Discussion — Saints and Stirrers: Christianity, Conflict, and Peacemaking in New Zealand, 1814-1945

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Philip Fountain et al. | Wednesday, 28th March, 2018

The following is a series of reviews of and reflections on Geoffrey Troughton’s important volume, Saints and Stirrers: Christianity, Conflict and Peacemaking in New Zealand, 1814-1945 (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2016). The final contribution is Troughton’s own response to the previous reflections. It’s a wonderfully thoughtful discussion, and well worth a read. Enjoy!

  1. Introduction: Saintly Stirring (Philip Fountain)
  2. Stories We Need to Hear (Doug Hynd)
  3. A Cry for Peace (Cat Noakes-Duncan)
  4. What Can We Learn from the Past? (Val Goold)
  5. Are Peacemakers Really Blessed? (Vernon Jantzi)
  6. Opening spaces (Geoff Troughton)

You can purchase Saints and Stirrers from Victoria University Press’ website.

Opening Spaces

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Geoff Troughton | Wednesday, 28th March, 2018

Reading Doug Hynd, Cat Noakes-Duncan, Val Goold and Vern Jantzi’s responses to Saints and Stirrers, my immediate feeling is one of immense gratitude – both to the authors, and to Philip Fountain for making space for this engagement with the book. New projects always begin with great expectancy. Questions arise, ideas take hold, and all kinds of possibilities unfold in the intensity of research and writing. But one never really knows if others will share an interest in the issues and questions animating this work, much less read the final product or interact seriously with it. I’m exceptionally grateful for the care, thoughtfulness and acuity of the authors’ readings of the Saints and Stirrers, for their astute questions, and enlightening observations. These have provided fresh insights and new questions to ponder. This is a rare and precious treat.

One of my central ambitions in this work, and its companion volume Pursuing Peace in Godzone, has been to open up space for fresh thinking about Christianity, peace, and traditions of dissent in the New Zealand context – as well as for the critique of national mythologies and historiographies. I am delighted that my conversation partners have captured this intent, as their responses evidently indicate. Doug and Vern’s reflections both highlight that while there are certain New Zealand particularities in the stories told, there is also much to be gained by comparing and contrasting with other settings – notably though not exclusively with Australia. Striking commonalities and overlaps certainly exist between New Zealand and Australian history, but there are also substantial differences. Both warrant much closer attention. Conflicts and difficulties arising as a consequence of imperialism and colonisation, nationalism and militarism all have their national refractions but the impact of these movements and ideologies has clearly transcended national boundaries. We might compare and contrast national histories. But one wonders what might also emerge from an account of Christian engagements with peace that was deliberately trans-Tasman, or more broadly Pacific in scope.

I was profoundly moved by Vern and Cat’s reflections on their personal histories and traditions, and their descriptions of the ways in which they found these addressed in different ways within the book’s narratives. These reflections prompted me to think again about my own background and formation. I was reminded particularly of my paternal grandfather, Hessell, who returned from missionary service in Japan in 1939 just prior to the outbreak of the Second World War. During the War, New Zealand opened a camp for up to 800 Japanese POWs in Featherston in the lower North Island. They were not treated well. In 1943, 48 POWs and one guard were killed during a riot. Tensions ran high, and in this setting my grandfather was appointed as a chaplain to the POWs. Entering camp, despite the volatility of the situation, he routinely declined to be accompanied by military guards. He refused to bear arms, or to have others do so for his protection, regarding these as inimical to his pastoral task as a minister of the gospel of Christ.

My grandfather’s story is a remarkable one, about which more could be said. Yet what strikes me particularly here is that he was neither a pacifist nor a strict objector to war. Many of the subjects of Saints and Stirrers were. Many, however, were not, but nevertheless found themselves compelled by their faith to resist violence and pursue peace – to the best of their ability – in all kinds of complex and messy situations. We find examples of Christians interacting with the state, and in society, in different ways – as initiators and respondents, as individuals and in groups – often fumbling their way towards faithfulness in difficult, dynamic situations. I find this full spectrum of serious, risky and often costly commitment to peacemaking compelling. And also inspiring and intriguing by turns. The book does not seek to cast judgment on its protagonists’ efforts, though with the benefit of hindsight it will be evident that these stories are steeped in ambiguity. Readers will no doubt warm more or less to different subjects’ approaches, for as Val points out, “stirrers” are not always easy or especially likeable people! Yet such colour and nuance is precisely what makes these stories so engaging and, I think, instructive.

