Beyond the Narrative of Progress in Myanmar’s Panglong Peace Initiative

Myanmar’s government met with the ten signatories of the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement for the 4th Panglong summit in Naypyidaw from 19-21 August. (Image Source: A. N. Soe, VOA)

From 19-21 August, Aung San Suu Kyi convened in Naypyidaw alongside army chief Gen. Min Aung Hlaing and representatives of ten ethnic armed groups for Myanmar’s fourth Union Peace Conference. The event – initially scheduled for April but pushed-back amid the COVID19 pandemic – marked the latest effort to revive the Panglong peace initiative, tasked with ending 70 years of conflict in Myanmar’s border regions.

The delayed summit – which took place after two years of frozen negotiations – offered a final chance for the ruling National League for Democracy (NLD) to claim that progress had been made in resolving ethnic strife – a key policy objective – since it came to power in October 2015. With the next general election set for November, does Naypyidaw’s positive rhetoric after the latest Panglong meeting stand up to scrutiny?

Myanmar’s Panglong Initiative

The 21st Century Panglong initiative takes its name from a peace agreement signed in 1947 by Myanmar’s independence hero, and father of Aung San Suu Kyi, Aung San, promising autonomy for ethnic minorities.

The concept was revived after a dialogue process was initiated by the former military regime of Thein Sein in 2011, which resulted in the signing of a Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA) with eight ethnic armies in October 2015. The NLD secured a landslide election win the following month, joining the army in power.

Upon assuming power, the NLD government pledged to hold a Union Peace Conference every six months, yet only four have been held during its five-year term. Progress has been slower than hoped, and only two additional ethnic armies have joined the accord since 2015, raising the total number of signatories to ten.

The process stalled in mid-2018, after the third summit was held. Yet informal talks gathered pace in early-2020 and the fourth summit was planned for April, before being moved to August due to the pandemic.

FPNCC alliance refuses to attend

The build-up to the rearranged conference was beset by problems. Organizers had hoped to persuade six non-signatory armed groups, all members of the Federal Political Negotiation and Consultative Committee (FPNCC), to attend as observers. Yet they refused to attend after a seventh member of the FPNCC alliance, the Arakan Army (AA), was snubbed after being declared a ‘terrorist organization’ by Naypyidaw in March.

The FPNCC announced its members would not attend just six days before the summit began, after meeting on 13 August at the headquarters of the United Wa State Army (UWSA) in Panghsang. The 30,000-strong UWSA is Myanmar’s most powerful and best-equipped armed group, while the alliance also contains the Kachin Independence Army (KIA), Ta’ang National Liberation Army (TNLA), Myanmar National Democratic Alliance Army (MNDAA) and several other groups operating out of Shan state along the border with China.

Many of Myanmar’s most powerful ethnic armed groups, including the United Wa State Army and Kachin Independence Army, declined to attend August’s summit. (Image Source: pxhere)

Despite this setback, the Union Peace Conference went ahead as planned. Owing to COVID19 restrictions, the meeting took place over three days instead of the usual five, while delegates were limited to just 230. No major decisions were at stake, but negotiators looked to add to 51 previously-agreed basic principles with the aim of setting-the-stage for post-2020 dialogue and charting a path to forge a democratic federal union encompassing all ethnic nationalities; the envisioned end point of the NCA-centred Panglong talks.

What did the summit achieve?

The conference went smoothly. In all, 20 new principles were adopted, mostly related to implementation of the NCA and ambitions for future dialogue. In her closing remarks, Aung San Suu Kyi hailed ‘a new plan for building a democratic federal union beyond 2020’, adding that discussions were back-on-track and had ‘more substance’ than previous years. A senior military delegate, Lieut. Gen. Yar Pyae, praised the process for ‘reducing mistrust that has been deep-rooted on both sides’, and urged groups to stick with the NCA.

Among the new principles, it was agreed that the future federal system would be based on power-sharing between the Union and states. However, talks on allowing states to draft separate constitutions faltered amid a dispute over wording. Even among agreements inked, the language used was vague. For example, the forging of a single ‘union identity’ which respects the histories, traditions and cultures of minorities is open to interpretation, and minorities will likely be skeptical given their past treatment by the Bamar elite.

Aung San Suu Kyi strives to make a collective identity central to future talks, whilst presidential spokesman Zaw Htay recently voiced the need for a careful step-by-step process toward ‘national reconciliation’. Yet such inclusive language seems hollow given the mistreatment of Rohingya Muslims; denied citizenship for decades and forced to flee to Bangladesh after repeated army crackdowns since 2017. If talks go awry and violence ensues, other ethnic minorities fear the same scorched-earth tactics could be applied to them.

Longer-term barriers to peace

Many of the principles decided so-far are procedural, laying out approximate positions. Turning these into a final text, agreeable to all parties, will be difficult due to the scale and complexity of Myanmar’s conflicts.

Implementing a federal structure and drafting state constitutions may be relatively simple in states where just one or two armed groups are the dominant actors, such as in the southern states of Kayah, Kayin and Mon. In the larger Shan state to the north, home to multiple ethnic armies, often in competition with each other, such an outcome may be unworkable. This reflects a broader geographical divide in the peace talks.

The majority of the ten NCA signatories are based in Myanmar’s southern conflict zones where fighting is at a low level. The groups here are small and poorly-armed, accounting for less than 20% of rebel fighters in the country. The formation of a democratic federal union would likely boost the power of these groups, thus making it attractive for them to reach some kind of devolved settlement with the government.

Peace talks are set to continue in 2021 after November’s election, in which Aung San Suu Kyi and the Tatmadaw will hope to retain their dominant influence. (Image Source: Adam Jones)

In contrast, Myanmar’s northeastern conflict zones of Shan and Kachin are home to well-resourced ethnic armies, outside of the NCA process. Several groups, including the UWSA, already run their own relatively prosperous self-administered zones, while others control territories in which they are the main economic and security actor. If they join the NCA and accept state-based autonomy, they may stand to lose-out. 

Even before weighing-up such outcomes, the nature of the peace process itself is unpredictable in a nation where a broader civilian-military power contest still has a long way to run. The NLD has failed in its efforts to revise the 2008 constitution, which affords sweeping political powers to the Tatmadaw, via parliament. Aung San Suu Kyi suggested in her opening speech at August’s Panglong event that the constitution might yet need to be ‘amended’ to facilitate any future agreement that emerges out of the peace process.

In an apparent rebuttal, military chief Gen. Min Aung Hlaing warned-off approaching the peace talks with ‘ulterior motives’ and stated the NCA must be solely focused on Myanmar’s ‘national interests’. For now, the NLD and Tatmadaw have achieved a workable balance. Aung San Suu Kyi is satisfied with compromise and political maneuvering, rather than seeking radical reform. In the current system, 25% of parliamentary seats are reserved for the Tatmadaw, while it controls the defence and home affairs ministries. Aung San Suu Kyi meanwhile wields strong influence as State Counsellor and the NLD has remained broadly popular.

Whatever the outcome of November’s election, the quasi-civilian structure is likely to remain in place; yet the lingering potential of future political upheaval could derail or shift the direction of the Panglong talks.

A ‘one size fits all’ solution?

The central impediment to the Panglong process remains that Myanmar has so many active armed groups, each with distinct ambitions and varied levels of power, resources and degrees of leverage for bargaining. The peace process is already split in half: between the weaker signatories, and stronger non-signatories.

Yet even if more ethnic armies were to sign the NCA and partake in Union-level talks, division in non-state alliances, some with more to lose than others, may be inevitable as more contentious issues are discussed. The imagined end point, a democratic federal union, might not be enough to satisfy the strongest groups.

Yet what is the alternative? Bilateral talks between the government and non-signatories remain a possible path forward; yet at present, Naypyidaw insists such discussions would only be a pre-cursor to joining the NCA. After November’s election, giving the Panglong initiative another chance appears the safest option.

A version of this article was first published on Geopolitical Monitor.

Is Duterte’s Latest Peace Overture to the NPA Another False Dawn?

