This research mainly stemmed from the particular inability of familiar theoretical models to explain typical intra-state and even inter-state armed conflicts in developing regions. The relative significance of these contingencies, which have long been the most common sorts of military crises, has increased since the end of the Cold War. Other branches of International Relations theory and Security Studies now pay them greater attention. However, the specialist subfield continues to offer particular insights, based on an established body of work that principally reflects conditions outside the North American and Western European contexts in which most security commentary has been shaped. Certain traits continue to distinguish security predicaments in the developing world from those involving developed countries. Foremost amongst these is the prevalence of insecurity itself in the former.

Some eighty percent of people live outside the twenty-nine member countries of the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) that produce over two thirds of all goods and services.62 The abundance of terms —Hadjor calls them 'euphemisms'— used to describe the decolonised, developing, less-developed, new, peripheral, southern, third, or underdeveloped world reflects the considerable diversity of the countries involved.63 The French demographer Alfred Sauvy coined the first such expression, tiers monde, in 1952.64 His allusion to the third estate of pre- 1789 France conveyed two main ideas: that the countries described were so exploited that their destiny was a revolutionary one; and that they belonged to neither of the two dominant orders of the time, by then the powerful capitalist world and the industrialised communist bloc. The expression third world was used at the founding of the Non-

61 In that most politicised matters enter the course of regular procedural administration - Ibid., p. 23. 62 Approximately 31% live in East Asia, 25% in South Asia, 11% in Sub Saharan Africa, 8% in Latin America, and 4% in the Arab states. Non-membership in the OECD or ex-membership of the Comecon association of Second World socialist economies is often considered a rough indicator or developing country status. (Commonly identified exceptions include Israel, Singapore, and South Africa which are not OECD members, and Mexico and perhaps Turkey which are) - J. Martinussen, Society, State and Market (London, Zed Books, 1997) pp. 9-12. 63 K. Hadjor, Dictionary of Third World Terms (London, I. B. Tauris, 1992) p. ix. 64 Eg. G. Sørensen, 'Introduction: Redefining the Third World?', in N. Poku & L. Pettiford (eds.) Redefining the Third World (London, MacMillan, 1998) p. 2. 68 Aligned Movement (NAM) during the 1955 Bandung conference of recently decolonised and decolonising African and Asian countries. All such terms are imprecise and none is entirely satisfactory.65 Each describes a range from extremely poor and divided Least Developed Countries (LLDCs) that barely endure as places on the map, to some relatively wealthy and unified Newly Industrialising Countries (NICs).

Developing country status is usually ascertained on the basis of a mix of economic criteria and various inventories of other characteristics. Sørensen, for example, bases his conception of the developing world on just three key features: that the countries involved are comparatively weak as players in the international system, as players in the global economy, and as players at domestic politics.66 In comparison, Gurtov outlines twelve more specific, though still representative, symptoms that he claims broadly distinguish third world countries. These are worth reciting for illustrative purposes. They are: relatively clear class structures; chronic underemployment; low status for women; the dominance of top-down models of growth that favour those already on top and preclude or impede strategies for change, such as land reform; non-fulfilment of basic needs; high population growth; a cycle of export- led development policy, agricultural decline, penetration by transnational companies, and dependence on international agencies for development aid, credit, and planning assistance; rapid ecological degradation; a high debt burden; reliance by state agencies on repression as an important tool of social order; (often unsuccessful) efforts to concentrate or centralise political power by state or élite actors; and the flight of professionals overseas.67 Although neither developed nor developing status is fixed, movement between them is rare, since the causes of growth or decline in economic and social capital tend to reinforce each other.68

Today, some scholars argue that whole notion of the developing world has lost much of its descriptive power. The term third world is particularly objected to, due to its loadedness, the widening gap between its constituents, and the end of bipolar competition.69 The World Bank now simply integrates the ex-communist countries of

65 Most OECD countries are decolonised themselves, but a few "decolonised" countries such as Thailand were never formal colonies; some "new" countries are actually quite old; a handful of "peripheral" countries are vital to the world economy and quite wealthy; and certain "southern" countries lie north of the equator; while economic and human development statistics suggest that many "developing" countries are not actually developing at all. 66 G. Sørensen, Op. Cit., pp. 6-12. 67 Not all would be expected to be fully or even partly met in every particular developing country. See M. Gurtov, Global Politics in the Human Interest (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1991) pp. 77-89. 68 A peripheral economic position may be becoming even harder to escape as high debt burdens are augmented by globalisation and the technological revolution. The latter makes the competitive advantage of developing countries in minimally processed raw materials and low labour cost even less important for production - Le Monde Diplomatique, 'The Economics of Future Chaos', 4 June 1999. A. Hoogvelt refers to the shift 'from structural exploitation to structural irrelevance' - Globalisation and the Postcolonial World (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins UP, 1997) p. 84. 69 Eg. G. Arnold, The End of the Third World (New York, St Martin's Press, 1993). 69 the second world into its tables of lower and higher middle income economies, for example.70

However, others continue to favour the concept, arguing that it retains considerable shorthand value as 'useful stereotype' or 'ideal type'71 for referring to the 'the weak, intruder majority in the system of states'.72 Some commentators wish to preserve the concept on tactical grounds, claiming that 'what the countries of the South have in common transcends their differences ...[giving them] a reason to work together for common objectives'.73 Some even wish to preserve the term third world, precisely for its symbolic pejorative sense of outsidedness and privation, and for its acknowledgment of continuing self-identifications of 'thirdworldness'.74 Such writers are inclined to discern a neo-conservative economic agenda and the denial of possibilities for variance as underlying "end of the third world" and "end of history" theses.75

Both the normative and theoretical objections to conventional strategic security analysis noted above are especially pertinent outside developed world contexts. The official or semi-official national security and internal security arms of developing states and regimes often operate especially ruthlessly. To many observers, a thousand new classrooms for thirty thousand children would seem to provide greater overall "security" for a developing country than a similarly priced new tank in the hands of its generals.76 For those more interested in formal security discourse, conventional strategic security models are widely criticised for especially inadequately explaining the causes and consequences of war and disorder in developing regions. The explanatory value of the old models has been further reduced by the 'degeneration of peoples war': the conclusion of national liberation struggles against overt European colonialism and their replacement by ethno-nationalist and other intra-state conflicts.77 As Holsti puts it, although war

70 J. Martinussen, Op. Cit., p. 10. 71 G. Sørensen, Op. Cit., p. 6. 72 M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1995) p. 71. 73 J. Martinussen, Op. Cit., p. 10 (citing ex Tanzanian president Julius Nyerere as chair of the 1990 South Commission). 74 Eg. A. Bandarage, 'Global Peace & Security in the Post-Cold War Era: A “Third World” Perspective', in M. Klare (ed.) Peace and World Security Studies (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1994) p. 29. 75 Eg. cf. P. Bauer, who claims all that developing countries have in common is their request of foreign development aid - Equality, the Third World, & Economic Delusion (Cambridge, Harvard UP, 1981) p. 87; & N. Harris, The End of the Third World - NICs & the Decline of an Ideology (Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1987). Fukuyama's "end of history" thesis is briefly discussed below. 76 W. Brandt, Arms and Hunger (Massachusetts, MIT Press, 1987) p. 48. Normative approaches towards the study of developing world security are addressed in the next part of this chapter. 77 J. Ellis, From the Barrel of a Gun: a History of Guerrilla, Revolutionary and Counter-Insurgency Warfare (London, Greenhill, 1995) p. 244. 70 has been the major focus of international relations studies for the past three centuries ... our understanding of contemporary wars is not well served by older analytical approaches. ... Wars today are less a problem of the relations between states than a problem within states. ... New and weak states are the primary locale of present and future wars. ... We can understand contemporary wars best if we explore the birth of states and how they have come to be governed.78 The vast majority of the approximately twenty million people killed in just under one hundred and fifty wars since 1945 died in intra-state clashes in developing regions.79 About half of the fifty or so principal violent conflicts occurring or unresolved in the world are classified as 'major armed conflicts' by involving at least a thousand fatalities of combatants in battle.80 Even most of the latter are inadequately explained by realist models that are based on the central premise that the histories and configurations of individual countries have little bearing on the causes of war.

A few International Relations scholars began to add studies of developing world arms expenditure, strategies, and other military security issues to the older general Political Science literature on internal war, coups, and revolution81 in the late 1970s.82 Attention to security in the developing world greatly increased after the publication of the first edition of Buzan's People, States, and Fear in 1983. This pointed to the wide gap between standard International Relations premises about the national security of nation-states and the realities of weak developing states.83 Much of the new literature remains focused on fairly practical matters, such as regionalism, arms imports, civil- military relations, nuclearism, military policies, and external interventions.84 However,

78 K. Holsti, The State, War, and the State of War (New York, Cambridge UP, 1996) p. ix. 79 R. Williamson, 'The Contemporary Face of Conflict - Class, Colour, Culture and Confession', Jane's Intelligence Review Yearbook (London, Jane's, 1995) p. 8. 80 M. Sollenberg & P. Wallensteen, 'Major Armed Conflicts', SIPRI Yearbook 1996 (Oxford, Oxford UP, 1996) pp. 12-8; & R. Pelton (ed.) The World's Most Dangerous Places (Los Angeles, Fielding, 1998) pp. 25-9. (The Guardian Weekly cites IISS figures on at least 110 000 deaths in 35 wars in the 12 months to August 1999 - 'Deadly Cost of the New Global Warfare', 3 November 1999.) 81 Eg. S. Finer, The Man on Horseback (London, Pall Mall, 1962); H. Eckstein (ed.), Internal War (London, Collier-Macmillan, 1964); B. Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy (Boston, Beacon Press, 1966); E. Wolf Peasant Wars of the 20th Century (New York, Harper and Row, 1969); T. Gurr, Why Men Rebel (New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1970); J. Davies (ed.), When Men Revolt - and Why (New York, The Free Press, 1970); J. Migdal, Peasants Politics and Revolution (New Jersey, Princeton UP, 1974); G. Kennedy, The Military in the Third World (London, Duckworth, 1974); & W. Laqueur, Guerrilla (London, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1977). 82 Eg. S. Simon (ed.), The Military and Security in the Third World (Boulder, Westview, 1978); D. Whynes, The Economics of Third World Military Expenditure (London, Macmillan, 1979); M. Ayoob, Conflict and Intervention in the Third World (London, Croom Helm, 1980); H. Cleveland & A. Goodpaster, After Afghanistan - The Long Haul (Boulder, Westview Press, 1980); C. Bertram (ed.), Third World Conflict & International Security (Hamden, Archon, 1982); T. Maniruzzaman, The Security of Small States in the Third World (Canberra, SDSC, 1982); E. Kolodziej & R. Harkavy (eds.), Security Policies of Developing Countries (Massachusetts, Lexington, 1982); & S. Neuman (ed.), Defence Planning in Less Industrialised States (Massachusetts, Lexington Books, 1983). 83 Buzan claimed that 'national security properly refers to the relationship of the state to its environment, and becomes profoundly confused to the extent that the state is insecure within itself' - People, States and Fear (Chapel Hill, North Carolina UP, 1983) p. 69. Also see pp. 36-72 & 132-4. 84 Eg. R. Harkavy & S. Neuman (eds.) The Lessons of Recent Wars in the Third World (Massachusetts, Lexington, 1985); A. Al Mashat, National Security in the Third World (Boulder, Westview, 1985); R. 71 some writers have also begun to directly address the broadly shared features of security in the developing world in a conceptual way. Such theorists believe that a satisfactory general analysis of the basic overall security predicament facing developing countries would be invaluable.85 While recognising that the removal of the Cold War overlay may have encouraged a 'regionalisation of international politics' that allows security dynamics in any region to be investigated more independently of developments in other regions86, and that disaggregation of the countries involved may ultimately be a 'prerequisite for sound generalisation'87, they seek general explanations of the totality of security in the developing world and insecurity there.88

Continued widespread reference to the subfield as "third world security theory" is perhaps unfortunate, and alerts us to several potential pitfalls. Krause, for example, warns against reifying the third world as an undifferentiated zone of turmoil, against the potential 'ghettoisation' of concepts that might be relevant to developed regions, and against obscuring different possible trajectories of state formation.89 Ayoob's three main rationale for distinguishing developing world security from Western concepts of state-security —the external orientation of the latter, its strong link with systemic security, and its binding ties to Cold War superpower relations90— may be decreasing in salience as various domestic pressures are increasingly acknowledged in some schools of mainstream Security Studies and as the repercussions of the Cold War fade in many developing regions.

Jones & S. Hildreth (eds.), Emerging Powers - Defence and Security in the Third World (New York, Praeger, 1986); N. Ball, Security and Economy in the Third World (New Jersey, Princeton UP, 1988); S. Deger & R. West (eds.), Defence, Security and Development (New York, St Martin's Press, 1987); M. Harrison (ed.), War and Peace in the Third World (Geneva, PSISS, 1988); R. Litwak & S. Wells, Superpower Competition and Security in the Third World (Massachusetts, Ballinger, 1988); T. Weiss & M. Kessler (eds.), Third World Security in the Post-Cold War Era (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1991); S. Brown & K. Schraub (eds.), Resolving Third World Conflict (Washington DC, US Institute of Peace, 1992); J. Singh & T. Bernauer (eds.) Security of Third World Countries (Aldershot, Dartmouth, 1993). 85 Eg. C. Thomas, In Search of Security: Third World in International Relations (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1987); E. Azar & C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, CIDCM, 1988); B. Job (ed.) The Insecurity Dilemma (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1992); M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament; & M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) which empirically focuses on only one region (containing several developed states) but involves over half of all people in the developing world and claims wider theoretical relevance. 86 M. Alagappa, 'Introduction', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) p. 4. 87 D. Bobrow & S. Chan, 'Simple Labels and Complex Realities: National Security for the Third World', in E. Azar & C. Moon (eds) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, CIDCM, 1988) p. 59. 88 Eg. although R. Rothstein suggests that grand generalisations must be 'inherently suspect', since no single simple security problematic will be shared by every developing country, he acknowledges that formulating general theoretical principles can be a useful exercise - 'National Security, Domestic Resource Constraints and Elite Choices in the Third World', in S. Deger & R. West (eds.) Defence, Security and Development (New York, St Martin's Press, 1987) p. 141. 89 K. Krause, 'Theorizing Security, State Formation and the "Third World" in the Post-Cold War World', Review of International Studies Vol. 24 No. 1, 1998, pp. 133-4. 90 M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament, p. 6. 72 Nevertheless, certain traits continue to broadly distinguish security predicaments in developing countries from those in the industrialised world. These, along with considerations of academic specialisation and expertise, justify the preservation of the subfield. In 1988, Azar and Moon stated that the basic 'security conditions of Western and Third World states differ on two grounds — their degree of political cohesion, and the nature of their security environments.'91 The first of these factors remains especially crucial. Two key legacies of colonialism, the prevalence of states 'without a nation or even worse with many nations'92, and of countries with peripheral economies, are still powerful. These help preserve the 'inability of governments to meet the psychopolitical, cultural, and economic needs of their constituents.'93 The political legitimacy, integration, and overall policy capacity of any developing state has been called its 'security software'.94 Where glaring relative deprivation coincides with sharp socio- political cleavages, this will shape overall security predicaments at least as much as traditional considerations of 'security hardware' and 'external environment'.95 Developed states generally possess the economic means, administrative and legal tools, institutional experience, the desire, and the established authority to accommodate the irreducible interests of all parties involved in situations where political discord threatens to spark acute violence. Indeed, it is widely felt that classical security politics have largely been replaced by the politics of contentment in the rich countries, following the advent of post-Second World War 'thick globalisation' and especially after the collapse of the Soviet Union.96 It is not necessarily advisable, but is at least possible, to meaningfully restrict formal security discourse to matters concerning the military defence of the state against foreign attack in such places. This is simply not the case in most developing countries, where security software remains too fragile to do so.

Thus, Buzan, Wæver, & de Wilde, for example, acknowledge that 'much of normal politics is pushed into the security realm' in developing regions, despite their

91 E. Azar & C. Moon, 'Rethinking Third World National Security', in E. Azar & C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, CIDCM, 1988) p. 6. 92 B. Buzan, 'People, States and Fear: The National Security Problem in the Third World', in E. Azar & C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, CIDCM, 1988) p. 26. 93 A. Norton, 'The Security Legacy of the 1980s', in T. Weiss and M. Kessler (eds.) Third World Security in the Post-Cold War Era (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1991) p. 23. 94 E. Azar & C. Moon, 'Legitimacy, Integration and Policy Capacity: the "Software" Side of Third World National Security', in E. Azar and C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, CIDCM, 1988) pp. 77-101. 95 Ibid. 96 D. Held, A. McGrew, D. Goldblatt, & J. Perraton describe thick globalisation as intensive and extensive - Global Transformations (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1999) p. 25. They discuss the shift from national security politics to 'postmilitary politics' in what they call the advanced capitalist societies - Ibid., pp. 147-8 (citing Shaw 1991). Similarly, T. Friedman compares past vestiges of autarkist economic policies, once sanctioned through the then-dominant prism of national security, with current efforts to satisfy the "two herds" of Croesus (international business) and the Demos in countries that have accepted the "golden straight jacket" of neoliberal economic theory - The Lexus and the Olive Tree (London, Harper Collins, 1999). 73 preference for de-securitising rather than securitising issues.97 Similarly, Fukuyama concedes that 'the vast bulk of the Third World remains very much mired in history and will be a terrain of conflict for many years to come.'98 Some commentators expect instability and political violence to increase in developing regions.99 Accordingly, many analysts regard enduring, profound, multi-faceted insecurity itself as the main distinguishing feature of the developing world.100 They claim that varying degrees of abiding insecurity are the chief 'hallmark' of developing countries.101 Endemic instability is linked to the political weakness of many states in developing countries, creating a vicious circle of insecurity in which numerous disparate pressures can fundamentally threaten countries and communities.102 Thus, Ayoob claims that 'any formulation that does not make security its centrepiece will inadequately explain Third World state behaviour, domestically and internationally'.103 Beyond the study of violence and warfare, some theorists argue that broad patterns of political behaviour between and within developing countries can be profitably analysed by focusing on the causes of insecurity of all kinds.104

The need for a new approach: lack of an analytic core focus Having introduced the specialist study of security in the developing world, this part of the chapter proceeds to identify the main challenge facing the subfield. It begins by showing why the tension between comprehensiveness and conciseness —evident in all schools of Security Studies— particularly impairs the close-grained practical analysis of security in particular developing countries. It does so because pressing security contingencies are so disparate in the developing world. This points to the need for a satisfactory analytical core focus to help determine which factors must be heeded and

97 Buzan, Wæver, & de Wilde, Security: A New Framework for Analysis (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1998) p. 28. They believe the indiscriminate re-labelling of issues as security problems will lead to continued inattention at best and further exacerbate problems by encouraging immoderate behaviour at worst. However, this is not an argument to ignore identifiable security pressures. The efficacy of relabelling a dispute over the shared water resources of two rich, usually amicable, neighbouring countries an "environmental security" problem is doubtful. The reasons for doing so if the disputants are a pair of hostile clans in a poor developing country are less equivocal: the situation is likely to lead directly to intense, state-jeopardising, political violence - see pp. 71-93, & 170. 98 F. Fukuyama, 'The End of History?', The National Interest No. 16, Summer 1989, p. 14. 99 Outside the limited 'zones of peace' in which the environment has been technologically mastered and the 'old animosities quelled by bourgeois prosperity' - R. Kaplan, 'The Coming Anarchy', in The Atlantic Monthly Vol. 273 No. 2 1994, p. 59. Also see M. van Creveld, The Transformation of War (New York, The Free Press, 1991); & R. Jervis, 'The Future of World Politics', International Security Vol. 16 No. 3, 1992, pp. 46-55. 100 Eg. Y. Sayigh, Confronting the 1990s: Security in Developing Countries (London, Brasseys, 1990) p. 6; & D. Snow, Distant Thunder: Third World Conflict and the New International Order (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1993) p. 26. 101 A. Norton, Op. Cit., p. 24. 102 E. Azar & C. Moon, Op. Cit., p. 7. 103 Ayoob, Third World Security Predicament, p. 91. 104 Eg. C. Thomas, Ibid.; & C. Samudavanija, 'The Three Dimensional State', in J. Manor (ed.) Rethinking Third World Politics (London, Longman, 1991). Discussed in the next part of the chapter. 74 which can tenably be de-emphasised or even disregarded. Next, ways in which prominent models in the subfield balance conceptual breadth and clarity are examined. Approaches to the wide versus narrow question by Thomas, Bobrow and Chan, Job, Ayoob, and Alagappa are surveyed. Being designed for general explanatory purposes, rather than the sort of very fine-scaled practical analysis that being attempted here, these are either too narrowly or too broadly oriented to provide the desired focus. Normative criteria are then considered but rejected as a potential basis for an analytical model. Finally, the possibility of simply applying the Copenhagen School's securitization criteria and new framework for analysis in developing world contexts is discounted.

Debate over the relative merits of all-inclusiveness versus coherence and precision continues to produce interesting theoretical insights in the wider domain of conceptual thinking about security introduced above. However, locating a satisfactory balance between sophistication and coherence is a prerequisite to conducting detailed analysis of the security predicaments of particular actual developing countries such as Papua New Guinea. As seen above, an inability to engage any of an especially diverse range of security problems, objectives, referents, and coping strategies will render analysis of security in developing countries inaccurate. At the same time, such pressures are especially abundant in developing countries. As Ayoob warns, 'excessive open- endedness can prevent the delimitation of the concept, thereby reducing its analytical utility.'105 Similarly, Alagappa refers to 'the current unsatisfactory state of affairs' in which alternative formulations have broadened the concept indiscriminately, making it an 'analytically useless grab bag.'106

What is needed, such writers agree, is a satisfactory mechanism for helping determine which of an almost endless range of potentially relevant matters must be considered once it is acknowledged that old military-statist conceptions inadequately explain security in developing countries. The objective is a framework able to engage as many pertinent factors as possible while preserving some of the coherence of more narrow conventional approaches. The goal of successfully balancing conceptual breadth with clarity and elegance could be assisted by basing such a framework on what Krause calls an 'analytic core'.107 This would allow inquiry to be organised around a clear focus, and help avoid the emphasis of factors that can be downplayed or disregarded without unduly compromising explanatory validity. However, efforts to formulate such a balance have not yet produced an adequate analytical core focus for the subfield, probably because this requirement is not so pressing at the general explanatory level at

105 M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament, p. 9. 106 M. Alagappa, 'Introduction', p. 12. He states that the challenge is to 'conceptualise security in a way that is both analytically useful and empirically relevant.' - p. 15. 107 K. Krause, Op. Cit., p. 127. 75 which most such theorists operate and where excess detail is obviously not so pressing). As a result, existing approaches continue to tend towards excessive narrowness —and thus inaccuracy— or else unmanageable breadth, and sometimes both at once.

Thomas, an early investigator of concepts of security in the developing world, does not decisively address the issue of balancing conceptual breadth and clarity. However, as a theorist engaged in closely related matters, she takes a practical position on the problem. Here, she is a whole-hearted broadener. Like some other scholars, she focuses on new security threats but preserves states as the central referent of analysis.108 She claims that security in the developing world 'does not simply refer to the military dimension, as is often assumed in Western discussions of the concept, but to the whole range of dimensions of a state's existence which are already taken care of in the more developed states'.109 She adopts a thematic focus on case studies of internal security, nuclear security and secure systems of food, health, money and trade, but does not show how such factors could be reintegrated to provide an enhanced overall security assessment. Reviewers commend Thomas for having helped launch an interesting and important area of research. However, many dispute her assumption that developing states represent their own peoples, lament her failure to provide a clear framework for examining or implementing even this agenda, and are uneasy at the degree to which she is prepared to broaden admissible security threats.110

Bobrow and Chan, writing a year later, do not categorically address the wide versus narrow question either, and also continue to emphasise the national security concerns of states in developing countries. Nevertheless, they begin the task of more scrupulously differentiating the content, actors, and processes involved in the security threats facing such states. This leads them to disaggregate developing countries into four categories of what they call Achievers, Goliaths, Davids and Weak States on the basis of economic size, population, and military spending criteria.111 However, due to their anxiety to correct past over-agglomeration of circumstances in developing countries, they maintain that questions about 'the essence' of security in developing countries are 'inherently unanswerable'.112

108 Eg. C. Samudavanija's "three-dimensional" model, which adds the provision of "security" by developing states to its promotion of development and regulation of participation, is similar - Op. Cit. 109 C. Thomas, Op. Cit., p. 1. 110 Eg. C. Clapham, 'Book Review', Political Studies Vol. 36 No. 2, 1988, pp. 346-7; A. Cafruny, 'Book Review', American Political Science Review Vol. 83 No. 1, 1989, pp. 346-7; & M. Ayoob, 'Review Article: The Security Problematic of the Third World', World Politics Vol. 43 No. 2, 1991, pp. 257- 83. 111 For a similar typology of 89 developing states see R. Rothstein, 'The Security Dilemma and the Poverty Trap in the Third World', Jerusalem Journal of International Relations Vol. 8 No. 4, 1986, pp. 1-38. He concludes that few generalisations are possible on this basis. 112 D. Bobrow & S. Chan, Op. Cit., p 44. 76 Job provides the most complete model of what Alagappa has termed weak state security analysis. Alagappa takes Job's 1992 study as representative of the approach in his criticism of its allegedly overly restrictive handling of the wide versus narrow problem. Job contends that most developing countries face a lack of cohesive society within the borders of their states, a lack of legitimacy accorded to the security interests of their regimes, a lack of effective institutional capacities by their states, and an internal rather than external sense of prevailing threat, as well as current norms of international organisation, that 'deny the prerequisites for their long-term internal and external well-being'.113 These conditions violate the traditional realist security dilemma metaphor in two ways: ensuring that developing 'states are preoccupied with internal rather than external security, and weak states have a guaranteed existence in what is supposedly an anarchic international environment.'114 Instead of a singular notion of national security or an externally oriented security dilemma

there exist competing notions of security advanced by the contending forces within society. The state itself is at issue in most conflicts. National security has to be seen as distinct from state security and regime security, with each component of society competing to preserve and protect its own well-being. What results in such a contentious environment is better characterised as an insecurity dilemma.115 Job refers to these broadly shared circumstances in terms of a 'weak-state syndrome'.116 Alagappa objects to such models mainly because he believes they overstate the degree to which international security concerns can be reliably treated as extensions of internal vulnerabilities.117 He suggests that certain developing countries such as China and India sometimes behave in a very realist manner, and that many other developing countries maintain rather 'traditional' territorial disputes based at least partly on sovereign interests.118 Thus, he complains that weak state security analysis proceeds on the basis of a prototypical developing state 'which is closer to a failed state than the average Third World state, at least in Asia.'119 In the next part of the chapter I argue that the sort of emphasis on security software favoured in weak state security analysis could serve as a basis for also considering security environment and security hardware, and that the

113 B. Job, 'The Insecurity Dilemma', in B. Job (ed.) The Insecurity Dilemma: National Security of Third World States (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1992) p. 18 & p. 26. 114 Ibid., p. 18. Thus, 'the inviolability of Third World states in a formal sense has to be contrasted to their permeability in a practical sense' - p. 26. Job agrees that conditions of structural dependence are important determinants of third world regime behaviour - p. 29. 115 Ibid., p. 18. 116 Ibid., p. 24. He calls the insecurity dilemma 'a metaphor for the Third World state security problematic' - p. 18. 117 Eg. M. Alagappa, 'Rethinking Security', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) pp. 41-2. He identifies Mohammed Ayoob, Barry Buzan, and Robert Jackson as other important promoters of the idea that developing world security is mainly domestically shaped. 118 M. Alagappa, 'Asian Practice of Security - Key Features and Explanations', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) p. 649. 119 Ibid., p. 647. 77 possibility of focusing on security referents raised by Job provides a means for doing so. However, such a framework does not currently exist.

Ayoob is probably the best known investigator of security in the developing world predicaments and was also the first writer in the subfield to explicitly tackle the wide versus narrow question. He believes that the excessive conceptual narrowness accompanying traditional political security discourse has simply been replaced by extreme looseness, and he particularly wishes to avoid the 'de-definition rather than a re-definition of security' warned of by Deudney.120 Accordingly, he is anxious to avoid any emphasis of what he dismisses as 'fashionable' issues.121 To this end, he deliberately defines security quite narrowly, 'in relation to vulnerabilities, both internal and external, that threaten to, or have the potential to, bring down or significantly weaken state structures, both territorial and institutional, and regimes'.122 Thus

debt burdens, rain-forest decimation, or even famine do not become part of the security calculus for our purpose unless they threaten to have political outcomes that either affect the survivability of state boundaries, state institutions, or governing élites or weaken the capacity of states and regimes to act effectively in the realm of both domestic and international politics.123 However, as Acharya points out, an extremely wide range of non-military issues and non-state actors could bring about precisely these conditions in developing countries.124 Indeed, debt burdens, rain-forest decimation and famine probably usually weaken the ability of developing states and regimes to act effectively. At the same time, denying attention to threats to communities that do not endanger states or governing élites — where the state or regime may in fact be the chief threat— seems rather arbitrary. Krause applauds Ayoob's identification of state-making and state-breaking processes as the main ingredient of the contemporary developing world security predicament but complains that his focus on the dominant political concerns of developing states and regimes, and his conflation of these interests, rests on a too narrow conception of politics.125 According to Booth, Ayoob's position on such matters greatly weakens the power of his model if 'one values reality more than analytical neatness'.126

120 See D. Deudney, 'The Case Against Linking Environmental Degradation and National Security', Millennium Vol. 19 No. 3, 1990, p. 465. 121 M. Ayoob, 'Defining Security: A Subaltern Realist Perspective', in K. Krause & M. Williams (eds.) Critical Security Studies: Concepts & Cases (Minneapolis, Minneapolis UP, 1997) p. 126. 122 Ibid., p. 130. 123 M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament, p. 9. He claims it is often difficult to disentangle state and regime security in developing countries - p. 9. 124 A. Acharya, 'The Periphery as the Core: the Third World and Security Studies', in K. Krause & M. Williams (eds.) Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases (Minneapolis, Minneapolis UP, 1997) p. 323. 125 K. Krause, Op. Cit., p. 129. 126 K. Booth, 'Review', Australian Journal of Political Science Vol. 30 No. 3, 1995, p. 604. 78 Alagappa, like Ayoob, directly addresses the wide versus narrow question. He examines this issue as it applies to an assortment of mainly developing countries in a particular region. Having rejected weak state security analysis, Alagappa argues that 'a more fundamental challenge to the realist articulation of security is posed by analysts who attempt to broaden the scope of security to include problems and dangers in nonconventional sectors' of threat.127 He sets out a predominantly statist approach that focuses on the perceptions and behaviour of central decision makers.128 This leads to a primary 'generic' definition of security as 'the protection and enhancement of values that the authoritative decision makers deem vital for the survival and well-being of a community.'129 This definition is offered to show what Alagappa regards as the critical essence of the concept, and it is meant to articulate a basis for inclusion and exclusion of issues as "security" concerns. Such values must meet three criteria, by being: so 'vital' to the survival and well-being of a community that a physical or ideational challenge potentially compromises its very existence; perceived as 'urgent', as seen in a community's willingness to mobilise a substantial part of its resources to meet the challenge; and determined by the 'authoritative decision makers' of the community.130

However, Alagappa concedes that these criteria can be objected to on the grounds of their openness to abuse by repressive regimes, their continuing subjectivity, and their ill-suitedness for positivist theory-building.131 Moreover, since he is interested in a very wide range of Asian countries, Alagappa acknowledges that it may be necessary to substantially descend the ladder of generality or abstraction posited in the generic definition above if the purpose of the analyst is the examination of real-life situations. Such movement is admitted to necessitate the consideration of diverse 'more concrete' security pressures.132 Ultimately, Alagappa's integrated 'map' of security diagrammatically represents five aspects of the concept: referents, levels of analysis, scope (involving both vital values and threats), approaches, and the nature of security.133 It also mentions thirty-five 'security adjectives', ranging from absolute security to world security, despite his original complaints about the bewildering proliferation of such neologisms.134

127 M. Alagappa, 'Rethinking Security', p. 42. 128 M. Alagappa, 'Introduction', pp. 13 & 15. 129 M. Alagappa, 'Conceptualizing Security - Hierarchy and Conceptual Travelling', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) p.680. Emphasis deleted. 130 Ibid., pp. 689-91. 131 He rejects the possibility of using the presence or likelihood of organised violence to appraise the three criteria - M. Alagappa, 'Rethinking Security', pp. 49 (discussed below); & 'Conceptualising Security', pp. 691-3. 132 Ibid., p. 693 & p. 688. 133 Ibid., pp. 694-5. 134 Eg. Ibid., pp. 694-5 & 'Introduction', p. 11. 79 Neither can normative criteria —which are inherently broadening, deepening and/or extending— be regarded as a suitable basis for addressing wide versus narrow questions in regard to security in the developing world. This does not imply that eclectically re-naming specific new "hyphenated-security" issues (such as food-, health- , and gender-security) to emphasise their importance, as is often done in Critical Security Studies, can never be appropriate. However it does suggest that such an approach cannot provide a suitable basis for the conceptual investigation of overall security predicaments in actual developing regions.135 Galtung, distinguishes 'positive' from 'negative peace' by the absence of 'structural violence' in the former.136 Whereas negative peace is lent by the simple absence of war, positive peace can only be provided by the absence of conditions 'in which human beings are being influenced so that their actual socmatic and mental realisations are below their potential realisations'.137 This conception has been criticised on a normative basis, firstly for shifting attention away from the all-too-numerous emergency situations involving actual physical violence, and secondly for potentially legitimising physical violence in response to any perceived or real injustice.138 Whatever its merits and drawbacks in that regard, it is simply too boundless to provide the required basis of a practically-focused analytical core. Such normatively-based criteria are also especially subjective. As Ayoob remarks in reply to Booth, 'a society or group can be emancipated without being secure and vice versa.'139

Finally, it remains to assess the potential benefits of simply adapting the new framework for analysis offered by the Copenhagen School, which was designed precisely to address wide versus narrow questions in the general security literature. However, the concept of securitization —a central tool of the framework— does not work well in developing world contexts. The tension between the Copenhagen School's preference for identifying security matters that have been officially institutionalised and its second criteria for successful securitization, which requires the identification of extraordinary emergency activities, is problematic enough in developed world situations.140 Assessment of the three criteria, which is meant to be conducted mainly

135 Feminist writers on international security, for example, were early to recognise the importance of domestic pressures, and sometimes contemplate women in developing countries, but accent a single type of referents. Eg. J. Tickner, Gender in International Relations (New York, Colombia UP, 1992). 136 J. Galtung, 'Violence, Peace, and Peace Research', Journal of Peace Research Vol. 6 No. 3, 1969, pp. 167-91. (Violence is more typically seen as the use or threat of physical force to achieve compliance). 137 Ibid., p. 168. Thus, 'violence is defined as the cause of the difference between the potential and the actual' - p. 168. Booth's notion of 'emancipatory security', introduced below, builds on this idea. 138 Eg. see K. Boulding, 'Future Directions in Conflict and Peace Studies', in J. Burton & F. Dukes (eds.) Conflict: Readings in Management and Resolution (New York, St Martin's Press, 1990) p. 48. 139 M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament, p. 10. 140 B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde argue that there is no 'need for drama' and that bureaucracisation and securitization can be compatible where an issue has urgency and priority - A New Framework, pp. 27-8 & 33. However, this sits uneasily with the requirement for extraordinary existentially-driven actions, and leads to 'tentative' verdicts and concern that the demands of the criteria may be set too high pp. 188 & 177. 80 on the basis of the intersubjective 'discourse analysis' of 'central texts', becomes even more difficult where such texts are often withheld, missing or unlikely ever to have been created.141 Another tension contained in the concept of securitization stems from the discrepancy between its radically constructivist criteria for success, and its partly objectivist-positivist motivation. As seen above, Buzan, Wæver, and de Wildes' objection to indiscriminate securitization stems almost as much from their commitment to order and non-violence as from theoretical requirements.142 The normative case against weak or progressive actors trying to push issues deeply into the security realm may be quite compelling, since this has often proven counter-productive or even irresponsible.143 However, this has not made attempts to securitize matters by weak developing world actors any less common, and, as has been indicated, Buzan, Wæver, and de Wilde concede that much of normal developing world politics is pushed into the security realm.

To broaden, to deepen, or to extend? Since the existing approaches do not provide a satisfactory analytic core for addressing the wide versus narrow problem at the detailed practical level, this part of the chapter evaluates the most-likely potential bases for such a focus. These are provided by the three key axes along which new meanings of security are widened in the general security literature. They deal with threats in addition to military ones, referents in addition to the state, and means of pursuing increased security beside national militarisation.144 An analytical lens able to efficiently address all three dimensions — that is, to encompass broadening, deepening and extension— while emphasising just one theme would provide the best actual focus. It is argued that the required analytic core should be constructed around a focus on the security imperatives of referents besides the state. This case is made on six grounds. The first stems from the inherent unsuitability of means to security approaches for this role. The second and most important rationale is the more discrete and consistent character of categories of security referents than comparatively more overlapping and changeable threat types.

141 Ibid., pp. 30-1, & 176-7. 142 They do not go as far as Ayoob, who argues that life is likely to contain greater potential for positive change in the most repressive developing world states such as North Korea than in the most anarchical such as Sierra Leone - eg. Third World Security Predicament, p. 183. 143 Eg. Guevarismo —violent struggle by peasant guerrillas— is now widely regarded as having been disastrous both for peasants themselves and for the Latin American political left generally. It strengthened the rationale, and ultimately the capacity, of states for repression. It also precluded less adventurist strategies where progressives would have been better placed to outmanoeuvre international and domestic reactionary forces. Even where such movements were temporarily "successful" they quickly became associated with brutal regressive methods and dysfunctional rule. See J. Castañeda, Utopia Unarmed: the Latin American Left after the Cold War (New York, Random House, 1993); & D. Stoll, Rigoberta Menchú and the Story of all Poor Guatemalans (Boulder, Westview, 1999). 144 As outlined below. Core values, sometimes posited as a fourth key dimension, are inextricably linked to the referent under examination. This aspect is explored in the next part of the chapter. 81 The third reason is the exceptional influence of any referent under consideration on the other dimensions of security at stake. The fourth is the ability of a referents-oriented model to efficiently address both structural and agency-based considerations. The fifth is the potential complementarity of a referents-oriented model with the evolving literature on societal security. The final rationale is the greater potential of a referents- based approach than a threats-based framework to accommodate the subjective dimensions of insecurity.

Means to achieving security by and within developing countries are normally considered in two main ways, but neither is likely to provide a satisfactory basis for the required core focus. Attention is sometimes extended to potentially more sociable, less zero-sum, coping-strategies for obtaining security than traditional military organisation by states. This may assess attempts to pursue the sorts of common, cooperative, comprehensive, and collective security schemes briefly introduced above. However, such approaches are not designed to resolve wide versus narrow tensions. Although it is shown that 'regime survival' is an important objective of 'weak state regionalism', cooperative security approaches ultimately rest chiefly on the inherently rather narrow matter of military cooperation between countries against shared threats such as a potential regional hegemon.145 Thus, advocacy of multilateral forms of security cooperation is a basically state-centric approach that assumes quite considerable institutional capacity.146 Meanwhile, the goal of implementing more radically progressive alternative security approaches within developing countries would depend on precisely the sort of nuanced understanding of the dynamics of security threats and referents that is currently unavailable. Although it can be argued that the quest for better coping strategies should be the ultimate focus of developing world security analysis, such an emphasis would be premature at this stage.

Other analysts have explored means to security by examining the ways in which actual developing states or regimes have more typically pursued schemes to obtain security for themselves. Job, for example, describes militarisation, internal repression or state terror, and diversionary tactics or scapegoating as three commonly adopted security strategies of weak states and regimes.147 Similarly, Alagappa lists five approaches to obtaining national security by developing states. These range from the strengthening of the state by fostering a national identity and pursuing political, economic, and socio-cultural development; to suppression; international alignment;

145 A. Acharya, 'Regionalism and Regime Security in the Third World', in B. Job (ed.) The Insecurity Dilemma (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1992) pp. 147 & 157. Also see W. Tow, Subregional Security Cooperation in the Third World (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1990). 146 K. Krause & M. Williams, 'Broadening the Agenda of Security Studies', p. 230. 147 B. Job, Op. Cit., pp. 28-31. 82 non-alignment or neutrality; and regional cooperation.148 Analyses of individual developing countries may examine officially comprehensive and multidimensional security systems, such as the all-embracing 'national resilience' concept of the New Order regime in Indonesia.149 None of these approaches to examining means to security are likely to completely ignore interactions between states or regimes and other security-seeking referents. However, they will continue to privilege the former to the partial neglect of the latter, unless a conscious focus on non-state actors and their security strategies is adopted — in which case the core focus will no longer be on those means themselves.

If means to security approaches do not provide a suitable basis for the desired analytic core focus, the other possibilities are threat-types in addition to military ones and security referents beside the state. There are two main and three subsidiary reasons why a referents-oriented is likely to be superior to a threats-based model for helping to address wide versus narrow questions. Of these, the principal rationale is simply that categories of security referents can be made comparatively more discrete and consistent than inevitably overlapping, highly changeable, security threat types. Pressures contributing to secessionism, warlordism, or inter-tribal tensions, for example, such as land degradation, violence, population growth, and generational conflict, do not consistently fit any single military, political, economic, societal or environmental sphere or 'sector'.150 A predominantly economic security threat for one set of actors, relating to the use of a water resource for example, may constitute a mainly environmental problem for others and represent a chiefly military one (or indeed all three) for yet others.151 This appraisal could quickly reverse according to changing circumstances. In comparison the identity of security referents —although partly 'situational'152 and subject to minor overlap where some actors play "double roles"— is unlikely to shift so rapidly or profoundly.

The other principal reason why a referents-oriented approach is likely to provide a better basis for the required analytic focus than a threats-focused approach stems from the particularly great practical sway of referents on the other dimensions of security

148 M. Alagappa, The National Security of Developing States: Lessons from Thailand (Massachusetts, Auburn House, 1987) p. 29. 149 Eg. see D. Anwar, 'Indonesia - Domestic Priorities Define National Security', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford UP, 1998) pp. 477-512. 150 This is Buzan's classification of five sectors of threat, discussed below. 151 According to B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, a 'water dependency on another country may be unpleasant and may cause one to be concerned about that country's pollution and overuse of water, but if one has a conflict with that country for other reasons, one is much more likely to define the water problem as a security problem. Thus, through the attachment of the security label, sectors insert themselves into each other' - A New Framework, p. 170. 152 Viewed situationally, identity depends on local variations to general codes and on the specific circumstances facing people. See J. Okamura, 'Situational Ethnicity', Ethnic & Racial Studies Vol. 4 No. 4, 1981, pp. 452-65. 83 involved in real-life situations. Alagappa discerns a hierarchy among the four elements of security that he discusses, arguing that 'the referent is fundamental' because it has a crucial bearing in determining how core values, types of threat, and approaches will be decided.153 Referents are critical 'in determining both the level of analysis and the values to be protected [while] these values and the type and nature of threats will in turn influence the coping strategies and instruments deployed to achieve security.'154 Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde agree that a referents-oriented approach may be the appropriate one if the purpose of the analyst is the investigation of contemporary political situations rather than the construction of sophisticated theoretical macrohistories.155 This is because policy-makers, even in developed world contexts,

think about economics, politics, and other areas but judge their main security problems across the board. Thus, units do not exist in sectors; sectors exist in units as different types of security concerns (political, economic, etc.). These different concerns are weighed and aggregated by the units. ... To grasp political dynamics, one needs to focus on the most dynamic interactions, the loops, the vicious circles—regardless of whether these stay within one sector.156 A referents-oriented model is also likely to be better suited to addressing both structural and agency-based considerations than a threats-based framework. Structural constraints and adversities, such as international semi-anarchy, economic dependency, and lingering effects of the Cold War, constitute an important backdrop to, and influence on, the security calculus and behaviour of actors in many developing countries. An increasing number of International Relations scholars, both liberal and realist, have begun to call for consideration of the basis upon which domestic-level theorising might be combined with systemic-level theory to account for international conflict and cooperation.157 While the structure of the international system cannot simply be reduced to facts about its component units, neither can the actions of these units be adequately explained by structural models alone.158 Ethnic conflicts, for example, are not simply primordial or natural phenomena, but 'a consequence of the intersection of global forces with the domestic politics and histories of individual countries.'159 As Giddens puts it, the 'structural properties of social systems are both

153 M. Alagappa, 'Introduction', p. 16. However, he opposes completely basing alternative security conceptions on non-state referents - eg. 'Conceptualising Security', p. 681. 154 Ibid., p. 17. 155 A sectoral approach may be appropriate in the latter case - B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, A New Framework, pp. 168-9; 189-90; & 195-6. 156 Ibid., p. 168. 157 Eg. P. Evans, H. Jacobson, & R. Putnam (eds.) Double-Edged Diplomacy: International Bargaining and Domestic Politics (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1993); & J. Sterling-Folker, 'Realist Environment, Liberal Process, and Domestic-Level Variables', International Studies Quarterly Vol. 41 No. 3, 1997, pp. 1-25. 158 J. Caporaso, 'Across the Great Divide: Integrating Comparative and International Politics', International Studies Quarterly Vol. 41 No. 4, 1997, p. 563. 159 B. Crawford, & R. Lipschutz, 'Discourses of War: Security and the Case of Yugoslavia', in K. Krause & M. Williams (eds.) Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases (Minneapolis, Minneapolis UP, 1997) p. 167. 84 medium and outcome of the practices they recursively organise'.160 The global, regional, and domestic dimensions of security predicaments in developing countries are so intermingled that Ayoob refers to them in terms of a 'multilayered cake'.161 A referents-oriented lens can offer an efficient tool for examining this two-way interaction of environment and process, since shifting one's theoretical focus in a micro to macro direction will be easier than macro to micro movement.162 This will assess structural problems and human-produced security pressures as they are actually felt by people — commingled— whereas a threats based framework which will be inclined to separate them.

A security referents-focused analytic core could also provide a useful basis for introducing promising new ideas about societal security into the subfield of theory on security in developing countries. The two topics share a potentially complementary concern for security matters in which non-state actors are crucial. Linking them could help address a key problem, which is not an overall dearth of social control but rather a large totality of authority spread widely amongst many rival nodes. Growing interest in societal security in the broader Security Studies and International Relations literatures reflects the general movement towards more sociological concepts in the social sciences. However, as was indicated above, early formulations —created with Western European contexts chiefly in mind— posited a simple duality of supposedly straightforward societal security, based on fixed nationwide identity, and state security, based on the pursuit of sovereignty.163 Shaw considers such formulations as especially too narrow to engage important social forces within developing countries.164 McSweeney criticised the initial reluctance of the Copenhagen School to engage actors below the level of national society, which he claimed produced an approach that was too restrictive to explore its own agenda.165 Subsequently, the Copenhagen School has

160 A. Giddens, The Constitution of Society (Berkeley, California UP, 1984) p. 25. 161 Though he maintains that the primary flavour or ingredient is the internal one - Third World Security Predicament, p. 189. 162 N. Long, 'From Paradigm Lost to Paradigm Regained? The Case for an Actor-Oriented Sociology of Development', in N. Long & A. Long (eds.) Battlefields of Knowledge: the Interlocking of Theory and Practice in Social Research & Development (London, Routledge, 1992) pp. 16-43. Actor-oriented studies that acknowledge the two-way relationship of agency and structure in principle have been criticised for tending to excessively focus on the former in practice, but this pitfall need not be inevitable. 163 Despite its stated goal of grasping the way that agents other than states need to be recognised as referent objects for security discourse - see O. Wæver, B. Buzan, M. Kelstrup and P. Lemaitre (eds.) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe (London, Pinter, 1993). 164 M. Shaw, 'There is No Such Thing as Society: Beyond Individualism and Statism in International Security Studies', Review of International Studies Vol. 19 No. 2, 1993, pp. 159-75. 165 The Copenhagen School was originally focused on European societal security and was wary of 'the trap of reductionist methodological individualism'. See O. Wæver, B. Buzan, M. Kelstrup & P. Lemaitre (eds.) Op. Cit.; B. McSweeney, 'Durkheim and the Copenhagen School', Review of International Studies 24 No. 1, 1998, pp. 137-40; & B. McSweeney, 'Identity and Security', Review of International Studies Vol. 22 No. 1, 1996, pp. 81-93. Cf. B. Buzan & O. Wæver, 'Slippery? 85 begun to move towards inclusion of any 'large, self-sustaining identity groups' in its conception of societal security.166 However, its research here has only just begun and has not yet produced firm results. An even more recent volume, specifically on developing world security, does not start from the basis of, but rather concludes with, an appeal for a focus on individuals and communities.167 A referent-oriented analytical core focus should provide a suitable basis for further exploring multiple societal securities in a consistent way.168

Finally, a referents-based analytical approach is likely to better accommodate the subjective dimensions of insecurity than a threats-focused approach will be able to. The 'social reality' which even the most rational of actors respond to is a product of both culturally coloured perception and the 'gross constraints' of economic and other material circumstances.169 Thus, the deprivation that may cause "men to rebel" is relative — that is, highly contextual.170 A threats-based approach to security analysis must ultimately depend on some sort of criteria to distinguish "real" threats from imagined, unlikely or very minor ones, or face being quickly overwhelmed. However, it is widely recognised that an objectively "erroneous" security assessment —regarding the intentions of a neighbouring country suspected of hostile intent for example— can have far-reaching and even self-fulfilling consequences. By being less dependent on an ability to discern "real" threats, a referents based analytic core should be better able to accommodate a "false sense of security", worst-case preparation, or even paranoia, shaping behaviour as thoroughly as perfectly rational calculation might.

A security stakeholders model Having identified the need for a new analytic core to help address the wide versus narrow problem in the subfield and suggested that such a focus is likely to be best forged by emphasising security referents in addition to the state, this part of the chapter constructs a new model on that basis. The proposed framework has two main elements. The first is a very simple criterion for initially determining what matters should be examined as security pressures. This is based on the immediate connection of any actor,

Contradictory? Sociologically Untenable?', Review of International Studies Vol. 23 No. 1, 1997, pp. 241-50. 166 Stating that it is best to use the term "societal" for communities with which people actually identify, rather than the populations of states, and suggesting that 'in the present world system, the most important referent objects in the societal sector are tribes, clans, nations (and nationlike ethnic units, which others call minorities), civilisations, religions and race' - B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde, A New Framework, pp. 119, 120, 123. 167 It urges a shift towards a 'micro-security approach' but -being inclined towards normative and eclectic inquiry while wary of constructivist formulas- fails to suggest how this should be done - L. Pettiford & M. Curley, Changing Security Agendas and the Third World (London, Pinter, 1999) pp. 147-54. 168 This task is returned to in the next part of the chapter. 169 E. Gellner, Anthropology and Politics: Revolutions in the Sacred Grove (Oxford, Blackwell, 1995) pp. ix-xi. 170 See E. Gurr, Why Men Rebel (New Jersey, Princeton UP, 1970). 86 anxiety, goal, or stratagem to the occurrence or likelihood of violent political conflict. The second element is the creation of a referents-based lens for examining and explaining such diverse pressures. This identifies five distinct and consistent quests for particular security imperatives or "core values" by key categories of security referents labelled stakeholders. It is suggested that state institutions chiefly try to increase or preserve sovereignty; national, local and transnational élites all pursue survival politics; certain components of the incipient country-wide national entity consistently and consciously promote civil society; communal groups struggle for both material and existential subsistence; and ordinary (non-élite) individuals mainly seek personal safety — irrespective of what particular combination of threats is faced or what coping- strategies are employed. It is contended that the interactions of these searches for security chiefly shape the domestic and international security predicaments of developing countries.

The first part of the model proposed here offers a simpler criterion than the concept of securitization for the preliminary determination of what matters should be included in analysis of the overall security predicaments of particular developing countries. This is necessary in preparation for more detailed investigation of such situations. The likely difficulties of using text-based intersubjective discourse analysis to determine when securitization has been accomplished in developing world contexts have been outlined above. I support the Copenhagen School's depiction of formal security matters as negative rather than positive affairs, but would suggest that a close approximation to its three criteria for successful securitization —that threats are potentially existential in scope, legitimise extraordinary emergency action, and have significant repercussions for other security relationships— is revealed simply by the occurrence or apparent imminence of violent political conflict. Since states and human societies are potentially threatened by unrestrained conflict, they try to strictly restrict the conditions under which violence is acceptable. Thus, violence beyond the most spontaneous, short-lasting and very smallest levels, although not altogether uncommon, is inherently extraordinary even in developing countries. Once begun, it is so potentially harmful that special dynamics, such as mirror-imaging and dehumanisation, are often unleashed — almost guaranteeing serious wider repercussions in places where governmental and societal capacities to contain conflict are weak.171 The three criteria above, especially the requirement of extraordinary emergency action, are unlikely to be evident where political violence is neither present nor apparently imminent. Put simply, neglecting any threat to any actor or any stratagem that can reasonably be expected to

171 Peace Researchers have paid particular attention to cognitive and perceptual processes associated with violence. Eg. L. Kriesberg discusses enemy imaging, in-group/out-group relations, group-think, transfer and displacement, positional entrapment, misperception, and escalation - see Social Conflicts (New Jersey, Prentice-Hall, 1982). Also see D. Pruitt and J. Rubins, Social Conflict: Escalation, Stalemate, and Settlement (New York, Random House, 1986). 87 cause or significantly shape the conduct of violent political conflict will distort the analysis of overall security predicaments, while including any factor that cannot will unnecessarily complicate inquiry.172

Thus, where Krause and others advocate close attention to the role of organised violence in the analysis of security in developing countries, I would make the prospect of political violence the basic starting point of such research.173 This cannot be restricted to violence against the state174, and obviously still entails considering rather a lot of pressures. However, it does not involve as dauntingly many factors as some comprehensive approaches to security analysis would allow. By this criteria, most attention should continue to be paid to the disorder and instability associated with state- making and state-breaking processes.175 Although this approach may seem to shift added responsibility to the analyst, who will be required to objectively determine when violence is likely, this is no more complicated a task than that facing the constructivist analyst, who must find and evaluate evidence to confirm or refute any attempt at or claim of securitization.

Once this preliminary means for generally sorting security pressures from wider political matters is set, it remains to construct an analytical lens for the more detailed examination and explanation of what are still very many diverse factors. In the previous part of the chapter it was suggested that a focus on referents would provide the most efficient analytic core for coordinating investigation of as many non-military threats, non-state actors, and non-conventional strategies as possible. Krause suggests that efforts to deepen the agenda could move beyond a state-centric focus down to the level of individual security or up to the level of global security, with regional and societal security as possible intermediate points.176 The societal level seems likely to be crucial, given the importance of the domestic aspects of developing world insecurity. Society is

172 Cf. M. Alagappa argues that matters not involving organised violence can sometimes threaten the political survival of states - 'Rethinking Security', p. 49. However, the way the international system is currently (semi-) organised tends to preserve the physical existence of marginally viable states, and where these are said to have "practically disappeared", for example in Liberia or Somalia, it is violence that has finally pushed them into "failed" status - see R. Jackson, Quasi-states (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1990) which is discussed below. B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde discuss the example of yelling "the dykes!" in Holland ,which they suggest implicitly connotes urgency, priority, and thus security - A New Framework, p. 27. However, where such a challenge does not directly threaten violence it could be just as meaningfully described as an environmental emergency, a humanitarian crisis, or even a public-works calamity, as a security threat. Buzan et al. do claim that issues such as AIDS in Uganda, or unemployment and crime only become security issues 'if they threaten the breakdown of society' (Ibid., p. 121) but where national society is already very weak its "breakdown" will be most clearly indicated by political violence. 173 Eg. K. Krause, Op. Cit., p. 135. 174 Since states sometimes perpetrate considerable violence in situations where they are barely directly threatened themselves. Cf. T. Gurr, like many writers on "internal war", defines 'collective political violence' as destructive attacks by groups within a political community against its regime, authorities, or policies (of which extreme cases denote revolutions) - Op. Cit., pp. 3-4. 175 As M. Ayoob, among others, suggests. 176 K. Krause, Op. Cit., p. 126. 88 usually regarded as the mélange of all those institutions and associations within a country that are not part of the official apparatus of state machinery.177 As shown above, though, it is especially necessary to further disaggregate the components of state and societal security in developing regions.178 Consideration of individuals or small social groups does not deny the importance of the collective and, although just a starting point, cannot be precluded.179 It is now widely recognised that the separation of state and society has tended to be over-simplified, and the two are increasingly assessed as mutually transforming and also capable of being further anatomised for closer scrutiny.180

Halliday has suggested that even the external activities of developed countries might be better understood if the International Relations literature more faithfully reflected real-life distinctions between the state in its delimited institutional sense, society, government and nation.181 As has been indicated, such divisions are even more marked and significant in developing countries. Thus, Job's depiction of the "third world" insecurity dilemma contends that

four or more distinct securities may be at issue simultaneously: the security of the individual citizen, the security of the nation, the security of the regime, and the security of the state... [while for] a society composed of communal groups, with distinctive ethnic or religious identifications, their perceived securities may also be at stake.182 Not intending to make this observation the centre of an overall explanatory framework, Job does not attempt to determine what particular security imperatives they pursue, beyond noting that each component of society competes 'to preserve and protect its own well-being.'183 Nor have other authors who have noted the abundance and diversity of 'security stakeholders' tried to systematically determine precisely what actual stakes they pursue.184 Chazan, Mortimer, Ravenhill and Rothchild, for example, identify five

177 J. Migdal, Strong Societies and Weak States: State-Society Relations and Capabilities in the Third World (New Jersey, Princeton UP, 1988) pp. 24-33. 178 Since the typical non-contiguousness of state and national boundaries there invalidates the often- assumed simple duality of state and societal securities. 179 B. McSweeney, 'Durkheim and the Copenhagen School', pp. 139-40. Also see B. McSweeney, 'Identity and Security', pp. 86-90. 180 Eg. see N. Chazan, R. Mortimer, J. Ravenhill, & D. Rothchild, Politics and Society in Contemporary Africa (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1992) pp. 21-31 & p. 41; & J. Migdal, A. Kohli, & V. Shue, State Power and Social Forces (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1994) p. 2. 181 F. Halliday, 'State and Society in International Relations', Millennium Journal of International Studies Vol. 16 No. 2, 1987, pp. 219-223. He notes that, from the early 1960s, the sub-discipline of Foreign Policy Analysis challenged realism's claim that the internal character of states could be treated as irrelevant, by emphasising the domestic determinants foreign policy outcomes. However, he complains that FPA has retained a behaviourist-influenced 'narrow, fetished, concern with decisions and a sociologically naive concept of the internal environment' - Rethinking International Relations (Vancouver, British Columbia UP, 1994) p. 14. Different concepts of the state are discussed below. 182 B. Job, Op. Cit., p. 15. 183 Ibid., p. 18. 184 The phrase is K. Clements' - see 'Report from the IPRA President', International Peace Research Newsletter Vol. 33 No. 4, 1996, pp. 1-6. Eg. A. Alagappa provides only illustrative examples of the 89 main types of conflict between key constituencies in post-colonial Africa, but are discussing political competition generally rather than violent conflict over security imperatives in particular.185 Similarly, Copenhagen School writers observe that referents 'act in terms of aggregate security—that is, they let security concerns from one sector colour their security definitions in other sectors, or they add everything up and make a judgement on the basis of some overarching narrative', but decline to suggest what those overarching narratives might be.186

However, the security exigencies of referents mark the point where all the dimensions of developing world insecurity meet. It is where multiple actors engage disparate threats, constraints and goals with various coping-strategies in actual searches for security. Accordingly, these searches offer the natural pivot of a referents-based multidimensionally-directed lens for investigating and interpreting developing world insecurity predicaments. Security imperatives can be seen as the core values of referents — vital needs, equivalent to national independence and territorial integrity for the national security of states.187 These are more specific than a shared general pursuit of security as 'order, welfare and legitimacy' or 'survival', for example.188 They are also likely to be pursued by any means thought necessary, including resort to violence, when fundamentally threatened.

core values of security referents, stresses that these can change over time, and suggests that 'the bottom line for all referents is survival' - 'Introduction', p. 16; 'Key Features and Explanations', p. 625 & p. 639; & 'Rethinking Security', p. 63. D. Bigo focuses on specific actors in the Northwestern European context rather than general categories of alike actors - 'The European Internal Security Field', in M. Anderson & M. den Boer (eds.) Policing Across National Boundaries (London, Pinter, 1994) pp. 161-73. J. de Wilde presents a security threat/referent matrix, but restricts his scrutiny of referents to broad levels of analysis, hypothesising consistent searches for security in relation to four threat-types rather than referents - 'Security Levelled Out: the Dominance of the Local and the Regional', in P. Dunay et al. (eds.) New Forms of Security (Dartmouth, Aldershot, 1995) pp. 85-102. 185 These conflicts reflect 'an absence of consensus on questions of policy, participation, representation, equality, justice, and accountability' - Op. Cit., p. 208. They involve élite conflicts over policies and power by vying personalities among the upper echelons of the political centre; factional conflicts, propelled by rent-seeking behaviour, in which élites mobilise their constituents to compete with other groups for control of the official power apparatus, and thus scarce state-controlled resources; communal conflicts which seek to advance the political expression of sub-national identities, through increased political representation, autonomy, or secession; comparatively rare mass conflicts, based on the crystallisation of class consciousness, aimed at inducing a rapid, complete, and permanent (ie. revolutionary) alteration of the power structure; and rather more common popular conflicts in which local communities and other small collectives sporadically and informally protest against, disengage from, or try to assert autonomy in 'quiet rebellions' against state authority - pp. 189-210. 186 B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde, A New Framework, p. 190. Thus, they contend that the sort of matrix with sectors of threat along one side and actors on the other that is examined below might suggest that each box should receive 4% of political attention (in a 5x5 table) and can rarely come to any conclusions beyond the general proof of complexity - p. 189. 187 Wolfers identifies these as the minimum national core values of states. Discussed by M. Alagappa, who suggests that core values 'are not absolute but relative in nature' - The National Security of Developing States, p. 13. Also see A. Acharya, 'Regionalism and Regime Security', p. 143. 188 E. Kolodziej, 'Global Security: The Pursuit of Order, Welfare and Legitimacy for the Governance of the Emerging World Society', seminar paper presented in Canberra, 14 May 1999; & M. Alagappa, 'Rethinking Security', p. 63. 90 I have drawn on a wide range of theoretical material from relevant branches of the social sciences to ascertain the searches for security conducted by key types of security stakeholders.189 Analysis suggests a pattern of security relations that does not simply replicate zero-sum anarchical competition for ascendancy.190 Rather, each stakeholder- type appears to be consistently confronted by a certain basic security exigency, irrespective of what particular threats types are faced or what specific coping-strategies are attempted. These are outlined below.191

State institutions It is found that developing states, like their developed world counterparts, mainly search for security in terms of sovereignty — albeit an exemplar of sovereignty shaped more by domestic than international factors.

Particular theorists continue to use the term "state" quite differently.192 However, it cannot be dependably equated with phrases such as country, nation, regime, or government, in most developing world contexts.193 There, the term is more reliably used in its specific and limited institutional-functional sense to designate 'a set of administrative, policing and military organisations headed, and more or less well coordinated, by an executive authority'.194 According to Chazan, Mortimer, Ravenhill and Rothchild, there is growing agreement in the recent literature on the definition of the state as

the organised aggregate of relatively permanent institutions of governance. The state is seen as a set of associations and agencies claiming control over defined territories and their populations. The main components of the state are, consequently, decision making structures (executives, parties, parliaments), decision-enforcing institutions (bureaucracies,

189 Deductions are based on material from the Development Studies, International Relations, Security Studies, and other applicable scholarly literatures. Stakeholder types are based on the categories of referents offered by Job. These are slightly modified for use here, in ways that are outlined below. 190 It has been suggested that competition between ethnic groups or even entire civilisations, for example, may essentially replicate rivalry between states as posited by neorealists - eg. see B. Posen, 'The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict', Survival Vol. 35 No. 1, 1993, pp. 24-47; & S. Huntington, 'The Clash of Civilisations', Foreign Affairs Vol. 72 No. 3, 1993, pp. 24-49. R. Lipschutz claims that where states are very weak, such as in Somalia, 'the zero-sum geopolitics of realism and the Cold War come to be reproduced at the micro-level of household and society' - 'On Security', in R. Lipschutz (ed.) On Security (New York, Columbia UP, 1995) p. 7. 191 And are represented diagrammatically in Figure One at the end of this chapter. 192 J. Martinussen claims that particular conceptions of the state can emphasise any one or more of four analytic dimensions. These view it as 1/ a product of conflicting interests and power struggles or a reflection of a many sided dominance; 2/ a manifestation of structures laying down the framework for its mode of functioning, imposing a certain order on society and partly determining the behaviour of citizens; 3/ as an arena for interaction and conflict between contending social forces; and 4/ as an actor exerting a relatively autonomous influence on outcomes of conflicts and other processes in society - Op. Cit., pp. 221-5. Eg. Marxists view modern states as executive committees to maintain the interests of the bourgeoisie while Liberals usually see them as more neutral umpires or unitary actors. 193 N. Chazan et al., Op. Cit., p. 39. 194 F. Halliday, 'State and Society', p. 218 (citing Skoçpol). He contrasts this Weberian account of the state with those of writers such as Bull and Waltz for whom states are political communities - p. 217. 91 parastatal organisations, and security forces), and decision-mediating bodies (primarily courts, tribunals, and investigatory commissions). The character of the state in any particular country is determined by the pattern of organisation of these institutions195. Although his own conception of the state is more expansive, Buzan's assertion that 'states are exceedingly dissimilar as objects of security'196 also holds for states understood in a limited institutional sense. Developing countries contain many sorts of 'post-colonial' and 'modern' ideal-types of post-Cold War states.197 Various typologies of broken-backed, failed, soft, quasi and weak states exist, while Bobrow and Chans' "Achievers, Goliaths, Davids and weak states" have been discussed above, for example.198

Nevertheless, the much-modified, often dilapidated, pieces of administrative machinery in developing countries continue to share the pursuit of state sovereignty in situations involving political violence. Sovereignty, very simply put, means 'self-rule' and 'requires denial of any higher political authority, and the claiming by the state of supreme decision-making authority both within its territory and over its citizens.'199 However, as dependency, globalisation, and weak state theorists emphasise, powerful external and internal constraints particularly limit developing states' actual freedom of action and room for manoeuvre. Accordingly, Jackson distinguishes what he calls 'positive sovereignty' —possession of empirical qualities tied to genuine efficacy as states— from the freedom from overt external interference in territorial matters usually lent to even the most tenuous of states by the configuration, rules, and norms of the international system.200 Although developing states maintain military structures partly for external defence, and though they tend to be particularly institutionally attached to the sovereign principles of the territorial inviolability and formal international equality201, their quests for sovereignty chiefly seek positive sovereignty, since it is what they mainly lack. This 'can be existentially threatened by anything that questions recognition, legitimacy, or governing authority'.202 Violent discord need not be

195 N. Chazan et al., Op. Cit., p. 39 (citing Duvall and Freeman, Weber, and Skoçpol). 196 Buzan's conception of the state is based more on political-community than institutional-functional tools alone. It adds 'the idea of the state' (nationalism) and 'the physical base of the state' (wealth, population, and territory) to its institutions - People, States and Fear, 2nd edn. p. 65 & pp. 36-69. 197 The other ideal-type is the 'postmodern state': advanced industrialised democracies entering larger semi-sovereign bodies - G. Sorenson, A State is Not a State: Types of Statehood and Patterns of Conflict after the Cold War, publication forthcoming, cited in M. Alagappa, 'Rethinking Security', p. 33. Sorenson indicates that security referents and major sources of threat will be different for each. 198 Eg. see G. Sørensen, Op. Cit., p. 11. 199 B. Buzan, People, States and Fear, 1st edn. p. 41. 200 The latter is termed 'juridical' or 'negative' sovereignty - see R. Jackson, Op. Cit. Negative sovereignty may hinder the disappearance of even very inefficient states, where these might once have been expected to be absorbed into more vigorous neighbours. Also see J. Migdal, 'Why Do So Many States Stay Intact?', in P. Dauvergne (ed.) Weak and Strong States in Asia-Pacific Societies (Sydney, Allen & Unwin, 1998) pp. 11-37. 201 Eg. discussed in M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament, pp. 78-83. 202 B. Buzan, O. Wæver, & J. de Wilde, A New Framework, p. 22. 92 revolutionary in scale or even directed against the state to do this. In most developing countries such threats mainly arise internally. Here, the 'insecurity dilemmas of Third World states are basically unresolvable as long as the various factions within society are able to compete effectively as security providers.'203

The drive for positive sovereignty takes the form of an innate will to preserve or enhance the capabilities of the state machinery won, inherited or created at independence, in terms of 'autonomy, capacity, and legitimacy'.204 Of these, autonomy —the ability to reshape, ignore, or circumvent the wishes of other social actors, including foreign ones205— is a particularly crucial requirement of national security and the 'preservation of the state'.206 The degree of positive sovereignty enjoyed by a state depends on the strength of both its despotic and infrastructural power. The latter can be measured against five clusters of extractive, regulative, distributive, symbolic and responsive activities, all of which are also important determinants of legitimacy.207

The drive for sovereignty is an in-built part of the offices and institutions of state themselves. These structures were designed by departing colonial powers and nationalist first-generation indigenous élites precisely as mechanisms for accumulating positive sovereignty, intended mainly to implement developmental and nation-building strategies. As is indicated below, developing world state institutions have increasingly been regarded as being "up for grabs" in the pursuit of personal and communal interests by élites and their followers. The phenomenon by which limited institutional capacity is further diminished by the adaptation of weak states by strong elements of society is well documented.208 Although this may considerably divert them from their formal roles, components of state machinery in developing countries continue to perform a residual role attempting to accumulate state sovereignty, since this is what they were constructed to do.

Elites In developing world contexts, searches for security by élites of all kinds are characterised mainly by pursuit of what the Development Studies literature calls "survival politics" — the 'politics of the belly'.209

203 B. Job, Op. Cit., p. 22. 204 J. Migdal, A. Kohli & V. Shue, State Power and Social Forces, p. 304. 205 E. Nordlinger, 'Taking the State Seriously', in M. Weiner, & S. Huntington (eds.) Understanding Political Development (Boston, Little Brown, 1987) pp. 353-90. 206 M. Alagappa, The National Security of Developing States p. 14. 207 G. Almond & G. Powell, Comparative Politics: A Developmental Approach (Boston, Little Brown, 1966). 208 Especially see J. Migdal, Strong Societies and Weak States. 209 J. Bayart, The State in Africa - The Politics of the Belly (London, Longman, 1993). 93 The term élite must be used fairly loosely in many developing countries, where the authority, internal unity, and long-term durability of ruling castes and cliques are seldom very strong.210 Nevertheless, political, social and economic power remains unevenly distributed and quite highly concentrated at any particular moment in most such places. The term élites replaces Job's regime category in the model presented here, since the latter could imply a unity of purpose between, and dominance by, central leaders that is rare even in the capitals of developing countries. Although some other conceptions of developing world élites are also restricted to 'the political centre' (where state power can be directly captured to advance personal or communal interests)211, such approaches are weakened by trends towards the further informalisation and patrimonialisation, rather than institutionalisation, of politics in many such countries.212 Prominent personalities far from the centre of state power, such as village or communal group leaders, regional business figures, and provincial politicians, can sometimes shape violent conflict as profoundly as presidents, ministers, parliamentarians, bureaucrats, military officers and others who operate at the so-called national level. Elites, then are all those who are —however temporarily— ascendant in any significant sociopolitical arena, or deeply engaged in struggles to get there.

