The Red and White Mirage: Indonesian Colonialism in West Papua

Papuan children wave the Indonesian flag

The Red and White Mirage: Indonesian Colonialism in West Papua

As the sun sets on one form of colonialism, another often rises, cloaked not in foreign flags but in national pride. Such is the paradoxical and tragic reality of West Papua, a land caught in the long shadow of Indonesian imperialism. While schoolchildren in Jayapura wave the red and white flag of Indonesia, beneath that symbol of independence lies a story of subjugation, violence, and cultural erasure. It is a tale that urgently needs to be told—not in whispers, but in a thunderous cry against injustice.

A Post-Colonial Empire in the Making

The world watched with hope when Indonesia declared independence in 1945. For many, the young republic was a beacon of anti-colonial struggle, a proud example of Asian resilience in the face of European domination. But it did not take long before the liberator became a new colonizer.

In 1961, Indonesia invaded West Papua, a territory previously under Dutch control. The move was not one of liberation but of annexation—an expansionist enterprise masquerading as national unity. Two years later, Indonesia attempted the same trick with Malaysia, and in 1975, it swallowed up East Timor. While Malaysia repelled the incursion and East Timor eventually won its freedom in 1999, West Papua remains chained.

Colonialism in a Different Tongue

There is a striking and fundamental difference between Dutch colonialism and Indonesian colonialism in Papua: documentation versus denial. The Dutch, like all colonial powers, exploited and dominated. But they also recorded. Anthropologists, linguists, missionaries, and administrators left behind mountains of data, photographs, studies, and testimonies. Their work—while ideologically complicit—is at least accessible. It enables Papuans and the world to piece together a coherent narrative of the past.

Indonesia, by contrast, thrives on silence and distortion. At the onset of their occupation, Indonesian soldiers set fire to Dutch-language archives in Jayapura. This literal auto-da-fé was not just a symbolic rupture from colonial history—it was an erasure of Papuan memory. In the hinterlands, massacres of indigenous communities took place under a veil of military secrecy. Papuans were killed, displaced, or terrorized. Yet the world heard nothing. Information became a weapon; control over the narrative, a tactic of war.

Criminalizing Truth, Silencing Witnesses

This monopoly on truth continues to this day. West Papua is a de facto military zone, closed to foreign journalists and independent observers. Attempts to break the silence are met with persecution. In 2014, two French journalists working for ARTE were arrested and convicted for "abusing entry visas"—a bureaucratic euphemism for reporting on human rights abuses.

It is not just journalists who are targeted. Papuan intellectuals, pastors, student leaders, and peaceful protesters are labeled "separatists" or "terrorists"—criminalized for daring to speak of freedom. In the Indonesian public sphere, West Papua is portrayed as a land saved from colonial neglect, brought into the light of development and modernity by Jakarta. This is not a narrative—it is propaganda.

Development or Dispossession?

Indonesia's so-called development in Papua has been another façade. Infrastructure projects such as the Trans-Papua Highway do not serve Papuan villagers but rather facilitate military movement and extractive industries. Meanwhile, indigenous Papuans are displaced by palm oil plantations, mining concessions, and transmigration schemes. They do not benefit from these projects—they are rendered invisible by them.

Under the Dutch, the Papuans were colonized as subjects. Under Indonesia, they are treated as obstacles to a unitary national identity. Worse, they are seen as racially inferior. The dark skin and curly hair of Papuans mark them as "others" in an archipelago that continues to struggle with its own internalized hierarchies of race and culture.

A War Zone in Disguise

Today, West Papua is not just a neglected periphery. It is a war zone. Thousands of troops are stationed there. Helicopter gunships fly over forests. Schools are burned, churches raided, civilians displaced. Indonesia claims to be fighting terrorism. But in truth, it is suppressing a people who never consented to be part of this republic.

The so-called 'Act of Free Choice' in 1969, in which 1,026 handpicked Papuan representatives voted under duress to join Indonesia, was neither free nor representative. It was a diplomatic farce blessed by the United Nations and ignored by the world. That original sin continues to haunt West Papua, a wound that festers beneath every flag-raising ceremony.

Toward Truth and Freedom

It is time to stop pretending. West Papua is not a peaceful province. It is not Indonesian in spirit, identity, or history. It is a colonized territory trapped in a post-colonial empire, ruled not by consent but by coercion.

Let us not be fooled by the waving of Indonesian flags in Papuan hands. Let us ask: who raised those flags, and at what cost? Behind the red and white lies a land in mourning. But also a land that resists.

In the name of historical truth, in the name of justice, in the name of all peoples who have suffered the betrayal of liberation turned domination—it is time to name the Indonesian presence in West Papua for what it is: a colonial occupation.

And like all colonialism, it must end!