Report - Office of the High Commissioner on Human Rights

military blockade (land, air, sea and communication) and for being part <strong>of</strong> a family who stood for <strong>the</strong>
right for self- determination and humanitarian aid.
My name is Taloi Rengetsi Havini and I am from Buka, which is <strong>the</strong> nor<strong>the</strong>rn Island <strong>of</strong> Bougainville.
I was born in Bougainville on <strong>the</strong> mainland and remember growing up in a place <strong>of</strong> beauty and warmth
from my clan. My bro<strong>the</strong>r says that my “feet never touched <strong>the</strong> ground”; because all <strong>the</strong> mo<strong>the</strong>rs <strong>of</strong>
<strong>the</strong> Clan (my aunties) had loved us young ones so much we were always being held high.
But it seems I only enjoyed that love and warmth for <strong>the</strong> first eight years <strong>of</strong> my life (thank God, as
<strong>the</strong>y are my most cherished memories). However, when I became a nine year old in Bougainville, I
can recall that change <strong>of</strong> feeling free as a child, to suddenly witnessing <strong>the</strong> horrific expressions on
my mo<strong>the</strong>rs’, aunties, and all <strong>the</strong> adults’ faces, as <strong>the</strong>se were <strong>the</strong> first signs <strong>of</strong> war emerging. I could
no longer play about <strong>the</strong> back yard, as we were being watched; or play with my neighbours, because
<strong>the</strong>y were all fleeing <strong>the</strong> country. I grew confused, quiet and responsive to <strong>the</strong> tension in <strong>the</strong> town and
among all <strong>the</strong> people.
In 1989 <strong>the</strong> State sent in soldiers to enforce a law passed by <strong>the</strong> State claiming that all <strong>the</strong> land belonged
to <strong>the</strong> crown – and was to be used for <strong>the</strong> mine. People were forcedly evicted from <strong>the</strong> land. Women
chained <strong>the</strong>mselves with <strong>the</strong>ir babies to <strong>the</strong> trucks. Riot police were sent in. I remember <strong>the</strong> fear because
men accused <strong>of</strong> being members <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) were beaten.
Even for a young girl it was clear that my freedom to run and play was halted by <strong>the</strong> PNG Police
check points and <strong>the</strong>ir curfews. I did not know what was happening, or going to happen, but I remember
watching <strong>the</strong> explosions above <strong>the</strong> water towers in Arawa and <strong>the</strong> results <strong>of</strong> war around at <strong>the</strong> Panguna
mine; flares up in <strong>the</strong> sky, people leaving everyday, my relatives and friends were always crying and
saying <strong>the</strong>ir goodbyes. It was clear that <strong>the</strong> adults could forecast a bloody war, and slowly people were
ei<strong>the</strong>r leaving <strong>the</strong> town to go in <strong>the</strong> Bougainville Mountains, or go to PNG, even go to <strong>the</strong> Solomon
Islands. Arawa town was not safe. Uncles’ and bro<strong>the</strong>rs suddenly ‘went missing’; our neighbour’s
bro<strong>the</strong>r went missing and was killed. Crimes, <strong>the</strong>fts, vandalism were happening more and more. Fear
was everywhere; people were packing everyday. Our house was burnt down in <strong>the</strong> main town.
Among <strong>the</strong> families to leave, we were on those last flights out <strong>of</strong> Bougainville, as <strong>the</strong> extended family
in Australia pleaded with my fa<strong>the</strong>r to bring us out <strong>of</strong> Bougainville. I was told to pack my things, and,
and to also leave behind some <strong>of</strong> my things for my cousins to have. We travelled north to Buka, to
say good bye to my fa<strong>the</strong>rs Clan saying we were only going for “three years”. I wished we never went
to say good bye that day. It seemed my world was crashing, but I was too young to be let in on <strong>the</strong>
story. I never knew why my Aunties sprawled all over us; <strong>the</strong>y lay in front <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> family car, refusing
to let us go. One <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong>m was screaming, “I’ll never see you again”, which happened to be true. She
died during <strong>the</strong> blockade.
It has not been easy for survivors who stayed to care for people like me and refugees from Solomon
Islands, coming back to Bougainville.
Matrilineal systems in Bougainville are an important aspect <strong>of</strong> women’s security <strong>of</strong> tenure, women own
<strong>the</strong> land and land passes through <strong>the</strong> women’s line. This is <strong>the</strong> indigenous culture and it is still practised
today. But for women who were evicted from <strong>the</strong>ir lands during <strong>the</strong> conflict and relocated to care centres,
returning home to <strong>the</strong>ir lands has been a problem. The peace talks focused primarily on negotiations
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