Easter Performances in the Time of Extinction: The Gospel of Psycho-Cosmocide in West Papua

At least six Papuan civilians killed and two injured by bullets during alleged retaliatory security force operation in Dogiyai – Two minors among the victims
3 April 2026. Read full story by clicking the image. 

Easter Performances in the Time of Extinction: The Gospel of Psycho-Cosmocide in West Papua

Every year, Easter arrives in West Papua with a burst of colour, prayer, and proclamation. Resurrection. New life. The victory of life over death. Churches fill to capacity. Social media buzzes with activity. The season's message of salvation is delivered with genuine sincerity by pastors and leaders alike. Yet, the Papuan people are dying — not just metaphorically or spiritually. The land is being taken. The language is slipping away. The forests that sustained life for tens of thousands of years are being cleared for resources. The demographic makeup of the homeland is being deliberately manipulated to exterminate the original Papuans. The international community, carefully managed into apathy, turns a blind eye. Behind every Easter message, every biblical quote shared with heartfelt emotion, every proclamation of divine love from pulpit and platform, the conditions of Papuan extinction continue unabated. This contradiction is no accident, nor is it merely hypocrisy. It’s the surface of something much deeper — a process that impacts not only land and bodies but also a people's very ability to perceive what is being done to them. This process is called psycho-cosmocide. It involves the systematic destruction and replacement of an entire people's worldview, the framework through which they would normally recognise their own extinction, acknowledge it, and resist it.

The Wound Beneath All Wounds

The tragedy of West Papua cannot be fully understood using the existing vocabulary of occupation, human rights or international law. This is not to diminish the reality of the situation. The Indonesian military presence is very much real and brutal. Killings, disappearances and the imprisonment of Papuan freedom advocates are well-documented and ongoing. Land seizures, resource extraction, and demographic engineering designed to reduce or eliminate the Papuan population from their ancestral homeland are ongoing. However, 'occupation' is a superficial description. It identifies the visible wound but does not diagnose the underlying cause. Beneath every act of physical violence, every silenced language and every piece of stolen land, a force operates that is more total and more difficult to resist than any military or political machinery. This force governs not only land and bodies. It penetrates the cosmological framework through which a people make sense of the world, shaping how they understand themselves, interpret their suffering and relate to existence. It not only reshapes what people have, but also what they want and aspire to, and who they believe they can become. This is not domination in the traditional political sense. Rather, it is a total invasion of reality — Psycho-Cosmocide in its purest form. The infection is so widespread that its victims become carriers of the disease and willing agents of their own annihilation. To be Papuan today is to face a lethal paradox: every Papuan holds the key to both the resurrection and the extermination of Papua. To understand what has occurred — and what continues to unfold — we need the concept of total cosmological anomie. This concept extends far beyond the conventional sociological usage of anomie, as defined by Émile Durkheim. Durkheim's anomie describes the disorientation that occurs when social norms break down during periods of rapid modernisation. Durkheim's anomie is like a ship that has lost its compass but retains its structure and crew. What has been inflicted upon Papuan society is far more devastating: the ship itself has been dismantled.

The interconnected relationships between land, ecology, knowledge, spirituality, the cosmos, and social life in West Papua have not only been weakened but also systematically poisoned and dismantled. The sacred bond with the land as an existential home and cosmic foundation; the authority of language as a vessel for collective memory and identity; the living link between the present generation and their ancestors; and the sacred order that organised and sustained existence for tens of thousands of years — all of these have been comprehensively eradicated. What remains is neither transition nor reformation but a process of systematic disintegration. Papuans were once among the most deeply rooted human communities on Earth, developing a sophisticated eco-living system over millennia. They did not merely inhabit their environment — they were formed by it. They read it, spoke it, sang it, dreamed it, and governed through it, passing on complete knowledge across generations with unmatched precision. Now, however, they find their place in existence elusive. The living cosmological order that linked individuals to communities, communities to ancestors, ancestors to land, land to the sacred, and the sacred to daily acts such as planting, hunting, naming, and remembering has been so thoroughly dismantled that what remains is not just a damaged version of itself but something entirely different: a people suspended in existence and alienated from their past. They are disoriented in the present and cannot envision their future. Today, Papuans are cosmologically homeless. They cannot answer the fundamental questions every human asks: Who am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going?' — stripped of every answer that once made them proud. This is the condition of total cosmological dislocation, and it forms the basis for understanding every other aspect of the Papuan tragedy.

