Papua New Guinea stands at a critical crossroads in its modern history—faced with a choice not merely about territorial integrity, but about the legitimacy of its own constitutional order and the future of a peace process it once proudly co-signed. The Bougainville Referendum, conducted under the supervision of the United Nations in 2019, delivered a decisive outcome: 97.7% of Bougainvilleans voted in favour of independence.
Yet, five years on, national discourse in Port Moresby still echoes with resistance, political ambivalence, and constitutional misreadings. These are not just legal or technical missteps—they are threats to national unity, regional stability, and Papua New Guinea’s international credibility.
Contrary to some assertions made by public officials under parliamentary privilege, the Bougainville Peace Agreement (BPA) is not an informal understanding, nor a loose political compromise. It is enshrined in Part XIV of the Papua New Guinea Constitution, legally binding and internationally recognised. Section 338 makes explicit reference to the referendum, including separate independence as a mutually agreed outcome. The questions presented to voters were the result of joint negotiations between the Autonomous Bougainville Government (ABG) and the National Government. There is no constitutional ambiguity.
To suggest otherwise—especially by national leaders—is either an act of willful ignorance or a dangerous distortion of legal and political reality.
The Cost of Delay
But beyond the legal frameworks lies a harder question: What is the actual cost of Papua New Guinea’s continued hold over Bougainville? This is not only a constitutional matter—it is an economic one.
Each year, the National Government transfers more than K500 million in block grants to Bougainville. In contrast, Bougainville’s own internally generated revenue stands at a modest K20–K30 million. While PNG shoulders the fiscal burden of governance, it gains no return on investment—not in resource royalties, nor in strategic control. The Bougainville Mining Act (2015), aligned with the BPA, places resource ownership and control squarely in the hands of the ABG. The only legal linkage that remains is PNG’s shareholding in Bougainville Copper Ltd (BCL), which holds the Special Mining Lease over Panguna—a mine that remains non-operational.
Furthermore, the only functional benefit that PNG retains from Bougainville is the exclusive economic zone (EEZ) it adds to the nation’s maritime boundaries. But even this is tenuous: international law would favour Bougainville’s sovereign claim to that EEZ if independence is finalised.
In essence, PNG's retention of Bougainville is rapidly becoming a symbolic rather than strategic exercise—one that incurs high fiscal, diplomatic, and reputational costs, while yielding little in return.
A Test of National Honour
The delay in implementing the referendum outcome calls into question Papua New Guinea’s commitment to democratic processes, the rule of law, and its obligations under the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples—to which it is a signatory.
Section 293(2) of the Constitution explicitly states that the powers exercised by the Bougainville Government must be consistent with Papua New Guinea’s international obligations and human rights regime. This implies a responsibility not just to manage the post-referendum process with integrity, but to honour the result within the spirit of the BPA.
PNG now risks violating the very democratic norms it once upheld with pride. For a country that touts itself as a leader among Pacific democracies, such a reversal could have significant consequences—internally, in the form of renewed political unrest, and externally, in diminished trust among regional partners.
Looking Ahead: Options and Realities
None of this implies that the path to independence is administratively simple or politically painless. The BPA itself requires that the outcome of the referendum be ratified by the National Parliament—a process that was always meant to include further negotiation and implementation planning.
But that process must not be an excuse for indefinite deferral. It must be conducted with transparency, goodwill, and respect for Bougainvillean agency. Political delay tactics—especially when grounded in misinformation—undermine trust and breed resentment.
Bougainville’s push for independence is no longer simply a provincial issue; it is a test of national maturity, of whether PNG is capable of reconciling statehood with democratic choice.
Conclusion: A New Chapter or a Broken Promise?
As Bougainville prepares for potential independence, and as PNG approaches its 50th year as a sovereign nation, the question remains:
At what cost—financial, political, and moral—does PNG wish to continue holding onto Bougainville?
If the answer is based on sentiment alone, it may result in prolonging a broken relationship. If the answer is grounded in respect, rule of law, and national interest, then PNG will find the courage to honour its word.
Bougainville’s referendum was not an act of rebellion—it was an act of democracy. The time has come to respect that voice, and to begin writing a new chapter—one founded not on coercion or nostalgia, but on mutual respect, regional partnership, and historical closure.