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

In the lead up to the inauguration of President Prabowo Subianto last Sunday, Indonesia established five “Vulnerable Area Buffer Infantry Battalions” in key regions across West Papua — a move described by Indonesian Army Chief-of-Staff Maruli Simanjuntak as a “strategic initiative” by the new leader.

The battalions are based in the Keerom, Sarmi, Boven Digoel, Merauke and Sorong regencies, and their aim is to “enhance security” in Papua, and also to strengthen Indonesia’s military presence in response to long-standing unrest and conflict, partly related to independence movements and local resistance.

According to Armed Forces chief General Agus Subiyanto, “the main goal of the new battalions is to assist the government in accelerating development and improving the prosperity of the Papuan people”.

However, this raises concerns about further militarisation and repression of a region already plagued by long-running violence and human rights abuses in the context of the movement for a free and independent West Papua.

Thousands of Indonesian soldiers have been stationed in areas impacted by violence, including Star Mountain, Nduga, Yahukimo, Maybrat, Intan Jaya, Puncak and Puncak Jaya.

As a result, the situation in West Papua is becoming increasingly difficult for indigenous people.

Extrajudicial killings in Papua go unreported or are only vaguely known about internationally. Those who are aware of these either disregard them or accept them as an “unavoidable consequence” of civil unrest in what Indonesia refers to as its most eastern provinces — the “troubled regions”.

Why do the United Nations, Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) and the international community stay silent?

While the Indonesian government frames this move as a strategy to enhance security and promote development, it risks exacerbating long-standing tensions in a region with deep-seated conflicts over autonomy and independence and the impacts of extractive industries and agribusiness on West Papuan people and their environment.

Exploitative land theft
The Centre for Climate Crime and Climate Justice, in collaboration with various international and Indonesian human and environmental rights organisations, presented testimony at the public hearings of the Permanent Peoples’ Tribunal (PPT) at Queen Mary University of London, in June.

The tribunal heard testimonies relating to a range of violations by Indonesia. A key issue, highlighted was the theft of indigenous Papuan land by the Indonesian government and foreign corporations in connection to extractive industries such as mining, logging and palm oil plantations.

The appropriation of traditional lands without the consent of the Papuan people violates their right to land and self-determination, leading to environmental degradation, loss of livelihood, and displacement of Indigenous communities.

The tribunal’s judgment underscores how the influx of non-Papuan settlers and the Indonesian government’s policies have led to the marginalisation of Papuan culture and identity. The demographic shift due to transmigration programmes has significantly reduced the proportion of Indigenous Papuans in their own land.

Moreover, a rise in militarisation in West Papua has often led to heightened repression, with potential human rights violations, forced displacement and further marginalisation of the indigenous communities.

The decision to station additional military forces in West Papua, especially in conflict-prone areas like Nduga, Yahukimo and Intan Jaya, reflects a continuation of Indonesia’s militarised approach to governance in the region.

Security pact
The Indonesia-Papua New Guinea Defence Cooperation Agreement (DCA) was signed by the two countries in 2010 but only came into effect this year after the PNG Parliament ratified it in late February.

Indonesia ratified the pact in 2012.

As reported by Asia Pacific Report, PNG’s Foreign Minister Justin Tkatchenko and Indonesia’s ambassador to PNG, Andriana Supandy, said the DCA enabled an enhancement of military operations between the two countries, with a specific focus on strengthening patrols along the PNG-West Papua border.

This will have a significant impact on civilian communities in the areas of conflict and along the border. Indigenous people in particular, are facing the threat of military takeovers of their lands and traditional border lines.

Under the DCA, the joint militaries plan to employ technology, including military drones, to monitor and manage local residents’ every move along the border.

Human rights
Prabowo, Defence Minister prior to being elected President, has a controversial track record on human rights — especially in the 1990s, during Indonesia’s occupation of East Timor.

His involvement in military operations in West Papua adds to fears that the new battalions may be used for oppressive measures, including crackdowns on dissent and pro-independence movements.

As indigenous communities continue to be marginalised, their calls for self-determination and independence may grow louder, risking further conflict in the region.

Without substantial changes in the Indonesian government’s approach to West Papua, including addressing human rights abuses and engaging in meaningful dialogue with indigenous leaders, the future of West Papuans remains uncertain and fraught with challenges.

With ongoing military operations often accused of targeting indigenous populations, the likelihood of further human rights violations, such as extrajudicial killings, arbitrary detentions, and forced displacement, remains high.

Displacement
Military operations in West Papua frequently result in the displacement of indigenous Papuans, as they flee conflict zones.

The presence of more battalions could drive more communities from their homes, deepening the humanitarian crisis in the region. Indigenous peoples, who rely on their land for survival, face disruption of their traditional livelihoods and rising poverty.

The Indonesian government launched the Damai Cartenz military operation on April 5, 2018, and it is still in place in the conflict zones of Yahukimo, Pegunungan Bintang, Nduga and Intan Jaya.

Since then, according to a September 24 Human Rights Monitor update, more than 79,867 West Papuans remain internally displaced.

The displacement, killings, shootings, abuses, tortures and deaths are merely the tip of the iceberg of what truly occurs within the tightly-controlled military operational zones across West Papua, according to Benny Wenda, a UK-based leader of the United Liberation Movement of West Papua (ULMWP).