Survival strategies do not only occur in situations involving the use or threat of political violence, but are intensified and elevated in such circumstances. The phrase survival politics refers to the way in which developing world élites, faced with a precarious position in the international system and by intensely competitive domestic relationships213, are often reduced to employing desperate ruses and stratagems just to stay one-step-ahead of short-term ruin.214 As Rothstein puts it, 'weakness, instability and severe resource constraints tend to focus the attention of élites on questions of regime survival and on the pursuit of short-term relief.'215 These circumstances can lead to the 'political instrumentalisation of disorder' as a vital resource for competing élites when ordinary patronage structures come under such great domestic or external

210 See D. Macrae, 'Notes on Elites', in D. Kavanagh & G. Peele (eds.) Comparative Government and Politics (London, Heinemann, 1984). 211 Eg. N. Chazan et al. claim that élite conflict is extremely confined, taking place 'in the capital cities and among the upper echelons of the government apparatus' - Op. Cit., p. 190. 212 P. Chabal & J. Daloz, Africa Works (Bloomington, Indiana UP, 1999) pp. 1-16. This abets the practical, though not usually the formal, devolution of political power away from the official centre. 213 The general scarcity of avenues for advancement can create a 'primacy of politics' in which the fruits of any formal or semi-formal office are vigorously competed for by many aspirants, qualified or otherwise, further increasing the pressure on incumbents - see H. Spiro (ed.) Africa: the Primacy of Politics (New York, Random House, 1966). Cited in W. Standish, 'Simbu Paths to Power', p. 253. 214 Eg. see C. Lindblom, 'The Science of Muddling Through', Public Administration Review Vol. 19 No. 1, 1959, pp. 79-85. 215 R. Rothstein, 'National Security, Domestic Resource Constraints and Elite Choices', p. 140. He continues 'the resources that the élites can dispose to assure survival are strikingly limited. Consequently the need to use available resources to insure short-run survival is very strong' - p. 141. 94 pressure that they are threatened with complete breakdown.216 At that point, 'political entrepreneurship', aimed at preserving or enhancing personal and communal power, wealth and prestige, may involve the deliberate mobilisation and manipulation of dormant communities of identity, for example.217 Such stratagems are often ultimately disastrous. Politicians with limited capacity to mobilise their public are paradoxically often responsible for crippling the arms of the state, 'especially those organs that ultimately could have given the leaders not only mobilisational ability but also enhanced security.'218 However, neglect of more accommodative programs of reform in favour of often counterproductive, short-term, negative-sum tactics is not usually simply irrational, but stems from conditions of structural dependence and acculturated expectations of élites' constituents that militate against acknowledgment of a common interest.219

The survival exigencies of domestic élites effect insecurity predicaments in important ways. The precarious position of domestic élite actors, who often straddle the "modern" and "traditional" worlds, may demand that incompatible customary social loyalties and institutional responsibilities and rules be accommodated.220 Even in times of national crisis, these pressures can lead to frequent policy backflips, caused by shifting balances in political "numbers games"; bureaucratic schemes to protect informal corporate interests; frantic personal manoeuvres to quickly accumulate spoils- of-office; legally-dubious or criminal activities; and decision-making generally antithetical to raisons d'etre. For the warlords of thoroughly failed states, 'survival may involve the exploitation of local people and resources, the protection of territory and lines of communication, and activities in the far removed international environment of arms trading, diplomacy and finding markets for raw materials.'221 Domestic survival

216 Such collapse is threatened in crises of patrimonialism - P. Chabal & J. Daloz, Op. Cit., pp. 16 & 160-1. In such circumstances, even total national economic breakdown can offer great opportunities to some élite actors - pp. 124-38 & 77-91. (Neo-liberal "good-governance" conditionality, imposed by external donors to check corrupt patrimonial states, may inadvertently add to such violence by forcing erstwhile clients to seek new bases for their own welfare - A. Hoogvelt, Op. Cit., p. 175.) 217 B. Crawford & R. Lipschutz, 'Discourses of War', p. 168. According to A. Alao & F. Olonisakin, 'at independence, ethnicity was the easiest and most available tool at the disposal of the new élite to establish their grip on power. Since the independence political movements were formed along ethnic lines, stirring ethnic emotions against real and imagined rivals became a way of maintaining their positions in power - 'Ethnicity, Ethnic Conflict and Security', in A. Oyebade and A. Alao (eds.) Africa After the Cold War (New Jersey, Africa World Press, 1998) p. 122. 218 Migdal, Strong Societies and Weak States, p. 207. He describes the relationships between top state leaders and the agencies of the state as 'pathological' - p. 207. 219 B. Job, Op. Cit., pp. 28-9. 220 Effective administration of large-scale polities depends on at least a basic functional distinction of public and private spheres, particularly denial of 'the notion that the holders of political power possess any legitimate claim on the assets or resources which they administer.' However, this is only possible where appointment and advancement are essentially 'based on meritocracy, where salaries are commensurate with responsibility and are paid on time, and where there is a real as opposed to imaginary bureaucratic career structure' - P. Chabal & J. Daloz, Op. Cit., pp. 5-6. 221 J. Mackinlay, 'War Lords', RUSI Journal Vol. 143 No. 2, 1998, p. 28. Also see W. Reno, Warlord Politics and African States (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1998). 95 exigencies sometimes spill-over into international pressures.222 By late 1998, armed contingents from five countries and indirect interventions by at least five other countries helped shape the anti-Kabila rebellion in the east of the Democratic Republic of Congo, but mainly because of ethnic and regime security rather than conventional national security objectives, for example.223

The representatives of transnational actors, including multinational businesses, international governmental organisations, and even foreign countries, also generally behave as élites in relation to security predicaments in developing countries. Despite their relative power, they are rarely able to effectively dictate outcomes from offshore in situations involving violent conflict. Their own interests are seldom considered enough at stake to justify mobilising the resources necessary for decisive intervention. The very weakness of the developing state institutions they are attempting to deal with (which may provide certain opportunities for unscrupulous exploitation in other circumstances224) can present the representatives of transnational interests with a diffuse and changeable environment for policy formulation and implementation that undermines their leverage. This may force them to negotiate directly with various unpredictable domestic actors locally powerful enough to veto intended projects and policies.225 Thus, developing world security predicaments are difficult arenas for the strong as well as the weak, and the operations of transnational élites are frequently characterised by precarious ad hoc stratagems and remarkable vulnerability. For mining multinationals, for example, "security" means the reduction of risks and uncertainty, especially over continued access to resources226, but attempts to devise effective techniques to pursue this goal in the face of violent resistance tend to further entrench the problems encountered.227 Efforts by foreign countries and intergovernmental institutions to enforce negotiated agreements with developing countries, especially those embroiled in violent conflict, have often proved similarly

222 F. Halliday points to linkages between domestic 'horizontal security' issues and 'vertical security' matters involving interstate conflict - Rethinking International Relations, p. 143. Also see K. Rupesinghe, 'Disappearing Boundaries Between Internal and External Conflicts', in K. Rupesinghe (ed.) Internal Conflict and Governance (New York, St Martin's Press, 1992). 223 Without a reliable military of his own, Congo President Laurent Kabila has been reduced to using spurious but inflammatory ethnic rhetoric to ensure that he at least has the support of a 'Kinshasa rabble' - Guardian Weekly, 'Ethnic Cataclysm Looms in Congo', 6 September 1998. President Robert Mugabe's detractors deride Zimbabwe's involvement in the Congo war as a 'get-rich scheme for ministers, army officers and presidential relatives' who have invested about US$50m in mining, timber and business ventures in the mineral rich former Zaire - Guardian Weekly, 'Sliding into a Police State', 14 February 1999. 224 Some insist, rightly or wrongly, that international best practice standards are not necessarily appropriate for operating in developing countries. 225 Especially where developing states are unable or unwilling to meet obligations to compensate locals for costs borne as a result of the operations of transnational actors, as agreed in return for tax revenue (and frequently also personal commissions). 226 G. Banks, 'Changing Notions of Certainty and Security in Asia-Pacific Mining', paper presented at the Mining & Mineral Resource Policy Issues in Asia-Pacific Conference, November 1995, Canberra. 227 These are often made reactively in crisis situations. 96 frustrating.228 Even transnational humanitarian bodies have sometimes found themselves the reluctant underwriters of complex emergencies.229

Proponents of the nation The security of the countrywide entity sometimes called the nation must be distinguished from the "national security" of the state in most developing world contexts. To the typically limited degree that these national units are regarded as security referents, state bodies and élites have substantially relinquished their advancement —once chiefly sought in official nation-building projects— to the components of nations themselves. These claim to seek security in terms of various conceptions of civil society.

According to Smith, a nation is 'a named human population sharing a historic territory, common myths and historical memories, a mass public culture, a common economy and common legal rights and duties for all members.'230 His definition contains both aspects of what are sometimes separated as the bases for quite different understandings of the term nation: state-population and organic community.231 In some developing countries even the less-rigorous first element is contested.232 The populations of colonially-created states are often said to belong to 'state-nations', distinct from the relatively few primal nation-states like Japan in which the nation gradually gave rise to the state, or from the indigenous "fourth world nations" (ethnic communities) within many ex-colonial countries.233 The security referent considered below is the socio-political unit defined by a shared country-wide identity. This identity is often very weak but is seldom entirely absent. The typical developing world nation understood in this way is perhaps less of a true security referent than a security goal.

It is also a goal that has been gradually and informally but increasingly neglected by officials in many developing countries. Developing state machinery was often designed to promote countrywide nationalism, and the survival stratagems of central political élites have sometimes included nation-building measures partly intended to

228 A. Hoogvelt cites a 1992 World Bank report called 'Why Structural Adjustment has not Succeeded in sub-Saharan Africa' - Op. Cit., p. 170. 229 Some have been compelled to supply combatants (and thereby prolong conflicts) partly by exigencies of 'institutional survival' in what has become a very competitive sphere - eg. see Guardian Weekly, 'Africa's Famine is Very Big Business', 6 September 1998. A. Hoogvelt believes the gradual incorporation of humanitarian aid into the socio-political fabric of internal conflict (at best) makes complex emergencies more complex - Op. Cit., p. 180. 230 A. Smith, National Identity (London, Penguin, 1991) p. 15. 231 The former includes all the people living in and required to be loyal to the same state, while the latter share at least elementary myths shared language, blood and culture - B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, A New Framework, p. 120. 232 Eg. many black African southerners deny any obligation or connection to the Islamic Sudanese state. 233 Eg. see R. Rothstein, 'National Security, Domestic Resource Constraints and Elite Choices', p. 142; & B. Buzan, People, States and Fear, 1st edn. p. 46. Buzan distinguishes 'mature' state-nations, such as the United States, from 'immature' ones such as Nigeria. 97 increase their own authority. Only rarely have national anthems, flags, or regimental pipe bands completely disappeared. However, the widespread enervation of state machinery and the preoccupation of élites with more immediately pressing survival exigencies has often led to the virtual abdication of the national ideal to its potential components.

Today it is primarily social movements within developing countries themselves, especially NGOs, that pursue the goal of promoting the countrywide national unit as a meaningful security referent. They are voluntary associations, organisations, and networks engaged in collective action.234 These potential components of incipient nations characteristically search for security in broad terms of general well-being. This involves efforts to strengthen the nation by promoting civil society — the emergence and growth of a 'civic public'.235 They pursue this objective partly to advance broadly shared philosophical principles, such as individual rights, privacy, voluntary association, formal legality, plurality, publicity, and free enterprise.236 They also do so to further their own diverse ends, by attempting to foster a more cooperative and productive overall political and social environment within which interactions between diverse public and private interests, including their own, would be eased. Such an environment would normally be advanced by the diminution of violence of all kinds.

The liberal concept of civil society is used notoriously variably. Most understandings present it as a legally guaranteed space for the activities of social actors, established 'as a realm of freedom from the state by the state itself.'237 Within the arena of civil society, the state's role is basically restricted to providing the legal-political framework needed to facilitate the interactions of social actors. The concept describes the way in which some modern large scale societies are held together by impersonal bonds of interest rather than ties of kin and blood, and are ordered by the rule of law, but are largely self-regulated by socialised, supposedly bourgeois, sensibilities.238 In contrast to 'clan, clique, cabal, and clientele, the associations of civil society have themselves a public, civic quality related both to a recognised right to exist and the ability to openly deliberate about common affairs and publicly act in defence of

234 The terms voluntary organisation, grassroots movement, new social movement, popular movement, and NGO are all used more-or-less interchangeably in Latin America. All are issue rather than class- oriented; have formed at local, grassroots level; operate largely outside the prevailing state structures; and originate mostly in the experience of poverty or exclusion - A. Hoogvelt, Op. Cit., p. 233. 235 Eg. N. Chazan et al., Op. Cit., p. 189. 236 J. Cohen & A. Arato list these as the 'norms of civil society' - Civil Society and Political Theory (Cambridge, MIT Press, 1992) p. xiii. They argue that collective actors and theorists sympathetic to the idea of civil society 'are still oriented by the utopian ideals of modernity': basic rights, liberty, equality, democracy, solidarity, and justice. The 'fundamentalist' revolutionary rhetoric within which these ideals were once articulated is held to have been replaced by a 'self-limiting utopia' - p. xii. 237 M. Bernhard, 'Civil Society and Democratic Transition in East-Central Europe', Political Science Quarterly Vol. 108 No. 2, 1993, p. 309. 238 See M. Ignatieff, 'On Civil Society', in Foreign Affairs Vol. 74 No. 2, 1995 pp. 128-36. 98 justifiable interests.'239 The concept, which emerged alongside Western capitalist modernity in the eighteenth century, seeks to balance society, market and state.240 It resonates with some formulations of the concept of governance, which recognise the potential contribution that might be made to the management of a country's resources for development by numerous nodes of political power and organisation, even including traditional ones.241 Civil society

is not an actor, but a context within which a number of collectives are formed and interact. Civil society comprises formal organisations of a representative kind (such as parties, churches, trade unions and professional bodies); formal organisations of a functional kind (such as schools, universities and the mass media); and more informal social and political networks, ranging from local voluntary groups and ad hoc activist coalitions to nationally or internationally coordinated social movements.242 The space involved is territorial, but membership is at least partly permeable and voluntary or social, rather than solely inborn or communal and closed. Its features include the overall denial of any ideological monopoly (thanks to the diversity of its components); the existence of multiple rival centres of political and economic power; and the presence of a safe and autonomous productive zone in which goods, services and ideas can be freely exchanged.243 Such features catalogue the key socio-political attributes (sometimes called "social capital") shared by contemporary developed countries that are often said to be responsible for their affluence and domestic harmony.244

Chabal and Daloz attribute the popularity of an "ideology of civil society" in sub- Saharan Africa to three factors. These are, firstly, the actual deficiencies of states in providing governance there; secondly, the influence of Bretton Woods institutions such as the World Bank and the IMF on Western donor countries, with neoliberal preference for minimal states shifting resources towards burgeoning, supposedly more efficient, representative, responsive, and malleable, NGOs and consultants; and, thirdly, the confusion of kleptocracy for actual statist hegemonic ambition, and thus the need for civil society as a counter-hegemonic force, by analysts schooled in theories that

239 J. Cohen & A. Arato, Op. Cit., p. 48 (citing Schmitter). Cohen and Arato, who examine modern democratic polities, contend that civil society must be distinguished from both economy and state. 240 A. Seligman, The Idea of Civil Society (New York, The Free Press, 1992). J. Cohen and A. Arato trace the antecedents of the concept back as far as Aristotle but credit Hegel's depiction of everything beyond the family but short of the state as 'the first modern theory of civil society' - Op. Cit., pp. 91 & 83-116. The concept was revived in opposition movement struggles against socialist party-states in Eastern Europe and in the Latin American transitions from authoritarian military-bureaucratic rule. 241 Eg. A. Leftwich, 'Governance, Democracy and Development in the Third World', Third World Quarterly Vol. 14 No. 3, 1993, pp. 605-24. 242 M. Shaw, 'Civil Society and Global Politics', Millennium Vol. 23 No. 3, 1994, p. 648. In developing countries, these are essentially non-partisan élite bodies pursing their own objectives in a manner somewhat akin to survival politics, but with a greater concern for a countrywide good. 243 E. Gellner, Encounters with Nationalism (Oxford, Blackwell, 1994) pp. 173-181. 244 Civil society is probably a necessary but may not be a sufficient condition for affluence and harmony in large polities such as state-nations. Understanding of the "natural" sequential emergence (and alterability) of modernity, diffuse private wealth, and civil society is currently limited. See Chs. 5-7. 99 presuppose modernity.245 Embryonic civil society may be retarded by the enclave- based nature and weakness of the resource-dependent formal economies of many developing countries, which do not really promote numerous rival centres of domestic economic power. It may also be hindered by certain acculturated societal traits. Nevertheless, even Chabal and Daloz acknowledge the popularity of the idea of civil society among Africanists and Africans, despite their own doubts about its applicability there.246 As indicated above, searches for security are less about what is, than about what is perceived, aimed for, and acted upon.

Communal groups Communal groups remain important as providers of security for many people in most developing countries and as security referents in their own right. The prospect of violent political conflict poses both identity-based "existential" and more practical material challenges to the goal of preventing their own disappearance as political entities. In some situations, the possibility of violence may also be felt to offer a resource for advancing their continued existence and welfare. In either case, the searches for security of communal groups are driven by the need to safeguard the ability to subsist.

Communal groups range widely in both size and strength, from ethno-linguistic based entities, to tribes, clans, lineages and kin groups, for example. Their cohesion and practical significance for their constituents (though not always for wider political competition) tends to increase as they decrease in size. They are based on the attachment of their members to proscribed rather than open associational bonds, and they rely on ideologies of descent or even its actuality in some very small groups. Thus, they may represent the antithesis of civil society.247 They constitute the traditional and neo-traditional 'moral communities' which continue to dominate the political, social and economic lives of many people in most developing countries.248 The members of any such group may have overlapping allegiances to several other groups, and the configuration of such groups may be quite dynamic rather than static. However, the groups themselves can have distinct corporate or "organic"-type identities, and possess the sort of essential character and needs more typically attributed to strong nation- states. As such, they constitute social actors beyond the sum of their élite and non-élite parts. Although the rapidly expanding mega-cities of some developing countries

245 P. Chabal & J. Daloz, Op. Cit., pp. 22-6. 246 They dismiss use of the idea as 'eminently misleading' and deriving mainly from 'wishful thinking' in sub-Saharan Africa but accept that 'there is no denying that the notion of civil society is popular' - Ibid., pp. 18 & 22. Conditions in some other developing regions are more conducive to the actuality of civil society. In particular, Latin American countries share a tradition of strong, or at least authoritarian, states and weak communal groups (dominated by non-indigenous populations), partly industrialised economies, and 70% urbanisation. 247 Sociologists distinguish gemeinschaft (communities) from gesellschaft (societies or associations). 248 P. Ekeh, 'Colonialism & the Two Publics in Africa: a Theoretical Statement', Comparative Studies in Society & History Vol. 17, 1975, pp. 91-112. 100 produce various new identities, based on class and religious ideas for example, these seldom function as communal groups. Non-communal associations, even rather uncivil ones such as the fundamentalist movements of the Pakistani slums, are products of modernity and constitute potential components of civil society, while their leaders are élite figures.249

Communal groups are neither favourably placed nor usually inclined to adjust smoothly to the massive political and social changes buffeting many developing countries. Their recognition of claims to a monopoly of legitimate violence by developing states are often limited and they may be tenacious in the face of the dislocation accompanying development processes.250 Modernisation creates a tension between innovation and marginalisation which typically produces a few winners and many losers —sometimes including whole communal groups— and that may prompt a 'predisposition to violence' in the latter.251

The security imperatives of communal groups depend both on maintaining a robust identity capable of inspiring sacrifice and obedience, and on safeguarding control of the practical means to provide the necessities of life to sustain their members. Both drives may be evident in attachment to territory, especially during times of crisis. Since few politically important human collectives are small enough for their members to know all other constituents, most communities are at least somewhat "imagined". Accordingly, their struggle to maintain existential subsistence partly depends on sustaining the strong communal identity necessary for intra-group harmony and effectiveness. Recent accounts of societal security by Copenhagen School writers highlight identity as a principal requirement of communal groups. Four types of threat to identity are listed. These involve migration, which could change the composition of the population; horizontal competition, in which overriding cultural or linguistic influence from a neighbouring culture could transform the unit at stake; vertical competition, with integrationist or regionalist projects pulling people towards wider or narrower identities; and depopulation, by plague, war, famine, natural catastrophe, or policies of extermination, which threatens identity by endangering its carriers.252 Although Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde de-emphasise the last of these, it is likely to be the most crucial of the four for communal groups in developing countries. This points to the importance there of pressing material as well as identity-based 'ideational'

249 Militant Islam, for instance, is now usually explained as an identity-based political response to exclusion and deprivation - eg. A. Hoogvelt, Op. Cit., p. 184. 250 S. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven, Yale UP, 1968). 251 D. Apter, Rethinking Development (Newbury Park, Sage, 1987) p. 32. This violence, usually directed against the state, is a romantic —Apter calls it 'an alternative mytho-logic'— backlash by the marginalised - p. 42. It can become valued in its own right as a "legitimate" form of 'symbolic capital' (as opposed to financial capital) - p. 46. 252 B. Buzan, O. Wæver and J. de Wilde, A New Framework, p. 121. 101 needs.253 Practical day-to-day efforts to protect the 'technical processes and social relationships whereby the foodstuffs and other physical means of life are produced and consumed' accord with anthropological models of the subsistence economy or subsistence affluence of groups.254

Ordinary individuals Finally, most non-élite individuals chiefly search for security in terms of relative personal safety.

Some social scientists are uncomfortable with use of the term "individual" outside contemporary Western contexts.255 However, particular Africans, Central Americans, or Southeast Asians, for example, are not defined by one group alone, but rather may have loyalties to entities ranging from immediate paternal and maternal kin, to clan, village, tribe, ethnic group, district, region, occupation, and state-nation. Identity is thus at least partly instrumentally chosen or 'situational'.256 Even where personal rationality is strongly based on communal good, individual ego is hardly the mere prisoner of community and the imperatives of communal logic.257 As Norton warns, 'as though compensating for earlier oversights, in recent years many observers have assumed that sectarian or communal ties are somehow immutable ... [but] it is extremely misleading to presume that people carry within them a primordial nugget or essence that somehow determines who they really are.258

Faced with the prospect of violent political conflict, individual searches for security are driven by the need to meet potential physical and psychological dangers. These searches can take place within communal groups or in urban settings. In either case they involve the endeavour by ordinary people to insulate themselves against personal anxieties and potential calamities of all sorts. Here, considerations of relative safety must balance multiple competing pressures according to the full range of human motivations, ranging from high principle, altruism and bravery to ignorance, greed and cowardice. This must often be done in situations where no available option can appear very safe.

Physical needs for food, shelter, clothing and health-care are all likely to be at least somewhat at stake in situations likely to involve widespread violence. Individuals

253 The phrase is M. Alagappa's. He stresses the need to jointly consider material and ideational factors - eg. 'Key Features and Explanations', p. 652. 254 Eg. R. Keesing, Cultural Anthropology A Contemporary Perspective (New York, Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1981) p. 519. 255 Particularly certain anthropologists, as is discussed in Chs. 5 & 6. 256 J. Okamura, Op. Cit., p. 452. 257 P. Chabal & J. Daloz, Op. Cit., p. 156. 258 A. Norton, Op. Cit., p. 26. 102 must regularly demonstrate their worth as a members of communal groups, to ensure that any shelter that can be offered will be forthcoming in such times of need. This is necessary because 'personal identities are intimately linked with political processes and ... social identities are not given once and for all, but are negotiated.'259 Under conditions of perplexing social change and instability, individual psychological needs for self-respect, social approval and personal identity may also be important motivational factors. These can sometimes lead to safety-seeking behaviour that appears more risk-taking than risk-averse, such as voluntary membership of an armed group. Although the likelihood of violent conflict probably encourages basically rational utility maximisation in people, their acculturated and personal notions of what utility is, and the amount of information they have to base their choices on, can vary greatly.260 Material and psychological safety needs are often closely linked. This can be seen in youth membership in violent criminal gangs, or in the opportune circumstances for the successful resolution of bitter long-running conflicts, for example.261 Women may face particular safety pressures and play especial roles in relation to violence and insecurity in developing regions.262 The aggregate effect of searches for safety by individuals on the overall security predicaments of developing countries may be large. The powerful political consequences of basic individual needs going unmet are discussed in portrayals of human needs theory, human security; and emancipatory security concepts, as introduced above

Figure one: five searches for security in developing countries The foregoing analysis can be represented diagrammatically in the form of a simple matrix. This indicates that each category of stakeholders consistently pursues the key security imperative or core value shown vertically, regardless of what mixture of particular threats are faced or what specific coping-strategies are utilised.

259 T. Eriksen, Ethnicity & Nationalism: Anthropological Perspectives (London, Pluto, 1993) p. 3. 260 There is no reason why rationalist utilitarian discourse should not acknowledge that rationality is somewhat 'differently constituted culturally' - Long & Long, Battlefields of Knowledge, p. 5. It may stress the importance of social groups over individuals, for example. 261 W. Zartman calls the latter 'ripe moments' - 'Dynamics and Constraints in Negotiations in Internal Conflicts', in W. Zartman (ed.) Elusive Peace: Negotiating an End to Civil Wars (Washington DC, Brookings Institute, 1995) pp. 17-18. 262 Eg. L. McCulloch & L. Stancich describe gender security in the Philippines as being based on the basic needs of women as individuals for protection from violence and other economic and health threats - 'Women and (In)security', Pacific Review Vol. 11 No. 3, 1998, pp. 416-43. 103 Categories of stakeholders (with security exigencies/core values shown vertically) 263

STATE ELITES THE COMMUNAL INDIVIDUAL

GROUPS institutions (transnat, NATIONAL

national, &

local) ENTITY

MILITARY S P C S S

O O I U A

V L. V B F

POLITICAL E S I S E

(orgnsnl stability & R U L I T accession)

ECONOMIC E R S Y

I V T

SOCIETAL G I S E

(identity) N V O N

ENVIRON. T A C. C

Y L E

Sectors of threat 264

263 Adapted from B. Job, Op. Cit., p. 15. 264 Adapted from B. Buzan, People, States and Fear, p 19. Political security is as much about challenges to organisational stability as its preservation, and hence "accession". Threat types greatly overlap. 104

Conclusion This last part of the chapter briefly indicates how the possible utility of the new model for reconceptualising Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament will begin to be tested and refined in the rest of the thesis.

Attempts to cast analytical nets broadly in investigations of security in developing countries have tended to be

messy and unsatisfactory, particularly since the inclusion into military security discussions of such variables as economic deprivation, environmental degradation, and human rights abuse, as well as a host of nonstate actors and more differentiation among various categories of states. To date, more comprehensive perspectives have led to more heat than light.265 Some scholars, exasperated by the seemingly inescapable complexity of the term, have suggested that the entire project of trying to reconceptualise security might best be abandoned.266 While such a view has some merit, this chapter has suggested that alertness to matters potentially involving political violence, and a focus on the security imperatives of key categories of stakeholders, can provide the analytic core needed to help resolve the wide versus narrow conundrum hindering the subfield and, thus, the deeper understanding of security in Papua New Guinea. It is hoped that this approach will offer a useful tool for exploring broad patterns of insecurity.

The stakeholders model suggests possible answers to each of the two key practical questions raised in relation to Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament in Chapter Two. In regard to the first, it proposes that a focus on referents beside the state will be superior to an emphasis on new threats. In regard to the second, it suggests a potential means for disaggregating the components and security interests of state and society in a regular way. Accordingly, the following chapters will begin to test the proposed stakeholder framework in Papua New Guinea's security context. This inquiry will begin in the next chapter, with a general overview of the key challenges to well-being and stability that involve violent political conflict there. After that, Chapters Five and Six will directly apply and evaluate the usefulness of the stakeholder framework for disaggregating the state and societal security interests in a pair of detailed case studies of two of the country's most crucial insecurity complexes — the Bougainville crisis and contemporary highlands warfare. Indications of the possible utility (or otherwise) of the stakeholders model for reconceptualising Papua New Guinea's overall security situation that emerge in these cases will be returned to in Chapter Seven.

265 T. Weiss, Foreword to M. Ayoob's Third World Security Predicament, pp. x-xi. 266 Eg. S. Dalby, Rethinking Security (Canberra, Peace Research Centre, 1991) p. 18. 105 CHAPTER FOUR "Law and Disorder" — an Overview of Principal Challenges This chapter begins the detailed re-analysis of security in Papua New Guinea that Chapter Two showed to be necessary. It examines the main challenges to well-being and stability stemming from the threat of substantial violent conflict there. This entails an almost threat-based focus, despite the practical call in Chapter Two and the theoretical appeal of Chapter Three for greater attention to non-state referents. The approach is adopted for three reasons. Firstly, a brief survey of key challenges is necessary to ensure the completeness and soundness of the basic "security audit" component of the country study.1 Secondly, that outline of general challenges leads into the introduction of the two more specific security problems that will be examined by directly applying the stakeholders framework in Chapters Five and Six. Thirdly, close attention to such challenges should help to substantiate the important claim — made without much supporting evidence in Chapter Two— that threat-types overlap inextricably, and thus provide a comparatively weak basis for multidimensional security analysis, in Papua New Guinea.2 It shows the complexity of these issues, and reinforces the argument for a more specific analytical framework.

The chapter has five parts. The first fulfils the preliminary security audit function of the country study, mentioned above, by identifying and briefly outlining the three fundamental types of challenge to order and welfare that involve politically acute violent conflict in Papua New Guinea. These consist of raskol crime, separatism, and intergroup struggles. The second and third parts of the chapter follow this general review with a more detailed introduction to the Bougainville crisis and contemporary highlands warfare — the two cases that will be closely scrutinised in the following chapters. Both involve multiple actors responding to various perceived threats in disparate ways, and each can only be poorly explained by accounts of supposedly straightforward ethnic enmity, economic privation, class conflict, cultural predisposition, environmental pressure, or mere venality. The historical backgrounds to the cases and existing explanations of each are outlined in separate sections. Gaps in this literature are identified. The fourth part of the chapter explicitly reiterates the highly intertwined nature of all the security concerns mentioned above, and of the particular military, environmental, economic, societal, and political pressures within them. This helps to verify the theoretical claim that a primary focus on threat-types would provide an unsuitable basis for the desired analytical core focus. A concluding

1 The phrase is N. MacQueen's - see 'An Infinite Capacity to Muddle Through? A Security Audit for PNG', in P. Sutton and A. Payne (eds.) Size and Survival (London, Frank Cass, 1993). See Ch. 2. 2 (It was claimed that this stems from distinctions between economy, politics, religion, and social organisation being weak in PNG.) It is necessary to actually try to find discrete and consistent threat-types before the limitations of that approach can begin to be accepted. 106 part highlights the main findings of the chapter and suggests that the proposed stakeholders model should be able to help clarify unexplained aspects of the two cases if it contains the potential to contribute to more far-reaching analysis.

Three key concerns — raskol crime, separatism, and intergroup conflicts This part of the chapter conducts a brief survey of the principal security challenges facing Papua New Guinea. It identifies and introduces three broad types of concerns.3 One or more will normally be involved in any kind of violent activity that threatens to prompt escalating violence and which consequently produces wider security repercussions in Papua New Guinea's public realm — that is, in those pressures which meet Chapter Three's criteria for initially distinguishing security matters from "merely political" affairs.

As was cited in Chapter Two, Mokis describes Papua New Guinea's basic security problems as tribal fighting, separatism, and crime.4 That classification is helpfully concise, but cannot suffice for more formal security analysis without modification, since it does not fully capture the entire range of violent challenges to the country's political stability. Dinnen presents a typical list of important manifestations of the much discussed "law and disorder" predicament, consisting of urban gang violence, rural banditry and highway robbery, conflicts around large-scale resource development projects and violent compensation demands, tribal fighting, election related violence, attacks on the person, and political insurgency.5 (Focusing as much on law as order, Wormsley and Toke provide a similar list that also includes assaults on women, corruption, and public disrespect for official authority.6) Of the three general categories of security problems suggested by Mokis, "crime" is invalidated by the simple fact that both the other concerns involve criminal activities. Accordingly, I employ the most conspicuous type of violent crime besides tribal fighting and armed separatism, namely theft and assault by rural and urban raskol gangs, as a first basic category. "Separatism" quickly turns out to be a much less simple or discrete phenomenon than the term implies in Papua New Guinea, but will do as a second broad category. The phenomenon of "tribal fighting" is ruled out as a third basic category because it signals only the subset of intergroup conflicts that chiefly occurs or occurred in the highlands. I simply use the wider category of which it is a part.

3 They are ideal-types or abstractions more than real-life security problems (the latter are explored in subsequent parts of the chapter). 4 It identified these as 'internal security' threats, but also dismissed the immediacy of external threats - see S. Mokis, ‘PNG and Australia' in D. Ball (ed.) Australia and the World (Canberra, SDSC, 1990). 5 S. Dinnen, 'Militaristic Solutions in a Weak State: Internal Security, Private Contractors, and Political Leadership in PNG', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 11 No. 2, 1999, pp. 280-81. 6 W. Wormsley & M. Toke, The Enga Law and Order Report (Wabag, Department of Enga Province, 1985) pp. 23-28. 107 Although this thesis advocates an approach to security which emphasises violent episodes that significantly affect formal politics and de-emphasises others that do not, some theorists suggest that historical and cultural factors can make attempts to neatly demarcate violence in the "public" and "private" realms 'difficult to sustain in the Melanesian social environment'.7 An attack by one individual on another is still likely to have been partly meant, or to be widely interpreted, as part of a wider struggle between, say, communal or newer interest groups, classes, or the sexes. Nevertheless, neither those scholars, nor the analysis conducted here, indicate that broadly distinguishing public and private violence will be entirely impossible in Papua New Guinea, at least in the sort of preliminary survey that is undertaken below.

Raskol violence and militaristic state responses The term raskols appeared in the 1960s to describe the appearance gangs of migrant youths in Port Moresby, for whom the frustrating realities of city life had not lived up to expectations. These circumstances helped produce the 'attempt by a generational cohort to demonstrate solidarity in the face of economic and social adversity.'8 Their activities initially consisted of mere hooliganism and petty larceny, but began to evolve into more sophisticated, increasingly violent, operations by a smaller number of larger gangs in the 1970s.9 By then, the expression was also becoming widely used to describe escalating crimes against property and the person in non-traditional rural settings such as in towns and along roads. Although raskol crime has always contained a strong 'Robin Hood' idiom, the affluent are relatively less exposed to such crime, and the primary victims are poor women, while spoils are redistributed to strengthen personal relationships rather than to help the underprivileged as a class.10 A recent UN study suggested that violent incidents are as common or more prevalent in Papua New Guinea as anywhere in the world outside active war-zones.11

7 S. Dinnen, 'Violence and Governance in Melanesia', in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds.) Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Canberra, Asia Pacific Press, 2000) p. 8. Also see M. Jolly, 'Further Reflections on Violence in Melanesia', in the same volume, pp. 310-18. This public-private mix is related to the widely perceived blurring of the economic, political, religious, and social realms there. 8 W. Clifford et al., Law and Order in PNG Vol. 1 (PoM, INA, 1984) p. 104. 9 B. Harris, The Rise of Rascalism (PoM, IASER, 1988) pp. 35-43. 10 L. Morauta, 'Law and Order in PNG: A 10th Anniversary Report', in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, RSPacS, 1986) pp. 10-11. 11 Violent and sexual crimes are thought to be 10 times higher in PNG than in Australia, 6 times higher than in Fiji or the worst Philippines cities, and double those of Johannesburg or Rio De Janeiro. Of the countries sampled, only Tanzania's (lower) rates were comparable - cited in T. Levantis, 'Tourism in Papua New Guinea', Pacific Economic Bulletin Vol. 13 No. 1, 1998, pp. 101-03. Also see National, 'PNG Rated Second in the World for Violence Against Women', 9 March 1999. Reported rapes increased from 285 cases in 1980 to 1896 in 1990 - SMH, 'PNG - Report Uncovers Huge Rise in Rape', 9 December 1998. Estimates presented at the April 1999 Law and Order Summit claimed 108 Features of raskolism, such as high levels of violence against women, stem from a complicated mixture of political, economic, and cultural pressures. Academic analysis of the phenomenon only developed from the mid 1980s, before which most semi-official commentary was practically focused.12 Figures indicating that only about ten percent of all school leavers manage to find formal employment, leaving more than 40 000 young people to join the subsistence sector each year, were referred to in Chapter One.13 Such statistics, combined with widespread perceptions of high level political corruption, taught raskols that academics, bureaucrats and politicians 'find poverty and unemployment partly acceptable excuses for crime.'14 Still, only a minority of urban school-leavers have ever joined gangs, and even fewer rural youths do.15 Nor are raskols generally thought to represent an incipient lumpenproletariat. Rather, they are stereotypically young men, such as university drop-outs, with too much formal education not to despise the blue collar or subsistence work they are qualified for.16

Although the raskol gang may be 'one of the few structures in which tribal lines are blurred in favour of larger social groupings', scholarly analyses of the phenomenon have tended to stress cultural continuity more than material factors.17 Schiltz offers an influential early interpretation of raskolism which points to a clash between the Western logic underlying the exercise of state power on one hand, and enduring Melanesian cultural norms on the other.18 Whereas the former depends on hierarchy, the latter are held to prize values of equivalence and perpetual competition to equalise male prestige and power. Thus, raskol violence theft, and wealth redistribution are presented as acts of resistance, or neo-traditional 'negative reciprocity', against the power and wealth of the state, and against the society of relatively autonomous citizens

that 40 000 unemployed youths live in 84 illegal squatter settlements in Port Moresby, and that nearly 15% of the urban workforce has crime as a primary source of income, while crime costs the country approximately K270m (4.6% GDP) per year - National, 'Leaders Bear the Blame', 9 April 1999. 12 According to G. Trompf, Payback - The Logic of Retribution in Melanesian Religions (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1994) p. 347. A recent report in this practical tradition presents conflict between traditional and modern approaches to law, urban drift, special problems of youth, violence by state and private security arms, and new pressures such as alcohol and gambling, as the main causes of violence - ACIL, PNG Law and Justice Baseline Survey (Canberra, AusAID, 1997) pp. 17-19. 13 Eg. see B. Brunton, 'Crime, Politics and Economics', in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, RSPacS, 1986) p. 35. 14 L. Morauta, Op. Cit., p. 11. 15 Ibid., p. 10. 16 M. Reay, 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', in R. May & H. Nelson (eds.) Melanesia: Beyond Diversity (Canberra, ANU Press, 1982) p. 627. 17 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea (London, Routledge, 1997) p. 213. 18 M. Schiltz, 'Rascalism, Tradition and the State in Papua New Guinea', in S. Toft (ed.) Domestic Violence in Papua New Guinea (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1985) pp. 141-60. The Clifford Report had already recognised the importance of 'poor relations between the state and its citizens'. This was felt to reflect insufficient official recognition of the 'informal system' of law and order controlling most Papua New Guineans - Op. Cit., p. iii. 109 it tries to promote.19 Goddard, too, sees cultural continuities in raskol operations, and he stresses the ethnic basis of the sub-units within multi-ethnic gangs, and emphasises the neo-customary aspects of gang leadership, which depend on quite "traditional" oratory, martial, economic-organisational, and supernatural skills.20 Overall, he presents raskolism as a creative and dynamic —albeit illegal and often violent— social response to capitalism and the emergence of class, that involves the manipulation of new and traditional methods of meeting both new and traditional objectives.21 Kulick shows how raskols are overtly condemned but also held in awe and credited with many traits of traditional great-men by rural Sepik villagers.22 Andrew Strathern explores the substantial involvement of raskols in the increasingly intense struggles of highlands businessmen and politicians, and in the clashes between highland communities that are discussed below.23 Dinnen explains the repeated attempts of the state to implement punitive measures against raskols, despite clear signs that these are likely to be counterproductive, in terms of a different form of negative reciprocity.24 He argues that this helps sustain a 'reinforcing dynamic between political patronage and the institutional weakness of the PNG state.'25

Separatism Although the challenge of separatism no longer evokes the level of anxiety it did during the decolonising period, it has evolved rather than disappeared since then. Even at its height in the 1960s and 1970s, the phenomenon —usually called "micronationalism" in Papua New Guinea— barely involved the prospect of full armed secessionism.26 Rather, separatism was and continues to be characterised mainly by more modest disengagement from the structures, regulation, and order of the state. Nevertheless, this

19 M. Schiltz, 'Rascalism, Tradition and the State', p. 152. Trompf also discusses raskolism in terms of movements of retribution or revenge and a 'payback temperament' - Op. Cit., pp. 346-51. 20 M. Goddard, 'Big-man, Thief: the Social organisation of Gangs in Port Moresby', Canberra Anthropology Vol. 15 No. 1, 1992, pp. 20-34. 21 M. Goddard, 'The Rascal Road', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 7 No. 1, 1995, p 55-80. 22 He reports that they 'enjoy great support among the villagers [who] see them as surrounded by an aura of adventure, education and power [and believe they] are fighting a kind of protracted guerilla war against corrupt politicians, greedy businessmen and obstructionist missionaries' - D. Kulick, 'Heroes from Hell', Anthropology Today Vol. 9 No. 3, 1993, p. 9. 23 A. Strathern, ‘Let the Bow go Down’ in R. Ferguson & N. Whitehead (eds.) War in the Tribal Zone (Santa Fe, Research Press, 1992); & 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', Pacific Studies Vol. 16 No. 4, 1993, pp. 41-60. 24 Eg. see S. Dinnen, 'Control Talk in Papua New Guinea', Taim Lain Vol. 1 No. 1, 1993, pp. 13-37. He feels that the masculinity of criminal violence is largely matched by that of state violence, and that both are partly products of the traditional acceptability of violence as a conflict resolution strategy. 25 S. Dinnen, 'Militaristic Solutions in a Weak State', p. 297. Solutions he proposes are discussed in Ch 7. 26 Papuan chauvinists and some Bougainvillean activists announced unilateral declarations of independence from Australia months before PNG, but few commentators interpreted even this as fully fledged secessionism - cf. R. Premdas, 'Secessionist Politics in PNG', Pacific Affairs Vol. 50 No. 1, 1977, pp. 64-85. 110 sort of withdrawal is quite common and produces its own serious political repercussions, some of which involve violent conflict.

May divides independence-era separatism into four progressively wider, more ambitious, sub-categories. The most limited of these involved marginal cargo cults, which disregarded administration entreaties against neo-ritual practices intended to improve material conditions.27 Local protest movements, such as Napidakoe Navitu on Bougainville (discussed below) and the Matungan Association of East New Britain, were formed to oppose specific government activities, but quickly grew to include a range of economic, social and political development goals. Self-help development movements were established to pursue economic growth through communal action in wider arenas than would have been traditionally recognised.28 Even regional separatist movements, such as Papua Besena, the leadership of the 1975-6 "North Solomons Republic", and the Highlands Liberation Front, were based more on attempts to gain national government recognition of 'specific regional interests' than on goals of actual independence.29 Movements at all four levels were closely connected with the political ambitions of their leaders.30 Each 'tended to reject the institutions of the imposed system - government, mission and, to a lesser extent, private business - rather than seek to capture them or deliberately enter into conflict with them.'31 Although some of the movements expanded rapidly, few sustained the active interest of members for more than three or four years.32 This was partly because especially capable leaders of the foremost movements were so readily absorbed into wider political arenas (with foundation Prime Minister Michael Somare deftly coopting some of the most gifted).33 Thus, formal separatism is usually regarded as having been a transitory phenomenon of a past era.

27 Eg. during the 1964 national election, many New Hanoverian New Irelanders insisted on voting for President Lyndon Johnson, with the objective of replacing the Australian administration with a US régime to improve local welfare and status. They refused to pay council taxes, boycotted government cooperatives, and engaged in violent confrontations with field officers - R. May, 'Micronationalism in Perspective', in R. May (ed.) Micronationalist Movements in PNG (Canberra, RSPacS, 1982) p. 11. 28 Eg. the Komge Oro of Northern Province, led by a university graduate (and later academic and national minister) John Waiko, promoted village community initiatives, expansion of ceremonies to tribal and regional levels, and appropriate technology and economic self-reliance based on enhanced subsistence agriculture - Ibid., pp. 18-19. 29 Ibid., p. 22. Eg. Papua Besena declared independence in March 1975 to protest Australian plans to grant independence to a unified PNG, but this did not prevent Besena candidates from successfully contesting the 1977 national elections. 30 Especially see R. Gerritsen, 'The Politics of Ambition', & B. Standish, 'Elite Communalism: the HLF', both in R. May (ed.) Micronationalist Movements in PNG (Canberra, RSPacS, 1982). 31 R. May, 'Micronationalism: What, When and Why', in R. May (ed.) Micronationalist Movements in Papua New Guinea (Canberra, RSPacS, 1982) p. 428. 32 Ibid., p. 431. 33 Ibid., p. 447. 111 However, the outbreak of the Bougainville crisis, a decade later, led to the renewed salience of separatism — albeit in a more complicated way than is often appreciated. As is shown below and in Chapter Five, accounts that explain the causes of the conflict in terms of ethnic secessionist fervour alone are among the weakest offered.34 Nevertheless, the example of the Bougainville conflict greatly accelerated a growing trend towards the sort of withdrawal from, or ad hoc capture of, local state structures by interest groups and their leaders that was introduced in Chapter Two. According to Saffu

a veritable compensation mania broke out all over the country. Demands for very large sums, with threats and use of violence, were made by landowners on resource developers and the government, clearly a demonstration effect of the Panguna landowner rebellion.35 This sort of direct rent-seeking or "self-help" can be seen as a form of separatism that is informal and often undramatic, but which fundamentally threatens the Papua New Guinea state, undermines the welfare of other interests, and produces considerable violence, in ways that are explored in Chapters Five and Six. In comparison, explicit secessionist threats remain a periodic feature of Papua New Guinean political discourse —now accompanied by warnings that "bloodshed will be worse than anything seen on Bougainville"— but these continue to represent manoeuvres used to pursue fairly limited and specific ends. They are typically easily dropped once a compromise more- or-less satisfactory to the leaders of the disaffected parties is reached.36

Intergroup conflicts Violent struggles by communal and newer interest groups to advance corporate ends and the personal stakes of their leaders comprise the third basic category of security challenges facing Papua New Guinea. Although these clashes are especially common in the five highlands provinces, they now occur throughout the country in one form or another. The prevalence of contemporary intergroup conflict is partly a legacy of the pre-colonial acceptability of violence as a conflict resolution strategy. However, the conduct of these struggles has been transformed by more modern pressures that have greatly expanded the arenas in which they occur.

34 However, fierce fighting did subsequently increase enthusiasm for secession - eg. A. Regan, 'Causes and Course of the Bougainville Conflict', Journal of Pacific History Vol. 33 No. 3, 1998, pp. 269-85. 35 Y. Saffu, 'Preface', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. viii. 36 Eg. threats by New Guinea Islands MPs to form a "Federated Melanesian Republic" represented a stratagem adopted to pursue quite limited ends associated with the CRC/Micah provincial government reform process in 1994. By the time of the parliamentary vote on the constitutional amendments in June 1995, usual PNG-style personalised bargaining had seen most NGI bloc leaders coopted or intimidated into supporting the reforms - Islands Business Pacific, 'Winds of Secession', May 1994; & Australian, 'Provincial Shake-Up Brings Payout for MPs and Raises Doubts', 15 September 1995. (The September 1994 volcano eruption on Rabaul also helped undermine any separatist sentiments.) Threats of impending mayhem from the Governor of Oro Province were similarly short-lived in 1998. 112 High levels of violence are thought to have been a common feature of life throughout pre-colonial New Guinea. As is discussed in relation to highlands warfare below, some traditional societies may not have recognised a clear disjuncture between "war" and "peace", or necessarily regarded the absence of hostilities as more normal or favourable than their occurrence.37 Since pre-colonial Melanesian life was organised around communal groups of varying size and cohesion, these were central in the conduct of violent interactions. In those circumstances, a perceived affront to the lowliest member of any group could not easily be borne without signalling the weakness of, and thus potentially endangering, each of his or her fellows. Different archetypes of precolonial warfare exist for the highlands, highlands fringe, and coastal and islands zones. These depict fighting as having been comparatively more focused on the materialistic interests of groups as altitude increases. They point to larger battles for land and other corporeal advantages in the central highland valleys, compared to head- hunting or cannibalistic raids conducted by individuals and small units for mainly ritual purposes in coastal and islands areas.38

The post-independence era has seen 'higher level units drawn into disputes which might once have been handled at a clan or tribal level.''39 In particular, the 'imposition of government with its national, provincial, and local electorates has added new forms and levels of segmentation to the previously existing ones, and these have come to figure as new axes of organised violence.'40 Other non-traditional operations, especially by businesses, provide further avenues for violent intergroup competition. Scholarly explanations of widening spheres of unbridled political and economic competition —or "higher level segmentation"— include Andrew Strathern's concepts of 'tribalisation' and 'disintegrative-integration', for example, which were briefly introduced at the end of Chapter Two and which are further discussed in Chapters Five and Six.41

Violent conflicts involving an intergroup dimension have become quite common in all four regions of the country. They remain most prevalent in the highlands. There, the neo-traditional skirmishes and battles between neighbouring communal groups known as "tribal fights" are now accompanied by election related violence which is

37 Eg. M. Strathern, 'Discovering Social Control', Journal of Law and Society Vol. 12, 1985, pp. 111-34. 38 The best introduction is B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare: A Theoretical History', Oceania Vol. 60 No. 4, 1990, pp. 250-311. He is sceptical about the overly dichotomous stereotypes. 39 M. O'Hanlon, Portraying the New Guinea Highlands (London, British Museum, 1993) p. 52. 40 A. Rumsey, 'Social Segmentation, Voting, and Violence in PNG', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 11 No. 2, 1999, p. 305. 41 A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow go Down', p. 230; & 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 57. J. Ketan's account of the full 'incorporation of the PNG state into the Hagen megacycle' at the district level contains the strongest statement of this position - 'The Name Must Not Go Down', unpublished PhD thesis, University of Wollongong, 1998, p. 306. 113 widely seen as a component of or 'substitute for' such competition.'42 "Ethnic" clashes sometimes occur between larger, more ephemeral, loci of identity than would previously have acted as military units. For example, the Southern Highlands has been shaken by serious clashes between people from Tari and Nipa districts since the accidental road-death of a former provincial governor, Dick Mune, in May 1999.43 Rival new landowner associations claiming to represent those who feel entitled to compensation continually emerge (and disappear) around resource extraction projects, public infrastructure, and other commercial ventures. These may tussle with each other for recognition and can be heavy-handed in their efforts initiate or increase such reparations.44 Papua New Guinea's Southern region contains Port Moresby, which periodically sees "ethnic" clashes similar to those that convulse the highlands, and experiences altercations between newer groups such as a recent brawl between police and soldiers.45 The wantok system, which provides urban individuals with the neo- customary social and economic "safety net" introduced in Chapter One, can quickly transform small or inadvertent incidents into much more serious confrontations in the capital or other cities and towns. The Momase region along the north coast is probably more affected by raskolism than intergroup struggles, but is hardly free of conflicts between communal groups.46 In the Islands region, violent intergroup conflicts are most common and significant on Bougainville47, but have even broken out in 'the once peaceful province of Manus.'48

All three key security challenges —raskol violence, separatism, and intergroup struggles— can be further observed in each of the two more specific cases of actual security problems, introduced below.

42 M. Reay, 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', p. 634; & see B. Standish, 'Towards Gunpoint Democracy?', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996). Eg. in Chimbu, 30 died within 3 months of the June 1997 general election, while small wars broke out 4 months later over elections for the 90 Local Level Governments - eg. National, 'Poll Violence in Chimbu', 9 September 1997; & Post-Courier, '5 Shot Dead in Tribal Fight Over Local Polls', 20 November 1997. 43 So far, a police station has been stormed and ransacked for weapons, operations at the nearby Hides gas project disrupted, a section of the highway closed, and about a dozen people have died - eg. Post- Courier, 'Hulis: Let Us Do it Our Way', 9 August 1999. (1997 saw repeated "ethnic" skirmishes between Eastern Highlanders and Chimbu settlers around Goroka - eg. National, 'Two Killed in Goroka Clash', 18 November 1997. A minor road incident in 1996 led to "provincial" clashes between Eastern Highlanders and Morobeans, involving the destruction of an important bridge with a WWII bomb and a police riot - Post-Courier, 'Morobe Blames Markham Row on MPs', 8 February 1996.) 44 Eg. Post-Courier, 'Do Not Turn Oil Off - Wagambie', 25 October 1999. 45 Settlements there are typically dominated by people from a particular region, province, or district. See Post-Courier, 'Police Deny Bash Claim', 25 October 1999 on the latest police-army clash. 46 Eg. ACIL, Op. Cit., p. 24 (on the situation in the East Sepik). 47 Eg. A. Regan, 'Causes and Course', p. 272& p. 279. Discussed below. 48 National, 'Land Disputes Claim Five, Break Peace in Manus', 21 September 1999. 114 Existing explanations of the Bougainville crisis — Secession or succession? The survey of fundamental security challenges presented above has established the general context in which more complicated real-life security problems are faced. This second part of the chapter introduces the first of the two such practical problems that Chapters Five and Six will examine as case studies within the country study. As has been explained, the use of cases is intended to allow the close attention to detail necessary to begin to test and refine the proposed theoretical model, while the two cases were selected for their overall significance, the accessibility of material about them, and their relative neglect in recent scholarship.49 This part of the chapter outlines the Bougainville crisis, which erupted into violence at the end of 1988 and is yet to be fully resolved. The part is divided into three sections. The first presents a condensed summary of the historical roots of the crisis.50 The second provides a descriptive synopsis of the course of the conflict. The third section reviews the existing literature about the conflict, and identifies gaps in the explanations offered. Here, it is widely held that both early depictions of the crisis as a simple separatist fight for ethnic self- determination, and later alternative "single-cause" theories, inadequately explain the crisis. Appeals have been made for a synthesising lens, able to integrate satisfactory accounts of particular aspects of the conflict which have been offered from various theoretical perspectives. However, no such device has become generally accepted or even been very closely considered.

The North Solomons province of Papua New Guinea, which was known as the District of Bougainville before 1975, is still generally referred to simply as Bougainville. It contains between 160 000 and 200 000 people.51 Bougainvilleans speak nineteen different languages and many further dialects, but even these linguistic boundaries do not delineate the main socio-political divisions in the province, which continue to be based on localised small-scale communities.52 The island of

49 See the Introduction. I lacked the training and funding to undertake the sort of extensive field research in anthropological criminology that A. Borrey and S. Dinnen have conducted, for example, but have drawn on such work where appropriate. 50 For a more detailed account see K. Claxton, Bougainville 1988—98: Five Searches for Security in the North Solomons Province (Canberra, SDSC, 1998). The collected reports of the Australian Journal of Politics and History on PNG provide useful summaries of Bougainville affairs from 1967 to 1991 - C. Moore & M. Kooyman (eds.) PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998). For a concise chronology of events from pre-colonial times up to late 1996 see JSCFADT, PNG Update (Canberra, Commonwealth of Australia, 1997) pp. 75-87. For a detailed chronology of occurrences between late 1994 and late 1997 see A. Regan & S. Dinnen, 'A Chronology of Significant Events', in S. Dinnen, R. May & A. Regan (eds.) Challenging the State (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) pp. 9-48. For a brief chronology up to August 1999 see JSCFADT, Bougainville: The Peace Process and Beyond (Canberra, Parliament of Australia, 1999) pp. 169-85. 51 Up-to-date census figures do not exist, but Bougainville's population represents fewer than 4% of all Papua New Guineans - see JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 1. The National Statistics Office estimated there were 178 262 people in the province in 1997 - cited in http://www.pngembassy.org. 52 As is discussed below. Linguistic distribution is shown in Map E - p. iii. 115 Bougainville and the smaller adjacent island of Buka have a total area of approximately 9 350 square km, and the main island is 210 km long and 30 to 65 km wide.53 It lies about 800 km northeast of Port Moresby across the Solomon Sea. A number of much smaller outlying islands are also administratively included in the North Solomons. Terrain on the main island is quite densely rainforested and is dominated by a rugged mountainous spine called the Crown Prince Range.

Events up to 1988 Many pressures stemming from much earlier times have continued to influence recent events. This section presents a simple chronological summary of conditions and important milestones on Bougainville from pre-colonial times to the end of the 'pre- crisis phase' that began with the imposition of large scale mining in the 1960s.54

Speakers of Non-Austronesian (Papuan) languages began to arrive in what is now the North Solomons approximately 28 000 years before present, while Austronesian speakers began landing about 3 000 years ago and did not finish arriving until early this century when the Rorovanans immigrated from further south in the Solomons chain.55 Additionally, the small coral atoll outliers off the east coast of Bougainville island are inhabited by Polynesian speakers, thought to have arrived in the last eight hundred years.56 Bougainvilleans do not comprise a unitary ethnic unit but do basically 'hang together as a ... distinctive biological cluster'.57

To the extent that precontact relations of production on Bougainville can be reconstructed, communities probably shared many typically Melanesian traits such as

the predictable gender-based division of labour; descent ... as an important principle governing access to land, but with effects crosscut by locality and ego-centred kin networks; and exchange for both ceremonial purposes and the transfer of mundane products across ecological boundaries.58 "Traditional" socio-political organisation on Bougainville was distinguished from certain other parts of New Guinea, especially the highlands, by two general features. Firstly, gender relations tended more towards complementarity, with women enjoying

53 For geographical information see R. Scott et al., Lands of Bougainville and Buka Islands (Melbourne, CSIRO, 1967); & D. Oliver, Black Islanders (Honolulu, Hawaii UP, 1991). 54 The term is N. Ahai's - 'Bougainville: Building Trust and Rebuilding People', unpublished paper, Armidale, 22 October 1996, p. 1. 55 12 of the 19 (non-English or Tok Pisin) languages currently spoken on Bougainville are of Austronesian origin - M. Spriggs, 'Alternative Prehistories for Bougainville', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, pp. 269-294. However, most north coastal New Guineans and inhabitants of the Bismarck and Solomon archipelagos are genetically about 15% Austronesian and 85% 'like highlanders' - J. Diamond, Guns, Germs, and Steel (New York, W.W. Norton, 1998) p. 346. 56 M. Spriggs, 'Alternative Prehistories', p. 286. Polynesians also speak Austronesian languages. 57 Ibid., p. 284. 58 T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, ‘Copper, Class and Crisis: Changing Relations of Production in Bougainville’, Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, p. 251. 116 relatively high status.59 Secondly, with comparatively little population pressure, violence was probably not as endemic or as directed towards land-acquisition for gardening.60 Despite such shared characteristics, specific aspects of socio-political organisation were as heterogeneous in pre-colonial Bougainville as they were elsewhere in Melanesia. The Buka and Buin areas of the extreme north and south shared a hereditary two "class" system not seen elsewhere in Bougainville, for example.61

Although some coastal communities have had intermittent connection with the outside world from the mid-nineteenth century, certain other groups in the mountainous interior have only experienced direct contact for about the last fifty years.62 The French explorer Louis de Bougainville is credited as the first european to have sighted the main island, in 1768. The German government claimed control of the northern Solomons in 1884. In 1899, an international agreement called an exchange of notes ruled that Bougainville and Buka, the very northernmost islands of the Solomons chain, should remain within Germany's sphere of influence, while the more southerly islands, including the nearby Shortlands, Choiseul, and Isabel, were transferred to the British Solomon Islands Protectorate (BSIP).63 Bougainville and Buka were administered from Rabaul until German officers established a government station near Kieta in 1905. Australia seized German New Guinea in September 1914, after the outbreak of the Great War. It formalised control under a League of Nations Mandate in 1921. In 1946, Bougainville became part of the UN Trust Territory of New Guinea. This was administratively joined with Papua in 1948, and became part of the Independent State of Papua New Guinea in September 1975.

Certain historical factors are widely felt to have helped bring about or shape the course of the current crisis. These include Bougainville's distance from Papua New Guinea's fourteen (out of nineteen) mainland provinces64; its arbitrary colonial-era separation from ethnically-similar northern parts of the Solomons archipelago, referred to above65; many Bougainvilleans' very dark pigmentation, which has led to a sense of their being of a different "race" to other "red-skinned" Papua New Guineans66; a

59 This was probably mainly due to the widespread matrilineal organisation of descent - Ibid., p. 251. Also see J. Nash, Matriliny and Modernisation (PoM, NGRU, 1974) discussed in Ch. 5. 60 Instead, it was associated with magico-religious requirements. These prompted cannibalism in the north and head-hunting practices in the south - T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, Op. Cit., p. 252. 61 A. Chowning, Introduction to the Peoples and Cultures of Melanesia (Manila, Cummings, 1977) p.52. 62 A. Regan, 'Submission for the JSCFADT Inquiry into Bougainville', Canberra, June 1999, p. 4. 63 Many Bougainvilleans continue to believe that their ancestors were transferred from British to German Control. The BSIP covered only the Southern Solomons when established in 1893. 64 However, Arawa is about the same distance from Port Moresby as Lorengau in the islands region or Vanimo on the mainland are. None are connected by road. 65 The nature of PNG's other boundaries, however, are equally arbitrary. See P. van der Veur, The Search for New Guinea’s Boundaries (Canberra, ANU Press, 1966). 66 J. Nash & E. Ogan, 'The Red and the Black', Pacific Studies Vol. 13 No. 2, 1990, pp. 1-17. 117 residual sense of superiority stemming from the early stereotype of Buka workers as especially reliable and resourceful colonial auxiliaries67; the dislocating and confusing experience of the two World Wars68; pre-mining grievances based on neglect by the colonial government69; the very rapid growth of local economic inequalities after the introduction of small-holder cocoa and copra cultivation in the 1950s70; and the abrupt and off-hand manner in which the fact of mining was imposed from the mid 1960s71.

Even before the start of large-scale mining, the Australian Administration was held in especially low regard in some parts of Bougainville which contained strong localist sentiments. In 1962, the Hahalis Welfare Society cult of eastern Buka vigorously opposed the imposition of a local government council in favour of a model of development through local communal action, for example.72 Hostility towards the Administration was particularly strong in the Nasioi-speaking areas that were later to surround the mine and its infrastructure. In 1962, a meeting of a thousand people at Kieta asked a visiting UN mission to transfer the mandate from Australia to the USA.73 The historical roots of the particularly unhappy colonial experience of Nasioi speakers are discussed in a recent paper by Ogan.74

However, the first fairly serious efforts to gain Bougainvillean autonomy or independence did not occur until preparations began to be made for large scale mining. These occurred during immediate pre-independence and early post-independence periods. A substantial copper ore deposit on Bougainville was predicted by an Australian government geologist in 1961. Conzinc Rio-Tinto of Australia (CRA) obtained a Special Prospecting Authority license in 1963. Prospecting began in 1964 but was almost immediately strenuously opposed by local landowners.75 Mining operations by Bougainville Copper Limited (BCL), a subsidiary of CRA, started in

67 They were prized in the constabulary and as plantation overseers - A. Regan, 'Submission', pp. 5-7. 68 WWII was very destructive there - eg. H. Gailey, Bougainville 1943-1945 (Lexington, Kentucky UP, 1991). Some Bougainvilleans helped Australian coast-watchers while others actively opposed them. 69 Australia left the day-to-day provision of services to a Solomon Islands-based Marist order until especially late - see H. Laracy, Marists and Melanesians (Canberra, ANU Press, 1976) pp. 140-143. 70 Eg. A. Regan, 'Towards Peace for Bougainville?', Asia-Pacific Magazine October 98, p. 13. See Ch. 5. 71 See L. Hannett, 'The Case for Bougainville Secession', Meanjin Quarterly Vol. 30 No. 3, 1975, pp. 286-93; & P. Quodling, Bougainville: The Mine and the People (Sydney, CIS, 1991). 72 It refused to pay the government head-tax and raised its own levy - see M. Rimoldi & E. Rimoldi, Hahalis and the Labour of Love (Oxford, Berg, 1992) pp. 105-22. 73 J. Connell, 'Decline of Local Government Councils and the Rise of Village Government', in J. Connell (ed.) Local Government Councils in Bougainville (Christchurch, Canterbury UP, 1977) pp. 132-171. 74 Factors included certain precolonial socio-political traits, relative inexperience in dealing with outside forces (sustaining egalitarian aversion to growing economic inequality), the existence of a good natural harbour at Kieta, and Nasioi experience of WWII - E. Ogan, 'The Bougainville Conflict: Perspectives from Nasioi', unpublished paper, Canberra, June 1998. 75 D. Oliver, Black Islanders, pp. 130-31. 118 April 1972.76 The prospect of secession from Papua New Guinea was first raised at a September 1968 meeting in Port Moresby. It featured a call by Bougainvillean Members of the House of Assembly (MHA) and tertiary students, led by Leo Hannett, for a referendum on the future political status of Bougainville.77

The Napidakoe Navitu movement arose near Kieta in 1969 in response to Administration moves to resume indigenous and expatriate-held land to provide a town and port for BCL at Arawa and Rorovana.78 (It was led by Paul Lapun MHA, who had led the successful 1966 efforts to modify mining laws to give landowners a slightly greater share of revenues.79) Administration compensation offers were considered less- than-generous. The suppression of local protests by officials was violent and mismanaged.80 Although initially associated with the Nasioi-speaking peoples in the immediate vicinity of Kieta, and sometimes opposed by those more favourably disposed towards the Administration in the agriculturally prosperous north, Napidakoe quickly gained a Bougainville-wide following.81 However, the enthusiasm of its leaders for actual independence was always ambiguous, and most initial secessionist sentiments were soon replaced by autonomist objectives. Some of Napidakoe's principal leaders were already agents of, or were coopted into, the state as MHAs and then ministers in Chief Minister Michael Somare's 1972 national coalition government. This integrationist tendency was reinforced as progress began to be made in using the instruments of the state to renegotiate the terms of the original 1967 Bougainville Copper Agreement — a process finally achieved in late 1974.82 (Although this greatly increased revenues for the national government just before Independence, and strengthened the position of some local political figures in what was to become the provincial government, it did not directly increase the income of the Nasioi bearing the brunt of problems caused by mining.83)

76 By 1974, the minesite and its associated infrastructure (mainly tailings disposal) occupied approximately 150 sq km out of Bougainville's total land area of about 9000 sq km - A. Mamak & R. Bedford, Bougainvillean Nationalism (Christchurch, Canterbury UP, 1974) p. 12. 77 Possibilities canvassed included transfer to the BSIP - J. Griffin, 'Bougainville: Secession or Just Sentiment', Current Affairs Bulletin Vol. 48 No. 9, 1972, p. 269; & L. Hannett, 'Down Kieta Way', New Guinea Vol. 4 No. 1, 1969, pp. 8-14. 78 J. Griffin, 'Napidakoe Navitu', in R. May (ed.) Micronationalist Movements in PNG (Canberra, RSPacS, 1982) pp. 113-38. 79 Even after the mining agreement's amendment, however, landowner royalties remained modest. They were set at 5 percent of the government's royalty of 1.25% of the value of the minerals produced. Thus, Nasioi received little more than 6c per $100 of the value of the minerals taken from their land - E. Ogan, 'Perspectives from Nasioi', p. 9. 80 N. Cooper, The Bougainville Land Crisis of 1969 (Christchurch, Canterbury UP, 1992) p. 24. 81 Lapun himself was from the Banoni-speaking southwest of Bougainville island. 82 Described in R. Garnaut, 'The Framework of Economic Policy-Making', in J. Ballard (ed.) Policy Making in a New State (St Lucia, Queensland UP, 1981) pp. 193-210. 83 E. Ogan, 'Perspectives from Nasioi', p. 10. 119 By late 1972, Navitu was being supplanted by more radical voices. An important meeting of the pro-secessionist, student-led, Mungkas Association took place in Port Moresby in December, and a major seminar was held on Bougainville in January 1973.84 Later that month, the pay-back killing of two Bougainvillean civil servants following a motor vehicle accident near Goroka united the island as never before against other Papua New Guineans, especially highlanders who were labelled "uncivilised". This reinforced existing tensions caused by the influx of mainlanders (especially enterprising highlanders) into central and southeastern Bougainville to work on plantations and around the mine. In February 1973 Fr , a prominent Bougainvillean MHA and steersman of the Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC) who hoped to contain and channel autonomist sentiments, persuaded Somare to allow the formation of a semi-official body to explore options for Bougainville's future.85

The resulting Bougainville Special Political Committee, led by Hannett who by then shared Momis's misgivings about unrestrained separatist fervour, made its submission to the CPC in July 1973. It recommended a second tier of government with powers similar to those of a state in a federal system, including substantial revenue- raising and apportioning authority. A compromise was reached in negotiations with Port Moresby in late 1973, and a Bougainville Constituent Assembly was created in January 1974 as an interim District (later Provincial) Government. However, a dispute over funding for an ambitious development plan for the district prompted the resumption of secessionist discourse and activities in early 1975. In May the Bougainville Provincial Assembly voted to secede from Papua New Guinea. A unilateral declaration of independence was made on 1 September — a fortnight before Papua New Guinea gained its own formal independence.

The self-named "North Solomons Republic" functioned moderately successfully, but with steadily dwindling local support and without international recognition, for the eleven months during which the Provincial Government was suspended. It was administered from Arawa by an executive of about a dozen people, including Momis, with Dr Alexis Sarei as President, and was endorsed by the local Catholic Churches.86 Supporters of the Republic claimed to have raised between K100 000 and K200 000 through village level governments in three districts.87 Work at the Panguna mine continued in this period, despite sporadic disturbances. Meanwhile, Somare resisted calls from within his own government to forcibly crush Bougainvillean

84 The Mungkas (black-skin) association was formed in Port Moresby in 1968. 85 Events are described in detail in A. Mamak & R. Bedford, Bougainvillean Nationalism, pp. 19-28. 86 Described in R. Premdas, 'Secessionist Politics in PNG'. 87 See M. Havini, 'Perspectives on a Crisis (3)', in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville (Canberra, SDSC, 1990) p. 23. 120 insubordination.88 By August 1976, a compromise agreement had been reached between Somare and Momis.89 This led to full provincial government for the North Solomons (which was later extended across the whole of Papua New Guinea).90 The North Solomons functioned as the best-educated, most generously funded, and best-run province in Papua New Guinea from then until the outbreak of hostilities in 1988.91

The current crisis On 25 November 1988, a group of second-generation minor landowners launched a campaign of sabotage against the giant Panguna copper and gold mine in central Bougainville. This followed nearly a year of agitation over compensation and environmental damage issues by members of this group against a central government unwilling or unable to respond to such grievances and a mining company seemingly unprepared to act beyond the letter of the law.92 The militants were associated with the breakaway New Panguna Landowners Association (NPLA), which denounced older- generation custodians of local mining income for allegedly failing to redistribute these payments with due regard for "customary" notions of equity.93 They were led by Francis Ona, a disaffected former BCL surveyor from Guava village near the mine.94 Initial demands called for the redistribution of, and a radical increase in, compensation payments to local landowners.

