We cannot build peace in the Pacific by forgetting who we are.
Across our region, our ancestors understood something that the modern world too often overlooks – harmony begins with strong and healthy relationships between human beings, and only then can it extend to the wider web of life. Our societies were not accidental arrangements. They were carefully organized systems of belonging, responsibility, and care, designed to protect families, clans, communities, and the environment that sustained them.
Yet much of this history remains unknown to too many of our people. That absence matters. When communities are cut off from the knowledge, philosophy, and practices that allowed earlier generations to survive, adapt, and flourish, they are also cut off from tools that can help them respond to today’s crises.
This is why the work of researching, studying, and returning our histories to our communities is not simply academic. It is an act of restoration. It is a contribution to decolonization, peacebuilding, and the renewal of dignity.
We know the damage caused by violence, hatred, and fear. They do not only wound bodies; they weaken the mind, the spirit, and the capacity of people to live freely and authentically in their own environment.
Communities shaped by fear can become passive in the face of events, and individuals who are denied peace may eventually become harmful to themselves and to those around them. For this reason, creating harmonious and peaceful living spaces is not a luxury. It is a necessity.
Our ancestors recognized this responsibility. They organized our societies through networks that strengthened cohesion within families, clans, and what is often called the “chiefdom.” But this word does not adequately express the meaning of that space. In Iaai, my native language, it is called Hnyaba tha han: “the house that gathers the people.”
This is not merely a place of authority. It is a place of assembly, dialogue, and collective responsibility, where clans come together to consider the most important questions so that life may continue to flourish.
Peace will not be built by institutions alone. It will be built when communities recover the wisdom that has always lived among them, when young people are trusted as bearers of that wisdom, and when our networks continue to ask difficult questions about decolonization until its meaning is understood not as a slogan, but as a living process of renewal.
— Nuedjen Punda Wamou
The philosophy of Do-Kamo offers another vital guide.
It teaches that each person should be supported from childhood through constructive stages of growth, so they can express their unique potential and contribute to balance and harmony. At its heart is the idea of lasting, sustainable balance: the understanding that every part of life has value, and that the wellbeing of one person, one clan, or one generation cannot be separated from the wellbeing of all.
This is the challenge before us today. If we are serious about decolonization, we must make these histories and philosophies visible again. We must expand the spaces that prepare younger generations to understand who they are, where they come from, and how they can serve the common good.
We must also create opportunities for young people to step beyond their daily routines, encounter the wider region, and gain the perspective needed to see what ordinary life may not always reveal.
As President of the Regional Ecumenical Youth Council, the youth ministry of the Pacific Conference of Churches, I ask for support in this shared work.
Peace will not be built by institutions alone. It will be built when communities recover the wisdom that has always lived among them, when young people are trusted as bearers of that wisdom, and when our networks continue to ask difficult questions about decolonization until its meaning is understood not as a slogan, but as a living process of renewal.
About the writer:
Nuedjen Punda Wamou ATSAÏ is a Kanak peacebuilder and president of the Regional Ecumenical Youth Council of the Pacific Conference of Churches.
