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IN
MEMORY OF ARNOLD AP
By Nikki Okuk Saturday, 15 May, 2004, 12:05am
Posted in memory
of Arnold Ap and Eddie Mofu, who were killed
this day twenty years ago; and in memory of
Sam Kapissa and Chief Yafet Yelamaken, two
great songmen who both recently died in
mysterious circumstances; and in tribute to
the spirit of a new generation of poets and
musicians in the Land of the Morning Star.
Singing for Life
Twenty years after the killing of Arnold Ap,
music is still a potent source of cultural
resistance in West Papua Just before he was
murdered by Kopassus Indonesias notorious
special forces -- renowned West Papuan
musician and anthropologist, Arnold Ap wrote
his last song. Ap, leader of the cultural
music group Mambesak was living on borrowed
time. He knew that the military wanted to kill
him. Sitting beside an old portable tape
recorder in his prison cell, guitar in hand,
Ap lovingly recorded. The Mystery of Life.
Then he wrapped the cassette up, stuffed it
into an envelope with words of consolation and
sent it to his wife, who had fled to a refugee
camp in Papua New Guinea. The only thing I
desire and am waiting for, Ap sung in the
closing words of the song, is nothing else but
freedom. Like his music and life, the words
came from the heart, and gave voice to a
desire that was at once personal and
political, particular to his situation, but
shared by all West Papuans.
Together with fellow musician Eddie Mofu,
Arnold Ap was languishing in jail suspected by
the Indonesian military of having sympathy
with the West Papuan resistance movement, the
OPM. West Papua had been occupied by the
Indonesian military since the early sixties,
and the movement for self-determination had
taken root deep in the hearts of West Papuans.
In a place where contested identities have
become a site of struggle; music, song and
dance became weapons. Mofu and Ap’s real crime
was singing and dancing the traditional songs
of his people, promoting pride in Papuan
culture.
Each song is infused with this pride in being
Papua. To see it you almost need to get inside
the song itself. And to do that is to begin to
understand something of West Papua. Through
song, culture was uplifted, and people’s lives
dignified. Lyrics and tunes celebrate the
mystery and natural beauty of Papua, retell
traditional legends, impart knowledge and
wisdom, lament, laugh, rage, speak about the
ordinariness of daily life, and the struggles
and joys of relationships. They function as
the glue that invokes soul, animates spirit,
and reinforces identity through the
medium of oral traditions.
One Mambesak song, Awin Sup Ine sung in the
Biak language is translated as follows: At
twilight, the rays of the sun paint beautiful
skyscapes, stirring the eye and heart. At
these times, the lyrics continue, one cannot
help but recall sweet moments from the past
and feel again the bonds of love that bind one
to the land.
Other songs sound clear warning bells, and
evoke strong emotions. Muman Minggil is sung
in the Auyi language from Arso, a region
concentrated with security forces and ravaged
by logging and oil palm plantations.
A catchy tune and a fast rhythm, but a
sobering message: Times are changing rapidly,
and the signs of the heritage left to us by
our ancestors are disappearing from view;
Remaining only are the ruins of our
settlement, the villages no longer maintained,
abandoned like orphaned children.
Many songs also have sophisticated double
meanings. One such song, Nit Pughuluok En,
crafted by Dani songman and widely respected
elder, Chief Yafet Yelamaken, tells of the
departure of a friend.
Who knows when you will be coming back, the
song goes. My only hope is to pray that we
shall meet again. Travel safely. However, the
friend, Chief Yelamaken’s daughter explains to
me, can also be read as the Indonesian
government, who ultimately will leave West
Papua. Tragically Chief Yelamaken died in a
spate of fatal poisonings that felled many
West Papuan cultural and civil society
leaders. Although it has never been proven,
many West Papuans feel certain it was a
political assassination organised by the
Indonesian military.
Nanen Babe from Sarmi on the north coast of
Papua also has layers of meaning: The Morning
Star appears in the east and will soon be
followed by the sun. The beauty of the sky
brings back memories of home. The last star in
the inky darkness before the dawn, the light
that guides fisherman safely home: little
wonder the Morning Star has became a symbol of
freedom, a representation of independence, a
longing to be at home in ones own land. The
song also invokes the creation story of
Kumeseri the Morning Star -- in Biak language.
Legend has it that Manarmakeri, a humble
village man caught Kumeseri as the heavenly
light descended to earth to drink palm wine.
Manarmakeri struck a bargain with the star,
receiving the gift of peace and renewal in
return for letting Kumeseri go.
Refusing to keep the secrets for his tribe
alone, Manarmakeri left West Papua on a
journey to garner support to herald in a new
age of freedom, peace, and justice. For Jakob
Rumbiak, a West Papuan friend who endured ten
years in Indonesia’s dungeons, once sharing a
cell with Xanana Gusmao and now living in
Melbourne, the story continues to have fresh
meaning. Maybe Manarmakeri came to Australia?
he asks.Maybe he wants you to join him to help
free West Papua? And so the story continues.
And so the power grows.
