Hot Spot: Asia and Oceania (Hot Spot Histories)

HOT SPOT

ASIA and OCEANIA

Recent Titles in Hot Spot Histories Latin America David W. Dent

HOT SPOT

ASIA and OCEANIA Edited by

Clinton Fernandes

Hot Spot Histories

GREENWOOD PRESS Westport, Connecticut ● London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hot spot : Asia and Oceania / edited by Clinton Fernandes. p. cm. — (Hot spot histories, ISSN 1934-631X) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-313-35412-0 (alk. paper) 1. Asia—Politics and government. 2. Asia—Foreign relations. 3. Oceania—Politics and government. 4. Oceania—Foreign relations. I. Fernandes, Clinton. DS33.H67 2008 950.4—dc22 2008008990 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. Copyright © 2008 by Clinton Fernandes All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2008008990 ISBN-13: 978-0-313-35412-0 ISSN: 1934-631X First published in 2008 Greenwood Press, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.greenwood.com Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

Preface Acknowledgments Timeline Abbreviations Chapter 1: China and East Asia Sally Burt Geographic Factors Pre-Independence Communism Foreign Relations after September 11 The Spratly Islands Taiwan Japan Chapter 2: East Timor Clinton Fernandes Portuguese Colonialism Carnation Revolution Indonesian Invasion and Occupation Crimes against Humanity UN Transitional Administration Post-Independence Challenges

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Contents

Chapter 3: Fiji Jon Fraenkel Land Policy The Political Order The 1987 Coup The 2000 Coup Makings of the 2006 Coup Chapter 4: The India–China Border Manjeet S. Pardesi Historical Interactions State Structures before Colonialism The Historical Status of Tibet The Frontier from 1914 to 1947 The Pre-War Years The Tibetan Revolt, India’s Forward Policy, and the War Normalization of Relations Chapter 5: Indonesia Damien Kingsbury and Clinton Fernandes

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Aceh West Papua

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Chapter 6: Kashmir Nicolas Blarel

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Partition Syndrome The Second Indo–Pakistani War The Bangladesh War The 1987 Insurgency The Kargil Crisis Dispute after September 11

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Contents

Chapter 7: Korea Stewart Lone Japanese Colonialism Volatility after World War II The Korean War Inter-Korean relations in the 1970s The North Korean Economic Decline Post–Cold War Conflict Nuclear Weapons Chapter 8: Myanmar (Burma) Sally Burt The Rise of Modern-day Myanmar The 1988 Crisis The SPDC and the NLD International Relations Chapter 9: The Philippines Clinton Fernandes

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141 142 144 145 149 151 152 156 167 168 172 178 180 183

Spanish Rule U.S. Rule and the Huks The Era of Ferdinand Marcos Aquino and Ramos Insurgencies

184 185 188 190 194

Chapter 10: Solomon Islands Sinclair Dinnen

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The Political System after Independence Ethnic Tensions and the 2000 Coup The Townsville Peace Agreement The Instrumentalization of Disorder Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands April 2006 Unrest

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Chapter 11: Sri Lanka Damien Kingsbury Tamil Separatism Chapter 12: Thailand Carlyle A. Thayer Al Qaeda’s “Safe Haven” Historical Roots of the Thai Struggle Separatism in the South Annotated Bibliography Index About the Editor and Contributors

229 231 241 241 245 249 265 273 279

Preface

This volume of Hot Spot Histories deals with Asia and Oceania, two regions of enormous size and diversity.

Asia Asia occupies one-third of Earth’s land area and contains nearly three fifths of its population. Its physical and human geographies are marked by extremes: the highest mountains and well as sea-level deltas. Some of the wettest—and some of the driest—places on Earth are in Asia. Its flora and fauna are among the most varied. It has the most populous countries in the world but also has vast uninhabited areas. In Asia, technologically advanced regions near places that retain Stone-Age technology. The birthplace of some of the world’s major religions, it has also produced hundreds of minor ones. No book has room to deal with every aspect of this vast and diverse region. Accordingly, the chapters dealing with Asia have been selected with a view to highlighting “hot spots” that are most likely to be of current and enduring interest to readers.

Oceania Although Asia contains a majority of the world’s population, Oceania—the island geographic region of the Pacific Ocean—is marked by vast spaces of ocean and very small, sparsely populated islands. Also known as the Pacific Islands, Oceania contains nearly one-third of the surface of the Earth (more than three times the size of the United States) but has a population of only 10 million people. It includes Papua New Guinea in the west, the Northern Mariana Islands in the north, French Polynesia and Pitcairn in the east, New Caledonia in the south, and a

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host of smaller islands within these boundaries. Oceania is conventionally understood to contain three groups of islands: Melanesia, Polynesia, and Micronesia. Melanesia (or “black islands,” from the Greek words “melas” and “nesos”) comprises the island arc from the north and east of Australia to the south of the equator and includes Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, New Caledonia, and Fiji. The easternmost Melanesian state, Fiji, is generally considered a transitional territory between Melanesia and Polynesia (“many islands”), which includes Hawaii, Samoa, Tonga, French Polynesia, the Cook Islands, Easter Island, and New Zealand. The final group is Micronesia (“small islands”), which includes the Mariana, Caroline, Marshall, Gilbert (Tungaru), Phoenix, and Line island groups in the northern, central, and western Pacific. Oceania’s tranquil popular image belies its environmental vulnerability, separatist conflicts, and ethnic tensions. Two areas, however, have ceased to be hot spots. Papua New Guinea’s Bougainville province, once in a crisis of national proportions, has seen a restoration of peace since 2004, when the government approved a new provincial constitution. Presidential and local assembly elections for the autonomous government of Bougainville were held in mid-2005, and the situation has been stable ever since. In New Caledonia, demands by indigenous Kanak activists for independence from France had previously resulted in an eruption of violence. However, the Noumea Accord of May 1998 has restored a great deal of stability, acknowledging the harm caused by French colonization and foregrounding the importance of Kanak cultural identity. The volume opens with Sally Burt’s analysis of one of Asia’s giants, China, and its relations with its neighbors. Burt examines tensions over the Spratly Islands, showing how competing claims by China, Vietnam, Malaysia, the Philippines, Brunei, and Indonesia constitute a hot spot with the potential to destabilize regional relations. As China’s dominance of the region grows, so will its power relative to other claimants. In addition, the sea lanes and petroleum and gas reserves located in the vicinity of the Spratlys will grow in significance as the global energy market tightens and China’s needs continue to increase. The status of Taiwan also involves a precarious balancing act. Burt shows how both sides benefit from economic cooperation and growth such that a setting aside of the sovereignty issue could allow greater economic linkages to be built, eventually enabling a peaceful reunification. However, a formal declaration of independence by Taiwan may provoke China to resort to force. Ultimately, Burt concludes, China may be just as firm about reunification as Taiwan is about independence. China’s relations with Japan are also heavily influenced by historical and economic considerations. In addition, the self-fulfilling prophesy of the “China threat” may lead to

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misunderstandings and military confrontations. Burt finds that bilateral tensions can be relieved by greater transparency in both sides’ military activities as well as by careful diplomacy that enhances the two sides’ economic and cultural ties. Clinton Fernandes explores the history of East Timor, once annexed by Indonesia but now an independent nation. He describes the influence of Portuguese colonialism, showing how Portugal’s control through the liurai, or local kings, resulted in an underdeveloped sense of East Timorese national identity. After the Carnation Revolution in Portugal, East Timorese political parties began to call for new forms of political arrangements. However, the Indonesian invasion and twenty-four-year occupation put paid to those plans. Fernandes explores the history of East Timor under the occupation and analyzes the long campaign for independence. He outlines the era of the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor and discusses the challenges faced by East Timor in the period since independence. In Fiji, military coups and ethnic tensions have shown no signs of abating. Jon Fraenkel shows how the origins of Fiji’s “coup culture” may be found in its colonial and postcolonial past, as well as in the way that political differences were negotiated in the postindependence era. Fiji Indians were brought from India to the sugar plantations, but indigenous Fijians were confined to rural villages, resulting in an ethnic dimension to the country’s politics. When the mediating political role played by colonists and local Europeans withered, the ethnic dimension sharpened. Fraenkel describes how the victory of Fiji Indian–backed parties in the 1987 election was followed a month later by a coup d’état. The subsequent constitution reserved the position of prime minister for an ethnic Fijian and introduced a new electoral system, under which voting was conducted exclusively along communal lines. Fraenkel analyses the coups of 2000 and 2006 and their aftermath, demonstrating that disincentives to future coups are now weaker than ever before—the belief that coups are a legitimate response to sharp political divisions has been strengthened. Asia’s two giants, India and China, together are home to more than one third of humanity. They also share a 4,000-kilometer-long boundary dispute and, as Manjeet Pardesi points out in his chapter, remain locked in an inherently competitive relationship. Pardesi observes the interactions between the two countries over the centuries, as well as the historical status of Tibet. He explains that Tibet had enjoyed an independent existence for most of its history but that China claimed that Tibet does not have the authority to enter into border negotiations with foreign powers. Pardesi describes the background to the short but bitter India–China border war in 1962. He goes on to show that no major breakthrough is in sight, although both sides have been in border talks

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for over twenty-five years. As China and India rise to the rank of great powers, there will be a need for astute diplomacy as well as credible military power if the dispute is to be resolved. Regarding Indonesia, Damien Kingsbury explains how a satisfactory outcome was achieved in Aceh, where a peace agreement between the government of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement was signed on August 15, 2005, ending nearly three decades of separatist war. Kingsbury begins by showing how Aceh, despite its modest population, occupies a crucial position in the Indonesian political imagination. Its oil and gas resources and strategic location near one of the world’s busiest waterways only raise the stakes. Kingsbury describes Aceh’s long history of resistance to foreign rule, its loss of autonomy after the departure of the Dutch, its status during the reign of President Suharto, and the important developments that occurred under the presidency of Abdurrahman Wahid. Despite Indonesia’s military offensive against Aceh, any meaningful compromise required political compromise. Kingsbury shows how the 2004 tsunami helped bring about such a compromise. At the eastern end of the Indonesian archipelago lies the territory known variously as West New Guinea, Irian Jaya, West Papua, or Papua-Irian Jaya Barat. West Papua, the name used in this volume, looks poised to come to international attention as Indonesia democratizes and as more people come to understand the importance of its massive forests in reducing global warming. Clinton Fernandes traces the history of West Papua under the Dutch and in the wake of World War II. He explains the process by which it came under Indonesian rule and shows how that process continues to be challenged by many West Papuans. He describes how, under Indonesian rule, West Papua was transformed demographically, physically, and economically. Fernandes discusses political developments in West Papua since the fall of Suharto and shows how the new governor’s plans to preserve the territory’s virgin forest by banning all log exports could run afoul of illegal loggers, many of whom have close links with the Indonesian military. Kashmir has been described as one of the most dangerous places in the world today. Nicolas Blarel investigates the roots of the conflict between India and Pakistan. For the former—a democratic, secular state—Kashmir’s presence demonstrates its diverse secularist identity. For the latter, Kashmir’s Muslim majority necessitates its inclusion in a homeland of Muslims. Blarel describes the several Indo–Pakistani wars that have arisen as a consequence of the unfinished business of the partition of the British Indian Empire. He examines the dispute in the context of the two states’ nuclear weapons, showing how the combination of nuclear proliferation and Pakistani-sponsored terrorism brought both states dangerously close to total war. However, the mutual deterrent provided by the nuclear weapons has since meant that the Kashmir conflict

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can no longer be resolved by military force. Blarel concludes that a compromise is possible if Pakistan stops supporting terrorist groups as India starts demilitarizing the region. The Korean peninsula is one of the most high-profile areas in the world: it is frequently described as one of the most dangerous places on earth. In his chapter, Stewart Lone points out errors and myths that have taken hold in mainstream commentary. He highlights the ethnic, linguistic, cultural, and historic features that are common to all Koreans. He outlines the influence of Japanese colonialism, which redrew the peninsula’s social, economic, and political map and caused Korea to disappear formally as an independent nation. Lone describes the effect of the Korean War, which caused the deaths of more than 3 million Koreans (about three quarters of them from the North), and shows the importance placed by both sides upon reconstruction. He analyzes the longevity of the standoff between the North and the South and studies the high-profile issue of nuclear weapons on the Korean peninsula, concluding that Koreans could achieve their shared and stated goal of reunification without repeating the events of 1950. Burma, examined by Sally Burt, is a long-simmering hot spot that occasionally receives intense popular attention. Burma, known as Myanmar before the crisis of 1988, became a one-party state in hopes that economic development would be enhanced in the absence of the instabilities of a democratic political system. Instead, economic conditions worsened, food shortages became common, corruption was rife, and discontent gave birth to riots. Burt analyzes the 1988 crisis, showing how the overwhelming public support for the National League for Democracy threatened the regime’s hold on power. A coup followed, resulting in the abolition of most government institutions, a ban on demonstrations, and arrests of prodemocracy activists. Burt evaluates the role of the international community and its ability to influence events in Burma in the new millennium. Clinton Fernandes considers the Philippines, which remains dominated by a small clique of wealthy families who have retained their influence and wealth despite the reforms enacted since the overthrow of former President Marcos. The high degree of concentration in land ownership acts as a barrier to genuine economic reform, particularly in a country where agriculture plays a pivotal role. He outlines the historical background to contemporary events, beginning with the 333-year period of Spanish influence, and examines political developments under the U.S. administration, when decisions were made that continue to affect Filipino politics today. Fernandes provides an overview of the rule of President Ferdinand Marcos, who later assumed dictatorial powers, and shows how Marcos was overthrown by a popular revolution. In the postMarcos era, important political reforms were initiated by President

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Corazon Aquino. Fernandes covers the administrations of Fidel Ramos, Joseph Estrada, and Gloria Arroyo, concluding with an analysis of the insurgencies in the southern Philippines. Sinclair Dinnen analyzes political developments in the Solomon Islands, making sense of its postindependence politics and of what is sometimes called “Melanesian politics.” He analyzes the weakness of the party system and the highly personalized style of political behavior, showing how patronage networks have contributed to high levels of corruption in the postindependence period. Dinnen examines population, internal migration, the forestry sector, and ethnic tensions, showing how these were contributing factors to the coup in 2000. He provides a detailed analysis of the struggle over the control and directions of the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands (RAMSI). He shows that, despite its much-publicized setbacks, RAMSI has enjoyed enduring successes and retains overwhelming popular support four years after deployment. In his chapter on Sri Lanka, Damien Kingsbury analyzes one of the world’s longest-running and bloodiest separatist conflicts. Kingsbury shows that Sri Lanka was created as a unitary state rather than as a federation, sharpening the politics of ethnicity. As ethnic Tamils lost out to the more numerous Sinhalese, campaigns for linguistic, ethnic, and religious equality failed to bear fruit. Kingsbury explains that the conflict between the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) and the government of Sri Lanka has been characterized by four rounds since the early 1980s, with a resumption of hostilities in 2006. Despite various attempts to resolve the conflict, a satisfactory conclusion appears out of reach for the foreseeable future. The LTTE’s use of terrorist tactics and the military’s gross human rights abuses continue to deepen and widen the gulf that divides Sri Lanka’s two main communities. Carlyle Thayer closes the volume by providing a detailed analysis of the insurgency in southern Thailand. He reframes the southern insurgency by showing the flaws in what might be called an “al Qaeda–centric paradigm” adopted by several terrorism and regional security specialists. Thayer points out that the main factor distinguishing the central area of insurgency is ethnicity. He argues that the persistence of Malay Muslim separatism in the south may be explained by unsuccessful attempts by the Thai state to assimilate this ethnic minority. Indeed, Thai policies toward the Malay Muslims have at times served to increase their alienation from the majority. Thayer shows that the insurgency persists not because of religious extremism but because of discrimination, forced assimilation, and patterns of neglect dating back more than a century.

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to the numerous authors who have participated in the writing of this volume and to Mariah Gumpert, the acquisitions editor at Greenwood Reference, Greenwood Publishing Group. Her guidance has been most helpful.

Timeline

East Asia 221 BC–1911 AD 1720 1895–1896 1895 1900 1904

1911 1913

1917–1927 1921

1922 1927

Qin, Han, Jin, Tang, Song, Ming, and Qing Dynasties rule in China. Manchu Dynasty of China controls Tibet; the Dalai Lama administers it. Sino–Japanese War (Japanese victory). Treaty of Shimonoseki signed between China and Japan. Boxer Rebellion (siege of foreign legations). Russo–Japanese War (Japanese victory); British expedition forces agreement between Tibet and China setting favorable terms for British trade and establishing the McMahon Line as the Tibet–India border. Revolution against Qing Dynasty rule in China, led by Sun Yat-sen. Sun Yat-sen approaches Japan for assistance in his revolution; Dalai Lama proclaims Tibetan independence. Various militarist warlords rule in China; no stable government exists. Nine-Power Treaty signed by the United States, Belgium, the British Empire, China, France, Italy, Japan, the Netherlands, and Portugal, ensuring their ability to penetrate China’s economy. Nine-Power Treaty comes into force. Chiang Kai-shek forms the Chinese Republic.

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1931

Manchurian Crisis (Japanese invasion of Chineseheld Manchuria in September). Vietnam (Indochina) effectively administers the Spratly Islands group as a French colony. Mao Zedong leads Chinese communists on the “Long March” to the sanctuary of Yunan province in Northern China to escape the Kuomintang. Marco Polo Bridge incident in July (further invasion of Chinese territory by Japan); Japanese invasion of Chinese capital, Nanking, in December. Japan announces plan to create a New Order for East Asia, based on the East Asian Co-prosperity Sphere. Pearl Harbor attack in December on American naval base by Japanese forces. China joins World War II on the side of the Allies against the Axis powers, including Japan. Chinese Civil War between the Communist Party and the Kuomintang. Tomas Cloma (a Filipino national) declares the Kalayaan features of the Spratly Islands to be his own state. Republic of China established on Taiwan under Chiang Kai-shek, the People’s Republic of China established on the mainland under Mao Zedong and the Communist Party; East Tibetan revolutionaries attempt to take control of Tibet from the Dalai Lama. Korean War United Nations–led mission to evict the communist North Korean troops from South Korea; U.S. President Truman protects the sovereignty of Taiwan with the Seventh Fleet; Chinese communist troops march into Tibet. China makes a formal claim to the Spratly Islands. San Francisco Peace agreements come into force, formalizing peace between the Allies in World War II and Japan as a sovereign entity; rebellion begins in Tibet against Chinese rule. Sino–Indian agreement stipulates that neither country will interfere with the other’s internal affairs. Kinmen Crisis in August. The Dalai Lama forced into exile in India in March Sino–Indian War.

1933 1935

1937

1938

1941 1941–1945 1945–1949 1947

1949

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1951 1952

1954

1958 1959 1962

Timeline

1964 1971

1972 1973

1974 1975 1975–1978 1976 1978

1979 1980

1982 1986

1987

1988

1989

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People’s Republic of China develops nuclear weapons capabilities. Tomas Cloma transfers the Kalayaan features of the Spratlys to the Philippine government; Taiwan’s seat on the United Nations Security Council transferred to the People’s Republic of China. U.S. President Nixon visits China and normalizes Sino–U.S. relations in February. Formal diplomatic relations reestablished between the United States and the People’s Republic of China. China invades the western Paracel Islands in January. Chiang Kai-shek dies. Treaty of Peace and Friendship negotiated between Japan and China. Mao Zedong dies. Formal presidential decree claims the Kalayaan features of the Spratlys for the Philippines; Prime Minister Ohira of Japan announces his government’s policy to develop a Pacific Community to stabilize the region; the United States withdraws its formal recognition of Taiwan as a sovereign state in December. Malaysia makes formal claim to parts of the Spratlys Premier Deng Xiaoping of the People’s Republic of China enunciates the “one China, two systems” policy. United Nations Convention of the Law of the Sea III comes into force. The Republic of China on Taiwan begins its process of democratization by reviewing its constitution. China begins construction on submerged features in the Spratly Islands group; China increases naval presence in the Spratly Islands area; the Dalai Lama announces five-point plan for Tibetan autonomy. Armed confrontation in the Spratlys between Vietnam and the People’s Republic of China in March (three Vietnamese vessels sunk and seventy-two personnel killed) even as China states to the Philippines that it wants to settle the issue with “friendly consultations.” Tiananmen Square massacre: PRC troops fire on demonstrating students in Tiananmen Square; the

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1991

1992

1993

1994

1995

Timeline

Dalai Lama awarded the Nobel Peace Prize; martial law declared in Tibet in March. The Republic of China on Taiwan establishes the Straits Exchange Foundation in February; Japanese Prime Minister Kaifu visits China, reestablishing normal relations between the two countries in August; the People’s Republic of China establishes the Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait in November. National People’s Congress passes the Law of the People’s Republic of China on the Territorial Sea and Contiguous Zone, authorizing the Navy of the People’s Republic of China to protect Chinese sovereignty over the island group with force if necessary; in October Akihito becomes the first Japanese emperor to visit China. Taiwan begins its bid to regain its seat in the United Nations; in May U.S. President Bill Clinton makes continuation of Most Favored Nation trade status for the People’s Republic of China contingent on human rights improvements in Tibet. Qiandao Lake incident in March freezes talks between the Straits Exchange Foundation and the Association for Relations across the Taiwan Strait; the People’s Republic of China constructs more observation posts on Mischief Reef in the Spratlys in June and December; Japan invites Vice Premier Hsu Li-teh of Taiwan to the Asian Games Opening Ceremony in Hiroshima in October. Japan and the United States negotiate new terms for their defense agreement; in January Premier Jiang Zemin of the People’s Republic of China presents an eight-point proposal to the Republic of China on Taiwan; in June Lee Teng-hui is granted a visa and visits the United States; on June 16 the Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait announces talks with the Straits Exchange Foundation to be suspended indefinitely; in July and August the People’s Republic of China conducts missile tests close to Taiwan; in November the People’s Republic of China conducts a simulated joint army, navy, and air force amphibious landing.

Timeline

1996

1997

1998

2000

2002

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The United States and Japan sign a deal on Theater Missile Defense in February; in March more missile tests, aimed at Taiwan, are conducted by the PRC; in April U.S. President Bill Clinton visits China. Asian currency crisis; in September Jiang Zemin reiterates his eight-point proposal first made in January 1995; new U.S.–Japanese guidelines released. Official government visits resumed between the People’s Republic of China and the Republic of China on Taiwan in April; in October Japan apologizes to South Korea for its wartime conduct. From May 2000 until May 2001, Chen Shui-bian, premier of Taiwan, visits countries in South America, Africa, and Eastern Europe, seeking official recognition for Taiwan; in November a joint statement is released by the People’s Republic of China and Japan, signed by neither; on December 25 the Gulf of Tonkin agreements are signed between Vietnam and the People’s Republic of China. A code of conduct for activities in the Spratlys is agreed to by the Association of South East Asian Nations and the People’s Republic of China; in May the Shenyang incident takes place between Japan and China.

Burma/Myanmar 11th century 1287 16th–18th centuries 19th century 1930–1931 1937 1942 1945 1947

Kingdom of Pagan established in modern-day Burma. Mongols defeat Pagan king and establish the Kingdom of Ava. Period of political disunity. British rule began. Saya San uprising. Burmese administration separates from India. Japan invades and occupies Burma. Allies liberate Burma; in May the British announce a plan to allow Burma independence. Elections held for the new government in April; General Aung San, hero of the Independence

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1948

1950–1958 1958–1960 1962 1967

1971

1974 1978–1981 1981

1988

1990

1991

1992

1993 1994

Timeline

movement, assassinated in July along with other members of the Executive Council. Independence granted to Burma on January 4; communists launch a revolt in March; joined by other minority racial groups in 1949. Civil War in Burma. Military rule in Burma. General Ne Win carries out a coup in March. Sino–Burmese diplomatic relations suspended after violence perpetrated against the Chinese in Burma. Burmese relations with China normalized; in July the Burmese regime announces that a new constitution will be drafted. Ne Win elected president under a new constitution Elections held regularly, but only the Burma Socialist Program Party allowed to contest them. Ne Win resigns as president but remains leader of the Burma Socialist Program Party; San Yu assumes the presidency. Violent protests occur in the streets of Rangoon, resulting in arrests, deaths, and a mass exodus of dissidents to neighboring countries; in September the State Law and Order Restoration Council is formed. Free elections held in Myanmar (Burma’s new name as of 1989), in May; the National League for Democracy Party wins an overwhelming majority of the seats. Aung San Suu Kyi placed under house arrest in April; she is awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in October; in December Sweden sponsors a resolution in the General Assembly of the United Nations condemning Myanmar’s human rights abuses. United Nations Human Rights Commission appoints a permanent representative in March to monitor the situation in Myanmar; in April General Than Shwe becomes prime minister. Myanmar’s National Convention gathers in January to write a new constitution. U.S. delegation allowed to visit Aung San Suu Kyi in February.

Timeline

1995

1996 1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

2002 2003

2004

2005

2006

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Aung San Suu Kyi released from house arrest in July; in November the National League for Democracy boycotts the National Convention. Myanmar’s National League for Democracy produces an alternative draft constitution in May. Myanmar’s Law and Order Restoration Council is dissolved and replaced by the State Peace and Development Council; Myanmar admitted as a member of the Association of South East Asian Nations. Myanmar’s National League for Democracy threatens to meet as parallel government in May unless the State Peace and Development Council allows it to take office officially, which leads to the arrest of more National League for Democracy members; in August the International Labour Organization releases a report on forced labor in Myanmar. Unanimous resolution passed by the United Nations Human Rights Commission in April to recognize gross violations in Myanmar. In Myanmar, Buddhist monks urge the National League for Democracy and the State Peace and Development Council to negotiate; Aung San Suu Kyi again placed under house arrest. The State Peace and Development Council enter into private talks with Myanmar’s Aung San Suu Kyi. Myanmar’s Ne Win dies; in May Aung San Suu Kyi again released from house arrest. In May Aung San Suu Kyi again placed under house arrest; in August General Shwe replaced as prime minister by Khin Nyunt. Khin Nyunt resigns as Prime Minister of Myanmar in October and Soe Win replaces him; in November thousands of political prisoners released. Myanmar’s National Convention reconvenes briefly; Khin Nyunt faces a tribunal over corruption charges and given a suspended sentence. United Nations Security Council passes a resolution in September putting Myanmar on the agenda.

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2007

A new wave of massive protests begins in August as the Myanmar government’s mismanagement of the economy leads to widespread poverty; U.S. President George W. Bush publicly condemns the regime.

Fiji 1970 1972 1976 1977 1977

1977

1985 1987 1987 1987 1990

1992 1994 1997

1999

2000

2000

Fiji gains independence October 10. First postindependence elections won by Ratu Mara’s Alliance Party in May. Agricultural Landlord and Tenants Act. Elections in April see Ratu Mara’s Alliance Party defeated at the polls. Governor General Ratu Sir George Cakobau returns to Mara at the head of a minority government in April. Elections in September see Mara’s Alliance party triumph, owing to National Federation Party splits between the “dove” and “flower” factions. Formation of the Fiji Labour Party. In coalition with the National Federation Party, the Fiji Labour Party wins elections in April. Military coup on May 14. Military consolidates its rule in September after the Deuba Talks are derailed. New “interim” constitution of July 25 reserves the positions of prime minister and president for indigenous Fijians. Sitiveni Rabuka is elected prime minister. Sitiveni Rabuka reelected prime minister. New constitution agreed upon by Rabuka, National Federation Party leader Jai Ram Reddy, and Fiji Labour Party leader Mahendra Chaudhry. Fiji Labour Party obtains thirty-seven seats in the seventy-one-member parliament in the elections; Chaudhry becomes first-ever Fiji Indian prime minister. Coup of May 19 led by George Speight; Chaudhry and cabinet are held hostage for fiftysix days. President deposed by military on May 29; constitution abrogated.

Timeline

2000 2000 2001 2001

2006

2006 2007

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Qarase installed as Fiji’s interim prime minister in July. Mutiny at the Queen Elizabeth Barracks, Suva, Fiji, on November 2. Court of Appeal ruling in the Chandrika Prasad case in March restores the 1997 constitution. Qarase’s Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua (United Fiji Party) wins Fiji’s elections in August and rejects multiparty cabinet arrangements with the Fiji Labour Party. Qarase’s Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua (United Fiji Party) returns in Fiji’s elections in May with a strengthened majority. Bainimarama becomes President of Fiji in a coup December 5. President Ratu Josefa Iloilo reinstalled in January; Bainimarama becomes prime minister.

Kashmir 1846 1932

1947

1948 1952 1957

1965 1966 1972 1975

Kashmir sold to Great Britain by Gulab Singh under the Amritsar Treaty. Sheikh Mohammed Abdullah of Kashmir establishes the Muslim Conference; it becomes the National Conference in 1939. India and Pakistan become independent in August; they fight over Kashmir for the first time in October 1947, after the Maharajah Hari Singh asks for the state’s accession to India. India takes the Kashmir dispute to the United Nations Security Council in January. The “Delhi Accord” signed by Jawaharlal Nehru and Sheikh Abdullah in July. The Jammu and Kashmir Assembly adopts its own constitution in January, confirming its integration into the Indian Union. Second Indo–Pakistani war over Kashmir in August and September. Tashkent conference in January. Indo–Pakistani conference in Simla in June and July. Agreement between Sheikh Abdullah and Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in February.

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Timeline

1982

Death of Sheikh Abdullah in September; his son Farooq succeeds him. Rigged elections won by the National Conference and Congress alliance in March. Jagmohan named governor of Jammu and Kashmir for the second time in January; he begins a severe and exceptional regime of repression. The Lahore Declaration signed in February; the third Indo–Pakistani war over Kashmir begins in Kargil. In his visit to South Asia in March, U.S. President Bill Clinton asks Pakistan and India to respect the Line of Control. Terrorist attack against the Indian parliament in New Delhi in December.

1987 1990

1999

2000

2001

Solomon Islands 1893 1899 1942

1978

1998–2000

1999

1999

Britain declares a protectorate over the southern Solomon Islands. Germany cedes the northern Solomon Islands to Britain. Japan occupies the Solomon Islands; heavy fighting between Japanese and U.S. forces, especially on Guadalcanal; Japanese defeated and British rule restored in 1945. Following two-and-a-half years of internal selfgovernment, the Solomon Islands become fully independent on July 7, 1978. Up to 20,000 predominantly Malaitan “settlers” displaced from their homes in rural Guadalcanal as a result of intimidation and harassment by young men associated with the Guadalcanal Revolutionary Army (later known as the Isatabu Freedom Movement). Demands made by the Bona Fide and Indigenous People of Guadalcanal, Guadalcanal Provincial Assembly, February 4, 1999. Former Fiji Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka engaged as Commonwealth Envoy to the Solomon Islands to negotiate with Guadalcanal militants.

Timeline

2000

2000 2000 2001 2002

2002

2003 2003

2005

2006

2006

2006–2007

xxvii

On June 5 members of the Malaita Eagle Force, with renegade police officers, seize control of the national armory in Honiara and place Prime Minister Bartholomew Ulufa’alu under house arrest; Ulufa’alu subsequently resigns and is replaced as prime minister by Mannaseh Sogavare. Ninety-day Ceasefire Agreement signed in August 2000. Australian-brokered Townsville Peace Agreement signed October 15. Following elections, Sir Allen Kemakeza becomes the new prime minister in December. Economic and social problems worsen amid growing lawlessness in Honiara and Guadalcanal’s Weather Coast. Prime Minister Kemakeza requests armed assistance from Australia in June as the situation continues to deteriorate; Pacific islands’ foreign ministers agree to participate in a regional peacekeeping intervention. Australian-led Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands deployed in July. Law and order restored in Honiara and rural Guadalcanal and Malaita; many weapons surrendered and militants arrested; notorious Guadalcanal rebel Harold Keke surrenders to the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands in August. Positive review of the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands by an Eminent Persons Group from the Pacific Islands Forum. Snyder Rini declared prime minister-elect April 18, 2006, following national elections; this announcement followed by two days of rioting in Honiara and the destruction of much of Chinatown. Rini resigns in the face of a vote of no confidence; in May Mannaseh Sogavare becomes prime minister for the second time. Dramatic deterioration in bilateral relations between the Sogavare and Australian governments. The Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands progressively caught in the middle.

xxviii

Timeline

Thailand 1457 1902 1903 1909 1922 1932 1939 1948 1959 1960 1968 1981 1997 2001 2001

2002

2004

2004 2004

2005 2005

The Ruler of Patani converted to Islam. Siam annexes the Kingdom of Patani. First Malay Muslim revolt against Siamese rule. Anglo–Siam Treaty establishes border between Siam and British Malaya, Patani. Namsai Rebellion by Malay nobles against Siamese rule. Absolute monarchy ends in Siam in June. Siam renamed Thailand. Dusun Nyur rebellion, Narathiwat province, April 26–28. Patani National Liberation Front founded. Barisan Revolusi Nasional founded. Patani United Liberation Organization founded. Southern Border Provinces Administrative Center and Civil–Military–Police Task Force established Bersatu (Unity) formed as an umbrella organization to coordinate separatist activities. Thaksin Shinawatra and Thai Rak Thai Party win national elections in April. Militants launch simultaneous attacks on five police checkpoints in Narathiwat, Pattani and Yala provinces December 24, marking a new phase in the southern insurgency. Southern Border Provinces Administrative Center and Civil–Military–Police Task Force disbanded in May. Raid on the Fourth Engineering Battalion Armoury, accompanied by diversionary attacks in eleven districts on January 4, reveals a new level of coordination by militant separatists. Siege at Kreu Ze Mosque in Pattani results in a massacre on April 28. Tak Bai incident results in the suffocation of seventy-eight Malay Muslims in custody on October 25. Thaksin Shinawatra and Thai Rak Thai Party win reelection in February. Executive Decree on Public Administration in Emergency Situations issued on July 14.

Timeline

2006 2006

xxix

Thaksin government overthrown in military coup on September 19. Southern Border Provinces Administrative Committee and Civil–Military–Police Task Force reestablished in October.

India-China border 1947 1949 1950 1951

1954 1959

1960

1961–1962 1962

1964 1974 1975 1976 1980

1981

India becomes independent. The Chinese Communist Party establishes the People’s Republic of China. Mao Zedong orders the military annexation of Tibet. China legalizes the annexation of Tibet; an agreement is signed between the Lamaist government of Tibet and the Chinese Communist Party. India recognizes Chinese sovereignty in Tibet; India and China sign the Panchashila Agreement. Full-blown rebellion against the Chinese in Lhasa; the Dalai Lama flees to India; Indian and Chinese troops clash twice along their disputed borders. Zhou Enlai visits India and informally offers to swap the Aksai Chin region in the west for Chinese territorial claims in the east in Arunachal Pradesh; Nehru publicly rejects Zhou’s offer. India implements a “forward policy” in Ladakh. A month-long Sino–Indian border war begins after China launches simultaneous attacks in the western and eastern sectors; India and China withdraw their ambassadors but continue maintaining low-level diplomatic contacts. China conducts its first nuclear test. India conducts its first nuclear test, dubbed a “peaceful explosion”. India politically absorbs the Himalayan Kingdom of Sikkim. Full Sino–Indian diplomatic links restored. Deng Xiaoping reiterates Zhou’s informal offer of east–west swap; the proposal is officially withdrawn in 1985. Two ancient Hindu pilgrimage sites in Tibet— Kailash and Mansarovar—are opened to the

xxx

1981–1989 1986

1986–1987

1989–2002 1993 1996 1998 2003

Timeline

Indians during Chinese foreign minister Huang Hua’s visit to India. Eight rounds of border talks held between India and China. India grants full statehood to Arunachal Pradesh; Sino–Indian troops clash in the Sumdorong Chu Valley. India launches “Operation Checkerboard,” a military exercise along the border with China in the eastern sector; the exercises are terminated under international pressure. A Joint Working Group is created to resolve the border dispute; it meets fourteen times. Agreement on Maintenance of Peace and Tranquility signed. Agreement on Confidence Building Measures signed Citing a threat from China, India conducts multiple nuclear tests. The two countries appoint Special Representatives to find a political solution to their border dispute.

Korea 1910 1919

1945 1947 1948 1948 1950 1950 1950 1950

Japan annexes Korea; colonial rule begins. Declaration of Korean Independence signed, leading to widespread demonstrations that are eventually suppressed by colonial authorities. Japan surrenders; Korean peninsula divided at the thirty-eighth parallel. Formation of the United Nations Temporary Commission on Korea. Republic of Korea, with Syngman Rhee as President, established on August 15. Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, with Kim Il Sung as Premier, established August 25. North Korean troops open fire and cross the thirty-eighth parallel June 25. United Nations troops are led by General Douglas MacArthur in July. United Nations troops are driven back to the southeast corner of the Korean Peninsula in August United Nations troops achieve amphibious landings at Incheon in September.

Timeline

1950 1950 1953 1960

1961

1979 1994

xxxi

United Nations troops cross the thirty-eighth parallel, reaching the Manchurian border. Chinese forces enter the war in November. Ceasefire in the Korean War. First Republic of South Korea overthrown in a student uprising; Syngman Rhee resigns and goes into exile. Second Republic of South Korea overthrown by the military, led by General Park Chung Hee. President Park Chung Hee assassinated by his intelligence chief. Kim Jong Il becomes a senior figure in North Korea after his father dies.

Aceh 1873

1942

1945 1949 1950 1953

1959

1966

1970s

The Dutch invade Aceh in 1873 and only gain complete control in 1912, although sporadic attacks against the Dutch continue until the Japanese invasion of 1942. Japanese troops occupy Aceh until 1945; Acehnese fighters begin combat operations against the Japanese. Indonesia declares independence from the Netherlands on August 17. Indonesia becomes a sovereign republic after a four-year independence struggle. Aceh subsumed into North Sumatra, Sumatra province, on August 8. Daud Beureueh declares Aceh’s independence from Indonesia, initially joining with the Darul Islam Indonesia rebellion. Aceh granted “special administrative” status, which has little substance; Acehnese dissatisfaction continues. General Suharto seizes power; destruction of the Indonesian Communist Party; hundreds of thousands killed. Exploration in 1972 shows large liquid natural gas deposits off the coast of Aceh; in 1973 the Indonesian government signs a sales contract for the export of this liquid natural gas that almost

xxxii

1976 1986

1989

1998

2000 2001

2002

2003

2003

2004

Timeline

completely excludes Acehnese economic interests, in turn leading to significant local resentment. Crackdown against the Free Aceh Movement; activists go underground. Approximately 500 cadres went to Libya for military training, forming the core of the movement in the late 1980s and leading to renewed attacks against police and military installations; training ends in 1990. The Indonesian military launches a Military Operations Area (Daerah Operasi Militar) in Aceh, in which approximately 15,000 “nonorganic” (i.e., not locally recruited or stationed) troops are moved into the province. Indonesian President Suharto resigns in May and is succeeded by his vice-president, B. J. Habibie; elections held in June; Abdurrahman Wahid becomes president in October. Talks begin between the Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement. Indonesia’s President Wahid ousted; Megawati Sukarnoputri becomes president; Aceh obtains “special autonomy,” but in practical terms, the original special autonomy legislation draft is so diluted by the Indonesian legislature that the imposition of special autonomy appears to exacerbate the conflict. New peace talks begin between the Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement; Cessation of Hostilities Agreement signed. The Indonesian government announces the introduction of special autonomy status in January, including the implementation of syariah (Islamic law) and greater revenue-sharing of Aceh’s natural resources. The Indonesian military puts an end to the ceasefire in Aceh on May 19; the next day, the Indonesian government announces the imposition of martial law, lasting until May 2004; a state of emergency follows. The notoriously corrupt Acehnese governor, Abdullah Puteh, is sacked in July.

Timeline

2004

2004

2005

2006

xxxiii

Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono becomes president of Indonesia in October, defeating Megawati Sukarnoputri. An earthquake occurs off the west coast of Aceh in the Indian Ocean; the resulting tsunami causes immense destruction. Peace negotiations begin in Helsinki between the Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement; a Memorandum of Understanding is signed August 15 in Helsinki. Elections held in Aceh in December.

West Papua 1700s 1880s

1906

1940s 1945 1961

1962 1969

1969

The Dutch arrive in what is now West Papua. The Dutch partition New Guinea along the 141st meridian, per agreement with Germany and Britain. Australia takes over the Territory of Papua; it takes over German New Guinea after World War I, combining the two into the Territory of Papua and New Guinea. Japan and then the United States arrive in West Papua during World War II. Indonesia declares independence from the Netherlands. West Papua gets its flag and name on December 1, considered by many West Papuans as the date of its declaration of independence. The New York Agreement signed between Indonesia and the Netherlands. Indonesia handpicks 1,022 Papuans and forces them to sign the United Nations “Act of Free Choice,” known today as the “Act of No Choice.” Two young West Papuan leaders, Clemens Runaweri and Willem Zonggonau, attempt to board a plane in May at Port Moresby for New York to sound the alarm about the Act of Free Choice at the United Nations headquarters; at the request of the Indonesian government, Australian authorities detain them on Manus Island when their plane stops to refuel, ensuring that West Papuan voices are silenced.

xxxiv

1999 2000

2000

2001 2002 2003

2003

2006

Timeline

West Papuan representatives meet with Indonesian President Habibie on February 26. West Papuans hold a national consultation known as Mubes (musyawarah besar, or “grand gathering for discussion”). The Second Papuan People’s Congress (the first is regarded as having occurred in October 1961 during the Dutch era) held in Jayapura from May 29 to June 4 and decides to establish its own executive, known as the Papua Presidium Council (Presidium Dewan Papua). Theys Eluay is elected chairperson and Tom Beanal vice-chairperson. Theys Eluay, chairperson of the Papua Presidium Council, found strangled to death. The Indonesian government announces that West Papua would be given “special autonomy.” Megawati Sukarnoputri signs a presidential instruction on January 27 that partitions West Papua by creating two new provinces (West Irian Jaya and Central Irian Jaya), three new regencies (Paniai, Mimika, and Puncak Jaya), and one new municipality (Sorong). Large demonstrations held in Timika in September against the creation of Central Irian Jaya province; five people left dead and many more injured. In July Indonesia’s Minister for Home Affairs Mohammed Ma’aruf swears in Abraham (“Bram”) Atururi, a retired Marine Brigadier General, as the governor of the new province of West Irian Jaya.

East Timor 1640s 1941 1942

1945 1974

First permanent Portuguese settlement on the island of Timor founded at Kupang. Australian troops deployed to Portuguese Timor, violating Portuguese neutrality. Japanese troops land in Portuguese Timor and clash with Australian troops; more than 60,000 East Timorese killed. Japan surrenders in East Timor. Anti-Fascist revolution April 25 in Portugal leads to decolonization in East Timor.

Timeline

1975

1975 1975

1975 1979 1981

1983

1988

1989 1991 1992 1996

1996

1998

xxxv

Uniao Democratica Timorense (Timorese Democratic Union) launches coup against FRETILIN (Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor), which fights back and wins control of the entire territory. Five foreign journalists murdered by Indonesian troops at Balibo, near the West Timor border. FRETILIN (Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor) declares independence November 28. Indonesia invades East Timor December 7. Indonesian military declares East Timor “pacified” March 26. National Reorganization Conference in March at Maubai in Lacluta, East Timor; the Concelho Revoluçionário da Resistencia Nacional (Revolutionary Council of National Resistance) is formed; Xanana Gusmao becomes leader of the Armed Forces of National Liberation of East Timor (FALINTIL), the armed wing of FRETILIN (Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor). The Church in East Timor adopts Tetum, the most widely spoken indigenous East Timorese language, as the official language of the liturgy. East Timor’s Resistance modified in order to create a unified, nationwide structure; Concelho Revoluçionário da Resistencia Nacional (Revolutionary Council of National Resistance) replaced by Concelho Nacional da Resistencia Maubere (National Council for Maubere Resistance). Pope John Paul II visits East Timor October 12. Massacre in Santa Cruz cemetery in Dili; at least 271 civilians killed initially. Xanana Gusmao captured in November in Dili. Four women conduct a “ploughshares” action against a Hawk ground-attack aircraft at the British Aerospace military base at Warton, Lancashire. Nobel Peace Prize awarded to Carlos Belo (Acting Bishop of Dili) and José Ramos-Horta (East Timorese independence campaigner). Indonesian President Suharto resigns May 21 and is replaced by B. J. Habibie.

xxxvi

1998 1999

1999

1999

1999

1999 1999

1999

1999

1999 1999

1999

2000

Timeline

Major demonstrations bring Dili, East Timor, to a halt in December. Indonesia’s Foreign Minister Ali Alatas and Information Minister Yunus Yosfiah announces on January 27 that the East Timorese will be allowed to vote on independence. On February 22 Australia’s senior-most diplomat secretly opposes U.S. arguments that peacekeepers should be deployed to East Timor to ensure security for the independence ballot. Liquiça massacre April 6, in which militia backed by the Indonesian military kill more than fifty people and injure seven. Portugal and Indonesia sign a formal agreement at United Nations headquarters in New York May 5. Ballot on East Timorese independence held on August 30. Ballot results announced on September 4: 78.5 percent of voters choose independence for East Timor; Indonesian troops and militia conduct terror and ethnic cleansing operations against the East Timorese people. On September 7 the Australian government reverses its policy against peacekeepers; an East Timor policy unit is established within Australian Defence Headquarters. On September 12 the United States warns Indonesia that it faces “the point of no return in international relations” if it does not permit an international peacekeeping force; Indonesia agrees within hours. International Force in East Timor begins arriving on September 20. United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor is established October 25 by the United Nations Security Council. United Nations Commission on Human Rights resolves to bring to justice those responsible for gross human rights violations in East Timor. Indonesian human rights investigators find “evidence of crimes that could be classified as crimes of universal jurisdiction.”

Timeline

2001

2001 2002

2002 2002 2002 2002 2002 2006

2006

2007

xxxvii

Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in East Timor established as an independent statutory authority in July by the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor. Eighty-eight-member Constituent Assembly elected in East Timor in August. Indonesian government establishes Ad Hoc Human Rights Court in Jakarta, but it is denounced as a sham, including by the U.S. State Department. Constituent Assembly approves draft constitution in East Timor in February. Xanana Gusmao elected President of East Timor on April 14. Formal East Timorese independence ceremony held on May 20. East Timor becomes the 191st member of the United Nations in September. Two days of riots in Dili in December. One-third of the East Timorese military goes on strike in February; the government orders them back to their barracks and sacks them when they refuse; open conflict breaks out between the police and the military. An Australian-led international force arrives in East Timor on May 26 at the request of the East Timorese government. Parliamentary and presidential elections held; Xanana Gusmao becomes prime minister and José Ramos-Horta becomes president.

Philippines 1521 1821 1898 1898–1902 1934 1941 1944 1946

Ferdinand Magellan lands in the Philippines, claiming the islands for Spain. The Philippines becomes a province of Spain. The United States takes control of the Philippines from Spain under the Treaty of Paris. Philippine–American War. Philippine Independence Act proclaimed. Japanese forces occupy the Philippines. U.S. forces expel Japanese troops from the Philippines. The Philippines gains independence.

xxxviii

1965 1972 1981

1983 1986

1991 1992 1997–98 1998 2000 2001 2003 2004 2006 2007

Timeline

Ferdinand Marcos becomes President of the Philippines. President Marcos declares martial law in the Philippines. Martial law lifted in the Philippines; Ferdinand Marcos reelected to a third term in the subsequent general election. Assassination of Benigno Aquino, Jr. President Marcos deposed in a popular revolution; Corazon Aquino, Benigno’s widow, becomes president. Philippines’ Senate does not renew the lease of the U.S. military bases. Fidel Ramos elected President of the Philippines in the general election. Asian financial crisis. Joseph Estrada elected President of the Philippines in the general election. President Estrada impeached by Philippines’ House of Representatives. President Estrada deposed by a popular revolution; Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo becomes president Mutiny in the Philippines. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo reelected in the general election. Rumors of a coup lead to the declaration of a state of emergency in February. Mutiny in the Manila Peninsula.

Sri Lanka 5th Century BC

3rd Century BC 1505 1815 1948 1956

Beginning of migration from northern India and emergence of the Sinhalese as the most powerful clan. Beginning of Tamil migration from southern India Portuguese arrive in Colombo, marking beginning of European interest. Britain gains control over Sri Lanka (then known as Ceylon). Ceylon gains full independence. Solomon Bandaranaike becomes prime minister; Sinhala becomes the sole official language; widespread protests by Tamils.

Timeline

1958 1959

1965 1970 1972 1976 1977 1983

1985 1987 1990 1991 1993 1994 1995

2002 2003 2004 2004 2005 2005 2006

xxxix

Anti-Tamil riots. Solomon Bandaranaike assassinated by a Buddhist monk and is succeeded by his widow, Sirimavo Bandaranaike, who becomes the world’s first female prime minister. United National Party wins Sri Lankan elections. Sirimavo Bandaranaike returns to power. Ceylon renamed Sri Lanka. LTTE formed. Tamil United Liberation Front party wins seats in Tamil-dominated regions. LTTE kills thirteen Sri Lankan soldiers in an ambush; beginning of the “First Eelam (Freedom) War.” Failure of peace talks between LTTE and Sri Lankan government. LTTE withdraws to Jaffna; Indian peacekeeping force deploys to Sri Lanka. Indian peacekeeping force withdraws from Sri Lanka; the “Second Eelam War” begins. LTTE assassinates Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. LTTE assassinates Sri Lankan President Premadasa. LTTE begins peace talks with newly elected Sri Lankan President Chandrika Kumaratunga. LTTE sinks Sri Lankan naval craft; beginning of the “Third Eelam War,” which continues until 2001. Sri Lankan government signs a Norwegianmediated cease-fire with LTTE in February. Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam leaves peace talks. LTTE commander (Karuna) splits from the group in March. On Boxing Day, 30,000 people killed in tsunami. Sri Lankan foreign minister killed in August; emergency declared. Sri Lankan Prime Minister Mahinda Rajapakse becomes president in November. Sri Lankan government and LTTE reaffirm their commitment to the 2002 cease-fire.

xl

2007 2007 2007

Timeline

Sri Lankan government announces capture of a LTTE stronghold in the east in January. LTTE launches its first air raid against military base in March. Sri Lankan government claims to have secured another LTTE stronghold in the east in July.

Abbreviations

AELM AFP AFPFL ALTO ALTA APEC APODETI ARATS ARF

ASDT ASEAN

APEC Economic Leaders’ Meeting Australian Federal Police Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League, political party in Burma in the 1940s Agricultural Landlords and Tenants Ordinance Agricultural Landlords and Tenants Act Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation Associaçao Popular Democratica Timorense (Timorese Popular Democratic Association) Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait (PRC) ASEAN Regional Forum. Created by ASEAN, it links the association with 15 other interested nations and the EU and engages in discussion of issues important to the region. Current participants include Australia, Bangladesh, Brunei Darussalam, Cambodia, Canada, China, European Union, India, Indonesia, Japan, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, Republic of Korea, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Mongolia, New Zealand, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, Philippines, Russian Federation, Singapore, Thailand, Timor Leste, United States, Vietnam. Associaçao Social Democratica Timorense (Timorese Social Democratic Association) Association of South East Asian Nations. Formed in 1967, its member states include Brunei Darussalam,

xlii

BBKP

BIN BIPP

BNPP

BRA BRN

BRN-C

BRN-Congress BRN-Ulama

BSPP CAMV CAVR

CBM CCP CFA CFL CNRM CNRT COHA

Abbreviations

Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam. Barisan Bersatu Kemerdekaan Patani (United Front for Patani Independence) Founded in 1989, reemerged in June 1997 as an umbrella organization to coordinate activities of separatist groups and became known as Bersatu. Badan Intelijen Negara (National Intelligence Board) Barisan Islam Pembebasan Patani or Patani Islamic Liberation Front, the name adopted by BNPP remnants in 1986 Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Patani or Patani National Liberation Front, founded 1959 and renamed BIPP in 1986 Bougainville Revolutionary Army Barisan Revolusi National or National Revolution Front established in 1960–1963; it split into three factions in the 1980s National Revolution Front-Coordinate or Barisan Revolusi Nasional-Koordinasi, one of three major BRN factions to emerge in 1979–1980 National Revolution Front-Congress, one of three major BRN factions, formed 1984 Barisan Revolusi National-Ulama or National Revolution Front-Ulama, one of three major BRN factions, formed around 1984, also known as GUP Burma Socialist Program Party established by General Ne Win Conservative Alliance—Matanitu Vanua Comissão de Acolhimento, Verdade e Reconciliação (Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in East Timor) Confidence-Building Measures Chinese Communist Party (ruling government of the PRC since 1949) Cease-fire Agreement Cease-fire Line that divides Indian from Pakistani Kashmir Concelho Nacional da Resistencia Maubere (National Council of Maubere Resistance) Concelho Nacional da Resistencia Timorense (National Council of Timorese Resistance) Cessation of Hostilities Agreement

Abbreviations

CPB CPD-RDTL

CPM 43 CPRF CRRN CSR DAP DII DMZ DOM DPP

DPP DPR DPRK EU FALINTIL

F-FDTL FKAWJ FLP FNP FRETILIN GAM GAMPAR

GLF GMIP

GMP

xliii

Communist Party of Burma Conselho Popular pela Defesa de Republica Democratica de Timor-Leste (Popular Council for the Defence of the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste) Civil-Police-Military joint command, 1981–2002 Central Police Reserve Force Concelho Revoluçionário da Resistencia Nacional (Revolutionary Council of National Resistance) Colonial Sugar Refining Corporation Dewan Adat Papua (Papuan Traditional Council) Darul Islam Indonesia Demilitarized Zone Daerah Operasi Militer (Military Operations Area) Democratic Progressive Party—ROC political party supporting independence, democratization, and nationalism for Taiwan Dewan Pembebasan Patani or Patani Liberation Assembly Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (Peoples Legislative Assembly) Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea) European Union Forças Armadas de Libertação National de Timor-Leste (Armed Forces for the National Liberation of East Timor) Força de Defesa de Timor-Leste Forum Komunikasi Ahlus Sunnah Wal Jama’ah (Sunni Communications Forum) Fiji Labor Party Fijian Nationalist Party Frente Revoluçionária do Timor-Leste Independente (Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor) Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (Free Aceh Movement) Gabungan Melayu Patani Raya or the Greater Patani Malay Association, formed in 1948 and disbanded in 1953 Guadalcanal Liberation Front Gerakan Mujahidin Islam Patani or Patani Islamic Mujahidin Movement formed in 1995 by Afghan veterans, grew out of GMP Gerakan Mujahidin Patani or Patani Mujahidin Movement, established in 1986 but largely defunct by 1993.

xliv

GoSL GRA G-7

GUP

HRDAG HRW HUM IB IAEA IFM ILO IMPETTU INC IPKF IPMT ISI ITBP JI JKLF JWG KMM

KMT KODAM KODIM KOPASSUS KORAMIL KOREM KOSTRAD LoC

Abbreviations

Government of Sri Lanka Guadalcanal Revolutionary Army The Group of Seven leading economies in the international community including the United States, Japan, Italy, Canada, Germany, France and the UK (now the G-8 with Russia’s inclusion) Gerakan Ulama Patani or Patani Ulama Movement, one of the BRN’s three major factions, formed around 1984 Human Rights Data Analysis Group Human Rights Watch Hizb-ul-Mujahedeen Intelligence Bureau (India) International Atomic Energy Agency Isatabu Freedom Movement International Labour Organization Ikatan Mahasiswa Pemuda dan Pelajar Timor Timur (East Timor Students and Youth Association) Indian National Congress Indian Peace Keeping Force International Peace Monitoring Team Inter-Services Intelligence Directorate (Pakistan) Indo–Tibetan Border Police Jemaah Islamiyah, literally “Islamic community” Jammu Kashmir Liberation Front Joint Working Group Kumpulan Mujahidin Malaysia or Malaysian Mujahidin Group formed by Afghan veterans in 1995, also referred to as Kumpulan Militan Malaysia or Malaysian Militant Group Kuomintang or Nationalist Party (government in China prior to 1949 and government of ROC) Komando Daerah Militer (Regional Military Command) Komando Distrik Militer (District Military Command) Komando Pasukan Khusus (Special Forces Command) Komando Rayon Militer (Sub-district Military Command) Komando Resort Militer (Sub-regional Military Command) Komando Strategis Angkatan Darat (Army Strategic Reserve Command) Line of Control

Abbreviations

LTTE MEF ML MP-GAM MPR MPRMP

MRP NAD NBA NCC NCGUB

NEFA New PULO NFP NGO NLD NPT NUP ODA OECD OECD DAC OJECTIL OPM OTSUS PANYOM PAS PDP PIF PKB

xlv

Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam Malaita Eagle Force Muslim League Majelis Pemerintahan Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (Governing Council of the Free Aceh Movement) Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (People’s Consultative Assembly) Majelis Parmesyuaratan Rakyat Melayu Patani or Council of the Muslim People of Patani, founded in 1997, also known as Bersatu Majelis Rakyat Papua (Papuan People’s Assembly) Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam (Peaceful State of Aceh) Negara Bahagian Aceh (Federated State of Aceh) National Consultative Council National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma—opposition government formed in the borderlands of Burma following the 1990 elections Northeast Frontier Agency New Patani United Liberation Organisation, formed in 1995 National Federation Party Nongovernmental Organization National League for Democracy—political party formed in 1988 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty National Unity Party - the new name given to the BSPP in 1989 Official Development Assistance (Japanese loan program) Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development—Development Assistance Committee Organizaçao de Juventude Catolica de Timor-Leste (East Timorese Catholic Youth Organisation) Organisasi Papua Merdeka (Free Papua Movement) Otonomi Khusus (Special Autonomy) Patani National Youth Movement Parti Islam se-Malaysia or Islamic Party of Malaysia Presidium Dewan Papua (Papuan Presidium Council) Pacific Islands Forum Pejuang Kemerdekaan Patani or Patani Freedom Fighters

xlvi

PKRRP PLA PNG PNGDF PNLF PNTL PPF PPM PRC

PUCL PULO Pusaka

RAMSI RC

RENETIL RFMF RKK

ROC ROK RSIP RTU SACs SBPAC SBPPBC SCS SDL SEF SLMM

Abbreviations

Pasukan Komando Revolusi Rakyat Patani, a name sometimes given to Pemuda, the BRN youth wing People’s Liberation Army (PRC’s Military) Papua New Guinea Papua New Guinea Defence Force Patani National Liberation Front or Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Patani, founded in 1959 Policia Nacional de Timor-Leste Participating Police Force Patani People’s Movement People’s Republic of China (Mainland China) established under Mao Zedong’s Communist government in 1949 People’s Union for Civil Liberties Pertubuhan Pembebasan Patani Bersatu or Patani United Liberation Organization, founded in 1968 Pusat Persatuan Tadika Narathiwat: Center for the Narathiwat Kindergarten Associations, an Islamic educational foundation, established in 1994 Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands Revolutionary Council—government body instituted by General Win to establish his military dictatorship in Burma Resistencia Nacional dos Estudantes de Timor-Leste (East Timor Students’ National Resistance) Republic of Fiji Military Forces Runda Kumpulan Kecil or Small Armed Patrol Group of the PKB, an armed unit of the BRN-C, emerged circa 2005 Republic of China on Taiwan Republic of Korea (South Korea) Royal Solomon Islands Police Reconciliation, Tolerance and Unity Bill Security and Administration Committees Southern Border Provinces Administrative Center, 1981–2002 Southern Border Provinces Peace Building Command, formed 2004 South China Sea Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua (United Fiji Party) Straits Exchange Foundation (Taiwanese) Sri Lanka Monitoring Mission

Abbreviations

SLORC

SOG SPDC SVT TADA TAR TMVP

TNT TNI TPA TUF TULF UDT UNAMET UNCLOS UNDP UNOTIL UNTAET UNTEA

xlvii

State Law and Order Restoration Council—name of the military regime that took power in a coup in Burma in September 1988 Special Operations Group State Peace and Development Council—replaced the SLORC in 1997 Soqosoqo ni Vakavulewa ni Taukei (Fijian Political Party) Terrorism and Disruptive Activities Prevention Act Tibet Autonomous Region (not coextensive with the territory historically considered Tibet) Tamileela Makkal Viduthalai Pulikal (Tamileela People’s Liberation Tigers), better known as the Karuna Group Tamil New Tigers Tentera Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian National Military) Townsville Peace Agreement Tamil United Front Tamil United Liberation Front Uniao Democratica Timorense (Timorese Democratic Union) UN Assistance Mission in East Timor United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea Union National Democratic Party—splinter party of the NLD UN Office in Timor Leste United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor United Nations Temporary Executive Authority

CHAPTER 1

China and East Asia Sally Burt

China’s geopolitical importance is increasing, and it promises to only continue to rise in the coming decades. It is worth understanding the fastest growing economy in the global community—and the history that has brought it to this position. A number of hot spots in the region that involve China have the potential for explosion if not properly managed. The tensions that have risen between China and its neighbors are an indication of insecurity about the ambitions that accompany the rise of China to a position of global power. Neighboring nations are unsure how China’s rise will affect the region, as is the rest of the global community— particularly the United States. Regional tensions play out in several theaters steeped in historical significance: the Spratly Islands, Taiwan, and the Sino–Japanese sphere of interaction. Because any single one of these issues has the potential for undermining the peaceful interaction of the East Asian states, global interests are at stake. Understanding these hot spots and their context in history is crucial to maintaining global security.

GEOGRAPHIC FACTORS The People’s Republic of China is a geographically large state covering some 9,572,900 square kilometers—an area a little larger than the Australian continent and about the same size as the contiguous United States. Approximately 1.3 billion people inhabit China’s landmass, which shares land borders with Russia, India, Pakistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Nepal, Afghanistan, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea), Myanmar, Bhutan, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Laos, and Vietnam, neighbors with whom China has often historically been in conflict.

2

Hot Spot: Asia and Oceania

Despite the size of the Chinese landmass, little of its land is arable, a situation exacerbated by the constant pressure of an increasing population and by decreasing amounts of farmable land. Fresh water is also in short supply among the great population requiring it for survival. Because of its comparatively late industrial development, China lacks the communications networks and infrastructure needed to administer such a vast area from its single capital, Beijing. China’s varied terrain includes a wide variety of climates; the western region is mountainous and, in parts, rises above 4,000 meters above sea level. The central basins and plateaux average between 1,000 and 2,000 meters. The east, where the vast majority of the population resides and the location of most industrial and economic

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development, lies at and under 500 meters. The weather and climate greatly influence the country. Because China is located in a monsoonal region, it fluctuates between flooding and drought, and temperatures range from sub-freezing in the winter, in some provinces, to above 35 degrees Celsius in summer. China has faced horrific floods, earthquakes, and typhoons that have destroyed lives and incurred great expense. Its natural climate and geography pose challenges that must be overcome if future development is to proceed smoothly.

PRE-INDEPENDENCE China has an ancient history traceable by written records to at least 1500 BC. A turbulent history of kingdoms and empires at war with each other lasted until the unification of the area under Emperor Qin in 221 BC. This regime was then overthrown by the Han Dynasty, which ruled from 206 BC to 221 AD. The Tang, Song, Ming, and Qing Dynasties followed. A revolt of the army in 1911 led to the abolition of the monarchy, and a period of revolution followed that included an attempt to establish a new monarchy. This move was undermined by the outbreak of World War I. The period of 1917–1927 was an era of many militarist warlords who battled to fill the power vacuum. Dr. Sun Yat-Sen, who helped instigate the revolution that brought down the last of the dynasties, founded the Kuomintang (KMT or Nationalist) Party. With the aid of the Soviet Union, he gained control of a large region of China. His death in 1925, however, ended support for the KMT–Chinese Communist Party alliance that had all but eliminated the ability of local warlords to vie for the leadership of China. In 1927, Chiang Kai-shek took control of the KMT army and led a rapid push through central China, gaining control of the majority of China. Working with big business and foreign powers who controlled the Treaty Ports of east China, Chiang massacred the communists until 1935, when Mao Zedong led them north on the “Long March” to the safer Yunan province. Japanese invasion and World War II disrupted the internal political fighting, and the focus of the army turned toward external threats. After the war, revolution once again engulfed China. The KMT was unable to escape blame for the horrific economic and social post-war conditions. Nor were they able to defeat the communists, despite U.S. assistance. The Chinese population was also disillusioned with the corruption of the KMT officials that had become evident during and after the war. After bitter fighting from 1945 to 1949, Chiang and the Nationalist forces retreated to the island of Taiwan (Formosa), where Chiang expected to rebuild his army and return to attack the mainland. He was never able to do so and remained on the island of Taiwan with his forces.

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Hot Spot: Asia and Oceania

COMMUNISM In 1950, Mao Zedong intended to invade Taiwan, bringing it under the governance of mainland China, but President Truman deployed the U.S. Navy to the Taiwan Strait to protect the island. With invasion forestalled, Chiang was able to establish the Republic of China (ROC) on Taiwan, insisting that the KMT was the true government of all of China— whereas Mao equally asserted that Taiwan was a rebellious province of greater China, calling the CCP the only government of China. From then on, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) was established on the mainland; Mao remained its leader until his death in 1976. China today remains an officially communist state, but the necessities of economic development have led to both economic and political reform. Although the status of Taiwan has never been settled, Taipei has ceased to claim that it heads the government of mainland China. Through much of the latter half of the twentieth century, China was an isolated state. Mao was wary of the Soviet Union and did not trust the form of communism adopted by the USSR; communism was a more diverse ideology than the West often acknowledged during the Cold War. As a communist state, China was considered a clear enemy of the West early during the Cold War. By 1968, however, China felt certain it would not face a direct attack from the United States. This, combined with its own political distance from Moscow, allowed China to move from isolationism toward normal relations with its neighbors. In February 1972 President Nixon visited China and signaled the normalization of relations between the United States and the PRC. China also turned toward the global economy and opened its doors to foreign investment and trade. Over the next decade, Chinese foreign policy sought independence and balance in its approach to relations with the two superpowers. Throughout this period, the Chinese economy grew steadily, and the country became an increasingly important player in the global economy—something that quickened the recovery of its diplomatic prestige after the brutal Tiananmen Square massacre of 1989. By the mid 1990s it was clear that China’s economic growth would allow it to vie for a position as a superpower. The end of the Cold War had handed the United States the role of hegemon in the global community, but China was on its way to challenging that status. In 1995 the United States opened the door for competition with the PRC when it reopened the Taiwan issue by allowing President Lee of the ROC to visit the United States. By 1997, however, President Clinton had begun to work toward bringing the PRC and the United States into closer relations.

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FOREIGN RELATIONS AFTER SEPTEMBER 11 George W. Bush’s election to the presidency in 2001 saw the China–U.S. relationship once again return to competition marked by suspicion of each other’s motives—until September 11. China supported the U.S. war on terror: not by directly involving itself in the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq, but by sharing intelligence and placing tighter controls on financial transactions linked to terrorist organizations. Bush visited China in late 2001 and again in early 2002; Chinese president Hu Jintao also visited the United States in 2006 and has built a good rapport with the U.S. president. The United States has reduced its criticisms of China’s human rights abuses, allowing economic considerations greater influence on the nations’ bilateral relationship. China has also cooperated with the West in dealing with the North Korean nuclear threat to the point of refraining from vetoing UN resolutions against that country prompted by its nuclear testing. China seems destined to continue its rise in international politics and economics, eventually rivaling the United States’ hegemonic status.

THE SPRATLY ISLANDS The Spratly Islands group is a collection of over one hundred islands, atolls, reefs, and other maritime features spread over a large portion of the South China Sea. The islands are 300 nm west of the Philippine island of Palawan, 650 nm south of the Chinese island of Hainan, and 300 nm east of Vietnam. The larger area known as the Spratlys can be divided into smaller groups. Western charts divide the area into twelve separate regions (including Dangerous Ground, Reed Bank, and Mischief Reef), and the PRC names at least five. Also at stake are the accompanying maritime zones, which, because of the large expanse of the South China Sea over which the island group spreads, are considerable. The issue of sovereignty over the Spratly Islands has never yet been resolved. Seven states claim sovereignty over various parts of the Spratly Islands: China, Taiwan, Vietnam, Malaysia, the Philippines, Brunei, and Indonesia. Brunei and Indonesia claim no islands but merely sea zones overlapping with other states that have laid claim to the Spratlys. Vietnam, Malaysia, and the Philippines all occupy some islets or atolls in the group and thus claim sovereignty over the accompanying maritime zones as apportioned by the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS III). These three cite proximity to their mainlands as grounds for their claims. China claims the entire group of the Spratlys, citing proximity and historic ownership.

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Hot Spot: Asia and Oceania

The Spratlys are of political and economic significance because of the vital sea lanes that lie in the vicinity, as well as the potential energy reserves of oil and gas thought to be located in the seabed beneath (Jie 1994: 895). More than half the world’s oil supplies travel through the sea lane controlled by the Spratlys—the second busiest sea lane in the world. Although the natural resources are of secondary significance (it being uncertain what quantities are contained in the seabed), the economic positions of the states competing for sovereignty, as well as the energy demands of those states, make the hypothesized oil and gas reserves not insignificant. A dispute over the ownership of the Spratlys arose after World War II. The island group was at that time occupied by Japan, which was stripped of the Spratlys’ possession along with that of other territories claimed by the victors. Japan cites the San Francisco agreements in 1952, by which it ceded the islands, as its reason for not now becoming directly involved in the dispute. China claims that the PRC took over a de facto trusteeship of the island group, also resting its claims on archaeological finds of pottery and coins that suggest Chinese fishermen inhabited the islands in ancient times (Chung 2004: 128). In 1951 China made a more formal claim on the Spratlys but did not attempt to occupy any of the islands at that time. It was only in 1987 that the Chinese began to erect structures on the submerged features of the group, all the islands and islets being occupied by other powers by that time (Austin 2003: 44). Because Taiwan is in possession of the largest island in the group, Itu Aba (0.43 km2), the PRC contends that permanent Chinese occupation justifies its claims (Tonnesson 2003: 56). Other claimants can be grouped into three sets: Vietnam, Malaysia and the Philippines, and Brunei and Indonesia. This grouping reflects not only the different types of claims made over the islands but also the diplomatic strategy that the PRC uses when dealing with those claims. Vietnam currently occupies more islands than any other claimant state (Burgess 2003:1 8) and is the only state other than China to claim sovereignty over the whole of the Spratly Islands. The Vietnamese claim to the Southern Spratlys is particularly compelling because the nation was the first to effectively administer any of the islands, something it did in 1933 as a French colony. Vietnam, therefore, presents the greatest threat to China’s claim, and it is between these two states that the greatest potential for conflict exists. In 1975, when North and South Vietnam unified, the new state of Vietnam adopted the South Vietnamese maritime policy of claiming both the Spratly and Paracel Island groups (Tonnesson 2003: 60). In January 1974, prior to unification, China had taken the opportunity of the Vietnam War to invade the Western Paracel Islands (it already occupied the East). While South Vietnamese garrisons evacuated

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the islands, the North Vietnamese made no protest and redeployed to the Spratlys. At that time, the Chinese navy did not operate that far south and so could do little to prevent their occupation. This is how Vietnam came to hold the greatest number of islands in the Spratlys. The Vietnamese–Chinese dispute over the Spratlys is hostile and tense— more so than between any other two parties—and little resolution seems likely in the future. Malaysia and the Philippines hold significant claims to parts of the Spratly islands but do not claim the entire group, making them of less concern to the PRC than Vietnam is. Because of this, their claims are handled more diplomatically than is that of Vietnam, although this pattern may be changing (Jie 1994: 898). The Philippines and Malaysia became formal claimants in 1978 and 1979 respectively. The Philippine claim to the Spratlys dates to 1947 when Tomas Cloma, a Filipino national, declared an area known as Kalayaan as his own state, headed by himself. This action sparked Taiwan and South Vietnam to occupy other islands in the group during the 1950s (Chung 2004: 128). In 1971 Cloma transferred authority of the island to the Philippine government, giving some credence to the Philippines’ claim in 1978, by formal presidential decree, declaring the Kalayaan islands and the surrounding sea as part of the Philippines. Malaysia, on the other hand, entered the dispute in the late 1970s and now occupies a total of eight features in the group. The claims of the Philippines and Malaysia are confined to the features they occupy and to the surrounding maritime zones. The third group of claimants is the least significant. Brunei claims a large maritime area within the Spratlys, and Indonesia claims a maritime area overlapping PRC and Vietnamese claims to the islands. Certainly without claiming actual territory within the Spratlys, it is hard to influence negotiations of their sovereignty. The issue of maritime zoning is a secondary one that will be determined largely by the outcome of the dispute over sovereignty of the island group, whether as a whole or in part. Brunei is also such a small international player that the PRC is little concerned over its claim, but Indonesia, on the other hand, plays a much more active and important role in the dispute, having initiated discussions between the claimants in the 1990s. These claims are clearly of minor concern to the PRC, but they do complicate the situation, requiring a multilateral approach to resolve the dispute. In 1984, the PRC began to assess the South China Sea’s economic and strategic value (Jie 1994: 895). The sea lanes were of increasing value to the Chinese economy, as were the possible oil and other energy supplies there. During the Cold War, China strove to ensure that its Southeast Asian neighbors gravitated toward its sphere of power, balancing the Soviet Union’s and United States’s power in the region. The Philippines

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and Malaysia were worth keeping on China’s side, which made the PRC willing to be conciliatory over the Spratlys dispute. Vietnam, however, was clearly under Soviet influence, which partly accounts for the firmer line taken as regards its claim and actions in the Spratlys (894). The dispute was intensified when the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS III) came into force in 1982, increasing both the significance and the complexity of the various claims to the Spratlys. The ruling in Articles 55–75 of the Convention provided that Exclusive Economic Zones (EEZs) extended 200 miles from states’ coastlines. In the South China Sea, however, so many coastlines encircle the sea that EEZs are bound to overlap, increasing the potential for conflict. Furthermore, UNCLOS III also raised the possibility of attaching EEZs to the islands themselves—although none of the features of the Spratly Islands may actually qualify under UNCLOS as significant enough to administer EEZs (Guan 1999: 181). This point, if officially adjudicated, might diminish the interest of some of the present claimants. After 1987, increasingly close ties between the Soviet Union and China lost Vietnam some of the protection it had received by sheltering behind the USSR (Jie 1994: 902). The PRC had by this time signaled its willingness to protect its claim by force. Previously, China had seen itself as handling the issue in a generous manner towards the other claimants, who it felt were clearly “trespassing” on Chinese sovereign territory (Jie 1994: 895). In April 1987, however, it made a series of moves intended to emphasize its sovereignty. The PRC agreed to work with Taiwan in a cooperative effort, because both nations’ claims were based on the same historic pretext—and the PRC actually held no islands at all, whereas Taiwan controlled the largest, Itu Aba. The PRC and Taiwan saw potential in working together to pressure Vietnam and the other claimants to abandon the area (Austin 1998: 82). Beginning in late 1987, the Chinese naval presence in the Spratlys increased under various guises of scientific research and protective missions. Vietnam protested, demanding that China withdraw from the area even as the PRC constructed observation posts on several reefs in the area claimed by the Philippines. In March 1988, an armed clash between the Vietnamese and PRC navies near Sinh Chow Island saw three Vietnamese vessels sunk and seventy-two sailors killed. Each side accused the other of provocation, China alleging past restraint and charging Vietnam of taking advantage of that restraint by expanding its presence in the area (Austin 1998: 84). In March 1988 the PRC communicated to the Philippine government that China wished to settle the issue through “friendly consultations,” leading to an April agreement between the PRC and the Philippines to shelve the dispute of sovereignty over the Spratlys. Certain evidence suggests that had any other claimants come to the aid of Vietnam during the

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skirmish, the PRC would have chosen to evict them from the Spratlys as well. However, this did not occur, and China chose to occupy submerged features rather than forcibly take islands occupied by other claimants, evidence of China’s overall restraint surrounding this issue. A series of diplomatic moves took place during the 1990s, in which Indonesia took a leading role in initiating a set of meetings in which the claimants would work on cooperatively developing the Spratlys while setting aside disputes over sovereignty. Although these discussions brought the PRC and ROC together both physically and ideologically in terms of claims to the Spratlys, China has on the whole shown limited interest in multilateral negotiations over the issue, preferring to engage each claimant separately in bilateral discussion. This has the obvious advantage of putting the PRC in a position of strength at the negotiating table, because no claimant can challenge China’s political strength by itself. In 1992 the National People’s Congress passed the Law of the People’s Republic of China on the Territorial Sea and Contiguous Zone, reasserting China’s claim to sovereignty over the entire Spratlys area and authorizing the navy to use force to protect that sovereignty (Jie 1994: 898). It also granted oil concessions to private companies to allow drilling in a zone claimed by both China and Vietnam (Hamzah 1995: 81). The PRC simultaneously began to take a much harder line against the Philippines and Malaysia, states with whom it had previously treaded softly in its diplomacy (Jie 1994: 898). The PRC also obstructed the multilateral discussions between claimant states, showing its unwillingness to entirely lay aside the issue of sovereignty. Its increased assertiveness led the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) to focus much more heavily on achieving a multilateral resolution to the dispute. Japan was also coaxed into taking a greater interest in proceedings. Although Japan has avoided direct involvement in the matter, since 1992 it has lent its political and diplomatic weight to help counter China’s position of dominance in the region; but it seems unlikely that Japan will ever take any steps to involve itself more directly than this (Lam 1996: 1000–1008). In June and December of 1994, the PRC constructed further observation posts on Mischief Reef, a submerged feature. In March of the same year, the PRC and ROC had agreed to conduct joint scientific research in the area. Vietnam, meanwhile, granted oil concessions to private companies in areas claimed by both itself and the PRC, as China had done previously. China, confirming its hardened stance on the issue, warned Vietnam to cease and desist from such behavior, calling it inflammatory. Several other minor skirmishes and incidents occurred in and over the Spratly Islands throughout the late 1990s, none of them serious enough to draw military response from any claimant. The issue was further complicated during that period by the PRC’s relations with Taiwan. Several

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Hot Spot: Asia and Oceania

military exercises designed to intimidate Taiwan were undertaken by the government of mainland China, bringing the U.S. Navy once again into the Taiwan Strait as a stabilizing factor. This raised the issue of U.S. influence in the region and has various implications regarding the pressure the U.S. may use to adjudicate disputes over the Spratlys (Austin 2003: 46–52). Since late 1999, Sino–Vietnamese relations have improved greatly. On Christmas Day 2000 the two signed the Gulf of Tonkin agreements arranging maritime and fishing rights in the Gulf. China has also found some common ground with Vietnam based in economic development. Vietnam’s relationship to China has clearly become one of dependence as it seeks to overcome the effects of the Asian currency crisis of 1997 by developing a stable and modernized economy. The PRC’s interests in maintaining good relations with its neighbors and retaining political dominance in Southeast Asia as a check to U.S. influence in the region has increased in importance since the late 1990s. The settlement over the Gulf of Tonkin led to further cooperation over the Spratlys dispute, and in 2002 a code of conduct was developed and signed by the ASEAN nations and China that provided guidelines for the behavior of parties in the Spratlys area, something hoped to limit the potential for conflict and misunderstanding while shelving the issue of sovereignty. The move is designed as a confidence-building exercise between the contracting parties, but the code is not legally binding, making its efficacy dependent wholly upon the signatory parties’ willingness to adhere to it. Support for the code of conduct does exist, however, among regional powers. Although some do not face a direct threat, the potential exists for a conflict to escalate until it affects other interests than merely those local to the Spratlys. Because the ASEAN Regional Forum believes that it neither can nor should evaluate the respective claims on the Spratly Islands, no official position exists on the claims themselves. Regional opinion is that resolution of the dispute is far less important than management that will avoid armed conflict between claimants. This policy is risky and leaves issues unsettled that may reappear and heat up in the future. But it seems the best option during the medium term, and it is hoped that other factors may lead to peaceful resolution of the dispute. This hot spot in the Asian region has the potential to destabilize relations between China and its neighbors. Although at present the greatest gains seem possible by cooperation, several factors may change this in the future. The issue of sovereignty has not been resolved merely because the parties have agreed to put it aside for the time being. The more there is to gain from sovereignty over the Spratly Islands, the more likely it is that the dispute will reheat. As China’s dominance of the region grows, so does its power in comparison to that of the other claimants. If China sees

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a challenge to its regional position, the issue of sovereignty will become more important—even if only as a symbol and a signal about its diplomatic strength as a whole. The sea lanes and petroleum and gas reserves that may be located within the potential EEZs around the Spratlys will grow in significance as competition in the global energy market grows fiercer and China’s needs continue to increase. This significance would lessen, however, if it were ruled that none of the features in the Spratlys qualify for an EEZ. Some cause for optimism lies in the possibility that the PRC may believe its best chance of checking U.S. influence in Asia is by banding together with its neighbors in cooperation over the Spratlys. The dispute may continue, to certain extents, to bring the PRC and ROC closer together.

