Scott Morrison (Cook, Liberal Party, Shadow Minister for Immigration and Citizenship) Share this | Hansard source

Australia has a proud history of peacekeeping. Our police forces have long played an important part in overseas operations: nurturing and empowering nations along the path to self-determination, democracy and independence. This strong legacy has its root in the service of our kiaps—the precursors, the forgotten peacekeepers. About 2,000 Australians, including at least one shire resident, served as members of the Royal PNG Constabulary between 1949 and 1973. The name 'kiap' came from the German title 'kapitan' and crept into the local vernacular when Germany governed the Territory of New Guinea prior to World War I. In the aftermath of World War II, Australia assumed responsibility for administering the territories of Papua and New Guinea. During this time it remained an overseas territory—a British possession in Papua and a UN trust for the former German colony of New Guinea. The kiaps, or patrol officers, were the face of a colonial government. As sworn officers of Australia's police force, they performed government services prior to independence in 1975—not calling the shots down a telephone line but working alongside people on the ground in the towns and villages.

In 1970, there were about 550 kiaps in the field and all but 50 were posted to rural outstations. They lived the life in order to comprehend it. Papua New Guinea was a rural land, at times primitive, and very remote. It was split into districts and subdivided into patrol posts and base camps responsible for between 15 and 30,000 people. The kiaps did much more than simply police the frontier. It was an all-consuming task requiring total immersion in a culture that was very different from the world they knew. The kiaps were everywhere. They were an authority wholly embedded in the field. They adapted to their environment, shouldering whatever duties a situation demanded. You became what you needed to be. Tom Webster left Canberra in 1969 at age 20 to become a cadet patrol officer in Port Moresby. He was posted to the Western Highlands and within days of arriving he had supervised the extension of an airstrip, investigated a fatal fire in a school and set out on a census patrol.

A kiap was an explorer, a peacemaker, a negotiator, a policeman, a judge, a governor, a mediator and even an anthropologist, not to mention a surveyor and a construction foreman. It was no mean feat to bring stability to a land that was, at that time, largely lawless and tribal, as divided by language and clan rivalry as the wild rivers and steep mountains it possessed. It was not 'policing' in the typical sense of the word but, nevertheless, the kiaps succeeded. The versatility required to perform the many roles they performed should not detract from their eligibility for the Police Overseas Service Medal. Quite the opposite; it should enhance it.

The kiaps worked on foot, conducting radiating patrols throughout the countryside in close cooperation with the indigenous police and local leaders. More than 85 per cent of the population lived in rural villages. Papua New Guinea was and remains one of the most sociolinguistically diverse countries in the world. In 1970, over 700 languages were spoken amongst a population of just three million. Kiaps were often away for weeks at a time, covering vast areas of difficult and unforgiving terrain. I experienced both the privilege and the challenge of walking the Kokoda Track in 2009 with my parliamentary colleague the member for Blaxland. The landscape of Papua New Guinea is formidable. The heat is oppressive, the jungles impenetrable, the mountains sheer and the terrain rugged. Men were made in those mountains, and Australians and Papua New Guineans fought together and died together during the war. In the decades that followed, our peoples continued to work side by side to help the country achieve independence.

The kiaps first set foot in PNG as young Australians with big hearts, a little training and a thirst for adventure. They left with a sense of real pride, having played a role in accomplishing something great. In his memoirs, Michael O'Connor records his experience of becoming a kiap. In 1959, at the age of 20, he was handed responsibility for the lives of 30,000 Papua New Guineans. Having slashed their way through jungles and waded through swamps, the kiaps would inspect villages, conduct a census, collect head taxes and administer justice. Kiaps dealt with three-quarters of all cases heard in the colony by way of an open court. The officer would face the accused and the litigants before the entire village. He would listen to all parties, form a judgment and then make a resolution, taking into account the views of the village leaders. The decisions were all recorded.

Dinnen and Braithwaite observed that 'interactions between indigenous and colonial systems served to strengthen each other. Working with the kiaps brought considerable prestige to local people, while European kiaps depended on their local knowledge and language skills.' Archives of surviving patrol reports document their attempts to introduce law and order to the towns and, at the same time, to produce maps, reports and accounts of local customs and language. Their actions demonstrated a profound sense of humility and a dedication to serving the local people.