In December, President Rodrigo Duterte called on CPP leader Jose Maria Sison to return home to the Philippines from exile in the Netherlands, for a one-on-one meeting. (Image Source: PCOO)

Late last year, Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte indicated a willingness to reverse his prior decision to terminate the peace process with the New People’s Army (NPA) – a communist rebel group at odds with Manila since the 1960s. On 26 December, Duterte appealed to Jose Maria Sison – the exiled head of the NPA’s political wing, the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP) – to return home from exile in the Netherlands for one-on-one talks in an attempt to revive the peace process. Sison replied that while he was open to dialogue, he would only be prepared to meet Duterte in a neighbouring country.

This initial positive exchange was followed by a sense of growing momentum, when a 16-day ‘holiday truce’ agreed by the NPA and the Philippine military – covering the Christmas and New Year period – largely held firm despite several reported violations. In the early weeks of 2020, informal discussions have taken place and the government’s former chief negotiator, Silvestre Bello III, has even suggested Sison could return to Manila to sign an interim peace accord ahead of the resumption of formal talks. Duterte has sought to allay Sison’s fears over returning, stating on 11 January: ‘I guarantee his safety’.

Yet despite these steps forward, the window of opportunity for peace talks to resume may be limited. At the start of Duterte’s administration, talks with the NPA appeared to be moving forward until the peace process collapsed in early-2017 amid a dispute over a prisoner amnesty. All attempts to restart dialogue have since proven fruitless amid an atmosphere of rising hostility between the government and the CPP, typified by repeated tirades of insults exchanged in public between Duterte and Sison. This chequered history suggests the current receding of tensions may turn out only to be temporary.

A history of failed talks

The NPA and CPP have been led by Sison since he founded the rebel movement in the late-1960s. For five decades, the NPA has fought government troops in rural areas across the country, with the stated aim of overthrowing the Philippine state and replacing it with a political system predicated on Maoist ideology. While the insurgency reached its height in the 1980s during the dictatorial rule of Ferdinand Marcos, the rebel movement has since held peace talks with six successive democratic-era presidents.

The National Democratic Front of the Philippines (NDFP) – the negotiating body of the NPA and CPP – participated in failed talks during the administrations of Aquino, Ramos, Estrada, Arroyo and Aquino III before entering dialogue with Duterte upon his election in 2016. Talks initially progressed well, with a ceasefire being declared and four rounds of dialogue being held in Amsterdam, Oslo and Rome. Yet the peace process collapsed in 2017 amid Duterte’s refusal to release political prisoners and renewed rebel attacks. NPA activity has since rebounded in rural central and southern areas of the Philippines.

In 2018, several months of back-channel talks proved fruitless after the NPA refused to meet Duterte’s pre-conditions for the resumption of formal dialogue, which included an end to rebel attacks, an end to extortion and a political commitment from the CPP not to seek to form a coalition government. Last March, Duterte announced the peace process was ‘permanently terminated’ during his presidency – due to expire in 2022 – and disbanded his negotiating panel, which had been led by Silvestre Bello III. In its place, Duterte proposed localized talks with NPA commanders, bypassing the senior leadership.

Barriers to renewed dialogue

Duterte has rowed back on his decision, offering an olive branch in the form of a face-to-face meeting with Sison. Given this change in tone, what is the likelihood of formal national-level talks between the government and NDFP restarting, and ultimately succeeding, during the remainder of Duterte’s term?

Since peace talks failed in 2017, AFP troops have fought the NPA on a near-daily basis. Violence has centered on Eastern Mindanao, Samar and Negros Island. (Image Source: Matthew Hulett)

Meaningful progress is unlikely for several reasons. First, Sison’s reluctance to return to the Philippines represents a firm barrier to dialogue. Duterte has long insisted that any future talks must be hosted in the Philippines, which Sison has described as ‘totally unacceptable’, arguing in December that agreeing to return would ‘put the NDFP and the entire peace negotiations in the pocket of the Duterte regime’. Alternatively, Sison has proposed holding informal talks in the Vietnamese capital, Hanoi, ahead of the resumption of formal negotiations in a third-party country – most likely Norway, which has served as a mediator between the two sides in the past. The Philippine government is unlikely to allow the CPP to dictate the timing or location of negotiations, leaving both sides at odds over their desired venue.

Second, the core areas of disagreement that have scuppered talks in recent years, remain unresolved. The government still requires the rebel movement to meet six pre-conditions, first proposed in 2018, before the peace process can resume. These conditions include an end to attacks, extortion and arson in addition to the encampment of rebel fighters, the signing of a bilateral ceasefire and an end to NPA recruitment. Given Sison’s lack of control over NPA commanders on the ground, from his base in the Netherlands, it is difficult to foresee these conditions being met, even if Sison and his advisors agreed. Sison also continues to call for ‘the release of political prisoners on humanitarian grounds’ as his own pre-condition for formal talks resuming. It is unlikely the government will deviate from its past stance.

Third, a lack of trust exists on both sides, with each suspicious of the other’s real intentions in seeking fresh talks. The CPP fears Duterte’s offer for Sison to return to partake in negotiations is a pre-text for his arrest. Despite Duterte’s reassurances, a court in Manila issued an arrest warrant for Sison just last August over his alleged role in the 1985 Inopacan massacre, while in September the Philippine police asked INTERPOL to issue a ‘red notice’ for the detention of Sison. These developments came after the arrest of several NDFP negotiators since 2017 and many previous threats from Duterte to detain Sison. Equally, the government is also suspicious of the CPP’s true intentions, having criticized NPA violations of past ceasefires and accused the group of using past peace negotiations as a cover for recruitment.

These suspicions have not been helped by an ongoing war-of-words between Duterte and Sison since the peace process first collapsed in 2017, typified by increasingly heated rhetoric and personal insults. After back-channel talks failed in 2018, Duterte derided NPA rebels as ‘robots’ fighting for a ‘bankrupt mind’ in reference to Sison, while the CPP leader retorted that Duterte was ‘very capable of violence’, labelling him as a ‘crazy guy in power’. Duterte has openly criticized CPP ideology as ‘outdated’, while the CPP has condemned Duterte’s authoritarian leadership style and argues he seeks to crush dissent. Tensions have been raised by the alleged ‘red-tagging’ of left-wing advocacy groups in recent months.

Fourth, even if the peace process resumes, the likelihood of a final peace accord being signed is slim, given that both sides have opposing visions of its end point. The CPP’s stated aim remains to replace the Philippines’ system of government with a socialist-style system lead by the working classes. Sison’s ideology, first outlined in 1974, argues this must be achieved through a prolonged guerrilla-style war, leaving little room for political negotiation. Many suspect that even in the event of a deal being signed, the NPA would refuse to disarm, with a spokesperson for Duterte’s peace process advisor arguing on 17 January that ‘never has it been the rebels’ intention to demobilize their armed wing, even if both parties sign a final peace agreement’. The Duterte administration, in line with the view of past Manila administrations, foresees a solution in line with the Philippine constitution and democratic processes. In such a case, no parallel armed forces would be permitted and the NPA would be required to disarm.

Another false dawn?

Despite Duterte’s latest peace overture being accompanied by more positive rhetoric by both parties, recent history suggests that events could spiral downhill quickly if disagreement on the core stumbling blocks persists. Since talks first collapsed in 2017, relations between the government and the CPP have been characterized by rising hostility and distrust. Even amid the recent détente, on 5 January the new chief-of-staff of the Philippine armed forces, Lt. Gen. Felimon Santos, vowed to crush the NPA before the end of Duterte’s term in 2022 – a threat which Duterte himself his repeated on multiple occasions.

Such mixed-messaging and Duterte’s unpredictable, shifting stance on his approach toward the CPP, may dissuade the CPP from returning to the negotiating table and leave Sison to conclude the risk of returning to Manila is too high. Unless a formal summit is agreed during this rare moment of calm, the revival of the peace process may – as Duterte stated last March – have to wait ‘for the next president’.

A version of this article is also published on Geopolitical Monitor.

Is India’s Nagaland Peace Process Nearing a Breakthrough?

Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi has pursued peace talks with Naga rebels since coming to power in 2014. Modi was elected to serve a second term in May 2019. (Image Source: Al Jazeera).