TAIWAN Since 1949 two Chinas have operated in the international community: the Republic of China, based in Taiwan (ROC), and the People’s Republic of China (PRC), based on the Chinese mainland. The ROC and PRC function as separate governments, but the PRC is recognized as the government of China internationally, whereas the ROC administers the island of Taiwan and some small surrounding islands. This situation arose during the Chinese Civil War, when the Kuomintang (KMT) government fled Communist attacks to the island of Taiwan. Because this occurred when the Allies were taking back control of the territory Japan occupied during World War II, the handover of the island of Taiwan was never officially completed (Wang 2001: 720). The Taiwanese government claims that this, along with the PRC’s failure to exercise effective control over the island, supports its claim of independence. This causes much tension not only between the PRC and ROC but also between the PRC and other states that support Taiwan’s independence or that oppose the use of force to reunify China. The events leading to the separation of China and the creation of the ROC have been previously noted, but events since 1950 are also pertinent to the development of this issue as a hot spot for China and its neighbors. In 1950, the Korean War stalled Mao Zedong’s attempts to invade and capture Taiwan. Although President Truman decided to send the U.S. Seventh Fleet into the Taiwan Strait to protect Taiwan’s sovereignty, the PRC shelled small islands surrounding Taiwan that were under ROC control. In August 1958 this developed into what became known as the “Kinmen Crisis” as Kinmen Island, occupied by Taiwanese forces, was heavily shelled in what was believed to be preparation for an invasion of Taiwan itself. In response, the United States sent six aircraft carrier battle groups to ensure the safety of the ships supplying the ROC troops on

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Hot Spot: Asia and Oceania

the island (Qimao 1996: 1055). This was a clear signal from the United States that Taiwanese independence would be supported and forceful occupation of Taiwan resisted. Mao backed away from any attempt at invasion and allowed the issue to stagnate. Tensions remained, but little action was taken until 1971, when the United Nations Security Council seat held by Taiwan was transferred to the control of the PRC. President Nixon’s visit to China in 1972 saw the normalization of relations between the PRC and the United States. In December 1978 the United States withdrew its official recognition of Taiwan as a sovereign state, assuring Taiwan’s security and trade status with the United States until reunification could be negotiated. It was in this period that the PRC changed its attitude and policy toward the Taiwanese government. Instead of military coercion and force, the PRC decided to reconcile peacefully with the ROC. On January 1, 1979, the National People’s Congress of the PRC sent a message to the Taiwanese people expressing hopes that Taiwan would embrace reunification, thereby allowing the nation to focus on internal development. In 1980 the PRC leader Deng Xiaoping proposed the policy of “one China, two systems,” intending that Taiwan should be considered an independent entity for local administrative purposes but be represented as part of greater China in the international arena. Having lost its representation in all international organizations having sovereign states as members, and suffering official derecognition from all but a handful of states, Taiwan, too, changed its policy. In the mid-1980s, the ROC began to accept that the mainland was a separate entity not under Taiwanese control but that of the Chinese Communist Party. The democratization of the ROC also began in the mid-1980s, when the constitution was adapted to allow for elections of government officials for the first time, something that complicated cross-strait relations greatly. Shortly after democratization, the ROC allowed trade with and travel to mainland China, but only through intermediary states. This provided channels and opportunity for dialogue between the two governments that had not previously been allowed. Taiwan, however, never gave up its claim of sovereignty and required that if reunification were to occur, it would only be with the proviso that the ROC be recognized by the PRC as a sovereign entity. Democratization of the island also led to pluralism in the political arena, which complicated the ROC’s relationship with the PRC as many different policies began to be advocated by a wide variety of political parties. Democratization also gave increased influence to public opinion, making political survival dependent on following the people’s attitudes toward the mainland—an additional factor for the Taiwanese government to consider in its relations with the PRC (Yu 1999: 49). This process led to the development of the “pragmatic diplomacy” policy of Lee Teng-hui’s

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Taiwanese government of the mid-1980s, a style of diplomacy targeting those states that had previously recognized Taiwan as a sovereign state and using economic inducements to gain recognition from other states (principally those in South and Central America and Africa, and increasingly in eastern Europe) (Qimao 1996: 1058). Since 1993 Taiwan has made repeated bids to regain its seat in the United Nations. Although little progress has been made in this regard, Taiwanese actions serve as a reminder that the nation will not surrender its own agenda to the interests of the PRC. Its quest for sovereignty is not over. The most serious incident between the two nations since the 1950s occurred in the 1990s, when relations between the two were improving. In February 1991 the ROC established the Straits Exchange Foundation (SEF) to promote and discuss practical issues of cross-strait relations, and in November of that same year the PRC formed the Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait (ARATS). These two institutions facilitated negotiations, discussions, and other cultural exchanges aimed at increasing ties across the Strait. The meetings continued until 1994, but little change took place in the positions of the PRC and ROC (1267). In March 1994 the talks were frozen for several months after the PRC’s handling of the Qiandao Lake incident, during which 24 Taiwanese tourists were killed by criminals. Although talks resumed later that year, tensions ran high. Jiang Zemin of the PRC presented an eight-point proposal to Taiwan in January 1995 that built on Deng Xiaoping’s “one China, two systems” policy and offered practical steps toward reunification. Lee Teng-hui replied with six points of his own that agreed only to superficial exchanges across the Strait and rejected negotiations on reunification in the absence of PRC recognition of Taiwan’s sovereignty and renunciation of the use of force against the island. Tensions increased when Lee Teng-hui was granted a visa to visit the United States in June 1995. Although the United States insisted that the visit was a private one, the Taiwanese press called it a victory in the battle for official recognition among the international community, leading to increased anxiety in the PRC over the path of Taiwanese policy (Qimao 1996: 1058). In response, the PRC decided to return to military coercion. On June 16, 1995, it announced that the ARATS–SEF talks were suspended indefinitely. In July the PRC conducted missile tests aimed very near the Taiwanese coast that were followed by further tests in August. In November a training exercise was conducted during which the PRC army, navy, and air force simulated a large-scale amphibious landing. In March 1996 further military action was carried out in the form of more missile tests, this time aimed nearby Taiwan’s busiest port, a warning to Taiwan and its allies that attempts at independence would be met with military response from the PRC. Part of the motive behind the PRC’s

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Hot Spot: Asia and Oceania

behavior lies in the domestic arena, in the change of leadership from Deng Xiaoping to Jiang Zemin. Jiang came to power supported by only a shaky base and a strong need to consolidate power. The embarrassment caused by Lee’s visit to the United States, especially after Jiang’s presentation of his eight-point proposal, Jiang felt must be countered by a strong show of pressure on Taiwan demonstrating that independence would not be tolerated (Zhao 1999–2000: 501–502). The PRC’s plan backfired. Instead of resulting in a settlement, the PRC’s military exercises strengthened the resolve of the Taiwanese push for independence. The pro-independence political parties gained more support, and public opinion swayed against reunification, believing the PRC’s behavior to clearly demonstrate a desire to subjugate Taiwan rather than treat it as an equal partner (Yu 1999: 49). The PRC changed its strategy accordingly. Jiang, his power now secure, reiterated his eight-point proposal in September 1997, and communication, exchanges, and negotiations over other practical issues, such as travel across the Strait, resumed. In April 1998 official visits between the two governments resumed as well. In 2000, however, another setback in relations took place with the election in Taiwan of Chen Shui-bian of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP). Chen’s platform, in which he took a hard line toward independence, did not bode well for the reunification program as the PRC saw it. Although his pre-election rhetoric was not matched in intensity by his action—and although after taking office he was careful in his statements about independence—Chen afterward continued to hold a firm line regarding Taiwanese sovereignty and seemed unwilling to negotiate the point. Little chance of reunification in the foreseeable future seemed in the offing. Between May 2000 and May 2001 Chen visited many countries that still officially recognized Taiwan as an independent state. He also met U.S. congressional leaders in order to continue Lee’s brand of pragmatic diplomacy. The success of this policy forced the PRC leadership to rethink its policy toward Taiwan. Rhetorical threats of force, although not entirely abandoned, were used in a much more sensitive, cautious manner. In 2001 the PRC increased its military spending in hopes of developing new weaponry designed to penetrate the U.S. carrier battle group defenses. Beijing also organized a diplomatic campaign to prevent the inclusion of Taiwan in the Theater Missile Defense (TMD) system planned by the United States. If Taiwan were covered by the TMD, it might be able to ward off threats from the mainland. Such a development would enable Taiwan to declare independence with impunity. The PRC therefore sought to prevent such an outcome at all costs. There are several key points at the heart of the dispute that are not easily resolved. Each party holds to a different meaning of the phrase “one China.” The PRC defines it as one China under PRC rule, but Taiwan

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will not accept a regime under which it would lose its de facto independence. Sovereignty is a sensitive matter for the Chinese, who have a history of bloodshed and brutal occupation. But the PRC must also think in terms of precedent. To allow Taiwan to function as an independent entity would strengthen the push for independence in Tibet, the Xinjiang province, and Inner Mongolia. Furthermore, an independent Taiwan allied very closely with the United States could serve as a launching pad for power projection by the United States, similar to the U.S. situation with Cuba during the Cold War. As the generation that founded the ROC fades, the PRC perceives that the window for successful reunification is closing. A new generation of leaders, born in the ROC and accustomed to nothing else, is less likely to want to renounce the status quo. Both sides, however, can benefit from economic cooperation and growth, so a setting aside of the sovereignty issue could allow greater economic linkages to be built that may eventually make possible a peaceful reunification. The democratization of the mainland may also lead to the necessary preconditions for reunification with Taiwan on different terms. These possibilities, however, are presently years off. For now it seems more likely that the precarious balancing game that has become the status quo will remain. If the ROC formally declares independence by referendum, the PRC may well respond with force—something it may also do if it feels that the possibility for reunification is fading away. The PRC toes as firm a line on the issue of reunification as the ROC does about independence, making the future of relations across the strait far from certain.

JAPAN Japan and China have one of the oldest relationships in international relations, but it is a relationship that has been defined largely by animosity and open hostility. A representative example is the interaction that followed the Sino–Japanese War of 1894–1895. Japan, the victor, signed the Treaty of Shimonoseki with China in 1895, an accord designed to humiliate China. Japan subsequently took control of Taiwan and most of the Liaodong Peninsula in northeastern China. Soon after, however, Japan was defeated by Russia, Germany, and France, and China’s lost territory in Manchuria was restored. After a Sino–Russian pact against Japan was formed, Japan focused its hostile attentions on Russia from then on, striving to build a more amicable relationship with China. In 1900, an incident that became known as the Boxer Rebellion occurred, in which a group known as the “boxers” conducted a siege against all the foreign legations in China, including the Western powers (who had treaty

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ports in China), Russia, and Japan. Japan, along with the other powers, was invited to provide substantial military assistance to help rescue the legations, and did so. After the situation was resolved, Japan withdrew its troops and remained in a friendly relationship with China, but Russian troops did not, withdrawing only as far as Manchuria and remaining there despite international protests. In 1904 the Russo–Japanese War erupted over the area occupied by Russia. Although the hostilities took place inside Chinese territory, Japan encouraged China to remain neutral, believing that assistance from the weak Chinese military would do more harm than good. The Treaty of Portsmouth, which ended hostilities between Russia and Japan, simply turned over Russian territory and infrastructure in China to Japan. China was in no position to dispute the arrangement, so the Treaty stood. Japan took the position that China should be grateful for Japanese assistance in removing Russia from the area and ensuring Chinese sovereignty, a view China did not share. Although the war had cost Japan greatly in money and lives, Japanese gains comprised relatively minor lease-holdings over railway lines and the Liaodong Peninsula—and these guaranteed only until 1923. The period that followed was marked by Japanese and Russian attempts to consolidate power and possessions in the region. Until 1911, negotiations over control of the railways defined the relationship of Russia, China, and Japan. But in 1911 the Chinese revolution complicated the relationship. Japan officially remained neutral and refused to recognize the revolutionaries attempting to bring down the Qing Dynasty. Unofficially, however, the Japanese business and military communities dealt with the revolutionaries. In 1913 Sun Yat-sen’s revolutionary movement made very active advances to Japanese groups in hopes of support. Little evidence exists, though, to show that Japan swayed officially from its line of nonrecognition. When World War I broke, Japan requested that Germany surrender its lease on the Jiaozhou–Qingdao area. When Germany refused, Japan invaded the region and took possession. China, suffering internal unrest, was in no position to oppose Japanese actions. After a series of negotiations over various issues, Japan gained control of several Chinese ports, and Japanese citizens in China were protected by the rules of extraterritoriality. Throughout much of the interwar period, Japan worked to rebuild its relationship with China. The European powers, worried by Japan’s assertive policy, signed the Nine-Power Treaty in 1921 to guarantee Chinese sovereignty and rights. Throughout the 1920s, China faced even greater upheaval as revolution brought the Kuomintang leader, General Chiang Kai-shek, to power. Chiang formed the Chinese Republic in 1927. Through this period China developed militarily and found a sense of political unity, allowing it to take some initiative in

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Sino–Japanese relations. Unfortunately, the two powers were unable to agree on mutually acceptable terms. In September 1931, the Manchurian Crisis broke. The exact details of the altercation’s beginning are disputed by both sides. After a small skirmish Japan invaded southern Manchuria. China turned to the League of Nations for aid against Japanese aggression but little help was forthcoming. Japan was considered a greater power by most of the European states, and the United States was full in the throes of its deepest stage of isolationism. After receiving some harshly worded rebukes, Japan was allowed to consolidate its power in Manchuria. Japan, emboldened by the international community’s lack of response, developed designs on the rest of Asia. In 1938 it announced the New Order in East Asia or the East Asia Coprosperity Sphere, a plan it claimed would give Asia back to Asians under Japanese domination. The next major conflict began in July 1937 with the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. The area of Wanping in question was strategically important because of railway connections there. Shots were fired between Nationalist and Japanese troops (again, both parties blame the other) and what began as a relatively small skirmish led to the first test of Chinese resolve. The Chinese government reinforced the area, refusing to once more back down before Japanese aggression. This caused the outbreak of the Greater East Asian War, which was eventually swallowed in the Pacific theater of World War II after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941. The Japanese treatment of the populace in the areas it occupied during World War II was often brutal. The Japanese invasion of Nanking in December 1937 led to an occupation that involved seven weeks’ massacre of Chinese soldiers and rape and torture of civilians. Tens of thousands perished at the hands of the Japanese terror campaign in Nanking; to this day the Chinese hold that the Japanese have neither taken responsibility nor atoned for those events—or others of the same sort—by which Japan distinguished itself during the Greater East Asia War. Without an understanding of this period of Sino–Japanese history it is impossible to fathom the depths of the hatred felt toward Japan by the generations of Chinese since that day. The events of World War II continue to color Sino–Japanese relations today. In the years immediately following the end of World War II, Japan was removed from the territory it occupied and stripped of its island holdings. A new Japanese constitution was written prohibiting the Japanese government from ever again raising a military able to be used for aggression. This stern treatment reflected not only the international community’s outrage at Japanese aggression but a national consensus; the Japanese public wanted to distance themselves from their militaristic government’s past and move into a peaceful future secured by the United

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States’ pledge of protection from invasion. The San Francisco Peace Conference in 1951 installed in Japan a Conservative government that hoped to enjoy close relations with the United States. This U.S.–Japanese relationship encouraged Japan to follow U.S. policy toward China in containing the Communist nation through isolation. In the 1950s and 1960s, little interaction occurred between the PRC and Japan, although some economic-based diplomacy and trade were conducted. It was not until U.S. President Richard Nixon normalized Sino–U.S. relations in 1972 that Japan was able to do the same. Both the United States and Japan agreed to recognize Beijing as the single Chinese government, turning their backs on the Taiwanese push for independence that both had supported since the end of the Chinese civil war in 1949. Between 1975 and 1978 a treaty of peace and friendship was negotiated between the Japanese and Chinese governments that aimed mostly at restricting Soviet power (Deng 1997: 374). The late 1970s were years of great improvements in Sino–Japanese relations that culminated in 1978 when the Japanese prime minister Ohira announced his government’s intention to develop a Pacific community in hopes of stabilizing the region. The Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping also began to open up China economically and diplomatically, also implementing political reform. Sino–Japanese relations from that point developed on the basis of economic cooperation. Japan began a program of aid and “yen loans” to China and cooperated in a program for joint energy extraction while announcing that it would not reduce the amount of aid it gave to ASEAN members at that time. In 1979 Japan also convinced the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development’s (OECD) Development Assistance Committee (DAC) to admit China as a developing nation, just the first in a series of Japanese moves to include China in regional multilateral forums (Deng 1997: 375). In the 1970s and 1980s sovereignty disputes over territory claimed by both, such as the Diaoyu Islands, were shelved for the sake of closer relations (Xinbo 2000: 304). Through the 1980s the relationship blossomed as many exchange visits of leaders from both sides occurred. The economic relationship continued to grow, and in 1985 Japan became China’s top trading partner—and China Japan’s second greatest. Through this period the relationship peaked in many ways. The 1980s also saw the evolution of another side to the Sino–Japanese friendship. Issues from the past began to surface, and cracks appeared in the relationship. The Chinese felt that the Japanese were not sincere in their acceptance of responsibility for the actions of their leaders in World War II. School textbooks denied the brutal truths of what had occurred in China and other occupied areas, and the Chinese were also troubled by a

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series of visits by Japanese public officials to the Yasukuni Shrine, which commemorates Japanese war dead that include several figures responsible for war crimes. These issues remained, though lessening in intensity from time to time. Despite these cracks, the relationship remained strong in other ways. In June 1989 the Chinese government slaughtered a group of student protesters gathered in Tiananmen Square. The international media was present, and the international community was outraged by China’s vicious, public, and complete disregard for human rights. Japan’s reaction, however, was restrained, and it stood by China. Although Japan signed the G-7 declaration objecting to China’s actions, it only selectively applied the sanctions of the declaration, and by August 1991 Japanese Prime Minister Kaifu had visited China and reestablished relations between the two nations. In April 1992 China’s premier, Jiang Zemin, visited Japan to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the normalization of Sino–Japanese relations and invited the Japanese emperor to China. After Chinese assurances that no anti-Japanese protests would take place, the Emperor visited China in October of that same year, the first time a Japanese monarch had ever visited the neighboring country. Shortly after this, issues dividing Japan and China again came to the fore, increasing tension in the relationship. In the early 1990s, victims of Japanese wartime aggression, such as “comfort women” and those exposed to biological and chemical weapons, made claims for reparations. A significant movement in support for the claimants grew in momentum. At the same time, China began to show greater assertiveness in its international relations, passing legislation allowing the Chinese navy to protect the sovereignty of territory still in dispute. China’s military spending increased as its economic growth continued, and it began to take the upper hand in economic relations with Japan. Disputes over the sovereignty of Taiwan also provided an opportunity for the Chinese government to assert its authority in the region. In 1994 China was displeased by Japan’s invitation of Taiwanese vice premier Hsu Li-Teh to the opening ceremony of the Asian Games, held in Japan. To placate the Chinese, Hsu was prohibited from holding official meetings with members of the Japanese government. China feared at that time that Japan was overly sympathetic to the Taiwanese because of its previous occupation of the island. Japan was also strengthening its relationship with the United States at this time. In 1995 the U.S. and Japan negotiated new terms for their defense agreement, and in February 1996 they signed an agreement to jointly develop the Theater Missile Defense system (TMD), something that, if completed, would limit the PRC’s second-strike capability, making it vulnerable to nuclear attacks. In response, China threatened to

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reconsider its signing of the Test-Ban treaty. In April 1996 U.S. President Bill Clinton visited China and released a joint declaration with prime minister Hashimoto about the strengthening of the security relationship. The timing of the Clinton–Hashimoto meetings was significant, coming only one month after the tense standoff between Japan and the PRC over Taiwan. After the PRC fired missiles across the Strait in order to intimidate Taiwan, Japan froze loans and aid that it had been giving to China. In September 1997 the new U.S.–Japanese guidelines were released and included an expansion of the area in which the United States was to provide security for the Japanese. Not only Japanese territory was guaranteed, but also the surrounding area. The Japanese role in defending this area was also increased. The Chinese felt that strengthening U.S.–Japanese ties were aimed at the so-called “China threat” and an attempt to contain Chinese power in the region. China, then, looked for some reassurance from Japan and the U.S. that their intentions were peaceful. In June 1998 President Clinton released a statement denouncing Taiwanese independence and its membership in any international organization including only sovereign states. The Chinese hoped for a similar statement from Japan, but none came. In October 1998 South Korean president Kim Dae Jung was given an apology from the Japanese government for its damaging treatment of the South Korean people during Japan’s colonial rule. Again, China hoped for a similar apology but received none. This trend in Japanese behavior became a particular concern in 1999 when in August the Hiromaru flag was officially adopted as Japan’s national flag and “Kimigayo” as its national anthem, both of which could be interpreted as symbols of Japan’s militaristic past. These moves were followed by prime minister Obuchi’s revision of Japanese policy to allow Japanese forces to assist in United Nations peacekeeping missions. By implication this increased Japan’s power projection capabilities and was further indication of Japanese policy concerning China. It was not until November 26, 2000, that a joint statement was issued by Japan and the PRC, but even it walked very softly around the apology issue; the word “apology” was not actually used. The issue of Taiwan basically remained unchanged, with Japan unwilling to clarify its stance on Taiwanese independence. In the end, neither state signed the statement— an indication of their dissatisfaction with it. The political mood in Japan had clearly moved toward taking a harder line against China. Prime minister Obuchi was under domestic pressure from those who believed that Japan had apologized too much for its wartime actions. The generations who had experienced the war were disappearing quickly, and those born afterward felt a lesser sense of collective guilt (Cheng 2003: 255). Japanese public opinion since 2000 has clearly moved further toward conservatism and nationalism. Anti-Chinese feelings have manifested

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themselves in calls for Official Development Assistance (ODA) loans to China to be cut because of PRC’s human rights record’s violations of the terms of the assistance. Japanese public opinion has also focused on perceived Chinese ingratitude (Furukawa 2001: 79). Japanese companies have become increasingly dissatisfied with the infrastructure and business regulation environment in China, putting the future of Japanese investment there into question. In 2002 these underlying tensions surfaced in the Shenyang incident. On May 8, 2002, armed Chinese police entered the Japanese Consulate in Shenyang and forcibly removed and arrested five asylum seekers from North Korea. The five were eventually allowed to travel to South Korea via the Philippines, but only after a nasty diplomatic furor between the Japanese and Chinese governments. The Japanese claimed the Chinese police violated Japanese sovereignty by entering the consulate without permission, but the Chinese claimed that their assistance had been requested and that the issue was an internal Chinese matter. Both sides eventually claimed victory because the asylum seekers found their way to South Korea—something the Japanese argued had been their intention all along. The Chinese were pleased that they had dealt with the matter according to their own policy and on their own initiative (Wan 2003: 837). This incident has much to do with the string of events that has defined Sino–Japanese relations through the turn of the century, including shrine visits, Chinese calls for apology and compensation, increased bilateral military ties, and harder diplomatic lines. The continuing growth of China holds benefits for Japan as well. It can add to stability in the region, encouraging greater multipolarity in the global order and greater stability in the world order. But, despite this mutual interest, many factors remain over which matters may come to a head. Such emotionally charged issues as brutal Japanese behaviors of the past, territorial disputes, Taiwanese independence, and economic threats to Japan’s decreasing superiority over China may all spark trouble. The area with the greatest potential for confrontation, however, is the self-fulfilling prophecy of the “China threat.” If Japan continues to deal with China as a threat, China may then respond to its insecurity about its military vulnerability by increasing its nuclear arsenal, destabilizing the region and dramatically increasing the probability that misunderstanding may lead to military confrontation. Greater transparency in both sides’ military activities, as well as careful diplomacy, can relieve bilateral tensions; the potential for conflict is high, but methods by which to avoid that outcome are also clearly evident. By focusing on the economic and cultural ties binding the two nations in a mutually beneficial relationship—and by downplaying disputes and areas of tension— cooperative Sino–Japanese relations may continue to improve in the future.

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Select Bibliography Anderson, E., An Atlas of World Political Flashpoints (London: Pinter, 1993). Austin, G., China’s Ocean Frontier (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1998). Austin, G., “Unwanted Entanglement: The Philippines’ Spratly Policy as a Case Study in Conflict Enhancement?” in Security Dialogue, Vol. 34, No. 1 (Mar. 2003: 41–54). Burgess, P., “The Politics of the South China Sea: Territoriality and International Law” in Security Dialogue, Vol. 34 No. 1 (Mar. 2003: 7–10). Cabestan, J.-P., “Taiwan’s Mainland Policy: Normalization, Yes; Reunification, Later,” special issue of The China Quarterly, No. 148 (Dec. 1996: 1260–1283). Chang, I., The Rape of Nanking (New York: Basicbooks, 1997). Chen Qimao, “The Taiwan Strait Crisis: its Crux and Solutions” in Asian Survey, Vol. 36, No. 11 (Nov. 1996: 1055–1066). Cheng, J., “Sino-Japanese Relations in the Twenty-first Century” in Journal of Contemporary Asia, Vol. 33, No. 2 (2003: 251–272). Chung, C.-P., Domestic Politics, International Bargaining and China’s Territorial Disputes (London: Routledge Curzon, 2004). Deng, Y., “Chinese Relations with Japan: Implications for Asia–Pacific Regionalism” in Pacific Affairs, Vol. 70, No. 3 (Autumn 1997: 373–391). Economist, the, “Leaders: Hu’s Afraid of the Dalai Lama; Tibet” in The Economist, Vol. 381, Issue 8504 (Nov. 18, 2006: 14). Economist, the, “Leaders: China’s Great Game in Asia—The Great Game in Asia; China and its Region” in The Economist, Vol. 382, Issue 8522 (Mar. 31, 2007: 14). Freeberne, M., “The People’s Republic of China” in Europa Publications, The Far East and Australasia 2007: Europa Regional Surveys of the World (London: Europa Publications, 2007). Furukawa, K., “Mutually Assured Suspicion” in Foreign Policy, No. 124 (May–June 2001: 79–80). Guan, A. C., “ASEAN, China and the South China Sea Dispute: A Rejoinder” in Security Dialogue, Vol. 30, No. 4 (Dec. 1999: 425–430). Hamzah, Ba, “The Prospects for Solving Territorial Problems in the Spratlys: The Need to Manage Contentious Issues”, in Kimet, et al., eds., Marine Policy, Maritime Security and Ocean Diplomacy in the Asia-Pacific (Seoul: The Institute of East and West Studies, 1995). Hoffman, S., “Rethinking the Linkage between Tibet and the China–India Border Conflict” in Journal of Cold War Studies, Vol. 8, No. 3 (2006: 165–194). Jia, Q., “Changing Relations across the Taiwan Strait: Beijing’s Perceptions” in Asian Survey, Vol. 32, No. 3 (Mar. 1992: 277–289). Jie, C., “China’s Spratly Policy: With Special Reference to the Philippines and Malaysia” in Asian Survey, Vol. 34, No. 10 (Oct. 1994: 893–903). Karmel, S., “Ethnic Tension and the Struggle for Order: China’s Policies in Tibet” in Pacific Affairs, Vol. 68, No. 4 (Winter 1995–1996: 485–508). Lam, P. E., “Japan and the Spratlys Dispute: Aspirations and Limitations” in Asian Survey, Vol. 36, No. 10 (Oct. 1996: 995–1010). Norbu, D., “Tibet in Sino–Indian Relations: The Centrality of Marginality” in Asian Survey, Vol. 37, No. 11 (Nov. 1997: 1078–1095).

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Qingxin, K. W., “Taiwan in Japan’s Relations with China and the United States after the Cold War” in Pacific Affairs, Vol. 73, No. 3 (Autumn 2000: 353–373). Quigley, H., Far Eastern War 1937–1941 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1942). Rose, C., Sino–Japanese Relations: Facing the Past, Looking to the Future? (London, Routledge Curzon, 2005). Tonnesson, S., “Can Conflicts Be Solved By Shelving Disputes? A Rejoinder” in Security Dialogue, Vol. 30, No. 2 (June 1999: 179–182). Tonnesson, S., “Sino–Vietnamese Rapprochement and the South China Sea Irritant” in Security Dialogue, Vol. 34, No. 1 (Mar. 2003: 55–70). Wan, M., “Tensions in Recent Sino–Japanese Relations: The May 2002 Shenyang Incident” in Asian Survey, Vol. 43, No. 5 (Sept.–Oct. 2003: 826–844). Wang, T. Y., “Cross-Strait Relations after the 2000 Election in Taiwan: Changing Tactics in a New Reality” in Asian Survey, Vol. 41, No. 5 (Sept.–Oct. 2001: 716–736). Wu Xinbo, “The Security Dimension of Sino-Japanese Relations: Warily Watching One Another” in Asian Survey, Vol. 40, No. 2 (March–April 2000: 296–310). Yu, T., “Relations between Taiwan and China after the Missile Crisis: Toward Reconciliation?” in Pacific Affairs, Vol. 72, No. 1 (Spring 1999: 39–55). Zhao, S., “Military Coercion and Peaceful Offence: Beijing’s Strategy of National Reunification with Taiwan,” special issue of Pacific Affairs, Vol. 72, No. 4 (Winter 1999–2000: 495–512).

CHAPTER 2

East Timor Clinton Fernandes

The Democratic Republic of East Timor consists of the eastern half of the island of Timor, as well as the enclave of Oecussi (located in West Timor), and two smaller islands, Atauro and Jaco. It has an area of 14,609 square kilometers, which is slightly larger than Northern Ireland or the state of Connecticut. The western half of the island is part of the Indonesian province of Nusa Tenggara Timur (East Lesser Sundas).

PORTUGUESE COLONIALISM The first permanent Portuguese settlement on the island of Timor was founded in the west at Kupang in the 1640s. The first Portuguese governor was appointed sixty years later, but he was driven out twice by Dominican friars, first in 1721 and again in 1742. Until the mid-nineteenth century, the Portuguese presence was “limited to the tiny settlements of Dili, Manatuto, Laleia, Vemasse, and a few other points on the northern littoral” (Kammen 2003: 71). The great naturalist, scientist, and geographer Alfred R. Wallace wrote in 1861 that “the Portuguese government in Timor is a most miserable one. Nobody seems to care the least about the improvement of the country, and at this time, after three hundred years of occupation, there has not been a mile of road made beyond the town, and there is not a solitary European resident anywhere in the interior.” As for Dili, it was “a most miserable place compared with even the poorest of the Dutch towns . . . and there is no sign of cultivation or civilization round about it” (151, 144–145). For much of the twentieth century, Portugal was under the rule of Western Europe’s most enduring authoritarian system—that of Antonio de Oliveira Salazar. As a “unitary, corporatist republic,” Salazar’s Estado

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Novo (New State) ensured that all seats in the National Assembly were held by government supporters, strikes and lockouts were banned, and political parties were prohibited. All voters were encouraged instead to join an approved loyalist movement known as the National Union. The Salazar regime used censorship, propaganda, and political imprisonment to “neutralize” society while according special privileges to the Church in the areas of law and education. Portuguese rule inside East Timor reflected the wider relationship between church and state, which had been cemented throughout the colonies in 1940 when the Vatican signed the Concordat and Missionary Agreements with the Salazar dictatorship. From the very beginning, Portugal had consolidated its control and influence over the territory through the liurai, or local kings, allowing them a degree of self-rule in their areas but manipulating and exacerbating preexisting divisions between them. As a consequence, a sense of East Timorese national identity remained underdeveloped. Direct Portuguese control over East Timor’s interior was not completed until the end of the Manufahi War (also known as the Great Rebellion), which lasted from 1910–1912. During the regime of President Salazar, Portugal had been implacably opposed to decolonization for any of its colonies, including East Timor. It had refused to recognize the UN Resolution on Decolonization in 1960. Salazar suffered a stroke and severe brain damage in

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September 1968 (Robinson 2002: 85). He was succeeded by Marcello Caetano, who introduced primavera, the so-called spring of liberalization. Censorship laws were liberalized, political prisoners were allowed to leave, and exiles were allowed to come home. Portuguese trade unions could run internal elections without having to first submit lists of candidates to the state police. On April 25, 1974, the dictatorship fell as a result of the Carnation Revolution in Portugal. The new Portuguese government formally accepted the terms of the 1960 UN Resolution on Decolonization, and East Timor was officially recognized as a non selfgoverning territory under Portuguese administration.

CARNATION REVOLUTION Political parties in East Timor were able to come out into the open in the wake of the Carnation Revolution. The Uniao Democratica Timorense (UDT), or Timorese Democratic Union, was the first political party to be formed. It was followed by the Associacao para Integracao de Timor na Indonesia, or the Association for the Integration of Timor into Indonesia, which later changed its name to the electorally acceptable Associacao Popular Democratica Timorense, or the Timorese Popular Democratic Association (APODETI). The third party was the Associacao Social Democratica Timorense (ASDT) or Timorese Social Democratic Association, which became Frente Revolucionária do Timor-Leste Independente, or Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor (FRETILIN) in September 1974. FRETILIN and UDT were the two leading political parties. Both argued for an independent East Timor, with the former promoting rapid independence and the latter promoting gradual independence. FRETILIN also sought to pursue land reform, increase educational expenditure, decolonize the administrative structure, create small industries centered around primary products such as coffee, and inherit the oil leases that Portugal had negotiated (Hill 1980: 8–15). FRETILIN also asserted that it was the “sole legitimate representative” of the East Timorese people, based not on any electoral legitimacy but “on the basis of values that it claimed were common to ‘all East Timorese’” (CAVR 2005: Vol. 3, p. 27). UDT, dominated by conservative landowning families, was opposed to the FRETILIN program. The political inexperience of all of the indigenous leaders—the result of years of living under Portuguese authoritarianism—manifested itself in the political contest that followed, when both sides attacked each other verbally and sometimes physically. Their political inexperience was manipulated by neighboring Indonesia, whose intelligence services had been carrying out covert operations

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inside East Timor with the aim of eventual annexation. The Indonesian consulate in Dili, for instance, enabled an APODETI representative, Tomas Goncalves, to visit Jakarta in September 1974 and liaise with Indonesia’s military chief, General Maradean Panggabean. In January 1975, FRETILIN and UDT united in a short-lived political coalition. Both parties agreed that East Timor should become independent and that they would form a transitional government led by members from both parties. However, their mutual suspicion proved to be too strong, and their political inexperience meant that they had no mechanisms to deal with their differences. In particular, the UDT was threatened by FRETILIN’S overwhelming popular support. The two parties continued to attack each other verbally, and tensions rose in the districts. These tensions were exploited by Indonesia, which sought to undermine potential East Timorese unity by playing one side against the other. The coalition between the UDT and FRETILIN collapsed after four months, when the UDT withdrew unilaterally following meetings with Indonesian personnel in Jakarta. In early August 1975, key figures in the UDT met Indonesian intelligence chief General Ali Murtopo in Jakarta. Soon after their return, the UDT launched a coup against their FRETILIN opponents. In this socalled “armed movement” of August 11, the UDT captured key installations and detained hundreds of FRETILIN leaders and supporters. FRETILIN withdrew to the hills of Aileu, south of Dili, beginning its fight back on August 20. This date is celebrated today as the anniversary of the founding of the Armed Forces for the National Liberation of East Timor (FALINTIL). The military and the police joined the fray. Some members of the police and some military units supported the UDT, but most troops supported FRETILIN. The UDT was defeated by early September, and FRETILIN was in command of the territory. The Portuguese administration had left Dili August 26 for the island of Atauro and never returned, despite a FRETILIN request of October 25 to send a delegation to Dili to assess the political situation. FRETILIN established an administration, distributed food, and continued to recognize Portuguese sovereignty. It ensured that the Portuguese flag flew in the capital and prevented the use of the governor’s office there. Meanwhile, Indonesia had stepped up its military incursions into the territory, capturing several towns on the East Timorese side of the border. Under conditions of Indonesian destabilization, propaganda, and military pressure, FRETILIN declared independence November 28, 1975. The next day, representatives of the UDT and three other small parties issued the so-called “Balibo Declaration”—a proclamation requesting that the Indonesian government annex East Timor. Although it was called the Balibo Declaration, witnesses to its signing later testified

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that the proclamation was drafted in Jakarta and signed in a Bali hotel under coercive circumstances (CAVR 2005: Vol. 3, p. 57).

INDONESIAN INVASION AND OCCUPATION Indonesia invaded East Timor nine days later on December 7, 1975. FRETILIN made a fighting withdrawal to the interior, along with its military wing, the Armed Forces for the National Liberation of East Timor (FALINTIL). Indonesia occupied East Timor for the next twenty-four years. Indonesia installed a “provisional government” days after the fullscale invasion, but this entity never gained recognition by the international community. The Indonesian military’s human rights violations shocked many East Timorese who had supported the invasion. Even Arnaldo dos Reis Araujo, who was appointed as the chairman of the provisional government, wrote confidentially to President Suharto: We concede that the looting of private businesses, government offices and the state treasury could be due to the emotions of war, but it is difficult to understand why it continues six months after, leaving everybody in a cruel state of insecurity . . . Day and night, at my home and office, widows, orphans, children and cripples come begging for milk and clothing. I can do nothing but join my tears to theirs, because the Provisional Government owns nothing. (CAVR 2005: Vol. 3, p. 71)

In mid-1976, FRETILIN regrouped and held a national conference in the eastern interior. It decided to eschew conventional warfare in favor of a national resistance. Accordingly, it established a series of zonas libertadas (liberated zones), within which were located bases de apoio (resistance bases). Civilians within these bases provided logistical support and were protected by FALINTIL troops, militia companies, and civil defense units. However, the Indonesian military was able to press its attacks thanks to the use of U.S.-supplied OV-10 Broncos, A-4 Skyhawks, and F-5 Freedom Fighters. The last of the resistance bases fell in early 1979, and the Indonesian military declared that East Timor was pacified on March 26, 1979. However, the territory was shut off from the outside world, with bans on foreign media and international aid agencies and with tight controls on official delegations. Only three FRETILIN Central Committee members survived the campaign. One of them was Xanana Gusmao, who conducted a National Reorganization Conference in March 1981 at Maubai in Lacluta. The conference resulted in a reorganization of the political and military structure of the Resistance and the formation of a Revolutionary Council of

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National Resistance (CRRN). The CRRN was in overall command of the resistance and was a forum for all proindependence elements, rather than just FRETILIN. The need for national unity between FRETILIN and UDT was emphasized during a secret meeting in 1982 between Xanana Gusmao and the Catholic Church’s Apostolic Administrator of East Timor, Monsignor Martinho da Costa Lopes. The meeting had the importance consequence of showing that the Church did not see the resistance as a communist organization, but as a nationalist one. The next year, FRETILIN’S Central Committee officially emphasized the need for national unity (rather than ideological purity). There was opposition from within FRETILIN’S ranks; some attempted to overturn the new stance, but “in time opposition to the new policies faded” (CAVR 2005: Vol. 3., p. 98). The Church in East Timor adopted Tetum, the most widely spoken indigenous language, as the official language of the liturgy in 1983. As a consequence, the practice of religion became a statement about political identity, with a majority of the population formally identifying themselves as Catholic. In the mid-1980s, secret communications were opened between Catholic youth and Xanana Gusmao, with the former asking questions about resistance strategy and the latter advising the youth to persist in their identity as East Timorese and to continue the struggle. East Timorese students established several clandestine cells and then went on to form the Organizacao de Juventude Catolica de Timor-Leste (OJECTIL), or East Timorese Catholic Youth Organization. They also formed the Resistencia Nacional dos Estudantes de Timor-Leste (RENETIL), or East Timor Students’ National Resistance, which operated clandestinely, and the Ikatan Mahasiswa Pemuda dan Pelajar Timor Timur (IMPETTU), or East Timor Students and Youth Association, which was more moderate and operated in public. Toward the end of 1988, the Resistance was once again modified with the aim of creating a unified, nationwide structure. This modification was known as the Structural Readjustment of the Resistance, whereby the Revolutionary Council of National Resistance was replaced by the Concelho Nacional da Resistencia Maubere (CNRM), or National Council for Maubere Resistance. This was a forum for all proindependence elements, with the additional change of FALINTIL as the army of CNRM, not part of FRETILIN. Accordingly, although Gusmao retained his position as commander in chief of FALINTIL, he resigned from FRETILIN and assumed the presidency of CNRM. Although this change had positive consequences for the cause of national unity during the occupation, it caused serious tensions between the FRETILIN leadership and Gusmao—tensions that remain very much alive today. The CNRM later became the Conselho Nacional da Resistencia Timorense (CNRT) or National Council of Timorese Resistance.

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Pope John Paul II visited East Timor on October 12, 1989. The visit carried some risk to the Indonesian authorities, but it offered a potentially huge diplomatic payoff: a successful visit was the first step in winning international recognition without having to carry out a vote on self-determination. The Indonesian military took direct control of the organization of the pope’s visit. The East Timorese, for their part, understood what was at stake, writing to the pope to warn that the visit constituted a formal act of recognition. The East Timorese clergy insisted that the pope say Mass in Tetum, not in Bahasa Indonesia. The Vatican envoy preparing the pope’s visit, Father Tucci, suggested a compromise— Latin, with a few sentences in Tetum—and arranged for a short meeting between the pope and a group of local priests during the visit. During this time, the Vatican continued to downplay the political significance of the visit. While affirming that it did not recognize the Indonesian annexation, the Vatican said that its position of noninterference would not change as long as East Timor remained on the UN list of non selfgoverning. When the pope arrived at Dili’s Comoro airport, he disappointed many East Timorese by not kissing the ground. The Papal Mass was held at Taci-Tolu, a plain 17 kilometers west of Dili. The pope spoke in English and—far from condemning the brutal occupation—called on the Timorese to reconcile themselves with the Indonesians. A demonstration broke out at the front of the congregation as the Mass was coming to a close (Pinto and Jardine 1997: 110–114). The inevitable police crackdown followed. Bishop Belo sheltered forty demonstrators at his residence, but they were subsequently removed by the security forces. In October 1991 a parliamentary delegation from Portugal was supposed to visit East Timor. This visit had been under negotiation for seven years. Finally, although the visit was scheduled to commence November 4, 1991, the Indonesian government objected to the presence of a journalist in the delegation. Portugal responded by calling the veto a violation of press freedom and canceling the visit of the entire delegation. Young members of the clandestine resistance had spent months preparing for the visit. Its cancellation resulted in a volatile atmosphere, as all of the pent-up frustration was suddenly deprived of an outlet (Pinto and Jardine 1997: 180–193). On October 28, 1991, within a day of the cancellation, soldiers attacked a crowd of twenty young East Timorese who had taken shelter in the Motael Church in Dili. A teenager named Sebastiao Gomes was killed, along with a thirty-year-old man named Afonso Hendrique; about twenty-five others were arrested. On November 12, 1991, fourteen days after the death of Sebastiao Gomes, mourners gathered in his memory at Motael Church. After an hour-long Mass beginning at 6 a.m., the procession left the church for the

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Santa Cruz cemetery. The route was supposed to be 4 kilometers long, swing past the governor’s mansion and then on to the Santa Cruz cemetery and—after the burial—end at the Hotel Turismo, where Pieter Koojimans of the UN Human Rights Commission was staying. Some 1,500 people began the procession, but they were joined en route by more people, including schoolchildren on their way to classes. When the mourners arrived at the cemetery, Indonesian troops cut them off from the rear. They opened fire, killing 271 people. No other single event since the invasion did more to harm Indonesia’s diplomatic initiatives: it was known henceforth as the “Dili Massacre.” U.S.-based supporters of human rights in East Timor reacted to news of the massacre by organizing in their communities, trying to inform the American public about what had happened, and building alliances with members of the U.S. Congress. Fifty-two senators passed a Senate resolution November 21, 1991, calling on the U.S. president to facilitate the appointment of a Special UN Rapporteur for East Timor in order to promote the right of self-determination of the East Timorese people. The Indonesian government began a counteroffensive in the U.S. Congress in 1994, when it realized that its existing diplomatic apparatus had not been strong enough to defeat the well-organized opposition of the activists, known as the East Timor Action Network (ETAN). It therefore urged several corporations with interests in Indonesia to lobby on its behalf and, at various times, enlisted the support of the public relations firms of Burson-Marsteller, Smith McCabe, and Hill & Knowlton. It also worked with the former U.S. Ambassador to Indonesia, Edward Masters, to create the U.S.-Indonesia Society in 1994. According to the Website, the Society was set up “to increase understanding and awareness of Indonesia in the United States and to promote a better appreciation of the U.S.-Indonesia relationship.” Its real efforts, however, were designed to counter the stream of negative publicity generated by U.S. activists. The U.S.-Indonesia Society operated as “a second embassy for Indonesia in Washington since its founding” (Djahidin September 10, 2002). Indonesian Foreign Minister Ali Alatas tried to find a compromise solution, advocating “wide-ranging autonomy with a special status.” This autonomy proposal would have allowed the East Timorese to have their own political parties, elect their own governor, and have their own police force, with Indonesia retaining power over finance, foreign policy, and defense. His proposal was rejected by President Suharto, who believed that it gave too much to the East Timorese. Within four short years, however, Indonesia would be imploring the East Timorese to take the offer. From 1996 onward, two events combined to deal a severe blow to Indonesian rule. On January 29, 1996, three women entered the British

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Aerospace military base at Warton, Lancashire, armed with household hammers. They smashed the radar nose and control panel of a Hawk ground-attack aircraft, which was part of an order of twenty-four aircraft destined for Indonesia. They called their act a “Ploughshares Action,” inspired by the biblical injunction (Isaiah 2:4 and Micah 4:3) “to beat swords into ploughshares.” A British activist named Chris Cole had performed a ploughshares action on British Aerospace three years earlier. The three women—borough counselor Joanna Wilson, gardener Lotta Kronlid, and nurse Andrea Needham—were charged with illegal entry and criminal damage. The fourth member of the group was environmental campaigner Angie Zelter, who had supported the group and publicly announced her intention to carry out another ploughshares action. Zelter was arrested the next year on her way to a public meeting. The trial by jury began July 23, 1997. Solidarity activists organized blockades, sit-ins, teach-ins, and other vigils, all of which combined to generate enormous negative publicity for the Indonesian occupation. Sensationally, they were all acquitted after the jury accepted their defense: they claimed that they had acted lawfully because they were using “reasonable force” to prevent the much greater crime of genocide. The negative publicity for Indonesia grew even more pronounced in 1996, with the awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize to Bishop Belo and José Ramos-Horta. Belo visited the United States after the award was announced by the Nobel Prize committee. He met many influential members of Congress and spoke to large numbers of people. The Nobel Prize meant that President Clinton could no longer avoid meeting Belo—the first Roman Catholic bishop ever to win the Nobel Peace Prize—even though he still refused to meet José Ramos-Horta. As the Asian financial crisis began, the first cracks in President Suharto’s façade of invincibility were becoming visible. Suharto traveled to Vancouver, Canada, in November 1997 for the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation Economic Leaders’ Meeting (AELM). In the months leading up to the AELM, the Indonesian government had expressed concern several times about the possibility of encountering demonstrations that targeted its human rights record. These concerns were well founded: Canadian activists had been busy mobilizing public opinion as soon as they heard that Suharto would be coming. Public talks, leafleting, and other awareness-raising actions were carried out with growing intensity during the final months of 1997. In the weeks before the AELM, a team of thirteen exiled East Timorese and several Indonesians crisscrossed the country, calling on the Canadian government to “bar Suharto or put him behind bars.” Despite Suharto’s wish to prevent any “affront to his dignity,” the conference publicity was hijacked by issues that were completely unrelated to trade when a strong police response resulted in “the

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lasting image of the summit, seared in Canada’s collective memory . . . of a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation television cameraman being pepper-sprayed by an irate-looking police officer” (Milewski 2000: 150). By this stage, Indonesia was facing a currency crisis that severely devalued the rupiah. Weeks of indecision went by as Suharto and his advisors considered the terms offered by the International Monetary Fund in exchange for assistance in arresting the plunge. Finally Suharto closed sixteen insolvent banks and announced a series of austerity measures. This only accelerated the fall of the rupiah, as financial panic ensued and demonstrations erupted across the country. Suharto’s long reign was coming to an end. As intense pressure built on Suharto at this time, the Indonesian military abducted and killed several political activists. During the first months of 1998, military crackdowns resulted in hundreds of people being injured. Protesting students at Jakarta’s Trisakti University were shot by soldiers and more than 1,100 people were killed in Jakarta alone. Chinese women and children were made the target of a systematic campaign of murder and rape. Suharto resigned in May 1998 and was replaced as president by B. J. Habibie. The people of East Timor and their supporters overseas sensed the opportunity provided by the change in leadership. Students at the University of East Timor organized free speech forums nearly every day during the first two weeks of June 1998. They discussed the reform process and demanded the release of political prisoners. Protests in Dili were accompanied by protests in the Indonesian heartland of Java, where thousands of university students of East Timorese descent picketed the offices of the Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The military leadership, already unsettled by these mass mobilizations, was further stunned by a helicopter crash near Dili that killed most of its highranking officers in the military command responsible for East Timor. In his first television interview as president, Habibie had ruled out a referendum in East Timor. The increasing unrest in East Timor, the heightened international interest in post-Suharto Indonesia, and Habibie’s own need to establish his democratic credentials led him to offer what he called “special status” a week later, as long as East Timor was recognized as an integral part of the Republic of Indonesia. This offer was immediately rejected by the newly formed East Timorese Student Solidarity Council, which demanded a UN-supervised referendum on independence. The economic situation in Indonesia was plunging to new depths. In the second quarter of 1998, real GDP was 16.5 percent below that in the same period in 1997. The rupiah-to-dollar exchange rate was more than four times lower than in the previous year. Imported goods had become prohibitively expensive. As a consequence, total imports had fallen to

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almost half the precrisis level. Inflation was skyrocketing, the price of food was soaring, and the purchasing power of the rupiah was plummeting. Wage earners had lost more than a third of their real incomes. Domestic unrest was threatening to go out of control. To compound all of this, oil prices—a key source of government revenues—were stagnating at $10 to $12 per barrel. Meanwhile international activism about East Timor continued, a serious problem for President Habibie. Buffeted from all sides, he moved to take some more steam out of the issue by announcing the withdrawal of 1,000 combat troops from the territory, with more to leave soon after. Soon after, however, a Sydney-based activist named Andrew McNaughtan smuggled a large number of Indonesian army personnel records out of East Timor. The records showed that Indonesia’s claims of withdrawal and demilitarization in East Timor were lies. Shortly after this episode, the Dili massacre was commemorated by thousands of East Timorese, who gathered at the Santa Cruz cemetery and demanded self-determination. In December 1998, major demonstrations brought Dili to a halt, as proindependence youth commemorated the anniversary of Indonesia’s invasion with protests, roadblocks, and scuffles with Indonesian police. Sensing that the independence of East Timor was once again a live issue, Australian Prime Minister John Howard moved to assist the Indonesian government. He wrote to Habibie December 19, 1998, suggesting that “the East Timorese desire for an act of self-determination” could be addressed “in a manner that avoids an early and final decision.” Howard approvingly cited the Matignon Accords, which “enabled a compromise political solution to be implemented while deferring a referendum on the final status . . . for many years.” (Only weeks before, Alexander Downer had celebrated the tenth anniversary of the Matignon Accords, which had been signed between the government of France and constituencies in New Caledonia. The Accords had effectively deferred a decision on New Caledonia’s final status for more than a decade.) Indonesia, too, Howard suggested, could adopt the formula of “a substantial period of autonomy” followed by “an act of self-determination by the East Timorese at some future time” (DFAT 2001). An electronic copy of his letter was transmitted by cable to Australia’s ambassador in Jakarta; the original arrived later, via diplomatic bag. The ambassador presented the cable to President Habibie, who rejected it angrily. Apparently he was annoyed by the colonial analogy with New Caledonia. However, he and his closest advisers had played no part in the decision to invade East Timor, yet they were bearing the diplomatic burden it had caused. When the original arrived via diplomatic bag, Habibie scribbled his thoughts on it and sent copies to five ministers: “if the question of East Timor becomes a burden to the struggle and image of the Indonesian

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people and if, after 22 years, the East Timorese people cannot feel united with the Indonesian people . . . it would be reasonable and wise if . . . East Timor can be honourably separated from the unitary nation of the Republic of Indonesia” (Greenlees and Garran 2002: 87–101). Habibie discussed with members of his cabinet and his close advisers the idea of a rapid process of separation via a referendum. Extensive discussions occurred at the meeting of the cabinet’s Political and Security Committee on January 25 and two days later at a meeting of the full cabinet. Most cabinet members were of the view that Indonesia would win the referendum. Much later, Foreign Minister Ali Alatas recalled that most members of cabinet “were then very convinced we would win the referendum. Everything was painted with optimism” (Tempo 18–24 September 2000). Foreign Minister Ali Alatas and Information Minister Yunus Yosfiah announced on January 27, 1999, that the East Timorese would be given the choice of staying within Indonesia or obtaining independence. To ensure that the ballot delivered a result in favor of autonomy, the Indonesian military, or Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI) began to intensify operations under the guise of proxy forces known as “militias.” On April 6, 1999, a number of militia went to Liquiça village, accompanied by army and police. They surrounded a church where villagers were sheltering, dragged two priests out of the church compound, and took them to the local military district headquarters. Once the priests were removed, Indonesian troops began to throw tear gas into the church. When the refugees ran out, blinded and trying to save themselves, the militia rushed toward them. Women and children were attacked with fists, sticks, rifle butts, stones, arrows, and machetes. More than fifty people died and seven were injured during this attack. Afterward, the militia forced the local people to hoist the Indonesian national flag. Eleven days after the Liquiça massacre, militia groups in Dili attacked the houses of prominent independence supporters and the local newspaper office. At that moment, the Irish Foreign Minister David Andrews was in Dili on a scheduled visit. Andrews was accompanied by Tom Hyland of the East Timor Ireland Solidarity Campaign, which had been instrumental in building support for East Timor in the European Union. Andrews ended his visit immediately and returned to Jakarta, where he raised the alarm about the mass murders. Hyland did the same and rapidly escalated the international pressure on Indonesia. In circumstances of military-backed terror, the United Nations sponsored talks between Portugal and Indonesia in order to discuss the modalities for the ballot. In particular, it sought to address crucial issues, including the disarmament of the militia, a reduction in the number of Indonesian military personnel, and the presence of international

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monitors. Indonesia refused to make precise commitments. On May 5, 1999, Portugal and Indonesia signed a formal agreement at UN headquarters in New York. The “May 5 Agreement,” as it came to be known, provided for an autonomy proposal to be put to the East Timorese people. If they accepted this proposal, the East Timor issue would be considered solved once and for all. If they rejected it, authority would be transferred to the United Nations, allowing East Timor to begin its passage to independence. Crucial to what would follow, Indonesia would have complete responsibility for maintaining security. The UN Assistance Mission in East Timor (UNAMET) began arriving in late May. Its electoral teams were supported by 300 unarmed international civilian police and, subsequently, 50 military liaison officers. In addition, however, there was an altogether new factor—the influx of observers from international civil society and of international media contingents. Their presence was in sharp contrast to the strict controls previously placed on the territory by the Indonesian authorities. It became difficult, perhaps impossibly so, for the Indonesian authorities to convince the international community that the military was a force for peace, rather than the main source of repression and violence. The unprecedented foreign presence began steadily to uncover evidence that the Indonesian military was recruiting, arming, training, and organizing the militias. UNAMET accredited 600 journalists, nearly 2,300 observers, nearly 500 international observers, around 1,700 East Timorese and Indonesian nongovernmental observers, as well as a range of other civil society groups (CAVR 2005: Vol. 3, pp. 136–137). On the day of the ballot (August 30, 1999), the TNI’s control over the militia was demonstrated by the near-total absence of intimidation. There was a huge turnout of voters, and the results were announced on Saturday, September 4, 1999. Despite the climate of fear and intimidation, the onesided pre-ballot election campaign, the presence of dubious voters from West Timor, and the fact that many voters did not believe their votes were secret, 78.5 percent of registered voters opted for independence from Indonesia. Once the ballot results were announced, the Indonesian authorities moved rapidly to reverse them by creating new demographic facts on the ground. They evacuated foreign observers to Australia and drove East Timorese across the border to West Timor. Despite the dramatic scenes of human suffering and violent imagery, the execution of the terror campaign was carefully controlled; the Indonesian military was attempting to remove all foreigners from East Timor so that it could execute its plan without the impediment of outside attention. The campaign would work in the following sequence:

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1. The militia proxies would contain and remove foreign observers. 2. With foreigners unable to report, the militia would attack the local population and use transport and logistics assets to move them across the border. 3. FALINTIL would be drawn into a conventional war. 4. The TNI would announce that it was forced to intervene between the “factions,” and then, freed from restraints, it would attack and destroy FALINTIL in conventional warfare. 5. The authorities would create new facts on the ground, ensuring that the results of the ballot were irreversibly overturned. Step 1: Foreigners were treated very differently than native East Timorese. They were intimidated and corralled into confined areas where they could not provide eyewitness reports to the outside world, but they were largely unharmed. Ian Martin, the head of UNAMET, ordered the evacuation of UN staff, journalists, and observers from the besieged compound on September 8 (Martin 2001: 98–99). This evacuation would have resulted in the rape or murder of the 1,500 refugees sheltering there. Outraged, the international staff collectively refused to be evacuated until all of the refugees had first been taken to safety (Martinkus 2002: 24–25; Christalis 2002: 236–248). As a consequence, the refugees were airlifted to Darwin, Australia. It was only when this evacuation was guaranteed that the international staff left the compound. Step 2: In contrast to foreign observers, East Timorese were attacked and forced out of their homes. They were rounded up and taken via land and sea transport to West Timor and elsewhere. Approximately 70 percent of the buildings in East Timor were destroyed. Vital infrastructure was crippled, leaving Dili and major towns without running water, electricity, or telephones. Approximately 250,000 people were driven across the border. Step 3: The terror campaign tried to provoke FALINTIL into a desperate retaliation, thereby drawing it into something approaching conventional warfare, where the TNI clearly had the advantage. FALINTIL was coming under severe pressure, and its operational commander, Taur Matan Ruak, conveyed this pressure to Xanana Gusmao by satellite telephone. Gusmao implored him to stay in the cantonments, and, after further frantic messages, Taur Matan Ruak agreed (Greenlees and Garran 2002: 231). Step 4: The TNI strategy failed at this step; it was unable to go any further, and the group was compelled to retreat from East Timor once and for all. It came under overwhelming international pressure, particularly from the United States, which advised the Indonesian military at the highest level that the time had come for it to withdraw. Admiral Dennis

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Blair, commander of the U.S. forces in the Pacific, informed Indonesia’s defense minister and military chief, General Wiranto, that the United States was suspending its military ties with Indonesia. U.S. Defense Secretary William Cohen warned that there would be serious economic consequences. State Department spokesman James Rubin warned Indonesia publicly that its relations with the international community, including the United States, were at risk. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Hugh Shelton applied further pressure to General Wiranto. President Clinton himself warned that “if Indonesia does not end the violence, it must invite—it must invite—the international community to assist in restoring security” (Clinton September 9, 1999a; emphasis in the original). He also accused the TNI of direct involvement: “It is clear the Indonesian military is aiding and abetting the militia violence . . . This is simply unacceptable” (Clinton September 9, 1999b). Finally U.S. ambassador Richard Holbrooke warned Indonesia at the UN Security Council that it faced the point of no return in international relations. Indonesia’s resistance ended within hours. On September 12, 1999, Habibie emerged from a special cabinet meeting, stood alongside Wiranto, and announced that his government had decided to allow a UN force into East Timor. Wiranto’s presence beside Habibie sent a clear signal that the TNI had agreed to support the decision.

CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY Indonesia’s first civilian defense minister, Juwono Sudarsono, unwittingly conceded that his country had committed state-sponsored terror, saying that senior military personnel “were just carrying out state policy” (Sudarsono February 28, 2000). As Indonesian forces were leaving East Timor and command was being transferred to the international peacekeeping force, Indonesia’s National Commission on Human Rights established the Special Team to Investigate Human Rights Violations in East Timor. The team was composed of leading Indonesian figures such as Marzuki Darusman, Albert Hasibuan, Asmara Nababan, Kusparmono Irsan, H. S. Dillon, Munir, Todung Mulya Lubis, Nursyahbani Katjasungkana, and Zoemrotin K. Susilo. Despite its limited mandate (it would not consider the twentyfour-year occupation, but only the past nine months from January 1999 until the departure of Indonesian forces), its official report was a courageous and honest statement of the facts and is worth recounting in some detail. The report concluded that There was a strong relationship and linkage between the Indonesian military, the police, the government bureaucracy, and the militias.

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The violence was not caused by a civil war but was the result of a systematic campaign of violence. There was evidence of actions that could be classified as gross human rights violations for which the state is responsible. There was evidence of crimes that could be classified as crimes of universal jurisdiction including systematic and mass murder; extensive destruction, enslavement, forced deportations and displacement and other inhumane acts committed against the civilian population (KPP-HAM 2000).

The report identified three classes of perpetrators: Those who committed crimes directly, including militia members, Indonesian military and police. Those who ran the field operations in the civilian bureaucracy including district heads, the governor and local military and local police officials. Those who held responsibility for security policy, including high level military officials who were involved and knew about the reign of violence but failed to do anything to prevent it (KPP-HAM 2000).

The report urged the parliament and the government to “form a Human Rights Court with the authority to try the perpetrators of human rights violations and crimes against humanity” that occurred “in the past as well as those that have occurred in East Timor to the present” (KPPHAM 2000). At the international level, the UN Commission on Human Rights responded to the grave violations of human rights by resolving that “all persons who committed or authorized violations of human rights or international humanitarian law were individually responsible and accountable for those violations and that the international community will exert every effort to ensure that those responsible were brought to justice” (UN CHR 27 September 1999). It appointed an International Commission of Inquiry into East Timor, with a mandate to gather information on “possible violations of human rights acts which might constitute breaches of international humanitarian law” and to bring its conclusions to the Secretary-General, who would recommend subsequent action. This Commission reported that its members “were confronted with testimonies surpassing their imagination” (International Commission of Inquiry January 6, 2000: para 34). It recommended that the United Nations should establish an international human rights tribunal to bring perpetrators of serious violations to justice. Alarmed, the Indonesian government moved to head off a truly independent and credible tribunal, establishing instead a so-called Ad

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Hoc Human Rights Court in Jakarta. When it commenced hearings in 2002, it was denounced as a sham by the U.S. State Department and others. Eighteen defendants were indicted for failing to prevent crimes against humanity, rather than for committing such crimes. Twelve of them were acquitted at trial, and the others had their convictions later overturned on appeal. The Indonesian authorities had been hoping that those acquitted would be able to avail themselves of the protection of the constitutionally guaranteed principle of ne bis in idem—which prevents a person from being judged twice for the same criminal conduct rather than the same crime (UN Commission of Experts May 26, 2005). Although the principle is widely recognized in international human rights law, there are, in fact, two exceptions: “shielding” and “due process.” The former applies when the proceedings have the purpose of shielding the defendant from genuine criminal responsibility. The latter applies when the proceedings are not conducted independently or impartially in accordance with norms of due process. Both exceptions apply to the Ad Hoc Human Rights Court, meaning that those acquitted are still able to face a credible court, despite the Indonesian authorities’ efforts. Another source of legal authority arose out of the UN Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET), which was established October 25, 1999, by the UN Security Council. UNTAET had the authority for all legislative and executive matters in East Timor, including the administration of justice. It established the Special Panels for Serious Crimes, the Serious Crimes Unit, and the Defence Lawyers Unit (DLU). There were formidable obstacles facing these institutions. Instead of conducting the prosecutions of suspected Indonesian war criminals at an international tribunal in an established venue such as The Hague, the Special Panels for Serious Crimes was established within the impoverished local structure of the Dili District Court. Similarly, the Serious Crimes Unit was established within the Office of the General Prosecutor, Dr. Longuinhos Monteiro. When the Serious Crimes Unit requested the Special Panels for Serious Crimes to issue warrants for Yayat Sudrajat (the military intelligence chief in East Timor) and Wiranto (the commander of the Indonesian military), the request was declined. The Serious Crimes Unit then filed supporting materials containing 1,500 witness statements. The matter was transferred to an international judge, Philip Rapoza, who issued arrest warrants for both men on May 10, 2004. Dr. Monteiro was summoned to the office of President Gusmao and summarily informed that such actions would harm East Timor’s relationship with its powerful neighbor, Indonesia. The view of the government of East Timor was that it

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could not carry such a heavy diplomatic burden on its own and that the United Nations should bear this responsibility. In March 2005 the Indonesian authorities made another attempt to evade an international tribunal, forming a Commission on Truth and Friendship (CTF) with the government of East Timor. Human rights organizations and other civil society groups in Indonesia, as well as those in East Timor, objected to this Commission. Its proceedings quickly descended into farce, with senior Indonesian leaders and officials claiming that the atrocities were everyone else’s fault but their own. On one occasion, the behavior of Indonesian co-chairman Benjamin Mangkoedilaga resulted in all East Timorese commission members remaining silent in protest. The CTF can do little other than recommend amnesties; it cannot recommend prosecution or other judicial measures, and it has no power to compel testimony or cooperation. In May 2007 a worldwide coalition of three dozen human rights organizations, led by groups from Indonesia and East Timor, wrote an open letter to the presidents of Indonesia and Timor-Leste, calling on them to close the CTF. In November 2007 more than sixty human rights organizations around the world wrote to the UN Security Council, which was visiting East Timor, to deliver meaningful justice to the East Timorese. In July 2001 the most detailed attempt to examine what happened under the occupation was conducted by the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in East Timor (known by its Portuguese initials, CAVR). It was established as an independent statutory authority, in July 2001 by the UN Transitional Administration in East Timor, and was mandated to, among other things, inquire into human rights abuses committed by all sides between April 1974 and December 1999. Its official report, Chega! (Portuguese for “Enough!”), was written by national and international staff of the Commission, working under the direction and supervision of the CAVR’s seven East Timorese commissioners. There were certain unique aspects to Chega! that benefited from scientifically defensible estimates of the number of East Timorese killed during the occupation. There had been numerous reports of mass killings and famine during the twenty-four years of Indonesian rule, but various apologists for the occupation had questioned estimates that as many as 200,000 East Timorese may have perished. Chega! settled the matter definitively, thanks to the assistance of Benetech, a California-based nonprofit organization devoted to using technology in the service of humanity. Its Human Rights Data Analysis Group (HRDAG) worked with the CAVR to establish a firm foundation of fact, providing the most accurate and scientifically precise figures possible. It did so by building on a database of three

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independent sources: narrative statements, a retrospective mortality survey, and a census of public graveyards (Silva and Ball February 9, 2006). The first source consisted of approximately 8,000 narrative testimonies in which patterns of abuses, such as arbitrary detentions, torture, rape, and massive property destruction, were reported to the CAVR. In turn, the CAVR developed a Human Rights Violations Database, thus enabling it to perform the functions of community socialization and the promotion of truth seeking, reconciliation, and reception. The second source was a survey of 1,396 households that were randomly selected from East Timor’s approximately 180,000 households. Each sampled household gave information about its residence pattern and the household members and relatives who died during the occupation. Although these mortality surveys are standard procedure in governmental statistics, no truth commission had previously conducted one. The third source was the graveyard census database, developed by visiting all public cemeteries in East Timor and recording the name, date of birth, and date of death for every grave for which the information was available. The researchers established that there were approximately 319,000 graves in the sample, of which about half had complete name and date information. Once again, although this is standard procedure in the field of historical demography, no truth commission had previously conducted one. The CAVR’s meticulous study found that the “minimum-bound for the number of conflict-related deaths was 102,800 (+/– 12,000),” and that the death toll may have been as high as 183,000. Sarah Staveteig, a demographer at the University of California-Berkeley, applied standard demographic methods of indirect estimation and found that “a reasonable upper bound on excess deaths during the period [was] 204,000 (± 51,000)” (Staveteig 2007: 23). Staveteig considered it “likely that 204,000 is a conservative upper-bound estimate on excess mortality” (Staveteig 2007: 25). The CAVR made a number of other findings about life in East Timor under the Indonesian military occupation, including the following: • The Indonesian security forces engaged in widespread and systematic rape and other forms of sexual violence throughout the entire period of the occupation, openly and with official compliance. • The people of East Timor experienced repeated periods of displacement, causing major disruption to those affected, including major loss of life. • Arbitrary detention, often involving torture and ill-treatment, was the most common violation suffered by the East Timorese people.

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• The Indonesian security forces violated the laws of war or Geneva Conventions in a systematic and widespread manner. • Children suffered the full range of human rights violations, including killings, sexual violence, displacement, and detention.

UN TRANSITIONAL ADMINISTRATION On October 25, 1999, the UN Security Council established the UNTAET with a mandate to “provide security and maintain law and order, ensure the coordination and delivery of humanitarian assistance, rehabilitation and development assistance; establish an effective administration; assist in the development of civil and social services; support capacity-building for self-government; and assist in the establishment of conditions for sustainable development” (UN 1999). In other words, UNTAET did not assist the administration of East Timor but was itself the administering authority. Composed of personnel from more than 100 countries (with the language and cultural problems this implied), UNTAET commenced work inside East Timor on November 19, 1999, and was immediately confronted with several major problems. Although East Timor had been promised approximately $500 million in development aid, it had received only $22 million by March 2000. The funding shortage exacerbated the difficulties caused by the Indonesian authorities’ widespread destruction of the territory’s infrastructure, their evacuation of staff who had previously provided essential services, and their deportation (ethnic cleansing) of 250,000 East Timorese across the border into West Timor. All of these actions had caused a humanitarian crisis. Led by the Transitional Administrator, Sergio Vieira de Mello, UNTAET consisted of military personnel, governance and public administration, and humanitarian assistance and emergency rehabilitation. On February 23, 2000, the command of military operations was formally transferred from the peacekeeping force (InterFET) to UNTAET. UNTAET’s military component was disproportionately large, with nearly 9,000 troops and 200 military observers. UNTAET hired East Timorese civilians, but they were largely employed in low-level positions with little authority to make decisions. They received less than 1 percent of the total budget and were paid approximately twenty to thirty times less than the international staff, most of whom did not possess an adequate knowledge of East Timor’s socioeconomic conditions. Obviously, given the paucity of infrastructure inside East Timor, UNTAET spent a significant proportion of its budget on overseas imports in order to repair office buildings, buy supplies and equipment, and support its staff logistically.

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UNTAET faced the additional problem of having to manage conflicts that were emerging within East Timorese society as a result of the twenty-four-year Indonesian occupation. Those who had collaborated with the occupying forces were resented by those who had not, yet the former had, in some cases, become more skilled than the latter, precisely because of their collaboration. Land ownership had also become contentious with the departure of the occupying forces because Portuguese-era titles had been altered as a result of the politics of the Indonesian occupation. Xanana Gusmao returned to East Timor in October 1999 and met the Transitional Administrator, Sergio Vieira de Mello, soon after. José RamosHorta returned to Dili after twenty-four years of exile December 1, 1999. The next day, UNTAET established a fifteen-member National Consultative Council (NCC) consisting of UNTAET representatives, the National Council of Timorese Resistance, the Catholic Church, as well as groups that had supported integration with Indonesia. The NCC monitored UNTAET and advised on preparations for full independence. It decided, controversially, that Portuguese would become East Timor’s national language. In June 2000 UNTAET and East Timorese leaders agreed on the formation of a new transitional coalition government. The cabinet of this government included four East Timorese cabinet ministers: Joao Carrascalao (president of the UDT and vice-president of the CNRT, who was given responsibility for infrastructure), Mari Alkatiri (secretarygeneral of FRETILIN, who was made Minister for Economic Affairs), Father Filomeno Jacob (Social Affairs), and Ana Pessoa (Internal Administration). Xanana Gusmao would be consulted informally by the Transitional Administrator on political matters. On July 14, 2000 UNTAET approved the establishment of a thirtythree-member advisory National Council, with the NCC to be dissolved at the first meeting of the advisory Council. However, on October 20, 2000, a thirty-six-member advisory National Council was announced. It replaced the NCC on the same day. Three days later, Xanana Gusmao was elected leader of the new National Council. He resigned from the leadership March 28, 2001, saying that he did not want to stand as a candidate for the country’s presidency. On July 15, 2001, the National Council was dissolved. Formal campaigning began for elections to the Constituent Assembly, which was required to draft a constitution. The election for the Constituent Assembly was held August 30, 2001. Earlier that month, Xanana Gusmao changed his mind and agreed to contest the presidential election after most political parties had expressed their wish that he fill that role. The Constituent Assembly was to consist of eighty-eight members. At the August elections, FRETILIN won fifty-five of the eighty-eight seats. Other major winners included the Democratic Party (PD), which won seven seats, and the Social Democratic Party and the Timor Social

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Democratic Association, each of which won six seats. Mari Alkatiri became the head of the new cabinet, which was announced in September 2001. FRETILIN obtained nine cabinet posts, PD obtained two, and the remaining nine were distributed among independents and persons with recognized expertise in a certain area. The Assembly was originally supposed to write a constitution, and it did so. Approved on March 22, 2002, the constitution made provisions for a parliamentary government with fifty-two to sixty-five parliamentarians and a popularly elected president; the latter would have only a symbolic role. Having written a constitution, the Assembly then declared that it would itself be the parliament until the next elections in 2007. On April 14, 2002 Xanana Gusmao was elected president of East Timor. A formal independence ceremony was held May 20, 2002, the anniversary of the founding of the Timorese Social Democratic Association (the forerunner to FRETILIN). Just before the ceremony got underway, six Indonesian warships arrived unannounced and uninvited. The Indonesian authorities justified their presence on the grounds that they were protecting the Indonesian president, Megawati Sukarnoputri, who was attending the independence ceremony. Their presence was regarded as an attempt by the Indonesian military to intimidate the newly independent Democratic Republic of East Timor. Some observers also believed that their presence may have been intended to provoke anti-Megawati demonstrations, thereby embarrassing her into discontinuing her official visit. After some behind-the-scenes diplomacy, however, the warships withdrew peacefully and the ceremony went ahead without further incident.

POST-INDEPENDENCE CHALLENGES The newly independent republic faced a number of severe challenges. In addition to the widespread destruction, the skills shortage, and the land ownership issue, there was the problem of high unemployment and a culture of impunity that encouraged spontaneous violations of law and order. Language was another complicating factor, with the better-skilled returnees from overseas unable to speak Bahasa Indonesia and the younger generation unable to speak Portuguese, which had become the official language. The government was widely regarded as being dominated by Portuguese-speaking returnees. Although there was a great deal of truth to this perception, it must be emphasized that most of these politicians had not luxuriated in comfort overseas but had campaigned vigorously for East Timor’s independence. Furthermore, they possessed many of the critical managerial and technical skills that most East Timorese did not; Indonesia had not developed such skills in its East Timorese

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citizenry. Many former FALINTIL fighters had not been given employment in the new defense force. They openly expressed their dissatisfaction at the new defense force and formed shadowy groups of their own, such as Colimau 2000 and Sagrada Familia. All of these tensions came to a head in December 2002, when two days of riots in the capital of Dili resulted in the burning of supermarkets, shops, hotels, and the house of Prime Minister Mari Alkatiri. Protesting students were fired on by police, and UN troops were called in to impose an uneasy peace. Following the riots, the United Nations changed its plans for full withdrawal, agreeing instead to retain two peacekeeping battalions along the East Timor–Indonesia border. The difficulties that all of these events caused for the new government were evident in November 2003, when East Timor’s first opinion poll showed very low approval of the FRETILIN government. Insecurity remained a major concern, as did dissatisfaction in the areas of education, health, and the courts. The accuracy of the opinion poll was driven home the next month, when a group composed of former FALINTIL fighters began a rebellion in the western provinces along the border. Known as the Committee for the Popular Defense of the Republic of East Timor, it declared that it would seize power after the departure of the United Nations, whose mandate was scheduled to end in May 2004. The national police moved in to restore order, doing so with a brutality that raised serious concerns about its lack of discipline and respect for the rule of law. As a sizeable and well-equipped force, the national police soon came to be seen as a potential rival to the country’s defense force. Following these events, the UN Security Council extended its presence in East Timor for a further year but reduced its size to slightly more than 600 personnel. The government of East Timor was given the responsibility for the country’s defense and police force. On May 20, 2005, the UN mission came to an end, and the final troop withdrawal was completed the next month. Only a small UN presence, via the UN Office in Timor Leste (UNOTIL), was scheduled to remain until May 2006. In February 2006, however, nearly a third of the East Timorese military went on strike. Drawn from the western part of the country, they claimed that they faced discrimination in promotion and conditions of service relative to soldiers from the east. The government ordered these troops back to their barracks. When they refused, they were sacked. They came to the capital, Dili, where they were joined by unemployed youth and members of Colimau 2000. A riot ensued, resulting in several deaths. The sacked soldiers took to the hills, and fighting broke out between themselves and troops loyal to the government. Soon East Timor’s security force disintegrated as open conflict broke out between the police and the military. The government requested foreign

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intervention. This was provided by an Australian-led international force, which arrived in-country May 26, 2006. Under international supervision, parliamentary and presidential elections were held in 2007. These were largely free, fair, and peaceful, and resulted in Xanana Gusmao becoming prime minister and José Ramos-Horta becoming president. Although tensions have since subsided and a process of negotiation and reconciliation is underway, the international force is expected to stay in East Timor for several years into the future. The impunity enjoyed by Indonesian military personnel who committed war crimes and crimes against humanity remains a major contributor to the sense of trauma felt by many East Timorese, to say nothing of the harm that it is doing to Indonesia’s own democratic transition.

Select Bibliography Alatas, A., “Santa Cruz Incident a Turning Point in Our Diplomacy” in Tempo (September 18–24, 2000). CAVR. “Chega!, The Report of the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in East Timor” (Dili, East Timor: 2005). (http://www. cavr-timorleste.org/chegaReport.htm) Christalis, I., Bitter Dawn (London: Zed Books, 2002). Clinton, W., “Statement on East Timor” (September 9, 1999a). (http://www. clinton6.nara.gov/1999/09/1999-09-09-statement-by-the-president-on-easttimor.html, accessed October 18, 2002) Clinton, W., “Statement on East Timor” (Voice of America: September 9, 1999b). DFAT, East Timor in Transition: An Australian Policy Challenge (Canberra: Brown and Wilton, 2001). Djahidin, Y., “US-Indo Has Been Acting Like the Second Embassy for US-Indon Ties” in The Jakarta Post (September 10, 2002). Greenlees, D., and R. Garran, Deliverance (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2002). Hill, H., “The NGOs and East Timor” in East Timor Today (Australian Council for Overseas Aid: ACFOA Development Dossier No. 1, July 1980). International Commission of Inquiry, “Report to the UN Secretary-General of the International Commission of Inquiry on East Timor” (New York: United Nations, January 6, 2000). Jones, S., East Timor: The November 12 Massacre and Its Aftermath (New York: Asia Watch Report, 1991). Kammen, D., “Master-Slave, Traitor-Nationalist, Opportunist-Oppressed: Political Metaphors in East Timor” in Indonesia, Vol. 76 (New York: Cornell University, 2003). Kingsbury, D., and M. Leach, eds. East Timor: Beyond Independence (Clayton, Australia: Monash University Press, 2007). KPP-HAM, “Report of the Commission for Human Rights Violations in East Timor,” 2003. (http://www.jsmp.minihub.org/Resources/2000/KPP% 20Ham%20%28e%29.htm)

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Martin, I., Self-Determination in East Timor: The UN, the Ballot and International Intervention (London: Lynne Rienner, 2001). Martinkus, J., “Review of Deliverance” in Australian Book Review, No. 244 (2002). Milewski, T., “Forces of Journalism” in Pue W. Wesley, ed. Pepper in Our Eyes: The APEC Affair (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2000: 143–158). Pinto, C., and M Jardine, East Timor’s Unfinished Struggle: Inside the Timorese Resistance (Boston: South End Press, 1997). Robinson, P., Portugal 1974–75: Popular Power, in C. Barker, ed. Revolutionary Rehearsals (London: Haymarket, 2002). Shoesmith, D., ed. The Crisis in Timor-Leste: Understanding the Past, Imagining the Future (Darwin, Australia: Charles Darwin University Press, 2007). Silva, R., and P Ball, “The Profile of Human Rights Violations in Timor-Leste, 1974–1999” (report by the Benetech Human Rights Data Analysis Group to the CAVR, February 9, 2006). Staveteig, S., “How Many Persons in East Timor Went ‘Missing’ during the Indonesian Occupation?: Results from Indirect Estimates” (Laxenburg, Austria: International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis, 2007). Sudarsono, J., “Interview with Jason Tedjasukmana” in Time Magazine, Vol. 155, No. 8 (February 28, 2000). UN, UN Security Council Resolution 1272 (New York: United Nations, October 25, 1999). UN CHR, “Resolution S–4/1 adopted by the Commission on Human Rights at its special session on the situation of human rights in East Timor” (New York: United Nations, September 27, 1999). UN Commission of Experts, “Report of the Commission of Experts to Review the Prosecution of Serious Human Rights in Timor Leste” (New York: United Nations, May 26, 2005). Wallace, A. R., The Malay Archipelago: The Land of the Orang-Utan, and the Bird of Paradise (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1869, 1962).