The mining infrastructure proved vulnerable to attack, and production was halted in May 1989. After a period in which the preference of the Papua New Guinea government for a coercive or compromise-based response seemed to shift almost daily, a punitive faction won the upper hand and gained Cabinet approval to 'send in the troops.'95 A state of emergency was declared on 26 June 1989. The assassination of John Bika, the author of a Provincial Government compromise proposal96, by rebels in

88 Discussed in B. Standish, 'Power to the People? Decentralisation in PNG', Public Administration and Development Vol. 3 No. 3, 1983, pp. 223-38. By then Somare was the prime minister. 89 See J. Griffin, 'January-June 1975', pp. 234-5; J. Griffin, 'July-December 1975', pp. 266-70; D. Denoon, 'January-June 1976', pp. 278-9; & D. Hegarty, 'July-December 1976', p. 289 - all reproduced in C. Moore & M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998). 90 J. Griffin, H. Nelson, & S. Firth, PNG - A Political History (Melbourne, Heinemann, 1979) pp. 236- 239. Also see PNG Government and NSPG, 'Agreement Between the National Government and the NSPG', PoM, 7 August 1976, which stressed that while similar arrangements might later be made for other provinces, its conditions were to be considered 'unique and special provisions for the Province of Bougainville' - p. 4. Provincial government in PNG is discussed further in Chs. 5 & 6. 91 Political and economic manoeuvres on Bougainville from 1976 to 1988 are discussed in Ch. 5. 92 Described in T. Wesley-Smith, 'The Non-Review of the Bougainville Copper Agreement', in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis: 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) pp. 92- 111. Roadblocks and sit-ins had briefly stopped mine operation on several occasions from May 1988. 93 Antagonism between the NPLA and the original PLA is examined in Ch. 5. 94 Guava villagers are Nasioi speakers, the largest language group in the province (about 15 000 people). 95 G. Lafitte, 'Bougainville: A River of Tears', Arena Vol. 91, April 1990, p. 14. 96 See NSPG, 'Provincial Select Committee Report on the Bougainville Crisis' (The Bika Report) 1989. 121 September 1989 gave the hawkish Special Minister of State, , a pretext to grant the security forces carte blanche in their operations. However, Papua New Guinea's disciplined forces —the military, the police, and the prison service— put up 'a poor showing on all counts' in the face of a difficult counter-insurgency task.97

For the Papua New Guinea government, the main result of having chosen a coercive-based strategy was the counter-productive transformation of the basically parochial NPLA into the nucleus of a province-wide secessionist force calling itself the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) by mid-1989.98 Tapping into an uneven and nebulous but quite longstanding pan-Bougainvillean identity, and reinforced by human- rights violations by the security forces99, secessionist sentiments were initially widely supported throughout many parts of the province.100 The PNGDF was forced to completely withdraw in March 1990. It did so under the auspices of an agreement negotiated by Professor Peter Wallensteen of Uppsala University.101 A harsh selective embargo of the province (including medical supplies) was imposed by maritime blockade on 7 May 1990.102 Ten days later, the Ona declared independence and ordered all non-Bougainvilleans to leave.

The BRA, however, proved unable to consolidate its initial military success by delivering effective governance.103 The period in which the BRA, and its even younger political arm, the Bougainville Interim Government (BIG), attempted to extend its control was marked by extreme lawlessness, malicious reprisals, bitter inter-group conflict, and arbitrary rule.104 This reflected the political inexperience of the BRA and its immediate origins as a more-or-less spontaneously formed landowner movement rather than a professional guerrilla organisation. (Although attempts to secede from post-colonial states by force-of-arms have been quite common, success has been extremely rare, requiring exceptional cohesion, organisation and, usually, substantial

97 JCFADT, Australia's Relations with PNG (Canberra, Commonwealth of Australia, 1991) p. 160. Also see Y. Liria, Bougainville Campaign Diary (Victoria, Indra Publishing, 1993). 98 K. Ross, Regional Security in the South Pacific (Canberra, SDSC, 1993) pp. 112 - 113. The PNGDF did not deploy until April 1989 and was comparatively well disciplined until it started taking casualties a month or two later, but by then the police riot squads had already caused considerable resentment - A. Regan, 'Submission', p. 12. Also see M. Spriggs, 'Bougainville, December 1989 - January 1990'. 99 Eg. Amnesty International, PNG - Under the Barrel of a Gun, Bougainville 1991 to 1993 (London, AI Secretariat, 1993). 100 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict: Origins and Development, Main Actors, and Strategies for its Resolution', unpublished paper, PoM, October 1996, p. 5 & p. 8. 101 Described in G. Kemelfield, 'A Short History of the Bougainville Ceasefire Initiative', in R. May & M. Spriggs (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1990) pp. 67-9. 102 The blockade, officially lifted in September 1994, continued to be intermittently enforced into 1997. 103 S. Loosley, Bougainville: A Pacific Solution (Canberra, Government Publishing Service, 1994) p. 13. 104 Eg. see S. Dorney, PNG: People, Politics and History (Sydney, Random House, 1990) pp. 328-9. 122 external support.105) This failure of the rebels also stemmed from the profound socio- political heterogeneity of Bougainvilleans. Formal international recognition of Bougainvillean independence has not been forthcoming.

Negotiations between the government of Papua New Guinea and the BRA/BIG were held in July-August 1990 and January 1991. However, disputes over the administration of the resulting agreements, and internal disagreements between the BRA and the BIG (which had negotiated on the former's behalf), meant that the Endeavour Accord and Honiara Declaration were never fully implemented.106

From September 1990, the PNGDF began to return to the North Solomons, accompanying supplies delivered under the auspices of the Endeavour Accord. It arrived first at Buka island, with the support of 125 local leaders (but opposed by others in what turned into quite a bloody campaign).107 The military was assisted by an anti- BRA militia, the Buka Liberation Front, which arose locally but was quickly sponsored by the PNGDF.108 The military returned to mainland Bougainville for the first time in April 1991 with a landing in the north by Colonel Nuia, who acted without full official sanction. Seven Interim Legal Authorities, based on the rule of local councils of "chiefs" (neo-traditional leaders of various types) were established in government- controlled areas between this time and 1994. These were charged with restoring local order, coordinating the restoration of services, and generally filling the gap in the provision of local governance.109

By May 1992, BRA control had dramatically contracted towards the centre and southeast of the main island following the reestablishment of government control in the southwest. This created a virtual stalemate, with neither side able to prevail or be decisively beaten.110 In this environment, the conflict took on many aspects of a civil war. Concerns about local order and safety increasingly dominated sporadic outbreaks of fighting among the highly fragmented population. Many village-based home-defence units, which were at least nominally BRA-aligned at the start of the conflict, were transformed into (probably equally nominally) government-aligned "Resistance" militia

105 There were only three notable examples by 1995 - M. Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1995) pp. 53-4. Eritrea, comprised of nine ethnic groups, equally divided between Muslims and Christians, is a partial exception. It gained independence from Ethiopia in 1993, without significant external support, after an all-consuming 30 year struggle. 106 Both are reproduced in H. Thompson & S. MacWilliam, The Political Economy of PNG (Manila, Contemporary Asia Publishers, 1992) p. 45 & pp. 48-9. 107 See the 5 October 1990 'Memorandum of Understanding Between Buka Community Leaders and the National Government Delegation', reproduced in Ibid., p. 46. 108 See M. Spriggs, 'Bougainville's Crisis Explained', Independent Monthly August 1992, p. 28. 109 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 14. 110 A. Regan warns that some rebel and government leaders still do not recognise the full depth of the stalemate, with each believing the other exhausted - 'Submission', pp. 21-2. 123 groups, primarily concerned with promoting local order.111 The never very strong control of local BRA "company commanders" by the central rebel figures also diminished. Traditional-style conflicts between social groups over old animosities and new enmities grew in frequency and intensity.112 Raskol gang criminal activities spread in both government and BRA controlled areas, swelled by nearly a decade in which young men have been unable to pursue educational or employment opportunities. Nearly 70 000 people from contested areas —close to half the population of the province— were living in austere government-controlled "care centres" at one point.113

Although it failed to fully deliver lasting peace, the Pan-Bougainville Peace Conference of October 1994 at Arawa occurred at a more 'ripe moment' for conflict resolution than had been the case during the earlier Endeavour and Honiara talks.114 It benefited from the intense war-weariness on the part of many Bougainvilleans. The Arawa talks were initiated in mid 1994 by Foreign Minister Sir Julius Chan, who became Prime Minister in August later that year. A temporary cease-fire, supported by a peace-keeping force drawn from neighbouring countries (the SPPKF), was arranged, after talks between Chan and BRA commander Sam Kauona in Honiara. However, the Arawa conference was not attended by the key BRA/BIG figures from central Bougainville, despite the presence of some other BRA leaders in an unofficial capacity. Possible reasons for their non-attendance included fears that the PNGDF would not assiduously respect the cease-fire; BRA mistrust of Australia, which dominated the SPPKF; unswerving rebel anticipation of imminent progress in gaining United Nations support or other international recognition; and the 'un-Melanesian haste' of the peacekeeping operation.115

Nevertheless, the peace talks marked a turning point in the conflict by exposing a growing split amongst the core constituency of the BRA. The North Nasioi Council of Chiefs, led by Theodore Miriung, although unwilling to renounce the ultimate goal of Bougainvillean independence116, dissociated itself from the methods of the BRA and recast itself as an autonomist rather than a secessionist body.117 In April 1995, Miriung helped to establish the Bougainville Transitional Government (BTG), which the national government authorised to review the constitution of the provincial government

111 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 15. 112 T. Miriung (quoting P. Howley) 'The North Nasioi View of the Bougainville Crisis', paper presented at the ‘Bougainville Crisis: The Search for Peace and Rehabilitation’ conference, ANU, 22-24 June 1995, p. 24. 113 USCR, 'Country Report: PNG', 1998. 114 The term is W. Zartman's. See Ch. 3. 115 M. Spriggs, 'The Failure of the Bougainville Peace Talks', Pacific Research Vol. 7 No. 4, 1994, p. 21. 116 T. Miriung, 'The North Nasioi View of the Bougainville Crisis', p. 21. 117 A. Weeks, 'Bougainville Demands Peace', Pacific Research Vol. 7 No. 4, 1994, p. 29. 124 and to act for the time being in its lieu, mainly through the authority of local "chiefs". BTG leaders recognised that their long-term success depended 'on the willingness of the National Government to concede greater autonomy to Bougainville, on the one hand, and the willingness of the BIG and BRA leadership to accept "compromise" on the other.'118 Efforts to increase the BTG's representation of all parties on Bougainville were made, but despite considerable success in gaining broad-based participation, an intransigent "hardline" group of core BRA figures remained unwilling to be coopted into the BTG.

By late 1995, progress was beginning to be made with even some of the important "hardline" figures. In June 1995, the BTG negotiated an amnesty against criminal prosecution of individual fighters to try to encourage the increasingly marginalised more inflexible leaders into the fold.119 In September and December, the Australian government sponsored talks in Cairns between leaders from all the key parties. These were chaired by UN and Commonwealth representatives. However, disaster struck in January 1996 when PNGDF helicopters —supposedly inadvertently, but at least tacitly encouraged by some national government members— strafed BIG/BRA delegates returning from the Solomon Islands after the second round of Cairns talks. Allegations were made that the PNGDF, emboldened by the apparently isolated position of the "hardline" figures, had rashly attempted a leadership decapitation operation.120 This was widely perceived as a breach of trust by the government, and undermined the position of moderate rebel leaders. It led to the renewal of BRA ambushes and attacks, and negated many of the gains made since 1994.121 In response, the national government (which had long been uneasy about the ultimate agenda of the BTG) lifted the cease-fire in March and began a new PNGDF offensive in late June.

Operation High Speed II, which was intended to capture or kill key BRA leaders, was an embarrassing disaster and was called-off after three weeks. It was undertaken without the troop numbers or other basic resources such as close air support and air mobility necessary to prevail, and exposed enduring tactical, operational, and strategic deficiencies in the PNGDF.122 The campaign further undermined the BTG, and swelled the number of people living in arduous conditions in the care centres.123 On 8 September, resentment at the forced movement of civilians from conflict areas to the care centres and conditions in the camps, compounded by local animosity towards ill-

118 Bougainville Transitional Government, 'Peace Plan 1996', Buka, February 1996, p. 11. 119 See the 'Waigani Communique', reproduced in R. May, 'The Situation on Bougainville', Parliamentary Research Service Current Issues Brief No. 9, Canberra, October 1996 - (Appendix 3). 120 S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair (Sydney, ABC Books, 1998) pp. 102-3. 121 Ibid., p. 1. 122 Post-Courier, 'Miriung: High Speed Achieved Nothing', 7 August 1996. 123 Post-Courier, 'Operation High Speed Did More Bad than Good, Says Laimo', 9 August 1996. 125 disciplined PNGDF soldiers who were accused of harassing women while drunk on home-brewed alcohol, led to a massacre and the capture of five surviving soldiers at Kangu Beach. This attack was instigated by the soldiers' own Resistance allies and conducted by a BRA unit.124 (The camp commander had been having an affair with the wife of the local Resistance leader, and a former BRA commander who had switched to the government side had been attacked by soldiers.125) A Papua New Guinean minister and some military leaders incorrectly claimed that the massacre had been incited by BTG Premier Miriung. Miriung was assassinated by junior military and Resistance elements on 12 October.126

Prime Minister Chan's subsequent claim to be re-embarking on peace negotiations appeared entirely credible, given the recent unambiguous evidence of the PNGDF's inability to impose a wholly military solution.127 The government also seemed constrained by an imminent national election, strong international criticism of worsening behaviour by the security forces, the five Kangu Beach hostages in the hands of a BRA faction, and even the refusal of some soldiers to return to Bougainville from Christmas leave.128

However, the arrival of up to seventy mercenaries in Port Moresby later that month sparked the most dramatic series of political events in Papua New Guinea's recent history.129 The plan to use Sandline mercenaries to kill or capture key rebel leaders and to retake Panguna mine was known in government as the "Bougainville Initiative" and its military aspects were called Project Contravene and Operation Oyster. The mercenaries belonged to the most well-known of the new post-Cold War corporate military organisations, which mainly operate in Africa.130 These groups provide units for guarding static economic sites up to military training and actual combat, and often work for mining concessions in countries unable to pay directly.131

124 SMH, 'Allies Blamed for Troop Massacre', 25 October 1996. 125 Canberra Times, 'Hostility Grows in the Heat of Bougainville', 31 May 1997. 126 National, 'Troops Linked to Miriung Killing', 2 December 1996. The suspects have not faced trial. 127 Australian, 'Chan Signals Softer Line in Peace Bid for Bougainville', 4 February 1997. 128 This impression was strengthened by work on a new peace plan being developed by Provincial Affairs Minister Peter Barter and the BTG with some Australian support - discussed in Ch. 5. 129 Australian, 'PNG Hires Mercenaries to Blast Rebels', 22 February 1997. The South African Executive Outcomes Ltd mercenaries were subcontracted to the British security firm Sandline International (itself an Executive Outcomes subsidiary) - S. Dinnen, 'Trading in Security', in S. Dinnen, R. May & A. Regan (eds.) Challenging the State (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) p. 113. 130 E. Rubin, 'An Army of One's Own', Harper's Magazine February 1997, pp. 44-55; & W. Reno, 'Privatizing War in Weak States', paper presented at the 38th ISA conference, Toronto, March 1997. 131 Radio National, 'Diamond Mercenaries of Africa', transcript of an ABC Background Briefing, broadcast 4 August 1996, pp. 1-9. 126 Sandline's contract with the government was valued at US$36m, two thirds of which was for the purchase of weapons.132 These included two elderly but heavily armed ex-Soviet helicopter gunships and a pair of medium transport helicopters. Funds for the operation were drawn in a highly unorthodox way, discussed in Chapter Five. A second prong of Project Contravene involved a plan for the government to purchase outright control of the Panguna mine from CRA.133 Contrary to claims by Sandline and Prime Minister Chan, the mercenaries were explicitly hired to operate in a combat capacity alongside the PNGDF Special Forces Unit (SFU).134 The plan had been first mooted, even before the failure of Operation High Speed II, at an April 1996 meeting in Cairns between Sandline executives and the Papua New Guinea Defence Minister, Secretary of Defence, and Defence Force Commander.135

However, it was the last of these three, Brigadier-General Jerry Singirok, who caused a constitutional crisis a year later on 17 March 1997 by demanding Chan's resignation over the mercenary issue. He claimed that the plan to use the mercenaries on Bougainville was ill-conceived, dangerous, and corruptly arranged. The previous evening a key Singirok ally, Major Walter Enuma, had led a secret SFU mission called Operation Rausim Kwik to arrest the Sandline leaders pending the deportation of all the mercenaries.136

No explicit threat accompanied Singirok's demand and Chan immediately sacked the mutinous General. However, Chan's position progressively weakened in the political turmoil of the following week, and his first appointee as acting PNGDF commander had to be replaced. The week saw mounting political pressure in Port Moresby from street protests and demonstrations by students and the city's urban poor (later joined by a group of about a hundred armed soldiers who surrounded the national parliament and refused to let politicians leave), pressure from Papua New Guinea NGOs and the national media, and strong international opposition to the Sandline deal.137 By the end of the week the project had been cancelled. Chan survived a 25 March censure motion, allowing him to claim that parliamentary supremacy had been preserved. However, this provided only a face-saving interlude and the next day Chan

132 National, 'K25m Sent to Hong Kong for Sandlines', 7 March 1997. 133 Post-Courier, 'Choppers Top Army Refit List', 7 March 1997. 134 Australian, 'PNG Deal was a Contract to Kill', 22 March 1997. Also see PNG Government, 'Report of the Commission of Inquiry into the Engagement of Sandline International', PoM, 29 May 1997 (the Andrew Report). The Contravene Project and PNG/Sandline Agreements are reproduced as Appendix documents 1 & 3 in S. Dinnen et al. (eds.) Challenging the State, pp. 150-75 & 178-88. 135 The deal was not signed until the late January 1997 - SMH, 'Dirty Tricks in PNG', 5 April 1997. 136 Sandline staff were training other SFU troops at Moem Barracks near Wewak. Most mercenaries left PNG on 21 March. The state subsequently lost an international appeal to avoid paying the outstanding part of Sandline's fee. A settlement reduced this sum to $US13m - JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 38. 137 The Bulletin, 'On a Knife Edge', 1 April 1997 pp. 17-22. 127 and his Ministers for Finance and Defence stood aside pending the results of an Commission of Inquiry into the affair.138

On 2 June Chan released the 125 page final report of the Andrew Commission, against the wishes of acting Prime Minister and deputy Pangu Party leader John Giheno, who had not intended to release the report until after the upcoming election.139 The report found that no credible evidence had been presented to prove wrongdoing by Chan or Defence Minister Mathias Ijape. It reported that although Finance Minister and Deputy Prime Minister 's actions were suspicious and some of his evidence untruthful, no 'paper trail' had been found to prove his corruption 'to date'.140 After an unseemly tussle with Giheno, Chan resumed office.141 One of his first actions upon doing so was to promote Colonel Leo Nuia, a bitter rival of Singirok and a notorious hardliner on Bougainville, to the position of Commander.142 Just a fortnight later, though, Chan knew he would soon be out of office again, having narrowly lost his seat in the June general election. (The polling period was a particularly turbulent one in the highlands, where Major Enuma was remanded on charges relating to the alleged raising of an unauthorised security force and electioneering.)

Incoming prime minister Bill Skate was immediately presented with crisis, on 28 July, when a group of Rausim Kwik soldiers conducted pre-dawn raids to free their leader, Major Enuma, from a Port Moresby police station and to place the new PNGDF Commander Nuia under house-arrest. To defuse the emergency, Skate was forced to agree that charges against the anti-Sandline soldiers and NGO leaders should be withheld pending the results of a new inquiry he promised into the whole affair.143 This second mutiny increased tensions within the PNGDF.144 Skate also created a new department responsible for Bougainville affairs. A second commission of inquiry into events surrounding the Sandline crisis, headed by Justice Kubulan Los, was established by the new government and began public hearings in September 1997. (Despite its wider terms of reference, its findings, released a year later, could not prove criminal wrongdoing much more conclusively than the previous commission had.145)

138 SMH, 'Mercenaries and Graft in Spotlight', 1 April 1997. Also see the Andrew Report. Chan and his cabinet set the (fairly limited) terms of reference for the inquiry, which began on 1 April. 139 SMH, 'Lingering Doubts May Find Flame Amid Election Tensions', 3 June 1997. 140 Australian, 'Cleared Chan Reclaims PM Position', 3 June 1997. 141 Post-Courier, 'Attorney General: Chan Clearly PM', 5 June 1997. 142 National, 'Nuia Orders Inquiry into Troops' Action', 16 June 1997. In July Nuia established his own team, the Special Operations Group (SOG) to counter the pro-Singirok SFU - discussed in Ch. 2. 143 Legal proceedings against Singirok, Enuma, and a few other officers have continued intermittently - eg. National, 'Top Court Orders Retrial of Mutiny-5', 7 October 1999. 144 Post-Courier, 'Mutiny Air Eased by Court Freeze', 29 July 1997. 145 Independent, 'Second Sandline Inquiry Report Released', 2 October 1998. 128 Just after the election (and even before the parliament chose Skate as prime minister) the New Zealand government arranged a fortnight-long confidence and cooperation building conference involving the BRA/BIG and the BTG but not the Papua New Guinea government at Burnham army base near Christchurch. This was an attempt to restart the talks process that had been stalled since December 1995.146 The conference helped revive high-level negotiations but also exposed enduring splits between and within the groups claiming to represent various positions.147 However, the Sandline affair had seriously imperilled each party to the conflict, thereby reducing intransigence all round.148 In October 1997 a second round of talks, this time involving the Papua New Guinea government, began at Burnham. It achieved the signing of a truce, intended to encourage further cooperation.149 A New Zealand-led, 250-strong, confidence-building truce monitoring force (TMF), comprising unarmed regional troops and civilians, began to deploy in late November.150

A third round of major talks (which followed a leaders meeting in Cairns) was held at Lincoln University near Christchurch in January 1998. This resulted in an agreed framework and an ambitious timetable for upgrading the truce into a ceasefire, for negotiations on Bougainville's future political status, and for movement towards the establishment of a Reconciliation Government (BRG) of some sort by the end of the year.151 Specific clauses addressed matters such as the withdrawal of the PNGDF "subject to the restoration of civil authority" in a deliberately imprecise way intended to allow maximum room for later compromise.152 Although some parties to the conflict were unfavourably disposed towards the ceasefire, assurances that the agreement would not be actively opposed were obtained.153 On 30 April 1998, the TMF's mandate was successfully extended as a Peace Monitoring Force (PMF), despite transfer of principal responsibility to Australia. A small UN observer mission, authorised by the Security Council some months before, finally began to deploy in September.

146 SMH, 'Breakthrough as Peace Talks Head for NZ', 3 July 1997. 147 In particular, BIG president Francis Ona opposed the talks and renewed his call for secession, against the advice of most senior BIG officials and several prominent BRA commanders - Post-Courier, 'Havini Tells Ona to Get Rid of Aussie Meddlers', 3 September 1997. 148 A. Regan, 'Preparation for War and Progress Towards Peace', in S. Dinnen, R. May & A. Regan (eds.) Challenging the State (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) pp. 64-5. 149 Australian, 'Bougainville Truce Creates Climate for Lasting Peace Treaty', 11 October 1997. 150 Described in http://www.dod.gov.au/belisi/details.htm (it misconstrues some older historical details). 151 See the 'Lincoln Agreement on Peace, Security and Development on Bougainville', Lincoln, 23 January 1998. 152 The call-out orders were rescinded by cabinet in mid August 1998, but some troops remain "to perform civic action duties" (not requiring special authority). These maintain a symbolic presence - National, 'Troops will remain on Bougainville for Reassurance', 24 August 1998. About 300 remain. 153 Post-Courier, 'Ona Nods Agreement But Refuses to Sign', 20 April 1998. Such assurances have, for the most part, been honoured. 129 Subsequent progress towards a full settlement has been fairly encouraging but slower than some observers expected. Repeated slippages in the Lincoln timetable have stemmed from the need for key figures and factions to consolidate their own positions at the provincial level, and by uncertainty caused by the imminent (now recent) July 1999 change of government at the national level.154 A "Pan Bougainville" Leaders meeting in August 1998 resulted in the Buin Declaration: a call by twenty-five pro- independence chiefs and womens' representatives for further peaceful movement towards self-determination.155 That month, the national government began to consider special constitutional arrangements to keep the future BRG outside of the new provincial government system, introduced precisely to re-centralise political power in 1995.156 The government was criticised for having done so without fully consulting other parties, but this mainly stemmed from pressing time-constraints.157 Further progress seemed possible after the government and national opposition agreed to proceed in a bipartisan way in September.158 On Bougainville, the first Peace Process Consultative Committee (PPCC) meetings finally began to lay the groundwork for the much delayed all-party leaders meetings to debate the political issues.159

However, the bipartisan mood in Port Moresby was short-lived. It completely broke-down in the face of wrangling over the drastic 1999 national budget, the prospect of a long adjournment of parliament to avoid a no-confidence motion, and the growing eagerness of senior Opposition MPs to extend the provisions of the 1995 Organic Law on Provincial and Local Level Governments to Bougainville.160 Enabling legislation for the proposed BRG failed to pass at the start of December 1998.161 This jeopardised the ceasefire, since many Bougainvilleans consider standard provincial government arrangements unacceptably restricted, and the BTG was due to expire at the end of the month. Faced with the possibility of Bougainvillean leaders proceeding with the formation of a BRG outside Papua New Guinea's constitutional framework, Prime Minister Skate and Bougainville Affairs Minister Sam Akoitai scrambled to obtain a draft Basic Agreement on interim arrangements to preserve the peace process. The

154 A. Regan, 'Submission', pp. 32-3 & p. 41. 155 The declaration was observed but not signed by the national government and BTG representatives, who considered the meeting less than fully representative - National, 'Come Clear on Buin Treaty, Rebels Tell Govt', 27 October 1998. 156 As discussed in Ch. 1. Temporary exemption of the BTG from the new organic law was due to expire on 31 Dec. (Failure to maintain special political status for Bougainville after provincial government was extended to PNG's other districts had exacerbated dissatisfaction with the 1976 settlement.) 157 National, 'Rebels Rap Government Move on Constitutional Changes', 19 August 1998. 158 Discussed in National, 'Bill to Extend BTG Term Wins First Round', 2 October 1998. 159 The BRA/BIG refused to participate in the PPCC until August, when a partial agreement on demilitarising Arawa and rescinding the PNGDF call-out was reached - Post Courier, 'Stalemate on Boug Govt Makeup', 12 October 1998. The leaders meetings did not begin until the end of 1988. 160 A. Regan, 'Submission', pp. 30-48; & JSCFADT, Bougainville, pp. 76-99. Also see Ch. 5. 161 National, 'Bougainville Peace Setback', 2 December 1998. 130 Arawa leaders meeting was persuaded to adopt a constitution for the future BRG that set out its own establishment in stages.162 The first stage was the establishment of a care-taker Constituent Assembly (BCA), comprising representatives nominated from all the factions and interest groups.163 In return, the Skate government suspended the Bougainville Provincial Government scheduled to come into being on 1 January 1999.164 Would-be Governor, and senior Opposition MP, Momis immediately announced the first of his three Supreme Court legal challenges to that suspension.165 He received some support from the conservative Leitana Council of Elders, prompting fears of a wider Buka-Bougainville split.166 The Matakana and Okataina Understanding, forged by thirty Bougainvillean leaders during a fortnight-long "study tour" of New Zealand in late April, did not eliminate these tensions.167 The second major stage was the election of a stopgap People's Congress (BPC) in May 1999. It contains sixty-nine elected and thirty-two appointed members, and is run by a Congressional Executive Council.168 A last-minute shift towards a referendum on greater autonomy by embattled Acting Prime Minister Skate, signalled in the 10 July Hutjena Minute, was overtaken by national political developments.169

The new Morauta government appointed a committee to investigate Bougainville matters soon after gaining office.170 In late September, a motion to extend the suspension of the regular provincial government for another six months easily passed in the House, subject to the rather vague condition that progress be made towards a permanent settlement.171 In early October, Papua New Guinea's foremost elder- statesman and new Bougainville Affairs minister, Somare, offered a high degree of autonomy permanently outside the regular provincial government system but within the

162 The constitution was adopted on 24 Dec - discussed in A. Regan, 'Submission', p. 39. 163 It involved the 4 national MPs, 40 members of the community governments established under the old NSPG constitution, and 35 members to appointed from the BIG, BRA, BTG, Resistance Groups, the Ona faction, the Womens Council, and churches - Post-Courier, 'New Constitution Can Take All Parties', 12 January 1999; & National, 'Sinato, Kabui Head Assembly', 18 January 1999. Three of the four national MPs boycotted the BCA meetings, and the Ona faction of the BIG/BRA failed to nominate its allocated representatives - National, 'Three MPs Boycott Assembly', 18 January 1999. 164 The PNG government had agreed to exercise the powers of the suspended provincial government, through the Minister responsible for Bougainville, on the advice of the BCA. The BPG's suspension was rather dubious legally - National, 'BTG Suspension Move Legal, Says Skate', 6 January 1999. 165 Independent, 'Supreme Court to Hear Bougainville Case', 29 January 1999. Discussed below. 166 Immoderate calls for a separate provincial government for Buka were reported (almost gleefully) as 'a secession within a secession' - Post-Courier, 'Buka Chiefs Push for Fresh View', 31 January 1999. 167 Selection of moderate Buka leaders for the BPC has weakened but not ended Leitana's position - A. Regan, 'Submission', p. 47; & National, 'Buka Chiefs Give 7-Day Ultimatum', 4 October 1999. 168 Its President is former BIG Vice President Joseph Kabui, while its Vice Presidents are James Tanis, a former BRA lieutenant, and Thomas Anis, former Deputy Premier of the BTG. 169 JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 82. The minute was signed 3 days before the Skate government fell. The BPC's Joseph Kabui was the other main signatory. 170 It was led by the capable Public Service Minister Philemon Embel, but the BIG remained wary of any tilt towards unfreezing the PG - National, 'Rebels Warn of More Bloodshed', 3 September 1999. 171 National, 'BPG Suspension to be Extended', 29 September 1999. 131 national constitution.172 The offer caught the various camps within the BPC rather by surprise, and their initial responses were far from unanimous or firm.173 By the end of the month there were indications that the proposal was gaining acceptability as a basis for the proposed BRG. However, it also remained clear that the BRG continued to be envisaged differently, as a special sort of provincial government by some, and as a step towards eventual independence by others.174 Still, at the time of writing, conditions on the ground seemed to be progressing satisfactorily enough for all the parties to accommodate the serious strain of the Supreme Court's 26 November ruling on the illegality of the suspension of the provincial government.175

The crisis has obviously caused massive disruption to normal life and terrible suffering for many Bougainvilleans and more than a few other Papua New Guineans. However, it is not known how many fatalities the conflict has caused, either directly or indirectly.176

Theoretical explanations to date Having described the events of the Bougainville crisis, it is now possible to consider the rival explanations that have been posited for its eruption and course. Particular attention must be paid to gaps in the existing literature. These do not arise out of an

172 He proposed that only the Foreign Affairs, Defence and Police powers need be reserved - National, 'Govt Offers Autonomy', 7 October 1999. 173 Eg. National, 'Autonomy Offer is Rejected by BPC', 12 October 1999; cf. National, 'Miriki's Statement on Bougainville is Inaccurate, Says Kabui', 13 October, 1999. 174 The predominantly independence-minded BPC leaders continued to push for a guarantee of an eventual referendum, while conservative Buka chiefs and Resistance leaders remained wary of such an outcome - Post-Courier, 'Boug Parties Compromise as Talks Begin on Issues', 29 October 1999. However, the 29 October Nehan Resolution of a Bougainville Leaders Meeting, proposing further movement towards a 'binding referendum' on 'the highest form of autonomy', was widely acceptable. 175 Eg. National, 'Bougainville Talks End with Signing of Hutjena Record', 16 December 1999. 176 In mid 1996 it was estimated that the conflict could have caused the deaths of 7600 civilians, 200 soldiers and police, 200 rebels and up to 2000 Resistance fighters - SMH, 'PNG’s Agony: 10 000 Dead’, 13 July 1996. Amnesty International estimated similar numbers in 1997 - Independent, 'AI Protests on NGO Arrests', 30 May 1997. Both sets of figures were based on unpublished government statistics but were admitted to be inexact. J. Connell refers to 'hundreds of lives lost through violence and lack of medicine' - Papua New Guinea, p. 299. S. Dorney estimates that more than 8000 Bougainvilleans, 200 PNG soldiers, and 50 police have died - The Sandline Affair, p. 37 & p. 320. A widely accepted figure is about 15 000 deaths - eg. National, 'Bougainville War Toll 15 000', 24 March 1998. Media accounts frequently report 20 000 deaths, but this figure appears to be based on the extrapolation of equally imprecise earlier statistics or the quotation of deliberately inflated figures. Some rebel sympathisers claim 50 000 fatalities. Such a high total probably includes all deaths since 1988 (16 500 Bougainvilleans would die of natural causes in the course of a normal decade, based on the PNG average of 9.47 deaths/1000 people/year). If about 1000 combatants have been killed, and if the tendency of up to 90% of all casualties in civil wars being civilians holds, 10 000 might have died. However, the limited use of land-mines and heavy weapons in the conflict could have reduced this figure (a few cases of indiscriminate mortar use are well known). There is also some evidence that blockade conditions may have actually improved general health in certain areas - A. Regan, 'Submission', pp. 15-7. Nevertheless, it should be remembered that the majority of the 44 000 Japanese troops who died on Bougainville in WWII succumbed to starvation and disease. In short, it cannot be assumed that exact figures will ever be available. 132 inability to account for specific historical aspects of the conflict. Rather, they stem from a failure to devise general interpretations of the entire crisis that are theoretically inclusive but conceptually concise enough to provide higher order lessons. In 1992, Wesley-Smith and Ogan suggested that it was mainly the proximity of the tragic events that had caused few writers to put the Bougainville conflict in the larger theoretical context necessary for useful comparative purposes.177 Yet, such inquiry has not been widely taken up in subsequent analyses. Where they address theoretical matters at all, most recent accounts have tended to stress the sheer complexity of the conflict to reaffirm that single cause explanations can only be 'naive and misleading'.178 This helps remind would-be theory-makers that such crises contain unique and complicated combinations of assorted pressures. However, it does not deny the need for, or the possibility of, the sort of synthesising analytical lens that Wesley-Smith and Ogan seek to integrate the diverse but valuable theoretical insights that have been offered.

By the early 1990s, it was common to read that the Bougainville conflict had spawned a "small library" of specialist works. Most concerned the initial causes of the crisis, asking how a simple compensation dispute could so quickly coalesce into a revolution?179 This inquiry raised several interesting subsidiary questions, such as why the North Solomons —hardly the country's only geographically isolated or restive province— was the only one in which intermittent separatist discourse had culminated in deliberate prolonged insurrection, or why such dire events had not arisen out of similar tensions on Bougainville in 1975-6? By 1992, each of the three main academic perspectives on the conflict —which emphasise aspects of Bougainvillean and local cultures, an incipient Bougainvillean "ethnic" identity, or economic inequality and class conflict, respectively— had been thoroughly set out.180 All three explanations acknowledge at least some overlap with the other two, and recognise the impact of both the choices of agency and material or structural pressures on events.181

Even the two positions in the 1990-1992 Griffin-Filer dispute —still the most lively and illuminating theoretical debate to have concerned the conflict— seem rather

177 The need is for a multi-causal explanation of the crisis succinct enough to be generalised and used to help investigate and explain similar conflicts - T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, Op. Cit., p. 245. 178 JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 14 (citing A. Regan's 'Causes and Course', discussed below). 179 S. Layton, ‘Fuzzy-Wuzzy Devils: Mass Media and the Bougainville Crisis’, Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, p. 300. 180 The classification is Regan's - see 'Causes and Course', pp. 269- 76. Discussed below. 181 Even the least accommodating of the others, which stresses economic inequality and class conflict, is presented with the caveat that the aim is 'not to discover a single-factor explanation, or to deny that many factors are causally relevant ... [but simply] to draw out an analytical priority list' - H. Thompson & S. MacWilliam, Op. Cit., p. 32. Similarly, both M. Havini, who strongly asserts a pan- Bougainvillean identity, and E. Ogan, who emphasises the role of cultural factors, regard mining- related and other economic changes as a key consideration - in P. Polomka, Ibid., pp. 17-27 & 35-45. (Cf. A. Mamak & A. Ali (eds.) Race Class and Rebellion in the South Pacific (Sydney, Allen & Unwin, 1979) for a stricter Marxist analysis of the 1975-6 crisis.) 133 close in retrospect. Despite Griffin's focus on a province-wide identity, which he claims was not present in any other part of the country, he notes the influence of the Panguna mine on events, quipping that 'nothing secedes like success'.182 Similarly, although Filer presents a deterministic twenty-year model that predicts rapid social dislocation and socio-political disintegration around any large-scale mining project begun in Papua New Guinea, he bases this proposition largely on Melanesian cultural factors.183

Though both accounts offer useful insights into the particular causes of the Bougainville crisis, neither makes it clear how these might relate to 'wider processes of social change in Papua New Guinea or elsewhere'.184 Accordingly, Wesley-Smith and Ogan attempt to fill this theoretical gap by providing their own analysis. They combine neo-Marxist inquiry with a keen appreciation of Bougainvillean cultural norms to examine changing relations of production. On a general level, their investigation of how 'class lines coincide, or conflict, with divisions of ethnicity (within and beyond Bougainville) and age' reveals that a 'symbiotic mix of intrusive and indigenous relations of production creates and perpetuates conditions of underdevelopment.'185 However, it is conceded that the more specific findings of this inquiry fail to provide the sort of generalisable explanations that were sought.186

If the scholarly analysis available in 1992 failed to place the conflict in the "larger theoretical context" necessary to provide broader lessons, subsequent commentary has been even less interested in conceptual inquiry. Most recent works have combined a descriptive update function with an explicitly practical problem-solving approach, or else focused on a particular dramatic episode such as the 1997 Sandline affair.187 A handful of writers have tried to refine one or other of the three key perspectives

182 J. Griffin, ‘Bougainville is a Special Case’, in R. May & M. Spriggs (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1990) p. 2. He argues that widespread secessionist sentiments, based on ethnonationalist ties, are 'what makes the North Solomons a special case' - Ibid., p. 14. 183 He claims that Bougainville was distinguished from other provinces by 'nothing other than the massive hole in the middle of it' - C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion, the Mining Industry and the Process of Social Disintegration in PNG', in R. May & M. Spriggs (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1990) p. 79. 184 T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, Op. Cit., p. 246. Although Filer could claim that his analysis addresses the massive holes that have appeared in the middle of other provinces, damaging effects of the Bougainville crisis and some Bougainville-like conditions have since spread to parts of the country not impacted by mining - B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG - Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 80. 185 T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, Op. Cit., p. 261 & p. 246. 186 Ibid., p. 261. (These include the continued strength of pre-colonial forms of political, social and economic organisation; the struggle of women against inequalities between the sexes; and the emergence, in turn, of true social classes, ethnicity, and inter-generational conflict.) 187 Important examples include R. May, 'The Situation on Bougainville'; A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict'; S. Dinnen, R. May & A. Regan (eds.) Challenging the State; S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair; A. Regan, 'Submission'; JSCFADT, Bougainville; & B. Standish & A. Ley (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis: The Search for Peace and Rehabilitation (publication forthcoming). 134 introduced above.188 However, Regan captures the prevailing attitude to such projects, declaring that 'while none of the three [cultural, ethnic, or economic] perspectives examined stands alone as an explanation, not only is each important, but each reinforces the significance of the others.'189 He suggests that the dynamics of the many localised conflicts occurring throughout the crisis may constitute an additional key pressure, but does not propose a mechanism for efficiently assessing and presenting all four perspectives — either descriptively for Bougainville or conceptually for wider challenges in and outside Papua New Guinea.

This points towards the possible usefulness of Chapter Three's security stakeholders model as an analytical lens for examining and explaining diverse pressures in a conflict unable to be accounted for by province-wide secessionism or local succession issues alone.190 In fact, a number of existing works about the crisis have been partly organised around an actor-oriented approach. However, each of these uses a miscellaneous catalogue of important actors that reflects the particular interests, assumptions, and objectives of the author concerned. For example, Ahai discerned 'as many as twenty-four stakeholders across all levels' at a 1995 peace education workshop.191 In comparison, Weeks identified just four basic 'stake holders' in the Bougainville Peace Process in 1998.192 Regan examined three main actors —the National Government, the BRA/BIG, and the BTG— and eight lesser actors —the churches, cultists, the Panguna landowners, traditional leaders, local Resistance militias, under-educated and under-employed youth, womens' organisations, and other NGOs— in an influential unpublished paper in 1996.193 Even Filer's declaration that 'the only substantial collective actors on the stage called "Papua New Guinea" are private

188 Most take the economic position. Eg. V. Boege adds an environmental dimension to the Hamburger Ansatz model that depicts the transformation of traditional societies by capitalist modernisation as the chief cause of contemporary wars. He portrays 'assaults on the biosphere' as inevitably leading to such conflicts - The War on Bougainville in the Context of the History of Ecologically Induced Modernising Conflicts (Hamburg, LIT, 1998). Thanks to M. Watts and N. Braumann for a translation of the abstract. A forthcoming book by R. Gillespie, who is a close associate of anti-modern/capitalist Francis Ona, provisionally titled Ecocide - Industrial Chemical Contamination and the Corporate Profit Imperative - The Case of Bougainville, is also likely to stress economic issues. 189 A. Regan, 'Causes and Course', p. 284. 190 Filer has presented a link between Bougainville secessionism and disputes over local succession to new forms of political leadership and economic power. Discussed in Ch. 5. 191 N. Ahai, 'The Role of Bougainvillean NGOs in Peace and Rehabilitation', paper presented at the ‘Bougainville Crisis: The Search for Peace and Rehabilitation’ conference, Canberra, 22-24 June 1995, p. 2. Increasing use of the NGO-introduced term "stakeholder" reflects growing recognition of the needs, rights, and often the local strength, of other interests besides the state in Melanesia. It is based on pluralist principles for some but is pragmatic and even grudging for many others. L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi calls it 'the only way to play the game' - 'Everyone (or No One) a Winner', in S. Toft (ed.) Compensation for Resource Development (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1997) p. 83. 192 These are the secessionist, autonomist, and pro-government elements on Bougainville, and the PNG government itself - A. Weeks, 'The Bougainville Peace Process', in G. Harris, N. Ahai & R. Spence (eds.) Building Peace in Bougainville (Armidale, Centre for Peace Studies, 1999) p. 53. 193 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 30. 135 companies, local communities, and a strange variety of creatures which I shall call "bits of state"'194 has been contradicted by different classifications of central players used to study other topics.195

In comparison, my security stakeholder model uses categories of actors that are intended precisely to be generalisable. It is also designed to explore their fundamental motivating imperatives rather than their immediate-term endeavours. It is hoped that analysis undertaken on this basis in Chapter Five might help to provide the sort of larger theoretical perspective that Wesley-Smith and Ogan suggest is necessary.

Existing explanations of contemporary highlands warfare — "Tribal fighting"? This part of the chapter introduces the second of the two practical problems that will be used to begin to test and refine the proposed security stakeholders model in the following chapters. It outlines the phenomenon of renewed highlands warfare, which principally involves prolonged armed combat between residential communities.196 The part is divided into four sections. The first reviews what has been surmised about the place of violence in the lives of precolonial highlanders. The second shows why many highlanders responded quite quickly and positively to the pacification project begun by europeans in the 1930s. The third outlines the re-emergence, spread, and intensification of warfare, after a pause of only a few decades. It describes the changing conduct of fighting, and explains why such conflict —a central organising principle of highlands life for centuries, if not millennia, and still a mechanism for restoring balance, order and even justice in some eyes— must be considered dysfunctional in the present context. The fourth section reviews the existing theoretical literature on highlands warfare, and identifies gaps in the explanations offered. As in the Bougainville case, these do not arise out of an inability to account for particular historical facts, but stem from the lack of an analytical lens for integrating diverse perspectives that have come to be regarded as potentially complimentary. The recent literature calls for but fails to provide an efficient synthesis of past cultural and material explanations.

194 He continues that 'all other collective entities, like "Bougainvilleans", "the working class", "the grassroots" or "the national government", are to be regarded as figments of various people's imaginations' - 'The Escalation of Disintegration and the Reinvention of Authority’, in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis - 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) p. 117. 195 For example, he posits private companies, donors (international organisations such as the World Bank and NGOs), and landowners as the three central substantial collective actors in relation to forest policy in PNG. Here, the activities of PNG's bits of state are considered a function of the needs of either landowners (since politicians normally act as parochial landowners writ large) or donors (represented by bureaucrats working largely on their behalf). Personal communication, Canberra, 12 March 1997. For yet another classification, see C. Filer, 'Resource Rents: Distribution and Sustainability', in I. Temu (ed.) PNG: A 20/20 Vision (NCDS, Canberra, 1997) pp. 230-6. 196 Terms such as clan warfare, highlands fighting, indigenous warfare, and mini-civil wars are used more-or-less interchangeably. The phrase tribal fighting is most common, but is particularly unsatisfactory since actual tribes are only rarely central protagonists. Discussed below and in Ch. 6. 136 Individual scholars and ordinary people tend to use the expression "the highlands" rather variably, since it involves a complex interaction of only partly shared natural and cultural features. The "true" or "central" highlands of the classic anthropological and ethnographic texts have been variously defined by altitudes above 1500m (4500ft), the Trans New Guinea language phylum, or the inhabitants of the great intermontane valleys amid the island's central volcanic cordillera, for example.197 The task of demarcating the Papua New Guinea highlands is simplest for political scientists, for whom it simply denotes one of the country's of four official regions.198 The region is administratively divided into five provinces — the Southern Highlands, Enga, the Western Highlands, Chimbu, and the Eastern Highlands.199 Together, they contain about a third of all Papua New Guineans.

Precolonial highlands warfare It is necessary to describe the place of violence in the lives of precolonial highlanders, and to briefly outline some broader features of "traditional" sociopolitical organisation, before contemporary warfare can be considered. This is because current fighting is partly a revival of "the old ways", and because pre-contact warfare should be examined in the context of its having been an integral part of life.200 Three types of precolonial conflict in Melanesia have been widely studied: the violence associated with (and inherent in) sorcery, interpersonal clashes, and warfare.201 All three overlapped, but the last was broadly distinguished by its having centred on the activities, and to a lesser extent the interests, of whole communities. Knauft calls Melanesian warfare 'collective armed conflict between putatively autonomous political groups.'202

197 Eg. see G. Morren, 'Warfare on the Highland Fringe of New Guinea', in R. Ferguson (ed.) Warfare, Culture, and Environment (Orlando, Academic Press, 1984) pp. 171-4; & J. Watson (ed.) New Guinea - the Central Highlands (Wisconsin, American Anthropological Association, 1964). 198 Eg. analytically disregarding highlanders from Irian Jaya is warranted, since they have faced quite different post-contact pressures. (PNG's other regions are the Southern, Momase, and the Islands.) 199 Provincial boundaries replaced district ones in 1975. Some Southern Highlanders are sometimes considered Papuans on the basis of certain social, ethnic and geographical characteristics. 200 According to D. Feil, 'warfare cannot be treated in isolation or as a unitary phenomenon', since it was an important, complex and variable part of "traditional" life - Evolution of Highland PNG Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1987) p. 67. R. Berndt calls traditional warfare and economics 'two sides of the same coin' - 'Warfare in the New Guinea Highlands', in J. Watson (ed.) New Guinea - the Central Highlands (Wisconsin, American Anthropological Association, 1964) p. 203 & see p. 185. 201 G. Herdt, 'Aspects of Socialisation for Aggression in Sambia Ritual and Warfare', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 59 No. 4, 1986, p. 160. 202 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 251. More precise definitions have been offered. Eg. L. Pospisil refers to warfare as 'organised violence between two autonomous groups that are not part of a more inclusive political structure, the conflict being authorised by their leadership' - 'War and Peace Among the Kapauku', in S. Reyna & R. Downs (eds.) Studying War (Amsterdam, Gordon Breach, 1994) p. 114. However, such terminology may be confounded by the volatility of Melanesian political groups, even in the highlands, as is discussed below. 137 The available evidence on highlands prehistory is speculative and suggestive rather than conclusive, as was indicated in Chapter One. Numerous factors prevent easy generalisation about societies then, and the anthropological literature contains frequent warnings about their heterogeneity, imprecise cultural and physical boundaries, similarities with the other conventional archetypes of highlands fringe- dweller and lowlander/coastal, different contact with outside forces, and the diverse theoretical assumptions underlying their past investigation. Feil contends that accounts which treat the highlands as socially, culturally or environmentally homogeneous will see apparently clear-cut patterns evaporate 'in a mass of complex variations.'203

Nevertheless, the highlands archetype has proved useful as a broad shorthand designation, and the evolving anthropological and ethnographic literature has tended to basically 'support the early characterisation of highlands political life'.204 The pre- colonial highlands constitute what anthropological writing calls a "culture area".205 The general traits of the stereotype —intensive agriculture, emphasis on pig husbandry, comparatively dense settlement, ideological preference for exogamous patrilineal descent-based residence, particularly rigid sexual division of labour, enthusiasm for competitive ceremonial exchange, concentration on pragmatic "materialistic" over "ritual" concerns, relative individualism, and quite meritocratic competition for leadership— have been refined but remain widely accepted.206 A generalised illustrative description can provide a more vivid and succinct representation than a mere list of properties. Langness, for example, depicts precolonial highland societies as

203 D. Feil, The Evolution of Highland PNG Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1987) p. xi. Indeed, his own controversial attempt to amend the picture with a comparative survey that identifies a historical east-to-west cline of socio-political sophistication has been criticised for categorising areas 'both too neatly and too haphazardly' - A. Strathern, 'Which Way to the Boundary?', American Ethnologist Vol. 17 No. 2, 1990, p. 382. 204 J. Golson, 'The Ipomoean Revolution Revisited', in A. Strathern (ed.) Inequality in New Guinea Highlands Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1982) p. 109. 205 Considerations of cultural similarity and difference depend on the scale at which analysis is undertaken. In other contexts, bodies smaller than individual language groups or as large as Melanesia as a whole have been considered culture areas - Eg. speakers of the Enga language recognise named 'local cultural divisions' above the level of phratry which may provoke 'mild ethnocentrism' but which 'are in no way political entities' and never combine to pursue shared interests - M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument (California, Mayfield, 1977) p. 17; cf. P. Brown calls Melanesia an 'environmental and cultural unit' - Highland Peoples of New Guinea (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1978) p. 2. 206 The most important amendment stresses that communal groups only loosely adhere to the strong idiom of strict patrilineal descent - J. Barnes, 'African Models in the New Guinea Highlands', Man Vol. 62 No. 2, 1962, pp. 5-9. Highlands "secular materialism" seems slightly exaggerated but still reasonably valid, in retrospect - see M. Stephen (ed.) Sorcerer and Witch in Melanesia (New Brunswick, Rutgers UP, 1987). Other refinements to old models of political leadership include the interposition of a great-man between the archetypes of the highlands big-man and the lowlands chief, and the recognition of certain advantages that the sons of big-men enjoy in the race for prevalence - M. Godelier & M. Strathern (eds.), Big Men and Great Men (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991); & B. Standish, 'Big-Man' Model Reconsidered (PoM, IASER, 1978). However, such revisions do not invalidate the comparative egalitarianism of highlands authority. 138 units in an exceedingly small public with little knowledge of the world beyond a radius of a few kilometres. The units comprising the publics, both total communities and their component smaller polities, were relatively small, with probably two or three thousand individuals at most. The management of public affairs was carried out in some cases by what can be conceived of as relatively enduring corporate units, whether they be described as clans, villages or otherwise. But, as a result of the emphasis placed on individualism, choice, and the ethic of self-help, it appears that some public affairs were managed through a flexible system of security circles and temporary alliances, bringing together short-lived action groups. The corporateness of such groups is open to question. Although there was a formal machinery for settling disputes and for establishing and breaking alliances, this did not always result in joining corporate groups as such; it allowed the formation of groups specific to purpose. Leadership in matters of public concern was relatively informal and leaders emerged according to the circumstances, though qualities such as prowess in warfare could be generalised to other areas. Leaders, as big-men, almost always achieved their positions, but lesser authority was allocated on the basis of seniority. Leaders had no power of command, except by force of personality or by physical coercion, and they had no power to make binding decisions. Decisions were reached by consensus, with leaders and elders exerting more influence than others.207 Precolonial conflict between communal groups seems to have been 'chronic, incessant, or endemic, and ... accepted as part of social living in most areas', despite the mutability of those groups themselves.208 Intergroup fighting was probably internecine for at least centuries before colonisation and possibly much longer.209 Although oral testimony from Enga indicates that 'long ago, life was quite different from the way it is today ... [there is] no claim that there was ever a time before warfare', for instance.210 As 'an expected part of life [traditional warfare] had very important consequences for social organisation ... [including] flexibility in group affiliation, the absorption of immigrants, migrations themselves, alliances, differential growth and decline of groups, and marriage patterns'.211

Fighting certainly affected many lives. According to the very rough estimates of 1930s patrol officers, who had the opportunity to witness pre-pacification fighting, some 10 000 highlanders might have died each year in 'stone-age warfare'.212 Local Maring groups each participated in one or two wars per generation in precolonial

207 L. Langness, 'Traditional Political Organisation', in I. Hogbin (ed.) Anthropology in PNG (Melbourne, Melbourne UP, 1973) pp. 167-8. The period just before exposure to the outside world is conventionally called "the ethnographic present". 208 A. Podolefsky, 'Contemporary Warfare in the New Guinea Highlands', Ethnology Vol. 23 No. 2, 1984, p. 74. 209 P. Shankman refutes the highlands example used in Blick's (1988) general theoretical hypothesis that genocidal warfare among tribal peoples is always a result of colonial contact - 'Culture Contact, Cultural Ecology, and Dani Warfare', Man Vol. 26 No. 2, 1991, pp. 299-321. A. Strathern endorses a general caution about over-simple explanations of "tribal conflict", but denies the proposition that such struggles can be explained 'primarily by reference to colonial domination' in the highlands - 'Tribesmen or Peasants?', in A. Strathern (ed.) Inequality in New Guinea Highlands Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1982) pp. 171-2. 210 P. Wiessner & A. Tumu, Historical Vines (Washington DC, Smithsonian, 1998) p. 142. 211 A. Strathern, 'Contemporary Warfare in the New Guinea Highlands - Revival or Breakdown?', Yagl- Ambu Vol. 4 No. 3, 1977, p. 135. 212 Bulletin, 'Bloody Tribal Fighting Imperils PNG Security', 17 June 1980, p. 87. 139 times.213 For the Auyana, fighting occurred for short intervals at least once a year.214 Berndt claims that approximately 32 percent of Usurufa males and twelve percent of Usurufa women were killed in warfare between 1900 and 1950.215 Hayano reports that warfare accounted for 25.7 percent of all Tauna deaths prior to government contact in 1949, and that this figure is about average for ethnographies of nearby areas.216 Meggitt estimates that at least 25 percent of all male deaths among the Mae Enga were attributable to war from 1900 to 1950.217

Warfare, then as now, was extremely costly, painful, widely denounced, and often strenuously avoided.218 However, it was also valued as 'the breath of life'219 or the 'dominant orientation'220 that lent meaning to many highland societies. Marilyn Strathern claims Hageners did not view peaceful transactions as necessarily preferable to violent ones.221 Rather, she believes they saw war and gift-exchange as two alternative but equivalent and interconnected forms of reciprocal political action for males.222 Merlan and Rumsey also see wealth exchange and warfare as 'alternative moments within a single sphere' in which the latter is 'the segmentary transaction par excellence'.223 This suggests a relation of implicit collusion, in which quite weakly differentiated groups relied on each other for their violent demarcation. For individual men, warfare provided an arena for asserting an 'ethos of equivalence'.224 The interchangeability of "gifts and blows" (along with marriage) has been called 'unity in

213 A. Vayda, 'Explaining Why Marings Fought', Journal of Anthropological Research Vol. 45 No. 2, 1989, p. 160. The Maring are actually fringe highlanders from the Lower Jimi. 214 S. Robbins uses oral testimony to consider the period between 1924 and 1949 - Those Who Held onto Home (Seattle, Washington UP, 1982) p. 211. Auyana are eastern highlanders. 215 R. Berndt, 'Political Structure in the Eastern Central Highlands', in R. Berndt & P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea (Nedlands, UWA Press, 1971) p. 399. Usurufa are eastern highlanders. 216 Tauna are eastern highlanders. 30% of deaths were men 16% were women. His figures are drawn from village genealogies. He cites similar figures from five other studies - D. Hayano, 'Marriage, Alliance, and Warfare', American Ethnologist Vol. 1 No. 2, 1974, p. 287. 217 M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 110. 218 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Law and Order in the New Guinea Highlands (Hanover, New England UP, 1985) p. 13. 219 R. Berndt, Excess and Restraint (Chicago, Chicago UP, 1962) p. 266. 220 R. Glasse, 'The Huli of the Southern Highlands', in P. Lawrence & M. Meggitt (eds.) Gods, Ghosts and Men in Melanesia (Melbourne, Oxford UP, 1965) p. 29. K. Read had also used that term to describe war- see C. Simpson, Adam in Plumes (Sydney, Angus Robertson, 1954) p. 121 & p. 141. 221 M. Strathern, 'Discovering Social Control', p. 111. A. Strathern had previously stated that ceremonial exchange and killings were 'seen as two different ways of asserting group and individual prowess' - The Rope of Moka (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1971) p. 54. (Both are presented as part of what he calls 'alternating disequilibrium' - p. 222). R. Schwimmer discusses the intermixture of ceremonial exchange and permanent war between Mt Lamington societies in terms of 'negative reciprocity' - 'Reciprocity and Structure', Man Vol. 14, 1979, pp. 271-85. See Ch. 6. 222 'Discovering Social Control', p. 112. 223 F. Merlan & A. Rumsey, Ku Waru (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991) p. 19 & p. 18. 224 Ibid., p. 140. Also see M. Schiltz, 'War, Peace, and the Exercise of Power', Social Analysis Vol. 21, 1987, pp. 4-6. 140 opposition'.225 The way in which such societies were 'highly stable in [their] basic forms, but thoroughly disharmonious' led to an important critique of the functionalist 'confusion between stability and harmony'.226

The prevalence of fighting did not mean that communities existed in a state of random or perpetual conflict with their neighbours.227 Rather, named groups combined in long or short-lived, but ultimately contingent, alliances — the 'absolutely crucial' components of highland political organisation.228 Hageners, for example, discerned a hierarchy of 'relatively stable alliances between groups' and 'fields of warfare ... [with a] recognisable structure of relations'.229 They distinguished major enemies from minor ones, and viewed groups containing the 'root men' of a war quite differently to their allies.230 Any outside community was considered to fall into one of four categories of fairly reliable pair-clans, minor enemy clans, major enemy clans, or neutral clans.231

Although patterns of amities and enmities were hardly indiscriminate, they could be extremely complicated. The varieties of alliance, mentioned above, were clearly ideal-types, and it was acknowledged that varying degrees of actual conformity to their principles would depend on the political ambitions and manoeuvres of leaders and individuals.232 In some areas, alliances and even their constituent groups —which were both cross-cut by the personal relationships of their members— could be permanently extinguished by war. In others, such as Read's eastern highlands, where warfare was conducted ceaselessly but not for the permanent acquisition of enemy territory,

almost every group suffered many vicissitudes and changes of fortune during the course of its existence. The members of clans and subclans became scattered here and there among friends and allies and often lived in exile for more than a decade. At any point in time, the composition of groups on the ground was fluid, in a state of potential flux or change, though beneath this flow of population the ideology of patrilineal descent and the patrimony of territory remained, to be reasserted and reclaimed when fortunes improved or swung in another direction.233 Watson suggests that the flexibility of fairly unbridled competition between eastern highlands alliances, groups, and leaders —and the highly changeable configuration of

225 D. Brown, 'Unity in Opposition in the New Guinea Highlands', Social Analysis Vol. 23, 1988, pp. 89-109. 226 C. Hallpike, Bloodshed and Vengeance in the Papuan Mountains (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1977) p. 280. He contends violence was 'an integral part of their society and not a pathological state' - p. 275. (He was observing Mountain Papuan rather than true highlands groups). 227 A. Podolefsky, 'Contemporary Warfare', p. 74. 228 L. Langness, 'Bena Bena Political Organisation', in R. Berndt & P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea (Nedlands, Western Australia UP, 1971) p. 304. 229 A. Strathern, The Rope of Moka - p. 54 & pp. 67-8. 230 Ibid., p. 55 231 Ibid., pp. 67-8. Additionally, larger tribe-pairs could cooperate against traditional enemies in major wars, but their own clans might be ranged against each other in more minor warfare - pp. 68-70. 232 Ibid., p. 67 & p. 70. 233 K. Read, Return to the High Valley (Berkeley, California UP, 1986) p. 52. 141 social and political relations that resulted— can be better described in terms of 'organised flow' than the static terminology of corporate interests.234 Further west, where communities are believed to have been larger and somewhat more cohesive, the acceptance of immigrants and refugees, intended to boost the strength of host groups, could result in the importation of similarly complicated tensions and instability.235

Attempts to definitively categorise specific manifestations of precolonial intergroup violence have had limited success. Although Sillitoe differentiates wars of redress, from wars for deep-rooted reasons, and permanent wars236; Reay distinguishes total war from minor war237; Berndt and Pospisil both separate wars from feuds238; and Langness divides restricted from unrestricted wars239, for example, all those authors acknowledge difficulties in trying to make such distinctions in practice. Some early ethnographic accounts used sporting metaphors to describe grand "chivalrous" tournaments conducted in a stylised way to avoid casualties.240 However, rather less formal battles and deadly surprise raids were more typical throughout the highlands. Meggitt notes that the discrepancy between cultural norms and practice, evident in other areas of highlands life, holds for the conduct of violence (so that groups in his sample attacked brother clans nearly as often as their non-fraternal neighbours.241) Knauft reports that the volatility and changeability of such encounters confound efforts to neatly classify them. There, 'the scale of brutality and violence quickly swamps the theoretical edifice of control and order designed to conceptually contain it'.242

234 J. Watson, 'Society as Organised Flow: the Tairora case', Southwestern Journal of Anthropology Vol. 26, 1970, pp. 107-24. Cf. both individuals and residential units are sometimes referred to as 'sovereignties' - eg. P. Sillitoe, 'Some More on War', in R. Scaglion (ed.) Homicide Compensation in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1981) p. 75; & S. Robbins, Op. Cit., p. 7. 235 P. Wiessner & A. Tumu, Op. Cit., p. 125. (Refugees were accepted to try to provide friendly neighbours, military allies, finance, labour for gardening, and trade ties). 236 P. Sillitoe, 'Big Men and War in New Guinea', Man Vol. 13 No. 2, 1978, pp. 260-5. 237 She claims the former was aimed at the annihilation of traditional enemies, and could only end with the rout and flight of one side, whereas the latter occurred between usually friendly groups that hoped to be friendly again, making employment of casualty-minimising and peace-making mechanisms possible after equivalent numbers of dead were reached - 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', p. 630. 238 R. Berndt depicts wars as matters of principal rather than specific injury, and as involving social units rather than individuals - Excess and Restraint, p. 232. L. Pospisil calls war a 'strictly an intergroup phenomenon, while a feud is an intersubgroup conflict' - Op. Cit., p. 114. 239 L. Langness claims restricted wars occur for limited specific reasons, whereas the aim of unrestricted war is the complete destruction of an enemy group - 'Traditional Political Organisation', p. 162. 240 L. Langness discusses sport metaphors in Ibid., pp. 161-5. Famous examples of the large-scale formal battles include those once required by the ghosts of West New Guinea's Baliem Valley Dani, and the Tee-driven great ceremonial wars of 19thC Enga - R. Gardner & K. Heider, Gardens of War (New York, Random House, 1968) pp. 135-78; & P. Wiessner & A. Tumu, Op. Cit., pp. 265-92. 241 M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 28 & p. 37. He feels the self-interest of individual descent groups facing critical material shortages outweighed explicit moral obligations to brother clans. 242 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 266 (he is referring to functionalist theories). 142 First contact, pacification and the pax-Australiana Colonial officials did not realise that the highland valleys were quite densely populated until well into this century. Quelling high levels of violence there was a prerequisite for further operations by missionaries, traders, and administrators. However, the pacification project was undertaken with limited government funding and could not sanction the level of disregard for indigenous life and limb that had characterised many earlier colonial endeavours. Nevertheless, it appeared to proceed quite rapidly for several decades, greatly assisted by the active cooperation of many highlanders themselves. Indeed, it is often suggested that the initial speed and ease of the pacification project was more remarkable than the later resumption of fighting.243 It is also widely felt that the way the project was approached by the colonial state and by highlanders affects the conduct of current warfare.244 Thus, the pacification process continues to warrant close attention, despite its subsequent partial breakdown.

The first europeans to enter edges of the highlands proper were probably escaping German officers in the First World War.245 Gold prospectors and Lutheran missionaries proceeded up the Ramu Valley from Morobe District, reaching slightly beyond the Gadsup fringe in the 1920s.246 European intrusion into the highlands began in earnest with the famous discovery expedition by the prospector-adventurers Michael Leahy and Michael Dwyer in 1930-31.247 A major exploratory patrol, led by Leahy and James Taylor, and run jointly by the Administration and the New Guinea Goldfields Company, followed.248 Administration plans to extend authority and control in the new League mandate were initially vague, since Australia had only recently acquired incompletely explored ex-German New Guinea. However, deliberate campaigns to prepare the area for development were soon begun.249 A few posts and officers were in place by the mid 1930s, and regular administrative patrolling started in 1938, with pacification the first priority.

243 Eg. S. Pflanz-Cook & E. Cook, 'Manga Pacification', in M. Rodman & M. Cooper (eds.) Pacification of Melanesia (Ann Arbor, Michigan UP, 1979); & R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 162. 244 Eg. K. Koch, 'Epilogue - Pacification', in M. Rodman & M. Cooper (eds.) Pacification of Melanesia (Ann Arbor, Michigan UP, 1979) p. 200. 245 P. Brown, Highland Peoples of New Guinea, p. 96 (Dutch officials had "discovered" the western New Guinea highlands in 1910). 246 See R. Radford, Highlanders and Foreigners in the Upper Ramu (Melbourne, Melbourne UP, 1987). 247 See R. Connolly & R. Anderson, First Contact (New York, Viking Press, 1987); M. Leahy, Explorations in Highland New Guinea 1930-35 (Tuscaloosa, Alabama UP, 1991). 248 It proceeded from Bena Bena to Mt Hagen in 1933, and was logistically supported from the air. A second patrol, led by Taylor and John Black, from Mt Hagen to the Sepik in 1938-39 was a government operation. Ivan Champion's exploratory patrol into the Southern Highlands of Papua in 1936, and his 1938-40 expedition, based at Lake Kutubu, were also important. 249 M. Rodman, 'Introduction', in M. Rodman & M. Cooper (eds.) The Pacification of Melanesia (Ann Arbor, Michigan UP, 1979) p. 9. 143 The Administration seeking to extend the "pax-Australiana" into the highlands was rather weak. Its officers operated in a rather pragmatic and ad hoc way in the field. They did so partly according to temperament, but also due to practical financial and staffing constraints, caused by the insistence of successive inter-war Australian governments that New Guinea be as self-supporting as possible. (The very small-scale of existing social and political organisation, and the ruggedness of highlands terrain, also ruled-out standard "indirect rule" through a few powerful regional satraps.250)

Accordingly, the suppression of highlands warfare was left to energetic young Australian patrol officers, called kiaps. They initially concentrated on exploring and on establishing and enlarging the "controlled areas" that radiated out from their government stations and base camps.251 Once intergroup fighting had largely been quelled in an area —sometimes not until a decade or two after the Second World War— they conducted the census, established rudimentary health care posts and helped select orderlies to staff them, worked to improve sanitation, oversaw the construction of an elementary track and road network, introduced new crops to improve nutrition, dispensed rough justice in the adjudication of local disputes, and helped introduce the Highlands Labour Scheme.252 Only 150 kiaps governed three quarters of a million people on the eve of the Japanese invasion.253 They were accompanied on patrol by a para-military indigenous constabulary recruited from already pacified areas.254 Since their patrols were irregular and infrequent, the kiaps quickly selected men of local standing as unofficial bosbois to muster people for census, health surveys and work projects. Later, the slightly more formal German system of appointed luluais (headmen with some authority of one or more clans in the same phratry) and tultuls (their assistants) was adopted. They were really only authorised to report breaches of the peace, but often arbitrated minor disagreements themselves.255 Pacification of any area was soon followed, and occasionally preceded, by the arrival Catholic, Lutheran, and Seventh Day Adventist missionaries. Despite periodic church-state tensions, missions quickly became, and have (remained) important providers of basic education and health services, since government funding remained desultory into the 1960s.256

250 S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea (Sydney, Random House, 1990) p. 40. 251 See I. Downs, The Last Mountain (St Lucia, Queensland UP, 1986). He was a distinguished kiap. 252 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 44. The labour scheme provided workers for coastal plantations and gave young highland men deprived of warfare an "edifying" taste of disciplined "modern" life. 253 M. Turner, Papua New Guinea (Victoria, Penguin, 1990) pp. 9-10. 254 See W. Gammage, 'Police and Power During Contact', in H. Levine & A. Ploeg (eds.) Work in Progress (Frankfurt, Lang, 1996); & A. Kituai, My Gun, My Brother (Honolulu, Hawaii UP, 1998). 255 A. Strathern, 'When Dispute Procedures Fail', in A. Epstein (ed.) Contention and Dispute (Canberra, ANU Press, 1974) p. 244. 256 P. Brown, Beyond a Mountain Valley (Honolulu, Hawaii UP, 1995) pp. 86-90. 144 Despite the rather shallow, sporadic and superficial character of early colonial rule, elementary pacification seemed to be occurring quite quickly and with comparatively little bloodshed for several decades in the highlands.257 Controlled areas expanded and began to converge from the 1930s to the 1960s.258 In many areas, enthusiastic pursuit of novel forms of wealth and prestige through new resources and approaches was eclipsing perpetual warfare by the mid-1950s. The highlands were officially declared to be under administrative control in 1963 (though 'in many areas, control still meant virtually nothing'.)259 This degree of success stemmed from two interrelated factors that attested the 'enlightened pragmatism' of highlands leaders.260

Firstly, highlanders —who were hardly militarily naive— recognised that they initially had little choice in the matter. The european pioneers showed little hesitation to use firearms when they thought it necessary.261 Use of lethal force was probably not even strictly confined to acts in self-defence.262 Connolly and Anderson estimate that kiaps and prospectors may have shot and killed up to a thousand highlands men, women and children in the 1930s.263 Word quickly spread that it was pointless to resist modern rifles.264 Old political configurations and rivalries also made successful long- term resistance to the intruders unlikely, even in the few areas containing large populations, mutually intelligible dialects, and terrain suited to guerrilla warfare.265.

