Fixing fractured nations: the challenge of ethnic separatism in the Asia-Pacific

Fixing Fractured Nations

Critical Studies of the Asia Pacific Series Series Editor: Mark Beeson, Professor in the Department in Political Science and International Studies at the University of Birmingham, UK Critical Studies of the Asia Pacific showcases new research and scholarship on what is arguably the most important region in the world in the twenty-first century. The rise of China and the continuing strategic importance of this dynamic economic area to the United States mean that the Asia Pacific will remain crucially important to policymakers and scholars alike. The unifying theme of the series is a desire to publish the best theoretically informed, original research on the region. Titles in the series cover the politics, economics and security of the region, as well as focusing on its institutional processes, individual countries, issues and leaders. Titles include: Hiro Katsumata ASEAN’S COOPERATIVE SECURITY ENTERPRISE Barry Wain MALAYSIAN MAVERICK Mahathir Mohamad in Turbulent Times Robert G. Wirsing and Ehsan Ahrari (editors) FIXING FRACTURED NATIONS The Challenge of Ethnic Separatism in the Asia-Pacific

Critical Studies of the Asia Pacific Series Series Standing Order ISBN 978–0–230–22896–2 (Hardback) 978–0–230–22897–9 (Paperback) (outside North America only) You can receive future titles in this series as they are published by placing a standing order. Please contact your bookseller or, in case of difficulty, write to us at the address below with your name and address, the title of the series and the ISBN quoted above. Customer Services Department, Macmillan Distribution Ltd, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS, England

Fixing Fractured Nations The Challenge of Ethnic Separatism in the Asia-Pacific Edited by

Robert G. Wirsing Visiting Professor, School of Foreign Service in Qatar, Georgetown University, State of Qatar and

Ehsan Ahrari Professor of Security Studies, Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies, Honolulu, USA

Editorial matter, selection and introduction © Robert G. Wirsing and Ehsan Ahrari 2010 All remaining chapters © respective authors 2010 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2010 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries ISBN 978–0–230–23659–2

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Contents List of Figures

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Notes on Contributors

viii

Preface

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1 Ethnic Separatism: an Introduction Robert G. Wirsing

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Part I South East Asia 2 Indonesia. Letting Go to Hold On Anthony L. Smith

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3 Thailand. Southern Discomfort: Separatist Conflict in the Kingdom of Thailand Ian Storey

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4 Myanmar/Burma. Resolving the Burmese Imbroglio: a Multilateral Solution? Mohan Malik

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Part II South Asia 5 Pakistan. Ethnic Separatism in Balochistan: Tribal Turbulence on the Energy Corridor Robert G. Wirsing

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6 India. Democracy, Nation, and the Spirals of Insecurity: State Response to Ethnic Separatism in India’s Northeast Samir K. Das

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7 India and Pakistan. Dangerous Place: Kashmiri Separatism in a Disputed Territory Robert G. Wirsing

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8 Sri Lanka. Managing Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka: Going Beyond the LTTE Shaheen Akhtar

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Part III East Asia 9 China. Retribution and Retaliation: Uyghur Separatism and Chinese Security in Xinjiang Elizabeth Van Wie Davis

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183

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10 China. Tibet: At the Crossroads of Ethnic Nationalism and Geopolitical Rivalry Paul J. Smith

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Part IV Pacific Islands 11 Papua New Guinea. The Melting Pot: Ethnicity, Identity, and Separatism in Bougainville, Papua New Guinea Jim Rolfe

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12 Conclusion. Ethnic Separatism in Geopolitical Perspective Ehsan M. Ahrari

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Index

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List of Figures 5.1

Proposed natural gas pipeline routes transiting Pakistan

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5.2

The Zaranj–Delaram link highway in Afghanistan

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Notes on Contributors Ehsan M. Ahrari is Professor of Security Studies at the Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies in Honolulu, Hawaii. He served previously as Professor of West Asian Studies at the US Air War College (1990–4) and as Professor of National Security and Strategy at the US National Defense University (1994–2005). His primary areas of expertise include counter-terrorism (Middle East, South Asia, Central Asia, and North Africa), nuclear and missile proliferation (China, India, and Pakistan), political Islam, information warfare, with special focus on China and the world of Islam, public diplomacy, and ethnic conflict. He has published widely on security issues in Asia. Shaheen Akhtar is a Research Fellow at the Institute of Regional Studies, Islamabad. She specializes in South Asian affairs in general and Sri Lanka, Kashmir, and India in particular. Her doctoral dissertation was on ‘Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka: Domestic, Regional and International Linkages’. Dr Akhtar’s primary areas of interest include intrastate and interstate conflict, regional security and conflict resolution, terrorism, human security, and gender issues in the South Asian region. Among her recent publications are: ‘Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka: Is It Ripe for a Solution?’ Regional Studies (Institute of Regional Studies, Summer 2007); ‘Role of Leadership in the India–Pakistan Peace Process’, Spotlight on Regional Affairs (Institute of Regional Studies, March–April 2008); and ‘Pakistan’s Role in Combating Terrorism: Domestic Realities and International Compulsions After 9/11’, in R. Gunaratna (ed.), Combating Terrorism (2005). Her articles in progress include: ‘Humanitarian Intervention in a Fragile State: a Case Study of Indian Intervention in Sri Lanka’; ‘Kashmir and Strategic Stability in South Asia’; and ‘Emerging India: Problems and Prospects’. Samir Kumar Das is Professor of Political Science at the University of Calcutta, Kolkata. In 2005, he was a Postdoctoral Fellow of the Social Science Research Council (South Asia Programme). Currently, he serves as the Deputy Coordinator of the University Grants Commission’s Programme on Democratic Governance in Indian States. He specializes on issues of ethnicity, security, migration, and human rights. His publications include: Conflict and Peace in India’s Northeast (2008); Ethnicity, Nation and Security: Essays on Northeastern India (2004); Regionalism in Power (1998); and United Liberation Front of Assam: a Political Analysis (1994). Professor Das edited: Blisters on Their Feet: Tales of Internally Displaced Persons in India’s North East (2008); and South Asian Peace Studies II: Peace Accords and Peace Processes (2005). He co-edited: Autonomy: Beyond Kant and Hermeneutics (2007); Indian Autonomies: Keywords and Key Texts (2005); and Internal Displacement in South Asia: Relevance of UN Guiding Principles (2004). viii

Notes on Contributors ix

Elizabeth Van Wie Davis is Director and Professor of Liberal Arts at the Colorado School of Mines. She specializes in Chinese domestic, foreign, and defence policies with a special emphasis on ethnic minorities. From 2000 to 2009, she was Professor of Regional Studies at the Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies in Honolulu, Hawaii. Earlier, she was the Fei Yi-Ming Professor of Politics at Johns Hopkins University’s School of Advanced International Studies Center in Nanjing, China. Her published works include: (co-editor) Islam, Oil & Geopolitics: Central Asia Since September 11 (2007); (editor) Chinese Perspectives on Sino-American Relations, 1950–2000 (2000); and China and the Law of the Sea Convention (1995). Among her recent articles is: ‘Terrorism and the Beijing Olympics: Uyghur Dissent’, China Brief (April 2008). Davis received her Masters and PhD in Foreign Affairs from the University of Virginia. Mohan Malik is Professor of Security Studies at the Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies in Honolulu, Hawaii. He is the author of China and India as Global Powers: Back to the Future (forthcoming); Dragon on Terrorism; The Gulf War: Australia’s Role and Asian-Pacific Responses; co-editor of Religious Radicalism and Security in South Asia; and editor of Australia’s Security in the 21st Century; The Future Battlefield; and Asian Defence Policies. Professor Malik has authored numerous book chapters and contributed articles to Asian Affairs, Asian Survey, Arms Control, Australian Journal of International Affairs, China Quarterly, China Report, China Brief, Comparative Strategy, Contemporary Security Policy, Contemporary Southeast Asia, Issues and Studies, Jane’s Intelligence Review, Orbis, Pacific Affairs, Parameters, and World Policy Journal. He has testified before the United States– China Economic and Security Review Commission (USCC), and the Australian Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence, and Trade; and he has been a consultant on Asian security issues for the Science Applications International Corporation (SAIC) in Washington, DC, the Australian Department of Defence (Army), and the UK-based Jane’s Information Group. Jim Rolfe is a Senior Fellow of the New Zealand Centre for Strategic Studies. Previously, he was Associate Professor of International Relations at the AsiaPacific Center for Security Studies in Honolulu, Hawaii; and before that he was a policy adviser in the New Zealand Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, with a focus on New Zealand’s management of and responses to a wide range of security issues. Dr Rolfe has published widely on issues relating to cooperation and security in the Asia-Pacific region in general and the South Pacific in particular. Publications include: ‘Beyond Cooperation: Towards an Oceanic Community’, Australian Journal of International Affairs (March 2006), and ‘Oceania Today: the Region, Regional Powers and Regional Cooperation’, in P. Cozens (ed.), Engaging Oceania with Pacific Asia (2004). Anthony L. Smith is currently an Associate Fellow of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies in Singapore and an Associate Editor of the New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies. He is a graduate of the University of Waikato (New Zealand) and the University of Auckland (New Zealand). He was formerly a Fellow

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at the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies in Singapore (2000–2) and an Associate Research Professor at the Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies in Hawaii (2002–5). He has published widely on political and security issues concerning Indonesia, Timor Leste, and ASEAN. He has contributed to Asian Affairs, Asian Journal of Political Science, Contemporary Southeast Asia, Harvard Asia Quarterly, Journal of Democracy, New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies, and Studies in Terrorism and Conflict. He is the editor of Southeast Asia and New Zealand: a History of Regional and Bilateral Relations (Institute of Southeast Asian Studies and University of Victoria, Singapore and Wellington). Paul J. Smith is Associate Professor with the Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island. He is the author of The Terrorism Ahead: Confronting Transnational Violence in the 21st Century (2007); and editor of Terrorism and Violence in Southeast Asia: Transnational Challenges to States and Regional Stability (2005), and Human Smuggling: Chinese Migrant Trafficking and the Challenge to America’s Immigration Tradition (1996). His scholarly articles have appeared in Asian Affairs: an American Review, Contemporary Southeast Asia, Dynamics of Asymmetric Conflict, Fletcher Forum of World Affairs, Jane’s Intelligence Review, Parameters, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, and Survival. His current research focuses on non-traditional security issues in East Asia. Ian Storey is a Fellow at the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies (ISEAS), Singapore, where he specializes in Southeast Asian security issues. His research interests include Southeast Asia’s relations with external powers, especially China and the United States, maritime security, Thailand’s southern insurgency, and China’s foreign and defence policies. He has published articles in Contemporary Southeast Asia, Parameters, Naval War College Review, Harvard Asia Quarterly, Jane’s Intelligence Review, Terrorism Focus, China Brief, and Terrorism Monitor. Dr Storey has held positions at the US Defense Department’s Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies (APCSS) in Honolulu, Hawaii (2004–7) and at Deakin University, Melbourne, Australia (2001–4). Robert G. Wirsing is Visiting Professor at the School of Foreign Service at Qatar (SFS-Q), Georgetown University. Earlier he was a member of the faculty of the Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies, Honolulu, Hawaii (2000–8) and of the Department of Government and International Studies, University of South Carolina (1971–2000). A specialist on South Asian politics and international relations, his publications include: Pakistan’s Security Under Zia, 1977–1988 (St. Martin’s Press, 1991); India, Pakistan, and the Kashmir Dispute (St. Martin’s Press, 1994); Kashmir in the Shadow of War (2002); co-editor, Religious Radicalism & Security in South Asia (2004); co-editor, Ethnic Diasporas & Great Power Strategies in Asia (2007); and Baloch Nationalism and the Geopolitics of Energy Resources: the Changing Context of Separatism in Pakistan (2008). His recent research focuses primarily on the politics and diplomacy of natural resources (water and energy) in South Asia.

Preface The phenomenon of ethnic separatism has generated a vast and extremely varied literature, some of it theoretical, some comparative, and some historical. Authors have focused on every conceivable aspect of the subject, ranging from its roots to its resolution. The puzzling nature of ethnic identity itself (and the far from simple relationship ethnicity has with separatist movements) has absorbed the intellectual energies of more than a few scholars. Every region of the world has been given a share of attention; and virtually every device for coping with separatism – including partition, power sharing, consociational democracy, cultural integration, and autonomy – has had an abundance of both advocates and detractors. Some of the world’s more notorious and long-standing separatist disputes – the Kashmir, Tibetan, Kurdish, and Sri Lankan Tamil cases spring quickly to mind in this regard – have given birth to relatively gargantuan literatures of their own. One might well ask, then, why yet another book on ethnic separatism? One obvious and persuasive answer to this question, of course, is that ethnic separatism remains today what it has long been – a towering and often violent problem confronting the governments of many, if not most, of the world’s numerous multiethnic states. With few exceptions, successful formulas for the resolution of separatist conflict have proven extremely hard to come by; and the world’s lengthening historical experience with separatism has not turned out to be an especially useful guide in formulating policy for managing contemporary ethnic strains. Governments continue to fall back on hard-fisted responses to separatist challenges; and the advocates of separatism continue to draw supporters from the bitter and disaffected victims of harsh government repression. But there is a second and no less persuasive answer to the question to be found in this book’s focus on ethnic separatism in Asia. Many students of world affairs maintain that there is a hugely important shift in global power in progress, such that – in certain key respects – the twenty-first century will belong to Asia. If that is so, the political, economic, and cultural changes that result from the shift will without doubt impact upon interethnic relations – and, naturally, upon the phenomenon of ethnic separatism – in Asian countries. Ethnic separatism may wax or it may wane in these lands, and which of these it does will inevitably shape the political futures of Asia’s billions. One can safely predict, therefore, that the course which ethnic separatism takes in Asia’s many multiethnic states in coming decades will play far more than a modest role in determining just how the purported shift in global power takes place – or whether it takes place at all. The essays in this book seek to capture the ‘state of play’ between governments and separatist-minded ethnic minorities at the end of the first decade xi

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of the twenty-first century. Each author has taken a snapshot of contemporary separatist politics in an Asian country. Obviously, not every separatist movement is considered in this volume, and neither is every one of Asia’s multiethnic countries. All of the contributing authors are professional Asiawatchers, almost all of them with lengthy professional interest in ethnic separatism in Asian countries. Our collective hope is that we have chosen cases that will open a window on the broad prospects of ethnic separatism throughout the vastness of Asia. The editors want to take this opportunity to express to all the contributing authors deep appreciation for the enormous effort, dedicated scholarship, and unstinting cooperation they have displayed as this work moved towards publication. We want also to express our gratitude to the extraordinarily able team at Palgrave Macmillan for their outstanding help in improving the final product. Finally, we want to acknowledge that our wives, Sharon Ahrari and Nancy Wirsing, probably ought themselves to be listed as co-editors, since at crucial moments in the preparation of this volume and in a variety of ways they pitched in and truly helped us out. Robert G. Wirsing Ehsan Ahrari

