ABSTRACT
We were sitting high up on a craggy ledge from where we could just see Tari town in the distance – the sudden bare stretch of land that was the airstrip, corrugated metal roofs glinting in the sun. Tai Bayabe was telling me – somewhat proudly, somewhat matter of factly – of how he had organized the armed hold-up of a convoy of politicians, trucks, and then later of the local luxury resort. I asked him why had he done these things, and he replied much as I expected: ‘Madane piyita’ (madane did it). He had acted out of madane – a fierce disappointment in, and resentment towards, those people who had let him down. Those politicians had promised the development of roads and schools; moreover, they had said they would use their discretionary funds to make the compensation payments that would help end the ongoing tribal fight in the area. But nobody knew what they had spent that money on; it certainly wasn’t schools, and it wasn’t to end the tribal fight. And the expatriate managers of the luxury resort had not hired a large number of local people as they had promised, the wages were too low, and they supplied no food for their workers. Madane – resentment, indignation, and a sense of betrayal – had motivated him to do these violent things. Tari was a madane place, he said darkly.
