In the post-pandemic conflicts to come, Asia will have to fend for itself

NOTE: First published in the South China Morning Post on 25 May 2020
With the scale and impact of the coronavirus pandemic, we are told to expect a different kind of world when lockdown and quarantine regimes are eventually lifted. But almost certainly, the one aspect of life that will not change is a proclivity for conflict. Rather, existing divides between powers, regions, neighbouring countries and within societies will be exacerbated. New drivers of conflict will emerge.

An analogy could be made with the end of World War II, which gave birth almost immediately to the Cold War struggle between communist states and the Western powers. Thirty more years of war and suffering ensued, especially in Asia.

Therefore, there is an urgent need to anticipate emerging fault lines created by the Covid-19 pandemic and design new frameworks to contain and resolve them to prevent more death and suffering. A global consensus is unlikely, so Asia will have to fend for itself.

We see this already in the global race to find a Covid-19 vaccine. As soon as one emerges, there will be conflict over who gets it first. The French pharmaceutical giant Sanofi was forced to back down after announcing that the United States would have priority access to the vaccine it is developing, because it was first to fund the company’s vaccine-making effort.

The challenges of international distribution, the decision over which segments of our profoundly unequal societies are inoculated, and how the issue of immunity is managed as it becomes a passport to employment and security, are likely to become triggers for protest and even conflict.

Just as the voices demanding sustained lockdowns and restrictions on movement are mainly of those who can afford to work from home, the privileged will demand premium care and attention, while the poor and marginalised will be at the end of the queue. “We have some perfectly effective vaccines on this planet that we have not used effectively,” said a senior official of the World Health Organisation (WHO) recently.
Sadly, the institutional framework and rules designed to ensure equitable protection of global health and security are badly frayed. The WHO has been politicised and defunded, its prescriptions and warnings go unheeded, while the UN Security Council cannot even pass a resolution on a global truce.
In the light of this, Asia needs urgently to consider how to collectively pool resources, learn from each country’s experiences and chart a regional path to the protection of public health and security.

Asia is both where the first outbreak of Covid-19 emerged, and also the region that has arguably the most effective containment efforts. With better-coordinated regional leadership and action, some of the missteps taken in some countries can be addressed and corrected. But first, the existing modes of regional cooperation and decision-making need to be adjusted, and the barriers to effective action must be lowered.

 Formal summit-level meetings have not worked out well among Asian leaders relying on video conferencing. Diplomacy and decision-making at the official level have slowed down. There should be more attention paid to actions taken at the grassroots level.

Despite a long history of having authoritarian governments, local communities, NGOs and individuals in the region have risen to the challenge of helping one another. While governments fumbled and fiddled over balancing public health with economic security, Malaysians made mass petitions urging the government to maintain lockdowns, while Indonesian leaders in towns and villages enforced local measures to protect their communities as the central government issued confusing messages. In Thailand, women’s groups and teams of doctors led the way in shaping medical advice and mobilising food supplies.

 Scale up this basic common-sense civility and you could have humanitarian organisations, charities and health foundations coming together at a regional level to pool data, share experiences, and establish a strategy for rolling out vaccines and preventive safeguards that are tailored to regional needs.

Questions such as how to ensure that the legions of migrant workers are included in vaccine programmes, even if they are undocumented or illegal, or the delivery of life-saving drugs to areas of conflict will require more effective regional cooperation as many of the region’s most vulnerable people live along contested or remote border areas.

With the blessing of the 10 Asean (Association of Southeast Asian Nations) member states supported by China, India, Japanand South Korea, one possible configuration could include Asean Regional Forum members such as Australia, New Zealandand even North Korea. A broader multi-state configuration is needed to ensure that countries like Bangladesh, which hosts close to a million Rohingya refugees, can be sure of a seat at the table. The ad hoc group model deployed to manage people-smuggling in the region, co-chaired by Indonesia and Australia and known as the Bali Process, might be one option.

A more inclusive regional approach would give China, which has been widely criticised for being defensive about the coronavirus pandemic, an opportunity to show regional leadership and responsibility.

Popular resentment towards China has erupted in countries such as Thailand, where the economy relied heavily on Chinese tourists and business before Covid-19 closed its borders. That this sentiment is being expressed in societies in the neighbourhood should be a worry for Beijing and prompt a more transparent and softer diplomatic approach.

Removing the increasingly toxic geopolitical rivalry between the US and China from the regional equation might coax Beijing into a less reflexively defensive and at times aggressive stance. This is not the time for assertive manoeuvres in the South China Sea and confrontation between the US and Chinese navies – countries in the region want the US and China to work together, not against each other at the expense of other nations.

To be sure, finding the right regional approach will be challenging. The effectiveness of ad hoc groups like the Bali Process has been hampered by resistance from states which feel pressured. By and large, Asian governments have been allergic to civil society and grassroots activism. But something has to give.

The Covid-19 pandemic is having an immediate and catastrophic impact on everyone’s lives. Visions of dystopia like that crafted by Asian-American writer Chang Rae-lee in his 2014 novel On Such a Full Sea imagined a wrecked world divided between the privileged living in protected communities, and the rest of society eking out a precarious existence in an anarchic wilderness bereft of life-saving technology.

Is that the future we want? If so, we will be condemned to perpetual conflict and insecurity.

Coronavirus is paving the way for a return to military rule in Asia

NOTE: This article was published in the South China Post on 4 April 2020. I am re-posting today because it seems to be even more relevant.

As governments in Southeast Asia struggle to contain the spread of Covid-19, poor leadership, weak institutions and high levels of public mistrust have exposed the fragility of countries that made a transition to more democratic government over the past two decades. The worry is that coping with Covid-19 will mean a return to authoritarian habits, backed by military power.

Two trends are discernible. The first is the tendency in those countries that have experienced either direct military rule, or periodic military intervention, to fall back on the military to lead or bolster management of the health crisis.

The second is that post-transition governments that allowed some measure of decentralisation but which retained extensive centralised power, are seeing an erosion of control as communities introduce their own preventive and protective measures. This may tempt governments to pull in the reins and roll back decentralisation.