1 Ethnic Separatism: an Introduction Robert G. Wirsing

The modern system of sovereign states that was ushered in by the Peace of Westphalia in 1648 has had as one of its central tenets the territorial integrity of states. There is irony in the fact, therefore, that another of its central tenets, acquired in more recent centuries, has attached equal importance to the requirement of correspondence between the territorial state and the nation. Since the nation has typically been understood in terms of a people’s cultural or ethnic (most often including linguistic) identity, a feature of human society stubbornly defiant both of unambiguous definition and of distinct boundaries, determining the right match between the state and the ethnically defined nation has proven to be one of the most stubbornly perplexing and perilous conundrums of the modern era. The difficulty in gaining widespread assent to any particular match has meant endless challenges to the legitimacy of existing nation-state boundaries. It has also meant the nearly continuous obsolescing of world maps. In some of the contemporary world’s politically more turbulent regions, the heads of only weakly legitimized multicultural states are likely to take seriously this matter of routine cartographic obsolescence. This is even more certain to be the rule when the obsolescence has the appearance of strategic premeditation. A retired US army lieutenant colonel by the name of Ralph Peters learned the importance of this rule in mid-2006 with publication in the Armed Forces Journal of his brief but unusually provocative article ‘Blood Borders: How a Better Middle East Would Look’.1 A well-known and prolific essayist and commentator on military affairs, Peters was posted at the time of his retirement in 1998 to the Pentagon’s Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence. So it should perhaps not have come as a surprise to him to find that his polemic attracted more than usual attention around the world. What he wrote in the article was that the European-designed international borders of the Middle East (by his definition inclusive of Afghanistan and Pakistan) were ‘arbitrary’, ‘distorted’, and ‘dysfunctional’, and that without major revisions in these boundaries ‘we shall never see a more peaceful 1

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Middle East’. The borders of the Middle East, he claimed, had to be changed ‘to reflect the natural ties of blood and faith’. A ‘dirty little secret from 5,000 years of history’, he added, was that ‘ethnic cleansing works’. Much more attention-grabbing than the essay itself, however, were the two maps that accompanied it – the one labelled ‘before’ and showing the international boundaries of the Middle Eastern region as they now stand, the other labelled ‘after’ showing Peters’ massive redrawing of the region’s international boundaries to correct what the author judged to be the injustices inflicted on such ‘cheated’ minorities as the Kurds, Baloch, and Arab Shia. Of the sixteen or so countries included on Peters’ map, a dozen or so were designated losers. A few of these, like Afghanistan, were labelled both winners and losers. A number of them, however, including Turkey, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Pakistan, were classed entirely as losers – indeed, as big losers. No wonder, then, that the article got a less than friendly welcome! No wonder either that in some quarters the Pentagon was seen by many to be the essay’s real, albeit concealed, author.2 Now had Peters been minded to apply his transparently arbitrary, not to say harebrained, formula for cartographic relief, instead of to the Middle East, to the countries of South, South East, and East Asia (to that part of the world, in other words, we are going to designate as ‘Asia’ in this book), it is certain there would have been plenty of candidates for impromptu international boundary realignment in those places too. Naturally, any such boundary changes would result in plenty of resentment stirred up among those states stripped of territory. The identities of the winners and losers in these coming territorial exchanges obviously cannot be forecast precisely. That boundary changes will take place, however, seems certain. Indeed, judging from the enormous number of actual historical alterations to the world map witnessed repeatedly in the last century or so, the chances seem fairly slender that the international boundaries of the Asian landmass are somehow going to escape substantial realignment in the decades ahead. Not to at least consider this possibility would be foolhardy. Obviously, whatever changes are made to the map of Asia in the coming years they are unlikely to be crafted by some clandestine cartographer located somewhere in the hidden depths of the Pentagon. Neither are they likely to be the product of a single cause, such as territorial exchanges resulting from victory or defeat in warfare. There have been too many different reasons for international boundary change in the last twenty years alone for us to be swayed by any such notion. Nevertheless, if history is any guide, ethnic separatism is very likely to be a factor among the possible reasons for whatever boundary changes do occur in Asia. This possibility is, in any event, one of the strongest motivations behind the preparation of this book. An even stronger motivation for this book’s preparation, however, is the certainty that organized movements of ethnic separatism – even when

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too badly led or too weak in motivation, numbers, and resources to win full territorial independence and thus ensure a change in the map – are going to retain enormous importance in the political lives of Asian states far into the future. Without doubt, they are going to impact in major ways on the political stability of these states, on their socio-economic development, on their prospects for democracy, and – not least – on the fates of their ethnic and religious minorities. Ethnic separatism’s potency in world politics – the extent of its future impact, whether specifically on the shape of the world map or, more generally, on the condition of interethnic relations – has been the focus over the past several decades of a fair amount of enterprising and animated scholarly debate. One side in this debate, which we shall label ‘realist-pessimist’, characteristically has taken the view that ethnic conflict is a constant and that violent efforts to break up existing multiethnic states are virtually inescapable. The other side, which we can call ‘liberal-optimist’, has generally taken the contrasting position that ethnic hatreds are constructed, often by manipulative elites, that contemporary governments of multiethnic states have learned important lessons from the admittedly dismal histories of their twentieth-century multiethnic predecessors, and that they are not bound to repeat the mistakes of the past. Both sides possess compelling arguments. Both sides are represented among the authors contributing to this book. In the chapters that follow, almost all of them ponder the extent to which the governments in the countries under review appear able or willing to avoid mistaken past practices. It is therefore incumbent upon us, as we begin assessing specific cases of ethnic separatism in Asia, to be aware of the broad dimensions of this important debate.

How enduring is ethnic nationalism? Standing out as the most provocative and robust recent expression of the realist-pessimist school of thought on this issue was the spring 2008 article ‘Us and Them: the Enduring Power of Ethnic Nationalism’ in Foreign Affairs.3 Its author, Jerry Z. Muller, a history professor at the Catholic University of America, argued forcefully that ‘the creation of a peaceful regional order of nation-states has usually been the product of a violent process of ethnic separation. In areas where that separation has not yet occurred, politics is apt to remain ugly.’ Innocent enough at first glance, his argument quickly became alarming. Its alarming content arises from the fact that Muller in effect turned the familiar (and comforting) historical narrative of modern Europe on its head. According to him, this narrative, as generally understood, holds that Europeans, having experienced utter catastrophe in the two world wars of the twentieth century, ‘concluded that nationalism was a danger and gradually abandoned it’. They dedicated themselves in the decades following

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these wars to the building of a transnational – and nationalist ideology transcending – regional order that flourished and continues to expand eastward. The postnational framework they built, or so the narrative asserts, stands as a model for the rest of the world. It is supposedly within anyone’s reach. Accordingly, it is this framework that the non-Western world, including Asia, must adopt as its own objective and strive to reproduce. Seen from this perspective, ‘nationalism’, as Muller explained, ‘had been a tragic detour on the road to a peaceful liberal democratic order’. There was no compelling reason, or so it was argued, for the rest of the world to make the same detour. Muller’s own reading of Europe’s twentieth-century experience yields an utterly different interpretation. World War One, he observed, gave a green light to the ethnonationalist project by bringing about the large-scale disaggregation into their national components of the Habsburg, Romanov, and Ottoman empires. With the vanquishing of these historical relics came a postwar settlement reached for the most part ‘by moving borders to align them with populations’. Those profoundly upending changes were soon followed by the even more destabilizing and boundary-shaking developments of World War Two. Led by the Nazi regime’s brutally forceful reordering of the European continent’s ethnic map, a process in which the massive killing of Jews was the most conspicuous but not the only element, these developments, Muller stated, accelerated the process of ethnonational disaggregation. Moreover, Muller argued, while the decades following World War Two were of course appropriately labelled postwar, they were far from postnational. The postwar settlement witnessed, in fact, further major unfolding of the ethnonationalist project. In contrast with that of World War One, the settlement was achieved mainly not by moving borders but by moving populations: ‘Millions of people [mainly ethnic Germans, but also including Poles, Ukrainians, Slovaks, Serbs and Croats] were expelled from their homes and countries, with at least the tacit support of the victorious Allies.’ Huge numbers of them perished. ‘As a result of the massive process of ethnic unmixing’, wrote Muller, ‘the ethnonationalist ideal was largely realized: for the most part, each nation in Europe had its own state, and each state was made up almost exclusively of a single ethnic nationality.’ Seen in this light, the postnational model of transnational regionalism proudly held aloft by Europeans for duplication elsewhere in the world loses most of its authenticity along with much of its appeal. The ideal of the European Community appears to have been made possible not by the retreat of nationalism but by its triumph resulting from unparalleled nationalist carnage and unrestrained ethnic cleansing. Recalling Peters’ proposed ‘blood borders’ cartographic exercise, it appears now that only in the most blinkered sense was he right: ethnic cleansing does indeed work. But its achievement historically, he failed to point out, had been at staggering cost in human suffering.

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The few remaining post-World War Two exceptions to Europe’s de facto rule of monoethnic statehood (the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia) soon followed behind the others. ‘The breakup of Yugoslavia’, which climaxed in 1992, was, according to Muller, ‘simply the last act of a long play. But the plot of that play – the disaggregation of peoples and the triumph of ethnonationalism in modern Europe – is rarely recognized, and so a story whose significance is comparable to the spread of democracy or capitalism remains largely unknown and unappreciated.’ The tendency of social scientists to overemphasize the ‘imagined’ and ‘constructed’ character of ethnic identity, Muller contended, has robbed the concept of ethnonationalism of its power. Yet, he concludes, it would be a mistake to think that because nationalism is partly constructed it is therefore fragile or infinitely malleable. Ethnonationalism was not a chance detour in European history: it corresponds to some enduring propensities of the human spirit that are heightened by the process of modern state creation, it is a crucial source of both solidarity and enmity, and in one form or another, it will remain for many generations to come. One can only profit from facing it directly. Thus for Muller what Europe experienced in the twentieth century was the triumph of ethnonationalist ideology in general and of the ‘separatist project’ in particular. For his liberal-optimist critics, however, the lessons one should draw from that experience are of a very different sort. Muller’s critics didn’t take long to strike back at him. In the July/August issue of Foreign Affairs, one set of authors, writing under the heading ‘Better Institutions, Not Partition’,4 highlighted the fact that ethnic difference itself does not consistently lead to violence.5 Drawing on the seminal work of James D. Fearon and David D. Laitin,6 they argued to the contrary that interethnic conflict was a rarity. Fearon and Laitin, using ethnic demographic data for every country in Africa, had identified tens of thousands of pairs of ethnic groups with the potential for conflict. But, according to this group of Muller’s critics, they did not find thousands of conflicts (as might have been expected if ethnic differences consistently led to violence) or hundreds of new states (which partition would have created). Strikingly, for every one thousand such pairs of ethnic groups, they found fewer than three incidents of violent conflict. Moreover, with few exceptions, African state boundaries today look just as they did in 1960. Fearon and Laitin concluded that communal violence, although horrifying, is extremely rare. Based on their own research in Uganda, Weinstein and his colleagues maintained that barriers to interethnic cooperation were more often than

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not a product of that society’s institutional deficiencies, in particular the lack of institutional opportunities for interethnic cooperation, not a result of any deeply rooted tribal antipathies. Their findings from experimental studies suggested ‘that what might look from the outside like an intractable problem of discriminatory preferences may instead reflect [weak] norms of reciprocity that develop when individuals have few other institutions they can rely on to police the behavior of others’. Claiming that Muller was excessively partial to partition as a solution to chronic ethnic violence, they argued that it might be far more important [for a state] to invest in creating impartial and credible state institutions that facilitate cooperation across ethnic lines. With such institutions in place, citizens would no longer need to rely disproportionately on ethnic networks in the marketplace and in politics. In this respect, modernization may be the antidote to ethnic nationalism rather than its cause. Responding to Muller’s argument in the same issue of Foreign Affairs, Richard Rosecrance and Arthur Stein argued that Muller’s perspective on ethnonationalism was essentially out of touch with reality. ‘[T]he nationalist prospect’, they declared, ‘was and remains hopelessly impractical.’ Muller’s narrative of European history, they said, ignored the fact that there are today 6,800 different dialects or languages on the planet that might qualify for political recognition as independent ethnic groups – obviously far too many to accommodate. Rosecrance and Stein went on to offer four reasons why the one-nation, one-state principle was unlikely in any event to prevail. First, they said, governments are more responsive nowadays to their ethnic minority communities than were their imperial predecessors, and they also have more resources at their disposal. Secondly, separate sovereignty cannot be achieved today without external recognition and support. Independence cannot be won without military assistance and economic aid from abroad; and international recognition, in turn, will not be forthcoming if the aspiring nationalist movement engages in international terrorism to gain attention. Thirdly, while globalization may initially have stimulated ethnic discontent by creating inequality, it has proved able to generate wealth sufficient to quiet future ethnic discontents within the existing state political system. ‘Distributed economic growth’, they said, ‘is a palliative for political discontent.’ And lastly, a discontented ethnic group has more than one way to react to ethnic discrimination. ‘[W]hatever its concerns, it does not always have to seek independence to alleviate them. It has another safety valve: emigration to another country.’ Rosecrance and Stein conclude their commentary on Muller with a flat endorsement of large-scale states, of bigness as a valued commodity in the current international marketplace. ‘[S]ecessionists’, they say, ‘will generally be better off remaining inside existing states, if only because

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the international system now advantages larger agglomerations of power. Economies of industrial scale are promoting economies of political size . . . Only larger political entities can keep production, research and development, and innovation within a single economic zone. Big is back.’