Saints and Stirrers does not aim to provide a comprehensive account of Christian peacemaking during the era addressed, but it does provide a broad and thorough treatment. It is my hope that these accounts will provide reliable guidance to those who want to know and understand this history better. But more than this, I hope it will serve as a provocation. There are many more such stories that deserve to be uncovered and told. I’m convinced that sitting with such accounts can be profoundly transforming, and can help to fire the moral imagination.

 

Geoff Troughton is a Senior Lecturer and Programme Director of Religious Studies at Victoria University of Wellington. His work focuses mainly on New Zealand religious history, about which he has written extensively. He lives in Karori, Wellington with his wife Adrienne and their four rapidly growing children.

Are Peacemakers Really Blessed?

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Vernon Jantzi | Wednesday, 28th March, 2018

The early dawn chill enveloped me uncomfortably as I sat huddled with Hugh Tollemache, my Kiwi host and mentor, on a concrete bench in Auckland’s Aotea Square on 25 April 2001 to listen to my first Anzac Day speech.  Matt Robson, at the time the Minister of Disarmament and Arms Control, began what I anticipated would be a typical speech to laud the glorious and sacred institution of war, in this particular case the First and Second World Wars.  After all, nations use these occasions to reinforce the sacred character of national symbols—the flag, national anthem, parliament, armed forces, and especially war.   Warfare waged periodically, or its functional equivalent, reinforces national sovereignty, the most sacred symbol of all.  However, Robson surprised me when he launched into a semi-veiled criticism of the wars involving Anzac forces by highlighting the huge direct cost to those who lost their lives or were physically and emotionally maimed.  In addition, he reminded us of the life-long cost borne by families and communities as they tried to deal, often at great sacrifice, with the consequences of these wars—unfortunately too often fought on behalf of the larger global imperial project in which New Zealand and Australia are secondary players, in his opinion.  His speech that connected viscerally to my experience did not repudiate war itself, but he did seriously question its ultimate efficacy and high human cost.

The New Zealand Herald’s call the next day for Robson’s resignation is evidence to a certain degree that questioning or criticising any of these sacred symbols is tantamount to treason at some level.   At the very least, it gets one branded as ungrateful citizen, questionable Christian, trouble maker, or “stirrer,” to use a term from Geoffrey Troughton’s edited book, Saints and Stirrers.  In this book Troughton develops a rich resource that gathers and summarizes much of the disparate research on Christianity, conflict and peacemaking in New Zealand.  It represents a voice long present in New Zealand that needs to be heard amid the frenzy of the centennial of WWI.  It will also be a valuable historical resource for years to come in New Zealand and beyond.  I found it academically impressive and personally inspiring; actually life changing in that it set me on a mission to analyze more deeply the long-term impact of conscientious objection and torture on congregations and communities.

As a third-generation conscientious objector to war who grew up in the rural backwaters of Michigan in the United States, I find my own story in the various chapters of the book.  The radical objection to WWI in New Zealand and the persecution that followed illustrated by the story of Archibald Baxter finds an echo in the experience of young conscientious objectors in my small rural conservative Mennonite congregation and others in the area.  Of the approximately 5,500 conscientious objectors to WWI in the United States who were persecuted to one degree or another, some 500 were mercilessly tortured for their stance.  Benny Miller from my congregation was one of them.  On the military base to which he was taken by force, Benny refused the order to put on the uniform and carry his assigned weapon.  This resulted in a beating, followed by being tied to a fulcrum and repeatedly dunked in the base cesspool and held under to the point of drowning.  Then he would be brought to the surface to catch some breath and quickly dunked again.  After an hour or so of this, an officer would shout the uniform-and-weapon order again.  Benny’s stalwart refusal got him another beating and a night in his cell.  This daily routine lasted for over two weeks.  Finally, emotionally and physically destroyed, Benny’s brain spun out of control.  A psychological assessment documented him as “insane” and unfit to serve.  They sent him home to his small farm community in Michigan’s middle-of-nowhere carved from the swamps of Saginaw Bay.  Few of our parents—his contemporaries—had any inkling that our community was only one of many throughout the world where resistance to WWI was met with torture.  Troughton’s book documents this phenomenon powerfully in the case of New Zealand.

