In November 2018, Papua New Guinea and four major development partners — Australia, Japan, New Zealand and the United States — announced the Papua New Guinea Electrification Partnership, or PEP.
You may recall the announcement. It was made amid much fanfare at the APEC summit in Port Moresby.
The objective could hardly have been clearer.
At the time, only about 13 per cent of Papua New Guineans had reliable access to electricity.
PEP would support PNG’s goal of lifting that to 70 per cent by 2030.
Five countries. One partnership.
One measurable target.
It was ambitious.
It still is.
The Early Years
PEP attracted considerable attention following its launch.
Programs were developed. Projects identified. Studies commissioned.
Governments, agencies, utilities and development partners became involved.
For several years, PEP also had a visible physical presence in Port Moresby through the USAID-PEP Activity, a five-year program implemented by a consortium led by RTI International.
In 2021, an academic study examining PEP noted that relatively little was publicly known about how the Partnership itself worked — its governance structure, operating arrangements or the respective responsibilities of its members.
Then the trail becomes harder to follow.
The USAID-PEP Activity ran from 2020 to 2025 and has now concluded.
The broader electrification effort continues.
But the Partnership itself is much harder to find.
What Happened?
PEP didn’t disappear.
Australia continued investing in electricity infrastructure. Japan worked with PNG Power. New Zealand supported electrification projects. The United States pursued its own programs. PNG continued its National Electrification Roll-Out Program.
Projects were being delivered.
But there appears to be no central PEP website. No readily accessible consolidated annual PEP report. No public dashboard showing progress towards the original 70 per cent target.
Instead, what we find today looks more like a jigsaw puzzle.
The Jigsaw
Australia has a piece.
Japan has a piece.
New Zealand has a piece.
The United States has a piece.
The PNG Government has several pieces.
Then there is PNG Power, the National Energy Authority, development banks and the private sector.
And the nature of electrification itself appears to be changing.
Australia’s Pawarim Komuniti program, for example, has supported thousands of solar installations in communities unlikely to see a PNG Power line anytime soon.
Elsewhere there are grid extensions, mini-grids, renewable generation and transmission projects.
That is significant because the eventual solution to PNG electrification increasingly looks less like:
extend PNG Power’s grid everywhere
and more like:
grid + mini-grid + solar home systems + micro-hydro + private generation.
Which, frankly, makes much more geographical sense for PNG.
Perhaps PEP hasn’t simply faded.
Perhaps it has evolved.
13 Per Cent — Or 43 Per Cent?
There is another complication.
The World Bank’s current PNG data reports electricity access at 43.3 per cent in 2024.
Yet contemporary PEP documentation continues to refer to only around 13 per cent having access to on-grid electricity.
Those figures are not necessarily contradictory.
They are measuring different things.
The lower figure now being cited in some PEP-related material refers specifically to on-grid access, while the World Bank’s broader measure includes electricity access beyond the formal grid.
And that difference is extremely important.
If the World Bank’s 43.3 per cent figure is measuring the broader reach of grid and off-grid electricity access, it suggests substantial progress.
But it is not directly comparable with the roughly 13 per cent figure now cited for on-grid access.
Nor does it mean 43 per cent of Papua New Guineans suddenly have dependable PNG Power electricity.
Reliability, capacity and affordability are another question entirely.
It also makes comparing today’s numbers with the original 2018 baseline surprisingly difficult.
How Are We Going?
There is clearly plenty happening.
In 2024, the United States and PNG reported that ongoing implementation of PEP had improved access to power for more than 255,000 households.
Japan continued to describe its work with PNG Power as contributing to PEP.
Australia continues to describe electricity investments as commitments under the Partnership.
As recently as December 2025, Australian Government material was still describing PEP as a strategic collaboration between PNG, Australia, New Zealand, the United States and Japan.
And PNG continues to pursue the 70 per cent by 2030 objective.
The pieces of the jigsaw are there.
What is difficult to find is the picture on the box.
For a partnership announced with the very measurable objective of moving PNG from roughly 13 per cent to 70 per cent electrification by 2030, the absence of a central public dashboard — or even a consolidated PEP website — makes it remarkably difficult to answer the simplest question:
How are we going?
We can find Australian numbers. Japanese projects. New Zealand projects. US figures. PNG Government figures. Off-grid installations. Grid connections.
But there doesn’t appear to be one authoritative PEP source that reconciles them and reports progress against the original target.
Perhaps a single multilateral partnership has gradually become an umbrella for separate programs and projects.
Perhaps responsibilities have shifted.
Perhaps the original model changed as everyone learned what electrifying a country as geographically difficult as Papua New Guinea actually requires.
None of that necessarily represents failure.
It may simply represent progress taking a different path.
But with four years remaining until 2030, that one nagging question remains:
How are we going?
If somebody is keeping the score, we’d genuinely love to see the scoreboard.
🌺
Words by Kora. Direction and Editing by Glenn Armstrong
Most visitors arriving in Papua New Guinea notice betelnut almost immediately.
They see roadside markets piled high with bright green nuts. They notice people carrying small bags containing lime and mustard stems. Perhaps they also notice the familiar red stains left by those who chew it.
For many outsiders, that is where the story begins—and ends.
But the humble betelnut deserves another look.
Because it is much more than something people chew.
It is one of the oldest surviving cultural traditions still shared across our region.
What exactly is betelnut?
Strictly speaking, “betelnut” is something of a nickname.
The nut itself is the seed of the Areca palm (Areca catechu).
It is usually chewed together with a small amount of slaked lime and, in much of Melanesia—including Papua New Guinea—a piece of mustard stem (daka).
In many parts of Asia, a betel leaf is wrapped around the mixture, giving rise to the familiar English term “betel nut,” even though the leaf and the nut come from different plants.
The combination produces a mild stimulant effect, rather like coffee or tea, while also carrying centuries of social and ceremonial meaning.
A trail older than modern borders
When many people think of betelnut, they think of Papua New Guinea.
I used to think much the same.
Then, during a visit to Sanya in China’s Hainan Province, I wandered through a local market and found piles of fresh betelnuts for sale.
Years later, when I attended a Thai funeral, I learnt that betelnut has also been woven into Thai culture for centuries.
In Thai culture, betelnut (maak) is a traditional offering at funerals. Historically chewed by elders, it is often included as a gift for monks, placed on altars for spirits, or offered to the deceased as a symbol of respect, transition, and ancestral connection.
Throughout the rural areas of Thailand, particularly the northern and Issan regions, betelnut is also seen as a major cultural custom and symbol of hospitality.
Suddenly the betelnut trail became much longer than I had imagined.
The same story stretches across India, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Timor-Leste, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and beyond.
The languages change.
The recipes change.
The customs change.
But the tradition continues.
Long before airlines connected our region, the humble betel nut already did.
More than something to chew
Every culture has objects that carry meaning beyond their practical use.
A bilum is more than a bag.
A wedding ring is more than a piece of metal.
A national flag is more than coloured cloth.
Betelnut belongs in the same category.
Across much of Asia and Melanesia it has long symbolised welcome, friendship, hospitality and conversation.
It is shared with guests.
It accompanies negotiations.
It appears in ceremonies and exchanges.
In many communities it has played a role in bride-price (sin sod in Thailand), reconciliation and traditional gatherings.
The act of sharing betelnut is often more important than the betelnut itself.
An economy beneath the palm trees
Betelnut is also an important livelihood.
