PNG, tech, and the modern cargo cult
From cargo cults to digital ambition
Although fading into history, some readers may recall Melanesia’s cargo cults— ritualistic island movements that sought to summon Western goods from supernatural forces.
Prevalent after the Second World War, small groups of followers marched, raised flags, and lit torches to create landing strips in the hope of treasured ‘cargo’.
While a curious act of the recent past, its characteristics live on in Melanesia’s most populous nation—Papua New Guinea, where imitation and mimicry are manifesting in government technology and AI aspiration.
Take PNG’s recent AI Summit. Bold declarations of ‘AI disruption’ were paired with sweeping commitments for digital uptake “from classrooms and hospitals to government procurement and public service jobs”.
It’s fine to have ambition. Indeed, PNG certainly needs it.
Yet such declarations seem misplaced, especially given that the PNG government has recently outlawed Starlink’s PNG operating license. This has been an undeniably bizarre move—one that acknowledges the low orbit technology may perhaps be a bit too ‘disruptive’ to PNG’s duopolised and fragmented communications sector, despite its impressive performance connecting thousands of Papua New Guineans and neighbouring Pacific Islanders.
Missing foundations
Like a house without foundations, mimicking the AI and digital goals of advanced economies presents obvious hurdles if the fundamentals are lacking—or regulations are misaligned.
Successive PNG governments have failed to connect 83 per cent of PNG’s population to electricity, pay teachers on time, conduct a national census (no one actually knows how many people live in PNG), or significantly reduce public service corruption.
AI-driven ‘disruption’ in PNG’s hospital sector seems further unlikely when PNG’s hospitals—and even many government provincial buildings—exist without plumbed water, sanitation or, once again, electricity.
Infrastructure vs ambition
The challenges are not only PNG’s ‘hard’ infrastructure. There’s a detectable obsession with digital ethics and privacy, despite examples suggesting the need for greater institutional humility.
Port Moresby’s National Data Centre—built in 2018 by Beijing and approved by the PNG government—became riddled with allegations of cyber espionage and security flaws. According to a DFAT-commissioned report, it could not host government data or be properly maintained. As the Australian Financial Review noted in 2020, the situation ‘left PNG with a $US53 million debt to the Chinese government, via Exim Bank, and a data centre that is barely operational’.
allegations of cyber espionage and security vulnerabilities, according to a DFAT-commissioned report, and was also unable to host actual government data or be adequately maintained.
This creates a reflex tendency from the government that further complicates things, where misguided PNG government action via excessive regulation emerges to selectively stall initiatives versus deal with the hard-won fundamentals of consistent power supply or building smooth roads.
Starlink is just the most recent example—its uptake was swift, creating connectivity, reducing cost and bypassing PNG’s geographic fragmentation that has dogged its communications and infrastructure sector for generations. But rather than harness this new innovation, the PNG government—specifically the PNG Ombudsman—has left its future in limbo.
PNG’s enforcement of cyber-crime is another example, which appears to be producing odd punitive outcomes. PNG’s Cybercrime Code Act 2016 was passed to curb online harassment and fraud. But its critics argue that it has become a selective political measure to crack down on freedom of expression and dissent. In this debate PNG is certainly not alone, given that many Western governments are facing a similar tension in balancing expression, speech and digital conduct.
What actually works
In taking a step back, what do AI and tech fundamentals look like? And how do they apply to PNG?
There are two elements to consider.
First, precision in how technology is applied. The PNG Immigration and Citizenship Authority has successfully used AI in visa processing, saving time and reducing paperwork.
It is a practical example of meaningful ‘disruption’—streamlining processes and delivering tangible benefits. In some ways, it’s ‘inverting’ the PNG Ombudsman’s approach to Starlink—genuinely recognising so-called disruption, moving rapidly, taking down cumbersome processes and reaching an outcome that serves all stakeholders. This approach should be extended to similar areas, particularly those involving large data volumes and administrative bottlenecks.
The second element to consider is deliberate care in the application of technology ‘leapfrogging’—a common term applied to the introduction of innovative technology in developing nations. Yet, rather unsurprisingly, according to The Economist, leapfrogging consistently falls back on ‘expensive and resource-intensive infrastructure investments like electricity and roads’. Evidence increasingly highlights its limitations.
This is not about holding PNG back. Rather, it underscores a simple point: without strong foundations and balanced regulation, progress will stall.
If these basics are not addressed, those who need technology most will continue to wait—much like the cargo cults of the past.
AUTHOR
Sean Jacobs is a Papua New Guinean-born Brisbane-based writer, government relations and public policy specialist, and Industry Fellow at the Griffith Asia Institute.
He is also the author of A Complicated Inheritance: Papua New Guinea at 50 (Connor Court Publishing, 2026).