A Solomon Islands academic says the US and Israel illegal bombing of Iran is “deeply alarming” and the Pacific region does not need “more global instability”

US President Donald Trump warned yesterday that Operation Epic Fury against Iran — “one of the largest, most complex, most overwhelming military offensives the world has ever seen” — will continue until all of Washington’s objectives are achieved.

The US military says it has sunk a dozen Iranian warships and is “going after the rest” in attacks which Trump said have killed 48 top Iranian leaders, including Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.

Six American service members have also been killed and five seriously injured.

At least three Pacific Island governments have advised their nationals stuck in the Gulf region to remain calm and leave when it is possible to do so.

The joint US-Israeli strikes — and Iranian retaliation — have turned international law on its head, according to some experts.

Reacting to the conflict, Solomon Islands National University’s vice-chancellor Dr Transform Aqorau said the Pacific must remain an “ocean of peace”.

‘Deeply alarming’
“The escalating conflict between the United States, Israel, and Iran is deeply alarming,” he wrote in a Facebook post yesterday.

“Missiles are flying. Civilians are dying. Oil tankers have reportedly been hit. The Strait of Hormuz — one of the world’s most critical oil routes — is now closed.

“Some leaders speak of success. But war never has winners. The real cost is paid by ordinary people.

“And the Pacific will not be immune,” he wrote.

He said if oil supplies from the Gulf were disrupted, global fuel prices would surge.

“For Pacific Island countries — heavily dependent on imported fuel — this means higher electricity costs, more expensive transport, rising food prices, and increased cost of living.

“Our already fragile economies could face another severe external shock.”

Struggling with issues
Dr Aqorau said the region was struggling with a myriad of issues, including climate change, rising sea levels, drug problems, mental health pressures, youth unemployment, diabetes, slow economic growth, and growing populations.

“We do not need more global instability. We need peace,” he said.

“Pacific leaders have declared our region an ‘Ocean of Peace’ — a commitment to unity, sovereignty, dialogue, and non-militarisation. This is not just symbolic. It is strategic.

“Our islands have suffered before from global power rivalries and war. We know the long shadows they cast.”

He added that as the global order shifted, the Pacific must look more to each other for solidarity and cooperation.

‘Strength in regional unity’
“Our strength is in regional unity. Our security must be rooted in development, climate resilience, and human wellbeing — not militarisation.

“War diverts resources from schools to weapons, from hospitals to missiles, from climate action to destruction. Peace creates the space for progress.”

He said the Pacific must stand firm as an ocean of peace.

“In a world drifting toward conflict, let us choose stability. Let us choose cooperation. Let us choose peace.”

This article is republished under a community partnership agreement with RNZ.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

When I heard the terrible news that the Americans and Israelis had killed more than 165 children this week in an elementary school in Minab in Southern Iran it took me back to a wonderful day I spent in Isfahan in 2018.

I met lots of Iranian school children and their teachers that day. They were keen to practise their English and ask lots of questions. I want to share that day with you because it was filled with hope, with promise for a better world.

My wife and I were visiting Iran, both for the second time.

Right at the end of our time there we spent a day in Naqsh-e Jahan Square in Isfahan. It is a massive square that could enclose a dozen football fields.

Built by Shah Abbas I in the 17th Century, during the Safavid period, it is a UNESCO World Heritage site with markets, palaces and other cultural sites framing its four sides.  At one end is the magnificent Imam Mosque where a string of memorable moments happened to me.

I even saw a most astonishing one-woman demonstration.

We were just approaching the Imam Mosque when I noticed a young woman removing her head scarf. A mass of black hair fell down to her waist and then she began dancing.

‘Is this a protest?’
Rhythmically she swirled her upper body in a circular motion that sent her hair out horizontally around her. I was gob-smacked.

After a minute or two she stopped and started talking to her male companion who had been photographing her. I approached.

“Is this a protest?” I asked, somewhat gormlessly.  Yes, against the clothing restrictions.

Today the courage and determination of such people has, to a degree, paid off. Those restrictions, particularly in the cities, have effectively been lightened.  I have seen lots of footage of Iranian women without any head covering.

I salute their courage and determination and know their struggle will continue.

I also salute the courage and determination of the millions of Iranians who have turned out this week to support their government against the violent assault on the sovereignty of Iran by the racist, fascist genocidal Israeli state and its powerful vassal the USA.

Following the killing of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, I saw remarkable footage of that same vast square in Isfahan filled to the four corners with what must have been hundreds of thousands of people. As with millions around the country, they were defying the missiles to protest the violation of their sovereignty.

The inconvenient truth
The scale of the pro-government demonstrations is virtually never shown in the Western media but to understand the contested political landscape that is Iran you need to understand that inconvenient truth.

Iranian politics in the Western view has been reduced to a cartoon, to a Manichean world of black and white — which partly explains why Westerners, most particularly the leaders, fail to grasp the fierce nationalism that has seen millions of Iranians rally round their government as their state comes under an existential threat.

That day in 2018 in that square I chatted with pro-government and anti-government people; all incredibly nice and open and welcoming. Everyone was keen to discuss Iran and the wider world.

There were lots of school parties and both the teachers and their students were keen to speak with us. It was an unalloyed pleasure for us. Iranians are remarkably hospitable, cultured and kind. For me, they are the finest people in the Middle East.

That is partly why I felt sad and bitter when I watched the footage of the bombed-out Shajareh Tayyebeh girls elementary school (6-12 year-olds) in Minab and heard the screams of mothers calling for children whom they will never walk to school again.

The Western empire has a long history of killing children. I recently referenced Madeleine Albright’s infamous comment on the killing of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi children being “a price worth paying”.

This is just standard modus operandi for the West.

Protected by Mossad
Israeli football hooligans travel through Europe chanting “Why is school out in Gaza? Because there are no kids left!” They are protected by Mossad, local police and politicians like British Prime Minister Keir Starmer.

Australian PM Anthony Albanese recently welcomed Isaac Herzog, the President of Israel, who in October 2023 said: “It is an entire nation out there that is responsible.”

This is as clear a statement of genocidal intent as you could get and Israel made good on it.

Israel, the killer of tens of thousands of school kids, presents itself as a liberator for Iran? You don’t have to be an A-grade student to spot that lie.

Many people around the Western world want to commit the children of Iran into the hands of the President of the United States.

According to US Congressman Ted Lieu (D-CA), Vice-Chair of the House Democratic Caucus: “In the Epstein files, there’s highly disturbing allegations of Donald Trump raping children, of Donald Trump threatening to kill children.”

Lieu, one of the architects of the Epstein Files Transparency Act is also one of those legislators who has had access to some of the files still kept out of the public record.

Iranian children have as much right to grow up in safety as our own children.

infamous bro-talk
We should all also recall Trump’s infamous bro-talk with the vile radio host Howard Stern. Stern asked if he could refer to Ivanka Trump as a “piece of ass,” and Donald Trump salivated back at him: “Yeah.”

While they were joking about this “piece of ass”, Trump said he would try to date Ivanka if she wasn’t his daughter. It is a relevant anecdote because we live in the age of American Geopolitical Epsteinism — a world of predators seeking to violate those weaker than them.

You don’t have to like the Iranian government to support the UN Charter and the insistence on the sovereign equality of nations.

Nothing in the Charter says it is okay for powerful white countries to attack other countries.  The West needs to bring its leaders to justice for the crime of genocide not launch yet another war on innocents.

Hands off Iran, Netanyahu. Hands off the children of Iran, Trump.

Eugene Doyle is a community organiser based in Wellington, publisher of Solidarity and a contributor to Asia Pacific Report. His first demonstration was at the age of 12 against the Vietnam war. This article was first published by Solidarity on 2 March 2026.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

A world premiere of a new documentary revealing the devastation of rainforest in the southeastern part of West Papua is one of two films being screened in Auckland next month.

Billed as “Sinéma Merdeka: Stories from West Papua”, the programme is showing the heart of a hidden Pacific conflict and will be presented live by celebrated Papuan journalist and Jubi News founder Victor Mambor.

The two films are “Pesta Babi — Colonialism in Our Time” and “Sa Punya Nama Pengungsi” (My name is Pengungsi).

“Pesta Babi” (The Pig Party), directed by Cypri Dale and Dandhy Laksono, is being premiered at the Academy Cinema, Auckland CBD, at 6pm on Saturday, March 7.

Filmed under siege and a draconian media ban, the filmmakers offer a rare and
urgent glimpse into indigenous life in Merauke, where Indonesian bulldozers have been systematically destroying their pristine rainforest home.

This film is co-produced by Jubi, Ekspedisi Indonesia Baru, Greenpeace, Yayasan Pusaka, and Watchdoc Documentary.

The second film, “Sa Punya Nama Pengungsi”, directed by Yuliana Lantipo is set against the backdrop of escalating government violence and the displacement of an estimated 100,000 Indigenous Melanesian people from their lands.

“My name is Pengungsi” is centred on the story of two Papuan children born in the midst of the conflict. Both are named “Pengungsi”, which in English means “Refugee”.

Films talanoa
The films will be followed by a Q&A/Talanoa with Mambor and fellow Australian-based West Papuan journalist Ronny Kareni and hosted by Dr David Robie, editor of Asia Pacific Report and deputy director of the Asia Pacific Media Network (APMN).

The twin-film festival is part of a weekend West Papua Solidarity Forum programme at the Auckland University Old Choral Hall, 7 Symonds Street, on Saturday, March 7, and on Sunday, March 8.

There will also be a public media seminar at the Whanau Community Centre and Hub featuring journalist and filmmaker Victor Mambor at 6pm, Monday, March 9, at the Taro Patch, Papatoetoe.

Organisers of the film screenings are West Papua Action Tāmaki Makaurau West Papua is the western half of New Guinea island and has been occupied by Indonesia since 1963. The independent state of Papua New Guinea is the eastern half.

Organisers of the film screenings are West Papua Action Tāmaki Makaurau. The group notes that more than 500,000 civilians have been killed in a slow genocide against the indigenous population, according to human rights agencies.

Basic human rights such as freedom of speech are denied and Papuans live in a constant state of fear and intimidation.

Foreign journalists have generally been barred entrance.

Traditional ways of life are under threat as huge tracts of rainforest are cut down to make
way for Indonesian palm oil and food estates, the world’s largest gold mine and ever-increasing transmigration from Indonesia, making Indigenous Papuans a minority in their own land.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

ANALYSIS: By Nick Riemer

In December, the NSW Labor government gave itself the power to ban street marches for an indefinite period. We saw what that meant on February 9 as violent police charged, maced, beat and arrested protesters against Herzog’s visit.

In January, the federal ALP introduced new hate speech laws, which confer unprecedented discretion on the government to criminalise speech and groups to which it objects.

Now, in a further stride down its authoritarian road, the federal government is reported to be proceeding with plans for “political training” for Australian university staff.