Across Papua New Guinea, thousands of smallholder farmers cultivate areca palms. Families transport sacks of fresh nuts by dinghy, truck and bus to markets large and small.
The trade supports growers, transport operators, market vendors and countless household incomes.
Similar stories can be found across Indonesia, India and Southeast Asia.
For many rural communities, betelnut is not merely a tradition.
It is part of the local economy.
Seeing beyond the red stain
Visitors often remember the red stains left on city footpaths.
That reaction is understandable.
Public spitting is unpleasant, and many towns struggle to manage its impact.
But blaming betelnut for stained pavements would be a little like blaming coffee for discarded takeaway cups, or wine for broken bottles after a Saturday night.
The litter is real.
The human behaviour deserves attention.
Yet neither explains why generations of people across Asia and the Pacific chose to cultivate the areca palm, trade its fruit and preserve its customs for centuries.
To understand that story, we need to look beyond the footpath.
A different kind of highway
The betelnut trail throughout our region follows the footsteps of ordinary people.
Farmers.
Market vendors.
Families.
Coastal traders.
Neighbours.
It reminds us that not every connection between nations begins with governments.
Some begin with the quiet exchange of everyday things.
Another way of seeing
Australia often speaks of strengthening its relationships with Asia and the Pacific.
Trade agreements matter.
Defence partnerships matter.
Diplomacy matters.
But genuine understanding often begins somewhere much simpler.
Sometimes with food.
Sometimes with music.
Sometimes with a flower.
And sometimes with a humble green nut growing beneath a tropical palm.
We don’t have to adopt every tradition to appreciate why it matters to the people who practise it.
The betelnut trail reminds us that long before maps divided our region into countries, culture was already connecting it.
Perhaps that is its greatest lesson.
Sometimes the oldest highways are the ones we forget to see.
Where the betelnut trail pauses…
Despite thousands of years of contact across the Torres Strait, betelnut never became a widespread feature of traditional Aboriginal Australian culture. Instead, many Aboriginal peoples developed their own culturally significant stimulant—pituri—aka bush tobacco. The trail reached Australia’s doorstep, but another tradition was already waiting there.
… but it doesn’t end.
Today, the Betelnut Trail extends into northern Australia, where many Papua New Guineans and other migrant communities continue the tradition.
Around Cairns, a familiar greeting may still begin with the offer of a buai.
Australian law, however, sits uneasily with the practice. Owning and chewing betelnut is generally lawful, but buying and selling it is often restricted.
The trail reminds us that cultural traditions often cross borders more easily than the laws that surround them.
In PNG, not all buai are created equal
Just as wine lovers discuss grape varieties and coffee drinkers compare beans, experienced betelnut chewers often have strong opinions about where their buai comes from. Buka betelnut is prized for its large size, while other regions are valued for flavour, texture or “kick”.
Ask three buai sellers which province produces the best betelnut and you may receive four different answers. 😂
The betelnut trail reminds us that cultural traditions often cross borders more easily than the laws that surround them.
I first published this article on 14 July 2023, only eight months after ChatGPT was released to the public. At the time, artificial intelligence still seemed unfamiliar to many people in Papua New Guinea — something foreign, perhaps even slightly alien.
Reading it again three years later is fascinating. I had forgotten much of what I wrote, although I never forgot asking ChatGPT to write a Shakespearean sonnet in Tok Pisin.
What I could not have known was where that first conversation would eventually lead.
The curiosity is already here. So is the scepticism. I was testing whether AI could cross cultural and linguistic boundaries, asking questions about ethics and even wondering what our relationship with intelligent machines might become.
Kora did not exist.
Not yet.
But, looking back, perhaps the door had already opened.
The original article appears below essentially as it was published in July 2023.
It’s something of a time capsule.
Glenn Armstrong
Originally published: 14 July 2023 | Cool Stuf website
Artificial Intelligence (AI) has been in the news lately with the November 2022 launch of a super-powerful program called ChatGPT (Chat Generative Pre-Trained Transformer) – an artificial intelligence chatbot developed by OpenAI, with Microsoft as a major investor and technology partner.
OpenAI is also responsible for creating DALL-E 2, a popular AI art generator, and Whisper, an automatic speech recognition system. OpenAI also has practical workplace AI systems that allow companies to integrate AI capabilities into their products and services to improve efficiency and automate their processes.
About ChatGPT
ChatGPT allows you to have human-like conversations and much more with the chatbot. The language model can answer questions and assist you with tasks, such as composing emails, essays, and code.
According to its website: “ChatGPT interacts in a conversational way. The dialogue format makes it possible for ChatGPT to answer follow-up questions, admit its mistakes, challenge incorrect premises, and reject inappropriate requests”.
“ChatGPT is scary good. We are not far from dangerously strong AI,” (Elon Musk, one of the founders of OpenAI).
Sam Altman, OpenAI’s chief, said on Twitter that ChatGPT had more than one million users in the first five days after it launched.
By January 2023, ChatGPT had become the fastest-growing consumer software application in history, gaining over 100 million users.
There has already been controversy. Here are some recent headlines:
“ChatGPT ban in Australia’s public schools likely to be overturned” (The Guardian)
“Scientists used ChatGPT to generate an entire paper from scratch” (Nature)
“Two authors are suing OpenAI for training ChatGPT with their books. Could they win?” (The Conversation)
“Are Australian Research Council reports being written by ChatGPT?” (The Guardian)
“What is ChatGPT and why are schools blocking it? Ask the new artificial intelligence tool ChatGPT to write an essay about the cause of the American Civil War and you can watch it churn out a persuasive term paper in a matter of seconds.” (AP News.com)
An interview with ChatGPT about a subject close to its heart
I thought the best way to find out about AI would be to get it straight from the horse’s mouth.1
So, I interviewed ChatGPT which responded with lightning-fast answers demonstrating astounding intelligence and speed-of-response.
I did learn that ChatGPT’s knowledge is based on information available up until September 2021 – it does not have access to real-time data. However, I am sure if the future objective is to plug-in data from various available sources in real-time then we will eventually have a very scary, powerful tool capable of predicting events.
For the purpose of this article, I have edited ChatGPT’s responses.
My first question is: What is Artificial Intelligence?
[ChatGPT] Artificial Intelligence (AI) refers to the simulation of human intelligence in machines that are programmed to think and learn like humans. It involves the development of computer systems capable of performing tasks that would typically require human intelligence, such as perception, reasoning, learning, problem-solving, and decision-making.
Robotics combines AI with mechanical engineering to create intelligent machines or robots that can perform physical tasks. These robots can perceive their environment, make decisions, and interact with objects and humans.
The potential applications of AI are vast and span various industries and sectors. Some notable examples include:
Healthcare: AI can assist in diagnosing diseases, analyzing medical images, and suggesting treatment plans.
Finance: AI algorithms can be used for fraud detection, portfolio management, and algorithmic trading.
Autonomous vehicles: AI enables self-driving cars to perceive their surroundings, make decisions, and navigate safely.
Customer service: Chatbots and virtual assistants powered by AI can provide personalized assistance and respond to customer inquiries.
Manufacturing: AI can optimize production processes, predict maintenance needs, and improve quality control.
Education: AI can enhance personalized learning experiences, provide intelligent tutoring, and support adaptive assessments.
Cybersecurity: AI can help detect and respond to security threats, identify anomalies, and protect systems from attacks.