CHAPTER 3

Fiji Jon Fraenkel

When a third coup occurred in Fiji on December 5, 2006, many talked of a “coup culture” emerging in the Pacific Island state.1 In 1987, 2000, and 2006, governments were overthrown, in each case shortly after general elections. Initially, in 1987 and 2000, the rejection of the outcome at the polls had been on the part of indigenous Fijian extremists, who were intent on overthrowing governments that had been elected largely on the basis of Fiji Indian votes. But the military coup of 2006 overthrew a solidly ethnic Fijian-backed government. The tables had been turned. The victims of 1987 and 2000, who had long espoused the causes of democracy and the rule of law, were to assume positions in the post-2006 coup political order and to defend the military’s action as a necessary response to the shortcomings of ethnic Fijian post independence leadership. Speaking before the United Nations in September 2007, military commander and interim Prime Minister Frank Bainimarama declared his objective as a coup to end all coups: “to remove this coup culture and to commit to democracy and the rule of law, policies which promote racial superiority and further the interests of economic and social elites must be removed for once and for all” (Bainimarama 2007). The origins of Fiji’s coup culture lie deep in the country’s colonial and postcolonial past, but also in the way that political differences were negotiated in the postindependence era. The colonial division of labor— which initially brought the Fiji Indians to the sugar plantations in the second half of the nineteenth century while confining the indigenous Fijians to rural villages—ensured the emergence of an ethnic dimension to the country’s politics. By the same token, it cast the colonists, and the small but financially substantial local Europeans, in the role of mediators

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and conciliators, bearers of an adjudicating role that, in any case, imperial rule and the capitalist world order guaranteed them. When that mediating political role inevitably withered, with independence on the horizon, the bipolar ethnic dimension to Fiji’s politics strengthened and, owing to the absence of fruitful exploration of alternatives, became consolidated as the defining feature of the new order. At independence, Fiji was left with a communally based social framework and an institutional framework that presupposed continual ethnic Fijian rule. Whenever the cracks appeared, so too did the coups. And when the coups were done, the politicians who rose to prominence or regained the spotlight were invariably ethnic Fijians, who could legitimately claim to be mainstream leaders in their community. First, Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara, the prime minister from 1970 to 1987, was to reappear after the 1987 coup as interim prime minister and then as president. Sitiveni Rabuka, the 1987 coup leader, became prime minister in 1992, after the Great Council of Chiefs had endorsed his coup. And in the wake of yet another coup in May 2000, Laisenia Qarase emerged as prime minister. In each case, these Fijian leaders firmly believed that indigenous Fijian political dominance was an essential feature of stable constitutional rule in Fiji and that Fiji Indian leaders were best advised to accommodate. Between Mara, Rabuka, and Qarase, there were differences, but each cherished a stable political order that was basically Fijian, leaving the Fiji Indians to play a bit part in a Fijian-dominated political order. The seizure of power in 2006, the “coup to end all coups” was, in the view of its architect, radically different from the coups of 1987 and 2000—and so it was, in terms of social base, ethos, and ideology. But beneath the lofty justifications of all three takeovers have been goals and self-serving intentions of power-hungry individuals, thrown into positions of leadership by circumstances. Despite insistence on the incarceration of previous makers of coups, such leaders soon seek amnesty for themselves, as did Bainimarama. Despite pre-coup claims that desperate circumstances justify extreme measures, the post-coup Bainimarama government was—unsurprisingly—quick to condemn any signs of post-coup destabilization, resistance, or disquiet. And despite its claim to be acting to uphold constitutionalism and the rule of law, the post-2006 government quickly sought new sources of legitimacy and moved to reconstruct the courts and to amend Fiji’s constitution. Such is standard fare in the repertoire of the making of coups, and in this sense, the coup of 2006 was no different. To see how Fiji got to such a point, in stark contrast to all of its Pacific Islands neighbors, requires some examination of the country’s social and political history. Fiji was colonized by the British in 1874, after the signing of a Deed of Cession by leading indigenous chiefs. The Crown Colony’s first

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governor, Sir Arthur Gordon, immediately forbade sales of indigenous lands to white planters and restricted indigenous Fijian employment on plantations. Most Fijians were kept in their villages, obliged to cultivate crops to pay taxes-in-kind under an officially recognized chiefly system. The workforce for the country’s expanding sugar industry was instead provided by recruiting indentured laborers from the Indian subcontinent. More than 60,000 laborers arrived between 1879 and 1916; of these, approximately 60 percent stayed. By 1946, Indians temporarily formed a majority of the population, although this lead was subsequently reversed by more rapid postwar expansion in the ethnic Fijian population and by the migration of more than 100,000 Indo-Fijians in the wake of the 1987 coup. Fiji today has a population of about 775,000: 57.3 percent indigenous, 37.6 percent Indian, and the remainder Chinese, European or partly European, or other Pacific Islander peoples (Census 2007). In its early years, the Gordon policy was to “ring-fence” Fijian society, permitting the indigenous people time to adjust to wider influences. During the decades before cession, ethnic Fijian population levels had fallen precipitously as a result of exposure to hitherto unknown infectious diseases and were to continue to fall over the first half century of colonial rule. In 1875, for example, one quarter of all Fijians died as a result of a measles epidemic. Gordon’s protectionist policy also aimed to restrain white settlers, who might otherwise have acquired ownership over the bulk of Fijian lands, and pressed the native population into plantation labor. Yet the pressures to open up Fijian land for foreign or, later, Indian acquisition remained strong. In the early years of the twentieth century, Governor im Thurn briefly allowed further land sales, before being stopped by the British House of Lords, acting on the advice of Sir Arthur Gordon (by then, Lord Stanmore). Although around 5 percent of Fiji’s land area became freeholdings often covering the best coastal or riverine lands, the overwhelming majority of the country’s land area was to remain inalienable native land, under the communal ownership of the mataqali (clan). By so protecting the indigenous community, colonial policy also ensured that access to land by migrants or Fiji Indians descended from migrants would be restricted. With the abolition of indenture in 1916, plantation laborers who declined to return to the Indian subcontinent found access to land difficult. During the 1920s, the big sugar milling company, the Colonial Sugar Refining Corporation (CSR), shifted away from involvement in plantation cultivation in favor of allowing Indian smallholders to supply sugar cane to one of their four big mills in Lautoka, Labasa, Rakiraki, or Ba. To do so, Indian cane farmers required access to land. Acquiring freehold land was expensive. Most such land was owned by Europeans or free Indian migrants who were often from Gujerat. Gujeratis, in particular, quickly

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rose to commercial prominence in the colony. In the wake of the Great Depression of the 1930s, they were able to acquire substantial assets from those European magnates who had, until then, dominated the colony’s commercial life. The colonial government and the CSR assisted Indian farmers to acquire leases on native-owned lands, often small 10-acre plots, and regimented their cultivation processes by outreach activities.

LAND POLICY Land policy became a major issue dividing Fijian and Indian political leaders, although there were efforts to find mutually suitable arrangements. In the 1940s Fijian chief and soldier Ratu Sir Lala Sukuna became the first Fijian to be brought into the colonial Executive Council. He was made Secretary of Native Affairs and successfully gained support in the Great Council of Chiefs for a policy of opening up undercultivated Fijian

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lands for Indian settlement. The Native Land Trust Board was formed to serve as an intermediary between Indian tenants and Fijian mataqali. It settled the terms for leasing, acquired the rents, and distributed them to Fijian chiefs and ordinary mataqali members. In 1966 the colonial government introduced the Agricultural Landlords and Tenants Ordinance (ALTO), in an initiative that continued a policy of statutory regulation of land leasing terms, rents, and other arrangements. In a country like Fiji, where political issues easily divided communities along ethnic lines, policies such as ALTO reinforced the likelihood of ethnic cleavages in the legislature. In the fraught atmosphere of mid-1960s Fiji, ALTO was depicted as a concession to the Fiji Indians, designed to compensate for the victory of indigenous Fijian leaders in talks held in London that were aimed at settling on suitable political institutions for the transition toward independence. Parliamentary oversight of land-leasing legislation continued to be a thorny question after independence in 1970. In 1976 the Agricultural Landlords and Tenants Act was widely viewed as a major concession by Ratu Mara’s governing Alliance Party, one which eased the way to lease renewal and security of tenure for Indian farmers. But it also became a major campaign issue for the newly formed Fijian Nationalist Party (FNP), under the leadership of Sakiasi Butadroka. The FNP managed to obtain 25 percent of the Fijian vote at the polls in April 1977, splitting support for Mara’s Alliance Party and giving a narrow and unexpected victory to the main Fiji Indian party, the National Federation Party (NFP). Governor General Ratu Cakobau resolved the resulting constitutional crisis by restoring defeated Prime Minister Ratu Mara at the head of a minority government, pending fresh elections in September 1977. This event gave an early indication that, if the Indian-backed parties were to emerge triumphant at the polls, there might be a coup d’état.

THE POLITICAL ORDER Gordon’s original legislative assembly consisted solely of the governor’s nominees, although some of these were appointed from among the white settler community. The Great Council of Chiefs was established to play an advisory role and to serve as the apex of a Fijian administration that spread through the provinces to the local-level tikina and the villages. In 1904 provision was made on the Legislative Council for two nominees of the Council of Chiefs and for six elected, nonofficial Europeans, although effective power remained with the smaller Executive Council. The Indian population was not granted representation until 1916, when a single Indian nominee was allowed. After 1929 three Indian representatives were elected from special “Indian” constituencies, with literacy tests

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and income qualifications to establish eligible voters. Indian hostility to communal rolls became central to the politics of the migrant-descended community, influenced by diaspora organizations in London and Kenya that considered communal rolls as symptomatic of colonial racism. In Fiji, however, communal rolls were strongly supported by the ethnic Fijian members of the Legislative Council and the Great Council of Chiefs. They feared that, on a common roll basis, the Fiji Indians might eventually use their increasing numerical advantage to take over the running of the government. Such fears grew when a Census of Population in 1946 showed that the Fiji Indians had indeed become a majority in the colony. The colonists first tried to handle these competing political pressures by insisting on support for “parity,” meaning an equal number of seats on the Legislative Council for the Fijian, Indian, and European communities, despite the latter’s far smaller numbers. In the mid-1960s, with decolonization already firmly on the political horizon, the colonial authorities attempted to arrive at a compromise between Fijian and Indian demands. In what was intended as a compromise between a fully and a wholly common roll system, so-called cross-voting constituencies were introduced in what remained a predominantly communal, roll-based electoral system. All voters had four votes: one in their own communal constituency and three more in common-roll constituencies in which the ethnicity of the candidate was required to be Fijian, Indian, or General. In a slightly modified form, this was the system that the British had left at independence. Although the objective was to encourage leaders of national standing to emerge in the cross-voting (or “national”) seats, in practice, Fiji’s ethnically based political parties tended to divide all the cross-voting constituencies, depending on which community had a majority in that constituency. In other words, any constituency with a Fijian majority tended to deliver a member of parliament (MP) who was associated with the major Fijian party, Ratu Mara’s Alliance. Any constituency with an Indian majority tended to return an MP who was affiliated with the major Indian party, the NFP. Both parties quickly became adept at finding “Uncle Tom”-type candidates from other ethnic groups. Race-based voting came to entail voting for parties because of the perceived ethnic slant of their platforms rather than their candidates’ racial origins. Because there were usually two large political parties, one representing each ethnic group, and because a “first-past-the-post” system was used, post independence elections tended to be decided in a very small subset of cross-voting constituencies in which the Fijians and Indians approached parity. In the fifty-two-member parliament of that time, Mara’s Alliance Party usually gained all twelve Fijian communal seats, and the opposition NFP invariably gained all twelve Indian communal seats. The remaining three communal seats belonged to the country’s

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overrepresented general voters, who normally sided with the Fijians. That skewed the system slightly toward Mara’s Alliance, but the design of the remaining twenty-five cross-voting constituencies slightly favored the NFP. This was because Fijians were more bunched together, for example in Lau, rather than having their numbers spread to guarantee smaller but still stable majorities in a larger number of seats. At most elections, the only really marginal seats were those in and around the capital, Suva, where the two ethnic groups made up roughly equal shares of the population. Winning other seats in the rival community’s heartlands depended on splits in the other party, with minor parties emerging to contest the dominance of the major party. In general, the Fijians were more likely to witness the emergence of splinter parties, usually representing provincial schisms or separatist goals espoused by politicians from western Viti Levu. As in the earlier case, a broader ethnonationalist splinter group also emerged in the 1970s, the Fijian Nationalist Party, and was able to split the Alliance vote in April 1977, ironically defeating its own objectives by enabling the NFP to acquire power. The divisive political incentives inherent in that first-past-the-post electoral system were evident in April 1977 when NFP politicians paid the deposits of the Fijian Nationalist Party in some seats because they hoped thereby to split the Alliance vote.

THE 1987 COUP In 1987 the Fiji Indian-backed parties were, for a second time, able to win the election, sending Ratu Mara’s Alliance Party to yet another defeat. This time it was a coalition between the NFP and the newly formed Fiji Labor Party (FLP) that emerged triumphant. Led by a Fijian, Dr. Timoci Bavadra, the FLP wanted to transcend the politics of race in favor of a class-based alliance between Fijians and Indians. The party had in its leadership a significant number of educated Fijians, as well as Fiji Indians, but its support base nevertheless remained predominantly in the Indian community. The FLP’s coalition, so soon after its inception, with the mainstream Indian party, the NFP, which was also the party of Gujerati business, undermined its claims to be a genuinely multiethnic party. At the 1987 polls, it secured only 9.4 percent of the Fijian vote but 81.5 percent of the Indian communal vote. As in previous elections, the overall outcome rested on results in the ethnically bipolar cross-voting constituencies around Suva, which the FLP–NFP was very narrowly able to win. In consequence, the coalition gained twenty-eight seats to the Alliance’s twenty-four and formed a government. Within a month, on May 14, 1987, Sitiveni Rabuka, then a lieutenantcolonel in Fiji’s Army, staged a coup d’état aimed at securing “a Fiji in

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which the Fijians will have no fear of being totally dominated by an immigrant race” (Islands Business 1987a: 7). The military derailed talks at Deuba aimed at returning to constitutional rule on September 25, 1987. The fear was that negotiations for restoring some form of constitutional democracy were derailing earlier “coup objectives” (Islands Business 1987b: 16). After Fiji was jettisoned from the Commonwealth, the country conditionally returned to civilian rule, under an administration headed by former prime minister, Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara. This was not accompanied by a reversion to the pre-coup political arrangements. The interim constitution of July 25, 1990 instead reserved the position of prime minister for an ethnic Fijian and introduced a new electoral system, under which voting was conducted exclusively along communal lines. Fijians cast their ballots only in thirty-seven specified “Fijian” seats and Indo-Fijians voted in twenty-seven specified “Indian” seats. Fijian political paramountcy had been built into the political system. Under the new constitution, Rabuka quickly emerged as Fiji’s key political figure of the 1990s. Sponsored by Fiji’s Great Council of Chiefs, he was elected to office as leader of the newly formed Soqosoqo ni Vakavulewa ni Taukei (SVT) in 1992 and again in 1994. The hard-line post-coup orientation was not long sustained, in part owing to pressures from abroad but also, importantly, because of the domestic difficulties of running the country without the consent of close to half of the population. In the mid-1990s, Rabuka, in co-operation with opposition leader Jai Ram Reddy, established a Joint Parliamentary Select Committee (JPSC) and a Constitutional Review Commission (CRC) to propose amendments to the “interim” 1990 constitution (Lal 1998). In its early stages, it appeared likely that the review process would make only token changes to the 1990 constitution. The final bill, for example, nearly doubled the number of “reserved” seats, rejected the CRC’s proposals for a partially elected Senate, and was clearly aimed at securing continued Fijian political rule, although with the NFP henceforth playing a junior role in government. In his address to the SVT caucus May 19, 1997, Rabuka, under fire from critics from the Fijian Association and Nationalist Party for “betraying the Fijian cause,” made it clear that he anticipated a prompt SVT return to power in any postconstitutional amendment election, as indeed appeared likely at that time: “I believe that if we, the Fijian people, can stand united in politics, we should be able to assure ourselves a continuing numerical majority representation in the House of Representatives as well as in the Senate, and through this, continued Fijian effective control of the government” (Lal 1998: 131). The 1997 constitution did, however, bring the balance between Indian and Fijian “reserved” seats closer to their respective proportions in the population and removed the ethnic qualification for the position

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of prime minister. The CRC had advised that Fiji’s presidency remain reserved for an ethnic Fijian. It also replaced the first-past-the-post electoral system with the Australian-style alternative vote system (Fraenkel and Grofman 2006: 623–651), and introduced a power-sharing provision, under which all parties with more than 10 percent of seats in parliament were proportionally entitled to participate in cabinet. Fiji’s power-sharing provision, influenced by that used in South Africa during the transition from apartheid, was intended as a “last resort” method of securing greater cooperation in policymaking in Fiji. The amended constitution was unanimously passed through Fiji’s House of Representatives on July 3, 1997, and subsequently endorsed by Fiji’s Great Council of Chiefs. At the first election under the new system, the FLP unexpectedly obtained an absolute majority, with thirty-seven seats in the seventyone-member parliament. The Rabuka–Reddy coalition had previously been widely expected to win the election. But Reddy’s NFP was left without a single seat, and Rabuka’s SVT obtained only eight seats, ten fewer than the Party might have obtained under the previous first-pastthe-post system. In other words, the SVT was ahead at the first count in eighteen seats but lost after the distribution of preferences. This was a highly controversial election. The FLP had managed to win, despite having only 1.9 percent of first preference Fijian votes. The FLP won all nineteen of the Indian communal seats, with 66 percent of the Indian vote. They also obtained eighteen of the twenty-five new open or common-roll seats, but, in most cases, these open constituency victories were reliant on transferred preference votes. And those transferred votes had gone to the FLP at the behest of party officials, rather than the voters themselves. Under Fiji’s unusual new voting system, voters had been entitled to mark the ballot paper either sequentially “below the line” or, more simply, by ticking next to a party symbol “above the line.” Most, about 92 to 95 percent, chose the latter. Above-the-line voters were taken to endorse lists of preferences lodged by political parties with the Elections Office. In many cases, it was the party officials who had the FLP high on their lists of preferences, and it was far from clear that voters, if left to their own devices, would have ranked candidates in a similar fashion. Under Fiji’s system, it was even possible to tick next to a party symbol and find one’s vote recorded in favor of a different party. If the first chosen party had submitted preferences for the constituency that ranked another party first, that vote would count for the other party. Coalition arrangements sometimes resulted in this type of first preference vote transfer. In fourteen of the 1999 open constituencies, this kind of above-the-line ranking of ballots decided the outcome in favor of the FLP.

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THE 2000 COUP The victory of the People’s Coalition in Fiji’s May 1999 election gave it only a year in office. On the first anniversary of that government, a group of armed men, led by George Speight, stormed parliament, taking Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry and most of his cabinet hostage. Three days later, President Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara announced that, even if the hostages were released, Chaudhry’s government would not be reinstated—a position that was quickly accepted by the Australian government. Within ten days, Mara had been forced to resign, the 1997 constitution had been abrogated by Fiji’s military, and Speight himself had been promised immunity from prosecution. The military nevertheless held out against Speight, encircling the parliamentary complex where he and his Fijian supporters held the former cabinet hostage. Only after fifty-six days were the hostages released, and soon afterward Speight and the rebels relocated to a school property on the outskirts of Suva. Owing to their failure to surrender weapons captured from the Republic of Fiji Military Forces (RFMF), soldiers eventually clamped down on Speight and his supporters. Speight himself was tried for treason, but a Prerogative of Mercy Commission commuted this to life imprisonment. The RFMF had played an ambivalent role during the 2000 crisis. The commander, Frank Bainimarama, had only recently acquired the top job in March 1999 after his predecessor, Ratu Epeli Ganilau, left the RFMF to fight the elections unsuccessfully. Some senior officers sympathized with the 2000 coup, including members of the Counter-Revolutionary Warfare Squadron (ironically formed to prevent future coups in the wake of the 1987 coup). Acting on directions from the president, Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara, Commodore Bainimarama stood out against the coup instigators, with the RFMF encircling parliament and seeking the release of George Speight’s hostages. Although Bainimarama himself abrogated the constitution and pressed President Mara to stand down on May 29, 2000, these concessions to Speight—aimed at restoring law and order— were widely viewed at the time as reluctantly made but inevitable. In the months that followed, only the RFMF stood between Speight and political victory. Once that crisis appeared concluded, it looked as if the RFMF, together with the courts, had been the principal agents of stabilization and had steered the country back to constitutional rule. The RFMF owed its origins to the colonial order but had become the most robust indigenous institution of the postindependence era. Fijian troops’ participation in the 1940s Pacific War and the 1950s Malaya Campaign had enabled the emergence of disciplined indigenous service structures, although with very little Fiji Indian participation.

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Nevertheless, at independence, the RFMF had only around 200 serving soldiers. By 1986 this number had grown to more than 2,000 owing to participation in UN peacekeeping missions, most notably in the Sinai and Lebanon. A year later, the 1987 coup provided a new domestic role for Fijian soldiers, and, with the military controlling government, the RFMF grew briefly to around 6,000, including reservists. In the mid1990s numbers fell back to around 3,500, but with another 2,500 or so reservists. In a country of less than 800,000, including around 400,000 ethnic Fijians, this entails a substantial military presence. Most indigenous families have members either in the army or the smaller naval forces. Particularly in urban Fiji, the army provided a disciplined structure that resembled the long-lost authority systems of rural Fijian villages. In addition, the RFMF offered reasonable income-earning possibilities and the possibility of still more lucrative participation in UN peacekeeping missions overseas. The possibilities of mercenary engagement with private security firms in Iraq also increasingly attracted Fijian soldiers, or ex-soldiers, abroad (MacLellan 2007: 47–62).

MAKINGS OF THE 2006 COUP The army’s role in defeating Speight, and in suppressing an associated mutiny at the Queen Elizabeth Barracks on November 2, 2000, cemented its growing reputation as a guardian of democracy and constitutionality in Fiji. In reality, the RFMF’s role was always more uncertain. After the defeat of George Speight, the military’s senior command had no desire or intention to restore the government of Mahendra Chaudhry. Instead, the RFMF and Fiji’s Great Council of Chiefs settled on former banker Laisenia Qarase as their choice for prime minister rather than Speight’s chosen candidate, Bau chief Adi Samanunu Cakobau. Qarase, it was hoped, would lead a group of respected but apolitical technocrats, who would run the country only on an interim basis until fresh elections could be held. But the new government, predictably, began to cherish its position in office. It faced major challenges, including stern opposition from the country’s Fiji Indian politicians, who, having seen their favored government overthrown, declined offers to participate in cabinet. In November 2000, a case brought by the Fiji Human Rights Commission, a statutory organization owing its origin to the 1997 constitution, asked the courts to find in favor of a Fiji Indian farmer, Chandrika Prasad, who claimed that his human rights had been violated during the mayhem arising from Speight’s coup. Justice Anthony Gates, sitting on the Lautoka High Court, upheld the 1997 constitution, rejecting the

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state’s arguments that this had been abrogated under the “doctrine of necessity.” The Qarase government appealed, resulting in a landmark case, heard before Fiji’s Court of Appeal in Suva in February 2001. The Court upheld Gates’s ruling, although for somewhat different reasons. The Court’s judgment, handed down March 1, 2001, proved to be a more significant watershed than most had anticipated. It ruled that the 1997 constitution, which Fiji’s citizens had thought abrogated by the RFMF on May 29, 2000, in fact remained in force. As a result, the government had three options: (1) to restore the ousted Chaudhry government; (2) to reconvene parliament to settle on a new prime minister, or (3) to head toward fresh elections. The president, Ratu Josefa Iloilo, reportedly preferred the second option, as did the RFMF, but Fiji’s Great Council of Chiefs settled on the third alternative. From an “interim” cabinet, Qarase’s government now became a “caretaker” one, and senior ministers forged a new political party, the Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua (SDL) to contest the August 2001 elections. With the advantages of incumbency, the SDL proved able to establish itself as the main Fijian-backed party, whereas deposed Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry’s FLP retained majority Indian support. But schisms within the Fijian community deprived the SDL of an outright majority. Opponents of the RFMF senior command on Fiji’s second largest island, Vanua Levu, had formed another new party in the run-up to the polls, the Conservative Alliance–Matanitu Vanua (CAMV), under the leadership of the Tui Cakau, Ratu Naiqama Lalabalavu, the paramount chief of one of Fiji’s three confederacies. The CAMV also obtained support in Tailevu, in the eastern part of Fiji’s main island, Viti Levu, where imprisoned coup leader George Speight was himself elected from his prison cell. Altogether, the CAMV won six seats, compared with the SDL’s thirty-two seats and the FLP’s twenty-eight seats. In the wake of the election, Qarase’s SDL formed a coalition government with the CAMV, much to the dismay of the RFMF. The FLP, despite its constitutional entitlement to participate, was left out of cabinet. To sustain its hard-line coalition allies—and also because the identity of the SDL had been framed by the fraught circumstances surrounding its initial formation—the government formulated a series of policies designed to placate indigenous discontent and forestall the possibility of future Speight-like uprisings. A Reconciliation, Tolerance and Unity (RTU) Bill offered to bring to a final conclusion prosecutions associated with the events of 2000, to reconcile coup perpetrators and victims and (with the assistance of a “Truth Commission”) to provide an amnesty for those convicted for their role in the insurrection of May to July 2000. A Qoliqoli Bill offered to return ownership of coastal and reef areas below

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the high water mark from the state to indigenous owners and an Indigenous Claims Tribunal Bill threatened to open a raft of cases into freehold land ownership in the pre-cession years, when ethnic Fijian communities felt themselves aggrieved. All of this was anathema to the RFMF and to the FLP, and in 2005 to 2006 a striking rapprochement occurred between these hitherto estranged opponents of the Qarase government. From late 2002, Commodore Bainimarama adopted an increasingly antagonistic stance toward the Qarase government. There were public showdowns, covered heavily by the media, over the renewal of the commander’s contract, over the RTU and Qoliqoli Bills, and over efforts to secure courts-martial against those CRW soldiers convicted for their part in the November 2000 mutiny. CEOs Chief Executive Officers in the Ministry of Home Affairs were a particular focal point of frictions, for they were, in theory, the commander’s in-line authorities. One such, Jeremaia Waqanisau, found himself whisked away to become ambassador to China to placate the commander. Another, Lesi Korovavala, himself a former military officer, went absent without leave shortly before the December 2006 coup. Above all, the Qarase government’s willingness to soften sentences on those convicted for involvement in the coup and mutinies of 2000 raised the ire of the commander. In the run-up to the election of May 2006, the commander sent troops into rural villages to preach the cause of good governance, to urge the need for a “cleanup” campaign and to convey a message of hostility to the Qarase government. The May 2006 polls, however, returned Qarase’s SDL with an increased majority. The FLP raised its share of the Indian vote to 81 percent, and the SDL obtained 80 percent of Fijian votes. That gave the SDL thirty-six seats and the FLP thirty-one, reflecting the fact that the Fijian share of the overall population was now considerably larger. Together with two sympathetic independents, the Qarase government had an absolute majority. Owing to the preelection liquidation of the CAMV and the poor showing of the FNP, the SDL no longer needed to orient toward placating Fijian ethnonationalist opinion. Instead, in contrast to its reluctance to embrace power sharing during 2001–2006, Qarase offered nine substantial portfolios to the FLP. Key members of the FLP leadership joined the cabinet, although FLP leader Mahendra Chaudhry remained outside and sought to destroy the arrangement, claiming that Qarase’s conciliatory approach was not genuine. By forming a multiparty cabinet, the commander’s criticisms were also temporarily silenced, in part also because of the persuasive peace making of Vice President Ratu Joni Madraiwiwi, who—as Roko Tui Bau—also held traditional authority over the commander. When the commander publicly attacked the government yet again in September 2006, the vice president endorsed the government’s

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long-running efforts to seek a Supreme Court ruling as regards the military’s constitutional position. Senior military personnel had held the view that the 1997 constitution had not displaced the earlier 1990 constitution provisions, which ensured that “the overall responsibility of the Republic of Fiji Military Forces” was “to ensure at all times the security, defence and well being of Fiji and its peoples.” The Qarase government wanted, even before the May 2006 election, to put this matter before the courts. While the commander was out of the country in October, the president sought to remove him from office and appoint instead Lieutenant Colonel Meli Saubulinayau as commander. But the takeover was badly mishandled, and other senior officers again rallied behind the commander and threatened a coup if the president issued such directions. The order was consequently withdrawn. Soon, Saubulinayau was removed from his position and placed under investigation. After each destabilizing crisis, the commander purged disloyal officers or moved them to positions without responsibility at Strategic Headquarters at Berkley Crescent. By December 2006, the senior RFMF ranks were exclusively staffed by rapidly promoted and extremely junior officers who owed their positions to the commander. Before departing to inspect Fiji’s Middle East troops in October, Bainimarama announced a three-week deadline for the Qarase government to comply with RFMF demands or resign. While he was away, heavily armed soldiers raided the Suva wharf to secure the release of a consignment of imported RFMF weaponry and ammunition being held by the customs authorities on instructions from police chief Andrew Hughes, who had insisted on clear military assurances that they would not be used for a coup. Hughes had also commenced investigations aimed at laying charges against the commander for “sedition,” entailing a hugely controversial raid on the president’s office—seeking incriminating evidence. By November, it was widely known in local diplomatic circles that there was going to be a military takeover and that nothing short of utter capitulation, resignation by Qarase, or installation of a puppet government could avert it. Commodore Bainimarama returned from his trip to the Middle East November 4, only to depart again for New Zealand to attend his granddaughter’s first Holy Communion. While he was there, the New Zealand government facilitated crisis talks between the commander and Qarase, who flew down for the purpose. At these, Fiji’s prime minister conceded to all of the main RFMF demands, agreeing to suspend action on controversial legislation, to take into account RFMF views when considering whether or not to renew Hughes’s contract, and even to accept advice from the director of public prosecutions or solicitor general, were it offered, to drop charges against Bainimarama publicly. Yet, as soon as

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Bainimarama returned to Fiji, he declared that Qarase was “lying” about the Wellington deal, that the bills should be withdrawn rather than stalled, and that nothing could stop the intended cleanup campaign. This time, the coup that so many had thought unlikely finally happened: Bainimarama, having himself rendered the government incapable of acting, claimed its incapacity as justification for the takeover. The illegality of his action was nevertheless clear. The 1997 constitution did not permit the president to dismiss a prime minister unless he has lost the confidence of the majority in parliament, and a dissolution is only possible on the advice of a legally appointed prime minister. With President Ratu Josefa Iloilo in place, it was probable that RFMF lawyers would suggest that certain “reserve powers” existed and that Ratu Josefa was acting under the “doctrine of necessity” to restore constitutional rule speedily in Fiji. Without the president in place, the doctrine of necessity was irrelevant; it was an unsuitable line of defense for a usurper, as the commander clearly was, and “necessity” could scarcely be invoked to tackle an RFMF-provoked crisis. The more plausible line of legal defense was to suggest that a “glorious revolution” had occurred and established a new constitutional order. But, for that, the commander needed to abrogate Fiji’s 1997 constitution, which he steadfastly refused to do throughout December to February, presumably because of the rift that this might create with Ratu Josefa Iloilo and other conditional proconstitution allies. Even with a formal abrogation of the constitution, the 2001 Chandrika Prasad case had left many in Fiji very familiar with the required tests of “the doctrine of effectiveness,”—namely, “acquiescence.” That perhaps helps explain the recurrent post-coup cycles of beatings and intimidation at the Queen Elizabeth Barracks in Nabua, directed against outspoken critics, lawyers, women’s rights activists, and SDL party officials, if not the considerable number of ordinary civilians—picked up from checkpoints, the police stations, or from their homes for various allegedly criminal activities. Fiji’s third coup left the country in a more troubled state than its predecessors had. In 1987, the post-coup circumstances had looked bleak. Yet by the mid-1990s, coup leader turned civilian, Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka, had come to view the new order that he helped assemble in 1990 as unsustainable and had veered toward a more balanced constitutional setup. The 2000 coup had failed, or, at least, so it appeared in the wake of the imprisonment of George Speight and most of his close accomplices— even if some of the hidden backers remained at large or were swiftly released on compulsory supervision orders. By contrast the 2006 coup, founded as it was on the view that the RFMF had an omnipresent and permanent security role to play as the guardian of “good governance,” was always less likely to be defeated or reversed, either by the courts or by fresh elections. Disincentives to future coups were weaker than they were

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after 2000, and the view that coups were a legitimate response to sharp political or even personal divisions was strengthened. That emerging coup culture in Fiji, together with the seemingly fantastic notion of a “coup to end all coups,” seem destined to leave Fiji facing a troubled future.

Note 1. Many commentators talk of four coups in Fiji since independence, and one could reasonably add a fifth. After the May 1987 coup, the military reasserted control in September of that same year, derailing talks being held at Deuba that were aimed at restoring a constitutional government. This was not a coup in the Oxford English Dictionary sense of an “illegal overthrow of government.” A fifth possible candidate for a coup is the event of May 29, 2000, shortly after George Speight marched into parliament on May 19, 2000. Then the Fiji military deposed President Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara and issued a decree abrogating the constitution. Terminological debates about what is and what is not a coup are of little interest, but they are regular occurrences in Fiji, partly because coups have not—so far— been life or death events for their instigators.

Select Bibliography Bainimarama, J., Statement by H. E. Commodore Josaia Voreqe Bainimarama, Prime Minister of the Republic of Fiji Islands, 62nd session of the UN General Assembly, September 28, 2007. Census, 2007, Provisional Results of the 2007 Census of Population, unpublished. Fraenkel, J., “The Clash of Dynasties and the Rise of Demagogues; Fiji’s Tauri Vakaukauwa of May 2000,” Journal of Pacific History, Vol. 35, No. 3 (2000). Fraenkel, J., “Power-Sharing in Fiji & New Caledonia” in S. Firth, ed. Globalisation and Governance in the Pacific Islands (2006). (http://epress.anu.edu.au/ ssgm/global_gov/pdf/ch17.pdf) Fraenkel, J., and S. Firth, From Election to Coup in Fiji; The 2006 Campaign and Its Aftermath Suva and Canberra: Institute of Pacific Studies and Asia-Pacific Press, 2007). Fraenkel, J., and B. Grofman, “Does the Alternative Vote Foster Moderation in Ethnically Divided Societies? The Case of Fiji” in Comparative Political Studies, Vol. 39, No. 5 (2006). France, P., The Charter of the Land (New York: Oxford University Press, 1969). Islands Business (September 1987a). Islands Business (October 1987b). Lal, B., Broken Waves; A History of the Fiji Islands in the Twentieth Century (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1992). Lal, B. V., Another Way: The Politics of Constitutional Reform in Post-Coup Fiji (Canberra: NCDS, ANU, 1998). MacLellan, N., “Fiji, Iraq and Pacific Island security” in Race and Class, Vol. 48, No. 3 (2007).

CHAPTER 4

The India–China Border Manjeet S. Pardesi

When Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao visited India in April 2005, the two countries signed numerous accords, including a pact on the “Guiding Principles” for the peaceful settlement of their 4,000 kilometer–long boundary dispute (Baruah 2005). China is about to replace the United States as India’s single largest trading partner over the next few years. Bilateral trade between Asia’s two giants is rapidly increasing and is expected to reach USD $20 billion in 2007, significantly up from the lowly figure of USD $2 billion in 2000–2001 (Department of Commerce 2006). Asia’s two rising economies hope to increase this figure to USD $40 billion by 2010 (BBC News 2006). India and China are also discussing the possibility of a free-trade agreement. The two countries also wish to expand their links in cultural, tourism, and civil-aviation sectors. But, in spite of this seeming bonhomie, Asia’s two rising powers are in an inherently competitive relationship. China and India fought a short but bitter border war in 1962 in which India was disastrously defeated. India’s security further deteriorated after China became a nuclear power in 1964. The perceived Chinese threat was one of the causes for India’s nuclear tests in 1974 and 1998 (Ganguly 1999: 148–177). Despite several rounds of negotiations and confidencebuilding measures since the 1980s, the two sides are deadlocked on the boundary issue. Beijing’s political and military links, including missile and nuclear assistance to Pakistan, are a major source of worry for New Delhi (Malik 2002). In turn, the presence of the Dalai Lama, the government-in-exile of Tibet, and one hundred thousand Tibetan refugees in India is a serious political dilemma for China. India and China are already competing for

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scarce energy resources to power their rapidly growing but energydeficient economies (Ganguly 2005). China is worried about India’s growing blue-water naval capabilities and is expanding its own naval presence in the Arabian Sea and Persian Gulf by funding a major port at Gwadar, Pakistan. China is also increasing its naval presence in the Indian Ocean by cultivating ties with Myanmar and Bangladesh. India views such moves as Beijing’s strategy to contain India in South Asia. Similarly, Chinese leaders are wary of India’s growing strategic ties with the United States. China and India have a complex relationship. This chapter, however, will focus exclusively on the Sino–Indian border dispute, something that has plagued their relationship since India and China joined the modern international system in 1947 and 1949, respectively. The questionable international status of Tibet has long been central to India and China’s competing claims along their common border, as have been claims in the eastern and western sectors of their disputed border. Although both sides have used historical and legal arguments to buttress their claims to the disputed regions along their border, it has in fact been national security considerations that have led each to adopt the positions they have. As India and China began establishing themselves as territorially defined modern-day nation-states, the control of territory along the Himalayan region in the east and the Aksai Chin region in the west became crucial for defense planning in both countries. Their border dispute has created a security dilemma for both. Each state can increase its own security only by reducing the security of the other, which responds by increasing its own security at the expense of the first. This has created a cyclical pattern of interaction that makes both states less secure even as they make every attempt to increase their own security.

HISTORICAL INTERACTIONS Contacts between India and China have spanned over two millennia. Cultivated by traders and nurtured through religious and diplomatic ties, India and China—the world’s oldest continuous civilizations—have a long history of peaceful coexistence (Liu 1988; Sen 2003). Indeed, the only instance of hostility between these two civilizations before their emergence as modern nation-states in the late 1940s occurred during a brief and tangential military encounter in 648 AD, when northern India was in a state of political fragmentation caused by the death of Emperor Harsha. The Tang diplomatic mission to the Harsha court was attacked by an upstart Indian prince, Aluonashun, perhaps in an attempt to seize its wealth and gifts. The Chinese embassy retreated to Tibet and raised a

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combined Chinese–Tibetan–Nepali military force that defeated and captured Aluonashun. Indian historical sources make note neither of this attack nor of Aluonashun, who may have been merely one of the many aspirants to political power in northern India after Harsha’s death (Sen 2001: 1–28). The chief reason for the almost complete absence of military conflict between these two civilizations is that they had no occasion for it. Their political domains were almost never adjacent, and they rarely shared borders. What is more, the cold, harsh Tibetan plateau that separates the Indian and Chinese political spheres is extremely difficult to traverse. Averaging 4,000 meters above sea level and enclosing 2.5 million square kilometers, the Tibetan plateau is the largest and highest in the world. Any military expedition through this region must have passed through the world’s highest mountain range, the Himalayas—as well as through the formidable Karakoram Mountains. Because of the forbidding terrain that separated the civilizations, religious and commercial exchanges marked their mutual relationship, accompanied by exchanges of ideas in fields as diverse as art, language, mathematics, and medicine (Sen 2004). When the influences of these two civilizations coincided in Central and Southeast Asia, they mingled peacefully with local traditions and with each other. But the onset of the global domination of Western naval and political power that began in the early modern period brought significant changes not only in the relationship between India and China but also in their political trajectories. Both India and China were subjected to different degrees of imperial control. British political dominance in the subcontinent was led by the East India Company. Less than one hundred years after the British victory during the Battle of Plassey in 1757, India was merely another British colony (Markowitz 2002). Although China was not formally colonized, it experienced a degree of Western (and Japanese) political, economic, and military control extended under the “open door” principle and various other “unequal treaties” (Spence 1999). All interaction between India and China was reduced to trade under imperial control (Thampi 2002). Indian and Chinese elites emerged from colonialism in the late 1940s, resolved to create modern nation-states along western lines. In 1947, the newly created Republic of India chose a secular, democratic path under the leadership of the Congress Party that had led the country’s nationalist movement. Conversely, steeped in the values of Marxism–Leninism, the leadership of the People’s Republic of China adopted communism in 1949 under the leadership of the Communist party, which had succeeded in unifying the country after the decades of turmoil and political fragmentation that followed the collapse of the Qing Dynasty in 1912.

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STATE STRUCTURES BEFORE COLONIALISM In their modern incarnations, the Indian and Chinese states differ greatly from the indigenous precolonial polities that existed in the realms of these civilizations. Their current border dispute lies in the fact that pre-colonial Indian and Chinese polities had not historically governed well-defined territorial states—as had been the case in Western Europe since the 1648 Peace of Westphalia. For most of its history, the Indian subcontinent was home to a number of small polities. Only nine of the sixty-three major powers of the subcontinent in the period between 500 BC and 1976 AD can be characterized as pan-Indian or subcontinental in size (Schwartzberg 1992). On the other hand, since China’s first imperial unification under the Qin Dynasty in 221 BC, a “core” Chinese state has existed throughout nearly the whole of its history, the outer boundaries

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of which have expanded or collapsed in proportion to the political, economic, and military power of the ruling dynasty (Swaine and Tellis 2000). India’s precolonial polities and empires did not have well-defined territorial boundaries. They had core territories in terms of areas of direct and indirect administration, but they were separated by natural barriers (such as mountains, rivers, and jungles), tribal lands, or weak protostates (Scharfe 1989). The Chinese state, conversely, has historically had a more elaborate worldview. Borders did not exist in the Chinese political imagination (Terrill 2004: 37). Chinese dynasties partitioned the world into four zones. The first zone comprised the core of the Han Chinese territory (including regions in the east and the south), where the dynasties exercised direct control. The second zone included regions such as Mongolia in the north and Turkistan and Tibet in the west that had to be militarily neutralized or pacified from time to time to protect the core. Chinese dynasties exercised only indirect authority in these regions—if any at all. In the third zone were regions like Korea and Vietnam, where Chinese political hegemony was assumed. The fourth and outer zone included the remainder of the world, about which China knew little, and which was thought to matter little to the survival of Chinese political power. Even these lands were assumed to be under the nominal and benevolent rule of the Chinese emperor. In the Chinese worldview, the Chinese emperor ruled all the countries of the world. The ambiguous nature of borders in the historical Indian and Chinese political imaginations put the modern Indian and Chinese states on a collision course in late 1940s as they set out to define themselves as territorially distinct Westphalian-style states—that is, along Western lines. The Republic of India inherited its borders from the British Raj. Advances in cartography and military-strategic considerations led the British to define and territorially demarcate the borders of their Indian empire (Keay 2000). Although the partition of the subcontinent at independence diminished the size of the newly independent India, the leaders of the Republic of India chose for themselves the borders they inherited from the erstwhile Raj, these being were more or less coterminous with the natural geographic limits of the subcontinent (Hasan 1993; Talbot and Singh 1999). In other words, the borders of the newly independent India coincided with the borders of an imagined historical India (excepting the exclusion of East and West Pakistan) that had always existed in the political imagination of the Indian nationalist elite (Hoffman 1990: 25–28). For their part, the communist leaders of China chose essentially to adopt the boundaries of the Qing realm (1644–1912 AD) as the limits of the People’s Republic of China. The Qing Dynasty had nearly doubled the realm of its Ming (1368–1644 AD) predecessors (Terrill 2004: 185). To China’s communist elite, this expansive notion of their new state compensated for the century

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of Chinese “humiliation” under colonial powers (Garver 2001: 33–34). In the 1940s and 1950s, Joseph Stalin and Nikita Khrushchev also granted China control over Xinjiang, Inner Mongolia, and Manchuria. However, these new borders brought the status of Tibet into dispute, putting India and China on a collision course (Hoffman 2006: 165–194).

THE HISTORICAL STATUS OF TIBET The core region of Chinese political power (the first zone of the Han Chinese territory) is separated from the northern regions of India by Tibet. Although China regards Tibet as a region of China, such a claim is not substantiated by history. Tibet was a free and independent polity for most of its existence and at certain periods in its history rivaled the power of the Chinese state. The powerful seventh-century Tibetan ruler Srongbtsan-sgam-po received the Chinese princess Wencheng of the Tang court—even though the Chinese traditionally disliked marriage alliances, considering that they bespoke equality (Sen 2001: 8, 26). Under the Tang dynasty, China even sought and received military assistance from Karkota kingdom in Kashmir in northern India to foil Tibetan attempts to occupy strategic trade routes in the southern Hindukush region. (Tansen Sen, “Kasmir, Tang China, and Muktapida Lalitaditya’s Ascendancy Over the Southern Hindukush Region, “Journal of Asian History, Volume 38, Number 2 (2004), pp. 141–162) During the Tang [Dynasty], China and Tibet signed eight bilateral treaties [as equals]. The Song Dynasty of the tenth and eleventh centuries left Tibet alone, but in the thirteenth century the Yuan (Mongol) pulled it into line as a vassal. The Ming Dynasty from the fourteenth century accepted tributary missions from Lhasa but did not rule Tibet directly. The final dynasty, the Qing, sent military expeditions into Tibet and sought to rule it as a province. (Terrill 2004: 240–241)

Yet even during the Qing Dynasty the Han Chinese were rarely in positions of more than symbolic authority over the Tibetans. A Han Chinese military expedition entered Tibet proper for the first time only in 1719. A Qing official known as Amban was stationed in Lhasa together with a small imperial contingent, but the actual power lay with Tibet’s Lamaist government. Chinese forces again entered Tibet in 1793 to wage a war against the Nepalese and again in 1904 as a response to Britain’s military expedition into Tibet (Carrington 2003: 81–109). They were finally withdrawn in 1913 after the formal collapse of the Qing Dynasty. However, the Tibetans continued to enjoy considerable internal autonomy under the Qing, including many decades of de facto

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independence since the mid-nineteenth century when the Qing power had begun to crumble (Garver 2001: 41–42). India’s view of Tibet differs greatly from that of China. India regards Tibet as nothing less than a cultural offshoot of its civilization. From the seventh and eighth centuries onward, Tibet received Buddhism in two distinct phases from India and localized it. In its Tibetan form, Buddhism gave rise to political, cultural, and religious systems that form the basis of Tibet’s traditional government. Tibetan script is derived from Sanskrit—and Sanskrit literature and Indian art deeply influenced and shaped Tibetan literature and arts. During nearly the whole of its history, India enjoyed peaceful relations with Tibet that centered on religious and commercial ties—although one powerful Indian polity located in the northwestern region of the subcontinent did once lead a military expedition into central Tibet in 1840. The Sikh Maharaja Ranjit Singh had united all of Punjab, Multan, and Peshawar, and occupied Kashmir, by 1830. The Dogra vassals of the Sikh Empire in Kashmir attacked and occupied Ladakh in 1836. In 1840, the Dogra general led his army into central Tibet, where the Indians were defeated by a combination of weather (extreme cold and high altitude) and Chinese troops (which outnumbered Indian troops two to one). The survivors among the Dogra troops escaped back to India, and the extent of Dogra control in Ladakh in the Tibetan plateau remained undetermined. This ambiguity haunted Sino–Indian relations from the late 1940s onward. Soon after the Dogra defeat in Tibet, Punjab (and with it Kashmir and Ladakh) came under British imperial control. After the end of the Second Anglo–Sikh War in 1848–1849, Punjab came under direct colonial control, and Kashmir was given the status of a “princely state” under British tutelage (Singh 1999: 66–97). During the colonial period, the military–strategic considerations of the British Empire defined Britain’s policies toward Tibet. In order to protect their Indian empire from Russian, French, and Chinese aggression, the British created a cordon sanitaire of buffer states along the periphery of the subcontinent to exclude other powers from these regions (Wainwright 1995: 41–62). In Tibet, the British upheld nominal Chinese authority—through the concept of suzerainty—in order to keep the Russians out (Klein 1971: 126–147). Suzerainty implied “a low level of Chinese administrative and military presence and a high level of both Tibetan autonomy and British–Indian influence in Tibet” (Garver 2001: 35). British policies made Tibet’s international status unclear in comparison to that of other regions claimed by China—Vietnam, Korea, and Mongolia. The French, the Japanese, and the Russians, respectively, forced China to formally relinquish its traditional claims over Vietnam (in 1885), Korea (in 1894–1895), and Mongolia (in 1945). Yet China did not formally relinquish its largely symbolic authority over Tibet—even though Vietnam and Korea have been historically influenced by Chinese culture and institutions far

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more than Tibet ever was. Nevertheless, soon after consolidating power in the core Han territories, the Communist leadership of China invaded Tibet to assert territorial claims. China now claimed sovereignty over Tibet—a state that had enjoyed an independent existence through most of its history—instead of the suzerainty rights it had during the Qing/colonial period. Furthermore, China disputed the border agreements that already existed between British India and Tibet, maintaining that Tibet, a part of China in the Chinese worldview, had no authority to negotiate treaties with foreign powers. The entire China–India border thus became ill-defined and an area of unresolved dispute after the Chinese occupation of Tibet in 1951.

THE FRONTIER FROM 1914 TO 1947 In 1913, the British government persuaded the Chinese government of Yuan Shikai (a relatively weak regime that took power after the collapse of the Qing) to send representatives to India to discuss the nature of Sino–Tibetan relations. On the British agenda were (1) the desire to maintain Tibet as a buffer state by granting it genuine autonomy under symbolic Chinese suzerainty, (2) the demarcation of the line separating the region of Tibetan authority in the west and Chinese authority in the east, (3) and the negotiation of the border between British India and Tibet. Concerned that the British would directly negotiate with the Lamaist government of Tibet without consulting China, Yuan Shikai’s government sent Chinese representatives to India (Christie 1976: 481–508). British India was granted control of the Assam Himalayan eastern region by Tibetan representatives during a series of meetings between October 1913 and July 1914 in Simla, northern India, but the Chinese government refused to recognize the agreement. This region formed a part of the Northeast Frontier Agency and now coincides with the Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh (Lamb 1964: 9). It included tribal peoples such as the Abors, Monpas, and Miris, who, “apart from some occasional episodes of subordination to Assam or Tibet, were for all practical purposes independent” (Lin 2004: 27). In other words, prior to the Simla Conference of 1913–1914, the peoples of this region had enjoyed de facto independence from all the three major participants at the conference—British India, Tibet, and China. However, the British made almost no effort to consolidate their administrative and military authority over the Assam Himalaya region for the next two to three decades. In the early 1940s, Japanese forces threatened this region of British India during World War II after overrunning Southeast Asia. Meanwhile, the Chinese began to assert their authority over Tibet. Tibetan and Chinese troops clashed in 1917–1918 (Lin 2004: 44). Under the leadership

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of Chiang Kai-shek of the Guomindang (Nationalist Party), the Chinese government revived Sun Yat Sen’s “race card” in 1928 that proclaimed the Chinese state as composed of five races—Han, Tibetan, Manchu, Mongol, and Hui—led by the benevolent leadership of the Han (Terrill 2004: 106–112). The Nationalist leaders of China also sent a condolence mission to Lhasa in 1934 after the death of the thirteenth Dalai Lama. Before returning, the Chinese mission left a representative office and a wireless set in Lhasa as a statement of its authority over Tibet (Lin 2002: 327–341). By the early 1940s, the Tibetans had become dissatisfied with the 1914 Simla Agreement on the Sino–Tibetan boundary and began to question the McMahon Line—the boundary between British India and Tibet— delineated in this agreement. The Tibet–India border agreement was a part of the overall agreement that granted genuine autonomy to Tibet and guaranteed a stable Sino–Tibetan frontier, and the Tibetans wanted security guarantees from Britain vis-à-vis China in exchange for recognizing the McMahon Line. Britain, however, was unable to provide such guarantees, wholly preoccupied with countering German and Japanese aggression (Hoffman 2006: 174–175). In the late 1930s and early 1940s, Britain had begun to consolidate its authority in Assam Himalaya to meet the Japanese challenge. This region had been reorganized as the Northeast Frontier Agency (NEFA) by 1943 and was within the firm control of British India. China had continued to mount diplomatic protests during this period but desisted from taking any larger action—at that time, it did not even control Tibet. As the British were about to leave India in 1947, their authority in the nebulously defined Sino–Indian [Tibetan–Indian] borderland [in the Assam Himalaya region] was no longer an illusion. . . . [On the other hand], China’s sovereignty over the Tibet–Assam frontier . . . existed only in cartography and imagination. (Lin 2004: 39)

In spite of its complexities, the border in the eastern sector was well defined (though challenged by Beijing) when modern India and China appeared on the world stage in the late 1940s. The exact nature of the boundary in the western sector in Ladakh, however, was far more ambiguous. The Dogra invasion of Ladakh had brought that region under Kashmiri control in 1836. However, the failed Dogra invasion of central Tibet in 1840 was unable to determine the extent of Kashmiri control in the Tibetan plateau. As a result, when the British gained control of Kashmir after the Second Anglo–Sikh War, three different boundary lines had been proposed in Ladakh (Hoffman 1990: 9–16). The most northerly of the three alternative boundaries was the Ardagh–Johnson line proposed to the

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British Indian government in 1897. The Ardagh–Johnson line includes the Aksai China region, an extension of the Tibetan plateau that was claimed by China after 1949. The Aksai China region is barren and uninhabited but is occasionally used for summer grazing by Ladakhi peasants and includes certain secondary trade routes. This extensive boundary was proposed by the British as a buffer region between populated regions of British India (in Kashmir) on the one hand and Russia and China on the other. The second boundary proposed was the Macartney–MacDonald line in 1899 that placed the Aksai Chin region in Sinkiang. The least extensive of the three lines was the Trelawney–Saunders line proposed in 1873 that placed the borders of Ladakh along the Karakoram Mountains. The Simla Conference of 1914 saw the proposal of a fourth line similar to the Macartney–MacDonald line that would give away Aksai Chin to Sinkiang, then slipping under Russian control, in order to avoid giving it to China. However, China had rejected the 1914 Simla Agreement. As a result, no clear consensus existed on the Sino–Indian (or Tibetan–Indian) border in 1947, when India became independent. As both India and China began to lay claims and counterclaims in attempts to define themselves territorially, a brief and bitter border war ensued in 1962.

THE PRE-WAR YEARS In March 1947, even before India attained independence, New Delhi organized the Asian Relations Conference to launch a new chapter in international relations by providing a strong voice to the emergent postcolonial Asian states. Tibetans were represented by the officials of the Lamaist government. When China protested against the presence of Tibet as an independent state at the conference, India hastily redrew maps to show Tibet as a part of China. India’s leaders did not give proper forethought and deliberation to the question of inviting Tibet to the Asian Relations Conference, and their actions were premised on a naïve belief that China’s leaders, whether Nationalist or Communist, would accept a continuation of Tibet’s traditional status (Garver 2001: 45).

After the communists came to power in China in 1949, China hardened its claim on Tibet in order to compensate for its “humiliation” at the hands of colonial powers. China had two primary interests in Tibet (35–39). The possession of Tibet was expected to protect the core Han Chinese territories from military threats in the south and the west. Furthermore, the exploitation of Tibet’s mineral resources was—and still

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is—deemed crucial to China’s development (Lustgarten 2007). In January 1950, Mao Zedong, the first leader of the Communist Party of China, gave explicit orders to militarily annex Tibet. India’s diplomatic protests were met by Chinese allegations of New Delhi’s intervention in China’s internal affairs (Norbu 1997: 1078–1082). In May 1951, China legalized its annexation of Tibet through a seventeen-point agreement between the Lamaist government of Tibet and the Chinese Communist Party (Shakya 1999: 449–452). This agreement made it clear that whatever autonomy Tibet might enjoy would be determined by the Chinese authorities in Beijing. However, at that point, Tibet maintained a certain degree of genuine internal autonomy (Garver 2001: 51). India was forced to respond to the Chinese occupation of Tibet from a position of military weakness. The Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru adopted a policy of “conciliation and appeasement” to respond to the Chinese occupation of Tibet—although “appeasement” in its preMunich sense: meaning that “states could accommodate the legitimate demands of rivals without compromising their own vital interests” (Ganguly 2001: 108–109, 128). Nehru was of the impression that a muted Indian response would limit the nature of Chinese military presence in Tibet and guarantee the polity considerable internal autonomy. Furthermore, he believed that Tibet’s harsh terrain and the logistical and financial difficulties that it would impose would militate against any great Chinese military presence in Tibet. Nehru did not raise the issue of Tibet even at the United Nations. According to one analyst [Nehru] sacrificed Tibet for the sake of Sino–Indian friendship. . . . This friendship policy was expected to neutralize the security threat from the PLA [People’s Liberation Army] stationed in Tibet, as well as enhance Asian solidarity [and India’s policy of nonalignment]. (Norbu 1997: 1080)

As a result, India and China signed an agreement in 1954 in which India recognized Chinese sovereignty in Tibet. This agreement became famous as the Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence, or Panchshila (Jain 1981: 61–67). As a consequence of this agreement, India relinquished the special rights in Tibet—the stationing of a small garrison of troops and a diplomatic mission—that it had inherited from the British Raj. Most importantly, the agreement was silent about Tibet’s autonomy under Chinese rule. India did not extract any explicit concessions from the Chinese, believing that this act of Indian good faith would remove all of China’s suspicions regarding Indian intentions and promote good bilateral relations. However, Nehru believed that genuine Tibetan autonomy and the continuation of the

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border agreements between British India and Tibet were implied by the 1954 “gentleman’s deal” struck with Zhou Enlai (Norbu 1997: 1081). But the Chinese soon made it clear that Tibet did not have the authority to enter into treaties with foreign powers, being merely a province of China. As such, the entire Sino–Indian border came under question. However, Nehru was not completely naïve in his response to the Chinese occupation of Tibet in 1951. According to Hoffman, “[T]he . . . government in India annexed the town and monastery of Tawang [in NEFA] in February 1951, possibly in response to China’s actions [in Tibet] in 1950” (Hoffman 2006: 174). Moreover, the Indian government was aware of Chinese road-building in Aksai Chin as early as 1951 (Garver 2001: 89). The Indian government made the decision about the location of the boundary in the western sector only in 1953 (Hoffman 1990: 13–28, 35–36). The Ardagh–Johnson line, which included Aksai Chin, was chosen, being considered the extent of the precolonial Dogra kingdom in Kashmir. Garver speculates that Nehru chose the Ardagh–Johnson line because he thought that once China recognized the diplomatic hurdles created by the integration of Tibet (discouraged by Tibet’s equally formidable climate), it would station minimal PLA troops in Tibet, automatically assuring Tibet’s internal autonomy and promoting Indian security. It seems equally plausible that the decision to bolster India’s control in Tawang was made after similar calculations. Tawang was already a part of the NEFA, having come under British Indian control after the 1914 Simla Agreement. However, India had not yet consolidated its position there (Mehra 2007: 136–139). The possession of Tawang was deemed crucial for the defense of northeastern India, because the southern Himalayan slopes provided tactical offensive advantages to the Chinese. Indian control of this region was expected to increase the cost of any Chinese military adventurism (Garver 2001: 98–100). The southern slopes extended across the Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh (of which Tawang is a part). In fact, during the 1962 Sino–Indian border war, the Chinese were able to capture the strategically located Tawang region in just four days, whence the PLA posed a serious threat to the entire Indian state of Assam. Control over Tawang was deemed equally important for the complete integration of Tibet with China. China claimed that Tawang had historically been controlled by Tibet and was therefore a part of Tibet—which was a province of China. China further claimed that because the sixth Dalai Lama was born in Tawang, it should be rightfully returned to Tibet—and thus China. The military advantage of controlling Tawang vis-à-vis India was not lost on the Chinese. Furthermore, the fertile tract of Tawang is considered capable of supporting one third of Tibet’s economy (Ramesh 2006). Feeding the Tibetan population and the PLA troops who are based there is a matter

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of great concern for China. In the early 1950s, when the PLA was consolidating Chinese control over Tibet, food and other essential goods were imported into Tibet from India (Garver 2001: 51). In addition to Tawang itself, China claims the entire Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh (an area of 90,000 square kilometers). National security considerations dominate India’s interests in this region. Culturally, ethnically, and religiously, this region is distinct from the mainstream of the Indian society. Sandwiched between Nepal and Bangladesh, it is separated from the northern Indian heartland by the Siliguri Corridor, which is less than sixteen miles wide at its narrowest point. India’s main concern here was that a Chinese military offensive from the Chumbi Valley in Tibet could sever India’s northeast from the rest of the country. Not least because China has historically supported Naga, Mizo, and Manipuri rebels against New Delhi’s authority, China’s control of Arunachal Pradesh is deemed detrimental to India’s security interests (Bhaumik 1997: 89–100). Officially, Chinese claims to this region stem from the belief that Arunachal Pradesh forms the southern region of Tibet. As mentioned earlier, NEFA came under British India’s administrative control just prior to Indian independence, before which it was a collection of tribal- and protostates free of British Indian, Tibetan, or Chinese control. In 1959, India decided not to develop roads and airfields within thirty miles of the Sino–Indian border in NEFA, judging that the terrain there favored a Chinese military offensive. Beyond this thirty-mile region, India continued strengthening its defensive position (Garver 2001: 99). In the 1950s, control over the 38,000 square kilometer Aksai China region in the western sector was crucial to China’s consolidation of its rule in Tibet (80–88). Only three main routes exist from China into Tibet: the northern route, from Qinghai province; the eastern route, from Sichuan; and the western route, from Xinjiang. Terrain and weather prevented China from effectively reaching Tibet via either of the first two routes. The western route, in spite of its many difficulties, was the only route open throughout the year—both in winter and in monsoons. However, this route traversed the Aksai Chin region, making its possession essential both to Chinese control of western Tibet and Tibet as a whole. The western route was formally opened by the Chinese in 1957.

THE TIBETAN REVOLT, INDIA’S FORWARD POLICY, AND THE WAR In 1954, three years after the Chinese military occupation of Tibet, the Tibetans rebelled against the harsh measures China used to consolidate its political power there. The Chinese suppressed all religious activity in

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Tibet, implemented a draconian land reform program, forced Tibetans— including monks—into manual labor, and brought all economic and social activity in Tibet under the control of the Communist Party (Norbu 1987). Destruction of Tibet’s cultural heritage and repression of Lamaist monasteries in the Tibetan regions of Sichuan province led to another widespread revolt in 1956. By the end of the following year, the sheer brutality of Chinese repression ended any residual autonomy that Tibet had enjoyed after 1951. The 1956 revolt saw the egress of a large number of Tibetan refugees from Sichuan into Tibet. This refugee inflow, coupled with Beijing’s repression, resulted in full-blown rebellion against the Chinese in Lhasa in 1959. In the face of the brutal repression of religion in Tibet by Chinese authorities, the Dalai Lama fled to India in March 1959. Sino–Indian relations reached a new low in the fall of 1959, when troops from the two countries clashed twice along their undefined borders (Jian 2006). From the mid-1950s onwards, the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency began aiding Tibetan resistance against the Chinese. U.S. airplanes were used to parachute-drop guns, ammunition, and U.S.-trained Tibetan guerilla fighters into Tibet via Indian airspace (McGranahan 2006). According to Beijing, the Indians and Americans collaborated with the Tibetans to undermine China’s authority in that region. India was not directly involved with CIA-led activities in Tibet at this time, but New Delhi certainly turned a blind eye to American activities (Garver 2001: 55–58). Beijing was also highly suspicious of any political agenda that might be behind the Dalai Lama’s 1957 visit to India to mark the 2,500th anniversary of the birth of Buddha. During the Dalai Lama’s visit, Nehru had asked him to continue his nonviolent struggle against the Chinese. Indian public opinion, including nonelite public opinion, became extremely anti-Chinese (especially after 1959) in response to China’s brutal destruction of what was seen as Tibet’s India-inspired culture. To complicate matters, the Dalai Lama’s formal request to the Indian government for political asylum in India came via the U.S. (Hoffman 2006: 189–190). However, public support for the Dalai Lama and the Tibetans in general was so strong in India that Nehru’s government was politically compelled to honor the request. During the next year, India imposed a host of economic sanctions on Tibet in response to the brutal Chinese repression there. At the time, India was Tibet’s main means for importing and exporting essential commodities, being only poorly connected with the rest of China. However, Beijing interpreted these sanctions as evidence of Indian duplicity and American-aided meddling in China’s internal affairs. In 1960, Zhou Enlai visited New Delhi to discuss the border dispute. During the talks, Zhou informally offered to swap the Aksai Chin region

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for territory claimed by China in NEFA—Arunachal Pradesh. But, because Nehru had thus far made little effort to inform the Indian Parliament about the precise state of relations with China—for example, not revealing that Indian troops had encountered a Chinese encampment in the Garwhal district of Uttar Pradesh in northern India—India was in no mood to negotiate a swap with the Chinese. Consequently, Nehru publicly rejected China’s offer of “barter” and “horse-trading” (Ganguly 2001: 112; Hoffman 1990: 87). In an attempt to bolster Indian claims in Aksai Chin, the Indian government formulated what came to be called “forward policy” in Ladakh. Between July 1961 and September 1962, India sent a small number of troops to the disputed area around Ladakh (Hoffman 1990: 92–111). According to Ganguly, “The forward policy amounted to a strategy of compellence—namely, an effort to force an adversary to undo the consequences of a hostile act” (2001: 114). However, the Indian military was ill-prepared to actually implement such a strategy; the troops in and around Ladakh were lightly armed and bore insufficient firepower for their mission, hampered by poor logistics lines. The Sino–Indian border war began on October 20, 1962, when PLA forces simultaneously attacked Indian positions in both the eastern and the western sectors (Hoffman 1990: 163–210). The Chinese attacked a number of positions in the east in NEFA—the Dhola–Thagla area, Khinzemane, and Tsangle. PLA troops also started an offensive against India’s forward positions in the west in Ladakh in an attempt to eliminate Indian “gains” as a result of the forward policy. The Chinese decision to wage war was a product of two factors. The Chinese leadership misperceived India’s policy toward Tibet. Although India had tacitly accepted Chinese sovereignty in Tibet, New Delhi was genuinely interested in internal autonomy for Tibet, something that would have reduced China’s military presence there, enhancing Indian security while preserving Tibet’s unique culture. But the Chinese believed India to be interested only in restoring the pre-1949 status of Tibet. Furthermore, the Chinese wanted to punish Indian “aggression” against Chinese territory. In other words, the Chinese wanted to respond to India’s “forward policy.” Complete shock and surprise carried the day in New Delhi as news of the PLA’s attack reached policymakers. “Neither the decision-makers nor those advising them had been really prepared for war” (Hoffman 1990: 163–164). The Indians put up spirited resistance but were doomed to failure, being absent of any military or defense plans and hampered by inadequate levels of weapons and supplies (Palit 1991). In both NEFA and Ladakh, Chinese troops reached positions claimed by Beijing. China declared a unilateral ceasefire on November 21, 1962 and withdrew its forces to its prewar positions in the eastern sector. However Chinese

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troops occupied Aksai Chin in Ladakh, and the Chinese warned India that any attempts to dislodge Chinese troops from the western sector would be met with swift attack (Ganguly 2001: 115).

After the War (1962–1980) The Sino–Indian border war came as a huge shock to the Indian political and strategic communities. India’s military defeat reduced India’s status in the developing world, and Nehru’s hopes for Asian solidarity, predicated as they were on peaceful relations with China, were shattered. The war left Nehru a broken man. Two years afterward, he died of a heart attack. The war had a major impact on Indian defense and foreign policy. “The issue of military reverses at the hands of China went beyond military preparedness to India’s conceptual approach to international affairs” (Nayar and Paul 2004: 150). War with China proved that India needed military help from external powers in meeting the Chinese military challenge. India sought and received military assistance from the U.S. and the UK, who provided India its first modern air defense systems (Anthony 1992: 50). India and the U.S. also engaged in limited cooperation with regard to the Chinese occupation of Tibet after the war (McGranahan 2006: 122–125). In October 1962, the Indian Ministry of Home Affairs set up an Indo–Tibetan Border Police Force. However, Indo–U.S. military cooperation proved limited in nature and short-lived. Pakistan, a military ally of the U.S. by this time, had profound misgivings about U.S.–India military cooperation. In fact, India was itself uncertain about close military cooperation with the U.S. (Ganguly 2001: 115–116). The United States demanded that India commit to global opposition of communism as a prerequisite for the establishment of substantive military cooperation between the two countries (Barnds 1972: 195). But the outbreak of India’s second war with Pakistan over Kashmir in 1965 led to a U.S. arms embargo against the subcontinent that ended the nascent U.S.–India military cooperation. It was under these circumstances that India turned to the Soviet Union for military hardware. Indian foreign policy preferred the Soviet Union throughout the remainder of the Cold War (Cohen 2001: 142–145). India also embarked on major military modernization and defense-industrialization programs after the disastrous Sino–Indian border war (Thomas 1986). Meanwhile, China dramatically improved its relations with India’s subcontinental rival, Pakistan. In May 1962, even before the Sino–Indian border war, China and Pakistan agreed to demarcate their boundaries (Dobell 1964: 283–295). China’s Xinjiang province shares a border with Pakistan in Hunza and Baltistan in Jammu and Kashmir—a territory disputed by India

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and Pakistan. Even as the Sino–Indian border war was underway, China and Pakistan negotiated the exact location of their boundaries, announcing their agreement in May 1963. China received 1,050 square miles of Pakistan in exchange for 750 square miles of its own territory (Ganguly 2001: 118). India was particularly irked that Pakistan had ceded to China parts of a region disputed by between India and Pakistan. Article 6 of the Sino–Pakistani border agreement allowed India to reopen negotiations with China should its claim over all of Kashmir be recognized (Dobell 1964: 288). In order to avoid such an outcome, and consistent with its own geopolitical rationale, China began supporting Pakistan’s position on Kashmir. Sino–Indian relations became further strained after China conducted its first nuclear test on October 16, 1964, in Lop Nur, with Soviet assistance (Lewis and Xue 1991). China also threatened to open a second front against India during the 1965 and 1971 Indo–Pakistani wars. In 1967, the two sides also exchanged artillery fire in the eastern sector. India’s “peaceful annexation” of Sikkim in 1975 further deteriorated Sino–Indian relations, a state of affairs that continued throughout the 1960s and the 1970s.

NORMALIZATION OF RELATIONS After the 1962 war, India and China had withdrawn their ambassadors, but diplomatic relations were never fully severed. In 1970, China initiated the first step toward improved relations between the two countries when Mao Zedong approached Brajesh Mishra, the Indian chargé d’affairs in Beijing, greeting him warmly at a reception. China, which had just fought a bitter border war with the Soviet Union the year before, had become interested in improving relations with India (Ganguly 2001: 120). Beijing wished to avoid the combined hostility of two large powers on its northern and southern borders. But a number of political and strategic complications—the 1971 Bangladesh War, India’s absorption of Sikkim in 1975, and Mao’ death in 1976—prevented any bilateral improvement in relations. Full diplomatic links with China were restored in 1976 as part of prime minister Indira Gandhi’s attempt to lessen political tensions with Beijing after India absorbed Sikkim (Ranganathan 1998). This was followed by a change of government in New Delhi after Indira Gandhi was ousted in the 1977 general elections. Atal Bihari Vajpayee, the foreign minister of the new Janata Party coalition government, visited China in 1979 to improve ties. Vajpayee was the most senior Indian dignitary to visit China since vice president Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan’s visit to Beijing in 1958. However, during Vajpayee’s visit, China attacked Vietnam, India’s communist friend in Southeast Asia, and the Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping spoke of teaching Vietnam just such a “lesson” as China had

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taught India in 1962 (Jencks 1979: 801–815). Vajpayee cut short his visit and returned to India. In 1980, Deng reiterated Zhou Enlai’s 1960 proposal of an east–west swap. China had become interested in settling all its border disputes in order to focus on economic development at home. Just as in 1960, China’s offer of a swap was informal. Again, India was not interested in swapping territories (Garver 2001: 100–106). The Chinese proposal was withdrawn in 1985. In the meantime, China’s foreign minister, Huang Hua, paid a return visit to India in 1981. The Chinese opened two ancient Hindu pilgrimage sites in Tibet—Kailash and Mansarovar—to win public support with the Indian masses (Ranganathan 1998). After Huang’s visit, the two sides began border talks in December 1981. China agreed to discuss the border issue sector-by-sector, as preferred by New Delhi (instead of the package deal preferred by Beijing). In turn, India agreed to start negotiations without demanding that the Chinese vacate all territories claimed by India. Eight rounds of talks were held between 1981 and 1988 as the two sides discussed the “basic principles” by which to settle their border disputes as well as the “situation on the ground” (Ganguly 1989: 1126–1132). However, tensions remained between the two countries. In the second half of the 1980s, reports of China’s missile and nuclear assistance to Pakistan made the news. In December 1986, India granted full statehood to Arunachal Pradesh (the region in NEFA claimed by China). Although simply a “logical evolution of [the Indian] administrative process,” the Chinese saw this as “a possible legal erosion to their claim” (Ganguly 1989: 1130–1131). That same year, Sino–Indian forces clashed briefly in the Sumdorong Chu Valley in Arunachal Pradesh after the Indians learned of a PLA-built helipad in the valley. The hostilities ended quickly after both sides agreed to withdraw their forces. Unlike the Chinese intrusions of the 1950s, the incident at Sumdorong Chu was reported to the Indian Parliament (Ganguly 1989: 1130). In 1986–1987, under the leadership of the Indian General K. Sundarji, India launched an exercise in “armed diplomacy” along the disputed border with China in the eastern sector. Code-named “Operation Checkerboard,” it was intended to get a sense of China’s response—as well as that of the U.S. and the Soviet Union. However, the exercise was quickly terminated in response to mounting international pressure (Cohen 2001: 148). The Indian prime minister Rajiv Gandhi’s visit to China in December 1988 broke the impasse plaguing the relationship between the two countries. This visit led to the creation of the Joint Working Group (JWG) to resolve their border dispute. Headed by the Indian foreign secretary and the Chinese vice foreign minister, the JWG was supposed to alternately

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meet at Beijing and New Delhi every six months. The JWG met fourteen times between 1989 and 2002 (Sidhu and Yuan 2003: 125–126). Although these meetings did not lead to any breakthroughs in the circumstances surrounding the Sino–Indian border dispute, they helped maintain a steady and positive momentum in bilateral relations. These meetings also provided the framework for the 1993 Agreement on the Maintenance of Peace and Tranquility and the 1996 Agreement on Confidence Building Measures (CBMs). Per these agreements, the two sides agreed not to use force against each other to settle their border dispute, establishing hotlines between border troop commanders and agreeing to limit—and reduce—the size of their forces in specific regions along their border. India and China have agreed to avoid large-scale military exercises involving more than one division (15,000 troops) along their border, as well as to provide prior notification of exercises involving more than one brigade (5,000 troops). Bilateral relations again reached a new low when India cited a Chinese threat as the most important reason for its 1998 nuclear tests. A few days before the May tests, Indian defense minister George Fernandes declared China as India’s “potential threat number one.” After India’s nuclear tests, the Indian prime minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee sent a letter to U.S. President Bill Clinton that indirectly named the threat of China and its proliferation of strategic technologies to Pakistan as the main reason for India’s nuclear tests. The letter read: We have an overt nuclear weapon state on our borders [China], a state which committed armed aggression against India in 1962. Although our relations with that country have improved in the last decade or so, an atmosphere of distrust persists mainly due to the unresolved border problem. To add to the distrust that country has materially helped another neighbour of ours [Pakistan] to become a covert nuclear weapons state (New York Times 1998).

China firmly rejected India’s “China threat” theory and even issued a joint statement with the United States condemning India’s nuclear tests. It was only after Indian foreign minister Jaswant Singh’s visit to China in June 1999 that the two sides agreed to build constructive relations on the basis of the Five Principles of Peaceful Co-existence. They also agreed to refrain from treating one another as threats (Yuan 2001: 978–1001). In the following years, commercial relations between the two countries improved dramatically and both sides initiated a number of high-profile visits. After the Indian prime minister’s visit to China in 2003, the two sides agreed to appoint special representatives—the Indian national security advisor and the Chinese vice foreign minister—to find a political solution to their border dispute. The two sides also agreed during

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Vajpayee’s visit to expand border trade (which had been resumed in 1992 after its cessation following the 1962 war). In the border trade agreement, China implicitly recognized Sikkim as part of India (Mansingh n.d.). The special representatives have met 11 times, most recently in China in August–September 2007. The talks are progressing, but no major breakthrough on the border issue has been reached—or is expected—yet. It is ironic that the India–China border issue revolves around regions that neither India, China, nor Tibet have historically controlled. Although the disputed region in the eastern sector was brought under British Indian control prior to India’s independence in 1947, the exact extent of Indian or Tibetan control in the western sector is a matter of much more ambiguity. China’s claim on these regions is based on its claim that Tibet—a polity enjoying independent existence for most of its history—is a part of China. As the Indian and Chinese elites tried to consolidate the power of their respective states during the modern period, the definition of their exact territorial borders became an important issue of national security. Both states have deemed control over the disputed regions to be important for their national security and for the defense of their territories, even as they have tried to assert historical, legal, and geographical claims to these regions. Although the two sides have been in border talks for over twenty-five years, no major breakthrough is yet in sight. Domestic politics and the interests of the ruling parties of both countries will play an important role in reaching final accord on the disputed border. Geopolitical considerations will be significant in the border talks as China and India rise to the rank of great powers in Asia, and beyond. India’s emerging strategic partnership with the U.S., like the Indo–U.S. civil nuclear agreement, is of great concern to Beijing and appears to have already led China to harden its stance on Arunachal Pradesh. Asia’s two rising powers are in an inherently competitive relationship that will require astute diplomacy backed by credible military power if they are to peacefully resolve their border dispute.

Select Bibliography Anthony, I., The Arms Trade and Medium Powers: Case Studies of India and Pakistan 1947–90 (Hertfordshire, UK: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1992). Barnds, W. J., India, Pakistan, and the Great Powers (New York: Praeger, 1972). Baruah, A., “Guiding Principles on border issue finalized,” The Hindu (April 11, 2005). BBC News, “India and China to double trade” (November 21, 2006) (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6158824.stm, accessed 23 August 2007).

