In the predawn mist of Papua’s rugged highlands, an unexpected discovery jolted Indonesia’s security apparatus: four marijuana farms tucked deep within the forests of Oksibil District, Pegunungan Bintang Regency. The plantations—carefully hidden among corn, mustard greens, and sweet potato plots—were dismantled by Indonesia’s border troops. Yet the revelation is more than just a drug bust; it may offer a rare glimpse into how separatist groups in Papua potentially sustain their armed campaigns against the state.
A Camouflaged Plantation in the High Country
On 23 September 2025, the Border Security Task Force (Satgas Pamtas) from Yonif 751/Vira Jaya Sakti, alongside units from Satgas Ketapang and Satgas Prayudha, executed a surveillance-and-sweep operation across Kampung Aldom, District Oksibil, in the heart of Pegunungan Bintang. Drone imagery had flagged suspicious patches in fields that otherwise looked like typical subsistence farming. What followed was a careful descent into dense terrain, where soldiers navigated steep slopes and forest fringes.
There, hidden among food crops, they found four separate marijuana gardens—traps of green leaves masking an illicit purpose. In total, the security forces seized 297 cannabis plants, averaging around 1.5 meters in height—plants already well into maturity.
The plantations were promptly destroyed, and the seized material handed over to authorities for further legal processing.
The timing and precision of the operation suggest an intelligence-led initiative. The strike also followed earlier discoveries in the same mountainous district and across Pegunungan Bintang, hinting at a pattern.
A Landscape of Illicit Agriculture
A few months earlier, the same region drew attention during a separate operation. On 27 March 2025, Yonif 512/QY’s patrolling units uncovered a marijuana plantation in Kampung Mersibil, Serambakon District, stretching across 0.5 hectares. Within the plot were 204 plants standing between 1.5 and 2 meters high, aged roughly 5 to 6 months.
Not far from the plantation, troops found a makeshift shelter used by suspected Kelompok Kriminal Bersenjata (KKB) elements—a hut bearing a Bintang Kejora (Morning Star) flag and solar panels installed for off-grid electricity.
Authorities turned over 204 marijuana stems, the solar equipment, and the flag to the Pegunungan Bintang Police for further investigation.
Officials did not hide their interpretation: these plantations were not standalone criminal operations but likely sources of funding for separatist groups operating in Papua’s hinterlands. “Ladang ganja diduga menjadi salah satu sumber pendanaan kelompok tersebut,” stated the commanding officer of the operation.
Why Narcotics? The Logic Behind the Green Route
In the treacherous, mountainous terrain of Papua, armed separatist groups operate under immense logistical and financial pressure. Cut off from consistent external support and constrained by international scrutiny, these groups often turn to unconventional sources of funding to fuel their operations. Among the most lucrative and sustainable of these is narcotics cultivation—specifically, marijuana farming. The appeal of cannabis lies in its high economic yield. Even modest plots of mature marijuana plants can generate substantial revenue on the black market, making it an ideal cash crop for insurgents operating with limited resources.
Moreover, marijuana can be easily hidden in plain sight. In Oksibil, for instance, authorities discovered cannabis plants cleverly disguised among rows of staple food crops like corn and mustard greens. This agricultural camouflage is not only effective against ground patrols but also helps evade aerial surveillance, allowing these operations to continue undetected for long periods. The low operational footprint required for cannabis cultivation also adds to its allure. In remote, heavily forested areas, small-scale farms can remain virtually invisible to security forces if strategically placed and managed with discretion, taking full advantage of the region’s isolation and limited governmental oversight.
Another key factor is geography. Pegunungan Bintang lies along the porous border with Papua New Guinea, offering natural smuggling corridors that are difficult to monitor or control. These routes facilitate the transport of illicit goods—including drugs—into and out of the country, often without detection. This cross-border access, combined with the crop’s high value, concealability, and minimal upkeep, makes marijuana farming a highly effective and adaptable strategy for financing separatist activity.
Taken together, these elements form a potent formula: one that transforms remote farmlands into financial lifelines for insurgent groups. Cannabis cultivation is not merely a criminal enterprise; in the context of Papua’s conflict, it becomes a strategic asset—supporting armed resistance, sustaining local militias, and undermining the sovereignty of the Indonesian state.
Unmasking the Financial Link: From Plant to Conflict
While official reports rarely expose a direct, publicized pipeline linking marijuana plantations to the purchase of arms or the execution of separatist violence, a growing body of circumstantial evidence paints a compelling picture. The connection between narcotics and insurgency in Papua may be elusive in legal terms, but the operational overlaps are becoming harder to ignore.