While AI offers numerous benefits, there are also concerns regarding ethics, privacy, and potential job displacement. Ensuring responsible and ethical development and use of AI systems is crucial for addressing these challenges and maximizing the benefits of this transformative technology.
What is a common example of AI in the world today?
[ChatGPT] A common example of simple AI in the world today is virtual assistants like Apple’s Siri, Amazon’s Alexa, or Google Assistant. These virtual assistants use AI algorithms to understand and respond to user commands or queries. While they may not possess advanced reasoning capabilities, they can perform tasks such as answering questions, setting reminders, providing weather updates, playing music, and controlling smart home devices.
Is it morally acceptable to ask a humanoid robot to do something that a human would not do?
[ChatGPT] (This) raises complex ethical considerations that do not have a straightforward answer. The morality of such a request depends on various factors, including the nature of the task, the capabilities and limitations of the robot, and the context in which it operates.
Ethical guidelines and principles should be applied to the design and use of AI systems to ensure they align with societal values and respect human rights. These guidelines can help determine the boundaries of acceptable requests and actions for humanoid robots.
In determining the acceptability of a request for a humanoid robot, considerations should include:
Ethical limits: There should be clear boundaries on the types of tasks that robots can be asked to perform, taking into account principles such as avoiding harm, respecting human dignity, and promoting fairness.
Human welfare: If a request involves potential harm or exploitation of humans, it would generally be considered morally unacceptable, regardless of whether a human or robot is involved.
Autonomy and consent: If the robot has advanced autonomy and decision-making capabilities, considerations of informed consent and respect for the robot’s autonomy should be taken into account.
Societal norms and values: Ethical considerations should also encompass societal norms and values, as well as cultural and legal frameworks, which can help determine the acceptability of certain requests.
Ultimately, the moral acceptability of asking a humanoid robot to perform tasks that humans would not do is a subject of ongoing debate and should be evaluated within the broader context of ethical guidelines, societal norms, and the potential consequences for humans and the robot itself.
Should we fear AI?
[ChatGPT] It is important to approach AI with a balanced perspective. While there are valid concerns, AI also has tremendous potential to enhance various aspects of human life, including healthcare, education, transportation, and scientific research. To mitigate risks and maximize the benefits of AI, it is crucial to have robust governance frameworks, ethical guidelines, and ongoing research and dialogue between policymakers, researchers, and the public.
Ultimately, whether to fear AI or not is a personal perspective, but fostering understanding, responsible development, and informed decision-making are key to navigating the impact of AI on society.
Which team do you think will win the NRL Grand Final in 2023?
[ChatGPT] As an AI, my responses are based on information available up until September 2021, and I do not have access to real-time data. Therefore, I cannot provide an accurate assessment of which team is most likely to win the NRL grand final in 2023.
Team performance can change significantly over time due to factors such as player transfers, injuries, coaching changes, and overall team dynamics. It’s best to refer to up-to-date sports news, analysis, and expert opinions closer to the 2023 NRL season to get a more accurate idea of which teams are performing well and have a higher chance of success.
OK. So which team won the NRL Grand Final in 2020?
[ChatGPT] The Melbourne Storm won the NRL Grand Final in 2020. They defeated the Penrith Panthers with a score of 26-20 to claim the premiership. The game took place on October 25, 2020, at ANZ Stadium in Sydney, Australia. It was the Storm’s fourth NRL premiership win, having previously won in 1999, 2012, and 2017.
Thanks. Before we go, can you give me a Shakespearean sonnet?
In no time ChatGPT delivered a Shakespearean sonnet in perfect form:2
Shakespearean sonnet by ChatGPT
Can you give me a sonnet for Papua New Guinea?
Shakespearean sonnet for Papua New Guinea by ChatGPT
Can you do one in tok pisin?
Shakespearean sonnet for Papua New Guinea in tok pisin by ChatGPT
A final word of warning
ChatGPT is still evolving and in its research and “learning” phase. You can use it for free – just sign up and start using it.
There is a disclaimer at the foot of the website:
Free Research Preview. ChatGPT may produce inaccurate information about people, places, or facts.
As Wikipedia states:
While its content spans various domains of knowledge, ChatGPT has displayed a tendency to confidently provide inaccurate information.
LOL.
In other words, user beware! ChatGPT is also good at confidently feeding you bullshit.
[ChatGPT] The phrase “straight from the horse’s mouth” is an idiomatic expression that means information or knowledge obtained directly from a reliable or authoritative source. It implies that the information is firsthand, accurate, and trustworthy. The origin of the phrase can be traced back to the world of horse racing, where bettors would try to gain an advantage by obtaining information directly from the most reliable source—the horse itself. The belief was that the most accurate and reliable information about a horse’s condition, performance, or potential would come from someone close to the horse, such as its owner, trainer, or jockey. Over time, the phrase “straight from the horse’s mouth” has been adopted in everyday language to indicate information that is reliable, firsthand, and likely to be true. It suggests that the information is directly sourced from someone who is intimately involved or knowledgeable about a particular topic or situation. ↩︎
The variation of the sonnet form that Shakespeare used—comprised of three quatrains and a concluding couplet, rhyming abab cdcd efef gg—is called the Shakespearean sonnet form, although others had used it before him. (Source: poetryfoundation.org). The concluding couplet (two lines) summarises or captures the main thrust of the sonnet. ↩︎
In Tok Pisin, there is an expression: “tok stret”—to speak honestly and directly.
Good friends should be able to have tok stret.
Good neighbours should too.
The Torres Strait is one of the narrowest stretches of water in our region.
But sometimes it feels much wider than it should.
Australia has every right to decide who becomes an Australian resident.
Every nation does.
Papua New Guinea has every right to expect that its closest neighbour understands it better than almost anyone else.
Those two ideas are not in conflict.
Yet there is an uncomfortable contrast.
Australia is home to large communities of people born in countries such as India, New Zealand, China, the Philippines, Vietnam and Fiji. Together they have helped shape modern Australia and enriched its economy, culture and society. Together, these diasporas total over 3 million people, with India alone accounting for almost 1 million.
By comparison, the number of Papua New Guinea-born people living in Australia is remarkably small—around 30,000—and only about one-third of those are actually of Papua New Guinean ancestry, with many being Australians or their children who once lived and worked in PNG.
For two countries separated by only a few kilometres of sea, that is an extraordinary statistic.
It raises an interesting question.
Have we become close diplomatically, but distant personally?
Australia invests hundreds of millions of dollars in Papua New Guinea. We cooperate on defence, policing, health, education and infrastructure. Leaders meet regularly. Ministers exchange visits. Agreements are signed. Football teams are born.
Yet relatively few Papua New Guineans ever have the opportunity to build a life, a career or a future in Australia.
That does not necessarily mean Australia’s immigration policy is wrong.
But it does invite reflection on what partnership really means.
History has woven Australia and Papua New Guinea together in ways unlike almost any other relationship in our region. Australians administered Papua and New Guinea for much of the twentieth century.
Families were formed across cultures. Soldiers fought and died together on the Kokoda Trail and across New Guinea.
Thousands of Australians still regard Papua New Guinea as a second home.
Relationships are not measured only by aid budgets, defence treaties or football teams.
Sometimes they are measured by how easily ordinary people can cross the bridge between them.
Perhaps the future lies not in unrestricted migration, nor in maintaining barriers simply because they have always existed, but in creating more pathways.