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Bhaumik, B., “The External Linkages in Insurgency in India’s Northeast,” in Insurgency in Northeast India, Pakem, B., ed. (New Delhi: Omsons Publications, 1997). Carrington, M., “Officers, Gentlemen, and Thieves: The Looting of Monasteries during the 1903/4 Younghusband Mission to Tibet,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 37, No. 1 (2003). Christie, C., “Great Britain, China and the Status of Tibet, 1914–1921,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 10, No. 4 (1976). Cohen, S. P., India: Emerging Power (Washington: Brookings Institution Press, 2001). Department of Commerce (Government of India), “India, China set to achieve $20 billion trade by 2007” (March 16, 2006) (http://commerce.nic.in/ PressRelease/pressrelease_detail.asp?id=402, accessed August 23, 2007). Dobell, W. M., “Ramifications of the China-Pakistan Border Treaty,” Pacific Affairs, Vol. 37, No. 3 (1964). Ganguly, S., “India and China: Border Issues, Domestic Integration, and International Security,” in The India-China Relationship: What the United States Needs to Know, Frankel, F. R. and Harding, H., eds. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001). Ganguly, S., “The Sino-Indian Border Talks, 1981–1989: A View from New Delhi,” Asian Survey, Vol. 29, No. 12 (1989). Ganguly, S., “India’s Pathway to Pokhran II: The Prospects and Sources of New Delhi’s Nuclear Weapons Program,” International Security, Vol. 23, No. 4 (1999). Ganguly, S., “Energy Trends in India and China: Implications for the United States,” Testimony before the Committee on Foreign Relations, US Senate (July 26, 2005) (http://lugar.senate.gov/energy/hearings/pdf/050726/GangulyTestimony.pdf, accessed August 23, 2007). Garver, J. W., Protracted Contest: Sino–Indian Rivalry in the Twentieth Century (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001). Hasan, M., ed., India’s Partition: Process, Strategy and Mobilization (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). Hoffman, S.A., India and the China Crisis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). Hoffman, S.A., “Rethinking the Linkage between Tibet and the China–India Border Conflict: A Realist Approach,” Journal of Cold War Studies, Vol. 8, No. 3 (2006). Jain, R. K., China South Asian Relations, 1947–1980 (New Delhi: Harvester Press, 1981). Jencks, H. W., “China’s “Punitive” War on Vietnam: A Military Assessment,” Asian Survey, Vol. 19, No. 8 (1979). Jian, C., “The Tibetan Rebellion of 1959 and China’s Changing Relations with India and the Soviet Union,” Journal of Cold War Studies, Vol. 8, No. 3 (2006). Keay, J., The Great Arc: The Dramatic Tale of How India was Mapped and Everest was Named (New York: HarperCollins, 2000). Klein, I., “The Anglo-Russian Convention and the Problem of Central Asia, 1907–1914,” The Journal of British Studies, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1971).

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Lamb, A., The China-India Border: The Origins of the Disputed Boundaries (London: Oxford University Press, 1964). Lewis, J. and Xue, L., China Builds the Bomb (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991). Lin, H-T., “The 1934 Chinese Mission to Tibet: A Re-examination,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Vol. 12, No. 3 (2002). Lin, H-T., “Boundary, Sovereignty, and Imagination: Reconsidering the Frontier Disputes between British India and Republican China, 1914–47,” The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Vol. 32, No. 3 (2004). Liu, X., Ancient India and Ancient China: Trade and Religious Exchanges, A.D. 1–600 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988). Lustgarten, A., “China Mines Tibet’s Rich Resources,” CNNMoney.com (February 21, 2007) (http://money.cnn.com/2007/02/20/magazines/fortune/ lustgarten_china.fortune/index.htm, accessed August 26, 2007). Malik, M., “The China Factor in the India-Pakistan Conflict,” Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies, Occasional Paper Series (2002) (http://www. apcss.org/Publications/Ocasional%20Papers/OPPubChinaFactor.pdf, accessed August 23, 2007). Mansingh, S., “India–China Relations in the Context of Vajpayee’s 2003 Visit,” The Sigur Center Asia Papers, The George Washington University. (n.d.) (http://www.gwu.edu/~sigur/pubs/SCAP21-Mansingh.pdf, accessed August 29, 2007). Markowitz, C., ed., A History of Modern India 1480–1950, George, N. and Hendry, M., trans. (London: Anthem Press, 2002). McGranahan, C., “Tibet’s Cold War: The CIA and the Chushi Gangdrug Resistance, 1956–1974,” Journal of Cold War Studies, Vol. 8, No. 3 (2006). Mehra, P., Essays in Frontier History: India, China, and the Disputed Border (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007). Nayar, B. R. and Paul, T. V., India in the World Order: Searching for MajorPower Status (New Delhi: Cambridge University Press, 2004). New York Times, “Nuclear Anxiety: Indian’s Letter to Clinton on the Nuclear Testing,” US–China Joint Statement on South Asia (May 12, 1998) (http://www.fas.org/news/china/1998/sasia.htm, accessed August 29, 2007). Norbu, D., Red Star Over Tibet (London: Oxford University Press, 1987). Norbu, D., “Tibet in Sino–Indian Relations: The Centrality of Marginality,” Asian Survey, Vol. 37, No. 11 (1997). Palit, D. K., War in High Himalaya: The Indian Army in Crisis, 1962 (London: Hurst, 1991). Ramesh, R., “Last vestige of old Tibetan culture clings on in remote Indian state,” The Guardian (November 20, 2006) (http://www.guardian.co.uk/ international/story/0,,1952122,00.html, accessed August 27, 2007). Ranganathan, C. V., “India–China Relations,” World Affairs, Vol. 2, No. 2 (1998) (http://www.ciaonet.org/olj/wa/wa_apr98rcv.html, accessed August 29, 2007). Scharfe, H., The State in Indian Tradition (Leiden: E J Brill, 1989). Schwartzberg, J. E., A Historical Atlas of South Asia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992).

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Sen, A., “Passage to China,” The New York Review of Books, Vol. 51, No. 19 (2004). Sen, T., “In Search of Longevity and Good Karma: Chinese Diplomatic Missions to Middle India in the Seventh Century,” Journal of World History, Vol. 12, No. 1 (2001). Sen, T., Buddhism, Diplomacy, and Trade: The Realignment of Sino–Indian Relations 600–1400 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press and Association for Asian Studies, 2003). Shakya, T., The Dragon in the Land of Snows: A History of Modern Tibet Since 1947 (London: Pimlico, 1999). Sidhu, W. P. S. and Yuan, J-D., China and India: Cooperation or Conflict? (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2003). Singh, K., A History of the Sikhs, Volume 2: 1839–1988 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999). Spence, J. D., The Search for Modern China, 2nd ed. (New York: W.W. Norton, 1999). Swaine, M. D. and Tellis, A. J., Interpreting China’s Grand Strategy: Past, Present, and Future (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2000). Talbot, I. and Singh, G., eds. Region and Partition: Bengal, Punjab, and the Partition of the Subcontinent (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Terrill, R., The New Chinese Empire and What It Means for the United States (New York: Basic Books, 2004). Thampi, M., ed., India and China in the Colonial World (New Delhi: Social Science Press, 2002). Thomas, R. G. C., Indian Security Policy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986). Wainwright, A. M., “Regional Security and Paramount Powers: The British Raj and Independent India” in South Asia Approaches the Millennium: Reexamining National Security, Weinbaum, M. G. and Kumar, C., eds. (Boulder: Westview Press, Inc., 1995). Yuan, J-D., “India’s Rise After Pokhran II: Chinese Analyses and Assessments,” Asian Survey, Vol. 41, No. 6 (2001).

CHAPTER 5

Indonesia Damien Kingsbury and Clinton Fernandes

ACEH On August 15, 2005, a peace agreement between the government of Indonesia and the Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (GAM), or Free Aceh Movement—ending twenty-nine years of separatist war—was signed at a ceremony in Helsinki. The peace agreement followed six months of negotiations between the two parties, brokered by the Crisis Management Initiative, with support from the European Union. The talks followed a tsunami on December 26, 2004, which left approximately 180,000 people dead or missing in Aceh and destroyed many of the populated low-lying areas of the province at the tip of Sumatra, the most northerly and westerly point in the Indonesian archipelago. Limited background discussion had been occurring between government representatives and GAM leaders for the previous three months, and an agreement in principle to meet to hold formal talks had occurred on December 24. But it was the tsunami that provided the catalyst for the timing of the talks and that provided both domestic and international pressure toward their successful resolution. The war in Aceh had ebbed and flowed over the previous three decades, marked by brutality and serious human rights abuses—largely, although not exclusively, perpetrated by the Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI), or Indonesian military, with generally increasing government responses to an increasingly strong separatist movement. At one level, Aceh, with its population of a little more than 4 million, was never likely to succeed militarily in breaking away from Indonesia, with its population sixty times as large. And there was no international support for a diplomatically derived separation. Yet the TNI was equally unable to

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defeat GAM, which enjoyed widespread and increasing legitimacy among the Acehnese people. This meant that any resolution of the conflict would, ultimately, have to be based on political compromise. It took a natural catastrophe and the circumstances it created to help bring that about.

Aceh in Indonesia Aceh has occupied a position in Indonesian political life and the Indonesian political imagination that belies the modest size of its population. In the period following the departure of East Timor from the republic in October 1999, Aceh became the most fiercely contested site of Indonesia’s nationalist claims. On May 19, 2003, the TNI launched its largest ever military operation, intended to quell once and for all the growing strength of GAM. It also appeared that the TNI was using the Aceh issue to reassert its authority in Indonesian political affairs, in relation to security issues and how the state was to organize itself, and in order to secure its longer-term economic interests. This was the most recent and among the most spectacular demonstration—not just a military assertion—of power in and over Aceh. It also forcibly illustrated the reticence of many Acehnese to be incorporated into the Indonesian state. The strength of the act reflected, in large measure, the parallel strength of a distinct local and separate identity on the part of many in Aceh. It also served, for many Acehnese, to entrench further a sense of alienation from a state that wished to otherwise embrace them. The return to full-scale military activity followed the collapse of talks in Tokyo aimed at resolving tensions that had arisen during the preceding “Cessation of Hostilities Agreement” (COHA) signed the previous December 9 (COHA 2002). The COHA was ostensibly designed to allow the opportunity to discuss a negotiated settlement to the conflict that had been ravaging the province since GAM unilaterally declared independence for the territory December 4, 1976 (ASNLF 1976). There had been serious tensions within the cease-fire, including attacks on monitoring offices undertaken by mobs with direct links to the TNI, who rejected the COHA and what was perceived to be the opportunity that it created for GAM to rebuild its political foundations. The Indonesian government’s insistence at the end of the talks that GAM disarm—effectively, to surrender—and accept “special autonomy” for Aceh under the name of Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam (NAD, or Peaceful State of Aceh) was rejected by GAM and provided the pretext for the TNI’s renewed military operation (RI 18/2001). Over the next two months, under a state of martial law, the troops—32,000 soldiers and paramilitary police sent in readiness for the seemingly inevitable end of the COHA—were increased

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to more than 50,000, and widespread fighting and social dislocation resumed. The conflict over Aceh’s claim to independence was perhaps the most emotionally divisive in Indonesia’s recent history, particularly after almost 80 percent of East Timorese voted to leave Indonesia in a UNadministered ballot in 1999, which heightened fears of Indonesia’s breakup. Beyond the sensitivities caused by the East Timor issue and its implications for the territorial sovereignty and legitimacy of the state, the reasons for the emotive response to Aceh’s bid for independence reflected a range of other factors, including Aceh’s leading role in opposing Dutch colonialism, Aceh’s contribution to Indonesia’s war of independence from the Dutch, and the precedent that would be set by having a Malay people secede from what is overwhelmingly a Malay state. If Indonesia is an ethnically composite state, it does draw on a broad panMalay identification, and the Acehnese are strongly identified with this otherwise common heritage.

Aceh’s Economic and Strategic Significance In concrete terms, Aceh is also economically and strategically important to Indonesia. Aceh’s economic value lies in its source of oil and gas deposits, primarily from the Arun LNG plant, run by Exxon-Mobil, just offshore from North Aceh (Passe). In 1997 Aceh provided 17 percent of Indonesia’s almost $12 billion in oil and gas export revenue, making Arun Indonesia’s fourth-largest export earner, a rank expected to be reinstated with new investment in hydrocarbon infrastructure. Aceh also has extensive mining, forestry, and plantation agriculture (BKPM 2001), and it has the potential to become a major center of trade, illustrated by large-scale port development planned for the island of Sabang, off Aceh’s north coast. Aceh’s strategic value is in its position—bordering the province of North Sumatra and at the northern end of the Malacca Straits, one of the world’s busiest waterways, through which travels approximately one quarter of the world’s oil, two thirds of liquid natural gas, and as much as one third of all other trade (Ong 2003: 2). Not least, regional conflict has also been a means by which the TNI has historically justified its high profile in state activities, and there has been a belief—expressed over a range of incidents over a long period— that the TNI engineered or exacerbated existing problems in order to assert itself as the only state institution capable of preserving the state. This, in turn, has assisted the TNI in forwarding its claim not just as a protector of the state, but also the arbiter of state affairs, at least in areas that it deems to be its particular responsibility (such as regional conflict, state unity, and the constitution). Beyond its desire to preserve the state,

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to protect the state’s vital economic and strategic interests, and to promote its own authority within the state, the TNI also had an economic interest in preserving its presence in Aceh. To supplement its inadequate official income, the TNI engages in legal businesses (transport, manufacturing, and so on), “grey” business activities (“protection” services), and criminal activities (e.g., illegal logging, extortion, smuggling, drug running, gambling, and prostitution). The TNI effectively had no legal businesses operating in Aceh, but it had extensive grey and black activities that required its continued presence (see Kingsbury and McCulloch 2004). As a part of this vested interest in Aceh, senior TNI officers in particular took a large proportion of the profits of these various operations, creating personal incentive on the part of many officers to retain a presence in Aceh. Furthermore, with the establishment of NAD and the higher proportion of revenues intended to accrue to it came the opportunity for officers to exert influence in order to access a greater share of such local revenues or related business possibilities.

The Independence Perspective of the Acehnese From an Acehnese independence perspective, Aceh has a distinctive majority language and culture, including a widely held devout adherence to Sunni Islam. In common with other definitions of nation (see Connor 1994, Smith 1998), many Acehnese (including GAM) highlight their long and particular history. Aceh was one of the few precolonial territories, of what was to become Indonesia, that was internationally recognized as a separate and sovereign state (Reid 1969, 1979; Sjamsuddin 1985), dating in various forms to the eighth century. Islam established itself in Aceh comparatively early in the history of the Southeast Asia region, when it was introduced to the Indonesian archipelago by Arabic and Indian traders with Aceh sometime after 800 AD. It is part of the mythologizing of Aceh’s past—not just by GAM, but by Acehnese more generally— that the first Islamic kingdom, Perlak, was established within the region of Aceh in the year 804 AD. According to the Liang Annals (502–556), Chinese traders referred to an area within Aceh as the Buddhist state of Po-Li (Stein 1907: 34n), and Perlak (probably Po-Li) was probably established as a trading port by the ninth century, given that the Sailendra Dynasty in Java was flourishing at this time and conducted international trade; Indian and Arabic ninth-century texts mention this area as a part of their trading routes. According to Montana (1997: 85–95), there is evidence to show the existence of an Islamic community at Nissam and Lamuri from the beginning of the twelfth century; the Acehnese region of Samudra-Pase was recognized as having a Muslim ruler, Sultan Malik

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al-Salih, by the late thirteenth century (Djajadiningrat 1958). Over the next 600 years the kingdoms of the region—including Samudra (later Pasai/Pase/Passe), after which the island of Sumatra is named, and Pidie—combined with Aceh Besar to form Aceh. As Siegel noted, since this time “[t]he history of Atjeh [sic] is told largely in terms of Islam and trade” (Siegel 1969: 4). In particular, Aceh’s focus on trade gave it an outward aspect—toward India, the Arab states, and the Ottoman Empire— rather than inward toward the archipelago (Reid 2002; McKinnon 2006). Not least within Aceh’s history is a strong claim to defending itself against outsiders (Reid 1979), most notably against the Dutch, who invaded in 1873 and who the Acehnese fought against until most of their leadership was killed or captured by around 1912. However, even after 1912, sporadic attacks against the Dutch continued in Aceh until the Japanese invasion of 1942, from which time the Acehnese turned their attention to the Japanese. In 1945 Indonesia declared independence— which was strongly supported in Aceh, notably by sending troops against the Dutch in North Sumatra. This involvement was seemingly on the understanding that, reflecting local “nationalist” aspirations, independence from the Dutch would lead to a high degree of local autonomy within a loose federal structure.

Indonesian Rule Indonesia was initially constructed, in 1949, as a federalist model, potentially allowing considerable scope for self-determination on the part of constituent states, with Teungku (“lord”) Daud Beureueh being elected as Aceh’s governor. However, early in 1950, Indonesia restructured itself as ten provinces, with Aceh subsumed into North Sumatra, and later that year Indonesia was unilaterally reconstituted as a unitary state. Aceh’s quasi-autonomous status was lost, which disenchanted those Acehnese aspiring toward a high level of self-rule. In the following year, Aceh was subsumed into North Sumatra, which many Acehnese regarded as a further betrayal of their political status and their fight against the Dutch. Failing to resolve this loss of autonomy, in 1953, Daud Beureueh declared Aceh’s independence from Indonesia, initially joining with the Darul Islam Indonesia (DII) rebellion, declaring Negara Bahagian Acheh (NBA), or the Federated State of Aceh, as a means of securing this claim. In a bid to conclude Aceh’s aspirations, a nominal “special administrative” status was granted by the Indonesian government in 1959 (accepted in 1963). But beyond relative autonomy in religious, educational, and cultural matters, this special autonomy turned out to have little substance. Although historians dispute the link between the events of the 1950s and later, the 1950s did reflect a period of reassertion

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of Acehnese identity that has been claimed by GAM as constituting the base of the current struggle for independence (see also Reid 2004; Kell 1995). Following the rise of the New Order from 1966 and its increased emphasis on international partnerships in mineral exploitation, Aceh found itself increasingly subject to economic domination by interests located primarily in Jakarta, with a consequent loss of potential wealth accruing to Jakarta. In particular, exploration in 1972 showed large liquid natural gas (LNG) deposits off the coast of Aceh, and in 1973 the Indonesian government signed a sales contract for the export of this LNG (Purnomo 2003) that almost completely excluded Acehnese economic interests, in turn leading to significant local resentment. This resentment was manifested in the resurrection of the idea of Acehnese independence among a relatively small number of Acehnese intellectuals. To put substance to this claim, on December 4, 1976, Teungku Hasan di Tiro proclaimed Aceh as an independent state, to which the Indonesian government responded with the mass arrests of GAM members. Senior GAM members have claimed in discussions with the author that, at this time, GAM was almost exclusively political in its orientation and its armed rebellion did not begin until after the initial mass arrests. Following the 1976 crackdown, GAM activists went underground; from 1986 about 500 cadres went to Libya for military training, forming the core of the movement in the late 1980s and leading to renewed attacks against police and military installations. This training ended in 1990, with Libya bowing to international pressure not to train fighters for external conflicts and GAM responding with concern over being labeled as a terrorist organization. In response, in 1989 the Indonesian military launched what was called the Daerah Operasi Militer (DOM), or Military Operations Area, in which around 15,000 “nonorganic” (i.e., not locally recruited or stationed) troops were moved into the province. This counterinsurgency operation struck at GAM’s military capacity, and a year later, with many field commanders killed or captured, the government claimed that GAM had been “crushed.” From 1989 until 1998 it has been variously estimated that between 10,000 and 26,000 people were killed. There is little doubt that the DOM period caused great disruption and hardship in Aceh. Thousands of homes were burned and, by mid1999, between 150,000 and 200,000 people were turned into refugees (HRW 2000). Suspected GAM supporters were summarily executed and their bodies often left in public (see AI 2000, HRW 2001a), and mass killings were accompanied by the widespread use of rape (Kamaruzzaman 2003) as a tool of intimidation and retribution. At least ten mass graves have been found from this time that contain the bodies of between 1,000 and 1,500 people (Martinkus 2004: 11). The DOM

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strengthened resentment against rule from Jakarta and continued to fuel rather than resolve separatist sentiments. It also continued to highlight fundamental distinctions between the rather more egalitarian and competitive political culture of Aceh with what many Acehnese saw as the hierarchical, monopolistic, Javanese-dominated political culture of the rest of Indonesia (see Ishak 2004; Sukma 2001: 7–9). Although the DOM campaign had a significant impact in Aceh, it did not crush GAM, which continued sporadic attacks on police and the army from 1990. There were also brief reversals of Indonesia’s official militaristic policy on Aceh, such as the withdrawal of Kopassus (special forces) troops in 1998 and the formal lifting of military operations. But, perhaps more important, the Indonesian government implemented a series of differing strategies following the fall of Suharto in May 1998. Reversing this situation, in January 1999, the TNI (under the formal auspices of the Indonesian national police, Polri) launched Operasi Wibawa, or Operation Authority, which was notable for its massacres of civilians (see Tapol 2000a, 2000b). Interestingly, wibawa is not an Indonesian word but is Javanese, illustrating both the ethnic distinction between the Java-centric TNI and GAM and undermining the Indonesian government’s claim to unity based on a generic as opposed to ethnic language. In response to these continuing attacks, during the general elections in June 1999 the GAM effectively closed down polling operations in the areas it controlled, including the regencies of North Aceh and Pidie, and continued its attacks against Indonesian soldiers, police, and government officials. It has been widely estimated that, in the years following the ending of the DOM, some 1,000 or more people have been killed annually in Aceh, with double that figure in the year following the renewal of military activities from May 2003 (AI 2004).

Presidency of Abdurrahman Wahid There was a brief and passing proposal by President Abdurrahman Wahid in early 2000 about the option of Aceh having a referendum, which was immediately reinterpreted—effectively revoked—by a TNI spokesman. However, this proposal did recognize a distinct political identity as existing in Aceh, even if it was not acted upon. But the TNI was reined in again with the signing of a “humanitarian cease-fire” on May 12, 2000, and again in the June 2000 conviction of twenty-four soldiers for the murder of fifty-seven villagers in 1999. It was around this time that Aceh’s “civil society” movement reached the peak of its influence, generally reflecting calls for a referendum. The civil society movement peaked with the march of several hundred thousand (some claim as much as a million) people in Banda Aceh on November 8, 1999, and a

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similarly large rally in November 2000. If there was ever any doubt about how Acehnese people felt, a rally by as much as one in four of the population—most from outside the capital of Banda Aceh—was a stunning confirmation of a desire for the opportunity to determine their own political status. After 1999, there were various assessments that Aceh’s civil society existed as a kind of “third force” in Acehnese politics, as a mediating point between the TNI on one hand and GAM on the other. Yet, as a guerrilla organization that relied on the goodwill of ordinary people, GAM appeared to have gained in legitimacy, confirmed by its strong showing in the postconflict elections. The reality was that, although some civil society groups still existed, after 2000 they were seriously restricted by the TNI, and many organizers were jailed or beaten, disappeared, or were murdered. As pressure was applied to such groups and individuals, the “middle ground,” such as it might have existed, effectively disappeared in Aceh by 2002. From 2003, civil society activists increasingly sought protection from the TNI with GAM, leading to a wider political consolidation. With some opposition to the notion of an exiled leader in Sweden (who, notably, had suffered a stroke), GAM split into two factions: one based primarily in Malaysia, although with significant leading membership in Sweden, and the other with leaders based in Sweden but with a strong support base in Malaysia. The breakaway faction referred to itself as Majelis Pemerintahan Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (MP-GAM), or Governing Council of the Free Aceh Movement, and was in some contact with the government in Jakarta. MP-GAM was not well represented in the field, and, in mid-2000, its secretary-general, Teungku Don Zulfari, was murdered in Malaysia after conducting peace talks by phone with President Wahid. GAM never admitted responsibility for Zulfari’s death and no one was ever formally charged with his killing. MP-GAM subsequently ceased to exist in a functional sense. While he was president, Wahid had made the resolution of the Aceh problem one of his highest priorities, but he was unable to bridge the divide between the demands for independence by GAM and wider “nationalist” pressure for the maintenance of the unity of the state, in particular from the army. Wahid even visited the provincial capital, Banda Aceh, in December 2000, although GAM leaders refused to meet with him. As the domestic political environment in Indonesia became more combative in 2001, hopes for resolving the Aceh issue faded. By 2001 the TNI increased troop numbers in Aceh to more than 30,000; leading generals had overwhelmingly rejected President Wahid’s peace efforts and again pushed for an a fullscale military “resolution” to the insurgency. On January 19, 2001, the June 2000 “cease-fire” was extended for another month, following all-party talks in Switzerland. During this

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cease-fire, civilians and activists continued to be killed or made to disappear. Aceh was made a “special administrative region” under “special autonomy” legislation, being renamed Nanggroe Aceh Darusslam, or Peaceful State of Aceh. In theory, this new status gave Aceh a greater level of local autonomy (and provincial unity) beyond that granted to subprovincial regions under the 2001 autonomy legislation (RI 18/2001). However, in practical terms, because the original special autonomy legislation draft was so watered down by the Indonesian legislature (DPR) before being passed, that status counted for very little and was widely seen to be much longer on rhetorical purpose and shorter on implementation. Rather than resolve the conflict, the imposition of special autonomy appeared to exacerbate it. By early 2001 GAM was estimated to control about 60 percent of the territory of Aceh and, in those areas, had assumed responsibility for government services such as education, health care, and infrastructure. Attacks that continued into 2001 involved dozens of local people being killed by security forces each week, despite another cease-fire signed in May 2001—“a futile but necessary charade” (Martinkus 2004: 26). A visit to Banda Aceh by the new president, Megawati Sukarnoputri, in September 2001 produced no results. As well as abuses and atrocities committed by the TNI, GAM had also acted against, notably, nonethnic Acehnese and had summarily executed suspected informers or government agents, although, in some cases, extrajudicial killings were undertaken by out-of-uniform TNI, police, or TNI-proxy militias and officially blamed on GAM. Not only was the use of militias in Aceh similar to that in East Timor, but officers who were well known for their links to East Timor’s militias, General Adam Damiri and Colonel Gerhan Lentara (commander of the west coast of the Greater Aceh region), had similar duties in Aceh. Both Damiri and Lentara had been named by the UN Human Rights Commission for investigation for war crimes—in the case of Lentara for his role as Dili martial law commander, when he oversaw some of the worst destruction and violence in East Timor in 1999. According to two leaked TNI intelligence documents and a later GAM intelligence assessment, by March 2004, there were nine militia organizations in Aceh; one organization, the Resistance Front Against GAM Separatists (FPSG), had ten branches throughout the territory. These militia organizations were explicitly linked to local Army Kodim, or District Military Command (e.g., 0101/Abes, 0102/Pidie, 0103/Aut, 0104/Atim, 0105/Abar, 0106/Ateng, 0107/Asel, 0108/Agara, and one for Langkat, based in North Sumatra). The leaders of these organizations ranged from local businessmen and government employees to local administrators and local politicians; their members were armed with everything from handguns and homemade shotguns (like many of East

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Timor’s militias) to the TNI’s own FN semiautomatic rifles (PT Pindad–manufactured) and standard TNI issue M-16 and SS1 assault rifles (also PT Pindad manufactured). The number of militia and active supporters was 165,000. (see GAM 2005, TNI 2004, RMLA 2004, Acehkita 2004). Although Aceh was a significant contributor to Indonesia’s income, the people of Aceh were poor by the standards of Sumatra, whereas infrastructure development outside of the main towns was at a low level relative to the rest of the island. As little as 1 percent of the income derived from oil in Aceh was said to be returned to the province prior to the creation of NAD, after which the territory was to have received 70 percent of revenues from oil and gas profits (declining to 50 percent after eight years) (RI 35/2004), in contrast to the 15 percent of oil and 30 percent of natural gas profits being returned to other provinces (other than West Papua) under Indonesia’s 2001 regional autonomy laws. However, given that the percentage of profits was only paid if there was a profit, the losses incurred by the state hydrocarbon company, Pertamina, meant that it increasingly failed to return income (Tempo 2005a, 2005b). With the expansion of outside economic interests, especially from Java, local people were often forcibly moved from their homes and landholdings, and environmental damage was extensive. Co-option of much of the local elite and the reorganization of local administration away from traditional models and along Javanese lines also led to a high level of antagonism toward the central government. Hopes for a negotiated settlement in 2002 were again dashed when GAM’s commander since 1989, Abdullah Syafei, was killed in an ambush on his jungle home. Around the same time, in July 2002, Army Chief of Staff General Ryamizard Ryacudu stepped up his rhetoric against GAM, claiming they were “terrorists.” “For me, no more dialogue,” Ryacudu said the following month. “The rebellion has to be crushed” (UPI 2002). This increasingly belligerent position was in part reflected in the establishment of Kodam Iskandar Muda, or Iskandar Muda Regional Military Command, specifically for Aceh, announced in January 2002.

Indonesia’s Military Offensive The TNI’s attempts to crush GAM met with a setback in November 2002. As many as 1,000 TNI troops, backed by helicopter gunships and mortars, believed they had surrounded a GAM contingent containing GAM Passe commander and GAM military spokesman, Sofyan Daud, in a swamp near the village of Paya Cot Trieng, North Aceh. But after four weeks of attacking the swamp and threatening to kill all within it, it turned out that no one was there. GAM’s reported “pleas for help” to the

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outside world during the siege were, in fact, part of a ploy to make the TNI look incompetent when it was realized that there was actually no one in the swamp. As it transpired, the GAM group of about twenty people and an additional 200 villagers within the swamp had slipped out within the first two days of the siege, and the subsequent TNI casualties were a result of friendly fire. The following month, GAM and the government of Indonesia signed the CoHA, and in January 2003 the government of Indonesia announced the introduction of special autonomy status, including the implementation of syariah (Islamic law) and greater revenue-sharing of its natural resources. However, as even well-known GAM critic Kirsten Shulze noted, “the special autonomy . . . has not really been implemented” (Shulze 2004: 55). The CoHA was seen by many observers as holding some hope of movement toward peace for Aceh. But it was clear throughout this period, that as in the cases of previous cease-fires, the TNI could only envisage a military solution and pressed for an end to the cease-fire, which it engineered at the final meeting in Tokyo on May 19, 2003. The following day, the government of Indonesia announced the imposition of martial law, which lasted until May 2004 (a state of emergency being declared thereafter). Most observers at that time agreed that martial law would further alienate the Acehnese—particularly the young. The belated sacking of the notoriously corrupt Acehnese governor, Abdullah Puteh, in July 2004 was a small step toward redressing local grievances, but for most, it was much too little and much too late. Aspirations by many Acehnese to a high degree of autonomy or independence were rooted in historical memory, in myth, and in a particular identification of themselves as distinctly Acehnese rather than as Indonesian. The particular qualities of Acehnese identity include a highly developed sense of justice and commitment to opposing “evil,” both of which have been claimed by many GAM members to derive from their understanding of Islam. These qualities were confirmed time and again by members of the GAM negotiating team and by members of Aceh civil society whom the author has met both before and during the peace talks process. Yet it has been the clumsy and too often brutal responses by Jakarta—manifested by the TNI (see AI 2004)—to legitimate claims for equity and other grievances that have fuelled the contemporary independence movement. In seeking redress to claims that are conventionally legitimate, the Acehnese felt keenly the contrast between their normative views of their world and how their world actually operated when constructed and constrained by forces external to it. This cycle of claim and repression has rekindled historical memory of assertions of political identity against outsiders, and the gaps in memory have been filled with (often shared) myth, as they are in most societies. As Connor has noted, it is not necessary for a sense of national identity to have existed always

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for it to be legitimate; it can evolve, as all national identities have indeed done. Claims to Acehnese nationalism, therefore, were strengthened by drawing on historical precedent, but they were not dependent on it. In the final analysis, what constitutes a nation and hence the basis for a nation-state is what the people who identify as that nationality voluntarily determine themselves to be. When GAM signed the peace agreement with the government of Indonesia in 2005, many Acehnese remained opposed to the peace process or otherwise claimed that it should include a referendum on independence. This was certainly the view expressed to the author by Acehnese civil society leaders at the GAM–Aceh civil society meeting in Stockholm from April to July 2005. However, many other Acehnese welcomed the peace, and, following the signing of the Memorandum of Understanding (MoU), many aspects of Acehnese life quickly returned to what passed for normal in the post-tsunami environment. Despite elections for local executive positions, which were won overwhelmingly by GAM candidates, there was an increasing belief among many formerly proindependence Acehnese that the terms and conditions stipulated in the MoU had been watered down or neglected in the subsequent legislation and that there were further delays and obfuscation on key elements of both the legislation and the MoU. Equally important, it appeared that former militia associated with the TNI were intent on derailing aspects of the peace through armed attacks against former GAM members and through opposition to transparent election outcomes. A growing view among some Acehnese, unspoken in public, held that— if the Indonesian government did not honor the terms and conditions of the MoU and military-linked civil violence continued—there would

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again be growth in local anti-Indonesian sentiment. It was such sentiment that led to Aceh’s rebellion against Jakarta in the 1950s and again in the 1970s. The peace in Aceh, therefore, was only as strong as both parties’ commitment to it.

WEST PAPUA West Papua is the western half of the island of New Guinea, which lies just south of the equator between the Asian and Australian continents. The other half of the island is the independent state of Papua New Guinea. Taken as a whole, the island is the third largest in the world (after Australia and Greenland). Even before Europeans entered the region, seafarers, traders, and merchants from the Sultanate of Tidore in today’s North Maluku were familiar with the west coast of the island, whose inhabitants have long had a distinct ethnic identity. European visits to the island began in the sixteen century, and by 1660 the Dutch had asserted sovereignty through an agreement with the ruler of nearby Tidore. The Dutch expanded their administration early in the twentieth century, but they were more concerned with the rest of the Netherlands East Indies than with West Papua, which “was considered a backwater for colonial administrators” (Osborne 1985: 8). The Dutch detained Indonesian leaders there because of its remoteness. Apart from a few hundred Indonesian nationalists and communists in the Boven Digul prison camp on West Papua’s south coast, few Indonesian nationalists had ever laid eyes on the territory. However, this experience combined with the symbolic power of West Papua on Dutch maps to strengthen the drive to incorporate it into the fledgling republic. Even before Indonesian independence, many Indonesians worked for the Dutch colonial government in West Papua as teachers and middleranking officials because of the scarcity of suitably qualified West Papuans. Although their experience may have led them to believe that West Papua was part of the wider Indonesian nation, many of their West Papuan subjects took an entirely different view. They directed their resentment of the colonial bureaucracy not at the Dutch who ruled from afar, but at the Indonesian bureaucrats who administered them. During World War II, the Japanese invaded the island of New Guinea, replacing the Dutch colonial administration and freeing a number of imprisoned political dissidents. The war brought employment opportunities to the West Papuans in the construction and trading sectors, and many grew in confidence. They were further inspired by the sight of the African American soldiers who were part of the Allied force that liberated West Papua from the Japanese. Many West Papuans saw them

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working and fighting alongside white troops and drew the obvious conclusion: if African Americans could do all this, so could the West Papuans.

West Papua after World War II The Indonesian nationalist leader Sukarno proclaimed independence after the Japanese surrender, inspiring major uprisings throughout Java. Attempts to recolonize Indonesia were met with fierce sometimes fanatical resistance. The Dutch leadership realized that there was no alternative but to negotiate with republican representatives. After a further period of contestation, the Dutch came under overwhelming international pressure and agreed in August 1949 to transfer the whole of its territory, excepting West Papua, to an independent United States of Indonesia. The political status of West Papua would be determined through negotiations. Although Indonesia was pressing its claim to sovereignty over West Papua, most West Papuans had shown very little enthusiasm about it. The tiny educated minority of West Papuan schoolmasters, bureaucrats, paramedics, police, and tradesmen were divided between pro-Dutch and proIndonesian groupings (Osborne 1985: 23–25). The Dutch had been rapidly expanding opportunities inside the territory and preparing its people for independence. They poured money into schools to train West Papuans as teachers, policemen, paramedics, nurses, tradesmen, and administrators, and many were recruited into the colonial administration. A national legislature known as the New Guinea Council was formed in 1961, and a flag and national anthem were introduced. The anthem, Hai Tanah ku Papua (“Oh, My Land of Papua”) was sung regularly at official occasions after the Dutch national hymn. The flag, the Bintang Kejora or Morning Star—consisting of a single white star on a red background, flanked by seven blue and six white horizontal stripes representing the province’s districts—was formally unfurled December 1, 1961. Many West Papuan nationalists regarded this ceremony and associated events as having legitimized the birth of an independent West Papua. All of these events intensified proindependence sentiments inside West Papua, particularly among the newly educated West Papuan elite. The Dutch foreign minister Joseph Luns presented the so-called Luns Plan to the UN General Assembly: it called for a Dutch withdrawal, an international study commission, and a UN-supervised plebiscite over the territory’s future. The Luns Plan won a majority of votes in the General Assembly, although not the two-thirds required for success. It was accepted by the New Guinea Council but rejected by Indonesia, whose president, Sukarno, reiterated his government’s determination

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(a) to thwart the formation of a puppet state of Papua by the colonial power; (b) to raise the Indonesian Red and White flag in Papua; and (c) to prepare a general mobilisation to defend national independence and unity (Government of Indonesia 2003: 25).

Sukarno also established a task force known as Mandala Command to wrest West Papua from the Dutch. It was commanded by the future dictator of Indonesia, Major General Suharto. The military capabilities of Mandala Command were not serious enough to threaten Dutch rule, but they had considerable geopolitical implications. The United States, in particular, was alarmed by Sukarno’s willingness to request the Soviet Union’s support in the form of money and weapons. It used its influence in the United Nations to intervene diplomatically between the Dutch and the Indonesians. Under U.S. pressure, an agreement was signed August 15, 1962: known as the New York Agreement, it provided for the transfer of West Papua to an interim UN Temporary Executive Authority (UNTEA) from October 1, 1962 to May 1, 1963, followed by a longer period of Indonesian administration. The territory’s inhabitants would be allowed, before the end of 1969, “to participate in the act of selfdetermination to be carried out in accordance with international practice” (UN August 15, 1962). Seven months of UN administration duly occurred, after which Indonesia assumed administrative control of West Papua.

Act of Free Choice A rebellion against Indonesian rule is said to have begun as early as 1963, and the Indonesian crackdown was not long in coming. Its air force attacked villages with machine guns and bombs, arrested West Papuan dissidents for lengthy periods without trial, and tortured and executed those who insisted on self-determination. Military repression was accompanied by political authoritarianism, which was nowhere more apparent than in the conduct of the Pepera (Penentuan Pendapat Rakyat), or Act of Free Choice, which had to be carried out “in accordance with international practice” before the end of 1969. The Indonesian authorities rejected the idea of a one person–one vote system, preferring instead an alternative system known as musyawarah—a “process of consultation toward consensus to secure the people’s approval.” Musyawarah was said to be “a decision-making procedure based on discussion, understanding, and knowledge of the problem.” The Indonesian government was at pains to point out that the New York Agreement contained no mention of the words “plebiscite” or “referendum.” It defended musyawarah as appropriate to “the specific sociocultural conditions of the people”

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(Government of Indonesia 2003: 35). When carried out correctly, musyawarah can be profoundly democratic, but subsequent events showed that it was not carried out correctly. The United Nations sent a 53-year-old Bolivian diplomat named Fernando Ortiz Sanz to advise, assist, and participate in arrangements for the Act of Free Choice. At the insistence of the Indonesian government, his entry to West Papua was delayed until August 23, 1969, when the population had been sufficiently intimidated by air and ground attacks and mass killings. Ortiz Sanz had initially suggested that the will of the West Papuans ought to be determined by a “mixed method,” by which musyawarah would be used in the rural areas and normal voting procedures would be used in the urban areas. Even this concession was soon jettisoned in favor of total musyawarah, which involved only 1,022 West Papuans—approximately 0.1 percent of the population—handpicked without the supervision of the United Nations, the international press, or other independent observers. It came as little surprise, therefore, when every single one of the specified group agreed to join Indonesia. In 2005, a detailed investigation into the Act of Free Choice concluded the following: in the opinion of the Western observers and the Papuans who have spoken out about this, the Act of Free Choice ended up as a sham, where a pressganged electorate acting under a great deal of pressure appeared to have unanimously declared itself in favor of Indonesia (Drooglever 2005).

In an interview many years later, the UN’s Under-Secretary for the Act of Free Choice conceded that the Act was just a whitewash. The mood at the United Nations was to get rid of this problem as quickly as possible . . . Nobody gave a thought to the fact that there were a million people who had their fundamental rights trampled . . . Suharto was a terrible dictator. How could anyone have seriously believed that all voters unanimously decided to join his regime? Unanimity like that is unknown in democracies (Lekic November 22, 2001).

Despite Indonesian objections that the one-person-one-vote system could not be used in West Papua because of alleged “geographical difficulties,” “problems associated with communications,” and the unsophistication of the populace, Indonesia conducted the 1971 elections in West Papua according to the one-person-one-vote system. Unsurprisingly, the elections resulted in an overwhelming victory for the Suharto dictatorship. West Papuan nationalism today draws heavily on the flawed nature of the 1969 Act of Free Choice. Many West Papuans refer to it as the “Act

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of No Choice” and seek to “straighten out” history by encouraging the Indonesian authorities to acknowledge the historic injustice.

Indonesian Rule Major changes occurred under the New Order regime of President Suharto. The province began to be transformed under the impact of major “development” programs in transport, administration, population, agriculture, education, health, and resource-based industries. Resistance to Indonesian rule sharpened, and a movement known as the Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM), or Free Papua Movement, came to be formed. In the early years, its leaders were members of the Arfak people from the Manokwari area. The negative experience of Indonesian rule soon provoked widespread resistance among the population, and the OPM eventually became a symbol of resistance throughout West Papua. Initially the OPM was a collective term for a series of regional, popularly supported movements for freedom from Indonesia. Even today it is best understood as “a cultural movement that unites Papuan resistance against Indonesia”—an umbrella for a variety of distinct organizations with “a broad affiliation with the OPM while remaining operationally distinct entities” (Kirksey 2002: 42–43). The poorly armed guerrillas were not a serious threat to Indonesian rule, instead providing a convenient justification for greater military repression. The main challenge to Indonesia’s dominance was a cultural renaissance that occurred under the guidance of two West Papuans: anthropologist and musician Arnold Ap and ethnomusicologist Sam Kapissa. Ap had previously been imprisoned for protesting the Act of Free Choice. After his release, he began work on the preservation and revitalization of West Papuan identity by recording traditional songs from the various ethnic groups. He formed a popular music group known as Mambesak, along with Sam Kapissa. Arnold Ap was murdered by the Indonesian military in 1984 for reasons that are not hard to understand: Mambesak’s celebration of West Papuan music, dancing, and drumming was a way of helping foster an alternative cultural identity—one of “not being Indonesian.”

After the Fall of Suharto When the Suharto regime fell May 21, 1998, many West Papuans openly renewed their demands for political self-determination. Nine months later, a delegation of civil society leaders representing a cross section of West Papuan society travelled to Jakarta to meet Suharto’s successor, President Habibie. The “Team of 100,” as they called themselves, comprised intellectuals, former political prisoners, West Papuan

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Muslims, students, and members of the provincial legislative assembly. Their stated agenda was to discuss development issues and run workshops in cooperation with the national government. However, once the meeting began February 26, 1999, they informed Habibie in a matter-offact way that they wanted independence from Indonesia. According to reliable accounts of the meeting, Habibie responded with stunned silence. Clearly unprepared for their demand, he appealed to the Papuan delegation to reconsider. The meeting ended inconclusively, but both sides learned something from it. The national authorities decided that something had to be done to contain the new challenge to Indonesian territorial integrity. The West Papuan delegation went back and commenced preparations for a national consultation known as Mubes (musyawarah besar, or “grand gathering for discussion”). By the end of the year, however, Habibie was succeeded as president by Abdurrahman Wahid, who took important steps toward reconciliation. He spent New Year’s Eve in West Papua, celebrating the first local sunrise of the new millennium. He also decreed that the province would be granted extensive autonomy within Indonesia and would be officially known as Papua rather than the Suharto-era term of Irian Jaya. His goodwill won him the respect and affection of many West Papuans. The Mubes was held February 23–26, 2000, during this time of openness, known as Papuan Spring. Attended by thousands of West Papuans from all over the territory, the mubes discussed three main issues: the imperative to address the injustice of Papua’s history (pelurusan sejarah, or the need to rectify history), the development of a coordinated political approach, and the need to consolidate the groundswell of the developing movement (van den Broek and Szalay 2001: 86).

It was also decided that a People’s Congress should be organized. President Wahid stepped in once again, making a generous donation, as did the Freeport mining company. This so-called Second Papuan People’s Congress—the First Congress regarded as having occurred in October 1961 during the Dutch era—was held in Jayapura from May 29 to June 4, 2000, and was attended by previously exiled West Papuan leaders and regional representatives. In its final resolution, the Congress stated that the Papuans were already a sovereign nation and that Indonesia, the Netherlands, the United States, and the United Nations should acknowledge the Papuans’s political rights. The Congress also decided to establish its own executive, to be known as the Presidium Dewan Papua (PDP), or Papua Presidium Council. Theys Eluay was elected chair and Tom Beanal vice-chair. The Indonesian authorities had rather different ideas; a leaked operational plan, dated June 8, 2000, showed that although they intended to

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take some steps toward improving social welfare, they also decided to decapitate the West Papuan leadership, commence military operations to eliminate armed resistance, and establish pro-Indonesian militias to intimidate civil society groups (TAPOL October 12, 2001). The Papuan Spring came to an end soon afterward. Wahid’s presidency was undermined constantly and he was replaced as president by Megawati Sukarnoputri in July 2001. A few months later, Theys Eluay, the chair of the PDP, was strangled to death and five PDP leaders were imprisoned. Indonesia’s new president subsequently instructed the military leadership to “execute your assignments and responsibilities to your best ability without constantly experiencing anxiety about violating principles of human rights” (Kirksey 2002: 58n). After Kopassus (Special Forces) soldiers were convicted of the assassination of Theys Eluay, General Ryamizard Ryacudu, the head of Indonesia’s army, said the following about his murderers: I don’t know, people say they did wrong, they broke the law. What law? Okay, we are a state based on the rule of law, so they have been punished. But for me, they are heroes because the person they killed was a rebel leader (McBeth 2005).

As part of the Indonesian military’s operational plan, extremist Muslim groups such as Laskar Jihad began to enter West Papua; its Afghanistan-trained commander Jafar Umar Thalib established branch offices in several West Papuan towns through the Forum Komunikasi Ahlus Sunna Wal Jama’ah (FKAWJ), or Sunni Communication Forum, which had been formed in 1998. From the very beginning, there were strong indications that Laskar Jihad had the backing of military and political hard-liners in Jakarta. Unlike other violent Islamic groups, which operated in a clandestine manner, Laskar Jihad reveled in shows of strength, such as rallies, demonstrations, parades, and processions. Its members received military training near Bogor (West Java) and Yogyakarta from sympathetic members of the Indonesian military. Officer cadets, members of Kopassus, and martial arts trainers were specifically involved in training camps near Bogor in April 2000. Members of Kopassus enjoyed the support of officers in the TNI, who were opposed to the reformist presidency of Abdurrahman Wahid. The group’s explicitly nationalist agenda also conformed to the Indonesian military’s strategy. Indeed, Jafar Umar Thalib went out of his way to emphasize his antiseparatist credentials, stating that the problem in Maluku was not caused by religion, but by separatism. Thalib was arrested in Ambon May 4, 2002, on charges of inciting violence. However, it is indicative of the high level of official acceptance accorded to Laskar Jihad at this time

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that he was visited in prison by then–vice president Hamzah Haz. Conveniently for its military backers, Laskar Jihad’s formal disbandment was announced the day after the Bali bombing of October 2002. As a concession to West Papuan opinion, the Indonesian authorities offered special autonomy for the province. Although it had also been proposed for Aceh, West Papuan moderates seized on the offer and drafted a Special Autonomy bill (Otsus or Otonomi Khusus) that reflected their basic requirements. Had it been implemented honestly by the Indonesian authorities, the bill would have gone a long way toward rebuilding trust between Jakarta and the inhabitants of Indonesia’s easternmost province. It would have ensured West Papuan representation in an upper house, the Majelis Rakyat Papua (MRP), or Papuan People’s Assembly, and granted extensive political powers to representatives from customary groups, religious institutions, and women’s groups. Any administrative division of West Papua would have had to be deliberated by the MRP and approved by the provincial parliament. Migration to West Papua would have been guided, supervised, and controlled by the provincial government. West Papua would have received a greater share of all revenues from resource extraction projects (70 percent of oil and gas and 80 percent of mining). There would have been a direct benefit to rural communities, with programs devoted to improving health services, educational facilities, and infrastructure over a twenty-year period (Sumule 2003: 7–42). It was, in short, an excellent opportunity for the Indonesian authorities to demonstrate trust and resolve matters. The involvement of West Papuan representatives was a sign that negotiations between the central government and the West Papuan people were possible. However, the support of the West Papuan public faded when they realized that the Indonesian government had no intention of establishing the MRP in its original form. The importance of the assembly stemmed from its presumed ability to defend the rights of West Papuans. But the Indonesian government feared the devolution of political power to the province represented by the Otsus package, and the Ministry of Home Affairs in Jakarta presented a much-diluted version, Minister Hari Sabarno insisting that only cultural values could be represented. The Indonesian authorities were clearly unwilling to explore a middle ground in which a compromise solution, short of independence, could be reached. The West Papuan people were disappointed that the implementation of Otsus would be hampered by the provincial legislators’ lack of authority. They were infuriated when Wahid’s successor as president, Megawati Sukarnoputri, signed a presidential instruction on January 27, 2003, that created two new provinces (West Irian Jaya and Central Irian Jaya), three new regencies (Paniai, Mimika, and Puncak Jaya), and one new

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municipality (Sorong). The West Papuan public was informed that the presidential instruction would be referred to as an administrative “blossoming” (pemekaran) rather than what it actually was—a cynical divideand-rule strategy to partition the province. President Megawati announced the partition plan without consulting either the provincial government or the local communities. This was a violation of the special autonomy provisions, which required that such a plan be deliberated by the MRP and approved by the provincial parliament. It was simply issued from Jakarta without regard for the peoples’ wishes, thereby reinforcing the popular impression of the central government’s bad faith. The current president, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, was security minister at the time. It appears that he was not consulted before the announcement either. The partition plan also created a number of new provinces and districts, allowing the Indonesian military to increase the number of troops in West Papua. Each new province would receive its own regional, district, and subdistrict military commands—with greater opportunities for repression, as well as for patronage and corruption. There was unequivocal opposition to the partition plan from ordinary West Papuans, but the Indonesian authorities were unmoved, and the Ministry of Home Affairs appointed provincial secretary Decky Asmuruf as the chair of the assistance team to implement partition. At first, it was envisaged that the partition would result in the carving out of two new provinces—Central Irian Jaya and West Irian Jaya—in addition to the original Papua province, which would be reduced in size. However, as a consequence of the large demonstrations in Timika in September 2003 that left five people dead and many more injured, the creation of Central Irian Jaya province did not go ahead. Further to the west, the new province of West Irian Jaya did come into existence. Opponents of the partition plan formed a Special Autonomy Defense Team to challenge pemekaran in the Constitutional Court. They argued that both the Indonesian military and the Badan Intelijen Negara (BIN), or National Intelligence Board, had economic interests in maintaining a large military presence in the region. They pointed out that the establishment of the new province would benefit key figures in Megawati’s political party, who had economic interests in the Bintuni Bay area— where British Petroleum and Pertamina (Indonesia’s state-owned oil corporation) were establishing the Tangguh liquefied natural gas plant. The Special Autonomy Defense Team knew, for instance, that West Papua’s military commander, Major General Mahidin Simbolon, had paid a visit in March 2002 to the Tangguh project, together with other members of the security forces and their wives and girlfriends. According to witnesses, they had “strolled around the project site brandishing automatic weapons.” British Petroleum officials had hoped to ensure the

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project’s security without involving the Indonesian military, but they were soon disabused of that notion by Simbolon, who “made clear that any deviation from the usual security role of the military for a project of national significance would need to be approved by Indonesian President Megawati” (Mapes April 18, 2002). It should be noted, however, that, in response to a letter from West Papua Association UK, BP Indonesia said that Simbolon did not make this last comment, claiming that he had suggested that the company work closely with the community to prevent problems. The Special Autonomy Defense Team was supported by then-governor of Papua Dr. Jaap Solossa, as well as by elements of the West Papuan elite in Jayapura. Dr. Solossa was an expert on the subject, having earned a master’s degree in development economics from Gajah Mada University and a doctorate with research on special autonomy from Padjadjaran University. He later died under mysterious circumstances—a development that did not go unnoticed by West Papuan critics of partition. Before the Constitutional Court issued its decision, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono was elected president in October 2004. Although he promised to implement special autonomy and to pursue nonmilitary solutions in West Papua, many expert observers expressed doubts about precisely how he could do all of this, given the Indonesian military’s power and indifference to civilian authority. The next month, the Constitutional Court handed down its decision, ruling that the original decision to create the new province of West Irian Jaya was unconstitutional but that the province should be allowed to exist anyway because it was already in place (Somba July 25, 2006). It stated that the Special Autonomy Law had come into effect after the new province and regencies had been designed, and therefore no state institutions had been annulled. President Yudhoyono responded to the decision of the Constitutional Court by establishing the long-promised MRP. He also issued a presidential instruction to ensure that funds allocated to West Papua were properly accounted for. His stated aim was to focus on infrastructure, poverty relief, heath care, and education under the general theme of “empowerment.” Unfortunately, the redesigned MRP was largely symbolic in nature and bore little resemblance to the profoundly democratic institution that had been envisaged by the West Papuans themselves. As a consequence, most religious leaders in West Papua refused to participate in the MRP. Large demonstrations occurred under the leadership of the Dewan Adat Papua (the Papuan Traditional Council), and, at a rally in Jayapura, protestors presented the parliament with a coffin marked “Special Autonomy.” Furthermore, although the Special Autonomy law permits the flying of a flag symbolizing West Papua’s cultural identity, two West Papuans who did so were sentenced to jail for ten and fifteen years for treason.

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In July 2006, Indonesia’s Minister for Home Affairs Mohammed Ma’aruf swore in Abraham (“Bram”) Atururi, a retired Marine brigadier general, as the governor of the new province of West Irian Jaya. Atururi was a member of the National Intelligence Agency and retained close connections to Indonesia’s security apparatus. His appointment reflected the hopes of the Indonesian authorities that he would increase the province’s Indonesianization. Barnabas (“Bas”) Suebu was also sworn in as governor of Papua province. Bas Suebu and Bram Atururi, both ethnic West Papuans, apparently agreed that, although the central government has imposed an administrative border, no cultural boundary should exist between their provinces. According to a long-term observer of West Papuan affairs, their agreement probably reflected their decision not to challenge the central government and may be a West Papuan way of saying that they are at a loss to know what to do in order to reverse the partition. An issue that seems certain to bring West Papua to international attention is the state of its forests. Governor Bas Suebu announced in December 2007 that he would ban all log exports from 2008 in an attempt to preserve the territory’s huge tracts of virgin forest, thereby reducing global warming. Given the worldwide interest in preventing global warming, Suebu’s preservation policy will run afoul of illegal loggers, many of whom have close links with the Indonesian military.

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Aspinall, E., and H. Crouch, The Aceh Peace Process: Why It Failed (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2003). Badan Koordinasi Penanaman Modal (BKPM), Regional Potential: Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam (Jakarta: BKPM (Capital Investment Co-ordinating Board), 2001). van den Broek, T., and A. Szalay, “Raising the Morning Star” in Journal of Pacific History, Vol. 36, No. 1 (2001). Christensen, J., “Invitation to Visit Indonesia and to Meet in Jakarta 22–24.3.2005,” fax to Damien Kingsbury (Lahti: SCS Consulting Ltd, March 17, 2005). Christensen, J., E-mail to Mhd Nur Djuli, Bakhtiar Abdullah, and Damien Kingsbury (April 26, 2005). Crisis Management Initiative (CMI), “Agenda for the Second Meeting between the Government of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement, 21–23 February 2005,” Helsinki: CMI, February 21–23, 2005). Crisis Management Initiative (CMI), “Working Paper on Aceh Monitoring Mission (AMM),” (Helsinki: CMI, May 13, 2005). COHA, 2002, Cessation of Hostilities Framework Agreement Between the Government of the Republic of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement, signed at Geneva on December 9, 2002. Connor, W., Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994). Djajadiningrat, H., “Islam in Indonesia” in K. Morgan, ed., Islam—The Straight Path: Islam Interpreted by Muslims (New York: The Ronald Press Company, 1958). Draft MoU, Memorandum of Understanding between the Government of the Republic of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement (July 1, 2005). Drooglever, P. J., Act of Free Choice: The Papuans of Western New Guinea and the Limitations of the Right to Self-Determination (2005). (http://tapol.gn. apc.org/reports/droogleverengsum.htm) Elmslie, J., Irian Jaya under the Gun: Indonesian Economic Development Versus West Papuan Nationalism (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002). European Union (EU a), February 12, 2005, ‘“Aceh Monitoring Mission (AMM)—Selected Key Principles for Initial Agreement and for Inclusion in Concept of Operations,” Working Paper CH (EU, July 12, 2005). European Union (EU b), February 12, 2005, “Essential Elements of a Potential CONOPS,” Working Document, Civil-Military cell, version 2 (EU, July 12, 2005). GAM, Data Orang Sipil (Cuwak, Milisi) Yang Dipersenjatai Oleh TNI/POLRI di Acheh, Free Acheh Movement intelligence assessment (2005). Geertz, C., The Interpretation of Cultures (London: Fontana Press, 1993). GoI-GAM, “Joint statement by the Government of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement (GAM)” (Helsinki, July 17, 2005). Government of Indonesia, Questioning the Unquestionable (2003: 25) (http://www.indonesiamission-ny.org/issuebaru/Publications/papua/ papua.PDF)

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Henri Dunant Centre, Aceh Framework Agreement (Human Rights Watch, February 22, 2005). Human Rights Watch (HRW), Indonesia: Civilians Targeted in Aceh (Press Backgrounder, Human Rights Watch, May 2000). Human Rights Watch (HRW), “Accountability for Human Rights Violations in Aceh” in Human Rights Watch, Vol. 14, No. 1 (March 2001a). Human Rights Watch (HRW), “Indonesia: The War in Aceh” in Human Rights Watch, Vol. 13, No. 4 (August 2001b). Ishak, O. S., 2004, The Anatomy of Aceh Conflict, unpublished research report (Banda Aceh, 2004). Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS) Indonesia, Who Takes Care of Returnees in Aceh? (Jakarta: JRS, April 17, 2004). Kamaruzzaman, S., Mass Rape in a Situation of Armed Conflict (1989–1998) in Naggroe Aceh Darussalam Province, Indonesia, LLM thesis (Faculty of Law, University of Hong Kong, 2003). Kell, T., 1995, The Roots of Acehnese Rebellion 1989–1992, Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, No. 74 (New York: Cornell University, Ithaca, 1995). Kingsbury, D., Peace in Aceh: A Personal Account of the Aceh Peace process (Jakarta: Equinox, 2006). Kingsbury, D., and L. McCulloch, “Military Business in Aceh” in A. Reid, ed. Verandah of Violence: Background to the Aceh Problem (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2006). Kingsbury, D., J. Remenyi, J. McKay, and J. Hunt, Key Issues in Development (London: Palgrave, 2004). Kirksey, S. E., From Cannibal to Terrorist, M. Phil. thesis (Oxford University, 2002). Kompas, “Hentikan Perundingan RI-GAM di Helsinki” (April 19, 2005). Kyodo, “Top Indonesian Leaders Met Secretly with GAM Adviser” (March 28, 2005). Lekic, S., “Papua’s Incorporation into Indonesia Was a Farce, Top UN Officials Say” (Associated Press, November 22, 2001). Malik, M., Letter by Malik Mahmud to Martti Ahtisaari (State of Acheh, Office of the Prime Minister, February 6, 2005). Malik, M., Statement by PM Malik Mahmud to CMI Peace Process Round 3 (April 12, 2005). Mapes, T., “Indonesian Military Pressures BP on Papua Gas Facility” in Wall Street Journal (April 18, 2002). Martinkus, J., Indonesia’s Secret War in Aceh (Sydney, Australia: Random House, 2004). McBeth, J., “Questions over Activist’s Death in the Air” Straits Times (April 26, 2005). McKinnon, E., “Indian and Indonesian Elements in Early North Sumatra” in A. Reid, ed. Verandah of Violence: Background to the Aceh Problem (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2006). Merikallo, K., “The Aceh Peace Talks” in Suomen Kuvalehti (May 2005). Montana, S., Nouvelles donnees sur les royaumes de Lamuri et Barat (France: Association Archipel, 1997).

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MoU, Memorandum of Understanding between the Government of the Republic of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement (July 17, 2005). Nazaruddin, S., The Republican Revolt (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1985). Nessen, W., The Black Road: On the Frontline of Aceh’s War, documentary film, 2005). Ong, G., Next Stop, Maritime Terrorism (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, September 12, 2003). Osborne, R., Indonesia’s Secret War (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1985). Pudja, W., Nota Kesapahaman antara Pemerintah Republik Indonesia dan Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (July 17, 2005). Purnomo Y., Ministerial Paper (Washington D.C., December 18, 2003). Reid, A., The Contest for North Sumatra: Atjeh, the Netherlands and Britain, 1858–1898 (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1969). Reid, A., The Blood of the People: Revolution and the End of Traditional Rule in Northern Sumatra (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1979). Reid, A., “Monitors Oversee Aceh Peace Deal,” The World Today (ABC Radio, November 25, 2002). Reid, A., Indonesia, Aceh and the modern nation-state, speech to National Integration and Regionalism in Indonesia and Malaysia conference (University of New South Wales, the Australian Defence Force Academy, Canberra, 2004). Reid, A., ed. Verandah of Violence: The Background to the Aceh Problem (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2006). RI 18/2001 Law No. 18/2001 on Special Autonomy for the Province of Aceh Special region as the Province of Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam (August 9, 2001)/Undang-ndang Nanggroe Aceh Daulssalam 2001, UUNomor 18 Tahun 2001 Tentang Tonomi Khusus Bagi Provinsi Daerah Istemewa Aceh Sebagi Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam, republic Indonesia. RI 35/2004, Republic of Indonesia Government Regulation Number 35 of 2004 on Upstream Oil and Gas Business Activities. RMLA 2004, “The Formation of People Resistance Action Front in the Territory of NAD Province” (Aceh: Regional Martial Law Authority, The Province of Aceh, Intelligence Taskforce Unit, March 2004). Robinson, G., “Rawan is as Rawan Does: The Origins of Disorder in New Order Aceh” in Indonesia, Vol. 66 (1998: 127–156). Schulze, Kirsten E., The Free Aceh Movement (GAM): Anatomy of a Separatist Organisation (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2004). Siboro, T., “Deadlock looms in Aceh peace talks: Widodo,” The Jakarta Post (July 14, 2005). Siegel, J., The Rope of God (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). SIRA (SIRA Center, February 4, 2005). Sjamsuddin, N., The Republican Revolt: A Study of the Acehnese Rebellion (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1985). Smith, A., Nationalism and Modernism: A Critical Survey of Recent Theories of Nations and Nationalism (Routledge, London, 1998).

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Somba, N. D., Bram Atururi, West Irian Jaya’s first governor (Jakarta Post, July 25, 2006). Stein, M., Ancient Khotan, Vol. 1 (1907). Sukma, R., 2001, “The Acehnese Rebellion: Secessionist Movement in PostSuharto Indonesia” in Non-Traditional Security Issues in Southeast Asia, Andrew T. H. Tan and J. D. Kenneth Boutin, eds. (Singapore: Institute of Defence and Strategic Studies, 2001). Sumule, A., Mencari jalan tengah: otonomi khusus Provinsi Papua (Jakarta: Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2003). TAPOL, Bantaqiah trial: an examination of the indictment by TAPOL, TAPOL Report (TAPOL, April 25, 2000a). TAPOL, A Reign of Terror: Human Rights Violations in Aceh 1998–2000 (TAPOL, March 2000b). TAPOL, Secret operation launched to undermine and destroy all pro-independence activities (TAPOL, October 12, 2001). (http://tapol.gn.apc.org/news/ files/st011012wpsecret.htm) Tempo, “Hard Times for the Sickly” in Tempo (April 26–May 2, 2005a). Tempo, “The Teacher Who Doesn’t Want to Learn” in Tempo (April 26–May 2, 2005b). Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI), Pembentukan Aksi Perlawanan Rakyat di Wilayah Provinsi NAD, Penguasa Daurat Militer Daerah, Satuan Tugas Intelijen, Kodam Islankar Muda (TNI, March 2004). United Nations (UN), “Article XVIII (d), Agreement between the Republic of Indonesia and the Kingdom of the Netherlands Concerning West New Guinea” (August 15, 1962). UPI, Zinni Visit Adds New Pressure on Jakarta (August 12, 2002).

CHAPTER 6

Kashmir Nicolas Blarel

Although the Kashmir issue has not received the same prominent media coverage as have similar ethnoreligious conflicts (Palestine–Israel, Ireland–UK, Chechnya–Russia, and the Balkans), it is nevertheless one of the oldest unresolved territorial disputes in the world. The Jammu and Kashmir problem has been ongoing since the partition of the British Indian Empire and the creation of India and Pakistan in 1947. It is also one of the first international crises in which the intervention and mediation of the United Nations was requested (by India) in the late 1940s. This region, situated between India and Pakistan, lies mostly in the Himalayan Mountains; historically, it was not considered strategically important enough for international powers to interfere or arbitrate. Unlike the Middle East or Central Asia, there are no apparent and decisive natural resources, and Kashmir was not considered a pertinent geostrategic position during the Cold War. If Islamabad has continuously tried to internationalize the dispute by lobbying for the Kashmiris’ right to self-determination, New Delhi has opposed this vision with a legalistic interpretation in defense of its national sovereignty and therefore refused external interference. As a result, the Kashmir conflict has mainly been a bilateral disagreement, which goes far beyond the “two-nation theory” and the often-overestimated religious dichotomy opposing Muslim Pakistan to Hindu India. The twonation theory was first introduced by the Muslim politician Sir Muhammad Iqbal in December 1930 and later used by the erstwhile head of the Muslim League, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, in his Lahore declaration of March 22, 1940, to support the idea of an independent Pakistan. Jinnah felt it was more prudent for the minority Muslims to

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have their own separate nation where they could live peacefully according to their faith and belief. The Kashmir issue must mainly be explained through the divergent interpretations of the outcome of the first Kashmir war in 1947 and, consequently, of the status of this predominantly Muslim region under Indian administration. The events of 1947 are crucial to an understanding of the complex and prolonged antagonism of both Delhi and Islamabad and their unwillingness to find an arrangement without renouncing their state-building myths. Recently the India-Pakistan dispute over the territory of Kashmir has again attracted international intervention, fifty years after the United Nations failed to solve the issue. The United States has been especially concerned about the nuclearization of the subcontinent and the rise of radical terrorist groups in the Kashmir valley in the past twenty years. Prior to his visit to India and Pakistan in March 2000, former U.S. President Bill Clinton had declared that “The most dangerous place in the world today . . . is the Indian subcontinent and the line of control in Kashmir” (BBC News 2000). The international community is concerned that a local conflict over disputed borders could escalate to an open conflict between two nuclear powers. In the postSeptember 11 context, the radicalization of Islamic jihad in Kashmir equally worries most international observers, even if, at the same time, there is worldwide condemnation of Indian repression of the insurgency. The climax thus far was probably reached with the 1999 Kargil war. This was the third time that Kashmir had prompted a border confrontation between the two countries. Unlike previous conflicts, both countries now had operational nuclear capacities, and—after the China–USSR war in 1969—it was only the second time in history that two nuclear-armed states were opposed (Ganguly and Hagerty 2005: 143–167). This crisis revealed a new need for the international community to press both South Asian states to negotiate. Strong American diplomatic efforts were needed to put a stop to the conflict before it could escalate (Raja Mohan 2003: 96–108). This chapter summarizes and analyzes the roots of the Kashmir conflict in 1947 that are vital for understanding the mutual mistrust that has led to three wars and fifty years of bilateral tensions. It is also necessary to describe the various Indo-Pakistani wars that were incited by the Kashmir dispute and their consequences on its settlement. A third section studies how, after the Simla agreement of 1972, India failed to resolve the Kashmir problem, both internationally and domestically. Finally, new dimensions have emerged and added to the sensitivity and complexity of the Kashmir crisis in the last twenty years.

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PARTITION SYNDROME It is important to appreciate the background of the first Kashmir war of 1947 to see how both newly independent states differently interpreted what happened. The state of Kashmir had already a very atypical history and status in the British Raj. After the death of Sikh Emperor Ranjit Singh in 1839, relations between the Sikhs and the British had become less cordial. In difficulties because of its war in Afghanistan, Britain seriously considered annexing Punjab. These tensions ultimately led to the First Anglo–Sikh war in December 1845. Without the support of Raja Gulab Singh, ruler of Jammu province, the Sikhs were defeated. Gulab Singh took advantage of deteriorating relations between the Sikhs and the British to purchase Kashmir from Great Britain under the conditions of the Amritsar treaty of 1846. Also, the Dogra Rajputs settled in Jammu and progressively took control of the region by conquering the Buddhist kingdom of Ladakh in 1834 and Baltistan in 1840. The Dogras are a Northern Indo-Aryan ethnic group in South Asia living predominantly in the Jammu region and in western Punjab. A Hindu dynasty ruled over Jammu and Kashmir until 1947, with Hari Singh as the last maharajah. In the 1930s the people of Jammu and Kashmir— mostly Muslim and weary of the Maharaja’s autocratic rule favoring the Hindu minority (especially the Kashmir valley Brahmans, or Pandits)— organized political opposition to Hari Singh. A young political dissident, Sheikh Mohammed Abdullah, educated at the reformist Aligarh Muslim University, created the Muslim Conference in 1932. Influenced by the Sufi message of tolerance, peace, and Kashmiriyat, Abdullah had always wanted to broaden and strengthen the base of his movement, fighting against the oppression of the underprivileged, whether Muslim or Hindu. Kashmiriyat is a Kashmiri tradition of religious and cultural harmony, patriotism, and pride that belongs to a diverse ethnolinguistic and religious identity. Abdullah decided that the Kashmiri freedom movement would be progressive, secular, and democratic, and he later transformed the Muslim Conference into the National Conference in 1939. Under the influence of the noted Indian nationalist leader Jawaharlal Nehru, he sought to represent all of Kashmir’s independent movement in spite of his religious beliefs. However, two close friends of Abdullah—Ghulam Abbas and Srinagar’s Mirwaiz (the spiritual leader of the Muslims of the Kashmir Valley), Mohammed Yusuf Shah, the highest Sunni religious authority in the Kashmir valley—decided to break from this secularist position to revive the Muslim Conference in 1942 (Racine 2002: 31–37). The religious divide with which the Indian nation was confronted between the Congress and the Muslim League

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also found an expression in Kashmir, placing the principle of Kashmiriyat in jeopardy. At the time of independence and the disintegration of the British Indian Empire, Jawharlal Nehru’s Indian National Congress and Ali Jinnah’s Muslim League did not manage to negotiate a workable compromise over a unified India and were induced to accept the concept of Partition. However, Partition involved two categories of states. The first category was known as the states of British India, under direct rule, and the second was the 562 “princely states” ruled by princes, nawabs, and maharajas, but in fact controlled by the British in the domains of defense, foreign affairs, and communications. This relationship was bound by the doctrine of paramountcy: the rulers recognized Britain as the dominant power. In August 1947 these princely states were free to join India or Pakistan but could not choose to become independent and had to respect some other conditions. They had to choose to accede to one of the two countries, depending on their geographical position and their religious composition. The apparent objective was to limit the number of enclaves deep inside Indian or Pakistani territory. This justified Hyderabad’s accession to India in September 1948 and Sindh’s accession to Pakistan in August 1947 (Lamb 1992). The Kashmir situation was more complex because it had a Muslim majority (about 80 percent), a border with Pakistan, and a Dogra Hindu ruler. In addition to, and similarly to, Hyderabad’s Nizam, Maharaja Hari Singh had dreams of independence, mostly in order to preserve his royal prerogatives, and opted to wait, signing a “standstill agreement” with Pakistan to maintain commercial relations (Ganguly 2001: 15–28). The accession of the state of Jammu-and-Kashmir to India or Pakistan was crucial because of two different interpretations of statebuilding following Partition. India was created as a democratic and secular state, and Nehru insisted that minorities, in particular religious communities, had to be protected. He was personally committed to secularism and felt that Kashmir had to be part of India as a demonstration of India’s commitment to its secularist and diverse identity. For Pakistan, a country created on a religious basis, Kashmir was equally important as an “irredentist claim” (Ganguly 1994). Partition would always be considered incomplete without the rallying of this Muslim majority in a territory next to Pakistan. The collision of these visions (the homeland of Muslims against India’s secular state) is the background of the dispute that pushed both nations ineluctably toward the first Kashmir war. Beyond the importance of Kashmir in the two nations’ national mythologies, the hot spot that is Kashmir must also be understood through the diverging legal and political interpretations of the circumstances that led to the conflict and of the events that followed. It is therefore indispensable to reconstruct the steps of the confrontation. Early in

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October 1947, there was a spontaneous tribal rebellion in the Poonch region, southwest of Srinagar. The tribesmen were quickly supported and led by Pakistani soldiers, who entered Kashmir on October 21. After the British departure, the rule of Hari Singh had weakened, and, by the end of the month, the rebels had reached the outskirts of Srinagar. The panicked Hindu Maharaja had no other solution but to appeal to India for assistance (Dasgupta 2002: 42–52). However, Indian Prime Minister Nehru imposed certain preconditions before intervening. Hari Singh had first to acquire the support of Sheikh Mohamed Abdullah because Nehru knew the importance of obtaining a popular legitimacy (in addition to Hari Singh’s legal right) to Kashmir’s accession. Abdullah quickly chose to accede to India and to integrate Kashmir’s future political status (after obtaining from Nehru guarantees of the state’s autonomous status inside the Indian Union). Second, the Maharaja had to sign the Instrument of Accession that Viceroy Lord Mountbatten accepted in a letter that, however ambiguously, also implied that “the question of the state’s accession should be finally settled by a reference to the people” after the military issue with Pakistan (defined as the “intruder”) was resolved. Does that mean that a referendum had been considered or that there were other ways to evaluate the “wishes of the people of the state”? (Mountbatten 1947). As might be expected, Islamabad had a very different interpretation of the events, insisting on the fact that Pakistan only officially intervened in Kashmir to put an end to the Maharajah’s repression of a popular uprising in October 1947 and only after Indian involvement. Pakistan did not consider itself an aggressor state. The Pakistanis were equally wary of British involvement and bias in this issue (especially regarding Lord Mountbatten’s role) and consequently of the validity of the Accession of Kashmir, which would never officially be accepted by Islamabad (Jha 2003: 1–10). This claim about the illegality of the Accession is supported by some scholars (Lamb 1998), but, from a purely legal perspective, the Maharaja had the right to join either nation (Ganguly 1997: 13). There is almost no doubt of Pakistan’s intervention as an aggressor in the conflict, according to Major General Muhammad Akbar Khan, who orchestrated Pakistan’s operation into Kashmir and confirmed the connivance between the Tribal insurgents and the military forces (Khan 1970). Because of irreconcilable disagreements, the international community tried to arbitrate and solve the dispute but only aggravated it. After the conditions were met, India airlifted its soldiers into Srinagar by October 26. Although the Indian Army managed to save the city, the tribesmen had taken over a third of Kashmiri territory. The conflict lasted until January 1949, when the United Nations sponsored a cease-fire. To push the Pakistanis out of Pakistani-occupied Kashmir, Nehru had decided to refer the dispute to the UN Security Council. On Mountbatten’s advice,

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and because the Indian Prime Minister thought the law was on India’s side, he asked for international mediation in January 1948. However, Sir Zafrullah Khan, a Pakistani bureaucrat sent by Jinnah to the United Nations to argue the Pakistani case, managed to shift the focus away from the issue of legality to a question of human rights. This changed the terms, because Zafrullah played an emotional and clever strategy, insisting on the asymmetrical balance with oversized India. In 1948–1949 two UN resolutions were passed on Kashmir that insisted on three elements: Pakistan, as the aggressor state, had to withdraw its forces, India also had to reduce troops in Kashmir to a level commensurate with the need to maintain law and order, and, finally, a referendum had to be held to determine the wishes of the Kashmiris (Korbel 1954). Subsequent analysis has revealed sharply divergent official mythologies, different recollections of the course of events after Partition, and opposing legal interpretations of the Accession and the UN resolutions. Because of these unsolved disagreements and misunderstandings, the UN resolutions have never been implemented, and neither state has ever withdrawn its troops from the disputed territories, thereby creating a de facto new border (the Cease-Fire Line, CFL) dividing Kashmir in its large sense— namely, Jammu, the Kashmir Valley, Ladakh, and the Pakistani-controlled territories, which are called Azadi Kashmir (literally “Free Kashmir”) and the Northern Provinces of Gilgit and Baltistan. Consequently, the precarious situation never allowed the referendum to take place. This unresolved territorial imbroglio is dramatic because it has hampered any progress in India–Pakistan relations for the past sixty years. Furthermore, if New Delhi initially sought international arbitration, the perceived pro-Pakistan bias from Great Britain and the United States (confirmed by the conclusion of an agreement of military assistance in February 1954) finally drove Nehru to criticize and refuse all international interference and the idea of a Kashmiri Plebiscite (Ganguly 2001: 24–25). Since this failure of the United Nations to resolve the Kashmir dispute, a profound feeling of mistrust has existed between Islamabad and Delhi. As a result, India decided to develop the state of Jammu and Kashmir’s internal institutions, while progressively integrating the state into the Indian Union. It also considered that other internal elections in Kashmir would substitute for a referendum and legitimize Kashmir’s accession (Racine 2002: 48–49). Article 370 of the Indian Constitution, promulgated January 26, 1950, had already acknowledged Kashmir’s exceptional status inside the new Republic. Sheikh Abdullah and his National Conference concurrently pushed for the election of a Constituent Assembly in the fall of 1951 and voted the Jammu and Kashmir Constitution Act in November 1951, depriving the Maharaja of his power and giving Kashmir a unique status in the Indian Union, limiting Delhi’s

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influence to defense, foreign affairs, and communications. This new status was recognized by the Indian government under the terms of the Delhi Accord signed July 24, 1952. Yet, only a year later, Abdullah was dismissed as the chief minister and placed under house arrest (Ganguly 2001: 23–24), the first step, but not the last, in the steady erosion of Kashmir’s autonomy inside the Indian Union.