Since the 1950s in India’s remote northeast, ethnic Naga insurgents along the border with Myanmar have fought the central government in New Delhi for either full independence or greater autonomy. The Naga rebel movement has been characterized by splits, infighting and failed peace agreements, while major outbreaks of violence have been largely contained by a succession of fragile ceasefires.

Now, after two decades of talks between the government and the largest rebel faction, the National Socialist Council of Nagaland-Isak Muivah (NSCN-IM), a breakthrough appears to be edging closer. After the re-election of Prime Minister Narendra Modi earlier this year, the leader of his Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in Nagaland – state Deputy Chief Minister Y Patton – expressed confidence that Modi would ‘solve the Naga political issue during his time’, adding ‘let us all sincerely pray for him’.

The government is looking to finalize a framework peace accord signed with the NSCN-IM in 2015. At the time, Modi said ending India’s longest-running internal conflict would help bring ‘peace, security and economic transformation to the northeast’; a stated priority of his administration. Yet four years on, the deal has still not been finalized and frustration is rising. Despite the delay, amid concern that the aspirations of the NSCN-IM and other factions may not be satisfied, is a breakthrough imminent?

Tracing the history of Nagaland’s Insurgency

Nagaland is located in India’s restive northeast, and is one of seven states separated from the rest of India by the narrow Siliguri Corridor. Nagas are predominantly Christian and English-speaking, while the group as a whole consists of 17 major tribes and many smaller sub-tribes – many of which retain distinct local customs, dress and languages. Naga tribes were united under Angami Zapu Phizo, who formed the Naga National Council (NNC) in 1947, shortly before India’s independence from Britain.

An initial nine-point agreement was signed in which Naga areas would be governed within the state of Assam for a period of ten years, during which time the Nagas were to be afforded limited powers and land rights. However, Phizo rejected the deal and declared independence for the Nagas, and the idea of Naga sovereignty spread through the tribes. A referendum held in 1951, in which 99% living in Naga areas allegedly voted in favour of Independence, was rejected by the Indian government.

In the early-1950s, guerrilla warfare broke-out and violence escalated, with Naga insurgents raiding army and police outposts. The army launched a crackdown enabled by the imposition of the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act in 1958, which remains in place today. Phizo established a Naga Federal Government (NFG) and Naga Federal Army (NFA) in the mid-1950s, which replaced the NNC as the organizations at the forefront of the Naga uprising. India ceded some ground and allowed Nagaland to become a separate state in December 1963, while the NNC, NFG and NFA were labelled unlawful.

The first peace breakthrough came in 1975, when the Shillong Accord was signed between the NNC, NFG and the government, whereby the armed factions agreed to accept the Indian constitution and drop their demand for full independence, while agreeing to turn in their weapons to the authorities.

However, many Nagas were not satisfied and rejected the agreement. In 1980, the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN) was formed to resume the armed struggle. The NSCN split into two main factions in 1988 amid a leadership struggle and ideological dispute, with Isak Muivah continuing with the NSCN-IM and SS Khaplang forming the NSCN-K, based across the border in Myanmar’s northern Sagaing region. Inter-factional clashes and rivalry led to bloodshed, while later splits further divided the Naga rebel movement. Such splintering has made the conflict intractable and difficult to resolve.

After the NSCN was formed in 1980, Naga rebels regularly fought the military. Yet since 1997, a ceasefire – accompanied by peace talks – has reduced violence. (Image Source: Antônio Milena).

The two NSCN factions remain dominant forces, with the NSCN-IM campaigning for an autonomous Naga region extended from Nagaland to include Naga-inhabited areas in the neighbouring states of Assam, Arunachal Pradesh and Manipur, while the NSCN-K seeks the inclusion of parts of Myanmar.

Twenty-two years of peace talks with the NSCN-IM

Peace talks between the government and the NSCN-IM began in 1997 after a ceasefire was signed. More than 80 rounds of talks have since been held, and the level of violence has gradually receded. Dialogue led to a framework agreement being signed in August 2015 between Modi and NSCN-IM leader Muivah, which was heralded at the time as a major breakthrough and an opportunity to end hostilities. Modi said he hoped the deal would be a ‘signal to smaller groups’ to give up their arms.

Yet four years later, the details of the framework agreement remain sketchy, while little discernible progress has been made toward finalizing and implementing the deal. Talks have continued with the NSCN-IM and six other Naga insurgent groups at the negotiating table, while the NSCN-K has fought on both sides of the border. After a four-year stalemate, Modi’s re-election has given fresh impetus to the peace process amid recent reports – unconfirmed by either side – that a final accord is close.

Could a final accord with the NSCN-IM end fighting?

The 2015 framework agreement has been criticized as vague and is not all-encompassing, while few details or specifics have been made public. What we do know, is that the framework accord aims to enhance recognition and acceptance of Naga history and culture, and is thought to be based on the concept of ‘shared sovereignty’ with some kind of ‘special status’ for Naga areas within the national constitution and administrative system. However, India is opposed to ceding territory or altering the constitution, and is not open to re-drawing the boundaries of Assam, Arunachal Pradesh or Manipur.

This means the core NSCN-IM demand for full sovereignty or political autonomy over all Naga areas in northeast India, including areas in neighbouring states, is very unlikely to be met. Without such a settlement, it is hard to see how rebel leaders will be satisfied with a deal adhering to existing lines.

A second stumbling block to peace, is that the powerful NSCN-K faction commanded by SS Khaplang remains excluded from the peace process and appears certain to reject any final deal signed by the NSCN-IM. Bringing the NSCN-K to the negotiating table is essential if a fuller resolution to the Naga issue is to be found. Even in this event, the fact that the NSCN-K envisions parts of the Sagaing area of northern Myanmar being incorporated in a future cross-border Naga region, further complicates the issue. Myanmar is not prepared to give up any of its territory, and has attempted to engage the NSCN-K through its own state-led peace process, called the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA).

The NSCN-IM aims for a Naga region covering all Naga-inhabited areas in northeast India, while the NSCN-K envisions parts of Myanmar also being included. (Image Source: Sharada Prasad).

Myanmar’s NCA process aims to end multiple long-running insurgencies in volatile border regions of the country, which similarly to the conflicts in northeast India, were sparked after Myanmar secured independence from Britain. The government in Myanmar has cracked down on the NSCN-K in recent months, making a peace breakthrough in Sagaing a bleak prospect. Other, smaller Naga armed units on the Indian side of the border, may also reignite their armed campaigns if they are not satisfied by the outcome of the NSCN-IM dialogue. The splintered nature of the movement is a barrier to peace.

Future Forecast: Symbolism vs Sovereignty

If negotiations between the Indian government and the NSCN-IM continue down their current path, any finalized agreement in the coming months looks likely to cover mostly symbolic issues. This may result in greater nationwide recognition of and respect for collective Naga identity, the formation of new cultural bodies and some form of devolution through new administrative structures. The NSCN-IM will also hope that important identity issues, such as the adoption of a Naga flag, can be resolved.

However, the core issue at the heart of the insurgency – the desire for a territorially-expanded Naga region covering areas in Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur and possibly also in northern Myanmar – will not have been resolved. This means that almost inevitably, some Naga rebels will continue to fight. The non-participation of the NSCN-K places them at the forefront of resistance, and for them to come to the table, a more inclusive and all-encompassing peace process might later be required.

Yet if a deal with the NSCN-IM does get over the line, it could serve as a vital starting point and lay the foundations upon which future peace efforts could be constructed. In a region where violence has persisted since the 1950s, a partial peace deal and an improvement in ties with the NSCN-IM is better than nothing at all. PM Modi may then have the platform to engage with other Naga groups, as he seeks to negotiate a final end to the conflict; a key component in his plan to stem violence in India’s volatile northeast, and open-up the region as a strategic trading gateway to Southeast Asia.

A version of this article is also published on Geopolitical Monitor.

What Underlies the Long-Running Dispute in the South China Sea?