When Arnold Ap first began his work, however,
many failed to understand his true purpose.
"Maybe you think what I am doing is stupid, he
once said, but it is what I think I should do
for my people before I die". Yet Arnold Ap
knew something of the animating spirit of
Papua that shaped and inspired his people.
Mambesak=92s simple underlying truth was that
we are Melanesians and this is our land; a
powerful message now taken up by rising West
Papuan music and cultural sensation, Black
Paradise.
History and identity in West Papua
To understand the power of music in West Papua
one needs to understand the struggle for
identity and the way this has become entwined
with the struggle for self-determination. When
Indonesia became independent the Dutch
retained control of West Papua, arguing that
the territory had no political or cultural
links with the rest of the archipelago.
Indonesia was affronted. Nationalist president
Sukarno felt that the struggle for liberation
against the Dutch would not be completed until
West Papua was returned to the fold of the
motherland. A master strategist, Sukarno would
do anything to win the territory from the
Dutch. It was the cold war. Indonesia sought
Russian aid to wrest West Papua from the Dutch
control and a small-scale military invasion
was launched to back up diplomatic efforts.
The international community, fearful of
Indonesia sliding into communism, felt West
Papua was a price worth paying to secure the
allegiance of a pro-Western Indonesia. The
sham referendum -- The Act of Free Choice --
was organised in 1969 to give the barest
semblance of legitimacy. 1,022 tribal elders,
less than 1% of the population, were rounded
up and cajoled to participate in the exercise.
Then bribed or intimidated by acts of outright
violence, they were forced to vote for
integration with Indonesia. In reality there
was no vote. An Indonesian general spoke. This
was followed by a few rehearsed speeches
welcoming Indonesia. Finally every single
participant raised his hands in support,
before the whole sorry stage-managed circus
moved on to the next venue.
West Papuans, bristling with righteous
indignation, call it the Act of No Choice.
Tragically the fact that their fundamental
democratic and human rights were violated,
still appears to be of little concern to
international elites. One British diplomat at
the time summed up the betrayal of the
international community with the words: cannot
imagine the U.S, Japanese, Dutch, or
Australian governments, putting at risk their
economic and political relations with
Indonesia over matter of principle involving a
relatively small number of very primitive
people.
In this context Mambesak celebrated being
Papuan, an identity the Indonesian government
had tried to erase. All words that referred to
West Papua or West Papuans were banned. The
name of the territory was changed from West
Papua to Irian Jaya. Irian, a Biak word
meaning hot land was co-opted by Indonesian
nationalists as an acronym, Ikut Republik
Indonesia Anti Nederland, meaning, Join the
Republic of Indonesia against the Netherlands.
Jaya translates as victorious, and was seen as
a fitting description for Indonesia’s
triumphant victory: wrestling the territory
from the Dutch. Indonesian nationalists viewed
the notion of self-determination for West
Papuans, as a colonial fantasy of the Dutch, a
cynical attempt to fan the embers of their
dying empire. In Irian Jaya, the Indonesian
government asserted, there can be no West
Papuans, only loyal Irianese. The fact that
Irianese was a fictitious and imposed identity
did not escape West Papuans. In a few short
years being Papuan went from something that
was promoted by the Dutch to something that
was criminalised by the Indonesian government.
Black Paradise
Twenty years have passed since Ap and Mofu=92s
murder yet music and the legacy of Arnold Ap
retains its potency in the troubled territory.
I am in West Papua meeting some of the new
generation of musicians to follow In the
legacy of Mambesak. Ferry Marisan, works for
Elsham -- The Institute for the Study and
Advocacy of Human Rights in West Papua -- a
widely respected human rights organisation.
His job is to investigate and monitor human
rights violations in his violence-ridden
homeland. Mr. Marisan, also a graduate in
anthropology from the University of
Cendrawasih, is the leader of the West Papuan
cultural music group, Black Paradise. When I
first met him, Ferry was wearing a t-shirt
with a picture of Arnold Ap sitting down with
guitar in hand, singing, with the words Spirit
of Mambesak emblazoned at the top of the
shirt. Arnold Ap’s motto, says Ferry Marisan,
was to sing for life. Yesterday, today and
tomorrow. The people of West Papua, recounts
Marisan, dearly loved Arnold Clemens Ap. He
helped transform our consciousness from the
tribal to the national.
Black Paradise is continuing what Mambesak
began: nurturing cultures battered by
militarism, undermined by Christianity, and
exploited by commerce. Most of the group are
also human rights activists who work for
Elsham. The work of defending human rights
cannot be separated from their music. Recently
a few band members traveled to Timika, the
frontier town located in the shadow of a
gargantuan copper and gold mine. Freeport, the
controversial military backed Mining
Corporation that owns the mine, has caused
massive environmental damage and created
enormous social unrest. While in Timika,
investigating human rights violations, they
also collected songs. One such song, Akai
Mbipae recounts the suffering of the
indigenous Amungme as a result of the mine: A
mother is weeping because people, especially
Freeport, have destroyed the environment.