THE SECOND INDO–PAKISTANI WAR The Kashmir dispute was not settled and remained an open wound that prevented Pakistan and India from normalizing their relations. This section analyzes how the unresolved dispute and Islamabad’s unwillingness to accept the status quo triggered another war in 1965. The issue had been particularly sensitive in Pakistan since 1949 because its leaders, such as Foreign Minister Zulfiquar Ali Bhutto, believed that Pakistan remained incomplete without Kashmir “both territorially and ideologically” (Bhutto 1969). Pakistan had tried to push for multilateral negotiations and publicly advocated Kashmir’s self-determination. It is in this context that the Pakistani leadership has meticulously observed the growing disenchantment and discontent of the Kashmiris, who suffered from the attrition of their special rights in the Indian Union. This was caused by a progressive integration of Kashmir into India’s grip ever since Abdullah’s dismissal in 1953. A number of integrative measures progressively deprived Kashmir of the special prerogatives that Abdullah had obtained from Nehru. The Indian government, for example, had the power to legislate on all matters (not just defense, foreign affairs, and communications), and the governor became the chief minister and was henceforth appointed by Delhi. This “coercive homogenization” inflicted on Kashmir reached its peak in the mid-1960s as new constitutional amendments gave the central government the same powers over the region that it exercised in other states. Additionally, various elections to the Kashmir assembly that took place in 1957 and 1962 saw an “official” National Conference (without its charismatic leader Abdullah and, therefore, loyal to the ruling Congress party in Delhi) running unopposed. In 1964, there were also riots because of the theft from the Hazratbal mosque of a hair believed in Kashmir to belong to the prophet Mohammed. The Indian Intelligence Bureau (IB) apparently recovered and returned the hair to the mosque, but the crisis was seen again as an interesting signal of “rampant discontent” for Pakistan. The Kashmiri restlessness added to the inexorable administrative integration of the state of Jammu and Kashmir to the Indian Union. The consequences of the defeat of India by China in the fall of 1962 pushed Pakistan to conduct a swift military action in order to modify and impose

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a new fait accompli in Kashmir. It is interesting to understand how Pakistan, in an apparent position of strategic weakness compared with its Indian neighbor, nevertheless realized a window of opportunity to change the rules inherited from 1949. Three decisive elements pushed the Pakistani decision makers to believe that their war plan, “Operation Gibraltar,” could be successful. First, Pakistan was convinced that the anti-Indian sentiment in Kashmir was mixed with pro-Pakistani sympathies. Therefore, Foreign Minister Bhutto was persuaded that Pakistan could encourage an insurgency against India. Second, the Pakistani military considered that the humiliating 1962 defeat at the hands of China was leading to a buildup of the Indian military (previously neglected under Nehru’s term) that would increase the already existing military imbalance in India’s favor. Finally, there had already been a military clash in early 1965 along the poorly delineated border near the western state of Gujarat, in the Rann of Kutch desert. Here the Pakistani military operated a “limited probe” to test India’s armed reaction. The test proved to be successful: India did not escalate the conflict and referred the case to the International Court of Justice in The Hague (Ganguly 2001: 41). India’s willingness to negotiate had led Pakistani leaders to conclude that India lacked military resolve. Operation Gibraltar, launched August 5, 1965, proved to be a failure for Pakistan because of two important miscalculations. The first was that the rebellion that Pakistan had tried to foment never took place because the disaffected Kashmiris had never wanted to join Pakistan. Despite anger over the Hazratbal episode, there was not any strong secessionist movement yet in Kashmir. The Indian authorities even benefited from local cooperation and could quickly seal the CFL from Pakistani infiltration. The other major mistake of the Pakistani military was overstating the importance of the Gujarat state test, which bore much less strategic and symbolic significance than did Kashmir. In the summer of 1965 India did not back down as predicted, instead rapidly and massively replying to Pakistan’s escalation of the conflict (notably in Punjab). Facing a full-scale war in South Asia, the international community induced the United Nations to intervene and impose a new cease-fire on September 20 (Ganguly 2001: 45–46). Because of American unwillingness to mediate an end to the conflict between the two countries, the Soviets organized a conference in Tashkent to negotiate an arrangement in January 1966. Under the terms of this pact, both countries abandoned their important territorial gains, accepted a return to the status quo, and agreed to refrain from using force to find a solution to the border dispute. There were significant concessions from both states, but the Kashmir question remained unresolved and continued to be a handicap in the normalization of Indo–Pakistani relations that led to another war only six years later.

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THE BANGLADESH WAR Although the third Indo–Pakistani war in 1971 was the first such conflict not directly linked to Kashmir, its outcome did have profound implications for this dispute. Since the 1965 war, relations between West and East Pakistan had seriously deteriorated on the political (especially on questions of representation), economic, and linguistic levels, which eventually set off a civil war in Eastern Pakistan. Because of the severe West Pakistani repression—especially on March 26 (Operation Searchlight), when the military shot young protesters—approximately 9.8 million refugees fled to India in three months, creating a humanitarian catastrophe (Jacob 2004). By July, Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi came to the conclusion that war was the only solution to the crisis, because India could not absorb the 9.8 million immigrants. India first supported the independence movement by providing weapons and sanctuary to the Mukti Bahini (literally, Liberation Force). By December, the Indian interference was considered intolerable, and Pakistani aircraft struck northern airbases, triggering an Indian response within twenty-four hours (Ganguly 1995: 167–178). This brief war ended with the creation of the state of Bangladesh on the Eastern Front; the war on the CFL with West Pakistan remained limited and concentrated. Three consequences of this war dramatically changed the Kashmir debate. First, on the symbolic and ideological levels, the outcome of the war made Pakistan’s religious and irredentist justifications to integrate Kashmir completely irrelevant because Muslim East Pakistan had decided to secede. Second, once again, as in 1965, there was no uprising in Kashmir. Finally, victorious India was in a strong military and political position to negotiate a new accord with Pakistan over Kashmir. This eventually happened when Indira Gandhi and Prime Minister Zulfiquar Ali Bhutto met in the Indian city of Simla to reach a new settlement between June 28 and July 2, 1972. Although India had an advantageous position, the Simla Accord was later considered by many Indian strategic analysts to have been a failure. India apparently got Pakistan to accept that the resolution of the issue could only come about through bilateral talks, an important concession considering that Islamabad had often sought to internationalize the dispute. However, both India and Pakistan still have differing interpretations of the Simla Accord, particularly on the resolution of the conflict by “peaceful means and bilateral negotiations” and on the “formal” definition of the Line of Control (LoC). Nevertheless, India failed to induce Bhutto, who emphasized his internal political fragility, to recognize the LoC as the new official border (Bhattacharjea 1994). Although political developments in Pakistan pushed its leadership to look toward the Middle East and temporarily disregard Kashmir, Pakistan’s commitment to Kashmir remained. New Delhi again lost an important opportunity to conclude the Kashmir conflict.

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Post-Simla For fifteen years, Kashmir was a less burning issue, especially in Indo–Pakistani relations. In the domestic political process, there was even an apparent normalization. For example, the Kashmir assembly elections on June 3, 1977 were regarded by political observers as the most free, fairest elections ever organized in Jammu and Kashmir. This transformation coincided with the return from exile of a more pragmatic “lion” (Sheikh Abdullah) to head the National Conference. Advised by political activist and journalist Balraj Puri, Abdullah had contacted Indira Gandhi, and negotiations were held between G. Parthasarathi (a senior bureaucrat and close diplomatic advisor to the Indian prime minister) and Mirza Afzal Beg (a devoted associate of Abdullah). During these negotiations, Parthasarathi did not concede to Abdullah’s desire to revert Kashmir’s status to the pre-1953 position. Subsequently, this led to a compromise in favor of Delhi—reaffirming Kashmir’s accession to India (and, therefore, putting an end to an eventual plebiscite) and again giving new legislative powers to the central government. If the Beg-Parthasarathi Accord, signed in 1975, brought Abdullah back to Kashmiri politics (in a quasiplebiscite in the 1977 elections), it also had the same hazardous flaws as the Simla Accord. In a comparable and favorable situation, India again failed to seize an opportunity to normalize relations with Pakistan and put an end to the Kashmir dispute. In 1975 Indira Gandhi failed to normalize and establish trustful, durable political relations with the Kashmir state. This agreement was interpreted, for example, as “treason” by opponents such as Bhutto in Pakistan and Mirwaiz Maulvi Mohammad Farooq. The latter was named Mirwaiz in 1962, after the death of his grandfather, Mirwaiz Moulana Muhammad Atique Ullah Shah. He was assassinated in May 1990, and his son Mirwaiz Kashmir Omar Farook took over the charge. He is the current incumbent at Srinagar’s Jama Masjid. As a result, the apparently dormant situation in which the Kashmir dispute had evolved pushed the Indian state and the Kashmir domestic leaders to fail to appreciate or counteract the growing indications of unrest that preceded the insurgency (Singh 1995). The rising latent tensions in Kashmir can be attributed to both Delhi and Abdullah. Despite the 1975 agreement, there was still constant meddling from Delhi (especially the Congress) in internal Kashmir politics. Indira Gandhi did not accept dissent and required that the National Conference enter into an alliance with Congress. Ultimately, she created a local section of the Congress Party to counter Abdullah’s influence after losing power to the Janata Party in Delhi in March 1977 (Schofield 2003: 123–126). In addition, the central government’s interference in Kashmiri domestic politics encouraged traditional sentiments of suspicion in the local population. But this does not absolve Kashmiri leaders of

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responsibility in the deterioration of the political situation. Sheikh Abdullah was also progressively perceived as abusing his personal powers. The Kashmiri chief minister, for example, imposed the Jammu and Kashmir Safety Ordinance in November 1977, placing severe limitations on the press. Initially justified to counter Pakistani rebellious action in the state, it was, in fact, a controversial effort to stifle potential internal dissent to the National Conference’s rule (Ganguly 1997: 71–72). If his rhetoric and organizational skills permitted him to maintain control over the Conference and a certain popularity in Kashmir politics, few approved of his desire to impose a dynastic system on the State through the promotion of his son, Farooq Abdullah, as his political heir. Both he and his son had failed to see the emergence of a new politically mobilized generation. In the two decades that followed the Simla Accord, a new generation of educated and middle-class Kashmiris grew frustrated with the discrepancy between their new socioeconomic aspirations and the limits of political action. The lack of political and institutional channels of opposition to the government ineluctably pushed this new literate and attentive Kashmiri youth toward other methods of expression—including violence (Bose 1997: 49–50). For instance, some groups—such as the Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF), a nominally secular organization, created previously in 1965 by Amanullah Khan and Maqbul Butt, which had been pleading for self-determination—radicalized by the beginning of the 1980s (Racine 2002: 70–71). The appearance of this new, politically mobilized Kashmiri population was a result of slowly improving socioeconomic conditions (linked to the abolition of landlordism in the 1950s) and, more particularly, of the boost of literacy and the development of free and accessible media. The problem was that this new generation reached its political maturity and consciousness at a time when the institutional system in Srinagar was falling into decay. With Delhi’s silent approval (as long as the accession to India was not contested), Sheikh Abdullah had used his incumbent powers to limit the growth of an institutionalized opposition. And Delhi had also often interfered in the electoral process; with the sole exceptions of the 1977 and 1983 polls, all elections in Kashmir had been corrupt and flawed. It was apparent that Kashmir was under the tutelage of the central government, which dismissed and named chief ministers as it pleased. Farooq Abdullah, for example, was officially dismissed in 1984 on baseless charges, likely a victim of his recurrent condemnation of the central government’s actions. India’s failure to allow even minimal development of democracy in Kashmir led to open defiance and, in some cases, to demands for self-determination. However, despite all of Pakistan’s efforts to portray the insurgency of the late 1980s as a result of India’s rebuff of Kashmiris’ autonomy, another new dimension had obscured the Kashmir crisis in the late 1980s:

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the rise of ethnoreligious differences. It is partly justifiable for Delhi to blame the new communal violence on an opportunistic Pakistani instigation, but other contextual arguments must also be taken in account. The administrative and geographic divisions of the region on religious grounds were also a cause of rising hostility. The enclosed Kashmir valley is predominantly Muslim, but Jammu is mainly Hindu (because of its traditional Dogra population and also because of an immigration of the Kashmir valley Pandits into the area), and Ladakh has an equally

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strong Buddhist presence. As a consequence, religious riots took place in 1979 in Jammu and in Ladakh in 1981 (Racine 2002: 68). The opposition of the two other religious communities to Muslim hegemony was palpable, despite the National Conference’s secularist policies. Pakistan’s role in this rise of religious tensions has also been decisive. In the context of President Zia-Ul-Haq’s rigorous Islamicization policy in Pakistan, Islamabad started supporting fundamentalist groups in the region—initially in Afghanistan, but also later in Kashmir. This policy was opportunistic; in December 1979, when the USSR invaded Afghanistan, Pakistan became a “frontline state” in the war against communism and received U.S. support. The Inter-Service Intelligence’s (ISI) logistical and ideological support to the Afghan mujahedeen was carried out with the assistance of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. The Pakistani role had been decisive in transforming an initial local uprising into a holy war, a jihad (Zahab and Roy 2006). The Pakistani Army and its ISI used organizational experience from the Afghan war and redirected their attention toward the Eastern Front of Kashmir after the withdrawal of Soviet troops in the late 1980s. Unlike the situation in 1965, at this time, the Pakistanis found a more attentive audience frustrated and disillusioned by more than thirty years of Delhi’s corrupt rule (Ganguly 1997: 77–78). Religious secessionist organizations, such as the Jammat-i-Islami and its youth wing, the Jammat-i-Tulba, found abundant recruits in the Valley. The Pakistani factor is crucial in order to understand the emergence of a new Islamic fundamentalism in a region that had long been spared from the excesses of other South Asian Islamic currents.

THE 1987 INSURGENCY If the political conflict in Kashmir reignited after fifteen years of unusual calm, the insurgency that broke out in the late 1980s was of a totally different order. Three new elements must be analyzed to understand the new stakes in the conflict and why the Kashmir issue has again today become internationalized. First, unlike past Kashmir crises, this new problem cannot be scrutinized under the restrictive prism of Indo– Pakistani opposition. The Kashmiri insurgency is first and foremost an internal uprising against the economic and political domination of the central government. Delhi and Islamabad have tried to adapt to the changing environment for different reasons. A second important element of this crisis is the new rise of ethnoreligious violence that can be clarified by internal and external dynamics. The rise of Islamic fundamentalism in the region has become all the more critical in the context of the “war against terror” after September 11, 2001. Finally, a third dimension

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has affected, complicated, and internationalized the Kashmir problem: the nuclearization of India and Pakistan in the 1990s. This new problem has pushed the international community—and, above all, the United States—to monitor the dispute more closely. As analyzed before, political frustration for young Kashmiris was reaching its limits, and the appeal of the illegal use of violence to oppose the rule of New Delhi had been growing. Political degeneration started with the unconstitutional ousting of Farooq Abdullah in July 1984, which increased the feelings of political alienation in Kashmiri voters, especially because the 1983 elections had been relatively fair (Ganguly 1997: 86–88). The new government was highly unpopular and unable to impose the important economic reforms necessary to solve the problem of high unemployment. The gap between Delhi’s and Kashmiris’ aspirations grew even wider as successive Indian governments had failed to understand the roots of discontent. The government of Rajiv Gandhi (who succeeded his mother in 1984) preferred to solve the Kashmir problem via repressive measures designed to counter terrorist actions. An example was the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities Prevention Act (TADA), which was the first and only legislative effort by the Union government to define and oppose terrorist activities. It was formulated in the backdrop of growing terrorist violence in Kashmir and Punjab in 1985 and reformed in 1987. TADA allowed for people to be detained in police custody for as much as six months without charge or trial. The Act, which was criticized on various counts by human rights organizations and political parties, was permitted to lapse in May 1995. This coercive legislation, allowing police forces to act with total impunity, only increased popular resentment in the region. The insurgency’s outbreak is often linked to the outcome of the 1987 elections that triggered a vicious cycle of open, popular defiance and state repression. Despite an alliance between the Congress Party and Farooq’s National Conference in the new state elections of 1987, the results were unequivocally rigged and brought to power a corrupt and incompetent National Conference regime (Ganguly 1997: 98–100). The loss of the last possibility of legitimate and loyal dissent prompted sporadic and sometimes organized anti-government violence, strikes, and bombings that targeted officials representing the central state’s authority. An illustration of the rise of tensions is the Rubaiya Sayeed Affair. In December 1989, JKLF members abducted the Minister for Home Affairs Mufti Mohammed Sayeed’s daughter and brought to light the weaknesses of the newly elected V. P. Singh government’s vague and inefficient strategy regarding Kashmir. Delhi had no other option but to give in rapidly to the terrorists’ demand—namely, the liberation of five imprisoned militants. The new government eventually reacted by appointing Jagmohan Malhotra as governor of Jammu and Kashmir. Malhotra put in place a severe and exceptional regime of repression

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(exemplified by new legislative measures such as the Disturbed Areas Act, the Public Safety Act, and the Armed Forces Special Powers Ordinance of 1990), which again reinforced widespread opposition to the Center (Ganguly 1997: 105). Along with the proindependence and secularist JKLF, other armed groups joined the insurgency. These were opposed to the National Conference and were struggling for self-determination, but they had different resources and contradictory objectives. The most important new groups were Abdul Ghani Lone’s People’s Conference, Shabir Shah’s People’s League (and their respective armed wings, Al-Barq and Al-Jehad), and the new, pro-Pakistan Islamist Hizb-ul-Mujahedeen (HUM, close to the Jammat-i-Islami). Abdul Ghani Lone was an Indian lawyer and politician who, for most of his professional career, worked as a Kashmiri separatist. In 1978 he formed a Kashmir separatist organization called the People’s Conference (which is also a member of the All Parties Hurriyat Conference) dedicated to “the restoration of ‘internal autonomy’ in Kashmir.” He was assassinated on May 21, 2002, while commemorating the twelfth anniversary of the Kashmiri leader, Mirwaiz Maulvi Farooq. Mr Shabir Shah, called the Nelson Mandela of Kashmir because he spent twenty years in prison, heads the Kashmir’s Peoples League and stands for the unfettered right of self-determination of the Kashmiri people. He also joined the All Parties Hurriyat Conference. Faced with this new burst of violence in the region, New Delhi slowly understood that the local police forces were either overwhelmed or sympathetic to the insurgency and decided to send in paramilitary forces such as the Border Security Force (BSF) and the Central Reserve Police Force (CPRF). Later on, as the insurgency extended itself across the region, the central government also dispatched the Army and special counterinsurgency forces such as the Rashtriya Rifles in 1993, the Special Task Force, and the Special Operation Group (SOG) in 1995 (Wirsing 1998: 143–145). New Delhi has never declared the official number of military forces that it has deployed to the field, but Indian estimates place the figure at 400,000 and Pakistani estimates place it at 600,000 (Racine 2002: 82–83). Such a strong concentration of military and police forces to fight a violent ethnoreligious and political insurrection has led to many acts of violence: the human rights record of the Indian security forces in Kashmir has been characterized by arbitrary arrests, torture, rape, and extrajudicial killings. These have been extensively documented by human rights organizations such as Human Rights Watch and the People’s Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL). The Ethnoreligious Factor The other new dimension of the Kashmir conflict since the 1980s has been the new ethnoreligious divide in the region. The centuries-long

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harmonious coexistence of the Hindu and Buddhist minorities with the Muslim majority was disturbed by internal and external dynamics. The first anti-Hindu terrorist attacks of 1990 pushed many Pandit families to flee to Jammu or to respond in kind (Bose 1997: 71–80). These attacks have encouraged communal feelings that did not exist before. The ISI has shared its insurrectional experience and networks from Afghanistan with groups such as Hizb-ul-Mujahedeen (HUM), luring away from the secularist JKLF some of its eminent and founding members, such as Amanullah Khan. The weakening of the popular JKLF—hurt by Indian and even Pakistani repression in Azad Kashmir (Free Kashmir), and having given up the use of force—has progressively made HUM one of the most important, admired organizations in Kashmir (Racine 2002: 86). Under direct Pakistani influence, these young combatants have been conditioned in local or foreign madrasas and radicalized on the operational (martyr-suicide) and ideological (jihad) levels. Some extraneous “guest” fighters (Mehamaan Mujahedeen) have also joined the new armed religious militias (Tanzeem), like the earlier Harkat-ul-Mujahedeen (already active in Afghanistan) or the more recent and infamous Lashkar-e-Taiba (Zahab and Roy 2006: 54–66). These Kashmir Islamic movements have been engaged in an international jihad, going beyond the fight for self-determination against Indian oppression. This fight has been opportunistically used by Islamabad to operate a proxy war (at little cost), bogging down huge Indian military and financial resources. Subsequently, New Delhi has accused Pakistan of exercising a “subconventional” war against India by financing, arming, and harboring terrorists. The insurgency could eventually escalate into a more traditional and conventional conflict between India and Pakistan, but influenced by the nuclear dimension this time. The Nuclear Dimension The Kashmir dispute has triggered three crises—in 1990, 1999, and 2001–2002—between New Delhi and Islamabad. It is important to note that two of the crises did not lead to war and that the third—the Kargil conventional conflict—was localized and brief. The 1965 escalation toward war over the entire border was never reproduced, despite increased conventional capabilities in both armies. Nuclear deterrence was probably the main explanation for the restraint that both countries showed. Interestingly, these clashes have often occurred at a period when bilateral relations were improving, as if certain actors benefited from the continuation of the Kashmir conflict (Ganguly 2001: 92–93). Beginning in 1990, the Pakistani military and intelligence services invested a great deal of money and time into supporting the Kashmir insurgency and were seeking some strategic gains. These groups pressured Prime

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Minister Benazzir Bhutto (Zulfiquar Ali Bhutto’s daughter) to take a more firm stand in support of Kashmir’s right to self-determination in her negotiations with Delhi (Ganguly and Hagerty 2005: 88–89). Tired of Pakistan’s logistical and ideological support of the insurgents, Delhi threatened to retaliate despite risks of escalation. This resulted in a strong verbal opposition and movement of conventional troops along the LoC, raising anxiety in the international community. These concerns, mainly expressed by Washington, were probably exaggerated because neither country had operational nuclear weapon capabilities yet, but the deterring effect of their developing programs was strong enough to contain both governments from any impulsive action (Kapur 2005: 174–189). The nuclear element had also pushed the United States to interfere publicly for the first time in decades in the South Asian conflict. In May the senior Bush administration sent Deputy National Security Advisor Robert Gates to both capitals to try to prevent a total war and the dire consequences it implied. Robert Gates managed to persuade both governments that the bellicose option had too many costs (Hersh 1993). The Gates visit and the talks between foreign ministers Inder Kumar Gujral of India and Shahibzada Yakub Khan of Pakistan in New York at the end of April helped ease the tensions, and the troops started pulling back.

THE KARGIL CRISIS The 1999 Kargil crisis was different because it took place after the official nuclearization of the subcontinent (both India and Pakistan conducted nuclear tests in May–June 1998) and because it escalated into a real military conflict (although localized and limited). Just as in the 1990 incident, the tensions had grown almost directly after breakthroughs in the Indo-Pakistani negotiations and, most notably, after the Lahore declaration was signed in February 1999 by prime ministers Vajpayee of India and Nawaz Sharif of Pakistan, establishing a bus service linking Lahore and Amritsar. Ironically, Nuclear Confidence Building measures had also been discussed. Hardly a month later, in the Kargil region, situated in the North of Kashmir, Indian herdsmen discovered Pakistani troops that had crossed the LoC. Without any declaration of war, India responded by a full-scale war and had pushed back the Pakistani intruders by June. At the time of Nawaz Sharif’s visit to Washington, the Indian military had taken back Tiger Hill and, therefore, the strategic ascendance in this conflict. Prime Minister Sharif panicked and fled to Washington to ask for President Clinton’s help. He expected the American president to put pressure on the Indians, but the exact opposite happened: Clinton declared that “borders cannot be redrawn in blood” and told Sharif to

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withdraw unconditionally because the Pakistanis had created this problem (Raja Mohan 2003: 96–108 and Talbott 2004: 154–170). Delhi was surprised by the new U.S. reaction in the Kashmir conflict, after many years of proPakistan bias, especially after Assistant Secretary of State Robin Raphael had declared on October 23, 1993: “We (USA) do not recognize the legal validity of Kashmir’s accession as meaning that Kashmir is for ever an integral part of India. . . . The people of Kashmir have got to be consulted in any kind of final settlement of the Kashmir dispute” (Kapila 2002). Two conclusions must be drawn from the Kargil war in connection with the last important Indo–Pakistani crisis of 2001–2002. First, if the possession of nuclear weapons has not prevented the possibility of a lowintensity conflict over Kashmir, it has limited any uncontrollable escalation and encouraged the status quo (Ganguly and Hagerty 2005: 160–162). The mutual acquisition of nuclear weapons has seriously limited the option of solving the Kashmir dispute by military means. The second is the relative influence that the Pakistani leadership really held over the infiltrated forces in Indian-administered Kashmir. It had become clear that Nawaz Sharif had no control over the Kashmir policy and the insurgent groups. Kargil revealed the power and role of the military and of General Pervez Musharraf in using these fundamentalist groups to wage war against India (Jones 2002). The events of 2001–2002 revealed that General Pervez Musharraf, who took power in Islamabad after a bloodless coup in October 1999, lacked the political will to control the infiltration of Islamic terrorists across the LoC.

DISPUTE AFTER SEPTEMBER 11 The September 11 terrorist attacks on U.S. soil made Pakistan a crucial partner for George W. Bush’s administration in its war on terrorism, specifically in Afghanistan. Because of the necessity of securing Pakistani assistance in the Afghani conflict, the United States kept silent when it came to condemning Islamabad’s links with terrorist groups active in Kashmir. As a result, both Kashmiri terrorist groups, Lashkar-e-Taiba and Jaish-e-Mohammad, were carrying out violent attacks in JammuKashmir with the support and protection of the Pakistani government. If Pakistan fought terrorists in Afghanistan, it was still supporting international terrorism, hitting Indian interests in Kashmir and even in New Delhi in 2001. On October 1, a Jaish-e-Mohammad suicide commando hit the Jammu and Kashmir assembly in Srinagar, killing twenty-six people, and on December 13, 2001, members of Lashkar-e-Taiba directly attacked the Indian Parliament in the very heart of the capital. This escalation of terrorist actions, carried out by groups that Indian authorities

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officially associated with the Pakistani authorities and the ISI, encouraged New Delhi to adopt a new strategy. Tired of the double standards imposed by the post-September 11 “war on terror” regarding Pakistan—considered as a major partner but also harboring and educating many international terrorists through the madrasas—India decided to react by an adequate “coercive diplomacy” in the nuclear context of South Asia. This meant that, rather than relying solely on negotiation, diplomats may threaten credible adverse consequences if a demand is not met. This strategy, which mixed strong belligerent rhetoric and massive military mobilization, was designed to push Pakistan to ban the terrorist organizations and to press Washington to review its “war on terror” policies in South Asia. The Indian leadership was apparently willing to use the threat of nuclear war to raise American concerns on the situation. After the December attack, New Delhi issued a harsh warning to Islamabad, by recalling its ambassador from Pakistan as well as suspending bus and train services to Pakistan. It also shared intelligence with Washington regarding Islamabad’s complicity with the attacks. Finally, there was an important military mobilization and deployment near the border. As a consequence, Washington responded to ease Indian fears. For instance, the Bush Administration put both Lashkar-e-Taiba and Jaish-e-Mohammad on its list of terrorist organizations, and the State Department’s annual report on terrorism underlined the fact that these terrorist organizations received official support from Pakistan. This led President Musharraf to promise in his Address to the Nation, on January 12, 2002, to fight against terrorist infiltration into Indian Territory. However, he also restated Pakistan’s support for the Kashmiri cause and for separatist groups. Pakistan also started arresting the leaders of Kashmiri terrorist groups but refused to extradite the twenty terrorists that Indian authorities were accusing of complicity with the attacks on the Parliament (Ganguly and Hagerty 2005: 172–175). If Delhi acknowledged a new public commitment from the Pakistani authorities, the real measures to curb terrorism were considered too gradual and limited, therefore encouraging India to pursue its “forceful persuasion” policy. After a few months of relative calm, major incidents in May 2002 further strained bilateral relations. On May 14 terrorists (apparently affiliated to Lashkar-e-Taiba) attacked the Indian Army base of Kaluchak, next to Jammu, killing thirty-four people, including soldiers’ wives and children. This attack was perpetrated just as U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for South Asian Affairs Christina Rocca was visiting New Delhi to mediate Indo–Pakistani tensions. On May 21 Abdul Ghani Lone, the noted leader of the People’s Conference, was shot and killed by terrorists because he had expressed his willingness to enter into dialogue with the central government over Kashmir. The Indian government came to

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realize that Musharraf was not ready to clash with the terrorists on his soil and decided to increase the diplomatic and military pressure on Islamabad. Both countries deployed troops at the border. Consequently the United States increased its pressure on both governments to prevent an escalation into a real conflict, notably by sending Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld to the region on May 30. Under important American pressure, Pakistan decided to modify its policy temporarily, limiting its support to insurgents. Both countries progressively limited their bellicose rhetoric and military maneuvers along the border during the summer. The results of this coercive diplomacy were mixed for India; if the United States reacted rapidly to pressure Pakistan to limit the incursions across the LoC, Musharraf’s regime never really stopped its financial and logistical support of the infiltrated terrorist groups in Kashmir (Ganguly and Hagerty 2005: 177–182). India’s military threats to conduct a war against Pakistan were never considered credible by Islamabad. Because some initial disputes over the 1947 events have never been elucidated and reconciled, the Kashmir question has been disturbing Indo–Pakistani relations for the last sixty years. From the start, the Kashmir dispute symbolized the competition of myths of nationbuilding and of legal interpretations of the accession and the UN resolutions. More recently, the two nations have had different interpretations regarding the roots of the violent insurgency that erupted in 1987, which is still ongoing in Kashmir. Today, the official views of these two countries have evolved little. Pakistan still officially condemns the fact that Kashmiris are alienated and deprived of their right to self-determination and stipulates that Indian repression is to blame for the civil unrest in the Valley. Pakistan still calls for the application of the 1949 UN resolution concerning a referendum, pretending that the ex-princely state is still a “disputed territory.” India’s stand also remains unchanged: it only wants to negotiate the Kashmir issue through bilateral talks, but it is not a “territorial” dispute, because Kashmir is considered an integral part of the Indian Union. Furthermore, Delhi considers that Pakistan is mainly responsible for the insurgency that would eventually wear down if Islamabad’s political and logistical support of Islamic organizations stopped. For the new Manmohan Singh administration, the constitutional status of Jammu and Kashmir is not contestable, but the government is prepared to accept stronger autonomy (under constitutional limits) if the security situation improves. Despite these enduring disagreements, both countries understood, after the 1999 and 2001–2002 crises, that nuclear proliferation and terrorism had pushed them dangerously close to total war. The deterrent effect of nuclear weapons has proved—to both Delhi and especially Islamabad—that a resolution of the Kashmir situation can no longer be

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resolved by military force. The costs of a nuclear war and of international reaction outweighed the limited strategic gains. Additionally, Pakistan’s proxy war in Jammu and Kashmir—using jihadi organizations against India’s rule since the early 1990s—may have reached its limits. Musharraf is under pressure from Washington for supporting and harboring terrorists and has had to officially ban a certain number of organizations, such as Lashkar-e-Taiba, Jaish-e-Muhammad, and the HUM, in January 2002, following the attack on the Indian Parliament. The violent and indiscriminate actions of these Islamic groups (often composed of foreign fighters) have also started to exasperate the Kashmiri population, which is longing for peace, stability, and economic development. An accord for a resolution of the dispute would also be vital for India, which has made important military and financial investments in the region. Moreover, some decision-makers in Delhi believe the Kashmir quagmire has impeded India from reaching international stature by diverting its attention (Ganguly 2006). These factors have pushed both states to normalize relations through a “composite dialogue” started in February 2004. However, these talks have had limited results because of the continuing violence in Kashmir. Until Pakistan stops supporting terrorist groups and India starts demilitarizing the region, a compromise on the Kashmir dispute is unlikely.

Select Bibliography BBC News, “Analysis: The world’s most dangerous place?” (BBC, March 23, 2000). (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/687021.stm, accessed August 27, 2007) Bhattacharjea, A., Kashmir: the Wounded Valley (New Delhi: South Asia Books, 1994). Bhutto, Z. A., The Myth of Independence (Karachi and Lahore: Oxford University Press, 1969). Bose, S., The Challenge in Kashmir: Democracy, Self-Determination and a Just Peace (New York: Sage Publications, 1997). Dasgupta, C., War and Diplomacy in Kashmir 1947–48 (Delhi: Sage Publications, 2002). Ganguly, S., The Origins of War in South Asia: The Indo-Pakistani Conflicts Since 1947, 2nd edition (Boulder: Westview Press, 1994). Ganguly, S., “Wars without end? The Indo-Pakistani conflict” in Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science (1995: 541). Ganguly, S., The Crisis in Kashmir: Portents of War, Hopes of Peace (Cambridge: Woodrow Wilson Center Series and Cambridge Universities Press, 1997). Ganguly, S., Conflict Unending: India-Pakistan Tensions since 1947 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001). Ganguly, S., “Will Kashmir Stop India’s Rise?” Foreign Affairs, Vol. 85, No. 4 (2006).

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Ganguly, S., and D. Hagerty, The Fearful Symmetry: India-Pakistan Crises in the Shadow of Nuclear Weapons (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005). Hersh, S. M., “On the Nuclear Edge” in The New Yorker (March 29, 1993). Jacob, Lieutenant-General J. F. Surrender at Dacca: Birth of a Nation (Dhaka, Bangladesh: University Press Limited, 2004). Jha, P. S., The Origins of a Dispute: Kashmir 1947 (London: Pluto Press, 2003). Jones, O. B., Pakistan: Eye of the Storm (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002). Kapila, S., “United States Obsession with the Kashmir Issue: An Analysis” in South Asia Analysis Group, Paper No. 403 (2002). Kapur, P. S., “Do Nuclear Weapons Stabilize South Asian Militarized Crises? Evidence from the 1990 Case” in Asian Security, Vol. 1, No. 2 (2005). Khan, M. A., Raiders in Kashmir; Story of the Kashmir War, 1947–48 (Karachi: Pak Publishers, 1970.) Korbel, J., Danger in Kashmir (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1954). Lamb, A., Kashmir 1947: The Birth of a Tragedy (Hertingfordbury: Roxford Books, 1992). Lamb, A., Kashmir: A Disputed Legacy 1846–1990 (Hertingfordbury: Roxford Books, 1998). Mountbatten, Lord Louis, Letter dated October 27, 1947 to signify his acceptance of the Instrument of Accession signed by the Kashmir Maharaja. (http:// www.kashmir-information.com/LegalDocs/115.html, accessed September 15, 2007) Racine, J., Cachemire: au peril de la guerre (Paris: Collection CERI/Autrement, 2002). Raja Mohan, C., Crossing the Rubicon: The Shaping of India’s New Foreign Policy (Delhi: Viking, 2003). Schofield, V., Kashmir in Conflict: India, Pakistan and the Unending War (London: I. B. Tauris, 2003). Singh, T., Kashmir: A Tragedy of Errors (New Delhi: Viking, 1995). Talbott, S., Engaging India: Diplomacy, Democracy, and the Bomb (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 2004). Wirsing, R. G., India, Pakistan and the Kashmir Dispute: On Regional Conflict and Its Resolution (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1998). Zahab, M.A., and O. Roy, Islamist Networks: The Afghan-Pakistan Connection (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006).

CHAPTER 7

Korea Stewart Lone

The Korean peninsula is routinely described as one of the most heavily armed and dangerous places on earth, the site of a conflict from the early Cold War that remains unresolved more than half a century later. In 2006, the heat of this exceptional hot spot appeared to reach a new level. On July 4—a day deliberately chosen—the government of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (the DPRK, or North Korea) test-fired several missiles, including one designed for intercontinental use. In October of that year, it conducted its first test of a nuclear device. Neither of these tests was particularly impressive on technical grounds, but they served to fuel hysteria among some overseas observers. An example of this hysteria, and the thinking which underlies it, comes from a high-profile historian who holds posts at both Harvard and Oxford University. Writing between the tests, he insisted in the lurid prose of a 1950s pulp novel that Kim Jong-il, the DPRK leader, had attempted to blackmail friends and enemies alike, allegedly warning in this author’s words (never made by Kim) to ‘Give us the cash or we’ll nuke Seoul!’—and, furthermore, that the regime’s missile program endangered Alaska, Hawaii, and even Washington State. In many ways, he merely echoed the “Asian invasion” scaremongers of a century earlier. To those who asked why the DPRK would ever attack the territory of the U.S., certainly bringing about its own destruction, the author insisted that reason was no use in interpreting North Korea: The ruler of the world’s maddest Marxist dictatorship . . . looks like an escaper [sic] from a lunatic asylum. With his Elvis hairstyle, his outsize specs and his khaki pajama suit, he’s the kind of person we would all cross the street to avoid. (Ferguson 2006)

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Similar statements are commonplace in writings about North Korea in its rule under Kim Jong-il. If we must start at such a primitive level of analysis, let us do so and then move on to a richer vein of understanding. Kim, the leader of a socialist regime, dresses in clothes—muted in color and of simple cut—similar to those of workers and farmers; his official title is chairman of the National Defense Commission, but appears neither in military uniform nor bedecked in medals, gold braid, or plumed hat. Although certain accusations against Kim Jong-il and his father suggest that North Korea functions as the last happy resort for racist fantasies of “Oriental” despotism (he is often described as dining sumptuously while his countrymen starved in the 1990s, and his father is said to have used the blood of virgins to prolong his energies), the Korean situation extends far beyond the personality of one man. It is dependent on the fluctuating balance of emotive history and contemporary pragmatism. To the extent that history plays a role in the way that Koreans view themselves and the world outside their borders, we must gain some sense of that history and its perception by the Korean people. Although the situation in Korea is influenced by all the states directly or indirectly involved in the unconcluded war of 1950–1953 (involving the Koreas, the United States, Japan, China, and Russia), today’s danger of violence on the peninsula depends almost exclusively upon the actions of the two Koreas. Since the 1953 armistice, there have been ongoing exchanges of fire across the demilitarized zone (DMZ) separating them, clashes in the waters around them, and—into the 1980s—occasional plots of or attempts at assassination of key individuals on both sides. In order to gauge the level of heat in this critical relationship, the deep bond shared by all Koreans must be understood: no ethnic, linguistic, or other inherent difference separates them. The language, cultural traditions, and extended history of the peoples on both sides of the ad hoc border are one and the same. Koreans typically view themselves as a family divided only by events after World War II and remaining divided only by political differences. In the absence of embedded ethnic or linguistic rivalries, therefore, it seems probable that Koreans will someday achieve their shared goal of reunification without further bloodshed.

JAPANESE COLONIALISM One of the feelings that bonds all Koreans is a sense of victimization under Japanese colonialism. Japan took informal control of Korea in 1905 at the end of its war with Russia. In 1907, a secret diplomatic mission was sent by the Korean emperor to an international peace conference in the Netherlands, but this appeal for international help was

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ignored by the world powers, and Japan forced the emperor to abdicate. Between 1907 and 1910, a guerrilla uprising by Koreans—usually armed with no more than a few rifles—was ruthlessly suppressed by the Japanese army. In 1910, Korea was annexed by Japan and formally ceased to exist as an independent nation. China, the historical protector of Korea (most obviously in the 1590s invasion of Korea by Japanese forces), was so weak at the time that it had no ability to influence events. Because of this loss of independence, Koreans in the North and South are deeply committed to an ideal of self-reliance—of never again being forced to depend for survival on outside aid. The refusal of Koreans to show any sign of weakness is reinforced by the experience of Japanese rule between 1910 and 1945. This created an enduring shared national memory of suffering and humiliation that is typified by the Independence Hall opened in South Korea on August 15, 1987—the anniversary of liberation. Massive photographs and waxwork exhibits catalogue the torture, mutilation, and murder of Koreans by Japanese colonial authorities. The greatest insult to Korean honor, however, came in the late 1930s, when Japanese authorities introduced regulations forcing Korean schoolchildren, both in and out of school, to stop using the Korean language—further requiring Koreans to adopt Japanese family names instead of their own. In Confucian civilization, the family name is the foundation of each person’s identity. Thus, Japanese colonizers’ attempts to erase the names of Koreans were seen as a deliberate attempt to eradicate Korean civilization. A rumor from World War II is strong evidence of how brutal the Korean people consider the Japanese to be. It was said that teenage Korean girls were being rounded up by the Japanese military—but not for sexual services (although such was often the case). Rather, it was rumored that they were to be killed so that their body oils could be extracted for the war effort (Lee 1987: 9). Koreans are united in their belief that Japan in the past, and even in the present would welcome the extermination of their culture. This is evident in the enormous popularity of The Rose of Sharon, a novel published in South Korea during the mid1990s that described a nuclear war in which Korea triumphed over Japan. The contemporary situation on the Korean peninsula can be best understood by realizing that North Korean society was largely the creation of the years between the 1920s and the 1940s. The north was historically “the land of the exiles”—hard, mountainous terrain that contrasted sharply with the productive farmlands of the south. Beginning in the late 1920s, however, Japan sought to cultivate the south and industrialize the north. Large numbers of people left southern villages and towns for the north. The town of Ch’ongjin, linked to the new port development of Najin (or Rajin) on the upper east coast, saw its population rise from 20,000 in 1925 to 55,000 in 1935—and then to 198,000 by 1940. The ratio

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of urban to rural Koreans jumped from 1:22 in 1925 to 1:6 in 1944. These newly formed and still unstable industrialized northern communities were clearly more receptive to a new kind of political leadership after their liberation in 1945 than were those in the more settled, agrarian south.

VOLATILITY AFTER WORLD WAR II Adding to the demographic flux and political volatility of the Korean peninsula from 1945 were floods of returnees. Of the 2 million or so Koreans in the Chinese region of Manchuria, 1.2 million chose to remain where they were, becoming the nucleus of the large ethnic Korean community in China’s northeast, but the other 800,000 returned home. Similarly, about 2.4 million Koreans lived in Japan, many of them forced to work in Japanese mines and factories (including those in Hiroshima, where many Koreans became victims of nuclear attack). Over 60 percent of them added themselves to the mix of the relocated and dislocated of the newly independent Korea. About 650,000 chose to remain in Japan; of these, nearly 100,000 elected to return to North Korea a few years after the Korean War (Kim 1988: 19–25). Thus, Japanese colonialism created two major expatriate communities of Koreans in neighboring countries and radically redrew the internal social, economic, and political map of Korea. The Korean civil war has caused the standoff between the two polities that continues into the twenty-first century. The North Korean regime under Kim Il-sung at Pyongyang emerged from the 1930s-era antiJapanese guerrilla forces based in Manchuria. The South Korean government under Syngman Rhee at Seoul was dominated by intellectual elites who had since the 1920s engaged themselves in lobbying overseas for Korean independence. Returning to Korea in 1945, neither side was strong within the country, but neither was the puppet of any external force, whether Washington or Moscow. The belief among the Northern leaders, then and later, was that they better represented the majority of ordinary Koreans. Consequently, they expected a popular uprising in their favor if they marched on Seoul. Such uprisings did take place in the South in 1948–1949, most notably on the southernmost island of Chejudo, which saw the uprising suppressed only after the loss of perhaps 30,000 lives (Merrill 1983: 141–143). By 1950, however, refugees from the North, including members of the business elite and Christians, had reinforced the conservative Rhee government. Despite this, when the North’s armies launched their attack on Seoul in mid-1950, the government and military of the South were easily routed and saved only by U.S.-led intervention under the auspices of the United Nations.

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THE KOREAN WAR The beginning of the Korean War is enlightening to students of North Korea’s relations with its Communist allies, the Soviet Union and China. Kim Il-sung hoped to escape Chinese influence. To this end, he withheld information from the Chinese leadership (Beijing was not even informed of the attack date), refused to take Chinese advice once the war turned against him, and tried to avoid requesting Chinese military assistance in October 1950, when the North Korean army was retreating from U.N. forces. Chinese leaders ultimately decided to intervene in the Korean War late in 1950, feeling the U.S. intended to drive across the Yalu River and invade China while it was weak from years of civil war. The Chinese government also believed that a clash with the U.S. government at some point was inevitable; to their eyes, Korea offered the most favorable battlefield (Hao and Zhai 1990: 106–111; Shen 2003–2004: 9–11). Moscow, however, attempted to remain out of harm’s way before and during the war. According to Bruce Cumings, the foremost English-language historian of the Korean War, this reticence caused Kim to hate the Soviets. After the war, Stalin’s portrait was no longer displayed in the North, and in the late 1950s Kim ousted all pro-Soviet party officials. The rejection of Soviet influence was apparent even in the DPRK’s “construction battle” of the 1950s, in which Kim denounced Soviet-style apartment architecture and, beginning with the creation of the Pyongyang Grand Theater in 1960, reintroduced classical Korean forms (Cumings 1990: 293–296; Springer 2003: 61–66). From the time of the Korean War until the 1990s, no obvious warmth or trust on the part of the DPRK was extended toward its nominal allies (during China’s Cultural Revolution of the 1960s, the radical Red Guards denounced Kim Il-sung as a millionaire aristocrat). Since the war, those allies have had no decisive influence on the policies and decisions of Pyongyang. During the war, over 3 million Koreans died. About three quarters of these were killed in North Korea—mostly by U.S. bombing. The northern city of Sinuiju was hit by 550 tons of incendiary bombs in November 1950 and erased from the map in a single day (Cumings 2004: 19–30). The bombing continued until the war’s end, obliterating virtually the entire urban structure of the North and, during the last stage of the war, destroying its dams, causing massive flooding. The city of Pyongyang was turned into a wasteland; its government and people survived only by living underground. The government in the South fled to the port of Pusan, abandoning Seoul, which remained a ghost town until long after the armistice’s signing in 1953 (Lankov 2007). The level of death, destruction, and impoverishment suffered by all Koreans makes it difficult to believe that either government would intentionally bring about a

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repetition of these catastrophes. Believing this, the accusations of critics that the North would threaten to use nuclear weapons against fellow Koreans in the South become both repugnant and unconvincing.

Reconstruction After 1953, the losses sustained in wartime forced both governments to concentrate first on domestic reconstruction (regardless, neither the United States nor the Soviets would have condoned any further military activities that could serve as the pretext for further, perhaps wider, warfare). In the North, one of the first priorities was the building of housing for the millions of homeless. Thus, although the society of the North was a product of the years from the 1920s to the 1940s, the physical urban landscape of cities such as Pyongyang dates almost entirely from the late 1950s to the 1960s. The lengthiness of the standoff between the North and South is thus in part derived from this devotion to rebuilding. But this is not to say that de facto peace existed between the two regimes— in fact, the height of tit-for-tat violence came late in the 1960s and early 1970s. However, there clearly was a choice for economic competition: this was the dominant theme of relations between the Koreas from the 1960s to the 1990s. These years have been described by Charles Armstrong, a widely respected historian of the Koreas, as “waiting for the revolution” until 1972, and thereafter “slouching toward coexistence” (2004: 39–55). Although Armstrong defines these periods as 1948–1972 and 1972–1992, it can be argued that “slouching towards coexistence” applies quite well to the years since 1992. The active agent in both of these terms, whether “waiting” or “slouching,” is North Korea; it seems that one of the unquestioned assumptions of English-language writings is that any future war will be started by the DPRK (many worry that if the regime verges on collapse, it will try to destroy the South). In evaluating this assumption, the North must be considered not only in its weakness but in its strength. Had North Korea been committed to reunification by war, moments in the 1960s and 1970s might well have offered chances for successful attack. From the late 1950s into the mid-1960s, the North Korean economy was booming, in large part because of the efficiency of highly organized and motivated efforts at national reconstruction. This boom occurred despite falloff in foreign assistance, especially after China’s failed Great Leap Forward of the late 1950s (which ended in economic collapse and mass starvation, causing thousands to flee into North Korea) and during internal chaos of the 1960s’ Cultural Revolution (when, again, thousands took refuge in the North). Communism was a powerful global ideology during the 1960s—and, in the late 1950s, Kim

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Il-sung had created his own variation upon it, his juche philosophy, which centered on self-reliance. Thus, during the mid-1960s, the North was strong both economically and ideologically and was relatively free of constraints from China and Russia as they engaged in their own bitter contest for ideological supremacy in the communist world. North Korea faced a South Korea that remained largely agrarian, which was ruled by a deeply unpopular, repressive government and supported by the U.S.— which was increasingly overcommitted in Vietnam. The principal military obstacle to reunification by war was the nuclear weapons secretly based by the U.S. in the South from the late 1950s until the early 1990s (something that may have lent impetus to the North’s own long-term goal of nuclear capability). But it is not certain that the United States, still embroiled in Vietnam, and fearing nuclear holocaust between the superpowers (known as MAD, or mutual assured destruction), would have used nuclear weapons against the North. The North, if it detected such an unwillingness, may have nevertheless deliberately refused to choose war. From the perspective of the North, the history of South Korea from the 1960s–1980s strengthened Pyongyang’s moral claim, which it has never relinquished, to be the true representative of all Koreans. Widespread domestic opposition arose to successive governments in Seoul that was subsequently repressed by police and military forces, and the South Korean governments relied for money and security on external powers— including the Koreans’ historical enemy, Japan. In 1960, civil protests finally ousted Syngman Rhee, whose only platforms had been anticommunism and anti-Japanese nationalism. In 1961, Major-General Park Chung Hee (whose daughter was narrowly defeated in 2007 in her bid for the Grand National Party’s presidential candidacy) seized power in a military coup d’état. Thereafter, army generals monopolized the South Korean presidency for nearly three decades. Under Park’s version of state-directed capitalist development, South Korea received substantial amounts of economic aid from the U.S. (including food), was awarded major U.S. contracts for companies such as Hyundai and Hamjin in return for committing 300,000 combat troops to South Vietnam between 1966 and 1972, and restored relations with Japan in 1965, a move that brought in enormous levels of Japanese investment, soft loans, and $800 million in reparations for the abuses of the colonial era. During a time of insecurity between 1972 and 1974, when the U.S., under the Nixon Doctrine, was reducing its level of military commitment across Asia, Park promoted the first official contacts between delegates of the North and South. This occurred against the background of rising protest against his authoritarianism (which had led to the introduction of martial law in 1972). This was followed by the Social Safety Act of 1975, under

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which anyone who had previously been arrested and was later deemed to pose a significant danger of committing another crime could be rearrested. One case involved a villager forced into labor by the occupying North Korean forces in 1950, who had subsequently been sentenced to seventeen years in prison by a South Korean court and released in 1967. He made his living selling vegetables and fruit in Seoul but, without committing any offense, was rearrested in 1975 and remained in detention until 1988 when, 67 years old and dying of cancer, he was finally released. Thirty-five others who had been in prison for twenty to thirty years were still being held at that time (Far Eastern Economic Review January 1989). Park’s principal opponent, a man who later played a decisive role in North–South relations during the late 1990s, was Kim Dae Jung. Despite Park’s domination of government, Kim was almost able to snatch victory in the 1971 presidential election. In August 1973, however, Kim was kidnapped while on a visit to Tokyo, apparently by South Korean intelligence officers. It is said that he was about to be drowned when his kidnappers were frightened away by a passing aircraft.

INTER-KOREAN RELATIONS IN THE 1970S By 1975, when South Vietnam fell to communism, East Asian analysts openly doubted whether South Korea could survive in its present form. Late in 1979, after anti-Park riots in such major cities as Pusan and a planned nationwide strike by students, Park was assassinated by the head of his own intelligence service, a body responsible for crushing dissent. This was probably the last moment at which the North might have considered military intervention. Although the U.S. government announced it would “react strongly” to any DPRK provocation, the inauguration of another war against communism was unlikely so soon after the fall of Saigon—and with American attention fixed on the ongoing American hostage crisis in Iran (Fuji 1980: 749–751). Soon after Park’s murder, Major-General Chun Doo Hwan seized power in Seoul. Kim Dae Jung, who had been released from house arrest following Park’s death, was rearrested, charged with sedition, and sentenced to death. The intervention of President Reagan bought him a reprieve, but he remained imprisoned. Intense public opposition to Chun’s coup, however, brought about in May 1980 the massacre of perhaps 200 civilians at Kwangju by South Korean special forces. According to documents later released by the South’s own defense ministry, a string of military “reeducation” and labor camps was also set up between August 1980 and January 1982 in what was known as the “Samchong” program. Nearly 40,000 people were detained in these camps, 10,000 of them arrested in the first two weeks of the

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scheme (Far Eastern Economic Review October 1989). The military only began to relinquish its hold on power in the late 1980s, coincident with the holding of the Seoul Olympics in 1988. In 1996, both Chun and his military successor, Roh Tae Woo, were tried for crimes against the Korean people, found guilty and sentenced to death (a sentence later commuted). Long before Park’s assassination or Chun’s coup, the DPRK had already chosen coexistence. This was apparent to some foreign observers even in the mid-1970s. Donald Zagoria and Young Kun Kim, both of New York’s City University, concluded in 1975 that the DPRK had abandoned its policy of fomenting guerrilla war in the South between 1966 and 1970. Armed transgressions of the DMZ, at a high of 829 instances in 1967, dropped to 134 in 1969 and only 1 in 1972. North Korean agents infiltrated into the South were suspected at 338 contacts in 1967, 137 in 1969, and 41 in 1972. These agents targeted military personnel in the South but suffered high casualties themselves: in 1968, 321 North Korean agents were killed inside the ROK and only thirteen captured (Zagoria and Kim 1975: 1018–1019). By the early 1970s, however, the DPRK had scaled down its guerrilla actions (although an attempt was made to assassinate Park by a pro–North Korean from Japan in 1974, killing Park’s wife; furthermore, in 1983, the North was assumed to be behind a bomb attack on Chun Doo Hwan while he visited Rangoon). One reason for this shift to coexistence was a thaw in relations between the U.S., Moscow, and Beijing. In order to avoid diplomatic isolation, the North sought to normalize its contacts with the international community; in 1973, it joined the World Health Organization and sent an observer mission to the United Nations (both North and South Korea independently joined the U.N. in 1991). Perhaps more important in explaining the shift, however, was that the DPRK economy had been battered by its inflated defense spending in the late 1960s (which reached a high of 32% of its total budget in 1968 from just 10% two years earlier). The weakened North Korean economy saw crippling labor shortages in industry and widespread failure to meet production targets of coal, iron, steel, and electric power. Beginning in 1972, the DPRK responded with heavy cuts in defense expenditures and emphasized economic growth in an attempt to raise public living standards. In short, one of the DPRK’s major dilemmas in the twenty-first century—security or modernity?— dates at least to the 1970s. Part of the answer, both then and later, lay with Japan. In a radical change of attitude, in 1971 Kim Il-sung encouraged increased trade and improved relations with Japan. This improvement in relations led to immediate benefits that included imports of Japanese machinery vital to DPRK industries such as textiles. By 1975, Japan was the North’s largest trading partner outside the communist world. The DPRK hoped that Tokyo would also help bring about direct negotiations

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with Washington, a hope based in part on Washington’s increased receptivity in the early 1970s toward the two Communist powers, Moscow and Beijing. Indeed, the New York Times, on August 1, 1975, reported Kim’s analysis of the United States in these years: The U.S. has long been going downhill. Nowadays it is undergoing a serious economic crisis, and militarily speaking, though we cannot say it has gone totally bankrupt, it has stretched its tentacles to so many places that it has not enough strength to stretch them any further. (Zagoria and Kim 1975: 1024)

THE NORTH KOREAN ECONOMIC DECLINE The decline of the North Korea economy, however, was both obvious and openly acknowledged. In the 1970s, the DPRK was unable to pay its bills for imports of machinery and resources, and in 1972, Kim admitted the North’s economic setbacks to the American journalist Harrison Salisbury (Zagoria and Kim 1975: 1024). In 1985, he was quoted in a Japanese journal saying, “We have no intention to attack the South and no strength for that” (Vanin 1996: 48). In 1992, the constitution of the DPRK was revised to promote joint enterprises with foreign individuals and corporations, and in an attempt to restore the trust of international businesses, laws were established to guarantee the rights and revenues of outside investors. This goal of economic self-strengthening was obviously hindered by continuing tensions on the peninsula, but according to one report in the mid-1990s over 140 joint ventures existed at that point, mostly with Korean residents of Japan (present North Korean–Japanese joint ventures include the Ragwon Department Store in Pyongyang) and small concerns in the area of consumer goods (Vanin 1996: 54–55). Late in 2001, the giant corporation British American Tobacco also started a joint venture with a North Korean company that began with an investment of $7 million into a factory in Pyongyang that employed 200 workers and produced up to 2 billion cigarettes annually. What is apparent from all of this is that, since the 1970s, Pyongyang has consistently sought international trade and investment. The DPRK was at its weakest in the 1990s, an era known in the North as “the arduous march.” In 1991, the Soviet Union suddenly collapsed. Three years later, Kim Il-sung died, and ongoing natural disaster in the mid-1990s caused a catastrophic famine. The weakness of the North in comparison to the South was already obvious by the late 1980s. Official ROK figures for 1989 record the South’s population as double that of the North (42.3 million to 21.3 million), its workforce also double (18 million to 9.3 million), its military spending

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double (over $9 billion to $4.5 billion), and its GNP ten times that of the North—$210 billion to $21 billion (Far Eastern Economic Review 1991). Coincident with the Seoul Olympics of 1988, South Korean president and former army general Roh Tae Woo began to engage the North through trade, investment, and cultural exchange—an engagement that has continued into the twenty-first century. He sought to replace competition with cooperation and called for a summit in Pyongyang. Although the planned meeting failed to materialize, the two governments subsequently approved a major statement in 1991 (the so-called Basic Agreement on Reconciliation, Non-Aggression, Exchanges and Co-operation), followed early in 1992 by a joint declaration on the denuclearization of the Korean peninsula. In 1988, Roh also allowed more freedom of information about the North (for example, ROK television was now permitted to show images of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il). He legalized imports from the North, beginning a barter trade of Southern rice for Northern coal that helped to ease what by 1991 were severe food shortages in the DPRK. Roh’s government promoted South Korean investment in the North and offered to protect South Korean companies from any losses they might incur. Industry leaders such as Hyundai and Daewoo began scouting for projects north of the border (Far Eastern Economic Review 1990; Economist 1992). These included small factories that produced clothing, footwear, toys, and kitchen goods for export. The attractions then, as for South Korean companies ever since, were cheaper labor and startup costs and the chance to improve North–South relations through business. The grandest project was envisioned by the founder of Hyundai. Returning to his native village in the North in 1989, he conceived of a tourist development in the Kumgang Mountains that by 2007 had become the centerpoint of peaceful contact between civilians of the North and South. The impetus toward economic cooperation was enormously boosted by the reunification of East and West Germany in the 1990s, at which time Seoul calculated the costs of reunification for the ROK if the DPRK were to collapse, basing its figures on the collapse of East Germany. South Korea’s estimate in 1991, however, stood at $400 billion—double the South’s GDP. On economic grounds, therefore, the South could argue that support for the existing regime in Pyongyang was in its own interests. Indeed, many of the elements of present-day relations between the Koreas were already in place or becoming so by the beginning of the 1990s.

POST–COLD WAR CONFLICT The DPRK’s weakness was increased by the collapse of the Soviet Union. Although Moscow had never given liberally to any of its allies, it remained Pyongyang’s major source of materials, including energy (after

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1991, the North was forced to be largely dependent on China for its energy needs). The demise of the Soviet Union also spelled the end of the bilateral 1961 treaty with Moscow that had guaranteed Soviet military support in the event of war. In what seemed like a deliberate insult, this was announced by the Russian foreign minister while visiting Seoul in 1992 in search of business contracts from the ROK (Yang et al 2004: 796–797). Only upon the election of Vladimir Putin as Russian president in 2000 did Moscow again begin to view North Korea as a potentially valuable partner in reasserting Russian influence in international affairs. Putin visited Pyongyang in July 2000, two months after forming his administration and only two days after visiting Beijing. The second major blow dealt the North was the death of Kim Il-sung in 1994 at the age of eighty-two. An extended period of national mourning was announced as a mark of respect for someone who symbolized Korea’s resistance to great-power opponents. In a further mark of respect, the title of “president” was retired on his death (thus Kim Jongil is not officially the president of North Korea). But Kim Jong-il did not merely inherit power. Appointed to key government positions in the early 1970s, he was given extensive training in the workings of the party and the government. During these decades, he also developed his own support networks of like-minded, pragmatic officials and worked to overcome opposition within the government, preparing to assume control of the state apparatus. This, however, could not prepare him for the challenges that followed his rise to power (Park 1982: 57–78). In 1995, a flood of unprecedented proportions affected three-quarters of the DPRK, causing losses that rose into the billions of dollars. This was the cause of the Great Famine of 1995–1999, which (according to a recent estimate) killed between 600,000 to 1,000,000 North Koreans (Haggard and Noland 2007: 7). International aid agencies provided essential aid in the form of food, but widespread criticism arose accusing Pyongyang of diverting aid to the armed forces and officials rather than to ordinary civilians (hardest-hit were urban residents; collective farms were allowed to keep 90% of anything they could harvest). Of course, the regime could argue that at such a moment of internal crisis, when its enemies might be most likely to strike, it was imperative for the security of all citizens in North Korea that the nation’s defense forces and government be sustained first. It is extremely important to note, however, that South Korea never attempted to exploit the North’s weakness by military means. Instead, it was unstinting in its offers of aid. The prospect that imminent collapse of the DPRK might be accompanied by the suicidal aggression of a dying regime was not realized during “the arduous march.” During the late 1990s, the state-managed food supply system completely failed and the population survived only by

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acquiring necessities on the black market, which allowed black marketeers to accumulate considerable wealth outside the state’s reach. The loss of state control was most visible, however, in the waves of North Koreans (reciprocating the migrations of the 1960s) who fled into China, crossing the 850-mile border through mountainous forests and across narrow or frozen waters. In northeast China, these refugees were assisted by local ethnic Koreans but were often arrested by Chinese authorities, who considered them illegal migrants. Scholars Andrei Lankov and James Seymour suggest that at the height of the famine, during the mid1990s, up to 200,000 North Koreans may have been living in China; but by 2005 the U.S. State Department estimate was between 30,000 and 50,000 (Lankov 2004: 856–873; Seymour 2006: 138–139). Often entire families—mostly consisting of women and children; by the late 1990s over three quarters of all refugees were women—escaped together. Refugees generally crossed into China for only a few days in search of food before returning home. Most fled North Hamgyong province, the DPRK’s rust belt, which contained little arable land that could support its large urban population, many of whom were (by then unemployed) mine or factory workers. In describing a typical part of North Hamgyong, long-time analyst of the DPRK, Hazel Smith, wrote, “Undok is a ghost county” (Smith 2005: 175–177). Some refugees stayed in northeast China, exposing themselves to all kinds of abuse, including forced prostitution or kidnapping for sale as brides to men willing to pay market prices of $500 for women in their late twenties. Some refugees planned to enter China, contact a support organization located there, and travel through Southeast Asia to Seoul. In the South, however, the vast majority of resettled North Koreans found only unemployment and isolation. Gabriel Jonsson notes that a 2000 survey of DPRK defectors in the ROK found two thirds to be unemployed. Less than 2 percent had professional jobs, and those who did have work were mainly clerical staff or soldiers; a few were successful entertainers or ran restaurants (2006: 172). Partly in response to such social problems, but also in order to minimize disputes with Pyongyang and Beijing, Seoul became increasingly unwilling to accept refugees. As large amounts of food aid from China, South Korea, Japan, and the United States mitigated the threat of starvation, the numbers of North Korean refugees declined in the late 1990s. During “the arduous march,” the DPRK arguably ceased to exist as a functioning government, but it neither collapsed nor resorted to violence beyond its borders. Those assessing the durability of the DPRK should be wary of stereotypes calling it a “Stalinist” regime that remains in power solely through tyranny and coercion. Its coercive authority virtually disappeared for a time during the 1990s, and the frequent accusation that

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refugees returning to North Korea face execution is misleading. According to Lankov and Seymour, returnees from China were normally detained for a few days during questioning, and then held for some months in labor camps (although the DPRK criminal code provides for up to three years’ detention in labor re-education camps as punishment for illegal border crossing). Lankov notes an extraordinary point: that 40% of former refugees, once released by North Korean authorities, returned to China (Lankov 2004). Instead of instituting harsher punishments, however, the DPRK changed its laws to absolve those fleeing to China solely in search of food from criminal charges. In 2001, China and the DPRK attempted to regularize cross-border movements, allowing North Koreans able to provide evidence of sufficient funds and having a relative or sponsor in China to obtain a six-month visa. Although the North Korean government was, in a 2004 BBC television documentary, Access to Evil, accused of conducting medical experiments on prisoners, Tim Beal has shown the evidence used in the documentary to have been fabricated by defectors from the North who hoped, in return for embarrassing Pyongyang, to be rewarded by anti-communist groups in the ROK (Beal 2005: 136–141). The DPRK has never engaged in mass internal violence such as that which occurred in China during the 1950s and 1960s. Instead, the DPRK has always emphasized communal solidarity as its best defense against external enemies. In North Korean popular culture, such as cinema, there exist constant warnings of the threat of spies, and surveillance of the public is justified on the grounds that the North is a garrison state technically still at war; but it seems upon observation of the North Korean people that they simply do not live in fear of their government. All of this is not meant to deny that the DPRK, like China, Vietnam, and other such nations, imprisons citizens who hold dissident political beliefs and executes those it deems to be criminals. But critical reflection should be used when contemplating North Korea’s actions as well as its official rhetoric. On the surface, Pyongyang’s pronouncements often seem divorced from reality. Outside observers scoff at the slogan, intended for a domestic audience (and gone with the famines of the 1990s), calling North Korea “a paradise on earth.” As Han S. Park of the University of Georgia explains, however, the slogan relies upon the historical Korean definition of paradise: to eat white rice, live under a clay roof, and educate one’s own children (Park 2002: 43). Perhaps no concerted movement within North Korea actually challenges the government, which may not employ Stalinist terror tactics against its people but instead govern far less absolutely than is thought—even allowing certain chances for freedom, tolerance, and escape. In 2002, to expand supplies of food and goods, the regime introduced the New Economic Policy, which raised wages and prices to bring them more in line with market

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levels, approving of the rewarding of workers based on their productivity and level of initiative and also allowing many more market stallholders to trade for profit in things ranging from food and clothing to electronics and goods imported from China, Russia, and Japan. A nationwide intranet, created in 2000 with a browser, search engine, news groups, and email program, saw the rise of cyber cafés (both legal and illegal) from 2002 onward. Although access to the Internet is restricted, being intended for business and scientific purposes and the obtaining of information valuable to the North’s economy, the intranet has been claimed to be used by some Koreans for chatting and romance (Economist 2007).

NUCLEAR WEAPONS The most volatile issue on the Korean peninsula since the 1990s has been the DPRK’s nuclear weapons program, from 1993 to 1994 and 2002 to 2006 thought to imperil the entire region. The DPRK began operating a nuclear energy reactor at Yo˘ngbyo˘n in 1987, two years after ratifying the Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT). The reactor, according to a CIA evaluation, was intended primarily to increase the North’s selfsufficiency in matters of energy. However, in 1993, after a dispute with the International Atomic Energy Agency over access to North Korean nuclear waste facilities, Pyongyang announced its intention to withdraw from the NPT. In the United States, South Korea, and Japan, this led to more than a year of fears about the North’s nuclear intentions. Early in 1994, the CIA incorrectly claimed that the North had already used plutonium from Yo˘ngbyo˘n to manufacture at least one nuclear weapon. In response, President Clinton was said to be considering air strikes on the reactor, a possibility that infuriated Seoul, a location at far greater risk of attack by the DPRK than the U.S. In mid-1994, the DPRK was still a formal signatory of the NPT, but the U.S., supported by the ROK and Japan (though not by China), attempted to levy UN sanctions on Pyongyang that included a freeze on DPRK assets abroad and bans on the sale of oil and transfer of foreign currency to the DPRK (the latter an attempt to frustrate the $600 million to $1.8 billion repatriated annually to the North by sections of the Korean community living in Japan). Press accounts reflected a genuine fear of impending war in mid-1994, and panicked South Korean civilians stockpiled food. The crisis eased when Kim Il-sung invited former U.S. President Jimmy Carter to Pyongyang. Just days before Kim’s death, the two negotiated what became the Agreed Framework, under which the DPRK was to shut down its existing reactor. In return, the U.S. promised to aid in construction of two light-water reactors (to be paid for by the U.S., South Korea, Japan, and others), to

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provide the DPRK with heavy fuel oil as compensation for the energy lost by closing Yo˘ngbyo˘n, to provide guarantees against any form of attack on the North, and to hold talks in hopes of the normalization of relations. In retrospect, the crisis of 1993–1994 has an absurd quality: the North, which had no nuclear weapon and did not withdraw from the NPT, received almost no benefits from the United States; shortly after the accord, Clinton lost control of the U.S. Congress and only some fuel oil—of all the incentives promised—was ever delivered to North Korea (Cumings 2004: 55–76; Beal 2005: 74–78). Clinton’s Secretary of State, Madeline Albright, did visit Pyongyang in October 2000, when, among other things, she presented Kim Jong-il with a basketball signed by his sports hero, Michael Jordan (Cumings 2004: 47). Late in 2000, George W. Bush was elected president of the U.S. and adopted a far more confrontational approach to North Korea and China (both of which were listed as U.S. nuclear “target” countries by the Pentagon in 2002), accelerating the development of a missile defense system to protect Japan from the weapons of Pyongyang and Beijing. In stark contrast to the heightened tensions between the Bush administration and Pyongyang, a remarkable series of diplomatic visitors to North Korea between 2000 and 2002 showed stability on the Korean peninsula to be the shared goal of all regional governments, including president Kim Dae Jung of South Korea, premier Jiang Zemin of China, president Vladimir Putin of Russia, and prime minister Koizumi Jun’ichiro¯ of Japan. The visits of the Chinese and Russian leaders demonstrated a new respect for North Korea and—to some extent—deliberate defiance of the U.S. Jiang’s trip to Pyongyang in 2001 reciprocated Kim Jong-il’s visit—his first to a foreign state—the previous year, during which Kim had been particularly interested in China’s economic reforms since the 1980s, something that may have helped him plan North Korea’s own New Economic Policy of 2002. The exchange of visits continued under Jiang’s successor, Hu Jintao. In the twenty-first century, Sino–North Korean contacts were much more frequent than in the 1990s but remained pragmatic rather than friendly. Pyongyang recognized that Chinese economic aid, though substantial, was largely self-interested. As one senior Chinese official put it, “We can either send food aid to North Korea or they will send refugees to us—either way, we feed them. It is more convenient to feed them in North Korea than in China” (Kim 2006: 197). Pyongyang knew, too, that it could use China’s fears of instability to retain autonomy in its decision-making. For Koreans, Kim Dae Jung’s visit to Pyongyang during June 13 to 15, 2000, the first by a South Korean president since the Korean War, was a defining moment. The visit came even after a 1999 naval clash between the two nations just off their west coast (another would occur in 2002).

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The South Korean public was particularly impressed by the traditional respect shown by Kim Jong-il to the older Kim Dae Jung, in whom North Koreans saw, because of his years of imprisonment and receipt of death threats under the Park and Chun regimes, a man who reflected their own experience of enduring struggle. Thus Kim Dae Jung, rather than Roh Tae Woo (as would have been the case in 1988), was the South Korean leader who could share the strongest rapport with his North Korean counterpart—though the results of the summit were certainly built upon the foundations laid by Roh’s earlier efforts. Under what was now called “the sunshine policy,” the ROK recommitted itself to coexistence and cooperation with the DPRK with a view to expanding the warmth of the two nations’ relationship, helping the North improve its economy through trade and investment and promoting human contacts through the reunion of family members divided by the war—as well as by sporting events and cultural exchange. Among the tangible results of the summit were the construction by Hyundai of a 25-square-mile special economic zone in the DPRK at Kaesong (or Gaesong), an hour north of Seoul, in which South Korean companies could set up factories employing North Korean workers; the opening of land routes by which South Korean tourists could travel to the Mt. Kumgang resort; and, in 2002, the first ever delegation of North Korean athletes to the South for that year’s Asian Games (an event especially significant in light of the North’s previous boycott of the Seoul Olympics). The first principle of the joint declaration from the summit is essential to a proper understanding of the situation on the Korean peninsula today. It read: The South and North have agreed to resolve the question of reunification on their own initiative and through the joint efforts of the Korean people, who are the masters of the country. (Son 2006: 189–190)

The key phrase here is that “the Korean people”—-not two separate peoples—are masters of the country. The joint declaration also agreed that reunification would occur through some form of federation (the North had been proposing a “Democratic Confederal Republic of Koryo” since the 1980s), not unlike the results of the Chinese policy of “one country, two systems.” The idea of reunification by war was consigned to history. Perhaps the most unexpected visitor was Koizumi, the conservative prime minister of Japan. Even though Japan continued to deny official recognition to North Korea, Koizumi flew into Pyongyang on September 17, 2002. He later described Kim Jong-il in passing as intelligent and possessed of a keen sense of humor. The purpose of Koizumi’s visit was twofold: to defuse the tensions surrounding North Korean nuclear

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weapons and conventional missile tests and to resolve the question of the status of Japanese civilians allegedly abducted from Japan by North Korean agents during the 1970s and early 1980s. In return, he offered to normalize relations with the DPRK and provide aid in grants and low-interest loans. Before leaving Tokyo, Koizumi had revealed to reporters that his first priority was the abductees. Perhaps because of this, Kim Jong-il admitted during the meeting, controverting earlier North Korean denials, that thirteen Japanese civilians had been kidnapped by North Korean agents approximately two decades earlier. These were in addition to a far greater number of South Korean civilian abductees, all, presumably, as resources by means of which to help train North Korean agents in the dialects and customs of the North’s enemies. This admission was accompanied by an apology and a promise that such actions would never be repeated. Koizumi, Japan, and South Korea found the abductions deplorable (though perhaps somewhat mitigated by the state of war existing between the nations involved). Koizumi accepted the apology on behalf of the Japanese people, trusting this act of good faith to avert future dangers, and began talks on the normalization of diplomatic relations in October 2002. The Koizumi–Kim meeting was another turning point on the Korean peninsula, but the Japanese media and public, as well as certain politicians (including Koizumi’s own cabinet secretary and short-lived successor as prime minister, Abe Shinzo¯) insisted on the complete resolution of the abduction issue as a precondition for any further concessions to Pyongyang. Koizumi became somewhat of a hostage to the past; eight of the thirteen abductees had died in North Korea (of causes, according to Pyongyang, that ranged from health problems to the natural disasters of the 1990s), making adequate redress impossible. Japanese opinion was particularly inflamed by the youthfulness of those abductees now dead. The symbol of all the Japanese victims became schoolgirl Yokota Megumi, only thirteen years old when she was kidnapped from a westcoast town in 1977. Pyongyang officially claimed she had later married a man abducted from South Korea, given birth to one child, and committed suicide in 1993. Relentless media vilification of Kim Jong-il as, in effect, a murderer of children froze talks on normalization and economic aid, and relations between Japan and North Korea regressed into accusations and counter-accusations. Another issue between Japan and the DPRK further soured the situation. Accusations claimed that North Korea was in league with Japanese and South Korean crime syndicates’ attempts to peddle drugs in Japan. Japanese police reports in The Japan Times on May 17 and August 19, 2006, reported that no clearly traceable trafficking of methamphetamines from the DPRK to Japan was evident since 2002, but police chiefs remained convinced, regardless, that North Korean drugs still entered the country by way of China.

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The second phase of the nuclear crisis overlapped with Koizumi’s visit to Pyongyang. In October 2002, Washington declared that, when confronted with evidence gathered by U.S. intelligence agencies, North Korean officials had confessed to having operated a secret program of uranium enrichment—a full stage beyond even plutonium enrichment. In November 2002, the CIA reported to Congress that the DPRK was now in a position to manufacture two or more nuclear weapons annually by mid-decade. The Bush administration declared the Agreed Framework dead and refused to supply oil to Pyongyang. The following month, the DPRK reactivated its nuclear facility at Yo˘ ngbyo˘ n, expelling the inspectors of the International Atomic Energy Agency. In another month, North Korea withdrew from the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, causing real expectations of war between the U.S. and the DPRK. One of the recurring themes in American relations with North Korea has been a willingness to accept entrenched stereotypes of the DPRK’s government as an irrational and violent regime—and, from this, to rush to judgment. This became evident again in February 2007, when US intelligence officials revealed that their certainty about the DPRK’s uranium enrichment program in 2002 had, in fact, only been at what they described as “mid-confidence” level. Despite their assurances to Congress, they simply were not entirely certain where the DPRK was in terms of enriching uranium or producing nuclear weapons (New York Times 2007). In light of this, it may be argued that the 2002–2006 crisis could have been avoided and that the North’s own rush toward its 2006 test of a plutonium-based nuclear device could have been forestalled. However, it must be noted that the North Korean regime has never wavered in its belief that Washington has both the military capacity and the intent to destroy the DPRK, as it attempted to do between 1950 and 1953. Pyongyang believes the sole protection against attack to be the possession of nuclear weapons. Because of this, North Korea has never swerved from its intention of building nuclear weapons. When in January 2002 President Bush identified North Korea as part of an “axis of evil” that included Iraq and Iran (who fought a vicious war between 1980 and 1988) the DPRK, well aware of his stated policy of preemptive attack and his 2003 invasion of Iraq, feared that attack was imminent—something the North Korean regime had expected since the 1950s. Between 2003 and 2006, the Six Party Talks in Beijing dominated media reports about the Korean peninsula. The talks—intended to prevent North Korea from developing nuclear weapons, bringing it back into the fold of the international system of nuclear energy control— failed miserably. The U.S. insisted on regime change in Pyongyang, and

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Japan insisted on resolving the issue of North Korean abductions. South Korea, China, and Russia held that engagement and provision of aid would best prevent the crisis from heightening. In October 2006, despite warnings from China and threats from the U.S. and Japan, Pyongyang did what it had earlier said it was going to and tested a plutonium-based nuclear device underground, something the DPRK saw as a demonstration of strength after years of weakness (even though unable to yet deploy nuclear weapons at will). The U.S. and Japan responded to the nuclear test by demanding harsh sanctions in the U.N. that were moderated by the response of South Korea, China, and Russia. In assessing the possibility of war at this time and later, the most telling reaction was evident in South Korea. A poll of South Korean citizens only days after the event found 83 percent unfazed and continuing in their support of the sunshine policy. On the afternoon of the day of the test, of 505 South Korean tourists intending to vacation at the Mt. Kumgang resort, only twenty-seven failed to arrive—and only six of these cancelled, demonstrating how far the Koreans had traveled toward mutual trust since the first nuclear crisis of 1994 (Yonhap News 2006; New York Times October 2006). One year after the test, relations between the US and North Korea seemed to have regressed to their state in 1994. Having lost control of Congress late in 2006, President Bush proposed compromise, unfreezing North Korean assets locked by the U.S. in a Macao bank, contributing $25 million in fuel aid to the North, and raising the prospect of normalization talks to end the half-century state of hostilities between the two nations. The U.S. did insist, however, that the North abandon its nuclear weapons program—although no state has yet renounced an existing nuclear armory. Because the U.S. maintains normal relations with the nuclear powers India, Pakistan, Russia, and China, the possibility remained that a compromise might perhaps be made with the DPRK. For its part, Pyongyang made conciliatory moves in 2007, inviting International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors to return and agreeing to disable its reactor at Yo˘ngbyo˘n. Relations between North Korea and Japan remained as hostile as they had been since the 1990s. Japanese officials’ threats in 2006 of preemptive strikes against North Korea had, if anything, reinforced the bonds of Koreans as a nation. The two Koreas were also united in condemning Japanese claims on the islet known to them as Dok-do and to the Japanese as Takeshima. This issue was primarily a matter of history and national prestige that saw Koreans resisting what they felt was a return to Japanese expansionism. Economic considerations also played a part in the dispute over the islet, which is surrounded by waters rich in stocks of fish and which may lie above deposits of natural gas. It was in this

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relationship, as much as in any other, that history continued to exert a major influence. The relationship between the two Koreas seemed remarkably undisturbed during the aftershocks of the DPRK’s nuclear test. The South never fully interrupted its provision of food and energy to the North, and in 2005 ROK–DPRK trade exceeded $1 billion. In 2007, the first trains to cross the DMZ since the Korean War made a ceremonial run. The reopening of rail links was partly in response to increasing numbers of South Korean tourist numbers (according to one source, about 1,000 daily by 2005) expected when the North allowed unrestricted access to the sacred Mt. Paektu (Woo 2006: 52). The resumption of rail traffic offered to take its place in a far larger project—an envisaged Eurasian “iron silk road” linking the economies of South Korea, China, Russia, and still other nations with a single rail network. North Korea’s entry into this network increased the project’s viability, promising increased trade and greater profits for all concerned. In addition to updating the North’s transport infrastructure, such a rail line would also aid the DPRK in its exports of such valuable mineral resources as nickel, cobalt, and tungsten, large deposits of which were said to be in the mountains of Kumgang (Japan Times 2005). By late 2006 nearly 8,300 North Korean workers were employed by fifteen South Korean companies at the special economic zone of Gaesong, producing about $5 million worth of goods each month. By the project’s 2024 completion date, the South Korean government expected some 3,000 factories would be functioning (Korea Times 2006). The North Korean workers were paid $50 a month—ostensibly double the monthly salary of an ordinary worker but actually about forty times more when calculated at the market rate (Wook 2006: 23–25). In a further indication of the confidence of hopes of continued stability, a new joint venture between North Korea and groups in South Korea, as well as the Korean population of China, became the Pyongyang University of Science and Technology, which aimed to recruit students and faculty from both Koreas (as well as staff from China, the U.S., and other countries) to train them in engineering, information technology, and international business. The varied and entrenched contacts between the North and South suggest that little real change will occur following the 2007 election of the conservative Grand National Party’s Lee Myung Bak, a former Hyundai executive and mayor of Seoul. Foreign commentators routinely warn that the North Korean military, at one million strong, is one of the world’s largest. But many young male and female conscripts are engaged mainly in agricultural work. Moreover, a large army at war proves expensive to feed and fuel, cumbersome to move and coordinate, and a sitting target for aerial attack. Joseph

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Bermudez, Jr., notes the DPRK navy, consistent with the state of the rest of the North Korean military branches, is composed of light craft and is totally devoid of ships at or above the class of destroyers. He also reports that as early as 1989, drastic cutbacks took place in pilot training because of a lack of fuel. In 2000, DPRK pilots logged no more than thirteen hours of training yearly (almost all of which they devoted to taking off and landing), instead spending their time in flight simulators and group discussion (Bermudez 2001: 106, 145). World War II and the Korean War demonstrated the futility of military endeavor without control of the air (although the Korean and Vietnam conflicts show that this is not enough to guarantee victory): with its air force so unfamiliar with the skies, logic dictates that the DPRK would not initiate a full-scale war. Reflecting this, Seoul decided in 2006–2007 to cut its own military force by 2020 from 680,000 to 500,000 troops, also shortening the period of conscription by six months (Park 2007: 5–20). No wholesale revolution or internal collapse took place in South Korea during the years of military rule or in North Korea during “the arduous march.” Each political system has proven its capacity for survival. Since the 1970s, and quickening in the late 1980s under Roh Tae-woo and the 1990s under Kim Dae-jung, Seoul has striven to build economic and cultural ties with Pyongyang, a policy that has survived criticisms from Tokyo and Washington as well as complaints from some in the South. Since the 1970s, the North has openly sought economic ties and investment rather than direct military conflict but continues to maintain a large army and develop nuclear weapons because it fears that the U.S. and Japan seek its destruction. No government in the region, except perhaps that of Japan, actively desires the collapse of the North. Chinese, Russian, and South Korean policy now seeks “status quo plus” (in other words, gradual reform of the existing DPRK system), feeling it in the military, economic, and social interests of all parties concerned. One of the obstacles to stability, however, is the region’s climate. In July 2006 flooding in the North Korean provinces of South Pyongan, Kangwon, and South Hamgyong left 13,000 homes and buildings damaged or destroyed and up to 50,000 people dead or missing (People’s Daily 2006). In August of the following year, a single week of torrential rains left hundreds dead and 30,000 houses destroyed—many of these in Kangwon Province. Five hundred forty bridges and tens of thousands of hectares of farmland were washed away or buried in silt (KCNA 2007). This annual devastation is another reason for Pyongyang shifting its energies from military pursuits to production and trade, something it may continue to be aided in by the slow withdrawal of U.S. forces from east Asia that has continued in fits and starts since its inauguration in the Nixon Doctrine of 1969. Under a 2006 U.S.—ROK agreement of 2006, the U.S. will relinquish any

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remaining command over South Korean forces in 2012, making both Korean armies entirely in the hands of Koreans. After fifty years of coexistence, they seem unlikely candidates to repeat the events of 1950, when both regimes were newly formed and unstable, the region was weak and in flux after years of colonialism, and the Cold War was at its hottest.