The Vacuum and the Virus

When a system of meaning collapses, consciousness cannot tolerate the resulting void. People who have lost their sense of purpose become desperately hungry for any structure that can provide them with direction and a sense of belonging. This hunger is not a sign of weakness but is as essential to genuine survival as food or water. However, it is also the most dangerous vulnerability to exploit when people have been rendered desperate by the systematic destruction of everything that once satisfied this need. It is precisely this void, created by the destruction of the Papuan cosmological system, that the parasitic civilisation hurried to fill. Instead of offering restoration, healing, or justice, they provided a replacement system that was entirely within reach, seductive in its presentation, and precisely calibrated to the vulnerabilities of a people in a cosmological crisis. From the outside, this system appeared hopeful and full of life. But at its core, beneath every layer of beauty and apparent care, it harbours the means to entirely annihilate a nation. This replacement system presents itself as progress, salvation, heaven, God, success, happiness and development — every form of human advancement that the imagination can conceive. This may be termed the Cult of Civilisational Parasitic Death. It is not a fringe movement or marginal phenomenon that can be addressed by removing its most visible manifestations. It is a total ecosystem of belief, performance, reward and meaning, deeply embedded in the daily life, education, spirituality and psychology of Papuan society, to the point that it has become entirely indistinguishable from reality for many. It consumes while performing a rescue. It accelerates extinction while displaying the colours and speaking the language of salvation. This is the horror of psycho-cosmocide.

The Language of Salvation as an Instrument of Destruction

The Cult of Civilisational Parasitic Death presents itself through a language that is consistently benevolent and aspirational, and which appears to be universal. It invokes Jerusalem, Vatican City and Mecca. The terms 'God', 'Allah', 'Jesus', and 'Tuhan' are deployed alongside ethical concepts such as 'goodness', 'righteousness', 'peace', 'justice', and 'equality', as well as the dominant doctrines of modern civilisation: 'democracy', 'development', 'progress', and 'modernity'. This vocabulary is reinforced by a carefully constructed material imagination, made visible through smartphones, vehicles, hotel rooms, fast food, public awards, social media visibility and institutional recognition.

The system does not declare itself as destructive. Instead, it appears with the most emotionally powerful faces that human civilisation has crafted: salvation, improvement, happiness, divine love, a good life, money, and progress through history. Rather than showing itself as an instrument of destruction, it presents itself as a means of progress — a symbol of hope rather than threat, an opportunity rather than a trap, and the long-awaited way to dignity rather than a concealed route to extinction.

This isn’t an accidental presentation; it’s the essence of the strategy. The system doesn’t mainly depend on external dominance, though force remains an option. What it has created is something far more effective and lasting: it manufactures desire. It infiltrates the minds of the people it’s destroying, rewiring their deepest longings and reshaping their hopes in its own image. The result is that people desperately and passionately chase what cannot sustain them while neglecting, abandoning, and feeling ashamed of what they can’t live without.

A person infected by Psycho-Cosmocide becomes a weapon that is then used against other colonised people. This is not just a metaphor. It’s the most straightforward way to describe the virus's effects — when it has completely rewritten a person's inner system so that they no longer see themselves mainly as part of a community with responsibilities but as an individual vying for immediate gratification within a system whose logic they will defend, uphold, and perpetuate against their own community with a effectiveness that no outside colonial force could match.