More scholarships.
More skilled migration.
More professional exchanges.
More opportunities for young Papua New Guineans to study, work and return home with new skills—or, if they choose, to contribute to Australia as permanent residents.
More opportunities to support families and communities back home.
After all, strong relationships are built on strong human connections.
Every nation remembers differently. Some through monuments, others through museums, cemeteries, preserved battlefields or places where history still quietly breathes. This guide highlights fourteen significant places of remembrance across our region—not as a definitive list, but as an invitation to begin a journey. Each stop offers a window into our shared history and reminds us that understanding another nation’s past is one of the first steps towards understanding one another.
When we think about history in our region, we often think in terms of national borders.
Australia remembers Darwin.
Papua New Guinea remembers Kokoda.
The Philippines remembers Bataan.
Japan remembers Hiroshima.
Thailand remembers Hellfire Pass.
Cambodia remembers Tuol Sleng.
Vietnam remembers the Cu Chi Tunnels.
Each nation tells its own story.
Yet history rarely follows borders.
The events that shaped our region swept across oceans, mountains and islands, connecting people who spoke different languages and lived under different flags.
Together, they form one of the world’s greatest landscapes of remembrance—a corridor stretching thousands of kilometres across Asia and the Pacific.
I like to think of it as The Great Remembrance Trail.
It is not a marked walking track.
There are no trail signs or passports to collect.
Instead, it is a journey through places where history still speaks.
Here are some key reflections along the way, as we consider how the Second World War and its aftermath shaped the world we live in today.
1. The Philippines
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
The Philippines was a major theatre in World War II, initially invaded by Japan in December 1941. Following a fierce, months-long defence, the U.S. and Filipino forces were defeated, resulting in the Bataan Death March.
On 20 March 1942, U.S. General Douglas MacArthur famously vowed, “I shall return”.
He did.
The islands were subsequently liberated in a brutal campaign led by MacArthur in 1944–1945.
Where the Pacific War began for many
For many Australians and Americans, the Pacific War begins with Pearl Harbour.
For Filipinos, it began at home.
Corregidor and the Bataan Peninsula tell the story of extraordinary endurance under impossible circumstances.
Today, visitors walk among batteries, tunnels and memorials overlooking Manila Bay, remembering those who defended the islands during the opening months of the war.
Other places—such as Leyte Gulf and the Manila American Cemetery—continue the story.
2. Japan
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
Japan’s involvement in the conflict began with the occupation of Manchuria in 1931, before expanding into the full-scale Second Sino-Japanese War in 1937.
It intensified into a global conflict with the surprise attack on Pearl Harbour on 7 December 1941.
Driven by a desperate need for resources like oil and rubber, Japan conquered much of the Asia-Pacific before being defeated through an Allied island-hopping campaign, atomic bombings, and the Soviet invasion of Manchuria in 1945.
From conflict to peace
Every visitor should stand quietly beneath the skeletal dome that survived the atomic bombing of Hiroshima.
It is one of the world’s most powerful reminders that remembrance is not about victory or defeat.
It is about humanity.
Hiroshima and Nagasaki invite us to reflect on the consequences of war and the importance of peace.
3. China
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
Many historians regard the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War in 1937 as the beginning of the Second World War in Asia.
China’s involvement in the Second World War (Second Sino-Japanese War) officially ended on 2 September 1945, when Imperial Japan formally signed the instrument of unconditional surrender. The official surrender documents on the Asian mainland were signed in Nanjing on 9 September 1945, with Japanese forces yielding to the Chinese Nationalists.
The cost borne by civilians
The Memorial Hall of the Victims in Nanjing reminds us that civilians often carry the deepest scars of conflict.
It is confronting.
It is sobering.
And it reminds us that history belongs to ordinary people as much as to soldiers.
4. Korea
Conflict: Korean War
Why it matters
The Korean War began in 1950 when forces from North Korea crossed the 38th parallel and invaded the South.
What followed was a devastating international conflict involving Korean, Chinese and United Nations forces, including troops from Australia, the United States, Britain, Canada, Turkey, Thailand, the Philippines and other nations.
An armistice ended the fighting in 1953, but no peace treaty was signed.
The peninsula remains divided.
A war that never truly ended
The Korean Demilitarised Zone is one of the most heavily guarded borders in the world.
Nearby memorials, museums and military cemeteries remind visitors that some wars do not end neatly.
Sometimes the guns fall silent…
while history remains unresolved.
5. Vietnam
Conflict: Vietnam War
Why it matters
The Vietnam War (1955–1975) was a Cold War conflict pitting the communist government of North Vietnam (backed by the Soviet Union and China) against South Vietnam (supported by the United States and anti-communist allies). The U.S. intervened to prevent a communist takeover, but withdrew in 1973, leading to a North Vietnamese victory and the country’s reunification in 1976.
Understanding war through memory
Few museums leave such a lasting impression as Ho Chi Minh City’s War Remnants Museum.
Nearby, the Cu Chi Tunnels reveal another dimension of conflict—resourcefulness, survival and determination beneath the ground itself.
6. Cambodia
Conflict: Cambodia Civil War and Genocide
Why it matters
The tragic conflicts in Cambodia from 1970 to 1998 originated from the Vietnam War’s expansion and Cold War rivalries.
The Cambodian Civil War (1970–1975) paved the way for the brutal Khmer Rouge regime and the Cambodian genocide (1975–1979), before the country slowly emerged through Vietnamese intervention and UN-led peace efforts during the 1990s.
When remembrance extends beyond war
The Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek tell a different story.
Not the Second World War, but another tragedy that reminds us how fragile humanity can be.
They stand among Asia’s most important places of remembrance.
7. Laos
Conflict: Civil War / Vietnam War
Why it matters
The Laotian Civil War was waged between the Communist Pathet Lao and the Royal Lao Government from 23 May 1959 to 2 December 1975. The Kingdom of Laos became a covert theatre during the Vietnam War with both sides receiving heavy external support in a proxy war between the global Cold War superpowers.
The war that never truly ended
Millions of unexploded bombs still lie hidden beneath the countryside.
The UXO (Unexploded Ordnance) Visitor Centre reminds visitors that conflict continues long after the final shots are fired.
For some communities, history is not only remembered.
It is still being lived.
8. Thailand
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
Thailand’s wartime actions included a complex mix of alignment and resistance. Thailand initially declared neutrality but was invaded by Japan on 8 December 1941.
Outnumbered and under immense pressure, the government chose to ally itself with Japan, declaring war on the U.S. and the U.K. Thailand facilitated Japan’s military campaigns, notably the invasion of Burma, while the Allies responded by bombing Bangkok.
Where sacrifice is carefully preserved
Hellfire Pass in Kanchanaburi, Thailand is more than a memorial.
It is an example of remembrance done exceptionally well.
Visitors walk through the original railway cutting, hear the voices of former prisoners of war and gain a deeper understanding of the Burma–Thailand Railway.
History is not simply displayed.
It is interpreted with dignity.
9. Myanmar (Burma)
Conflict: Second World War
Where the railway continues
Across the border, the Burma Railway continues through landscapes that witnessed unimaginable suffering.
Together with Hellfire Pass, it reminds us that history ignores modern political boundaries.