China claims all South China Sea waters within its self-imposed ‘nine-dash line’, demarcated in a 1947 map, including the Paracel archipelago and the Spratly Islands (Image Source: US Navy)

The South China Sea is a site of intense geostrategic importance located at the heart of the Asia-Pacific. It is the site of decades-old contestation between rival regional powers over territory, lucrative energy resources and economically-vital sea lanes. Given the sea’s location at the centre of the world’s most densely-populated and fastest-growing region, and considering the above-mentioned convergence of interests, the disputes represent a pressing and complex issue which is highly resistant to resolution.

The disputes first emerged in the aftermath of World War Two, when the six claimant states bordering the sea – China, Taiwan, Vietnam, Brunei, Malaysia and the Philippines – scrambled to occupy islands following the withdrawal of colonial powers. In their early stages, the disputes centred primarily over the question of territorial sovereignty. China claimed almost the entire body of water according to its ‘nine-dash line’ map, originally released publicly in 1947. The map was based on historical claims of naval expeditions in the area dating back as far as the Han Dynasty. China views its claim to sovereignty as a major national interest comparable with its desire to incorporate Taiwan into the Chinese state.

Taiwan and Vietnam also stake a claim to large portions of the sea encompassing two island groups: the Paracels and the Spratly islands. Similarly, these claims are based on historical records stretching back centuries. Another three Southeast Asian nations – Brunei, Malaysia and the Philippines – claim more limited portions of the sea and look to assert their right to a 200-mile Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) stretching from their coastlines. These claims are made in line with the terms of the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). UNCLOS, while serving as an important modern-day legal referent and a possible future tool of resolution, has been a primary driver of the disputes in recent decades. This was most evident in 2009, when a UNCLOS deadline for new submissions on the delimitation of continental shelves led to a series of claims from nations bordering the sea, adding to an already-complex picture of overlapping claims and leading to a further raising of regional tensions.

While a full-scale military conflict has so-far been avoided, the South China Sea has witnessed a series of past incidents involving the militaries of the six claimant states. Most of these have taken the form of small-scale encounters or non-violent stand-offs involving coastguard ships and fishing vessels from China, Vietnam and the Philippines. In May 2014, a more high-profile incident occurred when China stationed an oil rig in waters claimed by Vietnam as part of its EEZ, resulting in a stand-off involving more than 30 vessels. The incident damaged bilateral relations and sparked street protests in Hanoi.

Under President Xi Jinping, China has assertively pressed its claims in the disputed region through land reclamation and conducting maritime patrols (Image Source: Russian Govt.)

The two countries had previously clashed in the sea in a notorious incident at Johnson South Reef in 1988, in which two Vietnamese ships were sunk and 64 sailors perished. In more recent years, the US has risked China’s ire by carrying-out ‘Freedom of Navigation’ operations in the contested area, sailing military vessels close to islands occupied by China. This policy was a major aspect of former President Obama’s ‘pivot’ to the Asia-Pacific, which many considered a thinly-veiled attempt to counter China’s rising power and support Southeast Asian states in ensuring China met opposition to its activities in the South China Sea. President Trump has taken a softer stance since his shock election win in 2016.

While competing territorial claims over islets, rocks and other land-features have defined the disputes for decades, undersea energy resources have become an increasingly important driver of the disputes in more recent times. The South China Sea is thought to contain up to 213 billion barrels of sub-sea oil in addition to vast quantities of natural gas in rocks deep beneath the waves, leading states to intensify their claims to the region. This is particularly important given the rising populations of the Asia-Pacific in combination with dwindling domestic energy reserves and a need to decrease over-reliance on the volatile Middle East for oil. China’s population is set to reach 1.4 billion by 2020, whilst the population of Southeast Asia is nudging 650 million. Shipping is another important factor, with the South China Sea being a vital transit route for the import of oil and gas, and the export of consumer goods. Up to 90% of energy imports to East Asia pass through the narrow Malacca Strait chokepoint and through the South China Sea, after being shipped first through the Indian Ocean. This provides another major imperative for states to seek a degree of control over the waters, to ensure the free-flow of shipping which is necessary to sustain high rates of economic growth. Analysts in the US have raised concerns that China could block this vital maritime trading route, while China holds the opposite fear that the US and its regional allies could close the Malacca Strait in a future worst-case scenario. Such an event – instigated by any party – would negatively impact all regional nations and dent the global economy.

All attempts to resolve the dispute so-far have failed. In 2002, China and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) signed-up to a joint Declaration of Conduct on the Parties in the South China Sea (DOC), agreeing to pursue peaceful co-operation and exercise self-restraint. However, the DOC has long been criticized as being ineffective due to its non-binding nature, while talks between the two sides on a binding code-of-conduct have made little progress over the years. This has been made more difficult due to division within ASEAN over the dispute in recent times. The claimant states – in particular Vietnam and the Philippines – have maintained a tougher stance, while several of the non-claimant states – including Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar and Thailand – have been reluctant to criticize China’s activities too forcefully for fear of losing-out on much-needed Chinese investment. During the current impasse, China has expanded its de-facto control over the South China Sea, asserting its claims through land reclamation, building military installations on islets and conducting regular naval patrols.

The United States conducted regular Freedom of Navigation Operations in the South China Sea under President Obama, sailing warships close to disputed islands (Image Source: US Navy)

At present, the disputes have drifted out of international headlines as more immediate concerns have dominated global politics; namely the escalating US-China ‘trade war’, and the North Korea situation. The plight of the Rohingya in Myanmar and rising Islamist conflict in the southern Philippine region of Mindanao have also held regional attention, forcing the South China Sea issue into the background. The US has largely retreated from Southeast Asia under nationalist President Trump, looking to lessen rather than increase America’s commitments in far-flung parts of the world. Since the final days of the Obama administration, US rhetoric on China’s assertive actions in the South China Sea has softened.

The Philippines’ President Duterte – elected several months before Trump’s unlikely rise in the US – has also adopted a softer stance. ASEAN remains divided on the issue and unable to reach consensus. This has left China to press on with its land reclamation programme and solidify its territorial gains in the South China Sea, with Beijing having previously rejected a 2016 tribunal arbitration ruling which questioned the legitimacy of its claim to sovereignty. Whether China and ASEAN will be able to adapt to the new status-quo and agree upon a binding code-of-conduct in the coming years remains to be seen. Another unknown concerns a potential change of government in the US once Trump’s first term ends in 2021. The election of an Obama-style leader may see the US strive to re-engage on the issue.

For now, at least, China has solidified its position as the dominant player in the South China Sea. Yet despite apocalyptic predictions from some analysts in the West, the disputes look unlikely to result in conflict. China, the US and ASEAN states all have too much to lose. Irrespective of whether the complex territorial claims can be resolved in the coming decades, economic realities and shared interests mean a co-operative environment regarding the sea’s resources and shipping routes may yet develop. This will be the key test as to whether peace can be sustained in the world’s most hotly-contested waters.

A version of this article is also published on Eurasia Review.

Balochistan: Seven Decades of Insurgency in Pakistan’s Restive South

The proposed China-Pakistan Economic Corridor, linking Xinjiang to Gwadar Port, has raised tensions over development in Balochistan (Image Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Next year will signal 70 years since the beginning of a fierce separatist insurgency fought in Pakistan’s troubled southern province of Balochistan. Over much of the last seven decades the conflict has rumbled on at a relatively low intensity, punctuated by five distinct periods of heightened violence. The current flare-up – which ignited in the mid-2000s – has proved by far the most enduring. And amid rising tensions in recent years, it appears there is no end in sight to Pakistan’s longest – yet most under-reported – war.

Balochistan is Pakistan’s largest province and stretches from the country’s interior to its remote southwestern region, where it borders neighbouring Afghanistan and Iran. The province is a vast territory rich in resources including gold, copper and natural gas, yet remains Pakistan’s most underdeveloped and impoverished province. A sizeable proportion of its 12 million residents hold grievances regarding a perceived lack of political rights and accuse the central government of resource exploitation – concerns which underlie the seven-decade separatist movement and continue to drive the struggle for independence today.

The insurgency began less than a year after Pakistan’s independence from colonial rule in August 1947, when in March 1948 Pakistan dispatched troops to annex the southwestern area which was then known as Kalat. The territory’s ruler, Ahmed Yar Khan, later signed an accession treaty formalizing the incorporation of Kalat into the newly-founded nation-state of Pakistan. Yet many in the region strongly opposed the move, and the first of the Baloch nationalist rebellions was born.