Indonesia illustrates both trends both trends amply. President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo dithered and delayed a firm response to the spread of Covid-19, following advice he was given by his inner circle of the dangers of social unrest if restrictions on movement were too stringent. Initially, the president relied on cabinet members such as health minister Terawan Agus Putranto, who made a mess of messaging at a critical moment.

Then in mid-March, the president pivoted and appointed someone else to lead the government’s task force. Lieutenant General Doni Monardo was already head of the country’s national disaster agency. On March 13, the former special forces general was appointed chief of the Covid-19 task force. Since then, local media reports say, he has not left his office: a black couch is marked up with yellow tape to remind people to keep a safe distance when they visit him.

The two-star general has close ties to other members of the president’s inner circle, who have military backgrounds, observers say. The Jakarta military commander, Major General Eko Margiyono, was also appointed to lead the team in the capital, which has been badly hit by infections, killing more than a dozen doctors.

Even before re-election last year, Jokowi showed an inclination to rely on the military to make up for weak, often factional civilian bureaucracy, and also because many of the country’s problems are beyond his own experience and ability. Often this has made sense because the Indonesian military is a large, relatively cohesive organisation that can draw on an extensive network across the country because of a strategy of internal security that in the past ensured that soldiers were posted in every village. As The Jakarta Post commented in mid-March: “Having clung to power or revolved around it for most of the nation’s history, former military figures are able to tap into the ample resources of a well-established network of influence.”

The Indonesian military’s reach down to the local level may help protect the integrity of the central government. Many governors, mayors and local heads of communities have started imposing their own lockdowns to prevent the spread of the virus, challenging central authority. Asked about this recently, Doni Monardo said the deputies of provincial governors were the regional military commanders – implying a more effective and assertive chain of command.

There is no question that even in countries where civilian primacy has been long established, governments have turned to the military to accelerate the implementation of Covid-19 countermeasures, although this has dredged up memories of military intervention at the political level.
In the Philippines
, the lockdown of Manila and other areas of Luzon was quickly enforced by themilitary and police. Philippines army chief Lieutenant General Gilbert I. Gapay posted on social media that “as the country’s fight against Covid-19 is expected to impair some of our government services, the Philippine Army is projected to perform functions beyond its major roles”.

That’s all very well, but some reports from areas where the Armed Forces of the Philippines already operate in a counter-insurgency role say that overzealous commanders have operated checkpoints more stringently, which has become a source of tension.

Some have commented that the current situation is a de facto state of martial law, but the president’s office has stated multiple times that the quarantine is not, nor is it leading to, martial law. Still, people were not comforted when President Rodrigo Duterte later said he had “given a go signal” to the military and the police to shoot people violating the lockdown orders.

Thailand has experienced nothing but military rule since a coup in 2014. An election last year partially restored a parliamentary system of government, but the former army chief who launched the 2014 coup, General Prayuth Chan-ocha, has remained as prime minister. His handling of the Covid-19 crisis so far has been heavily criticised for being too little, too late.

Initially it seemed the experts would fill the policy vacuum as groups of doctors connected with civil society pressured the government to roll out measures to tackle the crisis. But as the number of cases went up and local administrators and strongmen in the provinces began to put their own restrictions in place, the army stepped in. Prayuth has now declared a state of emergency and a panel set up to oversee the crisis reportedly does not include medical experts and is mostly composed of senior military officers.

It’s the same in Myanmar, where the civilian-led government of Aung San Suu Kyi has been struggling to contain the powerful military since elections in 2015. When the government finally woke up to the threat of Covid-19 at the end of March, the response was to form an emergency task force comprised mostly of military and one civilian-led ministry – social welfare. This has mostly had the effect of stricter controls over media – with hundreds of websites shut down – and barring humanitarian access to conflict-wracked Rakhine State on the grounds that ongoing military operations are a priority.

In many countries around the world, fears of social unrest and the lack of trust in government authority are resulting in a resort to tougher law enforcement. But the integrity of political reform has always been weak and prone to setbacks in Southeast Asia, particularly in countries where the military has a long history of political intervention, such as Indonesia, Myanmar and Thailand. Notions of civilian primacy are weak, and, with a paucity of external threats, the army sees itself as the guardian of internal national security, especially in times of crisis. The aftermath of the Covid-19 crisis could therefore see a weakening of boundaries that had begun to strengthen between military and civilian power. ■

Towards a new colonial era

China and the US demands weaker countries take sides or face retaliation

The worry is that much as the colonial powers did centuries ago, both China and the US will demand that weaker countries in their path take sides or face retaliation.


A new colonial era is dawning as major powers limber up to wield influence and protect their interests in ways that could significantly impinge on the sovereignty of weaker, smaller states.

This won’t be colonialism in the conventional sense: Subject countries will not immediately be threatened with invasion and occupation, or their sovereignty denied.

But we should be in no doubt of the return of big power machinations across the globe, after a long period of what might be termed benign interdependence. And as competing larger powers vie for strategic space, some sovereignty-impairing collateral damage is inevitable.

Historically, the imposition of colonial rule over India and other parts of Asia was a by-product of commercial competition between clashing European powers, notably England, France, Spain, Portugal and the Netherlands.

Wars were fought in far-off places such as the Indonesian Spice Islands between England and the Netherlands, the two great naval powers of the 16th and 17th centuries, and treaties established that traded occupied territory.

In much the same way, China and the United States, the two great powers of our age, are increasingly asserting influence in the Pacific and in the process, making demands of smaller states in their path.

China has occupied and fortified islets and features in the South China Sea that it says are historically China’s but they are also claimed by the Philippines, Malaysia and Vietnam. In response, the US has conducted increasingly frequent naval patrols in the area and started to open facilities for visiting military forces in the Philippine islands, one of which, on Palawan island, is close to China’s fortified features in the South China Sea. The possibility of armed clashes between Chinese and US naval forces in the South China Sea is a distinct possibility.