Globalization versus ethnic group identity The debate over the endurance of ethnic nationalism, as we have seen, almost inevitably brings up the subject of globalization. Rosecrance and Stein, we observed, described it as a ‘palliative for political discontent’ and a reinforcement of the existing state system. That interpretation forecasts the obsolescence and eventual passing of the separatist project, alongside, of course, the triumph of globalization. If only things were that simple! A vast and defiantly ambiguous phenomenon, globalization has been defined in many and not infrequently contradictory ways. Perhaps its plainest formulation is that of Harvard University’s Joseph Nye, who wrote of globalization as ‘worldwide networks of interdependence’.7 A more complex formulation is that of New York Times correspondent Thomas Friedman, who wrote of it as ‘the inexorable integration of markets, nation-states, and technologies to a degree never witnessed before – in a way that is enabling individuals, corporations and nation-states to reach around the world farther, faster, deeper and cheaper than ever before . . . [and involving] the spread of free-market capitalism to virtually every country in the world’.8 While Nye’s formulation defines globalization in neutral terms simply as a process of change that is shrinking the world, Friedman’s casts globalization in a decidedly favourable light. It represents, for him, a radically new international system driven by free-market capitalism and the scientific and technological advances it has promoted. These mighty engines of change have for the most part, according to Friedman, empowered and enabled individuals, freeing them from the constraints and fetters of their parochial and traditional pasts and opening up for them new vistas and opportunities for human advancement. Clearly, then, for Friedman individuals, not groups, are the dynamic element in globalization. This theme of individual empowerment is developed most fully in Friedman’s recent book, The World is Flat: a Brief History of the Twenty-First Century. In it, Friedman proposes that globalization has evolved progressively in three stages – the third and last, which he calls ‘Globalization 3.0’ and dates from the year 2000, is distinguished by its empowerment of individuals.9 He argued metaphorically ‘that the world has gone from round to flat’, meaning by that that ‘everywhere you turn, hierarchies are being challenged from below or transforming themselves from top-down structures into more horizontal and collaborative ones’.10 To the present writer’s knowledge, Friedman has never written at any great length on ethnic nationalism or separatism, but the position he has staked out for himself

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Fixing Fractured Nations

on the subject of globalization would appear to rule out much sympathy for the hardening of ethnic group identity which ethnic nationalism both requires and romanticizes. He is clearly not an advocate of hardcore multiculturalism, even less of the breakup of nations. In a globalizing world, he has been quoted as saying, ‘if you’re reaching for a wall, it’s a losing strategy because the technology is going to blow that wall down’.11 Friedman’s interpretation of globalization is vulnerable on at least two counts. One, given unusually articulate and animated voice by Gabor Steingart, senior correspondent of the German news magazine Der Spiegel, is that the flat-earth mentality Friedman espouses in fact enshrines an extraordinarily naïve vision of the global transformation now in progress. Far from seeing globalization as a largely empowering and enabling process, Steingart holds that it ‘is a process that polarizes and divides, producing winners and losers alike – both in large numbers’.12 The economic outsourcing that Friedman extols as a worker-empowering and liberating force in India and elsewhere, Steingart deplors as just one of many signs of the inexorably eviscerating economic circumstances of the Western working class. ‘The flat world is broken’, he declares, ‘at least for workers.’13 In sharp contrast with Friedman, Steingart’s vision of the future is dark and forbidding. ‘Today’s globalization of our economies’, he observed, ‘is also not a work of peace . . . The world’s economic interdependence is primarily an opportunity to increase power and wealth . . . Trade is no guarantee of peace among states, nor does globalization establish some pacifistic international order . . . [T]hese surging flows of goods and wealth are making the world more dangerous, not more peaceful.’14 Steingart’s sketch of the coming global geopolitical environment is thus not one to encourage belief in globalization’s capacity to quiet future discontents, whatever their origin. A second way in which Friedman’s interpretation of globalization is vulnerable stems directly from globalization’s potential impact on interethnic relations. Voicing a view of globalization that echoes Steingart’s deeply pessimistic view of its pacifying tendencies, Amy Chua, a Yale Law School professor, argued in World on Fire: How Exporting Free Market Democracy Breeds Ethnic Hatred and Global Instability that the combined spread of political democracy and the free-market economy is almost invariably explosive in countries with what she calls ‘market-dominant minorities’.15 She pointed in particular to the impact free-market democracy has had in some South East Asian countries, where ethnic Chinese minorities (Overseas Chinese) often possess much greater wealth than indigenous majorities. Almost invariably, the impoverished but politically ‘empowered’ ethnic majorities strike back, sometimes violently, against the disproportionately rich minorities, polarizing societies and making a mockery of Friedman’s vaunted ‘spread of freemarket capitalism to virtually every country in the world’. Chua’s argument, pertaining for the most part to relatively small, rich, and largely urban-based minorities, leaves essentially untouched the question of

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globalization’s impact on ethnic separatism, this book’s focus. Clearly, that question cannot be answered without due attention to a number of factors, not the least being globalization’s impact on governmental capacity and performance, in particular as these affect the lives and well-being of potentially separatist ethnic minorities. Consideration of this aspect of globalization, in turn, has to take into account what many understand to be the most momentous development of the present era – Asia’s astonishing ascent in the hierarchy of global power. Naturally, this development looms very large in more than a few of this book’s chapters.

Asia’s rise and ethnic nationalism: what lies ahead? This book contains ten case studies focusing on eight different Asian countries. Two of these countries, China and India, are leading actors in the drama of Asia’s rise in global power. Inevitably, the rise of these two states impacts on the fates of all the other states of Asia. It also impacts, and in many instances heavily, on the fates of separatist-minded ethnic minorities, not only on those within China and India but also on many located elsewhere in Asia. When it comes to the kind of impact envisioned, attention has to be paid to both internal and external dimensions. By internal is meant a government’s will and capacity to manage, or mismanage, the demands of the country’s own ethnic minorities. By external is meant the extent and objectives of a government’s intervention, openly or covertly, in the ethnic affairs of neighbouring or more distant states. After all, ethnic separatism has a huge interstate and strategic dimension – a geopolitical dimension in other words. This dimension will be dealt with in its own right in the final chapter of this book. There exists a huge literature on Asia’s rise. Inevitably, this literature exhibits a great diversity of viewpoints, some of them emphasizing positive, others negative consequences of what all agree is a momentous change afoot. Is a risen Asia – a politically more powerful, economically richer, and militarily better armed Asia, in other words – going to deal fairly and accommodatingly with its many ethnic minorities, or is it more likely to settle for tried and trusted methods of brutality and repression? Can disgruntled ethnic minorities look forward to increased government willingness to cater to their desires for greater self-determination and autonomy? Or is the past, so often hostile to such aspirations, still likely to be prologue to the future? ‘[W]orld peace’, insists the former Singaporean diplomat and author Kishore Mahbubani, ‘is not a pipe dream.’ Asians, he claims, have absorbed and are now implementing the ‘culture of peace that has affected relations among the Western states since the end of World War II’.16 The world as a whole will become more peaceful and stable, he says. ‘The rise of Asia will be good for the world.’17 Will it also, this book inquires, be good for ethnic minorities?

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Fixing Fractured Nations

Outline of the book Each of the eleven chapters that follow approaches the problem of ethnic separatism somewhat differently, some accenting geopolitical factors, others public policy (both domestic and foreign), others remedial aspects, and others the complexities of ethnic identity. Cumulatively, they provide a comprehensive portrait of ethnic separatism’s current challenge to the states of Asia and of state responses to this challenge. Chapters 2 through 4 focus on the separatist problem in three countries in South East Asia – Indonesia, Thailand, and Myanmar/Burma. Chapters 5 through 8 focus on three countries of South Asia – Pakistan, India, and Sri Lanka. In Chapter 7, two of these countries, India and Pakistan, are considered together in relation to the Kashmir separatist problem that has bedevilled their bilateral relationship for many decades. Chapters 9 and 10 focus on East Asia, specifically on separatist challenges in China’s sprawling western territories. Chapter 9 deals with Uyghur separatism in Xinjiang, a problem whose political impact on China has acquired surprisingly greater importance in the past year. Chapter 10, in turn, deals with Tibetan separatism, a problem with perennial importance in China–India relations. Chapter 11 turns to the Pacific Islands and the separatist issues that have arisen in Papua New Guinea. Finally, Chapter 12 concludes the book with a broad assessment of the immensely important linkage that exists between the multiple challenges of ethnic separatism in Asia and the rapidly evolving geopolitical circumstances of the Asian continent. Finally, a word is needed about the definition of ethnic separatism, a vital concept used throughout this book. The terms ‘ethnic’ and ‘ethnicity’, understood in their broadest sense, refer to a comprehensive assortment of group cultural identities rooted in language, race, nationality, religion, tribe, and so on. When linked to separatism, the concepts imply the existence of a more or less organized and identity-based movement whose actions may range from the mildest forms of social protest all the way up to the most extreme forms of secessionist violence, and whose objectives range just as broadly from a modest level of cultural autonomy to complete territorial independence. The contributors to this volume focus for the most part on Asia’s better organized, radically motivated, and chronically violent separatist movements; but since their authorial mandate embraced an assessment of separatism’s likely future trajectory in the case studies examined, they were bound to keep in view the possibility of fundamentally changed circumstances, whether in the goals and strategies of the separatist movements or in governmental reactions to them. This book’s adopted goal was to take a measure of ethnic separatism’s prospects in Asia – of the scale of its current challenge to Asian governments, of the character of state responses to it, and of the likely success of remedial plans. The book as a whole takes sides with neither governments nor separatists. However, it is undoubtedly correct to

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say that all of the contributors to this book would prefer that states meet the separatist challenge in a manner fair to all sides and as non-violently as possible. Notes 1. R. Peters, ‘Blood Borders: How a Better Middle East Would Look’, Armed Forces Journal (2006), http://www.armedforcesjournal.com/2006/06/1833899, accessed 4 June 2009. 2. See, for example, M. D. Nazemroaya, ‘Plans for Redrawing the Middle East: the Project for a “New Middle East”’, Global Research (18 November 2006), http:// www.globalresearch.ca/PrintArticle.php?articleID=3882, accessed 4 June 2009. 3. J. Z. Muller, ‘Us and Them: the Enduring Power of Ethnic Nationalism’, Foreign Affairs (March–April 2008), http://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/63217/jerry-zmiller/us-and-them, accessed 6 June 2009. 4. J. Weinstein, A. Habyarimana, M. Humphreys, and D. Posner, ‘Better Institutions, Not Partition’, Foreign Affairs (July–August 2008), http://www.foreignaffairs.com/ print/64457, accessed 7 June 2009. 5. For an older but no less persuasive argument that ethnic diversity itself is not the real culprit in ethnic conflict, see J. R. Bowen, ‘The Myth of Global Ethnic Conflict’, Journal of Democracy 7(4) (1996): 3–14. 6. J. D. Fearon and D. D. Laitin, ‘Ethnicity, Insurgency, and Civil War’, American Political Science Review 97(1) (2003): 75–90. 7. J. S. Nye, Jr., Understanding International Conflicts, 7th edn (London: Longman, 2007), p. 205. 8. T. L. Friedman, The Lexus and the Olive Tree (New York: Random House, 2000), pp. 8–9. 9. T. L. Friedman, The World is Flat: a Brief History of the Twenty-first Century (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2005). 10. Ibid., p. 45. 11. E. Pearlman, ‘The New York Times’s Thomas Friedman on Globalization’, CIO Insight: Expert Voices, 25 March 2005, http://www.cioinsight.com/c/a/ExpertVoices/The-New-York-Timess-Thomas-Friedman-on, accessed 9 June 2009. 12. G. Steingart, The War for Wealth: the True Story of Globalization, or Why the Flat World Is Broken (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2008), p. 142. 13. Ibid., p. 131. 14. Ibid., pp. 205–6. 15. A. Chua, World on Fire: How Exporting Free Market Democracy Breeds Ethnic Hatred and Global Instability (New York: Doubleday, 2002). 16. K. Mahbubani, The New Asian Hemisphere: the Irresistible Shift of Global Power to the East (New York: Public Affairs, 2008), pp. 21, 79. 17. Ibid., p. 1.

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Part I South East Asia

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2 Indonesia Letting Go to Hold On Anthony L. Smith

The year 1999 was the high-water mark for separatist pressure in Indonesia, which also coincided with communal violence in some quarters of Indonesia. Long-serving autocrat Soeharto had left office the year before, and his successor, Habibie, determined to usher in democratic changes, lost a referendum on the question of East Timor’s independence.1 Independence movements in Aceh and Papua took heart from these events, although in both cases the pro-independence cause was given a tremendous boost by ongoing human rights abuses committed by the security services. The immediate post-Soeharto years were witness to a variety of forms of sub-state violence, usually falling into the categories of what commentators called horizontal (communal) or vertical (secessionist) conflict. In each case the seeds of discontent reached back into Soeharto’s regime (and possibly even further in some instances), while the democratization process appeared to give space for localized grievances to be aired. Many Indonesians wondered publicly whether Indonesia could survive the fissures that were coming out into the open. Indonesia is a country of tremendous heterogeneity, and there are a number of identity divisions with which the state must negotiate. These include the centre and the regions, ‘sons of the region’ (putra daerah)2 and transmigrants, indigenous Indonesians and Chinese-Indonesians, religious and nationalist forces, Muslims and Christians, intra-Muslim relations, and the ongoing challenge of extremist violence from radicalized Islamic groups. These (potential) divisions all matter in considering Indonesia’s coherence, and even though they exist on separate plains, there are times that they dissect. This chapter will first consider some of the broader issues of centre–regional relations, and the disturbing incidents of communal violence that occurred as local elites sought to seize power. Communal violence only occurred in isolated parts of Indonesia, despite the best efforts of hardline Islamic elements to give these events a broader ‘clash of civilizations’ narrative. Communal tension remains a serious potential danger for Indonesia’s cohesion (and, incidentally, 15

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one that now overlaps with separatism in Papua), even though, to date, such violence has not spawned secessionist movements around the archipelago. The chapter then turns to the important cases of Aceh and Papua – the two situations that have represented overt challenges to the statehood of Indonesia in recent times. In both Aceh and Papua the inclusion of secessionists into the political process has undercut the secessionist cause itself. The cost of this co-optation – from the point of view of the Indonesian state – has been to hand control of these regions to erstwhile secessionist forces.

The state and its relations with the periphery Indonesia’s passage to independence gave the country’s early leaders a decided fear of foreign interference.3 After independence a fear lingered that foreign powers might be able to engage in ‘divide and rule’ tactics (as the Dutch had in the colonial era) over Indonesia’s myriad ethnic groups. Even the discussion of federalism had been taboo since nationalist forces first congregated from the early 1900s,4 while ethnicity itself remained such a sensitive subject in Indonesia that between 1930 and 2000 the Indonesian census did not measure ethnic composition.5 Indonesia used education, a common language, and nationalist mythologizing, among other tools, to achieve an integrative effect, while transmigration and intermarriage gave rise to millions of urbanites with no strong ethnic identity. The postSoeharto era demonstrated, however, that identity politics have not been erased in Indonesia by any means. As a reaction to the perceived injustices of Jakarta’s erstwhile centralized rule, the putra daerah idea has emerged everywhere. President Habibie, who presided over Indonesia from May 1998 to October 1999, although seen as a caretaker, saw through major changes (including Indonesia’s free and fair election in June 1999, the first since the 1950s). The Habibie administration, mindful that centralization had failed, and unwilling to consider federalism or any kind of model that would devolve power and resources to the country’s provinces, opted to devolve power instead to the district (mayoral) level of administration: the relevant Laws 22/1999 and 25/1999 came into effect on 1 January 2001. One effect of this shift was to generate putra daerah politics as local elites contested for power – sometimes violently so. Identity movements of various kinds actually occurred in several other locations around Indonesia. The emergence and failure of these movements is instructive. In Banten, in western Java, a new province was created with the backing of the local elite who evoked the historical Banten sultanate as a basis for provincial identity. The mythologizing of another historic sultanate was the basis for a pro-independence movement that emerged in (heterogeneous) Riau under physician and academic, Tabrani Rab – a movement limited chiefly to ethnic Malays. In East Kalimantan,