Secondly, highland leaders recognised that their own interests at least temporarily coincided with those of the colonial state. Frequent cases of voluntary pacification suggested that local peoples were hardly passive or unwilling recipients of an impersonal process of colonisation.266 Some acceptance that incessant war was wrong

257 Understandings of pacification differ over whether those compelled to give up violence need to have accepted the new condition as legitimate and permanent. Patrol Officer Downs did not consider it had been accomplished until 'a majority of the people were willing to bring wrongdoers before a court' - Australian Trusteeship (Canberra, Government Publishing, 1980) p. 99. To Rodman, the term simply meant the 'encapsulation of a native people in which a group's use of armed force is constrained to comply with the actual or presumed demands of an encapsulating power' - Op. Cit., p. 1. 258 In Chimbu, fighting was rare in the vicinity of government stations by the end of the 1930s, and 'by 1940 Australian authority was accepted and attacks on strangers and tribal fighting had nearly ended, although the entire highlands was not pacified until the 1960s' - A. Podolefsky, 'Contemporary Warfare', p. 74. Enga clans only consistently refrained from fighting for about a decade from 1950-60 (though it was quite rare into the 1970s) - M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 11 & p. 168. 259 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, p. 19. 260 M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 153. 261 Discussed in A. Kituai, Op. Cit., pp. 138-63. 262 M. Baker claims that early on 'it was common practice when a clan ignored warnings to stop fighting for the white Kiap and his native constables to move in and raze a village, flog the ring-leaders or even execute a number of men as an example' - The Age, 'War as a Way of Life', 17 March 1979. 263 R. Connolly & R. Anderson, First Contact, p. 250. 264 S. Pflanz-Cook & E. Cook, Op. Cit., p. 189. 265 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 162. 266 Ibid., p. 164. 145 in principle may have emerged quite quickly once an alternative was feasible.267 Certainly, europeans possessed apparently abundant quantities of valuables which were greatly desired for exchange purposes and personal use.268 Accordingly, highland leaders initially accepted the 'veneer of colonialism'269 and were prepared to go 'along with the charade'270 of institutions that were often imperfectly understood, such as the new formal courts of law.271 Highlanders, it appeared, would probably remain largely at peace so long as sufficient opportunities to pursue new sources of wealth, power and prestige existed. For a time, this seemed to be a cause for reasonable optimism.272

The re-emergence, intensification, and costs of warfare Fighting began to re-emerge in some parts of the highlands even before it disappeared from a few other places.273 It first reappeared in the early 1960s, and was starting to become quite common in the westernmost districts by about 1970.274 Attempts by the colonial state to restore order were increasingly disregarded or even resisted as skirmishes multiplied and expanded.275 During the 1970s legislation aimed at curbing the upsurge in violence was drafted, and a state of emergency was reluctantly declared in 1979. Intergroup violence spread eastwards and southwards to affect the parts of the entire highlands region in the 1980s.276

Considering whether the resurgence of violence chiefly represented a revival of the old ways or a breakdown introduced ones, Andrew Strathern argues that it was a combination of both, since he believes 'all activities in the highlands nowadays are of a "mixed" [customary and new] character.'277 Specifically, he claims that the renewal of warfare stemmed from a mixture of four main factors that are given different degrees of emphasis by other writers. These involve pre-independence changes that increased the

267 Some eastern highlanders 'gave up fighting when the first administration officer appeared, almost as if they had only been awaiting an excuse to give it up' - J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, p. 6. 268 Including shell money, steel tools and trade goods - A. Strathern, ‘Let the Bow go Down’, p. 233. 269 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, p. 6. 270 Kiaps were quite aware of the theatrical element of their duties and of the 'ritual imprimatur' of their "decisions" on courses already locally agreed upon - R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 166. According to Dinnen, the rather modest objectives of the colonial state were never really in danger of provoking a high level of resistance prior to the modernising period of the 1960s - 'In Weakness and Strength', in P. Dauvergne (ed.) Weak and Strong States (Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1998) p. 45. 271 Most highlanders probably considered the unofficial parochial kots a more satisfactory forum. 272 S. Pflanz-Cook & E. Cook, Op. Cit., p. 195. 273 170 000 hectares were still classified as uncontrolled in 1970 - S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, p. 49. 274 The situation in Enga is described in M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, pp. 156-81. 275 The state regarded the resistance as more significant than the fighting (which 'has always occurred') - P. Paney, Report of the Committee Investigating Tribal Fighting (PoM, Govt. Printer, 1973) pp. 1-3. 276 G. Westermark argues that fighting re-emerged in the west because of more intensive connections between groups and greater land pressure there, and that it spread eastward due to a simple knock-on effect - 'Ol I Skulim Mipela', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 57 No. 4, 1984, pp. 114-24. 277A. Strathern, A Line of Power (London, Tavistock, 1984) p. 64. 146 state's capacity to operate but also made it more formal and rigid, increasing population pressure on land, disillusionment with economic development that led to attempts to reassert "traditional" identity, and attempts by certain figures to regain authority.278

It is widely felt that the improvised character of the pacification project had set the seeds for both its own early success and its later failure.279 This had allowed introduced and indigenous dispute settlement procedures to run in parallel, for the combination of idealistic and instrumental reasons indicated above. Neither a clear philosophical primacy of introduced over indigenous ways, nor a satisfactory mixture of the two, ever developed to accompany the brief and partial practical ascendancy of the former. The existence of rival moral codes during this 'uneasy hiatus'280 established a pattern of constant 'negotiation' between the governors and the governed, involving aspects of collusion, mediation, brokerage, bargaining, and deception.281 Dwindling recognition of the state's claimed monopoly of legitimate violence was the equal- opposite of the sort of "enlightened pragmatism" seen just decades before: leaders recognised that they again had a choice of whether or not to cooperate with the state, and decreasingly felt it in their immediate interests do so. Highlanders had

obeyed the colonial power out of a combination of fear and self-interest. When fear is no longer there, they will continue to pursue the self-interest part of the equation unless curbed.282 Paradoxically, attempts to strengthen the power and legitimacy of the state gave highlanders the impression that the government was becoming "soft".283 These efforts began after World War Two and expanded in the 1960s.284 They aimed to transform the autocratic and arbitrary character of governance, increase government services to neglected regions, and prepare the for rapid politico-economic development and eventual independence. Accordingly, plans were made to expand, centralise, professionalise, and ultimately to localise the public service. Australia's large, rigid, hierarchical and highly unionised bureaucracy provided the template for the new structures.285 Specialists began to supersede the generalist patrol officers. The kiaps' magisterial prerogatives and some of their policing powers were phased out from 1963 when the discriminatory and rudimentary Courts of Native Affairs were abolished, for

278 A. Strathern, 'Revival or Breakdown?', p. 136. 279 Eg. A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow go Down', p. 232. 280 A. Strathern, 'When Dispute Procedures Fail', p. 240. 281 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 12. This process is further discussed in Ch. 6. 282 A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 42. 283 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 14. 284 Many Australians saw a "new deal" for Papua New Guineans as a post-war debt of honour, while the UN took a keen interest from 1962, and indigenous nationalists began to demand change in the 1960s. 285 It increased from under 4000 in 1960 to over 20 000 by the 1969 - M. Turner, Op. Cit., p. 12. 147 example.286 The first few indigenous assistant patrol officers were recruited in 1962. However, the success of the celebrated "kiap's bluff" had depended on the very opportunities to exercise autonomy, charisma, and despotism, and the mystique generated by social distance, that were being removed.287 Less remote or authoritarian new practices created 'more room in local matters for the overt expression of abiding enmities and suspicions through direct action.'288 With the state's facade exposed, the kiaps' bluff was increasingly called. In 1973, the Paney Committee Investigating Tribal Fighting in the Highlands warned that although police numbers were increasing (as were judicial penalties) they remained 'dangerously inadequate'.289 More crucially, it identified a 'widening credibility gap between government officers and villagers which [had] resulted in a virtual administrative vacuum at village level.'290

The interests of highlanders and the administration, which had temporarily coincided rather than fully converged, started to really split in the period leading up to independence — an era of particular tension, insecurity, and social stress.291 Highlanders 'neither benefited nor suffered' from the lengthy relationship with external forces that had been felt in most parts of Melanesia.292 However, they faced the same, or even more profound, unsettling rapid changes of the decolonising period.293 The new court system was also proving unable to settle land disputes, having introduced the alarming prospect of a permanent reverse for one or other party.294 New forms of local economic inequality accompanied uneven regional development. These hastened the emergence of what were sometimes called proto-classes (while "peasants" replaced tribesmen, in the neo-Marxist terminology of the era).295 Such factors undermined the sense of optimism underpinning recent, substantially "voluntary", pacification. Many highlanders opposed the approach of full self-government, equating the prospect of independence with likely european disinvestment and possible anarchy.296 This disquiet had its 'political expression in fighting'297, since 'anxiety tends towards violence.'298

286 Recommended in the Derham Report on law and justice. The 1963-4 Local and District Courts Acts set up a countrywide system with professional judges - R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., pp. 73-9. 287 Ibid., p. 64 & p. 67. 288 K. Read, Return to the High Valley, p. 153. 289 P. Paney, Op. Cit., p. 19. 290 Ibid., p. 3. 291 B. Standish, ‘Politics and Societal Trauma’, in P. Sack (ed.) Problem of Choice (Canberra, ANU Press, 1974) pp. 151-8. 292 M. Rodman, Op. Cit., p. 9. While fighting was still fairly fresh in the collective memory. 293 These included the further spread of the missions, expanding cash-cropping (prices for which dropped in the 1970s), land shortages, and confusion and conflict over planned political changes. 294 A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 44. 295 Eg. M. Meggitt, 'From Tribesmen to Peasants', in L. Hiatt & C. Jayawardena (eds.) Anthropology in Oceania (Sydney, Angus and Robertson, 1971) pp. 191-209. 296 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 170. 297 B. Standish, 'The Highlands — Ol I No Save Harim Mipela!', New Guinea Vol. 8 No. 3, 1973, p. 4. 148 Initial outbreaks of violence tended to create an "infectious" vicious cycle that cast continuing adherence to the esoteric rules of the state as an unaffordable luxury. This exacerbated disappointment at unmet expectations of improved security, wealth, and living standards — which, in turn, was expressed in further disorder.299

Modern fighting is rather unlike that of the precolonial periods and has evolved since it first recommenced. Definitions of modern highlands warfare are rather imprecise. The Paney Report examined 'reported incidents of riotous behaviour and potential violence involving fifty or more persons', or any 'large scale fighting between enemy clans'.300 Gordon and Meggitt consider tribal fighting any situation so designated by an official who considers it 'serious enough to submit a written report' — apparently confident that readers will know 'the most obvious manifestation of [Enga] lawlessness' when they see it.301 In legislation, tribal fighting is included in a broad legal category of 'Civil Disturbances (General)', which involve 'a wide range of acts, normally unlawful, which usually involve five or more persons and are a likely or actual threat to the safety or well being of life and/or property.'302 Section One of the 1977 Intergroup Fighting Act simply directs attention to fighting between groups.303 The essential characteristic of highlands warfare is that it still exists principally between 'politically autonomous communities'.304

Classic 'proximate' causes (catalysts or immediate spurs) of precolonial warfare included disputes over women, land, and pigs, inadequate compensation payments, assaults, suspicions of sorcery, perceived insults, and old fights flaring up.305 Such provocations were often deliberately manufactured to incite wars for deeper reasons.306 Those sparks for clashes have been joined by newer pressures, such as disputes arising from use of alcohol, driving accidents, gambling, and election results. The presence of modern plantations, factories, and other valuable economic infrastructure on disputed

298 P. Paney, Op. Cit., p. 5. K. Kerpi called the renewal of fighting 'a protest rising out of psychological strain' - 'Strains, Tensions and Tribesmen', New Guinea Vol. 10 No. 3, 1976, p. 2. 299 P. Brown, ‘Conflict in the New Guinea Highlands’, Journal of Conflict Resolution Vol. 26 No. 3, 1982, p. 544. 300 P. Paney, Op. Cit., p. 38 & p. 2. 301 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 23 & p. 1. 302 PNG, 'Circular Instruction on the Handling of Civil Disturbances', PoM, November 1977, p. 1. 303 The Act prohibits preparing various activities in declared fighting zones. Discussed in Ch. 6. 304 M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 10. R. Berndt says warfare is 'planned violence carried out by members of a political unit, in the name of that unit, against another' - 'Warfare in the New Guinea Highlands', p 183. Old definitions are relevant since current fighting is partly a legacy of old ways. 305 R. Rappaport, Pigs for the Ancestors (New Haven, Yale UP, 1968) pp. 110-14, discussed below. 306 J. Muke, 'The Wahgi Opo Kumbo', unpublished PhD thesis, Cambridge, 1992, pp. 233-6. 149 territory can also directly produce fighting, as is discussed below in the survey of theoretical explanations of more 'underlying' causes of war.307

Wormsley and Toke describe some common features of the 105 tribal fights they observed from 1982-5 in Enga. These included the continued importance of old processes of lateral expansion of conflict between allied clans, and the remarkable degree to which warfare was still waged with "traditional" weapons and tactics.308 When fighting first resumed, warriors on both sides used bows and arrows, shields, spears, and axes, and tended to follow traditional sequences of formation and manoeuvre, observing known "rules", on designated battlefields, and watched by neutral spectators. Such fighting —which involved considerable property destruction, certain loss of life, and could see a disorganised retreat turn into something of a rout— 'should not be compared to football matches'.309 Nevertheless, it usually permitted neutral third parties to negotiate a fairly stable peace settlement once the capture of a symbolic landmark or a relatively few casualties established the predominance of one party or a respectable balance between them.310

However, highlands fighting has since been transformed by the breakdown of agreed strictures against the use of modern weapons. The spread of gun-warfare was very rapid, with seventy-three gunshot wounds treated during the first half of 1987 in Mount Hagen alone (where none had been reported in 1984).311 Andrew Strathern sees three basic pressures, beside the simple need to keep-up once local arms races have started, behind this evolution of renewed fighting. These consist of the general widening of spheres of political competition discussed above, expanding commercial activities that foster a growing nexus between the activities of businessmen, politicians and raskols, and increasing leadership tensions within clans.312 In turn, the challenging economics and logistics of gun warfare helps further entrench these pressures.313 The actual conduct of highlands fighting has been greatly altered by the introduction of high-powered weapons. Semi-automatic rifles, factory-made and homemade shotguns, military-style trenches, dynamite and even hand grenades, are reportedly now present in

307 Disputed land was often used for new economic purposes after territorial boundaries were temporarily frozen by pacification. This was partly to provide a buffer between groups - G. Westermark, 'Ol I Skulim Mipela', p. 118. Many boundaries have subsequently "thawed" - eg. R. Connolly & R. Anderson, Black Harvest (Glebe, Arundel , 1992). The term underlying is Rappaport's. 308 W. Wormsley & M. Toke, Op. Cit., pp. 50-53. 309 J. Ketan, Op. Cit., p. 162. 310 Eg. described in J. Burton, 'Tribal Fighting—the Scandal of Inaction', Research in Melanesia Vol. 4, 1990, pp. 31-40; J. Muke, Op. Cit., pp. 80-118; & F. Merlan & A. Rumsey, Op. Cit., pp. 344-6. 311 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, p. 240, citing Ollapallil (1987). 312 A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow Go Down', pp. 234-42. All are further explored in Ch. 6. 313 Eg. J. Ketan, Op. Cit., pp. 166-9. National ministers and incumbent MPs were prominent gun- smugglers and employers of raskol "campaigners" during the June 1997 general election - National, 'Bullets Target Ballots', 28 May 1997 (citing police intelligence and NIO reports). See Ch. 6. 150 very many highland villages.314 When they are implemented, these innovations preclude the more formal battles of the immediate post-pacification era, which have been partly replaced by raids and ambushes.315 Comparatively high casualty rates can now mount very quickly, potentially threatening the very existence of communal groups, and encouraging a winner-take-all dynamic or precluding conditions for peace- making.

Although my incomplete first-hand knowledge of a single fight hardly affords a basis for generalisation, a short description of its key events can help provide some sense of context for the theoretical inquiry undertaken below and in Chapter Six. This may be useful since few detailed accounts of recent wars are available.316 In 1990, tensions developed between the lains of Kanosa/ Lindima, and Andawayufa/ Kombosokave/ Mando villages over a case of alleged poisoning and sorcery.317 The villages are located the Kofena area of Asaro District in the Eastern Highlands Province. Fighting caused about ten deaths in 1991-92, before the introduction of guns by what was probably the weaker side gave it a preponderance it could convert into an uneasy peace.318 However, its enemies, who had been amassing guns and ammunition (and allegedly recruited raskol mercenaries), launched a strong counter-attack in late March 1995. Younger generation figures, such as an ex-police officer experienced in organising relatively complex modern activities, assumed overall control of the village I am most familiar with.319 These "fight leaders" ordered the construction of military- style bunkers and divided young village men into "platoons". Guerilla-style ambushes and raids probably caused over fifty casualties.320 In August 1995, police arrested forty- four men from one village and briefly held them in custody for loitering. Four months later 132 men from the same side and thirty-five of their enemies were sentenced to six months imprisonment for failing to honour a stricture against fighting. However, the National Court ruled that these arrests were illegal, since they were made in a fighting zone that an administrative oversight had allowed to lapse.321 The side with most of

314 D. Robie, 'Guns and Rascals Pose Threat to Pacific Poll', Niuswire APN bulletin board, 6 June 1997. 315 Historically allied or minor enemy groups may still try to refrain from using guns in small fights. 316 However, see A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow Go Down'; R. Connolly & R. Anderson, Black Harvest; & J. Ketan, 'The Name Must Not Go Down', pp. 140-95. Each examines Western Highlands examples. 317 Lains (lines) are 'clan-like groupings' - M. Ward, 'Keeping ples?' unpublished MA thesis, ANU, 1999, p. 94, citing Newman (1965). (Ward investigates the effects of this war on the social identity of some young highlands men living in Port Moresby.) Precise kinship connections are not emphasised in the comparatively large villages of this part of the highlands. Newspaper accounts of the war sometimes describe the villages as "tribes" or "clans". These reports are rather inconsistent, but can be cross-referenced to help verify basic facts. 318 Fieldnotes September 1996. National, 'Leaders Urged to End Tribal War in EHP', 11 February 1999. 319 Villagers told me "the older men have the wisdom, but the younger men have the knowledge". 320 Estimates range between 20 and over 100 deaths. One report (from before fighting ceased) refers to the loss of 'more than 80 confirmed lives' - Post-Courier, 'Village Court Jail 155', 19 December 1995. 321 The Provincial Peace and Good order Committee had declared the zone for three months in April 1995 - Post-Courier, 'Tribal Warfare a Costly Issue', 1 February 1996. 151 those jailed generally had the upper hand in 1995-6, but filed a suit against the government for wrongful detention, as an enemy raid had killed six people when the mass incarceration left it vulnerable.322 The main underlying cause of the war seemed to be a longstanding tussle by various prominent local figures and their factions for control of a multimillion kina coffee plantation and factory in the lead-up to and after the retirement of its expatriate manager.323 The positions of the four very most powerful rivals have all subsequently declined, and one was sentenced to six months hard labour for possessing firearms used in the war.324 Major fighting has not erupted since a March 1996 peace ceremony, but most refugees from the side worsted in 1995-6 still felt it unsafe to return home by early 1999.325

Statistics about contemporary highlands warfare are as unreliable as those on any other manifestation of Papua New Guinean crime, but can help provide a basic picture of the situation and indicate some emerging trends.326 They show that individual battles can now cause greater loss of life than precolonial clashes did, but that overall numbers of conflicts and casualties remain much smaller, for example.327 They also suggest that warfare has slowly but steadily involved greater numbers of fights and casualties since the 1970s, when the first official warnings were made that parts of the highlands were starting to become literally ungovernable.328 The "crisis" that led to the 1979 declaration of a state of emergency involved less than sixty wars and fewer than fifty deaths329; while an estimated sixty-eight people were killed in two hundred fights in the year 1982-83330; and about two hundred deaths are now estimated to occur each

322 Post-Courier, 'Asaro Warriors Fight Again After Release', 16 January 1996. 323 The plantation and factory, owned by the Asaro-Watabung Rural Development Corporation (after its 1974 localisation through the Plantation Redistribution Scheme), had been directed by Fred Leahy. Four key figures were national politicians and big rural businessmen. Their rivalry had also caused a 'small fight' in 1987 - correspondence between Karl Benediktsson and Michael Ward, 18 July 1996. 324 Post-Courier, 'Jail Over Asaro Guns', 27 February 1996. He contested but did not win the Daulo seat in the June 1997 national election. 325 National, 'Leaders Urged to End Tribal War in EHP', 11 February 1999. 326 Discussed in P. Paney, Op. Cit., p. 3; & W. Clifford Op. Cit., p. 95. 327 PNG Government, 'National Law and Order Policy', unpublished submission to the NEC, PoM, January 1994, p. 32. 328 Eg. P. Paney, Op. Cit., p. 1; & W. Prentice, 'Special Report on the Developing State of Lawlessness by the Judges to the Parliament of PNG', PoM, 13 July 1979, p. 1. 329 These took place in a 7 or 8 month period - J. Guise (chairman), 'Statement No. 1 of the Emergency Committee Relating to the Declaration of a State of Emergency', PoM, 3 September 1979, p. 40. 330 77 000 warriors were reportedly involved - M. Mapusia, ‘Police Policy Towards Tribal Fighting’ in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, RSPacS, 1986) p. 61.

152 year.331 Gauging the average duration of fights is difficult, since they often go through cyclical phases of activity and inactivity, and are not easily deemed "solved".332

Not all scholars consider renewed highlands warfare especially dysfunctional or deplorable. Indeed, some neo-Marxist Melanesianists of the mid-1970s and early 1980s dismissed such anxieties as 'moral panic' or 'false consciousness', and almost applauded its "resistance" to the perceived emergence of a ruling class.333 Even many of those who hold the more common view that highland fighting represents a serious problem would agree that its motivations and effects are far from straightforward. That appreciation stems from two considerations beside any bent towards cultural relativism. Firstly, estimated casualty figures are significant but hardly overwhelming. Newspaper reporting of provincial tribal fighting tallies has been described as similar to Australian coverage of the road toll, and, indeed, driving accidents probably kill more highlanders than tribal fights (as do murders).334 It has been estimated that even active warriors face less than a one in a thousand chance of being killed in a single fight.335 Thus, the Clifford Report declared that the direct impact of highland warfare 'may be relatively limited'.336 Secondly, fighting is often regarded as an unfortunate necessity in certain circumstances even by those who would lament its appearance. It is widely seen as both a dire problem but also as a potentially effective solution to both internal and external social disharmony.337

However, although highland warfare is not generally waged directly against the state, it clearly does considerable harm to the country and its inhabitants.338 The immediate economic costs of fighting have long been quite significant in their own right.339 Indirect economic, social and political costs are even higher. These undermine

331 D. Young, 'Nonviolent Alternatives Among the Enga', Social Alternatives Vol. 16 No. 2, 1997, p. 42. Newspaper accounts cumulatively suggest a larger figure, but may be prone to repeat exaggerated claims. Some reports allude to very high casualties in individual fights, such as over 1000 in the 1990-94 Wapenamanda war in Enga - National , 'Crime Rising Despite Best Efforts', 9 April 1999. 332 According to D. Young, the typical pattern involves 5 stages: times of peace, the period after an incident or when rumours circulate, imminent escalation after a definite incident, actual fighting, and the negotiation of peaceful intergroup relations after fighting - 'Nonviolent Alternatives', p. 43. M. Turner mentions a particular fight that may be 160 years old - Op. Cit., p. 170. 333 Discussed (and criticised) in R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., pp. 2-3. 334 SMH, 'PNG Looks for Solution to Perpetual Tribal Fighting', 31 May 1980; R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 22; & W. Wormsley & M. Toke, Op. Cit., p. 24. Of course, all three problems are related. Disease is also a bigger killer of highlanders than tribal fighting. 335 M. Mapusia, Op. Cit., p. 62. That figure was suggested before gun-warfare was very common. 336 W. Clifford, Op. Cit., p. 100. Only 21% of Papua New Guineans lived in fighting areas - p. 95. 337 For 'participants the law and order problem is the offence or dispute, not the fighting' - Ibid., p. 92. Also see L. Morauta, Op. Cit., p. 8; & M. Mapusia, Op. Cit., p. 60. 338 Cf. R. Babbage, The Dilemmas of PNG Contingencies (Canberra, SDSC, 1987) p. 25. 339 Eg. about half the patients in Kundiawa Hospital were suffering from arrow wounds in 1976 - B. Standish, 'The Highlands - Destabilising National Unity?', New Guinea Vol. 10 No. 4, 1976, p. 30. (In 1999 it was estimated that 50% of surgery beds in PNG hospitals were filled by trauma patients with injuries resulting from violence - National, 'Trauma is Epidemic in PNG', 11 March 1999.) 153 public confidence in, and thus respect for, formal laws.340 Fighting breeds scepticism about official governance which, in turn, spurs self-help strategies generally, and high crime rates in particular. It does so by causing loss of life, destruction of property, disruption of business activities, paralysis of government administration, and reduced legitimacy for weak new state mechanisms when they respond ineptly or brutally.341 This helps discourage the recruitment of skilled overseas personnel and fosters a more mercenary attitude among those who stay, prevents the development of a tourist industry, inhibits foreign investment in the private sector, and drives away existing investment with high "security" expenses.342 As a result, highlanders receive very limited and decreasing access to healthcare, education and formal employment opportunities.

Theoretical explanations to date Having introduced the historical background to highlands warfare and outlined its current conduct, it is possible to assess the rival theoretical explanations of the phenomenon. It is now widely accepted that analytically parsimonious 'monocausal' models cannot adequately explain such a complicated or variable matter.343 Descriptive accounts are able to accommodate that sort of rich detail and diversity in individual cases. However, the task of placing highlands warfare in a larger theoretical context is essential for comparative purposes, if useful lessons are to be provided for, or helpful findings are to be drawn from, other kinds of political violence in Melanesia and beyond. Accordingly, the recent literature stresses the need for a satisfactory synthesis of overly narrow past explanations. It is particularly hoped that such a model could satisfactorily address both the culturally-shaped and the materially-determined aspects of highlands warfare. However, an integrating lens that could provide that synthesis has not yet been offered.

An extensive literature exists on highlands warfare.344 Most of the theoretical commentary concerns precolonial fighting. However, even this provides useful insights into contemporary warfare, which was described above as the product of a "revival" as much as a "breakdown". Indeed, Knauft advocates a historical approach to contemporary Melanesian violence, since such research 'can build upon the

340 W. Wormsley & M. Toke, Op. Cit., p. 23 & pp. 23-4. 341 B. Standish, Provincial Government in PNG (PoM, IASER, 1979) p. 32. 342 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, p. 286. 343 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 5. 344 In 1964 Berndt claimed the literature was already 'formidable' - 'Warfare in the New Guinea Highlands', p. 199. Highlands and Amazonian warfare provide the two main sources of examples for the new "anthropology of war" - S. Reyna & R. Downs, 'Studying War', in S. Reyna & R. Downs (eds.) Studying War - Anthropological Perspectives (Amsterdam, Gordon and Breach, 1994) p. xiii. 154 ethnographic richness, comparative sweep, and potential for larger theoretical elaboration that the existing literature on Melanesian warfare abundantly affords.'345

Warfare has always been a central theme of highlands anthropology, since it was (and remains) such an important part of life there. The propensity of highlanders to fight, and to frequently do so along non-segmentary lines —that is, in groups that are not strictly based on genealogical descent— helped prompt early doubts about the aptness of social models "borrowed" directly from Africa in the highlands.346 It has also provided a useful litmus test when theorists have tried to "import" other models from very different contexts and apply them unmodified in the highlands.347 Warfare has been used to help explore a variety of other thematic topics, such as corporateness (or otherwise) of highlands residential units348, patterns of relative politicoeconomic intensification349, and religion350. Where highlands warfare is studied in its own right, the principal question asked ponders why fighting was or remains so common there?351

Theoretical efforts to discern the principal causes of intergroup fighting usually distinguish underlying factors from proximate ones, and emphasise the former as less apparent but more important.352 For example, Meggitt warns that 'in many cases the ostensible motives for the launching of combat merely rationalise a more basic concern to seize or defend a descent group's patrimonial estates'353, while Pospisil feels that the 'real functions' of war must be distinguished from its mere 'catalysts'354, and Trompf claims that the causes, pretexts, and beginnings of fights must be differentiated.355 The Paney committee demarcates specific causes of renewed tribal fighting from general ones. The former involve mere short-term affronts and irritations, whereas the latter

345 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 295. He claims that the wealth of existing material provides a potentially 'valuable base-line from which developmental changes can be viewed' - p. 293. 346 J. . Barnes, Op. Cit., pp. 7-9; & A. Strathern, 'Two Waves of African Models', in A. Strathern (ed.) Inequality in New Guinea Highlands Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1982) pp. 35-7. 347 Eg. see A. Strathern on the way warfare belies pure neo-Marxism - 'Tribesmen or Peasants?', p. 143. 348 Eg. L. Langness, 'Bena Bena Political Organisation', pp. 298-316; R. Berndt, 'Political Structure in the Eastern Central Highlands', pp. 381-423. 349 D. Feil, Op. Cit., pp. 62-89. 350 Eg. G. Trompf, Op. Cit. 351 Students of renewed fighting often explicitly hope that warfare better understood might be better abated. Eg. P. Brown, 'Conflict in the Highlands', p. 544; A. Podolefsky, 'Contemporary Warfare', p. 73; R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., pp. 242-50; W. Wormsley & M. Toke, Op. Cit., p. 9. 352 Immediate 'proximate' factors spark the initial violent episode between some members of different groups, but 'underlying' factors set the 'irritation coefficient' that determines how such provocations will have been responded to - R. Rappaport, Op. Cit., p. 116. 353 M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 14. 354 L. Pospisil, Op. Cit., p. 122. 355 G. Trompf, Op. Cit., p. 37. 155 consist of long-term pressures caused by rapid modernisation that prompt highlanders to seek protection and self-respect in increasingly bellicose kin groups.356

Most theoretical explanations of Melanesian warfare have stressed single causes. For example, Hallpike deftly criticises functionalist insistence that seemingly disastrous warlike cultural traits are profitably adaptive, but goes on to accent "Heraclitean" passion for killing to a degree that most commentators find simplistic and overstated.357 Similarly, Sillitoe castigates theories of precolonial warfare that seem to over- emphasise land shortage, but proceeds to focus almost exclusively on the role of big- men manipulating war for their own ends in extremely loosely organised societies.358 Even many writers who make a point of warning that no single-factor theory can adequately explain warfare ultimately propose quite narrow hypotheses of their own. For example, Paula Brown warns that single-factor explanations of renewed fighting 'are not always exclusive, necessary, or sufficient', but goes on to offer an account which concentrates entirely on the imperatives of communal groups.359

This tendency mainly reflects the normal aim and process of theory-building: elegant, conceptually revealing, reductionism. However, such monocausality also reflects the degree to which models in the evolving literature have mirrored paradigmatic developments, debates, and trends in anthropology and the social sciences. As Marilyn Strathern remarks, the highlands were opened up to investigation at a particular moment in the expansion of post-war anthropology, and 'none of the ethnographic reportage from that era is untouched by the concerns of the day.'360 Nor has commentary from any subsequent era been unaffected — certainly not her own.361 Knauft claims the effects of highlands warfare having been most intensively studied in the heyday of ecological and social structural approaches can still be felt.362 Other paradigmatic influences are evident in the brief survey of theoretical explanations presented below.

356 P. Paney, Op. Cit., pp. 12-18; & pp. 4-11. 357 He complains that functionalist theories are similar to claims that dry-rot is structurally beneficial to houses (because it induces owners to repair them) or explanations of human reproduction that neglect to mention pleasure - 'Functionalist Interpretations of Primitive War', Man Vol. 8 No. 3, 1973, p. 451 & p. 459; Cf. Bloodshed and Vengeance (discussed in B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 286). 358 P. Sillitoe, ‘Land Shortage and War in New Guinea’, in Ethnology Vol. 16, No. 1, 1977, pp. 71-81; Cf. 'Big Men and War in New Guinea', Man Vol. 13 No. 2, 1978, pp. 252-71 (also discussed in B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare' p. 269). 359 'Conflict in the New Guinea Highlands', p. 528. Also see 'Simbu Aggression and the Drive to Win', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 59 No. 4, 1986, pp. 165-70. 360 M. Strathern, The Gender of the Gift (Berkeley, California UP, 1988) p. 43. 361 Eg. M. Kahn claims M. Strathern's work 'is no longer ethnographic nor even simply theoretical—it is a "postmodern" product ... in keeping with the most contemporary of trends' - 'Review', American Ethnologist Vol. 16 No. 3, 1989, p. 587. 362 These were important in the 1950s-60s - B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p.279. 156 An exhaustive review of existing theoretical explanations of highlands warfare is unnecessary here, since comprehensive specialist studies are available. Nevertheless, a short outline is required. Many writers have classified existing explanations of intergroup fighting into a few broad types for efficient summary. Koch outlines five categories of hypotheses about precolonial warfare. These involve ecological factors entailing population pressure on land, lack of cross-cutting loyalties due to social structure, social division into localised power groups, the absence of effective third- party institutions due to factional community organisation, and aspects of socialisation.363 Rodman discusses four varieties of theory. These consist of structural- functionalist claims that war is essential to the strengthening of in-group bonds, ecological hypotheses, models which stress the inadequacy of non-violent alternatives, and explanations relating to indigenous attitudes.364 Pflanz-Cook and Cook list three general types of interpretation. These are functionalist theories based on competition for scarce resources, processual models based on local cultural patterns of conflict resolution, and structural accounts based on assessments of highland socialisation practices and principles.365 Andrew Strathern claims that theories of renewed fighting basically divide between 'mentalist' and 'materialist' explanations.366 Gordon and Meggitt claim that anthropological hypotheses about precolonial and renewed warfare basically fall into either a cultural-ecological-materialist or a sociocultural camp.367

Knauft provides the most sweeping survey of theories of "traditional" warfare in the highlands and elsewhere in Melanesia. He identifies four broad categories of social- structural, ecological, political, and psychological explanations, and further divides these into about a dozen subcategories. The latter are summarised with only minor modification below, to provide as concise as possible an overview of existing theories.368 Not all relate only to the highlands, and some primarily or wholly concern precolonial warfare, but each has influenced the overall theoretical literature that has produced hypotheses about contemporary highlands warfare.

The very earliest pre-theoretical accounts, by sailors and traders, suggested that 'bloodthirsty savagery' was rife in Melanesia.369 Nineteenth century missionaries

363 K. Koch, War and Peace in Jalémó (Cambridge, Harvard UP, 1974) pp. 159-75. 364 M. Rodman, Op. Cit., pp. 13-17. 365 S. Pflanz-Cook & E. Cook, Op. Cit., p. 180. 366 The first is a "revival" of the old ways and the second a "breakdown" new ones -Line of Power, p. 18. 367 They, too, assert that 'there is some merit in the arguments of both camps' - Op. Cit., p. 9. 368 This summary amalgamates some closely linked hypotheses that he separates with subheadings. 369 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 251-3 & p. 258. These accounts appeared before the highlands were "discovered", but helped sanction colonial intrusion. They were coloured both by racism and by incomprehension of the objectives and seemingly indiscriminate conduct of Melanesian violence. 157 countered by rationalising indigenous responses to 'savage European' intruders.370 From the 1920s, functionalist accounts emphasised the beneficial (group-strengthening) aspects of warfare, and a focus on social control and order-maintaining mechanisms continued into the burgeoning of detailed highlands ethnography in the 1950s.371 This led to a specific focus on the unavailability of third-party authorities to mediate disputes.372 A debate on the degree to which demography and ecology shape warfare emerged in the late 1960s.373 Accounts that emphasise land pressure typically also stress the imperatives of social groups.374 Attention to precolonial politicoeconomic intensification, linked changing exchange systems, settlement patterns, and leadership models to types of violent behaviour.375 This was partly connected to a debate on whether cross-cutting marriage or exchange affiliations exacerbated or constrained highlands fighting.376 Another avenue of inquiry into cultural causes of fighting focused on spiritual imperatives, especially those of comparatively more 'ritualistic' lowlanders.377 Hallpike launched the study of links between psychology, personhood and war, by rejecting the assumption that aggressive male traits are wholly socialised adaptations to circumstances.378 Others examined the instrumental use of war and peace making by leaders, especially big-men.379 Finally, "sociomaterial" (neo-Marxist and practice-based) inquiry has explored the interactions of the introduced state and law with local, regional, international, and historical pressures.380

370 This reversed the burden of moral blame, but again denied Melanesian agency. Evidence of european barbarity included violent labour recruiting and sexual opportunism. Anxiety to downplay "native" violence persisted in Victorian and classic functionalist anthropology - Ibid., pp. 253-61. 371 Ibid., pp. 261-7. Important examples include ethnographies by M. Reay, The Kuma (Melbourne, Melbourne UP, 1959); & R. Berndt, Excess and Restraint. 372 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 266. Particularly see K. Koch, War and Peace in Jalémó. 373 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 267-71. (Ecological functionalism posited war as necessary for adjustment to land pressure - for example R. Rappaport, Op. Cit.) Also see A. Vayda, 'Hypotheses About Functions of War', in M. Fried et al. (eds.) War (New York, Doubleday, 1968); & M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument; cf. R. Kelly, 'Demographic Pressure and Descent', Oceania Vol. 39. No. 1, 1968, pp. 36-63; P. Sillitoe, 'Land Shortage and War'. 374 Eg. H. Brookfield & P. Brown, Struggle for Land (Melbourne, Oxford UP, 1963). 375 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 272-6 & pp. 278-9. Particularly see D. Feil, Op. Cit., pp. 62-89. 376 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 276-7. Eg. C. Hallpike says 'cross-cutting ties become channels of vengeance' - Bloodshed and Vengeance, p. 136; cf. A. Podolefsky, 'Contemporary Warfare'. 377 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 279-81. Highlands examples include R. Gardner & K. Heider, Op. Cit; & M. Reay, 'The Magico-Religious Foundations of New Guinea Highlands Warfare', in M. Stephen (ed.) Sorcerer and Witch in Melanesia (New Brunswick, Rutgers UP, 1987) pp. 83-120. 378 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 285-89. Such traits include such as heightened male aggression and sexual antagonism. See C. Hallpike, Bloodshed and Vengeance; & G. Herdt, 'Aspects of Socialisation for Aggression'. 379 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 289-90. Particularly see P. Sillitoe, 'Big Men and War'. 380 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 290-92. Eg. G. Boerhinger, 'Imperialism, Development, and the Underdevelopment of Criminology', Melanesian Law Journal Vol. 4 No. 2, 1976, pp. 211-41; A. Amarshi, K. Good, & R. Mortimer, Development and Dependency (Melbourne, Oxford UP, 1979); & P. Fitzpatrick, Law and State in PNG (London, Academic Press, 1980) on class and resistance. Cf. R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit; & A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow go Down'. 158 Despite the sharp focus of the models surveyed above, theoretical works of the past decade have increasingly acknowledged what many detailed ethnographic and practically-oriented works have long recognised: that monocausal accounts cannot adequately explain such a complicated phenomenon as highlands warfare.381 For example, Morren states that

the study of warfare is a complex problem-field that must be approached from a variety of perspectives. The choice of framework depends on the level at which one enters the field.382 Similarly, Wormsley and Toke declare the view that fights are attributable to a single causal factor 'a dangerous one.'383 Knauft strongly asserts —some feel overstates384— the inadequacy of single-cause theories of warfare as general explanations. In 1989, Vayda repudiated the narrow ecological explanations of precolonial highlands warfare he had long promoted, apologising for his past errors of reification, and declaring that the question of why highlanders fight 'can be given different correct answers'.385

The move away from monocausal explanations was accelerated by the last, sociomaterial, avenue of inquiry noted above. Neo-Marxist and dependency theories were important in PNG-studies from the mid 1970s. Although many of their domestic claims are now widely seen as having been unsuited to Melanesian contexts, they helped call attention to the interaction of economy, state, and society.386 By the mid 1980s, that inquiry was being supplanted in PNG-studies generally and analyses of violence in particular by a more nuanced variety of sociomaterial research, influenced by practice theory.387 This dismisses modernisation and dependency approaches as formulistic top-down reductionism but also rejects the notion that social action is

381 Eg. in 1973 the Paney committee recognised that 'there is no specific cause behind the increasing fighting in the highlands but there are many contributing factors to a complex situation' - p. 3. M. Rodman claims that the 'development of conceptual tools appropriate to understanding the causes and consequences of warfare within Melanesia...has lagged behind the growth of ethnography on the topic' -Op. Cit., p. 12. 382 S. Pflanz-Cook & E. Cook, Op. Cit., p. 169. 383 W. Wormsley & M. Toke, Op. Cit., p. 53. 384 P. Shankman protests that a focus on one theme (ecological, in his case) does not deny, but rather employs and can help strengthen, a variety of other theoretical perspectives - 'Reply' to B. Knauft's review of 'Culture Contact, Cultural Ecology, and Dani Warfare', Man Vol. 27 No. 2, 1992, pp. 401-3. 385 A. Vayda, 'Explaining Why Marings Fought', p. 159. His old theories had emphasised land shortage. 386 Social stratification was viewed as a simple product of imperialist imposition of the capitalist mode of production on "traditional society" - eg. A. Amarshi, K. Good, & R. Mortimer, Op. Cit., Cf B. Standish, 'Big Men and Small', in R. May (ed.) Social Stratification in PNG (Canberra, RSPacS, 1984) pp. 256-95; A. Strathern, 'Two Waves of African Models'. 387 In research on violence, R. Gordon and M. Meggitt cite Strauss (1978) on 'negotiation' between the governors and the governed - Op. Cit., pp. 12-13; B. Knauft invokes Bourdieu (1977), Ortner (1984), & Giddens (1984) - 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 290; & A. Strathern refers to Riches (1986) on contested legitimacy and authority in post-colonial states - 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', pp. 41-2. 159 determined by the choices or beliefs of agency alone.388 In terms of highlands warfare, it demands that attention be paid to as wide as possible a range of pressures. Knauft calls for more careful examination of 'the articulation between cultural values and politicoeconomic conditions and constraints, both over time and at various levels of political control.'389

However, despite the widespread acceptance of a need for greater theoretical breadth, few attempts to actually construct more comprehensive models of highlands warfare have been advanced. Although they investigate both cultural and material determinants of violence, Gordon and Meggitt see their role as 'keeping the grand theorists honest', and decline to decline to offer a general framework of their own.390 Knauft presents his findings in terms of an agenda for future research.391 Even Andrew Strathern does not distil his chronicles of contemporary highlands violence into an explicit model of tribal fighting.392 Most recent studies invoke, or are partly shaped by, theories of practice, but thematically or geographically restrict their inquiries.393 Wiessner and Tumu, for example, discuss social, political, and ecological determinants of precolonial boundary maintenance in Enga, but are anxious 'not to overstep the bounds of [their] limited data'.394

Thus, the recent literature has revealed the need for, but does not yet provide, an adequate synthesis of insights from the helpful but overly narrow past explanations. The framework proposed in Chapter Three may offer an efficient basis for such an integrating lens, since all past accounts involve stakeholders to at least some degree.

The overlapping nature of threats Readers will have already noted the close interconnection of the three fundamental security challenges of raskolism, separatism, and intergroup struggles —and of the particular military, environmental, economic, societal, and political pressures within them— in the introductions to the two practical security problems presented above. This brief part of the chapter reaffirms their highly intertwined nature, and infers the

388 Practice theory 'does not require a dichotomous approach to structure and agency, but instead urges attention to asymmetries of power while retaining a concern for the innovations of human actors as they pursue their activities under the influence of social constraints' - G. Westermark, 'Clan Claims: Land, Law and Violence in the PNG Eastern Highlands', Oceania Vol. 67 No. 3, 1997. p. 219. 389 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 295. Practice theory, he asserts, puts 'the complexity of individual experience back in its social and political context' - South Coast New Guinea Cultures (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1993) p. 9. 390 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 242. 391 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 292. 392 His portrayal of 'disintegrative integration' (discussed in Ch. 2) presents a broad explanation of violence and social change in PNG generally, and treats highlands warfare as a microcosm of this. 393 Eg. L. Pospisil, Op. Cit.; & G. Westermark, 'Clan Claims'. 394 P. Wiessner & A Tumu, Op. Cit., p. 153. The discuss practice theory on pp. 42-6. 160 likely implications of that assessment for the wider analysis of security in Papua New Guinea. It is argued that the inextricably overlapping character of all the security challenges and problems discussed in this chapter helps to verify the theoretical case against basing the desired analytic core focus on threat-types.

As has been shown, the Bougainville crisis is not simply an example of ethnic separatism, and contemporary highlands warfare is certainly not a mere product of intergroup conflict. Rather, all three key challenges presented at the start of this chapter are deeply involved in both cases. (In fact, it seems likely that only the lowest-level of the three, raskolism, ever occurs without any involvement of the other two.) Neither do real-life security problems, such as election-related clashes, rural banditry, or violent compensation demands, typically occur as isolated phenomena. Instead, such problems take place in a interconnected way.395 This is partly due to the continuing expansion of spheres of violent competition through the processes of "higher level segmentation" that were discussed above. Nor do the specific security pressures within those practical security problems occur in a uncomplicated or discrete way. Both the Bougainville crisis and contemporary highlands warfare could be variously interpreted as primarily military, environmental, economic, societal, or political security contingencies by different concerned parties, and most would acknowledge a range of factors.

This highly intertwined character of security challenges, problems, and threats might not particularly hinder the descriptive presentation of a one-off security situation. It may hardly matter whether an episode is depicted as a product of mainly economic, principally environmental, or particular other threats for such limited purposes, so long as all its major details are clearly outlined. However, such imprecision or latitude is likely to be unacceptable where more far-reaching security analysis is required. Greater consistency would be highly valuable, if not essential, for the formulation of possible solutions to a complicated overall security predicament, for example. It would almost certainly be necessary to allow the systematic appraisal of like with like in the comparison of outwardly dissimilar cases — which, in turn, could lead to the formulation of general theoretical principles. Thus, the close interconnection of security pressures, presented above, points to the likely inadvisability of basing the analytic that this thesis seeks on a focus on threat-types.

Conclusion This chapter has presented an overview of the principal challenges that shape security in Papua New Guinea. All pose violent dangers to the state and to other referents. The

395 Eg. A. Strathern doubts that old distinctions between the activities of rural raskol gangs and those of tribal fighters still hold - 'Let the Bow Go Down', p. 239. (However, he recognises that it can be analytically 'necessary to distinguish between different contexts of violence and their different meanings' - 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 56.) 161 chapter began by introducing the three fundamental types of political violence involved in Papua New Guinea's main security problems. Violent crime by rural and urban raskol gangs, separatist activities, and intergroup conflicts, were all outlined. Next, the chapter examined the historical background to, and existing official and scholarly explanations of, the two cases that will be subject to fine-grained analysis in Chapters Five and Six. Gaps in the current literatures on the Bougainville conflict and contemporary highlands warfare were identified. In both cases, these stem from the lack of a satisfactory analytical lens for integrating lessons from what have come to be seen as potentially complimentary rather than mutually-exclusive theoretical perspectives. The fourth part of the chapter explicitly asserted the inextricably overlapping nature of each of the three key security challenges, of the two more specific cases, and of the particular military, environmental, economic, societal, and political threats within them. All were shown to be products of wider pressures much more than they are simple or discrete phenomena. This helped to verify Chapter Three's theoretical claim that an analytical focus on threat-types would offer an unsuitable basis for the desired core focus.

Finally, it remains to suggest that an ability to help resolve gaps in the existing literatures on the Bougainville conflict and highlands warfare would start to indicate the basic soundness and possible explanatory power of the proposed security stakeholders framework. The model should be able to help clarify unexplained aspects of the cases if it contains the potential to contribute to more far-reaching analysis of Papua New Guinean security or developing world security generally. This would entail providing a synthesising lens able to accommodate insights from past accounts that were informed by diverse theoretical perspectives. Accordingly, that task will be one of the main aims when the next two chapters directly apply the stakeholders model to examine each of the cases introduced above.

162 CHAPTER FIVE Case I: Security stakeholders in the Bougainville conflict This chapter directly employs the theoretical framework developed in Chapter Three to re-examine the serious crisis that has engulfed the Bougainville Province since 1988. It examines the political choices and underlying structural pressures that have shaped the outbreak, intensification, and subsequent de-escalation of violent political conflict.

This analysis is conducted to meet two main objectives. Firstly, it provides a case study for the initial validity-testing and preliminary refinement of the new candidate theory that was designed to clarify Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament. This should help appraise the key foundations and the likely explanatory value of the stakeholders framework. To assess the central premises of the model, it must be ascertained whether or not each of the five types of stakeholders basically pursue the search for security that was posited in Chapter Three, and if so whether they do so in a more distinct and consistent way than Chapter Four suggested threat-types occur in. To consider the explanatory power of the model, it will be useful to see if it can help fill the main gap in the existing theoretical literature on the Bougainville conflict, also indicated in Chapter Four. This would entail providing an integrating lens that could synthesise insights from the basically single-cause cultural, ethnic, historical-economic, and local-level analyses that Regan suggests are inadequate by themselves1, in the sort of generalisable manner that Wesley-Smith and Ogan suggest is necessary for broader comparative purposes.2 If the basic premises and potential utility of the stakeholders framework appear sound, the second task of this Bougainville case study must be to begin to refine the model itself. As was suggested at the end of Chapter Three, the stakeholders framework may offer a simple basis for systematically disaggregating Papua New Guinean "state" and "society", which have become an important focus of security analysis but continue to be presented in terms of an oversimplified dichotomy. However, an understanding of the interactions of the five searches for security would be more useful than a mere appreciation of the particular imperatives of each stakeholder type. At this stage, such inquiry must be undertaken by studying behaviour in actual situations like this one.

The chapter has seven parts. The first five each scrutinise the composition, imperatives, and behaviour of one of the categories of security referent introduced in Chapter Three: the state, élites, "bits of" nation, communal groups, and individuals. It is found that each type of stakeholders operating on Bougainville is consistently confronted by the key exigency posited in Chapter Three, and that this is the case

1 See A. Regan, 'Causes and Course of the Conflict', Journal of Pacific History Vol. 33 No. 3, 1998. 2 See T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, 'Copper, Class and Crisis', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992. 163 regardless of what combination of threats is faced or what coping-strategies are adopted. The sixth part of the chapter considers patterns of interactions between the different types of security stakeholders. Finally, the conclusion argues that the intersection of the five searches for security accurately and efficiently explains the causes and course of the Bougainville crisis in a generalisable way that allows useful lessons to drawn from or provided for other instances of violent political conflict.

The security of the state The Papua New Guinea state has repeatedly been stretched by events on Bougainville, and its very shape is partly a result of pre-independence pressures stemming from there. This part of the chapter examines the vital interests of the state in relation to the prospect of political violence there. It shows that these revolve around the issue of sovereignty.

The state in Papua New Guinea consists of a hundred and fifty or so instruments of government.3 These administrative arms and official bodies include line Departments, such as Defence, Education and Health, the functional agencies beneath them, such as the Ombudsman's Commission or the judiciary, and specialist machinery such as the national parliament, the universities and other public infrastructure. All such tools have been created according to the authority of the Independence Constitution. This apparatus must be distinguished from the personnel operating and manipulating it, who comprise the other main element of what Filer calls 'bits of state'.4 Politicians, civil servants, teachers, soldiers, and other examples of the latter are considered separately in the next part of the chapter on élites for the reasons outlined there.

Although the institutions of state have displayed weak institutional capacity and been so poorly coordinated that their operations have often been counterproductive, they have consistently pursued the same basic goal in regard to the prospect of violence on Bougainville. That objective is sovereignty. This is imperilled both economically and politically by conflict on Bougainville. On the other hand, sovereignty-seeking imperatives are seen in the inbuilt drive of the pieces of state machinery to increase or at least maintain their collective freedom of action vis-a-vis other sources of international and domestic power. The instruments of the state continue to perform a residual role trying to pursue that goal, since this is what they were designed to do.

3 P. Larmour, 'State and Society in PNG', in L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi (ed.) Modern Papua New Guinea (Kirksville, Thomas Jefferson UP, 1998) p. 25. Much of the information in this chapter exists in greater detail in K. Claxton, Bougainville 1988-98 (Canberra, SDSC, 1998). 4 C. Filer, 'The Escalation of Disintegration’, in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) p. 117. 164 They do so despite the significant degree to which they have been 'adaptively domesticated' to fit the interests of various élites or by aspects of traditional social and political culture.5

Bougainville was economically important to Papua New Guinea even before the state gained full independence and sovereignty, partly thanks to its high cocoa and copra output, but mainly due to the presence of the giant copper and gold mine there. Australian enthusiasm for the Panguna mine in the waning years of colonial rule was chiefly based on a strong desire to find sources of internal revenue for a future Independent State of Papua New Guinea, and thereby to reduce future dependence on Australian aid.6 This partly explains the Australian government's disregard of clear warnings that Bougainville was a particularly inauspicious location for the sort of mining envisaged, and the cool response of the Administration to local objections to mining around Panguna.7 The first of the Eight Aims officially enshrined during the nationalistic decolonising era was to prevent the foreign control of the national economy.8 In 1972, a United Nations report on possible development strategies for soon-to-be independent Papua New Guinea recommended that enclave projects could help fund the key goal of increasing employment opportunities in rural areas. It was hoped that this would help to reduce regional economic disparities and 'increase indigenous incomes while reducing dependence on foreign aid and investment in the longer term, thereby increasing indigenous control of the economy.'9 The 1974 renegotiation of the Bougainville Copper Agreement, mentioned in Chapter Four, was carried out under the principle that since the mine would not create significant employment or other direct benefits for ordinary Papua New Guineans, it should at least generate higher government revenues as quickly as possible.10

The importance of the mine for the ability of state institutions to operate as directed by the country's political leadership is underscored by its forty-five percent share of annual export income, seventeen per cent share of internally generated government revenue, and a twelve per cent share of GDP, prior to closure in 1989.11

5 Y. Saffu, 'Continuity and Change in PNG Electoral Politics', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 34. As introduced in Ch. 2, and discussed in the next part of this chapter. 6 See I. Downs, The Australian Trusteeship (Canberra, Government Publishing, 1980) pp. 299-302; C. O'Faircheallaigh, Mining and Development (Sydney, Croom Helm, 1984) p. 225; & IBRD, The Economic Development of the Territory of PNG (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins UP, 1965). 7 C. O'Faircheallaigh, Mining and Development (Sydney, Croom Helm, 1984) p. 236. 8 M. Somare, Sana (Brisbane, Jacaranda Press, 1975) pp. 108-9; & A. Voutas, 'Policy Initiative and the Pursuit of Control', in J. Ballard (ed.) Policy-Making in a New State (St Lucia, Queensland UP, 1981). 9 Discussed in C. O'Faircheallaigh, Mining and Development, p. 244. 10 BCL had also been making unexpectedly and embarrassingly high net profits. 11 D. Carruthers, 'Some Implications for PNG of the Closure of the Bougainville Copper Mine', in R. May & M. Spriggs (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1990) p. 38 165 By then, the mine had produced nearly three million tonnes of copper, more than 300 000 kg of gold, and 780 000 kg of silver.12 This had generated profits of K1 754m, sixty-two percent of which had gone to the National Government, while private shareholders, the Provincial Government, and local landowners received approximately thirty-three, four, and one percent respectively.13 The impact of the mine closure was softened somewhat by the almost simultaneous onset of a "minerals boom" that saw other projects begin to come on-line elsewhere in the country. Nevertheless, the balance of payments problem created by the Panguna closure directly led to the World Bank- chaired meeting of aid donors and international agencies that organised an A$710m stabilisation package in May 1990. In return the Papua New Guinea government reluctantly agreed to devalue the kina and accept an IMF designed structural adjustment program — the country's first.14 The state's freedom of action was also reduced by expenditure on the war, with about a thousand security forces personnel continuously deployed there between late 1990 and late 1997. The direct annual cost from lost revenue and increased military expenditure was around K150m by 1997.15

Damage to the domestic political authority of the state has harmed sovereignty even more than the economic impact of the crisis. Events on Bougainville helped shape the constitution and the configuration of the future Papua New Guinea state before independence, but such pressures were contained until 1988. In the decolonising period, adherence to the principal of "strength through national unity" had to be balanced against the potent demands of some Bougainvilleans for decentralisation, since a very badly handled clash would reveal the weakness of the state at a precarious time.16 On the other hand, it was felt that any major concessions might have to apply to other Districts, thereby threatening national objectives and available resources.17 Such pressures eventually led to the 1977 introduction of provincial government throughout the country, as was described in Chapter Four.18 These events saw several arms of the state, particularly the Constitutional Planning Committee and the Bougainville Special Political Committee, acting as formidable opponents of the national government.

12 K. Suter, 'PNG: New Hope for Peace?', Contemporary Review Vol. 273, 1998, p. 17. 13 D. Carruthers, Op. Cit., p. 41. 14 T. Wesley-Smith, 'PNG in 1990 - A Year of Crisis', Asian Survey Vol. 31 No. 2, 1991, p. 189; & see D. Kavanamur, 'The Politics of Structural Adjustment in PNG', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) pp. 99-120. The program did not restrict the room for manoeuvre of state institutions or national political élites as much as expected, for reasons outlined in the part of this chapter on international political élites, but did somewhat constrain it. 15 The total cost to the state was certainly over K1B - Post-Courier, 'Joint Deal on Sore Point', 11 September 1997; & SMH, 'A Knack for Stitching Up Coalitions Kept Him at Top', 23 March 1997. 16 M. Somare, Sana, p. 118. 17 A. Mamak & R. Bedford, Bougainvillean Nationalism, p. 53. Also see D. Conyers, The Provincial Government Debate (Boroko, IASER, 1976). 18 Eg. see R. Premdas, 'Decentralisation, Development and Secession', in R. Premdas, S. Samarasinghe & A. Anderson (eds.) Secessionist Movements in Comparative Perspective (London, Pinter, 1990). 166 However, this did not alter the fact that they were established to protect sovereignty, by increasing the state's legitimacy through greater participation and self-reliance in the former case19, and by tempering calls for secession following the Rovin-Moini incident in the latter.20

The sovereignty-threatening aspects of conflict on Bougainville took on new proportions with the eruption of serious violence in 1988. This has transformed the way rebellion takes place in Papua New Guinea. Previously, challenges to state sovereignty in Papua New Guinea had been 'episodic, direct and dramatic rather than continuous, routine and mediated.'21 They tended to be characterised by "popular uprisings", such as demonstrations, attacks on national infrastructure, roadblocks and threats to the person and property accompanying demands for compensation to redress specific grievances. There had seldom been 'any wish to move beyond the specific to question the general, the framework that may be responsible—or at any rate that may be providing the opportunity—for the specific grievance.'22 This absence of genuine grassroots radicalism, in which the basic legitimacy of the state's authority might be actively contested, probably stemmed from what Larmour calls 'indigenous traditions of statelessness'.23 In such circumstances, it seemed the state would continue to 'muddle through' periodic crises and was 'as yet, some distance from the political crossroads'.24

However, by the early 1990s events on Bougainville and other developments outlined in Chapter Two had dispelled any residual complacency about the long-term resilience of the Papua New Guinea state. Growing disregard for formal legal restraints, and lawlessness generally, began to take on an political tone, in which criminality was increasingly 'rationalised as social protest'.25 The example of conflict on Bougainville provided a strong demonstration effect, not by encouraging the copycat secessionism sometimes discussed in terms of "contagion", but by symbolically indicating the essential contestedness and weakness of the state's authority over the country's citizens. After three years of warfare, it appeared, that

in the conditions of Papua New Guinea democracy, where grassroots populism holds sway, and with the onset of a minerals boom, landowners have clout. The Bougainville rebellion

19 J. Griffin, H. Nelson, & S. Firth, Papua New Guinea (Melbourne, Heinemann, 1979) p. 229. 20 Ibid., pp. 212-3. Hannett seemed to accept that his role was more that of providing loyal opposition than spearheading implacable separatism. 21 Y. Saffu, 'Aspects of the Emerging Political Culture in PNG', The Politics of Evolving Political Cultures in the Pacific Islands (Honolulu, Brigham Young UP, 1982) p. 265. 22 Ibid., p. 265. 23 P. Larmour, 'Legitimacy, Sovereignty and Regime Change in the South Pacific, Canberra, 1992, p. 13. 24 That assessment was made before the PNGDF was temporarily evicted from the province - D. Hegarty, PNG at the Political Crossroads? (Canberra, SDSC, 1989) p. 14. 25 N. MacQueen, ‘An Infinite Capacity to Muddle Through?’, in P. Sutton & A. Payne (eds.) Size and Survival (London, Frank Cass, 1993) p. 148. 167 has enhanced [landowners'] self-confidence, their perception of their ability to drive home to the government both the emulatory and cautionary lessons from Bougainville.26 Thus, the Bougainville crisis has undermined the Papua New Guinea state by symbolically

eroding the legitimacy of the national government. Having committed itself to resisting the militants, the Papua New Guinea state is fighting not only to retain Bougainville but for its own survival.27 The crisis has clearly demonstrated the limitations of the state's coercive capacity. Operations on Bougainville have particularly highlighted the fundamental weakness of the security forces in terms of logistic support, planning, and leadership.28 Neither the Government nor the Department of Defence, nor the PNGDF have proved able to budget adequately. For example, the Department of Defence was allocated only K56m in 1991, but spent K92m, making supplementary governmental allocations necessary — an unworkable basis for effective planning.29

In turn, this bolstered the growing general impression, among ordinary Papua New Guineans, that the state is unable to enforce its authority against competing claimants of political loyalty or power.30 The impact has been especially acute in the minerals sector, which has become pre-eminent in the formal economy, and where 'all subsequent debates over mining have been overshadowed by the potential precedent of the daunting Bougainville crisis'.31 In the face of the sort of relentless direct and indirect pressure that was introduced in terms of "interpenetration" in Chapters Two and Four, and which is further discussed below, the state has virtually abandoned the principal of eminent domain which holds that all sub-surface resources are publicly

26 Y. Saffu, 'The Bougainville Crisis and Politics in PNG’, Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, p. 337. 27 B. Standish, 'Bougainville: Undermining the State in PNG - Part II', Pacific Research Vol. 3 No. 1, 1990, p. 8. 28 S. Woodman, ‘The Ghost of Kokoda’, in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG - Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 31, cited in Ch. 2. 29 M. O’Connor, Defending PNG (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 18. In 1996 the Minister for Finance complained that 'the outcome of such mismanagement is that in the middle of each year, when the Defence Department reaches the limit of its appropriation, the Department of Finance starts to cut the appropriation of other Departments. The outcome is that neither government departments nor statutory agencies could plan the year in an orderly manner' - G. McColl G, T. Owen, J. Zerby & A. Cook, Economic Survey of PNG (Canberra, AusAID, 1997) p 25. 30 B. Standish sees some Bougainville-like conditions as having spread to the rest of the country even in areas not directly affected by mining - 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG - Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 80. 31 J. Connell, PNG - The Struggle for Development (London, Routledge, 1997) p. 135.

168 owned.32 Rebel chief Francis Ona has expressed satisfaction over his part in helping promote the dominance of landowners over the state throughout Papua New Guinea.33

Although different so-called "carrot and stick" based strategies for addressing the conflict have never been adequately coordinated, and have sometimes actively undermined each other34, a residual drive to pursue state sovereignty clearly continues to be shared by the weak institutions of the Papua New Guinea state. Whether based on a coercive principles or the aim of reaching an acceptable compromise by bringing about a 'bureaucratic solution'35, Papua New Guinean efforts to deal with the Bougainville crisis have been exercised mainly through state machinery, using state resources, and on the basis of state authority. Due to the hazardous environment, and because of their decreasing ability to deliver services anywhere in the country, most line public service Departments were only moderately involved in the crisis between 1988 and late 1997. In this environment, the security forces shouldered much of the burden of attempting to reimpose Papua New Guinea sovereignty on Bougainville, directly administering care centres, for example36. However, the Department of Bougainville recommenced limited administrative service provision in some government controlled areas from 1991.37 A total of about 2 500 public servants —mostly teachers, nurses, and postal and telecommunications workers— each spent an average of just under eighteen months in the North Solomons between 1992 and mid 1998.38 Of the 148 primary and seven high schools in the province, 101 of the former and five of the latter were partly operational by early 1994.39 In October 1992, the Departments of Bougainville, and Youth and Home Affairs, established the Provincial Social Development Authority to help coordinate and implement the rehabilitation and reconstruction project by coordinating NGO activities.40 Although the Bougainville Transitional Government (BTG) established in April 1995 was basically autonomist in outlook, it was officially sanctioned as part of the state by the national government, to

32 Eg. M. Oliver, 'July-December 1988', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 461. 33 Post-Courier, 'Ona Claims Bougainville Struggle Proved Helpful', 3 June 1998. 34 Eg. the civilian Task Force for the restoration of services to Bougainville was severely disrupted in May 1991 when its leaders were harassed by soldiers on Rabaul - M. Spriggs, 'Bougainville Update', in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) pp. 182-4. 35 Y. Saffu, 'The Bougainville Crisis and Politics in PNG’, p. 329. 36 Financial Review, 'Island Dreaming', 11 February 1994. 37 J. Misang, 'Implementation of the Peace and Rehabilitation Programme', paper presented at the ‘Bougainville Crisis’ conference, Canberra, 22-24 June 1995, p. 2. (The Department was temporarily run from Rabaul after the 1990 ejection of the security forces.) 38 Independent, 'Government Owes Bougainville Public Servants K13m', 9 October 1998. 39 N. Sharp, 'Bougainville: Blood on our Hands', AidWatch report, Sydney, March 1997, 2.6.2. 40 J. Misang, Op. Cit., pp. 2-5. 169 divert or contain and channel less moderate or fully secessionist separatist energy (as the Bougainville Special Political Committee had been in 1973).41

In light of post-Lincoln moves towards the establishment of a Bougainville Reconciliation Government in which the national government has repeatedly had to catch-up with Bougainvillean initiatives, the prospect of future independence cannot be entirely ruled out.42 Some senior national political figures might be prepared to follow the example of New Caledonia's gradual devolution towards an eventual referendum on independence-in-association.43 However, such an outcome would not now represent an unmitigated blow to the future of the Papua New Guinea state, since sovereignty is about more than just an implacable attachment to territory. Although Bougainvillean independence would hardly strengthen constitutional principles of plurality and indivisibility or general respect for the state, these factors must be weighed against other considerations. The extent to which Bougainvilleans suffered over a long period, and the degree to which a province-wide identity is a special case there, mean that cautious progress towards independence may not do much further damage to Papua New Guinean state sovereignty. The prospect of Port Moresby regaining a positive net financial flow from the province in the foreseeable future is slight.44 Rather, attainment of an acceptable settlement could free the state from the financial burden of garrisoning the province.45 This would also give the PNGDF, which many now regard as a potential threat to the state in its own right, the leeway it needs to be reformed.46

The security of élites The activities of élites in Papua New Guinea have also been considerably influenced by, and been particularly discernible in, Bougainvillean affairs from the mid 1960s. This part of the chapter examines the security interests and security-seeking behaviour of those élites in regard to events there.

As Saffu points out, the term élite must be used fairly loosely in Papua New Guinea where domination by enduring, self-perpetuating minorities, possessing the consciousness, coherence and conspiracy of classical definitions, is not present.47

41 JSCFADT, PNG Update (Canberra, Commonwealth of Australia, 1997) p. 33. 42 Eg. National, 'Bougainville is the Central Issue', 21 October 1998. 43 Eg. SMH, 'Bougainville Peace - Noumea Accord Used as Model', 28 July 1998. 44 Since mining is even less likely to resume if Bougainville remains part of PNG than if it does not. 45 The cost has fallen to K10m per year but would rise if widespread fighting re-erupted - Post-Courier, 'Massive Cuts to Defence Force', 30 October 1998. PNG's position is strengthened having remained undefeated but the capacity of the PNGDF to resume high-intensity operations is currently uncertain. 46 According to ex-Commander Jerry Singirok, 'peace on Bougainville would enable the demoralised Defence Force to be rebuilt' - National, 'Crackdown in PNGDF', 23 October 1998. 47 Y. Saffu, 'Continuity and Change', p. 13. Saffu limits his own definition to political élites involved in electoral competition. 170 Indeed, 'most Papua New Guineans, including the plurality of individual élites, do still belong to that single social class which is objectively defined by the ownership of customary land, whose members like to call themselves grassroots.'48 Positions of local leadership are relatively permeable for men of ambition, while even national leaders often act as "villagers writ large". Nevertheless, political, social and economic power is unevenly distributed and quite highly concentrated at all levels in all parts of the country. The term élites is used here to refer to all those loosely described by the Tokpisin term antap (those on-top).49 This broad category includes actors at the national level, mainly in the government and bureaucracy in Port Moresby; at the local level, from village leaders up to provincial politicians, bureaucrats and influential bisnis figures for example; and also representatives of transnational interests operating in the country for reasons that are explained below. They include those attempting to advance their own individual interests and others acting to promote the corporate interests of particular élite associations. The diverse subcategory of indigenous and transnational élite actors designated by the term NGOs is treated separately in the next part of the chapter for reasons which are outlined there.

It is found that the security-seeking manoeuvres of élites in relation to conflict on Bougainville have matched theoretical descriptions of survival politics, and that this fit has increased since independence. Exigencies of political survival do not totally preclude élite actors from operating out of principle or according to standard institutional procedures, but ultimately outweigh such considerations. The often desperate, ad hoc, and ultimately disastrous, ruses and stratagems employed by élites (including Bougainvillean leaders) to meet immediate objectives reflects their precarious position astride the "modern" and "traditional" worlds.50 They typically attempt to meet the standards of both without the advantages of either the social and economic resources available to leaders in developed countries, or the acceptability of temporary improvised compromises in less formal and more personalised small-scale "customary" politics. In the absence of strictly differentiated public and private roles, élite figures have shown a willingness to regard any possible means of mobilising resources and prestige as being "up for grabs" to advance their own objectives.51 These resources include state institutions, which may be as profoundly 'co-opted' or 'colonised'

48 C. Filer, 'The Nature of the Human Threat to PNG's Biodiversity Endowment', in N. Sekhran & S. Miller (eds.) PNG Country Study on Biological Diversity (PoM, DEC, 1995) p. 197. 49 R. Foster, 'State Ritual: Ethnographic Notes on Voting in the Namatanai Electorate', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 155. Foster uses the term principally to demarcate national level issues from local ones, but it seems reasonable to extend its use for broadly distinguishing leaders and the powerful from the grass roots at all levels. 50 A recent general profile of PNG in Time Magazine was titled 'Tribe Versus Nation', 6 October 1997. 51 P. Larmour, 'State and Society', in Pacific Economic Bulletin Vol. 10 No. 1, 1995, p. 42. 171 by precolonial indigenous political processes as the reverse.52 In turn, the ambiguity and contestedness of final locations of authority is continually reinforced by the unrestrained machinations of insecure élite actors.

National élites The term national is problematic in developing countries but can be used to refer to actors operating at the central level in the capital or on the countrywide stage in the absence of a truly satisfactory expression. Two main types of national élite actors have been involved in the Bougainville crisis: politicians and senior civil servants. Military and police officers constitute a distinct sub-category of the latter. It might be expected that leading entrepreneurs would be included in any examination of a country's national élite, but these are not much in evidence here because the economic scale of mining operations largely confines business interests to employees of publicly owned corporations, foreigners, and transnational actors. (The important role of business interests at the provincial and local levels is discussed in the next section of this part of the chapter.) The national élites involved in the crisis, then, are essentially those who direct and operate the country's state institutions. Due to the nature of national parliamentary politics and the bureaucracy, national management of the Bougainville crisis has tended to be dominated by a few individuals with particularly strong personalities occupying insecurely tenured positions.

The short term objectives pursued by these agents are often tangential or even antithetical to the sovereignty-accumulating raisons d'état of the governmental and administrative institutions themselves. This is because national politics in Papua New Guinea 'has not centred on ideological or policy debates or party divisions, but rather on personal factionalism, regionalism, pork-barrel allocation of funds and squabbles over the spoils of office.'53 It is characterised by an emphasis on politicking rather than policy. This partly echoes some aspects of traditional Melanesian political culture. It also reflects the importance that voters attach to the very narrow local matters that directly affect them rather than seemingly remote or abstract national issues.54

Since the Bougainville crisis is of such limited interest to most voters, national politicians have typically remained rather uninformed and uninterested in events there during their short, usually single-term, incumbencies. Many share a rather macho attitude, and "tough talk" of military solutions can win applause on the floor of parliament even when it rings hollow.55 Their handling of the high politics of such

52 The terms are B. Standish's, ‘Simbu Paths to Power’, unpublished PhD Thesis, ANU, 1992, p. 250. 53 B. Standish, 'Power to the People?' Public Administration and Development Vol. 3 No. 3, 1983, p 230. 54 PNG's "parochial handout mentality" model of electoral politics was discussed in Ch. 1. 55 S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair (Sydney, ABC, 1998) p. 109. 172 national issues is scrutinised by the media, but these assessments only directly concern a relatively few people. Indeed, it has been suggested that the crisis is more important to neighbouring governments than it is in Waigani, which faces more immediately pressing problems.56

The crisis has only had an indirect impact on changes of government, since the prime minister is chosen by MPs who are elected for parochial reasons and because Papua New Guinea lacks a strong party system. Scrambles for short term advantage, seen in jockeying for ministerial positions and even for direct cash payments, represent the more normal determinants of the rise and fall of governments.57 The greatest impact of the crisis was probably in the first years of the war, and was ambiguous even then.58 The August 1994 dismissal of the Wingti government by the Supreme Court was made on the basis of constitutional rather than immediate political grounds. Even the electoral repercussions of the Sandline affair were indirect. Fifteen ministers including the prime minister were deposed in June 1997, but this did not differ markedly from the previous national election.59 Prime minister Sir Julius Chan was unseated in his own electorate but this was mainly a result of local issues.60 Ex-Prime Minister Paias Wingti lost his seat to a prominent anti-Sandline campaigner, but had not been implicated in the Sandline affair himself.61 In comparison, the staunchest opponent of the Sandline plan in Chan's cabinet, Peter Barter, lost his seat, while the staunchest supporter of the project, Chris Haiveta, kept his and initially retained the Deputy Prime Ministership. This did not prevent a group of radical parliamentarians, including ex-NGO representatives and noted anti-Sandline activists Peti Lafanama and Fr Robert Lak, from joining the government.62 Political obituaries of the Skate government, which fell to a vote of no confidence in July 1999, tended to present its handling of the Bougainville crisis as one of its very few redeeming features.

