By Leonard Fong Roka
‘Somewhere in the middle of 1989,’ Peter Era told me, ‘we
watched from Onove as the PNG army torched Kavarongnau village. Two days later,
they again torched the next village of Tonanau when the people were busy
preparing for a feast which they then left and fled and the army helped
themselves with those pigs and food’.
Peter Era |
Anger for these inhuman activities of a so called
professionally trained army of country led Peter Era, then 19 years old, and
other men form the villages to set an ambush for the Bougainville Copper
Limited (BCL) convoys employed by the PNGDF.
The angry men waited but the PNGDF did not arrive on time
thus they left to from the first spot to set up in another location towards the
foot of the Panguna mine gravel slopes that stands tall before the Tumpusiong
Valley. Whilst they were on this move, the PNGDF, after torching Tonanau,
snailed up by foot towards the Onove junction where the ambush was just
disbanded by the militants leaving behind the trucks and the rest of the
soldiers.
The PNGDF seeing no signs of militants spotted the Tabora
hamlet on the opposite banks of the polluted Kavarong River and crossed over to
torch the village that the owners had already fled uphill to Onove and were
watching every move the PNGDF were making.
In the clearing made by the recently constructed
Pirurari-Oune feeder road, Peter Era and his comrades spotted the soldiers
preparing to torched Tabora so they rushed to the vicinity thinking that the
rest of the trucks had gone south.
As the band crossed the road and the brawling river, the
rest of the PNGDF patrol moved towards the Onove junction and spotted the
militants and open fired at them forcing the Peter Era to take cover whist his
partners had fled leaving him alone.
When he stood up to check the main road, there was not a
sign of vehicles for the PNGDF had reversed to avoid militant fire if they had
guns. So Peter Era came out of his cover and began shouting for his escaped men
when a strange voice behind him called, ‘Yu singaut lo wanem?’ (What are you
shouting for?).
The soldiers forgot the Tabora village and rushed at their
catch with fury. They tortured him to at will till he was all blood. From his
bloody swollen eyes Peter watched as a one of the soldiers exhaustedly loaded
his gun to shoot him when another soldier shouted at him to get lost. Then he
ordered others to tie him up and pushed him for the main road.
The good soldier was cursed from behind by dissatisfied
soldiers who were trailing behind as he walked defensively behind the captive.
At the road there were already more soldiers from Tonanau
waiting. As the few law-abiding soldiers guarding him were nearing the rest of
the waiting men with him, the rest of the Tabora party began shouting at the
waiting men, ‘Boys, kilim em ya. Kilim em!’ (Boys, kill him. Kill him!).
The waiting men rushed at him overpowering his escorts. They
gun butted him; kicked him; penetrated his mouth with the barrel of their guns
threatening to squeeze the trigger. As they tortured and scourged him in their
midst, one of the Tabora party men left behind landed upon them, calling: ‘Klia
fuckin and mi kilim em,’ (Make way, fuck and let me kill him) when a
Bougainvillean soldier who was keeping his distance moved in ordering all to
stop torturing the captive or he will let hell lose. ‘Displa ino hap blong
kilim em,’he scolded them, ‘yupla no bin laik kilim lo hap yupla holim pastem’
(This is not the time to kill him, ‘he scolded them, ‘you should have killed
him where you captured him).
The Bougainvillean soldier ordered them to place him on the
truck as he watched then they left for Panguna.
On the truck, the little drive up for the Panguna mine zone,
the soldiers did not event speak to each other. The men who first escorted him
from the Tabora side were on the same transport with him so Peter Era felt
little comfort and hope despite the pain he had to endure.
Arriving in Panguna they drove him straight to the Panguna
police station upon the orders of the Bougainvillean soldier, who according to
Peter Era was a good man from Buin in South Bougainville.
The BCL car that carried him and other soldiers left in the
hands of the police and left.
There in was amongst other Bougainvilleans, who had also
endured New Guinean torture, before him. The cell was over crowded with stench
of blood.
Just like him, there were Bougainvilleans with red eyes,
torn lips, swollen cheeks and signs of recent ease of crying. Each person had
his own corner to man and worry to mind in defeat of demoralizing from PNG rage
on Bougainville.
But after a few minutes of peace in the midst of his fellow
Bougainvilleans, they all were shocked when a car outside screeched into the
police car park and seconds later, some wild looking police and military personal
marched with guns into the cells searching for a Peter Era.
‘Ol kok, husat Rambo Peter Era?’ (Hey penises, who is Rambo
Peter Era?) They angrily shouted at the prisoners.
Peter Era was sure he will be killed; he felt like running but
there was no hope trying from a cell with armed policemen everywhere. But
remained silent with his eyes on them when a familiar soldier who was in the
midst of the patrol that captured him figured him and ordered him out.
On weak knees, Peter
Era stood and staggered to the entrance of the cell in with rolling tears of
fate when stinging hands hauled him outside with more punches, gun butting and
boot kicks.
As Peter Era was undergoing this inhuman scourging from
professionally trained PNG law enforcers, upstairs a busy Bougainvillean police
officer, whom Era says was from Buka Island, was disturbed by these strange
developments.
Peter Era was pulled outside to be loaded onto a waiting BCL
transport when the Buka police officer intervened.
With a small handgun ready for use, he scolded the
all-redskin party of soldiers and police officers.
‘Displa em no animal blong yupla, fuckin’ yupla (This is not
your animal, fuckin’ you),’ he shouted and to this, Peter Era had a sudden wave
of peace covering him, ‘go na lus nabaut, idiots! (Get lost, you idiots) Em
police matter nau (This is now a police matter). Sapos yupla laik, watpo yupla
no kilim em lo wanem hap yupla kisim em (If you wanted it, why didn’t you kill
him where you captured him)?’
The Bougainvillean policeman grabbed Peter Era and directed
him into his office as the redskin soldiers and police officers stood there
looking stupid.
The Buka policeman then told Peter Era: ‘These aliens are
burning our homes out of nothing but jealousy; for where they come from, they
live in kunai grass houses, thus they are destroying you people and the homes
around here. Very reckless kind of people’.
He then told him not to worry for with his presence he was
safe and he will be transferred elsewhere away from these barbaric men.
‘I hope these two Bougainvilleans read my story and find
me,’ he told me, ‘for I owe them my life. Without his kind and brave
Bougainvillean hearts for an endangered fellow Bougainvillean I was death in
the hands of the redskins.’
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