A loving community can be a strong support for torture victims, but Benny’s wound was too deep for love to cure completely.  In my growing-up years, church and community lived the life-long impact of Benny’s torture.  For him and his Mennonite cohorts their experience turned out to be a veritable life sentence to social alienation and even dysfunctionality.  Now many decades later, as I read David Tombs’ chapter on the case of Archibald Baxter and others in New Zealand, I vividly relived the ear-cuffing, cursing and hot pursuit as Benny, then thirty years on from his torture, would still flip out at unexpected noises, confusion, and the lively play of youngsters in pursuit of each other.  We feared him and, to our disgrace, made fun of him.  When we asked our parents why he was like he was, the answer always came back that he didn’t use to be like that.  It was only after they sent him home from the base.  We understood, but only partially.  Nevertheless, Benny’s experience countered powerfully the dominant narrative promoted by school, the media, and even some churches, that our democratic society was benevolent and thus worthy of our trust and even our lives if it were ever under threat.  Distrust, cynicism and anger naturally follow torture.

The chapters selected by Troughton summarize nicely the relationship between peacemaking and society in New Zealand.  His introductory chapter provides an excellent lens through which to view the complexity of the topic.  His chapter on Marsden and New Zealand’s peace tradition along with Peter Lineham’s on missionary visions of peace and Stuart Lange’s focus on Maori peacemaking provide a solid context into which we can situate the noble efforts of missionaries and Christian Maori leaders in early pre-Treaty of Waitangi days to achieve peace and stability.  My peacebuilding experience lauds these efforts.  They deserve recognition and a respected place in history, even if a critical sociological analysis could legitimately raise questions about the role of the missionary movement—and regrettably peacebuilding as well—in the pacification process of indigenous populations as an unintended consequence of doing the “right” thing in the midst of violence.

Saints and Stirrers documents the tensions and compromises as the New Zealand government became aware, sometimes reluctantly, of the need to move beyond persecution and torture to deal with dissent to participation in war in WWI.  The various alternative options to military service explored with the denominations that opposed armed service for their young people lead to the development of noncombatant service as medics or other support services by young people who refused to kill as part of their loyalty to the call of country.  Irrespective of how one views those developments today, they are noteworthy because it shows the church engaged with society.  I can closely identify with the apprehension of young people, their families and congregations as they struggled to find the way forward.  In my particular case much later in history, I recall the angst of appearing before the draft board to make my case and the extended debates among us conscientious objectors regarding whether or not noncombatant service was limited too much to objection to individual killing without adequately condemning the institution of war.

As a young man I remember WWII as horrific for the Holocaust and the destruction of much of Europe.  However, since the United States had legitimized conscientious objection by then, we young people from pacifist denominations took as role models the conscientious objectors from our congregations and found hope in their service with the Seagoing Cowboys sponsored by the Church of the Brethren, as volunteers in the Mennonite Central Committee’s PAX Program, and other alternative service options.  Maybe because of our tender age our parents and congregations put much more emphasis on choosing a meaningful alternative service assignment than actively objecting to the institution of war.  Later in the United States, members of pacifist denominations participated actively in objecting to the Vietnam War.  However, my congregation as well as many other conservative Mennonite congregations viewed that resistance negatively because the government had provided alternative options for objectors to war.  Demonstrating against the Vietnam War was disrespectful of our government.  The tension between faithfulness in opposition to war and the need or desire to show loyalty to the New Zealand government comes through in the chapters by Allan Davidson, Lineham and Peter Ballis in WWI, the interwar period, and WWII, with the exception of the Jehovah’s Witness who because of direct persecution actively resisted the government.