However, the same factors that make most parliamentarians relatively uninterested in, and unaccountable to the electorate on, Bougainville issues remove constraints against a few others manipulating official handling of the crisis to further

56 Eg. JSCFADT, PNG Update, transcript p. 83. 57 Eg. see T. Wesley-Smith, 'A Year of Crisis’, p. 195. 58 The Opposition's task was quite easy in the run-up to the June 1992 election 'because the traumas of the Bougainville crisis had lowered the [Namaliu] government's popularity, [and] there was a general perception that it was time for a change' - B. Standish, 'PNG in 1992 - Challenges for the State', Asian Survey Vol. 33 No. 2, 1993, p. 212. However, the government had already faced six threatened motions of no confidence by then. Effects of the crisis were probably limited to slightly worsening the already unfavourable chances of incumbent members by harming administrative service delivery. 59 10 ministers were unseated and the PM narrowly held his own seat in the 1992 election. 60 Eg. see H. Nelson, 'National Election: Local Decisions', in S. Dinnen et al. (eds.) Challenging the State (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) pp. 136-142. 61 Financial Review, 'PNG Poll Signals Changing of the Guard', 2 July 1997. 62 National, 'Lafanama Betrayed Voters', 23 July 1997. 173 their own precarious positions or to advance personal philosophical agendas.63 For some such figures, the possibility of finding a solution has represented 'the ripest and juiciest political plum on a tree nearly devoid of fruit.'64 Most prime minsters, a few other ministers, and a handful of opposition politicians, have taken a keen personal interest in the conflict during each government.65

A conflict between so-called "hawks and doves" developed within the Namaliu government ranks at the outset of the crisis. The 'war faction' was led by Minister for State Ted Diro, who as also a former PNGDF Commander and leader of the second largest party in government, and Defence Minister Benias Sabumei.66 Diro was personally responsible for a number of hardline initiatives early in the conflict.67 The hawks were opposed in cabinet by members of the progressive-minded Melanesian Alliance "party of dreamers" including Fr John Momis and Bernard Narokobi, and a few others such as Pangu elder-statesmen Sir Michael Somare. This group pressed for a negotiated settlement, for a mix of philosophical and pragmatic reasons.68 Namaliu did not consistently identify with either view, partly to maintain his coalition, leading to inconsistent policy-making that saw military pushes and peace initiatives repeatedly undermine each other.69 In the absence of effective governmental leadership, the initiative for Bougainville affairs was increasingly left to the military.70

Policy on Bougainville under the Wingti-Chan government, elected in July 1992, was no more consistent. It was declared that the crisis was a political issue to be addressed primarily through the restoration of services71, but the war was simultaneously intensified with repeated incursions into Solomon Islands territory from September 1992, the cabinet-approved invasion of central Bougainville in October 1992, the occupation of Arawa in February 1993, and the short-lived recapture of the

63 A. Regan, 'The PNG Policy-Making Environment as a Window on the Sandline Controversy', in S. Dinnen et al. (eds.) Challenging the State (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) p. 92. 64 National, 'Use All Available Expertise on B'ville', 27 August 1997. 65 Several recent PMs, including the current one, initially took personal responsibility for Bougainville affairs but quite quickly delegated a portfolio that could easily occupy their every waking hour. 66 Y. Saffu, 'Political Chronicle', Australian Journal of Politics and History Vol. 37 No. 2, 1991, p. 346. 67 S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea: People, Politics and History (Sydney, Random House, 1990) p. 143. 68 The important role of Fr Momis, who has held the Bougainville Regional seat since 1972, is examined in the next section of this chapter on local elites. 69 M. Spriggs, 'Bougainville Update: August 1990 to May 1991', in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis - 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) p. 26; & Y. Saffu, ‘Political Chronicle - Australia and PNG’, Australian Journal of Politics and History Vol. 36 No 2, 1990, pp. 265-6. 70 T. Wesley-Smith, 'PNG in 1991 - Problems of Law and Order', Asian Survey Vol. 32 No. 2, 1992, p. 158. 71 Eg. P. Wingti, 'The Bougainville Address', 16 March 1993, PoM, pp. 3-8. 174 Panguna mine in August 1994.72 Indeed, the crisis is not thought to have been very high among the prime minister's priorities.

On 25 August 1994, Chan gained the prime ministership following a Supreme Court ruling against the constitutionality of Wingti's snap re-election ruse of the previous September. (As Wingti's Foreign Minister from January 1994 Chan had made his first priority to restart direct negotiations with the BRA/BIG.) Claiming that peace could be attained during his term, he invested a considerable degree of personal prestige in the issue.73 However, he was bitterly disappointed by the failure of the Arawa Peace Conference in October 1994, despite its helpful practical impact.74 In particular, he felt humiliated by anti-climactic peace ceremony, planned as a triumphant demonstration of his accomplishments in front of an international audience.75 This probably encouraged his acceptance of military and civilian advice the BTG was dangerously close to the BRA/BIG position, and his unwillingness to resist the increasingly bellicose stance of the parliamentary opposition.76 Chan lifted the cease-fire in March 1996 and authorised planning for a "surgical strike" on hardline BRA leaders, leading to Operation High Speed II and ultimately to the Sandline affair. Chan's political style was widely seen as increasingly autocratic towards the end of his term.77 Griffin claims Chan's decision to defy criticism of the use of mercenaries must be viewed as an election ploy.78 His having decided to proceed with the Sandline project has been presented as a possible move to outflank Somare's new National Alliance movement by reopening the mine in the face of a looming election.79 It has also been presented as a product of being beholden to Mathias Ijape, an enthusiastic advocate of the plan, in the parliamentary numbers game.80

Official inquiries into the Sandline affair revealed that several senior political figures had benefited in a questionable if not corrupt way. Ministers for Defence and Finance, Ijape and Haiveta, were forced to stand aside with Chan for their parts in the secretive and unorthodox contract. PNGDF Commander Jerry Singirok accused both of

72 JSCFADT, PNG Update, (transcript) p. 85-6. 73 SMH, 'Crisis is Far From Over', 29 March 1997; SMH, 'Why PNG hired the Mercenaries', 22 March 1997; & Australian, 'PNG's Test of Strength', 22 March 1997. 74 R. May, 'The Situation on Bougainville', pp. 10-11. 75 A. Regan, 'Preparation for War and Progress Towards Peace', in S. Dinnen et al. (eds.) Challenging the State (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) p. 53. 76 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', pp. 22-23. 77 Eg. Business Review Weekly, 'Chan and the Australian Connection', 14 April 1997, pp. 38-44; Age, 'Chan's Crash', 29 March 1997; & Post-Courier, 'Chan Tried to Create Guard Unit', 10 April 1997. 78 Age, 'Resilient Leader Defiant on Way he Runs Country', 18 March 1997. 79 Age, 'In Rebel Hands', 3 May 1997. 80 Radio National, 'Former PNG PM Didn't Read Sandline Contract', ABC transcript, broadcast 10 February 1998; & Post-Courier, 'Barter Tried to Warn of Anti-Mercenary Military', 17 March 1998. On the Ijape connection, see S. Dinnen, 'Trading in Security', pp. 124-7. 175 benefiting personally from the deal, claiming that Ijape had offered to make him a 'rich man' if he let the project proceed for example.81 Accounts of highly irregular activities emerged during the Andrew and Los Commissions despite the lack of conclusive proof of criminal wrongdoing. The Sandline contract was negotiated at a series of meetings in Cairns, London, Hong Kong, and Port Moresby. Planning was conducted mainly through quite informal personal rather than official channels, allowing little scope for the deal to be thoroughly scrutinised.82 It intimately involved foreign business people, despite its bearing on a critical issue of national security.83

Bougainville Copper Limited shares suddenly increased in value on the Australian stock exchange after a February 1997 meeting between Papua New Guinean officials and Sandline executives, almost certainly indicating insider-trading by some of those very close to the deal, since so few people were involved at that stage.84 This worked directly against the interests of the state which was trying to secretly acquire the shares. Similarly, the grossly inflated prices of the military equipment Sandline sold the government provided ample scope for commissions.85 Ex-Defence Minister Sabumei invested and redistributed the US$0.5m he received as a Sandline consultant in a manner that was not illegal but which was highly irregular.86 The final destination of an extra US$1.8m payment could not be conclusively proven, but was described as an 'improper payment or commission of some sort' by the Los Commission.87

In the immediate aftermath of the Sandline affair, suspended ministers Haiveta and Ijape reportedly attended a congenial reconciliatory barbecue with key rebellion leaders at Murray Barracks, only days after having been forcibly detained and intimidated by army personnel.88 Similarly, Diro proposed that the crisis be dealt with peacefully and contemplated future statehood for Bougainville, despite his previous position as the most implacable parliamentary hawk on the issue.89 Even Sandline chief Lieutenant Colonel Timothy Spicer

described the man who forced his fall from grace, Brigadier Jerry Singirok, as a perfectly professional soldier. Amazingly, Singirok then described Chan as a noble and courageous

81 Eg. SMH, 'I was Promised Riches, Singirok Says', 9 April 1997. 82 National, 'Contract Needed Proper Research', 29 April 1997. 83 One of these figures, British mining entrepreneur (and Executive Outcomes associate) Tony Buckingham suggested that Sandline could accept future mineral concessions at Panguna in lieu of payment - SMH, 'Dirty Tricks', 5 April 1997. The $US36m contract with Sandline was intended to cover only the initial phase of the potentially much longer operation. 84 SMH, 'Australia Offered to Send Ships Inquiry Told', 25 April 1997. 85 The Australian Customs Service has valued the Sandline hardware at less than A$1m - JSCFADT, Bougainville: The Peace Process and Beyond (Canberra, Parliament of Australia, 1999) p. 39. 86 Post-Courier, 'Sabumei Was Link Between PNG Government and Sandline', 19 February 1998. 87 The Independent, 'Second Sandline Inquiry Report Released', 2 October 1998. 88 Independent, (editorial) 'Let the Law Take if From Here', 4 April 1997. 89 Radio National, 'PNG Party Proposes Statehood for Bougainville', transcript, broadcast 15 April 1997. 176 man and in turn was described by Chan, whose political career he has arguably ruined, as a very good friend. Strange as it may seem, this is simply politics PNG-style. Political alliances are never set in concrete and creating implacable enemies is foolish in a system which relies on time-honoured rituals of open exchange.90 Despite the salutary lessons of the Sandline affair and his own generally solid position on Bougainville, the next prime minister, Bill Skate, was also led to make some instrumental use of the crisis by temperament and circumstances. (His government faced a string of political scandals and pressing natural, administrative and economic disasters throughout the country and the region.91) For example, one former long-serving expatriate adviser claimed Skate ordered him to use negotiations over the unpaid portion of Sandline's fee to obtain evidence that his nemesis Chan had acted corruptly, even if it meant prolonging the costly dispute.92 A last minute change to Papua New Guinea's plea in the international arbitration tribunal on this matter may have been designed to discredit Haiveta and possibly cost the case.93 Similarly, the Prime Minister's Office released the findings of the Los Commission relating to Haiveta's involvement without the rest of the report in September 1998. Skate also used the Commission's findings to go back on the offensive against Chan.94

At the same time, the Skate government found its approach to Bougainville matters resisted on all counts by Opposition MPs.95 They challenged the re-extension of the mandate of the BTG soon after Skate gained office, even though it was probably vital to the peace process at the time. They seemed to do so mainly because one of its leaders would gain the governorship if Bougainville came under the new provincial government framework.96 The BTG charter was eventually renewed for twelve months, but a year later Narokobi was once more insisting that he would 'make sure the legislation fails so that John Momis becomes governor'.97 However, such moves probably harmed the state's and even their own interests, since Momis's governorship and the new provincial government system are entirely unacceptable to many

90 SMH, 'Crisis Far from Over', 29 March 1997. 91 For a catalogue of the crises faced, see Radio National, 'PNG: Stuck in the Middle with Who?', transcript of an ABC Background Briefing, broadcast 10 May 1997, pp. 1-13. 92 Australian, 'PNG Crisis: $15m Bid to Ruin Ex-PM', 24 June 1998. 93 National, (editorial) 'Sandline Tribunal Decision a Disaster', 19 October 1998. 94 Eg. W. Skate, Press Release: 'Sandline Inquiry Does Not Clear Chan', 6 October 1998. With the period in which no-confidence motions could not take place drawing towards an end, Skate announced a cabinet reshuffle which removed his Deputy PM 's PPP —the party founded by Chan— from government. He also sacked PNGDF Commander Nuia —Chan's appointment— and replaced him with Singirok, who he described as 'not criminally corrupt' - National, 'PM Fires Nuia as Chief of PNGDF', 15 October 1998. (The Los Report found that Singirok had accepted what amounted to a bribe or financial inducement, but Skate dismissed this improper payment as 'only 70 000 lousy kina'. 95 This was partly in response to a perception that Skate was obstructing the involvement of Laimo, Momis and Narokobi - National, 'Momis, Laimo Flay Skate's Visit to B'ville', 28 August 1997. 96 National, 'BTG: Skate Wins Backing', 3 October 1997. 97 National, 'Lack of Quorum Forces Adjournment', 3 September 1998. 177 Bougainvilleans.98 Similarly, the Opposition's failure to deliver its promised support for the Bougainville Reconciliation Government (BRG) enabling legislation in December 1998 delivered a 'Christmas gift' to the rebels by reducing the state's influence over events unfolding there.99

Professional politicians do not constitute the only national élite involved the Bougainville conflict. Employees of the administrative arms of government involved in the crisis have also pursued certain informal objectives. Papua New Guinea's public service has been gradually but thoroughly politicised since independence.100 By the late 1980s, career advancement was often 'a political decision rather than a professional one'.101 As a result, incessant competition for positional advantage occurs within and between the country bureaucratic agencies. This greatly reduces the willingness and ability of top administrators and advisers to act objectively and competently without personal fear or favour.102 This has significantly affected the course of the Bougainville crisis.

As was indicated above, most line Departments were not very active in the conflict up to 1998. However, many members of the military and police, who constitute a distinct sub-category of civil servants, have been intimately involved. These bodies are notable examples of national élite institutions, recruiting their employees and carrying out their duties across the country, and previously having enjoyed quite high prestige and funding. Their members have displayed increased willingness to pursue shared institutional and personal interests since the start of the crisis.103 Sporadic military indiscipline in the colonial period tended to emerge fairly spontaneously in the ranks.104 Since independence, the most notable crises in civil-military relations have been led by very senior figures.105 However, less dramatic incidents in which civilian authority is simply ignored or contradicted are more usual, have become more common, and are probably ultimately more significant. Examples include the Port Moresby "pay

98 Eg. National, 'Rebels Seek People's Views on MPs Move for Govt', 14 October 1998. 99 National, 'B'ville United in Search for Peace', 15 December 1998. Also see National, 'Parliament's Failure Led to BRG', 30 December 1998. Support was withheld in retaliation for the PM's seven month adjournment of parliament (to avoid a vote of no confidence) after passage of the 1999 budget. 100 The mid-1980s legislative changes introduced to "streamline" decision-making, curb the independence of the bureaucracy, and shift power to elected officials, were discussed in Ch. 1. 101 P. Larmour, 'State and Society', p. 41. 102 M. Turner, PNG: The Challenge of Independence (Melbourne, Penguin, 1990) pp. 135-41. 103 This has 'generally been over specific issues that are very close to the PNGDF's own interests rather than to concern about events in the wider community' - JCFADT, Op. Cit., p. 169. 104 The main incidents were in 1952, 1957 and 1962 - see P. Colebatch , ‘To Find A Path’, unpublished PhD thesis, Sussex, 1974; & J. Sinclair, To Find a Path - Vol. II (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1992). 105 These have occurred at approximately decade long intervals, with an aborted but rehearsed plan to arrest national leaders in 1977, Diro's coup warnings in 1987, and the Sandline affair in 1997. The first two are discussed in R. May, Changing Role of the Military (Canberra, SDSC, 1993) pp. 46-56. 178 riot" by four hundred soldiers in February 1989106 and the "mutiny" and transfer of B Company 1RPIR on Bougainville in June that year.107 In April 1991 Colonel Leo Nuia invaded mainland Bougainville, without formal authorisation and in contravention of the Honiara Accords.108 His successor, Maras, refused to take up the post until the government clarified military objectives and promised greater support for operations.109 The PNGDF began to violate Solomon Islands territory from March 1992 without official authorisation.110 Fierce competition within the military hierarchy, previously seen in growing regional tensions111, has grown to the extent that there is now a general perception of 'little cabals of majors plotting behind Murray Barracks' rusty perimeter fence.'112 These factions are often allied with powerful national political figures.113 Such competition has affected military competition on Bougainville. Open resistance by other officers to Colonel Dotaona’s appointment as Joint Forces Commander in 1989 crippled his, and thus the security forces', effectiveness.114 Singirok also experienced active obstruction from resentful older officers when he was appointed Commander.115 Friction between army special units loyal to Singirok and Nuia during and after the Sandline crisis was discussed in Chapter Two.116

Singirok's own actions in the Sandline affair were probably spurred by a mix of practical, philosophical, personal and corporate concerns rather than any single interest. These may have included institutional rivalry with the mercenaries, who planned to relegate the PNGDF to support duties and draw on Defence funding; personal pique at being suddenly marginalised in policy-making on Bougainville; involvement with the anti-corruption focused Brukim Skru prayer group; dissatisfaction with Sandline equipment and personnel; growing moral and strategic doubts about the entire project; mounting tension with Chan (who was rumoured to be considering his removal); and the advice of a mentor, the British businessman and arms dealer Sydney Franklin (who had previously given Singirok generous cash gifts).117

106 See PNG, Report of the Defence General Board of Inquiry (Department of Defence, Boroko, 1989). 107 Y. Liria, Bougainville Campaign Diary (Victoria, Indra Publishing, 1993) pp. 41-43 & 98 - 100. 108 Y. Saffu, ‘Chronicle’, Australian Journal of Politics and History Vol. 38 No. 2, 1992, p. 263; & M. Spriggs, 'Bougainville Update: May to October 1991', pp. 185-6. 109 Y. Saffu, ‘Chronicle - PNG January-December 1991’, p. 264. 110 JSCFADT, PNG Update, transcript p. 84. 111 Eg. see Y. Saffu on the 1987 "Papuan Purge" - 'Military Roles and Relations in PNG’, in V. Selochan (ed.) The Military, the State, and Development (Boulder, Westview, 1991) pp. 221-37. 112 National, 'Waieng Move will Lift PNGDF Image', 15 May 1998. 113 Eg. T. Wesley-Smith, ‘Political Review’, Contemporary Pacific Vol. 7 No. 2, 1995, pp. 364-5. 114 Y. Liria, Op. Cit., pp. 104-5. 115 Australian, 'PNG's Test of Strength', 22 March 1997. 116 Eg. see Post-Courier, 'Army Clash Risk', 29 October 1997. 117 Jakarta Post, 'PNG Defence Shoots Itself in Foot', 21 April 1997; R. May, 'The Military Factor in the Events of March 1997', in S. Dinnen et al. (eds.) Challenging the State (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) 179 Operations on Bougainville also exposed informal institutional and personal manoeuvres by and within the police force. RPNGC riot squads, rather than soldiers, introduced extra-judicial tactics such as house-burning and assault.118 Several incidents involving Police Commissioner and Emergency Controller Paul Tohian early in the conflict particularly seemed to indicate a new willingness to disregard or even harm the interests of the state in a manner characterised by short-term survival politics.119

Local élites Local élites on Bougainville played an important role in the decentralisation story of the entire country, as was seen in Chapters One and Four. In turn, the advent of Bougainville Province contributed to the emergence of new types of local élites to provide leadership in a changed and changing political and economic environment. This "social mobilisation" of new nodes of authority bred instability and conflict for the reasons discussed below.120 Thus, local élites have been at least as significant as national ones in the current crisis. Like their national-level counterparts, their searches for security in the face of potential or actual political violence accord with the theoretical conceptions of survival politics outlined in Chapter Three.

The appearance of the Panguna mine and provincial level government led to political competition among all types of leaders in the province that was marked by increasingly turbulent generational shifts amongst a new 'indigenous bourgeoisie'.121 The growing intensity and destructiveness of this competition is a product of increasing uncertainty surrounding the transfer of political and economic authority and power — that is, over 'succession'.122 This involves at least three interrelated struggles, over wealth and influence from the mine which is not easily distributed or bequeathed by customary methods of transmission; transfer of official office, which is guided by

pp. 102-4; R. Saovana-Spriggs, R., 'The Rise of Power is the Beginning of its Downfall', in S. Dinnen et al. (eds.) Challenging the State, pp. 107-9; H. Ivarature, 'The Sandline International Controversy', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) pp. 227-30; S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair, p. 187; Australian, 'Contract to Kill', 22 March 1997; Post-Courier, 'Singirok's Own Sandline Crisis', 14 July 1997; & Andrew Report, 6.27. 118 JCFADT, Op. Cit., p. 170. 119 In December 1988 he undermined rebel confidence in PNG good-faith by dishonouring a just- negotiated agreement with a raid on Ona's Guava village, and in March 1989 a truck load of riot police arrived on Momis's doorstep after he suggested Tohian should be sacked for publicly criticising political interference - S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, p. 139. In March 1990 nearly 200 police responded to a drunken radio call by Tohian to arrest senior politicians (following his dismissal for unilaterally withdrawing the RPNGC when the army pulled out) - M. Turner, Papua New Guinea, pp. 123-4. Despite this so-called bar-b-coup incident he became Wingti's Defence Minister. 120 The term is S. Huntington's - Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven, Yale UP, 1968). 121 T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, Op. Cit., p. 258. 122 C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', p. 88. 180 formal procedures that do not always sit well with "customary" expectations; and uncertainty over the ambiguous position of "traditional" leaders.123

The most obvious form of generational conflict amongst Bougainville's local élites has involved competition over the distribution of revenue (approximately one percent of the annual royalties from the mine) allocated to affected landowners. Landownership in the Nasioi speaking areas in the immediate vicinity of the minesite operates according to an informal schedule of primary, subsidiary and derivative rights.124 These are determined by imprecise criteria such as utilisation, may be transmitted by any combination of kinship and personal ties, and are further complicated by competing matrilineal and patrilineal claims.125 However, mining proceeds were allotted to individual landowners in a fairly formal and inflexible way. Customary models of wealth distribution proved unable to accommodate the new form of income when villagers who had lost their land and lifestyle to the mine were expected to pay the social cost of others' economic benefit.126 This resulted in two turbulent 'moments of initiation' before the start of the current crisis, in which the wealth and power acquired by the leaders of one generation was seized by new leaders of the following generation.127

The first occurred as those Bougainvilleans who had dealt with the establishment of the mining project from the late 1960s128, were superseded with the formation of the original Panguna Landowners Association (PLA), following a serious riot at Panguna in 1979.129 A Road Mine Tailings Lease Trust Fund (RMTLTF) was established alongside the PLA, to obtain and distribute compensation payments, and to establish a sustainable source of income for distribution after these payments ceased. It had seventy-five official members able to vote on the composition of an executive committee of eight directors.130 A 1980 Compensation Agreement consolidated all previous agreements in respect of occupation fees and compensation.131 After one year of operation the

123 See Ibid. 124 E. Ogan, 'Nasioi Land Tenure: An Extended Case Study', Oceania Vol. 42, 1971, pp. 84. 125 E. Ogan, Business and Cargo (PoM, NGRU, 1972) p. 157. Eg. Ona's claims to land were traced through the male line whereas the dominant principle in Nasioi social organisation is matrilineal - E. Ogan, 'Perspectives on a Crisis (5)', in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville (Canberra, SDSC, 1990) p. 37. 126 P. Quodling, 'Bougainville', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, p. 351. 127 C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', p. 94. 128 The older local leaders had been title-holders in the various lease zones. Just over 2 500 fairly small, mostly one-off, compensation payments totalling A$1.6m had been made to approximately 1 400 people from 62 villages prior to 1974. (A further K19m was distributed between 1974 and 1988 at an average of approximately K1.5m per year) - Applied Geology Associates, Environmental Socio- Economic Public Health Review (Wellington, AGA, 1989) p. 4.8.2 & 7.2.1-.2. 129 C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', p. 94. 130 Applied Geology Associates, Op. Cit., p. 7.11. 131 Ibid., 4.25. 181 RMTLTF had nearly K1.5m worth of assets. It began to invest in shares in large companies, rental real estate, and plantation businesses.132 Twenty-five percent of annual profits were intended to be reinvested while the rest was to be redistributed as grants to community schools, churches, health centres and for scholarships.

However, disillusionment with what was increasingly perceived as the declining activism and growing self-interest of the PLA board resulted in a second "moment of initiation" in 1987.133 Envy and mistrust of the PLA (exacerbated by the failure of a scheduled 1981 review of the mining agreement) brought about the emergence of a third generation of leaders, with the establishment of the New Panguna Landowners Association (NPLA). In March-April 1988, these disaffected landowners demanded a new compensation package, including a K10B payment to offset environmental destruction.134 The PLA and the NPLA competed for recognition by Bougainville Copper Limited (BCL) and the national government until January 1989, when the start of the sabotage campaign forced the government to acknowledge the NPLA.

The NPLA was originally contrived to address local matters more than province- wide issues such as Bougainvillean independence. It 'was not established to overthrow the government but to impress upon it the gravity of its grievances'.135 Ona's apparently political pronouncements may have represented 'tactics to extricate himself from a personal dilemma', after he was accused of murdering his patrilineal uncle Matthew Kove of the old PLA.136 However, some members of the NPLA soon provided some of the core leadership of the secessionist BRA. This metamorphosis was partly due to the 1987 national election, which signalled the failure of Momis's "Bougainville Initiative"

132 Ibid., p. 7.2.3. 133 C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', p. 95. PLA executives represented about 850 registered land title-holders and about 5000 "beneficiaries" by 1987 - S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair, p. 41. The suspension of direct payments in the form of casual loans that were usually written off had caused particular feeling among ordinary PLA members when a new chairman introduced formal accounting practices in 1983. K0.25m was distributed in trust fund donations after then, but much of this was spent outside the immediate lease areas - Applied Geology Associates, Op. Cit., p. 7.2.3. 134 The sum equalled about twice the total gross earnings of the mine - H. Okole, 'Politics of the Panguna Land Owner’s Organisation’, in R. May & M. Spriggs (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1990) p. 21; & Y. Saffu, 'Jan-Dec 1989', in C. Moore & M. Kooyman (eds.) PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 468. 'Outrageous demands are part and parcel of the Melanesian Way of doing politics', and this one can be interpreted as an initial bargaining position or else a statement of implacable opposition to mining - C. Filer, 'Review', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, p. 441. 135 J. Connell, 'Perspectives on a Crisis (4)', in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville (Canberra, SDSC, 1990) p. 32. 136 E. Ogan, 'Perspectives on a Crisis (5)', p. 37. Ogan claims there is no evidence that the initial violence constituted 'an organised effort with any common objective, leadership or administration', and suggests terms such as insurrection, rebellion, revolution, and civil war all 'assume a degree of political organisation, leadership and administration which not only never characterised Nasioi society in the past but which has not developed up to the present time' - p. 38 & p. 35. 182 which is discussed below.137 However, a consultancy's interim findings that chemical pollution was not as widespread or significant as landowners claimed, which meant that compensation would not be as high as hoped, provided the main catalyst for the shift from NPLA to BRA.138

Pan-Bougainvillean "ethnicity" was 'invoked and mobilised as a political resource ... [taking] on a clearly instrumental character' in order to broaden support for the NPLA and thereby increase pressure on the national government and the mining company.139 When he 'sought support in neighbouring areas, leaders such as Damen Damien (of the 50 toea Gavaman [cult] in Kongara) and others offered support only on condition that Ona press for independence.'140 Although secessionism soon gained its own momentum —driven by news of human rights abuses by the security forces, which activated latent but widespread separatist sentiments— it initially had to be deliberately primed by the rebels.141 This was due to meagre support for the NPLA (or, indeed, the old PLA), and limited interest in mining compensation and environmental issues, outside the lease areas.142 As fighting spread, province-wide regional separatism temporarily reigned. Ethnonationalism probably served as a weapon in the conflict more than it serves as an explanation for it.143 Nevertheless, separatist fury was no less destructive for that, once unleashed.

Competition between local élites on Bougainville has involved pursuit of political ascendancy as well as the generational struggles over land and compensation described above. Before the outbreak of hostilities this chiefly consisted of rivalry over formal office at the province-wide level, while rivalry for unofficial power at more modest levels has been important in shaping events between 1989 and the present. Here, the perilous position of those competing for office, and the tenuousness of office once

137 J. Griffin, 'Bougainville is a Special Case', p. 12. 138 J. Connell, 'Perspectives on a Crisis (4)', p. 29. See Applied Geology Associates, Op. Cit. 139 S. Lawson, Ethnonationalist Dimensions of Internal Conflict: The Case of Bougainville Secessionism (Canberra, Peace Research Centre, 1992) p. 19. 140 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 7. 141 M. Spriggs, 'Bougainville, December 1989', in R. May & M. Spriggs (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1990) pp. 25-30. (In regard to the latent separatist sentiments, D. Jorgensen claims that in the NSP, 'despite all the state's attempts at promoting official nationalism, a relatively sophisticated population found it easy to imagine themselves as part of a community that did not include Papua New Guineans from beyond Bougainville' - 'Regional History and Ethnic Identity in the Hub of New Guinea', Oceania Vol. 66 No. 3, 1996, p. 191.) 142 J. Connell, 'Perspectives on a Crisis (4)', p. 30. 143 C. Filer, 'Escalation of Disintegration', p. 129. Bougainvillean nationalism rapidly diminished once the 'common enemy' (the security forces) withdrew in 1990 - JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 24. Narokobi claims 'there is no such tribe as Bougainville' - quoted in M. Spriggs, 'Alternative Prehistories for Bougainville', p. 269. However, an ethnic group is a collection of individuals that entertains 'a subjective belief in their common descent' - W. Connor, ‘A Nation is a Nation...’, Ethnic and Racial Studies Vol. 1 No. 4, 1978, p. 389. (Narokobi's complaint is hardly more true of Bougainville than it is of PNG itself, but PNG is never presented as an ethno-nation.) 183 gained, has been reflected in the frequent desperation and recklessness of local élite manoeuvres — again matching theoretical conceptions of survival politics.

Political competition for public office was only ever carried out partly according to formal electoral procedures or other rules and mechanisms, and was prone to highly personalised and destructive struggles. Members of Bougainville's first-generation elected political élite, such as Paul Lapun and Donatus Mola, did not retain a strong provincial following for long after they moved onto the national stage.144 By the 1977 national election, Momis, Leo Hannett and Alexis Sarei were 'the outstanding personalities in North Solomons politics and eventually interpersonal conflict enveloped all three'.145

Unusually for Papua New Guinea, ideologically based political parties emerged on Bougainville in the 1980s to compete for control of provincial and local state structures. This pitted a faction let by Hannett, 'intent on using mining as a catalyst for a radical transformation of the provincial economy', against supporters of Momis's Melanesian Alliance (MA) 'who were more concerned with protecting traditional institutions from the ravages of foreign mining capital'.146 This struggle went on largely within the North Solomons Provincial Government (NSPG), which was one of three parties involved in the disastrous mining review process.147 Though an arm of the state, the NSPG consistently worked against —or rather, without concern for— the interests of Papua New Guinea as a whole.

Momis formed the MA in 1980 in response to his bitter rival Hannett winning the NSPG premiership over his ally, Sarei. He has consistently represented both the integrative nationalist impetus of the Papua New Guinea state and the centripetal sub- nationalist impulses of what he regards as a distinct Bougainvillean community.148 He believed Hannett's 'capitalist road' to development endangered his distributist ideology

144 A. Mamak & R. Bedford, Bougainvillean Nationalism, p. 57. 145 J. Griffin & S. Kawona, 'Elections in North Solomons', in M. Oliver (ed.) Eleksin (PoM, UPNG, 1989) p. 231. 146 T. Wesley-Smith, 'The Non-Review of the Bougainville Copper Agreement', in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis - 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) p. 111. 147 The review process, instituted in 1974, required 7-yearly reviews into BCL operations. Declining ore grade and rising operating costs threatened BCL's profitability, imperilled national government tax revenue, and jeopardised the NSPG's future income. This inclined all three parties towards lifting a 1971 moratorium on further prospecting. However, attempts to carry out reviews in 1981, 1983 and 1988 failed. Changes of national or provincial government ended (moribund) negotiations in the first and second cases and the war ended the last. Breakdown of the BCA review process 'was more a matter of conflicting interests than of missed opportunities. If the interests in conflict had been those of the official parties to the agreement, the national government and the mining company, then they might well have been resolved within the review framework. However, the most significant conflicts were between domestic groups with particular interests to promote and protect' - Ibid., p. 110. 148 In 1976, for example, Momis made representations to the UN on behalf of "the Republic of Bougainville", despite his previous position as deputy chairman (and effective head) of PNG's CPC. 184 of communalist "Melanesian ways" and challenged his paramountcy in the province.149 (In turn, Hannett was annoyed by what he saw as Momis's improper use of the Catholic church's organisational network.) Hannett's success in fostering the Bougainville Development Corporation particularly irked Momis.150 More galling still was the way in which NSPG shares in the corporation were sold and became concentrated in the hands of a relatively few Bougainvilleans.151 The MA campaign against Hannett, couched in anti-colonial and Catholic distributist rhetoric, was attuned to growing disquiet engendered by rapid social change and rising inequality in the province. The MA grew into a national political party and won all four seats in the 1982 national election. From then onwards, all of Hannett's initiatives met stiff opposition or were neglected at the national level.152 In 1984, MA endorsed candidates for most electorates in the provincial elections and Hannett lost the premiership to Sarei.

Provincial government relations with BCL deteriorated sharply with MA in control of the NSPG. Nevertheless, most MA leaders grudgingly recognised the importance of mining revenue for provincial development. This predicament produced the ill-fated Bougainville Initiative, according to Wesley-Smith. Despite its sharp anti- mining rhetoric this sought to accommodate further mining operations in return for increased company funding for the NSPG.153 Launched in the run-up to the 1987 national election, the initiative was partly intended to shore up local support for MA which was unable to dispense ministerial largesse at the time.154 Crucially, Momis called on the support of radical younger-generation landowners from outside the auspices of the PLA (including Ona and his first cousin Pepetua Serero) to help promote the initiative.

Before the outbreak of hostilities, Sarei resigned the premiership to contest Momis's own seat in the 1987 national election. Never having been as strongly philosophically opposed to big business as his former mentor, Sarei's premiership had been 'characterised by increasing difficulty in controlling the young Turks in his

149 J. Griffin, 'Bougainville is a Special Case', p. 11. 150 The corporation was founded as an arm of the NSPG in 1975 to advance commercial business in the province. Its subsidiaries soon included shipping and air companies, engineering and investment firms, recreational facilities, and other services including a laundry. Later, it moved into plantation agriculture. Additionally, BCL set up a Business Advisory Service to encourage local entrepreneurship - see E. Makis, 'Impact of Bougainville Copper Limited on Local Business', Yagl- Ambu Vol. 4 No. 1, 1977, pp. 27-8; & C. O'Faircheallaigh, 'Economic Impact of the Bougainville Copper Project' in A. Sawyer (ed.) Economic Development and Trade (PoM, UPNG, 1984) pp. 114-5. 151 The corporation was periodically accused of entering into irregular financial transactions. A share issue in 1985 effectively removed control of the corporation from the NSPG, with Hannett (its chairman) the most conspicuous beneficiary - J. Griffin & S. Kawona, Op. Cit., pp. 232-4. 152 None of the four NSP MPs were actually in government between 1982 and 1985. 153 T. Wesley-Smith, 'The Non-Review of the BCA', p. 108. (3% of gross metal values or approximately K12m was demanded). 154 P. Quodling, The Mine and the People, p. 22. (He was Managing Director of BCL from 1982-87.) 185 government'155 and he had become increasingly resentful of Momis's style of leadership of the MA. Sarei was replaced as premier by his deputy, Joseph Kabui, a strongly anti- mining ex-seminarian from Kawerong in the tailings lease zone. Kabui, like Ona, was a landowner and a "beneficiary" of mine royalties and compensation but not a registered title-holder.156 With the support of young voters, Kabui successfully recontested the premiership in 1988 despite not being endorsed by MA.

The start of the sabotage campaign in 1988 presented Kabui and his NSPG with both a potential opportunity and a challenge. On the one hand, it appeared to offer an opportunity to advance the push for greater provincial autonomy.157 On the other, 'the militant landowners were not only challenging the Papua New Guinea state but also the provincial government which they felt had failed them.'158 In the event, the NSPG, and Kabui in particular, claimed to be sympathetic to the feelings of the rebels, while rejecting the idea of outright secession. As a result, NSPG members were assailed by both the security forces and the rebels.159 The national government suspended the NSPG after the security forces withdrew from the province in March 1990 and Kabui and a number of other ex-NSPG ministers supported Ona's Unilateral Declaration of Independence on 17 May.

The pressure of violent conflict may have further compressed the period between moments of initiation of new generations of local élite.160 The problems faced by the BRA/BIG in trying to provide governance and extend their authority across the whole province were described in Chapter Four. Radical youth 'outbidders', seeking to benefit from the mobilisation of more extremist forces, emerged from the chaos of 1989-90.161 They prevented the BRA/BIG from normalising or consolidating their position, reproducing the process of social and political disintegration that had initially brought the rebels to power.162 The disenchanted youth who were temporarily ascendant were thoroughly anti-political and their atomised disposition hardly offered a basis for the formation of an enduring élite. Nevertheless, their activities in the administrative vacuum led even more quickly to the emergence of another new node of local political authority.

155 Ibid., p. 21. 156 S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, p. 123. 157 For example, see NSPG, 'The Bika Report', pp. 10 & 34. 158 R. Khosa, 'The Bougainville Secession Crisis, 1964-1992: Melanesians, Missionaries, and Mining', unpublished B.A. (Hons) thesis, Department of History, University of Adelaide, 1992, p. 28. 159 For example, John Bika was assassinated by militants; Kabui was attacked by riot squad members; and provincial Primary Industry Minister (a national MP from 1992) Michael Laimo lost an eye after being attacked by police - see S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, pp. 137-144. 160 C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', p. 94. 161 J. Griffin & S. Kawona, 'The Elections in North Solomons Province', p. 242. 162 C. Filer, 'Escalation of Disintegration', p. 138. 186 The 'forces opposed to the perceived threat of gangsterism have coalesced around the no less unconventional, and no more traditional, institution [than that] which is presently described as the "council of chiefs".'163 The authority of these new local élites may be based on some historically rather dubious claims. The anthropological conception of non-hereditary, non-chiefly Big-man leader of Melanesia owes much to research done in the Solomons chain.164 Filer even suggests that the supposed rediscovery of chieftainship by Bougainvilleans may owe more to models from Fiji than from Buka.165 Nevertheless, the destruction of the status and authority of "traditional" or "customary" nodes of political power has long been widely resented, both by past beneficiaries, and by others bewildered by rapid change and craving an imagined Bougainvillean authenticity.166 Both the national government and rebels recognise councils of chiefs or elders in the areas they claim to control, mainly to exercise some influence through locally powerful leaders and for administrative ease.

Recent progress towards more durable calm has necessitated the re-emergence of Bougainville-wide political institutions, and has seen local élite figures from all the moments of initiation noted above jockeying for position in bodies such as the Bougainville People's Congress. Regan explains the slippage in the Lincoln timetable in terms of the manoeuvring of local élites.167 Many Bougainvillean leaders who are prominent in this process were eminent in different guises well before fighting broke out.168 Some commentators warn that the current restoration and rehabilitation exercise could simply rebuild the same type of development process that helped spawn the crisis by generating inequality, uncertainty over how to rank rival nodes of political power, and relatively unbridled competition for political and economic ascendancy.169

163 Ibid., p. 133. Also see A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 15. 164 Eg. see M. Sahlins, 'Poor man, Rich man, Big-man, Chief’, Comparative Studies in Society and History Vol. 5 No. 3, 1963, p. 5. 165 C. Filer, 'Escalation of Disintegration', p. 139. 166 Eg. see A. Mamak & R. Bedford, Bougainvillean Nationalism, p. 9. 167 He claims 'the whole of 1998 involved manoeuvring about the establishing of the BRG. All significant political leaders with any interest in having a stake in the operation of the proposed BRG were involved in one way or another. Each leader feared that others might gain some unfair advantage or might make deals excluding or damaging their interests' - A. Regan, 'Submission for the JSCFADT Inquiry into Bougainville', Canberra, June 1999, p. 33. 168 Eg. Sinato was Kabui's deputy as NSPG Premier before they were leaders of rival armed factions at the height of the crisis and before they became joint chairpersons of the caretaker Bougainville Constituent Assembly - National, 'Reunion Highlight of Sinato's Efforts', 25 January 1999. Similarly, PM Skate reportedly offered long-time player John Momis "co-governorship" of Bougainville with ex-Resistance leader Sam Akoitai if he would cooperate in a power sharing arrangement - National, 'Momis Denies Refusing Offer', 29 January 1999. 169 N. Ahai, 'Grassroots Development Visions for a New Bougainville', in G. Harris, N. Ahai, & R. Spence (eds.) Building Peace in Bougainville (Armidale, Centre for Peace Studies, 1999) p. 128. Also see A. Regan, 'Towards Peace for Bougainville?', The Asia-Pacific Magazine, No. 9/10, 1988, pp. 12-16; & R. Apthorpe, 'Bougainville Reconstruction Aid: What are the Issues?', Discussion Paper No. 98/7, Canberra, 1998, pp. 10-12. 187 However, given the continuing disagreement and confusion over what constitutes the "development" that 'everyone agrees they want', and the lack of the very high level of resources that might help to accommodate vying interests more smoothly, the pressing exigencies and erratic machinations of survival politics are unlikely to disappear.170

Transnational élites Despite their relative economic and organisational strength, and their important political role in the crisis, transnational actors have proved vulnerable in the face of the prospect of serious violence on Bougainville. This is partly due to their general inability to significantly shape the highly changeable, often adverse, environments that they are trying to function in. Their activities, including attempts to adapt to local socio-political characteristics, have tended only to further entrench the difficult circumstances faced. This has led to reactive, often ineffectual, manoeuvres taken to meet short-term imperatives in crisis situations. Thus, their searches for security, like those of the national and local élites surveyed above, broadly conform to theoretical accounts of survival politics.

Overseas and multinational businesses, foreign governments and their representatives, and international governmental organisations (IGOs) comprise the three types of transnational actors that have been involved in the Bougainville conflict. They behave as élites in that they are not generally able to dictate outcomes on Bougainville from offshore solely by deliberation with Papua New Guinea government officials, but must engage and negotiate with various domestic actors to pursue their interests.171

The activities of BCL have obviously been a significant source of discord on Bougainville since the mid 1960s. However, the way the crisis unfolded is inadequately accounted for by 'deterministic explanation[s] about the inevitable impact of large-scale resource projects'.172 Explanations that portray an omnipotent multinational company engaged in a zero-sum struggle with local communities that are 'passive victims of resource extraction' are over-simplistic.173 To mining companies, security is about the reduction of risks and uncertainty, especially concerning continued access to resources.174 Economists use the phrase "security of access", and often raise the spectre of the Bougainville crisis to illustrate the particular 'insecurity of land tenure in mining

170 C. Filer, 'The Melanesian Way of Menacing the Mining Industry', in L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi (ed.) Modern PNG, (Kirksville, Thomas Jefferson UP, 1998) p. 175. 171 G. Banks, 'Changing Notions of Certainty and Security in Asia-Pacific Mining', in D. Denoon et al. (eds.) Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 38. 172 Ibid. p. 38. 173 D. Denoon, C. Ballard, G. Banks & P. Hancock, 'Foreword' to D. Denoon et al. (eds.) Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. iii. 174 P. McGavin, Economic Security in Melanesia (Honolulu, East-West Centre, 1993) pp. 1-2. 188 in Papua New Guinea'.175 Mining companies are confronted by a particular 'capital logic', shaped by very uneven flows of expenditure against revenue, which produce three phases in the productive life of most mines.176 BCL operations were subject to changes in governmental policy and local conditions in all three phases. In the first phase, the company (then CRA) 'regarded the Panguna prospect as a marginal one whose viability might depend on catching a predicted boom in copper prices.'177 In the second phase BCL faced escalating compensation claims by landowners; the renegotiation of the mining agreement; a practical need to cooperate with an additional party, the NSPG; and formal and informal negotiations with two levels of government and local landowners over some contentious issues, such as tailings disposal, that had not been clearly specified in the 1967 agreement.178 The mine was dramatically closed in the third phase of its operations.

The absence of a strong host state willing and able to make and implement policy and keep its agreements greatly added to the insecurity of the company's situation. BCL management has subsequently admitted that its confidence in the capacity of the state to reconcile local interests to the fact of mining, as agreed, was misplaced in the face of declining governmental service provision.179 Its legalistic assumption that local agreements or contracts would necessarily hold as anticipated in the (then) unaccustomed Melanesian context, where 'no agreement is permanent but is adjusted according to changing realities', also proved unwarranted.180 In such circumstances, the relationship between the multinational developer and local landowners took on a character in which 'rather than the symbiosis of a patron-client partnership, there are two patrons ... neither of whom appreciates that each sees the other as client and neither, therefore, plays the anticipated appropriate role'.181

BCL's fate has prompted other mining companies to accelerate the shift away from paying resource rents to the state for redistribution in the "common interest" and

175 R. Duncan & R. Duncan, 'Improving Security of Access to Customary-Owned Land', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance of Common Property in the Pacific Region (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) p. 86. 176 A short exploration and proving phase is dependent on the company's risk capital; a construction and loans repayment phase sees high expenditure based on extensive borrowing; and an operational profits phase after about 8 years should produce regular profits for shareholders - R. Gerritsen, 'Capital Logic and the Erosion of Public Policy in PNG', in D. Denoon et al. (eds.) Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) pp. 82-4.. 177 C. O'Faircheallaigh, Mining and Development, p. 225. Also see PARTiZANS, Plunder! (London, PARTiZANS, 1991) p. 62; & C. O'Faircheallaigh, Mining and Development, p. 228. 178 Applied Geology Associates, Op. Cit., p. 3.3.1, p. 3.10, & p. 3.4. 179 Cited in J. Burton, 'What is Best Practice?', in D. Denoon et al. (eds.) Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 129. 180 R. Gerritsen, Op. Cit., p. 86. 181 S. Toft, 'Patrons or Clients?', in S. Toft (ed.) Compensation for Resource Development in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1997) pp. 17 & 18. 189 towards directly renumerating landowners and providing proxy-governmental services in the immediate vicinity of their operations.182 The introduction of the development forum process in April 1989, and the Infrastructure Tax Credit Scheme in 1992, were partly responses to the spectre of Panguna, for example.183 However, it is not yet apparent whether such concessions to the local power of landowners and weakness of the state will be able to satisfy the former's demand for greater participation in resource exploitation. Some commentators suggest they are only likely to encourage the endless promulgation of new and greater demands — an 'endless and fruitless search for some form of material equality in what is necessarily an asymmetrical relationship'.184

The representatives of foreign governments have also operated at least partly as transnational élites in regard to conflict on Bougainville. The crisis presents four of Papua New Guinea's closest neighbours, Australia, Indonesia, New Zealand, and the Solomon Islands, with certain security pressures. The interests of these countries in regard to the conflict have naturally been pursued by their state institutions in the name of their own national security and, ultimately, sovereignty. However, their efforts to achieve specific security goals have proven highly problematical in the Papua New Guinean environment, given their lack of the sort of vital national interests that might otherwise lead to the commitment of the very substantial resources necessary for decisive action. The basic decision to shun close involvement is based on the strategic calculation of overall national interest. However, this avoidance of direct entanglement has meant that the representatives of the four governments have been unable to greatly influence events during the crisis. In fact, they share a record marked by reactive ad hocery. Their limited security-seeking activities undertaken in regard to the crisis have accordingly been characterised by survival politics.

The government of Australia has played a relatively significant part in the crisis for a variety of reasons that include its past colonial role, strategic goals and perceived role in the region, and economic interests in Papua New Guinea. At the start of the conflict the Australian government quite strongly supported the Papua New Guinea government's attempts to reassert control. In January 1990, then Foreign Minister Gareth Evans declared that the secession of Bougainville should be avoided 'at all costs'.185 Although these costs were not permitted to include the deployment of

182 C. Filer, 'Resource Rents: Distribution and Sustainability', pp. 236-59. 183 Discussed in G. West, The Development Forum and Benefit Package (PoM, INA, 1992). Also see R. Jackson, ‘Government and Mineral Resources’, in D. Denoon et al. (eds.) Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 108; & R. Callick, ‘The Political Economies of Melanesia’, unpublished paper, Sydney, August 1995. 184 Eg. C. Filer, 'Compensation, Rent and Power in PNG', in S. Toft (ed.) Compensation for Resource Development in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1997) p. 182. 185 Age, 'Evans Defends Role in PNG', 30 January 1990. 190 Australian combat forces, the value of Defence Cooperation Program support more than doubled to a peak of A$52m in 1990-91, substantial quantities of equipment including four utility helicopters were transferred to the PNGDF, and instructors were provided to conduct expanded training programs.186 When Evans asserted that 'we can't assume the secessionist disease won't be catching', he referred not to a "domino effect" of likely secessionist contagion, but to the more general danger that a rapid total defeat of the security forces would pose by unequivocally demonstrating the domestic weakness of the Papua New Guinea state.187 The main aim of promoting Papua New Guinea's territorial integrity and the sovereignty of the state is stability there.188 However, Canberra's willingness to support the vigorous prosecution of the war waned in the early 1990s as it became apparent that neither the government nor the rebels were likely to prevail solely by force-of-arms.189 Australian government support for the war was always constrained by domestic opinion, especially in regard to quite widespread human rights violations by the security forces.190

Attempts by the government of Australia to accomplish policy goals in relation to Bougainville have repeatedly harmed official relations with the Papua New Guinea government, thereby jeopardising its future ability to achieve such objectives. By the mid 1990s the traditionally very close defence relationship had become very strained, as was indicated in Chapter Two.191 The limits of the government of Australia's ability to influence events on Bougainville and general leverage over Papua New Guinea were starkly illustrated in the recent Sandline crisis. The introduction of mercenaries into the Bougainville conflict was officially assessed as being against Australia's national interests in jeopardising progress towards reconciliation and peace being made by the BTG, and in setting a destabilising regional precedent.192 Despite the significant resources the Australian government devotes to regional intelligence collection, it appears to have been surprised by the arrival of the mercenaries.193 The threat to

186 Australian DoD, Defence Cooperation - Program Evaluation (Canberra, DoD, 1995) see annex H. Also see N. Raath, 'Moral Support?', Parliamentary Research Service Background Paper, Canberra, December 1991; & T. Wesley-Smith, ‘PNG in 1990 - A Year of Crisis’, p 194. 187 Financial Review, 'Evans Defends Role in PNG', 30 January 1990. 188 R. Smith, 'Bougainville and National Unity', in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville (Canberra, SDSC, 1990) pp. 69-73; M. Thawley, 'The Bougainville Crisis Two Years On', in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) pp. 146-51; JSCFADT, PNG Update, transcript pp. 52-64; & S. Woodman, 'The Ghost of Kokoda'. 189 Australian official preference for a "political solution" was quite firm by time a parliamentary delegation visited Bougainville in April 1994 - see S. Loosley, Bougainville: A Pacific Solution (Canberra, Government Publishing Service, 1994). 190 Eg. JSCFADT, PNG Update, p. 36; N. Raath, Op. Cit., pp. 7-24; Age, 'Evans Raps PNG Over Brutality', 30 January 1990; & N. Sharp, Op. Cit., 4.4. 191 Eg. Australian, 'Self-serving Military Aid Confounds PNG', 7 July 1995; & Business Review Weekly, 'PNG - The Long Haul Back', 23 September 1996. 192 Australian, 'PNG's Hired Guns: Coping with Chan's Folly', 1 March 1997. 193 ABC, 'Lack of Intelligence', Four Corners, 14 July 1997; & S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair, p. 343. 191 withdraw Australia's A$330m annual development assistance package proved an unwieldy potential instrument. Actual implementation of the threat could occur only once, would have further reduced Australian influence, and could have further harmed stability in Papua New Guinea.194 The need to offer "reasonable alternatives" to mercenaries induced the Australian government to volunteer military assistance that had previously been deliberately withheld. Strenuous opposition to the use of mercenaries may have encouraged Singirok's intervention against the use of mercenaries, but having helped prompt a military uprising can hardly have been regarded with much satisfaction in Canberra.195

The Bougainville crisis has also troubled successive governments of the Solomon Islands. Many Solomon Islanders from Western and Choiseul provinces have kin in Bougainville. Numerous minor clashes between the PNGDF and the Solomon Islands Field Force stemmed from rebel use of the Solomons as a safe haven and border violations and raids by Papua New Guinea.196 Tensions grew to the point that Honiara warned it was considering recognising Bougainvillean independence in 1992.197 The presence of armed rebels and a thousand Bougainvillean refugees in the Solomons may have harmed the domestic authority of the state, which faces "ethnic" tensions of its own in several areas (including nearby Western Province and the capital). However, Honiara's responses to such problems hardly appear to have been determined on the basis of careful strategic analysis of the country's national interest. Rather, activities have been highly personalised and changeable as power has shifted between powerful figures in government and bureaucracy.198 Tensions between the two countries continued despite the signing of treaties to regulate the maritime border in 1989, 1995 and mid 1997.199 Part of a consignment of military equipment, ordered by figures in the Mamaloni government but cancelled by Ulufa'alu, was probably diverted to the BRA, and the whole deal appears to have been corruptly arranged.200

As was indicated in Chapter Two, Indonesia's Defence Minister called for increased Australian military aid to Papua New Guinea when the PNGDF was forced to temporarily withdrew from Bougainville in 1990.201 Although the New Order regime

194 Australian, 'Why Peace Must Take Priority', 22 March 1997. 195 The Andrew Report, 6.27. 196 Eg. SMH, ‘Bushfire Border in the Islands’, 14 April 1993. 197 SMH, 'Solomons Accuses Australia, Bans Navy Ship', 16 September 1992. 198 Eg. Solomon Mamaloni's governments tacitly supported the BRA, whereas Bart Ulufa'alu's government supported PNG sovereignty partly because of his personal affinity for the country where he had been student leader - Post-Courier, 'Solomons will get K10m', 10 September 1997. 199 National, 'PNG/Honiara Agree to Border Pact', 10 June 1997. 200 M. O'Callaghan, 'How a Country with No Army Spent 4$m on Arms', Pacific Islands Monthly, March 1998. 201 Australian, 'Indonesia Urges Canberra to Intervene in Bougainville Rebellion’, 26 July 1990. 192 and subsequent government have both been concerned with regional instability and separatism of any sort, Bougainville is the furthest province from the two countries' occasionally troublesome international border. As the likelihood of Bougainvillean independence receded and Indonesia's own separatist challenges intensified with the onset of the Asian financial crisis, never-very-high Indonesian interest in the matter probably waned even further. In any case, the government of Indonesia's ability to sway events in Papua New Guinea is fairly limited in terms of both straightforward coercive capacity and more informal influence.202

The direct interests of the New Zealand government at stake in the Bougainville crisis may have been of an even smaller magnitude. Its activities in regard to the conflict, involving peacekeeping and peace-making initiatives, have been characterised by grand gestures (albeit comparatively successful ones). These have often involved arms of state responsible for the country's security, but have been undertaken for a variety of diverse purposes. For example, the 1990 Endeavour talks were chiefly conceived as a genuine humanitarian initiative, but probably also reflected the unusual extent to which foreign and defence policy was focused on the South Pacific region in the immediate aftermath of New Zealand's expulsion from the ANZUS alliance.203 The impetus behind the peace initiative begun at Burnham in 1997 involved an even more complicated mix of factors.204 Once begun, the peace process had to be quickly passed to the government of Australia for financial reasons.205

International governmental organisations can be seen as a final type of transnational élite actors involved in the Bougainville crisis. International economic bodies have been the most significant of these. Involvement of the IMF and the World Bank in the Papua New Guinean economy, in relation to the conflict, has revealed a powerful political reach in some ways and a striking lack of leverage in others. As was shown in Chapter One, the collapse of the anti-inflationary "hard kina" policy that had helped promote Papua New Guinean economic stability until the late 1980s was partly a 'legacy of Bougainville'.206 The IMF and the World Bank became directly involved in the Papua New Guinea economy in 1989-90, when the government of Australia refused

202 R. Babbage, The Dilemmas of PNG Contingencies (Canberra, SDSC, 1987) pp. 16-17. Eg. Defence Minister General Benny Murdani's efforts to win favour with former PNGDF Commander Diro and Commander Huai, in 1987, politically embarrassed all three in 1987 - JCFADT, Op. Cit., p. 167. 203 NZ, The Defence of New Zealand 1987 (Wellington, Government Printer, 1987) cf. The Defence of New Zealand 1991. Also see J. Henderson, Towards a Pacific Island Community (Wellington, Government Printer, 1990). 204 These probably included the personal interest of the PM, Foreign Minister and a senior diplomat, an upcoming Forum meeting, a poll of public opinion on regional engagement, pressures within governing coalition, and Australian criticism of falling defence expenditure - eg. S. McMillan, 'Bringing Peace to Bougainville', NZ International Review Vol. 23 No. 3, 1998, p. 2-9. 205 Australian, 'NZ Offers Peace Role to Australia', 20 March 1998. 206 ANUTECH Pty Ltd, PNG - Improving the Investment Climate (Canberra, AusAID, 1995) p. 20. 193 to offset the costs of the closure of the Panguna mine.207 The IMF prescribed a series of structural adjustment measures, including devaluation of the kina, restrictions on government expenditure, and the removal of restrictions to foreign investment.208

However, the shape of the Papua New Guinea economy (and many of the socio- political and administrative factors discussed above) conspire against the sort of sustained domestic political support for change that may be necessary for successful structural adjustment. Key features of the economy create 'automatic stabilisers' which quickly translate any shock that reduces income into a self-balancing decline in consumption and falling imports — thereby diminishing pressure for reform.209 King shows how the initial economic impact of the Bougainville crisis was quickly stabilised and the momentum for planned structural reforms lost.210 Very high GDP growth during the 1991-93 "minerals boom" allowed the new Wingti government to neglect the dreary constraints of disciplined fiscal policy.211 In fact, the structural adjustment agreement was not so much abandoned as reversed.212 Wingti tried to bring about "accelerated industrialisation" by implementing an expansionary policy that would use windfall mining revenue to "kick start" the economy.213 The policy quickly proved disastrous. Large fiscal deficits and debt financing difficulties promptly created a cash crisis, and foreign exchange reserves had fallen to less than a week's cover of imports by October 1994.214 Overseas loans were necessary to save the economy even after the kina was floated and other emergency measures were implemented.215 However, the economy once again proved quite easy to stabilise and very difficult to reform. By late 1995, rescue package support was no longer vital to uphold the kina and the government's financial autonomy was restored.216 The peculiar mixture of strength and

207 The Australian government was keen for another body to enforce the strict economic discipline it had come to see as necessary - Canberra Times, 'Financial "Try-ons", says Aust', 22 January 1990. 208 J. Fallon, PNG - the Role of Government in Economic Development (Canberra, AIDAB, 1994) p. 7. 209 See T. King, 'Structural Reform Versus Stabilisation', in I. Temu (ed.) PNG: A 20/20 Vision (Canberra, NCDS, 1997) p. 35. Also see D. Kavanamur, Op. Cit., on 'self-stabilisers', p. 106. 210 He suggests this was partly due to 'the early commitment of substantial financial assistance by the donor community' - Ibid., p. 5. 211 GDP growth was temporarily over 15%. (The preceding Namaliu government had hardly embrace the structural adjustment program) - see A. Elek, 'Economic Adjustment to the Bougainville Crisis', in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis - 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992). 212 R. Namaliu, 'Opening Address', conference paper, Sydney, 4 August 1995, p. 7. 213 J. Millet, 'A Note on "Beyond the Minerals Boom" ', discussion paper, PoM, INA, March 1993. 214 Financial Review, 'IMF, World Bank Bound for Troubled PNG', 23 January 1995. 215 The US$683m Economic Recovery Program "rescue package", negotiated with the World Bank in mid 1995, was designed to be released in tranches only when quite strict conditions were met, leading to acrimonious negotiations in 1995-6 - eg. Australian, 'Donors offer $435m', 30 September 1995. 216 D. Gupta, 'Current Economic Trends', Pacific Economic Bulletin Vol. 10 No. 1, 1995, p. 13. Release of the second tranche of the loan was delayed until late 1996 by governmental intransigence. Some concessions were eventually made not so much to gain the US$25m funds (dismissed as 'the equivalent of a fortnight's wages for our public service') as to satisfy more ephemeral concerns about PNG's "economic reputation" - Post-Courier, 'World Bank gets its way on Forests', 9 October 1996. 194 weakness in the economic IGOs' dealings with Papua New Guinea was particularly evident during the Sandline affair.217

Other non-economic IGOs have been only marginally involved in the Bougainville crisis. A few Papua New Guinea government policies appear to have been drafted to assuage or pre-empt intermittent UN attention but have not needed to be diligently implemented.218 Papua New Guinean diplomacy was able to block the establishment of a UN observer on Bougainville until this was considered to suit its own interests. The Commonwealth secretariat has also lent assistance for specific tasks relating to the crisis but has not brought substantial pressure to bear on the government.219 The European Union has also shown a periodic interest in the crisis, but its reports have been uncharacteristically mild.220 Port Moresby has largely succeeded in keeping Bougainville off the formal agenda of the South Pacific's premier regional body, the Forum.221 The tensions arising from the Bougainville conflict that helped break the sub-regional solidarity of the Melanesian Spearhead group within the Forum stemmed more from the survival politics of important regional leaders than the changing national interests of Papua New Guinea and the Solomons.222

The security of the nation This part of the chapter examines security concerns involving the nebulous entity comprised by the Papua New Guinea nation in regard to the Bougainville crisis.223 It argues that to the extent that the nation —or rather certain "bits of" the nation, to adapt Filer's qualifier— are involved in a search for security at all, this entails attempts to foster civil society. This does not so much entail rebuilding civil society as actually

217 The World Bank and the ADB threatened to review all financial assistance for PNG if mercenaries were used, but Chan was initially prepared to weather this pressure, and its ultimate effects were only indirectly felt - National, 'Events Leading to the Inquiry', 3 June 1997; & The Andrew Report, 5.1- 5.23. A strong desire to avoid directly breaching agreements with the World Bank and IMF caused 'extraordinary convolutions' in the PNG Finance Department's efforts to fund the Sandline project but did not avert the conspirators from the essence of their scheme - S. Dorney, The Sandline Affair, p. 179. Also see Appendix 5, in S. Dinnen et al. (eds.) Challenging the State, pp. 191-7; & National, 'Sandline Deal Paid for by Budget Cuts', 4 June 1997. 218 Eg. see Amnesty International, Under the Barrel of a Gun (London, AI Secretariat, 1993) pp. 22-3. Establishment of a Human Rights Commission, promised in June 1993, has not occurred. 219 Eg. the Commonwealth provided the judge who carried out the inquiry into Miriung's assassination, and a chair at the 1995 Cairns talks as previously noted. 220 Eg. ACP-EU Joint Assembly 26th Session, Mauritius, April 1998, Resolutions (1): Bougainville. 221 It invoked the principal of sovereignty, which is jealously guarded by the national political élites of most neighbouring countries - National, 'Forum Should Tackle Bougainville', 17 September 1997. SPPKF operations at Arawa in 1994 took place under Forum auspices but were organised by regional governments - P. Young, 'Bougainville', Jane's Intelligence Review Vol. 7 No. 8, 1995, p. 379. 222 K. Ross, Regional Security in the South Pacific (Canberra, SDSC, 1993) p. 88. 223 The idea of a Bougainvillean ethno-nation is addressed in discussion of local élites, above, and in the parts of this chapter on communal groups and individuals, below. 195 building it.224 The task is chiefly pursued by an untypical and fairly small, but energetic, type of élite actors.

As was indicated in Chapter Three, the term "nation" usually refers to a named human population sharing an historic territory, common myths and historical memories, a mass public culture, a common economy and shared legal rights and duties for all members.225 The insecurity dilemma faced in developing countries is often distinguished from the security dilemma faced by developed ones by the typical lack of a more-or-less unitary nation approximately contiguous with the physical and juridical boundaries of the state in the former. In Papua New Guinea, a once quite high public regard for a sense of inchoate nationhood, which was encouraged by the departing colonial power and the first generation indigenous élite, has diminished since independence. Interest in a national vision and acknowledgment of a nation-building duty has been largely eclipsed by what amount to exigencies of political survival even among Papua New Guinea's public servants and politicians.226 By 1993, MacQueen felt that the official nation-building enterprise had been 'to all practical effect suspended'.227

Nevertheless, the Papua New Guinean nation is not an entirely fanciful entity, and a particular variety of what Mamak and Bedford call 'supranationalism'228 — countrywide as opposed to regionalist or localist sentiment— has continued to play a part in the Bougainville crisis. Here, though, the nation —a socio-political unit defined by a shared, if weak, Papua New Guinea-wide identity— has been more of a goal than an actual security referent. Having been virtually abandoned by its original architects, the task of nation-building has largely been abdicated to certain components of a potentially robust Papua New Guinea nation themselves.

The bits of this nation involved in the Bougainville crisis have included churches, business and professional associations, NGOs, trade unions, the media, and students. These are élite bodies but not primarily political ones (in the sense of directly struggling for leadership positions, at least). They may vigorously pursue their own objectives, but do so with some concern for a countrywide good — attempting to strengthen the nascent collective of which they are part. All try to increase security as understood in broad terms of general well-being.229 To this end, Papua New Guinea's bits of nation

224 According to E. Wolfers - see JSCFADT, PNG Update, transcript p. 87. 225 A. Smith, National Identity (London, Penguin, 1991) p. 15. 226 As was shown above. See P. Larmour on public servants in particular - 'State and Society', p. 41. 227 N. MacQueen, 'Infinite Capacity to Muddle Through?', in P. Sutton and A. Payne (eds.) Size and Survival (London, Frank Cass, 1993) p. 150. 228 A. Mamak & R. Bedford, Bougainvillean Nationalism, pp. 1-2. 229 As expressed in calls for "human security" and complaints about "structural violence" - B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 56. 196 strive —usually intuitively but sometimes explicitly— to help foster a more functional overall political and social environment. They do so both for this aim's own sake, based on broadly shared principles, and to further their own diverse ends which would be advanced by circumstances in which more cooperative and productive interactions between diverse public and private interests could take place. This entails an exemplar of nationhood which corresponds to theoretical models of civil society that were discussed in Chapter Three.230

Civil society in Papua New Guinea, though, is no more than 'embryonic'.231 This is mainly due to the nature of the country's formal economy. The centrality of enclave development projects to it, the prevalence of public rather than private enterprises, and the relatively small proportion of the population directly enmeshed in wage and salaried employment, do not provide the very numerous rival centres of relatively strong domestic economic power that more "modern" economies do. As a result, NGOs —a diverse subcategory of élite institutions consciously dedicated to "doing good"— comprise the main enthusiasts for civil society. NGOs are marked as élite institutions in Papua New Guinea by their pursuit of expansive new agendas. Like the élites discussed above, they can be divided between primarily national, local, or transnational bodies. The first of category —those established and based in Papua New Guinea (typically in the capital) and operating across the whole country— focus mainly on political advocacy. Locally based NGOs are the inheritors of the practical capacitating and empowerment tradition of the local self-help movements briefly introduced in Chapter Four. On Bougainville they concentrate on reconciliation and reconstruction activities. The chief practical focus of transnational NGOs in Papua New Guinea —those working closely in conjunction with overseas parent or partner organisations— has long been on the provision of major services, particularly in the delivery of education and health care.232 On Bougainville they currently concentrate on relief and humanitarian assistance. All three projects potentially fit the objective of constructing a meaningful Papua New Guinean nation along the lines of a civil society.

The number and activism of national NGOs has been increasing for some years.233 In 1990, a National Alliance of NGOs (NANGO) was established to build the capacity of Papua New Guinea NGOs, to help coordinate their activities, and to act as a

230 See Ch. 3. As was indicated, the philosophically liberal concept is a product of 18thC Western capitalist modernity. Civil society is a safe space for the exchange of goods, services and ideas, legally guaranteed but free from undue interference by the state. Key features include the acceptance of ideological diversity and the existence of multiple rival centres of political and economic power. 231 A. Regan, 'The PNG Policy-Making Environment', p. 91. 232 ACFOA, 'Submission for the Country Strategy Paper for PNG', Canberra, November 1994, p. 4. 233 Prominent PNG NGOs include the Individual and Community Rights Advocacy Forum (ICRAF), Melanesian Solidarity for Justice, Peace and Dignity (MelSol), the PNG Trust; and certain single- issue organisations such as the Melanesian Environment Foundation (MEF). 197 link between them, overseas donor organisations and the national government.234 NANGO has since been somewhat eclipsed as an umbrella body by the Papua New Guinea Watch Council (PNGWC). Most national NGOs broadly share a commitment to social justice, understood in terms of an imprecise populist communalism, similar to but more radical than the distributist Melanesian way ideology which still partly drives some nationalist Independence-era politicians. They aim to empower landowners — principally by resurrecting "indigenous values and approaches"— to aid their resistance against what is perceived as a general onslaught by avaricious multinationals and a rapacious and corrupt rentier state.235 The autonomous Papua New Guinea branch of the anti-corruption group Transparency International (TI) has attracted many corporate members anxious to foster a more stable business environment, and has encouraged many prominent figures to sign a national integrity pledge.236

The stake of the national advocacy NGOs in the Bougainville crisis was generally not very large, and did not go far beyond expressing a general sympathy for Bougainville's suffering landowners and calling for the conflict be resolved peacefully, in the early years of the conflict. Where they have entered debates on specific governmental policies at all, NGOs have typically been less absorbed in matters of high politics such as the war on Bougainville than in issues of countrywide maladministration and poor governance, especially corruption. However, the Sandline contract, which planned for the state to cooperate with foreigners to kill citizens, provided the national NGOs with a dramatic issue of sweeping symbolic importance. The central role of national NGOs in mobilising popular sentiment in Port Moresby against the mercenary deal, in support of Singirok's stand, was referred to in Chapter Four. This pitted the NGOs directly against senior members of the government, further worsening what was already an uneasy relationship.237 A Post-Courier editorial which sought to clarify the role of NGOs in the Sandline affair reflected the degree to which the exemplar of national community sought by NGOs corresponds to the ideal of civil

234 National, 'The Value and Role of NGOs', 27 May 1997. 235 Interview with Dr B. Brunton, Director of ICRAF, PoM, 4 September 1994. Also see C. Filer on the 'ideology of landownership' - in 'Compensation, Rent and Power', pp. 162-8. 236 For example, National, 'Eda Ranu Joins Transparency', 15 July 1998. 237 Eg. PM Chan responded to an NGO threat to encourage the "citizen's arrest" of any leaders not prosecuted over the mercenary affair with a bitter attack on what he branded the 'dangerously provocative and inflammatory NGOs ... [leading PNG] towards mob rule and anarchy' - National, 'Sir J Condemns MelSol Threats', 26 May 1997. The premises of several NGOs were also raided and searched by police, and four prominent NGO leaders were arrested for inciting unlawful assembly.