Select Bibliography Armstrong, C., “Inter-Korean Relations: A North Korean Perspective,” in Kim, S. S., ed. Inter-Korean Relations: Problems and Prospects (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004). Armstrong, C., The Koreas (London/New York: Routledge, 2007). Beal, T., North Korea: The Struggle Against American Power (London: Pluto Press, 2005). Bermudez, J., Shield of the Great Leader: The Armed Forces of North Korea (St. Leonards, AU: Allen & Unwin, 2001). Cumings, B., The Origins of the Korean War, vol. 2 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990). Cumings, B., North Korea: Another Country (New York: The New Press, 2004). The Economist, “A Tale of Two Kims” (July 4, 1992). The Economist, “North Korea and the Internet” (February 3, 2007). Far Eastern Economic Review, “The Forgotten Men” (January 5, 1989). Far Eastern Economic Review, “Chun Doo Hwan’s Gulag” (October 20, 1989). Far Eastern Economic Review, “Breaking the Ice” (February 8, 1990). Far Eastern Economic Review, “Statistics” (August 22, 1991). Ferguson, N., “This time, Crazy Kim has upset the wrong country: China,” The Sunday Telegraph [London] (July 9, 2006). Fuji, K., “The Korean Peninsula after Park Chung Hee,” Asian Survey, Vol. 20, No. 7 (1980). Haggard, S. and Noland, M., Famine in North Korea: Markets, Aid, and Reform (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007). Hao, Y. and Zhai, Z., “China’s Decision to Enter the Korean War: History Revisited,” The China Quarterly 121 (1990). Japan Times, “North Korea May Have Mineral Bounty,” (September 24, 2005). Jonsson, G., Towards Korean Reconciliation: Socio-Cultural Exchanges and Cooperation (Aldershot, Hampshire, UK/Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2006). Kim, C. S., Faithful Endurance: An Ethnography of Korean Family Dispersal (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1988). Kim, H. N., “Japanese–North Korean Relations in the Kim Jong Il Era,” in Kihl, Y. W. and Kim, H. N., eds. North Korea: The Politics of Regime Survival (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 2006). Kim, S. S., “Sino-Korean Relations in the Post-Cold War World,” in Kihl, Y. W. and Kim H. N., eds. North Korea: The Politics of Regime Survival (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 2006). Korea Central News Agency (August 13, 2007).

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Lankov, A., “North Korean Refugees in Northeast China,” Asian Survey, Vol. 44, No. 6 (2004). Lankov, A., “Korean Civilians North and South, 1950–1953,” in Lone, S. ed. Daily Lives of Civilians in Wartime Asia (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2007). Lee, S-J., “A study on Korean rumors during wartime Japanese colonial occupation,” Korea Journal, Vol. 27, No. 8 (1987). Merrill, J., “Internal warfare in Korea 1948–1950: the local setting of the Korean war,” in Cumings, B. ed. Child of Conflict: The Korean–American Relationship 1945–1953 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1983). New York Times, “U.S. Had Doubts on North Korean Uranium Drive” (March 1, 2007). Park, H. S., North Korea: The Politics of Unconventional Wisdom (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002). Park, K-S., “North Korea Under Kim Chong-il,” Journal of Northeast Asian Studies, Vol. 1, No. 2 (1982). Park, Y-O., “Post-CFC Korean Security: Key Issues and Suggestions,” The Korean Journal of Defense Analysis, Vol. 19, No. 2 (2007). People’s Daily (July 23, 2006). Seymour, J. D., “The Exodus: North Korea’s Out-migration,” in Feffer, J., ed. The Future of US–Korean Relations: The Imbalance of Power (London/New York: Routledge, 2006). Shen, S., “Sino-North Korean Conflict and its Resolution During the Korean War,” Cold War International History Project Bulletin 14/15 (2003–2004). Smith, H., “North Koreans in China: Fact From Fiction,” in Akaha, T. and Vassilieva, A., eds. Crossing National Borders: Human Migration Issues in Northeast Asia (New York: United Nations University Press, 2005). Son, K-Y., South Korean Engagement Policies and North Korea: Identities, Norms and the Sunshine Policy (London/New York: Routledge, 2006). Springer, C., Pyongyang: The Hidden History of the North Korean Capital (Budapest: Entente Bt., 2003). Vanin, Y., “North Korea: Hard March,” The Korean Journal of National Unification, Vol. 5 (1996). Woo, M. J-E., “North Korea in 2005: Maximizing Profit to Save Socialism,” Asian Survey, Vol. 46, No. 1 (2006). Wook, Y., “Wages at Gaesong Industrial Complex,” Korea Focus, Vol. 14, No. 2 (2006). Yang, S. H., “Russo–North Korean relations in the 2000s: Moscow’s continuing search for regional influence,” Asian Survey, Vol. 44, No. 6 (2004). Yonhap News (October 9, 2006). Zagoria, D. and Kim, Y. K., “North Korea and the Major Powers,” Asian Survey, Vol. 15, No. 12 (1975).

CHAPTER 8

Myanmar (Burma) Sally Burt

Burma was renamed Myanmar in June 1989 by its military government on the grounds that the name “Burma” erroneously implied a population made up exclusively of Burmans—whereas many other ethnic groups are included in its population. This renaming was merely part of a larger policy of replacing the Romanized names of Myanmar’s towns, cities, and natural features. Myanmar is 676,552 square kilometers in size, making it slightly smaller than New South Wales or Texas. To its north and east lie China, India, Bangladesh, Laos, and Thailand, and to its West lies the long coastline of the Bay of Bengal and the Andaman Sea. Myanmar has mountain ranges in its east and west; between the two lies the Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy) River Valley, a lowland that houses Myanmar’s major cities as well as the majority of Myanmar’s 50 million–strong population. Myanmar is rich in natural resources that include metals, coal, teak, precious stones, petroleum, and natural gas, and its climate and geography provide it with the ability to produce such important agricultural resources as rice, cotton, rubber, and fruit. This wealth of natural resources, combined with proximity to Indian Ocean shipping lanes, make Myanmar of strategic importance. The populace of Myanmar includes a diverse range of ethnic groups, the majority of whom are Burmans originating from the Chinese– Tibetan area. The most significant minority is represented by the Shan people of Lao and Thai heritage. Buddhism is a very significant part of Myanmar’s culture; indeed, the vast majority of the population comprises Burmans and Shan, both of whom are traditionally Buddhist. Other minority groups are generally dispersed through the hill country and

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include the Karen (many of whom have converted to Christianity), the Kachin, the Chin, the Wa-Palaung, the Lolo-Muhso, and the Naga, who represent various religious groups that include Muslims and animists. These groups speak a variety of local dialects, but the official language of Myanmar is Burmese.

THE RISE OF MODERN-DAY MYANMAR In ancient times various kingdoms were established in the valley, which offered easy access to the sea via the Ayeyarwaddy River; the fertile ground provided resources for trade. It was only in the eleventh century, however, that the Kingdom of Pagan was established, uniting the entire valley region under a single ruler. At this time, Buddhism became the religion of the Burmans. The Pagan Kingdom was defeated by the Mongols in 1287 and replaced by the Kingdom of Ava. Internal conflict proved the downfall both of the Kingdom of Ava and of the Toungoo Dynasty that succeeded it. By the end of the sixteenth century, no clear ruler controlled the region. Disunity continued until the eighteenth century, when the empire of Konbaung united the country once again. Its expansionism, however, put it in conflict with the British, who annexed Burma in the late nineteenth century, including it within the territory of British India. British administrative rule brought significant changes to Burmese society. During the 1920s, democratic institutions were established and power was removed from the aristocracy. The Buddhist monks were left as the most powerful indigenous institution. Britain integrated Burma into the global economy by trading its natural resources, but this led to significant suffering as a result of the Great Depression (Cribb 2006: 735). This led to the Saya San uprising in 1930–1931. Supposedly instigated by the spiritual leader Saya San, the rebellion was eventually suppressed by the British after nearly two years of difficult fighting. This can be seen as the beginning of the effective organization of Burmese nationalism and opposition to British rule (Solomon 1969). In 1937 Burma’s administration was separated from India and Burmese officials were handed control of all areas of government except those involving defense, foreign policy, and fiduciary matters. The ethnic minority groups were given generous representation in the new government except in the hill regions, where Britain remained in control. Throughout the 1930s hostility toward British rule became increasingly open as nationalism spread through Burma. In 1940 a small group that later became the symbolic Burma Independence Army traveled to Japan and returned in 1942 with the invading Japanese army. The British were driven out of Burma in a rapid Japanese attack, although they managed to hold their positions at the Indian border.

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Under Japanese rule the exploitation of Burmese resources for the war effort intensified, as did the Burmese independence movement. Furthermore, Australia became connected with Burma when thousands of Australian prisoners of war were sent to Burma from Java and Singapore and forced to build airfields and railways for the Japanese. In 1944 the Allies gained the upper hand in the war against the Japanese, and thousands more Australian soldiers helped liberate Burma. It was at this time that the leaders of the Burmese independence movement formed the Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL). They began fighting the Japanese in March 1945, speeding the Allies’ advance through Burma. In May 1945 Britain announced a plan to allow Burma independence within the British Commonwealth system. This plan was delayed, and in October, when the military administration of the area ended, the British authorities in Burma oversaw a period of economic reconstruction. The AFPFL leadership led a successful campaign to hold elections in April 1947 and won enough seats in the election to gain political support for a drafted constitution that gave Burma independence outside the British Commonwealth. In July 1947 key members of the AFPFL leadership, including the hero of the independence movement, General Aung San, were assassinated. Thakin Nu (U Nu) was appointed to replace Aung San and continued pushing for liberation. On January 4, 1948, Burma was granted independence. The socialist AFPFL was divided into communist and noncommunist factions. Great Britain preferred to deal with the noncommunist faction, which led to the perception that the communists were excluded from involvement in government. As a result, in March 1948, the communists revolted against the government. The Karens, whose negotiations in hopes of a separate state had failed, joined the revolt the following year. By 1950, many other minority groups had also taken up arms against the government—and each other. However, the failure of these groups to unite against the government allowed Prime Minister U Nu to remain in control (Cribb 2006: 736). Nu also responded to the crisis by reforming the army and placing General Ne Win at its head. By 1951 some sense of stability had emerged. Throughout the 1950s, however, the AFPFL lost ground in a series of elections; by 1958, it officially divided into two factions. U Nu asked General Ne Win to form a military caretaker government for a period of eighteen months until the next election. This military rule was marked by law and order, and much corruption was stamped out. In the 1960 elections, U Nu’s faction of the AFPFL won power, but Nu created tension among minority groups. His mismanagement of the country heightened discontent and led to more revolts. In response, Ne Win carried out a coup and took power on March 2, 1962, arresting government officials and suspending the constitution.

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General Ne Win might have at first acted in the interests of the Burmese people, but his military regime soon became oppressive. Ne Win disbanded democratic institutions and appointed his trusted officers to a Revolutionary Council that ruled the country. He created local Security and Administration Committees (SACs) to administer the lower levels of government and established the Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP), expressing his aims in a manifesto entitled The Burmese Way to Socialism, which combined capitalism with Buddhism, a religious aspect introduced with a view to preventing Burmese monks from forming solid political opposition (Kramer 2004: 314–315). In the mountains, the BSPP was faced with restive minority groups, and in the late 1960s Win was challenged by the Communist Party of Burma (CPB), which was backed by the Chinese. As the Cultural Revolution took place in China during the 1960s, Chinese in Burma studied Mao Tse-tung’s doctrine, an activity soon banned by Win’s regime—something that led to confrontations between Chinese and Burman locals. Many Chinese were killed in armed clashes, and Sino-Burmese diplomatic relations were severed (Seekins 1997: 528). China increased its support of the CPB, and the CPB uprising in the northern mountains saw continued success. Beginning in 1970, however, relations with China were smoothed. Because of Ne Win’s skillful diplomacy, China reduced its support of the CPB, and the threat of the insurrection subsided. In 1971, Sino–Burmese relations were normalized (Seekins 1997: 528). By this time, the BSPP had isolated Burma from the rest of the international community by nationalizing major businesses, imprisoning political opponents, and enforcing strict media controls (Kramer 2004: 315). These actions had disastrous economic consequences and allowed high levels of corruption within the BSPP. To alleviate internal discontent, military leaders announced in July 1971 that a new constitution would be written to provide for a civilian government. Accordingly, General Ne Win and several other senior party officials resigned from the military in April 1972 to form that government (Cribb 2006: 737). Win was elected president under the new constitution in 1974, and the Revolutionary Council was dissolved. Elections were held in 1978 and 1981, but only BSPP candidates were allowed to contest them. Burma remained a one-party state in hopes that development could be brought about more efficiently without the political instability of a democratic political system. This hope was never realized. Economic conditions worsened, food shortages became common, and corruption became rife—and the discontented populace rioted. Some members of the BSPP sought to address the problems by increasing governmental transparency and accountability, limiting corruption and opening some parts of the economy to foreign aid and investment. Ne Win was not pleased with such

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changes, however; between 1976 and 1978 he purged the party several times of such officials. Military and ex-military party members once again dominated Burma’s government. In 1977, foreign investment in Burma was made illegal. In 1981, Ne Win retired as president but remained leader of the BSPP. He continued to control Burmese politics from behind the scenes while San Yu formally acted as president. This move did not revive the Burmese economy, which continued to falter under the BSPP’s mismanagement. In August 1987, Ne Win implemented limited reforms in a desperate attempt to reverse the country’s economic fortunes. Agricultural products were the first to be liberalized, and several denominations of banknotes were removed from circulation in a measure intended to hurt black marketers. However, this policy also hurt the public as a whole, and in March 1988 violent protests broke out in Rangoon.

THE 1988 CRISIS The response of police to the protests was heavy-handed. More than fifty protestors were killed, sparking further unrest and inciting student demonstrations. The government promised to address complaints, pacifying citizens temporarily, but when little immediate action was taken, people again took to the streets. In June 1988 the protestors demanded the release of prisoners taken during the March protests. Ne Win’s regime responded with increased brutality and instated a curfew in several major cities. Universities and schools were also shut down. In July, when no real resolution to the crisis seemed forthcoming, Ne Win and San Yu resigned their positions of leadership. Sein Lwin replaced them both, simultaneously acting as chairman of the BSPP and president of Burma. Protestors, believing they had forced the government onto the defensive, heightened their dissent, gravely misreading the actual situation. Sein Lwin, who was even more brutal and repressive than his predecessors, responded with extreme violence to a massive demonstration held on August 8, 1988, and thousands of the dissidents were killed. The unrest, however, was not quelled. On August 13, Sein Lwin was replaced by Dr. Maung Maung. Maung Maung took a conciliatory approach and promised within weeks to hold free elections within three months. Alternative political parties were permitted, and the military and civil servants were barred from political affiliation. The National League for Democracy (NLD), led by a prominent group representing resistance against the former regime (including Aung San Suu Kyi, daughter of the iconic Aung San) proved the BSPP’s strongest resistance opponent. As the NLD gained overwhelming public support, the outcome of the elections promised to

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threaten the BSPP’s position—indeed, the leaders’ individual safety. In response, General Saw Maung led the military in a successful coup d’état, seizing power on September 18, 1988. The State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) was established, ostensibly to maintain stability and order until elections could be held. The SLORC consisted of nineteen military officers led by General Maung. All other government institutions were abolished. Demonstrations were outlawed, and curfews were imposed. Thousands of protestors who defied the regulations during the following weeks were killed, and others were forced to flee to neighboring Thailand. The “88 Generation”—an entire slice of Burmese society— disappeared that year (Macan-Markar 2007: 21). Although General Maung was nominally in power many believed that Ne Win was actually controlling the government from behind the scenes (Cribb 2006: 738). The SLORC continued to prepare the country for free elections and encouraged new political parties to form. By February 1989, hundreds of parties had registered candidates for the elections. Other laws, however, prevented the meetings of these parties by curfews, and public gatherings were severely restricted. The BSPP was renamed the National Unity Party (NUP), and U Tha Kyaw became the chairman. Since December 1988, division had been rife within the NLD, and a group led by Aung Gyi was eventually expelled from within its ranks. This group founded the Union National Democratic Party (UNDP). The NLD considered boycotting the upcoming elections because of its belief that the military would not allow ballots to be fairly counted (Cribb 2006: 738). In May 1989, the government announced that elections would be held within twelve months. Campaigning was heavily restricted. In June 1989, the SLORC declared that even after the elections it would control of the government until a new constitution could be drafted and enforced—a clear indication of the likely outcome of the election. In hopes of suppressing the growing strength of its opposition, the SLORC established military tribunals to try those caught violating laws restricting group meetings. Aung San Suu Kyi planned to hold a rally on the anniversary of her father’s death in July 1989, but, fearing the military’s reprisal, she canceled the demonstration. Despite this, she was placed under house arrest for inciting public hatred of the military. The chairman of the NLD, Tin Oo, was arrested and sentenced to three years in prison. But the NLD was not the only party to suffer persecution. Former Prime Minister U Nu was placed under house arrest for organizing a parallel government. Other parties’ leaders were also arrested or fled Burma. Despite her incarceration, Suu Kyi was put forward by the NLD as a candidate for the election. Her nomination was challenged by an opposition party that objected to her marriage to a British citizen, a

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challenge upheld by the SLORC, which disallowed her candidacy. Other moves were also made to quash support for the NLD, including the forced relocation of NLD members from cities into the isolated countryside. Because nearly 100 political parties put forth candidates in the election, no single party seemed likely to gain an outright majority (Cribb 2006: 738). Because of the state of the nation in 1990, the conduct and atmosphere that surrounded the election came as a surprise. On May 27, orderly, trouble-free elections were witnessed by foreign media representatives, who had been issued visas to allow them to observe proceedings. Suu Kyi’s NLD Party won a huge majority (392 of 485) of the seats (Cribb 2006: 738). A number of other minority parties also won seats; almost all the candidates elected were opposed to the SLORC. When the NLD demanded that elected officials be allowed to take office, the SLORC delayed the process, claiming that in the interests of peace and stability a constitution must be prerequisite to the transfer of power. The outcome of the elections had been such a surprise that the NLD had not devised a plan to take power peacefully from the SLORC. But it didn’t consider the SLORC’s likely response (Tonkin 2007: 48). When the NLD produced a draft constitution allowing for the transfer of power, the SLORC reverted to brutal repression. In August 1990 demonstrations were held marking the anniversary of the deaths of the students in 1988 and protesting the SLORC’s continued rule. Four deaths were reported, and more NLD leaders were arrested. At this time, the NLD gained the support of influential Buddhist monks, despite the violent reprisal the monks faced from the military. Those NLD candidates who were not incarcerated were forced to sign an agreement allowing the SLORC to continue in power, an effective nullification of the election. The agreement stipulated that (1) martial law would remain in place, (2) the SLORC would act as the official government, (3) Myanmar’s foreign policy would seek friendly coexistence among nations, (4) national sovereignty would be defended, and internal interference—particularly by the United Nations—resisted, and (5) the SLORC would hold power until a new constitution came into force (Silverstein 1992: 952). No provision was made in the agreement for the writing of such a constitution. The fate of those taken into custody was bleak. Torture and mistreatment led to many deaths. Despite this, a small cadre of the free candidates formed a parallel government along the border called the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma (NCGUB). In February 1991, a small delegation from the NCGUB was sent to the UN Commission on Human Rights to publicize the human-rights violations in Burma and encourage action by the international community.

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Although the delegation was not granted formal recognition, it gained the support of various international nongovernmental organizations. Although the international community was widely apprised of the events occurring in Burma, few states seemed willing to intervene. U.S. Senator Daniel Moynihan attempted to promote action by his government, but, although bilateral trade between the U.S. and Myanmar ceased, little actual pressure was put upon Myanmar to change (Silverstein 1992: 957). In April 1991 the military forced a restructuring of the NLD leadership, replacing Suu Kyi and Tin Oo—who were still under house arrest—with lesser-known figures. General Than Shwe, Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces, officially announced that the results of the 1990 election would not be upheld. The political parties who had put forward candidates were deemed treasonous, and those individuals already in custody had their sentences extended. In October 1991, Aung San Suu Kyi was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in recognition of her peaceful struggle against oppression. Students who held demonstrations to coincide with the award ceremony were dispersed. Suu Kyi was expelled from the NLD by the leaders of the party, who had been coerced into cooperation with the SLORC. Although the SLORC seemed largely effective at controlling internal dissent, the situation in Myanmar had been brought to the attention of the international community. In December 1991, Sweden sponsored a resolution in the UN General Assembly condemning Aung San Suu Kyi’s house arrest as well as other human rights abuses taking place in Myanmar, but China and Russia blocked resolutions in the UN Security Council. Elsewhere in the UN, support for Myanmarian democracy continued. In March 1992, the UN Human Rights Commission passed a strongly worded resolution appointing a permanent representative to monitor the situation. However, the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN) refused to publicly condemn the SLORC, preferring that the matter be handled in the “Asian way” by allowing Myanmar to resolve the issues in its own time. The UN Development Program also wanted to provide Myanmar financial support to be used for development projects, but contributors to the UN’s development fund refused to allow aid to be sent to Myanmar, mistrusting reassurances that these projects would assist the desperate plight of the people and not fund the government (Silverstein 1992: 958). In April 1992 Saw Maung was replaced as the leader of the SLORC by General Than Shwe, who, despite his status as prime minister, was still not considered to be the most powerful member of the SLORC. That title went to Khin Nyunt, the first secretary and the head of intelligence, who acted as Ne Win’s representative; it was believed that Win actually still controlled the party from behind the scenes (Cribb 2006: 739). Under

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Shwe’s leadership, many political prisoners (including several NLD members) were released, no longer considered threats to the country. Members of Aung San Suu Kyi’s family were permitted to visit her in her home, and the SLORC agreed to gather a national assembly to begin drafting the constitution. No real change occurred in the SLORC’s repressive policies, but pressure from the international community subsided. In January 1993 the National Convention was convened to draft a constitution. The convention adjourned several times while the role of the military in the new government was debated. Eventually, the SLORC announced a consensus that the military would be a very independent institution within the new administration—even though no such consensus existed. During this time, the SLORC engaged in a campaign to coerce domestic support for itself. By the beginning of 1994, the strength of the SLORC had grown. In February 1994, a delegation from the U.S. was allowed to visit Aung San Suu Kyi, an easement that prompted her to offer an olive branch to the SLORC in which she requested negotiations with the Council on all areas of dispute. The SLORC responded negatively, however, announcing that her detention period would be extended until 1995—beyond the five years allowed for by law. By April, agreement existed on many important sections of the constitution. The convention adjourned until September, when the military’s role in the new government again came under review. Disputes also arose over territory allotted to minority groups. In July 1994 in a policy shift led by Khin Nyunt, the SLORC embarked on a campaign to gain international support by announcing its openness to accepting the UN Secretary General’s advice on democratization and improvement of human rights. Suu Kyi was released from her house to meet with Khin Nyunt and Than Shwe. Further meetings occurred in October, and in November she was allowed to meet with other NLD members, who remained incarcerated. The UN Assistant Secretary General, sent to Myanmar to aid in negotiations, was not given access to Suu Kyi, but a group of political prisoners was released as the talks between the UN delegate and the SLORC progressed. In July 1995, Aung San Suu Kyi was suddenly released from her house arrest—perhaps because she was no longer viewed as a threat by the increasingly powerful SLORC, but perhaps because of international pressure (Cribb 2006: 740-1). Suu Kyi began a campaign to empower the NLD. She made public statements and attended official ceremonies, and large groups gathered at her house daily. By speaking with foreign media, Suu Kyi spread her message to an international audience, calling for further progress on the path to true democracy for her country. Despite pressure from the UN and the U.S., the SLORC seemed uninterested in entering negotiations with Suu Kyi and banned her from

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leading the NLD. Internal protests from NLD members drew a harsh response from the SLORC. In November 1995, the NLD decided to boycott the convention, citing the “stacking” of the assembly with SLORC members through appointments. The boycott, unsurprisingly, had little effect, and further sections of the constitution were developed in the NLD’s absence. Throughout 1996, the SLORC resumed its persecution of members of the NLD, and Suu Kyi’s activities were restricted. Those closely associated with her became targets of violent, repressive reprisals by the SLORC, and foreign media were rebuffed. In May 1996 the NLD met in the presence of foreign representatives and media to produce an alternative constitution. These meetings were illegal, according to still-standing bans on gatherings of five persons or more. The SLORC threatened with lengthy imprisonment those violating the prohibition. Many proposed NLD meetings were prevented by the detention and harassment of potential attendees. As a result, and assisted by a smear campaign, the SLORC steadily decreased the strength of the NLD. Suu Kyi continued to be denied access to SLORC officials and was prevented from attending NLD meetings. In 1997, the SLORC underwent another restructure, dissolving the council and replacing it with the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC). The top positions in the new council were retained by those who had held them in the SLORC, but membership was broadened to include civilians who were sympathetic to the regime, a measure that was intended to provide a more palatable alternative to the NLD. By this time, the government was also intimating that the national convention had nearly completed a draft of the new constitution. The NLD met in May 1998 to address the nullification of its legitimate claim to power. The NLD demanded that the SPDC convene the elected government assembly, which would otherwise meet independently of the SPDC; but this threat only led to further arrests of NLD members. Many who had been arrested through the course of the 1990s had died in prison, and the ranks of the NLD leadership had thinned significantly. Those who were not imprisoned were coerced into complying with the anti-NLD policies of the government. Some signs of division existed within the SPDC, however, which considered whether or not to engage in dialogue with Suu Kyi (Cribb 2006: 742). Members of the international community once again involved themselves, offering aid on the condition that political prisoners were released and negotiations with the NLD were entered into. The NLD was not receptive to the idea of negotiations, citing the continued mistreatment of Suu Kyi as proof of the SPDC’s unwillingness to compromise. In August 1998, the International Labour Organization (ILO) reported that forced labor was commonplace in Burma—and that rape and torture were the principal means by

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which the government controlled its population. In April 1999 Suu Kyi appealed to the UN Human Rights Commission to recognize the violations occurring in Burma. The response was a unanimous resolution condemning the human rights record of the military regime. As frustrations grew among NLD members at their inability to progress toward democracy, divisions surfaced over how to deal with the SPDC; some members urged a more conciliatory approach (Cribb 2006: 742).

THE SPDC AND THE NLD The Buddhist monks, wielders of great influence among the deeply spiritual people of Myanmar—including members of the military—began campaigning in early 2000 for negotiations between the SPDC and the NLD. Aung San Suu Kyi was as hostile to the suggestion of opening dialogue as was the SPDC, angry that she had again been placed under house arrest—first informally and then officially. Although both sides continued to take a hard line publicly, in January 2001 some members of the NLD were released from detention, and the SPDC entered into private talks with Suu Kyi. As economic conditions continued to deteriorate, several key figures within the SPDC were removed from their posts. Some disagreements over policy within the SPDC led to speculation about the possibility of a coup, resulting in the replacement of several senior officials in the police and military. The decentralization of power to regional commanders had led to the formation of local fiefdoms in rural Myanmar. The control exercised by the SPDC over these commanders was weak at best, something that had begun to pose problems for the regime (Clark 2003: 128). Moves were made to reign in such commanders, recentralizing power in the hands of General Shwe and his close associates. On May 6, 2002, Aung San Suu Kyi was released from house arrest. Although her release was important both symbolically and politically, it was not an indication that the SPDC was willing to surrender power to the NLD. Rather, the SPDC believed that such action was necessary in order to encourage desperately needed foreign aid and investment (Clark 2003: 128). Suu Kyi maintained a low profile after her release, refraining from public criticism of the SPDC, and it appeared that the NLD had abandoned its demands for the upholding of the 1990 election results. But Suu Kyi did not accept any claim to the SPDC’s legitimacy. She began campaigning for development projects and foreign aid to aid the impoverished masses, activities that increased her popularity among the people (Clark 2003: 129). That same year, Ne Win died after many decades in power. In May 2003 Aung San Suu Kyi was again confined to her house and denied visitors. The NLD was again restricted in its ability to organize

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and meet. In August, General Shwe was replaced as prime minister by Khin Nyunt, although Shwe retained his position at the head of the military, thus retaining great influence. Nyunt announced his intention to proceed with the development of the new constitution and the process of democratization, but he neglected to provide a timetable for this process. Over the next year, the seemingly random release and arrest of NLD members continued, as did cabinet reshuffles within the SPDC. In October 2004 Khin Nyunt resigned as Prime Minister, officially citing health reasons, but more likely the result of corruption and of disputes with General Shwe (Cribb 2006: 744). Soe Win, the new prime minister, reaffirmed the SPDC’s commitment to the democratization process. In November, thousands of prisoners were released as a sign of the new leader’s good faith. In 2005 the National Convention was reconvened briefly, although the outcome was not made public. At this time signs of division arose within the SPDC. In July 2005 Khin Nyunt was tried and found guilty of corruption charges but received a suspended sentence. In 2006 Myanmar was scheduled to chair ASEAN, a position that members threatened to withhold that right unless Aung San Suu Kyi was released from her detention. In July 2005, the SPDC announced that it could not fulfill its obligation of chairing the association because of internal instability. When Myanmar finally made it onto the UN Security Council’s agenda, the prime minister visited Beijing in February 2006 to assure Myanmar of China’s support in blocking any resolutions that would result in sanctions against Burma. A UN envoy was sent to Burma to discuss issues of human rights and democratization and was also allowed to visit Aung San Suu Kyi. These moves were seen as concessions made to avert the building UN pressure (Cribb 2007: 798). ASEAN, still clinging to its policy of allowing Myanmar to reform at its own pace, nevertheless expressed concern about the length of time the democratization process was taking, urging China to increase its pressure on the regime. In August 2007 a new wave of protests and violence was sparked by the government’s decision to dramatically increase the price of gasoline and other essential goods by up to 50% without announcement or public consultation. The inhabitants of Myanmar, struggling to survive in an economy burdened by inflation levels of 30%, were faced with the choice of protest or quiet starvation (Beech 2007). Buddhist monks took responsibility for representing the populace before the government, mistakenly believing that they would be exempted from violence because of their nonviolent nature. Instead, many monks perished at the hands of the SPDC. Others were arrested and detained for providing the monks with drinking water while they were protesting (Beech 2007). The economic mismanagement that has led to such widespread poverty among

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the Myanmarian populace is a major cause of dissent in Burma. The true economic situation is hard to discover because of the unreliability of government statistics, but the desperation of the Myanmarian people provides some indication of the hardships they face.

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS China is Myanmar’s closest ally in the international community. The relationship has a historical basis but has more recently been developed through economic ties. Bilateral trade has increased in recent decades, and China supplies important foreign investments to Myanmar. Myanmar’s main export is natural gas, something useful to China, which has no interest in drawing attention to the military regime’s poor record on human rights—let alone in condemning it. The relationship is not without its hardships, however. In the past, issues such as support of the Communist Party of Burma have proven a source of tension, and, more recently, the issue of drug trafficking along the two countries’ shared border has posed challenges (Cribb 2007: 793). By and large, however, China stands behind Myanmar—particularly in the UN Security Council, where it opposes resolutions condemning the Myanmarian regime. Several ASEAN countries, along with other states, are attempting to build relationships with Myanmar to counter China’s rising influence in the region. Malaysia, in particular, has established ties with Myanmar, and Russia is offering assistance in the field of energy supply (Kerr 2007). The SPDC owes much to ASEAN, which has provided it with legitimacy and economic support not offered by the larger international community. Through the 1990s, ASEAN refused to apply pressure on the SLORC in pursuit of political reform, arguing instead that engagement would be much more effective in the long term. ASEAN members have also refused to interfere with Myanmar’s internal politics, instead admitting the country as a full member of ASEAN in 1997. Other members reacted strongly to the European Union’s objections to Myanmar’s participation in the EU–ASEAN talks, viewing it as interference with ASEAN’s decisions over its own membership. ASEAN’s attitude changed, however, after the hopes of reforms raised by events in Myanmar in early 2002 were dashed. In September 2006, a UN Security Council resolution put Myanmar back on the international agenda, and ASEAN joined in condemning the regime. The Malaysian representative suggested that Myanmar’s membership of the organization was in jeopardy (Cribb 2007: 794-6). Indeed, Myanmar’s deteriorating relations with the West threatened other members’ relationships with the global community; but, nevertheless, the overall policy of engagement instead of isolation has remained unchanged.

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After the 1988 coup, cooperation with the United States over the issue of drug trafficking ceased, and the United States ceased what little trade it conducted with Myanmar. Through the UN, the United States has promoted sanctions of the SLORC and SPDC. The U.S. and several UN agencies have made aid conditional upon political reform, increasing Myanmar’s isolation. UN Secretary General Kofi Annan also brought Myanmar to the forefront, urging the advancement of the democratization process. U.S. President George W. Bush has been outspoken against the regime, as has his First Lady. In 2003, President Bush reprimanded Myanmar for its poor human rights record and its failure to cooperate on drug trafficking issues (Kramer 2004: 321). On August 30, 2007, Bush condemned the SPDC after massive protests in Rangoon, and promising to raise the issue of Myanmar’s human rights record at the Asia–Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) Forum in Sydney. No concrete action was taken, however. Despite the attention given to Myanmar in the wake of the 2007 protests, little hope survives of substantive change so long as China backs the regime. At the moment, China has no interest in ceasing to do so but may someday be forced to change its position as it gains power in the international system and seeks global affirmation of its status as a great power. Rifts in Myanmar’s international relationships over issues such as drug trafficking may muddle China’s support and discourage the handsoff policies of the ASEAN states. The growth of citizen-based journalism, combined with the power of the Internet, can also be a source of real pressure on the military regime, breaking through the media blackout the Myanmarian government has imposed. The future will see the continuation of the military regime’s attempts to retain power and the democratic movement’s attempts to gain power.

Select Bibliography Beech, H., “Burma on the Edge,” Time, Vol. 170, No. 12 (Sept. 17, 2007: 44). Clark, A., “Burma in 2002: A Year of Transition,” Asian Survey, Vol. 43, No. 1 (2003: 127–134). Cribb, R., “Myanmar,” in Europa Publications, Ltd., The Far East and Australasia 2007: Europa Regional Surveys of the World (London: Europa Publications, 2007). Kerr, P. “Russia, Burma Sign Nuclear Agreement,” Arms Control Today (June 2007: 40). Kramer, T. “Burma/Myanmar: Military Rule and Ethnic Conflict,” in Heijmans, Annelies, et al., eds. Searching for Peace in Asia Pacific (Colorado: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 2004). Macan-Markar, M., “Write vs Wrong,” New Internationalist (March 2007). Seekins, D., “Burma-China Relations: Playing with Fire,” Asian Survey, Vol. 37, No. 6 (June 1997: 525–539).

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Selth, A., “Australian Defence Contacts with Burma, 1945–1987,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 26, No. 3 (July 1992: 451–468). Silverstein, J., “Burma in an International Perspective,” Asian Survey, Vol. 32, No. 10 (Oct. 1992: 951–963). Solomon, R., “Saya San and the Burmese Rebellion,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 3, No. 3 (1969: 209–223). Steinberg, D., “The United States and its Allies: the Problem of Burma/ Myanmar Policy,” Contemporary South East Asia, Vol. 29, No. 2 (August 2007). Thawnghmung, A.M., “Burma: A Gentler Authoritarianism?” Foreign Policy (Nov./Dec. 2003: 39–40). Tonkin, D., “The 1990 Elections in Myanmar: Broken Promises or a Failure of Communication?” Contemporary South East Asia, Vol. 29, No. 1 (2007: 33–54).

CHAPTER 9

The Philippines Clinton Fernandes

The Republic of the Philippines is an archipelago of more than 7,000 islands, of which more than 4,000 are unnamed. The overwhelming majority of the islands are smaller than one square mile. The larger islands, where most of the country’s 90 million people can be found, are usually categorized into three groups: the Luzon group in the north (comprising Luzon, Mindoro, and Palawan), the Visayan group in the center (comprising Bohol, Cebu, Leyte, Masbate, Negros, Panay, and Samar), and the island of Mindanao in the south. The Philippines remains dominated by a small clique of wealthy families who have retained their influence and wealth despite the reforms enacted since the overthrow of former President Marcos. The ruling families include the Cojuangcos, who dominate Tarlac province north of Manila; the Osmenas, who control central Cebu province; the Macapagals, who dominate Pampanga (the second-largest province of vote-rich Central Luzon); the Bagatsings, whose landholdings underpin their authority in Manila; and the Lopezes, who dominate in central Iloilo province and nearby Guimaras Island. Consequently the high degree of concentration in land ownership acts as a barrier to genuine economic reform, particularly in a country where agriculture plays such a prominent role. This chapter outlines the historical background to contemporary events. It begins with the period of Spanish influence, which lasted for 333 years, and then analyzes political developments under the U.S. administration, when important decisions were made that continue to affect Filipino politics today. It examines the rule of the dictator Ferdinand Marcos and shows how it was overthrown by a popular revolution. Next it describes

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events in the post-Marcos era, touching on the administrations of Corazon Aquino, Fidel Ramos, Joseph Estrada, and Gloria Arroyo. It concludes with an analysis of the insurgencies in the southern Philippines.

SPANISH RULE Spanish influence began in 1521, when an expedition led by Ferdinand Magellan landed at Samar, an island in the modern-day Visayan group. The first permanent settlement was established at Cebu, also in the Visayan group, in 1565. Settlement activity expanded outward from the center, aimed primarily at converting the indigenous people to Roman Catholicism. As a consequence, the population of the Philippines today is predominantly Roman Catholic. A key exception is the Muslims of Mindanao and Sulu, who resisted all attempts at conversion. From the nineteenth century onward, the Spanish oversaw the expansion of large-scale agriculture and manufacturing industries. The resulting economic growth and the influx of a Chinese entrepreneurial class led to the emergence of a mestizo, or half-caste, elite who were descended from Chinese fathers and indigenous mothers. They could afford to send their children to foreign universities. These children, known as ilustrados (enlightened ones), benefited from a liberal Western education and challenged the more despotic aspects of Spanish colonial rule. A key figure among the ilustrados was Dr. José Rizal, whose writings encouraged and reflected the development of progressive nationalism and political reform. Rizal’s moderate views were so threatening to the Spaniards that they arrested him, deported him to a remote island, and then executed him. Other Filipinos, shocked by the treatment meted out to Rizal, formed the Association of Sons of the People (Katipunan) under the leadership of Andres Bonifacio. Katipunan commenced a revolutionary uprising against Spanish colonialism. A rebel commander, Emilio Aguinaldo, enjoyed a string of early victories in the ensuing military conflict, leading to his elevation as leader of the revolution. Unlike Bonifacio, who came from a Manila slum, Aguinaldo was a member of the provincial landowning class. He would cement his leadership by appointing a military court that sentenced Bonifacio to death. When the tide turned and the rebel armies were forced onto the defensive, however, Aguinaldo agreed to terminate military operations in return for exile in Hong Kong and a financial settlement. Meanwhile, other rebel forces continued their operations against the Spanish. Shortly after this time, the U.S. naval vessel USS Maine was sunk in Cuba, which was a Spanish colony at the time. The United States declared war against Spain, conducting military operations against Spanish targets in the Philippines as well as in Cuba; in May 1898, the

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U.S. Navy attacked and defeated the Spanish fleet at Manila Bay in the Philippines. The United States encouraged Emilio Aguinaldo to come out of exile in Hong Kong, return to the Philippines, and declare independence. Filipino military help was an important factor in the U.S. victory over the Spanish, who were forced to surrender the Philippines in August 1898, after 333 years of settlement. However, the United States prevented Filipino troops from entering the city of Manila to receive the Spanish surrender, insisting instead on becoming the new rulers of the country. Indeed, the peace treaty of December 1898 resulted in the Philippines being ceded to the United States (not the Filipino independence movement) for the sum of $20 million. The Philippines independence movement had issued a declaration of independence in January 1899, with Aguinaldo as the president. Conflict ensued between U.S. troops and the republican forces, continuing for approximately two years until Aguinaldo’s capture in March 1901. With republican forces unable to prevail over the U.S. counterinsurgency operations, Aguinaldo agreed to swear an oath of allegiance to the United States and to call on other Filipinos to do the same.

U.S. RULE AND THE HUKS In order to maintain stability, the United States strengthened the position of the ilustrados, who were willing collaborators with the new occupying forces. The ilustrados derived their power in large part from their disproportionate ownership of productive land. As a result, the combination of U.S. military power and the ilustrados’ administrative role ensured that land reform was never achieved. The economy of the Philippines began to be organized around agricultural exports rather than domestic consumption. Filipino products such as sugar, coconut oil, and rope were allowed tariff-free entry into U.S. markets, enabling Filipino landowners to derive great financial benefit. U.S. goods, too, were allowed tariff-free entry to the Philippines, causing Filipino industrial growth to remain underdeveloped. The highly unequal patterns of land ownership, and the abuses of the landlords, resulted in peasant uprisings under the influence of the Partido Komunista ng Pilipinas (PKP), or Communist Party of the Philippines. The Catholic Church’s cozy relationship with the landlords also came under criticism, with the Accusation Movement (Sakdal) protesting the former’s massive landholdings and demanding total and unconditional independence. Government forces were able to defeat a Sakdal uprising in 1935, but they were forced to find other ways to deal with popular grievances. The consequence was a “social justice” program that involved

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minimum wages and written employment contracts for peasants and industrial workers alike. Simultaneously, the Great Depression caused farm lobbies in the United States to campaign for an end to the tariff-free status of Filipino imports. When their tariff imposition campaign proved unsuccessful, they tried again, this time using the pretext of Filipino independence. In addition, U.S. domestic opinion was moving against a formal colonial relationship with the Philippines. The result was the Hare–Hawes–Cutting Act of 1933, which set a date for Filipino independence, and the Tydings–McDuffie Act of 1934, which specified that date as July 4, 1946. In December 1941, however, following the attack on Pearl Harbor, Japanese forces entered the Philippines, occupying Manila within a month. Although the Japanese were able to find willing collaborators from among the Filipino political class, they encountered a severe challenge from an organized peasant-based movement known as the Hukbong Mapagpalaya Laban sa Hapon, or Hukbalahap, or Huks (the People’s Army against Japan). The Huks opposed not only the Japanese occupation but Filipino landlords and collaborators as well. The Huks were crucial players in U.S. military operations that took the Philippines from Japanese forces in 1944 and 1945. With the end of World War II, political independence for the Philippines was back on the agenda. It came on July 4, 1946, when Manuel Roxas became the first president, after winning the elections of April 1946. In fact, Roxas had been a leading collaborator with the Japanese; he had been a cabinet minister in the Japanese-era administration and a key figure in providing logistical support to the Japanese army. Naturally, the Huks were deeply suspicious of Roxas. The feeling was mutual; Roxas, Filipino landlords, and U.S. troops combined to suppress the Huks by force, with Roxas declaring the Hukbalahap an “illegal organization” in 1948. The Huks had attempted to pursue an electoral strategy by supporting candidates in the presidential and congressional elections, but Roxas ensured that any successful Huk-backed candidates were barred from the legislature. Roxas also concluded negotiations with the United States over military bases, providing it with a 99-year lease on nearly two dozen bases in the Philippines. These bases were U.S. territory for all intents and purposes, with the United States having exclusive jurisdiction within them, even over Filipino citizens living there. Roxas’s death in 1948 was followed by a brief cessation of hostilities between the government and the Huks. Conflict soon broke out again, however, over the surrender of weapons. After the elections of 1949, the new administration moved to reverse the excesses of the past. Ramon Magsaysay, the new Secretary of Defense, dismissed incompetent, corrupt, or brutal military personnel, arrested the leadership of the Huks, set

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up a rehabilitation program for rebels who surrendered, and introduced a land reform program in the largest island, Luzon. These actions took the wind out of the sails of the Huk rebellion, and no more was done in the area of land reform. Magsaysay won the presidential election of 1953 and continued his focus on domestic reform. He set up community development projects, engaged in further land reform, and made greater financial and technical assistance available to the agricultural sector. His foreign policy stance was one of continuity with his predecessors; he strengthened the military relationship with the United States and joined the Southeast Asia Treaty Organisation (SEATO). After Magsaysay’s death in an air crash in 1957, the administration of Carlos Garcia, his successor, was plagued by financial scandals and corruption. Garcia lost the 1961 election to Diosdado Macapagal, who in turn lost the 1965 election to the president of the Senate, Ferdinand Marcos.

THE ERA OF FERDINAND MARCOS During the 1965 election campaign, Marcos had declared his opposition to the deployment of Filipino troops in support of the U.S. war against Vietnam. Upon winning the election, however, he immediately argued for the deployment of a “civic action group” there. It was subsequently revealed in U.S. congressional hearings that Marcos had been in receipt of U.S. military and financial assistance in return for his cooperation. During his first term in office, Marcos used foreign loans to fund major infrastructure projects. These projects and generous preelection spending contributed to his reelection in 1969 by a large majority. By then, however, the repayments on the loans were due and the country was faced with a financial crisis. In addition, Marcos had to deal with unprecedented challenges to the political status quo. The generation of Filipinos born just after World War II had reached adulthood at about this time and had begun to demand a more equitable domestic social order. They also sought to imagine the Philippines as more than just a bastion of (European) Christianity in the Asian region. Rather, they drew on indigenous and Asian cultural themes for their new sense of national identity. Alongside the student movement came the secessionist challenge of the Mindanao- and Sulu-based Moro National Liberation Front, which engaged in numerous clashes with government forces. Also engaged in military confrontation was the New People’s Army (NPA), the armed wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP). Under the constitution, Marcos could not be president after 1973, when he would have completed eight years in office. He and his wife,

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former movie actress Imelda Romualdez-Marcos, were also the subject of widespread allegations of corruption. When an opposition rally was bombed, most probably by government agents, Marcos suspended the writ of habeas corpus. The situation was brought to a head by a 1972 Supreme Court ruling that the United States could no longer maintain its privileged position in land ownership and that U.S. citizens and corporations were subject to the general ban on foreign ownership of Philippine land. Marcos declared martial law on September 21, 1972, arresting his political rivals and his media critics. He suspended the Supreme Court ruling against U.S. land ownership and imposed tight control of the press. A new constitution was ratified a few months after the declaration of martial law. It allowed Marcos to become both president and prime minister and to determine when the National Assembly would be convened. Marcos called for national sacrifice, an end to the “old society,” and the beginning of a “new society.” He founded a political party known as the Kilusan Bagong Lipunan (KBL), or New Society Movement, in 1978. It won elections in 1978 and 1980 but was dogged by claims of massive electoral fraud. Imelda Marcos became governor of Metropolitan Manila and minister of human settlements, entrenching the culture of corruption. Senior promotions in the armed forces went to Marcos loyalists, resulting in a highly politicized military. Marcos lifted the martial law regime in January 1981. Opposition figure, former senator Benigno S. Aquino, Jr., who had been arrested during the martial law crackdown, had been released a few months earlier and permitted to travel to the United States for medical treatment. On his return to the Philippines in 1983, he was assassinated at the airport, allegedly by a man named Rolando Galman, who was then killed on the spot by military personnel. The Filipino population, thought to have been pacified by the long period of martial law, instead participated in major protests. Unions, also thought to have been tamed by the martial law period, conducted strikes throughout the country and demanded Marcos’s resignation. An independent commission was convened to inquire into the Aquino assassination. In 1984 it concluded that a highlevel group of military conspirators, not Rolando Galman, was behind the assassination. It indicted more than two dozen military personnel, including General Fabian Ver, the Chief of Staff of the Philippines Armed Forces. These personnel were put on trial for murder in February 1985. In November of that year, Marcos announced that elections would be held in February 1986. The military personnel accused of the Aquino assassination were acquitted during the election campaign. The election results were monitored by a government commission and a nongovernmental body. The former declared Marcos the winner, and the latter declared that Corazon Aquino, the widow of the assassinated Benigno

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Aquino, had won the most votes. The Marcos-dominated National Assembly accepted the government commission’s declaration and officially recognized him as the winner. A mass nonviolent civil disobedience campaign ensued that had the backing of the Catholic Church, the Minister for Defense (Juan Ponce Enrile), the Deputy Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces (Lieutenant General Fidel V. Ramos), and tens of thousands of ordinary Filipinos. This so-called People Power Movement removed Marcos from office on February 25, 1986—the day of his inauguration. He, his family, and a few close associates flew to Hawaii aboard aircraft provided by the U.S. air force.

AQUINO AND RAMOS The new president, Corazon Aquino, was also inaugurated on February 25, 1986. She immediately established her reformist credentials by restoring the writ of habeas corpus, ending the Marcos-era restrictions on the media, and releasing political prisoners. She also obtained the resignation of several judges on the Supreme Court, ensured the retirement of several pro-Marcos military officers, and abolished the legislature and the position of prime minister while retaining Juan Ponce Enrile as Defense Minister and promoting Fidel Ramos to the position of Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces. Aquino created the Presidential Commission on Good Governance, which was put in charge of recovering the missing Marcos fortune, and the Presidential Commission on Human Rights, which would investigate Marcos-era human rights violations. A Constitutional Commission drafted a new constitution, which was approved by the Aquino cabinet and by more than 75 percent of Filipino voters in a national plebiscite in February 1987. All members of the Filipino military were required to swear allegiance to the new constitution, which provided for a House of Representatives, a Senate, and an executive presidency that limited incumbents to one six-year term with no chance of reelection. People Power organizations received formal acknowledgement in the new constitution. Nuclear weapons were prohibited on Filipino territory, placing in doubt the presence of U.S. military bases. In addition, the new constitution prohibited all foreign military bases on Filipino territory after 1991, unless authorized by a treaty that was approved by the Senate and ratified by the voters. At that time, the United States operated six military bases on Filipino territory. These were permitted until 1989. A year before they were due to expire, the Filipino and U.S. governments conducted negotiations for an extension of their operations until 1991. These were concluded

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successfully, with the Philippines receiving more than $480 million in aid as a reward for its cooperation. The United States would be able to operate its naval and air assets until 1991 without having to declare whether they were carrying nuclear weapons. All U.S. combat aircraft and nearly 2,000 military personnel left the Philippines at the end of 1991. In August 1991, however, a new treaty was signed between the two countries that allowed the United States a ten-year lease on the Subic Bay Naval Base in return for financial payments to the Filipino government. However, the Senate of the Philippines rejected this treaty, bringing nine decades of U.S. military bases there to an end. It would not be until 1999 that the two countries concluded a Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA) that allowed U.S. troops back to the Philippines for training exercises of limited duration. Corazon Aquino had to deal with numerous coup attempts by disaffected military personnel with loyalties to the old order. In July 1986, only a few months after her inauguration as president, Ferdinand Marcos’s former vice-presidential candidate, Arturo Tolentino, declared himself the acting president, backed by a few hundred rebel troops. These were surrounded and disarmed by loyalist troops, but tensions remained high. In November 1986 troops at several military barracks began another rebellion. This was put down by troops loyal to the new administration. In January 1987 more troops belonging to secret military fraternities commenced another rebellion. Once again, loyalist troops suppressed them. A fourth coup attempt was aborted in April 1987. In August 1987 a fifth coup attempt was launched by Colonel Gregorio Honasan, whose troops went so far as to occupy the headquarters of the Filipino Army. The reliable General Fidel Ramos suppressed this rebellion as well. Ramos was appointed Minister for Defense in January 1988. In December 1989 another coup was launched by members of the Marines and the Scout Rangers, two highly regarded military units. They were able to capture a military base and the headquarters of the Filipino Air Force. They then launched air attacks against the presidential palace and other government installations. President Aquino requested the assistance of the U.S. Air Force, which succeeding in deterring rebel air attacks. This rebellion, too, was put down by loyalist forces. The next presidential elections were scheduled for May 1992. These elections were combined with those for the vice president, Senators, members of the House of Representatives, and representatives of local government. All in all, it was a major logistical undertaking as well as a highly significant political event. Fidel Ramos emerged as the country’s new president, with former film star Joseph Estrada as the vice president. As president, Fidel Ramos drew on the support of an influential network of retired senior military officers, well known to him from his

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own years as an army officer. He also received the support of the business community, which was anxious to overcome the turmoil of the previous decade. Members of the political class were also keen to ensure stability after the upheavals of recent years. All of these divergent interests therefore converged in the direction of coalition-building. For his part, Ramos stated his intention to achieve social and political stability through a program of national reconciliation, increased foreign investment, anticorruption measures, and economic deregulation. Like his predecessor, however, Ramos had to cope with the country’s huge foreign debts, which were left over from the Marcos era. These debts were nearly as large as the country’s gross national income. In order to pay off these debts, Fidel Ramos, like Corazon Aquino, had to obtain funding from the International Monetary Fund (IMF), which required structural adjustment programs and austerity measures in exchange for debt relief. These resulted in the imposition of strict limits on the extent of government expenditure. Fidel Ramos also convinced large numbers of rebellious soldiers, Muslim separatists, and communist insurgents to put down their weapons. As Ramos came to the end of his presidential term, there were calls for a constitutional amendment that would allow him another six-year term in office. When he tried to have the Congress revise the constitution, huge protests in the streets of Manila and elsewhere convinced him to declare that he would not seek reelection. In the subsequent election campaign of May 1998, there was widespread agreement that the country’s political processes had improved significantly since the Marcos era. For one thing, the campaign itself was free, fair, and generally peaceful and was widely accepted as such. The new president, Joseph Estrada, had previously been vice president to Fidel Ramos. He won more than twice the number of votes of his nearest rival, with strong support from poorer voters. However, the Asian financial crisis occurred at this time. Accordingly, the Estrada administration continued the Philippines’ funding arrangements with the IMF. His pledge to continue the process of financial deregulation and privatization conflicted with his promise to reduce poverty, improve food security, and enhance the agricultural sector. There were also extensive allegations of corruption and cronyism, with explosive claims that he had personally intervened to shield a close associate from charges of insider trading in March 2000. The consequence of this episode was that the entire Philippine Stock Exchange came perilously close to collapse. A few months later, the governor of Ilocos Sur alleged to the Senate under oath that Estrada had been in receipt of bribes from gambling and tobacco interests. Although Estrada denied the allegations, he was impeached on charges of bribery, corruption, betrayal of

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public trust, and constitutional violations. In the subsequent trial, a senior banker provided evidence that Estrada owned millions of dollars in a secret bank account. Massive street protests eventually forced Estrada’s resignation. His vice president, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (daughter of former president Diosdado Macapagal) was sworn in as his successor January 20, 2001—the day of his resignation. Estrada continued to enjoy significant support, especially among the urban and rural poor. Accordingly, although his departure was acclaimed as a validation of People Power, the institutions of parliamentary democracy could be threatened by further People Power mobilizations. This is precisely what occurred a few months later, when Estrada’s supporters mounted their own People Power protests. The new president, Gloria Arroyo, responded by declaring a “state of rebellion” and ordering the arrest of senior Estrada loyalists. Greater stability came into effect when her coalition party emerged triumphant from the elections in the Senate, the House of Representatives, and the local government. Arroyo, a member of the political elite, a staunchly conservative Catholic, and a trained neoliberal economist, also found it impossible to reconcile her economic liberalization agenda with popular demands for poverty alleviation, food security, and better public works. However, she achieved more land reform than Estrada, constructed tens of thousands of homes for rural and urban workers, delivered a national health insurance scheme, and ensured the subsidized sale of basic commodities to the public. Arroyo fought off a coup attempt by military personnel in July 2003 and won the May 2004 presidential election by a relatively close margin. However, considering that she had not previously been elected president (she had succeeded Estrada, automatically following his resignation), the election victory conferred on Arroyo a legitimacy she had not previously enjoyed. By 2005, however, she was confronted by mass protests and calls for her resignation, following allegations that she had illegally interfered with the 2004 election campaign. Arroyo was revealed, in a recorded telephone conversation that came to light, as having told an election commissioner that she wanted to win by a million votes. She subsequently apologized to the public for what she called a “lapse in judgment” but insisted that she would not resign. Instead, 30 percent of her cabinet resigned in protest, calling for her resignation. However, there was no People Power counterpart, with most Filipinos apparently believing that her resignation would not improve their lives materially. She also enjoyed the tacit support of former president Fidel Ramos and the official neutrality of the Catholic Church faced no serious challenge from the military. In the May 2007 elections, Arroyo supporters improved their position in the House of Representatives, although pro-Arroyo parties lost their

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Senate majority. The elections were generally considered to be an accurate reflection of the voters’ preferences, with fewer reports of violence, intimidation, fraud, and so on than in the 2004 elections. As president, Gloria Arroyo advocates a constitutional change whereby the mechanisms of government are restructured from a unitary, presidential system with two houses to a federal, parliamentary system with one house. The new system would arguably improve the quality of politics by eliminating presidential-style campaigning, reducing corruption, and fostering more stable alliances between political parties. A federal system would improve the ability of groups in the South to enjoy better autonomy within the Philippines, rather than seeking a separatist solution outside it. Furthermore, a federal system would provide more autonomy and reduce tensions among restive ethnic groups in the South.

INSURGENCIES Insurgency in the southern Philippines goes as far back as the establishment of the state. This section considers the actions of the Moro National Liberation Front, the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, the Abu Sayyaf Group, the Communist Party of the Philippines, and the Alex Boncayao Brigade. In the Philippines, Muslims make up approximately 5 percent of the total population of 85 million. They are concentrated in the South, forming a majority in the provinces of Sulu, Maguindanao, Basilan, Lanao del Sur, and Tawi-Tawi. Their sense of grievance goes back to the earliest days of the republic, when their lands and customs came under threat soon after Filipino independence in 1946. The high population density in the northern and central islands saw large numbers of Filipinos (themselves unable to own the land on which their families had worked for generations) move southward. There, they were able to acquire what had historically been Muslim land with the help of Christian-controlled courts and police. The Filipino government, itself dominated by landowning ilustrados, avoided serious attempts at land reform. Instead, it encouraged the resettlement of peasants in the South as a way of reducing demands for political reforms in the northern and central island groups. In due course, Christians became the majority population in most southern provinces, with the exception of the five that were previously mentioned—and are among the poorest in the country. President Ferdinand Marcos’s imposition of martial law in 1972 resulted in a major rebellion in the South. It was led by the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), moro being the Spanish-era term for the Muslims, whom the Spanish had never been able to subdue. It was

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adopted by the MNLF as a symbol of pride. Marcos launched major military operations against the MNLF, resulting in the deaths of an estimated 120,000 people during the 1970s. However, Muslim nations—influential in the 1970s because of their oil wealth—were able to convince the government of the Philippines to accept a mediated settlement. Accordingly, the Marcos administration conducted negotiations with the MNLF under the auspices of the Organization of Islamic Conference. In December 1976 a settlement was sponsored by Colonel Muammar al-Qaddafi of Libya. Known as the “Tripoli Agreement,” it provided for both sides to stop fighting and for an autonomous Muslim region to be established in the southern Philippines. The Marcos regime did not honor its side of the agreement. In addition, the Christian population of Mindanao strongly opposed the settlement’s endorsement of an Islamic legal framework. The separatist movement began to fragment in 1977; differences over leadership and ideology led to a split in which Hashim Salamat broke away from the MNLF and established the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF). The MILF attracted many supporters from Mindanao. Nur Misuari, the chairman of the MNLF, remained in charge of the MNLF, with a strong following from his Tausung tribe and other Sulubased ethnic groups. After the Marcos regime came to an end, the new government and the MNLF reached a negotiated settlement whereby the MNLF would accept autonomy rather than independence for Muslim regions. However, fighting continued alongside discussions about the precise manner in which autonomy would be implemented. In 1996, the MNLF finally signed a peace agreement with the government. It created an Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM), currently consisting of the provinces of Sulu, Maguindanao, Basilan, Lanao del Sur, and Tawi-Tawi, as well as Muslim-majority Marawi City. Other provinces and cities are also able to decide by referendum whether they wish to opt into the ARMM. Nur Misuari’s poor performance as governor of the ARMM saw him being replaced as MNLF chairman by a “Committee of Fifteen” in April 2001. His position as ARMM governor was filled by Parouk Hussin, a member of the Committee. Misuari and his loyalists launched an armed rebellion in November of that year, but it was suppressed quickly. Misuari fled to Sabah in Malaysia, but he was arrested there and extradited to the Philippines. The MILF, despite having a stronger religious component than the MNLF, practices a version of Islam that is more moderate than that of the Islamic fundamentalists of the Middle East. The MILF remains officially committed to negotiations with the Philippine government. According to

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the testimonies of captured leaders of the Indonesian-based terrorist group, Jemaah Islamiyah, there appear to be links between the MILF and Jemaah Islamiyah such that the latter undergo training in MILF camps. For their part, MILF leaders deny the existence of such links. In June 2003 the MILF agreed to a cease-fire agreement with the government of the Philippines. This and other cease-fire agreements have focused on the issue of autonomy for Muslim areas and on Muslim rights to ancestral lands taken over by Christian Filipinos in the years after independence. Although prospects for an enduring settlement exist, there appear to be divisions between the Filipino government and the Filipino military, with the latter strongly in favor of a more confrontational approach. In December 2005, for instance, the military’s Southern Command stated that, according to its intelligence assessments, the MILF was recruiting as many as 4,000 new members and was therefore violating the cease-fire. Its statement was denied not just by the MILF, but by Filipino government negotiators and presidential advisors. The Abu Sayyaf (“Father of the Sword” in Arabic) Group (ASG) was known as the Mujahideen Commando Freedom Fighters (MCFF) upon its founding in the mid-1980s. It was renamed the ASG in the late 1980s. Its founders were Ustad Abdurazak Abubakar Janjalani, who studied Islamic law and fought in Afghanistan during the 1980s, Wahab Akbar, who studied in Iran and Syria, Amilhussin Jumaani, and ten other former members of the MNLF. Janjalani’s two younger brothers, Hector and Qadaffi, later underwent training in explosives in Pakistan. Hector was arrested, but Qadaffi went on to become the amir, or spiritual leader, of the ASG after Janjalani’s death during a clash with Filipino police on December 18, 1998. The ASG engaged in high-profile tactics such as kidnapping. In 1992, for instance, the ASG member Edwin Angeles abducted a businesswoman in Davao and hid her at a residence in Basilan. She was released after paying a ransom. In April 1993 Angeles abducted the owner of a bus company in Basilan and his five-year-old grandson. The grandfather was released three days later, but the grandson remained in custody. In a press conference soon after the grandfather’s release, ASG member Ashmad announced that the group would continue to hold the grandson until its demands were met. The demands included the removal of all Catholic symbols in Muslim communities, the imposition of a ban on all foreign fishing vessels in the Sulu and Basilan seas, and the involvement of Muslim leadership in the negotiations. Later in 1993 the ASG abducted an American language scholar, Charles Walton, from his home on Pangutaran Island. Following the intercession of the Libyan ambassador, Walton was released a few weeks later without ransom. In August 1998 the ASG announced its intentions to target foreigners as well as Philippines security forces personnel. In July 2000 the ASG

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abducted three French journalists, who were released after ransoms were paid. Later that month, the ASG abducted twenty-one people from a dive resort on Pandanan Island, and a ransom of several million dollars was paid in exchange for the prisoners’ release. In August 2000 the ASG abducted Jeffrey Schilling, a U.S. citizen who had met with a senior guerrilla leader, accusing him of being a member of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. A ransom of $2 million was set for his release. In May 2001 the ASG abducted seventeen tourists. When Philippines government forces attempted to pursue the kidnappers, 200 more hostages were seized from a nearby church and hospital. In January 2002, in the wake of the U.S. “war on terror,” some 1,200 U.S. troops arrived in the Philippines to support the government’s operations against the ASG. Many of these were Special Forces personnel sent to train Philippine forces. In June 2002, a group of U.S.-trained Philippine troops stormed an ASG jungle camp in an effort to rescue two Americans and a Filipino nurse being held hostage. During the rescue attempt, the nurse and one of the Americans were killed, but the third hostage, U.S. missionary Gracia Burnham, was freed, suffering only minor injuries. In August 2002 the ASG abducted six hostages; two of whom were later beheaded. In December 2002 Philippine soldiers captured one of the ASG members believed to have been involved in the executions. The ASG today appears to be connected to the Rajah Solaiman Movement, a group of Filipino Muslim converts from the Manila area. The significance of this link is that the Rajah Solaiman Movement is made up of northern Filipinos, unlike the predominantly southern Filipinos of the conventional insurgent groups. The CPP arose out of the PKP in the late 1960s. At this time, Sino–Soviet tensions were reflected in a split whereby a pro-Chinese faction became the CPP, led by Jose Maria Sison. Its military wing, the NPA, formed in 1969, employed a strategy derived from Maoist doctrines of protracted peoples’ wars. The NPA focused its efforts in central Luzon, first around the key agrarian center of Tarlac and then around Isabella. Later, its area of operations spread to other rural areas. China, an initial source of weapons and expertise, ended its support after 1977. The CPP-NPA came to be viewed by many non-Communist Filipinos as a viable force for overthrowing the Marcos dictatorship. A wellorganized political coalition operated alongside the NPA that included an alliance of underground groups known as the National Democratic Front and a range of legal organizations made up of peasant groups, labor unions, other sectoral organizations, political parties, and development groups. Many anti-Marcos activists worked with the CPP-NPA but did not subscribe to its ideological program. As a result, once Marcos was overthrown in 1986, the ranks of the NPA began to diminish.

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Until the early 1980s, the NPA was renowned for its tight, disciplined, highly centralized command structure. This structure has since been eroded by ideological differences between leaders and by the political distance between those in exile and those on the ground. The NPA numbered around 18,000 guerrillas by 1992, but—after purges, splits, and defections—it fell to around 1,000 cadres by the end of 1998, along with a number of splinter groups operating as quasi-bandits on particular islands. In a final bid to end the rebellion, in 1994, President Fidel Ramos legalized the CPP, allowed it to enter the parliamentary political process, and pardoned most of its leaders. The government also began a peace process with the group. But when, in 1999, the government reestablished a military training relationship with the United States, the NPA once again resumed armed activities and the CPP broke off negotiations. AntiU.S. sentiment, continued economic difficulties, the disastrous presidency of Joseph Estrada, and the failure of land reform combined once again to swell the NPA’s ranks to an estimated 12,000 guerrillas. The Alex Boncayao Brigade (ABB) was formed in the mid-1980s as a breakaway movement from the NPA. It had its origins in the establishment of two Armed City Partisans (ACPs) in 1972 by the NPA. When President Marcos imposed martial law, these cells were smashed. The project was relaunched in 1975, despite the grave misgivings of senior members of the NPA and the lack of support from the CPP, which doubted the effectiveness of urban revolutionary structures. In 1976 and 1977, Victor Corpus, Bernabe Buscayno, and Jose Maria Sison—three senior figures within the NPA—were arrested and imprisoned. This gave the advocates of the ACPs a large degree of autonomy, because the three arrested leaders were considered doctrinal hard-liners. Under the leadership of Filemon “Popoy” Lagman, the ACPs put pressure on the Marcos regime but formed relationships with other antigovernment organizations irrespective of their own political allegiances. In the interim National Assembly election of April 1978, Alex Boncayao stood as a candidate alongside Benigno Aquino Jr., Aquilino Pimentel Jr. and Charito Planas. The Marcos dictatorship’s Kilusan Bagong Lipunan (KBL), or New Society Movement, won the elections amid claims of massive electoral fraud. Several opposition election candidates went into hiding or exile. Among them was Alex Boncayao, who returned to the countryside, where he was killed while fighting alongside the NPA. In 1984, the ABB, named after him, began a campaign of urban warfare against the Marcos administration, killing a police general, Tomas Karingal, at a social function in Quezon City. The end of the Marcos era left the ABB isolated and increasingly frustrated at the dictates of the CPP Central Committee. By 1992 the NPA was at war with itself, caught in a struggle between those loyal to the

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leader (Jose Maria Sison) and several rejectionist factions. Matters were not eased by the alleged “witch hunt” within the Party for doctrinal deviancy. The ABB subsequently underwent a split, and a faction under the leadership of Nilo de la Cruz broke away from the old Manila–Rizal committee. In March 1997 the ABB formed an alliance with the Revolutionary Proletarian Army (RPA) led by Arturo Tabara, another former NPA leader. The group was henceforth known as the Revolutionary Proletarian Army (RPA)-ABB. The main RPA-ABB groups are on Luzon, Negros, and the Visayas Islands. This chapter has shown that the Philippines remains dominated by a small clique of wealthy families whose influence was derived from centuries of Spanish colonial rule. When charismatic leaders have come to power, they have had to deal with the problem of a high degree of concentration in land ownership. They have frequently chosen to distribute the spoils of victory to their cronies. This chapter has also examined the important political reforms initiated by President Corazon Aquino and the presidencies of Fidel Ramos, Joseph Estrada, and Gloria Arroyo, as well as analyzing the insurgencies in the southern islands by discussing the actions of the MNLF, the MILF, the ASG, the CPP, and the ABB.

Select Bibliography Agoncillo, T. A., Filipino Nationalism, 1872–1970 (Quezon City: Garcia Publishing Company, 1974). Pinches, M., “The Philippines” in The Far East and Australasia 2007: Europa Regional Surveys of the World (London: Europa Publications, 2007). Shalom, S. R., and D. B. Schirmer, The Philippines Reader: A History of Colonialism, Neocolonialism, Dictatorship, and Resistance (Boston: South End Press, 1987).

CHAPTER 10

Solomon Islands Sinclair Dinnen

Lying southeast of the autonomous region of Bougainville in Papua New Guinea (PNG) and north of Vanuatu, Solomon Islands archipelago comprises a double chain of approximately 1,000 islands scattered across 1,400 kilometers of the southwest Pacific. The largest islands contain mountainous interiors, tropical rainforests, and coastal lowlands. There are also hundreds of low-lying coral atolls, most of them uninhabited. “Solomon Islands” was the name given to the islands after their discovery in 1568 by the Spanish explorer Alavaro de Mendaña, who believed them to contain the fabled gold of King Solomon. Consistent with many parts of the so-called developing world, the origins of Solomon Islands as a discrete political and territorial entity lie in the imperial expansion and competition among European powers in the nineteenth century. Colonial annexation commenced in 1893 with the declaration of the British Solomon Islands Protectorate over the southern islands. Other islands were added over the following decade, including the northern islands, which Germany transferred to Britain in 1899. Although colonial rule inevitably brought considerable changes to the peoples of Solomon Islands, it was relatively light in character, reflecting major resource constraints and the low priority accorded Solomon Islands by decisionmakers in distant London. For many Solomon Islanders, encounters with new ideas and institutions were experienced more through interactions with Christian missions, foreign traders, or plantation work than through the regulatory impacts of colonial government. Solomon Islands—Guadalcanal in particular—was the site of extensive fighting between Japanese and U.S. militaries during World War II. After less than 100 years of colonial rule,

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Solomon Islands was granted independence by the British on July 7, 1978. Modern state institutions only began to be assembled well after World War II, with, as a result, relatively shallow foundations in the local environment. This was manifested not only in the limited institutional capabilities of the new state. Arbitrary borders drawn less than a century previous (with no regard to existing indigenous political and social forms) were retained. A small plantation economy remained skewed toward the interests of metropolitan powers and vulnerable to the fluctuations of international commodity markets. As with many other former colonies in Africa and the Pacific, Solomon Islands was ill prepared for the challenges of independent nationhood. Transport and communications infrastructure was rudimentary, and the human

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resources needed to operate a complex bureaucratic state were in scarce supply. For example, there were only about a dozen university graduates at independence in 1978 (Bennett 2002: 7). Today there are approximately 510,000 Solomon Islanders (DFAT 2008), with most living on the six major islands of Choiseul, New Georgia, Santa Isabel, Guadalcanal, Malaita, and San Cristobal (Makira). According to the 1999 Population and Housing Census, Malaita and Guadalcanal accounted for around half of the total population, with Malaita containing almost a third. Following the end of World War II, the capital was relocated from Tulagi (in what is now Central Province) to its current location in Honiara on the northern shores of Guadalcanal. In addition to its challenging topography, Solomon Islands, like neighboring PNG and Vanuatu, is characterized by acute levels of sociolinguistic diversity. Although Melanesian Pigin has become the principal medium of communication, approximately eighty languages are spoken throughout the archipelago (Wurm and Hattori 1981). The state constitutes a remote presence in the lives of most Solomon Islanders, the majority of whom continue to live in rural villages. Beyond the small educated urban elite, bonds of clan and kinship, shared language, and ties to ancestral land, along with Christian affiliations, provide a stronger basis for individual identities and allegiances than more abstract notions of citizenship and nationality. Solomon Islands exhibits the familiar social complexity of modern Melanesia, with most people existing in the interstices between subsistence and cash economies and Western and customary systems of governance. Dynamic tensions between “tradition” and “modernity” manifest themselves in many ways, including in the routine workings of state institutions, where the obligations of kinship and extended familial relations sit uneasily alongside those of neutral and detached public service.

THE POLITICAL SYSTEM AFTER INDEPENDENCE At independence, Solomon Islands inherited the Westminster system of government that Britain bequeathed to many of its former colonies. The centralization of political power has been actively contested in parts of Solomon Islands during both colonial and postcolonial periods. Various provinces and regions have sought to secure greater control over local resources and the revenues generated through their exploitation. There have been long-standing resentments in the western Solomon Islands over the substantial contribution made by their export logging industry to central government coffers in Honiara and the relatively poor returns in the way of provision of

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essential services. Immediately prior to independence, a major “breakaway” movement emerged in what is now the Western province (Bennett 1987: 327–330). Largely in response to such pressures, seven provincial governments were established under the Provincial Government Act of 1981. Provinces were given their own assemblies although the central government retained control over executive and legislative functions. There are now nine provinces, following the separation of Choiseul from Western Province in 1992 and Rennell and Bellona from Central Province in 1996. Trying to make sense of Solomon Islands’s postindependence politics has perplexed many observers (local and international) and continues to be a source of frustration to many of those engaged in the reconstruction work of the regional assistance mission deployed to the troubled islands in mid-2003. What is sometimes called “Melanesian politics” exhibits some of the features of Western liberal democracies but also has distinct characteristics deriving from Melanesian cultures (Steeves 1996; Morgan 2005). This hybridized form of politics is found, with local variations, in Solomon Islands, PNG, and Vanuatu. Whereas allegiance to parties distinguished on policy or ideological grounds provides the basic for political careers under the Westminster model, Melanesian politics is characterized by the weakness of the party system and the highly personalized style of political behavior. Parties are fluid entities, often revolving around dominant leaders or political “big men” and lacking coherent political platforms or organizational structures. They are primarily vehicles to be used as bargaining chips in the intense competition to form a new government following elections, as well as in trading political support once governments have been established (Turnbull 2002). Large numbers of independents—intent on trading their support in return for the best offer—have added to the inherent instability of postindependence governments. The latter have typically comprised loose coalitions of parties and independents that are united primarily by their desire to retain office and access to the material and other benefits that this provides. With the notable exception of the recent Kemakeza-led government (2001–2006), governments since independence have, on average, lasted barely half a term. Under this system, prime ministers and other government leaders spend more time fending off votes of no confidence and other threats to the political survival of their fragile administrations than implementing national policy objectives. In a first-past-the-post electoral system, in which successful candidates can win their seats with a small percentage of votes cast, the primary voting bases of politicians tend to accord more with personal, kinship, and other ties to particular communities than to official electoral

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boundaries. The skillful distribution of resources and manipulation of social relations by modern political leaders in pursuit of electoral success demonstrate continuities with the leadership strategies of traditional Melanesian big men. Politicians continue to be under considerable pressure to prioritize the parochial demands of kin and of those with whom they share personal connections over those of other members of society. For example, they are regularly called on to pay school fees, health costs, travel fares, funeral expenses, and the costs of local feasts and ceremonies. Trying to satisfy the demands of local constituents for resources and development projects is greater for most Solomon Islands members of Parliament than is the demand to develop and implement national policies (Morgan and McLeod 2006: 417). Many fail this test in practice, as indicated by the high turnover of sitting members of Parliament. The centrality of patronage in Solomon Islands politics has contributed to the high levels of corruption associated with political behavior and process in the postindependence period.

