The Day Kavarongnau went up in flames

Leonard Fong Roka

In 1988, when the government of Papua New Guinea was losing control of the anti-Bougainville Copper Limited (BCL) and anti-PNG militancy around Central Bougainville, its last hope was its defence force.

Thus, their landing on Bougainville with full BCL backing was more with high expectation to eradicate the militants, as the 2001 class action launched in the United States against BCL did summarize in one of its claims that the BCL manager of the late 1980s and early 1990s… ‘encouraged the continuation of the blockade for the purposes of starving the bastards out’. Starving the Panguna rascals out was the hope.

But after arriving in May 1989, after a few days of setbacks, the government had its troops go ruthless with its Operations Commander on Bougainville, Colonel Leo Nuia ordering a  ‘shoot to kill’ order. Under this order, a few Bougainvillean women were raped and men killed; other men tortured and domesticated animals killed; homes torched and gardens looted.

On the lawn of Kavarongnau hamlet in the Tumpusiong Valley of Panguna, the eldest blood sister of the North Solomons provincial government premier, now late Joseph Kabui, Anna Taruito (my grandmother) and the rest of the extended family, had only one of their sons in the militancy that played a role of providing information to the family and rescuing family members when the PNG riot police raided.

My uncle David Perakai was always on the look-out for police and PNGDF patrols under the state of emergency that was declared on the 23 December 1989. My family members so often ignored the call to flee into safety because of the mercy of family properties: permanent houses, a retail shop, tavern, poultry and fish pond projects and vehicles.

Our hamlet had 12 houses—permanent and semi-permanent—that my grandmother was not willing to walk away from when majority of the family had fled away from the state of emergency. But with her last born sister they kept their presence.

In early 1989, our hamlet was raided without arms by rascals of the Panguna’ Kokore village claiming that our now late relative Joseph Kabui as premier of the North Solomons government was supporting the PNG government; they helped themselves with goods from relative Martin Miriori’s shops and walk back home (this two Bougainville figures are my grandmother’s little brothers).

The rest of our family went to leave high in the mountains of Onove; away from the main Panguna-Nagovis road that was used by the government’s abusive security forces.

As the unpredictable weeks went by, with regular security force threatening searches and arrivals, the calendar reached June of 1989 where my aunties who were students at Saint Mary’s Asitavi High School in the north of Central Bougainville, were about to come home for holidays.

To that my family members in hiding regularly came home or spent a night at Kavarongnau despite the creeping fear. They would sleep, whilst the David manned the entry points into our hamlet with his shotgun.

Since my Tumpusiong Valley was the first people into the creation and leadership of the militancy and protest marches, it received regular visits from the security forces. During this period also, there were killings of two New Guineans in the valley. Also the men from my home raided and attacked the mine employees and properties.

To this, the security forces set checkpoints at the Panguna waste dumps overlooking my Tumpusiong Valley below. Soon followed a sudden built up of troops that were observed from the distant hills by militant watchers amongst which were my uncle, David Perakai.

My family was expecting my aunties and had stocked food stuff when David arrived telling them that there was a built up of the PNG army troops before the valley late one afternoon. But, despite being in fear, the longing to welcome my aunties was keeping them immobile. Beside there were the properties and pigs to feed.

Thus they slept calmly for the night.

Early the next morning David left into the mountains where the militants were camped to monitor the situation across on the dumps of the Panguna mines. But he did not realize that the PNGDF were already entering the valley in a convoy of more than 10 BCL trucks.

Militants were not at all aware of the PNGDF convoy from the ridges for the valley was too deep and had ridges forking into it creating corners that lined the road all the way to Jaba where the BCL had a water pump station supplying water to the concentrator for ore processing.

The family spotted the convoy further away and stood relaxed thinking that it was bound for Orami or some other places. My grandmother was busy cooking breakfast of taro and had not watched the convoy downhill snailing along the lifeless tailing desert made for us by BCL.

Her little sister and her family were located on a corner of our hamlet that our feeder road actually enters the lawn.

With minutes they had forgotten about the convoy. Then they noticed that the heavy sound of trucks had slowed down at the junction of our feeder road and the highway. Thus one of them came out of the house-cook to peep but at the edge of the hamlet, there were already soldiers.

They were shocked with an infant whether to run or not when their dog began barking at them. But in seconds gunshots ended the angry dog’s life and my family darted into a ravine covered by cocoa trees and up a stream for safety in caves.

At her corner, my grand and her youngest daughter and son, began running when bullets began cutting through the roof of the house they were in.

Without anything, they ran off into the ravine and off upstream a little creek that hosts a network of caves. There they met each other and waited in silence.

They kept their eyes open watching every move the PNGDF made below.

Having the first section of our hamlet in flames and thick smoke belching out into the morning sky, the other half of the uniformed men were seen in the pigsty dragging a death pig towards a BCL truck and torching my grandmother’s section often clanking their guns into the bushes narrowly missing my family members.

My whole female relatives wept in the caves as smoke from our homes covered them. David arrived and ordered them out because other hamlets just above them were being tracked and torched with them not knowing it by concentrating on theirs.

They moved carefully toward the highway below passing the family dog covered in its blood. My grandmother could not endure the pain of watching her home burned before her and had to be ushered by her son.

They crossed the Kavarong River without being spotted and were away in safety.

But by then they saw clearly that the whole hamlet of Kavarongnau, that some hours ago they were in, was gone with the smoke.

NB: My grandmother, Anna Taruito (top photo) and uncle, David Perakai (photo below)