According to several recent reports, the federal government has agreed that “antisemitism training” will be a “key” area in which universities’ response to antisemitism will be assessed.

University employees will, apparently, be required to undergo indoctrination in the ideology of the pro-Israel lobby, which identifies Zionism and Judaism and treats critics of Israel as likely antisemites.

The training will involve “understanding of Jewish peoplehood, their attachment to Israel and identity beyond faith” — the characteristically unclear phrasing of the government’s Special Envoy to Combat Antisemitism, Jillian Segal, who is responsible for the “Antisemitism report card” plan.

The thought police
Compulsory training in a political ideology befits a police state, not a notional democracy — a status that NSW Premier Chris Minns, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and the rest of the political establishment are undermining like none before them.

Amidst the uproar over Israeli President Isaac Herzog’s visit, the move has not had the discussion it deserves. Requiring university staff to undergo “training” in the ideology of Israeli apartheid is as unacceptable as it would have been to require training in that of South African apartheid or Hindu supremacism.

Compulsory training in any particular ideology — Zionism, fascism, liberalism — is a body blow against university independence.

Segal’s plan has been roundly criticised by the progressive side of politics, including by Jewish organisations, but has the support of the entire Zionist establishment and the major parties.

Stopping free inquiry
The plan was originally devised in mid-2025, but was put on hold after Segal was discredited by revelations of her family’s connections, through generous donations, with the far-right, anti-immigrant group Advance.

Now, the ALP appears to be implementing it. Under the obligatory cover of combating antisemitism, the training is clearly intended to further attack genocide opponents in higher education.

The measure shows a flagrant contempt for the basic role of universities in a supposedly liberal society — the necessary cliché that the campus is a place where controversial ideas can be expressed and discussed, no matter what powerful political actors they alienate.

Academic freedom is an ideal, not a reality, but it is still an essential principle of true intellectual work.

The extent to which it is observed is an indicator of the overall state of democracy in a country.

Little is currently known about how the antisemitism training will work in practice. Segal’s blueprint is — no doubt intentionally — extremely vague.

Regardless of the form it takes, the training is designed to elevate anti-Jewish hate above all other kinds of racism as especially deserving of redress — what other form of racism has its own training? — and to enforce Zionists’ chauvinistic insistence that they are the only Jews worthy of the name.

Both intentions are profoundly racist.

How the training will be assessed is also unclear. We have no knowledge of what the consequences would be for the many university staff who will refuse to participate in Zionist indoctrination. We also have no inkling of the size of the financial penalties against non-compliant universities that Segal, in full Trumpian mode, wants to apply.

According to Times Higher Education, they will be “significant”.

To the right of Trump
The current US administration has already mandated widespread student training designed to vilify Palestine solidarity as antisemitic. The Australian proposal of something similar for university staff puts Albanese and his government to the right of Trump.

The government has appointed Greg Craven, the former VC of the Australian Catholic University, as the political commissar responsible for the training and other elements of Segal’s “report card” process.

Craven has pooh-poohed the idea that cracking down on anti-Zionist speech could constitute any threat to civil liberties. The issue, he writes, is fundamentally one of “national defence”.

Albanese’s new hate speech laws, for example, are needed because our current legal and constitutional arrangements

are based on the assumption that our commonwealth faces no deadly external or internal threats.

Read that again. We are, Craven thinks, essentially at war. This means that we have to be the ones to suspend the basic democratic norms we love so much, because otherwise the jihadists will do it for us.

He sees pro-Palestinian critics of the hate speech laws as spreading “morally bankrupt intellectual effluent”.

“A couple of decades’ house arrest for Louise Adler,” he writes, is “appealing”. This is kind of right-wing trolling that, in 2026, equips someone to be entrusted by the ALP with the future of academic freedom in Australia.

University leaders can’t be trusted
Mass defiance of the training is the only feasible response. University authorities certainly cannot be trusted to push back. They have made it clear that they are perfectly willing to turn their institutions into Zionist propaganda mills.

Universities Australia welcomed Segal’s recommendations when they were first made in July; the supine Group of Eight has not raised a peep of protest against the political training proposal.

The training will, however, pose serious headaches for university managers. But, far from protesting, they might even welcome the opportunity to discipline Palestine-supporting staff, who are usually also at the forefront of union and other progressive campus activism.

Last year’s gratuitous purge of academics at Macquarie University disproportionately targeted Palestine supporters, union activists and women.

As decades of their imposition of cuts and austerity in the sector show, many vice-chancellors and their deputies are more than ready to sacrifice higher education wholesale, at any price. Their rewards are the prestige and salary that come with a career in senior university management.

In this year’s Australia Day honours, Professor Annamarie Jagose, the provost of the University of Sydney, was rewarded with an Order of Australia medal for “service to tertiary education”. She was far from the only university executive to get a gong.

Awarding this honour, at this moment, to the second-highest office holder at Sydney, which has led the way in its repression of anti-genocide activism, is not anodyne, and it is hard not to read it as a federal

reward for the university’s readiness to politically and ideologically serve the cause of genocide.

Police state on campus
Not content with feting Israel’s bomb-signing terrorist-in-chief, Albanese is also destroying the notional independence of the university system, imposing a political standard to which teaching and administrative staff must conform, and delivering campuses into the hands of a far-right lobby that is milking the 2025 atrocity at Bondi for all it is worth.

After Bondi, no authoritarian bridge seems too far for the ALP and Coalition. Crossing dangerous new frontiers in political repression will be the principal legacy of Anthony Albanese and his Labor colleagues.

Their reforms threaten to fundamentally alter the character of society, which will become more autocratic, more racist, less rational and less free.

Everyone who supports the reckless and bankrupt Labor Party is accountable.

During the genocide, universities have played the role of being a testing ground for repressive policies that were soon rolled out more widely.

Before the NSW government restricted street protests, Australian vice-chancellors restricted them on campus. The federal government’s hate speech laws were prefigured by crackdowns on anti-Zionist or pro-Palestinian expression in universities.

Under their supposedly “liberal” leadership, campuses have consistently trialled the next features of the Australian police state. Once Zionist political training has become established in universities,

there is nothing to stop it from being rolled out more widely.

Nick Riemer is a senior lecturer at the University of Sydney and academic vice-president of the university’s National Tertiary Education Union branch. A long-time Palestine activist, he is the author of Boycott Theory and the Struggle for Palestine. Available here. This article was first published by Michael West Media and is republished with permission.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

A new Pacific Media research publication and outlet for academics and community advocates has now been added to the Informit database for researchers.

Two editions of the new journal, published by the Aotearoa-based independent Asia Pacific Media Network (APMN) and following the traditions of Pacific Journalism Review, have been included in the database’s archives for institutional access.

Most university and polytech journalism schools in Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific subscribe to Informit which delivers expert-curated and extensive information from sectors such as health, engineering, business, humanities, science and law — and also journalism and media.

Informit also offers an Indigenous Collection with a broad scope of scholarship related to Indigenous culture, health, human geography in Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific.

Pacific Media offers journalists, journalism academics and community activists and researchers an outlet for quality research and analysis and more opportunities for community collaborative publishing in either a journal or monograph format.

While associated with Pacific Journalism Review, the new publication series provides a broader platform for longer form research than has generally been available in the PJR, featured here at ANU’s Development Policy Centre. The full 30-year archive of PJR is on the Informit database.

Earlier editions of Pacific Journalism Monographs have included a diverse range of journalism research from media freedom and human rights in the Asia-Pacific to Asia-Pacific research methodologies, climate change in Kiribati, vernacular Pasifika media research in New Zealand, and post-coup self-censorship in Fiji.

Managing editor Dr David Robie, who founded both the PJR and PM, welcomed the Informit initiative and also praised the Tuwhera DOJ platform at AUT University.

“There is a real need for Pacific media research that is independent of vested interests and we are delighted that our APMN partnership developed with Informit is continuing with our new Pacific Media journal,” he said

The first edition, themed on “Pacific media challenges and futures”, was partnered with the The University of the South Pacific and edited by Associate Professor Shailendra Singh and Dr Amit Sarwal and published last year.

The second edition, themed on “Media construct, constructive media”, was partnered with the Asian Congress for Media and Communication (ACMC) and edited by Khairiah A Rahman and Dr Rachel E Khan, and was also recently published.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

A great academic campus? But note the roof of the Concentrix building.

A Green Way?

Or was it the 1990s’-built Languages Building?

Whoops, there goes Concentrix!

Hard Yakka. Auckland’s answer to the Christchurch Cathedral

Two days before present

The Martians have landed:

One Day before present: going, going, …

Unitec Stadium and Gymnasium (and there were state-of-the-art Squash Courts with a café popular with business staff and students). Once the home of Auckland basketball and netball. And the Auckland Blues – and business staff – trained at the gym, not so long ago.

Back to today:

Ouch, from late 2006 to early 2014 that was my modern state-of-the art workplace and teaching place!

Literally the home of the Schools of Communications and Business. Over those years, I had three offices in that building, and many great memories; and sad memories, too, losing two colleagues.

Near the Carrington Campus main entrance on Carrington Road South; erasing 1900s’ as well as 1990s’ history.

Penman House; only the pine tree remains.

(Who today knows where ‘norfolk pines’ originated? Hint, it’s a place not far away which been erased from our travel maps, despite being a Unesco World Heritage site. I was lucky enough to fly there from Auckland in 2024, when it was still possible. One of these trees is the signature tree at the Waitangi Treaty Grounds.)

See this and other easily googled material about Robyn Hyde’s 1930s’ sanctuary. Fortunately, local MP Helen White was able to save a few heritage mementos from the house, just in the nick of time.

Oakridge House in June 2024 and in October 2024

Is that an oak tree? Sadly the Unitec Arboretum and Sanctuary Gardens have also gone. At least there are still oaks and norfolks in the Carrington precinct.

Oakridge House became the main sanctuary (especially 2017 to 2019) for the School of Business in the years after Unitec’s flagship business building was tenanted to IBM (in 2012, in an opaque high-level deal) and soon after was abandoned by IBM and became the Concentrix Call Centre. (I understand that the aim of the 2012 eviction was for Unitec to make money through renting out some of its key assets to lucrative high-tech tenants; the template was the University of Ballarat in Australia, with QUT Kelvin Grove being the template for a high level tertiary campus without being ‘saddled with’ heritage and green spaces which government accounts would construe as a ‘lazy asset’.)

There are very few photos of Oakridge House in the public domain; Unitec itself has been remiss in this aspect of the documentation of its past. Here is one poignant photo that I found, in an advertisement labelled “chimney demolition”.

Finally, below, is the former Childcare Centre and another former workplace. (My son attended the demolished childcare centre in the foreground. He was proud to have been a ‘Unitec student’. My 2016 office was in the former building in the distant background.)