The challenge of how to relate to the government in supportive ways while still avoiding cooptation is a tension I personally lived.  Many of us who served as conscientious objectors would claim that the option to serve in some type of alternative service, whether it be noncombatant service in the military or in other civilian projects during war time, basically silenced “pacifist” denominations’ opposition to war as an institution.  Several chapters in Troughton’s book describe the struggle in New Zealand over alternative service options that came to a head in WWI.  Lineham’s chapter on sects and war particularly highlights this issue among the Brethren.  Hence, while lauding the New Zealand government’s actions to recognize the rights of citizens to object to service in the military, some of us would claim that sociologically and theologically we would have to ask how this cooptation of pacifist denominations, not only in New Zealand but in other parts of the world as well, affected the Church’s ability to object to individual and institutionalized violence whether it be war, segregation, over-representation of “minority” population groups in incarceration, or unequal opportunity in the job market.  Today if Benny Miller were still living he would be dumbfounded to discover that the congregation that inspired him to “sacrifice” his physical and mental health to oppose war, specifically WWI, voted en mass in 2016 to elect Donald Trump president of the United States to “make America great again.”  Benny would have to wonder, “What’s so great about torture?”

I am looking forward to reading the follow on book to Troughton’s excellent volume which is due for publication in March 2018. I hope it too will shed light on the contours of Christianity, conflict, peacemaking and justice in New Zealand. There is much to be gained from delving into this history.

 

Vernon Jantzi is an Emeritus Professor at Eastern Mennonite University in Harrisonburg, Virginia. In the mid-1990s he helped establish the Center for Justice and Peacebuilding at EMU. He has extensive experience in international development, particularly in Latin America and the Caribbean, and conducts a near-annual pilgrimage Down Under to visit New Zealand and Australia. Vernon is married to Dot.

What Can We Learn from the Past?

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Val Goold | Wednesday, 28th March, 2018

As we have been encountering events marking 100 years since the events of World War 1, and as we see and hear examples of war and violence every time we read news bulletins, Saints and Stirrers provides extra food for thought about the complexities around Christian convictions and choices in a time of war or upheaval. As we wrestle with questions about how we respond to conflict and war in our contemporary context this book provides a catalyst for us to consider: What can we learn from the examples of the past?

The nineteenth century examples in the first few chapters (Geoff Troughton on Samuel Marsden, Peter Lineham on Te Waharoa, and Stuart Lange on Te Mānihera and Kereopa) all discuss actors that were strongly shaped by a gospel witness imperative. Peace was an essential part of the message that was trying to be communicated by the early missionaries and also a key aspect of this new encounter for Māori with the Christian gospel. They each express the conviction that peace is a key part of God’s character and that our choices and action for peace can point to God in a transformative way. As I read the later chapters it seemed as though this missional edge to peace activism seemed far more quiet, and yet I wonder if it is needed today as much as at any time in history.

In his introduction Troughton rightly acknowledges that the non-violent resistance against government land-grabs pursued by Māori under the leadership of Te Whiti O Rongomai and Tohu Kākahi at Parihaka (1870s-1880s) was “remarkable” (p.19). Troughton also helpfully draws attention to the ways in which the Parihaka movement worked creatively with a variety of traditions, including a Christian peace tradition. I found it very challenging, however, to consider how few examples we have of pacifist stands by Pākehā (European) Christians during the New Zealand Wars in the 1860s-1880s. Should we be naming and lamenting a lack of pacifist responses by Christians during this time or are there more stories to yet to unearth?

As I read Saints and Stirrers I was particularly struck by the differing experience of the Seventh Day Adventists and the Jehovah’s Witnesses during the Second World War as described in the chapter by Peter Ballis. The Seventh Day Adventists were very proactive in finding a position that they believed would “attract the favourable attention of the public” (p.191) while clearly adhering to their denominational convictions. However, this caused division and schism that weakened the denomination in the coming years. In contrast, the Jehovah’s Witnesses aimed to take a more neutral stance, which had harsher outcomes for its adherents during the war, but may have strengthened denominational growth after the war because its members experienced “enhanced solidarity” (p.201). Leaders of denominations must be wrestling with the question “are the ends or the means more important?”

