Helped
pp. 36-37 · Read in the full issue
"The Papuan Is
A Man"
Why he Deserves to be Helped
By Mrs. Constance Williams,
widow of the late Dr. F. E. Williams, Government Anthropologist in Papua. riIHE intelligent Papuan of to-day, who A has sufficient contact with white men, welcomes the chance to learn and to improve himself. He has, by prac tical application, mastered several" trades, and has succeeded in doing such unusual jobs as driving a car, attending to a tele phone switchboard, carpentering, travel ling about the country as a medical assistant and has even become proficient with the fickle bicycle.
Papuans, like all intelligent human beings, are ever curious; and they do their training by watching the job that interests them. In this way the boy, an onlooker, receives his first instruction; and, perhaps by grasping the right plank and assisting at the right moment, his first job.
To do the things a white man can do savours of super-knowledge, and hence superiority: and an intelligent boy, if keenly interested, learns quickly—not, perhaps, of book knowledge, even in its simplest form, but by watching and copy ing the practical worker the job comes easily to him.
He has, with his fellows, built many native houses. True, they are of saplings and thatch, but a man who can get his supports in alignment, and his ridge-pole properly in place, has some good ideas about house construction.
He may not understand a blue-print, but he can, in time, absorb even this advanced idea. He possibly will look at it every way except the right one; and, even when he does look at it correctly, he won’t know it. Give a boy a photo of himself, who has never seen one before, and ask him what it is. He will turn it round uncomprehendingly and say, “diba lase, Taubada”; (“I don’t know.”) Remembering one boy who, under these circumstances, was given his own photo to look at, I shall not forget the sudden astonishment of the recognition. He, photo in hand, capered up the garden path roaring with excitement and plea sure, while he slapped himself resound ingly and, as he did so, shouted. I doubt any blue-print would arouse such enthu siasm; but, in time, he will “get the hang of it” and carry out the job.
IT is as a seaman, though, that the Papuan is perhaps at his best. He has, if a good and experienced mas, a knowledge of the coast “like the paim
of your hand.” Indeed, the intimate knowledge of every feature of the coast, combind with an amazing facility for seeing in the dark, makes these men invaluable to some of the white owners of small launches that ply up and down a rough sea coast. Their navigation sense, their devotion to duty, and their ability to manage their craft in all wea thers, are well known.
The chief assistant, the native engin eer, is an expert in nursing sick engines —and seems often to lead a sleepless life, for his main sport is fishing by night and by day, with lines taut from the speed of the boat, and only a fluttering piece of dirty rag, tied to a knot in the line, signals a catch. Then passengers and crew may take a hand in hauling in the weighty but welcome breakfast.
Car drivers are sometimes doubtful heroes, the races between lorry drivers on the well-known turn of a sloping hill in Port Moresby have had disastrous results.
The shouting of the dusky joy-riders, gesticulating and calling out, changed into cries of fear and pain as the lorry on the outside of the embankment turned over and rolled down the hill! However, there are also many good and reliable drivers, who have given satisfaction for many years. In several instances, they own their lorries.
As “switch” boys, natives have giver excellent service—even if sometimes, in slack hours, the boy at the board, when asked for “No. 63“ replied: “More better you ring 22 . . . this No. 63 talk he gone see, Mr. B ” Still, how convenient and informative, and time-saving.
Medical assistants, trained for some time in the South, have done good work in Papua. They move about, usually in pairs, armed with simple drugs. They can give the hated “needle” for the pre valent and hideous yaws; treatment for snake bite; and, besides and above all, they carry with them the three staple drugs of Papua—iodine, salts and quinine.
Carpenters (the best of these are half castes) can, with but little supervision, be responsible for the construction of a fibrolite house and, when finished, this is “well and truly built.” The boss boy has several native assistants, and his team work stated hours on Government pay and rations.
THE native police of Papua are a mag nificent lot of men—well trained and devoted to their duty . . . and their rifle. This latter is, in their eyes, the symbol of authority and power and it is jealously guarded—on occasions, at the risk of life. As a body of men, they defer to no one. They are physically far above the average height and physique; their drill is strict and arduous; and their prestige none question.
A policeman, with his navy serge jumper, sulu, and crimson sash, and his wide leather belt, and precious cartridges
and gun, is a respected and admired visitor to any village. He is the envy of the youths and the centre of attraction to the maidens —and he knows it.
Perhaps after the war is over, the work of the Papuan Constabulary and the car riers will be the best monument the people have. It will not plead in vain, we hope, for good government and understanding administration.
Of the Constabulary, others will write; but, of the carriers, it can be said that our soldiers now know from experience what Government officers and civilians knew long before the days of this war— the great powers of endurance, the self forgetfulness, and the heroism of the native carrier. They, too, have climbed where the white man has climbed, and they, too, have endured the hardships and bitter weather and storm —but while the civilian went unencumbered the car rier had his load to bear, day in and day out, on the long, long trek.
Now, that load has often become the weight of the stretcher and its suffering occupant; how gently and with what skill he has walked those tortuous miles in slush and rain, up hill and down, and has brought his man out, safe and sound, to the base lines.
But the Papuan was a man before ever the white man came —he could fight, and endure, and survive, and we have not taught him these things. Cannibal or head-hunter he may have been, but in this war he has shown great qualities.
He has offered his best and, in so doing, he has achieved by his devotion and sac rifice his right to an honoured place among the peoples of the Pacific.