This big power competition goes beyond the security sphere. China’s Belt and Road Initiative and the US’ concept of a free and open Indo-Pacific amount to two faces of the same coin; they are both bids to assert political and economic influence, and seek adherence to a certain set of values and norms.

Both China and the US vigorously insist they are upholding principles of openness and equality – just as colonial powers two centuries earlier justified the use of military or diplomatic pressure on underdeveloped countries under the banner of free trade and access to markets.

China’s President Xi Jinping told a high-level forum on the Belt and Road at the end of last month that his global infrastructure initiative was not an “exclusive club”. Similarly, the US insists that the Indo-Pacific strategy is aimed at enhancing shared prosperity and promoting economic and security partnerships to ensure a “peaceful and secure regional order”.

And yet, China views the Indo-Pacific Strategy as a bid to constrain China’s rise as a global economic and security power. The US meanwhile warns that countries targeted for Chinese infrastructure development along the Belt and Road will fall into a debt trap that threatens their economic prosperity.

More troubling, much as the colonial powers did centuries ago, both China and the US are increasingly demanding that weaker countries in their path take sides or face retaliation and recrimination.

The US has mounted a vigorous campaign to persuade countries around the globe to halt the acquisition of telecommunications technology provided by the Chinese tech giant Huawei. It cites concerns about security and intellectual property theft; just as Western powers in earlier eras strived to steal the secrets of Chinese manufacturing of silk, porcelain and tea.

China, for its part, has moved to force countries in the region into cooperative frameworks that exclude Western participation and funding – notably in the Greater Mekong sub-region.

When resistance is encountered, angry threats ensue. The US has the ability to impose sanctions and pursue international jurisdiction based on its own laws. So far, China has confined its threats to angry table thumping and undiplomatic aggressive behaviour, although even rescheduled debt payments that favour borrowers will bind Belt and Road countries to China over the longer term, a recent study concludes.


We should all be concerned about threat of armed conflict arising from this competition for power and commercial space. Yet, while it is conventional to consider the events of the past few months the opening shots in a new Cold War, they also presage a more troubling future, one where the world is effectively partitioned and subjugated by major competing powers involving a complex array of commercial and technological issues that were not at play as much during the Cold War.

Beyond the realm of pure competition, the advance of far-right and white supremacist ideas in Europe and the US adds stridency and momentum to the idea of a new form of “mission civilisatrice”.

Commenting recently on rising tensions with China, director of Policy and Planning at the US State Department Kiron Skinner said: “This is a fight with a really different civilisation and a different ideology.”

China has no tradition of European-style colonial expansion, except at certain periods in its immediate domain, but has a long history of demanding recognition of Chinese preeminence in the form of tribute.

Ancient forms of tribute involved exclusive trading arrangements and gifts presented regularly at the imperial court in Beijing. Modern forms of tribute could be seen as evolving in the shape of obligations to China for infrastructure projects built and operated by Chinese companies using Chinese technology. Or, as American expert Jon Alterman put it recently, “a set of wholly interest-based, government-to-government ties that allow the rapid exploitation of economic opportunities on what is, at least initially, a consensual basis”.

The colonial era, defined as a period when European powers as well as the US occupied and governed far-flung territories across Asia, Africa and Latin America, ended in the period immediately after World War II.

By the mid-1960s, most of the larger colonies had won or been granted independence. There followed a brief period of communist expansion, backed by Soviet Russia and China, although these efforts at state capture using the tools of ideological struggle were halted by the end of the 1980s. The ensuing period of globalised interdependence and equality of nations has been short-lived.


A new colonial era would be marked by the partition of the world into spheres of commercial and technological influence dominated by the US and China.

In this polarised world, physical space and sovereignty might not initially be affected (although the US is considering engineering land swops in the Middle East to settle the Palestinian conflict). But the freedom to choose partners with whom to trade or the technology to communicate will impair sovereign rights.

This in turn would undermine the infrastructure of international governance erected after the end of the last colonial period, and make a mockery of the basic principles underpinning the UN Charter.

To head off the partition of the world into clashing spheres of influence, we need reform of the existing global order to accommodate China and others.

This process requires sincere engagement and dialogue, not confrontation and isolation. The challenge will be that while the US sees the world through the lens of alliances governed by rules and values, China’s view of the world is driven by a much simpler paradigm: Size matters.

Published in The Straits Times, 15 May 2019


Southeast Asia Stumbles Over Politics

These are challenging times for Southeast Asia.  Despite buoyant economies, healthy investment and growing trade ties, predictability and certainty in the political sphere seem elusive for the ten-member countries of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations.

What looked like stable political outcomes or transitions in Cambodia, Malaysia, Thailand and Indonesia have more recently generated fear and uncertainty as squabbling entrenched elites are battered by divisive issues of corruption, identity and inequality. In Myanmar and the Philippines democratic transitions have morphed into state-sponsored repressive security crackdowns on hard-won freedoms.

Broader concerns stem from the geopolitical uncertainty created by U.S.-led efforts to challenge China’s rise, which threatens to exert a drag on Asia’s economic growth. The start of the third decade of the 21st century points to a troubled way ahead for the region.

The outlook is disappointing, not least because Southeast Asia is regarded as an important auxiliary engine of growth and investment for Asia as China’s economy begins to cool. But optimism about its economic potential and resilience should be tempered by the realities of political developments in the region, which is struggling to escape cultural and historical constraints.

Six years after the military intervened in Thailand to end a violent and disruptive period of political conflict, elections have finally been scheduled for the end of March. There were hopes of a transition back to a democratically elected government and an end to the polarized, often violent, political confrontation, even as members of the military junta prepared to stand for elected office. But when Princess Ubolratana, the elder sister of King Vajiralongkorn, made the surprise announcement in early February that she would stand as a candidate for prime minister under the banner of a party supported by exiled Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, deep divisions in the Thai elite were exposed. This suggests that the long period under military rule has had no impact on solving underlying conflicts.

The Thai elections may well go ahead on March 24. But no one believes the outcome will produce stability. The most likely result will be a weak coalition of military-backed figures and conservative smaller parties, which will leave dissatisfied the majority of people who have historically supported Thaksin’s party.