What does it take to make a stand against prevailing ideas and yet not do it alone? From this book I learned that many of the most strident and courageous pacifists also had significant issues in wider community contexts – whether it be among the gathered faithful or in wider public settings. Their struggles made me think about what it takes for a community to collectively challenge issues of injustice and demonstrate peace in our troubled world, and also whether compromise and concessions are the reality, despite fiercely held convictions. Most of the characters in Saints and Stirrers experienced as much isolation within their denomination as they did from wider society. The final chapter by David Grant recounts the story of Reverend Ormond Burton, a prominent spokesperson for non-violence during the Second World War. Burton identified a key aspect of peace initiatives at his trial when he said: “I ask you to acquit me – not that I may be saved from imprisonment, but that something more important than myself shall live – the real freedom to think and to speak as conscience dictates” (p.215). Burton had deep Christian convictions, but he also exhibited a confronting personality that alienated him within his Methodist denomination, the wider peace movement, and the wider political and social context. It is often not easy to walk with “stirrers” (as many have experienced in their encounters with Jesus!!) but after reading this book I am convinced of the need for there to be more Christian expressions of saints who are also stirrers to be witnesses to the peace gospel so that the many in this world who experience hurt and violence as an everyday reality might also know God’s presence and hope.

 

Val Goold teaches at Laidlaw College in Auckland and is Pouwhakahaere (Campus Director) for Laidlaw College in Manukau. She is of Rangitane O Wairau descent. She was a history teacher for a number of years and worked previously with Tertiary Students Christian Fellowship where she led Student Ministries.

A Cry for Peace

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Cat Noakes-Duncan | Wednesday, 28th March, 2018

I was excited to see a chapter in Saints and Stirrers, written by an officer (minister) in the Salvation Army who I have known my whole life.  Growing up in a Salvation Army family involves belonging to a close knit community, with its own culture, language and norms.  Growing up in a Salvation Army family involves regular exposure to terms like war, territory and victory.  My grandparents each had their ‘Articles of War’ (covenantal document of belonging to the Salvation Army) framed and hanging above their bedhead.  Every Sunday we would receive our War Cry the Salvation Army magazine which me and my siblings would thumb through to see if we featured in any of the photos or whether we knew any Sally kids who were lucky enough to be snapped that week.

As an adult I exited the Salvation Army when I joined Urban Vision, also a covenantal community but one overtly influenced by a theology of peace.  I have since wondered how the Salvation Army approached war in the past and what a Salvationist Christian approach to war would/could be.  Essentially I wondered whether I could re-belong to this Christian church whose culture celebrated the language of war and co-opted themes of war so fully.

So, imagine my interest and relief when thumbing through Geoff’s edited book I saw a chapter written by Harold Hill, a man I deeply respect and who knows my culture because it is his own.

Within the chapter ‘Comrades in Arms: Germany, the War Cry and the Salvation Army during the Great War’ Harold analyses how German Salvationists were recorded and treated within the Salvation Army magazine, the War Cry here in Aotearoa/New Zealand.  Harold notes a distinct lack of terms such as ‘enemy’ when referring to German soldiers.  He also notes a sympathetic treatment towards the fate of German soldiers within the War Cry, despite a wider movement within New Zealand society which saw German citizens rounded up, detained and deported.  Harold provides a number of possible explanations for why the War Cry adopted this counter-cultural approach.  I was encouraged to read about the Pacifist convictions of some of my Salvation Army ancestors.  Like many of us within our various church traditions, I wished these convictions had been adopted more widely.

Saints and Stirrers is a provocative and engaging read.  Within the pages of this book the history of Pacifism within the church and New Zealand society is identified and brought into the light.  The individuals and small peace movements which have influenced our church cultures have been given voice and the forces that silenced them have been exposed.  I encourage readers to take a look at this book, you might just discover threads from your own story woven into this narrative of peace, hope and social change

 

Cat Noakes-Duncan is a long-time member of the Anabaptist Association of Australia and New Zealand and until recently was active in Urban Vision, a discipleship and missional community. Cat works on education initiatives engaging with children on the autism spectrum and their families. Cat and her husband, Tom, have three children and they live in Petone, Lower Hutt.

