In the warm July sun of Port Moresby, under the towering stands of Sir Hubert Murray Stadium, a quiet but powerful cultural assertion unfolded. Two young Engans, adorned in vibrant traditional attire — their bilas shimmering with feathers, shells, and face paint — stepped onto the field during Papua New Guinea’s 50th Independence Anniversary celebration. The boy struck his kundu drum with measured confidence, while the girl danced behind him, her movements poetic yet purposeful.
It was a scene of striking symbolism: youth in full cultural regalia, moving with joy, unashamed, and unapologetically proud. In that moment, they weren’t just participating in a national event. They were making a statement — that despite the stereotypes, whispered prejudices, and shallow media caricatures often aimed at the Enga people, their identity remains strong and their culture unbroken.
Identity, Representation, and the Public Stage
Papua New Guinea is often described as one of the most culturally diverse nations in the world — over 800 languages, innumerable clans, and rich traditions spanning highlands and coastlines. Yet too often, this diversity is shadowed by internal tribalism, regional rivalries, and simplistic narratives about who belongs where and what a people are like.
Enga, known for its rugged terrain and proud warrior history, has often found itself on the receiving end of those narratives. Violence, electoral unrest, and land disputes frequently dominate national headlines. But what the young boy and girl from Enga demonstrated that day was a counter-narrative — one grounded not in conflict, but in celebration; not in division, but in dignity.
By wearing their traditional attire with laughter and joy, they embodied a deeper truth: cultural pride is not merely about aesthetics or nostalgia — it is an act of resilience, of reminding both self and others who you are, and why that matters.
The Politics of Pride
Cultural diplomacy is not only the domain of government summits or international arts festivals. Sometimes, it is performed by school children in feathered headdresses and tapa cloth, dancing with grace before thousands. These moments are political, not because they seek power, but because they challenge invisibility.
In many ways, the appearance of Enga youth on the national stage speaks directly to one of PNG’s greatest challenges — how to build national unity without flattening cultural difference. The risk in celebrating 50 years of independence is to romanticise progress while glossing over the structural inequalities and persistent regional marginalisation that exist beneath the surface. But when young people choose to celebrate their culture visibly and vibrantly, they are not just participating in the nation — they are claiming their rightful place within it.
Culture as Reconciliation
Perhaps what was most moving that day was not just the dance, or the drum, but the response. The crowd — diverse in age, background, and province — was visibly moved. Even those who may have previously carried prejudice toward the Enga were, for a moment, brought into empathy through music, movement, and presence.
This is the quiet power of cultural diplomacy: to create moments of recognition where misunderstanding once lived. The performance by the Engan youth, followed by the stirring performance of Enga’s own Naxi Jay singing Lakemanda Landslide, was not just entertainment — it was reconciliation through rhythm.
Music, in particular, has become one of PNG’s most accessible forms of cultural expression and cohesion. As Naxi Jay’s powerful voice reverberated through the stadium, cheers and claps turned into dance. It was as if every note reminded the nation that while we may come from different clans, regions, or stories, we can still move to the same beat.
The Road Ahead
As Papua New Guinea looks toward its next 50 years, it must confront an essential question: Can it build a truly inclusive national identity that honours, rather than flattens, the complex mosaic of its peoples? If the answer is yes, it will come not from Port Moresby’s policy rooms alone, but from places like Enga, where culture is not forgotten — it is lived.
What happened at Sir Hubert Murray Stadium was not scripted. It wasn’t a political speech or a development ribbon-cutting. It was two children, dancing and drumming for their ancestors and their future. In doing so, they reminded the country of something essential: that pride in one’s culture is not a relic of the past, but a foundation for moving forward — together.