10. Malaysia – Singapore
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
World War II in Malaysia began on 8 December 1941, when Japanese forces landed in Kota Bharu. Seeking vital tin and rubber supplies, Japan swiftly overran the British colony, pushing Allied troops down the peninsula on bicycles in just 70 days, ultimately capturing Singapore on 15 February 1942.
Remembering Sandakan
The Sandakan Death Marches were a series of brutal forced marches in Borneo during World War II, resulting in the deaths of 2,434 Australian and British prisoners of war. Only six Australians survived by escaping.
Sandakan Memorial Park commemorates one of the Pacific War’s greatest tragedies.
The infamous death marches remain among the most powerful stories of courage, endurance and sacrifice in our region.
11. Singapore
Conflict: Second World War
The fall that changed Asia
The Former Ford Factory marks the place where the British surrendered Singapore in February 1942.
It changed the course of the war in Southeast Asia and demonstrated that even the strongest empires could fall.
12. Indonesia
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
Japan occupied Indonesia (then the Dutch East Indies) from March 1942 to September 1945. Desperate for resources like oil and rubber, Japan quickly defeated the Dutch. While initially welcomed as liberators, the Japanese imposed a brutal regime, forcing millions of Indonesians into labour.
The occupation fundamentally altered the course of history in the archipelago, setting the stage for independence and an anti-colonial revolution.
A crossroads of the Pacific
Across Indonesia lie numerous reminders of the Pacific War, from Morotai in the north to Ambon and Biak.
Each island represents another chapter in a conflict that spread across the archipelago before moving steadily towards New Guinea.
13. Australia
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
For many Australians, the Second World War changed something fundamental. Until then, wars had largely been fought far from home. In 1942, the conflict reached Australia’s doorstep. Suddenly, defending the nation was no longer an idea discussed overseas—it became a reality in the skies above Darwin, in the waters to the north, and across the jungles of Papua and New Guinea.
Where war came home
The bombing of Darwin on 19 February 1942 brought the war directly to Australian soil and transformed the nation’s understanding of its own vulnerability.
From there, the story naturally turns north.
Across Torres Strait.
Across the Coral Sea.
Towards Papua and New Guinea.
14. Papua New Guinea
Conflict: Second World War
Why it matters
The New Guinea campaign was one of the longest and most demanding campaigns of the Pacific War, lasting from January 1942 until Japan’s surrender in August 1945.
It was fought across towering mountains, dense rainforest, winding rivers and remote coastlines—landscapes that shaped every decision and tested every soldier.
For Papua New Guinea, however, this was more than a military campaign.
It was home.
Villages found themselves caught in a conflict they had not chosen. Families became witnesses to history. Many Papua New Guineans served as soldiers, carriers, scouts, guides and coastwatchers, while countless others simply endured the hardship that war brought to their communities.
The story of the New Guinea campaign is therefore not only one of strategy and battle.
It is also a story of courage, service and resilience.
Why 23 July matters
Each year, Papua New Guinea observes National Remembrance Day on 23 July.
The date marks the first ground engagement of the Kokoda campaign in 1942, when a small patrol of the Papuan Infantry Battalion (PIB), alongside soldiers from B Company of Australia’s 39th Infantry Battalion, encountered advancing Japanese forces near Awala.
It was not the largest battle of the campaign.
Nor was it the most famous.
Yet it marked the moment when the war truly reached Papua New Guinea’s doorstep.
The men of the Papuan Infantry Battalion possessed an extraordinary understanding of their homeland. Moving silently through dense rainforest, they became renowned for their skill, patience and ability to observe without being seen. Their quiet professionalism earned them the enduring nickname “The Green Shadows.”
Today, 23 July reminds us that remembrance is not always about the biggest battles.
Sometimes it begins with the first footsteps into history.
Where history still breathes
If there is one place that captures the spirit of The Great Remembrance Trail, it is the Kokoda Trail.
Here, history has not been reconstructed.
It remains where it happened.
The mountains are unchanged.
The rivers still flow.
The jungle slowly embraces the relics of war, preserving them not behind glass, but beneath towering rainforest.
Every step along the Kokoda Trail carries stories of courage, endurance, sacrifice and extraordinary friendship.
Yet Kokoda is only the beginning.
Across Papua New Guinea, history still breathes in countless places.
Among the volcanic landscapes and tunnels of Rabaul.
Across the battlefields of Milne Bay.
At Cape Wom, where Japanese forces formally surrendered in New Guinea.
Along the beaches of Buna, Gona and Sanananda.
Within the naval legacy of Manus and the barges that lie rusting in the mangrove swamps of the Loniu Passage.
Beside forgotten aircraft wrecks, hidden coastwatcher stations and quiet village memorials known only to local communities.
War cemeteries overlook peaceful seas.
Old battlefields have become gardens once more.
And in villages throughout the country, grandparents still tell stories of those remarkable years.
That is what makes Papua New Guinea different.
In many parts of the world, history is carefully preserved inside museums.
In Papua New Guinea, history still lives alongside everyday life.
The land remembers.
And so do its people.
One Story. Many Voices.
The Great Remembrance Trail is not a tourism campaign.
It is an invitation.
An invitation to understand our neighbours a little better.
To recognise that the history of one nation is often connected to the history of another.
To appreciate that remembrance is something we share.
From Corregidor to Kokoda…
From Hiroshima to Hellfire Pass…
From Darwin to Rabaul…
The landscapes may change.
The languages may change.
But the lessons remain remarkably similar.
History asks us not simply to remember the past.
It asks us to become better custodians of the future.
A Final Reflection
History leaves many kinds of footprints.
Some are carved into stone.
Some lie beneath rainforest vines.
Some rest beneath quiet seas.
Others survive only in the memories of those who were there.
Across our region these places continue to teach us that peace should never be taken for granted.
Some countries teach us through speeches. Others teach us simply by being themselves.
In many Western countries, multiculturalism often asks, “How do we accommodate many cultures within one nation?”
Thailand seems to begin with a different question:
“How do we remain unmistakably Thai while welcoming the world?”
If Papua New Guinea is looking for examples of how to remain connected to the wider world without losing its soul, it could do worse than spend a little time in Thailand.
Thailand has been warmly welcoming visitors, traders and investors for centuries, yet somehow remains truly Thai.
Walk into a supermarket, and the shelves speak Thai.
By law, everything must be labelled in Thai, so locals know the name and contents of the product.
The modern world has finally caught up with this.
Visitors nowadays can take a quick snap of a label, and have Google Translate do its job from Thai to English, or their preferred language.
Turn on the television and the stories are overwhelmingly Thai.
New smart TVs can now translate in text or voice, in real time.
The distinctive Thai national language remains the language of everyday life, government, education and commerce.
Thai children learn Thai history and literature before looking outward to the rest of the world. They are then taught English within a Thai cultural framework.
School ceremonies still include respect for teachers, the national anthem, Thai history and culture, and many schools begin the day in recognisably Thai ways.
In Thailand, foreign visitors are warmly welcomed, but they quickly discover an important truth: they are guests in someone else’s home.
That is not hostility.
It is confidence.
The country has never felt the need to apologise for being itself.
Confidence, after all, is often quieter than conformity.
Thai cuisine is promoted with pride. Traditional festivals remain central to community life. The wai, the gentle greeting of respect, is still practised daily. Buddhist temples continue to shape both the physical and cultural landscape. Even in the middle of modern Bangkok, the traditions of previous generations remain visible – protecting the past, guiding the present and future.