Stories We Need to Hear

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Doug Hynd | Wednesday, 28th March, 2018

Contemporary critiques of Christianity as a source of violence fail to note minority traditions of Christian dissent that have peacemaking at their heart. From my involvement in the Love Makes a Way witness against Australian detention of asylum seekers, and through friends in both the Anabaptist Association and the Quakers I have become aware of a range of Christian witnesses for peace across Australia over the past two decades. Yet little has been written about these exercises of Christian dissent and peacemaking in Australia and little reflection with the Christian churches on the theological commitments embodied in these witnesses. This lack is particularly noticeable given the uncritical memorialisation of Australian participation in war that has been spreading like a cane toad across the landscape. The Honest History website provides an excellent documentation and critique of these developments and the way that history has been plundered in the cause of the sacred (http://honesthistory.net.au/wp/).

Saints and Stirrers highlights the importance of recovering and retelling the stories of a minority who refused to conform and challenged the necessity of war by refusal to participate in it. There are Australian stories to be told and this provides a great model for how it could be done. In this collection of essays Geoff Troughton provides us with windows into an arc of peacemaking in New Zealand, from European settlement through to the close of the Second World War. The contributors got me thinking about some historical issues on peacemaking and opposition to war in Australia. The first issue relates to colonisation and the relationship with indigenous peoples. The early chapters in Troughton provide accounts of the engagement of Christian missionaries and Maori in episodes of peacemaking. Critically these chapters acknowledge the conflictual character of the European occupation of Aotearoa and explore the active agency of both Maori and missionaries in seeking a resolution of specific conflicts. Our increasing recognition of the reality of the frontier wars between the first nations and the European invaders paradoxically opens the door for recovering and retelling stories of attempts at conflict resolution. Failure to acknowledge the reality of the frontier wars has taken away the possibility of retelling stories of peacemaking.

The second issue that arises from the essays concerns conscription in New Zealand during the First World War. The heavy-handed treatment of dissidents by both government and judiciary raises interesting hypothetical questions for Australian historians. Had either of the conscription referendums in Australia been narrowly passed, would the increased number of objectors then have received treatment along the lines of those in New Zealand? It certainly seems likely that this would have caused further political upheaval and social division to a level well beyond those generated by the unsuccessful referendums.

Also interesting is the differing ways a variety of Christian sects and their members engaged with government and the judiciary around issue of conscientious objection in both world wars.  These essays document the powerful reach of the state in the twentieth century and the ways it enforced its will when confronted with religiously groups that refused to recognise the overriding claims of the state. Magistrates and the defence department had difficulties in coming to grips with theological arguments and ecclesial identities of unstructured groups. They were much more comfortable in dealing with institutionally forms of religiosity. These essays make clear how much courage was required to maintain a conscientious stance against participation in war in the face of legal and social pressure. The line between principled civic courage of a minority and what may be regarded as ratbaggery, at least by the majority, can be hard to discern and represents an interesting challenge to the historian.

Geoff Troughton has done us a great service in bringing together stories that Christians in Australia as well as New Zealand need to hear and tell and tell again in a time in which a sacralising of war and the use the fear of violence to underpin accumulation of executive power dominate both public discourse and social imagination.

 

Doug Hynd is Adjunct Research Fellow of the Australian Centre for Christianity and Culture in Canberra and a stalwart member of the Anabaptist Association of Australia and New Zealand. Doug is married to Gillian and lives in Canberra.

Introduction: Saintly Stirring

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Philip Fountain | Wednesday, 28th March, 2018

Geoffrey Troughton’s volume, Saints and Stirrers: Christianity, Conflict and Peacemaking in New Zealand, 1814-1945 (Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2016), contains some wonderful and inspiring stories of Christian peacemaking in New Zealand’s history. Books that focus on peace in this region of the world are rare. Books that deal with Christianity and peace are rarer still. Because of that, and because the book is well worth the read, I thought it would be useful to convene a discussion on the stories in Saints and Stirrers that would engage, mull over and reflect on the arguments presented in this hot-off-the-press publication.

Some theologians seem to think that what matters most is getting one’s theological ideas right. There is, of course, some truth to this. Right thinking about God—‘orthodoxy’—is always vital for the Christian community, and sloppy thinking can land us in hot water. We should vigorously engage with ideas about God, in no small part because both within and beyond the Christian community such ideas are deeply contested. But the centrality of ideas can be overstated. Most of us don’t live our lives according to clearly structured sets of ideas, or what are sometimes called ‘worldviews’. Instead, we tend to be more shaped by our ritual habits, our practices, the relationships that enfold us and, especially, the stories we tell ourselves. As James Smith has argued in his book Desiring the Kingdom (2009), our identities are shaped less by abstract ideas, even theological ideas, and more by those things that grab at our hearts.

