Outside the House of Assembly, Aaron was standing with Derek and Somare’s people. Behind them was a row of stern-faced men with arms crossed and legs apart. A scuffle was breaking out at the edge of the crowd when Aaron stubbed out his cigarette and took the megaphone. Above him, the sky was wide and open.

‘Many of us have carried the white man’s kago,’ he said, ‘and we know its weight on our backs. Many of us here have seen our fathers stand in line for the white masta. Many of us have brothers or uncles who worked in the houses and hotels of white men, forbidden to wear shirts as they served. We know the humiliations of our people, we know our own humiliations, and they must never be forgotten.’

The crowd chanted their agreement. Never. Never forget. Aaron lifted his arms, the very image of a preacher. Rika watched in love and dismay. He was good at this; they’d not let him go now.

‘But this is not all that we have seen. We have seen the dignity of our elders in the villages. They have powers the white man knows nothing of.’ There was another roar from the crowd, and again Aaron raised his hand. ‘We have seen the elders step into our meeting places when there’s a dispute among the clans. We’ve heard them call us to listen. First we talk, all of us together, and then, when it’s time, we let their wisdom tell us when to negotiate, when to compensate, when to fight.’

A sleek black car came edging up the hill, pushing forward, forcing its way through the crowd. Fists banged on the bonnet, someone shouted and Aaron glanced behind him.

‘In the past,’ he said, ‘we have marched to these buildings to demand the right to make our own laws. That is what the people of all the tribes of Papua and all the tribes of New Guinea asked for. Only this: our dignity as men.’ He said it again, repeating his words for the Highlanders, who were jutting their beards at him. ‘Now we march to these same buildings to say we stand together for the coming of wise government.’ Again the magisterial pause. Again the raised hand, again the chanted response. Eddies of dissent were rumbling at the edge of the crowd.

The car came to a stop, with a policeman at the driver’s window. One of the back doors opened but no one got out. Rika’s camera stayed focused on Aaron.

‘Bung wantaim! Ahebou!’ Aaron slid between languages. ‘Let us join together for this great task. Some of you here today will occupy these offices in the future. What men will you be then? Others will stand as teachers before classrooms of our children. What men will you be? With which eyes will you see, with which ears will you hear, how many languages will you speak? When we take our children to the hospital, do we ask, is this doctor Papuan? Is this doctor New Guinea man? We ask, can this doctor make our child well? Can this teacher teach our children the knowledge they need for the new world that’s coming?’