The Coma as Conquest

Awake, rooted in their own memory and guided by their own cosmological worldview, a colonised people can recognise what is happening to them, identify those responsible, and rally with a collective will to oppose it. However, those who are driven into a coma and perceive their dispossession as divine will, their cultural eradication as spiritual progress, and their impending extinction as the realisation of a sacred promise cannot resist because they are unable to fully see what they should be fighting against. This is not an accidental result of colonialism. It is its most deliberately crafted system.

In this state of induced cosmological sleep, concepts that hold the highest emotional and spiritual authority — such as justice, tolerance, love, salvation, peace, unity, and divine purpose — are systematically reassigned. Detached from any tangible connection to the material realities of the people who invoke them, these concepts are reattached to the role of stabilising and maintaining the very conditions of inequality and dispossession they seemingly aim to overcome. The language of liberation thus becomes the most effective tool of ongoing captivity, precisely because it is both spoken and received with genuine feeling and hope.

Why the Empire Funds the Church and Fears the School

There is one question that must be asked directly. Why does the Empire support the Church? Why do colonial powers and their intermediary ruling elites spend millions on building churches, backing religious institutions, paying pastors and priests, and broadcasting religious content across every platform available? Is it genuine piety? Is it true devotion to the spiritual well-being of those they govern?

The answer colonial history offers is simpler and more devastating. In the specific colonial context where it has been used, the church achieves something that no army, police force, or legal system can do as effectively, cheaply, or thoroughly: it induces and maintains a state of mental paralysis in the colonised mind, which is willingly and eagerly upheld at the emotional and material cost to the colonised people themselves.

People who are colonised and dedicate their time, energy, money, and communal resources to celebrating, memorising, and repeating imported stories—such as heavens located in other people's geographies, paradises promised by other people's gods, and histories of divine intervention that have no connection to their own land, suffering, heroes, or survival needs—are not using those resources to challenge the colonial order. They are not rebuilding their own institutions, revitalising their memory, recovering their language, or reconstructing the forms of collective self-knowledge that true, rooted nationhood requires.

This is the intended outcome. Every colonial planner has understood one thing clearly: when a colonised people rebuild their own institutions, it signals the start of the end of colonial control. When colonised people revitalise their language, they regain the ability to express their thoughts and demands. When they reclaim their myths of origin and collective identity, they rebuild the cosmological foundation on which genuine resistance can thrive. When they teach their children about their history — the names of their heroes, the dates of their martyrs, and the details of their struggle — they ensure that future generations will not have to rediscover what was done to their people, by whom, and why.

The calculation is straightforward: if the colonised are praying, they are not organising. If they are memorising the genealogies of the Hebrew Bible, they are not learning about the history of their own people's resistance. If they celebrate the resurrection of a first-century Galilean preacher, they do not celebrate the names and sacrifices of their own martyrs. If they direct their deepest emotional energies towards a heaven imagined by others, they have nothing left for what can truly sustain them: land, water, language, memory, and the continuity of a people who know who they are across generations.

The greatest military victory in colonial history was never fought on a battlefield. Instead, it was won in the minds of the colonised when they desired the same things as the coloniser, feared the same things, celebrated the same things, and felt shame towards the same things. The empire does not fear the church in West Papua. It fears the schools that educate Papuan history, the institutions that maintain the Papuan language, and the community gatherings that honour the heroes of Papuan resistance, passing that knowledge to the next generation.

Over time, through the patient work of Psycho-Cosmocide, the sacred and the political blend into a single, indistinguishable entity. The language of heaven and governance, divine love and national development, spiritual salvation and economic progress become so interconnected that those living within the system can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins — nor recognise that the beautiful language being spoken is a death sentence.