Black Paradise has a simple message. "We are
here to show that West Papuan culture is still
alive," says Marisan. "We are a distinct and
separate people. We want the Indonesian
Government to stop the violence and let us
be."
Not all the music is overtly political,
however. Aye Nanawe, one of the bands
signature tunes, is a sexy, funny and upbeat
hip-swinging number about one of songwriters
most popular themes: unrequited love.
No matter what the music is about, though, it
affirms the dignity and identity of the Papuan
people. We the young generation of Papua have
to care for our culture says Marisan. West
Papuan culture could be dead within 10 years
if the people do not find ways to protect,
promote and revive their indigenous
traditions. With the deterioration of the
political situation, and increasing repression
by the military and government, this need is
becoming increasingly urgent.
Recently the band travelled to Australia for
the Morning Star Concert for West Papua, a
showcase of Australian talent organised by
Melbourne musician David Bridie, which put the
spotlight on what was happening a few short
miles from Australian shores.
Start by telling them where West Papua is=94
the late Silas Rumboirusi, Elsham’s Accountant
and Black Paradise vocalist, always said to me
whenever I had the pleasure of introducing
them. Although the band was often amazed by
the welcome they received around Australia,
they quickly noticed that most Australians
didn’t even know where West Papua is. Rather
than being downcast at the lack of awareness,
however, the band felt that their performances
had touched people, and hopefully inspired
them to learn lore about West Papua. Notable
human rights defender John Rumbiak says that
the tour was a great opportunity for
Australians to be really educated about what
is going on in West Papua. He felt that just
by Black Paradise coming here performing, and
appearing in papers and radio, many more
Australians have learnt about Papuans as a
people; that they have a culture and the
problems they are facing. Culture, says
Rumbiak, is a good way of to communicate and
inspire closer solidarity between neighbours.
Australia is one of the countries that has
benefited politically and economically from
what is going on in West Papua. The struggle
is not the struggle of Papuans alone, says
Rumbiak. This is a struggle for everyone, no
matter where they are in the world, who
believes in respect for other human beings and
their cultures, and for the beautiful planet
upon which we all depend for life.
Having tasted success in Australia, Black
Paradise is now formulating plans it wouldn't
have dreamed of just over a year ago when it
first came together. A CD is has been recorded
on Bridie's label Blunt, which the band hopes
to follow up with a video compact disc; a
speaking and music tour around West Papua;
starting up a recording studio; and opening a
centre to preserve and promote indigenous
culture throughout West Papua.
A Dangerous Job
It is nearly 20 years since Arnold Ap and Eddy
Mofu’s bloated corpses were found washed up on
a beach, their bodies showing signs of
torture. But writing, uncovering, cultivating
and promoting Papuan music and culture are
still dangerous activities. Two years ago,
ex-Mambesak member Sam Kapissa, cultural
activist, respected elder, and mentor to Black
Paradise, was found dead. Kapissa was another
victim of the mysterious spate of poisonings.
Marisan has honoured Sam Kapissa and Arnold Ap
by writing a moving tribute in his -- and
their-- native Biak language. The song,
entitled Mambruk ma Manyouri, tells the story
of the two men, both of them from Biak Numfor,
who are represented in the song as the Mambruk
and Nuri bird. Arnold Clemens Ap and Sam
Kapissa were two leaders who strove to unite
the Papuan people, through their creations in
song, dance and music. But the powers-that-be
viewed their struggle as a political one that
endangered the country, so in the end, they
were killed says Ferry. It is stories like
this that are often recounted to me as I
travel throughout West Papua. And with each
passing day, seduced by beauty and suffering,
I find the land and people entering more
deeply into my heart.
Although people in West Papua are still afraid
to sell Mambesak recordings in the market for
fear of recriminations by the Indonesian
state, the music is everywhere. Scratchy songs
are handed down from parents to children. In
the cloud veiled jungles and mountains of West
Papua several days walk outside of the nearest
town, I witnessed weather beaten copies
carried in on foot to remote villages and
played on ancient cassette players. Villages
where women sell sweet potatoes and garden
produce just to afford the batteries to play
the tapes on ancient cassette players.
And when Black Paradise gears up for one of
there not to be missed cultural performances
people stream in, eager to soak up the sounds
and dance to the beats of their land.
In West Papua music is everywhere. In so many
ways it represents the irrepressible desire
for life. Every evening, as the sun goes down
and the jungle erupts in a cacophony of
insects backed up by a syncopating base line
of frogs; and every morning, when the air is
still, you hear the sound of music. Songs of
struggle, haunting laments, musical delights
in the natural beauty of the land of their
ancestors, and sultry love songs puncture the
tropical heat. Ukulele, guitar, snakeskin
drums, and the distinct four-part soaring
harmonies of the Melanesian Pacific work there
way inwards, shaping identity, weaving
stories, and strengthening the courage of a
people determined to be free.
Soon the music of Black Paradise, recorded
during their recent visit to Melbourne, will
be circulating throughout West Papua and
around the world. Their first CD is a powerful
affirmation that in the Land of the Morning
Star songs for life are stronger than ever.@
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