In neighboring Cambodia, Prime Minister Hun Sen, now Southeast Asia’s longest serving elected leader, initially emerged unscathed after a flawed election last year in which the main opposition party was banned. But the European Union’s recent decision to move toward withdrawing a preferential trade arrangement that benefits the country’s vital garment industry threatens the Cambodian economy, which grew close to 7% in 2018. The banned opposition party, the Cambodian National Rescue Party, many of whose leaders are in exile, may well see this as an opportunity to stoke unrest.

What at first looked like a remarkably peaceful transition in Malaysia after the defeat of the ruling United Malaysia National Organization at the polls last year is now overshadowed by splits within the new governing coalition and the failure to swiftly prosecute former Prime Minister Najib Tun Razak on graft charges. Despite credible allegations that Najib presided over the theft of more than $4 million from a state-backed investment vehicle, 1MDB, he  has seen a revival in popularity among the majority Malay population. This development, along withb legal tactics delaying the opening of his trial, has unnerved the new multiracial government led by veteran Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad and underscored its vulnerability to fickle conservative Malay sentiment.

In Indonesia, campaigning for parliamentary and presidential elections due in mid-April is underway. As stable and routine as the electoral process has become, with Indonesia having peacefully elected two presidents since 2004, the worry is that the country’s increasingly rambunctious democracy is allowing ultra-nationalist and religious extremist elements to push their agendas.

Underlying social and economic problems in Indonesia provide ample tinder for unrest if rising prices and youth unemployment are not addressed. Much of the discontent could be channeled through conservative Islamic forces, which the leading presidential candidates, incumbent Joko Widodo and challenger Prabowo Subianto, have gone dangerously overboard to cultivate. Whoever wins, “conservative Islamic groups, backed by radical groups, will win — have already won — the election,” wrote prominent Indonesian novelist Eka Kurniawan in the New York Times.

What these electoral  aftermaths tell us is that democracy, though entrenched, is far from well-established in Southeast Asia, with  deep-seated problems at the social and elite level often accompanying political change that affects stability.

More troubling still are those countries where the hard struggle for freedom has been reversed.

Both Myanmar and the Philippines have endured protracted struggles at different times to replace dictatorship and martial law with democracy.  Yet both countries have seen a drastic slide back toward repression under elected leaders.

In the Philippines, President Rodrigo Duterte remains remarkably popular despite his controversial “war on drugs” that has killed thousands of people, including more than a dozen elected officials.  More recently, Duterte, a former city mayor from Davao, has attacked the media and stood by as Maria Ressa, the head of the popular news service Rappler, was arrested (and later released) on charges of cybercrime.

Freedom of expression was one of the earliest dividends of a gradual transition away from stern military rule in Myanmar after 2011, so it has been deeply disappointing to see the freely elected government led by the former democracy and human rights icon Aung San Suu Kyi reverse the trend after she was elected in 2015. In its 2018 World Press Freedom Index, Reporters Without Borders ranked Myanmar 137th out of 180 countries, citing the prosecution of 20 journalists in the past year.

None of these troubling developments appear to threaten any of these countries with collapse, but they herald trouble ahead. Transparency, government integrity and reducing social inequality are all important factors that support continued economic stability. But governments across Southeast Asia are failing to deliver on these key indicators. Removing entrenched privileges for the elite and addressing the yawning income gap that afflicts the region would go a long way towards dealing with these problems since elections alone will not do the job. More far-reaching reforms are necessary.

Set against increasing confrontation between China and the U.S., the collective role of Southeast Asian countries as a stable platform for regional economic growth is becoming increasingly important. It is vital in this context for ASEAN member states to put aside domestic turmoil and demonstrate a unity of purpose.

First published 20th February 2019 in Nikkei Asian Review

Speaking of the Future: Presentation to the World Indonesianist Forum, October 2018

To help Indonesia cope with the future, Indonesians, especially the younger generation, need a better understanding of their past. Across the world, I sense that history is in retreat: What do I mean by this? For the millennial generation, the past is poorly captured. The great wars and upheavals of two generations ago are almost forgotten. We live in an age of the here and now, in an era that stresses individual achievement rather than collective strife and struggle. Our own histories as individuals seem to matter more than the ways in which great events in the past shaped the world we live in today.

The study of Indonesian history has long been framed and interpreted by outsiders. In part, this was because it was foreigners who attended and chronicled significant moments of Indonesian history; Indonesians themselves were too preoccupied with or divided by momentous events. However, there has also been a reluctance on the part of Indonesians to frame their history in rich detail, which has ceded the field to outsiders, or what we call Indonesianists.

Indonesian history is considered the life work of scholars such as George T. Mc Kahin, of Ben Anderson, and Herbert Feith. Some might consider I made my own modest contribution chronicling the rise and fall of former President Soeharto in the mid-1990s.

That’s not to say there are no Indonesian historians. As a student, I was introduced to the works of Kuntowidjojo and Nugroho Notosusanto. I had the pleasure of knowing Ong Hock Kham, Des Alwi and Tawfik Abdullah. All great historians and scholars, but limited by constraints on academic freedom and perhaps where they stood in Indonesian society.

At the same time, as Foreign Minister Retno Marsudi just said: there are many foreign scholars and observers like myself who have focused for many years on Indonesia’s struggle for democracy, on the particularities of Javanese culture and more recently the rise of conservative Islam and identity politics. We too have been selective in our approach.

This needs to change; Indonesians need to seize control of their own narrative of the past.

The past is awkward: Indonesia’s birth was attended by violence and brutality; there was a fragile consensus on national identity based on conflicting ideologies that led to subsequent bouts of violence. The shame of this internal feuding and the massive loss of life it generated, are hard to reconcile with proud national identity.

Even the revolutionary period – 1945-9 – itself seems controversial. The Dutch government recently launched a project to gather testimonies about the period immediately after the end of the Pacific War and Indonesia’s declaration of Independence – which led to four years of armed struggle. But many Indonesians fear this process will uncover messy incidents of internal blood-letting. The war against the Dutch was brief but brutal, but the struggle for independence also pitted Indonesians against each other.