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in 1999, the provincial government called for a federal system and thereby a return of resources to the provincial level. These sorts of pressures continue to re-emerge from time to time. For example, riots in Medan in February 2009, by advocates of a new province (Tapanuli), resulted in the death of the North Sumatra regional parliamentary speaker, Abdul Aziz Angkat. But perceptions of cultural and economic marginalization in this part of Indonesia have manifested, as they have elsewhere, in demands for provincial recognition rather than secessionism. While the regions of Indonesia were economically exploited under the Soeharto regime, Edward Aspinall notes that what truly marks Aceh and Papua out is the Indonesian military’s (TNI’s) heavy-handedness that both experienced: ‘When comparing them to Aceh and West Papua, it seems apparent that what Banten and Riau signally lacked was a sense of grievance founded on recent experiences of extensive military repression.’6 The fall of the Soeharto regime in 1998 appeared to unleash primordial sentiment (ethnic and/or religious), if not universally across Indonesia, certainly in particular parts of the country. Each of these conflicts was ethnic in nature, although religion emerged as an important identity marker too. None was explicitly anti-state. Ethnic violence occurred in Poso (1998–2001), Ambon (1999–2001), West Kalimantan (1997, 1999–2001), North Maluku (1999–2001), and Central Kalimantan (2001).7 These conflicts cost thousands of lives, destroyed homes and infrastructure, and displaced hundreds of thousands of people. (By the admission of senior army and police officers, much of the weaponry and ammunition that was used in these conflicts, on all sides, originated in the security forces – a combination of variously taking sides and making money.) In each case a power struggle emerged between community leaders seeking to take control, while in Ambon in particular, Soeharto’s courting of Islamic groups had seen traditional Christian sources of power go into relative decline.8 In Poso and Ambon these conflicts, which started as conflicts with transmigrants, tended to evolve to conflicts along strict religious (‘Muslim versus Christian’) identity lines, including the arrival of Islamic militants from Java, such as Laskar Jihad and Laskar Jundullah. Laskar Jihad, a neo-Salafist network based in Java, sent several thousand jihadists to Ambon in May 2000, an event that exacerbated the conflict.9 Ustaz Jaffar Umar Thalib, Laskar Jihad’s leader, saw the Ambon conflict – which cost 10,000 lives in all – as a chance for his group to check ‘world Christianity’.10 Laskar Jundullah, with its links to Jemaah Islamiyah, attempted to revive the conflict in Poso through a series of bombings and assassinations. Jacques Bertrand argues that this sort of communal violence, although not anti-state in character, was very dangerous to the Republic as it ‘threatened to destabilize the whole country’ and further, those ‘[c]onflicts with religious overtones were most prone to contagion’.11 In this regard the conflict in Ambon was to absorb a great deal of attention of the Habibie, Wahid, and Megawati administrations. What started as

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a fight at a bus stand in January 1999 resulted in widespread violence against (Muslim) transmigrants from Sulawesi and Java and evolved into fighting between Muslims (transmigrants and local Muslims) and Christians. Although this conflict was the result of local factors, of which the fight at the bus depot was really a symptom and not a cause, the arrival of extremists from outside represents a disturbing element in modern Indonesia. This raises questions about Indonesia as a pluralist country. Indonesia was conceived as a multiethnic, multireligious political entity that would be based on secular (or at least non-Islamic) principles. There are political movements that now seek to renegotiate that bargain. Islamist forces, although not strong at the ballot box, successfully put pressure on President Yudhoyono in 2008 to curb the activities of the unorthodox sect Ahmadiyah and to pass a very strict anti-pornography law. These same groupings will almost certainly revive the ‘Jakarta Charter’ idea, which would stipulate that Syariah law applies to Muslims, thereby inserting a reference to Islam into the constitution (although it should be noted that Indonesia has always had an Islamic court system that deals with family law issues for Muslims who opt into it). Although such a step gets very little support at the ballot box (most Indonesians still prefer a pluralist vision of their country’s future), any moves away from the old secularist bargain may lead non-Islamic sections of the population to question their place in society.

Aceh: generating and co-opting secessionism True resistance against the Indonesian state in favour of Acehnese ethnonationalist independence really only began to emerge in the 1970s, picking up pace over time. By the time of the fall of Soeharto, the conflict, if measured in numbers of deaths, grew worse and reached its crescendo in the early 2000s. Around 1,500 lives were lost in 2001 alone. Aceh’s story, unlike East Timor and Papua, is one case whereby this particular province went through a phase of being loyal to the Indonesian state to a situation where, at least at one time, most Acehnese probably supported independence from Indonesia. Indonesians outside Aceh probably have some abiding views of Aceh; one, that the province is inherently restive (from Dutch times) and that the Acehnese somehow are always at war, and two, that conservative Islam plays a destabilizing role in this province.12 Aceh has often suffered from a general misunderstanding about the causes of the separatist conflict in that province. Some media outlets and some academics13 saw the rebellion as being motivated by the desire to create an ‘Islamic state’. Although this is an unfounded view, it is important to bear in mind not least of all because it was a view widespread in Indonesia itself. In fact various Indonesian presidents clearly felt that pushing Syariah law at the problem would make it go away. The reality is far more nuanced.

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Aceh is said to be one of the most homogeneous regions of Indonesia, with 90 per cent of the province’s residents claimed to be Acehnese (although observers note that the concept of who is and is not Acehnese can be fluid). As with other regions of Indonesia, precursor political entities play a role in public consciousness. Acehnese are aware of their own ‘golden age’ under Sultan Iskandar Muda (1581–1636), when Aceh held sway over parts of Sumatra and the Malayan Peninsula. (Iskandar Muda was succeeded by Iskandar Thani, who was in turn succeeded by four female sultans.) Aceh remained independent despite colonial interdiction into the region, until in 1873, the Dutch attempted to subdue Aceh on the pretext of the piracy menace. Significantly, Aceh was the last addition to the Dutch empire in South East Asia and the Acehnese mounted the most serious resistance to territorial acquisition that the Dutch ever faced in the region. Having been beaten back in 1873, the Dutch re-entered Aceh in 1874 and fought an ongoing low-level conflict through into the early nineteenth century – in fact, resistance was never extinguished. At the end of World War Two, Dutch forces did not attempt to return to Aceh, and the Acehnese population are said to have participated in the subsequent Indonesian revolution against Dutch rule on a disproportionate basis.14 Aceh’s role in the pro-independence struggle against the Dutch is often cited as evidence that at the point of Dutch withdrawal from Indonesia in 1949, the Acehnese saw themselves as being firmly part of the Indonesian Republic. Aceh was, however, to become subject to a series of events that would see the slow rise of separatist sentiments culminating in a full-blown independence movement. An independent Indonesia did not grant Aceh its own provincial status. This fed Aceh’s participation in the 1950s Darul Islam movement, a pan-Indonesian Islamist movement that was also strong in west Java and south Sulawesi. Darul Islam was a direct challenge to Indonesia’s attempt to establish a secular state, although historians judge Aceh’s Darul Islam movement as being driven by local concerns (namely, the establishment of a separate Aceh province). The Darul Islam variant in Aceh, unlike its counterparts elsewhere, was co-opted into the Indonesian state when its leader, Daud Bereueh, was made governor, and in 1959 Aceh gained special autonomy status (largely in name only). Aceh’s Darul Islam movement never advocated independence – even though secessionists would subsequently claim Darul Islam in its lineage in order to give a longevity to the Aceh independence cause that does not exist – although the Darul Islam rebellion did leave the lasting impression across Indonesia of Aceh being in favour of an Islamic state. In 1976 former Indonesian diplomat Hasan di Tiro, grandson of a AcehDutch war hero, Chik di Tiro, gathered a small number of supporters together and issued a ‘Redeclaration of Independence for Aceh’. He established the Acheh-Sumatra National Liberation Front (ASNLF),15 which later came to be known as the Free Aceh Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka; GAM).

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Di Tiro argued, among other things, that Aceh had never been legally a part of Indonesia and that resistance to the Indonesian state (such as Darul Islam, of which Hasan di Tiro himself had been a member) was ongoing. In fact, di Tiro introduced something new to Aceh’s political environment – an independence movement that would, in time, sweep the entire province. GAM, headed by di Tiro in exile in Sweden, emerged with a traditionalist ideology, one that idolized the sultanate of Iskandar Muda, but did not (contrary to a common misperception) advocate Islamic theocracy. Di Tiro’s justification for independence revolved around three ideas. First, Aceh had a separate history to the rest of Indonesia. Second, di Tiro stressed dependency theory to show how Aceh was exploited by the Javanese. And third, the inability of ‘Java’ to provide justice and human rights protection to the Acehnese. (The latter two ideas relate to Indonesia’s poor record of governance.) Di Tiro and his circle whipped up a great deal of hatred towards ethnic Javanese and framed Indonesia itself as a ‘fabricated pseudo-nation’ or a ‘cover-up for incipient Javanese nationalism’. Indonesia, as a state, was simply a Western conspiracy to perpetuate Western control. Di Tiro characterizes Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian language) as, variously, ‘Pidgin Malay’ and a ‘grotesque language’.16 These chauvinistic tendencies were replicated in the field of operations when GAM units deliberately targeted people of Javanese origin, accusing them of being informers and spies. One of GAM’s chief weaknesses from the beginning was its failure to capture any support from the international community (being firmly behind Indonesia’s unity) or a great deal of media or public attention worldwide. GAM’s international linkages, such as they were, were never sustained. Internal ‘taxation’ in Aceh and money from sympathizers in Malaysia provided the bulk of the funding, while an earlier link with Libya was later renounced by GAM itself.17 GAM denied any links to international Islamist groups and took the unusual step after 11 September 2001 of supporting the United States (in a statement less equivocal than that of the Indonesian government). GAM was wary of becoming caught up in counter-responses to radical Islam, with which it felt no affinity. Soeharto’s efforts to trample this fledgling independence movement culminated in the declaration of Aceh as a Military Operation Zone (Daerah Operasi Militar; DOM), which lasted from 1989 to 1998. By the mid-1990s the number of Indonesian troops in the province stood at 12,000, and many were veterans of the East Timor campaign – they appear to have brought the same collective punishment tactics to bear on the situation. During the period of DOM – according to NGO groups that have collated information – some 5,000–6,000 deaths occurred (mostly civilian), and sexual assaults by troops were frequent. A major factor in the Aceh conflict were the commercial imperatives that seemed to drive the military operation – or at least run counter to the idea of wooing the Acehnese public back into the Republic. A large array

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of police and military security posts would double up as toll collection points, putting an enormous financial burden on ordinary Acehnese. The military took control of a large number of businesses, legal and illegal (drugs, arms, logging, fisheries, coffee), and were reported to have extorted most businesses in the province.18 It is said that the TNI had a saying: ‘If you go to Aceh, you will come back either dead or very rich.’19 The effect of this military campaign was counter-productive. Hatred of the Indonesian military, during and just after the Soeharto regime, seems to have spread far and wide. GAM, a little-known entity in 1976, increased its support across the province – although one suspects in many cases the population resented GAM’s ‘taxation’ and intimidation too. By the late 1990s GAM’s numbers of active combatants – in the hundreds in 1976 – sat somewhere between the government estimate of 3,000 and the GAM estimate of 15,000. When Habibie drew Soeharto’s military operation to a close in May 1998, departing troops suffered the indignity of Acehnese hurling insults and rocks at them. When President Megawati, a noted Indonesian nationalist with centralizing tendencies, made an apology in 2001 to Aceh (and Papua), this was an explicit acceptance that Indonesian troops overstepped boundaries in discharging their responsibilities in Aceh. Unfortunately this gesture, alongside others, was drowned out by ongoing cases of human rights abuses that occurred during the Habibie and Megawati presidencies leaving many Acehnese wondering if anything had changed in ‘democratic’ Indonesia. By the early 2000s there were around 20,000 troops in Aceh, supplemented by another 20,000 police. Indonesian troops sometimes seemed to make little distinction between armed belligerents of GAM and those activists in an array of non-governmental organizations that they suspected of being pro-separatist. Human rights abuses and assassinations became commonplace in a war that Tempo magazine likened to Argentina’s ‘dirty war’.20 Two events in particular seemed to characterize the military callousness that drove demands for independence in the immediate post-Soeharto era. On 3 May 1999 soldiers opened fire on a village (Simpang KKA) in North Aceh, killing fifty-six people outright while some of the wounded disappeared after being transported away. The assault on Simpang KKA was captured on film by an Indonesian news crew. On 23 July 1999 thirty-eight people were killed and buried in a mass grave at a Muslim boarding school in West Aceh. An exhumation of the corpses of a teacher and his students was carried out in the presence of television crews. Trials occurred in both cases, with light sentences handed down to a few scapegoat soldiers. Attempts after the Soeharto regime to bring some kind of settlement to Aceh were various, although many foundered on the distrust that had grown between the TNI and GAM. Habibie, in bringing the DOM to an end, gave some local autonomy provisions to Aceh: Law 44/1999 incorporated elements of Syariah law into the criminal code. (Some GAM leaders were to accuse the

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Indonesian government of deliberately trying to give the impression that Aceh was a hotbed of religious extremism. There has always been, however, a constituency for Syariah in Aceh, although it tends to be pushed by conservative ulema – many of whom are actually pro-government.) Expectations were raised and then dashed in Aceh when President Wahid, in 1999, openly called for a referendum in Aceh and then subsequently backtracked. Many journalists at the time felt that support for independence was around the 80 per cent mark (similar to the East Timor referendum).21 But Wahid’s statements, coupled with ongoing human rights abuses in the province, raised public hopes that a referendum on Aceh’s future status was possible. A coalition of student groups known as SIRA (Aceh Referendum Information Centre) planned rallies across Aceh’s cities on 9 November 1999 in favour of a referendum. With pro-Indonesian sections of the population not favouring the idea of a referendum and active security force pressure for people to stay away, in Banda Aceh alone between half a million to a million people attended the pro-referendum rally while similar rallies were held in other locations. SIRA, in calling for a referendum on public views, was careful not to promote the independence option per se. In fact the idea of pushing for a referendum was, initially, opposed by GAM. This did not stop Indonesian officials regarding SIRA and GAM as being one and the same entity. Despite the obvious differences, not least of all that SIRA was a non-violent NGO, there was some sympathy between SIRA and GAM as subsequent events would demonstrate. Under the Wahid administration, Indonesia and GAM entered into what was known as the ‘Humanitarian Pause’ in 2000. Brokered by the NGO Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue (HDC), it was a ceasefire agreement in all but name: Indonesia objected to the term ‘ceasefire’ on the grounds that it would confer some legitimacy on GAM. (HDC officials used to joke that they spent a lot of time coming up with euphemisms to describe negotiations and ceasefire agreements.) The Humanitarian Pause proved to be an initial constraint on hostilities but gradually broke down over several months. In August 2001 the Indonesian parliament signed into law special autonomy for Aceh (and Papua): Aceh was renamed Nanggröe Aceh Darussalam. In Aceh’s case this involved, in theory, the return of 70 per cent of oil and gas revenues to the province. This was designed to meet the criticism that while Aceh had generated about a third of Indonesia’s gas production and 10 per cent of its oil, it remained one of the country’s poorest provinces. This had fuelled (so to speak) charges of economic exploitation – the situation had made it easy for GAM to highlight Jakarta’s revenue take, promise to redistribute wealth to ordinary Acehnese, and make a reasonable case that an independent Aceh would be economically sustainable. Special autonomy also gave, or reaffirmed, the province’s control over judicial and educational matters, including the enforcement of some elements of Syariah. (Aceh’s ‘constitution’ or qanun may, in theory, allow a full application of Syariah

