February 7, 1990 - Biak - Indonesia -Journal

I woke up this morning to the muezzin calling out the morning prayer. He has a good baritone. A Strange for Islam to have conquered the world, until understanding the simplicity of Islam. Only five rules, yet the animists resisted the call of the Koran until falling for Jesus. The cannibals must have seen the nailed god as a victim for sacrifice.

I sat on the teakwood veranda offering a fantastic view of Cenderawasih Bay, reading standard Bahasa Indonesian phrases. Joseph Conrad would have felt at home on this patio and I imagined him having passed through this way back in the 19th Century. My Uncle David had fought here in the Battle of the Sump. His destroyer had shelled the Japanese fortifications on the shore. This hotel showed no scars of that combat.

Slightly after dawn I sat out on the veranda and someone knocked on the door. I answered it. A young waiter brought in a tray loaded with my breakfast. I sat on the veranda and he pulled off the white cotton serving cloth to reveal fried eggs, bacon, and sliced bread.

“Terima Kasih.” That was ‘thank you’ in Bahasa Indonesian.

I tasted the bread. It was surprisingly better than Wonder Bread and I ate every slice thinking that this had to be the last slice bread in town, however the following morning the waiter returned with a tray of soft white bread. Each slice was a uniform 12 mm thick.

Sliced bread was not an anomaly on Biak.

Later

After breakfast I walked to the Japanese caves. In 1943 over four thousand Imperial soldiers refused to surrender to the Marines, who had had it with the incessant raids and sniping and Banzai charges.

Today I descended the stairs into the cave and stood on the muddy floor looking up ropey veins hanging from the rim to the surface. I imagined the stubbornness of these trapped soldiers. Ammo gone, food gone, hope gone. They stood shoulder to shoulder praying for the eternal wellness for Emperor Hirohito, thousands of miles away in Tokyo. The Marines showed no mercy to a merciless enemy. They poured aviation fuel into the caves and threw in a Zippo to ignite the fuel and burnt them all for the Emperor. Banzai.

Emerald vegetation mass covered the once blackened cave and small birds flitted hole to hole. Their homes shelter for the lost souls of the fire storm. I climbed back out and saw several veterans, who survived the battle of Biak and returned to the caves to pay their respects to the dead. I was the only one American today. I nodded in respect and thought crazy mother-fuckers.

Biak is only one of the thousand battles of World War II and millions and maybe more millions died in these islands cut off from help by the US elite and hunted by the Marines. 150,000 died in Papua New Guinea. Lost forever. It was a good morning to be alive and I returned to the Dutch Hotel to drink beer on the veranda. Forever a peacenik.