Unitec has now formally merged with Manukau Institute of Technology. It is reputedly going to become a site for city edge tenement housing; some of it, but not all, ‘social housing’. The precinct will need schools, given that nearby schools Gladstone Primary and Mount Albert Grammar are amongst the most oversubscribed schools in the country. It takes little imagination to see that the remnants of Unitec at Mt Albert eventually will become a school (or schools), and that the ongoing Unitec presence of the new Tamaki Institute of Technology (it will probably be called something else) will be at the Henderson ‘campus’, a highrise sandwiched between the Waitakere District Court and the Henderson Library.

Q How do you acquire a small Polytech? A. Establish a large Polytech, then wait.

See Unitec’s extreme financial distress detailed in documents, RNZ, 4 September 2018. Unitec punched above its weight, when it could. Let’s hope that it has not been completely forgotten, by 2050.

And see my yesterday’s photo-essay on Scoop: Carrington: a site for sore eyes.

————-

Keith Rankin (keith at rankin dot nz), trained as an economic historian, is a retired lecturer in Economics and Statistics. He lives in Auckland, New Zealand.

As Waitangi Day commemorations continue drawing people from across Aotearoa and around the world to the Bay of Islands, Te Tii Marae has become a gathering point for Indigenous ocean leadership from across the Pacific.

Taiātea: Gathering of the Oceans held its public forum yesterday, uniting more than 20 Indigenous leaders, marine scientists and researchers from Australia, Canada, Cook Islands, Hawai’i, Niue, Rapa Nui and Aotearoa.

The forum forms part of a wider 10-day wānanga taking place across Te Ika a Māui (North Island).

With a focus on the protection and restoration of Te Moana Nui a Kiwa, the Pacific Ocean, kōrero throughout the day centred on the exchange of knowledge, marine protection, ocean resilience and the accelerating impacts of climate change.

A key message remained prevalent throughout the day – the moana is not separate from the people, but a living ancestor, and a responsibility carried across generations.

‘Continue that path of conservation, preservation’
Hawaiʻi’s Solomon Pili Kaho’ohalahala, co-founder of One Oceania, a former politician, and a respected elder, framed his kōrero around the belief that there is no separation between human and nature — “we are all one”.

For Kaho’ohalahala, being present at Waitangi has been a powerful reminder of the links between past, present, and future.

“Waitangi is a very historical place for the Māori people,” he said. “It is where important decisions were made by your elders.

“So to be here in this place, for me, is significant.”

“We are talking about historical events that have happened to our people across Oceania, preserved by the elders who had visions to create treaties . . .  decisions that were going to be impactful to the generations to follow,” Kaho’ohalahala said.

“It brings the relevancy of these conversations. They are what we need to negotiate and navigate the challenges we face in the present. The purpose for this is, ultimately, no different to the kupuna (Hawai’ian elder), that this was intended for the generations yet unborn,” he added.

Kaho’ohalahala also reflected on the enduring connections between indigenous communities across oceans.

“To be a part of this conversation from across the ocean that separates us, our connection by our culture and canoes is to help us understand that we are still all connected as the people of Oceania.

“But we need to be able to reiterate that, and understand why we need to emerge from that past to bring it to our relevancy to these times and issues, to continue that path of conservation, preservation, for those unborn.”

She said Waitangi was the perfect backdrop to encourage these discussions. While different cultures face individual challenges, there is a collective sense of unity.

“One of our key pillars is nurturing our future tamariki, and the ways of our peu tupuna, and nurturing stewardship and guardianship with them as our future leaders,” Castledine said.

“It’s about reclaiming how we perceive our ocean as being an ancestor, as a living organism, as whānau to us. We’re here at Waitangi to stand in solidarity of our shared ancestor and the responsibility we all have for its protection,” Castledine said.

She said people must be forward-thinking in how they collectively navigate environmental wellbeing.

“We all have a desire and a love for our moana, our indigenous knowledge systems of our oceans are critical to curating futures for our tamariki and mokopuna,” she said.

“We want to ensure that generations that come after us will continue to be able to feed generations beyond all of us. It’s about safeguarding their inheritance.”

“This is [an] opportunity to learn about common challenges we may have, and how other nations and indigenous leaders are facing those challenges, and what successes they’ve been having,” she said.

“It just makes sense that we have a relationship, and that we build that relationship.”

She noted the central role of the marine environment for her people.

“It’s not lost on me that my people are ocean-going people as well. We rely on the marine environment.

“Our salmon is the foundation and the backbone of our livelihood and the livelihood of all other beings in which we live amongst. I’m a world away, and yet I’m still sitting within the Pacific Ocean.

“So the work I do at home and how we take care of our marine environment impacts the people of Aotearoa as well, and vice versa. And so it just makes sense that we have a relationship, and that we build that relationship, because traditionally we did,” she added.

Following the public forum, indigenous leaders will visit haukāinga in the Tūwharetoa and Whanganui regions for further knowledge exchanges and to discuss specific case studies.

This article is republished under a community partnership agreement with RNZ.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

A two-day West Papua Solidarity Forum and mini film festival is being held in Auckland Tāmaki Makaurau next month featuring West Papuan and local academics, advocates and journalists.

Hosted by West Papua Action Tamaki and West Papua Action Aotearoa, keynote speeches, panels and discussion on the opening day, March 7, will focus on updates from West Papuan speakers from the frontlines and activist/academic contexts with responses and regional perspectives from solidarity groups.

Themes will include military occupation updates, colonial expansion, environmental issues, community organising and human rights abuses, said a statement from the organisers.

Speakers include: Viktor Yeimo (online from West Papua), Dorthea Wabiser, Victor Mambor, Ronny Kareni, Kerry Tabuni, Hilda Halkyard Harawira, Emalani Case, Nathan Rew, Arama Rata, Dr David Robie, Maire Leadbetter, Teanau Tuiono, Te Aniwaniwa Paterson.

The evening event is a public mini festival of Papuan films introduced by journalist and editor Victor Mambor from Jubi Media in Jayapura.

The second day, March 8, is dedicated to solidarity development and relationship building across the region and opportunities to support West Papua in Aotearoa, with cultural and political kōrero and talanoa.

This event is an opportunity for students, community groups, media, unions, academics and activists to learn more about West Papua and the current regional and political context.

A media seminar featuring Victor Mambor and organised by the Asia Pacific Media Network (APMN) will also be held at the Whānau Community Centre and Hub on Monday, March 9.

• Note: The Forum event is being held at two venues — the Auckland University Old Choral Hall, 7 Symonds Street, on Saturday, March 7 (9.00am-4.30pm), and at “The Taro Patch”, 9 Dunnotar Road, Papatoetoe, Auckland (close to train station) on Sunday, March 8  2026(9.00am-4.00pm).
• More details, koha and registration at Humanitix by February 20 2026

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

Will maximising investment returns override ethics? That is the question the tertiary sector posed to UniSaver, the academic equivalent of KiwiSaver, now revealed to invest in Israeli weapons and military intelligence.

In 2024, some 400 university staff appealed to UniSaver to divest from such companies.

The fund initially ignored the call.

The fund issued a statement in September 2025 emphasising its fiduciary duty to ensure best performance, arguing divestment was unnecessary because the New Zealand government had not imposed sanctions against Israel, and noting its Israel-linked exposure is only 0.11 percent of total assets.

After a November open letter signed by 715 staff, nearly double the earlier number, UniSaver agreed to meet representatives of the group.

What should the tenor of those discussions be?

And why should any of this matter to the average New Zealander returning from the summer lull, facing a new year that looks uncomfortably like the last, with no sign from the Prime Minister’s State of the Nation last weekend that domestic pressures will ease?

The core question
This is the core question: with so many local concerns, why should the Israel–Palestine conflict matter?

Or, more pointedly, why should 0.11 percent of a pension fund belonging to a relatively privileged cohort matter to those worried about jobs, the cost of living, and healthcare?

Global issues are closer than we think. The suffering of Gazans and the anxieties of New Zealanders share a root: public policy framed as instrumental and amoral, where the wellbeing of persons is sacrificed to detached abstractions of markets and efficiencies while morality and integrity are treated as incidental.

These attitudes yield the same harvest everywhere: dehumanisation, insecurity, and the corrosion of civic trust.

Our only defence is a moral standpoint that declares “thus far shall you come, and no farther”.

When a society publicly avows that certain principles, human dignity and the integrity of persons, are non negotiable, it restores those ideals to the centre of the public square.

This is what a rules-based order is for: to foreground the human person before power and profit. Where such an order is honoured, flourishing follows; where it is neglected, flourishing is the first casualty.

Small acts of moral probity — even a mere 0.11 percent — may appear inconsequential.

Beacons for human progress
Yet as articulations of what we hold valuable, they resound deeply in the moral universe. They are the lit matches that, gathered, become the beacon that lights human progress.

Recent years have seen our public life dominated by the contrary impulse: to measure every policy by an economic yardstick calibrated to austerity.

As we enter an election year, two paths lie before us: one paved by slavish adherence to instrumental rationality, the other by a politics that puts people in a place of honour and treats wellbeing, security, and human flourishing as the purpose, not by product, of policy.

We have precedents. In the 1930s, as the world entered a moment not unlike our own, New Zealand, small, distant, still reeling from the Depression, adopted what became known as a moral foreign policy.

After that most devastating conflict, we added our voice to a chorus that helped shape a rules-based international order privileging human rights, cooperation, and diplomacy over war.

From the gradual undermining of that settlement, particularly after the crisis-ridden 1970s, one can trace many of today’s global and national disorders.

So what has all this to do with UniSaver?

Instability gathering pace
From our relatively safe redoubt at the bottom of the world, we watch instability elsewhere gather pace. Shall we respond in the same polarising, amoral terms or recover the loftier stance that once gave us outsized moral influence?

The UniSaver Board now faces a profound opportunity. In opposing the 715 who call for ethical investment, it has chosen expediency over ethics.

But morality often begins with small, unfashionable acts that grow, over time, into the juggernaut of social change.

Consider how a small student-led divestment campaign in the 1950s catalysed what became the global movement that helped topple South African apartheid.

Such actions shift the parameters of the values debate. Even if it concerns only 0.11 percent, UniSaver can redraw the moral horizon.

If its decision signals that we value a fair go for all — yes, even for far off Palestinians — it will achieve far more than a simple reassignment of assets.

It will have reminded us who we are.

And it will return UniSaver to being an institution to be proud of, one that affirms that people matter at least as much as the return on investment.

Dr Vincent Wijeysingha is senior lecturer in social work and social policy at Massey University. He is a member of Uni Workers 4 Palestine but writes here in a personal capacity.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

In Gaza today, university scholarships have taken on a whole new meaning. No longer are they a step towards self-development, educational attainment or an academic experience in a different country.

For a whole generation of Gazan students, a foreign university scholarship has become a lifeline and one of the few remaining legal escape routes from the besieged territory.

Gaza’s students are not asking each other where they will study or which university programme is best; the question is existential: “Will I even be able to leave?”