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law, although at present it is applied lightly. It involves prohibitions on alcohol, khalwat or ‘approaching adultery’ (close proximity between unmarried couples) and Islamic – especially women’s – attire. Aceh, as a society, has for many years enforced these issues, but there are reports that the punishment for khalwat – a lashing – is only voluntary for the convicted. Still, some commentators in Aceh and Indonesia have wondered whether these current provisions are the beginning of something that might become stricter over time, thereby putting the qanun at odds with Indonesia’s constitution.) Critics of the special autonomy decision noted that it was more generous than provisions to non-secessionist regions of the country, thereby signalling the desirability of rebellion against Jakarta. In December 2002 the Cessation of Hostilities Agreement (CoHA), another supposed ceasefire by another name, was signed in Geneva, but the agreement broke down in May 2003. President Megawati instead declared martial law and sent in 50,000 troops in a move that seemed popular throughout the rest of Indonesia. The situation changed with the 26 December ‘Boxing Day’ tsunami in 2004 that struck Aceh (among other locations around the Indian Ocean) and killed more than 160,000 people in the province itself and destroyed much housing and infrastructure, including in the provincial capital, Banda Aceh. Both government and GAM forces suffered catastrophic losses and the event speeded up negotiations, particularly as the glare of international opinion was now fixed on the province. Negotiations had, however, begun again prior to this event under the presidency of former general, and Megawati and Wahid cabinet minister, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. Megawati’s 2003 campaign had seen GAM cadres overwhelmed in the field and they had taken considerable losses prior to the tsunami. According to Damien Kingsbury, an Australian academic who formed part of the GAM negotiating team in negotiations at Helsinki, GAM’s losses of personnel and funding forced the organization to consider a new strategy.22 The August 2005 Helsinki Agreement saw GAM finally set aside the demand for independence in return for involvement in local government. The Yudhoyono administration shifted Indonesia’s position to accommodate this – up until the Helsinki Agreement Indonesia had been resolutely against the formation of regional parties and national election rules were designed to prevent this happening. In July 2006 the Indonesian parliament passed the Law on the Governing of Aceh, which supplemented the regional autonomy provisions of 2001 and allowed for Aceh’s direct local election in December 2006. This election saw the emergence of local Aceh-based parties, including GAM recasting itself as a political entity. (Significantly, Megawati’s PDI-P party, now in opposition and well known for its centralizing tendencies, was opposed to this concession.) The December 2006 Aceh election brought into the open what had been a hitherto latent rift in GAM between the exiles in Sweden and the cadre in Aceh. Hasan di Tiro’s close associates, Malik Mahmud and Zaini Abdullah,

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put up Zaini’s brother, Hasbi, to run on the ticket of pro-government human rights activist Ahmad Humam. Using this as a pretext to oppose the exiles, GAM leaders in Aceh mounted their own challenge. Irwandi Yusuf, a veterinarian, former political prisoner, and GAM representative in negotiations, headed the alternative ticket (which also included SIRA head, Muhammad Nazar, as deputy governor). Muzakkir Manaf, GAM field commander, alongside second-tier GAM leaders Sofyan Dawood and Bakhtiar Abdullah, ensured that GAM cadre throughout the province sided with Irwandi. The Irwandi–Nazar ticket won 38.2 per cent of the vote – a convincing plurality win. The Ahmad–Hasbi ticket came a distant second (17 per cent). The key players in the December 2006 election in Aceh appeared to be those with firm anti-Jakarta credentials (except Ahmad Humam, albeit a critic of military behaviour) – although Muzakkir Manaf, who later formed the Aceh Party out of former GAM cadre, knows the value of reassuring Jakarta: he told Tempo magazine in 2009 that ‘the Aceh Party remains under the umbrella of the Unitary State of the Indonesian Republic’.23 Irwandi too has stated that the status of Aceh has been settled once and for all at Helsinki. The Aceh Party, in the April 2009 election for the Aceh Legislative Council, with 49 per cent of the vote, took thirty-three out of sixty-nine seats – one of the most emphatic victories ever in Indonesia’s multiparty environment. (Other local Aceh parties achieved negligible results in this poll.) A substantial fishhook in the settlement in Aceh is the lack of jobs for former GAM cadre, particularly when their expectations remain high, although Irwandi has dolled out significant numbers of jobs and favours to his supporters since taking office. The International Crisis Group (ICG) reported that GAM numbers have been creating law and order difficulties: ‘Extortion by ex-combatants is rampant, and armed robberies are on the rise, many carried out by former fighters operating outside any command structure.’24 The ICG also notes that GAM’s armed wing, now called the Aceh Transition Committee (Komite Peralihan Aceh; KPA), in some parts of Aceh (particularly North Aceh) serve as a ‘virtual shadow government’. It is true that the wing of GAM represented by Irwandi and Muzakkir is emerging as the only game in town. A related issue, therefore, is whether the Aceh Party and its allies can share power with other elements (GAM and non-GAM rivals) in the future. Sidney Jones has characterized the Aceh Party as ‘often intolerant of other parties in its strongholds’.25 Assassinations of Aceh Party affiliates in early 2009 by unknown persons raised the spectre of either intra-GAM rivalries or possibly pro-government elements. This underlines that the prospects of violence in Aceh remain barely below the surface. Another issue linked to this that will haunt the province is the question of loose weapons. Under the Helsinki Agreement, the Aceh Monitoring Mission (AMM) was to oversee the turning in of weapons. GAM, as stipulated in the agreement, turned in 840 weapons, but the TNI has probably never viewed this as full disarmament (partly on the grounds that some of

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the weapons handed over were of low quality).26 It also raises the question of whether GAM continues to hold stockpiles of weapons for some future contingency and whether Indonesia (and the TNI in particular) will choose to relitigate the disarmament issue. The Aceh problem revolves around ethnonationalist factors, not least Aceh’s memory of a pre-existing political entity (a factor Aceh has in common with Pattani in southern Thailand and Mindanao/Sulu in the southern Philippines). But what caused the emergence of ethnonationalism in Aceh in the first place? Geoffrey Robinson’s study of violent separatism in Aceh rejects the primordialist argument favoured by those who see inherent instability in ethnically heterogeneous nation-states (like Indonesia) and instead argues that Indonesian state approaches to the problem of Aceh made it worse over time27 – the independence movement, it should be remembered, only made its appearance in 1976. The supreme irony of the Aceh situation remains that the actions of the Indonesian military, which has a selfconception as the guardian of Indonesia’s unity, seems to have generated an independence movement in Aceh of quite large proportions by virtue of its heavy-handed approach. If it is indeed the case that the TNI fanned the flames of independence in Aceh, these events might serve as an object lesson in how to handle separatist sentiments should they (re-)emerge in the future.

Papua: a troubled incorporation Indonesian Papua,28 with around two million residents, comprises less than 1 per cent of the Indonesian population. Papua’s place in Indonesia’s nationalist rhetoric, however, and the subsequent exploitation of resources, give it a far greater importance than its size might suggest. In Papua the root cause of the identity problem is political, stemming from the manner in which the region was acquired by the Indonesian state, while economic and cultural factors have served to keep alive demands for either autonomy or complete separatism. A lack of cohesive identity among Papuans – and most notably a coastal/highland split between indigenes – has always been a major factor in its bid to win concessions from Jakarta. Estimates of Papuan ‘ethnic groups’ range from 250 to more than 300 (depending on whether tribes, clans and/or sub-clans are counted). When Indonesia’s anti-Dutch struggle began in earnest at the end of World War Two, Papuans were not, on the whole, involved. This is significant, because Papuans were absent from the seminal event of Indonesian nationalism, namely the independence struggle. When the Dutch recognized Indonesian independence in 1949, West Nieuw Guinea was not part of the territories that the Netherlands surrendered – thus marking the start of the diplomatic standoff over the territory’s future. Republican forces could, however, point to (inter alia) the November 1946 Linggadjati Agreement in

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which the Dutch had proposed a ‘United States of Indonesia’, which left no doubt that the Dutch regarded their empire as a legal whole. But the Netherlands was engaged in a war to destroy the Indonesian independence movement, so Papua’s status was academic at this point. Papua had been proclaimed a part of Indonesia since the country’s founding president, Soekarno, made its status a quintessential issue of postcolonial struggle from the 1940s onwards. Indonesia, he said, as ordained by God (rather than as the successor state to the Dutch East Indies), stretched from ‘Sabang to Merauke’ (locations in Aceh and Papua respectively), thus connoting the outer extremities of the Republic. Why did the Dutch subsequently attempt to carve off Papua from the emergent Indonesian state? First, the Netherlands hoped to retain its presence in the region. Second, Papua’s population, the Netherlands felt, had little or nothing in common with the Malay-related peoples of Indonesia. Third, Papua’s predominantly Christian population tugged at the heartstrings of a powerful domestic constituency back in the Netherlands. Fourth, the Netherlands, having failed in Indonesia with ‘300 years of whip and club’, was eager to revive its reputation through a more enlightened decolonization of Papua.29 Fifth, the Netherlands thought that Papua would be a good home for Dutch and Eurasian settlers. And sixth, there was a general perception that Indonesia could not manage this difficult territory. From 1949 onwards, the Dutch attempted to achieve some sort of Papuan unity in the territory through administration, schools, and churches. Unfulfilled promises of Papuan independence saw the emergence of Papuan nationalism. On 1 December 1961, a ceremony was held in which Papuan leaders raised the Papuan flag (the Bintang Kejora or Morning Star) and sang the Papuan anthem. This event, many years later, would be cited by the Papuan elite to the Indonesian political executive as evidence of their independence. (1 December has become a red letter day for independence activists in the territory ever since.) President Soekarno, frustrated at the lack of progress towards Indonesia’s acquisition of Papua, put pressure on Dutch rule from 1961 through the introduction of troops. President Soekarno announced the Trikora ultimatum declaring that the territory must be ‘returned’ to Indonesia: the issue of Papua was one of several that Soekarno was able to use to distract the Indonesian population from failing domestic policies. Soekarno entrusted the then Major General Soeharto (later to be president) to lead the Mandala Command operation into Papua to plant the Indonesian flag on the territory and to seek the overthrow of Dutch rule. The 1962 New York Agreement put the territory under the United Nations Temporary Executive (UNTEA), with the support of the Kennedy administration. The US sided with Indonesia in an attempt to assuage Soekarno’s anger and thereby to keep the country detached from the communist bloc. Indonesia took control of the territory formally in 1963, and its rule was confirmed

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by a 1969 ‘plebiscite’ (or the acclamation by a thousand or so carefully selected Papuan tribal leaders) known as ‘the act of free choice’ in 1969 – an event mockingly referred to by pro-independence activists as ‘the act of nochoice’. The UN noted but never endorsed these results. Ortiz Sanz, head of UNTEA, seemed to believe, privately, that 95 per cent of Papuans wanted independence.30 But the democratic process was never going to interfere with Indonesia’s conception of its own statehood. These events have, in contemporary times, been alleged by pro-Papuan independence activists to rest on a weak legal basis which the UN could revisit. Violent opposition to Indonesian security forces emerged almost as soon as they entered the territory. From the mid-1960s this was generally attributed to an entity called Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM – Free Papua Movement), but the OPM never constituted a centrally controlled body of resistance (in contrast to much of GAM). Resistance was divided on regional and tribal lines, while various ‘OPM’ exiles overseas concurrently claimed to represent the movement. From the start Indonesia’s response to armed resistance was tough and widespread (foreshadowing the indiscriminate retaliation that would subsequently occur in East Timor and Aceh). It was by no means a measured response, an issue that still rankles with proindependence activists today. A British Foreign Office document from the time states that: ‘The Indonesians have tried everything from bombing them with B-26s, to shelling and mortaring them, but a continuous state of semi-rebellion persists. Brutalities are undoubtedly perpetrated from time to time in a fruitless attempt at repression.’31 The undoubted dissatisfaction with the way Indonesian security forces behaved in the territory was subsequently coupled with annoyance over vast mineral extraction from Papua (while Papua remained Indonesia’s poorest province – a situation not unlike Aceh’s). Even in contemporary times Papua has Indonesia’s highest poverty rates, at 40 per cent of the overall population.32 The issue of wealth extraction, while not an issue in Soekarno’s desire to acquire the territory, nor the Dutch wish to hold on, became more pressing in the 1970s. Enormous mining concessions were granted in the territory for oil, nickel, and gold. The construction of PT Freeport Indonesia Company, a subsidiary of Freeport McMoran Copper and Gold Inc., one of the world’s largest extractive sites, was an investment made possible under authoritarian conditions. The Damal and Amungme people were removed from the mining site area and considerable environmental damage occurred. During the Soekarno and (more particularly) the Soeharto years, Papua was one of many regions to receive ‘transmigrants’ from the overcrowded heartland areas of Indonesia. These transmigrants took valuable farming and fishing areas, and, over time, their numbers have begun to threaten the demographic balance of Papua. The end of the Soeharto regime in May 1998, like elsewhere in Indonesia, opened up political space for Papua. The June 1999 national election was

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a watershed, as provincial and district level politicians were also elected freely for the first time. Starting earlier that year, however, Jakarta faced a series of political challenges on Papua’s status. On 26 February 1999 the Papuan delegation known as the ‘Team of 100’ presented a petition to President Habibie and shocked him by demanding independence as a solution to years of injustice. In June 2000, a government-sponsored conference in Papua, largely a meeting of the Papuan Presidium Council (founded by Theys Eluay, former Golkar Party33 member and pro-independence figure) was to become a landmark event for the expression of secessionist sentiment. With 3,000 delegates and a much larger crowd outside, the Indonesian government delegation was greeted with chants of ‘merdeka’ (independence) as they entered the Congress. The Congress concluded that Papua had been an independent nation-state since 1961 and there was a call for the United Nations to reconsider the issue. In response the Indonesian parliament refused to allow a formal name change to ‘Papua’, while local police rounded up Presidium leaders (including Theys) and refused the order of President Wahid to release them. President Wahid’s permission to fly the Morning Star flag (albeit smaller and lower than the Indonesian flag) was not respected by Indonesian security officials. Flying the Morning Star remained a hazardous exercise. At the same time Human Rights Watch noted the emergence of pro- and antiindependence militia gangs.34 Senior military personnel openly expressed disappointment with negotiations and expressed a determination to crush independence sentiment (in Papua and Aceh). This marked an end to openness, for a time, in Papua, and during 2001, several leading independence leaders lost their lives. On 12 September 2001, Willem Onde and his associate Johanes Tumeng were killed – their bodies showed evidence of torture. On 10 November 2001, Theys Eluay, the Presidium leader, was killed after leaving a military function near Jayapura. This latter case sparked a great deal of international interest because it offered the clearest evidence of military involvement (nine Special Forces soldiers were put on trial for the killing, and four were convicted). In an infamous remark the then chief of staff of the army, General Ryamizard Ryacudu, described the guilty parties as ‘heroes’: ‘I don’t know, people say they did wrong, they broke the law. What law? Okay, we are a state based on the rule of law, so they have been punished. But for me, they are heroes because the person they killed was a rebel leader.’35 A number of demonstrators were also killed around this time. Even in these post-authoritarian times, these events would serve to reinforce the idea that Papuans were living under occupation. On 16 August 2001 President Megawati apologized for Indonesian excesses in Papua, although with the possible exception of the Theys case, the military was not called to account. Greater changes were to occur subsequently. Law 21/2001, which came into effect in 2001, handed ‘special autonomy’ to Papua, meaning the