The 1948 uprising was soon put down by security forces, but further armed campaigns erupted in 1958, 1962 and 1973, each lasting no-longer than four years before the army were able to regain a semblance of control. The fifth insurgency began in the mid-2000s and has been the most enduring. The violence was triggered as a consequence of several factors: as a result of opposition to the regime of General Pervez Musharraf; as a reaction to the 2006 killing of a key Baloch leader, Nawab Akbar Bugti, by the Pakistani army; and in response to a crackdown launched by security forces.

Ten years on, the fifth Baloch insurgency has still not abated as clashes continue between the military and an array of armed separatist groups, including the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA), Balochistan Republican Army (BRA) and the Balochistan Liberation Front (BLF).

In the last decade, the Pakistani authorities have been accused of committing widespread human rights violations, including presiding over unlawful detentions, extra-judicial killings, torture and disappearances. Criticism from international observers has been particularly fierce, with Human Rights Watch stating in a 2011 report that ‘‘the surge in unlawful killings of suspected militants and opposition figures in Balochistan has taken the brutality in the province to an unprecedented level.’’

The most controversial aspect of the war in Balochistan concerns the fate of the thousands of Baloch fighters and opposition activists who have disappeared in the last few decades. In December 2016, the BBC reported that almost 1,000 dead bodies of political activists and suspected separatists had been found dumped across the province since 2011. Human rights groups say the evidence points towards large-scale abductions and extra-judicial killings, citing relatives’ claims that many of the victims had previously been detained by Pakistan’s security forces before disappearing.

The government and military have repeatedly denied all accusations of complicity with regard to kidnappings and extra-judicial murder, instead blaming the deaths on organized crime and clashes between various militant groups active in the region. However, media silence on the issue within Pakistan, along with the high level of risk making the province a virtual no-go zone for journalists, has made substantive corroboration or verification of these claims almost impossible, further raising suspicions among many in the international community.

Quetta, Balochistan. The resource-rich province is home to 12 million residents in Pakistan’s southwest, bordering Iran and Afghanistan. (Image Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Amid the lack of coverage, the government is keen to put across its point of view, labelling most of the Baloch nationalist groups as ‘terrorist organizations’ and highlighting their continued attacks on not just security forces, but also against civilians. For example, in an April 2015 incident the Balochistan Liberation Front (BLF) reportedly killed 20 labourers working on a road near the city of Turbat. The past few months have witnessed further attacks by Baloch nationalists against construction workers, who are often regarded as legitimate targets by the insurgents given local opposition to state-led development projects in the province.

Ongoing construction projects related to the proposed China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) have caused particular concern, further enflaming tensions over development in the region. China has invested $46bn in the project, which aims to connect the western Chinese province of Xinjiang with the strategically-important deep-water port of Gwadar, located on southern Pakistan’s Arabian Sea coastline. Pipeline projects routed through the province have also heightened tensions, with separatists accusing the government of prioritizing large-scale, foreign-backed infrastructure and resource-based projects which bring few direct benefits to residents in the southwest.

In this sense, the conflict and its drivers are largely a tale of competing narratives: whilst the separatists claim the government ignores their long-standing grievances related to poverty and underdevelopment, the government argues that insurgent activity is holding the province back and restricting economic growth.

All previous peace-making efforts – which can be described as limited at best – have achieved little. The provincial government is weak and has failed to adequately mediate between politicians in Islamabad, the military and the numerous Baloch separatist groups. A proposed government amnesty programme has also failed to gain traction as violence has continued on both sides.

Unless the central government makes a concerted attempt to initiate meaningful dialogue involving all stakeholders, allows greater media access and demonstrates a willingness to discuss the core grievances of the Baloch population, the prospects for a lasting ceasefire remain slim. The longer the current status-quo continues, the conflict will remain intractable and existing divisions will be further entrenched. Seven decades on from the first uprising against the Pakistani state in Balochistan, the hope for a peaceful resolution looks as far away as ever.

This article was first published on Eurasia Review.

Dokdo-Takeshima Islands: South Korea and Japan’s Intractable Maritime Dispute

The disputed islands are located in the Sea of Japan – also known as the East Sea – approximately half-way between Japan and South Korea (Image Source: Flickr, ROK)

Over the last few years, maritime disputes in the contested waters of East Asia have made global headlines. In the South China Sea, China has faced opposition from Vietnam, Malaysia and the Philippines for its claims to sovereignty over the Paracel and Spratly Islands. In the East China Sea, relations have remained tense between China and Japan over the disputed Senkaku-Diaoyu islands.

Yet another long-standing maritime dispute in the region has continued to exist under-the-radar, and remains unresolved after more than six decades. The dispute concerns a collection of small islands located in the Sea of Japan – or the East Sea as it is known on the Korean peninsula. The contested islands are called the Dokdo Islands by South Korea, yet are known as the Takeshima Islands by the Japanese, and the Liancourt Rocks by many in the West.

The isolated maritime territory – consisting of two larger islands and more than thirty smaller features – is officially controlled by South Korea, yet is also claimed by Japan. The islands sit roughly half-way between the two countries, being located approximately 134 nautical miles from South Korea’s mainland, and around 155 miles from the Japanese coastline.

This article will seek to review the background context and current situation related to the long-running dispute over the Dokdo-Takeshima Islands, before assessing its impact on South Korean-Japanese bilateral relations and asking why the dispute has proved so difficult to resolve.

Both sides claim that their right to sovereignty over the islands stretches back hundreds of years, yet there is a significant degree of historical ambiguity to these claims. Instances of conflicting evidence make a clear and objective timeline of the disputes almost impossible to ascertain.

South Korea argues that the islands were first mentioned in historical literature from as long ago as 512-AD, whilst Japan argues that South Korea has failed to prove their control over the islands prior to their occupation by Japanese forces in 1905, several years prior to the Japanese colonization of the Korean peninsula. Japan’s Foreign Ministry has also stated that its claims originally date back to the mid-17th Century when the islands were used by Japanese sailors.

South Korea insists that the islands were rightfully handed back to the country following the 1951 Treaty of San Francisco, signed between the United States and Japan after the end of WWII. However, the islands had been omitted from the final text of the treaty, leading to confusion over which country was entitled to administer the territory. South Korea established formal administrative control over the islands in the mid-1950s – a move which Japan has described as an ‘illegal occupation’.

Today, the Dokdo-Takeshima islands remain administered by South Korea and the dispute has rumbled on at a relatively low level, albeit damaging bilateral relations between the two countries. South Korea has constructed a coast guard station on one of the two main islands, whilst on the other resides a Korean fisherman and his family – the territory’s only permanent residents.

The long-held views of both countries regarding the dispute are not expected to change, despite the election of new South Korean president Moon Jae-In (Image Source: Flickr, ROK)

There are several reasons why the dispute has proved so resistant to a resolution over the past six decades.

Firstly, nationalism remains a key factor on both sides, with the islands holding symbolic importance to both the South Korean and Japanese populations. Many South Korean’s see Japan’s unrelenting sovereignty claim as a neo-colonial attempt to retain a strategically-important territory acquired during Japan’s days as an imperial power. This aspect of the dispute is arguably the most sensitive, with many Koreans still feeling a sense of anger and humiliation over their country’s annexation by Japanese forces in 1910 and the lengthy occupation of the mainland which followed.

Nationalist sentiments have also been a feature of Japan’s continuing claim, with the southern Shimane Prefecture introducing an annual ‘Takeshima Day’ in 2005. In both countries, nationalistic feelings centred on historical animosity between the two regional powers have dominated thinking with regard to the dispute – resulting in occasional street protests by civilians and rhetorical flare-ups from political leaders in the aftermath of sensitive incidents.

Secondly, the dispute has proved even more intractable due to the economic and geo-strategic importance of the islands. The Dokdo-Takeshima islands are located in the middle of an important route for shipping and regional trade, and are surrounded by plentiful fish stocks. In addition, there is significant potential for the unexplored sea-bed around the islands to contain large amounts of oil and natural gas deposits.