In an environment that has become defined by war, trauma and uncertainty, a university education has taken on a whole new meaning, no longer just a human right or tool for building one’s future.

A university education is now a survival strategy.

The reality of higher education under siege
Over two million Palestinians in Gaza continue to live in exceptional circumstances, under an indefinite Israeli blockade interjected over the years by repeated wars and economic collapse.

The most recent war on the territory, which began after 7 October 2023, resulted in the complete destruction of Gaza’s education infrastructure.

While universities continue to operate partially, they do so among power outages, limited resources, damaged laboratories and libraries and poor internet access.

Language centres, where university-age Palestinian students would go to study for IELTS and TOEFL exams, two English proficiency exams for non-native speakers, which are prerequisites for many universities, were either destroyed or shut down as a result of the most recent war.

This has made meeting traditional admission requirements at foreign universities virtually impossible for many students.

“I had been preparing to take my IELTS exam for two years,” 24-year-old computer engineering graduate Samer Labad from Beit Lahia in North Gaza told The New Arab.

“The language centre I was studying at was completely destroyed in the war. Since then, there has been no stable electricity or internet.”

“How can we be required to meet [admissions requirements] when the tools for them no longer exist?”

More than a degree
Despite the difficult circumstances Palestinian students continue to live in, they have not given up on applying for scholarships in foreign universities. In fact, scholarship funding has increased over the last two years.

Since the most recent ceasefire, which went into effect on 10 October 2025, hundreds of Gazan students have continued to apply for scholarships, with 200 being successful so far.

According to international independent educational initiatives, last year, dozens of students successfully left the Strip to enrol and begin their scholarships abroad. This increase in applications for foreign scholarships does not come from a desire to emigrate, but from the search for safety and psychological stability.

Yasser*, a 26-year-old computer science graduate, recently secured a scholarship for his Master’s degree in Germany.

“I did not only apply for this scholarship because of my love for computer science, but because I felt like my life in Gaza is on hold: work, marriage, my future.” he said.

“This scholarship has enabled me to regain a sense of control over my life.”

He added: “How do you explain to university admissions teams that you’re applying not only so you can learn, but so you can live?”

The surge in demand for scholarships post-October 2023
Israel’s most recent war on Gaza changed the relationship between Gaza’s students and foreign university scholarships forever.

Students no longer viewed a foreign scholarship as a future possibility or nice-to-have, but a necessity for survival in an emergency.

Alaa Al-Turk, an accounting graduate from Al-Jalaa in North Gaza, said when Israel’s genocide broke out in October 2023, his plans to apply for a foreign scholarship transformed from being long-term to imminent.

“In October 2023, I felt like time had run out. I thought, ‘Either I get out [of Gaza] now, or I stay in a danger zone indefinitely.’”

Social experts believe this sharp surge in applications for foreign scholarships since October 2023 reflects a shift in the role of education in Gaza, from a natural path to self-development to a means of emergency survival.

Scholarships not only enable young Palestinians to attempt to leave Gaza legally, but psychologically, they are being used as an attempt to regain control over their destinies.

International universities step in
Understanding the exceptional circumstances Palestinian students face, some international universities in the UK, Germany, Italy, Turkïye and some Scandinavian countries have taken steps to facilitate the admission of students from Gaza.

These steps include offering scholarships specifically for Palestinians from Gaza or easing admissions requirements, particularly language requirements. Some have accepted applications from Gazan students without TOEFL and IELTS exams.

“I was so afraid the university would not accept me because I did not have a language certificate,” said 22-year-old English graduate Layan Al Mashharawi from Shuja’iyya in East Gaza.

“They conducted a lengthy interview with me and told me they knew the issue isn’t my language level, but where I live.”

In the UK, the University of Manchester, the University of Birmingham and SOAS in London have eased admissions requirements for Palestinian students from Gaza as part of the Chevening Scholarships programme, including relaxing language and document requirements.

In Ireland, universities such as Trinity College Dublin and University College Dublin have accepted Palestinian students from Gaza onto their programmes, with special humanitarian and academic arrangements.

The University of the United Arab Emirates offers Palestinian students from Gaza full scholarships.

Independent initiatives such as Scholarships for Ghazza and the Gaza Scholarship Initiative have played a large role in connecting Gazan students with these universities.

A scholarship does not always lead to an exit
Obtaining a foreign scholarship does not automatically mean an exit from Gaza. The bigger challenge is actually leaving the Strip.

Gaza’s border crossings are open only for limited periods, and they are sporadic and irregular. There are complex coordination lists and security approvals, making it a highly stressful process.

Every delay to crossing the border puts Palestinian students at risk of losing their scholarships, and every border closure places them back at square one. Many live for months in a state of limbo, waiting for academic acceptance and geographical isolation.

“I was living between two suitcases,” said political science student Noor Hijazi from Deir-El-Balah in central Gaza.

“One packed and ready for travel, and the other for the life I would have to return to if I failed to leave Gaza. This waiting was more stressful than the studying itself.”

Meanwhile, 27-year-old Master’s student Mahmoud Awad from Khan Younis in South Gaza almost missed the start of his degree.

“The university sent me a starting date three times, and each time I explained to them that the problem wasn’t my visa but my inability to leave Gaza. I was afraid I would lose my scholarship because of something that was beyond my control,” he told The New Arab. 

When university admission becomes a commodity for survival
With the near-total closure of Gaza’s borders and lack of safe and legal routes out of the territory comes the rise of a disturbing new phenomenon: purchasing acceptance into a university programme not for study but to leave the Strip.

It is not a topic students will talk about openly; those who spoke to The New Arab asked to have their identities protected not for fear of legal repercussion, but because of the moral stigma.

Behind this phenomenon lies a reality more complex than mere cheating. It comes with legal and financial risks, and those who benefit are the middlemen.

Twenty-nine-year-old Karim* said: “I wasn’t looking for a university, I was looking for a door. I applied for official scholarships the traditional way and was unsuccessful.

“The waiting was mentally killing me. At the end, I paid for acceptance into a university just so I could leave.”

Another student, 27-year-old Heba* said: ” I knew I might not be able to continue my studies, but staying in Gaza was no longer an option. I wasn’t buying a university education; I was buying a chance at survival.”

Education should not be a corridor to survival
What Gaza’s university-age students are asking for is not emigration, but the ability to choose to study, travel and also return to Gaza without these options being a matter of life and death.

University scholarships should not be a ticket to survival, and education should not become a substitute for the basic human rights of freedom of movement and the right to live with dignity.

Until that happens, for Gaza’s students, foreign scholarships will remain more than an academic opportunity.

*Names changed upon request

Haya Ahmed is a doctor and freelance writer from Gaza. This article was first published by The New Arab.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

The logbook of presidential flights in Indonesia reveals an unusual pattern — from the Merdeka Palace to the Land of the Bird of Paradise.

By 2023, then President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo had set foot in Papua at least 17 times — a record in the republic’s history, surpassing the total visits of all previous presidents combined.

Each touchdown of the presidential plane on the land of Papua or at the new airports he inaugurated was more than just a working visit. It was a statement of presence as a political message: Papua is no longer marginalised; it exists on Indonesia’s main political map.

Yet, behind the roar of the presidential plane and the welcoming traditional dances, lies a critical question: Has the physical presence of a national leader, accompanied by the rumble of massive infrastructure projects, touched the core issues of Papua?

Or has it merely become a grand symbol of integration, while social fractures, injustice, and sorrow continue to flow?

This analysis evaluates the multifaceted impact of President Jokowi’s dozen plus visits and draw crucial lessons for the new administration of President Prabowo Subianto and Vice-President Gibran Rakabuming Raka (Jokowi’s Son) in weaving a more just and sustainable Papuan policy.

The multidimensional impact of Jokowi’s visits
From a national political perspective, the frequency of President Jokowi’s visits to Papua, was a smart and unprecedented political communication strategy. Each landing in the Melanesian land has not merely been a routine agenda but a powerful symbolic political performance.

Handshakes with tribal chiefs, meetings with traditional leaders in public arenas, and speeches amid crowds function as direct counter-narratives to long-standing issues of marginalisation and separatism.

This physical presidential presence is an undeniable visual declaration: Papua is an inseparable part of Indonesia, and the nation’s highest leader is consistently present there.

This presence serves as a potent tool of state legitimacy, shortening the psychological distance between the centre of power in Jakarta and the easternmost Melanesian region, while demonstrating the intended political commitment. However, beneath this symbolism, the legitimacy built through physical presence is temporary if not supported by real structural change.

The critical question often raised by the community, especially Indigenous Papuans (OAP), is simple yet fundamental: “After the president’s planes and helicopters leave and the protocol frenzy subsides, what has truly changed for our lives?”

The narrative of integration through presence and physical development often clashes with demands for self-determination and historical grievances still alive among indigenous Papuans, as reflected in the ongoing armed conflict in the Central Highlands, indicating that this approach has not fully addressed the deep-seated roots of dissatisfaction.

The most visible legacy of the Jokowi era in Papua is none other than the infrastructure revolution — thousands of kilometres of the Trans-Papua Road cutting through wilderness and remote mountains, the magnificent Youtefa Bridge in Jayapura, and airport modernisations like Ewer Airport in Asmat, Wamena Airport, and the construction of the trans-Wamena-Jayapura road, Wamena-Nduga road, and other physical developments.

The government’s logic is that connectivity is an absolute prerequisite for growth. With good roads, the price of necessities in the interior is expected to drop, tourism can develop, and public services like health and education can become faster and more equitable.

Data from the Ministry of Public Works and Housing indeed records significant accessibility improvements. However, behind this physical progress, reports from organisations like the Pusaka Foundation and Greenpeace Indonesia warn of massive and often overlooked ecological impacts.

The opening of certain segments of the Trans-Papua Road is judged to accelerate deforestation, threaten Papua’s unique biodiversity, and disrupt watershed areas.

More profoundly, the issue of community involvement and consent in land acquisition processes often becomes a source of new conflict, sparking tension. As Indonesian human rights activist Usman Hamid has stated, infrastructure development is like a double-edged sword: on one side, it opens isolation and shortens distances, but on the other, it paradoxically erodes customary land rights, damages the environment that is the source of their cultural life and subsistence, and ironically, is enjoyed more by new settlers with greater capital and networks.

On the socio-economic level, the government vigorously distributed various social assistance programmes such as the Indonesia Health Card (KIS), Indonesia Smart Card (KIP), and various forms of Direct Cash Assistance (BLT).

These affirmative policies aim directly at catching up on welfare gaps and, statistically, have succeeded in reducing poverty rates in cities like Jayapura, although they remain the highest nationally. Sectors like Youtefa Bay tourism also show rapid growth. However, the economic growth created is often enclave-like and not inclusive.

Maria, a small business owner in Jayapura, illustrates this reality — large infrastructure projects are handled by contractors from outside Papua, hotels and medium-scale businesses are often owned by non-Papuan investors, while local SMEs struggle to compete due to limited access to capital, training, and marketing networks.