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province had power over all governance except ‘foreign policy, defence, security, monetary and fiscal policy, religion, justice, and certain authority in other sectors laid down in the law’. The law acknowledged the disparities of economic circumstances, while still stressing the importance of national unity. Revenue was returned to the province in accordance with the following formula: 70 per cent for oil and gas; 80 per cent for general mining, fisheries, and forestry; 90 per cent for land taxation; 80 per cent for land and building titles; and 20 per cent for personal income tax. A unique provision (for Indonesia) in Papua’s special autonomy deal established special rights (or affirmative action privileges) for the Papuan people. Indigenous Papuans were to be given preference in employment and the governor and vicegovernor had to be ‘a native of Papua’. Since 2001 there has been a significant level of growth of Papuans throughout the levels of provincial bureaucracy. Greater local control has exposed internal divisions within Papua itself. Undercutting any sense of pan-Papuan nationalism were demands from across the territory, which, if all followed through, might have resulted in the creation of six or seven provinces.36 With estimates of tribal divisions in Papua approaching several hundred, a division between coastal and interior peoples also seems to have assumed prominence with the advent of regional autonomy. Mietzner notes that coastal Papuans have had greater opportunities through schooling, government employment, NGOs, and churches than interior peoples – and regional autonomy only increased those opportunities (and the resulting jealousies).37 In the 2006 election in Papua, Lukas Enembe, an inexperienced and inarticulate candidate from Puncak Jaya, came extremely close to winning the governorship by appealing to the interior vote. (Mietzner highlights the identity problem in Papua by noting that not even Lukas Enembe’s campaign staff could agree on his ethnicity.) During the election the predominantly Catholic region of Merauke put pressure on gubernatorial candidates for the creation of a South Papua. The gubernatorial winner, Barnabas Suebu, representing PDI-P, had been a wellknown supporter of independence, although in the election he had portrayed himself as someone who could bring the two sides together. In 2007 Suebu had to endorse the separation of Papua into ‘West Papua’ and ‘Papua’, while the prospects for further divisions remain firmly on the cards. In addition, it is up to the Papuan People’s Council (Majelis Rakyat Papua; MRP) to determine who is a native Papuan when the only stipulated definition is someone of the ‘Melanesian race’. Determining who is and who is not a Papuan has, quite evidently, become politically charged. Muhammad Musa’ad, the son of a native Papuan mother and a father from an Arab family that arrived in the territory as long ago as the 1800s was ruled ineligible to run for the deputy governor’s position by the MRP. Some members of the MRP reportedly objected to Muhammad Musa’ad on the grounds that Papuans must have ‘black skin and frizzy hair’.38 Another candidate for the same position, Komaruddin Watubun, was also ruled

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ineligible despite having grown up in Papua and coming from a family that hailed from the (Melanesian) Kei islands of Maluku. Determining who is a native Papuan might become increasingly difficult, particularly if the issue continues to be a political football. Since the fall of Soeharto, Papuan challenges to Indonesian rule have largely been about a ‘struggle for history’, or a political/legal challenge to Indonesia’s territorial claim – even though media sources continue to focus on sporadic ‘OPM’ violence as a sign of restiveness. Many of the so-named ‘Papuan elite’ since the emergence of the democratic era have pushed a separatist agenda to varying degrees – the special autonomy provisions were drawn up in consultation with them. This Papuan elite consists of pro-independence activists, traditional/tribal leaders, churchmen, and, incredibly, former pro-integration figures from the Soeharto era with a keen instinct for the mood of public opinion. As Sidney Jones expressed it: ‘the main motor for independence was not a guerrilla group but the cream of the Papuan elite, including religious and indigenous leaders, who collectively represented a major swathe of the Papuan population.’39 As with Aceh, however, the extension of autonomy, which has included the incorporation of the Papuan elite into the administrative system, has assuaged Papuan opinion (for now). It remains the legacy of transmigration (officially sponsored and spontaneous migration), however, that still touches a raw nerve in Papua. One (imprecise) way to measure transmigration numbers is to look at religion. Official figures show that in 2004 Muslims were 23 per cent of the population, up from 6.5 per cent in 1964, although many commentators believe this obscures the fact that Muslims might be around half the population.40 The indigenous (mainly Protestant Christian) population believe they are probably on track to becoming a minority in their own region. Demographics looks set to be the defining political issue of Papuan politics into the future. The International Crisis Group has reported on increasingly entrenched communal tensions between Hizb ut-Tahrir and Salafi hardliners on the one hand and ‘neo-Pentecostals and charismatics’ on the other.41 This raises the spectre of potential communal violence down the line as divisions deepen. There was also a series of mysterious killings around the time of the national election in April 2009 when some taxi drivers were killed and others wounded. The TNI reported a firefight with a ‘ghost militia’ near the PNG border, and an entity going by the name of Free Papua Organization-National Liberation Army (TPN-OPM) made threats to the Pertamina Oil Company.42 Just as in Aceh, the habits of violence may persist for a variety of personal, criminal, and political agendas. In sum, the connection between Jakarta and Papua no longer resembles the core–periphery relationship that it once did. The granting of power in response to the demands of the Papuan elite has changed the equation of how power is divided, but it has also undercut the exigency of secessionism.

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MacIntyre and Ramage put it this way: ‘Legitimate local elections have contributed greatly to this normalised environment and sucked the oxygen out of the pro-independence movement.’43 Although it is probably far too soon to argue that the bulk of the Papuan population have suddenly developed feelings of Indonesian nationalism, policy responses from Jakarta will play an enormous role in determining whether or not Indonesian Papua is restive or quietist into the future.

Conclusion Indonesia’s nationalist mythology, since the time of Soekarno, has depended on the portrayal of the Republic as a ‘perennialist’ state (in the terminology of Anthony D. Smith, who notes that perennialism is a flawed concept44) that reaches back into the ancient empires of Srivijaya and Majapahit. Indonesian nationalists attempted to demonstrate that the state had always existed, rather than being simply a successor to the Dutch East Indies. Indonesian nationalism, bolstered by authoritarianism under Soekarno and Soeharto, has also been buttressed by a centralizing tendency which refused to consider power sharing arrangements. When those power sharing arrangements did emerge after the fall of Soeharto, they were done in what many commentators considered an uneven and haphazard way. What remains, across the political spectrum of Indonesia, is a desire to hold the country together – a desire reinforced by the ‘national trauma’ of ‘losing’ East Timor in 1999. Slowly, since 1999, Indonesia has learned that its approaches to Aceh and Indonesian Papua have proved counter-productive. The Yudhoyono administration has proved to be more forthcoming with arrangements that have allowed secessionist elements to enter the political process. The goal is, as ever, to hold the country together. Many Indonesian commentators, while fearing the loss of any territory, note that the loss of Aceh in particular would be problematic for Indonesia’s longevity given that Aceh has been with the Republic of Indonesia since the time of the war of independence. Indonesia, since 1999, has invested a great deal of diplomatic energy in acquiring support for its territorial integrity from the international community. It has been successful in ensuring that secessionist movements in Aceh and Papua received little or no international support from members of the United Nations. Without international recognition, it is difficult for secessionist movements to make any headway. This is presumably a conclusion that Indonesia drew from its experience with East Timor where most states had continued to regard Indonesia’s annexation of the territory as illegal. But perhaps another lesson is also obvious. East Timor’s case was revisited because of the myriad human rights abuses that occurred there. It is doubtful that the international community will question the manner in which Papua was acquired, or offer support for Aceh’s independence, so long as human security is respected in modern Indonesia.

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Indonesia as a state, therefore, has always rushed to crush independence movements (even, historically, just the expression of independence sentiment), while viewing communal violence as a lesser threat. In reality, however, communal violence, which is currently latent and should not be overstated, contains the potential for destruction across the archipelago if it becomes a contagion. Ethnic violence, particularly of the sort that acquires a religious dimension and draws in outside forces, has the potential to strain community relations across the region. (The bombing of multiple churches by terrorist group Jemaah Islamiyah on Christmas Eve 2000 may have been an attempt to achieve just that – thereby, in accordance with some twisted logic, to compel Indonesia’s Muslims to eventually shift towards a more hardline Islamist view of their faith.) It remains the case, therefore, that communal violence brings with it a potentially serious threat to Indonesia’s long-term cohesion. The Yudhoyono administration has, however, worked to ensure that there is no rerun of Ambon and Poso. In viewing secessionist situations there has often been an undue focus, by both the Indonesian armed forces and the international media, on the armed protagonists in Aceh and Papua, rather than on the important social movements in both cases that have pushed for different arrangements with the state. In Papua, since Indonesia shifted away from authoritarianism, the Presidium movement has been far more significant than the sporadic conflict with elements of the OPM. Similarly in Aceh, secessionist sentiment (as channelled by SIRA during pro-referendum demonstrations) was larger and broader than the armed cadre of GAM. A democratic Indonesia, despite stutters and starts, has managed to settle (even if not fully resolve) its horizontal and vertical conflicts, but this does not preclude flare-ups in any of these old conflict zones in the future. The lesson has probably now been learned that past approaches to secessionist conflict have failed. The heavy involvement of the Indonesian military (and to a lesser extent, police) in commercial enterprises, of the legal and illegal variety, has been shown to have exacerbated both secessionist and communal conflict through practices such as the backdoor sales of arms and the high prices of informal tolls and protectionism. More crucially, the collective punishment (and general human rights abuses) meted out by the Indonesian security forces drove people into the arms of secessionism and swelled the ranks of those willing to take up arms. Notes 1. East Timor, now an independent state, is not considered in detail in this chapter, but some lessons emerge from this case. Indonesia seized this territory in 1975 in the aftermath of the Portuguese withdrawal to forestall the left-wing Fretilin government in Dili (perceived in Jakarta as a Marxist regime). Indonesia’s efforts to integrate East Timor into the Republic of Indonesia were undermined from the outset by a series of mass killings and other atrocities that the Indonesian military

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2.

3. 4. 5. 6.

7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

14. 15.

33

visited upon the population. Up to one million East Timorese may have died during the period of occupation through armed action and starvation. In August 1999 a ballot on the question of East Timor’s future saw 78.5 per cent of eligible voters opt for the independence option – a turn of events that appears to have surprised President Habibie who may have expected to win the ballot. In the aftermath of the 1999 referendum, pro-Indonesian militias, apparently aided and abetted by elements of the Indonesian military, spent several weeks destroying infrastructure, killing supporters of independence, and transporting large numbers of people to West Timor. This destruction was cut short by the arrival of an international intervention force. Many commentators have speculated on the reason for the post-referendum violence. Was it an object lesson to the independence forces in Aceh and Papua? The term putra daerah is also sometimes rendered as ‘sons of the soil’. I prefer the translation ‘sons of the region’ or ‘regional sons’ because it conveys the meaning of not just indigenous people, but people who are autochthonous to a particular locality. J. G. Taylor, Indonesia: Peoples and Histories (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2003), p. 346. R. E. Elson, The Idea of Indonesia: a History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), p. 68. G. van Klinken, ‘Ethnicity in Indonesia’, in C. Mackerras (ed.), Ethnicity in Asia (London: Routledge, 2003), p. 64. E. Aspinall, ‘Modernity, History and Ethnicity’, in D. Kingsbury and H. Aveling (eds), Autonomy and Disintegration in Indonesia (London and New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), p. 145. G. van Klinken, ‘New Actors, New Identities: Post-Soeharto Ethnic Violence in Indonesia’, in Dewi Fortuna Anwar, H. Bouvier, G. Smith, and R. Tol (eds), Violent Internal Conflicts in Asia Pacific: Histories, Political Economies and Policies (Jakarta: LIPI and KITLV, 2005). J. Bertrand, Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). J. T. Sidel, Riots, Pogroms, Jihad: Religious Violence in Indonesia (Ithaca, New York, and London: Cornell University Press, 2006), p. 184. K. E. Schulze, ‘Laskar Jihad and the Conflict in Ambon’, The Brown Journal of World Affairs 9(1) (2002): 57–69. Bertrand, Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict, p. 2. See A. L. Smith, ‘Aceh: Authoritarian Times, Authoritarian Solutions’, New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies 4(2) (2002): 68–89. See, for example, A. Tan, Armed Rebellion in the ASEAN States: Persistence and Implications (Canberra: Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National University, 2000). Tan, in fairness, does see the rebellion in slightly broader terms too. He states that ‘Although the rebellion is heavily Islamic in nature, there are also historical, nationalistic and economic factors at work’ (p. 34). Elson, Idea of Indonesia, p. 124. The name ASNLF reveals something of di Tiro’s ideology. ‘Acheh’ is preferred to ‘Aceh’ to show contempt for Indonesian spellings (and the language itself). It is also significant that ‘Sumatra’ also appears in the name. There is some speculation that di Tiro actually thought that he might, in time, be able to reunite Aceh’s old empire and preside over an independent Sumatra (leaving aside the questionable idea that Aceh ever controlled all of Sumatra, or, more importantly, whether contemporary Sumatrans outside of Aceh would want to be under Aceh’s rule).

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16. Tengku Hasan di Tiro, Indonesian Nationalism: a Western Invention to Subvert Islam and to Prevent Decolonization of the Dutch East Indies (National Liberation Front of Acheh Sumatra, 1985). 17. GAM officials once explained to the author that the training of some GAM operatives in Libya was done by mercenaries and was paid for by GAM. This seems like an obvious attempt to put distance between GAM and the ideologically charged objectives of the erstwhile radical Libyan state. 18. L. McCulloch, ‘Greed: the Silent Force of Conflict in Aceh’, in D. Kingsbury (ed.), Violence in Between: Conflict and Security in Archipelagic Southeast Asia (Clayton and Singapore: Monash Asia Institute and Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). 19. D. Kingsbury and L. McCulloch, ‘Military Business in Aceh’, in A. Reid (ed.), Verandah of Violence: the Background to the Aceh Problem (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2006), p. 209. 20. Tempo, 8 January 2001. 21. Summarized from the author’s own interviews in Indonesia and Aceh in 2001. 22. Cited in M. Mietzner, ‘Local Elections and Autonomy in Papua and Aceh: Mitigating or Fuelling Secessionism’, Indonesia 84 (2007): 22. 23. ‘When the Bull Seeks a Mate’, Tempo, 6 April 2009. 24. International Crisis Group, Aceh: Post-Conflict Complications, Asia Report No. 139, 4 October 2007. 25. S. Jones, ‘Aceh on a Knife’s Edge’, Inside Indonesia 95 (January–March 2009). 26. Ibid. 27. G. Robinson, ‘Rawan is as Rawan Does: the Origins of Disorder in New Order Aceh’, in B. Anderson (ed.), Violence and the State in Suharto’s Indonesia, Southeast Asia Program Publications (Ithaca and New York: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2001), pp. 213–42. (The term rawan Robinson takes from the Indonesian government expression rawan daerah, meaning trouble spots. Thus: ‘trouble is as trouble does’.) 28. This chapter follows the practice of some international media outlets in using the term ‘Indonesian Papua’ to refer to the territory formerly known as Dutch New Guinea. This is largely because the term ‘Papua’ has meant different things at different times and is almost an interesting study in nomenclature in and of itself. The term ‘Papua’ is said to derive from the description given to the region by peoples in the neighbouring Maluku island chain. The western half of the New Guinea island was known as ‘West Nieuw Guinea’ (or ‘Dutch New Guinea’ in the English-speaking world) until the territory passed from Dutch hands, via United Nations authority, into Indonesian rule. Initially it was known as ‘West Irian’ (or Irian Barat) until Jakarta renamed it ‘Irian Jaya’ (‘Irian’ is a Biak term for Papua, while ‘Jaya’ is an Indonesian term for victory). The term ‘West Papua’ was used by supporters of independence, while inhabitants of Irian Jaya referred to themselves as ‘Papuan’. During the presidency of President Abdurrahman Wahid (1999–2001), the political executive supported the use of ‘Papua’ or ‘West Papua’ as the province’s name, but this was never confirmed by the legislature. A number of institutions in the province, however, drafted ‘Papua’ into their names. After various plans to divide the province, Jakarta announced in 2003 that the province would become Irian Jaya and West Irian Jaya (the latter consisting of the Bird’s Head Peninsula region). When the de facto provincial division was confirmed in 2007, the names were changed, confusingly, to ‘Papua’ and ‘West Papua’ respectively. To add another complication, the term ‘Papua’ is also

Indonesia: Letting Go to Hold On

29. 30.