There is also a sense in which Indonesia’s many component parts – have unequal histories, some better articulated than others. Post-independence there is a messy history of integration and unequal development. How do the people of Aceh, Ambon, Sulawesi and West Sumatra, and more recently Papua relate to their rebellious past? Should this not be part of the national narrative? Much of the buried grievance in Indonesia stems from the failure to acknowledge a history of struggle and suffering between centre and periphery.

Because of all this, fears of accountability and revenge-seeking have hindered a detailed examination of the past. Not that the past is buried. This allergy to history, with its precise tallying of events, has left the recounting of the past to artists, who have more license, but tend to be imprecise and subjective.

For too long in Indonesia, events in the past have been principally interpreted by Indonesian novelists, poets and playwrights. They have used allegory and creative scene-setting to mask or embellish events.

The other night in Ubud I watched a short film based on Leila Chudori’s “Laut Bercerita”, a novel set in the mid-1990s that examines the lives of abducted students. But the scenario presented of students brutally tortured by unnamed agents, obscures the wider context of the events leading up to Indonesia’s transition to democracy in 1998. Chudori’s novel is one of the first attempts to chronicle the period, but as a work of fiction it is understandably selective and imaginary.

Detailed accounts of the period have been left to outside Indonesianists, and therefore necessarily impart an outsider perception.

What should be done?

I want to argue here that Indonesia needs a history project. As painful as much of the history is, I believe it will help Indonesia face the future – and contribute more to the world. The example of South Africa comes to mind: Coming to terms with the apartheid period with a degree of truth and honesty has enabled South Africans to usefully share the pain and triumph of their struggle for freedom.

There has been some progress; in 2012 the National Human Rights Commission produced an exhaustive report on the anti-Communist killings of 1965, concluding that the government should commence a process of investigation into human rights abuses. But apart from addressing the victims’ needs what is really needed is a dispassionate account of what happened.

Finally, let me say that for future generations, it is important that we Indonesianists from outside help contemporary scholars and teachers find a better way to frame Indonesia’s colourful and important history. There are now more than 7,000 foreign students in Indonesia; one way you can all help is to share your histories. Another concrete way to reach a wider audience would be to fund a television documentary, made by young Indonesians and drawing on the recollections of their seniors, allowing history to be presented in an honest and accessible manner.

Indonesia’s role doing good in the world must rest on firm foundations. History is one of the most important pillars.

Terima kasih. Thank you.

Review of “Blood and Silk” from the South China Morning Post

Book review – Blood & Silk: Power & Conflict in Modern Southeast Asia offers a bleak prognosis for region’s future

 By Salil Tripathi

Author Michael Vatikiotis’ love of the region shines through in his examination of its leaders and long-oppressed people, but he is unsure whether those in power are able to take the necessary steps to prevent further spilling of blood.

PUBLISHED : Monday, 04 September, 2017,

In 1993, American journalist Stan Sesser wrote a book about Southeast Asia titled The Lands of Charm and Cruelty. He revealed what makes the region attractive to travellers and journalists (hence the charm), as well as the deep, unresolved conflicts within, many of which are exceptionally brutal (hence the cruelty).

Southeast Asia is breathtakingly beautiful, its people are smiling, hospitable and energetic, and its culture rich. But it also conceals stories of unparalleled violence, and its political structures have remained stunted, preventing the region’s creativity from blooming.

This incongruence is not outwardly visible. You have to peel back the layers and see beyond the shadow puppetry to get closer to the truth.

Michael Vatikiotis, my former colleague at the Far Eastern Economic Review (who would later become its editor), is uniquely qualified to make sense of that complex region. He first went to Southeast Asia as a student, then became a journalist, and is now a senior official at an organisation that brings together conflicting parties to build peace.

Vatikiotis offers a lucid portrait of this fascinating region by bringing together a student’s sense of wonder and curiosity, a journalist’s scepticism and diligence in making sense of the reality, and a peacemaker’s compassion for the vulnerable. Fluent in Thai and Bahasa Indonesia, Vatikiotis has lived in Bangkok, Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur and Singapore, and has developed a profound understanding of Southeast Asia. He knows the region’s political and business elite and has formed deep bonds with people from all walks of life.

In Blood & Silk – his account of his decades of fascination with the region – his love and commitment to Southeast Asia shine through. It offers important insights about what makes these lands of charm and cruelty what they are, and raises serious questions about what lies ahead.

Vatikiotis has decided to write what is often deliberately left unsaid in a region where public discourse shuns conflict, where “face” is important, and where aphorisms are expressed to say what cannot be spoken directly.

A Cambodian proverb helps him explain the cycles of violence: when the water is high, the fish eat the ants; when the water is low, the ants eat the fish. He also cites another metaphor used in Southeast Asia (and elsewhere) about the pragmatism of the common folk: when elephants fight, stay out of the long grass.

The book is timely. Three tectonic political shifts are changing the way politics and business have functioned in Southeast Asia. The rise of China has brought fresh investment to the region and forced other countries to reconsider the balance of power. The waning American interest in the region raises concerns about security as well as trade: Southeast Asian nations have thrived in the past because of the US security umbrella and open American markets for their exports. And the growth of militant Islam troubles not only Indonesia, the Philippines and Thailand, but can cause repercussions beyond.

Persisting inequality has kept many of the region’s inhabitants poor, and Vatikiotis fears some of the dispossessed may fall prey to demagoguery. The coexistence of extreme wealth and dire poverty, he notes, is not sustainable. When times turn sour, it can give rise to divisive identity politics. Vatikiotis points out the hounding of former Jakarta governor Basuki Tjahaha Purnama, also known as Ahok, who is Christian and Chinese and now jailed on blasphemy charges; he also highlights Buddhist intolerance, most visible in the persecution of the Rohingyas in Myanmar.

The institution the region relies on – the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (Asean) – has just turned 50. It is a remarkably durable institution. Formed to bring together non-communist Asian states during the Vietnam war, it found a fresh raison d’être during the Cambodian crisis and has grown to include a country with first world economic indicators (Singapore) and countries clearly in the lower income group (such as Laos and Myanmar).