The structural gap between OAP and non-Papuans in ownership of means of production and access to quality job opportunities remains wide. Consequently, many Papuan sons and daughters only become manual labourers or contract workers on the grand projects building their ancestral land, an irony that deepens the sense of injustice.

In the socio-cultural realm, President Jokowi’s presence, often adorned with Papuan cultural ornaments and humbly participating in traditional dances, was a powerful form of symbolic recognition. This gesture sent a national message that Papuan culture is respected and valued at the highest state level.

However, this symbolic recognition on the political stage often does not align with the daily reality in Papua. The late Papuan peace figure, Father Neles Tebay, once described that in Papuan cities, “two worlds” often coexist but do not integrate: the modern world of migrants dominating the formal sector and modern economy, and the world of indigenous communities, often marginalised in culturally insensitive development processes.

Ethnic-tinged horizontal conflicts that have occurred, such as in Jayapura and Mimika, are clear indicators of how fragile social harmony is and how deep the unresolved socio-cultural gap remains.

The darkest and most challenging point of this entire development narrative lies in human rights issues and the unending armed conflict. Although presidential visits often include a conflict resolution agenda, incidents of human rights violations and armed clashes between security forces and the TPNPB (West Papua National Liberation Army) continue to recur, with unarmed civilians often becoming trapped victims, as in the tragedies in Nduga and Intan Jaya highlighted by Komnas HAM and LBH Jakarta.

An approach relying almost solely on physical development, unaccompanied by sincere efforts towards historical reconciliation and fair, transparent law enforcement for past human rights violations, is considered by many in Papua as merely “covering a festering internal wound with a bandage”.

This unresolved historical pain and injustice continues to be the main fuel for resistance and demands for independence, proving that concrete and asphalt roads alone are not enough to build lasting peace and justice felt by all the nation’s children.

Valuable lessons for the Prabowo-Gibran era
The current administration under President Prabowo Subianto and Vice-President Gibran Rakabuming Raka must not continue the Papuan policy with business as usual. The previous administration’s legacy offers a clear roadmap, as well as warnings about dead ends that must be avoided.

Four critical lessons should form the basis for transitioning from symbolic development to substantive, just transformation.

First, policy focus must undergo a paradigm shift from mere physical development towards the holistic empowerment of Papuan people. This means massive investment in quality education with curricula relevant to social contexts and local potential, as well as vocational training that equips Indigenous Papuans with skills to manage the economy on their own land.

Firm and measurable affirmative schemes must be designed to ensure Indigenous Papuans are not merely spectators, but the primary owners and managers of strategic economic sectors, from culture-based tourism and organic agriculture to creative industries.

Without this step, magnificent infrastructure will only become a channel for an extractive economy controlled by outsiders, perpetuating dependency and disparity.

Second, the government must enforce the principle of absolute harmony between development, cultural preservation, and environmental protection. Every major project, especially those touching customary lands and indigenous forest areas, must undergo credible, participatory, and legally binding Environmental and Social-Cultural Impact Assessments (AMDAL & ANDAL).

Development must no longer sacrifice local wisdom and ecosystems that are the soul and identity of Papuan society. Development models imported from Java or Sumatra must be reviewed and replaced with approaches born from dialogue with local ecology and culture, so that progress is not synonymous with environmental destruction and cultural marginalisation.

Third, this new era must open space for conflict resolution through a courageous approach of dialogue and reconciliation. The government needs to initiate inclusive dialogue involving all elements of Papuan society, including pro-independence groups willing to discuss peacefully, to address the roots of historical and structural dissatisfaction.

This complex issue has been comprehensively formulated by the Papua Peace Network. The establishment of an independent and trusted Papua Truth and Reconciliation Commission could be a monumental step to heal past wounds and build a foundation for sustainable peace, recognising that true security is born from justice.

Fourth, Special Autonomy must be revived in its meaning and spirit. A comprehensive evaluation of the implementation of the Special Autonomy Law, along with its trillions of rupiah in fund flows, is a necessity.

These funds must be shifted from physical projects that are often off-target to investments in enhancing the capacity, health, and economy of indigenous Papuans. More importantly, Special Autonomy must be interpreted as a political recognition of the special rights of Indigenous Papuans.

This means strengthening traditional institutions and providing real and decisive participatory space in every strategic decision-making at the provincial and district levels, so that policies are no longer felt as something imposed from Jakarta.

Ultimately, the main challenge for the Prabowo-Gibran administration is to demonstrate that commitment to Papua goes beyond rhetoric and showcase projects. Success will be measured not by the length of roads built, but by the fading of tension, the reduction of disparities, and the rise of self-confidence and economic independence among Indigenous Papuans.

Only by making these four pillars — human empowerment, harmony, dialogue, and living autonomy — the foundation of policy can Papua be truly integrated into the Republic of Indonesia in a dignified and sustainable manner.

A revolutionary approach model
To translate the lessons from the previous era, the current administration requires a radical change in its approach model, moving from a centralised development paradigm towards participatory governance based on Papuan native institutions.

The most revolutionary option is to form a special ministry focused on empowering Indigenous Papuans, inspired by the Ministry of Māori Development in New Zealand.

This ministry is not intended to manage regional administration, but specifically to guarantee the fulfilment of indigenous Papuans’ rights, as mandated in the Special Autonomy Law.

By placing the Governing Body for the Acceleration of Special Autonomy Development in Papua (BP3OKP) and the Papua Special Autonomy Acceleration Executive Committee under it, the government can create centralised, strong, and accountable coordination, thereby avoiding programme overlap and leakage of Special Autonomy funds.

This institutional revolution must be supported by data-based governance and authentic participation. Every policy and fund allocation, especially the massive Special Autonomy funds, must arise from rigorous data studies and in-depth dialogue with the community, rather than just technocratic planning in Jakarta.

Transparency and accountability in fund use must be guaranteed through independent oversight mechanisms that actively involve representatives of traditional councils or institutions, religious institutions, and local NGOs as watchdogs. Only then can the allocated funds truly become an instrument of change, not merely an instrument of expenditure.

Another key pillar is building equal and formal partnerships with Papuan traditional institutions, such as the Papuan Customary Council (DAP) and various stakeholders. These institutions are not merely ceremonial objects but must be recognised as strategic government partners in every stage of development, from planning and implementation to evaluation.

As socio-cultural anchors, understanding the pulse and real needs of the community, their involvement can prevent social conflict and ensure development programmes align with local wisdom and customary rights.

Furthermore, meaningful decentralisation becomes a prerequisite for success. Local governments in Papua must be given substantive authority and massive capacity building to independently manage natural resources and public services.

Moreover, the development approach must start from the grassroots, making participatory development at the village level the standard method. This method ensures that community aspirations are heard directly and the projects implemented truly address their priority needs, not merely pursuing physical targets.

Ultimately, this approach aims to reverse the traditional relationship between the central government and local governments in Papua. From a relationship that has so far seemed patron-client, to a partnership based on the sovereignty of indigenous communities and substantive justice.

Thus, development is no longer felt as something given from above, but something built together from below, creating a sense of ownership and sustainability that will become the foundation for long-term peace and prosperity in Papua.

Indonesianising in the Papuan Way
Reinterpreting the term “Indonesianising” Papua is a main task for the current administration. This concept must no longer be interpreted as an assimilation process erasing distinctive identity, but must transform into an integration that respects uniqueness.

True integration is not homogenisation, but an effort to embrace diversity as a strength. In this context, Indonesia is not a single mould, but a mosaic that gains its beauty precisely from the differences of each piece. For this, a multidimensional approach grounded in four main pillars is required.

First, in the field of education, the national curriculum must become more flexible and inclusive. Enrichment with local content — such as the history and wisdom of Papuan tribes, local languages, and inherited ecological wisdom — should not be merely supplementary, but the core of the learning process.

Schools must become places where Papuan children are proud of their identity while mastering global competencies. Second, in the field of the economy, self-reliance must be built on local strengths.

Easily accessible micro-financing systems, entrepreneurship training, and strong marketing support for flagship products like Wamena arabica coffee, sago, matoa, or high-value marine products will create a sovereign economy that empowers, rather than displaces, the indigenous people.

Third, recognition at the legal level is the foundation of justice. Recognition of the customary land rights of indigenous communities in land and natural resource governance must be guaranteed and integrated into national regulations. This is a concrete step to prevent agrarian conflict and ensure development benefits return to the rightful land owners.

Fourth, building intensive cultural dialogue through student, artist, and youth exchange programs between Papua and other regions, or other countries. This direct interaction will break the chain of prejudice, build empathy, and strengthen a true sense of brotherhood as one nation.

Towards a ‘Just Papua’
The legacy from the previous period is ambivalent. On one hand, there is magnificent infrastructure and symbolic integration strengthened through physical presence; on the other, deep disappointment remains due to unbridged gaps and a persistently pulsating conflict.

The Prabowo-Gibran administration now stands at a historical crossroads. The choice is between continuing the visually spectacular yet often elitist “concrete development” model or taking a more winding yet dignified path: namely, the Papuan human empowerment model, which places indigenous Papuans as the primary subject and heir to the future of their own land.

This strategic choice will be fate-determining. It will measure, later at the end of their term, whether presidential and vice-presidential visits to Papua are still met with cold protocol performances, or with new hope and genuine smiles from a people who feel recognised, valued, and empowered.

Ultimately, genuine national integration can only be realised when Indigenous Papuans can stand tall with all their identity and dignity, not as a party being “Indonesianised,” but as fully-fledged Indonesians who also shape the face of the nation.

The future of Papua is not about becoming like others, but about being itself in the embrace of the Bird of Garuda.

Laurens Ikinia is a Papuan lecturer and researcher at the Institute of Pacific Studies, Indonesian Christian University, Jakarta. He is also an honorary member of the Asia Pacific Media Network (APMN) in Aotearoa New Zealand, and an occasional contributor to Asia Pacific Report.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

COMMENTARY: By Eugene Doyle

Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney gave a speech at Davos this week that signals there may still be a leader in the West worth following.

“Middle powers must act together because if we’re not at the table, we’re on the menu,” he warned.

The Canadian PM was brutally honest about Western conduct in the world but shone a bright light on a better path forward.

At a time when the US has pivoted to a smash-and-grab deployment of hard power that now extends to its closest allies, Carney stepped up.

The speech wasn’t a rhetorical tour de force; it was better than that: it was a declaration by the leader of a major, middle ranked Western power that the snivelling compliance, the fawning and the keep-your-head-down approach that has typified the collective West’s response to Trumpism is at a strategic dead end.

We are at a moment which Carney defines as “a rupture in the world order”.

Nostalgia is not a strategy
“We know the old order is not coming back. We shouldn’t mourn it. Nostalgia is not a strategy,” Carney said.