198 society.238 The ideal of civil society was invoked as an explicit slogan on placards outside parliament and in radio and television interviews with protest leaders.239

Local Bougainvillean NGOs have played a significant practical part in the provincial peace-making and reconciliation process, and their efforts have also conformed to conceptions and the goals of civil society.240 They have attempted to advance Bougainvillean reconstruction by concentrating on the practical "capacitation" and "empowerment" of individuals and communities. These activities have mainly taken place in government-controlled areas, but have also occurred in rebel-controlled territory.241 The Peace Education Project, conducted under the auspices of the FCDB, provided training on understandings of peace, conflict resolution, and counselling, for about four hundred Bougainvilleans at workshops between June 1994 and early 1996.242 The provincial branches of some national NGOs, such as the Foundation for Law, Order and Justice (FLOJ) and the PNG Trust, have also been involved in restoration activities. FLOJ has endeavoured to reduce violence through community development.243 The contribution of local NGOs was envisaged as important to the integrated 'Restoration, Rehabilitation and Reconstruction' program, launched as an adjunct to the 1991 Honiara Declaration, from the outset.244 In June 1995, the Bougainville Transitional Government established a Liaison and Facilitation Committee to coordinate NGO activities and help restore some service provision.245

The key focus of transnational NGOs on Bougainville during the crisis has been on emergency assistance with service provision.246 The International Federation of the Red Cross, for example, has operated a relief and humanitarian assistance program that

238 It highlighted the importance of a diversity of views for the future of the national society - Post- Courier, 'A Nation Caught in a Spiral of Corruption, Mismanagement', 23 May 1997. 239 Age, 'Chan's Crash', 29 March 1997. 240 In 1999 there were six indigenous NGOs working in Bougainville - JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 129. Organisations involved have included the Foundation for Community Development in Bougainville (FCDB), local peace committees, and Womens' groups. 241 Eg. the Provincial Council of Women is associated with autonomist BTG leaders cf. the Bougainville Women for Peace and Freedom have stronger rebel links - JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 68. 242 N. Ahai, 'The Role of Bougainvillean NGOs', pp. 5-6. 243 By 'empowering local communities to help themselves through the provision of information, training, resources, and control over decision making' - P. Howley, 'The FLOJ', paper presented at the ‘The Search for Peace and Rehabilitation’ conference, Canberra, 22-24 June 1995, p. 1. 244 See J. Misang, Op. Cit. 245 This used the Provincial Social Development Authority as a networking mechanism. PSDA activities included capacity strengthening, peace education training, conflict resolution, counselling, spiritual rehabilitation, sports development, youth and womens entrepreneurship, family life, cultural development, training of trainers, awareness campaigns, coordination, collaboration and networking, and community development - Ibid., p. 5. 246 Organisations involved included World Vision, Moral Rearmament, Quaker Services, OXFAM, Save the Children Fund, National Volunteer Services, CARE, and Community Aid Abroad - Ibid., p. 4. (Cf. a few other transnational NGOs, such as Amnesty International and the International Commission of Jurists, have been concerned with human rights issues.) 199 had provided A$2.5m worth of relief goods and medicines by late 1996.247 According to the Australian Council for Overseas Aid, the purpose of overseas-organised humanitarian aid on Bougainville is to emphasise 'civil society and reconciliation at the grassroots level' by providing immediate practical support.248 Some transnational NGOs have accepted reconstruction assignments as virtual sub-contractors for overseas governments when they feel those aims coincide with their own.249

Other associations beside NGOs would be required as components of any meaningful civil society-based national society.250 Although NGOs are probably alone among the potential components of a robust Papua New Guinea civil society in consciously, consistently and energetically pursuing nationhood as part of a search for security, theoretical models of civil society do not require that this type of nation- making be driven by noble intent or indeed by design at all. Thus, periodic displays of national vision by other groups regarding the Bougainville crisis, in which a modest degree of national outlook accompanies other pursuits, even in a subordinate or instrumental way, may conform to conceptions of civil society. Student body and trade union statements against the use of Sandline mercenaries reflected complex personal and associational objectives but dwelt on national framework. For the media, putting the Bougainville conflict in the national perspective is simply one of its expected functions, but this has reinforced a moderately nationalist outlook.251 Some businesses operating in Papua New Guinea have tried to help encourage normalcy on Bougainville, for its own humanitarian sake, to cultivate good publicity, and to foster a more stable and thus more favourable general environment for commerce.252

The churches comprise important potential bits of nation. They have long provided crucial education and health services, and represented vital nodes of socio- political leadership in the absence of a strong state. The role of the churches in the conflict has been very complicated. At times, sectarian competition for souls253,

247 JSCFADT, PNG Update, transcript p. 85. 248 Cited in Ibid., p. 82. 249 Eg. the Adventist Relief Agency agreed to manage particular reconstruction tasks in return for K1.2m from AusAID - National, 'Australia Pledges K1.62m for Bougainville Projects', 15 July 1998. 250 Transnational and national élite organisations, such as churches, student bodies, media interests, businesses and trade unions, could be important elements. Moulik calls such functional groups 'interest associations' - Bougainville in Transition (Canberra, NCDS, 1977) p. 146. Even communal groups have also been envisaged as possible ingredients of civil society, since PNG NGOs are apt to expound their authenticity, legitimacy, and the desirability of their autonomy. 251 Both daily newspapers are published in English and have a combined circulation of slightly less than 60 000 - D. Robie (ed.) Nius Bilong Pasifik (PoM, UPNG Press, 1995). Also see S. Layton, ‘Fuzzy- Wuzzy Devils', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, pp. 300-320. 252 Eg. Rothmans PNG sponsored a week-long sports festival involving 3 000 participants and 30 000 spectators in November 1997 - National, 'Boost for Bougainville', 25 November 1997. 253 Eg. pro- and anti-council factions tended to develop along Catholic/Protestant lines during the introduction of the local government council system on Bougainville in the early 1960s - A. Mamak 200 activities carried out on behalf of particular congregations, and the actions of some prominent church figures254, have been inimical to national unity. Overall, though, the record of the churches —marked by their intrinsic competitive denial of an ideological monopoly, their practical contribution to worldly needs, and their fairly consistent record of objecting to violence255— accords with the key principles of civil society.

The security of communal groups Bougainvillean communal groups have also exhibited certain security imperatives. According to Regan, the 'localised concerns of small scale communities' have played a very important role in the lead up to and during the conflict and have tended to be relatively neglected in analyses of the crisis.256 Such groups have corporate interests (albeit fairly weak ones) beyond the sum of the needs of their leaders and ordinary individual members, in that they sometimes behave in the sort of "organic" manner more typically attributed to strong nation-states in conventional security discourse.257 They are not favourably placed to adjust smoothly to greatly changed political and economic circumstances, especially when the prospect of serious violence exists. Thus, it is argued that communal groups search for security by pursuing both the day-to-day and the existential or "ideational" necessities of subsistence. This search for subsistence is primarily constituted simply by practical efforts to sustain the 'technical processes and social relationships whereby the foodstuffs and other physical means of life are produced and consumed.'258 This aspect of subsistence conforms with familiar anthropological models of South Pacific 'subsistence economy'.259 However, the term

& R. Bedford, Bougainvillean Nationalism, p. 6. The addition of 9 new charismatic sects to the 3 long-standing (Adventist, Catholic and United Methodist) churches , with the of the influx of non- Bougainvillean mine worker, also had divisive repercussions - N. Ahai, 'Building Trust', p. 14. 254 Eg. Times, 'Bishop Singkai States his Case', 1 November 1990, p. 4. Momis's use of Catholic networks for the MA has been mentioned. Griffin depicts the sympathy of some clergymen for anti- Australian and subsequent anti-PNG sentiments as the product of pique at the erosion of their one time 'quasi-theocracy' - 'Bougainville Stocktake', in P. Quodling, The Mine and the People, p. 111. 255 Eg. 'Statement from the Priests of the Bougainville Diocese', in P. Polomka (ed.) Op. Cit., pp. 92-98. 256 He contends that 'while debate about major issues concerning the Panguna mine and its impacts and about secession were undoubtedly factors in the development and unfolding of the conflict, in many areas of Bougainville these and other major issues of the day were relatively remote from most community members. Much of what occurred was the product of decisions made in the context of the localised concerns of small-scale communities living in many ways as they did thousands of years ago, but also in many ways changed by the outside world.' Additionally, 'all major groups - BRA, Resistance Forces, BIG and BTG - are 'umbrella' organisations. Their constituent elements are rooted in local communities ... [with] a high degree of independence' - 'Submission', pp. 4-5 & p. 27. 257 A corporate group is a 'recognised body of persons who for some purpose or purposes act together as a single entity' - I. Hogbin, 'Glossary of Anthropological Terms', in I. Hogbin (ed.) Anthropology in PNG (Melbourne, Melbourne UP, 1973) p. 236. 258 This is a typical definition of subsistence economy - R. Keesing, Cultural Anthropology (New York, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1981) p. 519. 259 The term subsistence affluence has long been used to imply that the populations of Oceanic 'countries can always rely on living well, if simply, in the villages and that urban dwellers will always be able to return to their villages should they become disillusioned with city life' - M. Tait, Pacific 2010 201 subsistence can also refer to the very struggle to preserve continued existence.260 Despite their frequent tenacity, Bougainvillean communal groups have tended to be distinguished more by instability than by cohesion or strength, especially when faced with powerful new societal pressures, or the threat of violent conflict. As a result, and because of their inherent centrality in the everyday lives of nearly all Bougainvilleans, they have been pivotal in the transformation of rapid societal change into social crisis and collapse.

Communal groups embody the antithesis of the idea of civil society, being based precisely on their members' attachment to restricted ascribed bonds. Pre-contact New Guinea had no communities 'in which descent was irrelevant to the recruitment of social labour or the establishment of rights to productive resources, especially land.'261 Subsequently, communal groups have remained the most important socio-political entities for the majority of Bougainville's largely rural population. Regan claims that 'no individual stands alone in relationship to the community' in modern Bougainville.262 One of the most characteristic features of Melanesian social organisation is the small size of its political units. They do not coincide with the nineteen linguistic-cultural divisions, but are organised according to various patterns.263

Bougainvillean communities were hardly immune to outside influences before the appearance of mining. The introduction and extension throughout Bougainville of pigs, sweet potatoes and metal tools via various trade-routes, and the appearance decades later of European sailors, traders and adventurers, for example, all considerably altered sociopolitical organisation. Subsequently, the arrival of missionaries, establishment of plantations, extension of colonial government by patrol, and experience of the World Wars also had enormous consequences — ending local warfare and causing settlement in larger villagers, for instance. Later still, the introduction of cash cropping increased domestic discord over the patrilineal versus matrilineal inheritance of new forms of

(Canberra, NCDS, 1994) p. 14 (citing Fisk). She warns this support mechanism is beginning to fray - Ibid., p. 15. 260 In accordance with dictionary definitions. 261 T. Wesley-Smith & E. Ogan, Op. Cit., p. 247. 262 A. Regan, 'Submission', p. 52. He continues that the 'individual is connected to the broad community through the local manifestations of the clans to which all belong - the land-holding lineages ... so [that] when an individual commits a "wrong" against another individual, it is as much - or more - a responsibility of the lineage to which he or she belongs' - Ibid., p. 52. 263 Communal groups contain various combinations of chiefly and big-man leadership styles, and have tended to emphasise matrilineal rules of residence. Matrilineal organisation traces descent through the female line, so that 'a man belongs to his mother's group not his father's, and he inherits land from his mother's brothers' - see M. de Lepervanche, 'Social Structure', in I. Hogbin (ed.) Anthropology in PNG (Melbourne, Melbourne UP, 1973) p. 11. Eg. see D. Mitchell on traditional Nagovisi social organisation - Land and Agriculture in Nagovisi PNG (Boroko, IASER, 1976) p. 9; & see E. Ogan, on Nasioi organisation - 'Perspectives from Nasioi', pp. 2-3. 202 wealth.264 However, such pre-mining changes did not fundamentally threaten the very existence of communal groups on Bougainville, which were generally able to adjust to —and, to some extent, counter-adapt— new factors.

However, the changes generated by the advent of large scale mining were of a different order of magnitude, at least in the immediate vicinity of the pit and supporting infrastructure. This resulted in the transformation of rapid social change into 'social disintegration' in parts of the province.265 Ogan had been warning of just such an effect since 1972, when he anticipated that BCL was potentially a force 'not simply for changing Nasioi economics, but for destroying any continuity between Nasioi life in the future and that in the past'.266 The severity of the pressure of mining on communal groups stemmed, firstly, from its material and symbolic impact on land and, secondly, from the extent and unfamiliarity of the economic changes that it wrought.

Bougainvillean communal groups are inseparably linked to matters of landownership — a fundamental necessity for subsistence in terms of both economic production and social identity. This imperative aspect of land was widely discussed in terms of security. For example, the 1989 Bika Report refers to the 'sovereignty' of clans over their land, and declares that land 'provides the most reliable security to the future of the clan'.267 O'Faircheallaigh, describes communal structures throughout Papua New Guinea 'a social security system through which members of kinship groups assist and support one another ... [via] a system of land tenure in which ownership is a community right granted to individuals or families by agreement among owning groups'.268 A 1989 statement by the Diocesan Priests of Bougainville described land as 'the livelihood and social security of the Melanesian clan'.269 A much-cited statement made during the pre-independence crisis claimed that to the Bougainvillean villager 'land is our life. Land is our physical life - food and sustenance. Land is our social life; it is marriage; it is status; it is security; it is politics; in fact it is our only world'.270 Thus, it could be expected that Bougainvilleans might fight for land in extreme circumstances.271

264 J. Nash, Op. Cit., p. 2. 265 T. Moulik, Op. Cit., p. 1; & see C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion' (discussed below). 266 E. Ogan, Business and Cargo, p. 67. 267 Bika Report, p. 8. 268 C. O'Faircheallaigh, Mining and Development, p. 215. 269 Reproduced in P. Polomka (ed.) Op. Cit., p. 95. 270 It continues 'how can a government make a group suffer for a myth that is called a "nation"?' - J. Dove, T. Miriung, & M. Togolo, ‘Mining Bitterness’, in P. Sack (ed.) Problem of Choice (Canberra, ANU Press, 1974) p. 182. 271 Substantial violence occurred on Bougainville for the first time since WWII in 1969 when police used force to remove protesters from Rorovana land being surveyed for mining purposes near Arawa. 203 Pressures stemming from the mine also symbolically weakened the integrity of Nasioi communal groups, which were already marked by the sort of quite loose cohesion and tendency towards dissolution that is seen in many parts of Melanesia. The problem was largely that of having to assign and dispense quite large amounts of wealth for which accustomed norms of distribution and consumption could not adequately be modified, as was described above. This exposed existing disjunctures and created new cleavages between the interests of Bougainvillean communal groups, their leaders, and their ordinary members, as Filer has explained in terms of 'social disintegration'.272 (He argues that it is precisely the characteristically limited scale of cooperation within and between "traditional" Melanesian societies that is the key to understanding the particularly unhappy relationship between miners and indigenes there.273)

Despite this inherent fragility, communal groups became important security referents throughout the province after serious political violence broke out in 1988-9. With the evaporation of the order previously provided by the state, they could offer their members a degree of protection and predicability. However, some long dormant inter-group conflicts, such as the hundred year old struggle between Rorovana and Nasioi language speakers were reignited, and other new struggles, such as the one between east and west Siwai factions, emerged.274 In these clashes, communal groups exhibited partly corporate interests characterised by both material and ideational subsistence needs. Their weakness in pursuit of these exigencies proved at least as consequential as a greater strength might have.

The security of ordinary individuals This part of the chapter examines the security imperatives of non-élite individuals in the Bougainville crisis. Ordinary individuals, like their local leaders, normally pursue security mainly from within the sort of communal groups described above. However, they clearly also have requirements of their own, distinct from the corporate needs of the socio-political units to which they belong. These needs are focused chiefly on personal safety, consonant with everyday meanings of security, but heightened by the prospect or occurrence of violence. Although such ills adversely affect groups, they happen to people. The aggregate effect of these searches for safety by individual Bougainvilleans has been important in shaping the course of the crisis.

272 This involves 5 main aspects: delineation, distribution, stratification, inheritance and succession. Here each addition to the institutions of "development" has subtracted something from the solidarity of the community ... large-scale mining projects not only have the effect of speeding up the rate of social change in the surrounding communities, but also undermine the sort of compromise which has 'traditionally' been sufficient to contain or counteract the forces of disintegration - C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', pp. 88-96. 273 C. Filer, 'The Melanesian Way of Menacing the Mining Industry', p. 175. 274 N. Ahai, 'Building Trust and Rebuilding People', pp. 16-18. 204 Some theorists of cultural anthropology have questioned the validity of unmodified use of the term "individual" in Melanesian contexts. In particular, Marilyn Strathern dismisses the conception of the integrated and bounded individual Melanesian living their life as a continuous directed person as a cultural fiction. She objects to presupposition of a hierarchical relationship between Melanesian societies and individuals, suggesting —not uncontroversially— that singular persons might be better understood as 'multiple persons' or 'dividuals'.275 These 'contain a generalised sociality within ... constructed as the plural and composite site of the relationships that produced them.'276 Others, too, stress that 'the Melanesian person is relational, the precipitate (or node) of numerous and particular social relations'.277 However, these social relations are not typically limited to one group alone. Liria ranks any Papua New Guinean's loyalties, 'firstly to his parents, then his immediate relatives, then in order the clan, the village, the tribe, the district, the region, the occupation such as soldier, and ... [only then to] the nation-state of Papua New Guinea'.278 Not all of these claims would likely be identically pressing, or even simultaneously present, for different people. Consequently, it is at least partly a matter of choice.279 Despite an inclination to give particular weight to the welfare of social groups in their calculations of utility, Bougainvilleans would seem to be rational utility maximisers, like people elsewhere.

Discussion of the activities of ordinary Bougainvillean individuals hardly abounds in the standard academic literature and journalistic reporting on the crisis. Their invisibility is due to the characteristic operation of Bougainvilleans in groups, and to the standard focuses of the academic disciplines that have dominated such accounts on other matters. Nevertheless, evidence of personal considerations determining the actions of individuals is not wholly absent. It is perhaps clearest in the actions of refugees. At one stage, about half the provincial population had fled to government care centres, overseas, or to elsewhere in the country.280 They did not usually flee

275 She 'argues that the idea of an overarching society, populated by individuals, is inimical to Melanesian thinking, which (to simplify) conceptualises people more in terms of relationships than identities' - P. Larmour, 'Migdal in Melanesia', in P. Dauvergne (ed.) Weak and Strong States in Asia- Pacific Societies (Sydney, Allen & Unwin, 1998) p. 82. 276 M. Strathern, The Gender of the Gift (Berkeley, California UP, 1988) p. 13. 277 R. Foster, 'Print, Advertisements and Nation-making in Metropolitan PNG', in R. Foster (ed.) Nation Making - Emergent Identities in Post-Colonial Melanesia (Ann Arbor, Michigan UP, 1995) p. 165. 278 He is explaining Sam Kauona's desertion of the PNGDF for the BRA - Op. Cit., p. 182. 279 This accords with depictions of socio-political identity being partly "situational" (depending on local variations to general codes and the specific circumstances facing persons and groups) - J. Okamura, ‘Situational Ethnicity’, Ethnic and Racial Studies Vol. 4 No. 4, 1981, pp. 452-65, discussed in Ch. 3. 280 People living in care centres swelled to nearly 80 000 in 59 camps throughout the island after June 1996 - Post-Courier, 'Operation High Speed Did More Bad than Good, Says Laimo', 9 August 1996. Other refugees made their way to Cairns, Goroka, Lae, Port Moresby, Rabaul, and the Solomons. 205 completely alone, but sometimes did so in groups smaller than the minimal standard political communities discussed above, clans and lineages.281

The insecurity of individual Bougainvilleans, in both the crisis and pre-crisis phases, has been produced by two closely connected basic types of threat to personal well-being: psychological and physical dangers. Subjective fears shape both as much as objectively tangible perils. The psychological well-being of ordinary individuals has long been assailed by the rapid pace and enormity of change associated with mining, especially in Central Bougainville. This mainly stems from the sort of social disintegration discussed above. Such psychological perils are described by the Tokpisin words wari and hevi, which Filer translates as 'bad feelings ... which must sooner or later have their day of reckoning.'282 Perhaps the most profound psychological impact of mining stemmed from lasting distress produced by the spectacle of the land seizures and clearances of the late 1960s.283 Fear of harm, has often been based on an incomplete understanding of the forces of change at work, but been no less distressing or disruptive for that.284

A 1978 report warned of the disruptive effects of money rapidly becoming indispensable to most Bougainvilleans.285 This had the effect of weakening communal group solidarity and of spreading confusion and animosity within such groups. In this environment, Moulik claims each Bougainvillean on one hand seemed 'almost pathologically nostalgic about the traditional customs of the past; [while] on the other hand he is equally strongly desirous of the benefits of the exchange economy.'286 Filer labels this sort of social dislocation-triggered nostalgia for a romanticised past the 'myth of Melanesian communism ... the story of a village which exists everywhere and nowhere', and presents this as an ideology of the national political élite and 'romantic' expatriates more than villagers themselves.287 However, Regan shows that this sort of nostalgia, anguish and despair, seen in yearning for the imagined lost certainties

281 Early in the war, 'survival of the fittest [became] the law of the jungle... [for some people] with the collapse of the social structure - including the family and clan' as villages disintegrated - S. Korovalabula, ' Bougainville - Island of Sorrow', Pacific Islands Monthly, November 1994, p. 9. 282 C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', p. 88. 283 PARTiZANS, Op. Cit., p. 69. 284 According to a 1969 article on the Panguna mine in the Australian newspaper, 'underlying the natural reluctance of people whose only possession is land to part with it is a simmering concatenation of fear, suspicion, ignorance, resentment, superstition, fantasy and self-interest impossible to disentangle into any rational pattern' - quoted in B. Jinks, P. Biskup, & H. Nelson, Readings in New Guinea History (Sydney, Angus & Robertson, 1973) p. 402. 285 The report, by the anthropologist (and BCL consultant) Douglas Oliver, was presented to NSPG Premier Sarei - see D. Oliver, 'Aspects of Modernization in Bougainville, PNG', Honolulu, 1981, p. 2. 286 T. Moulik, Op. Cit., p. 126. 287 C. Filer, 'The Bougainville Rebellion', pp. 84-5. Eg. Momis laments that 'Nasioi society is no longer the stable, satisfying society that it once was' - 'Taming the Dragon', in P. Sack (ed.) Problem of Choice (Canberra, ANU Press, 1974) p. 193 (emphasis added). 206 represented by kastom, existed at all levels in the province by the 1980s.288 Wanek, claims that the search for identity, by communities in Melanesia 'is today often coupled with an individual search, not only for cultural identity but also for social and cultural security ... result[ing] in a process of creative neo-traditionalism.'289 In this context, widespread enthusiasm for "tradition" and political independence for Bougainville beckoned as 'a panacea to a range of evils.'290 These aspirations had long been reinforced by the slowly deteriorating law and order situation.291

Some commentators have stressed the role of unmet "human needs" for psychological requirements, such as basic confidence in a stable identity, in fanning the conflict. For example, speakers at a November 1988 meeting in Guava village complained that 'mining causes mental illness', due to some factors as concrete as chemical pollution and others as nebulous as the presence of the Hash House Harriers social club.292 In other areas well away from the mine, the spontaneous mobilisation of the large youth cohort which rapidly and enthusiastically took up arms, and transformed the initial localised landowner dispute into a province-wide uprising, probably stemmed directly from deeply held feelings of 'frustration, rejection, hopelessness and the negative stereotyping that come with being called a dropout.'293 The disillusionment and alienation of these adolescents was caused by the inability of the education system to adequately serve the vast majority of the province's rural youth.294 Fighting has given such youths excitement, purpose, and some access to otherwise unavailable goods.295 The popularity of strongmanship as a response to alienation, known throughout the province as 'ramboism', may echo a 'customary method of dealing with the problem of political disintegration which has always afflicted Melanesian communities.'296 Ogan characterises this sort of attempt to punish the state as 'a traditional kind of payback or

288 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 5. The term kastom is problematical. Although it may certainly be used instrumentally and is inseparably linked to modernity, attempts to distinguish 'true tradition' from 'invented artifact' can miscast the former in a reified and essentialist way - M. Jolly, 'Specters of Inauthenticity', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 1, 1992, pp. 49-67. 289 A. Wanek, The State and its Enemies in PNG (Surrey, Curzon Press, 1996) p. 311 & pp. 20-6. 290 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 7. Affinity for various forms of pseudo-customary authority, in response to very real traumas such as WWII, had previously been seen in the particular prevalence of cults on Bougainville - eg. see E. Ogan, 'Cargoism and Politics in Bougainville', Journal of Pacific History Vol. 9 No. 1, 1974, pp. 117-29; & M. Rimoldi & E. Rimoldi, Op. Cit. 291 An incident in which the murder of a Bougainvillean woman near Kongara, apparently by mainlanders, seemed likely to go unpunished was an important catalyst of the transformation of the struggle from an 'industrial rights revolution' into a proto-secessionist movement - Australian, 'Ona Alone as the Crew Two Fighters Embrace Peace', 9 May 1998. 292 See Applied Geology Associates, Op. Cit. Appendix II. 293 N. Ahai, 'Rebuilding Trust and Rebuilding People', p. 15. 294 As opposed to the children of mine workers in urban areas, many of whom were non-Bougainvillean. 295 M. Forster, 'The Bougainville Revolutionary Army', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, p. 371. 296 C. Filer, 'Escalation of Disintegration', p. 135. 207 reprisal, demanding a compensatory response', in line with customary norms, including those concerning the perpetual renegotiation of agreements.297 Trompf calls the conflict 'Melanesia's first payback war.'298

Physical threats to personal safety have also undermined the security of ordinary Bougainvilleans and helped shape the course of the crisis. In the pre-crisis phase, these threats mainly stemmed from mining and the effects of rapid modernisation. During the crisis phase, they have mainly been produced by violence connected with the war and associated health problems. Some such dangers have been easily apparent to all involved, while some have been only partly understood, and others wholly unrecognised or misperceived. The most visible apparent menace to the safety of ordinary Bougainvilleans in the pre-crisis phase occurred in the vicinity of areas affected by mining operations. By the mid 1980s, some eight thousand hectares of the Empress Augusta Bay on Bougainville's southwest coast were covered with tailings, while the Kawerong-Jaba river bed had been raised by up to thirty metres and widened to one kilometre, with deep sediment covering the entire river floor.299 By 1989, 3 200 people had been relocated from twenty eight villages and hamlets due to mining.300 Relocated villagers and the inhabitants of other nearby settlements continued to experience serious disturbances to their lives. For example, the amount of gardening land available to Dapera and Moroni villagers had decreased by as much as ninety percent after relocation.301 In comparison, some other villages just a mountain ridge away from the mine experienced only minimal direct changes, or else felt both 'positive and negative effects that are difficult, indeed impossible to quantify.'302

Perceived physical impacts in mine-affected areas which were not harmful in Western scientific terms proved to have much the same impact as if they had been empirically based. It was difficult for people to accept that sharp odours from non-toxic chemicals washed into the Kawerong River from the mine frother, were not indicative of health dangers.303 Villagers raised on stories of fabulously abundant marine resources and forest game in 'the good old days'304 were unimpressed by independent scientific findings, released in 1989, that, although some losses of economic resources stemming from ecological change had certainly occurred, the extent of imagined

297 E. Ogan, 'Perspectives on a Crisis (5)', p. 39. 298 G. Trompf, Payback (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1994) p. 353. 299 PARTiZANS, Op. Cit., p. 69. 300 In the Rorovana Lease area, the Port-Mine Access Road Lease area, the Special Mining Lease area, and the Tailings Lease area - Applied Geology Associates, Op. Cit., 5.1 & 7.2.4. 301 Ibid., .8.2. 302 Ibid., 4.7. (BCL's presumed intention to start prospecting in other parts of the province as soon as permitted probably caused apprehension in most such areas.) 303 Ibid., 5.24. 304 Ibid., 7.31. 208 destruction was probably exaggerated. This report asserted that, although severe mental and emotional health problems certainly stemmed from the simple fact of the mine's presence, there was 'no evidence of direct harm to human physical health by the mine's operation'.305 Many effects, such as dust and noise from the twice-daily blastings, though not dangerous were quite intrusive. Consequently, scientific logic seemed to many central Bougainvilleans to be a 'white man's trick' designed mainly to baffle and cheat villagers.306 This impression was probably reinforced by a lack of positive consequences stemming from mining at the personal level, which might otherwise have partly counterbalanced the negative repercussions.307

Other subtle physical results of mining-accelerated modernisation also adversely affected the lives of Bougainvilleans and nurtured disaffection in the pre-crisis period. A particularly high rate of annual population growth, at around three percent prior to the conflict, was especially significant. The populace of the NSP tripled from around 40 000 people in 1939 to over 120 000 in 1980, growing by nearly thirty thousand in the single decade up to 1980.308 Population growth was augmented by the arrival of mainlanders hoping for mine-related employment. That and increased cash cropping, put considerable pressure on resources and services, especially land, increasing the frequency and intensity of personal, generational, and intra and inter clan conflict.309

Since the outbreak of the current crisis, ordinary Bougainvilleans have been confronted with the actual physical peril of acute violence. As discussed in Chapter Four, it is widely claimed that up to fifteen thousand people may have been directly or indirectly killed due the conflict. Whatever the precise casualty rate was, the need to avoid the threat of violence posed important secondary practical dangers to many ordinary Bougainvilleans — further reducing access to the basic physical necessities of life: food, shelter, clothing and health-care. This had harmful consequences for the well-being of ordinary Bougainvilleans, both in government controlled areas (particularly in the care centres) and, especially, in rebel held territory.310 The health of women and children was the most severely affected.311

305 Ibid., 7.22. 306 See J. Griffin, ‘Logic is a White Man’s Trick’, in D. Anderson (ed.) The PNG-Australia Relationship: Problems and Prospects (Sydney, Institute of Public Affairs, 1990) pp. 70-79. 307 In 1988, an average of less that five people from each of the twelve most adversely affected villages were employed by BCL - Applied Geology Associates, Op. Cit., 4.6.1. 308 J. Connell, 'The Panguna Mine Impact’ in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville: Perspectives on a Crisis (Canberra, SDSC, 1990) p. 48. 309 Ibid., pp. 48-53. 310 L. Evans, 'The Health and Social Situation on Bougainville', in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis - 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) pp. 45-50. 311 P. Onsa, 'The Impact of the Bougainville Crisis on the Women of Buka' in M. Spriggs & D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis - 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992) pp. 42-4. 209 Fear of violence and associated dangers has been politically significant in shaping the course of the conflict. The effect of abhorrence of the security forces, who burned 1600 homes in 1989, in spreading secessionist feelings has already been indicated.312 The subsequent evaporation of rebel legitimacy in 1990, due to its inability to impose order and calm, has also been noted. Unmet exigencies of physical safety quite quickly created a situation where 'the people wanted someone - anyone - to come and control the problem', and seemed prepared to accept a degree of tyranny as preferable to anarchy.313 The important practical role of ordinary women in pressing for peace is widely referred to in terms of "motherhood" — a term with particular resonance in matrilineal Bougainville.314 The peace monitoring force has 'created a secure political space' for most Bougainvilleans in which 'people feel relatively secure and safe, [so] are able to deal with differences through political processes, without resort to violence.'315

No doubt, the full range of human motivations —principled, noble and selfish— continued to govern the activities of ordinary individuals during the conflict. Clearly it has been relative rather than absolute safety that has been at stake, since multiple competing pressures had to be balanced, and at times no available option would have appeared very safe. Considerable personal bravery has also been exhibited by many who have chosen to go on living in contested rebel or government affiliated areas partly for reasons of conviction, and others. However, once faced by the immediate danger of actual violence, considerations of personal safety seemed to have played a large part in determining whether or not ordinary community members would go along with the plans of their leaders. Since the mid 1990s, the main politically significant outcome of personal concerns for safety has been the powerful war-weariness of ordinary Bougainvilleans.316 With even most rebel and Resistance groups now in favour of some sort of peaceful compromise over the issue of political independence, concern for the personal safety of individuals has arguably become one of the most crucial dynamics of the crisis.317

Stakeholder interactions Having confirmed the basic premises of the framework, it is possible to start refining the model itself. This requires attention to patterns of interactions between the five

312 S. Loosley, Op. Cit., p. 12. 313 M. Spriggs, 'Bougainville Update: May to October 1991', p. 203. 314 The April 30 ceasefire was labelled a 'mothers' peace' by Agnes Titus, for example, while Don McKinnon emphasised the way in which 'the women of Bougainville look after peace as if it was their child' - National, 'A Dream Comes True for Bougainville Mothers', 1 May 1998. 315 A. Regan, 'Submission', p. 59. 316 A. Regan, 'The Bougainville Conflict', p. 21. 317 However, the failure of the 1994 Arawa peace-process, during which popular clamour for reconciliation was nearly as prevalent, showed war-weariness cannot ensure durable peace alone. 210 types stakeholders and their searches for security. At this stage, inquiry into these dynamics can only be undertaken by studying behaviour in actual cases, such as the Bougainville conflict. The analysis conducted below provides some preliminary indications about such linkages. Five matters are considered. They concern the degree of overlap between stakeholder types; constellations of connection, cooperation and competition between them; their general relative strengths and weaknesses; differences in their operation as the conflict emerged, escalated, and de-escalated; and whether, and if so how, the different security quests have been deliberately encouraged to take place in a slightly more compatible way. These findings will be returned to when the stakeholder model is revisited in Chapter Seven.

Although the five broad categories of security stakeholders examined in this chapter exhibited a degree of overlap, they appeared surprisingly discrete overall. Obviously, the categories are ideal-types. Some actors in all four other categories, rather than only élites, tried to capture state authority and resources, for example, while some actual national élite figures simultaneously partly controlled bits of state, cultivated local political influence, harboured a remnant of nationalist sentiment, tried to assist the communal groups to which they belong, and showed concern for particular non-élite individuals. However, despite this inevitable degree of overlap, all of the actors encountered in this case study were able to be fairly neatly classified into one, or at most a few, security stakeholder categories. For example, Fr Momis, depicted as a local élite actor, could equally have been categorised as a national élite figure, also mainly pursing political survival, but could hardly have been considered a state institution, a communal group, an ordinary individual, or even primarily a champion of a strong national entity given some of his past actions. The prominent NGO figures who contested the 1997 election on an anti-Sandline platform appear to have been playing something of a double-role at the time, but have subsequently had to become fairly full- time practitioners of the politics of survival. The political and bureaucratic élites who directed and operated the state sometimes tried to promote its sovereignty as part of their own stakes in political survival, but these two interests that exist in "government" did not coincide so consistently that they did not need to be distinguished.

Constellations of connection (or disconnection), cooperation, and competition between the five stakeholder types and their searches for security also began to emerge in the analysis of events on Bougainville above. In particular, there were some preliminary indications of how each of the five searches for security cohere or conflict with the others. The search for sovereignty by the state seemed only fairly weakly linked to the other searches for security, except when it tried to use its coercive arms to pursue this end. Although that was ostensibly done partly in the name of values such as civil society, the welfare of communal groups, and the safety of ordinary individuals, it 211 tended to endanger all those interests, as well as those of the competing élites it was aimed at. The actions of élite figures, characterised by reckless or clumsy short-term manoeuvres to preserve political survival, interacted strongly, and often negatively, with all the other searches for security (especially those of other élite actors). In comparison, deliberate attempts by some potential bits of nation to foster a sociable national space by promoting the ideal of civil society were potentially complimentary with all the other searches for security, but were only very weakly linked to any of them. The semi-corporate pursuit of day-to-day and existential subsistence by communal groups interacted quite closely with all the other searches for security, since such groups remain politically and economically crucial on Bougainville, but did so in too complicated a way to be easily summarised. Ordinary individuals typically, but not always, searched for security through the communal groups of which they were a part. The manner in which each search for security took place was not entirely zero-sum. Neither individuals' searches for safety within communal groups, nor élite figures' pursuit of survival politics by manipulating the tools of state were necessarily wholly incompatible with the security interests of those communal groups or the state, for example. Rather, each quest was generally pursued without regard for the others, especially as violence escalated. The same was true of searches for security by different actors within the same category of stakeholders. Each of a pair of neighbouring communal groups, for example, would pursue subsistence in a relationship likely to be at once partly cooperative and partly competitive but ultimately mainly self-serving.

Some evidence of the general relative strength of the different stakeholder types also emerged in the analysis conducted above. One finding was especially evident. Filer has argued that it is not the power but rather the weakness of the state which was so appallingly brought to bear on the people of Bougainville during the war.318 However, it is apparent that all the stakeholders operating during the crisis were consistently in weak positions. In many ways, it was the precarious position more than the strength of communal groups or particular leaders that threatened the state, for example. This accords with Chapter Three's discussion of violence in developing countries in terms of "insecurity" complexes, dilemmas and predicaments, rather than security problems. The relative prevalence of stakeholder types continually varied according to particular circumstances. None appears to consistently have the upper hand, though the large part of the chapter devoted to élite figures suggests their especially important role in the conflict, and their repeated possession of the political initiative that other types of referents generally reacted to. Nevertheless, it appeared that each stakeholder type, perhaps except the bits of nation promoting civil society, had certain strengths and weaknesses that established a rough equivalence between them. The state had the

318 C. Filer, 'Escalation of the Disintegration', p. 118. 212 advantage of quite substantial resources, including the coercive arms, but its institutional capacity was generally weak and its connection with other stakeholders was often shallow. As indicated above, élite figures consistently held the political initiative, but they were faced by an intensely competitive environment containing very many ambitious, sometimes ruthless, rival nodes of power. NGOs and other referents accepted to be sincerely invoking the national ideal received a degree of influence from the "moral high ground" that this continues to lend, but their entreaties probably appeared fairly abstract in the face of immediately pressing potential violence. Communal groups were probably somewhat strengthened by having to replace the state as the principal security providers for most ordinary people, but the pressure of violence could also potentially split such groups by obliging "self-preservation" by their own tighter subgroups and even individual members. Ordinary individuals possessed some aggregate influence due to their sheer numerical strength, as seen in the role of widespread war-weariness in promoting the de-escalation of the fighting, but were often personally exposed to dangerous pressures beyond their control.

The five searches for security can be seen to have operated slightly differently in different phases of the crisis, as violent conflict first emerged, quickly escalated, and eventually de-escalated. They do not directly account for the long-term structural pressures that produced growing tensions in the pre-crisis period, since the searches only fully come into play once serious violence seems imminent or occurs. The nature of the pressures facing the categories of actor that were later to become security stakeholders, during the mid 1980s for example, were quite similar to those faced several years later when discord escalated into crisis. Pressures faced in 1975-76, when the eruption of very serious disorder was avoided, were also potentially similar since the prospect of serious violence was present then. However, the five searches for security became central in shaping of the course of the conflict once the extra ingredient of unbridled violence was added to the equation in 1988-89. Faced with the immediate prospect of violence, normal aspirations and relations were transformed into security imperatives. The usual pursuit of happiness and well-being by individuals, for example, was transformed into a search for safety to be advanced by almost any means thought necessary. When such actions were taken by many people the dissonance of rival searches for security further increased, prompting a cycle of escalating recourse to unilateralism and violence. However, by the mid 1990s, calculation of how the five security imperatives could be met was changing. Growing recognition by most stakeholders that no party could prevail militarily began to provide room for eventual reversal of the destructive escalatory cycle.319 This was reinforced by the spectre of the

319 Eg. the survival strategies of élite figures on Bougainville increasingly depended on the promise of peace to remain competitive after the initiative of Theodore Miriung and the North Nasioi, while the state's pursuit of sovereignty was dissociated from the un-viable aim of outright victory at any cost. 213 Sandline plan which had seemed to promise serious dangers for all involved, while illustrating the mutual advantages that a jointly acceptable compromise on peace might offer — that is, for the sovereignty of the state, most élite actors' prospects of political survival, the opportunity for bits of nation to establish a meaningful civil society, the subsistence of communal groups, and for the safety of ordinary individuals.

Finally, scrutiny of the Bougainville crisis began to provide some preliminary indications of how the five searches for security might be deliberately encouraged to occur in a more sociable manner. Most actual rehabilitation programs for Bougainville are being planned on a sectoral, rather than actor-oriented, basis.320 This is simply because the sort of bodies that design such programs, especially governmental ones, are designed to operate that way. The specific projects that make up such sectoral programs, though, are now designed with a careful regard for the interests and involvement of the many stakeholders affected. For example, AusAID tries to 'employ as many Bougainvilleans as possible on aid projects'.321 Both positive and negative indicators of whether the five key security imperatives are likely to be much better accommodated currently exist. Ultimately, though, the challenge remains a formidable one. All the irreducible security requisites of all the stakeholders involved must eventually be reconciled, or at least be thought reconcilable, if recent progress on the cessation of hostilities is to be converted into a durable —that is, just and flexible— peace. The necessity of political compromise has now been publicly acknowledged, and a commitment made to practical initiatives aimed at increasing the participation and personal stake in peace of people at all levels, by most major figures in the war.322 In the medium-term, the attainment of and adherence to some formula for special autonomous political status for Bougainville seems quite likely. In the long term, however, all potential candidates for the task of arbitrating multiple security exigencies in the common interest and fostering their more complimentary interaction remain weak. Notwithstanding the current goodwill of most parties, success is far from assured given the shallow foundations of both the state and civil society in Papua New Guinea

320 In September and October 1998, GoPNG's Office of Bougainville Affairs organised talks to plan an integrated Bougainville Restoration Program. Its aim is to coordinate donor involvement and to facilitate the full re-engagement of line government departments in the province. Five sectoral working groups address health; agriculture and private sector; women; education; and law, justice and social rehabilitation - National, 'Sectoral Meet Set in Arawa', 23 October 1998. 321 JSCFADT, Bougainville, p. 136. 200 Bougainvilleans were employed in long-term reconstruction and about 3000 youths had been employed as casual labourers. Also see AusAID, PNG Program Profiles 1998 (Canberra, AusAID, 1998) pp. 58-63. 322 For example, National, 'Ensure People's Role in Bougainville Peace Process: Skate', 15 May 1998; National, 'BTG Approves Funds for Rebel Programs', 27 May 1998; National, 'Top Rebel Tells Scouting Businessmen to Stay Out', 29 May 1998; & National, 'Speed Up Peace Process on Central Bougainville: Chiefs', 16 June 1998; National, 'Akoitai Move to Employ Bougainville Youths Praised', 13 August 1998. 214 and the limited sway and stake of outside countries and IGOs in the conflict. This matter is taken up and further discussed in Chapter Seven.

Conclusion This chapter has directly employed Chapter Three's theoretical framework to reconsider the roles of a very wide range of complicated political choices and structural pressures in shaping the causes and course of violent conflict on Bougainville. It helped to accomplish two main objectives.

Firstly, the analysis was conducted as a case study to begin to appraise the key foundations and the possible explanatory power of the stakeholders framework. In terms of the central premises of the model, it was found that each of the five stakeholder-types operating on Bougainville basically pursued the search for security that was posited for it in Chapter Three, and did so in a more distinct and consistent way than Chapter Four suggested threat-types occur in. Here, the institutions of the state mainly tried to preserve or increase Papua New Guinean sovereignty; national, local, and even transnational élites all manoeuvred to stay one step ahead of short-term ruin in the manner depicted in theoretical conceptions of survival politics; the special category of élite actors that consciously see themselves as potential bits of a meaningful national entity pursued the goal of civil society; communal groups sought the necessities of day-to-day and existential subsistence; and the ordinary individuals within them chiefly sought personal safety in the face of potential violence. In terms of the possible explanatory value of the stakeholder model, the case study was quite encouraging. At the end of Chapter Four it was suggested that the basic utility of the model could be indicated by an ability to help fill the main gap in the existing literature on the crisis. This is the lack of a synthesising lens able to accommodate existing insights offered from diverse theoretical perspectives in a way that is generalisable enough to draw on lessons from, or provide lessons for, other analyses of violent conflict in Melanesia and beyond. This chapter demonstrated that the security stakeholder framework could integrate findings offered by all four principal past explanations, which emphasise cultural, ethnic, historical-economic, and local-level factors respectively. The simple five-part design of the stakeholder model is so straightforward that it can be expected that useful comparative analysis of other cases could be conducted on its basis.

Secondly, analysis of the Bougainville crisis was conducted to begin to refine the security stakeholders model itself. Some preliminary indications of patterns of interactions between the five types of stakeholders and their searches for security was gained by scrutinising the Bougainville crisis. These involved the degree of overlap between stakeholder types, constellations of cohesion and conflict between them, their 215 relative strength, their changing operation as the conflict escalated and de-escalated, and the possibility of encouraging their more sociable operation. The findings will be returned to when the stakeholder model is revisited in Chapter Seven.

Overall, a focus on the different searches for security involved in the Bougainville crisis provided an accurate and efficient way to explain the outbreak, intensification, and subsequent de-escalation of violent political conflict there.

216 CHAPTER SIX Case II: Security Stakeholders and Renewed Highlands Warfare This chapter directly employs the theoretical framework developed in Chapter Three to investigate a second practical problem involving violent political conflict in Papua New Guinea. It examines the political choices and underlying structural pressures that have principally shaped the emergence, spread, and intensification of contemporary warfare in the five highlands provinces. As was described in Chapter Four, small scale warfare is widespread in the Papua New Guinea highlands. While fights involved hundreds of bowmen in the late colonial years, since the mid 1980s shotguns and rifles have been used. The number of warriors has been reduced, but battle deaths have greatly increased. Such fights may have a sharp climax, but wars with a sequence of clashes can go on for many years with long interludes of peace.

The analysis in this chapter is chiefly conducted to advance the same pair of objectives that were pursued in Chapter Five. It provides another case study for the initial validity-testing and preliminary refinement of the new approach designed to begin to disaggregate state and societal security in Papua New Guinea. Accordingly, the first task of the chapter is to re-appraise the key foundations and the likely explanatory value of the stakeholders framework. To help assess the central premises of the model, it must be ascertained whether each of the five stakeholder-types involved in tribal fighting pursues basically the type of search for security posited for it in Chapter Three, and if each does so in a fairly distinct and consistent way. To consider the explanatory power of the model, it will be useful to see if it can help fill the main gap in the existing theoretical literature on highlands warfare, also indicated in Chapter Four. As was the case in regard to the Bougainville crisis, this is the lack of an integrating lens able to accommodate existing insights that have been offered from diverse theoretical perspectives. As discussed in Chapter Four, Knauft identifies four broad categories of social-structural, ecological, political, and psychological explanations of precolonial and current Melanesian Warfare. He further divides these into about a dozen subcategories involving specific matters such as population pressure on land, the self-seeking activities of local leaders, or responses to different historical- materialist moments.1 As was noted, such 'monocausal' accounts have come to be widely regarded as inadequate in their own rights, but potentially complimentary.2 Once again, a satisfactory synthesising approach will have to operate in a simple and standard way to allow the comparison with other violent episodes or phenomena

1 B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare: A Theoretical History', Oceania Vol. 60 No. 4, 1990, p. 250-311. 2 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Law and Order in the New Guinea Highlands (Hanover, University Press of New England, 1985) p. 5. 217 necessary for subsequent theory-building. This is because an over-specialised or over- complicated apparatus would permit only descriptive analysis.

The second purpose of this case study is to continue the task of beginning to refine the model itself. This must be done by scrutinising the interactions of the searches for security. The same five issues that were considered in Chapter Five are briefly examined. Preliminary indications of any overlap between stakeholders, constellations of cohesion and conflict between their searches, their relative strength, any difference in operation as conflict dynamics change, and prospects for their deliberate coordination, are reviewed. Findings will be taken up in Chapter Seven.

This chapter has seven parts. The first five each examine the composition, imperatives, and behaviour of one of the categories of security referent introduced in Chapter Three: the state, élites, "bits of" nation, communal groups, and individuals. It is found that each type of stakeholders is fairly consistently confronted by and responds to the key exigency posited in Chapter Three, irrespective of what particular military, political, economic, societal, or environmental threats it faces or what specific coping- strategies it adopts. The sixth part of the chapter considers patterns of interactions between the different types of security stakeholders. The conclusion suggests that a focus on the intersection of the five searches for security accurately and efficiently revealed the causes and conduct of renewed highlands warfare, and did so in a generalisable enough manner to allow useful comparison with other types of political violence in Papua New Guinea.

The security of the state For present purposes, threats to the security of the Papua New Guinea state stemming from so-called tribal fighting are best examined against the Independence Constitution. Although renewed warfare was already quite common by the time this was formulated, no 'modern state claiming to exercise sovereignty can allow its monopoly over the legal use of force to be challenged by citizens taking up arms either against the government or against each other'.3 Accordingly, the constitution was partly designed to help alleviate intergroup violence and other challenges to the state's authority in two ways: as an idealistic blueprint and as a practical framework.4 Only the second of these projects fully endures. However, both were based on the goal of sovereignty accumulation.

3 B. Standish, Provincial Government in PNG (PoM, IASER, 1979) p. 128. 4 Y. Ghai, 'Establishing a Liberal Political Order Through a Constitution', Development and Change Vol. 28 No. 2, 1997, pp. 303-30. He focuses on the constitutional tension between democracy and "people power" versus the rule of law and state power. 218 Construction of the constitution of a new state cannot be an entirely dispassionate exercise. In fact, the process was highly politicised in pre-Independence Papua New Guinea, where the Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC) sometimes assumed the role of 'counter government' and even 'albatross' around the Chief Minister's neck.5 The framers intended that the constitution should not only be a practical mechanism, but that it should also be an aspirational instrument in its own right.6 It was supposed to help shape a national political style consonant with progressive goals of domestic peace, stability, and justice. The lengthy 1974 CPC Report was itself enshrined as part of this legally prescribed ideology for the overall development of the country.7 All post- colonial policies were to be guided by an emphasis on integral human development, determined by some combination of nebulous "customary" values and modern, enlightenment-derived, National Goals and Directive Principles.8 Sound development 'was to be reached through national sovereignty and self-reliance'.9 However, this aspirational aspect of the constitution has been largely overwhelmed by the remarkable tenacity and counter-adaptive power of precolonial models of leadership and reciprocity described in Chapter Two, and by Papua New Guinea's quite weak position in the global economy.10

Given its inability to resolve tribal fighting, the state has been constitutionally required to try to at least contain it in the immediate-term. It does so with tools of state established or authorised as parts of the constitutional framework. These have also suffered many reverses in the face of continued highlands warfare and other challenges. Nevertheless, few key state institutions have been relieved of their institutional duties through abolition.11 Rather, most remain responsible for the basic tasks for which they were commissioned. These tasks amount to the pursuit of sovereignty. Two types of administrative strategies —'suppressive' and 'preventative'— have continued to be

5 Michael Somare made the "albatross" comment during a radio interview - D. Hegarty, 'January-April 1974', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) pp. 217-8. The draft CPC report was tabled in the House on 27 June 1974 but not adopted until 17 August 1975 after much debate (including a government minority report). The CPC and the constitution are discussed in P. Bayne, 'Law, Order and Rights', in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, RSPacS, 1986) pp. 48-56. 6 The aim of transforming society from above to fit the grand vision of a new public morality was inspired by overseas examples of socialist constitution-making - Y. Ghai, Op. Cit., pp. 312-3. 7 By S. 24 (Interpretation) of the Constitution - see Ibid., p. 311. Although the document was 'intensely nationalist ... the ideology of change explicit in the discussion of national goals was not really matched by the recommended institutional changes' - D. Hegarty, 'September-December 1974', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 227. 8 The National Goals and Directive Principles are contained in the preamble. They call for "the use of Papua New Guinean forms of social and political organisation" but also emphasise individual rights. 9 Y. Ghai, Op. Cit., p. 308. 10 It hardly survives, except in a very limited rhetorical sense - Ibid., pp. 311 & 324-9. 11 Some lesser bodies have tended to be created and disbanded (or more often created and then ignored) as prominent figures have gained and lost ascendancy. 219 employed to address tribal fighting.12 Although frequently implemented in uncoordinated, even self-defeating, ways, they share the aim of preserving or increasing the capacity of the state to exercise sovereignty in the face of indirect and sporadic but continuous challenges to its authority. The constitution provided the legal basis for the adaptation of official machinery from the colonial era and for the establishment of new institutions to pursue these strategies. Some such tools of state were intended to offer alternatives to, or to quell, violent self-help: by deterring, mediating, halting, or punishing such interactions. Others been created to guide, produce, and implement criminal justice legislation and case-law. Attempts to formally accommodate certain "traditional" Melanesian ways, discussed below, have also been partly driven by a practical need to increase institutional effectiveness by increasing the legitimacy of the state.

The capacity of the coercive instruments of state to contain highlands warfare has always been rather limited. According to Dorney, the Royal Papua New Guinea Constabulary (RPNGC) transferred to the new country at self-government 'was the most crippled of any government agency'.13 The force had been rapidly depleted of experienced expatriate officers between 1973 and 1976, had inherited a barracks- dominated para-military culture, and was so lacking in specialised skills, management, long-range planning, investigations, and prosecution capabilities that the 1984 Clifford report on law and order was soon warning of a dangerous gap between its declining capacity and the rising threat of crime.14 Currently, there are approximately five thousand uniformed regular police men and women in Papua New Guinea. This means that the police-to-population ratio has nearly halved (to about 1:800) since 1975.15 It is not unusual for police equipment, including vehicles, to be temporarily unavailable for lack of funds for basic maintenance and even fuel.16 However, the RPNGC budget was significantly cut in the 1999 national budget.17 A dozen thirty-man mobile (riot) squads were formed in the late 1960s specifically to help quell outbreaks of "civil unrest".18 By

12 W. Clifford, Law and Order in PNG, Vol. 1 (PoM, INA, 1984)p. 241. 13 S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea (Sydney, Random House, 1990) p. 296. 14 W. Clifford, Op. Cit., pp. 185-216. 15 S. Dinnen, 'In Weakness and Strength', in P. Dauvergne (ed.) Weak and Strong States (Sydney, Allen Unwin, 1998) pp. 52-3. Overall police numbers per capita are approximately 50% lower than Australian levels - M. O'Connor, 'PNG in Perspective', Quadrant Vol. 38, July/August 1994, p. 65. The fact that only about half of PNG's rural population is accessible by road makes police coverage even more uneven - S. Dinnen, 'Militaristic Solutions in a Weak State', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 11 No. 2, 1999, p. 282. 16 S. Dinnen, 'In Weakness and Strength', p. 53. 17 The police budget shrank from K96m for 1998 to K82m for 1999 - National, 'Diro: Restore Police Funds', 15 April 1999. This led to a never fully implemented plan to retrench 10% of police personnel - National, '500 Cops to be Axed', 26 March 1999. 18 Full-time riot squads were formed in 1966 and first used to subdue disturbances in Bougainville and New Britain in 1969 - R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 85. 220 1973, however, the legitimacy and authority of the police was 'increasingly being rejected' in parts of the highlands.19 By 1986, police efforts to end tribal fighting were 'singularly failing to achieve this objective ... [and in fact often] counter-productive.'20 Unsuccessful attempts to suppress fighting simply add a third faction to the conflict.21 Combined military-police activities in the highlands, such as Operation LO-MET-88 (Law and Order - Murder, Escapees, and Tribal Fighting in 1988) have tended to temporarily suspend or displace rather than help resolve crime and violence.22 The ninety-man Rapid Deployment Unit (RDU), formed to protect highlands resource facilities in 1991, quickly gained a reputation as 'the most indiscriminately violent of PNG police' but was not notably effective.23

The ideal of community policing has been reaffirmed in Papua New Guinea since at least 1978, but has appeared almost impossible to achieve in rural areas where "community" refers to residential groups much more than to a national society.24 Police brutality, which has included arson, assault, rape, and theft, tends to reinforce the unwillingness of social groups to cooperate with investigators in a vicious-cycle.25 Individual warriors and ringleaders are notoriously difficult to identify for prosecution without cooperative witnesses, and forensic techniques often work poorly on traditional "bush" materials.26 Police fears of being ambushed in "payback" for past actions discourages the establishment of regular beats in urban villages or unaccompanied ventures into rural ones.27 Unsubtle threats for villages to surrender suspected raskols, tribal fighters, or weapons "before police action takes it course" are made and carried- out.28 As a result, the state faced sixty-seven legal suits arising from police raids on villages, and paid K10m in juridicially awarded damages resulting from illegal operations in 1998 — a figure equal to more than ten percent of the entire RPNGC

19 N. Oram, 'Administration, Development and Public Order', n A. Clunies Ross & J. Langmore (eds.) Alternative Strategies for PNG (Melbourne, OUP, 1973) p. 34. 20 M. Mapusia, 'Police Policy Towards Tribal Fighting', in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, RSPacS, 1986). p. 65. Mapusia was RPNGC research officer. 21 M. Reay, 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', in R. May and H. Nelson (eds.) Melanesia: Beyond Diversity (Canberra, ANU Press, 1982) p. 633. 22 Eg. M. Oliver, 'July-December 1988', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 459. In fact, the PNGDF contributed only 33 of the 519 (mainly riot squad) personnel involved - R. May, The Changing Role of the Military in PNG (Canberra, SDSC, 1993) p. 42. 23 B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) p. 67. 24 W. Clifford, Op. Cit., p. 206. 25 Eg. B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 65 & pp. 74-8. 26 National, 'Cops Get Forensic Training', 22 October 1997. 27 B. Harris, The Rise of Rascalism (PoM, IASER, 1988) p. 32. 28 Eg. discussed in Post-Courier, 'Villagers Kill Policeman', 19 May 1998. 221 budget for the year.29 Records and what evidence is available are typically haphazardly kept and poorly presented in prosecutions of large numbers of suspected fighters, leading to low conviction rates, and further inciting frustrated police to mete out "rough justice".

The prison and court systems have also further weakened since independence. In 1973 the Paney committee deemed jail conditions so good that they might seem too lenient to deter tribal fighting.30 Just a decade later, though, the Clifford Report warned that the entire Corrective Institutions Service (CIS) was disintegrating, due to poor record keeping, grossly inadequate communications, a failure of supplies, minimal security, a paucity of leadership, and endemic escapes.31 In 1997 it was reported that many prison officers were working in civilian clothes as uniforms had not been supplied.32 By late 1998, the temporarily closure of Baisu Jail in Mt Hagen (by health authorities) and the scaling down of operations at Bui-ebi in the Southern Highlands (due to constant break-outs) left only two fully-operational regional prisons.33 Subsequently, the budgetary allocation for the CIS has been halved.34 In 1998 many civil and criminal courts, at all levels and in all locations except Waigani, gradually had support services such as telephone, fax and travel facilities cut, and sittings suspended, as their allocated portions of the Justice budget were exhausted.35 The on-going transfer of village court responsibilities from the national to the provincial level has resulted in local officials going unpaid for up to a year in some areas and in the abandonment of community level institutions such as Peace and Good Order Committees in others.36

The state's inability to simply enforce its strictures against tribal fighting has long spurred some acknowledgment that it must try to provide an alternative 'means of settling rural group disputes in a manner respected by all parties.'37 Although the police are sometimes criticised for conceiving their role as that of law enforcers rather than

29 Post-Courier, 'PM: Police Actions Costly', 26 January 1999. It was ordered to pay K5m in 1996 and K7m in 1997. 30 A popular name for prison was haus kaikai (restaurant) - P. Paney, Report of the Committee Investigating Tribal Fighting (Port Moresby, G.W. Reid, 1973), p. 36. 31 Op. Cit., p. 219. 32 Post-Courier, 'Reports on Prisons are Being Ignored - Judge', 4 February 1997. 33 They were Barawagi (CHB) and Bihute (EHP) - National, '30 Escape From Jail', 7 December 1998. December also saw the mass walk-out of more than 500 prisoners from Bomana jail in Port Moresby. 34 From K26m to K13m - National, 'Police Budget Slashed by K14m in 99', 17 November 1998. 35 National, 'Wenge Slams Sir Arnold Over Running of Judiciary', 9 September 1998. In Mt Hagen there were no civil court sittings after January and no criminal court sittings from May. (The Justice budget was one of those reduced by the Finance Department in mid-year, due to national financial problems - National, 'Stay on Court Sittings Due to Funds Shortage', 26 June 1998.) A single judge was hearing all National Court civil and criminal cases in 4 of the 5 highlands provinces by early 1999 - Post- Courier, 'Judge Starts Work on Backlog of Civil Cases', 12 February 1999. 36 Eg. National, 'Village Court Officials to Sue EHP Government', 2 October 1998. 37 S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, p. 310, quoting an INA paper by economist Barry Shaw. 222 peace-keepers38, official efforts to prevent disorder through the provision of non-violent dispute settling mechanisms have never been entirely absent. These reflect an awareness that 'for there to be public order in a non-repressive state ... individuals and groups must be able to feel that they carry some political weight, and that they ultimately will benefit from their participation as loyal citizens.'39 Highlanders quickly adopted the colonial courts as a new arena for personal and intergroup competition, and the informality and impermanence of early proceedings well-suited their need for an alternative to warfare when this was effectively suppressed.40 However, the moves towards less arbitrary but increasingly rigid and cumbersome judicial procedures from the 1960s, and the accompanying prospect of permanent settlement of group boundaries, weakened the coincidence of interests between the justice system and highlanders in the ways that were discussed in Chapter Four.41

To many commentators, one solution has seemed to be the greater accommodation of "customary" notions of justice in the legal system. In 1973, Barnett wrote that indigenous

custom has not played a major part in formal court decisions, though it has always been recognised, tacitly in Papua and explicitly in New Guinea, that customs should be recognised unless they were against public policy or in conflict with legislation. Day-to- day life for most people continues to be regulated largely according to norms based on custom.42 Prior to the Derham reforms of the early 1960s, the authoritarian Native Regulations of the colonial state, administered rather informally and inconsistently by kiaps in the Courts of Native Affairs, recognised customary marriages and divorces, and customary claims to property ownership.43 The 1963 Native Customs (Recognition) Act permitted custom to be taken into account in civil cases involving ownership or interests in land, riparian rights, devolution of land, trespass by animals, marriage, divorce and child custody, and transactions where parties intended custom to apply such as in brideprice payments and customary exchanges.44 According to Section Nine of the constitution, underlying law consists of three parts: custom, the English common law, and precedent from the growing body of Papua New Guinea case-law. Customary law overrides

38 Eg. Mapusia, Op. Cit., p. 68. 39 B. Standish, Provincial Government in PNG, p. 119. 40 Eg. the central Enga had referred to 'fighting in the courts' or 'fighting with words', and regarded the outcomes of cases —often concocted on spurious grounds against weaker non-fraternal neighbours— as equivalent to military victories or losses - M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument (California, Mayfield Publishing, 1977) p. 157. 41 Ibid., p. 159. 42 T. Barnett, 'Law and Justice Melanesian Style', in A. Clunies Ross & J. Langmore (eds.) Alternative Strategies for PNG (Melbourne, OUP, 1973) p. 60. 43 D. Weisbrot, 'Integration of Laws in PNG', in D. Weisbrot, A. Paliwala & A. Sawyer (eds.) Law and Social Change in PNG (Sydney, Butterworths, 1982) p. 59. 44 Ibid., p. 59. 223 common law but is outweighed, in turn, by statutory law such as the criminal code.45 In the early 1980s, administrators and academics debated the possible utility of encouraging "traditional" homicide compensation as a way of trying to settle intergroup conflicts after violence and injury had occurred.46 Administrators were generally even less optimistic about its likely success than scholars were.47 Nevertheless, the 1991 Criminal Law (Compensation) Act provided for the courts to order compensation payments in addition to any punishment imposed for offences.48

However, attempts to officially embrace custom have not been at all straightforward or altogether profitable. Although the likely result of not integrating pivotal indigenous social principles into the formal legal structure is 'having the law ignored in important areas of daily activity', no readily identifiable, commonly- acceptable, pre-existing customary alternative to introduced law really exists.49 An obvious clash, though, does exist between Western concepts of abstract individual justice and many Melanesian concepts of reciprocity and desire to heal breaches in the collective relations of the community.50 Some precolonial norms directly oppose the precepts of individual equality, justice and peacefulness enshrined in the constitution.51 The courts do not recognise any custom when 'it is not a good one', and the interpretation of this vague provision can lead to misunderstanding and violence.52

45 Discussed by J. Nonggorr in National, 'The Underlying Law of PNG', 7 October 1998. 46 In some precolonial highlands societies, payment of adequate compensation between minor enemy groups could substitute for a victim's life and preclude the need for further acts of revenge, while in others it could not occur even after fighting had ceased - eg. A. Strathern, 'Compensation: Should there be a New Law?', in R. Scaglion (ed.) Homicide Compensation in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1981) p. 7; cf. P. Sillitoe, 'Some More on War', in R. Scaglion (ed.) Homicide Compensation in PNG, p. 76. 47 Eg. ex-kiap T. MacIndoe warned that compensation alone could not stop fights once blood was spilled. He was concerned that official encouragement of homicide compensation would be seen as legalising fighting - 'Tribal Fighting and Compensation in Simbu', in R. Scaglion (ed.) Homicide Compensation in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1981) p 28. 48 C. Banks, 'Custom in the Courts - the Criminal Law (Compensation) Act of PNG', British Journal of Criminology Vol. 38 No. 2, 1998, pp. 229-316. The Act was promoted by the "Melanesian Ways" enthusiast and then Justice Minister Bernard Narokobi - eg. see Lo Bilong Yumi Yet (Suva, USP Press, 1989). The Act formally referred to payments by individuals only. Village courts (discussed below) have always been able to order compensation in minor civil cases. 49 T. Barnett, Op. Cit., p. 59 & p. 61. 50 N. Oram, Op. Cit., p. 39. W. Clifford, Op. Cit., pp. 110-111. 51 Eg. according to S. Garap, the lower one goes in the PNG court system —and moves away from constitutional legalism towards improvised/customary mediation and social rather than abstract truth— the worse it gets for women - 'Struggles of Women and Girls', in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds.) Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Canberra, Asia Pacific Press, 2000) pp. 162-5. R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, too, are anxious that the 'colonial fraud' of imposed law not be replaced by a 'neo-colonial fraud' of generalised, ossified, and oversimplified custom - Op. Cit., p. 204. 52 National, 'The Underlying Law of PNG', 7 October 1998. (The article uses the example of a highlands man married to a coastal woman who decides to take a second wife when his custom allows polygamy and hers does not. Polygamy, and church censure against the practice, can lead to suicides in the highlands, which may turn into compensation disputes and ultimately into intergroup violence). 224 Village courts, which were introduced from 1975 on the basis of the 1973 Village Courts Act, are guided more by pragmatic flexibility than custom per se.53 They provide for the establishment of 'peace and harmony in their areas by mediating in and endeavouring to obtain just the amicable settlements of disputes.'54 Their creation was recommended by the 1971 Curtis review of the lower courts, and strongly supported in the 1973 Paney report on tribal fighting. The creation of a village-level tier of courts had been opposed in the Derham reform period, for fear that acceptance of a system of 'native justice' would perpetuate inequality.55 However, a desire to relieve the case loads of local and district courts, and to establish some control over the useful but erratic local government council unofficial komiti and kot tribunals, led to a recognition that the pursuit of ideal administrative structures might preclude the creation of good ones.56 In the highlands, village courts typically serve an average of about four thousand people in several different villages, with three to ten magistrates, plus a clerk and a number of peace officers.57 Officials are appointed for three year periods by a supervising district court magistrate in consultation with local government councillors and other minor notables.58 By 1989 village courts provided services to over eighty percent of the country's rural population.59 By 1994 there were over a thousand village courts in operation throughout the country.60 They are authorised to adjudicate the sort of minor civil and criminal disputes that can lead to warfare.61

The village court system has been a topic of considerable scholarly and official debate. One school of thought holds that village courts quickly drifted away from custom and mediation towards excessive formalism and imposition of fines and custodial sentencing, resulting in an 'alienated dispute settlement' process, that mainly reflects the interests of local élites.62 The original foundations of this perspective lie in a belief that custom is itself a wholly colonially-contrived containment mechanism,

53 While 'commonsense and maybe creative ... [their rulings are] hardly customary in the sense intended by the Village Court legislation' - M. Goddard, 'The Snake Bone Case', Oceania Vol. 67 No. 1, 1996, p. 60. (S. 18 of the Act emphasises the importance of local customs.) 54 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 214 (quoting S. 19 of the Act). Gordon and Meggitt feel village courts have the potential to promote 'rational self-help' - p. 248. 55 N. Oram, Op. Cit., p. 38. 56 Ibid., p. 57. 57 W. Wormsley & M. Toke, The Enga Law and Order Project (Wabag, Department of Enga Province, 1985) pp. 42-5. 58 Ibid., pp. 42-5. 59 R. Scaglion, 'Legal Adaptation in a PNG Village Court', Ethnology Vol. 29 No. 1, 1990, p. 18. 60 M. Goddard, 'The Snake Bone Case', p. 51. 61 Their exact jurisdiction once violence has broken out is uncertain. In Enga a special category of joint village court sittings (to counter suspicions of bias) were sponsored by the Provincial Government to help address tribal fighting in Mekim Save operations. Village courts sometimes hear murder, rape, and landownership cases, which are beyond their official authority - W. Wormsley & M. Toke, Op. Cit., p. 46. 62 Eg. A. Paliwala, 'Law and Order in the Village', in D. Weisbrot, A. Paliwala & A. Sawyer (eds.) Law and Social Change in PNG (Sydney, Butterworths, 1982) p. 203. 225 designed to allow the rural peasantry an illusion of independence and self-rule while denying them the realities of power, with the aim of preventing the buildup of a permanent working class.63 However, a degree of formalism by magistrates is quite understandable in the village court context, where magistrates must establish some separateness from the community and feel that they derive a measure of authority from official trappings and style.64 Thus, the earlier Marxist accounts have largely been replaced by 'interactive models of legal pluralism', which see local people as legal innovators quite able to affect their own affairs, though not always in the common interest.65

No such consensus exists over the degree to which village courts may have mitigated intergroup fighting. Their success is difficult to assess because although fighting has spread and intensified it is impossible know what the situation would be like without them.66 In 1984 the Clifford Report judged that village courts were a success, at least in the sense that they were being widely used.67 In comparison, Wormsley and Toke state that 'if the point of village courts is to augment the political status of local leaders, then they are a raging success ... [but] if justice and ensuring the peace are the prime objectives, then Enga village courts fall far short of expectations.'68 Certainly, the village courts have suffered from a lack of cohesion with, and at times active hostility from, higher organs of the state, especially provincial government bodies, local government councils, and the police force.69

It is frequently pointed-out that some legislative packages designed to address tribal fighting and other forms of violent conflict have been directly undercut by various arms of the state.70 The 1977 Inter-Group Fighting Act established provincial peace and good order committees authorised to declare fighting zones that would make police

63 Eg. P. Fitzpatrick, Law and State in PNG (London, Academic Press, 1980) pp. 56-7, pp. 67-8, & pp. 101-4. 64 W. Clifford, Op. Cit., pp. 180-1. 65 R. Scaglion, 'Legal Adaptation in a PNG Village Court', p. 18. M. Goddard believes that custom is used more to justify that decide cases - 'The Snake Bone Case', pp. 50-1 (his examples are drawn from urban villages in Port Moresby). Also see G. Westermark, 'The Court is an Arrow', Ethnology Vol. 25 No. 1, 1986, pp. 131-49; & J. Zorn, 'Customary Law in the PNG Village Courts', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 2 No. 2, 1990, pp. 1-38. 66 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 224. 67 W. Clifford, Op. Cit., p. 184. 68 Op. Cit., p. 46. (Reay also accuses the village courts of reactionary male chauvinism, remarking that there was more justice in the 1960s witchcraft trials - 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', p. 628). 69 B. Standish, Provincial Government in PNG, p. 132; & R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., pp. 230- 36 & pp. 243-50. (The RPNGC is a national level institution.) 70 Many PNG police also believe that their work is constantly undermined by an overly lenient court system - S. Dinnen, 'Violence, Security and the 1992 Election', in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996) p. 80. Parliament restored capital punishment in 1991 but courts have very rarely imposed the sentence and in each case the it has been overturned, commuted, or suspended on appeal - eg. see Pacific Islands Monthly, 'Living Behind Bars', February 1996. 226 arrests easier where situations warranted.71 Some of its provisions still function, but its key clause relating to reversal of the burden of proof, was declared invalid in a late 1978 test-case.72 Group punishment was not ruled illegal in 1978 but it has only very rarely been used as a result of confusion stemming from the case.73 The Act was appealed on behalf of a small clan by the Public Solicitor's office and this appeal was upheld by the Supreme Court on the basis that it contravened the basic rights section of the constitution.74 Fifteen years later, a majority of the Supreme Court rejected the key clauses of the draconian 1993 Internal Security Act (ISA), for similar reasons.75 In their own way, though, these legal bodies were also trying to preserve the state's sovereignty. A central principle of Papua New Guinea constitutionalism is the interpretive role of the courts. For the courts, the notion that the people should be governed by law underlay the very idea of having a constitution and sovereign independence at all.76

The security of élites Elites in any society may be identified by their privileged access to sources of wealth, status, or sociopolitical power. As in Chapter Five, political élites are treated here as a loose category of all those in a position to use official, economic, or recognised societal standing to influence events in public spheres. Again, the subcategory of élite persons and associations deliberately working mainly to strengthen the national entity is treated separately in the next part of the chapter.