The Forestry Sector As in other parts of Melanesia, uneven patterns of development, poor social and economic indicators, the limited reach and declining quality of government services, and the remoteness and greed of a small urban elite have contributed to growing popular disenchantment with the workings of the formal political system. The forestry sector, which in the mid1990s contributed almost half of government export earnings, has entailed large-scale logging at an unsustainable rate that has brought little lasting benefit to traditional owners (Dauvergne 1998, 1999; Bennett 2000). Weak state regulation has proved no match for the avarice and ingenuity of unscrupulous leaders and commercial enterprises. Timber revenues that should have benefited the whole country have gone uncollected or been siphoned off by politicians, state officials, and local big men in collusion with rapacious foreign—mainly Asian—logging companies. Generous tax breaks and other concessions have been granted in return for bribes. Companies have evaded royalty payments, export taxes, and corporate taxes on profits by, for example, falsifying species names and log grades. Corruption associated with the logging industry has thoroughly permeated national politics and contributed greatly to problems of governance at national and provincial levels. Tax exemptions and duty remissions granted to logging enterprises amounted to AUD 24 million in 1995 alone (Bennett 2002: 9). The loss of revenue resulting from such practices and the fluctuations in international commodity markets also contributed to growing levels of international borrowing and public debt. These, in turn, have accentuated Solomon Islands’s high

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levels of dependence on international aid from bilateral and multilateral donors.

Population and Internal Migration According to the last census, conducted in 1999, the population was growing at a rate of 2.8 percent per annum. Although high by international standards, this represents a fall from a previous high of 3.5 percent in the late 1980s. Consequently, the age profile is very young, with approximately 42 percent of the population under the age of fifteen. School attendance is low for a variety of reasons, including issues of accessibility and affordability. For most youngsters, there have been few opportunities for securing waged employment in Solomon Islands’s small formal economy. The increasingly peripheral status of youth has been most evident in Honiara. As in other parts of the Pacific Islands, the bright lights of town and prospect of freedom from the constraints of kastom and village life have been a powerful allure for many youngsters, particularly young men. A distinctive subculture among urban unemployed youth has evolved, representing an adaptation to economic marginalization and an innovative cultural response to challenges of identity facing youth in ambivalent urban settings (Jourdan 1995: 202–222). Solomon Islands’s “youth bulge” provides an important part of the broader context of the recent conflict. When the national capital was relocated to Honiara after World War II, migrants were drawn to Guadalcanal from other parts of the country. Large numbers came from the adjoining and densely populated island of Malaita. Obvious attractions included the prospect of work in the plantations on the Guadalcanal Plains, in the government departments and businesses that sprang up in Honiara, or, since 1997, in the Gold Ridge mine east of the capital. Many of these settlers integrated successfully into local communities through marriage and other forms of association. Resentment toward them—in particular those from Malaita—nevertheless grew in certain areas, sometimes inflamed by opportunist political leaders. These feelings have been most apparent in the least developed and accessible parts of Guadalcanal, such as the Weather Coast in the island’s south. Malaitans have been viewed as having prospered at the expense of the indigenous inhabitants. Anti-Malaitan sentiments also emphasized negative cultural traits, such as their alleged assertiveness, aggression, and insensitivity to local kastom. Kastom is the Pigin term for culture or tradition. Commonly used to refer to the traditional practices and beliefs of indigenous groups, the term kastom is sometimes deployed in oppositional terms to notions of modernity and foreignness. It is used in this sense to distinguish local beliefs, values, and institutions from those

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introduced from outside Solomon Islands. This rather simplistic formulation implies that kastom is static, whereas it is continually evolving and adapting to new circumstances. The more complex reality is that kastom has become progressively entangled with modernity. Anti-Malaitan sentiments are bound up with deeper anxieties about land, development, and identity in the broader context of rapid socioeconomic change. Most of these concerns are to be found, in varying degrees, throughout Solomon Islands and, indeed, throughout the island Pacific. Many older Guadalcanal men have added to these underlying insecurities by selling rights to customary land to outsiders. These transactions generated considerable resentment among a younger Guadalcanal generation concerned about its future rights to land. However, rather than blaming their own elders, anger has more often been directed at Malaitan settlers who have bought, rented, or squatted on land, particularly in north Guadalcanal. These grievances crystallized into “the bona fide demands of the indigenous people of Guadalcanal,” presented as a Petition by the Indigenous People of Guadalcanal, 1998, to the central government in early 1999. They included claims for rent for the use of Honiara as the national capital, compensation for local people allegedly killed by settlers, plus restrictions on citizens from other provinces owning land on Guadalcanal.

ETHNIC TENSIONS AND THE 2000 COUP Groups of young Guadalcanal men began stockpiling homemade and rehabilitated World War II weapons as early as 1996 (Kabutaulaka 2001). Organized disturbances started in late 1998 and spread rapidly to rural parts of the island. Militant groups—known initially as the Guadalcanal Revolutionary Army (GRA) and later renamed the Isatabu Freedom Movement (IFM)—embarked on a violent campaign of harassment and intimidation, directed mainly against Malaitan settlers. As many as 20,000 people were displaced from their homes in rural Guadalcanal and forced to seek refuge in Honiara or to return to their islands of origin. Violent confrontations occurred between the GRA/IFM and the Malaitan-dominated Royal Solomon Islands Police (RSIP). In June 1999 the government declared a state of emergency in Guadalcanal. In response to a request from Solomon Islands government, the Commonwealth sent former Fijian Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka as a special envoy to help conclude a peaceful resolution to the crisis in Guadalcanal. A series of peace agreements brokered by Rabuka committed the government to addressing the concerns of the rural Guadalcanal

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population and restraining police operations, and the agreements called on the militant groups to disband, surrender their weapons, and return to their home villages. However, these efforts failed to stem the spreading militancy. With the IFM in effective control of rural Guadalcanal, Honiara became a Malaitan enclave. Another militia—the Malaita Eagle Force (MEF)—emerged at the beginning of 2000. This group, with close links to the paramilitary police field force, claimed to represent the interests of displaced Malaitans and demanded substantial compensation for the lives of Malaitans killed by the IFM and for damage and destruction to their properties. The MEF, which had access to high-powered police weapons, uniforms, and equipment, began attacking and intimidating suspected IFM members and sympathizers in the Honiara area. With the security situation in Guadalcanal—particularly around the capital—deteriorating rapidly, Solomon Islands (SIAC) government made a desperate plea to Australia and New Zealand for armed assistance. However, neither country was prepared to intervene, and they called on Solomon Islands government to devise appropriate local solutions. On June 5, 2000, MEF militants, together with members of the police field force, seized control of key installations in Honiara, including the well-stocked national armory. Prime Minister Ulufa’alu was forced to resign. He was replaced by Mannaseh Sogavare, the former SIAC Finance Minister, who had been sacked by Ulufa’alu in August 1998 for unauthorized granting of duty remissions and tax exemptions (Fraenkel 2004: 93). Although not a Malaitan himself, he was viewed as more sympathetic to the MEF than his predecessor. Following the de facto coup, acts of intimidation and reprisals against civilians by militants increased. Honiara was under the control of an illegal “joint operation” between the MEF and elements of the police. The new government was simply incapable of controlling the heavily armed militia that had brought it to power. Attacks were launched by the joint operation against suspected IFM positions on the outskirts of the capital, and an Australian-donated patrol boat was used to shell positions on the eastern shoreline. According to international media reports, as many as 100 people were killed as a result of these operations. Homes and property belonging to those considered to be opposed to the armed takeover were looted or destroyed. Vehicles were stolen and business houses intimidated. Honiara was effectively cut off from the rest of the country. These developments had a disastrous impact on the fragile national economy. Operations were suspended at the Gold Ridge mine after the coup, as they had been earlier at the estates of Solomon Islands Plantations on the Guadalcanal plains. Government revenues dropped dramatically. As events in Honiara sunk in, shock turned to anger in many other

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parts of the country. Much of this was expressed as anti-Malaitan sentiment, and there were reports of threats against Malaitans in the Western Province. These led to reprisals against people from that province residing in Honiara, setting off a vicious cycle of retaliatory actions. Concerns were also raised of possible spillover effects from Bougainville, which was involved in delicate peace negotiations with the government of PNG after almost ten years of bloody civil war. Members of the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) were reported to be providing security in Choiseul and Western Provinces against potential incursions by the MEF. With the national capital controlled by a militia group, sentiments desirous of autonomy began to be voiced in many of the island provinces. Western and Choiseul provinces declared their intention to form a joint state government; Temotu and Makira provinces proposed to secede. The Sogavare administration commenced its peacemaking efforts by paying SBD 10 million to provincial and militia representatives from Malaita and Guadalcanal for a range of outstanding grievances on both sides. Dispensing large amounts of scarce public funds as compensation was to become the central pillar of the government’s peacemaking strategy. The institution of compensation has a long history in many parts of Solomon Islands—especially Malaita—as a mechanism for settling disputes between groups. Over the years, it has been extended well beyond the original kastom context and has increasingly taken on the form of claims against the state (Akin 1999). The practice has also become increasingly commercialized, with cash payments replacing traditional items of wealth such as shell money. This has opened up new opportunities for self-enrichment and abuse. Although the first Sogavare administration was by no means the first government to embrace this practice, the use of compensation as a key of peacemaking contributed significantly to the disorder and criminality during the following three years that preceded the deployment of the regional assistance mission. As well as payments being made as redress for outstanding grievances, payments were also made as a condition for participating in peace talks. One local observer referred to this as the “checkbook” approach to peace negotiations (Wale cited in Dinnen 2002: 289).

THE TOWNSVILLE PEACE AGREEMENT Having declined earlier requests for assistance by the Ulufa’alu government, Australia and New Zealand made reinvigorated efforts to bring the rival militias to the negotiating table. An immediate priority was to end the fighting and avert the prospect of an all-out ethnic war. Talks brokered by the Australians resulted in the signing of a ninety-day

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cease-fire agreement in August 2000. The next step was to conclude a substantive peace settlement between the combatants. Approximately 130 delegates were flown to an Australian military base in Townsville for this purpose. They included militia leaders, representatives from the various provincial authorities, and the members of the national government. They did not include the maverick Guadalcanal militia leader Harold Keke, who refused to be a party to the Townsville talks. Following five days of negotiations under the supervision of Australian and New Zealand officials, the Townsville Peace Agreement (TPA) was signed on October 15, 2000. Under the provisions of the TPA, members of the police who had abandoned their posts to engage in militia activities were eligible to return to the force without fear of sanctions. An Act of Parliament was to provide a general amnesty to militia members for criminal acts committed during the course of the “ethnic crisis,” as well as for any civil liability arising from such acts. In return, militants were to surrender all weapons and ammunition within thirty days of the signing of the agreement under the supervision of an unarmed International Peace Monitoring Team (IPMT). A peace Monitoring Council was also to be established “to monitor, report on, and enforce the terms of the agreement.” Former combatants were to be repatriated to their home villages in Guadalcanal and Malaita and provided with counseling and rehabilitation services. The government was to seek international assistance to help recompense those who had suffered material loss as a result of the conflict. The TPA succeeded in ending the fighting, and its signing was greeted by spontaneous celebrations on the streets of Honiara. In retrospect, however, it failed to provide a sustainable framework for the peace process, and its many shortcomings became evident with the passage of time. Its provisions reflected the views of the militia groups, in particular those of the more powerful and articulate MEF leadership. The voices of the wider Solomon Islands civil society, who had been the most consistent proponents of moderation and peace, were excluded. The provisions of the TPA assumed that the two militias were cohesive and disciplined bodies, capable of fulfilling their obligations under the agreement. In reality, divisions and factions had always existed in both entities based around loyalties to particular leaders, places of origin, language, kinship ties, and so on. The fact that Harold Keke and his followers on the Weather Coast were not parties to the agreement was also to have farreaching consequences. Internal fracturing increased in both militias after the TPA. In the case of the IFM, this degenerated into armed feuds between rival leaders who were often related to each other. Under the terms of the TPA, the disarmament process was to be driven by the former militia groups themselves rather than by an

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independent enforcement body. Weapons in the possession of militants were to be handed over to their commanders and placed under the control of unarmed members of the IPMT at selected sites in Guadalcanal and Malaita. Made up of thirty-five Australians and fourteen New Zealanders, the IPMT had as its principal role to monitor the disarmament process rather than to enforce it. The progressive fragmentation of the militia groups complicated matters by dissolving the chains of command that were necessary to ensure disarmament under the agreement. In the communiqué issued by the organizers of the Civil Society Peace Conference in August 2000, civil society groups had called for any amnesty provisions to be linked to a truth and reconciliation process; the TPA allowed those who had engaged in serious human rights abuses to escape any form of personal accountability. This failure to address issues of justice added greatly to the challenges of restoring the rule of law. It was difficult to promote the authority of law when known criminals had been granted total immunity for the consequences of their actions. Allowing former militants to rejoin the police did little to restore public confidence in the organization. Many retained their illegally acquired weapons and maintained links with the remnants of the militia groups, particularly the MEF. Their presence, especially among senior ranks, intimidated other officers and accentuated the paralysis inside the force. The use of monetary compensation as the main instrument for redressing grievances raised unrealistic expectations on the part of thousands of people affected by the conflict, generated further divisions between claimants, and provided ample opportunities for abuse. One of the most serious weaknesses of the TPA was that it sought to provide a single comprehensive settlement. By contrast, the peace process unfolding in neighboring Bougainville entailed a series of negotiations and agreements spread over a considerable period. The TPA was a static agreement that was not amenable to adjustment as circumstances changed. It was also premised on quite unrealistic assumptions about the capabilities of the profoundly weak and compromised Solomon Islands government to implement its provisions.

THE INSTRUMENTALIZATION OF DISORDER A priority after the signing of the TPA was to disarm and demobilize former militia members. Approximately 500 high-powered weapons, with ammunition, had been seized from police armories by the MEF in the lead-up to the coup. Although they possessed some automatic weapons, the IFM arsenal consisted largely of homemade and rehabilitated World War II weapons. When the thirty-day deadline expired in mid-November 2000, around 800 guns, mainly homemade, had been

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handed in. The deadline was extended several times, but few of the highpowered weapons were surrendered. Disarmament was impeded by lack of an effective enforcement process. Former militia and others also appreciated the strategic value of the gun in an environment where law enforcement had effectively collapsed. On the matter of demobilization, the government agreed to pay repatriation allowances in order to induce former militants to return to their villages of origin. Further payments were provided for accommodation and for the hiring of vehicles and canoes. For some, repatriation schemes became an opportunity for making money. For example, some individuals who had been repatriated to Malaita simply turned around and returned to Honiara to collect further payments. By the end of April 2001, the government had reportedly paid out SBD 40 million to ex-militants (PacNews March 1, 2001). The manner in which these funds were distributed generated further conflict, as did rumors that some individuals and groups were being paid more than others. Another scheme to absorb ex-militants was their appointment as special constables, ostensibly to help restore law and order. Each special constable was placed on the government payroll. Like the repatriation allowances, this scheme was highly susceptible to abuse. By the end of 2001, the number of special constables, mainly Malaitan, had grown to nearly 2,000 and the scheme had become a major drain on scarce government funds. Ill-disciplined special constables with access to illegal weapons became a source of crime and intimidation in many areas. In the post-Townsville period, escalating lawlessness and the deteriorating economic situation become the outstanding concerns, surpassing the original ethnic tensions on which the TPA was premised. Honiara was the hub of growing disorder, involving the activities of former militia members, criminals, corrupt leaders, and assorted opportunists. The line between ex-militants and outright criminals became increasingly blurred. In view of the weakness of government and police, those with guns could act with impunity. Ministers, public servants, and businesspeople complained of daily acts of harassment by ex-militants in respect of compensation demands. Compensation was demanded at the slightest pretext and often amounted to little more than criminal extortion. Although these problems were concentrated in Honiara, the dispersal of guns and former militants was followed by growing crime in many rural areas, particularly in Guadalcanal and Malaita. With little prospect of assistance from international donors, the government negotiated a large commercial loan from a private Taiwanese bank (Sydney Morning Herald April 10, 2001). Shortly after the arrival of the first tranche, the Deputy Prime Minister, Sir Allen Kemakeza, and his permanent secretary were dismissed, following allegations that they had

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allocated themselves payments of SBD 800,000 and 700,000, respectively, for properties allegedly destroyed during the conflict. At the same time, the government was granting generous duty remissions and tax exemptions to selected individuals and businesses. This was a way of rewarding supporters, repaying political debts, and compromising potential critics. It was also a response to intimidation and threats and a way of appeasing the more troublesome former militants. The depth of popular disillusionment with politics and leadership was demonstrated in the December 2001 election results. Only eighteen sitting members of the fifty-seat National Parliament were returned. However, the public had no say in the formation of the new government. Newly elected members engage in a frantic process of horse trading: trading their allegiance to the highest factional bidder. Widespread despair greeted the announcement that Kemakeza was to be the new prime minister, with Snyder Rini—former finance minister in the Sogavare government—as his deputy. A number of former MEF leaders and associates were also appointed as ministers, raising the specter of deepening collusion between the new government and former militia elements. Kemakeza also had close links with former IFM militants, describing himself in a postelection interview as a “friend of militants” (cited in Fraenkel 2004: 139). The stated priorities of the new government were the restoration of law and order and economic recovery. It was destined to fail badly on both counts. At the beginning of 2002 several incidents involving Bougainvillean gunmen were reported in Western Province (Solomon Star February 4, 2002). Bougainvilleans killed two Malaitan special constables in late February. This resulted in retaliatory attacks against Westerners in Honiara. Although there had been indications that Harold Keke was preparing to enter the peace process, reports surfaced in mid-2002 of the massacre of ten Malaitans who had been sent to the Weather Coast to kill or capture the maverick leader of the Guadalcanal Liberation Front (GLF) (Pacific Islands Report July 1, 2002). Keke had become a ruthless and increasingly unpredictable warlord, and his remote Weather Coast territory had become a no-go zone for outsiders, including government and police. In August Keke’s followers murdered Father Augustine Geve, a government minister and member for the South Guadalcanal constituency (PINA Nius Online August 24, 2002). The violence on the Weather Coast was being driven by cycles of revenge and retaliation, with atrocities committed by both the GLF and the so-called joint operation that comprised police and former Guadalcanal militants. In April 2003 six Melanesian Brothers—an indigenous Anglican order that had acquired a reputation as courageous peacemakers—were murdered by the GLF. Kemakeza approached Australia and New Zealand to send police to work alongside Solomon Islands officers. Australia declined.

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By the beginning of 2002, public debt had reached critical levels, with rapidly diminishing foreign reserves and a deficit of SBD 43.8 million recorded for the first six months of the year (Pacific Islands Report August 1, 2002). The World Bank, Asian Development Bank, and International Monetary Fund were unwilling to provide further funds until the government settled outstanding arrears. Teachers, medical staff, airport employees, and other workers resorted to rolling strikes in protest over nonpayment of wages. Amid rumors that the final tranche of the Taiwanese loan to pay compensation had arrived, claimants laid siege to the Treasury offices (SIBC August 5, 2002). A number of ill-conceived fundraising schemes were proposed before being abandoned in the face of strong popular opposition. For example, in April 2002, there were reports that the government was considering selling 80 percent of equity in Solomon Islands Development Bank to an obscure Melbourne-based company (SIBC April 11, 2002). Even more controversial was the proposal to dump toxic waste from Taiwan on the island of Makira (PINA Nius Online February 7, 2002). There were also allegations that a Taiwanese company was selling Solomon Islands passports (Pacific Islands Report May 13, 2002). In early 2003 an organization calling itself the Royal Assembly of Nations and Kingdoms arrived in Honiara, after having been chased out of PNG. Representing themselves as a kind of alternative United Nations, they proposed to lend Solomon Islands government billions of dollars. The Kemakeza government even signed an agreement with this dubious outfit for a $2.6 billion loan. Needless to say, the money never materialized.

REGIONAL ASSISTANCE MISSION TO SOLOMON ISLANDS As noted previously, the Australian government had declined various requests for armed assistance from Solomon Islands governments since 2000. As late as January 2003, Australian Foreign Minister Alexander Downer turned down another request from the beleaguered Kemakeza administration, declaring that “sending in Australian troops to occupy Solomon Islands would be folly in the extreme” (Downer 2003a: 11). However, within six months of this statement, Australia reversed its long-standing policy of nonintervention, and, on July 24, 2003, Prime Minister John Howard launched the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands (RAMSI). The initial aim was to restore law and order in light of Solomon Islands’s “barely functional” criminal justice system and the wholesale collapse of other elements of governance. Although leadership and most of the resources were provided by Australia, the intervention was undertaken on a regional rather than

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bilateral basis, largely to enhance its legitimacy. Following agreement among Pacific Islands foreign ministers, the intervention was mobilized under the auspices of the Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) and, specifically, the Biketawa Declaration on Mutual Assistance of 2000. RAMSI marked the beginning of Australia’s new robust model of regional engagement. Labeled as “co-operative intervention” by the Australian foreign minister (Downer 2003b), RAMSI has been described as having “a unique kind of authority in the world of statebuilding—it has substantial practical influence but works within and inside Solomon Islands Government, which remains the repository of executive, legislative and judicial authority” (Fullilove 2006b: 33). The mission’s design drew on previous Australian and international peacekeeping and postconflict reconstruction experience, such as in Kosovo and, in particular, East Timor, but also added some new features. With around 1,800 regional military initially providing logistical support and security, the intervention was led by the police. Approximately 330 personnel made up the Participating Police Force (PPF); they were drawn mainly from the Australian Federal Police (AFP) but included smaller contingents from Australian state forces, New Zealand, and from Fiji, the Cook Islands, Kiribati, Nauru, PNG, Samoa, Tonga, the Marshall Islands, the Federated States of Micronesia, Palau, Tuvalu, and Vanuatu. The Commencement Phase, covering the first six months, was essentially a peacekeeping and stabilization exercise; it went remarkably well. Security was quickly restored in Honiara, the police presence was extended to other parts of the country, and large numbers of illegally held weapons were taken out of circulation. For example, by the end of a month-long amnesty in August 2003, approximately 3,730 firearms had been surrendered or collected. These included a substantial number of military and commercial weapons, as well as homemade guns, and, according to the UN Small Arms Survey, amounted to an estimated 90 to 95 percent of the country’s stockpile (Nelson 2004). By January 2004, RAMSI and Solomon Islands’s National Peace Council had collected approximately 3,800 weapons. In the first 200 days of the mission, around 860 arrests were made and over 1,400 charges were laid. By the end of the first year, approximately 3,500 arrests had occurred (McDevitt 2004). By the beginning of April 2005, more than 5,000 arrests had been made and more than 7,300 charges laid (Keelty 2005: 4). Key militia leaders were arrested and prosecutions initiated for a range of serious criminal offenses. During the second phase, the Consolidation Phase, the PPF concentrated on cleansing the ranks of the Royal Solomon Islands Police (RSIP) of its militant and criminal elements. By February 2004, more than fifty police officers, including two deputy commissioners, had been arrested

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and charged with 285 offences (Dinnen, McLeod, and Peake 2006: 99). More than 400 officers (approximately 25 percent of the total workforce) were removed from the force. Originally deployed in an executive capacity, the PPF has switched progressively into an advisory and capacitybuilding role, although it remains active in certain operational areas. The third phase, Sustainability and Self-Reliance, commenced in 2005. The police-building component was always intended as a gateway to a more ambitious exercise aimed at reconstructing Solomon Islands state (Peake and Brown 2005). As former RAMSI Special Coordinator James Batley noted, “At its core, RAMSI is a state-building exercise” (Batley 2005). Australia has committed substantial resources, with RAMSI costing taxpayers approximately AUD 200 per annum (Parliamentary Library 2004). The mission currently comprises three main pillars: law and justice, machinery of government, and economic governance. In addition to police personnel, there are seconded Australian public servants and private consultants in key departments and agencies of Solomon Islands government. Overall coordination is exercised by a Special Coordinator’s Office in Honiara, headed by a senior Australian diplomat, and through a high-level interdepartmental committee in Canberra. The speed and peaceful manner with which RAMSI restored law and order and essential services and stabilized government finances has attracted considerable praise (Fullilove 2006a). These early achievements provided a welcome contrast to the generally disappointing results from other international interventions. RAMSI was commended as “a model for future deployments” (Watson 2005: 37). However, serious disturbances in Honiara in April 2006—and the dramatic deterioration in relations between Australia and Solomon Islands that followed—highlighted the premature character of initial appraisals. Even before the April unrest, there had been setbacks. The most serious of these was the fatal shooting of a young Australian Protective Services officer, Adam Dunning, who was on patrol in Honiara in December 2004. The vast majority of Solomon Islanders have been overwhelmingly supportive of the intervention throughout the past four years. Memories of the insecurity and paralysis of government that preceded RAMSI remain fresh, and many fear the consequences of a premature departure. Criticisms have nevertheless been made—many of which are heard in other international interventions. Most have called for adaptation of aspects of the mission rather than its total withdrawal. Although some criticisms have been addressed, others are trickier to deal with. Outright opposition has been confined to a relatively small number of people, such as the ex-militants and the separatists in North

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Malaita who have accused the mission of anti-Malaita bias (PacNews May 10, 2005). The sheer scale of RAMSI in such a small country has predictably given rise to concerns about the dominance of foreign personnel in key government agencies and the risk that Solomon Islands officials might become marginalized. Concerns about Australian dominance, reflect the fact that Australia has provided the bulk of personnel and resources for the mission. Other participating countries have not been in a position to make substantial contributions, owing to shortage of relevant skills in the Pacific Islands’ countries. RAMSI officials have tried to broaden the regional mix of mission personnel within these practical constraints while trying to develop more appropriate training for Australian personnel. Disparities in pay and conditions between foreign and local personnel have been a source of resentment in some quarters, as they have been in other international engagements. The early focus by mission police on the perpetrators of violence during the tensions prompted criticism that RAMSI was less rigorous in its pursuit of more influential figures—the so-called “big fish”— widely suspected of having manipulated the conflict for their own political and economic advantage (Solomon Star July 31, 2005). This sentiment continued well into 2006 and contributed to the frustrations that underlay the April disturbances, despite a series of high profile arrests and prosecutions during the first two years. These included the conviction and imprisonment of a former Minister of Communication in February 2004 for, among other things, demanding money with menace; the arrest of the former Foreign Minister in September 2004 on a charge of demanding money with menace; the arrest of the Minister for Provincial Government and Constituency Development on corruption-related charges in January 2005; the arrest for theft of the Minister for Police, National Security, and Justice in February 2005; the arrest of two prominent lawyers, including the former MEF spokesperson, in February 2005 in relation to the misappropriation of compensation funds; and the arrest in April 2005 of the former Finance Minister on corruption charges. As in other cases in which external interveners have to work closely with unpopular domestic governments, a major challenge for RAMSI has been trying to balance the need for political stability on one hand and the appearance of impartial law enforcement on the other. This was particularly so during the Kemakeza administration, given that many of its members, including the Prime Minister himself, were widely believed to have been involved in corruption and tension-related wrongdoing. Had all allegations been acted on, there would have been few leaders left to run the government. Interventions like RAMSI run the unavoidable risk

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of becoming tainted in the public eye through their association with discredited governments and leaders. Although popularly viewed as a unitary entity, RAMSI is a multifaceted exercise, comprising many agencies and actors. It is also a dynamic mission that has undergone various phases, ranging from initial peacekeeping and stabilization to longer-term capacity development, with a broad array of local institutions and stakeholders. Its complexity and evolving character are often difficult to discern, let alone fathom, by those outside its innermost circles. In the absence of a well-understood mandate, it is easy for misunderstandings to arise. The mission is also susceptible to deliberate misrepresentation by opponents. Officials regularly point out that certain issues fall beyond the mission’s mandate and can only be addressed by local stakeholders. These include the sensitive matter of reconciliation in conflict-affected areas, which, according to mission officials, is the responsibility of community leaders with the necessary local knowledge and standing. The substantial resources available to the mission—especially compared to those of Solomon Islands government—have heightened local expectations about its ability to tackle all manner of still-outstanding problems. High popular expectations have also contributed to feelings among some critics that RAMSI has failed to go beyond the symptoms of conflict to the deeper sources of stress that have undermined the political and social fabric of Solomon Islands in recent decades. These are often referred to cumulatively as the “root causes” of the conflict; although they include the “ethnic” tensions between Guadalcanal and Malaita, they cover a myriad of other factors. They include the poor policies of successive governments, corruption, regional disparities in resources and income, the poor fit between indigenous and introduced institutions, land exploitation, unresolved historical grievances, long-standing dissatisfaction with the centralization of political power in Honiara, and neglect of the island provinces and rural areas where most Solomon Islanders live (Morgan and McLeod 2006: 416). Many of these concerns were echoed in the findings of a review of the mission in 2005 undertaken by an Eminent Persons Group (EPG) from the Pacific Islands Forum (PIF). Acknowledging RAMSI’s considerable achievements, the review also made a number of recommendations concerning its future operation. These included the need to adopt a more development-oriented approach with Solomon Islands government as an equal partner; increasing Pacific Islands representation in the mission’s policing and civilian components; developing a clearer strategy on using local counterparts; addressing the underlying causes of the conflict; making greater efforts in the areas of reconciliation and rehabilitation; using local chiefs in conflict resolution; improving consultation between

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central and provincial governments, as well as with nongovernmental organizations; and implementing more effective donor coordination. RAMSI officials have subsequently gone to great lengths to address most of these recommendations.

APRIL 2006 UNREST Snyder Rini was declared prime minister-elect April 18, 2006, following the first elections to be held since the mission deployed. His naming was greeted with dismay by the crowd assembled outside the National Parliament. What followed was, in part, a reflection of the deep-seated frustration, felt by many Solomon Islanders, with the workings of the formal political process. Popular expectations of a decisive break with discredited politics and leaders were particularly high in the post-RAMSI period. Two days of rioting and looting injured around fifty police personnel and unknown numbers of civilians, as well as causing extensive damage to Chinatown, Honiara’s main commercial center (Hawes 2006). Prime ministers in Solomon Islands are elected by members of the new Parliament in what is, in effect, a second election from which the ordinary voter is excluded. Successful candidates do not require a commanding majority or, indeed, any support. Financial and other inducements provided by Asian business interests are believed to have fuelled the formation of new governments in recent years. Given its patently nontransparent and unpredictable character, this process invariably generates intense levels of popular speculation and rumor. The election of Snyder Rini—who was widely discredited in the eyes of many—came as a shock to voters and was also taken as evidence of the hidden hand of Asianbacked “money politics”—hence the targeting of Chinatown. Solomon Islands police and their international mentors in the PPF were caught off-guard by the scale and intensity of the disturbances. Public order was restored only after military and police reinforcements were flown in from Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji. Several former senior Solomon Islands officers contested claims by the Australian commissioner that there had been no prior intelligence indicating trouble, pointing out that the announcement of a new prime minister should routinely merit special policing measures and that Chinatown was especially vulnerable in the case of unrest in the capital (Wheatley May 24, 2006; Short May 22, 2006). The speaker criticized mission police for exacerbating the situation by using tear gas outside Parliament (ABC Radio Australia April 19, 2006). The immediate political crisis following Rini’s election receded after he failed to secure the numbers needed to survive a proposed vote of no confidence and resigned. He was replaced by Manasseh Sogavare, who

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had shifted to the opposition camp on the eve of the vote in return for an agreement to nominate him as prime minister. Sogavare was viewed by many Solomon Islanders as the lesser of two evils. However, his assumption of power for the second time was a source of disquiet among RAMSI officials and the Australian government. The new prime minister was well known for his critical stance toward the regional mission. He was one of the only political leaders to speak against the regional mission during the debates in Solomon Islands’ Parliament that preceded its deployment. He warned then that such a mission might lead to “recolonization” (Sydney Morning Herald July 10, 2003). Despite hailing from Choiseul in Western Province, Sogavare was seen as being closer to the Malaitan side of the tensions, and he appeared to share the antipathy toward RAMSI held by many former Malaitan militants (Allen 2006). Conversely, many Guadalcanal people viewed him with suspicion. Shortly after being sworn in, Sogavare called for a review of the mission, a clear exit strategy, and increased participation of Solomon Islanders in critical decision making (ABC Radio Australia May 5, 2006). However, his most controversial act was to announce the appointment to cabinet of two new parliamentarians who had been detained by the police on suspicion of having instigated the April disturbances. Charles Dausabea was given the sensitive portfolio of Police and National Security; his fellow accused, Nelson Ne’e, was appointed Minister for Tourism and Culture (Canberra Times May 8, 2006). Australian Foreign Minister Downer expressed his government’s “deep concern,” providing the opening salvo in the increasingly acrimonious exchanges between the two leaders in the months ahead (ABC Radio Australia May 6, 2006). Having been deployed at the request of Solomon Islands government, RAMSI depends on the consent and cooperation of whatever government is in power. This leaves it especially vulnerable to shifting local political allegiances (Wainwright 2005: 5). Events since April 2006 have demonstrated the extent of this vulnerability. Cloaking himself in the mantle of defender of Solomon Islands’s sovereignty, Prime Minister Sogavare has adopted an openly combative approach, advocating greater local control over the mission and the reduction of Australian dominance. Sogavare’s rhetoric may have struck a chord with those who felt threatened or otherwise marginalized by RAMSI’s dominant presence in most sectors of government. However, it also caused alarm among many of his fellow citizens about the practical consequences of a diminished mission or premature withdrawal. For his critics, Sogavare’s assertions of sovereignty concealed a less benign personal agenda, aimed at undermining RAMSI’s efforts to strengthen the rule of law and the accountability of state institutions that had been eroded after years of corrupt and incompetent leadership.

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The Sogavare’s proposal to revise aspects of the mission, including areas of financial management, met with vigorous opposition from Australia, New Zealand, and others—who saw it as an attempt to regain unfettered control over public funds and, as such, a recipe for institutionalized corruption. Downer argued that the mission was an integrated package that could not be “cherry picked” (Radio Australia May 22, 2006). Relations deteriorated further after Sogavare announced the setting up of a Commission of Inquiry into the April disturbances. The terms of reference included directions to evaluate the police response; investigate the role of any members of Parliament; and, most controversially, to examine the circumstances surrounding the detention of the two members of Parliament—who had been charged with inciting the riots—in order to establish whether this “was reasonably justified and not politically motivated” (Solomon Islands Government July 13, 2006). Although the latter term was dropped, it was viewed by many as a crude attempt to undermine the pending case against Sogavare’s two political allies and to divert attention on to the police response to the riots. Concerns were also expressed by New Zealand and by the European Union. Bilateral relations hit a new low in early September, when the Australian High Commissioner, Patrick Cole, was declared persona non grata by Solomon Islands government for allegedly interfering in local politics. The gist of the allegations was that Cole had been talking with the Parliamentary Opposition—presumably encouraging it to mount a vote of no confidence—and had been trying to block funding for the inquiry. Downer condemned the diplomat’s de facto expulsion as “outrageous” (Radio New Zealand International September 12, 2006) and retaliated by imposing visa restrictions on Solomon Islands politicians seeking entry to Australia (International Herald Tribune September 13, 2006). Sogavare responded by accusing Canberra of meddling in Solomon Islands politics. The next, and most bizarre, twist came when it was announced that the prime minister was considering replacing the incumbent attorney general with a controversial Australian lawyer, Julian Moti. Moti had been an associate of Sogavare’s for many years and was believed to have had a hand in drafting the terms of reference for the inquiry. He had also faced child sex charges in Vanuatu ten years previously. According to media reports, Moti was committed to stand trial in Vanuatu’s Supreme Court in 1998. However, the case was dismissed on technical grounds by the Court of Appeal before proceeding to trial. Returned to be heard before another magistrate, the case was again dismissed amid rumors that Moti had paid off the magistrate. Following his linking with the attorney general’s position in Solomon Islands, it emerged that he was wanted for

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questioning by the Australian Federal Police regarding his earlier activities in Vanuatu. Moti was subsequently apprehended in transit in PNG at the request of Australian authorities seeking his extradition (ABC News Online September 30 2006). After failing to turn up to his scheduled court hearing, Moti was granted refuge at Solomon Islands High Commission in Port Moresby, sparking further angry exchanges between Honiara and Canberra. The bilateral dispute now drew in PNG authorities and, in particular, Prime Minister Sir Michael Somare, a veteran of many acrimonious exchanges with his larger southern neighbor, such as the diplomatic stoush between PNG and Australia following the so-called “shoe incident” at Brisbane airport in March 2005. Airport security officials insisted that Sir Michael remove his shoes as part of a routine security check. As a consequence, there were public demonstrations in several PNG towns. Somare has been an open critic of Australia’s new interventionism and had taken great offense at the labeling of PNG as a “weak” or “failing” state. Somare accused Australia of bungling the extradition and causing diplomatic embarrassment to PNG. Moti was then secretly flown to Solomon Islands in a PNG Defense Force aircraft, where he was arrested. Australian officials expressed outrage at Moti’s “escape” from PNG— directed in equal measure at the governments of Solomon Islands and PNG, who appear to have acted together on this matter. The collaboration between the two governments was later confirmed in the leaked report from the PNG Defense Board of Inquiry. Alexander Downer subsequently announced a ban on ministerial visits from PNG to Australia. Although Moti was suspended as attorney general, Sogavare threatened to end Australia’s role in the regional mission if the threatened extradition proceeded. Police investigations into how Moti got back into the country, apparently without a passport, led to the arrest of the minister for immigration. Solomon Islands government responded by threatening to withhold the salary of the Australian commissioner. Shortly after Sogavare left to attend a PIF meeting in Fiji, police raided the prime minister’s office in relation to the same investigation, prompting angry protests from leaders in Solomon Islands, PNG, and Vanuatu. However, attempts to rally PIF support to Sogavare’s side in the standoff with Australia failed and served to highlight differences between the Melanesian and non-Melanesian member states. As 2006 drew to a close, the Sogavare government again upped the stakes, by abruptly declaring the Australian-born Police Commissioner, Shane Castles, an “undesirable immigrant” while he was on leave in Australia. This prevented Castles, who had twenty months of his contract still to run, from returning to Solomon Islands to resume his duties.

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Foreign Minister Patteson Oti stated that Castles’s continued presence was considered prejudicial to the peace, defense, public safety, public order, public morality, security, and good government of Solomon Islands (Solomon Star January 3, 2007). The sacking of Castles was immediately condemned by the Australian government and by the Solomon Islands opposition. Castles told journalists that he believed his dismissal was related to police corruption investigations and to the ongoing Moti affair (Post-Courier January 11, 2007). Further acrimony ensued after it was revealed that Sogavare was planning to re-arm members of the police unit that were assigned to guard him. Outright opposition to any re-arming of Solomon Islands police was voiced by Australian and RAMSI leaders, as well as by the opposition and civil society groups in Solomon Islands. In a remarkable departure from normal protocol, an exasperated Alexander Downer sought to go around the government and appeal directly to Solomon Islanders in a letter published in the Solomon Star in early February 2007, in which he listed and berated various alleged attempts by Sogavare to undermine the regional mission and appealed to Solomon Islanders “to go out of your way to encourage your leaders to listen to you, their people, and make wise decisions for the future of your country” (Solomon Star February 12, 2007). In a subsequent interview, Downer claimed that Solomon Islands prime minister wanted “to get rid of RAMSI and to go back to the situation where the country was basically run by the Malaita Eagle Force and people like that” (Radio Australia February 12, 2007). The protracted struggle over the control of the regional assistance mission showed no signs of abating as RAMSI marked its fourth anniversary in July 2007. Despite the mounting difficulties faced by the mission in the wake of the April 2006 disturbances, it would be as premature to predict its impending failure now as it was to proclaim its success following its early accomplishments. The impact of the intervention will ultimately be measured by what it leaves behind. As well as setbacks, there have been areas of success that have been largely overshadowed by the disturbances and deterioration in bilateral relations. These have included changes to the taxation system, which have seen Solomon Islands’s government revenue increasing by 170 percent in RAMSI’s first three years, and other reforms that have contributed to growth in the economy and employment opportunities for Solomon Islanders (The Australian June 15, 2007). While falling well short of levels required by the fast growing population, these areas of success nevertheless represent a significant achievement, given the disastrous economic situation that existed in mid-2003. Likewise, beneath the high-level jousting between political leaders in Honiara and Canberra, relations between many RAMSI personnel and their Solomon Islander counterparts are very effective. Moreover,

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retaining overwhelming popular support four years after deployment is unusual among contemporary state-building intervention and remains the mission’s principal strength. The earlier ethnic tensions were symptoms of the complex challenges of development facing this young and fragmented country as it undergoes rapid processes of social and economic change. The difficulties experienced by the regional mission indicate the inherent limitations of external statebuilding interventions and the resistance that they are likely to meet from political and other elites who have been the principal beneficiaries of unreformed and increasingly dysfunctional systems of governance inherited from colonial times. RAMSI’s current dilemma is that the reforms it seeks to implement demand robust political responses, but the character of its legal foundations—“cooperative intervention”—severely constrains the extent to which it can engage politically with a resistant government in Honiara. The imperative of cooperation limits the mission’s ability to push for deeper political reforms while simultaneously making it more susceptible to entanglement in local politics, as illustrated in the Moti affair Tensions between the obligations of kinship and public service and the prevailing localism of national politics are illustrations of how the precolonial and colonial pasts continue to infuse the challenges of Solomon Islands’s postcolonial present. Rather than nurturing shared community, the raw processes and practices of politics in the postindependence period have accentuated localism and divisions within the archipelago. An important message for the interveners is the need for a much stronger appreciation of the importance of nation-building—in the literal sense of building a common political community—and the need for a significant broadening of the narrow, technical, state-building perspective. In part a consequence of its mandate, RAMSI’s state-building efforts have not been sufficiently embedded in the larger and critical project of nationmaking, leaving it with little scope to address the deeper causes of the recent crisis.

Select Bibliography ABC News Online, “Solomons’ AG Faces Extradition to Australia, Downer Says” (September 30, 2006). (http://dsl.optus.net.com.au/news/story/abc/ 20060930/09/domestic/1752566.inp) ABC Radio Australia, “Speaker Critical of RAMSI Response to Crisis,” Pacific Beat (April 19, 2006). (http://www.abc.net.au/ra/pacbeat/stories/s1618650. htm) ABC Radio Australia, “Solomon Islands: New PM Says RAMSI’s Operations Will Be Reviewed,” Pacific Beat (May 5, 2006). (http://www.abc.net.au/ra/ pacbeat/stories/s1631306.htm)

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ABC Radio Australia, “Downer Condemns Solomon Cabinet Decision” (May 6, 2006). (http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200605/s1632243.htm) ABC Radio Australia, “Australia Fears Sogavare Wants to ‘Cherry Pick’ RAMSI,” Pacific Beat (May 22, 2006) (http://www.abc.net.au/pacbeat/ stories/s1644352.htm) ABC Radio Australia, “Appeal for RAMSI to Be Saved,” Pacific Beat (February 12, 2007). (http://www.abc.net.au/ra/pacbeat/stories/s1845775.htm) Akin, D., “Compensation and the Melanesian State: Why the Kwaio Keep Claiming,” The Contemporary Pacific, Vol. 2, No. 1 (1999: 35–67). Allen, M. G., “Dissenting Voices: Local Perspectives on the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands,” Pacific Economic Bulletin, Vol. 21, No. 2 (2006: 194–201). Batley, J., “The Role of RAMSI in Solomon Islands: Rebuilding the State, Supporting Peace,” Paper delivered by the RAMSI Special Coordinator at the Peace, Justice, and Reconciliation Conference, Brisbane, March 31–April 3, 2005. Bennett, J., Wealth of the Solomons: A History of a Pacific Archipelago 1800–1978 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1987). Bennett, J., Pacific Forest: A History of Resource Control and Contest in Solomon Islands, c. 1800–1997 (Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 2000). Bennett, J., “Roots of Conflict in Solomon Islands. Though Much Is Taken Much Abides: Legacies of Tradition and Colonialism,” Canberra, Australian National University, State Society and Governance in Melanesia Project, Discussion Paper 2002/5 (2002: 1–16). (http://rspas.anu.edu.au/melanesia) “Concern over razor wire around Government offices,” SIBC August 5, 2002 Dauvergne, P., “Corporate Power in the Forests of the Solomon Islands,” Pacific Affairs, Vol. 71, No. 4 (Winter 1998/9: 524–546). Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT), Solomon Islands, estimated population in 2008 as posted on the Web site of the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (February 18, 2008). (http://www.dfat.gov.au/geo/ solomon_islands/solomon_islands_brief.html) “Development Bank concern over proposed asset sale,” SIBC April 11 2002 Dinnen, S., “Winners and Losers: Politics and Disorder in Solomon Islands 2000–2002,” Journal of Pacific History, Vol. 37, No. 3 (2002: 285–298). Dinnen, S., A. McLeod, and G. Peake, “Police-Building in Weak States: Australian Approaches in Papua New Guinea and Solomon Islands,” Civil Wars, Vol. 8, No. 2 (2006: 87–108). Downer, A., “Neighbours Cannot be Recolonised,” The Australian (January 8, 2003a). Downer, A., “Our Failing Neighbour: Australia and the Future of the Solomon Islands,” Speech at the launch of the Australian Strategic Policy Institute Report, Sydney, June 10, 2003b. (http://www.foreignminister.gov.au/ speeches/2003/030610_solomonislands.html) Fraenkel, J., The Manipulation of Custom—From Uprising to Intervention in the Solomon Islands (Wellington, New Zealand: Victoria University Press, 2004).

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Fullilove, M., “The Testament of Solomons: RAMSI and International StateBuilding,” Sydney, Lowy Institute for International Policy, Analysis (March 2006a: 1–32). “Government complains to PNG about shooting incident,” Solomon Star February 4, 2002 “Government probes $m pay-out to former militants,” PacNews March 1, 2001. Hawes, R., “Rocks and Renewal—A New Phase for the Solomon Islands,” Platypus Magazine, Edition 91 (2006: 3–6). http://archives.pireport.org/archive/2002/july/07%2D01%2D02.htm (accessed February 8, 2008) International Herald Tribune, Asia-Pacific. “Australia suspending favourable visa treatment for Solomon Islands politicians” (September 13, 2006). (http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2006/09/13/asia/AS_GEN_Australia_ Solomon_Islands.php) Jourdan, C., “Master Liu” in Vered Amit-Talai and Helena Wulff, eds. Youth Cultures—A Cross-Cultural Perspective (London: Routledge, 1995). Kabutaulaka, T., “Beyond Ethnicity: The Political Economy of the Guadalcanal Crisis in Solomon Islands,” Canberra, Australian National University, State Society and Governance in Melanesia Project, Working Paper 01/1 (2001: 1–20). (http://rspas.anu.edu.au/melanesia) Keelty, M., “Challenges to Peace and Justice in the Asia-Pacific Region and the Role of the AFP in Peacekeeping and Responding to These Challenges,” address to the Australian Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Queensland (April 1, 2005: 1–8). McDevitt, B., One Year Anniversary Press Conference, Office of the Special Coordinator in Honiara (July 22, 2004). Moore, C., Happy Isles in Crisis—The Historical Causes for a Failing State in Solomon Islands, 1998–2004 (Canberra: Asia Pacific Press, 2004). Morgan, M. G., “Cultures of Dominance: Institutional and Cultural Influences on Parliamentary Politics in Melanesia,” Canberra, Australian National University, State Society and Governance in Melanesia Project, Discussion Paper 2005/2 (2005: 1–18). (http://rspas.anu.edu.au/melanesia) Morgan, M. G., and A. McLeod, “Have We Failed Our Neighbour?” Australian Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 60, No. 3 (2006: 412–428). Nelson, C., An Evaluation of Weapons Free Villages in the Solomon Islands (Geneva: Report Commissioned by the UN Small Arms Survey, 2004). “New killing in Solomons as minister’s death confirmed,” PINA Nius Online 24 August 2002 Parliamentary Library, “The Changing Focus of Australia’s Aid Program: Budget 2004–5,” Department of Parliamentary Services, Research Note No. 59 (May 31, 2004). “Passports are being sold: Solomon Islands Ambassador to Taiwan,” Pacific Islands Report May 13 2002 Peake, G., and K. Brown, “Policebuilding: the International Deployment Group in the Solomon Islands,” International Peacekeeping, Vol. 12, No. 4 (2005: 520–532).

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Post-Courier. “Castle (sic) to Fight Case” (January 11, 2007). Radio New Zealand International, “Australian Diplomat Expelled from Solomon Islands” (September 12, 2006). (http://www.rnzi.com/pages/news. php?op=read&id=26756) “Rebels demand PM steps down,” PacNews May 10, 2005. Short, F., “Honiara Riot Warrants Formal Inquiry,” Pacific Islands Report (May 22, 2006). (http://archives.pireport.org/archive/2006/May/05-24-com.htm) Solomon Islands Government, “Establishment of Commission of Inquiry into April Civil Unrest,” Press Release from Solomon Islands Government (July 13, 2006). “Solomon Islands government deficit SBD$44 million in six months,” Pacific Islands Report August 1 2002 “Solomon Islands PM Sir Allan urged by MP Sasako to come clean on Weather Coast Killings,” Pacific Islands Report July 1, 2002. “Solomons PM stands by jailed ministers,” Canberra Times May 8, 2006, p. 3. Solomon Star, “RAMSI, the ‘Big Fish’ and Solomon Islands Sovereignty” (July 31, 2005). Solomon Star, “I’m Still the Boss: Castles” (January 3, 2007). Solomon Star, “A Letter to the People of Solomon Islands from the Hon. Alexander Downer Minister for Foreign Affairs, Australia” (February 12, 2007). Steeves, J. S., “Unbounded Politics in the Solomon Islands: Leadership and Party Alignments. Pacific Studies, Vol. 19, No. 1 (March 1996: 115–138). Sydney Morning Herald. “Ex-Solomons PM Fears Colonisation” (July 10, 2003). (http://www.smh.com.au/text/articles/2003/07/09/1057430278743.htm) The Australian. “Careful Planning Puts Archipelago in the Sun” (June 15, 2007). (http://ww.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,21906994-758) Turnbull, J. “Solomon Islands: Blending Traditional Power and Modern Structures in the State,” Public Administration and Development Vol. 22 (2002: 191–201). Wainwright, E., 2005, How is RAMSI Faring? Progress, Challenges and Lessons Learned, Australian Strategic Policy Institute, Vol. 14 (Canberra, April 2005: 1–11). Watson, J., “A Model Pacific Solution? A Study of the Deployment of the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands,” Department of Defence, Land Warfare Studies Centre, Working Paper No. 126 (Canberra, October 2005). Wheatley, M., “RAMSI Tuesday Wasn’t to Do with Intelligence Failure,” New Matilda (May 24, 2006). (http://www.newmatilda.com) “Worries of Taiwanese waste dumping in Solomons,” PINA Nius Online February 7 2002 Wurm, S. A., and S. Hattori, eds. Language Atlas of the Pacific Area (Canberra: Australian Academy of the Humanities, 1981).

CHAPTER 11

Sri Lanka Damien Kingsbury

Sri Lanka has seen one of the world’s longest-running, bloodiest separatist conflicts, between the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE, better known as the Tamil Tigers) and the government of Sri Lanka. The conflict has been over attempts by the LTTE to create a separate state in the north and east of Sri Lanka, in response to what many Tamils regard as majority ethnic Sinhalese discrimination and oppression. The Sri Lanka conflict has been characterized by four rounds of conflict since the early 1980s, with a resumption of hostilities occurring in 2006. Despite various attempts, past talks aimed at ending the conflict have collapsed around intractable issues of forms of political devolution or separation. At the time of writing, the situation appeared no closer to resolution, despite almost four years of relative peace up to 2006. In particular, the use of gross human rights abuses by government forces as a means of tackling the separatist issue, often in response to the LTTE’s use of terrorist tactics, has only served to drive most Tamils firmly into the arms of the LTTE and to deepen and widen the gulf that divides Tamil and Sinhalese communities. As with many conflicts, particularly those reflecting separatist claims, the Sri Lanka conflict draws its origins from the process of decolonization by the United Kingdom and the common postcolonial problem of disparate peoples left to share a common state.

Sri Lanka after Independence In recognition of the process of decolonization that was then beginning to sweep the world, the United Kingdom acceded to united local pressure and granted Ceylon (later to become Sri Lanka) its

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independence on February 4, 1948. The United Kingdom established the independent Ceylon as a unitary state, choosing not to create the new state as a federation and, in doing so, ignoring the continuing influence of its separate ethnic identities, which it had otherwise recorded (Wickramasinghe 1995). In a case of colonial divide-and-rule policy, the United Kingdom had favored Ceylon’s minority Tamil population. But independence within a unitary state meant that, with the rise of the politics of ethnicity, ethnic Tamils would quickly lose out to the demographically dominant Sinhalese. Without the deep establishment of a civic national identity, the stage was set for almost inevitable conflict.

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Sri Lanka has one large majority—Sinhalese (70 percent)—and two significant minorities, one Muslim (7 percent) and the other Tamil (15 percent) (Gunasingham 2005: 12–32). Within the Sinhalese majority, there was a tendency toward a national chauvinism (De Votta 2004), underpinned by the dominant religion of Buddhism, which occupies the state’s “foremost place.” Although some Buddhist clergy and leaders have worked for peace, others from the monastic order have been religiously assertive and, in some cases, combative. In their view, the country of Sri Lanka is a global repository of Buddhist values and, hence, must be maintained as wholly Buddhist. Within this worldview, Hindu Tamils and Muslims (also mostly Tamil) are an unwanted intrusion and should preferably convert to Buddhism or otherwise subsume their sense of difference. Ceylon initially used English as its administrative language, but, following the rise of Sinhalese nationalism, English was abandoned in 1956 as the national language in favor of Sinhalese. This move immediately marginalized Ceylon’s minority Tamil, Muslim, and Burgher populations, limiting educational and government employment opportunities, in which Tamils in particular had been prominent. Furthermore, a quota system was introduced to increase the number of Sinhalese attending university, which significantly alienated many Tamils and led many Tamil youth to adopt radical positions. Ethnic monopolization of political power and, increasingly, economic power added to this growing resentment and to the beginning of calls for an autonomous Tamil region in the traditionally Tamil-dominated north and east of the country. In 1972, Ceylon’s name was formally changed to Sri Lanka.

TAMIL SEPARATISM In 1972 several Tamil groups came together as the Tamil United Front, campaigning for linguistic, ethnic, and religious equality. In response to the government of Sri Lanka’s (GoSL) refusals to meet its demands, the Tamil United Front reorganized in 1976 as the Tamil United Liberation Front, contesting the 1977 elections on a platform of independence for the Tamil state of Eelam in the north and east of the country. At the same time, more than forty radical Tamil organizations formed in order to press for armed struggle against the GoSL—from which five became prominent, the Tamil New Tigers quickly taking a lead in militancy that quickly devolved into a series of attacks reasonably described as “terrorism.” In 1976, the TNT’s leader, Chetti Thanabalasingham, was arrested; his place was taken by Velupillai Prabhakaran, who renamed the Tamil New Tigers as the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE).

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LTTE attacks escalated and, in 1983, led to an anti-Tamil Sinhalese riot in which it is believed that as many as 3,000 Tamils were killed. The anti-Tamil riots swelled the ranks of the LTTE and—along with covert training from India and later consolidation of militant Tamil groups (Swamy 2006)—led to the formation of a highly developed military organization. The LTTE was established as a socialist revolutionary organization. It has retained a strong sense of formal hierarchy in response to its war footing, according to an interview conducted by the author with the Head of the LTTE Peace Secretariat in Kilinochche in May 2006. Since 2002 in particular, the LTTE has tended toward state socialism, although blended with a high proportion of small business activity and, in principle, an acceptance of free-market capitalism (Stokke 2005).

The First Eelam War What is now referred to as Eelam War I is regarded as having run from 1983 until 1987, with a break in 1985 to allow peace talks in Thimpu, Bhutan. By 1987 the Sri Lanka Army (SLA) had cornered the LTTE in Jaffna Peninsula and was preparing for a final assault. However, under pressure from its own ethnic Tamil population, the Indian government called for a halt to the offensive, and, in the face of rejection by the GoSL, Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi attempted to send supply boats to relieve the LTTE. These were blocked by the Sri Lanka Navy, so India supplied the LTTE with an airdrop, in what was known as Operation Poomalai (or Operation Garland). Following this intervention, Sri Lanka president J. R. Jayewardene entered into talks with the government of India, which led, two months later, to the signing of the Indo–Sri Lankan Accord, the lifting of the siege of Jaffna, and an agreement to send an Indian Peacekeeping Force (IPKF) to the island, bringing to a conclusion the first stage of the conflict. Despite the ostensible peacekeeping role of the IPKF, fighting quickly broke out between the LTTE and the IPKF (with the LTTE being supported in part by the anti-Indian GoSL). The Indian Army was unable to control the military environment and became a participant in the conflict rather than helping to end it, so the Indian government ordered its withdrawal in 1990.

The Second Eelam War Following the withdrawal of the IPKF and the failure of peace talks between the GoSL and the LTTE in 1990, almost 600 Tamil and Muslim police who were ordered to surrender to the LTTE were massacred, initiating the second phase of the conflict, known as Eelam War II. The

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following year, in 1991, an LTTE suicide bomber assassinated the former Indian prime minister, Rajiv Gandhi, presumably for terminating Indian support to the LTTE. The assassination of Gandhi effectively ended sympathy for the LTTE in India, including among India’s 80 million-strong ethnic Tamil community. In 1993 an LTTE suicide bomber assassinated Sri Lankan president Ranasinghe Premadasa at a political rally.

The Third Eelam War Following a three-month cease-fire, Eelam War III began in April 1995 and quickly led to a number of major clashes. After seven weeks of heavy fighting and the use of air attacks that led to high numbers of civilian casualties and the deaths of about 2,500 SLA and LTTE troops, the SLA retook the Jaffna Peninsula after a decade of LTTE control. However, despite this significant victory, the SLA also faced setbacks, with the LTTE using suicide bombers to overrun the SLA base at Mullaitivu in July 1996, consolidating its position in the north of the country and establishing strong bases in the east. The LTTE has been credited with inventing suicide bombing as a means of specific targeting, and the group often engaged in attacks well outside its principal geographic area of concern, notably in Colombo. Its attacks were so successful that Colombo’s business district was effectively shut down in 1996. LTTE’s general justification was that such attacks were a legitimate response to government attacks within its claimed homeland and that it could not afford to limit its operational capacity by concerns about how it was externally viewed. In August 1996 the SLA retook Kilinochche from the LTTE. But, in February 1998, the LTTE attacked and overran what had become the SLA’s heavily fortified Kilinochche base. In March 1999 the SLA attacked the LTTE in the Vanni area around Kilinochche from the south, making limited gains, but that November the LTTE counterattacked and retook the lost regions. In 2000 the LTTE pressed its growing advantage in the north, capturing the SLA’s twin major bases of Iyakachchi and Elephant Pass; the latter has since remained in LTTE hands. Although the LTTE used commandos to overrun Iyakichchi, rather than using suicide bombers or commandos in the case of Elephant Pass, the LTTE employed heavy artillery, forcing the SLA’s retreat. The SLA’s loss of the Elephant Pass base was a significant and strategic blow, because it controlled access to the Jaffna Peninsula and gave the LTTE a forward northern defense line to protect its new capital at Kilinochche in attack from the north. However, an LTTE attempt to press its advantage by moving on Jaffna was blocked by the SLA. An SLA attempt to take back the Elephant Pass base in April 2000 was repulsed by the LTTE.

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By 2000 an estimated 64,000 people, mostly civilians, were killed in the conflict.

Cease-fire Agreement After elections had resulted in victory for the United National Front under Ranil Wickremasinghe, who had campaigned on a pro-peace platform, and after a strategic stalemate and a practical end to hostilities, the LTTE and GoSL signed a Norwegian-brokered cease-fire agreement (CFA) on February 22, 2002, introducing the Norwegian-led Sri Lanka Monitoring Mission (SLMM). The CFA allowed the combatant forces to withdraw to their respective zones behind technical control lines, which quickly morphed into “borders” complete with immigration checks, visas, customs, and tax, as observed as recently as May 2006 at the northern Vanni technical control line (see Stokke 2005, Gopalakrishnan 2006). The CFA also saw the opening of the A9 Highway through the LTTEcontrolled area to Jaffna in the north and the lifting of an embargo on goods to the LTTE-controlled Vanni. In March 2004 the LTTE split, with its eastern commander, Colonel Karuna (V. Muralitheran) taking more than 5,000 LTTE troops under his command and forming the Tamileela Peoples’ Liberation Tigers (TMVP), better known as the “Karuna Group.” The precise reasons for the split are unclear, but the LTTE claims that Karuna was wanted in Kilinochche to answer questions about financial irregularities, which almost certainly meant going to his death. On Karuna’s part, he claimed that the northern LTTE was economically exploiting the culturally differentiated eastern branch without giving it due recognition for its successes. The LTTE attacked the Karuna Group just south of Trincomalee on April 2004 and effectively disbanded it, with remnants and more recent recruits seeking the protection of the SLA and effectively working as its key militia. Although the CFA held formally between 2002 and 2006, it was undermined by both sides almost from the beginning. The LTTE used the period of relative peace to open “political offices” in non-LTTEcontrolled Tamil areas to raise funds and control dissent, to recruit new fighters (including those underage), and to stockpile weapons. Notably, the LTTE was widely held responsible for the assassination of Sri Lanka foreign minister Lakshman Kadirgmar on August 12, 2005. Similarly, the government or front groups engaged in extrajudicial killings of public Tamil figures and political activists and also stockpiled weapons. The CFA held until early 2006, when it began to fray—in particular, after the abduction and murder of Tamil civilians, initiating escalating LTTE responses. The A9 Highway that runs through Kilinochche between Jaffna and Kandy (and then to Colombo), which had been

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closed between 1994 and 2002, was again closed in August 2006 in a bid to limit supplies to the LTTE and to stop it from collecting “taxes” from vehicles passing through. But the closing of the road, which had been regarded by many as a symbol of the renewed peace, also cut off Jaffna from supplies and led to significant hardship among civilians in Jaffna. The road was reopened the following October. By July 2006, after full-scale government attacks in both the north and east, the CFA existed only on paper. What was commonly becoming referred to as Eelam War IV had begun. Although a number of factors led to the return to conflict, two were particularly important. The first was that the 2004 tsunami, which had a serious impact on Sri Lanka, with some 30,000 being killed, did not draw in foreigners relative to local population to the extent of other affected regions, nor did it act as a catalyst for a negotiated peace (as opposed to the situation in Aceh, Indonesia). Rather, the tsunami and the aid flows associated with its relief acted to entrench further the divisions within the state, especially over the allocation and control of the flow of aid. Disputes over the allocation and control of aid funds fed into increasing antagonism on the part of the LTTE and led it to impose a boycott, in areas that it controlled, of the 2005 presidential elections. This boycott assisted in the defeat of the pro-peace candidate, Ranil Wickramasinghe, and the election of the more belligerent Mahinda Rajapaksa. Following Rajapakse’s election and the appointment of his brother to the head of the defense ministry, the GoSL has taken a significantly more belligerent attitude toward the LTTE, escalating its attacks via proxy “militia” and engaging in direct kidnappings, murders, assaults, and, eventually, full-scale military confrontation. Notably, since the breakdown of the CFA, the GoSL again picked up on its efforts from 1998 to have the LTTE listed as a terrorist organization by a number of governments, including that of the United States, Canada, and the states of the European Union. The purpose of this listing is principally to limit the raising of funds for the LTTE by expatriate Tamils, thereby denying it an important source of foreign income. There were no reliable data on the LTTE’s military capacity, but it is estimated that it could field a conventional army of perhaps up to 25,000, was well-trained and relatively heavily armed (with field artillery but few or no armored vehicles), possessed a functional naval unit (Kadul Puli, or “Sea Tigers”), and was even developing a small “Sangkar Air Wing,” which it used to symbolic effect in airstrikes on military bases in Colombo and in the north of the country in March and April 2007. Other estimates have put the LTTE’s numbers at around 10,000, although Sri Lankan sources have quoted figures as low as 800 regular fighters and 2,000 militia (Balachandran 2007). By comparison, the then–recently expanded Sri Lanka Armed Forces had perhaps 158,000 personnel,

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whose training was generally no better and perhaps worse than that of the LTTE and who lacked motivation; although better equipped with conventional weapons, ships, and planes, they did not enjoy a consistent advantage in conventional combat.

Prospects for Peace Although there were significant expressions of concern by Tamil civil society groups over a return to conflict, profound impediments to returning to peace also remained in Sri Lanka. In discussions with the author in 2006, the LTTE’s expressed perspective was that it distrusted the intentions of the GoSL to pursue genuine peace. This lack of trust in a negotiated outcome was supported by the announcement at the beginning of January that the GoSL intended to seek a military solution to the LTTE issue (Balachandran 2007). Moreover, Sri Lanka appeared to be moving away from open democratic processes and toward a type of bureaucratic authoritarianism. Sri Lanka had shifted from a parliamentary to a presidential-led system (akin to the French model) in 1978. Since then, executive authority has been increasingly located in the hands of the president, who appoints ministers, as well as the Supreme Court judges who decide on constitutional issues. The role of the prime minister has, in contrast, become increasingly ceremonial. The president appoints, among others, the defense minister, who, from late 2005, was an army brigadier-general and brother of the president. This practice has been accompanied by increasing failure of the judicial system (ICG 2007: 4), which has granted effective impunity to extrajudicial killings and other grave human rights violations. Parliamentary politics continues in Sri Lanka, although the use of army-linked death squads (see Human Rights Watch 2007), torture, and denial of habeas corpus contributed to an increasingly constrained political climate (USAID 2006). Although an outcome that promoted democratization and political devolution could work theoretically, it appeared to have little real hope because of the organization of Sri Lanka’s political parties and the voting patterns of its citizens, which have ensured that ethnic Sinhalese parties dominate the Parliament, if not always in mutual agreement; that the executive president has, to date and almost by default, been ethnic Sinhalese; and that the executive president’s powers remain extensive. Another factor militating against a resolution to the conflict was the growing capacity of “state” institutions in the LTTE-controlled area. The “capital” of Eelam, Kilinochche, was the LTTE’s administrative center and hosted a range of institutions such as police, three levels of courts, and a detailed legal code (LTTE 2004). Other signs of administration observed by the author in May 2006 included departments of works, public transport,

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and fuel; hospitals, asylums, clinics, children’s homes, and rehabilitation centers; primary and secondary schools; and a university in construction. Related to the LTTE’s state capacity was its military capacity, which challenged that of the Sri Lankan military in various military operations. Although it seemed unlikely that the LTTE could win a war outright against the GoSL (it has not done so yet), it did appear to have the capacity to take and hold significant territories. Nevertheless, the LTTE’s territorial control was reduced by mid-2007, with the loss of military bases in the eastern area following a sustained onslaught by the SLA. If the LTTE felt pressure, it was pressure of a type also felt by the GoSL and its military (for example, in October 2006, the LTTE defeated a sustained SLA attack, killing 129 government troops). In this, the relatively even matching of the two sides, in capacities if not in numbers, did not introduce the disequilibrium that pushed one side into a position of seeking a negotiated settlement. The LTTE had offered a negotiated settlement, around a federated state model, but this was not engaged with by the GoSL. In 2006 this offer was effectively withdrawn, as intended talks collapsed or failed to start. Somewhat in contrast to the more belligerent approach that characterized the GoSL position following his election, in early 2006 Rajapaksa formed an all-party conference (but not including the LTTE) to try to develop a political formula that could be used as a basis for negotiations with the LTTE. The work of this conference was continuing at the time of writing, although with no advance. The prospects of advance were limited by the fact that one of the two main protagonists, the LTTE, did not regard as legitimate any talks that did not include it and that few Tamils were willing to speak without the inclusion or direct support of the LTTE, either through their regard for the LTTE as the sole legitimate representative of the Tamil people or because of fear of reprisal from the LTTE for attempting to engage in negotiations without its consent. Beyond the escalation in fighting and the limited prospects of a return to meaningful peace talks since the cease-fire of 2002, both sides had also upgraded and stockpiled weapons in advance of what was acknowledged by the LTTE to be a new round of fighting. In this, the LTTE’s responses to increasing GoSL belligerence demonstrated a similar level of belligerence. In that there was any prospect of talks aimed at ending the conflict, the GoSL made this more difficult by seeking to control all of the territory of the state prior to such negotiations. That is, it was prepared to reenter negotiations toward a peaceful settlement to the conflict, but only from a position of strength, in which the LTTE came to the table as a supplicant. As such, the GoSL’s claims to continuing support for the 2002 cease-fire were rendered meaningless by events in 2006 and 2007. It had

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been estimated that, from November 2005 until February 2007, more than 4,000 people had been killed in the renewed fighting, with more than 250,000 made homeless (SLMM 2007; ICG 2007: i, 1). Perhaps an additional 1,000 or more were killed between February and August 2007 and another 1,000 had disappeared and remained unaccounted for. Comments by influential figures in Colombo appear to confirm that the GoSL no longer seeks a genuinely negotiated settlement but rather that it wishes to impose its own interpretation of what constitutes a settlement, which was consistent with negotiations following control of all of the territory of the state. Similarly, in 2006, the LTTE sought to expand its territorial control, as indicated by renewed attacks near Trincomalee and in the southern Jaffna area, both of which are claimed as Tamil homeland. In this respect, the LTTE also hoped to be able to negotiate its claims from a position of relative strength. That is, both sides resumed and escalated the conflict, and both were seeking an effective military victory or, at least, the ability to negotiate from a position of strength. In either case, the positions of the two parties appeared, within this framework, to be mutually exclusive and, as such, irreconcilable. That Sri Lanka was constructed as a unitary state, when a federal state would have more usefully accommodated its different national interests, was an error of late colonial administration. However, attempts to move away from a unitary model, which would probably be a necessary condition for an agreement to long-term peace by the LTTE, have, to date, foundered on the requirement to change the constitution and the implications that this would have for a common Sinhalese desire for geographic unity. Finally, assuming no absolute military victory by either party and with resolution only available through negotiation, the capacity of the LTTE to negotiate was severely limited by the serious illness and, in December 2006, death of its chief negotiator, Anton Balasingham. It was his illness and inability to attend negotiations in 2006 aimed at deescalating violence that could, in significant part, be held responsible for the LTTE’s failure. The LTTE’s earlier offer of a federal solution, based on unified northern and eastern provinces, was withdrawn at this time, and it again called for a completely independent state (Pirapaharan, i.e., Prabhakaran, 2006). The small, unarmed, and, poorly trained—in terms of monitoring human rights violations (ICG 2007: 6)—Sri Lanka Monitoring Mission (SLMM), established to oversee the 2002 CFA, was unable to prevent Sri Lanka’s slide back into conflict. Although all such agreements require the active support of all combatant parties, the SLMM lacked the resources or political capacity to impose its will on the combatant parties. Beyond this considerable problem with establishing a negotiated settlement to the Sri Lanka conflict, there was little doubt that, even if the

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LTTE could be militarily defeated—something that has not happened to date—there would continue to be a less organized but still deadly Tamil resistance and that Sri Lanka would not experience peace without giving substantive recognition to the separate political identity of its Tamil people. To that end and despite the constitutional and political impediments, there needed to be an acceptance by all parties in Colombo that any meaningful answer to Sri Lanka’s conflict lay in acceptance of a compromise, including the broad principles of self-determination, which in application implied a version of a two-state policy, in which the people of the north and east voted on unity of their provinces ahead of an interim self-governing administration. This would create the possibility of a further vote on simple federalism or confederation under a limited uniting structure within the context of agreement on establishing a plural democratic framework in Sinhala Sri Lanka and Tamil Eelam. Such an overarching structure could have responsibility for immigration, customs, external affairs, and key infrastructure but devolve authority in most other areas to the self-governing states. The question of external defense would need to be handled carefully, probably on the basis of separate forces for an interim period and only later a united force based on recognition of its separate origins. A resolution to the Sri Lankan conflict was not likely, or possible, without significant international pressure to adopt measures that reflected a fundamental compromise on the part of both parties and support for such measures once adopted. This would imply, among other measures, a more substantial version of the SLMM, the promise of extra aid, and the threat of sanctions on either party should they break the agreement. Equally important, Sri Lanka needed to return to being a more substantive democracy, working gradually toward a notion of civic nationalism in which equity under rule of law rather than ethnicity was the effective basis for a sense of inclusion and participation, or at least the equitable management of different interest claims. Perhaps after generations, a sense of normalcy and unity might return to Sri Lanka, but not before, and not without deep and far-reaching changes. At the time of writing, such an outcome appeared to be further away than ever, and such a potential path appeared littered with almost insurmountable obstacles. But the LTTE had previously made official its agreement, in principle, to accept some version of a federal solution, as opposed to complete independence, while there were practical limits to Sri Lanka’s continuing capacity to pursue a conflict it could not hope to win. In a practical sense, the LTTE’s creation of a state within a state was a concrete step toward the realization of its aims, and its functional acceptance by the GoSL via the 2002 CFA confirmed that there was a starting point for compromise. But perhaps, more than anything, the return to

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conflict from 2006 demonstrated that there was little taste for sustaining, much less pursuing, compromise in Sri Lanka—and little interest in coming to any sort of compromise other than through absolute material necessity.

Select Bibliography Balachandran, B., “Lankan Army Hopes to Clear East by March,” Hindustan Times (New Delhi, January 3, 2007). de Silva, K. M., A History of Sri Lanka (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1981). De Votta, N., “Chauvinism and Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka,” BASAS Annual Workshop, University of Bristol (November 13, 2004). Gopalakrishnan, R., “The Struggle for Tamil Eelam: Very Little of Sri Lanka in Kilinochche,” Reuters (February 2, 2006). Gunasingham, M., Primary Sources for History of the Sri Lanka Tamils (Chullora, NSW: World-Wide Search MV Publications, 2005). Human Rights Watch, Complicit in Crime: State Collusion in Abductions and Child Recruitment by the Karuna Group (January 24, 2007). ICG, Sri Lanka’s Human Rights Crisis, Asia Report No. 135 (Colombo/Brussels: International Crisis Group, June 14, 2007). Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), The Judicial System of Tamil Eelam: Structure Function and Duties of Officials in Charge (Kilinochche: ANBU Printing Press, 2004). Pirapaharan, V., “Sinhala Leaders’ Duplicity of War and Peace Has Left Tamils with No Choice but Political Independence,” Annual Heroes’ Day Statement (Kilinochche, Sri Lanka, November 27, 2006). SLMM, CFA 5 Years, statement by the Sri Lanka Monitoring Mission (February 22, 2007). Stokke, C., Tamil Eelam—A De Facto State: Building the Tamil Eelam State: Emerging State Institutions and Forms of Governance in LTTE-controlled Areas in Sri Lanka, Department of Sociology and Human Geography, University of Oslo (2005). Swamy, M., Tigers of Lanka, 6th edition (Colombo: Vijitha Yapa Publications, 2006). Swamy, M. R. Narayan, Inside an Elusive Mind: Prabhakaran (New York: Literate World, Inc., 2003). USAID Mission in Sri Lanka, “Democracy and Governance Program,” Democracy and Governance Program Initiative (2006). Wickramasinghe, N., Ethnic Politics in Colonial Sri Lanka (New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House P. L., 1995). Winslow, D., and M. Woost, Economy, Culture and Civil War in Sri Lanka (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004).

CHAPTER 12

Thailand Carlyle A. Thayer

During the first decade of the twentieth century, Siam incorporated the Kingdom of Patani into its territorial domain. This action sparked a hundred years of Malay Muslim resistance to incorporation into the Thai Buddhist state. The struggle for Malay Muslim self-determination has passed through various phases as traditional Malay aristocrats, Muslim religious leaders, and student militants have led the struggle to reestablish an independent Islamic state. The predominant character of Malay resistance has historically been ethnonationalist and secular in nature, but recent years have seen an increase in the role of religious ideology.

AL QAEDA’S “SAFE HAVEN” In the aftermath of the attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001 (9/11), the nature of the insurgency in Thailand’s southern provinces has been colored by the rhetoric of President George W. Bush’s war on terror. On September 20, 2001, President Bush declared that “war on terror begins with al Qaeda, but it does not end there. It will not end until every terrorist group of global reach has been found, stopped, and defeated.” In late 2001 the United States attacked al Qaeda bases and the Taliban regime in Afghanistan in retaliation for the attacks of 9/11, causing many al Qaeda operatives to flee. Simultaneously, security authorities in Malaysia and Singapore rounded up a number of suspects who belonged to a regional terrorist network known as Jemaah Islamiyah (JI), which had links to al Qaeda. The United States also initiated security cooperation with the government of the Philippines to eliminate the Abu Sayyaf

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Group. In short order, Southeast Asia had become the “second front” in the war on terror. This view was reinforced in October 2002 when JI terrorists exploded bombs in Bali, killing over two hundred persons. Terrorism and regional security specialists subsequently adopted what might be called an “al Qaeda–centric paradigm” in their analysis of politically violent groups in Southeast Asia (Thayer 2005a and 2005b). In this hothouse atmosphere, a number of academic commentators and terrorism experts quickly identified Thailand as a “country of convenience” for al Qaeda terrorists transiting Southeast Asia (Abuza 2003: 172). These allegations were dismissed out of hand by no less a figure than Thaksin Shinawatra, Thailand’s prime minister, who characterized such reports as the work of “crazy reporters” (quoted in Chongkittavorn 2004: 268). Thaksin even declared Thailand’s neutrality when the United States invaded Iraq in March 2003. Two months later, however, he reversed his position and pledged Thailand’s full support. In the late 1980s an unknown but substantial number of Thai Muslims had trained in Pakistan near the Afghanistan border at a camp run by mujahideen leader Abdul Rasul Sayyaf (Liow 2006b: 45; ICG 2007a: 37). In 1987, at least three Thais studied under Zulkarnaen, JI’s head of military affairs. Other Thai Muslims trained alongside Indonesians in Afghanistan during the early 1990s. By 2003 it had become clear to Thai security officials that key al Qaeda operatives and members of JI were using Thailand as a haven from whence to plan terrorist operations far afield; but it was less clear to what extent these terrorist networks had penetrated Thailand’s Muslim community in the deep south. In 1999 JI attempted to expand on the personal networks forged in mujahideen training camps by creating a regional alliance of Southeast Asian militants known as Rabitat-ul Mujahidin. At least two Thai militant organizations were represented at these discussions—the Patani Islamic Mujahideen Movement (Gerakan Mujahidin Islam Patani, or GMIP) and the Patani United Liberation Organization (PULO), Pertubuhan Pembebasan Patani Bersatu, or (PPPB). PULO’s delegates reportedly rejected JI’s violent strategy (International Crisis Group 2005a: 37). The following year an emissary from JI based in northern Malaysia was dispatched to southern Thailand to purchase arms. He was able to acquire only thirteen handguns. The joint Malaysia–Singapore security crackdown in late 2001 disrupted JI’s regional network and forced several of its members to seek refuge in Thailand, none of them more important than Hambali (Ridduan Isamuddin), chief of operations and head of JI’s Malaysia–Singapore division. In February 2002, Hambali convened a meeting in Bangkok attended by key JI leaders who were later involved in the 2002 Bali bombings. JI is claimed to have financed this operation using funds that it had

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previously deposited with militant contacts in Narathiwat province, in southern Thailand. After the Bali bombings, the heat on JI was turned up across Southeast Asia. On June 10, 2003, Thai security authorities arrested three members of JI who had been planning terrorist attacks on western embassies and tourist attractions. This marked the first occasion that the Thai government officially identified those arrested as part of a regional terrorist network rather than merely as Muslim separatists (Chongkittavorn 2004: 268). In a major breakthrough, Thai security forces arrested Hambali in Ayutthaya on August 11, 2003. During interrogation Hambali revealed details of plans to attack the American, Australian, and Israeli embassies in Bangkok, also revealing to his American interrogators that Thai militants refused to cooperate because of their reservations about targeting civilian tourist locations. During the first quarter of 2004, southern Thailand experienced a major outbreak of violence in Narathiwat, Pattani, and Yala provinces that led academic commentators and security analysts to speculate that foreign terrorist networks in Southeast Asia, if not al Qaeda itself, were involved (Gunaratna et al. 2005). Their discourse has framed much of the analysis on the insurgency in Thailand’s southern border provinces, or the “fire in the south,” a conflict in which 2,493 persons have been killed between January 2004 and June 2007. Of these, an estimated 51 percent were Muslims, 44 percent were Buddhists, and the remainder of unknown religious affiliation (ICG 2007: 19). From January 2004 to May 2006, at least twenty people were beheaded. The casualty figures have since risen to more than 2,600—mainly civilians (ICG 2007: 1). Buddhists, who are in the minority in the south, have suffered disproportional to their numbers. This chapter attempts to reframe the way in which the southern insurgency should be understood. Muslims are the largest religious minority in Thailand, comprising perhaps 4 percent of the total population. The Muslims of Thailand are unevenly distributed throughout the country; most are Sunni. An estimated 80 percent, or 4 million, reside in the southern provinces of Narathiwat, Pattani, Yala, Songkhla, and Satun, where they constitute an overwhelming majority of the population—but the southern insurgency is largely confined to Pattani, Narathiwat, and Yala, in addition to four districts in Songkhla (but not Satun province). Why? The main distinction of the central area of insurgency from Satun is the ethnicity of its populace. The Muslims of Pattani, Narathiwat, and Yala are nearly all ethnic Malays, but the Muslims of Satun are ethnic Thai. The remaining 20 percent of Muslims not resident in the south are scattered throughout Thailand but have been assimilated into the Thai Buddhist state as their cousins have in Satun; they do not support separatism.