At a time when the US is led by a criminal toddler who can’t stop whining about not getting the Nobel Peace Prize even as he attacks country after country, it is refreshing to encounter a leader who thinks and speaks like a statesman of the first rank.

“We are in the midst of a rupture, not a transition. Over the past two decades, a series of crises in finance, health, energy and geopolitics have laid bare the risks of extreme global integration.

“But more recently, great powers have begun using economic integration as weapons, tariffs as leverage, financial infrastructure as coercion, supply chains as vulnerabilities to be exploited,” Carney said.

A modern non-aligned movement
Carney did not reference the Non-Aligned Movement formed at the Belgrade Conference in September 1961 but it leapt to my mind when I heard him say:

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

COMMENTARY: By Laurens Ikinia in Jakarta

The island of Papua is a land of profound paradox. Beneath its ancient, cathedral-like forests and within its mineral-rich mountains lies a narrative of staggering contrast.

It is a place where immense natural wealth exists alongside some of Indonesia’s most acute human development challenges.

This dissonance poses a central riddle: why does a land of such abundance host populations grappling with persistent poverty, gaps in education and healthcare, and a deep sense of political marginalisation?

A principle found in Papuan wisdom offers a starting point: the past is a mirror for gazing upon tomorrow.

To understand Papua’s present and navigate its future, we must look honestly into that mirror. Yet, when the reflection shows recurring patterns of inequality and unfulfilled promises, we are compelled to ask what kind of future is being built.

The story of Papua is not merely one of resources; it is fundamentally about people, their rights, and their place within the Indonesian nation.

This reflection need not occur in isolation. Looking east across the Pacific, two nations — Australia and New Zealand — have embarked on their own complex, painful, and unfinished journeys of reconciling with their Indigenous peoples.

Their experiences are not blueprints, but they offer invaluable mirrors in which Indonesia might glimpse reflections of its own challenges and potential pathways forward.

The central, reflective question is this: Amidst Indonesia’s unique historical and political complexity, is there room to learn from these Pacific neighbours? Can Jakarta find a distinctive, yet equally courageous, path to reconciliation with Papua?

Unsettled foundation: A history demanding to be heard
Any discussion of Papua must begin by acknowledging the fractured foundation upon which its relationship with Jakarta is built. Unlike New Zealand, where the Treaty of Waitangi (1840) provides a contested but acknowledged founding document for Crown-Māori relations, Indonesia and Papua have no mutually agreed foundational treaty.

Papua’s integration was solidified through the Act of Free Choice (Pepera) in 1969, a process whose legitimacy remains internationally debated and is remembered with bitterness by many Papuans.

This unresolved historical grievance is the DNA of the conflict. It infects every policy, fuels distrust, and allows security-centric approaches to dominate.

Jakarta’s apparent reluctance to engage in open, high-level dialogue about this history keeps the wound open. New Zealand’s experience, though painful and expensive, demonstrates that confronting a dark past is not a threat to national unity, but a prerequisite for building a common future on a clearer moral and legal foundation.

The first lesson from the Pacific is that sustainable solutions cannot be built on unacknowledged history.

The Australian mirror: Pillars of incremental recognition
Australia’s relationship with its Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples represents a protracted and painful journey from the brutal realities of colonisation toward a fragile, imperfect process of recognition and repair.

The historical backdrop is one of profound trauma, marked by dispossession, assimilation policies, and the devastating legacy of the Stolen Generations. Yet, in recent decades, a discernible — though inconsistent — policy shift has emerged, built upon several key pillars that provide a structured, if unfinished, framework for addressing historical wrongs.

These pillars offer critical points of comparison for other contexts, such as that of West Papua under Indonesian administration, illuminating stark contrasts in both philosophy and outcome.

Political recognition: From absence to acknowledgment
The 1967 Referendum, which allowed Aboriginal people to be counted in the census and gave the federal government power to make laws for them, stands as a symbolic turning point in Australian political consciousness. Today, the lexicon of recognition is embedded in official discourse, with terms like “First Nations People” and “Traditional Custodians” routinely used in parliamentary speeches and public ceremonies.

The establishment of the National Indigenous Australians Agency (NIAA) represents a systematic, though often criticised, effort to coordinate policy across government. This reflects a tangible, if uneven, move toward recognising Aboriginal peoples not merely as citizens, but as original inhabitants with a unique historical and cultural status deserving of specific acknowledgment.

Papuan Special Autonomy: Otsus in stark contrast
In stark contrast, Jakarta’s primary instrument for Papua is Special Autonomy (Otsus), a policy centered on fiscal transfers and nominal political affirmation. While Otsus mandates native Papuan leadership in provincial governments, its essence is consistently stifled by centralised security policies, the dominance of national political parties, and the imposition of territorial divisions with minimal deep consultation.

Consequently, Otsus feels less like a partnership born of genuine historical recognition and more like a technical administrative concession granted — and tightly controlled — from the centre. The core Papuan struggle remains one for existential recognition: an acknowledgment of their distinct identity as Indigenous peoples with inherent political rights, rather than merely as beneficiaries of state-administered policy.

Economic rights: Land and resource sovereignty
Australia’s Native Title Act of 1993 was a revolutionary legal development, overturning the doctrine of terra nullius and recognising the persistence of Aboriginal traditional ownership and connection to land. Although the claims process is notoriously arduous and contested, it has resulted in the return of millions of hectares of land.

Complementing this are land handback programmes and innovative co-management models for national parks and cultural sites, such as Uluru-Kata Tjuta.

Furthermore, nascent royalty-sharing schemes from mining on Indigenous-held land aim to provide an independent economic base, positioning communities not as passive recipients but as stakeholders with property rights.

The contrast with Papua is profound. The region functions as Indonesia’s primary economic engine, with megaprojects like the Freeport copper and gold mine and the Tangguh LNG facility driving national exports. Yet, this extractive model is intensely centralised, with profits flowing to Jakarta and global corporate headquarters while Indigenous communities near these operations often live in stark deprivation.

Otsus funds, while substantial, are funneled through government mechanisms and do not alter this fundamental, exploitative structure. Critically, Papuan customary land rights (hak ulayat) are routinely overridden by state-issued business permits. There exists no large-scale, legally empowered mechanism for reparations or asset restitution to Papuan tribes, leaving them economically marginalised on their own land.

Social policy: Closing the gap
Since 2008, Australia has formally adopted the Closing the Gap Strategy, a framework establishing specific, measurable targets for improving Indigenous life outcomes in health, education, and employment.

This strategy represents an explicit, if imperfect, admission that historical marginalization requires targeted, accountable, and data-driven intervention by the state. It acknowledges a collective responsibility to address disparities directly, even as critiques of its implementation and pace persist.

Indonesia lacks an equivalent national policy framework specifically tailored to address Papua’s acute and unique disparities. Development indicators and programs are largely standardized, failing to account for Papua’s distinct geography, history, and cultural context. As a result, health and education systems suffer from severe infrastructure deficits, critical staffing shortages, and a curriculum that ignores local knowledge.

Maternal mortality and malnutrition rates remain among the highest in Southeast Asia. The fundamental gap lies in agency: for meaningful progress, Papuans must be transformed from objects of development into its active, designing subjects.

Cultural recognition: Beyond symbolism
In Australia, Aboriginal cultural expression has increasingly moved beyond tokenism toward a more integrated, though still contested, national presence. Indigenous languages are being documented and revitalised, customary law receives limited recognition within the justice system, and Aboriginal art is celebrated as central to the nation’s identity.

The practice of acknowledging Traditional Custodians at the outset of official events, while symbolic, performs a daily act of cognitive recognition.

In Papua, the situation is different. The region’s stunning cultural diversity, encompassing over 250 distinct languages, is often treated as an intangible treasure or tourist asset rather than a living foundation for governance.

Local languages are not mediums of formal instruction, and customary norms are easily overridden by narratives of national unity and acculturation. While Papuan art and ritual are occasionally showcased, they are seldom integrated into substantive policymaking for cultural preservation and transmission, leaving this profound heritage vulnerable to erosion.

New Zealand mirror: A framework for courageous reconciliation
If Australia demonstrates a fitful journey toward recognition, New Zealand presents a more advanced, treaty-based model of reconciliation. The 1840 Treaty of Waitangi, despite its contested translations and history of breaches, is the accepted foundational document of the modern state. This has provided a crucial platform for building concrete mechanisms to address historical grievances and partnership.

The Waitangi Tribunal and reparations
Established in 1975, the Waitangi Tribunal is a permanent commission of inquiry that investigates Crown actions alleged to breach the Treaty’s principles. Its recommendations have fueled a massive, ongoing process of historical settlement involving land restitution, financial compensation, and formal Crown apologies.

This process, while not without controversy, provides a formal channel for redressing historical wrongs and transferring resources back to Māori iwi (tribes).

Guaranteed political voice
Māori have had dedicated parliamentary seats since 1867, ensuring a direct voice in the national legislature. This has been complemented by the rise of a dedicated Te Pati Māori political party and the establishment of the Ministry for Māori Development (Te Puni Kōkiri), which advocates for Māori interests within the government apparatus.

This structural presence ensures that Indigenous perspectives are embedded in political discourse.

Biculturalism as national policy
Biculturalism is woven into New Zealand’s institutional fabric. Te reo Māori is an official language, supported by Māori-language immersion schools (Kura Kaupapa Māori), a dedicated television channel (Māori Television), and prominent university faculties.

The national curriculum incorporates Māori history, knowledge, and perspectives, fostering a broader public understanding.

Comparison with Papua
For Papua, the absence of any such foundational agreement or framework leaves a profound vacuum. There is no equivalent to the Waitangi Tribunal to investigate historical grievances or restore resources.

Politically, there are no guaranteed mechanisms for Papuan representation at the national level in Indonesia. Socio-culturally, while Papua’s languages are celebrated in folkloric terms, there is no nationally broadcast, Papuan-led television channel or a system of dedicated higher education institutes focused on Melanesian studies and leadership.

New Zealand’s lesson is the transformative power of a framework — however contested — that creates institutional channels for grievance, voice, and cultural revitalization.

Deep Pacific connection: Why New Zealand cares
New Zealand’s sustained attention on Papua transcends standard diplomatic concern; it is rooted in profound connections that resonate deeply with the New Zealand public and polity, creating a unique sense of obligation.

First, a demographic kinship creates relatability: New Zealand’s population of approximately 5.1 million is nearly equivalent to the population of Indonesia’s six Papuan provinces (around 5.6 million). This similar scale makes the challenges faced by Papuans feel immediate and comprehensible.

More profoundly, there are undeniable historical and anthropological links. Scientific research in population genetics traces Polynesian ancestry, including that of Māori, back through Melanesia.

Culturally, the social structures of Papuan highlands tribes, with their complex clan and confederation systems, closely mirror the traditional Māori hapu (clan) and iwi (tribe) organisations. Similarities extend to concepts of customary governance, spirituality, and reciprocal exchange, suggesting shared ancestral roots.