In June 2025, during a security operation in the Jayawijaya region, Indonesian forces engaged in a firefight with a separatist group known as the Armed Criminal Group (Kelompok Kriminal Bersenjata, KKB). The clash resulted in the death of one armed rebel, and among the seized materials were not only ammunition and tactical equipment—but also significant quantities of marijuana. This convergence of drugs and weapons on the battlefield suggests a logistical intersection between narcotics trafficking and militant activity, possibly indicating shared supply chains or mutual funding mechanisms.
Further compounding the concern is the persistent role of transnational drug routes. According to local police, approximately 85% of marijuana confiscated in Papua is smuggled across the border from Papua New Guinea (PNG). This underscores the existence of well-entrenched trafficking corridors that operate with alarming efficiency, often through jungle footpaths and unguarded river crossings. These smuggling routes are more than just conduits for narcotics—they may also serve as lifelines for armed groups seeking to move supplies, messages, and funds beyond the reach of Indonesian authorities.
Perhaps most strikingly, a village chief in the conflict-prone Nduga region was recently detained under suspicion of financing the West Papua National Liberation Army (TPNPB)—a military wing of the Free Papua Organization (OPM). Investigations revealed that the chief had allegedly used village funds to purchase over 600 bullets for the group. While this particular case did not explicitly mention narcotics money, the fact that a local authority figure was involved in the financial facilitation of armed resistance signals just how deeply insurgent networks may be embedded within the region’s civilian and governance structures.
Moreover, in several past raids, law enforcement and military forces have reported finding separatist symbols—including Bintang Kejora (Morning Star) flags—at locations tied to marijuana cultivation or trafficking. These symbols serve as potent ideological markers and suggest that the sites were not merely economic ventures, but operated with political or militant alignment. The combination of drugs and separatist propaganda further supports the intelligence community’s growing suspicion that these farms are more than criminal enterprises—they are funding sources for armed resistance.
While none of these events provide a definitive forensic money trail from marijuana profits to the high command of separatist factions, the accumulated evidence is highly suggestive. The pattern is consistent: drug plantations appearing near rebel strongholds, marijuana discovered alongside weapons and tactical gear, and financial transactions by local figures suspected of supporting the insurgency. These indicators point toward an undercurrent of narco-financing that helps sustain separatist activity in Papua—fuelling conflict, undermining state authority, and deepening the region’s instability.
In the shadows of the Papuan highlands, cannabis cultivation is not just an agricultural endeavor—it is a potential engine of conflict. And though much remains concealed beneath the surface, every new discovery brings Indonesia closer to unmasking the financial veins that keep the separatist cause alive.
Sovereignty Under Siege
The discovery of hidden marijuana plantations in Papua strikes at more than just law enforcement—it touches the very heart of Indonesia’s sovereignty. For Jakarta, these findings are not isolated criminal cases but symptoms of a larger challenge: the erosion of state control in contested and vulnerable border regions. When separatist-linked territories become hubs of narcotics production, it represents a symbolic blow to the state’s authority. The government’s monopoly over justice, coercion, and resource distribution begins to fracture, and in those cracks, non-state actors find room to operate—and thrive.
This symbolic threat quickly transforms into a concrete security burden. The Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI) and police are now tasked with fighting on two fronts: containing armed separatism and dismantling complex drug operations. Each effort demands personnel, intelligence, logistics, and coordination, straining already stretched resources. Counterinsurgency alone is resource-intensive, but when compounded with counter-narcotics missions, it risks overwhelming local security forces and reducing their overall effectiveness.
Beyond security and symbolism, the impact on local communities is profound. Civilians—often caught between state forces and separatist factions—face coercion to participate in illicit cultivation or face reprisals if they refuse. Others are silenced by fear, unable to report illegal activities without risking retaliation. Meanwhile, the region’s youth, with limited economic options, may be lured or forced into drug distribution networks, entrenching cycles of poverty, violence, and exploitation.
The international dimension adds yet another layer of complexity. As Indonesia works to assert its legitimate control over Papua in the global arena, links between separatism and narcotics trafficking threaten to undermine its diplomatic position. Allegations of narco-insurgency invite uncomfortable scrutiny from human rights organizations, international watchdogs, and foreign governments, complicating the already sensitive narrative surrounding Papua’s political status.
In response, Indonesia has outlined plans to boost counterinsurgency funding in Papua, prioritizing surveillance technologies, mobility enhancements, and intelligence capabilities. Yet military might alone cannot neutralize the threat. Dismantling the financial infrastructure that fuels separatist violence—particularly through drug trafficking—is just as critical as boots on the ground. Without choking off these illicit revenue streams, tactical victories will be fleeting, and the broader challenge to national sovereignty will persist.