This fusion marks the culmination of conquest. Not the military kind, which was just the forced opening of the door. It is the point when the colonised embrace their own language of subjugation and speak it with conviction — when they preach it from their own pulpits, broadcast it on their platforms, display it in their ceremonial spaces, and teach it to their children as the ultimate truth. At that moment, the coloniser no longer needs to be present in any visible or forceful way. The domination has been internalised. The prison has been built inside the prisoner's mind, and they mistake the walls for wings.

The most sacred ideals — peace, unity, progress, compassion, justice and reconciliation — are repeatedly invoked to justify policies and practices that actually undermine the communities they aim to protect. Peace is invoked to silence those who describe current events as violence. Unity is used to delegitimise groups organising around their own collective identity. Progress is invoked to excuse the extraction of resources and the destruction of ecological and cultural systems that have supported communities for thousands of years.

The promise of salvation — the organising principle of the entire religious system — is never fulfilled. It cannot be achieved. Its purpose is ongoing delay, not achievement. The salvation promised is always elsewhere: in an afterlife, in a future that has not yet arrived, or in a divine intervention that is always imminent but never realised. This promise, which is endlessly deferred, renewed, and kept just beyond reach, can be used forever to keep the colonised person compliant and focused on the wrong goal. This prevents them from using their full energy to recover the only things that can truly sustain them.

Every System of Meaning is a Survival Technology

There is one truth that is so fundamental yet so consistently avoided in the history of preaching, philosophy, and theology that its absence from honest discourse reflects civilisation itself. This truth is that every human system of meaning—every culture, god, sacred text, moral framework, and promise of paradise—is a response to survival conditions. It does not respond to some other realm but to the specific, tangible, and entirely material conditions of human beings living in particular places and historical circumstances who are striving to survive.

This is not a cynical claim. In fact, it is the most honest and respectful thing that can be said about the world's great belief systems: they are the most sophisticated, emotionally powerful, and practically effective tools that the human species has ever created for managing the most urgent problem everyone faces. This problem is not metaphysical. Rather, it is simultaneously biological, social, psychological, and cosmological — the problem of how to stay alive, keep your loved ones alive, maintain the community without which individual survival is impossible, and sustain the enterprise of being human across generations.

The Christian promise of resurrection served as a survival tool — a framework that gave meaning during times of suffering, supported moral codes that demanded the sacrifice of immediate self-interest, and offered psychological endurance for historically vulnerable and persecuted communities. Meanwhile, the Islamic promise of paradise functioned as a civilisational instrument that helped diverse and often hostile populations organise into cohesive, practical, and resilient communities. Mosaic law was shaped through experience and political upheaval; its social rules were clear responses to the survival needs of a specific people in a particular environment. The Aboriginal Australian Dreaming is one of the most complex and enduring survival systems ever devised on this planet. It acts as an encoded map of ecological knowledge, social obligation, resource management, and cosmological significance, finely tuned to the Australian continent, which has supported human communities for a period that makes all other civilisations seem like fleeting and recent experiments.

All of these systems, in their original and living forms, were survival technologies — not just for physical endurance but also for social cohesion, psychological well-being, cosmological understanding, and intergenerational continuity. The measure of each wasn’t the beauty of its promises or the authority of its divine mandate, but whether it made its people more capable of survival, community support, and passing on what mattered to the next generation.

When the survival technologies of one civilisation are presented as the universal and eternally valid truth to which all human beings everywhere must submit, rather than as the historically conditioned, culturally particular and ecologically calibrated tools that a specific group developed for their own unique survival circumstances, then those tools cease to serve as survival technologies for the people upon whom they are imposed. They become instruments of destruction. A Papuan person who has been taught to orient their entire inner life towards Jerusalem or Mecca, Jakarta or Rome, or the promises of a heaven imagined by people in entirely different landscapes with very different survival needs, has been separated from the survival technologies that their own ancestors developed over tens of thousands of years. They have been handed someone else's survival map and told that it is the only one that exists. Their own map — calibrated precisely to their ground, rivers, forests, seasons, social structures, ancestors and historical experience — has been ridiculed, suppressed and shamed into oblivion by the great forgetting designed by Psycho-Cosmocide.