The enduring legacy of the 'acephalous' (headless) nature of precolonial highlands societies and of the strong 'ethic of equality' prevalent in them is often emphasised.77 "Equality" in this sense refers more to the meritocratic, highly competitive, division of power and resources than to their even distribution.78 In precolonial periods, relatively

71 The committees consist of the provincial premier, the administrative secretary, and the provincial police commander. Premiers do not chair the committees and are supposed to be (but often are not) their only provincial representatives. 72 B. Standish, Provincial Government in PNG, p. 132. (The possibility of group punishment fines and reversing the onus of proof had been raised by the Paney report.) 73 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 33. 74 The conspicuous failure of the Intergroup Fighting Act led to an upsurge in fighting which in turn brought about the declaration of the 1979 State of Emergency in the Highlands. (That undertaking was hardly a notable success either - eg. see J. Guise, 'Statement No. 3 of the Emergency Committee (Enga)', PoM, February 1980.) 75 A minority found the Act invalid in its entirety - discussed in B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 67. 76 P. Bayne, Op. Cit., p. 41 (citing CPC 1974:8/1). 77 P. Sillitoe, 'Some More on War', p. 78 & p. 79. Eg. see J. Watson, 'Society as Organised Flow', pp. 107-24. 78 Among the Gahuku-Gama, authority was based on the manipulation of two somewhat contradictory core societal values, strength and equivalence, in the virtual absence of inherited leadership positions. The second value is a moral principle of cooperation and recognition of the right to compete for parity between clan fellows - K. Read, The High Valley (New York, Columbia UP, 1965) pp. 70-71. 227 egalitarian leadership 'asserted itself in the whole range of community affairs, and consisted of cultural specialists who did what everyone did, but with more industry, skill, and frequency.'79 However, in some areas with little in the way of corporate restraints beyond the village or hamlet and no awareness of a general social order, personal force and energy prevailed and social process came to be 'directed at every turn by relatively few men of sufficiently masterful character.'80 It has been argued that in times of conflict, highlands leaders are more than usually able to dominate their groups. The behaviour of élites in regard to renewed highlands warfare continues to reflect the relatively unfettered, often spontaneous, and frequently violent, immediate- term character of precolonial leadership rivalry. As such, it is well described by the phrase "the politics of survival".

The flexibility of contemporary élite competition includes some movement between the narrowest and very widest social and political spheres. Standish indicates that highlands politicians may operate in regard to tribal fighting in the clan, provincial, and national arenas simultaneously, for example.81 Similarly, Andrew Strathern shows how conflict in the highlands has the potential 'to repeat itself in different modes and at different levels of the political system over time, replicating and intensifying causes of dispute between groups.'82 Nevertheless, use of the subcategories of national, local, and transnational élites is retained below for the sake of clarity.

National élites The main national élite figures with a stake in tribal fighting are those occupying the several hundred positions covered by the Leadership Code, and their subordinates. The code is meant to govern all MPs, the heads of government departments, statutory authority board members, senior leaders of the Defence and Police Forces, judges, ministerial staff, and constitutional office holders.83 For the most part, their professional concern with renewed highlands warfare has been fairly limited. Since independence, officials and politicians (especially prime ministers and their cabinets) have intermittently done what they have felt their positions required them to do to try to counter the phenomenon. Since the 1973 Paney report, however, 'there has been little

79 Leaders were 'primus inter pares' (first among equals) - D. Lipset, 'The Melanesian Ethic', in L. Diamond, et al. (eds.) Democracy in Developing Countries (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1989) p. 412. 80 C. Hallpike, Bloodshed and Vengeance in the Papuan Mountains, p. 137. (He is discussing Mountain Papuans but the statement probably holds true for some highlanders). Most observers put the case much less strongly (though see P. Sillitoe, 'Big Men and War in New Guinea', discussed in Ch. 4). However, many agree that the egalitarian nature of highlands societies encouraged particular competitiveness - eg. G. Trompf, Payback (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1994) p. 19. 81 B. Standish, Provincial Government in PNG, p. 132. 82 A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', Pacific Studies Vol. 16 No. 4, 1993, p. 51. 83 They are among the few Papua New Guineans who operate on a countrywide stage. The Leadership Code is overseen by the Ombudsman, who can refer a case to the Public Prosecutor's Office for trial before a leadership tribunal of 3 judges - see S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, pp. 216-7. 228 creative effort put into resolving these debilitating conflicts at a national level.'84 This is partly because nearly all members of the national élite live in urban areas but more because fighting is not typically directed expressly against the state, and thus the source of their own authority. On the other hand, many national figures have found they face considerable pressures from their constituents or their rivals to become involved in intergroup fights. As a result, they themselves fit Gordon and Meggitts' description of those who 'play a double role as agents both of law and of disorder.'85

'Tough talk' on crime is considered an important part of the performance of national politics in Papua New Guinea.86 All six prime ministers have taken steps to address tribal fighting as part of the wider law and order predicament, but many of their initiatives have been mainly symbolic. The state of emergency that Michael Somare declared in the highlands provinces in June 1979 has already been mentioned.87 In 1981 Julius Chan, exasperated by repeated failures to contain tribal fighting, half-seriously suggested 'leaving tribesmen to fight it out', and that the traditional sector —which provided only a fraction of government revenue— might be best abandoned to its own devices.88 Although the forty-nine anti-crime measures and the 1984 Minimum Penalties Act adopted during Somare's third term partly applied to tribal fighting, it was widely felt that the threat of urban crime had eclipsed that of highlands warfare by then.89 However, tribal fighting and other forms of rural strife burgeoned during Paias Wingti's first term to the extent that highlands disorder again 'presented a far more serious law and order problem than urban crime did.'90 Issues of law-and-order seemed particularly pressing under Rabbie Namaliu. Operation LO-MET-88, which began in the highlands provinces, has been mentioned above. The 1991 National Crime Summit was discussed in Chapter Two, as was the Internal Security Act passed in Wingti's third term. Chan declared 1996 "the Year of Law Enforcement" half way through his second term, but with little apparent effect.91 The less sweeping law and order programs

84 B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 64. 85 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 240. 86 Eg. Post-Courier, 'MPs: Bring Back the Vagrancy Law', 13 February 1998 - discussing the Governors Summit. 87 It was announced without the constitutionally required prior endorsement of Parliament. 88 Of course, the constitutional responsibilities of state precluded such a course. However, the year's tight budget exhibited 'a retreat from commitment to across-the-board rural development and welfare programs' - P. King, 'January-December 1981', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) PNG Political Chronicle (Crawford House, Bathurst, 1998) p. 351. 89 Y. Saffu, 'January-June 1984', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 383. The June-August 1985 State of Emergency was confined to the capital. 90 Y. Saffu, 'July-December 1985', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 415. Nevertheless, he claimed to be confident that tribal fighting would 'die a natural death' in the 1990s with the emergence of more business-minded rural leadership and the sort of agricultural development he promised - S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, p. 313. 91 Eg. see Pacific Islands Monthly, 'Living Behind Bars', February 1996. 229 unveiled during Bill Skate's prime ministership focused mainly on urban crime but did not ignore intergroup fighting.92 The current prime minister, Sir Mekere Morauta, who has been preoccupied with broad issues of basic economic recovery and the soundness of state institutions more than particular problems such as tribal fighting, is widely seen as an "old fashioned nationalist" but has hardly been able to disregard political survival imperatives.93

Highland MPs have allocated electoral development funds to auxiliary police units in their electorates, apparently partly as exercises in patronage and constituency- building, but also at least partly to carry out the order-promoting duties expected of statesmen.94 Conversely, it is well known that some prominent highlands politicians and administrators have incited, funded, armed, and even participated in tribal fights. Most have been provincial level office holders, but a few have been national members.95 In early 1998, police suspected a cabinet minister of involvement with the theft of defence force weapons destined for raskols and warriors.96 Highlands clans solicit funds for the purchase of modern high-powered weapons from politicians and their city-dwelling kinsfolk.97 These funds are forthcoming because of 'the imperatives of political survival, since the primary basis of a politician's support is generally not the party or another platform, but clientelism, sustained by regular favours to one's followers.'98 Ex prime minister Chan remarks that this sort of manoeuvre becomes logical when the lack of security of MPs —half of whom lose their seats at any election— is taken into account: 'ideology is a luxury marginal members cannot afford'.99 As Strathern notes, the voting process has become commoditised, and 'guns

92 Eg. National, 'Rights May be Hit in Crime Fight', 28 October 1997; & National, 'Parliament Approves Partial Firearms Ban', 9 March 1998 (the partial ban actually rather weakened a blanket- ban, tabled in 1996, which would have required politicians and businessmen to surrender their licensed weapons. Police have estimated that there are 60 000 registered and 10 000 or more illegal firearms in PNG - National, 'Parliament Approves Landmark Police Act', 25 June 1998). 93 Eg. the Deputy PM's party was ejected from government for disloyalty and to allow portfolios to be re- awarded less than 24 hours after it helped pass the 2000 budget and despite the government's emphasis on the integrity of political parties - Independent, 'Pundari, APP Sacked', 9 December 1999. 94 See Post-Courier, 'Police to Sort Out Roles in Crime Fight', 22 April 1999. Eg. National, 'Daulo Auxiliary Cops Given K125,000', 26 October 1999. The three auxiliary units are the Reserve Constabulary, Community Police, and Special Constables. Direct financial support for police functions from politicians and businesses is legally questionable but long-established in practice. 95 Eg. R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 138; B. Standish, 'Simbu Paths to Power', unpublished PhD thesis, ANU, 1992, p. 113 & p. 208; A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow go Down', in R. Ferguson and N. Whitehead (eds.) War in the Tribal Zone (Santa Fe, American Research Press, 1992) pp. 237-8; G. Trompf, Op. Cit., p 331. 96 Post-Courier, 'Minister's House Raided in Hunt for Weapons', 17 April 1998. 97 National, 'Problem Areas of Law in PNG', 25 November 1998. The writer, John Nonggorr, recalls how his tribe threatened to deny him the use of village land when he refused to purchase a weapon for a tribal fight. 98 Y. Ghai, Op. Cit., p. 314. 99 Cited in S. Dorney, Papua New Guinea, p. 61. 230 buy votes'.100 Elections, once a substitute for intergroup warfare, are increasingly regarded as an aspect of war by other means.101 The sort of electoral violence discussed in Chapter Four and the general remilitarisation of the highlands (including police tactics), have been discussed in terms of 'warlordism'.102

Government officials form a distinct socioeconomic stratum in Papua New Guinean society.103 Some senior public servants largely see their task as 'the expansion of the sphere of administration and of law and order.'104 However, the dangers posed by intergroup conflict to public servants stationed in the highlands produce imperatives that can override such intangible goals. National civil servants, such as teachers, magistrates, and health workers, have frequently refused to serve, or under-performed, in highlands postings for fear of personal safety.105 The British model of the neutral civil servant has also lost ground since the early 1980s, as the upper echelons of the bureaucracy become increasingly attuned to 'the American notion of the political bureaucrat who comes and goes with the changing political executive'.106 The appointment of less senior national and provincial public servants has recently also become more politicised and personalised. Where bureaucrats are faced with pressing survival concerns of their own, their ability to address problems such as tribal fighting —in which their political masters may have personal stakes— is reduced.

Leaders of the disciplined forces constitute a distinct subcategory of members of the national élite. More than half the officer cadets graduating from Bomana Police College in November 1997, for example, were the sons of serving or retired officers.107 They have particular institutional interests in regard to highlands warfare simply due to the nature of their duties.108 Police-kiap rivalry and non-cooperation on problems of rural disorder in the late colonial period was partly a product of what was essentially a "demarcation dispute".109 Senior military officers, on the other hand, have consistently resented and resisted perceived movement towards greater responsibility for "police

100 A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', pp. 46-49 101 Discussed in M. Reay, 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', p. 634. Also see S. Dinnen, 'Violence, Security and the 1992 Election'; J. Ketan, 'Electoral Politics in Mt Hagen'; & B. Standish, 'Towards Gunpoint Democracy?' - all in Y. Saffu (ed.) The 1992 PNG Election (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996). 102 B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 71 (quoting Sir Barry Holloway). 103 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 61. 104 A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 46. 105 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea (London, Routledge, 1997) p. 282. 106 Y. Saffu, 'July-December 1985', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 410. 107 National, 'Training is the Key to Skill, Cops Told', 24 November 1997. 108 The colonial era may have set a precedent of police being able to pursue their own interests in the highlands - W. Gammage, 'Police and Power During Contact', in H. Levine & A. Ploeg (eds.) Work in Progress (Frankfurt, Lang, 1996); & A. Kituai, My Gun, My Brother (Honolulu, Hawaii UP, 1998). 109 See B. Standish, 'The Highlands — Ol I No Save Harim Mipela!', New Guinea Vol. 8 No. 3, 1973, pp. 13-15; W. Clifford, Op. Cit., p. 242; R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., pp. 56-69. 231 work" for institutional reasons of their own.110 Current problems of reactive and punitive police culture partly reflect the frustrations and aspirations of a body faced, for example, with frequent barracks closures due to insufficient funds for basic maintenance. This often sees personnel relocated to their home provinces so that they can live in their own villages or with urban kin, further reducing their ability to operate efficiently and impartially.

Local élites Local élite figures involved in renewed intergroup warfare seek to make a significant mark in various public spheres below the countrywide stage. Local élite politics in the highlands is still based on intense competition for various types of leadership position. Its chief aim is still to 'have a name'.111 Contemporary power and authority is typically based on a pair of related economies, involving modern business activities and the neo- traditional politics of exchange.112 Both 'are linked by the use of cash, and men manipulate wealth in either sector in order to enhance their status or gain influence.'113 The legacy of precolonial patterns of competition remains strong, and Langness argues that colonial era practices did not greatly alter the degree to which a local notable could expect to remain a leader

only for so long as he can successfully dominate others, either through his ability to help them or to maintain their respect. If he fails in an undertaking his followers are quick to shift their loyalties to others. There are always competitors for power and influence. In so far as leaders do not control land, water supplies or other natural resources; cannot call on supernatural sanctions to back up their authority; do not regulate subsistence; and have little in the way of special skills or knowledge, their followers are never very numerous. There is a limit to how many people, over time and in space, can be recruited and satisfied simply through personal strength, charisma and limited material donations.114 Nevertheless, many accounts of precolonial highlands life (when all leaders were local) note that society was quite highly stratified despite the strong ethos of equivalence. The ethnographic literature identifies many different grades of social rank in different parts of the highlands. Early European observers described highlands social stratification in terms of classes.115 More recently, Godelier has identified a triad of basic Melanesian leadership types as big men, great men, and chiefs — the first two of

110 Y. Saffu, ‘Military Roles and Relations in PNG’ in V. Selochan (ed.) The Military the State, and Development in Asia and the Pacific (Boulder, Westview Press, 1991) pp. 226-8. 111 L. Langness, 'Violence in the New Guinea Highlands', in J. Short and M. Wolfgang (eds.) Collective Violence (Chicago, Aldine Atherton, 1972) p. 174. 112 W. Warry, Chuave Politics (Canberra, RSPacS, 1987) p. 10. 113 Ibid., p. 10. 114 L. Langness, 'Traditional Political Organisation', in I. Hogbin (ed.) Anthropology in PNG (Melbourne, Melbourne UP, 1973) p. 154. 115 Eg. A. Strathern discusses the work of Vicedom and Tischner (based on 1934-39 experience) which ranks Hagen status categories from root men (influential leaders), to big men (wealthy), small men (middle class), nothing or rubbish men (servants), worthless or poor men (workers), and bachelors (slaves) - The Rope of Moka (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1971) pp. 204-8. 232 which prevail in the highlands.116 Lowman-Vayda distinguishes five main (and several subsidiary) kinds of Maring male leader, three of which are varieties of big men.117 Other accounts use numerous terms to designate slightly different types of leader, which translate as 'true man'118 in Manga, 'hot man'119 in Simbu, and 'strong, hard or weak man'120 near Goroka, for example. As an important and expected part of precolonial life, warfare had a significant bearing on most forms of leadership. However, brute strength —though an often necessary attribute— was rarely sufficient to bestow high political status.121 Peacemaking and peace-maintenance were more widely thought to demonstrate real political skill.122

The contention that precolonial leaders pursued a degree of self-interest through warfare is not entirely uncontroversial, but appears reasonable. Andrew Strathern feels that the

problem with the notion of 'own interests' is that it cannot be defined at all outside the realm of culturally based cognition. If one's own interests include an aim of gaining prestige, and such prestige can only be gained by securing the approbation of others, then 'own interests' will lead to action which in fact coincides with the wishes of followers or at least a public; and in that case the straightforward opposition between individual interests and collective interest will not apply. ... My conclusion is therefore that we cannot at once label the Melanesian big-man in such a way, even though in western terms these leaders often appear very clearly as 'egoists'. The psychological category of egoist does not equate with the social category of 'self-seeking', though I do not deny that true self-seeking occurs.123 One need not fully accept claims that big men induced and manipulated precolonial wars in a Machiavellian way just to advance their own interests to recognise a element of personal expediency in their military endeavours.124 As Lemonnier puts it, there

116 He inserts the great man between the ubiquitous older types. Big men 'are produced in systems that promote competitive exchanges, the transfer of women against bridewealth, and war compensation procedures that allow wealth to substitute for homicide. Great men , on the other hand, flourish where public life turns on male initiation rather than ceremonial exchange, on the direct exchange of women in marriage and on warfare pursued as homicide for homicide' - M. Strathern, 'Introduction' to M. Godelier & M. Strathern (eds.) Big Men and Great Men (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991) p. 1. 117 The big-man types are unvanquished men, ancestor spirit men, and fight medicine men. She also explores the role and attributes of fight magic men and spirit woman men, as well as some lesser types or sub-categories such as fight men and splendid men - 'Maring Big Men', in R. Berndt & P. Lawrence (eds.) Papua New Guinea (Nedlands, Western Australia UP, 1971) pp. 317-61. 118 S. Pflanz-Cook & E. Cook, 'Manga Pacification', in M. Rodman and M. Cooper (eds.) The Pacification of Melanesia (Ann Arbor, Michigan UP, 1979) p. 186. 119 B. Standish, 'Simbu Paths to Power', p. 62. 120 K. Read, The High Valley, pp. 71-2. 121 Though see R. Salisbury, 'Despotism and Administration in the New Guinea Highlands', in J. Watson (ed.) New Guinea - the Central Highlands (Wisconsin, American Anthropological Association, 1964) pp. 225-39; & J. Watson, 'Tairora: the Politics of Despotism in a Small Society', in R. Berndt & P. Lawrence (eds.) Papua New Guinea (Nedlands, Western Australia UP, 1971) pp. 224-75. 122 Eg. see A. Strathern, The Rope of Moka, pp. 53-4. 123 A. Strathern, 'Two Waves of African Models', in A. Strathern (ed.) Inequality in New Guinea Highlands Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1982) pp. 39-40. 124 Cf. big man theories of war by Sillitoe and Hallpike were introduced in Ch. 4. 233 is no doubt that big men play an active role in warfare and derive from it part of their prestige. They launch it, gather or pay allies, and are often great warriors. War itself produces consequences that big men turn to their advantage: it creates refugees, whose reception is largely controlled by big men and used in constructing networks of partners and dependents; and drives people to shelter their pigs with neutral groups, which nurture the mechanism of 'finance' (even if in a minor way). Finally, and without claiming as does Sillitoe (1978), that big men start wars and systematically manipulate them to their own advantage, it is undeniable that war provides them with a chance to exercise their talents as organisers and, in doing so, to accumulate prestige.125 Modern warfare continues to provide certain opportunities for traditional-style community leaders to clearly demonstrate their organisational credentials through the recruitment and compensation of allies, martial planning, and by deflecting any interference from the state, for example.

New types of local leadership emerged with and after European colonialism. Reference to 'big peasants' from the mid 1970s particularly emphasised the degree to which contemporary highlanders are products of international political-economic pressures as well as indigenous-historical or cultural factors.126 Alongside the intrusion of capitalism into New Guinea, 'Western education, missionisation, new forms of state and local government, and the emergence of sex, generational, and class differences have promoted a diversification of leadership roles (e.g. village councillor, priest, parliamentarian, rascal gang leader)'.127 In Chuave, for example,

leadership has become increasingly specialised, and avenues to political power increasingly diverse. Church leaders, elected officials, or business men all compete for political followings along with traditional-style big-men whose authority continues to rest on oratorical skill or the manipulation of wealth in exchange. .... The Simbu operate with a broad definition of politics. To them the discussion of mission affairs or the purchase of a vehicle is as intrinsically political as the local council election: all concern public goals and all eventually affect the distribution of power within local communities.128 Some contemporary local élite figures have certainly been able to turn official responsibilities connected with intergroup warfare partly to their own advantage. As was discussed in Chapter Four, the colonial state coopted local notables to help promote the pacification project, initially as government bosbois, then as luluais and tultuls, and later as councillors and komiti men. Subsequently, the post-colonial state has depended on village court officers. Those involved have been men of strong character, and no-doubt many or even most took office partly out of philosophical accord and noblesse oblige. However, many minor local officials clearly also did so partly out of a hope that association with the state would advance their personal or group's prestige.129

125 P. Lemonnier, 'From Great Men to Big Men', in M. Godelier & M. Strathern (eds.) Big Men and Great Men (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991) p. 9 (references deleted). 126 Eg. see A. Amarshi, K. Good, & R. Mortimer, Development and Dependency (Melbourne, Oxford UP, 1979). 127 L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi, 'The Last Big Man', Oceania Vol. 68 No. 2, 1997, p. 108. 128 W. Warry, Op. Cit., p. 9. 129 Eg. see K. Read, The High Valley, pp. 13-15 & 56-94. 234 The stipend paid to village court officials is not quite a token gratuity, but does not reflect the full extent of their efforts. By the mid 1990s magistrates' duties were quite heavy while their K6 per week remuneration was a mere quarter of the national minimum adult wage (and even this was irregularly paid).130 However, 'men who successfully act to punish law breakers, or to restore by mediation or adjudication a balance between disputants, become respected and admired.'131 Mediator performance is 'grounded in the status of the traditional big-man - an achieved position of influence, but lacking judicial authority.'132 Office-holding has not completely precluded the involvement of village court officials in clan warfare.133 Nor have village magistrates proven willing to issue preventive orders to their own groups when there is a possibility that the officials in opposing areas will not reciprocate.134 Thus, court officials may be considered 'legal entrepreneurs' in two senses, both as judicial innovators and as utilisers of state machinery in their own interest.135

Rural business figures, such as those who own or manage small plantations and even the owner-operators of the ubiquitous mini trade stores, constitute another local élite of sorts.136 Their success depends upon an ability to gain and maintain support and assistance from their kin and neighbours, while their ultimate aims are often directed towards the "traditional" exchange/prestige economy rather than mere financial profit.137 Although their interests can be harmed by intergroup fighting, in which infrastructure such as coffee trees and trade stores are regular targets, they are not beyond initiating violence themselves.138 O'Hanlon notes that while highlands bisnismen in the Wahgi generally take conservative stance against fighting to protect their vulnerable investments, they can quite easily become caught up in it.139 Standish identifies a 'politics-business nexus', with provincial government development arms using both private and public money to run enterprises specialising in haulage and

130 M. Goddard, 'The Snake Bone Case', p. 51. Some provincial governments have raised the stipend but payments are often subject to lengthy delays - eg. National, 'Village Court Officials to get 100% Pay Hike', 27 January 1999. 131 W. Warry, Op. Cit., p. 185. Also see W. Wormsley & M. Toke, Op. Cit., p. 46; & J. Zorn, Op. Cit., p. 291. 132 A. Podolefsky, 'Mediator Roles in Simbu Conflict Management', Ethnology Vol. 29 No. 1, 1990, p. 78. 133 M. Reay, 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', p. 628 134 W. Clifford, Op. Cit., p. 182. 135 R. Scaglion, 'Legal Adaptation in a PNG Village Court', p. 18. 136 Smallholders now produce about 80% of the country's total coffee output - National, 'K250m Coffee Losses Loom', 24 September 1997. However some medium and small plantations remained after most of the 'white planters' departed in the 1970s - see R. Stewart, Coffee - The Political Economy of an Export Industry in PNG (Boulder, Westview Press, 1992) pp. 104-52. 137 L. Zimmer-Tamakoshi, 'The Last Big Man', pp. 107-22. 138 Eg. J. Finch, 'Coffee, Development, and Inequality in the Papua New Guinea Highlands', unpublished PhD dissertation, CUNY, May 1991, pp. 305-10. 139 M. O'Hanlon, Portraying the New Guinea Highlands (London, British Museum, 1993) p. 54. 235 engineering.140 Andrew Strathern describes a similar 'nexus' which also involves raskols and tribal fighters, since 'business in the highlands means inequality and resentment' and when 'businessmen grow rich, other highlanders conspire to remove their riches through violence.'141

Rivalry stemming from generational pressures is another important factor in renewed highlands warfare.142 Gordon and Meggitt suggest that conflict between the young and old may be a basic tension of societies as intrinsically egalitarian as those of the highlands.143 Both older and younger generation men have certain advantages and disadvantages in regard to fighting. Senior men, who had traditionally controlled youths partly through their privileged of access to weapons, weapon-making technology, war magic, and knowledge of strategy, re-exerted some authority with the renewal of intergroup warfare.144 On the other hand, younger men, especially those who have received training in the disciplined forces, or acquired administrative or legal skills in government jobs, formal employment, or as students, are invaluable to their communities in times of fighting.145 Raskol leaders can trade military assistance for tolerance of their gangs in rural villages.146 Ambitious younger figures trying to make a name can incite unexpected trouble for their communities, by brashly initiating infeasible compensation claims against the state, businesses, or other clans.147 These claims often threaten access to the very roads, schools, and national infrastructure such as telecommunication repeater stations, that serve their own communities.148 In such cases, it appears that even medium-term calculations of enlightened self-interest are outweighed as an unaffordable luxury in the face of would-be leaders' immediate needs to advance their prospects of political survival.

Transnational élites Although most transnational actors operating in Papua New Guinea are not greatly affected by renewed highlands warfare, entanglement tends to be particularly unhappy

140 B. Standish, 'Simbu Paths to Power', p. 204. He notes that the Simbu Provincial Government's Chimbu Holding Enterprises was following the NSPG's BDCL model - p. 211. A nexus also exists between warfare and leadership, where success in the former can be a useful resource in the latter - p. 113. 141 A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow Go Down', p. 239. 142 G. Trompf, Op. Cit., p. 319 & pp. 324-5. 143 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 150. 144 M. Reay, 'Lawlessness in the PNG Highlands', p. 632. Standish suggests that older clan leaders in Chimbu may have deliberately helped revive warfare to this end - 'Simbu Paths to Power', p. 125. 145 Eg. A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow Go Down', p. 234. 146 This is despite the fact that their presence can cause tensions with neighbouring groups and police, and lessen respect for elders - A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 52. 147 Eg. Post-Courier, 'Gobe Locals Seek Threat Withdrawal', 4 September 1998. 148 Eg. National, 'Dispute Closes Schools', 9 February 1999. A prominent lawyer, Matthew Tamutai, has designated former owners of state land one of two 'arch nemeses of the rule of law' in PNG (along with politicians) - National, 'Halt Enemies of the Law', 11 February 1999. 236 for those that are. Transnational actors that are sometimes directly or indirectly involved include multinational mining and petroleum companies, representatives of overseas governments, and a few International Governmental Organisations (IGOs). As was discussed in Chapter Five, such actors can be considered élites in that they cannot dictate outcomes within Papua New Guinea from offshore but must negotiate with various domestic actors to try to achieve their goals. Despite their relative economic and organisational strength, their operations in regard to highlands warfare —characterised by uncertainty, weakness, and improvised short-term fixes— accord with accounts of survival politics.

For multinational companies operating in the mining and petroleum industries 'the primary risk of development in Papua New Guinea is not the vagaries of nature but the failure to manage expectations and aspirations of people in the project area.'149 Highlands warfare is, almost by definition, not directed expressly against foreign companies, but violent compensation demands, which constitute a related phenomenon, certainly are, and clashes between opposing groups in project areas hinder operations.150 A Papua New Guinea Petroleum and Energy Minister recently stated that 'genuine company involvement by landowners is the best insurance for long term security and stability of any project in this country.'151 However, working with organisations representing the interests of large numbers of people with high expectations can be extremely difficult, especially where companies are forced to choose between rival associations competing to advance the same or different "real landowners".152 Company operations are also sometimes harmed by clumsy or overzealous operations by police, despite special support arrangements whereby the corporations sponsor such activities.153 In 1992 some members of the police Rapid Deployment Unit sparked an attack by up to a thousand community members on the

149 T. Wesley-Smith, 'Papua New Guinea', The Contemporary Pacific Vol. 9 No. 2, 1997, pp 483-4 (citing Oil Search Managing Director Peter Botten). 150 Porgera Joint Venture Ltd (PJV) claims that tribal fights (along with harassment of workers and attacks on company vehicles) force it to continue with its expensive fly-in fly-out arrangements, which further limit benefits for the local economy. After its open camp was violently overrun during a riot over an issue not directly related to PJV, the few expatriate and non-local families living there fled - National, 'Placer Defends Fly-in, Fly-Out', 22 October 1997. 151 National, 'Partnership Element Vital Link to Security', 5 October 1998. 152 Eg. competing claims by landowner associations from the SHP and Enga have prevented full operations at the Mt Kare gold prospect area for nearly a decade - National, 'Papo Doubts Moves to End Landowner Row', 9 February 1999. (Violence in 1991-2 was led by an Engan MP.) 153 B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', p. 77. Ok Tedi Mining Limited expanded assistance to a nearby prison during the 1997 drought - National, 'OTML Not to Blame for Closure of Ningerum Jail', 16 October 1997. The K2m new police barracks in Wabag was funded partly by PJV - Post-Courier, 'Enga Criminals Face Backlash', 17 June 1998. 237 Porgera Joint Venture, which continues to sour the company-community relationship, for example.154

Australian government agencies operate in the same difficult environment. They do so partly on the premise that 'improved internal security is a prerequisite for Papua New Guinea's economic, political and social development', and tribal fighting is seen as one form of challenge to this goal.155 The law and justice sector program is one of the main six sectoral projects constituting the overall bilateral development assistance program. Difficulties in that sector are considered to threaten progress in all others.156 The A$78m second phase of the RPNGC Development Project (1993-98) was the largest ever development assistance project by AusAID at the time.157 It consisted of six components, involving operational support advisers, training support advisers, administrative support, management support, computer support, and scientific services.158 It placed twelve of fifty-three advisers in two highlands centres and four other highlands locations.159 According to an author of the 1995 comprehensive midterm review of the project, inadequate budget support for the RPNGC from the government of Papua New Guinea seriously diminished the degree of progress made, and demonstrated the inability of the Australian government to dictate outcomes in such a complex sphere.160 (Subsequently, justice has not been identified as one of the three priority sectors.161) Dilemmas of Australian involvement in Papua New Guinean internal security quickly became apparent when an Australian police officer killed a prominent raskol leader during a July 1991 shoot-out (shortly before journalists revealed that Australian police were providing para-military training to riot-squad

154 G. Banks, 'Razor Wire and Riots: Violence and the Mining Industry in PNG', in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds.) Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Canberra, Asia Pacific Press, 2000) pp. 254-62. 155 JSCFADT, PNG Update (Canberra, Commonwealth of Australia, 1997) p. 13. 156 L. Engel, 'The Australian Aid Program and Its Role in Supporting PNG’s Law and Order Policies’, in A. Thompson (ed.) PNG: Issues for Australian Security Planners (Canberra, ADSC, 1994) pp. 151-2. 157 B. Masterson, 'Police Cooperation', conference paper delivered at the APNGFA/AIIA conference on 'PNG: Security and Defence in the Nineties and Beyond 2000', Sydney, 28 June 1996, p. 42. 158 L. Engel, Op. Cit., p. 159. 159 The centres were Mt Hagen and Goroka - Ibid., p. 160. In addition to the A$30m Phase One (1988- 92), the RPNGC Equipment Project (1989-92) provided material support for police and the CIS, while the A$10m RPNGC Housing project (1990-93) built 163 houses in 28 locations. 160 B. Masterson, Op. Cit., pp. 48-50. 161 The 3 priority sectors are in health, education and transport and communications infrastructure. Current projects in the justice sector include a new scheme to fund NGO activities assisting community development; the Access to Laws Project; Phase 2 of the 3 year A$26m Correctional Services Development Project; Renovation of RPNGC Buildings and Infrastructure; Ombudsman Commission Institutional Strengthening; Law and Justice Sector Support Program; Human Rights Commission Planning; Community Based Law and Order Initiatives Survey; Legal Institutions Strengthening; Capacity Development for the PNG Human Rights Commission; and the Police Women's Driving Workshop - AusAID, 'Country Information - PNG' (http://www.ausaid.gov.au). 238 personnel about to deploy to Bougainville.)162 Australian advisers found it difficult to remain "at arm's length" in conducting police training, and felt that instructing RPNGC officers to employ less militaristic methods in potentially dangerous situations necessitated some operational involvement on their own part. However, when they conducted such operations, Papua New Guinea police culture sometimes seemed to spread to them more than the reverse.163 There were some domestic concerns in Australia that police training raised at least 'the perception that increased funds for policing are geared to creating a suitable climate for investment in major economic projects.'164

A few IGOs are involved with violence in the highlands, albeit in a fairly abstract way. For example, the World Bank has shown an interest in matters of good governance, transparency, sustainable resource use, and social development in Papua New Guinea, and none of these issues is unconnected to renewed warfare.165 It has clashed with both the government (over parliamentarians' electoral development "slush" funds, spending on public sector salaries, and choices of adviser, for example) and violently over the registration of customary land with people mobilised by NGO guardians of the Melanesian Way ideology.166 However, as was indicated in Chapter Five, the organisation's mandate and practical capacity to influence such matters is limited. Despite the government of Papua New Guinea's fairly poor sovereign risk, it retains room to manoeuvre by using the collateral of potential future mineral earnings. For example, the 1996 Orogen float of half the state's shares in Papua New Guinea resource projects was massively oversubscribed by international investors just as Papua New Guinea-World Bank relations reached a new low.167 These dual strengths and weaknesses of the government of Papua New Guinea and World Bank in regard to each other ensures a highly unstable relationship.168 Other such institutions have even less

162 E. Hogan, ‘Reluctant Kiaps: Dilemmas of AIDAB’s Police Development Project in PNG’, paper presented to PIPSA Conference, Melbourne, December 1991. Also see ABC, ‘PNG: Involvement of AIDAB in Police Training’, transcript of Daybreak program, 26 October 1992. 163 B. Standish, 'PNG: The Search for Security in a Weak State', pp. 83-5. According to E. Michal, Australian assistance was 'channelled into forms the Australians feel most comfortable with and aimed at replicating Australian service standards and philosophy. It is not surprising the Australians are repeatedly disappointed, since Melanesian RPNGC personnel have entirely different backgrounds, interests and abilities' - ‘Australian Aid to PNG Police’, unpublished MA thesis, Hawaii, 1991, p. 78. 164 N. Maclellan, ‘Policing the Economy in Papua New Guinea’ Arena No. 86 Autumn 1989, p. 37. 165 National, 'World Bank to Focus on Good Governance', 26 January 1999. 166 Eg. see T. Wesley-Smith, Papua New Guinea', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 8 No. 2, 1996, pp. 431-2. 167 T. Wesley-Smith, 'Papua New Guinea', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 9 No. 2, 1997, p. 483. Tensions with the bank stemmed mainly from government changes to the Forestry Act and taxation issues. 168 Despite Finance Minister Iairo Lasaro's avowal that 'we will not go begging for a loan', it became clear that the 1999 budget was in trouble when an anticipated US$90m World Bank soft loan was not forthcoming - Post-Courier, 'Refusal of Loan Will Hit Budget', 1 October 1998. A day later, a syndicate led by the European Kredit Bank gave in-principle approval for a loan - National, 'Govt Secures K136m Loan', 2 October 1998. However, tough conditions attached to that agreement 239 leverage. In 1993 the Asian Development Bank warned that failure to secure an improvement in peace and order in Papua New Guinea would have a 'major adverse impact on the performance of the economy', but it had no apparatus for actively supporting such a course.169

The security of the nation As was indicated above, the early optimism and vigour of the official nation-making project was quite short-lived. The CPC was 'suffused with a nationalism—anti-colonial, anti-foreign, anti-bureaucracy—that had little resonance in the country.'170 The constitution was framed on the premise that 'we must rebuild our society, not on the scattered good soil the tidal wave of colonisation has deposited, but on the solid foundations of our ancestral land.'171 However, without there having been an ancestral society to rebuild, these foundations quickly proved shallow. Clearly, a national society would have to be constructed almost from scratch. Given the weakness of state machinery in Papua New Guinea, and growing urgency and recklessness of élite survival politics, discussed above, this task has increasingly been left to the components of a potentially meaningful nation themselves. Some of these try to foster a "more functional" Papua New Guinea-wide society that could serve the country's interests and would advance their own diverse ends. Insofar as tribal fighting is concerned, such an overall society would be more peaceful and, indeed, more civil.

The 1984 promotional campaign, launched by Deputy Prime Minister Wingti to address concerns over escalating tribal fighting and release of the gloomy Morgan and Clifford reports on law and order, marked almost a last concerted official nation- making effort in response to violent crime.172 Its slogan, that "National Law Week is for Everyone - National Law Week is for You", implored all Papua New Guineans to acknowledge their belonging to an entity in which responsibilities to unknown individual citizens are comparable to obligations to kin — a far from self-evident proposition.173 This aspiration has not entirely disappeared amongst officials. The police, for example, is still a 'national' body that makes periodic appeals to 'the public'

(including future mineral earnings being tied to the banks through an off-shore facility) led to a search for funds elsewhere - National, 'US$250m Bond Issue Planned', 12 February 1999. 169 Cited in J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, p. 287. (He adds that subsequent failure has indeed proved very costly.) 170 Y. Ghai, Op. Cit., p. 307. 171 Preface to the Report of the CPC, cited in Ibid., p. 308. 172 Crime Prevention Week in 1992 was more NGO workshop-based and the 1996 Year of Law and Order Enforcement was state-based. (On the former see FLOJ, 'An Integrated National Crime Prevention Policy and Programme', Policy Paper No. 1, PoM, 1992.) 173 R. Foster, 'Take Care of Public Telephones: Moral Education and Nation-State Formation in Papua New Guinea', Public Culture Vol. 4 No. 2, 1992, pp. 31-5. 240 for help.174 However, the official nation-making project has greatly receded in the law and order sphere.

Nevertheless, an incipient national identity is discernible. Jorgensen notes that PNG-watchers face 'the task of coming to terms with the enlarged world in which indigenous people live ...; [in which] local people have gone from being "natives" to being "nationals" ...; [in which] a collective imagination is constituted, naturalising the nation in the process ...; [and in which] a generic or Pidgin culture' is emerging.175 It is widely felt that this 'making of a national culture is the unintended consequence of local cultural projects being pursued within the wider context created by the nation- state'.176 This wider context contains intense social, political, and economic pressures. As a result, the emerging hybrid post-colonial culture, especially some of the aspects embraced by younger generations, is rather different to that imagined by the progressive indigenous nationalists of the 1970s.177 However, those involved in deliberate efforts to shape a national culture —that is, those searching for the security that might be lent by a robust national society— almost always seek peace and order in regard to violent conflict. A wide range of advocacy and service-based NGOs have had some involvement in the phenomenon of renewed highlands fighting. Other potential bits of nation, such as churches, the media, professional and business associations, and womens groups, have sometimes also been involved.

One account divides Papua New Guinean NGOs into eight loose categories, focusing respectively on women, youth, cultural and spiritual development, natural resources and environment, traditional land-holding, health, literacy and education, and human rights and justice.178 Several of these fields touch on renewed highlands warfare. Advocacy NGOs such as the Foundation for Law, Order and Justice (now the Melanesian Peace Foundation) and Melanesian Solidarity for Justice, Peace and Dignity (MelSol) conduct rural outreach programs that teach non-violent conflict resolution techniques. They also publicly object to instances of extrajudicial violence by state agencies partly because they regard these as counter-productive to the establishment of civil society.179 In early 1997 an assembly of one hundred NGO representatives adopted the People's Alternative Action Program (PASAP) to assist community based

174 Eg. National, 'Help Us Fight Crime, Says Police Chief', 1 February 1999. 175 D. Jorgensen, 'Regional History and Ethnic Identity in the Hub of New Guinea', Oceania Vol. 66 No. 3, 1996, p. 190. (His own interest is in new regional identities at the sub-national level.) 176 E. Hirsch, 'Local Persons, Metropolitan Names: Contending Forms of Simultaneity among the Fuyuge', in R. Foster (ed.) Nation Making - Emergent Identities in Post Colonial Melanesia (Ann Arbor, Michigan UP, 1995) p. 185. (The Fuyuge are Mountain Papuans). 177 Raskol culture is often portrayed as being ahead of its time in blending traditional and modern economic modes. Eg. G. Trompf refers to 'their neo-tribal nature' - Op. Cit., p. 347. 178 National, 'The Value and Role of NGOs', 27 May 1997. 179 Eg. Post-Courier, 'Lawyer: Leaders are Legitimising Police Violence', 12 February 1996. 241 groups, as an alternate service delivery mechanism and as an empowerment tool, through villager education, awareness, and establishment of small-scale businesses.180

Jacobsen reports that most of the academic, individual and NGO participants at an ICRAF-organised 1994 Port Moresby seminar on human rights and violence perceived Papua New Guinea as consisting of three inter-related societal spheres: the state, civil society, and a tribal hinterland.181 Civil society was not precisely defined, but the term was used in a general way to refer to the arena

where most NGOs and intellectuals operate. Civil society thus consists of those parts of society that have the greatest potential of influencing both state institutions and government. Furthermore, the agents in civil society, for example, the participants in the seminar, perceived themselves as having a "civilising" mission towards the third societal sphere in PNG, which covers about 80% of the national hinterland, namely the tribal areas. One of the civilising exercises they identified, was the promotion of human rights.182 According to a prominent lawyer and NGO leader, Powes Parkop, the role of advocacy NGOs such as MelSol is to 'challenge all governments and also the community at large ... [with the aim of] building a better nation.183

Women's organisations constitute a particular subgroup of NGOs, some of which have been trenchant critics of tribal fighting. Regard for the dignity and wishes of rural women can decrease in times of intergroup hostility, as the stock of young men rises. Interclan 'revenge methods', such as rape and property destruction particularly harm women.184 Young women have reportedly been included as payment in compensation packages after fights.185 Recently married highlands women can be vulnerable in times of war, since all are in-married and may be suspected of harbouring conflicting interests. Rural collectives, such as the long-established Wok Meri agricultural savings and loan organisation in the Eastern Highlands which links thousands of women from different language areas, are also fragile in the face of intergroup warfare.186 Women's groups in the Western Highlands Province publicly supported the 1979 State of

180 Independent, 'NGOs Adopt Social Action Plan', 14 February 1997. The SAP in the acronym may be a deliberate allusion to the unpopular Structural Adjustment Programs. Nevertheless, the PASAP was established with K15m from the World Bank Poverty Alleviation Program (as a deliberate exercise in civil society-building). It was also designed to channel allocations from the Department of Home Affairs and Youth and from bilateral and multilateral donors through the National Planning Office. 181 M. Jacobsen, 'The Politics of Human Rights: Narratives on National Integrity and Cultural Revival', unpublished seminar paper, RSPAS, Canberra, 25 May 1995, p. 5. 182 Ibid., p. 6. He identifies a 'two-front battle against the civilising effect of civil society': by the degeneration of the state institutions needed to underpin civil society (with educational, health and other services) triggering a soaring crime rate; and by the primordial allegiances stemming from every Papua New Guinean being a tribesperson - pp. 6-7. 183 Independent, (letter) 'Melsol Plays Neutral Role', 8 May 1998. 184 S. Garap, Op. Cit., pp. 161-3. 185 Eg. Post-Courier, 'Woman Pay Deal Illegal - Court', 11 February 1997. Eg. Post-Courier, 'ICRAF Denounces Human Rights Violation of Girls', 11 August 1998. 186 See L. Sexton, 'Wok Meri: a Women's Exchange System in the Eastern Highlands of PNG', Oceania Vol. 53 No. 3, 1982, pp. 167-98. 242 Emergency.187 They also initiated steps under the emergency to initiate peace between conflicting tribes.188 Rumsey describes an intervention by a women's cooperative that stopped a Nebilyer Valley tribal fight in 1982 by symbolising 'a brave new world [of government law and business] that people wished to identify with, and which the women's clubs were seen to be part of.'189 The National Council of Women's Platform for Action calls for a 'secure livelihood for Melanesian women', but the organisation has limited leverage for pursuing this goal in rural villages190

Religious institutions were important early agents of pacification.191 Notwithstanding the part of missionisation in undermining precolonial nodes of authority capable of stopping as well as starting wars, church official have delivered many hundreds of sermons against blood-revenge, sorcery and fighting; negotiated and supervised countless ceremonial weapons burnings; and delivered interdicts against dispensation of the mass to those initiating or abetting tribal wars.192 Renewed highlands fighting challenges both the practical and philosophical work of the churches. Church-run schools and hospitals in fighting districts are sometimes attacked.193 Even more seriously, clan-allegiance heightened by war 'can rapidly undercut all other ties, even those of the church'.194 In 1986 the standard pastoral response to tribal fighting in Enga consisted of three elements: outspoken opposition, rapid intervention to try to prevent disputes escalating, and strict neutrality if violence does begin.195 The Catholic Diocese of Wabag's Gutpela Sindaun (living together peacefully) movement is an example of a church-based scheme to seek peaceful alternatives to rising levels of intergroup violence. Since 1992 it has established committees and appointed mediators to encourage the formulation of non-violent alternative solutions to problems based on

187 S. Pokawin, 'January-December 1979, in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 334. 188 According to R. Lacey, 'a strong and independent woman can participate in and contribute to peacemaking processes as much as a man; she may even breed her own pigs for this purpose. However, it seems that her effectiveness still depends on her husband, the extent to which he is willing to accept her in this kind of role' - 'Helping People Repair Houses: Reflecting on the Processes in the Partnerships for Peacemaking Project Among the Enga of PNG', unpublished paper read at ANU, 6 October 1998, p. 11. 189 A. Rumsey, 'Women as Peacemakers', in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds.) Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Canberra, Asia Pacific Press, 2000) pp. 145 (also see p. 150 on other factors involved). 190 Then Church and Family Affairs Minister Andrew Kumbakor informed a recent meeting of the National Council of Women that they should take PNG culture into account in their pursuit of greater rights - National, 'Women's Role Growing in Politics, Says Lasaro', 9 February 1999. 191 M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 153. 192 G. Trompf, Op. Cit., p. 293. (The apocalyptic millenarianism of some new fundamentalist sects may have an adverse effect on law and order - A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 57.) 193 Eg. National, 'Eight Die in Enga Tribal Fighting', 20 October 1998. It reports that police had to protect the SDA-run Sopas Hospital during a battle. 194 G. Trompf, Op. Cit., p. 331. 195 D. Young, 'Pastoral Responses to Tribal Fighting in Enga', Catalyst Vol. 16, 1986, pp. 15-6/ 243 certain fundamental values of Enga society (and the denial of some others).196 The Foundation for Law, Order and Justice is similarly driven by both secular or civic and religious aims.

Journalism is an élite occupation in Papua New Guinea, where the media principally serves a comparatively educated and affluent, mainly urban, audience. Both reporters and their often salaried readers, listeners, and watchers (and their dependents) have a stronger than average regard for nationhood. This segment of the population also regards itself as particularly under siege from the resentful, often violent, masses of the less fortunate. Accordingly, day-to-day reporting and editorial comment on violence in the highlands is frequently couched in terms of danger to the country as a whole. The Post-Courier supported Prime Minister Chan's 1996 Year of Law and Order Enforcement by running free advertisements declaring that 'every kina spent on law and order is an investment in our nation's future'.197

Professional and business associations, such as the Manufacturers Council, the Public Employees Federation, the Papua New Guinea Business Council, the Institute of National Affairs, the National Teachers Association, the Chamber of Mines and Petroleum, and the Papua New Guinea Trade Union Congress have periodically appealed for greater government commitment to stability and social harmony. They have also undertaken minor nation-building initiatives themselves. The interests of their members would be advanced by a less turbulent overall environment in which to operate or seek investment capital. In February 1985 banks in the highlands closed for a day to protest their growing vulnerability to escalating violent crime, while four months later coffee buyers in the Eastern and Western Highlands held a "strike" in protest at the frequent disruption of their work by rural criminals.198 In 1997, the Port Moresby Chamber of Commerce proposed an Australian-style firearms buy-back to help protect its members' operations.199 Ford-PNG recently funded a Foundation for Rural Development community-building workshop for forty-three local highlands leaders.200 Papua New Guinea Business Council chairperson Mel Togolo has estimated that highlands law and order problems cost Papua New Guinea K100m in coffee export revenue in 1997, and Ford-PNG seems to be acting at least partly on the premise that a

196 R. Lacey, Op. Cit., p. 4. Committees at the local (parish) and higher (diocesan) levels follow a model based on cycles of historically focused inquiry, reflection and action. Also see D. Young, 'Nonviolent Alternatives Among the Enga', Social Alternatives Vol. 16 No. 2, 1997, p. 43. 197 Eg. Post-Courier, (advertisement) 'The Post-Courier Supports the PNG Government's Year of Law and Order Enforcement Initiative', 19 March 1996. 198 Y. Saffu, 'January-June 1985', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 403. The executive officer of the Coffee Industry Corporation warned that the industry was in grave danger of collapse due to the law and order problem. 199 Post-Courier, 'Police Told: City Needs Arms Plan', 20 August, 1997. 200 Post-Courier, 'Leaders Gain Useful Skills for Their People', 9 February 1999. 244 percentage of that K100m would have been spent on its vans and trucks if some of it was in highlanders' pockets.201

However, the highly challenging environment of the highlands seems to prevent most of even those élite potential bits of nation that exhibit some enthusiasm for a national identity from consciously and consistently privileging that objective over more immediate survival imperatives. For example, in January 1999, a group of Highlands Highway-dependent businesses paid K43 000 to a pair of Southern Highlands clans in return for a promise to end violent disruptions to traffic in the Nebilyer valley, setting a harmful precedent likely to damage other companies operating in the region.202 Also that month, three different retail groups filed affidavits against a decision by the Eastern Highlands Provincial Government to finally ban uncontrolled liquor sales, despite the purpose of that initiative being to try to reduce intergroup violence.203 Some of the coffee industry spokespeople warning that the sector faces "imminent demise" because of violent crime may be been responsible for inciting violence themselves.204 The return of students for the Christmas vacation also marks the period as a time of trouble in the highlands.205 Even the advocacy NGOs have been indirectly responsible for inciting deadly violence on rare occasions, such as during the protests against World Bank land registration proposals of the mid 1990s noted above.

Nevertheless, in the limited cases where actors such as NGOs and the churches consciously and more-or-less consistently respond to the occurrence of highlands violence by trying to bolster the incipient national society, it seems only prudent to conclude that they are searching for a exemplar of security that equates to civil society.

The security of communal groups Communal groups are obviously important participants in renewed highlands warfare. Such groups constitute social actors beyond the sum of their leaders and ordinary individual members. As was seen in the section on local élites, above, the ends pursued by the leaders of these groups are not always compatible with the overall collective

201 National, 'K100m Revenue Lost to Crime', 14 October 1998. (About 30% of the crop harvested did not reach market). 202 National, (editorial) 'Highway Payout is a Sad Precedent', 6 January 1999. 203 Post-Courier, 'Goroka Liquor Ban Case Goes to Court', 22 January 1999. The other four highlands provinces have tried to enforce partial liquor bans from 1996 (and intermittently since before then). 204 Y. Saffu, 'January-June 1985', p. 403; National, 'Crime Will Kill Coffee, Tea Industries', 14 December 1998. Coffee Producers and Processors Association Chairperson Dick Hagon recently called for the army and police to be merged to combat crime - National, 'Merge PNGDF with Police to Fight Crime', 13 November 1998. However, almost constant infighting by influential industry figures —including Hagon himself— (and their politician and business allies) over the rich prize of key industry positions has spurred eruptions of violence - National, (editorial) 'Probe Cash Crop Industry Disputes', 16 December 1998. 205 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 153. 24 5 interests of community members. Nor are communal groups typically dissolved upon the death of even their most renowned leaders. The key interests of communal groups in regard to highlands warfare are well captured by the expression 'boundary maintenance'.206 The term denotes a broad concept of group interests, encompassing both the need for physical defence of territorial perimeters and the need for social differentiation in a setting comprising many partly overlapping communities.207 Those two basic exigencies match the practical day-to-day and existential or "ideational" dimensions of subsistence that were outlined theoretically in Chapter Three.

As was mentioned in Chapter Four, the incomplete corporateness of communal groups —based on dogmas, rather than strict biological descent— was one of the defining features of precolonial highlands life.208 However, many commentators have noted the tightening of group membership and coalescence of identity that followed the imposition of the colonial peace and the freezing of clan boundaries.209 According to the Paney Report,

despite factors working against the continued existence of kin groups, such as the emphasis given by Christianity and the legal system to the individual and his responsibility, the kin group remains for the highlander the key to his economic, physical and emotional security. Some anthropologists and field officers argue that the strength of kin group solidarity is actually increasing under the influence of greater government control.210 More recently, in 'the absence of strong state institutions many highlands people have sought security and identity in groups such as clans.'211 In times 'of insecurity people tend to seek personal reinforcement in the most meaningful and fundamental group attachment or identity, what Clifford Geertz called "primordial attachments" which embody actualities of blood, race, language, or overwhelming hold over their members in a crisis situation.'212 Andrew Strathern's concepts of 'neotribalisation' and 'disintegrative-integration', introduced in Chapter Two, also stress the degree to which

206 P. Wiessner & A. Tumu, Historical Vines (Washington DC, Smithsonian Press, 1998) p. 85. 207 Ibid., p. 85. They report that the precolonial Enga were concerned with boundary maintenance for social reasons (concerning the growth of communities beyond a manageable size); political reasons (pursuit of optimal position in trade/exchange networks); and ecological reasons (to secure fertile land for agriculture and hunting). Boundaries were maintained by physical (military) and ceremonial (display/exchange) means - p. 153. 208 Eg. J. Barnes, 'African Models in the New Guinea Highlands', Man Vol. 62 No. 2, 1962, pp, pp. 5-9. In very general terms, the coherence of PNG highlands groups is thought to increase as attention moves westwards - eg. D. Feil, Evolution of Highland PNG Societies (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1987). Discussed below and in Chs. 1 & 4. Also see F. Merlan & A. Rumsey, Ku Waru (Cambridge, Cambridge UP, 1991) pp. 8-56. 209 Eg. G. Curry, 'Warfare, Social Organisation and Resource Access Amongst the Wosera Abelam of PNG', Oceania Vol. 67 No. 3, 1997, pp. 194-217. (The Abelam are lowlanders, but boundaries were not frozen by the ending of warfare in the Wosera until 1937 - p. 203.) 210 P. Paney, Op. Cit., p. 4. 211 L. Morauta, 'Law and Order in PNG: A 10th Anniversary Report', p. 17. 212 B. Standish, 'The Highlands — Ol I No Save Harim Mipela!', p. 19. 246 the communal bases of political competition are becoming more rather than less rigidly defined, but with the addition of new political and economic spheres of competition.213

Highlands social groups display a complex array of segmentary identities.214 Different ethnographers have sometimes used disparate terminology to describe very similar models of social structure, and used the same names for quite unlike ones at other times.215 Ketan provides a generalised typology of groups, declaring that in the Western Highlands

we find a highly elaborate hierarchy of structures. Individuals belong to an elaborate set of progressively more inclusive named groups such as tribes which have a segmentary structure. These group levels, from the largest to the smallest, are: phratry, tribe-pair, tribe, tribe section, clan, clan section, subclan, and lineage.216 The communal groups involved in contemporary highlands warfare are not solely, but are predominantly, territorial (usually residential) units —most typically clans— operating individually or in alliance with other units.

The first of two main exigencies of communal groups in regard to intergroup warfare is preservation of the practical means to sustain their members. This is principally seen in collective efforts to protect the resources that underpin their sustenance and prosperity. Connell discusses the 'survival of subsistence', noting that

few countries in the world are so characterised by a predominantly rural population that is oriented to subsistence agricultural production as PNG. Although few Papua New Guineans now live beyond the influence of monetisation and the purchase of commodities, self-sufficiency still plays a substantial role for most.217 His emphasis on subsistence partly stems from the value of food transcending its intrinsic value, thanks to its continuing central importance in inter- and intra-group exchange.218 Accordingly, land has been described in terms of 'subsistence security'.219

213 A. Strathern, 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 48. Also see A. Strathern, 'When Dispute Procedures Fail', p. 241; A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow Go Down', pp. 242-7; W. Warry, Op. Cit., p. 24; G. Trompf, Op. Cit., p. 37; G. Westermark, 'Clan Claims', Oceania Vol. 67 No. 3, 1997, p. 231. 214 A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow go Down', p. 230. Eg. tribes, which are important for the Hageners he studies, are 'named groups with some potential political cohesion ... [ranging in] size from a few hundred to several thousand people' - p. 230. They pair to form wider units of military and exchange alliance, and are subdivided into clans - p. 231. 215 For example, Langness reports that 'Korofeigu, the unit I originally called a tribe is apparently similar to what Berndt has called a district (1962), Newman a phratry (1965), Read a sub-tribe (1952), Watson a local group (1967) , and Glasse a clan-parish (1969) - 'Bena Bena Political Organisation', in R. Berndt and P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea (Nedlands, UWA Press, 1971) p. 299. Elsewhere, comparable eastern highlands groups have been called pooling units, sub-clans, patrilineages, and clan-villages - M. Donaldson, 'Contradiction, Mediation and Hegemony', in R. May and H. Nelson (eds.) Melanesia: Beyond Diversity (Canberra, ANU Press, 1982) pp. 438-9. 216 J. Ketan, 'Electoral Politics in Mt Hagen', p. 243 (references deleted). 217 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, p. 42. 218 Ibid., pp. 42-5 (citing Young). 219 The term was used in 1995 by opponents of a scheme to register customary-held land, which was associated with World Bank-demanded structural adjustment. It was argued that 'the customary land 247 Thus, it is unnecessary to subscribe to an exclusively ecological explanation of highlands warfare to recognise the central place of land among sources of friction and conflict.220 For the Enga, land, which is

every person's most precious asset, is owned both individually and by the clan. It is owned individually in that it is passed from father to son or, in some cases, to daughter's descendants. It is owned by the clan in that it may not be transferred to people outside the clan who do not become permanent members, and infringement on the land of individuals is taken as an act of aggression against the clan as a whole.221 Subsistence agricultural systems in the highlands have been affected in two main ways by partial enmeshment in the global economy: by population increase, and by the commercialisation of horticulture.222 Both of these factors further increase the importance of land to communal groups, which 'becomes increasingly the main element providing security for the group, both in terms of basic survival and economic standing'.223 Quite rapid population growth intensifies pressures arising from land-use, both within and between groups.224 Market gardening and cultivation of tree crops such as coffee also reduces the fallow periods in the horticultural cycle. Thus, clan members jealously prize what territory the group holds and may covet land they do not now but may believe they once controlled. Groups that have been routed in a modern fights are sometimes still forced to scatter and flee to allies and relatives for long periods.225 Accordingly, 'the need to demonstrate that one's group could respond to aggression with aggression has never ceased to exist.'226

As monetisation proceeds and the capacity of the state to provide free basic services declines, having a degree of financial wealth is increasingly important for the practical subsistence of the community. Where valuable infrastructure, such as a coffee plantation or processing plant, is near at hand this may be fought over by communal groups.227 Where such resources are not present (and often even where they are) an important way communal groups pursue financial income is through election-related

tenure system has provided subsistence security in a country without social security systems which are a feature of more developed western countries' - cited in R. Smyth, 'The Role of Media in Relations Between Australia and PNG', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) p. 315. 220 G. Westermark, 'Ol I Skulim Mipela', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 57 No. 4, 1984, p. 115. (Eg. cf. Meggitt labelled the possession and defence of clan land as 'the basic preoccupation of the Mae' - Blood is Their Argument, p. 9.) 221 P. Wiessner & A. Tumu, Op. Cit., p. 17. 222 J. Connell, Papua New Guinea, pp. 46-8. 223 B. Standish, 'Politics and Societal Trauma', in P. Sack (ed.) Problem of Choice (Canberra, ANU Press, 1974) p. 156. 224 Eg. National, 'Population Will be 17m by 2041: Dr Mola', 22 July 1998. 225 Eg. National, 'Leaders Urged to End Tribal War in EHP', 11 February 1999. 226 G. Westermark, 'Ol I Skulim Mipela', p. 122. 227 Eg. see R. Connolly & R. Anderson, Black Harvest documentary film (Glebe, Arundel Productions, 1992) mentioned in Ch. 4. 248 manoeuvres. Ketan claims that in 'the highlands, violence during elections should generally be explained in terms of the structural organisation and in historical relationships among local groups.'228 Eighty-eight court petitions were registered to dispute results of the 1997 national elections, resulting in by-elections for five seats that were declared void, and nine overall changes.229 Nonggorr has described returning to his Western Highlands village to support a friend's 1997 national election campaign. His kin refused to consider voting for his nominee, who came from a neighbouring tribe with which they had fought twelve years ago. Rather, they intended to vote in bloc for whichever of the dozen or so other candidates offered the greatest cash incentive, reasoning that

they had not seen any services in their area for the last five years. They were sure that they would not get any services for the next five years. The only time they could get something was to offer their votes for the highest price. And they got their money, often from two or more candidates.230 Another group in the province, disappointed by the election result and alleging electoral fraud, vowed to fight its neighbours 'to draw the attention of the government and provincial authorities to this and other issues' until their grievances were addressed.231

The second of the two basic exigencies of communal groups in regard to intergroup warfare concerns the social differentiation necessary for existential subsistence. Not only are groups central to contemporary highlands warfare, but the possibility of war, it is widely argued, remains important to groups themselves. Warfare is still one of the public affairs 'most widely used by anthropologists to define the largest polities.'232 For some precolonial highlands communities (perhaps especially in the more fragmented east) group cohesion, in the face of relatively easy individual mobility and tolerance for divided loyalties, rested on intergroup rivalry and a common interest in self-protection.233 For the South Fore, the local group was 'a dynamic coalition of sub-groups, factions and individuals [and] what solidarity it possesses results primarily from the need for security and defence.'234 Highlands social entities

228 Op. Cit., p. 240. 229 National, (editorial) 'Appeals Process Turning Farcical', 28 August 1998; & National, 'Poll Cases: a Legal Goldmine', 14 May 1999. 230 National, 'Problem Areas of Law in PNG', 25 November 1998. 231 Their protest had not produced the desired result, but several people were dead - National, 'Two Shot, Homes Gutted in Tribal Fight', 28 August 1997. 232 L. Langness, 'Traditional Political Organisation', p. 149-50. (He notes that they cannot be defined by the single criterion of warfare). Some more recent writers are concerned that 'this notion harbours Hobbesian assumptions of warfare as a state of nature' - eg. B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', p. 251. 233 P. Brown, 'The Chimbu Political System', in R. Berndt and P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea (Nedlands, Western Australia UP, 1971) p. 207. Also see P. Brown, 'Conflict in the New Guinea Highlands', Journal of Conflict Resolution Vol. 26 No. 3, 1982, pp. 531-4. 234 R. Glasse & S. Lindenbaum, 'South Fore Politics', in R. Berndt and P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea (Nedlands, Western Australia UP, 1971) p. 362. 249 may have to have been 'brought into being' by creating unity at home through the nurturing of opposition abroad.235 Although communal groups have coalesced somewhat since pacification, a legacy of this pressure remains. Some current manifestations of ceremonial exchange and modern economic activities both strengthen and weaken clan identity and solidarity vis-a-vis individualism.236 The natural division, or 'dynamic segmentation', of over-large and internally discordant clans slowed but did not cease even during the colonial era.237 If 'most fights involve group pride'238, this is arguably partly because the groups sometimes need fights for their very subsistence.

The security of ordinary individuals Care for the welfare of the communal groups they belong to is an important rather than an all-encompassing concern for non-élite individuals facing the prospect of highlands warfare. It is widely believed that ordinary persons had some options when their communities went to war, even during precolonial periods. Room to exercise personal mobility has probably increased somewhat since then, even for the humblest villager. The possibility of fighting presents people with particular physical and psychological dangers, but may also offer certain opportunities for trying to improve their circumstances. Whether individuals elect to flee, take a conspicuous part in battle, or simply go along with what most of their peers seem to be doing, their activities are principally shaped by considerations of personal safety.

Ethnographic accounts of different parts of the precolonial highlands attribute varying degrees of agency and significance to people besides recognised leaders such as big men. In very broad terms, the eastern parts of Papua New Guinean highlands are thought to have been rather more individualistic. Langness goes so far as to suggest that Lawrence's notion of ego-centred security circles was applicable to pre-contact Bena Bena, given the impermanence of group membership and the instability of alliances of individuals and groups there.239 In that model, the

organisation through which political action is carried out is a system of interpersonal relationships, which collectively can be called the security circle. The people who belong to a man's security circle are neither a distinct social or a distinct local group. They are merely those individuals—close kinsmen, affines, and persons tied to him in other special

235 D. Brown, 'Unity in Opposition in the New Guinea Highlands', Social Analysis Vol. 23, 1988, p. 104. He sees this as a broad structural principle - p. 89. 236 Eg. R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 150. 237 B. Standish, 'Simbu Paths to Power', 29. 238 Ibid., p. 112. Also see J. Ketan, 'The Name Must Not Go Down', unpublished PhD thesis, University of Wollongong, 1998. 239 L. Langness, 'Bena Bena Political Organisation', p. 313; & L. Langness, 'Traditional Political Organisation', p. 152. 250 ways—with whom he has safe relationships and toward whom he should observe certain rules of behaviour.240 Accounts of traditional social organisation further west tend to depict somewhat more rigid communal groups. Yet, even in areas such as Enga and Chimbu it appears that many people could exercise some degree of choice in regard to precolonial warfare. For example, Meggitt contends that during fighting in Enga

individual men may change their place if they find themselves facing close relatives in the other force. There is no restriction barring friends or kinsmen in other phratries from taking part, and a number, especially younger bachelors, do join in, either to help their relatives, to gain combat experience, or just for the hell of it.241 Similarly, Brown makes it clear that Chimbu villagers could often choose to not fight or to seek refuge elsewhere when their communities became embroiled in conflict (though probably not without repercussions for their future standing in the community).242

Many adult individuals have a variety of interpersonal ties, including affinal and other non-agnatic relations, exchange ties and personal friendships, that crosscut segmentary principles and affect behaviour in contemporary conflict situations.243 It appears that opportunities for ordinary individuals to form such links may be greater now than they were before contact, given the possibility of relatively unhindered travel for example, and notwithstanding the likely increased cohesiveness of post-colonial groups noted above. Within highlands communities, 'individual rights are both broadly defined and fiercely defended'.244

The occurrence or prospect of fighting obviously poses significant physical and other practical dangers to ordinary villagers, especially given the spread of gun warfare which means that casualties can mount very quickly and are unlikely to be confined to formal battlefields. Besides the direct threat of violent death or injury, the scale of property destruction and disruption to normal life can be extensive, as was indicated in Chapter Four. Warfare places a particular burden on women, which range from restrictions on available gardening land and higher food demand, to the danger of pack- rape connected with renewed warfare.245 Confronted by such threats, villagers may

240 P. Lawrence, 'The Garia', in R. Berndt and P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea (Nedlands, Western Australia UP, 1971) p. 76. This model was drawn from Madang District. 241 M. Meggitt, Blood is Their Argument, p. 18. 242 P. Brown, 'The Chimbu Political System', p. 207. 243 A. Podolefsky, 'Contemporary Warfare in the New Guinea Highlands', Ethnology Vol. 23 No. 2, 1984, p. 77. (All adult women retain at least some ties with their kin groups). 244 W. Warry, Op. Cit., p. 184. 245 SMH, 'PNG - Report Uncovers Huge Rise in Rape', 9 December 1998. 251 seek personal safety in heightened group solidarity or, in the face of significant reverses, in scattered flight to allies and kin, among other measures.246

On the other hand, the prospect of highlands warfare offers some ordinary individuals, especially young men, a potential opportunity to improve their precarious personal circumstances. Access to clan land depends partly on how much the individual has contributed to the group, and one of the relatively few ways that many unskilled youths can contribute and earn complete group membership is militarily.247 In doing so 'younger men come to the fore, not as raskol, but as "good citizens"...[gaining] the approval of their elders.'248 The opportunity for plunder may be important to young men with very limited access to material wealth and few prospects for raising the brideprice that is crucial to their future full involvement in village affairs.249 The heightened competition of leaders during times of increased tension, at least before serious preparations for war get underway, may also offer some increased leverage to potential followers. Fighting "at home" gives urban kin a chance to try to maintain tenuous rights in their ancestral 'ples', by financing weapons and providing volunteers.250 Thus, it does not seem unreasonable to assert that some non-élite individuals may even accept the possible dangers of warriorhood as part of their overall searches for personal safety.251

Contemporary highlands warfare also presents ordinary individuals with certain psychological dangers and opportunities. Ethnopsychological studies emphasise the place of an aggressive masculine sex-role in the causes and consequences of both precolonial and renewed warfare.252 Here, 'local notions of shame, fear, and uncertainty combine complexly with their complements in masculine pride, prowess, and prestige.'253 Private fear seems to be particularly important, as is reflected in Read's discussions of 'male anxiety' in the highlands and in Chowning's description of a more general Melanesian 'paranoid ethos'.254 The imperative of revenge or "payback" as one

246 D. Young, 'Pastoral Responses to Tribal Fighting ', p. 13. 247 B. Standish, 'Simbu Paths to Power', p. 31 & p. 114. 248 A. Strathern, 'Let the Bow Go Down', p. 241. 249 Many of the young Asaro men I met in 1996 claimed to have been awarded the right to use captured coffee land for their part in the fighting. 250 Eg. M. Ward, 'Keeping ples?' unpublished MA thesis, ANU, 1999, mentioned in Ch. 4. 251 It could be objected that the revelation that individuals mainly search for security in terms of safety offers limited predictive value when this may be pursued by such unlike strategies as fight and flight. However, an important part of this claim is precisely that the search will be pursued by whatever means are at hand. (Seeking an active role in combat will also be a fairly rare search for safety.) 252 The aim has been to consider the functionalist requisites for socialised masculine aggressiveness in a war-ridden society, while paying due regard to cultural nuances - discussed in B. Knauft, 'Melanesian Warfare', pp. 285-9. 253 Ibid., p. 288. 254 Eg. K. Read, The High Valley, p. 191 (also discussed in P. Brown, 'Simbu Aggression', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 59 No. 4, 1986, p. 167); & A. Chowning, An Introduction to the 252 form of the value of reciprocity and equivalence has already been mentioned.255 Herdt stresses the impact of the idiosyncratic predilections of individual men on warfare.256 Other writers have been keen to correct what they see as a scholarly neglect of spiritual, ritualistic, and religious imperatives in the causes of highlands violence.257 The possibility of warfare may also offer some young men important psychological support in addition to the practical opportunities noted above.258 Some argue that highland youths have been schooled out of their own society, are beyond the social controls of the past, and are seen by their elders as 'lost men' seeking leadership, meaning, and identity.259 As was noted in Chapter Four, the continuing possibility of warriorhood is partly what marks even the most impoverished highlanders as "villagers" more than mere "peasants". Thus, the prospect of intergroup violence can paradoxically lend a degree of psychological safety to some ordinary individuals confronted by very insecure circumstances.