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The persistence of Malay Muslim separatism in the south over the past hundred years—as well as in more recent decades—may be put down to the unsuccessful attempts of the Thai state to assimilate this minority. Thai policies toward the Malay Muslims have at times exacerbated feelings of cultural, social, political, and economic alienation from Thailand as a whole. In southern Thailand Muslims identify themselves as Malay and speak a Malay dialect known as Jawi. The political leadership of Malay Muslim resistance has historically come from Malay nobles and aristocrats both conservative and traditional in their doctrinal leanings. The Malay Muslim struggle for separatism is founded in an identity distinct from the Thai nation. Malay Muslims have resisted incorporation into the Thai Buddhist state because of their ethnonationalist identity, not because of religious extremism. The persistence of their struggle is based on historical grievances, discrimination and forced assimilation, and patterns of neglect that date back more than a century. Islam itself has not politicized Muslims in the south—the Malay ethnic identity has. This chapter will explore these themes in three parts, reviewing the historical background behind the situation, examining the rise of separatism in the south from the 1960s through the end of the 1990s, and discussing the current state of the conflict. It should be noted that “Pattani,” an English transliteration from Thai, will be used henceforth to indicate the province of Pattani. “Patani,” a form derived from the Malay spelling, will refer to the geographic area associated with the former Kingdom of Patani.

HISTORICAL ROOTS OF THE THAI STRUGGLE The three southern Thai provinces of Narathiwat, Pattani, and Yala once formed part of Greater Patani, an independent kingdom with roots in the fourteenth century. During the years between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries, Arab traders introduced Islam into the region. In 1457 the ruler of Patani converted and established a sultanate in which the role of Muslim religious elites (ulamas) became prominent. In the north, Thai states consolidated into the Ayutthaya dynasty (1351–1767) in the fourteenth century and extended their territorial control to Thailand’s southern peninsula. Siamese incorporation of Greater Patani was a prolonged historical process that resulted in the subordination of Patani to the Thai state. Malay histories record repeated clashes with Siam from the fifteenth century, as a result of which Patani became first a vassal and then a tributary state of Siam (Aphornsuvan 2007). In the nineteenth century Patani was conquered by Siam, subjecting Patani to the administrative reforms of King Chulalongkorn. Patani was divided into seven provinces and

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governed by appointees nominated by the king. Thai civil law replaced sharia and adat law. But the subordination of Patani in this manner provoked resistance and revolt, setting the pattern for the next hundred years. Patani was officially incorporated into Siam in 1902, an action that prompted the last sultan to call on the Malay aristocratic class to engage in passive resistance. The following year, the sultan was arrested and charged with treason, provoking the first popular revolt against Siamese rule, which Bangkok suppressed. The sultan was released in 1906 and fled nine years later into Kelantan in British Malaya, establishing a longstanding pattern of cross-border support of Malay Muslims in southern Thailand by the diaspora in Malaya/Malaysia. In 1904 and 1909, under the terms of two Anglo–Siamese Treaties, Siam conceded four southern Malay states to Britain in exchange for recognition of Siamese sovereignty over Patani. This treaty ushered in a new period of alien rule that held profound consequences for Malay society and religious and political authority in the south. In 1910, Sufi sheikhs declared jihad against the kafir (infidel) Siamese government and launched two rebellions. Both were put down by Thai military force, and the Malay Muslim leaders were arrested. Siam extended its administrative control over the southern region by recreating the seven provinces created in the eighteenth century as only three: Narathiwat, Pattani, and Yala. A fourth province, Satun, was created later. Each province was administered by a Thai governor, further undermining the political authority of the Malay Muslim aristocratic class. In 1921, Thailand introduced a compulsory national Primary Education Act requiring all children to attend state school for four years to study a new secular curriculum in the Thai language. The new curriculum also included Buddhist ethics taught, in some instances, by monks. The new education law was viewed as a direct assault on the culture, religion, and language of Malay Muslims (ICG 2005a: 3). In response, Tok Gurus (heads of Islamic religious schools) led a boycott of Thai schools accompanied by mass protests against Thai educational policy. In 1922, at the urging of Patani’s sultan from his refuge in Kelantan, Malay nobles launched another unsuccessful revolt that became called the Namsai Rebellion after a village in Pattani whose residents refused to pay land taxes in protest of the 1921 education reforms. The Thai government responded by arresting and executing suspected leaders, by 1923 suppressing the revolt using the combined forces of Thai police and the Wild Tiger Corps, a militia group established by King Rama VI. The use of the militia introduced another actor onto the stage of southern Thai political insurgency that would rise to particular prominence decades

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later. The southern revolt of 1922–1923 caused the closure of many Islamic schools (ponohs, or pondoks in Malay) and the further marginalization of the ulama. Over the next decade the Thai government gradually reduced taxes, and violence subsided. In June 1932 the power of the absolute monarchy was ended in the socalled “revolution of 1932,” which was motivated by ideas of popular sovereignty based in nationhood and citizenship. This led to a concerted drive by subsequent Thai political elites to construct the Thai nation and national identity around symbols of Buddhism and the monarchy, which in practice meant the assimilation of ethnic minorities and the centralization of power in Bangkok. For the first time Malay Muslims were now eligible to stand for election to national parliament. Tensions between the Thai state and Malay Muslims were exacerbated by the rise to power of Field Marshal Phibul Songkhram, an ultranationalist who pursued an aggressive policy of assimilation in the late 1930s. Under a series of decrees, called cultural mandates, all ethnic minorities were forced to conform to Thai cultural values. Buddhist images were placed in all public schools, and Malay Muslim children were required to bow before them as demonstration of their civic loyalty. Malay Muslims were prohibited from wearing traditional dress in public and were forced to adopt Thai names as a precondition for government employment (Islam 1998: 444). The use of Malay was banned in government offices and “anti-Thai” behavior was classed as sedition under the law. Phibun’s cultural decree represented a direct attack on the Malay Muslim identity (ICG 2005a: 3–4). During World War II, Phibun sided with Japan and was granted by Tokyo the four northern Malayan states of Kelantan, Kedah, Trengganu, and Perlis. Many Malay Muslims took refuge in Malaya and supported the British and their Malay allies in resisting Japan. Malay Muslims who remained in southern Thailand received support from both the British and the Free Thai Movement, which headed resistance to Japanese occupation. Thailand’s Malay Muslims expected Patani to be incorporated into British Malaya at the end of the war. But their hopes were dashed when the four provinces annexed by Japan were returned to British-ruled Malaya but Patani was not; it remained part of Thailand. Disappointed nationalist Malay Muslims sought exile in Malaya and Saudi Arabia. Two important developments occurred during this period: links between Malay Muslims on both sides of the Thai–Malayan border were reinforced during the war years, and communities of Malay Muslims in exile from southern Thailand took root overseas, whence they would in later years fund separatist movements. In July 1944 Phibun was replaced as prime minister by Pridi Phanomyong, leader of the Free Thai Movement. Under Pridi’s leadership

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attempts were made to win over the Malay Muslims in the south with conciliatory policies. Under the 1945 Patronage of Islam Act, Muslim affairs were placed in the hands of a single high-ranking official known as the Chularajmontri, who advised the king on religious matters. Under the Act, Malay Muslim leaders and local mosques were incorporated into the state structure under the Ministry of the Interior. Two Islamic judges in each Muslim majority province were appointed to advise state courts on Islamic marriage and inheritance law. Pridi also created a special commission to investigate Malay Muslim complaints against the government. Pridi’s initiatives backfired and became a source of grievance for the Malay traditional elite and religious teachers. Pridi’s policies were widely perceived by Malay Muslim leaders as a derogation of their authority and as further undermining Malay Muslim identity. The office of Chularajmontri, originally created during the Ayutthaya dynasty, was modeled on Persian practice entirely alien to Sunni Muslims. Islamic judges were unable to act independently in provincial courts, only able to offer advice to Thai judges applying Thai—rather than sharia—law. Malay Muslims who attempted to file complaints before the special commission were reportedly beaten by the Thai police. As a consequence, riots broke out in Narathiwat in 1946. In early 1947, Haji Sulong Abdul Kadir, chairman of the Pattani Religious Council, submitted a seven-point petition to the government on behalf of the newly formed Patani People’s Movement, calling for (1) the appointment of an elected, locally born governor for each of the four southern provinces, (2) the setting of an eighty-percent quota of Muslim public servants, (3) the use of Thai and Malay as official languages, (4) the use of the Malay language as the medium of primary-school instruction, (5) recognition of sharia law and Muslim courts, (6) control over revenue in the southern provinces, and (7) the creation of a Muslim Council issuing laws concerning Muslim customs and ceremonies (Islam 1998: 444; Aphornsuvan 2007: 41). A petition containing similar demands was drawn up by fifty-five Malay Muslim leaders in Narathiwat, and a third petition was lodged by Malay Muslims in Satun. These actions coincided with a coup d’état that returned Field Marshal Phibun to office in November 1947. The following month, a Malay Muslim leader in exile in Kelantan declared Patani independent. One month later, Thai authorities arrested Haji Sulong and his supporters and charged them with treason. Malay Muslim leaders immediately withdrew from meetings with Thai officials and agreed to boycott the national elections scheduled for later that year. On March 3, 1948, Patani nationalists in exile in Kelantan formed southern Thailand’s first overt separatist organization, the League of Malays of Greater Patani (Gabungan Melayu Patani Raya, or GAMPAR).

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In 1948, GAMPAR demanded the merger of the four southern provinces into a Malay Islamic state to be incorporated into the newly formed Malayan Union. A quarter of a million Malay Muslims petitioned the United Nations in support of these demands (ICG 2005a: 5). Many of the leading signatories were arrested, and increasingly public protests became violent confrontations that eventually led to yet another revolt of Malay Muslims. Mass protests were held outside the jail where Haji Sulong was detained until Thai authorities removed him from the region, causing riots to break out in all three southern provinces. The largest of these took place in Narathiwat on April 26–28, 1948, when a Muslim religious leader led hundreds of men into a confrontation with the police. In the ensuing clash, at least four hundred Malay Muslims and thirty police were killed (ICG 2005a: 5). Thousands fled into Malaya. These events, collectively referred to as the Dusun Nyur rebellion, caused the Thai government to declare a state of emergency. After the rebellion was quelled, Phibun resorted to piecemeal concessions to the Malay Muslims that gradually reversed many of the policies of his wartime cultural mandates. Islamic law was now applied to family law and inheritance in Thai courts. Malay Muslims in public service were permitted to wear traditional dress, and the use of the Malay language was reintroduced in primary schools. Haji Sulong was released from prison in 1952 but mysteriously disappeared two years later; it is widely believed by many Malay Muslims that he was killed by the police. The “disappearance” of Malay Muslim leaders at the hand of Thai security officials was to become a common feature of the southern insurgency in later years. From 1953 to 1954 the Malay Muslim nationalist movement was weakened by the deaths of Haji Sulong and the leaders of GAMPAR. According to Thai scholar Thanet Aphornsuvan, “Haji’s Sulong’s leadership, and his Islamic credentials, recast ethnic Malay nationalism in Islamic terms” (quoted in ICG 2005: 6). Despite his death, Haji Sulong’s legacy lived on as new organizations took up the struggle of Malay Muslims in southern Thailand and moved into the space created up by the demise of the Patani People’s Movement and GAMPAR.

SEPARATISM IN THE SOUTH The four decades from the 1960s to the end of the 1990s mark a distinct phase of separatist insurgency in southern Thailand. At the start of this period new secular and religious groups emerged that sought the creation of an independent state of Patani through armed struggle. The Thai government responded with similar shows of force while instituting policies designed to undercut the appeal of Malay Muslim

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ethnonationalism. The government of General Prem Tinsulanond in the 1980s proved particularly effective in dampening armed conflict, and by the 1990s militant separatism appeared to have spent its energies. Nevertheless, in the mid-1990s, Malay Muslim separatists regrouped and then relaunched an armed struggle that carried over into the early years of the next decade. In 1959, a group of traditional Malay Muslim aristocratic elites and religious teachers based in Kelantan founded the Patani National Liberation Front (Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Patani, BNPP). The BNPP was the first organized armed group to call for the creation of an independent Islamic state in Patani. The BNPP included a small guerrilla wing of a few hundred fighters and recruited Malay Muslim students studying in Malaysia, also selecting students and local villagers in southern Thailand for political and military training. Some recruits were sent overseas to Libya and Syria for advanced military instruction. The Patani National Liberation Front conducted a number of sporadic attacks against government security forces in the 1960s. The BNPP’s strategy aimed at destabilization and provocation in hopes of making the southern provinces ungovernable and raising new recruits. The response of the government of Sarit Thanarat (1957–1963), in part, altered longstanding government policies in order to become more accommodating. In 1961, the Thai Customs Decree was repealed. Sarit’s policies toward Malay Muslims caused unintended results. The Educational Improvement Program of 1961 mandated that religious schools teach secular curricula in addition to Islamic studies. These schools were now classified as private schools teaching Islam. However, they were viewed by government officials as recruitment grounds for anti-government militants. Thai government efforts to regulate ponohs were widely resented by Islamic religious instructors, and schools that failed to implement the law were shut down. In 1961, Sarit initiated a Self-Help Land Settlement Project that caused the migration of over 160,000 impoverished Thai Buddhist farmers from northeast Thailand to the south. The policies of the Sarit regime reinforced long-held Malay Muslim fears that their identity was under threat in what they felt to be an alien Thai state (ICG 2007: 19). The Sarit government and its successors met force with force, conducting a number of military operations against the BNPP, in particular in 1972. In 1977 two BNPP leaders died, and shortly afterward the BNPP lost its support base in Kelantan when the Parti Islam SeMalaysia lost power in that state. The BNPP splintered, and many members gave up their struggle. A small cadre continued attacks aimed at disrupting the government’s resettlement scheme, also attacking local police and government officials. By the late 1980s the BNPP’s armed wing was reduced

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to about fifty fighters who were forced to extort money from Chinese businessmen in order to survive. The BNPP’s demise coincided with the rise of two new militant organizations that dominated the separatist struggle from the late 1960s through the 1970s. During this period Malay Muslim students, who had studied abroad—most of them in Egypt, India, or Pakistan—returned to southern Thailand to find the economy was depressed after a decline in the prices paid on the international rubber market. The returned students’ outlook differed from that of the older generation of traditional aristocratic elites and were also divided along religious and secular lines. The religious-minded former founded the National Revolution Front (Barisan Revolusi Nasional, or BRN) in the early 1960s, and the secularists founded the Patani United Liberation Organization (PULO) in 1968. The BRN was primarily an urban group supported by teachers and students in ponohs, or by nearby Muslim villagers. It was formed, in part, in response to the Thai government’s educational policy requiring ponohs to adopt the national secular curriculum or be shut down (ICG 2007: 19). The BRN aimed to create an independent Islamic Republic of Patani (but not the historical sultanate), advocating an ideology of Islamic socialism and forming tactical alliances with both the Thai and Malayan communist parties, something that alienated the conservative religious members of the Malay Muslim community. The PULO’s ideology, on the other hand, emphasized religion, race, homeland, and humanitarianism—in other words, secular ethnonationalism. It openly sought the establishment of an independent Islamic state. Founded in India, the PULO maintained offices in Mecca and Kelantan, targeting its recruiting efforts at Patani Muslims studying in Malaysia and the Middle East or on hajj in Mecca. Study abroad was funded by Arab governments and international Islamic charities. The PULO’s armed wing, called the Patani United Liberation Army, numbered from 200 to 600 in 1981. Some fighters were sent to Syria and Libya for training (Libya also provided funding for operations). PULO’s fighters mainly assassinated policemen and government officials and bombed and lit fire to police installments, government offices, and schools. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s PULO was considered by Thai officials to be the most prominent and best trained separatist group, a response to its ability to conduct operations in Narathiwat, Pattani, and Yala provinces, as well as the neighboring four districts in Songkhla. Throughout the 1960s, the Thai government routinely dismissed violence in the south as the work of Thai and Malayan communist guerrillas. An estimated sixty armed groups operated in the south ranging from purely criminal to politically motivated. This picture became even more complex when criminal groups were contracted to do local politicians’

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bidding. Significant areas of southern Thailand’s border provinces had in fact become lawless. In 1969 the Thai government officially acknowledged the existence of a Malay Muslim separatist movement for the first time. In the 1970s, the Thai government once again initiated a number of policies designed to win the hearts and minds of Malay Muslims. A system of admission quotas was instituted for Muslims at universities and into the civil service. The Thai government reestablished the post of Chularajmontri and set up national and provincial councils to handle Islamic affairs. The central government allocated funds to improve educational facilities in Muslim majority provinces at all educational levels. Funds were also poured into infrastructure projects such as roads, flood controls, irrigation projects, and agricultural extensions. Nonetheless, armed attacks increased in rural Yala, Narathiwat, and Pattani throughout the late 1960s and 1970s as separatist guerrillas mounted attacks on government offices and police posts. The responsibility for other acts of violence, however, such as kidnappings for ransom and extortion of funds from coconut and rubber plantation owners, as well as local businessmen and even ordinary villagers, was less clear and often attributed to criminal gangs or other politically motivated special interest groups. The longer the conflict in southern Thailand raged the more security forces and vigilantes became implicated in the daily violence against and disappearances of suspected separatist collaborators. Most of these incidents were not investigated and the perpetrators were never punished. One exception, however, occurred in November 1975, when Narathiwat province experienced massive public protests in response to the deaths of five Muslim youths shot by Thai marines. The protests were instigated by the PULO but the sheer size of the demonstrations indicated widespread Malay Muslim anger against government officials who failed to curb such violence. That December Buddhist extremists reportedly threw a bomb into a large crowd of protesters, killing twelve and injuring thirty or more. The bodies of those who died were buried as martyrs (syahid). Militants issued calls for jihad to avenge these deaths, taking advantage of their significant propaganda victory won against the government (ICG 2007: 13). Thai government authorities moved quickly to defuse the situation, meeting most of the demands put forward by the protesters. The families of the victims were offered compensation. Police arrested the marines responsible and held them on charges, and the marines’ unit was withdrawn from Narathiwat for official inquiry. The governor of Pattani was removed and replaced by a Muslim. Prime minister Kurkit Pramoj traveled to the south to personally hear grievances.

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The events of late 1975 sparked the formation of at least three shortlived extremist groups who conducted retaliatory attacks by bombing Bangkok’s international port, train stations, and government offices. A bomb was even thrown into a royal ceremony in Yala in September 1977, killing five. The group responsible, Black December 1902, named itself in memory of Patani’s incorporation into Siam seventy-five years prior (Aphornsuvan 2007: 29). By the end of the 1970s, about 1,000 armed guerrillas were estimated to be active in the south, about half of whom were associated with the PULO. In the 1980s the Thai government, under the leadership of Prime Minister Prem, made demonstrable progress in dampening the levels of violence in the south. Splits within the PULO and the BRN weakened the separatist movement, and, more importantly, the Prem government created security institutions in the south better able to coordinate and implement government policy and revive cooperation with sections of the Malay Muslim community estranged by years of ill-conceived government policies. Between 1980 and 1984 leadership disputes within the BRN splintered the organization into three parts: the BRN-Coordinate, BRN-Congress, and BRN-Ulama. The BRN-Coordinate focused on recruiting from religious schools and carried out urban sabotage. The younger, more militant BRN-Congress was formed in 1984 in objection to the proposed removal of “Islamic socialism” from the list of BRN’s values and objectives and advocated stepping up military operations. The BRN-Ulama comprised the more moderate members of the original BRN, who favored a long-term strategy of gaining support in Islamic schools while downplaying the role of armed violence. In the early 1980s the PULO split in two over the issue of cooperation with criminal gangs. The hard line won the power struggle, pushing moderates aside, but the PULO’s fortunes took an unexpected turn for the worse in 1984 when Saudi authorities shut down its office in Mecca and deported its leaders, chiefly in concern over the PULO’s growing ties with Syria and Iran, but also in response to the PULO’s issuance of Republic of Patani citizenship papers and taxation of “Patani citizens” in the Saudi kingdom. The PULO’s coffers began to run low. In 1985 several militant leaders broke with the Patani National Liberation Front to form the United Patani Mujahidin Front (Barisan Bersatu Mujahidin Patani, or BBMP), a group composed of religious teachers educated in Indonesia and Malaysia. It adopted a radical Islamist program that called for jihad against the kafir. The following year the Patani National Liberation Front changed its name to the Patani Islamic Liberation Front (Barisan Islam Pembebasan Patani, or BIPP) to stress its

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Islamist credentials. By the early 1990s both organizations faded from the scene. A relative lull in separatist violence descended on the southern provinces in the mid-1980s and throughout most of the 1990s as a marked shift in the Thai government’s policy saw greater attention given to understanding and respecting local Malay Muslim culture. This change in policy was facilitated by a climate of democratization that descended upon the Thai political system as a whole. Both the Democrat Party and New Aspiration Party recruited Malay Muslims into their ranks and opened a direct channel for Malaysian Muslims to enter the Thai parliament, where they formed the Wadah faction. Prime Minister Prem initiated a “Policy of Attraction” emphasizing economic development, popular participation, and amnesty for former armed separatists. The Thai government provided funds for several largescale infrastructure projects to bring electricity and running water to remote areas, but it was the establishment of two intergovernmental agencies that provided the catalyst for the success of Prem’s new conciliatory policies (ICG 2005a: 11–12; 2007a: 13). The first was a combined Civil–Police–Military command (known as CPM 43). CPM 43 coordinated security operations and stamped out extrajudicial killings and disappearances. CPM 43 came under the direct control of the Fourth Army Region commander. The second agency, the Southern Border Provinces Administrative Center (SBPAC), was established in 1981 to overcome poor coordination among government departments. It was responsible mainly for political affairs and was initially placed under the command of the Fourth Army Region but in 1996 was transferred to the Ministry of the Interior. The SBPAC initially dealt with communist insurgency but was soon drawn into dealing with separatist violence. The SBPAC performed many functions, coordinating the activities of government agencies and security forces in the south and acting as a channel of communication with Bangkok. The SBPAC acted as the government’s liaison to the local Malay Muslim community, serving as a venue for Muslim leaders and teachers to meet with police and soldiers and local officials to exchange views, enabling conflicting parties to air their grievances. Military and government officials also set up villagelevel committees to promote both security and economic development. The administrative arrangements set up by the SBPAC helped reduce tensions and are widely credited with reducing the level of violence during this period (ICG 2007: 13). Over nine hundred militants took up the government’s offer of amnesty and rehabilitation in the period up to 1997.

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The SBPAC also remedied ignorance and prejudice among government officials, conducting courses on Malay Muslim culture for Thai officials that included language training in Jawi, the local Malay dialect. The SBPAC also attempted to reduce corruption, transferring over one hundred public servants from the south by 1995. This was unfortunately offset by unrelated transfers of corrupt and poorly performing officials southward as a disciplinary measure. Although the Prem government reduced the level of violence in the south, it did not eradicate the militant separatist groups. Indeed, new groups formed in the 1990s from the fragmented and splintered earlier organizations. For the first time, in fact, the separatist organizations began to institutionalize their cooperation. In 1992 the BRN-Congress formed a youth wing, Pemuda, and began recruiting students. In 1995, two new groups appeared: the New PULO and the Patani Islamic Mujahidin Movement (the Gerakan Mujahidin Islam Patani, or GMIP), formed by veterans of the Afghan conflict. In August 1997, activists of the BRN-Congress, the New PULO, and the GMIP formed a loose coalition known as the Council of the Muslim People of Patani (the Majelis Parmesyuaratan Rakyat Melayu Patani, or MPRMP) or Bersatu (“Unity”) for short. The militants immediately implemented a program of targeted assassinations of Thai government and security officials carried out by small cells and known by the codename “Falling Leaves” (ICG 2005a: 14). During the 1990s the political climate in Thailand improved as the process of democratization spread. Some Malay Muslims joined the Democrat Party and participated in national politics, and others returned from self-imposed exile. External support for southern separatists declined as a result of effective Thai diplomacy in the Middle East. Thailand and Malaysia stepped up their cross-border cooperation. In 1998 Malaysian authorities arrested four key separatist leaders, including the PULO’s military commander and the leader and deputy leader of the New PULO. By the end of the 1990s, all the main separatist organizations had fragmented and splintered because of internal bickering, and political unrest in the southern provinces appeared to have finally burned itself out. Although violence in the southern provinces did not end, it was generally attributed to bandits, gangs of criminals, dishonest businessmen, drug traffickers, arms smugglers, corrupt police, and disgruntled local politicians. In March 1998 the Southern Border Provinces Administrative Center estimated that the strength of the remaining insurgents stood at 405: 79 GMIP fighters, 93 PULO fighters, 102 New PULO fighters, and 131 BRN-Congress fighters. Two years later, the CPM 43 headquarters

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estimated that separatist forces had dwindled to only 70–80 “armed bandits.” The Thai government finally appeared to have gained the upper hand as its counter-insurgency strategy took hold.

Current Insurgency The first quarter of 2004 saw a marked escalation of violence in the south. Many security analysts and terrorism specialists took this as evidence that international terrorism had arrived on Thailand’s southern shores and that foreign fighters and jihadist ideology were now accelerating “the fire in the south.” This was an erroneous, alarmist view. The southern insurgency did take on new dimensions as a result of the impact of 9/11, the coalition attack on the Taliban regime in Afghanistan, and the war in Iraq. In March 2003, for example, Malay Muslims in Yala instigated a boycott of American goods and erected billboards declaring the province a “U.S. produce–free zone.” In August, Malay Muslims held angry protests when the Thai government announced its troop commitment to Iraq. But both the intensity and scope of violence that broke out indicated that the primary causes were overwhelmingly local. As of November 2007, there is no credible evidence of al Qaeda (or other foreign terrorist) involvement. Insurgency-related violence in the southern provinces steadily escalated from 50 incidents in 2001 to 75 in 2002 to 119 in 2003—and to 1,843 in 2004 (ICG 2005a: 16). Incidents ranged from recorded shootings and arsons to the detonation of explosives in hopes of harming security forces, government officials and their offices, and schools and other parts of the economic infrastructure. Some analysts argue that the relative lull of the 1990s was not entirely caused by the efforts of the SBPAC but rather by a conscious decision on the part of the BRN-Congress (and perhaps other major separatist groups) in the late 1980s or early 1990s to lie low, consolidate, and prepare for a renewed struggle after a decade’s time. This view is not incompatible with another major explanation, namely that the policies of the Thaksin government securitized the situation in the south to such an extent that these very policies became the problem. Thaksin Shinawatra and his Thai Rak Thai party swept to power in April 2001, Thaksin repeatedly claiming that residual violence in the southern provinces was the work of bandits and criminal gangs. This assumption was badly shaken in December 2001 when militants conducted simultaneous raids on five police checkpoints in Narathiwat, Pattani, and Yala provinces, in which six security personnel were killed. No one claimed responsibility, but Thai police alleged that the New PULO had been involved. This raid displayed greater sophistication and coordination than had been seen in years and was merely a precursor of what was to follow.

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In May 2002, Prime Minister Thaksin abolished both the Southern Border Provinces Administrative Center and the CPM 43 command—in part to weaken the influence of his main political rival, the Democrat Party, which enjoyed strong support in the south (ICG 2007: 33). Thaksin placed responsibility for dealing with the “fire in the south” in the hands of the police. By this single act Thaksin cut the eyes and ears from a relatively effective intelligence network, encouraging rivalry and friction between the army and the police. But Thaksin’s restructuring of the security architecture did little to address long-standing grievances that had fueled separatist violence. Without interagency restraints, the Thai police and other security-related organizations became increasingly implicated in human rights abuses and extrajudicial killings. This was exemplified in 2003 when Thaksin’s war on drugs resulted in an estimated 2,275 extrajudicial killings nationwide. Drug smugglers and their cross-border networks were targeted in the south. The expansion of the U.S. Global War on Terrorism from Afghanistan to Iraq in 2003 was widely viewed by Malay Muslims in southern Thailand as an attack on Islam and sparked a sense of shared victimhood. The New PULO, GMIP, and BRN-Congress took advantage of this environment to step up their armed attacks. In 2003 Thai security seized a BRN-Congress policy document that outlined a three-year, seven-step strategy to revive armed struggle and create an independent Islamic state. On January 4, 2004, an estimated one hundred militants conducted a well-executed raid on the 4th Engineering Battalion camp in Cho Airong district, Narathiwat. The raid lasted only twenty minutes, during which the militants broke into the armory and hauled away over four hundred weapons—mainly M-16 assault rifles but also light machine guns, rocket launchers, and rocket-propelled grenades. Four Buddhist soldiers were shot dead but Muslim conscripts were unmolested. Almost simultaneously diversionary attacks were launched on twenty schools and three police stations across eleven of Narathiwat’s districts. In Yala province, militants placed burning tires on roads and planted fake explosives on bridges. These spectacular attacks, because of their sophisticated planning, coordination, and execution, marked a new phase in the southern insurgency. Prime Minister Thaksin now acknowledged that “professional and well-trained” insurgents were involved. He declared martial law in eight districts and later extended this to all three southern provinces. Although no separatist group claimed responsibility for the attack, arrest warrants were issued for GMIP and BRN leaders. Six thousand troops and police were dispatched to the south. The army was given the power to arrest without a court warrant and authority to use deadly force. In the first quarter of 2004, 320 incidents of violence were recorded, including the assassination of police personnel, government officials,

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Buddhist monks, students, and ordinary citizens. Both separatists and Thai security personnel were implicated in the abduction and murder of over one hundred persons. In February, soldiers entered a ponoh in hot pursuit of a suspect without first requesting permission. This provoked Muslim leaders in all three southern provinces to issue a joint statement suspending cooperation with the Thai government. In April, Thaksin set up the Southern Border Provinces Peace Building Command to reverse the deteriorating situation in the south by improving interagency coordination in all aspects of counterinsurgency. On April 28, 2004, groups of militants gathered at mosques in Yala, Pattani, and Songkhla provinces before conducting simultaneous attacks on security checkpoints, police stations, and army bases. The attackers, who were mounted on motorbikes and generally lightly armed with machetes and knives, quickly retreated in the face of armed resistance. The most serious incident occurred at Krue Ze Mosque, Pattani, where Thai army forces surrounded and eventually stormed the mosque, killing all thirty-one inside. At the end of the day, 105 militants, 5 security personnel, and 1 civilian had been killed, the highest single-day death toll in decades. The militant attacks on April 28 occurred on the fifty-sixth anniversary of the Dusun Nyur rebellion (Satha-Anand 2007). Once again, no separatist group claimed responsibility. Thai police found a pamphlet among the dead at Krue Ze Mosque entitled Berjihad di Patani (The Struggle in Patani). Some terrorism specialists have based on this document claims that international jihadist ideology had now seeped into the separatist struggle in southern Thailand. But analysis of the Jawilanguage text of Berjihad di Patani reveals a different interpretation altogether (Sugunnasil 2007 and Liow 2006b: 39–42). The leaflet was written by a religious scholar in Kelantan and draws on the historical tradition of appeals to Islam, martyrdom, and jihad to justify armed struggle to reestablish the Islamic sultanate of Patani Darussalam. Berjihad di Patani makes no reference to the global mujahideen struggle and contains no anti-Western or anti-Zionist themes. The militants who participated in the attacks in April 2004 represent a different strand of Malay Muslim separatism from those who executed the January 2004 raids. The April attacks were carried out by pious young students who had been recruited and indoctrinated by religious teachers in a local variant of Sufi mysticism that involved the recitation of prayers for prolonged periods, the drinking of holy water, and the conferral of special blessings that endowed recipients with invulnerability to knives and bullets. Thai police found strings of beads used in Sufi meditation on the bodies of those killed. The attackers seem to most likely have been a strand split from a broader separatist youth movement that

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had been growing in strength and was about to take center stage in the southern separatist movement. On October 25, 2004, six Muslim members of the local security forces in Tak Bai district, Narathiwat province, were arrested by police for their alleged involvement in providing weapons to local militants. Their arrest provoked a hostile crowd to gather outside the police station where they had been detained. Local militants mobilized up to 1,500 demonstrators and then manipulated the crowd to provoke a confrontation with police. The police were forced to fire warning shots and use fire truck–based water cannons. The crowd responded by throwing bricks and bottles, and Thai army soldiers retaliated by firing directly into the crowd. Soldiers then forced the protestors to lay with faces down on the ground to have their hands bound behind their backs. An estimated 1,300 men were stacked into trucks and transported to a nearby army base, where, upon arrival, it was discovered that seventy-eight had died of suffocation. The Tak Bai incident provoked communal outrage and led to a steep escalation in the number of murders and bombings. A village chief was beheaded in November and a note was placed on his body that read, “For the innocents of Tak Bai.” Soon the southern provinces were flooded with leaflets that called for the expulsion of Thai Buddhist oppressors and the liberation of the Malay Muslim homeland of Patani. In short, revenge trumped ideology and politics as the main motivation for the large number of scattered small-scale acts of violence that characterized everyday life in the south. In February 2005, Thaksin and his Thai Rak Thai party were returned to power in a crushing electoral victory. In July, in response to a coordinated bombing raid by sixty militants on the Yala provincial capital, Thaksin promulgated an Emergency Decree (ICG 2005b). Under this decree, security officials were given immunity from prosecution, and suspects could be detained for thirty days without charge. Thaksin continued to press his policy of securitization of the Malay Muslim problem in southern Thailand by relying increasingly on paramilitary forces. Both the Thai Rangers (Thahan Phran) and the Ministry of the Interior’s Volunteer Defense Corps (Or Sor) tripled in size after January 2004. The Village Defence Volunteers (Chor Ror Bor) also underwent a massive expansion, recruiting 24,300 volunteers during 2002–2004. Plans were announced in 2005 to post thirty volunteers in each of the 1,580 villages in the southern provinces, doubling their strength to 47,400. The Village Protection Force (Or Ror Bor) was established in September 2004 under the patronage of the queen and immediately recruited 1,000 members in Narathiwat, growing to more than 10,000 by 2007. A number of informal Buddhist militias sprang up, such as Thais United (Ruam Thai), and enlisted 6,000 volunteers in Yala province (ICG 2007b).

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At the same time, in 2005, the separatist movement underwent a further transformation. BRN-Congress emerged as the strongest and bestorganized insurgent force, fielding a highly trained assault force known as the RKK (Runda Kumpulan Kecil, or Small Armed Patrol Group). The BRN-Congress was responsible for organizing several major coordinated attacks that took place during this period and also adopted a highly successful strategy of mobilizing youth through its affiliate, Pemuda. In 2005, the BRN-Congress stood behind the formation of the Patani Liberation Assembly (Dewan Pembebasan Patani, or DPP) in an effort to exert general influence—but not operational control—over numerous small, autonomous cells carrying out daily acts of violence. Two additional elements in the current transformation of the southern insurgency should be noted. The first is the emergence of a large youth movement recruited from ponohs, technical schools, and universities, and from among workers, farmers, and the unemployed. A major component of the youth movement is based primarily, but not exclusively, on a network of thirty state-funded “private schools teaching Islam.” Several of the militants involved in the April 28, 2004, incident were students enrolled in the exclusive Thammachat Witthaya private school in Yala (Liow 2006b: 30–32). The second element is the mobilization of civilians—women in particular—to participate in protests in response to provocations by Thai security authorities. The use of mass mobilization techniques was graphically demonstrated during communal violence in Saba Yoi district, Narathiwat, in March 2007 (ICG 2007: 21). Local Malay Muslims blamed Thai Rangers for a grenade attack on the headmaster of a local boarding school who had refused to adopt the secular national curriculum. When police arrived to investigate, they were denied access by a picket line formed by local women. The standoff lasted for nearly a month. In May–June, a group calling itself the Student Network for People’s Protection led a highly organized five-day demonstration at the central mosque in Pattani to protest abuses by security forces. The demonstration attracted over 4,000 persons, who blocked city traffic and disrupted business (ICG 2007: 12–13). Thaksin’s securitization policies proved counterproductive; some elements of the poorly disciplined paramilitaries continued to engage in widespread human rights abuses, disappearances, and extrajudicial killings (Human Rights Watch 2007a and 2007b). Thaksin’s policy attracted criticism from both privy councilor Prem Tinsulanond and the King of Thailand and played a role in Thaksin’s overthrow on September 19, 2006, in a coup. Thailand’s new military leaders promptly sought to address the southern insurgency (ICG 2007a). Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont issued an unprecedented public apology for past government abuses and

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ordered an end to the blacklisting of suspects. In October 2006, Surayud issued two orders; the first set out the principles for a peaceful resolution of the conflict and the restoration of justice in the south, and the second announced the restoration of the SBPAC and CPM Task Force under the overall direction of the Internal Security Operations Command. Thai government attempts to open a dialogue with exiled separatists in 2006 failed, however, because their organizations no longer had any influence on the ground in the south. Southern insurgents responded by stepping up violence and propaganda aimed at undermining conciliation. The number of conflict-related incidents recorded at the end of the year was higher than those following the Tak Bai incident in October. Thailand’s “fire in the south” defies easy characterization because multiple causes and actors are involved in the escalating violence (Askew 2007). The perpetrators of large-scale coordinated attacks are largely unknown, having refused to identify themselves. This has led one terrorism specialist to characterize the southern insurgency as a “conspiracy of silence” (Abuza 2005). Terrorism specialists who have attempted to portray the southern insurgency as increasingly motivated by Islamic extremism and international jihadist ideology have missed the mark. They rarely address the question of Malay Muslim ethnonationalism and the role of state violence—particularly that of the armed forces, paramilitary groups, police and Buddhist militias—in contributing to militant separatism. Although the separatist movement in southern Thailand has clearly taken on a greater religious tinge in recent years, that factor alone cannot explain the multiple forms and widespread nature of the violence that is occurring. Dire warnings that al Qaeda and its affiliates will be attracted to the southern insurgency seem improbable given their current focus on Afghanistan and Iraq and the obliteration of the JI network in Southeast Asia. An estimated 10,000 police and 22,000 regular soldiers are currently assigned to the southern provinces to cope with the separatist threat. Insurgents continue to operate with impunity in many districts, and the daily killing of security personnel and ordinary civilians continues unabated. One major factor that may bear on the southern insurgency will be whether the new coalition government, formed as a result of democratic elections in December 2007, seriously addresses national reconciliation in the south. This seems unlikely, as the elections returned Thaksin’s supporters to power and relegated the Democratic Party—the only party enjoying a support base in the south—to the opposition benches. The scene has now been set for a revival of political tensions in Bangkok and a continuation of Malay Muslim insurgency in the south.

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Select Bibliography Abuza, Z., Militant Islam in Southeast Asia: Crucible of Terror (Boulder: Lynne Riennerm 2003). Abuza, Z., “A Conspiracy of Silence: Who is Behind the Escalating Insurgency in Southern Thailand?” in Terrorism Monitor, Vol. 3, No. 9 (2005). Abuza, Z., “A Breakdown of Southern Thailand’s Insurgency Groups,” in Terrorism Monitor, Vol. 4, No. 17 (2006). Abuza, Z., “The Role of Foreign Trainers in Southern Thailand’s Insurgency,” in Terrorism Monitor, Vol. 5, No. 11 (2007). Aphornsuvan, T., Rebellion in Southern Thailand: Contending Histories, Policy Studies 35 (Southeast Asia) (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2007). Askew, M., Conspiracy, Politics, and a Disorderly Border: The Struggle to Comprehend Insurgency in Thailand’s Deep South, Policy Studies 29 (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2007). Bush, George W., Transcript of Address to a Joint Session of Congress and the American People by President George W. Bush (Washington, D.C.: Office of the Press Secretary, The White House, September 20, 2001). Chongkittavorn, K., “Thailand: International Terrorism and the Muslim South,” in Southeast Asian Affairs 2004, D. Singh, ed. (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2004: 267–275). Chua, S., “Political Islam in Southern Thailand—A Radicalization,” in Proceedings of the International Symposium on the Dynamics and Structures of Terrorist Threats in Southeast Asia, IDA Paper P-4026, J. T. Hanley, K. O. Hassig, and C. F. Ziemke, eds. (Alexandria, VA: The Institute for Defense Analysis, 2005: 55–72). Connors, M. K., “War on Error and the Southern Fire: How Terrorism Analysts Get it Wrong” in Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, D. McCargo, ed. (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007: 145–164). Croissant, A., “Unrest in South Thailand: Contours, Causes, and Consequences Since 2001” in Contemporary Southeast Asia, Vol. 27, No. 1 (2005: 21–43). Gunaratna, R., A. Acharya, and S. Chua, Conflict and Terrorism in Southern Thailand (Singapore: Michael Cavendish Academic, 2005). Human Rights Watch, “It Was Like Suddenly My Son No Longer Existed Enforced Disappearances in Thailand’s Southern Border Provinces,” Vol. 19, No. 5 (New York: Human Rights Watch, 2007a). Human Rights Watch, “No One Is Safe: Insurgent Violence Against Civilians in Thailand’s Southern Border Provinces,” Vol. 19, No. 13 (New York: Human Rights Watch, 2007b). International Crisis Group, “Southern Thailand: Insurgency, Not Jihad,” Asia Report No. 98 (Jakarta and Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2005a). International Crisis Group, “Thailand’s Emergency Decree: No Solution,” Asia Report No. 105 (Jakarta and Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2005b). International Crisis Group, “Southern Thailand: The Impact of the Coup,” Asia Report No. 129 (Jakarta and Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2007a). International Crisis Group, “Southern Thailand: The Problem with Paramilitaries,” Asia Report No. 140 (Jakarta and Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2007b).

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Islam, S. S., “The Islamic Independence Movements in Patani of Thailand and Mindanao of the Philippines” in Asian Survey, Vol. 38, No. 5 (1998: 441–456). Jitpiromsri, S., and P. Sobbonvasu, “Unpacking Thailand’s Southern Conflict: the Poverty of Structural Explanations” in Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, D. McCargo, ed. (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007: 89–111). Ladd, T. M., “Political Violence in the Muslim Provinces of Southern Thailand,” Occasional Paper No. 28 (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1975). Liow, J. C., “The Security Situation in Southern Thailand: Toward an Understanding of Domestic and International Dimensions” in Studies in Conflict & Terrorism, Vol. 27 (2004: 531–548). Liow, J. C., “International Jihad and Muslim Radicalism in Thailand? Toward an Alternative Interpretation” in Asia Policy, Vol. 2 (Seattle: National Bureau of Asian Research, 2006a: 89–108). Liow, J. C., Muslim Resistance in Southern Thailand and Southern Philippines: Religion, Ideology, and Politics, Policy Studies 24 (Washington, D.C.: EastWest Center, 2006b). Mahakanjana, C., “Decentralization, Local Government, and Socio-political Conflict in Southern Thailand,” Working Papers No. 5 (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2006). McCargo, D., ed. Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007a). McCargo, D., ed. “Thaksin and the Resurgence of Violence in the Thai South” in Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, Duncan McCargo, ed. (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007b: 35–68). Pathmanand, U., “Thaksin’s Achilles’ Heel: The Failure of Hawkish Approaches in the Thai South” in Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, D. McCargo, ed. (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007: 69–88). Report of National Reconciliation Commission, Overcoming Violence Through the Power of Reconciliation (Bangkok: National Reconciliation Commission, 2005). Satha-Anand, C., “The Silence of the Bullet Monument: Violence and ‘Truth’ Management, Dusun-nyor 1948, and Kru-Ze 2004” in Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, D. McCargo, ed. (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007: 11–34). Sugunnasil, W., “Islam, Radicalism, and Violence in Southern Thailand: Berjihad de Patani and the 28 April 2004 Attacks” in Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, D. McCargo, ed. (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007: 112–136). Suhrke, A., “Loyalists and Separatists: The Muslims in Southern Thailand,” Asian Survey, Vol. 17, No. 3 (1977: 237–250). Tan-Mullins, May, “Voices from Pattani: Fears, Suspicion, and Confusion” in Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, D. McCargo, ed. (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007: 137–144). Thayer, C. A., “Al Qaeda and Political Terrorism in Southeast Asia” in Terrorism and Violence in Southeast Asia: Transnational Challenges to States and Regional Stability, P. Smith, ed. (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 2005a: 79–97).

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Thayer, C. A., “New Terrorism in Southeast Asia” in Violence in Between: Conflict and Security in Archipelagic Southeast Asia, D. Kingsbury, ed. (Clayton: Monash University Press, 2005b: 53–74). Thayer, C. A., “Radical Islam and Political Terrorism in Southeast Asia” in Globalization and its Counter-F orces in Southeast Asia, T. Chong, ed. (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2008: 256–275). Yusuf, I., “Faces of Islam in Southern Thailand,” Working Papers No. 7 (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2007).

Annotated Bibliography

Print Resources Agoncillo, T. A., Filipino Nationalism, 1872–1970 (Quezon City: Garcia Publishing Company, 1974). This book analyzes the origins and development of Filipino nationalist consciousness. It provides a valuable explanation of the subject under consideration. Armstrong, C., The Koreas (London: Routledge, 2007). Charles Armstrong is an internationally respected authority on the history of the two Koreas. In this book, he provides the reader with a succinct, helpful account of Korean history and inter-Korean relations. Askew, M., Conspiracy, Politics, and a Disorderly Border: The Struggle to Comprehend Insurgency in Thailand’s Deep South, Policies Studies 29 (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2007). An incisive critical examination of various explanations advanced to explain violence in southern Thailand, including Thai language sources and intelligence reports. Beal, T., North Korea: The Struggle against American Power (London: Pluto Press, 2005). This book provides a refreshing and much-needed change to the hysterical tone adopted by so many commentators. It contains a thorough, objective reassessment of charges against North Korea in the areas of human rights and criminal activities. It also provides a detailed analysis of nuclear issues on the Korean peninsula. Bennett, J., Wealth of the Solomons: A History of a Pacific Archipelago 1800–1978 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1987). Although twenty years old, this is still the best history of modern Solomon Islands up until independence and has a wealth of detail and insight. Bennett, J., Pacific Forest: A History of Resource Control and Contest in Solomon Islands, c. 1800–1997 (Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 2000). An elaborate history of the use and contest for control of Solomon Islands forests that situates the development of the country’s natural resources

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within its postindependence political dynamics and integration into international markets. Bermudez, J. S. Jr., Shield of the Great Leader: The Armed Forces of North Korea (St. Leonards, Australia: Allen & Unwin, 2001). Joseph Bermudez conducts a detailed survey of every salient aspect of the North Korean military. Bose, S., The Challenge in Kashmir: Democracy, Self-Determination and a Just Peace (New York: Sage Publications, 1997). This book focuses on discussions with ordinary citizens, grass-roots activists, and insurgents to explain the triangular contest for hegemony between India, Pakistan, and popular movements for self-determination. Cady, J. F., A History of Modern Burma (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1958, 1965). This is probably the most comprehensive study of the early years of modern Burma. Chen, Q., “The Taiwan Strait Crisis: Its Crux and Solutions” in Asian Survey, Vol. 36, No. 11 (November 1996: 1055–1066). Although slightly dated, this article offers a clear and concise understanding of the major issues surrounding the Taiwan Strait crisis. Chung, C., Domestic Politics, International Bargaining and China’s Territorial Disputes (London: Routledge Curzon, 2004). This book provides a good overview of the Spratly Islands dispute and places it in a broader context of China’s territorial disagreements. Cribb, R., “Myanmar” in The Far East and Australasia 2007: Europa Regional Surveys of the World (London: Europa Publications, 2007). This chapter in Europa Regional Surveys offers a narrative history of contemporary Burmese politics. Cumings, B., North Korea: Another Country (New York: The New Press, 2004). Bruce Cumings is the most authoritative scholar of the subject writing in the English language today. This succinct and insightful book provides readers with the single best explanation of North Korean politics and diplomacy. Dasgupta, C., War and Diplomacy in Kashmir 1947–48, (Delhi: Sage Publications, 2002). The book reassesses the roles played by Mountbatten and the British service chiefs in the Kashmir war of 1947–1948. It explains why India took the Kashmir issue to the UN, why it did not carry the war into Pakistan, and why it accepted a ceasefire. Elmslie, J., Irian Jaya under the Gun: Indonesian Economic Development versus West Papuan Nationalism (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002). A well-written, knowledgeable work by a tribal art dealer who completed his doctorate on West Papua. Fraenkel, J., “The Clash of Dynasties and the Rise of Demagogues: Fiji’s Tauri Vakaukauwa of May 2000,” Journal of Pacific History, Vol. 35, No. 3 (2000). A leading expert on Fijian politics explains the causes of Fiji’s 2000 coup and its consequences. A strength of this journal article is the special emphasis it places on the role of cleavages within the ethnic Fijian polity. Fraenkel, J., The Manipulation of Custom—From Uprising to Intervention in the Solomon Islands (Wellington, New Zealand: Victoria University Press, 2004). This is a useful overview of the recent conflict that, as the title implies,

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emphasizes the manipulation of kastom—particularly compensation—as an important underlying dynamic. Fraenkel, J., and S. Firth, From Election to Coup in Fiji: The 2006 Campaign and its Aftermath, (Canberra and Suva: Institute of Pacific Studies and AsiaPacific Press, 2007). Two experts on Fijian politics have put forward this thirty-two-chapter collection, which focuses on the elections of 2006. It includes contributions from former Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry and Laisenia Qarase, who was Prime Minister from 2000 to 2006. The collection contains several chapters analyzing the December 2006 coup. France, P., The Charter of the Land (New York and Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1969). Every scholar of Fijian history is familiar with this essential introduction to the land policies of Sir Arthur Gordon and the foundation of Fiji’s “neotraditional” order. Frankel, F. R., and H. Harding, eds. The India-China Relationship: What the United States Needs to Know (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001). The editors have compiled a thorough overview of the US–Sino–Indian triangular relationship with essays covering all aspects of Sino–Indian relations, including the two countries’ border dispute. Ganguly, S., The Crisis in Kashmir: Portents of War, Hopes of Peace (Cambridge, UK: Woodrow Wilson Center Series and Cambridge University Press, 1997). This theoretical description traces the origins of the insurgency in Indiancontrolled Jammu and Kashmir. Ganguly, S., Conflict Unending: India-Pakistan Tensions since 1947 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001). This book presents a concise, dispassionate summary of each Indo–Pakistani conflict. With the exception of the 1971 war over East Pakistan, the occupation of Kashmir has provided the focal point for each conflict. Ganguly, S., and D. T. Hagerty, The Fearful Symmetry: India-Pakistan Crises in the Shadow of Nuclear Weapons (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005). A careful analysis of the six Indo–Pakistani crises that have occurred in the past two decades. Garver, J. W., Protracted Contest: Sino-Indian Rivalry in the Twentieth Century (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001). Garver’s account of relations between India and China has become a standard reference work in the area. It contains the most comprehensive account of Sino–Indian bilateral relations in the period under review. Gordon, D., director, A State of Mind (UK: VeryMuchSo Productions, 2005). This documentary offers an unprecedented insight into school and family life in Pyongyang, North Korea. It tells the story of two young schoolgirl gymnasts who are in training for the mass games. Hoffman, S. A., India and the China Crisis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). Although written nearly twenty years ago, Hoffman’s book remains one of the best accounts of the brief but bloody border conflict between India and China. Hoffman, S. A., “Rethinking the Linkage between Tibet and the China-India Border Conflict: A Realist Approach,” Journal of Cold War Studies, Vol. 8,

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No. 3 (Summer 2006: 165–194). A good explanation highlighting the importance of Tibet to the Sino-Indian border dispute. Kim, S. S., “Sino-Korean Relations in the Post-Cold War World” in Young Whan Kihl and Hong Nack Kim, eds. North Korea: The Politics of Regime Survival (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 2006). The author, Samuel Kim, is one of the leading authorities of North Korea’s foreign relations. This chapter offers an accessible, expert overview of an important subject. Kingsbury, D., Peace in Aceh: A Personal Account of the Aceh Peace Process (Jakarta: Equinox, 2006). This memoir is written by one of the contributors to this volume of Hotspot Histories. It describes his role as an adviser to the Free Aceh Movement at the peace talks in Helsinki. Kingsbury, D., and M. Leach, eds. East Timor: Beyond Independence (Clayton, Australia: Monash University Press, 2007). Damien Kingsbury and Michael Leach have edited a thorough study of the issues facing East Timor now that independence has been achieved. Kramer, T., “Burma/Myanmar: Military Rule and Ethnic Conflict” in Heijmans, Annelies, et al., eds. Searching for Peace in Asia Pacific (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 2004). The author provides a concise and valuable overview of political developments in Burma/Myanmar. Lal, B., Broken Waves: A History of the Fiji Islands in the Twentieth Century (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1992). An expert in Fijian history, Brij Lal examines political and social developments from the beginning of the twentieth century. He analyzes the period of independence in 1970 and examines the fateful events of the 1987 coup years. Lamb, A., The China-India Border: The Origins of the Disputed Boundaries (London: Oxford University Press, 1964). Alastair Lamb wrote this account only two years after the border war between India and China. It provides a comprehensive examination of the origins of the border dispute. Lamb, A., Kashmir 1947: The Birth of a Tragedy (Hertingfordbury: Roxford Books, 1992). Alastair Lamb argues that in many ways the Kashmir question was a direct product of the process of partition, which in important respects was never completed, and that any serious attempt at its resolution will inevitably involve a conscious effort to complete that process. Lin, H-S., “Boundary, Sovereignty, and Imagination: Reconsidering the Frontier Disputes between British India and Republican China, 1914–47” in The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Vol. 32, No. 3 (September 2004: 25–47). A good overview of the border dispute between British India and China in the first half of the twentieth century. Liow, J. C., Muslim Resistance in Southern Thailand and Southern Philippines: Religion, Ideology, and Politics, Policy Studies 24 (Washington, D.C.: East-West Center, 2006). A sensitive and nuanced comparative analysis of conflict in southern Thailand and the southern Philippines that displays the author’s deep understanding of the role of religious schools, religious ideologies, and local politics. Martinkus, J., Indonesia’s Secret War in Aceh (Sydney: Random House, 2004). Australian journalist John Martinkus explains the nearly twenty-year fight for independence by the Free Aceh Movement.

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McCargo, D., ed. Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2007). The best single compilation of analyses on the conflict in southern Thailand, written by a diverse range of western and Thai scholars from various disciplinary backgrounds. Moore, C., Happy Isles in Crisis—The Historical Causes for a Failing State in Solomon Islands, 1998–2004 (Canberra: Asia Pacific Press, 2005). An attempt to place recent events in the context of the deeper history of discontent, disaffection, and dissatisfaction among many Solomon Islands communities. Narayan Swamy, M. R., Inside an Elusive Mind: Prabhakaran (New York: Literate World, Inc., 2003). Many stories—some true, others fanciful— surround the leader of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam. Narayan Swamy provides the reader with a biographical profile of this elusive figure. Nessen, W., The Black Road: On the Frontline of Aceh’s War, documentary film (Melbourne, 2005). This is a widely acclaimed, moving, unforgettable documentary that conveys Aceh’s situation under Indonesia military operations with immediacy and expertise. Norbu, D., “Tibet in Sino-Indian Relations: The Centrality of Marginality” in Asian Survey, Vol. 37, No. 11 (November 1997: 1078–1082). This journal article is a detailed, well-written piece that highlights the importance of Tibet in Sino–Indian relations. Osborne, R., Indonesia’s Secret War (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1985). This wellwritten, thoroughly researched book is the best single introduction to the origins of the Papuan conflict. Park, H. S., North Korea: The Politics of Unconventional Wisdom (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002). A serious interpretation of the ideas of the juche philosophy and its implications for life in North Korea. Pinches, M., “The Philippines” in The Far East and Australasia 2007: Europa Regional Surveys of the World (London: Europa Publications, 2007). This is a detailed narrative description of the recent history of the Philippines, with particular attention paid to the post-Marcos era. Racine, J., Cachemire: au péril de la guerre (Paris: Collection CERI/Autrement, 2002). This book analyzes the roots and the international stakes of the Kashmir conflict from 1947 to 2002. Rose, C., Sino-Japanese Relations: Facing the Past, Looking to the Future? (London: Routledge Curzon, 2005). The author provides a comprehensive exploration of the historical context and recent developments in Sino–Japanese relations. Schofield, V., Kashmir in the Crossfire (London: I. Tauris, 1996). Schofield presents a survey of Kashmir’s tragic history from the first half of the nineteenth century to independence in 1947. Schwartz, B. I., Chinese Communism and the Rise of Mao (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1951, 1979). This book provides a sound analysis of the birth and development of communist opposition to nationalist rule in China. Shalom, S. R., and D. B. Schirmer, The Philippines Reader: A History of Colonialism, Neocolonialism, Dictatorship, and Resistance (Boston: South End Press, 1987). This is the most helpful single book on the Philippines. Although

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more than two decades old today, it contains more than 400 pages of readings and provides rich insight into the country’s enduring political characteristics. Shankar Jha, P., The Origins of a Dispute: Kashmir 1947 (London: Pluto Press, 2003). Jha provides an account of the critical times when the fate of Kashmir was decided in the context of Britain’s geo-political strategies. He examines the contrasting versions of history that have emerged since that time. Shoesmith, D., ed. The Crisis in Timor-Leste: Understanding the Past, Imagining the Future (Darwin: Charles Darwin University Press, 2007). This slim-butimportant volume brings together the contributions of a number of experts. It provides much-needed insights into East Timor’s contemporary situation. Sidhu, W. P. S., and J.-D. Yuan, China and India: Cooperation or Conflict? (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2003). This recent volume offers a range of useful information on various confidence-building measures between India and China. de Silva, K. M., A History of Sri Lanka (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1981). Although many years out of date, this remains a very good one-volume history of Sri Lanka. De Silva is also the editor of Sri Lanka: A Survey (1977), which offers comprehensive coverage of the country’s history, geography, economy, and culture. Singh, T., Kashmir: A Tragedy of Errors (New Delhi: Viking, 1995). Journalist Tavleen Singh describes the complexities of Kashmir’s recent history to expose the political machinations, corruption, and ineptitude that have alienated the Kashmiris from their mother country. Son, K., South Korean Engagement Policies and North Korea: Identities, Norms and the Sunshine Policy (London: Routledge, 2006). A detailed explanation of the Sunshine policy, especially the role of Hyundai, by a former South Korean journalist-turned-political-scientist. Steinberg, D., “The United States and its Allies: the Problem of Burma/ Myanmar Policy” in Contemporary South East Asia, Vol. 29, No. 2 (August 2007). This provides a very detailed analysis and comparison of the various Western governments’ policies towards Myanmar. Wirsing, R. G., India, Pakistan and the Kashmir Dispute: On Regional Conflict and Its Resolution (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1998). This study examines the rise of a Kashmiri Muslim separatist movement and its complicating impact on any possible resolution. Zagoria, D., and Y. K. Kim, “North Korea and the Major Powers” in Asian Survey, Vol. 15, No. 12, (December 1975: 1017–1035). A contemporaneous analysis of the policies adopted by North Korea toward South Korea at a critical moment in the history of the two states.

Online Resources Amnesty International (AI): http://www.amnesty.org Amnesty International is a well-known human rights organization that enjoys a good reputation around the world. It has a range of well-researched, informative material on its Website.

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ABC News online: http://www.abc.net.au/news/world/ The Website of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation contains news and analysis from around the world, including in Asia and Oceania. BBC News online: http://news.bbc.co.uk/ The Website of the British Broadcasting Corporation contains news and analysis from around the world, including in Asia and Oceania. CAVR: http://www.cavr-timorleste.org/chegaReport.htm The Report of the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation (CAVR) is available at the above Website. Known as Chega!, it is over 2,500 pages long and is a masterly survey of East Timor’s history written in an impartial and objective manner. A shorter Executive Summary is also available at the same Website. CIA World Factbook: http://www.cia.gov/library/publications/ This handy online resource provides basic information on a very wide range of security-related subjects affecting countries around the world. DFAT Country profiles: http://www.dfat.gov.au/geo/ Australia’s Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade provides a variety of information about the land, people, history, government, political conditions, economy, and foreign relations of almost 240 countries and economies. East Timor and Indonesia Action Network: http://www.etan.org The Website of the East Timor and Indonesia Action Network is a widely accessible, invaluable resource on virtually every aspect of East Timor operated by a highly knowledgeable and dedicated team. Foreign and Commonwealth Office: http://www.fco.gov.uk The British Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) provides information on a number of countries around the world, prepared by FCO desk officers who aim to provide general overviews of countries. It includes information on a country’s recent history, recent political developments, relations with the international community, and bilateral political and commercial relations with the UK. Human Rights Watch (HRW): http://www.hrw.org This worldwide human rights organization has a good reputation in many quarters because of its detailed analysis of regional politics. Its human rights campaigns tend to be backed by sound research. International Monetary Fund: http://www.imf.org The IMF Website provides important economic information and analysis about a wide range of countries around the world. The Journal of Asian Studies: http://www.jstor.org/journals/00219118.html This quarterly publication, available online as well as in many university libraries, is a valuable resource on contemporary and historical Asian affairs. It has been published regularly since 1941. Each issue contains four or five detailed articles on East, South, and Southeast Asia, as well as a large book review section. Library of Congress Country Studies: http://lcweb2.loc.gov/frd/cs/cshome.html These studies provide a description and analysis of a number of countries in Asia and Oceania.

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New Zealand Ministry of Foreign Affairs: http://www.mfat.govt.nz/Countries/ index.php The Website of New Zealand’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade contains information on a range of countries and territories throughout the world. It provides information on these countries’ relations with New Zealand as well as general information on the country itself. State Department: http://www.state.gov/countries. The U.S. State Department Website contains a great deal of information on individual countries around the world. Information may be accessed by country or by region. The Sydney Morning Herald: http://www.smh.com.au This newspaper’s reports by Hamish McDonald, long-time follower of Indonesian affairs, are compulsory reading for all those with an interest in contemporary Indonesian politics. It also contains news and analysis of Asian and Pacific politics with direct reporting from correspondents in the countries under consideration. Transparency International: http://www.transparency.org/regional_pages/ asia_pacific/ The Website of this anti-corruption organization contains information about aspects of a range of countries in the Asia–Pacific region. World Bank: http://www.worldbank.org The World Bank is actually two institutions—the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (IBRD) and the International Development Association (IDA)—that enjoy a close linkage with each other. Indeed, their staffs are one and the same, and so they are like two different programs within the same institution. Their Website provides a variety of information on countries around the world. Information may be accessed by country or by region, such as “East Asia and the Pacific.” The World Health Organization (WHO): http://www.who.int/whr/ This branch of the United Nations provides valuable information about a range of public health issues. It analyzes the spread of diseases and reports on the response of national and international health systems. It is a highly relevant resource in the era of nontraditional security threats. Z Communications: http://www.zcommunications.org This Website offers an enormous variety of resources on politics, economics, culture, society, and international relations. A daily visit is highly recommended.

Index

Abdullah, Farooq, 129, 132 Abdullah, Sheikh Mohammed, 121, 123–124 Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG), 196–97 Aceh Cessation of Hostilities Agreement (COHA), 92, 101 economic and strategic significance, 93–94 independence perspective, 94–95 Indonesian rule, 95–97 Indonesia’s military offensive, 100–103 Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam (NAD), 92, 94, 100 oil and gas, 93, 96, 100 position in Indonesia, 92–93 presidency of Abdurrahman Wahid, 97–100 Agricultural Landlords and Tenants Act, 55 Agricultural Landlords and Tenants Ordinance (ALTO), 55 Aguinaldo, Emilio, 184–185 Aksai Chin, 76, 78–79, 81–82 Alex Boncayao Brigade (ABB), 198 Alkatiri, Mari, 45, 46, 47 All Parties Hurriyat Conference, 133 Aluonashun, 68–69 Anglo-Siamese treaties, 246 Anglo-Sikh war, first, 121 Anglo-Sikh war, second, 73, 75 Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL), 169

Ap, Arnold, 107 Aquino, Benigno, Jr., 189, 198 Aquino, Corazon defeats coup attempts, 191 election results, 1986, 189–190 political reforms, 190 position on foreign military bases, 190–191 presidential term expires, 191 Ardagh–Johnson line, 75–76 Armed City Partisans (ACP), 198 Arroyo, Gloria Macapagal advocates constitutional change, 194 allegations of election manipulation, 193 declares “state of rebellion,” 193 defeat of coup attempt, 193 succeeds Estrada as president, 193 wins presidential election, 193 Article 370, 124 Asian financial crisis, 192, Association of Sons of the People (Katipunan), 184 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), 9, 10, 18, 175, 179–180 Aung San, 169 Ava, Kingdom of, 168 Bainimarama, Commodore Frank, 51, 52, 60, 63–65 Barisan Bersatu Mujahidin Patani (BBMP), 253 Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Patani (BNPP), 250–251

274 Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN), 251, 253 Beg-Parthasarathi Accord, 128 Belo, Bishop Carlos Felipe Ximenes, 31, 33 Bhutto, Zulfiquar Ali, 125–128 Big men, 204–205 Biketawa Declaration, 215 Bonifacio, Andres, 184 Boven Digul, 103 BRN-Congress, 253, 255–257, 260 Burma Independence Army, 168 Burma Socialist Program Party (BSPP), 170, 172–173 Burmese Way to Socialism, The, 170 Caetano, Marcello, 27 Carrascalao, Joao, 45 Castles, Shane, 222–223 Chaudhry, Mahendra, 60–63 China communism in, 4 claims to Spratly Islands of, 5–11 Cultural Revolution, 145–146 Exclusive Economic Zones (EEZs), 8, 11 foreign relations after September 11, 5 invasion by Japan, 17 Long March, the, 3 population of, 1–3 preindependence, 3 relations with Taiwan, 13–20 relations with Vietnam, 6–10 relations with Philippines, 7 relations with Brunei, 7 Tiananmen Square, 19 Civil–Police–Military command (CPM), 254–255, 257, 261 Cloma, Tomas, 7 Cole, Patrick, 221 Colimau 2000, 47 Commission for Reception, Truth, and Reconciliation (CAVR), 42–43 Commission on Truth and Friendship (CTF), 42 Communist Party of Burma (CPB), 170 Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP), 197–198 Cumings, Bruce, 145 Daerah Operasi Militer (DOM), 96–97 Dalai Lama, 78, 80

Index Darul Islam Indonesia (DII), 95 De Mello, Sergio Vieira, 44, 45 Demilitarized zone (DMZ), 142, 150, 162 Dunning, Adam, 216 East Timor Balibo declaration, 28 carnation revolution, 27–29 crimes against humanity, 39–44 East Timor Action Network, 32 Indonesian invasion, 29 International Force East Timor (InterFET), 44 May 5 agreement, 37 National Council of Maubere Resistance (CNRM), 30 National Council of Timorese Resistance (CNRT), 30, 45 Nobel Prize awarded, 33 Ploughshares actions, 33 political parties formed, 27 Pope John Paul II, visit of, 31 Portuguese colonialism, 25–27 Revolutionary Council of National Resistance (CRRN), 29 Santa Cruz massacre 32 student resistance, 30 UNTAET, 44–46 Eelam Wars first, 232 second, 232–233 third, 233–234 Eluay, Theys, 108, 109 Estrada, Joseph becomes President, 192 becomes Vice-President, 191 bribery allegations and impeachment, 192 Fiji abolition of indenture, 53 British Colonialism, 52–53 formation of Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua (SDL), 62 formation of Soqosoqo ni Vakavulewa ni Taukei (SVT), 58 Indian population represented, 56 land policy, 54–55 National Federation Party wins elections, 55 1987 coup, 57–60 population, 53

Index 2000 coup, 60–61 2006 coup, 61–66 Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence (Panchshila), 77–78 Forward policy, 81 Freeport mine, 108 Free Thai Movement, 247 Gabungan Melayu Patani Raya (GAMPAR), 248, 249 Gandhi, Indira, 83, 127–128 Gandhi, Rajiv, 84 Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (GAM). See Aceh Gerakan Mujahidin Islam Patani (GMIP), 242, 255, 257 Great Council of Chiefs, 52, 55–56, 58–59, 61–62 Guadalcanal Liberation Front (GLF), 213 Guadalcanal Revolutionary Army (GRA), 207–208, 210 Gulf of Tonkin agreements, 10 Gusmao, Xanana, 29, 30, 38, 41, 45, 46, 48 Habibie, Bacharuddin Jusuf, 34–36, 39, 107–108 Hai Tanah ku Papua, 104 Haji Sulong Abdul Kadir, 248, 249 Hinomaru flag, 20 Hizb-ul-Mujahedeen (HUM), 133, 134, 139 Horta, Jose-Ramos, 33, 44, 45, 46, 48 Hukbong Mapagpalaya Laban sa Hapon (Hukbalahap) rebellion, 186, 188 Hyundai, 147, 152, 158, 162 Ilustrados, 184–5, 194 India-China negotiations, 84–85 Indian nuclear tests, 85 Indonesia. See Aceh; East Timor; West Papua Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF), 129, 132–134 Jayewardene, J. R., 232 Jinnah, Muhammad Ali, 119, 121, 123 Kai-Shek, Chiang, 3, 4, 16, 74 Kapissa, Sam, 107 Karen, 168, 169 Karuna Group, 234

275 Kashmir attack on Indian Parliament, 136–139 Bangladesh War, 126 Indo–Pakistani War, second, 125 insurgency, 1987, 131 Kargil Crisis, 135 tribal rebellion, 122–123 Kashmiriyat, 121 Kastom, 206–207, 209 Keke, Harold, 210, 213 Kemakeza, Sir Allen, 212–214, 217 Kilusan Bagong Lipunan (KBL, New Society Movement), 189, 198 Kim Dae-Jung, 20 Kim Il-Sung, 144–145, 147, 150–153 Kim Jong-Il, 153, 157–159 Kimigayo, 20 Kimmen crisis, 11–12 Koizumi, Junichiro, 157–159 Korea, North abductions, 159, 161 after the Cold War, 152–154 durability, 154–155 economic issues, 150–152 floods, 153 food shortages, 153–154, 163 Independence Hall, 143 New Economic Policy, 155–156 military, 162–163 missiles, 157, 159 nuclear issues, 156–157 population movement, 143–144 tourism, 152, 158, 161–162 Korean peninsula Basic Agreement on Reconciliation, Non-Aggression, Exchanges and Cooperation, 152 denuclearization, 152 drugs, 159 industrialization, 150, 152 Japanese colonialism, 142–144 post-war volatility, 144 reconstruction, 146–149 refugees, 154–155, 157 Korean War, 11–12, 145–146 Korea, South, 20–21 Kuomintang (KMT), 3, 4, 11, 16, 74 Kwangju massacre, 149 Labor camps, 149 Laskar Jihad, 109–110

276 Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) assassination of Lakshman Kadirgmar, 234 assassination of Rajiv Gandhi, 233 ceasefire agreement, 234 ceasefire agreement erodes, 234–235 cornered in Jaffna Peninsula, 232 fights Indian Peacekeeping Force, 232 formation, 231 loses Jaffna Peninsula to the Sri Lankan Army, 233 loses Kilinochche, 233 overruns Mullaitivu, 233 receives airdrop from India, 232 retakes Kilinochche, 233 splits, 234 Luns Plan, 104 Macartney–MacDonald line, 76 Magellan, Ferdinand, 184 Magsaysay, Ramon, 186, 188 Majelis Pemerintahan Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (MP-GAM), 98 Malaita Eagle Force (MEF), 208–211, 213, 217 Malhotra, Jagmohan, 132–133 Mambesak, 107 Manchurian Crisis, 17 Maps, importance of, 103 Marcos, Ferdinand declares martial law, 189 manipulates 1986 election, 189–190 overthrown by popular uprising, 190 wins 1965 election, 188 Mataqali, 53, 55 Maung, General Saw, 173, 175 Maung Maung, 172 McMahon Line, 75 Megawati Sukarnoputri, 99, 109–112 Melanesian brothers, 213 Melanesian politics, 204–205 Mischief Reef, 5, 9 Misuari, Nur, 195 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), 194–195 Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), 195–196 Moti, Julian, 221–222 Mountbatten, Lord Louis, 123 Mt. Kumgang resort, 161 Mukti Bahini, 127

Index Musharraf, Pervez, 136–139 Musyawarah, 105–106 Musyawarah besar (Mubes), 108 Myanmar (Burma) British rule, 168 campaign to gain international support, 176 Chair of ASEAN, 179 criticism at Asia–Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC), 181 88 Generation, 173 formation of National Unity Party (NUP), 173 formation of Union National Democratic Party (UNDP), 173 formation of SPDC, 177 forced restructure of NLD leadership, 175 international relations, 180 Japanese rule, 169 1998 crisis, 172–174 population, 167–168 protests escalate, 179–180 National Commission on Human Rights (Indonesia), 39 National League for Democracy (NLD), 172–179 New Guinea Council, 104 Ne Win, 169–70, 172–73, 175, 178 New People’s Army (NPA), 197–199 New York Agreement, 105 Northeast Frontier Agency (NEFA), 75, 78, 79, 81 Operasi Wibawa, 97 Operation Checkerboard, 84 Operation Gibraltar, 125, 126 Operation Poomalai (Operation Garland), 232 Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM), 107 Pagan, Kingdom of, 168 Park Chung-Hee, 147, 149 Participating Police Force (PPF), 215–216, 219 Partition (India-Pakistan), 122–124 Patani (former kingdom of), 245–148 Patani United Liberation Organization (PULO), 251–253 Pattani (province of Thailand), 243, 245, 260

Index Pemekaran, 111 Penentuan Pendapat Rakyat (Pepera). See West Papua, Act of Free Choice People’s Union for Civil Liberties (PUCL), 133 Phibun Songkhram, Field Marshal, 247–249 Philippines abductions, 196–197 claims to Spratly Islands, 7 Marcos period, 188–90 relations with China, 7 ruling families, 183 Spanish rule, 184–185 U.S. evicts Spain from, 185 Prabhakaran, Velupillai, 231 Premadasa, Ranasinghe, 233 Princely states, 122 al-Qaddafi, Colonel Muammar, 195 Qarase, Laisenia, 52, 61–65 Qing Dynasty, 3, 16, 71–72 Reddy, Jai Ram, 58–59 Rabuka, Sitiveni emerges as a key figure, 58 fares poorly in the new election, 59 stages a coup, 58 Rajapakse, Mahinda, 235, 237 Ramos, Fidel becomes President, 191 legalizes CPP, 198 presidential term expires, 192 promoted to Chief of Staff or the Armed Forces, 190 suppresses rebellions, 191 Re-education camps, 149 Resistance Front Against GAM Separatists (FPSG), 99 Revolutionary Council, 170 Rhee, Syngman, 144, 147 Rini, Snyder, 213, 219 Rizal, José, 184 Roh Tae-Woo, 150, 152, 158, 163 Roko Tui Bau, 63 Rose of Sharon, 143 Rubaiya Sayeed Affair, 132 Ryacudu, Ryamizard, 100, 109 Sagrada Familia, 47 Salazar, Antonio de Oliveira, 25–26 Samchong program, 149–150

277 Saya San uprising, 168 Security and Administration Committees (SAC), 170 Shui-Bian, President Chen, 14 Shwe, General Than, 175–176 Simbolon, Mahidin, 111–112 Simla Accord, 127 Simla Conference, 74 Sinhalese nationalism, 231 Sinh Chow Island, 8 Singh, Maharaja Hari, 121–123 Singh, Maharaja Ranjit, 73 Six Party Talks, 160–61 Sogavare, Mannaseh, 208–9, 219–223 Solomon Islands after independence, 203–204 colonial period, 201–203 coup, 2000, 207–209 Malaitan settlers, 206–207 population, 203, 206 RAMSI period, 214–224 Townsville Peace Agreement, 209–211 Solossa, Jaap, 112 Somare, Sir Michael, 222 Southern Border Provinces Administrative Center (SBPAC), 254–255, 257 Special Autonomy (West Papua), 110–113 Speight, George, 60–63, 66 Spratly Islands, 5–11 State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), 177–179 State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC), 173–177, 180 Staveteig, Sarah, 43 Suharto, 29, 32–34, 97, 105–107 Sukarno, 104–105 Sunshine policy, 158, 161 Suu Kyi, Aung San, 172–179 Taiwan. See China Tak Bai incident, 259, 261 Tamileela Peoples’ Liberation Tigers (TMVP). See Karuna Group Tamil United Front, 231 Teng-Hui, President Lee, 4, 13, 14 Terrorist and Disruptive Activities Prevention Act (TADA), 132 Thai Rak Thai party, 256, 259 Thakin Nu (U Nu), 169, 173

278 Thaksin Shinawatra, 256–260 Theater Missile Defense System, 19–20 Tibet Buddhism, 72–73 Chinese repression, 79–80 CIA aids rebellion, 80 Dalai Lama flees to India, 80 Lamaist government, 74 Nehru’s posture, 77–79 popular rebellion, 80 status before Chinese takeover, 72 Toungoo Dynasty, 168 Trelawney–Saunders line, 76 Tripoli Agreement, 195 UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), 5, 8 UN Temporary Executive Authority (UNTEA), 105

Index Vietnam, 5–10 Wallace, Alfred R., 25 West Papua Act of Free Choice, 105–107 Indonesian rule, 107 post-Suharto, 107–113 after World War II, 104–105 Wickramasinghe, Ranil, 235 Wiranto, 39, 41 Xiaoping, Deng, 11–14 Yat-Sen, Dr. Sun, 3, 16, 74 Yongbyon reactor, 156 Yudhoyono, Susilo Bambang, 111–112 Zedong, Mao, 3, 4, 11–12, 77, 83 Zemin, Jiang, 13–14, 19

About The Editor And Contributors CLINTON FERNANDES is senior lecturer in strategic studies in the School of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of New South Wales, Australian Defence Force Academy. NICOLAS BLAREL is a doctoral student in the Department of Political Science at Indiana University–Bloomington. SALLY BURT is a doctoral candidate at the Australian National University, conducting research into US diplomatic relations with China during World War II. She is also a tutor in the School of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of New South Wales, Australian Defence Force Academy. SINCLAIR DINNEN is a Senior Fellow in the State Society and Governance in Melanesia (SSGM) Program at the College of Asia and the Pacific at the Australian National University in Canberra. JON FRAENKEL is a multidisciplinary social scientist, currently with the State, Society and Governance in Melanesia program, Australian National University. He specializes in contemporary politics in Fiji and the Solomon Islands, electoral systems, constitutional design, and the political economy of the Pacific Islands. DAMIEN KINGSBURY is Associate Head of the School of International and Political Studies (Research) at Deakin University, Australia. His research interests include Southeast Asian/Indonesian/East Timorean/Sri Lankan politics. He advised the Free Aceh Movement in the Aceh peace talks in Helsinki in 2005.

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About the Editor and Contributors

STEWART LONE is Professor of modern Northeast Asian social history, University of New South Wales, Australian Defence Force Academy. He is the author of Korea Since 1850 (1993), Japan’s First Modern War (1994), Army, Empire and Politics in Meiji Japan (2000), and The Japanese Community in Brazil 1908–1940. MANJEET S. PARDESI is a doctoral student in the Department of Political Science at Indiana University–Bloomington. CARLYLE A. THAYER was educated at Brown University in the United States. He holds an MA in Southeast Asian Studies from Yale and a PhD in International Relations from the Australian National University (ANU). He is a professor of politics at the University of New South Wales, Australian Defence Force Academy.