The importance of history as stories of the past cannot, therefore, be overstated. I have long been struck by the remarkably vociferous and vibrant historical scholarship among North American Mennonites. It is not that Mennonite historians agree with each other—far from it! The debate within Mennonite historical scholarship about the nature of Mennonite pasts is highly contentious. But even in disagreement the consequence has been to ‘locate’ a distinctive and active faith community as an identity (a ‘peoplehood’) formed through shared experiences and, therefore, moving forward (however precariously) into a common future.

Those of us in New Zealand and Australia with peaceful political and theological inclinations have not always done very well in writing down our stories of faithful peacemaking. This is a pity, and one that needs to be rectified. Troughton’s volume helps us down this path. This is even more so because it is the first of two edited volumes dealing with Christianity and peace in New Zealand. The second volume, Pursuing Peace in Godzone: Christianity and the Peace Tradition in New Zealand, picks up where this first one leaves off, with its chapters beginning with the period of the Second World and continuing through to contemporary times. Geoff and I edited this one together. It is due out in March 2018 and is also published by Victoria University Press. While its tone and ‘vibe’ is quite different from Saints and Stirrers (Pursuing Peace has shorter, punchier chapters and many of the contributions are written in the first person by people involved in the action themselves), taken together the two volumes begin the work of stitching together a ‘tradition’ of peacemaking Christianity in New Zealand, with implications for the Church as well as broader New Zealand society and politics.

For this ‘roundtable’ I invited four contributors – Doug Hynd, Cat Noakes-Duncan, Val Goold and Vern Jantzi – to respond to Saints and Stirrers in any way they saw fit. I was delighted that each respondent was willing to be involved and remain delighted in their contributions collected here. I was also glad that Geoff Troughton, a colleague of mine in Religious Studies at Victoria University of Wellington, was happy to write a response to conclude our ‘roundtable’.

The actual book is composed of an introduction by Geoffrey Troughton and ten chapters dealing with a wide range of topics within the thematic scope and time period (1814-1945). The chapters are ordered in a broadly chronological flow. Chapters include discussion of Māori and Pākehā (New Zealand European), church leaders and lay people and a wide range of denominations. They also address very different contexts, including the period of early colonisation and missionary work, the New Zealand Wars of the mid-nineteenth century and both the First and Second World Wars.

For those interested in reading the book, Saints and Stirrers is available for purchase directly from Victoria University Press (http://vup.victoria.ac.nz/saints-and-stirrers-christianity-conflict-and-peacemaking-in-new-zealand-1814-1945/) and at good bookshops around New Zealand.

 

Philip Fountain is a Senior Lecturer in Religious Studies at Victoria University of Wellington. An Anthropologist, he has published widely on religion and development, the anthropology of Christianity, and Mennonite service and mission work. Philip is married to Iris and they have two mischievous boys. They live in Kelburn, Wellington and belong to the Community of Transfiguration and St Michael’s Anglican Church.

Book Review — Merdeka and the Morning Star: Civil Resistance in West Papua by Jason MacLeod

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Thursday, 3rd March 2016

MacLeod-Merdeka and the Morning StarJason MacLeod, Merdeka and the Morning Star: Civil Resistance in West Papua (St Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 2015), 284 pp. AUD $39.95. (Also distributed by Penguin Books Australia.)

Review by Dale Hess

Although West Papua is only about 125 km from Boigu Island, Australia’s northern point, very few Australians know much about it. It is a beautiful land, but it is shrouded in secrecy. Part of the secrecy arises because it is currently under militarily occupation by Indonesia. The Indonesian Government has enforced a policy to keep foreign journalists out of West Papua in an effort to prevent stories of human rights abuses, economic exploitation, and lack of health and educational services, which are being experienced by indigenous Papuans, from reaching the outside world. The Indonesian authorities do not want others to know of Papuan struggles to achieve merdeka (independence, liberation, identity, human dignity, self-reliance, material and spiritual satisfaction).