Stakeholder interactions Some more patterns of interaction between the five types of stakeholders have emerged above. Although these must be regarded as preliminary indications, they can be used to continue the task of refining the theoretical model that was begun in Chapter Five. As has been noted, initial inquiry into such linkages and dynamics requires attention to behaviour in actual cases like this one. The five matters briefly considered below are the same ones that were examined in Chapter Five, involving overlap between stakeholder types, possible constellations of conflict and cohesion between their searches, their relative strength, differences in their operation during different phases of conflict, and whether they can be encouraged to interact more cooperatively.

Peoples and Cultures of Melanesia (Manila, Cummings, 1977) p. 42 (citing Schwartz). Also see M. Donaldson on 'sexual antagonism' in the precolonial Eastern Highlands - Op. Cit. 255 Eg. 'Sorcery Divination Among the Wola', in M. Stephen (ed.) Sorcerer and Witch in Melanesia (New Brunswick, Rutgers UP, 1987); & G. Trompf, Op. Cit. According to P. Wiessner & A. Tumu, 'failure to avenge aggression or insult indicated inability to defend one's members hold one's land, and secure exchange ties [whereas] successful payback re-established a balance of power and respect. The psychological wound following homicide or other provocative acts was thus deep' - Op. Cit., p. 147. 256 G. Herdt, 'Aspects of Socialisation for Aggression in Sambia Ritual and Warfare', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 59 No. 4, 1986 257 Especially see M. Reay, 'The Magico-Religious Foundations of New Guinea Highlands Warfare', in M. Stephen (ed.) Sorcerer and Witch in Melanesia (New Brunswick, Rutgers UP, 1987) pp. 83-120. 258 Even just in terms of excitement - G. Westermark, 'Ol I Skulim Mipela', p. 116. Up to 80 000 young people may now be reaching working age each year, 'not all of whom will be happy to stay in village food gardens or return there after a brief look at town life' - SMH, 'PNG - A Desperate Need to Get Back on Course', 1 December 1998. 259 B. Standish, 'Politics as Societal Trauma', p. 158. He continues that such leadership is 'not coming from the clan, the local government, or the central government at present. Unable to get land to start businesses at home, or unwilling to do the necessary physical work and unskilled or unemployable in the tiny industrial sector, they are a potential revolutionary force existing in a leadership vacuum.' Their plight has subsequently been manifested not as revolution or even rebellion but what A. Strathern refers to as 'resistance' through neo-traditional kastom - 'Violence and Political Change in PNG', p. 41. 253 A greater degree of overlap between stakeholders was apparent in tribal fighting than was seen in the Bougainville crisis, perhaps because this case study involved a phenomenon rather than an event and was thus conducted at a more abstract level. However the categories seemed to remain generally valid. Lines were mainly blurred around the category of potential bits of nation, since all the other referents are inherently potentially involved. Gordon and Meggitts' description of both élite and ordinary Engans as playing 'a double role as agents both of law and of disorder' in regard to warfare has already been mentioned.260 It was shown above that transnational and national élite business figures intermittently tried to help foster a more civil national society that could benefit their own interests by improving the commercial environment. National and local politicians were also shown to sometimes employ the national ideal as part of their survival strategies when confronted with the prospect of warfare. Communal groups may also seemed rather taken with national flags, visiting dignitaries, and "a return to the gavman lo" (formal legality) when there was a strong interest in peacemaking, and even their ordinary individual members were aware of their slender parts in a national entity. However, in an environment as challenging as the highlands, in which even NGOs and the churches must periodically scramble for mere survival, there was little chance of other referents consciously and consistently privileging a national identity over more immediate exigencies. A civil society based Papua New Guinean nation was not an entirely unimaginable community to referents in any of the stakeholder categories, but was a widely unimagined one in the face of fighting. Again, none of the five stakeholder-types coincided so closely that it did not need to be distinguished from the others, and the posited categories appeared sound.

Constellations of connection, cooperation, and competition between the five stakeholder types also emerged a little further in the analysis of highlands warfare conducted above. The interests of the institutions of the state in protecting their sovereignty neither strongly cohered nor conflicted with those of other stakeholders but were typically a minor irritant in rural areas where their penetration is shallow. The state provided some machinery, such as the village courts, in which its interests broadly coincided with those of the local élite actors staffing them. At other times the state could become a major irritant, especially when it used force to try to advance sovereignty by opposing challenges to its claimed monopoly of legitimate violence. The actions of élite figures, interacted strongly and often unfavourably with all the other searches for security and with those of other élite actors. Their searches for security sometimes worked directly against the interests of the bodies they led. As was just noted, deliberate attempts by the small special category of élites that mainly searches for security by trying to advance a civil society-based national space were quite

260 R. Gordon & M. Meggitt, Op. Cit., p. 240. 254 frequently but fleetingly accompanied by the efforts of other potential bits of nation. This indicated a latent compatibility, but one that was not normally lent the priority over other exigencies necessary to succeed. The needs of communal groups in relation to physical and ideational subsistence or "boundary maintenance" were judged through political negotiation between their (rival) leaders and ordinary members, but did not necessarily cohere with the interests of particular leaders or individuals. Despite theoretical reservations about the corporateness of highland communal groups, many showed at least a semi-corporate interest in regard to war that seemed broadly analogous to conventional conceptions of national security. This was often pursued in a fairly zero-sum way against other referents, especially other communal groups. The searches for personal safety by non-élite individuals usually took place through the communal groups to which they belonged, and these two searches for security cohered more closely than any others. However, the greater communal good could be disregarded in individual searches for safety in dire enough circumstances. Again, each of the five searches for security was generally pursued more in a self-seeking way without regard for the others than in a deliberately inimical way.

Some more indications of the relative strength of referents in the five categories of stakeholders were also evident in the analysis conducted above. Again, it is important first to note that all the stakeholders occupied quite weak positions given the economically fragile, highly competitive, environment of the highlands. No single type of stakeholders or particular referent within them could be seen to enjoy an overall dominance and relative prevalence could shift quite quickly even at the local level in particular situations. The institutions of the state could sometimes bring substantial resources to bear to try to contain specific tribal fights in the very short term, but showed a weak overall capacity to accomplish their objectives. Elite figures collectively retained the political initiative at all times but individually faced such intense competition from rival élite actors and other nodes of authority such as the state that their own positions appeared singularly precarious. NGOs, churches, and other committed proponents of a more civil nationwide space were able to play an important role in conflict reduction before hostilities seriously escalated or once the parties resolved to embark on peacemaking, but could not compete with stronger identities when fighting was ascendant. More general attempts to advance a civil general environment in the highlands seemed quite weak, but it is impossible to know what the situation would be like without them (as Gordon and Meggitt remarked in relation to the contribution of the village courts). Communal groups were obviously central players in so-called tribal fighting, but equally clearly could only partly be considered agents in their own right, since their interests were interpreted by local élites and their ordinary members also holding their own stakes. The interests of communal groups stood to gain from the heightened group solidarity and cohesion accompanying 255 fighting, but could also potentially be depleted and, in rare cases, destroyed if the course of a war proceeded very badly. Some ordinary individuals could also stand to gain as well as loose from the prospect of fighting, but collectively their autonomy and influence seemed further reduced by the outbreak of warfare.

The five searches for security appeared to interact somewhat differently as the general phenomenon of tribal fighting re-emerged, spread, and intensified, and also as individual fights have cyclically broken out, widened, escalated, de-escalated, and sometimes ended. As was indicated in Chapter Four, attention to the pacification period can help account for the subsequent shape of fighting. For several decades the interests of all the referents studied here were felt to broadly coincide and remained substantially "de-securitized" by removal of the imminent prospect of intergroup violence. The particular tensions accompanying the decolonising period, growing disillusionment with the pace and benefits of economic development, and perception that the state was becoming soft, led to the breakdown of the temporary harmony of interests, as was discussed in Chapter Four. Once the extra ingredient of serious violence was added the concert of basic aims quickly collapsed — "re-securitising" the pursuit of disparate interests as "searches for security" by encouraging imperative decision-making able to be carried out by almost any means in the face of heightened potential consequences for failure. Thus, fighting spread quite rapidly throughout the region.261 Its intensification has subsequently continued, due to the self-reinforcing mixture of new and old pressures on incompatible interests depicted in Andrew Strathern's conception of "disintegrative-integration", discussed above. The changing operation of the searches for security occurs in a highly complex way in the context of individual fights. Escalating violence is likely to see the existential subsistence imperatives of communal groups, the survival needs of their local élites, and the safety exigencies of their individual members cohere more strongly, while these values will more strongly conflict with the sovereignty goals of the state, the prospect of advancing civil society, and the subsistence needs of enemy communal groups, for example. These dynamics may also involve a de-escalatory dimension that allows all the searches for security within and between the warring parties to be conducted more cooperatively once certain conditions, such as proportionate casualty-rates, are reached.

Finally, the analysis of highlands warfare provided few detailed indications of whether or how the stakeholder interactions might be deliberately encouraged to take place in a more sociable way. This was mostly because there has been no equivalent to the sort of large scale integrated rehabilitation and reconstruction programs that have accompanied the partial return to normalcy in the North Solomons. Specific

261 Eg. see G. Westermark, 'Ol I Skulim Mipela'. 256 governmental, church and NGO initiatives have sometimes targeted the requirements of particular referents, such as the special needs of youth, in relation to highlands violence, but not on a scale that could be expected to produce definitive results. However, in an broad sense, it should be remembered that a pacification project once contained fighting through a credible mix of compulsion and incentives, and that warfare has not returned to being as prevalent as it was in pre-colonial times. In a more specific sense, it should be recognised that impending fights can sometimes be successfully avoided through mediation by neutral communal groups, state bodies, prominent personalities, or churches and other modern third parties. The prospects of the two main potential candidates for arbitrating multiple security exigencies in the common interest —the state and civil society— will be returned to in Chapter Seven.

Conclusion This chapter directly employed the theoretical framework developed in Chapter Three to re-examine the phenomenon of renewed highlands warfare. This was done to provide a second case study for the initial validity testing and refinement of the new model designed to help disaggregate state and societal security in Papua New Guinea. The case study generally supported indications in the previous chapter that the proposed stakeholders model may help to better explain the country's overall security predicament.

The first task of the chapter was to provide another means for starting to assess the basic foundations and possible explanatory power of the security stakeholders framework. In terms of the key premises of the model, it was found that the referents contained in each of the five categories of stakeholder essentially pursued the search for security posited in Chapter Three, and did so in a reasonably distinct and consistent way. The institutions of the state did indeed incline towards preserving or increasing Papua New Guinean sovereignty as their charters require; national, local, and transnational élites all manoeuvred to stay one step ahead of short-term disaster in a way that accorded with conceptual models of "the politics of survival"; the special subcategory of élite actors that consciously and consistently regard themselves chiefly as potential bits of a meaningful national entity pursued the goal of civil society; communal groups tried to preserve both practical and existential subsistence by safeguarding physical and symbolic "boundary maintenance"; and the ordinary individuals within them chiefly sought personal safety, whether by fighting or fleeing. The case study was also quite encouraging in regard to the likely explanatory power of the stakeholder model. The framework proved able to provide an integrating lens for synthesising existing insights offered in the "monocausal" social-structural, ecological, political, and psychological theoretical explanations surveyed in Chapter Four. It did so in a way that appeared likely to be simple and generalisable enough to draw on lessons 257 from, or provide lessons for, other analyses of violent conflict in Melanesia. Thus, the analysis conducted here seemed a reasonable first attempt to start to fill the main gap in the existing literature.

The second task of this chapter was to continue the initial refinement the proposed stakeholder model. Some more preliminary indications of patterns of interactions between the five searches for security were gained. The same five matters that were considered in Chapter Five were briefly examined. Since the case study of highlands warfare involved the analysis of a phenomenon rather than a specific historical event, findings occurred at a slightly higher level of abstraction than they did in Chapter Five. However, both of these practical problems were scrutinised in the same way and it is hoped that this diversity will be useful when the stakeholder model is revisited in Chapter Seven.

Finally, it remains to suggest that the focus on the different searches for security taking place in contemporary highlands warfare provided an accurate and efficient way to account for the re-emergence, spread, and intensification of the phenomenon.

258 CHAPTER SEVEN Conclusions: Reconceptualising Security in Papua New Guinea and Beyond

This thesis has presented a sustained analysis of Papua New Guinea's security predicament. Its main aim has been to contribute to the better understanding of that country's situation. Prior research had established the inadequacy of conventional strategic security analysis for explaining those circumstances. Some scholars had also nominated assorted matters, such as crime, economics, food-supply, gender, and the struggles of land-owning communities as security problems or goals, and had begun to examine them in that light. However, the limited existing literature lacked a unifying approach and provided little guidance as to how the country's overall security predicament should be assessed. To that end, the thesis turned to the new theoretical sub-field on security in developing countries to pursue lines of inquiry that might better inform the study of security in Papua New Guinea. In particular, it asked whether the new official focus on threats beside military ones, or the growing scholarly interest in the security needs of referents beside the Papua New Guinean state, were likely to be more fruitful, and —if the latter was the case— just what those referents and their needs could be. These considerations led to the development of an analytical framework that identified a distinct and consistent "search for security" by each of five categories of stakeholders. These searches were thought likely to occur regardless of what particular combinations of threats are faced or what specific coping-strategies are adopted. The model was initially assessed against a threats-based account of the country's principal security challenges, which showed the limited explanatory value of some earlier approaches. It was then directly employed to examine case studies of the Bougainville crisis and renewed highlands warfare to begin to test and refine its central premises and likely explanatory power. The stakeholders model appeared sound and quite promising in these first trials. This has some potentially important implications for Papua New Guinea, which are discussed below. It also offers some possible lessons for the theoretical sub-literature, thus satisfying the subsidiary aim of the thesis.

The purpose of this last chapter is to reconsider Papua New Guinean security in light of the theoretical findings, and to re-evaluate the proposed security stakeholders model in light of material from the country study. At this stage, it is possible to suggest a partial verdict and an agenda for future research on each. The chapter has four parts. The first provides a chapter-by-chapter summary of the development of the thesis, and reiterates its general findings. The second part offers a reconceptualised account of Papua New Guinea's overall security predicament, based on the central place of the multiple proposed searches for security. It discusses possible implications of such a

259

conception for attempts to respond to the situation. The third part returns to the theoretical sub-literature on security in developing countries. Some preliminary refinements to the stakeholders model are suggested, based on findings from Chapters Four to Six. The implications of this study for the assessment of security in other developing countries, and the possible utility of directly applying the model itself, are considered. A final part identifies areas where further research may be warranted.

Summary and main findings It is necessary to more fully retrace the steps of the thesis and to explicitly restate its key claims before its implications for either Papua New Guinea or for theory and other developing countries can be examined.

Chapter One introduced the setting of the thesis by providing a summary of general conditions in Papua New Guinea. It began by describing the physical features of the country. Next, its basic human characteristics and precolonial, colonial, and post-colonial history were discussed. This was followed by an initial discussion of Papua New Guinea's modern political structures and style, and to its economic circumstances. Finally, the emergence and changing sway of the standard approaches to "PNG-studies" were outlined.

Chapter Two commenced the detailed investigation of security in Papua New Guinea. It examined existing analyses of the situation by Papua New Guineans and foreign observers. The chapter began by tracing the general impetus behind the expansion of more multi-dimensional assessment from the mid 1980s. This stemmed from declining perceptions of external threat and an accompanying feeling that the country's numerous "law and order" problems were taking on a political character and starting to assume dire proportions. The second part of the chapter examined official efforts to reformulate security policy planning. These have naturally tended to focus on new types of non-military threat to the state. The reasons why this has produced limited gains were considered. The third part of the chapter explored scholarly analysis of security in Papua New Guinea. This has increasingly emphasised a wide and growing gap between the state and society, and begun to consider the security imperatives of non-state referents.

The reasons why this promising approach has not yet greatly contributed to diagnosis or prescription were discussed. These mainly stem from a failure to systematically disaggregate and examine the components of state and society themselves. The shortcomings of existing accounts established the basis for the reanalysis of Papua New Guinean security that was carried out in the rest of the thesis. Finally, the chapter identified some key questions that might be expected to be clarified

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by the specialist conceptual sub-literature on security in developing countries. In particular, these asked whether the apparent superiority of a focus on referents rather than threats was borne-out theoretically, and, if so, how security stakes within the Papua New Guinean state and society could be more precisely disaggregated.

Next, Chapter Three explored the theoretical literature on security in developing countries. Although this offered a useful general explanation of the wider structural pressures faced, it did not contain an existing model that could directly answer the sort of detailed practical questions posed above. However, it provided the basis for constructing such a framework. The chapter began by introducing the broader International Relations literature on changing conceptions of security. The main reasons why, and ways in which, conventional understandings of security have been reassessed were then outlined, as were key analytical concepts and specialist terms. Next, the chapter showed why the study of security in developing countries continues to constitute a distinct subfield of security analysis. The requirement for a new approach, based on the need for a satisfactory analytical core focus, was then established. This is necessary to help determine which of a potentially limitless variety of problems, goals, actors, and coping strategies should be considered in practical inquiry, and how these should be explained, once the old emphasis on the military defence of states against foreign attack is abandoned as inadequate. Such a focus is needed to balance increased conceptual breadth with the preservation of clarity and elegance.

Each of three possible bases for such a core —threats in addition to military attacks, referents in addition to the state, and means of pursuing increased security beside national militarisation— were then assessed. The more usual focus on non- military threats was rejected. Instead, it was argued that referents and their security imperatives, beside those of the state, would be best emphasised. Next, the new security stakeholders model was introduced. This posited a distinct and consistent "search for security" in terms of a particular imperative or "core value" by each of five key categories of security referent. These were declared to occur regardless of what particular threats are faced or what specific coping-strategies are adopted. It was suggested that state institutions mainly try to preserve sovereignty; national, local and transnational élites all pursue survival politics; certain components of the incipient country-wide national entity consciously and consistently promote civil society; communal groups struggle for material and existential subsistence; and ordinary non- élite individuals mainly seek personal safety. Ways in which the basic validity of this new model could begin to be tested and refined were then discussed.

Chapter Four began the re-analysis of the security of and security in Papua New Guinea. It presented an overview of the principal challenges that shape security there.

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All pose violent dangers to the state and to other referents, and are components of what is sometimes referred to as the country's overall "law and disorder" predicament. The chapter had two main purposes. The first aim was to test the practical indications of Chapter Two and the theoretical claims of Chapter Three — that an analytical focus on threat-types would offer an unsuitable basis for the desired core focus — basically by attempting such analysis. The second aim was to provide essential background material for the pair of case studies conducted in the following chapters.

The discussion began by introducing the three very broad types of political violence that constitute Papua New Guinea's key security problems. Violent crime by rural and urban raskol gangs, micronational and regional separatist activities, and major types of intergroup conflict, were outlined in turn. Next, the chapter examined the historical background to, and existing official and scholarly explanations of, the two practical problems subject to fine-grained analysis in Chapters Five and Six. Unanswered questions in the existing literature on the Bougainville crisis and about contemporary highlands warfare were identified. In both cases the unmet need was for a synthesising approach or lens, able to systematically integrate lessons derived from disparate theoretical perspectives which have come to be seen as inadequate by themselves but potentially complementary. The fourth part of the chapter explicitly emphasised the inextricably overlapping nature of the three key challenges, the two more specific problems (cases), and of the military, environmental, economic, societal and political threats contained within them. All were shown to be products of wider pressures, and highly intertwined, rather than simple or discrete phenomena. Finally, it was suggested that the proposed security stakeholders model should be able to help to fill gaps in the existing literature on the two cases if it contains the potential to contribute to more far-reaching analysis.

Chapter Five closely examined the operation of security stakeholders in a serious multifaceted insecurity complex facing Papua New Guinea — namely the Bougainville crisis that erupted in late 1988 and which is yet to be fully resolved. Each of the five categories of stakeholders identified in Chapter Three, the state, élites, bits of nation, communal groups, and ordinary individuals, was scrutinised in turn. Next, preliminary patterns of interaction between the stakeholders that emerged in the case were discussed. Some of these have implications for the task of beginning to refine the theoretical model, which are returned to below. The chapter showed that the stakeholders model provided a useful tool for accurately and efficiently explaining the causes and course of the Bougainville conflict.

Chapter Six conducted a detailed analysis of renewed highlands warfare, using the same approach, to explore a second case study of a multifaceted insecurity complex. It

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proceeded along approximately the same lines as Chapter Five. Again, the security stakeholders model provided a useful framework for helping to explain the causes of, and behaviour associated with these conflicts. The chapter also revealed several patterns of interaction between stakeholder categories which can be used in the continued refinement of the model itself.

It will be useful to restate the central claims of the thesis before drawing out possible implications for Papua New Guinea and the development of security theory. Four key findings are important at this stage. Even before these are reiterated, it is necessary to say that this study endorses the claims of previous studies that conventional strategic analysis is particularly inadequate for explaining security in Papua New Guinea. The wide range of diverse factors that were shown to effect all the security challenges examined in this thesis helped confirm the inability of standard security analysis to address even the principal violent challenges to the state, let alone to engage important broader issues that are connected with internal security.

The first major finding of this thesis related to the value of considering all matters that are directly connected with fairly substantial violence, but none that are not, to be security pressures. This offered a simple but satisfactory criterion for initially determining what concerns should be examined as security issues, out of a potentially almost limitless range of "political" problems, goals, actors, and coping strategies. This only represents a possible first step, but could be an important one, for the goal of broadening analytical scope while preserving basic coherence, after the old emphasis on the military defence of states against foreign attack is abandoned as inadequate. It does not imply that the normative relabelling of positive values such as gender equity as security affairs, or the equation of security with well-being, can never be appropriate, but simply that this is unlikely to offer a suitable basis for investigating the enormously complicated security predicament of an entire developing country. Connection with violent political conflict is a much simpler indicator of approximately the same conditions that are designated by the Copenhagen School's constructivist concept of securitization, as was discussed in Chapter Three.1 That concept would be particularly difficult to apply in developing countries. Furthermore, to mention one concern that they have raised, it may not make the analyst very much less a "securitizing actor" than he or she is when judging which matters are directly linked to violence. The objections which members of the Copenhagen School might raise do not seem to invalidate the current approach in the case of Papua New Guinea.

1 Of potentially existential seriousness, extraordinary emergency action, and significant repercussions for other security relationships - discussed in Ch. 3. 263

The second key claim of the thesis was that in developing countries the existence of multiple relatively powerful security quests by referents beside the state lies much closer to the heart of their practical security predicaments than the more widely discussed existence of dire non-military threats. Although developing states often do face a broader range and greater number of more pressing threats than their developed counterparts, it is their lack of a near monopoly on the right to legitimate securitization that most profoundly effects their security situations. Thus, Job's metaphor of an "insecurity dilemma", chiefly shaped by the lack of a domestic consensus (or leeway to compromise) on security, offers a more powerful impression of the predicament than does Thomas's depiction of a single "search for security" against diverse threats by each developing country. I also made types of referent the basis of my analytic core focus because they appear more discrete than do threat types, which were theoretically and empirically shown to overlap to a greater degree. This is not to say that security threats should be disregarded, but simply that they (like structural pressures) can be most efficiently scrutinised where they are felt and reacted to, by actors, for the practical purposes of this sort of analysis. The significance of this claim for Papua New Guinea was that scholarly interest in the gap between state and societal security appears more promising than official attention to new security threats.

The third principal finding proceeded from this identification of referents as the central determinant of security in developing countries, and from the consequent need to systematically disaggregate the components of state and societal security in Papua New Guinea. It was suggested that it is possible to identify a few key categories of referents that will be involved in any developing country's overall security predicament, and that the components of each of these do consistently search for security in terms of a distinct exigency or "core value". As was noted above, it was found that state institutions chiefly try to preserve sovereignty; central, local, and transnational élites all conduct survival politics; certain components of the incipient country-wide national entity deliberately and consistently promote civil society; communal groups struggle for material and existential subsistence; and ordinary individuals mainly seek personal safety. These searches were shown to apply irrespective of what particular threats are faced or what coping-strategies are adopted. The categories of referents were based on a study by Job, and their security imperatives were posited on the basis of a wide range of theoretical material from relevant branches of the social sciences. The pair of case studies conducted in Chapters Five and Six suggested that the five posited searches for security were basically accurate and exhibited only a moderate degree of overlap.

The fourth and final claim to be highlighted at this stage was that the two case studies provided preliminary evidence that the proposed security stakeholders model could help to better explain highly complicated actual security problems. In both 264

instances the model did so by providing an integrating lens that was able to accommodate past insights from diverse theoretical perspectives that are now felt to be inadequate when taken alone. In both cases this approach also seemed able to integrate these insights in a simple and generalisable enough way to draw on lessons from, or provide lessons for comparison with, other incidents of violent political conflict. Of course, two cases —no matter how central to the wider situation, or how seemingly representative— could hardly be taken to provide conclusive proof of the efficacy of a new theoretical model for reformulating the overall security appraisal of an entire country. Nevertheless, the initial indications seem encouraging enough for it to be worthwhile to attempt a wider reconceptualisation on this basis. This will allow us to consider the implications of that premise for attempts by Papua New Guinean and overseas officials and other interests to respond to the situation. That task is taken up in the next part of the chapter.

Implications for Papua New Guinea This part of the chapter begins by formulating an alternative account of Papua New Guinea's security situation on the basis of the central place of the proposed searches for security. Its main purpose is to discuss the possible ramifications of such a conception for attempts to ameliorate those circumstances. This mirrors the consideration of prospects for better accommodating competing security imperatives discussed in Chapters Five and Six, but is done in a more abstract way for the wider country-wide stage.

The two main practical questions that emerged from Chapter Two asked whether Papua New Guinea's security should primarily be assessed against new threats or referents beside the state, and how state and societal security should be more systematically disaggregated there. If the above analysis is correct, the likely answers to those questions, and indeed the nature of the country's overall security predicament, can be quite plainly stated. Although the conditions faced are products of countless manoeuvres by different actors to respond to disparate problems and goals in situations that potentially involve serious violence, all these pressures are ultimately channelled through five searches for security of broadly comparable strength by standard types of referents. These, then, are five lines along which state and societal security can be consistently disaggregated. This does not imply that military-focused national security calculation will be entirely irrelevant, but simply that such concerns relate to just one (not especially potent) quest for security that is swayed and undercut by the competing security-seeking efforts that have been identified.

That assessment, although quite straightforward, does not provide much cause for optimism. A deeper understanding of Papua New Guinea's overall security situation 265

may be necessary if possible solutions are to be devised, but does not readily divulge such "answers". Rather, it reinforces just how complicated and challenging the predicament is, and we are denied the satisfaction of blithely offering clear policy prescriptions. Indeed, the thesis has demonstrated the degree to which policy, generally, is undermined by the weak capacity of the state institutions, their partial "colonisation" by élite interests pursuing unrelated or inimical imperatives, and the overlap of the challenges facing the fairly narrow sectoral foci of the line departments, in Papua New Guinea.

All the candidates for accommodating the interests of the five categories of referents are in a weak position once the prospect of immediate violence transforms ordinary activities, including their own, into all-encompassing searches for security to be pursued against all-comers by almost any means. After serious violence has arisen, it has tended to play itself out with sporadic interference rather than effective mitigation by possible nodes of authority. Nevertheless, Papua New Guinea is not without promoters of a general environment in which the interests of the five types of referent could be better reconciled before violence has broken out in the first place. It is conceivable that a greater appreciation of the need to accommodate these interests, if the overall security situation is to be ameliorated, could help prompt more effective efforts in that direction. Two of the types of referent discussed in this thesis are sometimes held up in this regard — the institutions of the state and proponents of a civil society-based national entity.

The institutions of the state are the most obvious nominee for arbitrating multiple interests in the common good. The Papua New Guinean state was partly designed to provide for needs of other parties to deal with situations which could otherwise seem to necessitate violent self-help. For example, it has supplied police officers to try to promote the personal safety of urbanites, and land courts and agricultural extension officers to promote the subsistence needs of communal groups for land and food- production. However, the state has proved weak at arbitrating multiple interests once the occurrence of serious violence has turned them into security exigencies. The state is constitutionally bound to resist challenges to its claimed monopoly of legitimate violence, and to try to at least contain those violent incidents that it cannot satisfactorily resolve. Attempts to use coercion to do so, however, have frequently proven inadequate or counter-productive. The use of levels of force too small to prevail has tended to worsen matters, by exacerbating harmful security calculation by the other parties, while exercising more decisive force (even if that is possible) could violate constitutionally guaranteed human rights and would probably have negative security consequences of its own.

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On the other hand, attempts by the state to deal with violence in a non-coercive way represent an even more difficult task. Dinnen outlines three powerful obstacles facing attempts to replace failing retributive criminal justice strategies with restorative procedures, despite what he sees as the aptness of the latter to some aspects of pre- existing socio-political organisation. These are the danger of encouraging criminality by rewarding it, the lack of institutional capacity to follow-up and support such programs which leads to high rates of recidivism, and the scale of potential entry rates to crime compared to exit rates for it.2 Here, the basic problem is the need for sensitivity, expertise, and funding accompanying progressive strategies, when the necessary resources are already unavailable to allow effective use of even the blunter tools of state.

Still, the weakness of state institutions in the face of violent challenges does not imply that they should be abandoned, but simply that they need to be more deftly managed and supported. For example, the temporary shift of the PNGDF away from internal security roles may be important to provide latitude for its urgently needed stabilisation, since it has arguably become the sort of "albatross" around the neck of the country that commentators such as Mench and East long ago warned it might. The planned Bougainville Reconciliation Government, which is very deliberately intended to balance the interests of all the parties to the conflict, will at least initially be an arm of the Papua New Guinea state. Other specific proposals for "institutional tinkering", such as Rumsey's suggestion that reform of the voting system could reduce electoral violence by encouraging accommodation of the competing interests of communal groups, warrant careful attention.3

Given the weakness of the state, some commentators in and outside Papua New Guinea have begun to consider the potential of other nodes of authority to help provide governance there, and especially to more constructively manage the societal pressures that lead to violence.4 The usual nominee is the rather nebulous notion of civil society. As Filer puts it,

we should not expect to find the element of regulation in the foresight or inventions of the State, nor in the values, strategies and tactics of the ordinary citizen, but rather in those

2 S. Dinnen, 'Criminal Justice Reform in PNG', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, NCDS, 1998) pp. 265-9. Also see Y. Saffu, 'January-June 1985', in C. Moore and M. Kooyman (eds.) A PNG Political Chronicle (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1998) p. 403. Many more push-outs leave school each year than could possibly be formally employed or sponsored out of delinquency - eg. a project to give Port Moresby youths short-term contract work on projects such as street cleaning could pay only K30/fortnight, which is less than the minimum wage - ACIL, PNG Law and Justice Baseline Survey (Canberra, AusAID, 1997) p. 18. 3 See A. Rumsey, 'Social Segmentation, Voting, and Violence in PNG', Contemporary Pacific Vol. 11 No. 2, 1999, pp. 321-7. 4 Eg. B. Standish, 'PNG: the Search for Security in a Weak State', pp. 80-3. 267

murky pools of mutual misunderstanding, fear and loathing which consume relationships between the parties to this process, and occasionally, like volcanic geysers, spit them out.5 In some ways, the ideal of civil society seems especially promising in Papua New Guinea. Given the country's obvious heterogeneity and certain aspects of established socio-political organisation, a high degree of micro-level autonomy, with relations guided by "enlightened self interest", could be appropriate. However, other important factors, such as the enclave-based nature of the formal economy, the very limited participation of most Papua New Guineans in it, and the enduring power of proscribed neo-traditional moral communities, would seem to lessen the general chances of the rapid emergence of civil society as a vigorous force. Such limitations may be even more cogent in the security realm. Although the pursuit of civil society by certain potential components of the incipient country-wide national entity was not quite a search in vain, it was by far the weakest search for security seen in Chapters Five and Six once serious violence had occurred. Theoretical doubts about the extent to which the emergence of civil society can be deliberately accelerated without accompanying features such as a strong national economy were mentioned in Chapter Three. Nevertheless, an energetic section of the Papua New Guinean populace works hard to strengthen a mutually advantageous cycle of civility, and is intermittently supported by the state, overseas donors, and other domestic actors. It has showed some capacity to foster general enthusiasm for a more civil national society during periods of stability. Since communal groups remain central to the lives of most citizens in Papua New Guinea, the question of whether such groups potentially represent viable components of civil society is a very pressing issue there.6

Despite their obvious weaknesses, both the Papua New Guinean state and incipient nation must ultimately be nominated for judicious support in the absence of other potentially effective overall security managers. This is necessary if there is to be any hope of better attuning the interests of the five categories of referents, and

5 C. Filer, 'Compensation, Rent and Power in PNG', in S. Toft (ed.) Compensation for Resource Development in PNG (PoM, Law Reform Commission, 1997) p. 189. 6 D. Hyndman argues that 'third world colonialism has replaced first world colonialism as the principal global force that tries to subjugate indigenous peoples and their ancient nations ... [so that] what is called nation-building actually becomes state expansion by nation-destroying'. He claims that 'a system that does work is being destroyed to maintain a system that does not work', and prescribes 'ancient futures and sustainable development'. Thus, "resistance" against the relentless expansion of the mining resource frontier by Bougainvilleans, the Wopkaimin (against the Ok Tedi Mine) and West Papuans in Irian Jaya marks an important expression of 'a socio-ecologically sustaining and empowering Melanesian nationalism' - Ancestral Rain Forests and the Mountain of Gold (Boulder, Westview, 1994) p. 177 & p. 181. However, it is not a sort of nationalism that offers a strong basis for a country-wide national entity. The precolonial system did "work" but was characterised by endemic violence within and between groups. Current pressures, such as PNG's population doubling-time of about 30 years and new forms and levels of segmentation, suggest that un-managed "ancient future" scenarios are likely to combine the worst rather than the best of the modern and traditional worlds. 268

preventing the transformation of their ordinary activities into violence-prone searches for security. Greater appreciation of the manner in which the provision of security is contested in Papua New Guinea could particularly strengthen the efforts of outside agents, such of the government of Australia and the economic international governmental organisations, to promote the political and social stability which is necessary for the pursuit of their own interests there.

Relevance for theory and for other developing countries This part of the chapter turns to possible implications of this study for the theoretical investigation of security in the developing world, and thus for other such countries. Any conclusions drawn in this regard are preliminary ones, since it is possible that Papua New Guinea represents an especially unusual example even within the very diverse category of developing countries. Still, the theoretical subfield is a comparatively new one, and this thesis has used and commented on some of its central ideas. In particular, it was argued that the existing literature did not offer a suitable tool for examining or explaining particular questions at a practical level, and the thesis offered a new analytical framework for doing so. The proposed model is briefly revisited, below.

The main theoretical undertaking of this thesis has been to address the lack of a satisfactory analytic core focus in the existing literature. The absence of such a focus does not present a great problem for the purely conceptual explanation of the security problematic of the developing world as a whole. Scholars such as Ayoob have explained the special structural pressures that are commonly faced by the central decision-makers of developing countries much more thoroughly than was required in this study. However, where the aim is the investigation of the overall security predicament of a particular actual developing country, the sheer quantity of potentially important practical details quickly threatens to swamp analysis. Thus, an adequate core focus becomes especially necessary so that the increased scope of analysis can be balanced with the need to retain basic analytical clarity and rigour.

In contrast to most proposals, the framework that was designed to provide such a focus in this thesis emphasised security referents. It was contended that all sorts of matters may be subjectively interpreted as threats by security-seeking actors, and that coping-strategies are formulated by the same actors to respond to those threats. Thus, a focus on referents was claimed to offer the most efficient way to reflect the three key dimensions in which security conceptions are currently being broadened, deepened, and extended. This emphasis on the actors that comprise types of security referent accords

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with the current popularity of attention to identity and culture in International Relations.7

However, the proposed stakeholders framework is rather less contemporary in positing such fixed categories and core-values. The study of culture and identity in International Relations is informed by a post-positivist, anti-essentialist scepticism of foundations, categorisation, essence-talk, and reification. A basic tension exists 'between the notion that identity is essential, fundamental, unitary, and unchanging, and the notion that identities are constructed and reconstructed through historical action.'8 Any dedicated follower of intellectual fashion may well feel that the stakeholders model tries to fill a much needed gap! Still, this seems a risk worth taking. I would argue that the most responsible way to add to a topic so closely connected with widespread human suffering is still to offer clear hypotheses that can be rejected or accepted as a basis for further development. The nomination of relatively firm security identities is not without theoretical support either.9 Even the constructivist security analysts of the Copenhagen school describe identities (and social relations generally) as socially formed and ultimately contingent but durable.10 Although reducing all security-seeking affairs to five basic quests may also seem rather crude, a degree of reductionism while retaining accuracy is crucial to theory-building. The five-part model presented here offers considerably more in the way of explanatory detail than some eminent single- fold accounts that posit only a search for sovereignty or for élite survival, for example. The proposed searches, although broad, appeared sound and meaningful in the country study. Though non-élite individuals can search for personal safety by choosing flight or to fight in the face of imminent violence, this helps verify the claim that that core value will be pursued by whatever means seems best able to advance it.

Attention to the interactions of the five searches for security in the case studies conducted in Chapters Five and Six revealed only very preliminary indications about how the new security stakeholders model might begin to be refined. A pair of cases from a single country would afford a limited basis for doing so, anyway. None of the

7 Concern with identity in IR during the 1990s stems mainly from the eruption of separatism unleashed by the end of the Cold War, the cultural impact of globalism, and the influence of critical theory in the social sciences - Y. Lapid, 'Culture's Ship: Returns and Departures', in Y. Lapid and F. Kratochwil (eds.) The Return of Culture and Identity in IR Theory (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1996) p. 4. 8 Ibid., p. 8. Lapid stresses the risks involved in moving towards the study of identity without a corresponding departure from categorical understandings. Huntington's alleged reification of clashing civilisations and "ancient hatred" theories of ethno-nationalism are the great warning examples. 9 Eg. F. Halliday, Rethinking International Relations (Vancouver, British Columbia UP, 1994) pp. 44-5. 10 The authors acknowledge that they are less than fully constructivist here, asserting that they 'do take identities as socially constituted but not radically more so than other social structures. Identities as other social constructions can petrify and become relatively constant elements to be reckoned with' - B. Buzan, O. Wæver & J. de Wilde, Security: A New Framework for Analysis (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1998) p. 205. 270

indications can be definitively accepted at this stage, and all should be regarded as part of the possible agenda for research suggested below. Nevertheless, it may be useful to record some initial results to give a feel for that task. Some degree of overlap in the operation and interests of stakeholder types was inevitably seen, for example between state institutions and national political élites operating as the Papua New Guinea government, but not so much that the categories did not need to be distinguished. Patterns, or "constellations", of connection, conflict, and cohesion in security dynamics only began to appear in a rather limited way. The relative strength of the five searches shifted with changing circumstances. Elite figures played an especially large role and consistently held the initiative that other actors responded to, but faced a particularly competitive situation. If the general prevalence of the searches had to be weighted at this stage, they would probably descend from the pursuit of survival politics by élites to the searches for security by the state, communal groups, individuals, and proponents of the nation, in turn. However, each had certain advantages and weaknesses that created a rough balance between them. Interactions were shown to change as conflicts flared, spread, escalated and de-escalated, but the manner in which the dissonance of the security interests of the stakeholders typically increased and then decreased deserves further scrutiny. Prospects for accommodating the five searches for security once serious violence started to escalate seemed unfavourable but not impossible in either case.

Lastly, it remains to consider the possibility of directly applying the security stakeholders model to analyse other instances of violent political conflict in Melanesia and further afield. Again, the thesis can provide no definitive conclusion as to whether this would be useful, but the promising results of the case studies suggest that it could be. It was asserted more than proved that the case studies were conducted in a generalisable enough way to allow useful comparative lessons to be drawn from or provided for other violent conflicts, but the stakeholder framework is nothing if not simple and systematic. The matter will also be returned to below.

Further research This final part of the chapter identifies some areas that could benefit from further research. The encouraging results of the country study, and the pressing need for a satisfactory analytic core focus in the theoretical subfield, suggest the likely value of additional testing and refinement of some of the preliminary findings presented above. Both the study of security in Papua New Guinea and wider research on security in developing countries are at a fairly early stage and would be served by much greater academic attention generally. I will limit myself to suggesting a pair of extensions in each field that could directly proceed from this thesis.

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The most obvious of these would be to conduct additional case studies of practical problems involving violent political conflict in Papua New Guinea. This would allow more conclusive appraisal of the aptness of a stakeholders perspective for explaining overall security there. Although it was demonstrated that the Bougainville crisis is not a straightforward separatist conflict and that highlands warfare is not simply a function of intergroup competition, each very broadly corresponded with those two of Papua New Guinea's three key security concerns. Thus, it would be especially useful to investigate a case that broadly relates mainly to the third key security concern of raskol crime. Other practical security problems that could be usefully examined include electoral violence, the conflicts which often occur around large-scale resource development projects, and violent demands for compensation from the state, communal groups, or the private sector.

If such cases appeared equally promising, a second possible extension of the thesis would be to attempt a full-length study of overall security in Papua New Guinea using the stakeholders framework as a basis for chapter headings. Such research might be expected to provide more definitive recommendations of how to better accommodate the irreducible interests of the five categories of stakeholders before they transform into violence-prone searches for security. It might even be able to offer proposals for the better management of events once that transformation has occurred.

A third obvious extension of this thesis would be to directly apply the proposed stakeholders model to the examination of the overall security predicaments of other developing countries. This could begin to test the capacity of the framework to accommodate different security trajectories. Here, it might be particularly useful to see if the model could help explain some of the structural factors, decisions, and possibly the cultural traits that helped the security interests of national political élites and state institutions to coincide, and helped the states establish a virtual a monopoly of legitimate violence, in the relatively few countries that have escaped developing status.11 Consideration of other developing countries could also verify or dismiss the claimed utility of the stakeholders model as a possible analytical template for allowing comparison between disparate situations.

Finally, direct application of the stakeholders framework to the overall situations of other developing countries could help to advance the project of mapping the sort of "constellations" of security interactions and dynamics that Copenhagen School writers

11 Eg. both Singapore and South Korea were once envisioned as permanent Western dependencies - B. Anderson, 'From Miracle to Crash', London Review of Books Vol. 20 No. 8, 1998 p. 2. He stresses the importance of post-Second World War structural factors in their rise (and post-Cold War structural factors behind the faltering of Southeast Asian economic growth.) 272

have held up as the ultimate objective of security inquiry. That task is obviously an extremely challenging one, given the enormous number, diversity and complexity of the pressures involved. However, such challenges do not outweigh the need to further improve our understanding of violent political conflict where it mainly now occurs — in developing countries such as Papua New Guinea.

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___: 'Introduction', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice - Material and Ideational Influences (Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1998).

___: 'Rethinking Security', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice - Material and Ideational Influences (Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1998).

___: 'Asian Practice of Security - Key Features and Explanations', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice - Material and Ideational Influences (Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1998).

___: 'Conceptualizing Security - Hierarchy and Conceptual Travelling', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice - Material and Ideational Influences (Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1998).

* This bibliography lists all books, monographs, journal articles, unpublished theses and papers, documentary films, conference papers, and official documents, cited in the thesis. Periodicals and newspapers also cited are The Independent (formerly the Times), the National, and the Post-Courier, published in PNG; the Age, the Australian, the Australian Financial Review, the Bulletin, Business Review Weekly, the Canberra Times, the Sydney Morning Herald, and Time Magazine (Aust. edn.), published in Australia; the Daily Post, and Pacific Islands Monthly, published in Fiji; the Jakarta Post, published in Indonesia; the Christchurch Press, and the Herald, published in New Zealand; and Le Monde Diplomatique, the London Review of Books, and the Manchester Guardian Weekly, published in the United Kingdom. Any press releases and transcripts of radio and television programs used are fully referenced in the footnotes. Alao A., and Olonisakin F: 'Ethnicity, Ethnic Conflict and Security', in A. Oyebade and A. Alao (eds.) Africa After the Cold War - Changing Perspectives on Security (New Jersey, Africa World Press, 1998).

Al Mashat A: National Security in the Third World (Boulder, Westview Press, 1985).

Almond G., and Coleman J. (eds.): The Politics of the Developing Area (New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1960).

Almond G., and Powell G: Comparative Politics: A Developmental Approach (Boston, Little, Brown and Co., 1966).

Amarshi A., Good K., and Mortimer R: Development and Dependency: The Political Economy of Papua New Guinea (Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1979).

Amnesty International: Papua New Guinea —"Under the Barrel of a Gun"— Bougainville 1991 to 1993 (London, Amnesty International Secretariat, 1993).

Anderson B: Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London, Verso, 1983).

Anderson D. (ed.): The PNG-Australia Relationship: Problems and Prospects (Sydney, Institute of Public Affairs, 1990).

Andrews J: 'New Guinea and Australia's Defence and Foreign Policy', in J. Wilkes (ed.) New Guinea and Australia (Sydney, Angus and Robertson, 1958).

ANUTECH : Papua New Guinea - Improving the Investment Climate (Canberra, AusAID, 1995).

Anwar D: 'Indonesia - Domestic Priorities Define National Security', in M. Alagappa (ed.) Asian Security Practice (Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1998).

Applied Geology Associates: Environmental Socio-Economic Public Health Review: Bougainville Copper Mine, Panguna (Wellington, Applied Geology Associates, 1989).

Apter D: Rethinking Development - Modernisation, Dependency and Postmodern Politics (Newbury Park, Sage, 1987).

Apthorpe R: 'Bougainville Reconstruction Aid: What are the Issues?', State Society and Governance in Melanesia Project Discussion Paper No. 98/7, Canberra, 1998.

Arendt H: On Revolution (New York, The Viking Press, 1963).

Arnold G: The End of the Third World (New York, St Martin's Press, 1993).

___: Wars in the Third World Since 1945, 2nd edition (London, Cassell, 1995).

Ashton C: 'Papua New Guinea: A Broken-Backed State?', in D. Anderson (ed.) The PNG-Australia Relationship: Problems and Prospects (Sydney, Pacific Security Research Institute of the Institute of Public Affairs, 1990).

Australia-Papua New Guinea Friendship Association (APNGFA) and the Australian Institute of International Affairs (AIIA NSW Branch): 'Papua New Guinea: Security and Defence in the Nineties and Beyond 2000', published proceedings of the 28 June 1996 conference in Sydney.

Australian Agency for International Development (AusAID): The Papua New Guinea 1996 Economic Report (Canberra, AusAID, 1996).

___: 'Papua New Guinea - Country Brief', pamphlet, Canberra, August 1997. ___: 'The Economy of Papua New Guinea', booklet, Canberra, January 1998.

___: 'The Economy of Papua New Guinea', booklet, Canberra, November 1998.

___: Papua New Guinea Program Profiles 1998 (Canberra, AusAid, 1998).

Australian Council For Overseas Aid (ACFOA): 'Submission to the Development of the AIDAB Country Strategy Paper for PNG', Canberra, ACFOA, 1994).

Australian Department of Defence (DoD): The Defence of Australia 1987 (Canberra, Commonwealth Government Printer, 1987).

___: 'PNG Infantry Soldiers to Train in Australia' Defence News Release Ref. No. 200/88, Canberra, November 4 1988.

___: Testimony to the Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade Inquiry into Australia's Relations With Papua New Guinea, Hansard, November 20 1990.

___: The Defence of Australia 1994 (Canberra, Australian Government Publishing Service, 1994).

___: Defence Cooperation - Program Evaluation (Canberra, DoD Inspector General Division, 1995).

Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT): 'Australian Statements on Papua New Guinea', Canberra, 1 June 1991.

___: 'Supplementary Submission by the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade to the Inquiry on Australia's Relations with Papua New Guinea by the Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade', Canberra, October 21 1991.

___: 'Current Notes: Papua New Guinea', January 1992.

___: 'Australian Statements on Papua New Guinea', 18 July 1992.

___: South Pacific Forum Communiques 1971-1992 (Canberra, DFAT, 1992).

___: 'Current Notes: Papua New Guinea', 12 March 1993.

___: 'Current Notes: Papua New Guinea', November 1994.

Australian Government: 'Interim Arrangement for the Supply Support of the New Guinea Department of Defence by the Department of Defence', Tabled Before Commonwealth Parliament House of Representatives, October 9 1975.

___: Official Hansard Report - Evidence from the Department of Defence to the Papua New Guinea Subcommittee, Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade, Canberra 21 October 1991.

___: 'The Government's Response to the Report of the Joint Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade on Australia's Relations with Papua New Guinea', Hansard The Senate, Canberra 7 May 1992.

Australian International Development Assistance Bureau (AIDAB): 'PNG Program Profile: Australian Aid to Papua New Guinea', October 1991.

___: 'Australia and Papua New Guinea: A Developing Partnership' AIDAB Public Information Section, Canberra, 1992.

Australian and Papua New Guinean Governments: 'Joint Statement By Prime Ministers on the Defence Relationship Between Papua New Guinea and Australia', Status of Forces Agreement, Tabled Before Commonwealth Parliament House of Representatives, Canberra, February 23 1977. ___: 'Joint Declaration of Principles Guiding Relations Between Australia and Papua New Guinea', Canberra, 9 December 1987.

___: 'Treaty on Development Co-Operation Between the Government of Australia and the Government of Papua New Guinea', Canberra, 24 May 1989.

___: 'Agreed Statement on Security Cooperation Between Australia and Papua New Guinea', Canberra, 2 September 1991.

___: 'Amended Treaty on Development Cooperation between the Governments of Australia and Papua New Guinea', Canberra, September 1992.

___: 'Joint Statement by the Ministers for Defence of Papua New Guinea and Australia: The New Defence Partnership', Canberra, 22 October 1997.

Axline A: Decentralisation and Development Policy: Provincial Government and the Planning Process in Papua New Guinea (Port Moresby, Institute of Applied Social and Economic Research, 1986).

Ayoob M: Conflict and Intervention in the Third World (London, Croom Helm, 1980).

___: 'Regional Security and the Third World', in M. Ayoob (ed.) Regional Security in the Third World - Case Studies from Southeast Asia and the Middle East (Boulder, Westview Press, 1986).

___: 'The Security Problematic of the Third World', World Politics Vol. 43 No. 2, 1991, pp. 257-83.

___: 'The Third World in the Changing Strategic Context', in D. Dewitt, D. Haglund and J. Kirton (eds.) Building a New Global Order: Emerging Trends in International Security (Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1993).

___: 'State-Making and Third World Security', in J. Singh and T. Bernauer (eds.) Security of Third World Countries (Aldershot, Dartmouth Publishing, 1993).

___: 'State Making, State Breaking and State Failure: Explaining the Roots of Third World Insecurity', draft paper for Seminar on Conflict and Development, Netherlands Institute of International Relations, Clingendael at the Hague March 1994.

___: The Third World Security Predicament - State Making, Regional Conflict, and the International System (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1995).

___: 'Defining Security: A Subaltern Realist Perspective', in K. Krause and M. Williams (eds.) Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases (Minneapolis, University of Minneapolis Press, 1997).

___: 'Subaltern Realism: IR Theory Meets the Third World', draft chapter for S. Neuman (ed.) International Relations Theory and the Third World (New York, St Martin's Press, forthcoming).

Azar E: 'Protracted International Conflicts: Ten Propositions', in J. Burton and F. Dukes (eds.) Conflict: Readings in Management and Resolution (New York, St Martin's Press, 1990).

___: The Management of Protracted Social Conflicts (Aldershot, Dartmouth, 1990).

___, and Moon C: 'Rethinking Third World National Security', in E. Azar and C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, Centre for International Development and Conflict Management, 1988).

___: 'Legitimacy, Integration and Policy Capacity: the "Software" Side of Third World National Security', in E. Azar and C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World: The Management of Internal and External Threats (Maryland, Centre for International Development and Conflict Management, 1988). ___: 'Towards an Alternative Conceptualisation', in E. Azar and C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, Centre for International Development and Conflict Management, 1988).

Babbage R: The Dilemmas of Papua New Guinea (PNG) Contingencies in Australian Defence Planning (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1987).

Bagley B., and Quezada S. (eds.): Mexico: In Search of Security (New Brunswick, Transaction, 1993).

Baldwin D: 'Security Studies and the End of the Cold War', World Politics Vol. 48 No. 1, 1995, pp. 117- 41.

Ball D: 'The Changing Asia/Pacific Security Environment and the South Pacific', in S. Henningham and D. Ball (eds.) South Pacific Security: Issues and Perspectives (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1991).

Ball N: Security and Economy in the Third World (New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1988).

Ballard C: 'Citizens and Landowners: Contest Over Land and Mineral Resources in Indonesia and PNG', in D. Denoon, C. Ballard, G. Banks and P. Hancock (eds.) Proceedings of the Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues in Asia-Pacific: Prospects for the 21st Century Conference (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996).

Ballard J: 'Policy-Making as Trauma: The Provincial Government Issue', in J. Ballard (ed.) Policy- Making in a New State: Papua New Guinea 1972-77 (St Lucia, University of Queensland Press, 1981).

Bandarage A: 'Global Peace and Security in the Post-Cold War Era: A “Third World” Perspective', in M. Klare (ed.) Peace and World Security Studies, 6th edition (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1994).

Banks C: 'Custom in the Courts - the Criminal Law (Compensation) Act of Papua New Guinea', British Journal of Criminology Vol. 38 No. 2, 1998, pp. 229-316.

Banks G: 'Changing Notions of Certainty and Security in Asia-Pacific Mining', in D. Denoon, C. Ballard, G. Banks and P. Hancock (eds.) Proceedings of the Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues in Asia-Pacific: Prospects for the 21st Century Conference (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996).

___: 'Razor Wire and Riots: Violence and the Mining Industry in Papua New Guinea', in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds.) Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Canberra, Federation Press and Asia Pacific Press, 2000).

Barnes J: 'African Models in the New Guinea Highlands', Man Vol. 62 No. 2, 1962, pp, pp. 5-9.

Barnett T: 'Law and Justice Melanesian Style', in A. Clunies Ross and J. Langmore (eds.) Alternative Strategies for Papua New Guinea (Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1973).

Bauer P: Equality, the Third World, and Economic Delusion (Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1981).

Bayart J: The State in Africa - The Politics of the Belly (London, Longman, 1993).

Bayne P: 'Law, Order and Rights', in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, Department of Political and Social Change, 1986).

Beasant J: The Santo Rebellion - An Imperial Reckoning (Melbourne, Heinemann Publishers, 1984).

Beazley K: 'Defence Initiatives in the South Pacific', Ministerial Statement 20 February 1987, Canberra.

Bedford R., and Mamak A: Compensating for Development - The Bougainvillean Case (Christchurch, University of Canterbury Press, 1977). Behm A: untitled conference paper delivered at the APNGFA/AIIA conference on 'Papua New Guinea: Security and Defence in the Nineties and Beyond 2000', Sydney, 28 June 1996.

Benediktsson K: 'Cashing in on Kaukau: - Actors and Networks in Papua New Guinea Food Marketing' seminar paper, Department of Human Geography, RSPacS, Canberra, 20 June 1994.

___: 'Digging for Treasures: Markets, Power and Space in Papua New Guinea', seminar paper, Department of Human Geography, RSPacS, Canberra, 20 November 1995.

Berndt R: Excess and Restraint - Social Control Among a New Guinea Mountain People (Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1962).

___: 'Warfare in the New Guinea Highlands', in J. Watson (ed.) New Guinea - the Central Highlands (Wisconsin, American Anthropological Association, 1964).

___: 'Political Structure in the Eastern Central Highlands of New Guinea - Kamano, Usurufa, Jate and Fore', in R. Berndt and P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea - Traditional and in the Context of Change Some Anthropological Perspectives (Nedlands, University of Western Australia Press, 1971).

Bernhard M: 'Civil Society and Democratic Transition in East-Central Europe', Political Science Quarterly Vol. 108 No. 2, 1993, pp. 308-35.

Bertram C. (ed.): Third World Conflict and International Security (Hamden, Archon Books, 1982).

Bettison D., Hughes C., and van der Veur P. (eds.): The Papua New Guinea Elections 1964 (Canberra, ANU Press, 1965).

Betts R. (ed.): Conflict After the Cold War: Arguments on Causes of War and Peace (New York, MacMillan, 1994).

Bigo D: 'The European Internal Security Field: Stakes and Rivalries in a Newly Developing Area of Police Intervention', in M. Anderson and M. den Boer (eds.) Policing Across National Boundaries (London, Pinter, 1994).

Bilney G: 'The Philosophy and Process of Australia's Aid Partnership with the South Pacific Region', speech to the Centre for South Pacific Studies, UNSW, Sydney, 27 October 1994.

Blick J: 'Genocidal Warfare in Tribal Societies as a Result of European-Induced Culture Conflict', Man Vol. 23 No. 2, 1988, pp. 654-70.

Blomstrom M., and Hettne B: Development Theory in Transition (London, Zed Books, 1984).

Bobrow D: 'Complex Insecurity: Implications of a Sobering Metaphor', International Studies Quarterly Vol. 40 No. 4, 1996, pp. 435-50.

___, and Chan S: 'Simple Labels and Complex Realities: National Security for the Third World', in E. Azar and C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, Centre for International Development and Conflict Management, 1988).

Boege V: The War on Bougainville in the Context of the History of Ecologically Induced Modernising Conflicts (Hamburg, LIT, 1998).

Boeninger E: 'Governance and Development: Issues and Constraints', in Proceedings of the World Bank Annual Conference on Development Economics (Washington DC, World Bank, 1991).

Bolger J: 'Investing for our Future', NZ International Review Vol. 22 No. 4, 1997, pp. 6-12.

Booth K: 'Security and Emancipation', Review of International Studies Vol. 17 No. 4, 1991, pp. 316-26. ___: 'War, Security and Strategy: Towards a Doctrine for Stable Peace', in K. Booth (ed.) New Thinking about Strategy and International Security (London, Harper-Collins, 1991).

___: 'Review of M. Ayoob's The Third World Security Predicament,' Australian Journal of Political Science Vol. 30 No. 3, 1995, p. 604.

___, and Smith S. (eds.): International Relations Theory Today (Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania State University Press, 1993).

___, and Vale P: 'Security in Southern Africa: After Apartheid, Beyond Realism', International Affairs Vol. 71 No. 2, 1995.

Boerhinger G: 'Imperialism, "Development", and the Underdevelopment of Criminology', Melanesian Law Journal Vol. 4 No. 2, 1976, pp. 211-41.

Borrey A: 'Youth Unemployment and Crime', Paper Presented at the National Employment Summit, 11 - 12 May 1994, Port Moresby.

___: 'Talking About Revolution - The Law and Order Situation Along the Highlands Highway, Simbu Province of Papua New Guinea', unpublished paper, National Research Institute, Port Moresby, 1994.

Bougainville Copper Pty Ltd (BCL): 'Welcome to Bougainville', Arawa, 1968.

Bougainville Freedom Movement (BFM), Press Release, 'PNG-Australia Denying Assistance Where it's Needed on Bougainville', 15 July 1998.

Bougainville Interim Government (BIG): 'Media Statement by Martin Miriori and Moses Havini', Sydney, 14 May 1998.

___: 'Moses Havini's Statement on Abolition of the Office of Bougainville Affairs by PM Bill Skate', 28 January 1999.

Bougainville Transitional Government (BTG): 'Peace Plan 1996', document prepared by the Policy Secretariat of the BTG, February 1996.

Boulding E. (ed.): New Agendas for Peace Research: Conflict and Security Reexamined (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1992).

Boulding K: 'Future Directions in Conflict and Peace Studies', in J. Burton and F. Dukes (eds.) Conflict: Readings in Management and Resolution (New York, St Martin's Press, 1990).

Bourdieu P: Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1977).

Boyce T: The Introduction of the Civilian National Service Scheme for Youth in Papua New Guinea (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1991).

___: Infrastructure and Security: Problems of Development in the West Sepik (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1992).

Brandt W., et al.: North-South: A Programme For Survival (London, Pan Books for the Independent Commission on International Development Issues, 1980).

___: Arms and Hunger (Massachusetts, MIT Press, 1987).

Brodie B: Strategy in the Missile Age (New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1959).

Brookfield H., and White J: 'Revolution or Evolution in the Prehistory of the New Guinea Highlands: a Seminar Report', Ethnology Vol. 7 No. 2, 1968, pp. 43-52. ___, and Brown P: Struggle for Land - Agriculture and Group Territories Among the Chimbu of the New Guinea Highlands (Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1963).

Brown D: 'Unity in Opposition in the New Guinea Highlands', Social Analysis Vol. 23, 1988, pp. 89-104.

Brown M. (ed.): Ethnic Conflict and International Security (New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1993).

Brown P: 'The Chimbu Political System', in R. Berndt and P. Lawrence (eds.) Politics in New Guinea - Traditional and in the Context of Change Some Anthropological Perspectives (Nedlands, University of Western Australia Press, 1971).

___: Highland Peoples of New Guinea (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1978).

___: 'Conflict in the New Guinea Highlands', Journal of Conflict Resolution Vol. 26 No. 3, 1982, pp. 525-46.

___: 'Chimbu Disorder: Tribal Fighting in Newly Independent Papua New Guinea', Pacific Viewpoint Vol. 22, 1982, pp. 1-21.

___: 'Simbu Aggression and the Drive to Win', Anthropological Quarterly Vol. 59 No. 4, 1986, pp. 165- 70.

___: Beyond a Mountain Valley: the Simbu of Papua New Guinea (Honolulu, University of Hawaii Press, 1995).

Brown S: 'World Interests and the Changing Dimensions of Security', in M. Klare and D. Thomas (eds.) World Security: Challenges for a New Century (New York, St Martin's Press, 1994).

___, and Schraub K. (eds.): Resolving Third World Conflict - Challenges for a New Era (Washington DC, US Institute of Peace, 1992).

Brundtland G., et al.: Our Common Future (Oxford, World Commission on Environment and Development, 1987).

Brunton B: 'Indonesian and Australian Influence on Constitutional Democracy in Papua New Guinea', paper presented to the Australian Institute of International Affairs conference 'Inside the Triangle: Australia, Indonesia and Papua New Guinea', Melbourne, March 1986.

___: 'Crime, Politics and Economics', in L. Morauta (ed.) Law and Order in a Changing Society (Canberra, Department of Political and Social Change RSPacS, 1986).

Bull H: 'The Revolt Against the West', in H. Bull and A. Watson (eds.) The Expansion of International Society (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1984).

Bullock K: Australia and Papua New Guinea: Foreign and Defence Relations Since 1975 (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1991).

Bunch C., and Carrillo R: 'Global Violence against Women: the Challenge to Human Rights and Development', in M. Klare and D. Thomas (eds.): World Security: Challenges for a New Century (New York, St Martin's Press, 1994).

Bunge F., and Cooke W: Oceania: a Regional Study (Washington DC, Department of the Army, 1984).

Burnley I., et al.: Proceedings of a Seminar on Urbanisation on Bougainville, RSPacS, Canberra, 3 December 1971.

Burton J.E.: 'Tribal Fighting—the Scandal of Inaction', Research in Melanesia Vol. 4, 1990, pp. 31-40. ___: 'What is Best Practice? Social Issues and the Culture of the Corporation in Papua New Guinea', in D. Denoon, C. Ballard, G. Banks and P. Hancock (eds.) Proceedings of the Mining and Mineral Resource Policy Issues in Asia-Pacific: Prospects for the 21st Century Conference (Canberra, RSPAS, 1996).

___: 'Mining and Maladministration in Papua New Guinea', in P. Larmour (ed.) Governance and Reform in the South Pacific (Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, 1998).

Burton J.W. (ed.): Conflict: Human Needs Theory Vol. 2 (New York, St Martin's Press, 1990).

___, and Dukes J. (eds.): Conflict: Readings in Management and Resolution (New York, St Martin's Press, 1990).

Burton M., Gunther R., and Higley J: 'Elite Transformations and Democratic Regimes', in J. Higley and R. Gunther (eds.) Elites and Democratic Consolidation in Latin America and Southern Europe (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1992).

Buzan B: People, States and Fear: The National Security Problem in International Relations, 1st edition (Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, 1983).

___: An Introduction to Strategic Studies: Military Technology and International Relations (London, Macmillan Press, 1987).

___: 'People, States and Fear: The National Security Problem in the Third World', in E. Azar and C. Moon (eds.) National Security in the Third World (Maryland, Centre for International Development and Conflict Management, 1988).

___: 'The Concept of National Security for Developing Countries', in M. Ayoob and C. Samudavanija (eds.) Leadership Perceptions and National Security: The Southeast Asian Experience (Singapore, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1989).

___: People, States and Fear: An Agenda for International Security Studies in the Post-Cold War Era, 2nd edition (New York, Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1991).

___: 'The Post Cold War Asia-Pacific Security Order: Conflict or Cooperation', paper presented at the Conference on Economic and Security Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific: Agendas for the 1990s, Canberra, 28-30 July 1993.

___: 'The Level of Analysis Problem in International Relations Reconsidered', in K. Booth and S. Smith (eds.), International Relations Theory Today (Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995).

___, and Wæver O: 'Slippery? Contradictory? Socially Untenable? The Copenhagen School Replies', Review of International Studies Vol. 23 No. 1, 1997, pp. 241-50.

___, ___, and de Wilde J: Security: A New Framework for Analysis (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1998).

Cafruny A: 'Book Review of Politics, Security and Development in Small States by C. Clarke and T. Payne and In Search of Security: The Third World in International Relations by C. Thomas', American Political Science Review Vol. 83 No. 1, 1989, pp. 346-7.

Callick R: 'Pacific 2010 A doomsday scenario?', in R. Cole (ed.) Pacific 2010: Challenging the Future (Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, 1993).

___: 'The Political Economies of Melanesia', paper presented at the 'Politics, Business and the State in Melanesia' conference, Sydney, 4 August 1995.

Caporaso J: 'Across the Great Divide: Integrating Comparative and International Politics', International Studies Quarterly Vol. 41 No. 4, 1997, pp. 563-91. Carrol D., Rosati J., and Coate R: 'Human Needs Realism: A Critical Assessment of the Power of Human Needs', in R. Coate and J. Rosati (eds.) The Power of Human Needs in World Society (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1988).

Carruthers D: 'Some Implications for Papua New Guinea of the Closure of the Bougainville Copper Mine', in R. May and M. Spriggs (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis (Bathurst, Crawford House, 1990).

___: 'Bougainville: the Future of the Mining Operation', in M. Spriggs and D. Denoon (eds.) The Bougainville Crisis - 1991 Update (Canberra, RSPacS, 1992).

Castañeda J: Utopia Unarmed: the Latin American Left after the Cold War (New York, Random House, 1993).

Chabal P., and Daloz J: Africa Works - Disorder as Political Instrument (Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1999).

Chagnon N: 'Book review of R. Ferguson's Yanomami Warfare: a Political History,' American Anthropologist Vol. 98 No. 3, 1996, pp. 670-3.

Chaliand G: The Art of War in World History from Antiquity to the Nuclear Age (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1994).

Chazan N., Mortimer R., Ravenhill J., and Rothchild D: Politics and Society in Contemporary Africa, 2nd edition (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1992).

Chowning A: An Introduction to the Peoples and Cultures of Melanesia, 2nd edition (Manilla, Cummings, 1977).

Clapham C: Third World Politics - An Introduction (London, Routledge, 1985).

___: 'Book Review of Caroline Thomas's In Search of Security: the Third World in International Relations', Political Studies Vol. 36 No. 2, 1988, pp. 346-7.

Clarke C., and Payne T. (eds.): Politics, Security and Development in Small States (London, Allen and Unwin, 1987).

Clarke M. (ed.): 'Politics as Government and Politics as Security', in M. Clarke (ed.) New Perspectives on Security (London, Brasseys, 1993).

Claxton K: 'Insecurity in Developing Countries: The Importance, for Research, of Enemies Rather than Threats', unpublished paper presented at the 38th annual International Studies Association conference, Toronto, March 1997.

___: Bougainville 1988—98: Five Searches for Security in the North Solomons Province (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1998).

___: 'Violence, Internal Security and Security-Stakeholders in Papua New Guinea', in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds.) Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Canberra, Federation Press and Asia Pacific Press, 2000).

Clements K: 'Report from the IPRA President', International Peace Research Newsletter Vol. 33 No. 4, 1996, pp. 1-6.

Clifford W., Morauta L., and Stuart B: Law and Order in Papua New Guinea Vol. 1: Report and Recommendations (Port Moresby, Institute of National Affairs, 1984).

Coate R., and Rosati J. (eds.): The Power of Human Needs in World Society (Boulder, Lynne Rienner, 1988). Cohen J., and Arato A: Civil Society and Political Theory (Cambridge, MIT Press, 1992).

Cole R. (ed.): Pacific 2010: Challenging the Future (Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, 1993).

Colebatch P: 'To Find A Path: The Army in Papua New Guinea', unpublished PhD thesis, University of Sussex, 1974.

Commission on Global Governance: Our Global Neighbourhood: The Report of the Commission on Global Governance (New York, Oxford University Press, 1995).

Committee for Humanitarian Assistance and Rehabilitation Aid to Bougainville (CHERAB): Interim Report to AIDAB: Emergency Medical Assistance for Bougainville (Sydney, ACFOA, 1992).

Commonwealth Secretariat: Vulnerability: Small States in the Global Society (London, Commonwealth Consultative Group, 1985).

Connell J: Hunting and Gathering: The Forage Economy of the Siwai of Bougainville (Canberra, Development Studies Centre, 1977).

___ (ed.): Local Government Councils in Bougainville (Christchurch, University of Canterbury, 1977).

___: 'Perspectives on a Crisis (4)', in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville: Perspectives on a Crisis (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1990).

___: 'The Panguna Mine Impact (1)', in P. Polomka (ed.) Bougainville: Perspectives on a Crisis, (Canberra, Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1990).

___: 'Compensation and Conflict: The Bougainville Copper Mine, Papua New Guinea', in J. Connell and R. Howitt (eds.) Mining and Indigenous Peoples in Australasia (Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1991).

___: Papua New Guinea - the Struggle for Development (London, Routledge, 1997).

Connolly R., and Anderson R: First Contact: New Guinea's Highlanders Encounter the Outside World (New York, Viking Press, 1987).

___: Black Harvest, documentary film (Glebe, Arundel Productions, 1992).

Connor W: Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding (New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1994).

Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC): 'Final Report of the Constitutional Planning Committee 1974' Part 1, Port Moresby, 1974.

Conyers D: The Provincial Government Debate (Boroko, Institute of Applied Social and Economic Research, 1976).

Cooper N: The Bougainville Land Crisis of 1969: The Role of Moral Re-Armament (Christchurch, University of Canterbury, 1992).

Corbridge S. (ed.): Development Studies: a Reader (London, Edward Arnold, 1995).

Corr E., and Sloan S. (eds.): Low-Intensity Conflict: Old Threats in a New World (Boulder, Westview Press, 1992).

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