One afternoon, as I walked toward the Agats City Ferry Port, the scene before me felt so lively. Two large ships docked quietly at the pier. People arrived from all over the city. Seagulls danced and chirped in the air, while the golden light of dusk painted a picture of love and hope over the flowing Aswets River. Unbeknownst to me, I stopped in my tracks. I turned around and saw a statue standing firmly in the harbor area: the statue of Father Yan Smit, OSC. He is depicted holding an oar and a Bible, with his index finger pointing to the surrounding ground. The area around the statue looked poorly maintained, as if cut off from the city’s life, with no clear access to it. As I stood gazing at the statue, three young men sat nearby, chatting casually. Their conversation gradually became clearer. “Who is that statue?” one of them asked. “Why is it here?” Another answered quietly, as if sharing an old secret, “I’ve heard that the person inside the statue cursed this land to become mud.” The conversation continued lightly, as if it were nothing more important than their activities searching for shrimp and crabs on the banks of the Aswets River. But for me, that sentence struck a chord. It was then that I began to wonder: why is Father Yan Smit’s legacy largely unknown to the younger generation of Asmat, while myths about him continue to live on and be passed down? Why does the story of the “curse” sound more familiar than the story of his devotion and death? As someone who attended a Catholic school named after Father Yan Smit, I felt a strange distance. His name was present on school boards and in the town’s statues, but his figure had disappeared from the collective memory—replaced by vague, lighthearted, and often erroneous stories. As a teenager growing up in this “mud town,” I realized that Yan Smit’s name was inextricably linked to the history of Agats. Yet, in the stories circulating, he was often associated with the reasons why the town was muddy and swampy. The statue stands facing the Aswets River—flowing towards the Arafura Sea—as if welcoming everyone who comes to Agats. It has become a city icon, but also a hub for interpretations and myths. According to popular folklore, the shooting of Father Yan Smit by a local government head in early 1965 is considered the beginning of the “curse.” It is said that before he breathed his last, he said: “My flesh will become mud, and my blood will become water that will continue to inundate this land.” From this, the myth grew, passed down through word of mouth, and slowly transformed into urban legend. But the question remains: were those words ever uttered? Did Father Yan Smit really curse the land of Asmat? If we refer to historical facts—the chronological record of Father Yan Smit’s shooting—there has never been a single piece of evidence or testimony that mentions him cursing the land. Not in church archives, not in investigative reports, and not in the testimonies of his confreres. What is recorded is the opposite: his desire to remain with the Asmat people until the end of his life. Scientific Explanation: Why Agats Is Muddy Geographically, Agats City was built in a river delta region very close to the sea mouth. The Aswets River carries silt, sand, and other materials from upstream. The city’s surface is below or level with sea level, so that every high tide—especially in June and December—the water inundates the land. This is why almost all buildings in Agats are built on stilts. Roads, houses, and public facilities are elevated. There’s a common saying: Agats residents live above the ground, as their daily activities rarely involve direct contact with mud. Climate Change and Global Reality Global climate change exacerbates this situation. The melting of ice at the North and South Poles is causing sea levels to rise year after year. Tides are getting higher, and flooding is becoming more frequent—not because of a curse, but because of the real laws of nature. Restructuring Memories Myths and folklore will always be part of a city’s history. But there comes a time when the truth needs to be revealed and set straight. The myth of the “curse of Father Yan Smit” is not only false, but also indirectly creates a negative image of a missionary who in reality lived, worked, and died for the people he served. If we reread the story of his life and the chronology of his death, we find a figure far from a curse. What we have is a priest who chose to remain, speaking out for the vulnerable, and paying the price for his choice with his life. Perhaps it is time for Agats to no longer remember Father Yan Smit as a legend about a curse, but rather as part of the history of the wounds, faith, and struggle of a missionary for the land of Asmat.