The international community, particularly the United Nations and the Pacific Islands Forum have been criticised for remaining largely silent on the matter. Responding to the August 31 PIF communique reaffirming its 2019 call for the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights visit to West Papua, Wenda said:

“[N]ow is the time for Indonesia to finally let the world see what is happening in our land. They cannot hide their dirty secret any longer.”

Increased global attention and intervention is crucial in addressing the humanitarian crisis, preventing further escalations and supporting the rights and well-being of the West Papuans.

Without meaningful dialogue, the long-term consequences for the indigenous population may be severe, risking further violence and unrest in the region.

As Prabowo was sworn in, Wenda restated the ULMWP’s demand for an internationally-mediated referendum on independence, saying: “The continued violation of our self-determination is the root cause of the West Papua conflict.”

Ali Mirin is a West Papuan academic from the Kimyal tribe of the highlands bordering the Star Mountain region of Papua New Guinea. He is a contributor to Asia Pacific Report and Green Left in Australia.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

By Glenn Banks and Martyn Namorong in Port Moresby

Government revenues from Papua New Guinea’s mining, oil and gas sector have essentially dried up.

With the ongoing effects of the devastating earthquake in Hela province, the eruption of election-related violence in the Southern Highlands, a significant budget shortfall, and a foreign exchange crisis driving business confidence down, the resources of the government are severely stretched… and the massively expensive APEC meeting looms in November.

In this context, the drop in government revenue from the resource sector is staggering. And accounts in significant part for the growing fiscal stress.

In 2006-2008, according to Bank of Papua New Guinea figures, the government collected more than K2 billion (NZ$0.9 billion) annually from the sector by way of taxes and dividends, on mineral exports that had just topped K10 billion (NZ$4.6 billion) for the first time.

In 2017, the figure is just K400 million (NZ$180 million) on exports of K25 billion (NZ$11.5 billion) – a revenue reduction of more than 80 percent in the same time that exports have increased by 150 percent.

Government dividends and corporate taxes made up just 1.6 percent of the value of exports in 2017 (and that was a significant increase over 2015 and 2016).

-Partners-

If we take the long-term average share of the value of exports that the government has received (at a little over 10 percent), this points to a potential ‘‘hole’’ of at least K8 billion over the past four years, an amount that would go a long way to covering the current fiscal deficit.

Some precedents
There are some precedents for the rapid drop in government revenues from the sector. In 1990 and 1991 – just as the ‘‘resources boom’’ triggered by the Porgera gold mine and oil production at the Kutubu oilfield began – revenues collapsed, largely due to the closure of the Bougainville copper mine in 1989; and again, briefly in 2009 due to the onset of the global financial crisis in 2008.

But neither of these has been as deep or as sustained as the current hole.

A full explanation of the precipitous decline in resource revenues is beyond the scope of this analysis.

Clearly, a number of factors are involved, including a fall in commodity prices, major construction and expansion costs (which attract accelerated depreciation provisions) and generous tax deals.

The revenue dry-up of the past four years also reveals that the state bears a disproportionate share of the risks associated with resource projects and investments. If we go back to the original intent of the post-Independence mineral policy, it was to translate mineral wealth into broad-based development across the whole country:
“…known mineral resources should be developed for the revenue they can provide to the government” (PNG Department of Finance 1977: 2).

This clearly has not happened in the last four years. And certainly the Treasurer cannot be critiqued for commissioning yet another fiscal review: this seems appropriate, although whether it effectively addresses broader issues of a “fair share” of mineral wealth remaining in PNG remains to be seen.

While there is much less money coming from the resources sector, there is at least better data than there used to be. The Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI) is a global initiative begun in 2002 to give transparency to what were regarded as often opaque flows of resource revenues from multinational companies in the extractives sector (especially oil) to the state in the countries in which they were operating.

Voluntary initiative
It is a voluntary initiative in which countries (and companies) can elect to become a “candidate” country, and so long as they are able to be compliant with EITI standards, they can be admitted as a full member of EITI.

The key requirement is to be able to report in a reliable way (through third party audits) on the revenues paid by companies, and reconcile these with payments received by the different arms of the state.

The involvement of all parties – companies, governments and civil society – and public communication around the event and its products is also seen as central to both transparency and raising awareness of the nature of resource revenues and their destination.

Papua New Guinesa initiated its involvement in EITI in 2012. Four annual EITI reports have so far been produced (for the years 2013 to 2016). These reports provide an increasingly rigorous and transparent set of data on flows from the sector to the government, and identify additional revenue streams to the government than what BPNG use (and have used for the past 40 years).

When all the additional revenue streams that EITI identify are included, the total share of the value of mineral exports rises to around 6.5 percent for 2017, up from the 1.6 percent based on the BPNG data.

EITI is not without its problems and the most recent PNG country report identifies areas where it needs to be strengthened in PNG, and a focus on companies rather than operations can lead to the obfuscation of total flows and payments from each mine, oil and gasfield.

In the PNG context, an examination of the sub-national flows and audit trails is also significant, and an initial study into this is underway.

This article was originally published in the PNG Post-Courier.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz