When the Indonesian “Sumpah Pemuda (Youth Pledge)” echoed through the halls of Jakarta’s Jalan Kramat No. 106 on October 28, 1928, it was more than just a declaration of unity. It was a profound realization that the archipelago, stretching from Aceh to Papua, shared one destiny, one nation, and one language.
Among the hundreds of young delegates who proclaimed this oath were three representatives from the land farthest east—Aitai Karubaba, Abner Ohee, and Orpa Pallo—young Papuans who carried with them the dreams of their homeland and its place in the emerging nation of Indonesia.
Their presence at that momentous event was not coincidental. It was the culmination of a long and often painful history of resistance, exile, and awakening—a story that began not in the meeting rooms of Batavia, but deep in the jungles of Papua, in a remote penal colony called Boven Digoel.
The Forgotten Roots of Unity in Boven Digoel
In 1926 and 1927, following the failed lefist uprisings in Banten and West Sumatra, the Dutch colonial government responded with an iron fist. Hundreds of activists—nationalists, teachers, and labor leaders—were rounded up and sent into exile to Boven Digoel, a desolate outpost on the banks of the Digoel River in southern Papua.
Boven Digoel was designed to break spirits. Surrounded by swamps, malaria, and isolation, it became known as the “living prison of the Indies.” Yet, paradoxically, it was there that the spirit of Indonesia found new meaning. Among the exiled were influential figures such as Mohammad Hatta, Sutan Sjahrir, and Tjipto Mangunkusumo, whose ideals of unity and independence continued to burn despite the oppressive conditions.
These exiles did not merely endure; they taught, wrote, and shared ideas with the Papuans who worked or lived near the camp. Over time, these interactions planted early seeds of awareness among local communities that they, too, were part of the same colonial structure—and thus, part of the same struggle.
The legacy of Boven Digoel became more than just a dark chapter of exile; it became a bridge. As the Dutch sought to silence Indonesia’s nationalist voices, they unknowingly carried those ideas to the farthest reaches of the archipelago—into the heart of Papua itself.
The Papuan Delegates Who Joined the Sumpah Pemuda 1928
Two years after the Boven Digoel exile, in 1928, young Indonesians from across the archipelago gathered in Batavia to hold the Second Indonesian Youth Congress. This congress was not simply a meeting—it was a moment of self-discovery. For the first time, young people from different islands, ethnicities, and backgrounds declared their unity as one people, one nation, and one language: Indonesia.
Amid the delegates from Java, Sumatra, Sulawesi, and the Moluccas, three Papuan youths stood out.
According to historical records cited by Kompas and Papua Inside, they were Aitai Karubaba, Abner Ohee, and Orpa Pallo—students who had come to Java through missionary and colonial education programs. They were not political leaders, but they were witnesses and participants in a historical turning point that included them and their land in the Indonesian imagination.
Ramses Ohee, son of Abner Ohee, later recalled that Papua’s inclusion in the Sumpah Pemuda marked the moment when “the Papuans decided that their fate was bound with the rest of Indonesia.”
The idea that Papua was part of the same “tanah air” (homeland) was revolutionary. At that time, even the Dutch administration treated Papua as a separate entity, isolated from the rest of the Dutch East Indies. Yet in 1928, through the voices of these young men and women, Papua’s name was written—not by decree, but by solidarity.
The Language That United the Islands
One of the most enduring legacies of the Sumpah Pemuda was its third vow:
“We, the sons and daughters of Indonesia, uphold the language of unity, Indonesian.”
The decision to use Bahasa Indonesia, which evolved from the Malay trade language, was pivotal. It was simple, neutral, and widely understood—a lingua franca that connected the islands long before the idea of a modern nation existed.
In Papua, too, Malay had already found its place. Traders, missionaries, and colonial officials used it as the language of communication, especially along the coastal regions of Manokwari, Biak, and Merauke. By 1928, this language had begun to transcend regional identity and serve as a symbol of shared purpose.
Thus, when Aitai Karubaba, Abner Ohee, and Orpa Pallo joined other delegates in reciting the pledge, they affirmed that Papua would speak the same language of unity—not as a symbol of domination, but of connection. The Malay-Indonesian language became the thread weaving together more than 17,000 islands, from Sumatra to Papua, into one narrative of nationhood.
One Land, One Nation: Papua and the Shared Destiny
The first and second points of the Sumpah Pemuda—”one motherland, one nation”—carried profound implications for Papua.
At the time, colonial geography treated Papua as an isolated territory, but the nationalists envisioned a homeland that transcended boundaries drawn by colonizers.
For the young Papuan delegates, the pledge resonated deeply with their own experiences of marginalization and colonial control. The Dutch, while proclaiming to “civilize” Papua, maintained strict racial hierarchies and limited education for indigenous Papuans. The recognition that they shared the same colonial fate as Javanese, Minangkabau, or Ambonese youths forged a sense of common struggle.
This shared suffering—under the same colonial rule—became the emotional glue that bound Papua to the rest of Indonesia’s nationalist awakening. It was not just geography that united the islands, but a shared history of oppression and a common dream of freedom.
From Isolation to Imagination: How Boven Digoel Sparked Nationalism
In retrospect, the events at Boven Digoel can be seen as a catalyst for Papuan inclusion in the national story.
The exiled intellectuals brought not only political ideas but also human empathy and education. They interacted with Papuan laborers, exchanged words, and offered glimpses of a wider world beyond the Dutch colonial order.
As Historia.id notes, Boven Digoel became a paradoxical site—a “prison that gave birth to freedom.” The Dutch aimed to bury rebellion there, but instead, they planted the seeds of Indonesia’s unity at the very edge of their empire.
The echoes of those seeds could be heard in 1928, when the young Papuan delegates stood shoulder to shoulder with their peers from other islands and proclaimed:
“One motherland, Indonesia; one nation, Indonesia; one language, Indonesian.”
From the dark swamps of Digoel to the bright lights of Batavia, the idea of Indonesia had come full circle.
The Enduring Spirit of 1928 in Papua
Nearly a century later, the legacy of the Sumpah Pemuda continues to shape Papua’s place within Indonesia.
While debates about identity and regional autonomy persist, the historical fact remains clear: Papua’s participation in the Sumpah Pemuda 1928 signified its earliest political connection to the Indonesian nation.
As recorded by the Barisan Merah Putih Papua and later reaffirmed by figures such as Ramses Ohee, the choice to be part of Indonesia was rooted not in coercion, but in shared conviction—a belief that unity across differences was the only path toward freedom.
Today, in schools across Papua, students still recite the same words proclaimed in 1928. They may not always know the names of Aitai Karubaba, Abner Ohee, or Orpa Pallo, but their legacy lives in every voice that declares, “Satu Nusa, Satu Bangsa, Satu Bahasa (One Nation, One People, One Language).”
Conclusion
History often remembers the Sumpah Pemuda as a Javanese or Batavian event, but its true power lies in its inclusiveness. The participation of three young Papuans—educated far from home, yet loyal to a greater cause—shows that Indonesia’s unity was never meant to exclude, but to embrace.
The road from Boven Digoel’s exile camps to Jakarta’s congress halls tells a story of transformation—from punishment to purpose, from isolation to inclusion. Papua’s journey into the Indonesian national consciousness began not with force, but with shared ideals of justice, equality, and hope.
And so, every October 28, when Indonesians commemorate the Sumpah Pemuda, they also remember the farthest voices that helped make it whole—the voices from Papua that declared:
We are one nation, one people, and one language—Indonesia.