This connection is cemented by modern history. Papuan people provided crucial aid to Australian and New Zealand troops during the Pacific War in thd Second World War. Furthermore, as documented by historians like Maire Leadbeater, New Zealand was indirectly involved in the territory’s mid-century fate, initially supporting Dutch efforts to prepare Papua for independence before acquiescing to the controversial Act of Free Choice that facilitated Indonesian integration.

For many New Zealanders, particularly Māori, advocating for Papuans is viewed as a Tangata Moana (People of the Ocean) responsibility — a moral, cultural, and spiritual call to support fellow Pacific indigenes facing adversity.

This deeply felt public and civic sentiment ensures the issue remains persistently alive in New Zealand’s parliament, churches, universities, and civil society, constantly applying pressure and challenging any government inclination toward a “business as usual” foreign policy approach toward Indonesia regarding Papua.

This unique solidarity, born of shared identity and history, makes New Zealand a distinct and vocal stakeholder in Papua’s ongoing struggle.

Forging a distinctive path: Strategic recommendations for Indonesia
Indonesia’s engagement with the Pacific region offers a reservoir of wisdom, yet the fundamental lesson is that adaptation, not adoption, is key. The nation’s immense diversity, complex history, and unique political architecture mean that solutions cannot be copy-pasted.

However, the perennial fear of national disintegration must not become a paralysing force that stifles the bold policy innovation required to address the root causes of discord, particularly in Papua. Moving beyond rhetorical commitments to tangible action demands significant political will and courage.

The following recommendations outline a potential pathway for transformative change, aiming to forge a new social contract built on justice, partnership, and genuine autonomy:

The journey must begin with a profound act of historical reckoning and political courage. The President should personally initiate a high-level National Reconciliation Framework for Papua.

This would be a landmark political initiative, potentially involving the establishment of an independent Papuan Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Its mandate must be coupled with an official, unambiguous state acknowledgment of past human rights violations.

This process would create a structured and equal dialogue platform, moving past cycles of recrimination. Addressing this historical wound is not an end in itself but a necessary precondition to cleanse the poisoned well of present-day interactions and build a foundation of trust for all subsequent reforms.

Concurrently, the policy of Special Autonomy must be radically reimagined. The concept of “Otsus Plus” should evolve from a mechanism of fiscal devolution into a genuine political and economic partnership. This entails granting local governments conditional veto rights over major investments affecting customary land (ulayat), ensuring development is not imposed but negotiated.

Furthermore, the legislative and cultural authority of the Papuan People’s Assembly (MRP) as the authentic voice of indigenous institutions must be constitutionally strengthened.

Finally, granting full autonomy over education and cultural policy, including locally relevant curricula and language instruction, is essential for preserving Papuan identity and fostering endogenous development.

True partnership is impossible without a fundamental restructuring of the economic model in Papua. The economy must shift from a centralised, extractive paradigm to one based on community sovereignty and benefit.

This requires legalising and strengthening customary land rights (hak ulayat) as a supreme legal principle, not a secondary consideration. Building on this, transparent and direct royalty-sharing mechanisms from natural resource projects must be established, ensuring proceeds flow to indigenous land-owning communities.

Complementing this, a Papuan-led “Closing the Gap” strategy with clear, measurable targets for health, education, and employment should be developed, with progress annually reported to the national parliament to ensure accountability.

Security and political representation form the twin pillars of stability and dignity. The prevailing security approach must be recalibrated to prioritise dialogue, community engagement, and human security over militarized confrontation. In parallel, to ensure Papuan voices are substantively embedded in national lawmaking, permanent seats for indigenous Papuan representatives should be constitutionally created in the Indonesian House of Representatives (DPR RI).

Following the precedent set for Aceh, this guaranteed political representation would ensure Papuan perspectives directly influence national legislation that affects their lives, transforming them from subjects of policy to active architects of their future within the Republic.

Finally, Indonesia should strategically reframe its external engagement regarding Papua. Rather than viewing the Pacific’s cultural and political solidarity with Melanesian Papuans as a point of friction, Indonesia should embrace it as an opportunity for cultural diplomacy.

By proactively encouraging and funding robust academic, cultural, and civil society exchanges between Papuan and Māori/Pacific Island communities, Indonesia can build powerful bridges of people-to-people understanding. This initiative would acknowledge shared heritage while showcasing Indonesia’s commitment to inclusive development, thereby transforming a diplomatic challenge into a channel for soft-power connection and regional leadership.

In conclusion, this pathway is neither simple nor quick, but it is necessary. It calls for a series of courageous, interconnected leaps from the status quo toward a system predicated on acknowledgment, partnership, and substantive self-determination.

By addressing historical grievances, redesigning autonomy, restructuring the economy, reforming security, guaranteeing political voice, and leveraging cultural diplomacy, Indonesia has the potential to resolve its most persistent internal conflict. The result would be a stronger, more unified nation, where stability is built not on force but on justice and the full recognition of its diverse peoples’ aspirations.

Hope for the Land of Papua
The fate of Papua is the ultimate test of Indonesia’s inclusive nationhood. It can no longer be managed through a narrow security lens or obscured by macroeconomic statistics. This is about people, identity, history, and a shared future.

Hope endures. It shines in the eyes of Papuan children, the dedication of local health workers and teachers, and the voices of community and religious leaders calling for peace. It is also present among those in Jakarta who recognise the need for a new approach.

Australia and New Zealand, with their colonial burdens, have begun their imperfect journeys. Indonesia, with its experience of resolving the Aceh conflict through dialogue, can do the same. The condition is a fundamental shift in perspective: seeing Papuans not as a problem to be managed, but as equal partners and full subjects of their own destiny within the Republic.

A just and prosperous Papua is not a threat to Indonesia. It would be the fulfilment of the nation’s founding ideals of unity in diversity, and the pinnacle of a truly inclusive national project.

The mirror from the Pacific shows both the depth of the challenge and the possibility of a different reflection. It is now a matter of choosing to look and having the courage to act.

Laurens Ikinia is a Papuan lecturer and researcher at the Institute of Pacific Studies, Indonesian Christian University, Jakarta. He is also an honorary member of the Asia Pacific Media Network (APMN) in Aotearoa New Zealand and an occasional contributor to Asia Pacific Report.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

Internationally, we are marking the 2025 Human Rights Day at a time of extraordinary retreat from human rights protection across the World. Every human right, every breach of human right and every advance in the protection of human rights must matter equally to us.

The frameworks for human rights protection are well established internationally reflecting the genesis of the international system in the horrors of the Second World War. Social, cultural, political, women’s, indigenous, children’s, and all fundamental human rights are well protected in international laws that have evolved since then.

What may seem like a paralysis in protection of fundamental human rights internationally today does not arise from the absence of protections in international law but from the fractures that characterise the international interstate system in a phase of severe disruption.

The significant advances in protection of human rights internationally arose from a rare postwar geopolitical consensus. That global consensus is dead.

Though the UN Charter and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights have their origins in this context, it was not until 2008 that the UN made an explicit resolution on human rights and climate change stating that climate change posed a real and substantial threat to the full enjoyment of human rights.

The Pacific’s human rights story
When the Blue Pacific discusses human rights impacts of climate change, it is shaped by our lived realities. The fundamental right to life in the Pacific is persistently harmed by heat stress.

It is estimated that more than 1200 deaths annually are now attributed to heat stress.

The fundamental right to health is eroded by growing illnesses and diseases arising from rising temperatures. Across the Pacific, well in excess of 1000 deaths are already attributed to climate change related illnesses annually.

The fundamental right to water faces worsening pressures arising from sea water intrusion into ground water, more frequent and prolonged droughts and sewage contamination of water systems as a result of floodings.

The fundamental right to food is persistently harmed by rising surface and ocean temperatures and experienced through failed crops, subsistence farms destroyed by winds and rains, collapse of coral reef systems and with that oceanic foods.

Indigenous people’s rights are similarly persistently harmed as communities across Melanesia undertake climate change induced migration without corresponding transfer of land and other social and cultural rights.

In Tuvalu and atoll states these are likely to lead to more unsettling outcomes as their small and culturally compact communities get thinly dispersed across larger countries such as New Zealand, Australia and Fiji.

Policy choices are needed to respond to worsening human rights protection that are a consequence of climate change.

Climate change and human rights in Pacific education
The right to education is one of foundational rights in international law. Having access to continuous, safe and quality education is the foundation for the enjoyment of this right.

Every time a student misses school because the river that she crosses is flooded or at risk of flooding, that student is denied the full enjoyment of this right. Learning days lost are increasing in Fiji and Melanesia generally. This has lifelong consequences.

The more painful reality is that learning loss is felt so unevenly. It is often people in our poorest households who stay in most flood-prone areas.

In Fiji’s case it is also the case too many I-Taukei settlements/villages are in flood prone areas or in areas more likely to be cut off from school access roads and bridges.

The average day time surface temperatures has increased between 1-3 degrees Celsius across the Pacific within a space of four decades. It may be much higher in schools in urban areas. The safe classroom temperatures for children are 24-26 degrees Celsius at the upper end.

In many schools, classroom temperatures are well above 30C for days on end. The health impacts of prolonged exposure to these temperature are seen through general weaknesses, fainting, headaches and fatigue.

I know of no school that systematically monitors classroom temperatures. I have heard of schools closing down for a day or two when the risks of flooding are high. I have not heard of schools being closed when temperatures are in the mid-30s during periods of high humidity.

Quite shockingly, school building and major repairs are still being carried out in so many schools in exactly the same way as they were done 4-5 decades ago.

The human rights context in education is profoundly gendered. Some of these simply arise from the fact that decisions are made by male leaders.

When reconstruction of several schools in Vanua Levu happened a few years back, boys’ and girls’ hostels needed to be rebuilt following one of the recent cyclones.

The boys’ hostels were reconstructed within a year of two back-to-back cyclones. A 100 percent of the hostel boys were back in school.

The girl’s hostel took another year to be up and running. Only one girl returned to school from those who were resident in hostels during the cyclone year.

A whole generation of girls in the middle to high schools from one of the most disadvantages regions of our country and from some of the most economically disadvantaged communities had simply dropped out of school.

This is a story that repeats itself in so many ways each across the Pacific.

Health, human rights and climate change
As with education, universal access to the sufficient health care constitutes yet another core human right.

One of the worst and least understood aspects of the health and climate change interface in the Pacific is its impacts on mental health.

Following extreme weather events — mental health consequences linger for long periods and most intensely among young children. When winds pick up ever so slightly, many children in schools get frightened — scared — quietly reliving their trauma in full view of teachers who are poorly trained to understand what is happening.

But the health consequences of climate change are far broader. Influenza, dengue including in off seasons, leptospirosis are profoundly impacting our communities. Loss of concentration, performance and worsening learning outcomes are some of these harsh trendlines inside classrooms.