Jason MacLeod, a Quaker educator, organiser and researcher, has written an astounding book in which he gives an in-depth analysis of this struggle, the most protracted violent conflict in the Pacific. He writes from both an academic and a practitioner viewpoint. He tells that as a 19-year old he dropped out of university and travelled to Papua New Guinea in search of adventure. In a remote area on the Keram River he collapsed with cerebral malaria, and it was only because of the efforts of two Papuan health workers that his life was spared. This experience led him to a life’s journey of solidarity with the Papuan people. His research is based on 14 years of interviews with over 150 groups and individuals, participant observation and dialogue, on facilitating skill-building community workshops on strategic nonviolent action with over 450 Papuan activists, and is informed by current theory of civil resistance.

He begins by relating the historical and political background to the conflict. Belatedly in 1961, the Dutch created a Papuan national legislature and the Morning Star flag was adopted by the Papuans as their symbol. These events led to an invasion of West Papua by Indonesia, and in 1962 the Kennedy Administration brokered the New York Agreement and Indonesia took over administrative control of West Papua. The Papuans were not involved, nor consulted, in this process. Under the New York Agreement, a referendum for self-determination was to be carried out, but instead of allowing universal adult suffrage, Indonesian authorities handpicked 1025 participants, and then the military terrorised villagers and executed those who dissented. The result was declared 100% in favour of integration with Indonesia. The result was not challenged at the time or later. The Indonesian Government interprets their control of West Papua as being sanctioned by the United Nations, while the overwhelming majority of Papuans feel the process was a sham and they have not been given a chance to choose whether or not they wish to be part of Indonesia.

Resolution of the problem is very complex because besides the denial of self-determination, the issues of racism, state violence (over 100,000 Papuans are estimated to have been killed), economic exploitation (e.g. large-scale projects like the Freeport-McMoRan/Rio Tinto mine, and logging) and migration (estimated to reduce Papuans from 96% in 1971 to just 29% of the population by 2020) add interactive layers of direct, structural and cultural violence. MacLeod quotes research by Chenoweth and Stephan (Why Civil Resistance Works) which shows that nonviolent campaigns are more than twice as effective than violent campaigns to achieve national liberation, democracy and equal rights. But secession struggles against occupation are more difficult and chances of fully achieving success for either violent or nonviolent campaigns fall dramatically.

After exploring the dimensions of problem, MacLeod outlines the sources of Indonesian power in West Papua and the strategies employed to maintain state control. This perceptive analysis of the root causes of the conflict, the opponent’s sources of power and their strategies of rule provides essential information to develop civil resistance strategy.

Papuan civil resistance has a long, largely unknown, history stretching back to the 1850s. Making these stories known—stories that give a collective identity to Papuans and strengthen civil resistance—was a prime reason MacLeod authored this book. He provides a critical analysis of the strategies, the successes and failures, of case studies, missed opportunities, and the evolution from sporadic protests to unified campaigns. Over time there has been a transition from armed struggle in the mountains and jungles of the interior towards unarmed resistance in urban areas, carried out by younger Papuans. MacLeod provides an analysis of the dynamics which have led to these shifts, a transition that is still going on.

In his last chapter MacLeod offers a framework for nonviolent liberation. He argues that success hinges on increased movement participation, enhanced strategic skillfulness, greater unity, the ability to attract greater support from within Indonesia and also internationally, and taking advantage of political opportunities. He admits the immense difficulty of the task, but civil resistance has already achieved some notable advances in Papua, as he documents.

In a moving Epilogue, MacLeod presents testimonies of Papuans, telling of the great suffering they have experienced, and sharing insights into how they survive and hold onto hope.

The drama and excitement of events leading up to the United Liberation Movement of West Papua application for membership to the Melanesian Spearhead Group (MSG) are captured in a thrilling postscript. Membership in MSG represents internationalising of the West Papuan issue, which is exactly what Jakarta was and is trying to avoid.

This is a very valuable study, filled with penetrating insights, by someone who is both a participant and an academic. It deserves a wide readership and I highly recommend it. It gives a discerning overview of the current situation in West Papua and provides a vision of the potential of nonviolent civil resistance.