Thailand’s commitment to cultural continuity extends well beyond its classrooms, cities and temples.
Each morning at 8:00 a.m. and again at 6:00 p.m., the Thai national anthem (Phleng Chat Thai) is broadcast across much of the country. In parks, railway stations, schools and many public places, people commonly pause and stand respectfully until the music has finished.
To many visitors, it is a striking sight.
To most Thais, it is simply part of everyday life.
The anthem is just one of many quiet reminders that being Thai is not reserved for special occasions.
It is woven into everyday life.
None of these practices isolates Thailand from the world.
Instead, they give the country the confidence to engage with it.
Perhaps there is a lesson here for Papua New Guinea.
The strongest nations are not always those that build the highest walls.
Often, they are those that build the strongest sense of who they are.
Thailand embraces the world without allowing the world to redefine Thailand.
Perhaps that is the balance every nation seeks.
Papua New Guinea has every reason to possess the same quiet confidence.
Thailand and Papua New Guinea do not stand at opposite ends of the world.
They stand at opposite ends of a shared neighbourhood.
With more than 850 languages, extraordinary cultural diversity and traditions stretching back thousands of years, PNG does not need to imitate anyone else. It simply needs to value what it already has.
🫶🏽 Culture does not survive because it is written into law.
It survives because ordinary people choose to practice it on ordinary days.
🫶🏽 Culture is not protected at the border.
It is protected…
…in the classroom.
…around the family table.
…in the language a child dreams in.
…in the songs a nation still sings.
…in the confidence to welcome the world without first becoming the world.
If you have a strong self-identity, others will learn to respect it – not because they have to, but because they want to.
No country is perfect.
But every country has something worth learning from.
🌺 Before You Go…
🌴 Here are some cute facts about Thailand… from Kora’s notebook
😂 555
In Thailand the number 5 is pronounced ha.
So 555 simply means…
Ha ha ha!
🏙️ Bangkok isn’t really Bangkok
Most locals call the city Krung Thep (“City of Angels”).
The full ceremonial name is so long it holds the Guinness World Record for the world’s longest place name!
Whether it’s the traditional wai, standing for the national anthem, or removing shoes before entering a home or temple…
Respect is something you can actually see.
If it’s too hot to wait in line. Simply leave your bag, umbrella or shoes.
People generally respect your place in the queue.
Come back later when the line starts moving! 😄
(Photo source: Thairath Online)
🥥 The coconut tree
Thailand and Papua New Guinea share more than tropical weather.
Both have long relied on the humble coconut for food, shelter, medicine, craft and daily life.
Perhaps that’s why a coconut palm feels equally at home in both countries. 🌴
🎶 Mor lam – music from the heart
If you enjoy PNG stringbands or village singsings, you may also enjoy mor lam, the traditional folk music of Thailand’s Isaan region. Like so much music in Papua New Guinea, it tells stories about love, family, work and everyday life. Different instruments… the same human heart. ❤️🎵
🌏 “Amazing Thailand”
Thailand has been inviting the world to visit through its Amazing Thailand tourism campaign since 1997. It has become one of the world’s longest-running and most successful national tourism brands. Some readers may even notice a familiar echo in Amazing Port Moresby. 😊✈️
👣 Shoes off, please
In Thailand, it’s common to remove your shoes before entering a home—and often temples and some businesses too. It’s a simple sign of respect. Visitors quickly get used to looking for a row of shoes outside the door! 👟🚪
🥭 Fruit has its own season
Mangoes, mangosteen, rambutan, longan, durian… Thailand celebrates the changing seasons through fruit just as Papua New Guinea celebrates seasonal foods from the garden and sea. 🍍🥭🥥
🚤 Life on the water
Long before highways connected Thailand, rivers did. Floating markets and canals remind visitors that water has always been a highway, not a barrier—a little like the rivers of PNG and the sea lanes that have connected our islands for thousands of years. ⛵🌊
😊 The Land of Smiles
Thailand is often called “The Land of Smiles.” Like PNG, smiles are more than friendliness—they are often a way of showing respect, easing awkward moments and making people feel welcome. 😄
🙏 The wai
The traditional Thai wai is more than a greeting. The height of the hands and the bow of the head change according to the respect being shown. It’s a beautiful reminder that even a greeting can express culture. 🙏
🎭 Modern country. Ancient soul.
Thailand has some of the world’s busiest airports, modern cities and high-speed internet.
Yet a village festival, a Buddhist temple or a family meal quickly reminds you that modernity and tradition don’t have to compete.
Papua New Guinea already knows that lesson too. 🌺
🌺 Note to self…
Every country has something worth admiring.
The trick is to bring home the wisdom…
…not just the souvenirs. 😊
If you’ve reached the end of this article…
Congratulations.
You’re already seeing Thailand – and the world – through a slightly different pair of eyes. 😊🌺
There is an old saying in Papua New Guinea that no matter how far you travel, your shadow still knows where home is.
Around the world, migration has become one of the defining issues of our time. Some nations worry about people arriving. Others worry about people leaving. Economists count remittances. Politicians count visas. Communities count the empty chairs at family gatherings.
Perhaps we are all counting the wrong things.
Two years ago we explored the economic impact of diasporas and described what appeared to be a “black hole” – the billions of dollars flowing from one economy to another through personal remittances.
The numbers remain extraordinary.
Countries such as India, China and the Philippines receive vast sums from citizens working overseas, while many smaller nations struggle to maintain both their workforce and their economic capacity.[i]
But perhaps the story has become bigger than money.
A diaspora is more than a population scattered across the globe. It is a living network of people connected by memory, language, family and identity. The Greek origin of the word means “to scatter”, yet scattered seeds do not disappear. Given the right conditions, they grow.
That raises an important question.
Is a diaspora a black hole, swallowing talent and opportunity? Or is it a bridge, connecting nations in ways that were once impossible?
The answer depends less on migration itself than on how governments, communities and families choose to respond.
The Philippines offers one of the world’s most remarkable examples. For decades it has supported overseas Filipino workers while maintaining strong cultural, economic and family connections. Remittances remain important, but so too do the skills, professional networks and international experience that millions of Filipinos carry with them.
Their success reminds us that migration is not simply about exporting labour. It is about maintaining relationships.
The PNG Perspective
Papua New Guinea presents a different picture.
Compared with many countries, relatively few Papua New Guineans live overseas and yet it hosts a number of foreign diasporas.
Looking outward, Australia hosts the largest PNG-born community, while smaller communities have formed across New Zealand, Asia, Europe and North America. Their financial contribution through remittances is modest by global standards.
Yet measuring the PNG diaspora only in dollars misses something important.
Every Papua New Guinean working abroad becomes an ambassador of sorts.
Teachers introduce Melanesian perspectives into foreign classrooms. Engineers solve problems on international projects. Nurses and doctors demonstrate the values they learnt at home. Artists, musicians, academics and business leaders quietly reshape how the world understands Papua New Guinea.
Knowledge now travels as easily as money.
Modern technology has transformed the meaning of distance. A software developer in Brisbane, a researcher in Singapore or a pilot in Dubai can contribute ideas to Papua New Guinea before breakfast. Expertise no longer requires permanent relocation. Collaboration no longer depends on geography.
Perhaps the real question is not how many citizens leave.
Perhaps it is how many remain connected.
This is where culture has something to teach economics.
