Faith under fire in Papua New Guinea
- 20 hours ago
- 6 min read
BY MS SYEIDAH GENIEMBO
Kainantu is a town in Papua New Guinea’s Eastern Highlands Province, part of the country’s rugged mountainous interior. It is also a place where The Salvation Army has deep roots, serving communities through its churches, health and education programmes and, increasingly, the painstaking work of peacebuilding.
Across Papua New Guinea’s Highlands, conflict between clans and communities can be triggered by disputes over land and resources, election results, deaths, and accusations of sorcery or grievances stretching back generations. What may begin as a disagreement between individuals can draw in extended families and neighbouring clans, creating cycles of retaliation that are difficult to break. The growing presence of modern firearms has made such conflicts increasingly deadly.
The consequences extend far beyond those doing the fighting. Families are displaced, homes destroyed, gardens abandoned and children kept from school. In 2021, the United Nations condemned fighting near Kainantu that claimed 19 lives. Yet the region also has a history of reconciliation. In 2016, The Salvation Army worked alongside other churches to help broker a peace agreement between two clans in Eastern Highlands Province, bringing an end to 11 years of hostilities.
That work continues. Supported through the PNG-Australia Partnership’s Church Partnership Program, Salvation Army officers and other church leaders are building relationships across dividing lines, returning repeatedly to communities where trust has broken down and creating opportunities for dialogue.
For Major Steven Lavaki, however, peace-building is not always conducted around a meeting table. Sometimes ministry means raising The Salvation Army flag above his vehicle and driving directly towards the sound of gunfire.
They come running out of the trees in bursts. Young men, barefoot on hard ground, rifles lifted, bows drawn. The crack of a gun answers the hiss of an arrow cutting the air. Smoke hangs low. Someone shouts and another falls. The road that cuts between the two villages is empty of traffic and full of fear.
Into this, a white utility with a yellow, red and blue flag tied to its frame moves forward at a steady crawl. It does not stop at the first sound of gunfire. It keeps coming. Major Steven Lavaki is at the wheel. Beside him sits his wife, also in uniform. Neither of them looks away. “We go straight in,” he says. “They know us. They won’t touch us.”
Most days, Major Steven’s work looks very different. He sits behind a desk in Kainantu, answering emails, managing staff, organising church programs and field visits; working through the steady demands of administration. The routine is quiet, ordered and predictable.
Then the phone rings. A short message. Fighting has broken out! He leaves the office, raises the flag above his vehicle and does the opposite to what most people would do. He heads towards the conflict.
“We go straight in,” he says. “They know us. They won’t touch us.”
Major Steven is a Salvation Army officer serving in Eastern Highlands Province. His role has placed him in the middle of some of the worst tribal fighting in the region. The disputes vary. In one area, clans are fighting over land believed to contain gold, over sorcery accusations or drug and alcohol related issues. In others, old grievances have reignited after political disputes or deaths in the community.
The pattern is familiar. Villages deserted, houses burned and gardens left to rot. Families scatter, some sleeping under rocks or staying with relatives. Young men take up guns, bows and bush knives. Many are still schoolboys.
On that road, the fight has already taken a life. A boy is carried out by his friends with blood running down his shirt. He is young, likely not past grade eight. They are still trying to save him. Major Steven stops the car, lifts the boy inside, and drives to the nearest hospital. However, when he gets there, the doctor says the boy is already dead.
“It was strange to see people with blood, trying their best to find help,” Major Steven says.
There is always risk. He drives on anyway. “I feel fear. But I also feel a duty to protect life, to save life.”
When Major Steven and others arrive on the scene of conflict, they begin by placing themselves between the two sides, somewhere visible, where all the fighters can see them. On one occasion, church leaders from several denominations joined police and moved into the middle of the road. They set down a metal drum.
“This is the boundary,” they told the fighters. “You cannot cross!”
It forced a pause. The shooting slowed, then the guns fell silent. However, this is only the beginning. The harder work comes after the slaughter stops.
Major Steven starts with visits. He sends messages ahead and meetings are arranged with community leaders and those directing the fighting. Sometimes the reception is tense particularly in situations where the feeling of loss is fresh and where anger understandably sits just beneath the surface. “They are still angry. But when they see us, there is a relief,” he says.
“I feel fear. But I also feel a duty to protect life, to save life.”
He opens with prayer. He reads from the Bible. His wife prays with the women and speaks plainly about what the fighting has done to their families. The language is direct and the message is familiar. “It touches them,” Major Steven says. “They begin to think about stopping.”
The visits continue. One side, then the other, again and again. There is no quick settlement. In one area, it took two years of talking before both sides agreed to stop fighting.
The work depends on persistence and on practical support. Each trip needs fuel, food and time away from other duties. Through the PNG-Australia Partnership’s Church Partnership Program, The Salvation Army has been able to sustain those visits and maintain a presence over time. “Without Australian support it would be very hard for us to keep going back,” Major Steven says. “This work needs many visits. It takes time to build trust and bring people to peace. The support helps us do that.”
Women speak with the force of grief, and they tell of the damage done to their families demanding that it stop. The men listen.
When both sides finally agree to meet, the atmosphere is controlled but fragile. The location is chosen carefully. Food is placed in the centre: sweet potato, greens and rice. The fighters stand apart, watching.
Leaders step forward first. They speak about what has been lost. About children out of school, about gardens destroyed, about the future that is closing in on them if the fighting continues. There are no grand gestures. A few leaders shake hands. Others do not. The distance between the groups remains but it is enough that they have come together at all.
“When we see you, it is like Heaven is coming down. We change our minds.”
Women speak with the force of grief, and they tell of the damage done to their families demanding that it stop. The men listen.
“They don’t beat around,” Major Steven says. “They say what needs to be said.”
From there the process continues. More meetings and more visits. The anger does not disappear, but it is managed, then slowly reduces. Over time, people begin to move back. They rebuild their houses, plant new gardens and their children return to school. Major Steven does not describe it as success but as progress.
In the Highlands, peace is not declared. It is worked at, repeatedly, and violence can return without warning.
One fighter once told him what his presence meant. “When we see you, it is like Heaven is coming down. We change our minds.” Major Steven repeats the line without embellishment. Then he turns back to the routine of his other work: emails, meetings and budgets.
Until the next call comes.
This article was re-posted in All the World, the online magazine of the international Salvation Army.
It originally appeared in Papua New Guinea’s Post Courier newspaper and was republished in The Salvation Army PNG Facebook page.