As Vatikiotis notes, there are governments in Southeast Asia that are run by leaders whose mandate is questioned (Thailand and Malaysia); who are maverick (Philippines); whose writ doesn’t run large and who insists on making all decisions (Myanmar); and who insist on being called “Glorious Supreme Prime Minister and Powerful Commander” (Cambodia).

He astutely points out where power resides in the region and how it is wielded, as well as how those who have power have prevented any reckoning of the violence of the past. He repeatedly returns to unhealed wounds of the massacres of Indonesia, and isn’t sanguine about the impact of violence today in the Philippines

He laments how some leaders who promised economic salvation for all ended up leaving their countries with their own families enriched, citing the examples of Suharto of Indonesia, Mahathir Mohamad of Malaysia, and Thaksin Shinawatra of Thailand.

Can the region’s long-oppressed people rise against the powerful? Vatikiotis recognises the weakness of human rights institutions in the region, but nonetheless sees hope in civil society: “The slow response of government to grievances and use of divide-and-rule tactics to undermine opposition will force communities and groups to look after themselves and defy the powerful centre,” he writes.

Vatikiotis’ prognosis is bleak. The entities he would like to counter extremism or violence are not strong enough, and foreign interest in the region is declining. For the land to retain its charm and remain draped in silk, its leaders will have to take steps to prevent further spilling of blood and account for past cruelties. It is not an easy task, but Vatikiotis is right to ask.

Memoirs of a Mediator

Review of “Blood and Silk: Power and Conflict in Modern Southeast Asia” by Humphrey Hawksley  published in August 2017 in “Asian Affairs”

Humphrey Hawksley on an insightful and very personal portrait of the politics and players shaping South East Asia’s future

One perception of South East Asia is of cityscapes lined with glass-fronted skyscrapers, sun-drenched beaches and busy factories feeding the global supply chain while wealth spreads through communities under the paradigm of an Asian tiger. There is another view, however, bravely told by Michael Vatikiotis, of a region that has been fought over and trampled by outside powers for centuries and is bracing itself for another Cold War-style conflict. South East Asia is a nut between the arms of a giant geopolitical nutcracker, he graphically argues when laying out his backdrop for Blood and Silk: Power and Conflict in Modern South East Asia.

Two elements merge in Vatikiotis’ convincing thesis. One is that South East Asia is becoming a front-line testing ground in the rivalry between the United States and China. The disputed South China Sea, now probably the world’s most strategic waterway, remains far from being resolved.  The other is that the ten countries of this region have not yet formed a robust enough bloc with the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN) to dilute China’s growing influence. Compared to swathes of the Middle East and Africa, South East Asia has made remarkable progress over the past half century. But China has moved faster, raising questions as to what will happen next.

From here, Vatikiotis takes us into the heart of this region. His anecdotes are compelling, his analysis revealing and his writing draws you in towards a ‘land perpetually wet, densely overgrown and always hot and humid… on calm, turquoise sea glistening in sunlight.’  But once there, weak government, corruption and conflict become enduring themes as he asks how South East Asia’s 626 million people with their $2.4 trillion economy, their rich diversity of religion, culture and ethnicity, manage to cope with such chronically poor governance and persistent inequality.

Poverty may have halved in the last fifteen years, but forty per cent of Indonesia’s 250 million people live on less than two dollars a day. South East Asian leaders have brandished symbols of wise munificent leadership, but enriched their families and brooked no dissent, leaving anger and conflict in their wake.

Vatikiotis arrived in South East Asia in 1979 enveloped in the adventurism and confidence of youth. Over the years his work as a journalist chiselled down his self-confessed idealism to carve out the picture he paints for us now. More is drawn from his current job as a mediator with a conflict resolution organisation, The Centre of Humanitarian Dialogue, and it is with this eye that Vatikiotis gives us his prediction of what the region might become over the next half century.

South East Asia is no stranger to being a theatre of war for others, a place where in Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia, and other countries, aspirations of independence clashed with opposing forces of communism and democracy.

Cambodia’s Killing Fields from the 1970s are well-chronicled with war crime trials still going on today. Indonesia’s anti-communist killings of half a million or more in the 1960s, have drawn a dimmer spotlight, mainly because Western governments tacitly endorsed the massacres and Indonesia has not yet openly come to terms with what happened.

Vatikiotis, the mediator, tells how he sat in on meetings where Indonesia decided, because historical divisions remained unresolved, it would not issue an apology. The reopening of old wounds would be too dangerous. The military was still angry with the communists for killing its general. Muslim gangs carried out many of the killings. There is the ethnic Chinese factor and, concludes Vatikiotis, a ‘stunning absence of compassion for those murdered by powerful people’.

Throughout South East Asia, history has been swept under the carpet, leaving the already corrupt and fractured institutions a long way from being robust enough to handle the type of violent divisions that might erupt. This flaw has led to a fear of social change.

Beijing is skilled at exploiting such vulnerabilities with a record of fomenting uprisings while offering financial inducements. More recently, it has shown its hand in hard power with its claims to the South China Sea, a Monroe Doctrine-style message to the US, or any other government, not to meddle in China’s backyard.

Add into this mix the influence of Middle East-inspired extreme Islam, already impacting Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines, and the region is taking on a very different shape from what it was in the late 20th century.  Vatikiotis compares its future more closely to the era before the 1500s and the arrival of European powers.

He envisages the weakening of the nation states and the emergence of ‘smaller autonomous entities’ relying on trade with China carried along roads and railways built by China. He cites special autonomy agreements already given to Indonesia’s Aceh province, Mindanao in the southern Philippines and gives us detailed accounts of his own attempt to forge a settlement for the conflict in southern Thailand. In this respect, the US has been short-sighted, argues Vatikiotis, giving the example of Washington’s reluctance to deal with the military government in Thailand, thus allowing China to step into the vacuum.

Had this current cycle of global power shift taken another fifty years, South East Asia might have been strong enough to put up more of a united front. But we are where we are and it is now up to the Western democracies and the ten individual countries to decide what, if anything, to do about it.

