This isn’t a new script for PNG. Marape, in power since 2019 and re-elected in 2022, was once the fresh face promising stability. Now, critics say he’s floundering.
Armed gangs roam the Highlands unchecked, leaving citizens scared and Simbu Province MP James Nomane warning of a “failed state” on the horizon.
Economically, delays in the Papua LNG project—a potential game-changer—have tongues wagging about mismanagement.
Then there’s the old baggage: as ex-Finance Minister, Marape’s tied to murky payments that still haunt his reputation.
The opposition smells blood, and they’re not alone. Students and online voices are amplifying the outrage, turning up the volume on a public fed up with broken promises. Marape’s response? It’s all a political hit job. He’s betting on PNG’s Constitution to keep him in the driver’s seat, arguing only Parliament—not protests—can call the shots.
In PNG’s parliamentary system, ousting a PM isn’t a free-for-all. Marape could quit, handing his resignation to the Governor-General and kicking off a scramble for a new leader among MPs.
He’s made it clear he’s not walking away. Behind closed doors, his Pangu Party and coalition partners hold the real keys. If they waver, he’s toast, VoNC or not. For now, he’s banking on loyalty and the opposition’s shaky math to ride this out.
A resignation could unleash a free-for-all, stalling everything from LNG deals to the NRL bid. And if public pressure alone topples him, it might set a dicey precedent for a country that leans hard on its parliamentary guardrails.
Marape’s at a crossroads. The resignation calls aren’t just noise—they’re a symptom of a nation on edge. He’s got the law on his side, but the law doesn’t quiet crowds or fix a broken system.
Whether he’s forced out by a VoNC or clings on through sheer grit, the real test isn’t just survival—it’s whether he can prove he’s still the guy for the job. Right now, the jury’s out, and PNG’s watching.
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