Growing food insecurity
The right to food is a core part of our global human rights architecture. A few years back I had the great pleasure of visiting several schools in Vanua Levu.

I have taught in Fiji’s high schools. I know what I am talking about in a deeply personal way. Nothing prepared me for this.

The numbers/percentages of children who came to schools without lunch was just shocking. Nearly a third of students in one the classes that I visited came to school without lunch that morning.

Rates of stunting rates of children in primary schools (in peri and urban areas) in Fiji can be as high as 10 percent. Stunting rates are much higher in PNG at nearly 50 percent — one of the highest in the world.

Nutritional deprivation leads to delayed cognitive development and over time harms performance. Damage from stunting has life long and intergenerational consequences.
How does climate change feature in this?

The most obvious one is that global warming impacts on our coral reef systems. There is a near collapse of oceanic foods across so many Pacific’s coastal communities.

Equally on the high lands of PNG, delayed precipitation, prolonged rains and droughts harm and overtime irreversibly erode food security. This has widespread consequences.

Food insecurity, gender violence and inter-community conflict are a growing part of the Blue Pacific’s climate story.

Human rights, climate change and cultural and political rights
Nowhere does climate change demonstrate the scale of its destructiveness as in our closest atoll state neighbour.

Tuvalu may be uninhabitable within 4-6 decades even with the adaptation measures underway. It is forced to contemplate the real prospects of near total loss of land. The state has taken protective measures by amending its constitution to preserve sovereignty under any scenario.

Fiji and fellow PIF members have undertaken to respect its sovereignty under any climate scenario.

Compared with PNG, Solomon Islands and Fiji where communities are being relocated, the human rights and climate story of Tuvalu is of a different order altogether. Land rights, cultural rights are rooted and grounded. They do not move when communities are relocated. Relocations are deeply disrespectful of all rights — including cultural, social rights.

It is indeed possible that its whole populations in time may come to be dispersed outside of Tuvalu — in Australia through the Falepili Treaty, in Fiji and in New Zealand. Small and dispersed communities will over time lose their language. They are over time likely to lose many elements of their Tuvaluan identity.

Indigenous and cultural rights are rooted to land and oceans in such deep ways. These rights are recognised as fundamental human rights internationally. Global warming and rising seas treat these rights with callous disregard.

From a 1.5 to 2.8C world
The Blue Pacific has to fight the battle of our lives to return the planet to a 1.5C pathway. No one will do this for us. All our economic forecasting today are based on 1.5C  temperature increase. But the reality is that we are on course for a 2.8C or perhaps even a post 3.0C world.

The consequences of a 3.0C future on human rights of people across the Pacific Islands are unimaginable. For a start, most of the existing infrastructure, school buildings , health centres, data centers are simply not built to withstand 450 km/h winds.

Most of the Pacific’s towns and settlements are coastal. Our entire tourism infrastructure is barely a few metres above sea level. In Melanesia alone there are more than 600 schools that need to be relocated and/or rebuilt.

Several hundred health centres need to be moved. These are estimates based on 1.5C — not twice that. The near total collapse of coastal fisheries is almost a foregone conclusion at anywhere above 2.0C. The silliest thing we can do as a region and as a people is to not prepare for a 3.0C world.

Shaping our story of hope
On the 2025 Human Rights Day, I have reflected on the broad and deep impacts on human rights that directly result from climate change. Ours is a story of hope.

On this day, then let me celebrate the extraordinary leadership shown by Pacific’s students who took the world to court — to the International Court of Justice (ICJ) and won.

We owe such an extraordinary gratitude to Fiji’s Vishal Prasad, Cynthia Houniuhi, Solomon Yeo from Solomon Islands and that small group of university students at USP who decided to take on the world. We celebrate Vanuatu’s leadership on all our behalf. Collective action matters.

We make a difference as individuals. We make a difference as a people and as large ocean states. I urge that we deepen our shared understanding of the unfolding universe of elevated human rights vulnerabilities across the Pacific.

Sharing our stories, deepening our understanding of interlinkages between human rights and global warming and beginning honest conversations about things taboo are foundational starting points.

In universities, this may mean adding climate change and human rights legal studies so that graduates leave with a firmer understanding of the world they will enter into.

At medical schools, this means integrating climate change into how human health is studied and researched.

In social science schools, that means advancing our understanding of the rapid evolution of kinship, leadership and culture in traditional Fijian and Pacific societies in a climate changed context.

In communications and journalism programmes, this may mean preparing students to communicate climate crisis with humility, sensitivity and empathy.

As responsible employers, we may be able to lead by ensuring that human rights protection arising from climate change are as mainframed as is possible. Being able to provide the level of sociopsychological support to students and staff bearing the silent scars of slow onset or climate catastrophes would be another great start.

This may include, as well, the simplest of things such as allowing paid compassionate leave for staff to recover from climate change related extreme weather events. In the longer term, the employment laws of Pacific Island states will need to catch up.

I have advised many Pacific island countries to take a hard look at even their school calendar. Few schools measure class room temperatures today.

Our colonial legacy has shaped the school year. We today subject our students to their final examinations when the temperatures inside class rooms are the highest. We today pressure students to prepare for their exams in the months when the chances of catastrophic events are the highest and the chances of illness that are climate change induced are the highest.

A school calendar that is climate informed and that protects human rights in the education context is more likely to commence the school year in September (third term) and conclude exams by August (end of second term).

All of these things are within our gift. We do not need international conferences or even international assistance to do all of these as the changes needed are so simple and so basic.

Building blocs for advancing human rights in a climate changed world:

• First is that individual and communities need to know how their fundamental rights are impacted by climate change. This is a task for all of us — not governments alone.
• Across the region, so many laws and legislative frameworks need to be revised to reflect how climate change and human rights play out. How many hours should an agricultural worker or road construction worker be working when temperatures are higher than 1.5C.
• For employers and service providers, what are the human rights obligations in a climate changed context? What does the waiting room in a health care facility look like in a 1.5C temperature increase and in a 3.0 degree world? They surely cannot be the same.
• National human rights and legal settings need to pay systematic attention to human rights and climate change. This means ensuring that national human rights agencies and courts build up their capabilities to provide the necessary jurisprudence; and our citizens both supported and empowered to approach courts and relevant agencies.
• Internationally, the Pacific Island states including Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) are well advised to ramp up their presence internationally. The next decade must be the decade when the region pushes the boundaries of international law. The decade following that may just be too late.

A Pacific Pre-COP31
I am delighted to have been invited to deliver my remarks so soon after COP30 and well in time for reflections for Pacific’s preparations for Pre-COP31. This climate conference to be held in the Pacific next year will be a great opportunity to bring a consolidated understanding of how fundamental human rights are being harmed by runaway climate change.

Shape this well — together, respectfully and with humility. We can present our agenda for advancing human rights protection in the Pacific powerfully at this Pre-COP.

As a region, we need to begin to win the argument about climate change in the theatres of international public opinion. Lobbyists and interests groups — including much of the global mainstream media — so wedded to petro interests appear to be winning.

We need to tell our stories with clarity and with impact. We need to back that with strategic bargains in all our international relations. A Pre-COP in the Pacific gives us a real chance of doing so.

Thank you for marking the 2025 International Human Rights Day in this way.

This speech about climate change and human rights was delivered by Dr Satyendra Prasad, the climate lead at Abt Global and Fiji’s former ambassador to the United Nations, during the 2025 Human Rights Day on December 10 at the University of Fiji. It is republished from Wansolwara News as part of Asia Pacific Report’s collaboration with the University of the South Pacific Journalism Programme.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

Vinzons is a quiet coastal town in the eastern Philippines province of Camarines Norte in Bicol. With a spread out population of about 45,000. it is known for its rice production, crabs and surfing beaches in the Calaguas Islands.

But the town is really famous for one of its sons — Wenceslao “Bintao” Vinzons, the youngest lawmaker in the Philippines before the Japanese invasion during the Second World War who then took up armed resistance.

He was captured and executed along with his family in 1942.

One of the most interesting assets of the municipality of Vinzons — named after the hero in 1946, the town previously being known as Indan — is his traditional family home, which has recently been refurbished as a local museum to tell his story of courage and inspiration.

“He is something of a forgotten hero, student leader, resistance fighter, former journalist — a true hero,” says acting curator Roniel Espina.

As well as a war hero, Vinzons is revered for his progressive politics and was known as the “father of student activism” in the Philippines. His political career began at the University of Philippines in the capital Manila where he co-founded the Young Philippines Party.

The Vinzons Hall at UP-Diliman was named after him to honour his student leadership exploits.

Student newspaper editor
He was the editor-in-chief of the Philippine Collegian, the student newspaper founded in 1922.

At 24, Vinzons became the youngest delegate to the 1935 Constitutional Convention and six years later at the age of 30 he was elected Governor of Camarine Norte in 1941 — the same year that Japan invaded.

In fact, the invasion of the Philippines began on 8 December 1941 just 10 hours after the bombing of Pearl Harbour in Hawai’i.

The invading forces tried to pressure Governor Vinzons in his provincial capital of Daet to collaborate. He absolutely refused. Instead, he took to the countryside and led one of the first Filipino guerilla resistance forces to rise up against the Japanese.

His initial resistance was successful with the guerrilla forces carrying out sudden raids before liberating Daet. He was eventually captured and executed by the Japanese.

The exact circumstances are still uncertain as his body was never recovered, but the museum does an incredible job in piecing together his life along with his family and their tragic sacrifice for the country.

One plaque shows an image of Vinzons along with his father Gabino, wife Liwayway, sister Milagros, daughter Aurora and son Alexander (no photo of him was actually recovered).

According to the legend on the plaque:

“Wenceslao Vinzons with his father disappeared mysteriously – and were never see again. The Japanese sent out posters in Camarines Norte expressing regret that on the way to Siain, Quezon, Vinzons was shot while attempting to escape. ‘So sorry please.’

“The remains of the body of Vinzons, his father, wife, two chidren and sister have never been found.”

The Japanese Empire as portrayed in the Vinzons Museum. Video: APR

Imperial Japan showcase
One room of the museum is dedicated as a showcase to Imperial Japan and its brutal invasion across a great swathe of Southeast Asia and the brave Filipino resistance in response.

A special feature of the museum is how well it portrays typical Filipino lifestyle and social mores in a home of the political class in the 1930s.

When I visited the museum and talked to staff and watched documentaries about “Bintao” Vinzons’ life, one question in particular intrigued me: “Why was he thought of as a ‘forgotten hero’?”

According to acting curator Espina, “It’s partly because Camarines Norte is not as popular and well known as some other provinces. So some of the notable achievements of Vinzons do not have a high profile around in other parts of the country.”

Based at the museum is the town’s principal Tourism Officer Florence G Mago. She is optimistic about how the Vinzons Museum can attract more visitors to the town.

“We have put a lot of effort into developing this museum and we are proud of it. It is a jewel in the town.”

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz