png law and order

Folks,

This Australian newspaper article should give retail shareholders an idea of the state of law and order in PNG. The PNG Govt owns a large chunk of BOC.

Make up your own mind as to what are the chances that inside information on the reopening of the mine that is available to members of the PNG govt will be strictly controlled and not misused.

(Sir) Lunchalot
Scoffer Extraordinaire

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Excerpt from The Age, Melbourne 16 Oct, 2007; read the full article at:
http://www.theage.com.au/news/opinion/i-watched-a-gunman-shoot-my-mother/2007/10/15/1192300682914.html
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I watched a gunman shoot my mother
Vavine Gabi
October 16, 2007

It was eight years ago — the day after my 16th birthday — when I watched a gunman shoot my mother in the head.

Armed crime is a daily reality in my home town; in 2004 Port Moresby was ranked as the worst place to live in the world.

And it's no surprise: here, gangs regularly hold up banks with M-16 rifles and cars are ambushed by mobs with pistols. A few years ago an injured nurse was dragged away from a car crash and gang-raped.

So you can understand why my parents and I liked to spend the weekend away from the city and drive to the village where I grew up with my extended family. There we had a garden to tend and aunts and uncles to visit.

It was a beautiful June day that followed my birthday in 1999. The highway ran along the coast. We sped past shimmering turquoise ocean, the horizon dotted with fishing boats.

The first hint of danger came when a car zoomed past us at high speed in the opposite direction. A smart blue car seemed to be chasing it. My dad slowed down but to our alarm, the blue car crossed lanes towards us. My dad and mum yelled at me to put my head down.

There was nowhere for my dad to go; it was a narrow road flanked by hills to one side and a swamp on the other. Dad quickly tried to reverse, but the tyres became jammed in a drain, causing the car to stall.

At that point six men, not wearing masks, leapt out of the blue car and ambushed us. They forced us to hand over our possessions. One man approached me while I was still sitting at the back and tried to grab me.

My mum leapt out and screamed at me to jump from the vehicle. Many women had been raped and killed on this highway. Racing with adrenaline, I fought him off and ran to my mother.

The same gunman then turned to us and demanded we hand over more. "We've given you everything, what more do you want?" said my mother calmly. I remember those words distinctly. At that point, the gunman pointed the gun at her head and pulled the trigger.

The next thing I remember is the men driving off. Somehow I pulled myself together to flag down the next car for help. Amazingly, my mother was still alive. I helped her tie my sarong around her head to stop the bleeding. We rushed her to Port Moresby General Hospital where she was operated on two days later. She died at 1pm on June 7.

It was only when I saw her body being wheeled into the viewing room that I began to accept that she was gone forever.

The grief was overwhelming, although it was a great comfort to see so many people — some of whom I'd never met — crammed into our local church for the funeral. But the following months were hard; my grades at school dropped and I had to attend counselling. My father bravely gave away my elder sister at her wedding, but my teenage brother and sister and I struggled to cope.

Secretly, I worried for my father, who still blamed himself for failing to defend mum. I don't think he'll ever get over it. As for me, I remember her as a woman of courage, a woman who came naturally to other people's aid. She had a forgiving, understanding nature, and charmed everybody with her beautiful long hair and beaming smile.