The Sandakan Death March

The Sandakan Death March went down in infamy as arguably the worst atrocity ever suffered by Australian soldiers, but it remains largely invisible on the historical map. The details of the event were so shocking that it was easier for the Australian government to withhold information than go public. It is only in the last few years that the story has come to light, thanks mainly to the unlikely figure of Lynette Silver, a 61-year-old grandmother who has made it her mission to tell the world about the tragedy.

Since the early ’90s this former schoolteacher has immersed herself in the story, travelling frequently to Borneo, scouring military archives from Australia to Japan, delving into anything and everything associated with the march. Without her labours, much of what happened would remain a mystery. When I approached her with my idea of retracing the Death March, she thought it would be worthwhile. We’d be the first to attempt it in 61 years.

Tham Yau Kong greets us at the airport, his strong handshake a measure of his physical strength. A fourth-generation Malaysian of Chinese descent, Tham is a stocky man, with sad, deep-set eyes, and a shy demeanor. But his quick tongue and easy smile keep you fixed. And he is passionate about his home. “Mr. Kevin,” he says, “they said it was too difficult to find but they forget we live here. The jungle’s our home.”

Recognized as one of Sabah’s premiere trekking guides, Tham and his team had begun cutting the trail four months in advance of our arrival. Working from charts compiled by post-war Australian Army recovery parties, which plotted the exact location of each body found on the route—creating a rather grisly trail of bread crumbs, if you will—and from a map drafted by a military war grave photographer in 1946, Tham and Lynette were able to plot the exact route of the march. “I would talk with Mrs. Lynette several times a day from the trail,” explains Tham. “We would be in constant contact, comparing details.” Thanks to their efforts, after being lost to the rainforest for the past 61 years, the Sandakan Death March sees the light of the Borneo sky once again.

I’m sitting waste deep in the crystal clear Maliau River after the first day’s trek, and I’m cooked. It isn’t so much the trail’s steepness or even its difficulty under foot— it’s the heat, the all-encompassing blanket of super-baked humidity that sucks out every last drop of moisture. Standing up is sweaty enough, but once I start to move I leave a trail like a slug. And a slug is pretty much what I feel like right now.

There’s some satisfaction in knowing I’m not alone in my discomfort. Nine members of the Australian military accompany me. News of our plans to recreate the march had travelled fast; and last minute negotiations saw three Air Force and six Army personnel join us on our inaugural march. My initial misgivings about group dynamics are quickly dispelled, as I realize that the Australians are open and friendly and are as eager about the trek as I am. In fact, their selection of personnel to come here was based on merit, and was undoubtedly considered an honour. Their battalion is presently stationed in Penang, Malaysia, and has been training in this environment for months. The fact that they’re as baked as me is reassuring.

At over 130 million years old, Borneo’s rainforest is among the most ancient and diverse in the world, home to a myriad of unique, natural riches. The island is only one of two places on earth where orangutans live wild, is home to over 2,000 types of trees, 600 species of bird, and over 200 types of mammals, including 44 that are unique to the island. Darwin described it perfectly as “one great untidy luxuriant hothouse made by nature for herself.”

Much of Sabah’s remaining rainforest is part of a protected reserve, but this wasn’t always the case. After the war, huge tracts of virgin jungle were harvested to satisfy a ravenous overseas market, resulting in a radical transformation of the countryside for short-term gain. The harvesting was eventually halted, but not before thousands of acres of rainforest were decimated. One-third of the rainforest that the original death march route travelled through has since met with the logger’s saw; it was subsequently replanted with oil palms—an ever increasing monoculture in the region—and the original forest of the area is now completely gone.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 21st, 2006 at 9:42 pm and is filed under Features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site. Add to del.icio.us.