31. 32.

33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

35

still applied to the southeastern quarter of the New Guinea island (the erstwhile ‘Territory of Papua’), which now forms part of Papua New Guinea. P. Hastings, New Guinea: Problems and Prospects (Melbourne: Australian Institute of International Affairs, 1996), p. 211. J. Saltford (2000) ‘Irian Jaya: United Nations Involvement with the Act of SelfDetermination in West Irian (Indonesian West New Guinea) 1968 to 1969’, www. angelfire.com/journal/issues/saltford.html, accessed 4 July 2009. British Embassy, Jakarta, 9 April 1968, Public Records Office: FCO 15/189 DH1/7 cited in ibid. Although this works out to be just 2 per cent of Indonesia’s poor. See A. MacIntyre and D. E. Ramage, Seeing Indonesia as a Normal Country: Implications for Australia (Canberra: Australian Strategic Policy Institute, 2008), p. 22. The Golkar Party was the creation of the Soeharto administration and served as the dominant party during Soeharto’s rule. Human Rights Watch, Violence and Political Impasse in Papua, 13(2) (C) (2001). Irian News, 24 April 2003. Mietzner, ‘Local Elections’, pp. 8–9. Ibid., p. 12. Ibid., p. 10. S. Jones, ‘The Importance of Good Governance in Easing Separatist Conflicts’, in Dewi Fortuna Anwar et al., Violent Internal Conflicts in Asia Pacific, pp. 238–9. ‘More Religions, More Trouble’, The Economist, 19 July 2008. International Crisis Group, ‘Indonesia: Communal Tensions in Papua’, Asia Report No. 154 (16 June 2008). ‘Ghost of Terror Grips Papua’, Tempo, 27 April 2009. MacIntyre and Ramage, Seeing Indonesia as a Normal Country, p. 23. A. D. Smith, ‘Theories of Nationalism: Alternative Models of Nation Formation’, in M. Leifer (ed.), Asian Nationalism (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), pp. 1–14.

3 Thailand Southern Discomfort: Separatist Conflict in the Kingdom of Thailand* Ian Storey

On 29 November 2007, militants in the Rueso District of Narathiwat Province in southern Thailand shot, hacked with knives, and then crucified a Muslim man they suspected of being a military informer. The militants then went to an adjoining district where they abducted, shot, and decapitated two fishmongers, aged twenty and sixty-one.1 Less than a week later a motorcycle packed with explosives went off outside a crowded roadside restaurant in the Mueang District of Pattani Province, killing six and injuring twenty-four. The event raised concerns that Thailand had witnessed its first suicide bombing when the two motorcyclists were found among the dead, though the authorities were quick to dismiss this theory in favour of a premature detonation.2 The two brutal incidents added to the daily catalogue of assassinations, bombings, and arson attacks in Thailand’s majorityMuslim provinces in the south of the country, and pushed the death toll to more than 2,600 since January 2004 (by mid-March 2008 it stood at over 3,000). The insurgency is without question the most serious threat to the kingdom’s internal stability – and arguably, because of the potential for further escalation and involvement of external elements, South East Asia’s most pressing security problem. The resurgence of political violence in southern Thailand in January 2004 has generated a great deal of literature concerning the conflict’s underlying and proximate causes, the perpetrators of the violence (both state and non-state actors), competing historical narratives, and the ineffectiveness of state responses to date. The volatile mix of ethnicity, religion, and nationalism, the multiplicity of actors involved, the obscure identities and aims of militant groups, the prevalence of conspiracy theories and rumours, the alleged nexus between separatist violence, pervasive lawlessness, corrupt officials at both the state and national levels, and rampant drug abuse have made it almost impossible to gain a clear understanding of this multifaceted insurgency. While scholars, analysts, and journalists have reached tentative consensus on some aspects of the crisis, the central dynamics remain open to debate. 36

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My purpose is threefold. First, I provide a brief summary of the history of the region and earlier manifestations of political violence and state responses to it. Second, I explore the causes of the present wave of violence and consider the various groups behind it. Third, I assess the effectiveness – or, more accurately, the ineffectiveness – of state responses to the conflict since January 2004 under the administrations of Thaksin Shinawatra (July 2001–September 2006) and General Surayud Chulanont (October 2006–December 2007).

The historical context The spatial focus of the separatist violence in Thailand is the three provinces of Yala, Pattani, and Narathiwat, plus four districts of neighbouring Songkhla Province. All four provinces are located in the ‘Deep South’ and, except Pattani, share borders with the northern Malaysian states of Kelantan, Perak, Kedah, and Perlis. According to the 2000 census, the combined populations of Yala, Pattani, and Narathiwat are 1.8 million, of whom 75–80 per cent are Malay Muslims (sometimes referred to as ‘Muslims of Malay descent’ or ‘Pattani-Malays’),3 making the bulk of the population ethnically Malay, Muslim, and native Yawi (a dialect of Malay) speakers. The remainder are Thai Buddhists, including a large number of Sino-Thais. The roots of separatist movements in southern Thailand are found in history. Yala, Pattani, and Narathiwat formerly constituted the Kingdom of Pattani, which was founded in the mid-fourteenth century and converted to Islam 100 years later. The sultanate subsequently became renowned as a major seat of Islamic culture and learning.4 During the eighteenth century, however, Pattani was forced into a tributary relationship with its powerful neighbour to the north, Ayutthaya, the forerunner of the modern Thai state. Following the foundation of the Chakri Dynasty in 1782, Siam (Thailand’s name before 1939) exercised ever-tighter control over the sultanate. In 1902, administrative reforms aimed at consolidating the country’s borders to ward off the imperial designs of Britain and France placed Pattani under direct rule from Bangkok, an arrangement formalized by the Anglo-Siamese Treaty of 1909.5 Historical narratives concerning these events differ: for Thai Buddhists, the 1909 treaty was a long overdue recognition of Siam’s historic rights in the south, but to Pattani nationalists, the administrative reforms of 1902 are seen as naked Siamese imperialism that spelled the end of the Pattani sultanate.6 In the run-up to World War Two, the inhabitants of the southern border provinces chafed under Bangkok’s coercive policies of assimilation designed to transform Malay Muslims into Thai Muslims. Resentment intensified under the premiership of Thai ultranationalist Field Marshal Phibun Songkhram from 1938–44. Under Phibun’s rule, religious holidays in the south were abolished, and Malay Muslims were prohibited from wearing

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traditional dress, teaching Yawi, and practising Sharia law; Malay Muslims were also encouraged to adopt Thai-sounding names.7 Malay Muslims regarded these efforts as state-sponsored attacks on their ethnic, religious, and cultural identity.8 Tensions boiled over following Phibun’s return to power in 1948. Malay Muslim leaders, led by charismatic Islamic scholar Haji Sulong, presented a list of demands to the central government, including political autonomy for the south, language and cultural rights, and the implementation of Sharia law. Bangkok rejected the demands as counter to the unitary nature of the state and tantamount to secession.9 Haji Sulong’s subsequent arrest on charges of treason sparked a series of riots in early 1948, including the famous Dusun Nyor Rebellion that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of Malay Muslims, Bangkok’s imposition of emergency rule in the south, an outflow of political refugees, and local demands that the southern provinces be incorporated into the neighbouring British colony of Malaya.10 Separatist sentiment increased under Phibun’s successors, military men who continued to push the nation-building programme and its mantra of nation, religion, and king (i.e. the Thai nation, Buddhism, and King Bhumibol Adulyadej). The Islamic schooling system (known as the pondok or ponoh system) – long seen as a breeding ground for separatist activities – was brought under state control, and Bangkok tried to alter the demographics of the southern provinces by encouraging and facilitating the resettlement of Thai Buddhists from the northeast of the country.11 Sporadic riots eventually gave way to armed insurrection led by groups such as Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Pattani, the Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN) and the high-profile Pattani United Liberation Organization (PULO). These groups differed in their secular, religious, and nationalist outlooks, but shared a common cause: secession from the Thai state. From the late 1950s onward, these groups and subsequent splinter groups waged a lowintensity insurgency against the Thai authorities, assassinating police and army personnel, civil servants, and Thai Buddhist settlers, and bombing and torching state symbols, particularly schools that were perceived as tools of the Thai state designed to ‘brainwash’ Malay Muslims and convert them into Thai Buddhists. Insurgencies are fundamentally political disputes and therefore require political solutions. During the 1980s the Thai government finally recognized this and switched from a purely military response to the violence in the south to a political one, and eventually defeated the insurgency. The mastermind behind this change of strategy was General Prem Tinsulanonda, a southerner from Songkhla Province who served as prime minister from 1980 to 1988. As a soldier, Prem had conducted a successful counterinsurgency campaign against the Communist Party of Thailand in the northeast during the 1970s, and as premier, he applied the lessons learned to the south.12 Prem’s policy stressed the importance of assuaging local

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grievances, developing the south’s economy, and improving interagency cooperation and coordination. One of the key elements in his programme’s success was the establishment of more effective administrative machinery in the south. The Southern Border Provinces Administration Centre (SBPAC) was established in 1981. The SBPAC’s mandate was to govern the southern provinces directly, oversee the implementation of socioeconomic development projects, and facilitate dialogue between Bangkok’s representatives in the south and local community leaders. It also served as an important dispute resolution mechanism and grievance sounding board that had the power to remove corrupt and incompetent officials. To improve interagency cooperation and intelligence gathering, the SBPAC was given a joint security arm known as the Civilian Military Police Unit 43 (CPM43). Under Prem, the armed forces introduced new rules of engagement that reduced incidents of abuse, while separatists were offered, and generally took advantage of, blanket amnesties. Other factors helped mitigate the violence: the palace implemented many developmental projects in the south, financed the construction and upkeep of mosques, and established a summer residence in Narathiwat. Another crucial factor in the decrease of separatist violence was the armed forces’ withdrawal from politics in 1992 and the restoration of full democracy, which created opportunities for Malay Muslims to enter the national political mainstream. Taken together, Prem’s new policies and democratization in the early 1990s deflated the insurgency. Although sporadic attacks continued and new militant groups emerged, the number of violent incidents declined dramatically during the 1990s, such that by the end of the decade the southern insurgency was judged to have been quelled.13 Within a few years, however, that assessment was proved spectacularly incorrect.

Reigniting the separatist fires Despite the advent of democracy, and the adoption of a more holistic counterinsurgency strategy by the government, resentment towards the Thai authorities continued to simmer throughout the 1990s, rising significantly in the first few years of the new century. A measure of this continued resentment was the rise in violent attacks against symbols of Thai authority between 2001 and 2003, including attacks on police and army personnel, the burning down of schools, and raids on government armouries. The authorities, and Thailand’s new government under Prime Minister Thaksin in particular, attributed these assaults to turf wars between rival criminal gangs.14 Bangkok’s reason for downplaying the political overtones of the incidents remains unclear. However, with hindsight it is clear now that the increasing incidents of violence in 2001–3 were the opening move in a major assault against the writ of the Thai state in its southernmost provinces.

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Fixing Fractured Nations

Many of the underlying causes of the current conflict are identical in nature to those that sparked earlier outbreaks of violence. The fundamental problem is that Malay Muslims consider their religious, cultural, and linguistic identity to be threatened with extinction by the overbearing and insensitive hand of the predominantly Thai Buddhist state.15 The state education system in particular continues to be regarded as a tool designed to turn Malay Muslims into Thai Buddhists.16 Malay Muslims feel their ethnic identity is threatened not only by the Thai state, but also by the forces of modernity and globalization.17 In addition to perceived threats against their ethnic identity, Malay Muslims view themselves as second-class citizens, politically marginalized and denied access to educational and employment opportunities. Local governance in the south is dysfunctional, a notorious dumping ground for corrupt and incompetent officials from other parts of the country who neither speak Yawi nor understand cultural sensitivities. The Thai police have a particularly abysmal reputation for corruption and abuse of power in the southern provinces. Marc Askew has argued that local governance suffered during the 1990s as the SBPAC’s budget was reduced and the agency became increasingly staffed by uninterested and corrupt personnel.18 Malay Muslim participation in the local government had been hamstrung by poor educational standards – the majority of the population lacks sufficient Thai language skills necessary to pass civil service entrance exams. These positions were consequently filled by non-southerners, which added to the resentment. Poor socio-economic conditions fuelled a sense of discrimination. Although the southern border provinces are not the poorest provinces in Thailand (some north and northeastern provinces have lower household incomes), nearly half of the southern population living below the poverty line resides in the Yala, Pattani, and Narathiwat provinces.19 The southern economy is largely dependent on agriculture and fishing, two sectors hit particularly hard by the 1997 Asian financial crisis and the advent of large commercial fishing fleets. These industries have yet to recover from the economic crisis, and alternative sources of employment are very limited.20 Unemployment in the south remains stubbornly high, particularly among young Muslim males. An ethnic identity under siege combined with feelings of alienation, injustice, and discrimination caused by poor governance and lack of access to educational and employment opportunities were necessary but not sufficient conditions for the Thai insurgency: other factors are also at work. The proximate causes of the current conflict include changes in global politics following the al-Qaeda terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001, the Thaksin administration’s response to those attacks, and several of the prime minister’s political initiatives that negatively impacted the south. In the immediate aftermath of 11 September 2001, Prime Minister Thaksin, who had paid little attention to relations with the United States until the attacks, initially declared Thailand’s ‘neutrality’. Under intense pressure from