Full political control over the islands would enable access to a 12-natuical mile Territorial Sea, along with a 200-nautical mile Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) stretching out from the coastline, under the terms of the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). This international agreement has further entrenched the position of both sides – as has also been the case with claimants in other territorial disputes in the South and East China Seas – due to the potential for large rewards in terms of energy security and economic prosperity, as a result of preferential fishing rights and greater access to natural resources within the legally delimited zones.

Whilst the disputes have continued at a low level for the past six decades, recent years have witnessed several flare-ups and periods of increased friction. In 2012, tensions reached their highest point when Japan recalled its ambassador to Seoul, following a high-profile visit to the islands by then-South Korean President Lee Myung-bak – the first visit by an incumbent Korean leader.

Concerns have also been raised over the impact of the dispute on bilateral relations and security co-operation between the two countries – both of which are allies of the United States. This question is especially important given the rapidly escalating nuclear threat emanating from the hostile regime in North Korea, after it conducted a series of missile tests earlier this year in contravention of a UN ban. The successful management of this issue will require a unified response involving close cooperation between the United States and its regional allies. This provides a strong imperative for South Korea and Japan to put their long-running maritime dispute to one side, at least for now, and work more closely together to tackle a common threat.

At first glance, the dispute over the Dokdo-Takeshima Islands appears relatively minor in scale, especially when compared to the more complex maritime disputes underway in the East and South China Seas. However, the islands occupy a position of great national importance for many in both South Korea and Japan, a factor which provides a significant obstacle to resolution and has resulted in deeply-ingrained positions on both sides.

Whilst tensions occasionally rise to the surface, the dispute is not one which looks likely to result in military conflict any time soon. For now, with little sign of compromise or willingness to debate the issue of sovereignty on either side, the status-quo over the islands looks set to remain unchanged – especially whilst a serious threat to the entire region looms large on the horizon.

A version of this article was also published on Eurasia Review

Indonesia unmoved by West Papua independence struggle

Indonesia has exercised sovereignty over West Papua since a disputed 1969 UN-backed referendum. President Joko Widodo’s position is supported by neighbouring Australia (Image Source: DFAT, Timothy Tobing)

In the Indonesian province of West Papua, a movement for independence has existed since the early 1960s. Located at the country’s easternmost point, West Papua came under Indonesian control in a disputed UN-backed referendum in 1969, sparking an independence struggle which has taken place far from the gaze of the outside world.

Over the past five decades this seemingly intractable conflict – and its competing narratives – have been largely forgotten by those outside the region. In recent years however, the dispute has gained greater international attention as a result of more organized efforts on the part of independence activists, alongside a growing network of concerned politicians around the globe.

Yet despite this upturn in media coverage, civil society action and political manoeuvring, the call for a new referendum on West Papua’s future remains unlikely to be granted.

The origins of the dispute date back to the mid-20th Century, when the area was under Dutch colonial control. Indonesia became an independent state in 1949, yet West Papua remained under Dutch control throughout the 1950s. As calls for West Papua’s own independence grew throughout the decade, leaders in the area held a Congress in 1961 and for the first time raised their own flag – known as the ‘Morning Star’.

Conflict over the territory soon broke-out between Indonesia, West Papua and the Dutch colonisers, until a UN-sponsored treaty – known as the New York Agreement – was brokered in 1962. The agreement initially gave control of West Papua to the United Nations, before transferring control to Indonesia with the promise that a referendum would be held on the future of the territory.

When the ballot – known as the ‘Act of Free Choice’ – was finally held in 1969, it did not resemble a referendum as had been promised by the UN. The Indonesian military selected just over one-thousand West Papuan leaders to vote on behalf of the entire population. All of those eligible to take part voted in favour of the territory being incorporated into Indonesia – yet reportedly did so within an atmosphere of intimidation and under the threat of violence.

In a much-criticized move, the decision was later authorized by the UN, and West Papua was officially incorporated into Indonesia. Local resentment against the decision was strong, with many labelling the referendum as an ‘Act of No Choice’. The perceived injustice following the referendum result gave rise to the independence movement which has spawned in the decades since, and this injustice remains a key motivating factor amongst those still seeking independence today.

West Papua is located in eastern Indonesia. It borders Papua New Guinea to the west, and is separated from northern Australia by the Arafura Sea (Image Source: US Library of Congress)

Resistance has taken several forms. An armed guerrilla group – called the OPM (Free Papua Movement) – was formed in 1970, and has carried out a number of attacks on Indonesian security forces and against multinational corporations operating in the area, particularly in the mining and resource sector. In recent decades, the independence movement has become more peaceful and political in nature, particularly since the fall of Indonesia’s former military dictator, General Suharto, in the late 1990s. In 2000, a public congress was held, and the Papuan Presidium Council (PDP) was formed in an attempt to gain recognition for the independence struggle; yet this project eventually failed after crackdowns by the Indonesian security forces and internal divisions within the group. More recently, several campaign groups have formed and have become better organized, holding demonstrations in the region and in other countries, to raise awareness of the situation.

Over the last five decades, information on the situation in West Papua has been difficult to obtain and verify, as foreign journalists and non-governmental organizations have largely been banned from the province. However, numerous human rights violations have reportedly been carried-out by the Indonesian security forces, including accusations of torture, murder, intimidation and arbitrary arrests. In addition, many people from other parts of Indonesia have been moved into the province, in what could be viewed as an attempt to lessen the influence of West Papuan culture.

The conflict long-ago reached a point of stalemate, with the dispute refusing to recede despite the fact that almost 50 years have passed since the original referendum took place. There are multiple reasons why the dispute has become so intractable, not to mention the firmly-ingrained competing interpretations of the situation, which prevail on each side of the debate.

From the perspective of the West Papuan independence movement, the grievances felt in the 1960s have not subsided over time, and continue to drive the struggle today. First and foremost, the perceived historical injustice at the way the referendum was conducted remains strong. Other secondary factors have added to this feeling of injustice in the years since, including reports of human rights violations, cultural marginalization and economic disadvantages.

From the perspective of the Indonesian government, the territory was always rightfully obtained under a legal referendum, with the result sanctioned by the UN, thus resulting in legitimacy to govern and support from the international community. Many of Indonesia’s allies and closest neighbours – notably Australia – have long supported Indonesia’s sovereignty over West Papua. The province has come to occupy a central location in Indonesia’s national imagination, and is of huge economic importance due to its rich mineral resources. As a result, Indonesia has gone great lengths to secure control over the area, through maintaining a strong military presence and effectively closing the region off to international observers.

The campaign for West Papua’s independence has gathered pace in recent years, with an increasing number of demonstrations being held. (Image Source: Nichollas Harrison)

In recent years, Indonesia has been accused of carrying-out large-scale arrests of demonstrators and members of the independence movement, whilst the government has repeatedly urged other nations to respect Indonesia’s sovereignty. In this sense, the status-quo has undergone little change.

Yet last year, the independence campaign appeared to pick up pace, with a global conference on West Papua held in London in May 2016. Members of the ‘Free West Papua’ movement were in attendance, along with members of the ‘International Parliamentarians for West Papua’ (IPWP) group, including the current UK Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn. At the meeting, prominent pro-independence leader Benny Wenda urged the UN to initiate and supervise a new vote for independence in West Papua, to make up for the perceived failings of the 1969 UN-backed vote.

The reinvigorated pro-independence campaign serves as evidence that despite Indonesia’s tight control of the province, and despite doubts over whether West Papua would be able to survive as an independent nation, calls for a new referendum are unlikely to subside. In fact, the independence movement appears to be more resilient and better-organized than at any time in recent history.

The involved parties are aware that persuading Indonesia to hold a new referendum is an unlikely prospect. Yet irrespective of the campaign’s long-term success or failure in terms of achieving an independence vote, it serves an important purpose in raising awareness of the human rights situation faced by civilians in West Papua.

Since being elected in 2014, Indonesian president Joko Widodo has visited the region and shown greater interest in its development than his predecessors, raising hopes of an improved economic and human rights situation for the local population. If President Widodo is serious about his pledge to improve livelihoods and repair Indonesia’s damaged reputation in West Papua, then opening-up the region to foreign journalists and human rights organizations would be a positive first step.