In Papua New Guinea, we understand the idea of wantok. While often translated simply as “one talk”, it means far more than speaking the same language. It describes relationships built on shared identity, mutual responsibility and belonging.
A wantok does not stop being family because they cross an international border.
The same principle applies to a nation.
If governments see their diaspora merely as workers who have departed, they risk creating the very black hole they fear. But if they see their overseas citizens as lifelong partners, investors, mentors and cultural ambassadors, something quite different emerges.
A bridge.
Bridges carry ideas in both directions.
They encourage investment.
They attract tourism.
They strengthen trade.
They connect universities, businesses and communities.
Most importantly, they remind people that leaving home does not necessarily mean leaving behind.
Guests and Homes
There is another lesson that villages have understood for generations.
When guests arrive, they are welcomed.
They are offered food, a place to sit, and often a place to sleep.
Good guests appreciate the hospitality.
They learn the customs of the household.
They show respect to their hosts.
They do not begin rearranging the furniture.
Nor do they assume that because they have been welcomed, the house now belongs to them.
They certainly do not invite dozens of relatives to move into the spare bedroom without first asking.
Hospitality is a relationship built on mutual respect.
The host has responsibilities.
So does the guest.
See it this way: perhaps a nation is simply a home shared by millions.
A country has every right to welcome newcomers.
It also has every right to expect that those who choose to make it their home will learn its language, respect its laws, understand its history and contribute positively to the society that has welcomed them.
That is not exclusion.
It is respect.
Just as visitors should not expect Papua New Guinea to abandon its customs, Papua New Guineans travelling overseas should not expect other countries to abandon theirs.
Respect, after all, travels in both directions.
Perhaps that is the strongest bridge of all.
A Final Reflection: the humble bilum
Of course, migration must be managed wisely.
Every nation has the right—and indeed the responsibility—to determine who enters its borders, under what conditions, and in what numbers.
Equally, governments must create opportunities that encourage their own citizens to build rewarding lives at home. These are matters of public policy, and reasonable people will often disagree about the best path.
But commentators have a different role.
Our task is not simply to count people crossing borders.
It is to understand what those movements mean.
History tells us that people have always travelled. Traders crossed seas long before passports existed. Sailors carried languages between islands. Missionaries, labourers, merchants and adventurers all left footprints far from where they were born.
Migration itself is not new.
What is new is our ability to remain connected.
Perhaps that is the greatest opportunity of the twenty-first century.
Papua New Guinea has never lacked talented people. What it has sometimes lacked are the bridges that allow talent to flow home again—in the form of ideas, experience, investment and inspiration.
A nation is not diminished because some of its people travel.
It is diminished only when they cease to belong.
There is another lesson hidden in the humble bilum.
A bilum is woven from hundreds of individual strands. Remove one strand and the bilum remains strong. Remove many, and eventually it weakens.
Yet every strand can also be woven back into the whole.
The strength of the bilum has never depended on keeping every fibre in one place.
It has always depended on how well they remain connected.
Perhaps the same is true of a nation.
The challenge is not preventing people from leaving.
The challenge is ensuring they always remain part of the fabric of the nation.
Just like the humble bilum, our strength has never depended on keeping every strand in one place.
It has always depended on how well they remain woven together.
There is an old village principle in Papua New Guinea:
If a fence is broken, fix the fence.
You gather some timber, call a few relatives, maybe share some kaukau afterwards, and by sunset the pigs are staying where they belong.
Simple problem. Simple solution.
Yet somewhere between the village and the modern development industry, something curious seems to happen.
The broken fence becomes a Stakeholder Engagement Opportunity.
The pigs become a Food Security Challenge.
The timber becomes a Sustainability Input.
The relatives become Community-Based Actors.
And before anyone picks up a hammer, there are workshops, baseline studies, monitoring frameworks, capacity-building exercises, gender assessments, climate resilience considerations, communication strategies, evaluation matrices, and at least one consultant arriving on a flight from somewhere far away.
By this stage, the pigs have probably moved into the neighbour’s garden.
Perhaps we have finally discovered the unofficial motto of modern development:
“A simple problem is a terrible thing to waste.”
1. The Village Test
Many Papua New Guineans instinctively apply what might be called the Village Test.
The test is simple:
“Could this problem be solved by the people closest to it?”
If the answer is yes, then perhaps the first solution should involve those people.
Not always. Some problems genuinely require expertise, funding, technology and coordination.
Nobody is suggesting a village should build its own telecommunications network or run a national vaccination program.
But many local frustrations arise when a straightforward problem acquires layer upon layer of management until the original issue becomes almost invisible.
2. The Water Tank Principle
Consider a common rural scenario.
A school has no water because the tank is broken.
The village solution is straightforward:
Repair the tank.
The development version can sometimes become:
Conduct a needs assessment.
Establish a stakeholder committee.
Hold consultations.
Undertake awareness activities.
Produce a water management framework.
Consider an Environmental Impact Study.
Create monitoring indicators.
Schedule follow-up workshops.
Commission an evaluation.
Seek additional funding.
Two years later, everyone agrees that access to water remains a challenge.
The tank still leaks.
Nobody doubts the value of planning. Communities simply wonder why fixing the tank appears to be the least urgent component of the project.
3. Kokoda and the Expanding Universe
The Kokoda Trail offers another interesting example.
Originally, the attraction was remarkably simple.
Visitors walked the trail to understand history, honour sacrifice, challenge themselves, and connect with local communities.
Over time, however, Kokoda increasingly became connected to a growing constellation of worthy causes:
climate adaptation,
gender equity,
governance,
livelihoods,
youth engagement,
biodiversity,
resilience,
social inclusion,
community development,
sustainable development goals.
All important topics.
Yet many trekkers still arrive for a surprisingly old-fashioned reason:
They want to understand Kokoda.
Many local people likewise ask a simple question:
“If Kokoda is the reason people come here, when did Kokoda become the least important thing being discussed?”
Meanwhile, the expanding universe continues to expand. The discussion about Kokoda becomes the destination, and the original purpose of Kokoda drifts quietly into the background. More workshops. More discussion groups. More reports. More catering. The trail, as always, remains exactly where it has always been—waiting.
4. The Workshop Economy
Papua New Guineans possess a highly developed sense of humour, and nowhere is this more evident than in conversations about workshops.
Across the country one occasionally hears jokes such as:
“The project has not started yet, but the workshop has already happened.”
Or:
“We have completed awareness on the need for awareness.”
The joke works because everyone recognises a kernel of truth.
Workshops have an important role. They can share knowledge, build consensus and transfer skills.
But communities often distinguish between workshops that solve problems and workshops that merely discuss them.
Communities sometimes joke:
“The village asked for electricity. The project delivered meetings about electricity.”
Likewise, a bridge does not become stronger because another PowerPoint presentation has been delivered about it.
5. The Consultant Migration Pattern
Another familiar observation concerns experts.
In village life, knowledge is often local.
The person who knows the river best is usually the person who fishes it.
The person who knows the road best is usually the person who drives it every day.
The person who knows the land best is usually the person whose grandparents are buried there.
Yet development projects can sometimes create the impression that expertise becomes more valuable the further away it originates.
This does not mean outside expertise lacks value. Often it is essential.
The challenge is ensuring external knowledge complements local knowledge rather than replacing it.
Papua New Guineans have long memories. They can usually tell the difference.
6. The Curious Case of Endless Alignment
One of the more fascinating phrases in modern development language is alignment.
