Books, Reviews, Writers

The Artistic Ones May Save The

Future For Papua New Guinea

By Olaf Ruhen

Perhaps I’m over-optimistic, but 1 don't share the frequently expressed fears of those who predict all kinds of tragedy for the emergent inde pendent Papua New Guinea. At least part of this confidence is based on the way these artistic people have adjusted to new media, involving the use of new tools.

My interest naturally turns on the writers; perhaps never before has a country thrown up so much of promise in the literary field so soon after first introduction to the printed word.

When I first saw New Guinea, about a quarter-century ago, no Papuan or New Guinean had put his thoughts into published print. About five years after that, Percy Cochrane (holiday ing in Greece as I write this) dis covered a Mekeo in Amo Amo vil lage writing poetry.

This was Allan Natachee who, though his schooling had stopped at Standard Five about 20 years before in a Yule Island mission school, had found himself committed to writing, partly from love of the medium itself, partly because, being deeply enamoured of the legends of his tribe, he wanted to see them trans lated to English which, of course, is their only chance of achieving any acceptance outside his own race.

This is a problem facing all the Islanders: to reach a public of any size they will have to write in Eng lish. Pidgin offers a partial and un satisfactory solution; to fulfil all its functions literature must be appre ciated beyond the boundaries of the land in which it has its origin. More over, none of the native languages, now or at any time in the future, offers a reading public big enough to support any author financially.

Allan Natachee was born Avaisa Pinongo, and collected the alias which he uses constantly from one of the teaching sisters at his school. She gave him the Amerindian Apache part because he was as restless, in her opinion, as an Indian child. Under Cochrane’s guidance he had a poem

published in the Australian magazine Oceania, a journal devoted to the study of Pacific people and edited by anthropologist Professor A. P. Elkin.

The poem had, therefore, some special pleading for it above its poetic content, but Allan has gone ahead to publication in a variety of magazines as far afield as the Philippines, where a body styled United Poets Laureate International has proclaimed him Poet Laureate of Papua and issued him with a laurel-leaf crown in silver metal, as well as a few certificates.

And in 1970, Vincent Eri’s novel The Crocodile had much more going for it than the circumstance of it being the first by any indigene of the big island; or, indeed, I think, of all Melanesia.

For some time I’ve been aware of the increasing quality of the stories published in Papua New Guinea Writing and Kovave, and I was de lighted to be invited to conduct a two weeks’ course in creative writing with some of these very promising writers as students.

Richard Pape, author of a dozen or more novels including the best seller Boldness Be My Friend, first broached the matter in Port Moresby in the latter half of 1972. He was Principal Publications Officer in the Department of Information and Ex tension Services, and we had some correspondence on what I considered a most exciting subject, but I thought it had been shelved until one day in May I had an official request to con duct the course over two weeks in June and July.

New Zealand-born author Olaf Ruhen, who lives in Sydney, is well known as a Pacific writer and lecturer. He has many books to his credit, including fiction and short stories. In this report he com ments on the Papua New Guinea writing scene.

The Australian Council for the Arts and the English Department of the University of Papua New Guinea were both co-operating.

I was very conscious of the honour, for though the university offers a course in creative writing, this would be the first school of its kind in the country.

By coincidence of receiving another invitation on the same day, I went to Port Moresby almost directly from New York where I’d been in volved with the presentation of an exhibition of Papua New Guinea art at the Fashion Institute of Tech nology to a genuinely enthusiastic student body some 3,000 strong.

My class of about 14 —the number rose at times to 17, dropped one or two afternoons to 12—included eight or nine from the university and others from the Goroka Teachers’ College and the Holy Spirit Seminary.

Nearly all had had work published.

Jack Lahui, marked as the next head of the department’s Literature Bureau, took the course and helped with administration as well. Roger Boschman, a Canadian whose place Lahui will assume, smoothed out problems and made opportunities for me to meet other writers outside the course.

One rather memorable evening Sogeri High School presented a musical, modified from Russell Soaba’s excellent play, Scattered by the Wind, and I was able to meet still another group of playwrights there.

But the 14 students 1 had were outstanding, and I make the judg ment after conducting more than a score of similar schools in three States of Australia, and for a variety of educational bodies.

John Wills Kaniku, whose play writing talent has given him intro ductions to the universities of both Melbourne and Sydney, has been producing plays in his own country in 15 different language groups, in most of which he introduced the villagers to Western-type theatre. His school-

ing began with Kwato Mission, he has that quick, bright Milne Bay per sonality, and he has long been a man to watch.

So has Joe Saruva, born at Kokoda, and educated in part at Mitcham High School in Victoria.

Youngest of the group, 17-year-old Alois Jerewai from a coconut village on the Sepik, has a quick mind and already a large production of stories.

The first he submitted to the depart ment’s quarterly had an instant acceptance.

Peter Kama-Kerpi and Ben Umba came from the Chimbu. Ben won a short story contest in 1971; Peter of all the group seemed quickest at grasping principles and demonstrating that grasp by example in the small amount of writing we were able to accomplish in the busy fortnight.

Thin, good-looking, inky-black, Michael Tomun from Bougainville was another who impressed; and Tau Peruka, a bright, restless lad from the Central District. Gapi lamo came from Hood Point; as with the others of his village his looks seem to identify him with Polynesian ancestry. Allain Jaria came from Goilala, Livingstone Sorisori from Popondetta, August Kituai from Madang—they were drawn from all parts of the island, and from varied backgrounds. Their interests mainly centred on two subjects; problems of transition, and their inheritance of legend.

I was sorry that none of the emer gent women writers was in the course.

But we were honoured in that Mar jorie Crocombe, visiting New Guinea with her husband on the Lands Com mission, and displaying an interest on behalf of the University of the South Pacific in Fiji, spared time from her busy life to attend a few of the classes as an observer.

Perhaps, too, it might have been well for writers of other nationalities to have joined the group; though of this I am not sure, because of a Melanesian initial reluctance to em bark on criticism. A thoughtful criticism of others is the first step towards the self-criticism without which creative writing cannot im prove.

Because of an emergency in the sit ting House of Assembly, the Minister for Information, Mr Paulus Arek, had to delegate delivery of his prepared

speech at the farewell function; though he arrived in person a little later. But it seems fair to quote him: “Writers such as yourselves can do much to enlighten and guide our people. You can assist in promoting a sense of identification throughout the land. You can contribute much towards the social and economic development of New Guinea. Language . . . is the greatest tool of civilisation.

“As a Papua New Guinean I am particularly pleased to see more and more stories, legends and poems be ing written with a distinctive Papua New Guinea touch. Much of this material deals with our traditional social structures, spiritual ties and rituals, customs, local colour and history. The development of this type of literature is, I am convinced, a great force for unification in our land.”