Poverty, violence and underdevelopment: tracing the history of India’s Naxalite conflict

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The Naxalites are present in large swathes of territory across rural central and eastern India, spanning an area which has become known as the ‘Red Corridor’ (Image Source: M Tracy Hunter, Wikipedia)

India’s Naxalite insurgency has been waged in remote central and eastern parts of the world’s second-most populous country for more than five decades, with former Prime Minister Manmohan Singh once describing it as India’s ‘’greatest internal security challenge’’. Since the late 1960’s the conflict has existed at varying levels of intensity, with the Naxalites periodically being fought back by the Indian military only to later re-emerge as a force to be reckoned with once again. As a product of poverty, inequality and underdevelopment in India’s inaccessible rural heartlands, the long-running insurgency has been particularly difficult for the security forces to tackle.

As an internal conflict, which receives little coverage in the international media, it is likely that few in the West will have heard of its existence. This article strives to fill this void and provide an overview of the Naxalite insurgency through investigating several key questions: how did it all begin? What have been the key developments and incidents over the last five decades? What are its core drivers? And lastly, what does the future hold for Naxalite-affected areas in central and eastern India?

The insurgency has its roots in the remote forests of West Bengal in 1967, when a left-wing Maoist group staged a violent uprising in the rural village of Naxalbari. This is where the term ‘Naxalite’ originates from, and has since been used to describe armed groups involved in the decades-long struggle against the State that followed. The original uprising was soon crushed by the security forces, however in later years the Maoists re-grouped and have since asserted control over vast swathes of rural land across central and eastern India, in an area which has become known as the ‘Red Corridor’, indicating territory in which the Naxalites are present.

The ‘Red Corridor’ stretches through multiple states including Jharkhand, West Bengal, Orissa, Bihar, Chhattisgarh, Andhra Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh and Karnataka. Naxalite insurgents have been present at one-time-or-another in more than one-third of India’s 640 districts, whilst many thousands of people have died during the course of the conflict since the late 1960’s.

The Naxalites describe themselves as a left-wing Maoist movement, which has dedicated itself to fighting for the basic rights of indigenous tribespeople and the impoverished rural population, whom the Naxalites contend have been neglected by the central government for decades. In particular, they claim to represent local concerns over resource redistribution and land ownership. The Naxalites view India as a capitalist, semi-colonial and semi-feudal state, and ultimately seek to establish an agrarian-led ‘communist society’ by overthrowing India’s elected government through a protracted armed struggle.

In the later years of the 20th Century the insurgency was assumed to be in decline, and took the form of an under-the-radar low-intensity conflict. However, it gained significant traction in September 2004 when the Communist Party of India (Maoist) was founded. It was established following the merger of two of India’s most prominent far-left groups: the Communist Party of India Marxist-Leninist (People’s War) and the Maoist Communist Centre of India. By 2011, the Naxalites had grown in strength and commanded around 20,000 fighters in rural areas, who has armed themselves through raiding police bases in remote locations. In 2013, the Indian Government estimated the total number of Naxalite fighters to be around 11,500, in addition to 38,000 fighters in the Jan People’s Militia armed with basic weapons such as bows and arrows. The Jan Militia are thought to provide support to the armed wing of the Naxalites – known as the CPI-Maoists People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army (PLGA) – and are known to have participated in attacks.

In 2009, the Indian Government launched its largest ever anti-Naxalite offensive, which involved 50,000 troops and thousands more police officers. The large-scale military offensive was known as Operation ‘Green Hunt’, and consisted of co-ordinated raids across the worst-affected states. The initiative was successful in eliminating prominent Maoist leaders and gaining control of rebel-held territory. As a result of the operation, the Naxalites were pushed deeper into their isolated jungle strongholds, yet have retained an ability to carry-out high-profile attacks and kidnappings. The Government has pledged to crack-down even harder unless the rebels renounce violence and enter peace talks; however, this appears to be an unlikely prospect.

In the period which followed the Government offensive, the number and severity of Maoist attacks increased, with the security forces representing the most frequent target. In April 2010, rebels ambushed paramilitary troops in a remote forested area of Chhattisgarh state, killing 76 soldiers in what was the worst-ever Maoist attack on state security forces. The Naxalites have also waged a sustained campaign of smaller-scale attacks, having regularly been involved in minor skirmishes with security forces and incidents across the affected states. The most commonly used tactics have included destroying infrastructure, blowing-up railway tracks and raiding police stations.

The most notorious Maoist attack of recent years came on 25 May 2013, when insurgents attacked a convoy of Indian National Congress leaders in the Darbha Valley in a remote area of Chhattisgarh state. The politicians had been returning from a rally, after which they were travelling through the region in a heavily-guarded convoy of up to 25 vehicles. As the convoy reached a deeply forested area, it was blocked by trees which had been deliberately felled by the Naxalites, who then triggered an IED before Maoist fighters hiding in the surrounding forest opened fire, killing 27 people. Among those killed were high-profile politicians including former state minister Mahendra Karma, Chhattisgarh Congress leader Nand Kumar Patel and senior Congress leader Vidya Charan Shukla.

At the height of the insurgency in 2009 it was reported that 586 civilians were killed during the year, along with 217 insurgents and 317 members of the security forces. Whilst the insurgency appears to have decreased in intensity since then, there were still 300 fatalities attributed to the conflict in 2016, according to the IISS Armed Conflict Database. The security situation has improved in several of the worst-affected states, however the Naxalites still retain presence in the most remote areas and still have the capability to launch attacks against the security forces.

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A 2009 operation by the Indian military pushed back the Maoists into remote jungle areas; however they have continued to launch attacks against security forces (Source: Mannat Sharma, Agencia Brasil)

The Naxalites have sought over the decades to build a wide base of popular support in rural areas, through pledging to address socio-economic problems such as governance failure and caste-based discrimination, whilst opposing land acquisition. The Naxalites have established their bases in impoverished communities in mountainous and forested parts of southern, central and eastern India. These areas are home to around 84 million indigenous Adivasi people, many of whom lead a traditional lifestyle as subsistence farmers, trapped in extreme poverty and living with a lack of basic services. These factors have been essential to the continuation of the Maoist cause, and the lack of basic amenities such as healthcare, education and clean drinking water have provided the Naxalites with an aggrieved community from which to recruit fighters and enjoy wide support.

The worst-affected states also happen to be the location of large quantities of India’s valuable natural resources, such as coal, iron and copper. However, few benefits from this resource wealth accrue directly to local people, and many rural residents do not share the Indian Government’s vision of top-down capitalist economic growth. These issues have created widespread resentment, and have contributed towards feelings of exclusion and marginalization amongst a large proportion of the impoverished rural population. Many citizens living in areas of Naxalite influence lack the education necessary to pursue alternative opportunities, and have seen little benefit from India’s rapid economic development.

In the last few years however, there have been encouraging signs of change and hope in the ‘Red Corridor’. The Government appears to be paying increasing attention to the affected areas, and has pursued a two-pronged strategy for change based upon the defeat of the rebels and the initiation of development projects. The strategy has been implemented one small step at a time: as rebels are pushed back from an area, construction companies move in under armed guard to begin laying down roads. The approach seems to have been effective, with one local official telling news agency Al-Jazeera: ‘‘we have found that wherever we have built roads, Naxal presence has diminished.’’

The provision of hard infrastructure may pave the way for the construction of hospitals and schools, and will likely result in greater economic development whilst allowing previously-isolated communities to feel more integrated. As a result, support for the Naxalites may begin to falter. However, concerns have been raised that a recent resurgence in mining by large corporations in areas now considered ‘safe’ from the Naxalite threat, could stoke renewed resentment amongst the local population and cause support for the Maoists to increase once again.

Amidst the long and continuing struggle between the Naxalites and the Indian state, the impact on civilians living in the zone of conflict has often been forgotten. For six decades, they have been victims of violence and counter-violence, and have seen little positive change in their living conditions. Both the government and the Maoists have been accused of committing violence and using tactics of intimidation.