Given its rich tapestry of insight, Blood and Silk could have delivered us a tighter conclusion. It ends not with a big vision, but with a thought about corruption in Cambodia. Earlier observations might have made a more fitting ending to this superbly drawn assessment, a jolt of reality to offset the shopping malls and glass towers, that this is a region where leaders have promised their people happiness and prosperity and left them divided and deprived.

Financial Times review of “Blood and Silk” – 8th July 2017

Southeast Asia enters the danger zone

Inequality and toxic identity politics haunt Michael Vatikiotis’s portrait of a region often celebrated for its dynamism

By Victor Mallet

Alluring and fraught with danger: Southeast Asia is both of these, as the title of Michael Vatikiotis’s Blood and Silk suggests. This region of 600m people, contested by a rising China and a declining US, also remains hugely important to the rest of the world. It was in Thailand that the Asian financial crisis erupted 20 years ago this July with the crash devaluation of the baht, and it is through the Strait of Malacca that the world sends about $6,000bn of its trade and a quarter of its seaborne oil each year.

I half expected Vatikiotis to be optimistic. Southeast Asia, after all, embraces 10 increasingly prosperous economies that have for the most part comprehensively
outpaced their postcolonial equivalents in Africa since the 1960s; even the laggards such as Myanmar and Laos have recently started to catch up. And, unlike their counterparts in the Middle East, the predominantly Muslim nations of Indonesia and Malaysia are known for religious tolerance and a syncretic culture that has absorbed influences from Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity and Confucianism as well as the Islam of the Arabian peninsula.

Yet Vatikiotis makes a bleak assessment of Southeast Asia’s prospects. He speaks
several of the region’s languages, and after studying, working and travelling in the region as a journalist and peace mediator (between insurgents and governments) for more than three decades, he builds a strong case for his grim conclusions. The problem is not that the author is unaware of what is good about Southeast Asia — including kindness to strangers, humour, inclusiveness and flexibility — but rather that he sees these very qualities being eclipsed by a mixture of old fashioned tyranny and baneful new influences from abroad.
Where democracy has arrived — as it did in Cambodia under the auspices of the UN in 1993 — it has in several cases quickly been subverted or demolished. Hun Sen, a former Khmer Rouge commander now supported by China, has ruled Cambodia with only a brief interruption for nearly four decades and, like an ancient Khmer king, has a retinue of hundreds of ministers and secretaries of state and a 5,000 strong bodyguard. Last year, he ordered his citizens to refer to him as “Glorious Supreme Prime Minister and Powerful Commander”.
Vatikiotis writes that many of his Southeast Asian friends regard the future with
apprehension. “I notice a distinct contrast between Pollyannaish
Westerners all agog over the glitz and growth in the region, predicting its glorious future, and anxious Southeast Asians, rich and poor, who harbour worries of lurking catastrophe.”

Those are strong words. But the periodic waves of democratic optimism that followed first decolonisation and then the overthrow of dictators in countries such as the Philippines and Indonesia have undoubtedly given way to ripples of concern about the future.

Vatikiotis identifies three main reasons for his forebodings and those of his
interlocutors. First, inequality — and the selfishness of the business political
elites that have benefited disproportionately from economic growth both before and after Asia’s financial crisis. Just as populism has been fuelled by resentment over inequality in Trump’s America, in Brexit Britain and in oligarchical Hong Kong, so the 40 per cent of Indonesians clustered around a poverty earnings line of $2 a day are easy prey for demagogues. It is true that prosperity has also swollen the ranks of Asia’s middle class, but this aspiring and increasingly educated bourgeoisie is governed by the same set of authoritarian leaders and their coterie of tycoons. “This is not a sustainable paradox,” the author writes. It sounds like a recipe for revolution.

The second reason is the erosion of tolerance and the rise of identity politics,
whether the issue is religion or ethnicity. Vatikiotis cites figures showing that 1.6m Asians have died in “subnational” conflicts (in other words, in wars within states and not between them) since 1947; more died in such conflicts in Asia in the decade to 2008 than in all other conflicts elsewhere in the world combined.
As for religion, the increasing influence of extremist Sunni interpretations of Islam over the past 30 years is startlingly visible in the dress codes and religiosity of the Muslims who make up 40 per cent of the region’s population — and in the vilification and recent jailing for blasphemy of Basuki Tjahaja Purnama, the once popular Christian and ethnic Chinese governor of Jakarta better known as Ahok.
Buddhist extremism and intolerance is on the rise, too. Like Christians in the Middle East, religious minorities are fleeing persecution in the countries of their birth and seeking refuge with coreligionists. Myanmar’s Muslim Rohingyas, for example, have been heading to Bangladesh and Malaysia.

Third and last, there are those outside forces: not only the intolerant, well financed Islamism of the Gulf but also the rise of China as the latest imperialist superpower insensitive to the needs or wishes of its putative client states.
Blood and Silk is not a dry sociopolitical analysis. Vatikiotis has an eye for quirky
detail, whether it be the Thai crown prince’s pet poodle commissioned as an air force officer and dressed in uniform, or the self important Muslim separatist from southern Thailand who prayed with Osama bin Laden in Khartoum but found the terrorist mastermind uninspiring and unimpressive.

In the end, though, the outlook is menacing. Indonesia risks “the kind of ethnic and religious sectarian strife we see in the Middle East today”. Malaysians are dismayed by “the slow disintegration of the multiracial compact”. In Thailand, there is “little prospect of the military willingly giving up power”. The Philippines remains “a prisoner of oligarchy”. Even Aung San Suu Kyi in Myanmar has disappointed her liberal supporters. We can hope that Vatikiotis is wrong, but I fear he is not.

Blood and Silk: Power and Conflict in Modern Southeast Asia, by Michael
Vatikiotis, Weidenfeld & Nicolson, RRP£20, 352 pages

Blood and Silk: Power and Conflict in Modern Southeast Asia

blood and Silk cover8.indd
A powerful examination of the conflicts in Southeast Asia that risk destabilising its remarkable development.