Kiaps frequently went above and beyond the call of duty; duty had no uniform shape. Tom Webster asked at his first training course if he would ever have to deliver a baby. He was firmly told 'no'. By the end of his tour of duty, Tom had delivered four. Departmental standing instructions issued to the officers described their role as to facilitate self-determination, to ensure 'the territory is reasonably well equipped, as far as natural resources permit, to survive on its own in terms of social and economic development, with a decent standard of living and civilisation. The task is one of staggering magnitude.'

One of the travesties of Australian history is that the kiaps have never formally been recognised, as I now seek to do through this bill. We often talk about views or perceptions of history, but, on occasion, cataracts develop in our national narrative that mar or obscure certain elements of our past. I bring this bill before the House to grant kiaps eligibility for the Australian Police Overseas Service Medal so that, finally, they may receive the commendation they deserve—alongside so many other fine Australian police officers who have served overseas as well. Importantly, this includes posthumous recognition. The kiaps played a crucial role in the reconstruction of a war battered nation. Over time, disparate village units were drawn together. It was a difficult road to self-government, but the role of the kiaps in aiding that change cannot be underestimated. The work was hard, the days were long and the danger was ever present.

In his memoirs, Michael O'Connor recounts the challenges of trying to shoot a crocodile that had been troubling one village in the dark. In another breath, he describes patrolling while suffering hepatitis and dengue fever. Ross Wilkinson, from Victoria, recalls his ancillary duties, which included flying in light aircraft on search and rescue missions and using explosives for road and airstrip construction. Each kiap carried a Lee Enfield rifle for his police work, along with revolvers and shotguns. In addition to keeping the peace, kiaps were tasked with destroying unexploded ordnance from World War II.

The job was perilous on so many levels. Some were murdered on duty. East New Britain District Commissioner Jack Emmanuel was killed by disaffected landowners on the Gazelle Peninsula when he tried to intervene in a land ownership dispute. Their work involved exploring new territories and pacifying the warring tribes that dwelt there. There were arrows tipped with poison to contend with, should diplomacy deteriorate, but nature was often threat enough, with malaria, snakes and bush pigs. Some lives were claimed by illness; others were lost in boating and aircraft accidents. But all this they took in their stride.

In 1971, then Minister for External Territories Charles Barnes remarked, 'This body of men has made a most admirable contribution to the territory ... a few Australians went into that primitive and hostile country ... and, with a minimum loss of life, brought control to the country and a better life to its people. I do not think their efforts could be equalled anywhere else.' Forty years on, we have the opportunity to offer a fitting thanks to these remarkable Australians. This bill is the culmination of much work from many, and I stand here to represent these people in bringing it forward: Chris Viner-Smith; Morrie Brown, who has joined us here today in the gallery; and Mike Douglas, a very good friend of mine from the shire who first introduced me to this incredible story and who is also supported by the Police Federation of Australia.

One of the obstacles to awarding this medal has been the status of PNG prior to independence. But, as I have said, it was clearly an 'overseas' theatre, given Australia's jurisdiction. The significance of this bill is twofold. Importantly, it recognises the contributions of those 2,000 Australians at a personal level—long overdue. But, as a nation, by acknowledging their achievement in this place, it also gives us access to what is truly one of the great Australian stories in which we should all have a sense of pride. It facilitates engagement with a chapter of our experience of nationhood that I believe has wrongly been overlooked. The qualities of the quintessential Australian spirit are as evident here as on any other page of history—including in that great land of Papua New Guinea.

Last year, to celebrate the 35th anniversary of Papua New Guinea's independence, the National Archives hosted a photographic tribute to the kiaps. Those pictures form an enduring tribute to the Australian spirit and the mettle of its people. Those black and white photographs remind us not only what we were but also who we are and who we can be. The recognition of the kiaps, both in this place and in our national history, is long overdue. But that opportunity is now here with us with the presentation of this bill. I look around the chamber and to the other place and I heartily commend this bill to the House and ask that the kiaps now be remembered and honoured for their service.

Bill read a first time.

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