Many tribal people have waited more than 50 years to be compensated for land which they were forced to hand over to the Government soon after India’s independence from British control. Displacement has also continued in order to make way for resource-based projects, from which local people receive few tangible benefits. Villagers have experienced intimidation from corporations’ private security personnel and also from state security forces. Voices of dissent against the government are often silenced, and there have been numerous reports of torture and abuse at the hands of the police, suffered by local people accused of supporting the Maoist cause.

The Maoists themselves – despite claiming to stand up for the rights of indigenous people – have also been known to react violently towards people suspected of not supporting their agenda. The majority of civilians reported to have been tortured or killed by the Naxalites have often been branded as police informers. Civilians therefore have to live with the dual fear of being persecuted by both sides; they are effectively trapped in the middle of an intractable conflict which appears no closer to a resolution than at any time in the past.

The future remains uncertain for the people living in areas affected by the Naxalite conflict. If recent improvements to the situation in some states are to be taken advantage of, it needs to be ensured that the ‘‘resource curse’’ – which has long plagued under-developed areas (not just in India, but across many of the world’s developing states) – does not materialize in light of renewed resource extraction by large corporations. The development concerns of local people must be addressed in order to undermine support for the rebels in the long-term, and to ensure that India’s rural population begins to experience the benefits of India’s remarkable economic growth.

Past evidence suggests that the adoption of purely militaristic strategies has been largely ineffective in combatting the insurgency. Moving forward, a more diverse and multi-layered approach to the problem is needed. This approach must recognize the complexities of the conflict and do more to address its underlying causes through determined and sustained initiatives, rather than simply eradicating the symptoms through military offensives. Greater dialogue is needed between all stakeholders, along with greater recognition of the rights of people living in poor rural communities. If lasting socio-economic progress can be achieved and livelihoods can be improved, then one of the world’s longest-running conflicts –  which has for decades halted progress and development across large swathes of rural India – could finally be brought to an end.

Challenges to sustainable democracy in Myanmar: internal conflicts and human rights abuses

When Aung San Suu Kyi led the National League for Democracy (NLD) to a landslide election victory in November 2015, the international community celebrated with a sense of optimism. The election of Myanmar’s first civilian-led government in decades signalled the end of authoritarian rule, and ushered in a hopeful new era of democracy. However, with the new parliament still in its infancy, there is a growing realisation of the huge challenges which face Myanmar’s leaders. They must now turn their attention to tackling a legacy of complex ethnic conflicts and human rights abuses, which have harmed the country’s population, economy and international reputation for decades.

Myanmar’s multiple, complex and on-going internal conflicts remain a significant barrier to achieving national unity, and pose a serious threat to the stability of the democratization process. Parts of the country have endured war-like conditions for over 50 years as several regions have experienced fierce fighting between an array of ethnic armed groups and the military. These conflicts have centred on issues such as the control of territory, the desire for extended political rights and greater autonomy, along with gaining access to natural resources.

Prior to last year’s elections, the military-backed government announced a Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA) as a means to end the fighting. However, this was viewed as a largely symbolic and superficial agreement which achieved only limited success. After almost two years of negotiations, only 8 out of more than 25 active armed groups signed the accord. Whilst one of Myanmar’s oldest rebel groups, the Karen National Union (KNU) did sign, many other powerful and influential groups refused. These include the Kachin Independence Army (KIA) and the United Wa State Army (UWSA). In the last four years, the UN estimates that over 100,000 people have been internally displaced within the conflict-troubled regions as fighting has intensified, adding to thousands more refugees who have crossed the borders into neighbouring Laos, Thailand and China.

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Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD) won a landslide majority in November’s parliamentary elections (Image Source: Claude Truong-Ngoc)

Whilst the violence has largely centred on ethnic tensions, there are also significant economic factors. Lack of access to Myanmar’s natural resources in poverty-stricken regions has fuelled inequalities and increased resentment against the ruling elite. For example, in Kachin state, large companies and government officials have reaped the benefits of huge profits from the multi-billion dollar jade trade, whilst the local population remains impoverished. In the last few years fighting has worsened in Kachin and Shan states, with reports of widespread killings, disappearances, rape and forced labour; whilst the government has continued to deny access to humanitarian groups and international observers.

Over the decades, regional tensions have routinely escalated into armed clashes between rebel groups and the military, culminating in a long-standing lack of trust between local populations and the government. This will make any future negotiation attempts more difficult. However, in light of the recent power shift, the NLD government has an opportunity to push-forward a renewed dialogue with disenfranchised groups. In particular, it is important for the NLD to engage with ethnic political parties which lost-out in November’s election, in order to show that minority groups will play an essential part in a more inclusive democratic process going forward.

Another long-standing issue is the treatment of the Muslim Rohingya minority, which has suffered systematic persecution and discrimination for decades. In November’s elections, the Rohingya were denied voting rights after former military ruler Thein Sein revoked their ID cards, whilst most Muslim candidates were barred from standing for election to parliament. These strict measures highlight a concern that ethnic and religious minorities are deliberately being denied a voice in shaping Myanmar’s future, never mind representation in high office. These exclusionary measures followed years of violence after military operations began in 2012 in Rakhine state – home to an estimated 1 million Rohingya Muslims. More than 150,000 Rohingyas have fled the country over the last four years, whilst approximately 143,000 others are confined to refugee camps along the border with Thailand.

The latest wave of violence has occurred alongside a worrying rise in religious intolerance, Buddhist nationalism and anti-Muslim sentiments which have appeared to be on the increase in recent years. This marks a further deterioration in the situation of the Rohingya, who have been formally deprived of citizenship since 1982, and continue to face severe restrictions on freedom of movement and access to healthcare, whilst experiencing limited education and employment opportunities. Whilst total figures are impossible to verify, there have been numerous reports of arbitrary arrests, torture and killings at the hands of the security forces.

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An estimated 150,000 Rohingya Muslims have fled Myanmar since 2012, where they have faced decades of discrimination and denial of full citizenship rights (Image Source: FCO)

A recent report by UK-based human rights group Amnesty International highlights numerous other areas of concern. Firstly, Myanmar still has thousands of political prisoners, after the military authorities have routinely arrested and imprisoned activists for peacefully exercising their rights. In March 2015, police violently dispersed a large student protest in the town of Letpadan, in the Bago region, resulting in more than 100 students being charged with criminal offences. In addition to the threat of imprisonment, activists also claim to have experienced continual harassment and intimidation from the security forces.

Secondly, freedom of expression has been under attack, with the previous government enacting a range of laws aimed at stifling dissent and preventing criticism. Many of the laws are vaguely-worded and open to interpretation, and have often been used to apprehend those intending to protest, through criminalizing activities such as ‘unlawful assembly’ and ‘incitement’. Human rights groups and journalists have also been subject to continual surveillance, intimidation and harassment by the authorities.

Thirdly, the report concludes that members of the security forces continue to violate human rights, with almost total impunity for their actions. Official investigations into abuses or corruption are extremely rare and have lacked basic levels of transparency; whilst victims continue to be denied the right to justice, truth and reparations. As a result of the continuing instability there are now around 230,000 internally displaced people in Myanmar, according to the UN Office for the Co-ordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA). In addition, hundreds of thousands of refugees now reside outside of the country, reluctant to return in light of continuing militarization, persistent impunity, and the lack of economic prospects.

Despite the on-going conflicts and human rights abuses, it is clear that Myanmar has made huge strides in recent years – largely due to the efforts of Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD, in addition to a gradual willingness from the military to introduce reforms. Yet it must be recognized that the country’s problems are decades-old and will not be resolved quickly or easily, despite growing international pressure on Aung San Suu Kyi to take a tougher stance against human rights abuses. However, the new era of democracy does offer a renewed chance for engagement and dialogue between all parties, which could increase the chances of peace and reconciliation in a fractured society. The social and economic benefits of a lasting-peace would be huge, allowing the country to make significant progress in terms of development and economic growth. However, from a political perspective the rewards may be even greater: resolving Myanmar’s complex internal conflicts and ending decades of human rights abuses, could be the key to ensuring that a lasting, sustainable and inclusive democracy takes hold.