Thought-provoking and eye-opening, BLOOD AND SILK is an accessible, personal look at modern Southeast Asia, written by one of the region’s most experienced outside observers.

This is a first-hand account of what it’s like to sit at the table with deadly Thai Muslim insurgents, mediate between warring clans in the Southern Philippines and console the victims of political violence in Indonesia – all in an effort to negotiate peace, and understand the reasons behind endemic violence.

Peering beyond brand new shopping malls and shiny glass towers in Bangkok and Jakarta, Michael Vatikiotis probes the heart of modern Southeast Asia. Why are the region’s richest countries such as Malaysia riddled with corruption? Why do Myanmar, Thailand and the Philippines harbour unresolved violent insurgencies? How do deepening religious divisions in Indonesia and Malaysia and China’s growing influence affect the region and the rest of the world?

Vatikiotis tells the story of modern Southeast Asia using vivid portraits of the personalities who pull the strings, mixed with revealing analysis that is underpinned by decades of experience in the countries involved, from their silk-sheathed salons to blood-spattered streets. The result is a fascinating study of the dynamics of power and conflict in one of the world’s fastest growing regions.


  • Other details
  • ISBN: 9781474602006
  • Publication date: 08 Jun 2017
  • Page count: 352
  • Imprint: W&N

blood and Silk cover8.indd

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Digging up the Past

Former Dutch rulers launch an inquiry into the violence that gave birth to Indonesia

In a world where liberal notions of truth and justice seem to be in headlong retreat, one small European country’s efforts to address war crimes allegedly committed long ago offers a ray of hope for victims of conflict and the battered idea of transitional justice: the Netherlands has taken the extraordinary step of launching a belated inquiry into the armed struggle that transformed the Dutch East Indies into the republic of Indonesia seventy years ago.

Indonesia’s revolution was a short, scrappy affair. After declaring independence on the front lawn of a city bungalow in Jakarta on 17 August 1945, the new republic’s leadership bickered over the best way to defeat the Dutch, while its fledgling army, a rag tag mob of brigands and idealists, skirmished with colonial forces clinging to empire. Indonesian narratives of this brief era of struggle are surprisingly sparse – snatches of autobiography, a lot of fiery poetry, and a few novels. Serious historical accounts were mainly written by foreigners.

Much or all of this fractured history may now be revised with serious implications not just for what is considered the truth, but also for the consequence of some of the period’s worst violence. The Dutch government, in a controversial move both in Indonesia and the Netherlands, has launched an inquiry into the events of the period spanning 1945-50.

The decision taken by the government last December involves renowned academic institutes in the Netherlands and will draw on a wide range of sources, including a call for the public both in Indonesia and the Netherlands to come forward with recollections, photographs and documents. Seldom, if ever, has a former colonial power taken so open an approach to delving into the violent past.

The revelations will have repercussions not only in the Netherlands; the Indonesian side was also responsible for violence – much of it targeting Indonesians. A revolt by leftist leaders in 1948 against the fledgling republican government was brutally put down in Madiun, East Java. The Dutch inquiry will open old wounds and could bring forth demands for justice and compensation on both sides.

One reason it took so long for the inquiry to happen was the resistance of veterans from the Dutch forces that invaded Indonesia after the Japanese defeat in 1945. For years afterwards, the Dutch government insisted there was nothing to be ashamed of. But after more than seventy years, and with very few of the veterans still around, that position is changing. ‘The question therefore arises,’ notes the academic coalition running the inquiry, ‘as to whether the stance taken by the government in 1969, namely “that the armed forces as a whole acted correctly in Indonesia” can still be defended.’

And not just the Dutch military forces. The inquiry will focus initially on the murky period immediately after the Japanese surrender in August 1945 and before the main military force sent by the Dutch to re-take Indonesia arrived in early 1946. Known in Indonesian as ‘bersiap’, (the preparation), it was time of repercussions on all sides after four hard years of Japanese occupation. It was in this period of a few months, the inquiry team notes, that: ‘many thousands of Europeans, Indo-Europeans, as well as Chinese and Indonesians accused of collaborating with the Dutch colonial rule, became the victims of widespread and brutal violence, perpetrated by organised and unorganised Indonesian militant groups.’

This will be acutely sensitive in Indonesia, where victim-hood lies deeply buried because of the absence of legal protection, either for the victims or their persecutors. Transitional justice efforts have mostly fallen on stony ground in the post-1998 reform era. Questions surrounding culpability for the deaths of around half a million Indonesians in a witch hunt against members of the Indonesian Communist Party after 1965 have dogged democratically elected governments over the past decade.

Despite promises of an investigation and apology, nothing has been done. Last year a group of Indonesian activists convened a ‘People’s Tribunal’ in The Hague where a panel of independent judges ruled that the killings amounted to genocide and that some Western governments were implicated as well. Former Indonesian Attorney General Marzuki Darusman believes that the Dutch inquiry could be cathartic. ‘Such a format of getting to the truth of what happened after 1945 could be a way of resolving nearer past issues such as what happened in 1965’, he said.

The Dutch government by contrast has shown a remarkable willingness to subject its security forces to scrutiny and prosecution. In 2014, a Dutch court ruled that Dutch soldiers who were members of a UN peace-keeping force in Bosnia-Hercegovina were culpable for the deaths of 300 Bosniaks who in July 1995 had sought shelter from Serbian forces in Srebrenica but were surrendered by the Dutch into Serbian hands then killed, along with almost 5,000 others, mostly women and children.

The Dutch inquiry into the Indonesian revolution perhaps has a wider significance, for it comes at a time of concern about the erosion of international norms and values in a world of fading idealism, rising populist nationalism, and decaying global cooperation. It is quite possible that an inquiry led by liberal academics half a world away from where their countrymen used violent means in the defence of empire could mean a whole lot more than spending three million Euros of Dutch public money on the closure of an ugly chapter of history: it could help keep alive the promise of justice for millions of other victims of war crimes around the world.

First published in New Mandala on 27 April 2017

Digging up the Dutch colonial past