The Easter Performance

Nowhere is the reality of psycho-cosmocide clearer than in the religious performances that flood Papuan social media during Christian holy seasons. During Easter — the festival that celebrates the promise of new life, resurrection, and liberation from death above all others — something happens that demands honest examination.

Papuan elites, pastors, prominent religious figures, institutional leaders, government officials, and self-proclaimed advocates for Papuan liberation adorn themselves and their platforms with religious imagery, biblical quotations, and seemingly sincere spiritual proclamations. Resurrection, new life, hope, justice, peace, unity, and divine love flood every available platform. The colours are beautiful. The words are moving.

However, this display comes from less than five per cent of Papuans — those with meaningful access to money, institutional power, and the technology through which performances can be broadcast. The voices that dominate these platforms overwhelmingly belong to the elite: Papuan men and women who have risen within the parasitic system and received their share of its rewards. The dying majority — those with no platform, no institutional position, and no political protection — can only observe from a distance they did not choose and cannot close.

It is important to note that the Papuan elite are not the only voices flooding these platforms with Easter messages. Alongside them, and often surpassing them in volume, sophistication, and institutional reach, are political leaders, military generals, religious authorities, and senior architects of Indonesian state policy: the same state whose military presence in West Papua is responsible for killings, disappearances, land seizures, and the entire apparatus of colonial domination that the Easter resurrection message supposedly addresses. Indonesian generals commanding forces hunting Papuans in the forest broadcast Easter messages of togetherness, Christian brotherhood, divine mercy, and national unity with apparent sincerity and high production values.

This is not merely ordinary hypocrisy, the simple inconsistency between what people say and what they do. It is something far more subtle. It is the intentional use of the most emotionally charged language in the Papuan psyche — the language of Christian redemption and divine love — to keep the Papuan people in submission and stop them from organising and reclaiming what is theirs.

The Easter performance seeks to break down the barriers between coloniser and colonised, hunter and hunted, and occupier and occupied. However, this dissolution does not lead to genuine reconciliation. Instead, it serves as the most effective means of preventing the true recognition of irreconcilable interests that genuine resistance demands. A Papuan person watching an Indonesian military general broadcast a message of Easter love and feeling a real sense of shared humanity — forgetting, in that moment, what that general's institution is doing to their people — has effectively been put into a coma again. The performance has succeeded. The virus has tightened its grip.

No conspiracy is needed for this to work. Those involved in the Easter performance don’t need to know its political purpose. All that matters is that the operating system has been successfully rewritten and that people are so thoroughly shaped by its logic they reproduce its effects willingly and passionately, driven by their spiritual conviction — without instruction, awareness, or recognising the gap between the resurrection they celebrate and the silent extinction behind every beautiful word they speak.

Oppression vs. Psycho-Cosmocide

The key distinction in this analysis — and the one most carefully hidden by the systems that produced it — is between a people who have been oppressed and a people whose capacity for self-recognition, self-orientation, and self-directed resistance has been systematically and deliberately dismantled. Oppressed people understand they are oppressed. They might lack the material resources, political organisation, or strategic coherence to end their oppression at any given moment. They may be forced to endure it across generations. However, they still possess an inner awareness of what has been taken from them and why it matters. They can recognise injustice, identify those responsible, mourn their losses, and pass on to their children the full weight of the historical truth: that something was stolen and must eventually be reclaimed. This inner awareness, even if suppressed, underpins every genuine act of liberation in human history. Conversely, the inner awareness of a psycho-cosmocided oppressed people—whose mind has been extracted, poisoned, and replaced—is absent. They have not only been separated from the external conditions vital for their survival—land, language, memory, and future—but also from the cognitive framework that would enable them to perceive this separation as the catastrophe it is. Instead of their own framework, they have been given a replacement: the framework of salvation, progress, and divine promise. This replacement framework not only fails to acknowledge what has been taken but actively reinterprets the taking as a gift. Dispossession is reframed as an ascent towards a higher form of humanity. Cultural erasure is reframed as the liberating shedding of a primitive past. The approach to extinction as a distinct people is reframed as the triumphant culmination of the civilising mission’s promise.