Voices from the Highlands
Residents in these remote mountainous areas often live in subsistence economies. For many families, margins are thin. A clandestine cannabis crop—if coerced or initiated by outsiders—may appear as an option, especially under pressure or through promises of protection or profit.
Yet for villagers, the stakes are high. Cooperation with security forces can invite retaliation from armed groups. Silence or complicity can bring legal peril. It is a form of modern coercion layered over deep geographical isolation.
One local Oksibil official had previously reported 70 marijuana plants in a small plot in Kampung Aldom in January 2025—a hint that more hidden gardens might exist, waiting discovery.
Such discoveries—small in scale—may serve as early scouts, probing whether local communities or security presences are alert.
Breaking the financial backbone of separatist movements in Papua will require far more than the destruction of hidden marijuana plantations. Indonesian authorities must adopt a comprehensive, multi-pronged strategy that not only disrupts illicit narcotics operations but also addresses the structural vulnerabilities that allow them to thrive. At the heart of this effort lies the need for intelligence-led interdiction. Utilizing advanced technologies—such as drones, satellite imagery, and signals intelligence—can help identify unusual crop growth patterns, detect concealed farms, and prevent plantations from maturing. Early detection is crucial to cutting off funding before it reaches separatist hands.
Border control and international cooperation must also be strengthened, particularly along the porous boundary with Papua New Guinea. The dense jungles and remote river routes have long served as smuggling corridors. Coordinated patrols and intelligence-sharing with PNG are vital, especially in light of recent seizures, such as the 19 kilograms of cannabis intercepted in 2025. Such operations highlight both the magnitude of the problem and the need for cross-border commitment to counter it.
On the legal front, reforms must go beyond targeting low-level cultivators. While eradicating the crops is necessary, it is equally important to dismantle the financing networks behind them. Mid-level dealers, transporters, and financiers—particularly those with ties to separatist groups—must be brought to justice. A well-structured legal framework that criminalizes financing terrorism through narcotics and strengthens prosecutorial tools will help sever the financial ties between drug money and rebellion.
Equally essential is fostering alternative livelihoods and community resilience. In many remote villages, growing illicit crops may seem like the only viable source of income. Introducing sustainable agriculture programs, microfinance initiatives, education, and infrastructure development can provide legitimate economic pathways. When communities are empowered with real options, their dependency on the narco-economy diminishes, and they become less susceptible to separatist exploitation.
Building a stronger, more transparent system also demands accountability and openness. Authorities must document and publicize arrests, prosecutions, and asset seizures. This not only reinforces public trust but also deters corruption among officials and discourages complicity within local power structures. Transparency sends a clear message: involvement in narco-funding—no matter how indirect—will not be tolerated.
Lastly, none of these strategies will succeed without civic trust-building. Engaging local stakeholders—village elders, church leaders, youth groups, and NGOs—can bridge the gap between the state and marginalized populations. Establishing secure, anonymous channels for reporting illicit activity and protecting whistleblowers is crucial in environments where fear of retaliation silences many. Trust is the foundation of intelligence gathering and community cooperation, and without it, enforcement efforts will falter.
In sum, cutting off the “green lifeline” of separatist groups in Papua requires a delicate balance of hard and soft power—combining enforcement, prevention, development, and dialogue. Only through such a holistic approach can Indonesia dismantle the underground economies fueling insurgency and restore long-term peace and governance in its eastern frontier.
A Crossroads for Papua
The Oksibil discoveries represent more than interdiction headlines—they may mark a turning point in how Indonesia confronts the nexus of insurgency and illicit economies in Papua.
If Jakarta can combine law enforcement pressure with socio-economic outreach—while maintaining ethical standards and clear-eyed intelligence oversight—it has a chance to disrupt the quasi-financial lifelines of separatist groups.
But failure to do so risks an escalation: more plantations, deeper trafficking routes, and more deeply embedded armed groups operating at the margins of state control.
In the highlands, every green leaf matters—not just because of what it grows, but because of what it might fund. The war for Papua’s future is now being waged not only by bullets, but by cash, crops, and concealment.
Conclusion
The discovery of hidden marijuana plantations in Papua’s Pegunungan Bintang region has exposed a troubling link between narcotics trafficking and separatist financing. Far from being isolated criminal activity, cannabis cultivation in these remote highlands appears to be a deliberate strategy used by separatist groups to fund violent operations against the Indonesian government. These illicit economies threaten Indonesia’s sovereignty, overburden security forces, harm local communities, and attract international scrutiny. To combat this, Indonesia must move beyond raids and embrace a comprehensive strategy: combining intelligence-driven enforcement, border cooperation, legal reforms, economic development, and community engagement. Only through such an integrated approach can Indonesia dismantle the financial lifelines of insurgent groups, restore rule of law, and secure lasting peace in Papua.