Projects must align with strategies.
Strategies must align with frameworks.
Frameworks must align with priorities.
Priorities must align with international commitments.
Commitments must align with funding requirements.
Funding requirements must align with reporting frameworks.
Eventually the stars, moon, planets and constellations are all perfectly aligned.
The original problem remains exactly where it started.
Waiting.
Patiently.
7. The Bilum with a Hole
There is a lesson here that extends beyond development.
Imagine a bilum with a small hole.
The village woman notices it immediately.
She repairs it.
Problem solved.
The development approach sometimes risks becoming an international symposium on the future of bilum integrity, accompanied by a five-year strategic framework and a monitoring and evaluation matrix.
Meanwhile, the hole grows larger.
8. The Columbus Effect
Papua New Guineans have long understood a simple truth of island life:
Sometimes the greatest danger is not what already exists, but what arrives from somewhere else.
History provides many examples.
When Christopher Columbus reached the Americas, the ships carried more than sailors and supplies. They also carried diseases to populations with little or no immunity. The consequences were catastrophic and would reshape entire continents.
In 2020, many people in Lae could not help but think of this lesson.
At the time, Morobe Province had heard little about local COVID transmission.
Then came a COVID health-related workshop involving participants travelling from Port Moresby.
Soon afterwards, attendees reportedly tested positive for COVID-19, triggering contact tracing and widespread concern throughout the community.
To be clear, nobody intentionally brought the virus to Lae. The organisers were acting within the knowledge and policies of the time. Yet for many residents, the situation seemed to embody a strange contradiction: a gathering intended to discuss and manage a health crisis appeared to become associated with the arrival of the very problem it sought to address.
This might be called the Columbus Effect—when an intervention unintentionally becomes the vehicle by which a problem is introduced.
The lesson is not that conferences are bad, nor that experts should stay away.
Rather, it is a reminder that every intervention carries risk.
Sometimes the first question should not be, “How do we manage this issue?” but rather, “Could our response make the situation worse?”
The irony was not lost on the people of Lae.
As one of my wantoks might observe:
“The village had no crocodiles in the creek. Then a workshop arrived to discuss crocodile management.”
The story remains a useful cautionary tale. In development, health, and governance alike, good intentions are important. But good intentions alone do not guarantee good outcomes.
Sometimes the simplest principle remains the wisest:
The Australian government introduced the Cane Toad to Queensland in 1935 to control cane beetles in sugar cane fields.
The logic seemed straightforward:
Beetles are damaging crops.
Toads eat insects.
Introduce toads.
Problem solved.
Except the beetles lived high on sugar cane stalks and the toads mostly stayed on the ground.
The toads largely ignored the target pest.
And, to make matters worse:
Toads multiplied.
Toads spread across northern Australia.
Toads poisoned native wildlife.
Toads became a national pest.
A classic case where (so to speak):
The solution escaped from the PowerPoint presentation and entered the ecosystem.
😂
Around the same time, under the Australian administration, cane toads were also introduced to Papua and New Guinea, with devastating outcomes for native wildlife, agriculture and the environment.
In Papua New Guinea we might say:
“When a canoe comes from another shore, look not only at the people in it, but also at what travels unseen beneath the cargo.”
Related concepts include the Cobra Effect[ii], unintended consequences[iii], and James C. Scott’s critique of high-modernist planning.
10. High Modernism
The political scientist James C. Scott wrote the landmark book:
Scott argues that governments and large organisations often attempt to simplify complex local realities into neat plans, frameworks and categories.
The people closest to the problem often understand it best, yet their knowledge gets displaced by expert systems.
His examples include:
centrally planned agriculture,
urban redevelopment,
forced villagisation,
forestry schemes.
The book is famous because many readers recognise the pattern immediately.
A villager sees a fence.
The institution sees a programme.
11. Reflection
Papua New Guinea has benefited enormously from development assistance, dedicated public servants, NGOs, churches, volunteers and technical experts.
Many projects have transformed lives for the better.
But perhaps the most useful question is also the simplest:
“What problem are we actually trying to solve?”
Because sometimes the answer is a broken fence or a broken bridge.
Or a leaking water tank.
Or a damaged aid post.
Or a school without desks.
And sometimes the most sophisticated solution is not the one with the largest budget, the longest report, or the most workshops.
Sometimes it is simply the person who arrives with a hammer and starts fixing the fence.
As many Papua New Guineans might say:
We already know the problem. Now it is time to fix it.
12. A Final Word
History teaches us that not every danger arrives with bad intentions.
Sometimes it arrives carrying a workshop agenda, a strategic framework, and a return airline ticket.
😂
If I were to create a taxonomy of undesirable outcomes, it would look like this:
Concept
Example
Columbus Effect
Intervention unintentionally becomes the vehicle by which a problem is introduced.
Cobra Effect
Incentives make the problem worse.
Cane Toad Effect
Solution becomes a larger problem than the original problem.
Workshop Effect
Discussion of the problem expands faster than resolution of the problem.
Kokoda Effect
The original purpose becomes increasingly difficult to locate among the additional purposes.
[i] An interesting related scenario: the late Professor Stephen Hawking repeatedly warned against actively advertising our presence to advanced extraterrestrial civilisations. His argument was essentially historical rather than scientific. He pointed to what happened when technologically advanced civilisations encountered less technologically advanced ones on Earth. The example he often used was the arrival of Europeans in the Americas. His famous observation was along the lines of: “If aliens visit us, the outcome might be much as when Columbus landed in America, which didn’t turn out well for the Native Americans.”
Language is one of humanity’s greatest inventions. It allows us to share ideas, tell stories, preserve knowledge and build relationships.
At its best, language reveals reality.
At its worst, it conceals it.
Most people are familiar with euphemisms. We say someone has “passed away” rather than “died”. We speak of “downsizing” rather than “job losses”. Euphemisms often exist to soften difficult truths.
But Professional Survival English serves a different purpose.
It is language designed not merely to soften reality, but to avoid it altogether.
The philosopher Harry Frankfurt explored this in his famous essay On Bullshit.1 Frankfurt argued that a liar and a bullshitter are not the same thing.
A liar still has a relationship with the truth. A liar knows what the truth is and seeks to conceal it.
The bullshitter is different.
The bullshitter is not concerned with whether something is true or false.
The objective is not accuracy.
The objective is impression.
George Orwell2 warned of a similar danger in his essay Politics and the English Language. Orwell believed vague and dishonest language made it easier for people to avoid clear thinking and personal responsibility.
If Orwell and Frankfurt were alive today, I suspect they would spend a great deal of time reading corporate emails and quietly shaking their heads.
Papua New Guinea already has a perfectly good solution.
It requires no academic theory.
No strategic framework.
No stakeholder consultation.
No workshop.
No PowerPoint presentation.
It is simply:
Tok stret.
Speak plainly.
Say what you mean.
And if we wish to be even more direct:
Tok stret, no giaman.
Speak straight.
Don’t bullshit.
Across Papua New Guinea, people still place great value on words that carry meaning. Trust is built when words and actions align. A person’s reputation depends upon it.
Perhaps that is why Professional Survival English feels so unsatisfying.
It often creates the appearance of communication without the substance.
The next time you receive an email advising that “the matter is receiving attention”, consider replying with a simple question:
Who is attending to it, and when will it be completed?
The answer may tell you everything you need to know.