When the operating system of a people's consciousness is rewritten — when the means by which they would otherwise recognise and oppose their own destruction are replaced with means that reinterpret that destruction as liberation — the most important battle is no longer primarily political, military or economic, although it must be fought urgently on all of these fronts. The most essential battle is cosmological. It is a fight to regain the ability to see reality as it truly is, free from the layers of distortion imposed by the cult. It is a struggle to reconnect the shattered nervous system of the collective Papuan body — to ensure that the suffering of each part is felt by the whole, that the dispossession of each community is an outrage to all, and that the memory of each martyr is an inheritance for every child. The Jewish lesson is that every religiously indoctrinated person must learn this. One example is particularly revealing — not because it originates outside the Papuan experience, but because it stems from the religious tradition most widely used to disorient the Papuan people.

Reflect on what the Jewish people have achieved through their collective efforts. After thousands of years of displacement, persecution, and repeated genocide—including the most systematic attempt in recorded history to wipe out an entire people—they did not survive by waiting for divine intervention. They did not reclaim their ancestral land through prayer alone, no matter how sincere and continuous that prayer had been over two thousand years of exile. Instead, they survived, rebuilt, and reclaimed their land through the land itself, language, and memory—by fiercely and relentlessly passing down their history; through sophisticated political organisation; by developing military strength; by advancing science, technology, and international diplomacy; and by maintaining a total and unwavering worldly commitment to collective survival. This commitment clearly separates prayer from political action and theological hope from strategic capacity.

Regardless of one's political or moral stance on the specifics of Israeli state practice, the fundamental logic of survival is undeniable: survival requires land, water, food, shelter, a language, a memory, and an organised, resourced, and strategically coherent human will to defend all of these against any threat.

Papuans are taught the theological story of Jewish history in all its emotional depth, from the covenant and the Exodus to the Promised Land, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, and Eternal Life. They learn to internalise these stories and feel the liberation of the Exodus as their own. They are also shown to base their deepest hopes on the divine promises conveyed by these stories. However, they are not taught the survival logic practised by the Jewish people throughout history: that land, language, and memory are irreplaceable and must be defended by people using all available means. Nor are they made aware that no external force — whether divine, international, or humanitarian — will defend a people reprogrammed to believe that their true home lies elsewhere and that their real future is beyond this life.

This is no oversight. Rather, it is the most carefully maintained feature of the entire system. By choosing Jewish sacred history as the primary vehicle for the cosmological reprogramming of the Papuan people, the civilising mission ensured that, while Papuans received the theological promise of the Exodus, they were systematically denied the survival knowledge of the people who experienced it first-hand.

Survival Or Extinction: The Only Criterion That Matters

All knowledge systems, moral frameworks, religious traditions, and cosmological stories must ultimately be judged by a single criterion. Not the appeal of their promises. Nor the authority behind their divine mandate. Nor the complexity of their theological structures or the emotional depth of the devotion they stir. The only criterion that counts is whether a given system supports the survival, dignity, coherence, and continuation of the human community living within it.

A belief system that empowers a people to understand themselves, their history, and their language, and to protect their land, water, food, children, and future, is fulfilling its proper role, regardless of whether its metaphysical claims are true or false. It is a living survival technology. It warrants respect and protection.

Conversely, a belief system that disorients a community from their own ground, separates them from their language and memory, and fosters manufactured hunger for unsustainable rewards and deep internalised shame about their own survival conditions, makes people willing participants in their own extinction. When it provides ruling elites with the necessary language, symbols, moral authority, and theological cover to justify murder, land seizure, resource extraction, and colonial domination, it is not serving as a spiritual good for the people it has been imposed upon. It operates as a weapon. The first act of genuine intellectual honesty and spiritual courage is to name it clearly as such, without softening the truth to suit the sensitivities of the powerful—something the survival of the Papuan people can no longer afford.

The Papuan people possess land, water, forests, fire, a language — or what remains of it — and memory, or what has not yet been entirely disappeared. They have children, as long as there are still children born on that land, speaking that language, and remembering that history. These are not romantic ideals. They are the vital, non-negotiable, entirely earthly conditions of human survival and dignity — conditions that no people, at any point in this species' history, has managed to survive without, and no people ever will. No heaven can replace them. No paradise can substitute for them. No promise of eternal life made by the gods of other peoples in the sacred lands of other communities can provide what only the living relationship between a people and their land, water, language, memory, ancestors, and children can offer.

If the Papuan people are to survive — not as individuals absorbed into a national identity shaped by someone else's history, but as a distinct people with their own language, memory, land, and future — then everything needed for their survival must start with this truth, be built around it, and be judged by it. It must be passed on to every Papuan child as the most sacred and urgent inheritance any generation can give: You are here. This land is yours. Your ancestors are in this soil. Your future is in these forests, rivers, languages, and children. No heaven promised by anyone is worth giving any of it up for.

The Papuan people have land, water, forests, fire, and a language — or at least what remains of it — as well as memory, which has not yet been completely erased. As long as children are born on that land, speaking their ancestral language, and remembering their history, they have a future. These are not romantic fantasies. They are the essential, earthly conditions of human survival and dignity that no people, at any point in history, have survived without and never will. No heaven can replace them. No paradise can substitute for them. No promise of eternal life made by other gods in other lands, times, and spaces can match the living connection between a people and their land, water, language, memory, ancestors, and children.

If the Papuan people are to survive — not as individuals absorbed into a national identity defined by someone else's myths, but as a people with their own language, memory, land, and future — then everything necessary for survival must be rooted in this truth and measured against it. This truth must be handed down to every Papuan child as the most sacred and urgent inheritance that any generation can pass on: You are here. This land is yours. Your ancestors are in this soil. Your future lies in these forests, rivers, languages, and children. No promised heaven, hell, progress, development, modern myths, religious myths of Jerusalem, Mecca, Vatican, London, fairy-tales of sky heaven are worth sacrificing any part of this for.

All you need and are worth living for and dying for is your land, forest, water, mountain, home because, for thousands of years, every human and every living organism on this planet has fought to protect this alone. All other moral, metaphysical, ethical, afterlife, heaven, hell, or nirvana myths and stories are simply meant to support this single survival truth.

There's nothing wrong with believing in God, following Jesus, Muhammad, Buddha, reading the Bible or Quran, becoming religious, or believing in heaven or fearing hell. Seeking spiritual enlightenment (sincerely and without bullshit is fine too). However, these aspects of your existence should serve as the glue holding together your life, family, clan, tribe, group, nation, empire, and civilisation so you can protect yourself and defend your land, food, water, home, history, and future. But if they instead cause you to become unconscious, make you stupid, weak, useless, hypocritical, and unable to do anything to safeguard your people, land, language, home, history, and future, then you’ve become a true agent of civilisational parasitic virus: You’ve fallen victim to Psycho-Cosmocide.

NOTE

This work is authored by Yamin Kogoya, who assumes full intellectual responsibility for its arguments, interpretations, and conclusions. The concepts presented, including the framework of Psycho-Cosmocide, form part of an ongoing body of research examining the relationship between knowledge systems, power, and the conditions of human survival. This text is published as a contribution to critical discourse on West Papua and the broader question of civilisational impact on indigenous existence. Responsibility for its content rests solely with the author.