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41

Washington, however, he quickly pledged Thailand’s full support for the US-led ‘war on terror’. Thai support was generally limited in scale and relatively low-key. Bangkok stepped up counter-terrorism cooperation with the United States and granted the US armed forces over-flight rights and access to Thai bases during the military intervention in Afghanistan in late 2001. After the 2003 invasion of Iraq, the Thai army dispatched medical and engineering units on a twelve-month mission to assist in ‘post-conflict’ reconstruction efforts. The reasons for Thaksin’s low-key support remain unclear, though possible explanations include the desire to keep Thailand’s relations with the United States and China in balance, a desire to prevent a terrorist attack on Thai soil, which would devastate the lucrative tourism industry, and a wish not to offend the kingdom’s Muslim population. Thaksin’s support for the ‘war on terror’ and its involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq proved deeply unpopular, however, with Thai Muslims, including ethnically Malay Muslims in the south who demonstrated against what they perceived as a war against Islam.21 The post-11 September environment may well have reinforced the perception among Malay Muslims that Bangkok was inherently anti-Muslim. Thaksin himself later conceded that 11 September, Afghanistan, and Iraq likely helped trigger the resurgence of violence in the south.22 Another proximate cause of the violence was Thaksin’s radical reorganization of the south’s administrative and security machinery. Having judged separatism to be a spent force, Thaksin abolished the SBPAC and CPM-43 in May 2002 – the southern border provinces were subsequently controlled by provincial governors appointed by, and answerable to, Thaksin. Bangkok believed sporadic assassinations and arson attacks were the work of criminal gangs and should be handled by the police. Thaksin, therefore, transferred responsibility for security in the south from the army to the police, which had an atrocious reputation among the local inhabitants. According to Duncan McCargo, however, the primary motivation behind the administrative changes had nothing to do with local governance and everything to do with national politics. Thaksin’s political party, Thai Rak Thai, had fared badly in the south in the 2001 national election. Thaksin attributed his party’s poor performance in the Thai ‘Deep South’ to the SBPAC, which he saw as being aligned with its founder, Prem (now president of the king’s advisory body, the Privy Council), the opposition Democratic Party, and the palace. By abolishing these institutions, Thaksin could undermine his opponents’ influence and embed party loyalists in the south.23 Even if, as Askew has posited, the SBPAC’s effectiveness had been eroded during the 1990s, its dissolution removed an important dispute resolution mechanism and added to the general sense of injustice and alienation felt by Malay Muslims.24 Another likely proximate cause of renewed violence was Thaksin’s 2003 ‘war on drugs’. The campaign, designed to eradicate all illegal drug use in Thailand, resulted in over 2,500 deaths during 2003, the majority of them extra-judicial killings carried out by the police.25 Trafficking illegal narcotics

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and substance abuse had become serious problems in the south, but Thaksin’s campaign gave the police and local political figures carte blanche to draw up blacklists of alleged drug dealers that were often used to settle local disputes.26 Among those executed were many former separatists turned military informers – a purge that deprived the police of an important local intelligence-gathering network.27 The police’s heavy-handed tactics and lack of accountability further undermined confidence in the local authorities and added to the growing climate of fear in the south. According to one self-confessed militant interviewed by a non-governmental organization, Thaksin’s ‘war on drugs’ provided a major fillip to the separatists’ cause.28

Southern Thailand’s militant groups Insurgents invariably espouse a cause to win over the population, be it the expulsion of a colonial power leading to independence, secession and the establishment of an independent homeland or merger with a neighbouring country, and the pursuit of a communist utopia, or a combination of all three. Since the end of World War Two virtually all insurgencies have been waged by identifiable groups with a clear set of demands. The unique aspect of the current conflict in southern Thailand is that the militant groups have remained in the shadows and refrained from issuing demands of any kind. According to the Royal Thai Army’s (RTA) military intelligence, this anonymity has served the militant groups well, stoking a climate of fear, confusing the security services, and surrounding the rebels with an ‘aura of mystery’.29 It is unclear whether the insurgents are local groups motivated by local grievances, or whether they are linked to and supported by a wider network of radical Islamic groups such as al-Qaeda or Jemaah Islamiyah (JI). The endgame the insurgents seek is also unknown; it is possible they desire an independent Islamic republic, a restoration of the Pattani Kingdom, or union with Malaysia. Southern Thailand could even be witnessing a millenarian movement, with violence an end in itself. The lack of clarity concerning the insurgents’ identity is made worse by persistent, and somewhat plausible, rumours that corrupt local and national figures, organized crime gangs, and drug barons are orchestrating the violence to divert attention away from their illegal activities along the Thailand– Malaysia border. Thai military intelligence ascribes the violence to four main groups: separatists, religious leaders, political groups, and criminal gangs, though it believes the first group to be the primary force.30 There may be linkages, however, between and among these four groups.31 Notwithstanding the opaque nature of non-state actors in the southern border provinces, there is a degree of consensus among analysts, including those in the Thai military, that an umbrella group called the Barisan Revolusi Nasional-Koordinasi (BRN-C) is spearheading the violence. It is

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believed that the BRN-C broke away from the BRN in the 1980s, and went underground in the early 1990s as the separatist movement lost momentum. BRN-C leaders have allegedly infiltrated the Islamic schooling system and are teaching young students a diet of Pattani nationalism laced with radical interpretations of Islam.32 A new generation of separatists was incubated and ready to reactivate a campaign of violence against the Thai state early in the first decade of the twenty-first century. In August 2007, the US-based NGO Human Rights Watch (HRW) issued an absorbing report based on interviews with self-confessed members of the BRN-C. Among other things, the members claimed the group had established a network of small, autonomous cells in two-thirds of all villages in the southern border provinces.33 Thai military intelligence, which believes that militant cells meet on a regular basis to plan and coordinate attacks directed by senior leaders, some of whom are based in the northern states of Malaysia, confirmed these claims.34 BRN-C reputedly has a youth wing, Permuda, whose members carry out low-level operations such as issuing death threats and carrying out arson attacks, while the military wing, Runda Kumpulan Kecil (RKK), is responsible for more hard-core acts such as assassinations and bombings.35 Based on interviews with these BRN-C members, the HRW report concludes that the group’s aim is the creation of an independent Islamic republic in the south, encompassing Yala, Narathiwat, and Pattani.36 Although such claims should be treated with caution, comments from senior Thai leaders indicate the government also believes this to be the insurgents’ ultimate goal. In May 2007, for instance, the 2006 coup leader, General Sonthi Boonyaratglin, stated the militants wanted to ‘establish an autonomous state by means of violence’.37 Other groups have also been implicated in the violence, including Gerakan Mujahideen Islam Pattani which was taken over by Nasori Saesaeng and other anti-Soviet Afghan veterans in 1995, according to US scholar Zachary Abuza.38 A splinter group of PULO, New PULO, has also been cited as a perpetrator of the violence. Thai military intelligence believes there is tactical cooperation among the various groups.39 However, although the insurgency has now entered its fifth year, the Thai authorities do not seem to have a clear picture of the various groups behind the violence, their leadership, organizational structure, or aims – an extraordinary failure of intelligence.40 It has been easier to discern the militant groups’ strategies and tactics. Their strategy is threefold: destroy the Thai governmental and economic infrastructure in the south; polarize Thai Buddhists and Malay Muslims; and drive the former out of the southern border provinces and gain the support, or submission, of the majority of the civilian population. Tactics to achieve these ends include assassination of police and army personnel, civil servants, teachers, and educational administrators. As with previous cycles of the violence, schools have been a favourite target: since January 2004, 77 teachers have

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Fixing Fractured Nations

been murdered and 200 schools burned down.41 Insurgents have sought to drive a wedge between the two communities by killing, in some cases decapitating, Buddhist monks and attacking Buddhist temples. Increasingly, however, the violence has been Muslim on Muslim: Malay Muslims who have opposed the violence or hindered recruitment and those who are judged to have collaborated with the Thai authorities (Munafig), have been killed. To win over the population, the insurgents have tapped into the latent grievances and sense of alienation felt by Malay Muslims. To destroy the south’s economic infrastructure, the insurgents have attacked banks, shops, hotels, railways, restaurants, and telecommunications networks. Since the violence reignited in early 2004, there has been intense speculation on the linkages, real and potential, between militant groups in southern Thailand and transnational terrorist organizations such as al-Qaeda and JI. Most analysts contend that ethnonationalist concerns, not a global jihadist agenda, drive the insurgency. Joseph Liow, for instance, has argued that there is no evidence that separatists have been influenced by radical Islamic ideology, citing the complete absence of attacks on Western interests, suicide bombings, and calls for a worldwide jihad.42 S. P. Harish has also played down the role of radical Islam, but suggests the conflict has transitioned from one based on ethnicity (Malay versus Thai) to religion (Muslim versus Buddhist).43 Zachary Abuza has drawn attention to alleged contacts between JI and militant groups in the south but admits the depth of the relationship is unknown.44 In an interview with Al Jazeera, Wan Kadir Che Wan, the exiled head of the now defunct Bersatu (an umbrella organization of older separatist groups) claimed, without elaborating, that JI had a presence in southern Thailand and was ‘facilitating’ the activities of separatist groups.45 Thai officials have also alluded to the ‘influence’ of al-Qaeda and JI. In March 2007, Prime Minister Surayud’s security adviser, General Watanachai Chaimuanwong, claimed that al-Qaeda and the Taliban were influencing the insurgents ‘with the goal of creating a pure Islamic state’.46 A few months later General Watanachai asserted that Cambodian Muslims with links to JI had crossed into Thailand to commit atrocities in the south, though he later withdrew this comment when asked to produce evidence by an outraged Cambodian government.47 Other Thai officials have further muddied the waters by claiming at various times that southern militants have received training from Indonesians, implying links to extremist groups outside the country.48 There is no concrete evidence, however – at least not in the public domain – that outside groups such as JI are playing an operational or even an advisory role in the south. The Thai security agencies are mindful, however, that the longer the violence persists, the greater the risk that external actors may graft themselves onto the situation, as has occurred in Afghanistan, Iraq, and other areas. Terrorism expert Sidney Jones recently raised the possibility that newly emerging radical groups in Indonesia might

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seek new recruits in conflict zones such as Mindanao, in the southern Philippines, and southern Thailand.49 To conclude this section, it is worth noting the main differences between the current insurgency and the one that took place from the late 1950s until the end of the 1990s. The insurgents today have concealed their identity and refrained from issuing demands. Today the insurgents operate in urban settings, whereas previously they sought refuge in the jungles and mountains. Buddhist monks and religious sites were strictly off-limits under prior movements but are now targets. While religion has always been an important motivating force, the religious nature of the conflict today is much more pronounced and is likely influenced by global trends. Finally, the scope and sophistications of attacks has increased, and the brutality of incidents has intensified.

State responses under Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, January 2004–September 2006 David Galula advances three important principles that governments should consider when faced with an armed insurgency. First, while military action against insurgents is essential, it cannot be the main form of action, as insurgencies are generally rooted in political and socio-economic grievances. Second, to achieve victory the counter-insurgent’s primary goal should be to win over the neutral majority of the population to alienate the hostile minority. Third, insurgencies never collapse early.50 The Thaksin government heeded none of these principles; its response to the conflict between 2004 and 2006 is a case study in how not to respond to a budding insurgency. Thaksin’s almost sole reliance on military-security measures led to atrocities, further alienating Malay Muslims, providing militants with propaganda victories, and increasing the pool of recruits. Although violent incidents in the southern border provinces had been gaining momentum since 2001, the militants dramatically stepped up their campaign against the Thai authorities on 4 January 2004, raiding an army barracks in Narathiwat Province, killing four soldiers and stealing 400 weapons. The Thaksin government continued to ignore the political underpinnings of the violence and blamed criminal gangs. Thaksin immediately dispatched more troops to the south and declared martial law, effectively transferring responsibility for security from the police to the army. Over the coming months, however, Thaksin put his military commanders under intense pressure to apprehend those responsible for the raid and prevent further acts of violence. Such pressure was inimical to an effective counter-insurgency campaign in two ways. First, military and police commanders were rotated frequently when they failed to achieve ‘success’ in unrealistic timeframes. Second, the security forces adopted heavy-handed tactics, including arbitrary arrests, abductions, and torture.

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It is estimated that 200 Malay Muslims disappeared between January and April 2004, including noted human rights lawyer Somchai Nilaphaichit, who was defending some of those accused of taking part in the 4 January raid.51 These repressive and extra-judicial measures added to the climate of fear in the south. During the first four months of 2004 militant attacks were few and relatively unsophisticated; the nature and scope of the insurgency, however, changed dramatically following two major atrocities in April and October 2004. The first atrocity occurred on 28 April and was seemingly timed by militants to coincide with the fifty-sixth anniversary of the Dusun Nyor Rebellion. On that day more than 100 young males, some armed only with machetes, attacked police and army checkpoints in Pattani Province. The security forces responded by killing 108, including thirty-one who had taken refuge in the historic Krue Se Mosque. The second, more serious atrocity occurred on 25 October in the town of Tak Bai in Narathiwat Province. Following a large-scale demonstration outside the local police station, during which the security forces killed six protesters, the army detained hundreds and stacked them horizontally into trucks for transportation to a base in Pattani: during the five-hour journey, seventy-eight men suffocated to death, and hundreds more were injured. The Krue Se Mosque and Tak Bai incidents together defined the Thaksin administration’s heavy-handed approach to the insurgency and fuelled the sense of alienation and injustice perceived by Malay Muslims. The government commissions that investigated Krue Se and Tak Bai concluded that excessive force had been used and that those in charge should be held accountable for their actions, but no prosecutions were initiated, further angering Malay Muslims in the south.52 Thaksin’s personal insensitivity in the aftermath of Tak Bai added insult to injury. The prime minister refused to apologize, maintained that no one should be held accountable, and even blamed the deaths on weakness brought about by religious fasting.53 Thereafter, Krue Se and Tak Bai were invoked in militant propaganda as further evidence that the Thai state was anti-Muslim and bent on exterminating the Malay Muslim identity. The two atrocities were key turning points in the conflict and expanded the pool of recruits available to the insurgents by fanning separatist sentiment. In the wake of Tak Bai, the number of assassinations, bombings, and arson attacks increased dramatically. New tactics included coordinated bomb attacks across the three provinces, decapitations, and the use of roadside improvised explosive devices (IEDs) against the army. In response to the increased frequency of attacks, the Thaksin administration supplemented martial law with an emergency decree in July 2005. The decree transferred responsibility for dealing with the insurgency from the army to the prime minister’s office and gave Thaksin unprecedented security powers.54 The decree also enlarged the security forces’ powers to include detention without

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charge for thirty days, giving them the ability to conduct searches and make arrests without warrants, and provided government officials working in the south immunity from prosecution. The decree was, and still is, widely perceived in the south as giving the security forces a ‘licence to kill’.55 Insurgencies are fundamentally political problems that require political solutions. Under Thaksin, however, the government explored few political initiatives designed to end the violence. When former Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad suggested some form of political autonomy for the south, Thaksin categorically rejected it.56 Thaksin also consistently refused to countenance holding talks with militant groups. Talks between the exiled leaders of the older separatist groups and two Thai generals did take place in Langkawi, Malaysia, in late 2005 and early 2006, but it is unclear whether Thaksin had given his approval. The Langkawi Process, brokered by Mahathir, resulted in a vague plan of action that not only renounced demands for independence but also greater autonomy for the south.57 At any rate, the talks were largely divorced from the reality of the conflict, as the older generation of separatists has virtually no influence over the militants on the ground today. The most significant political initiative during Thaksin’s tenure was the establishment of the National Reconciliation Commission (NRC) in March 2005. Thaksin had reluctantly agreed to its formation under pressure from the palace, which was concerned by the deteriorating situation in the south and the damage done to Thailand’s reputation by Tak Bai. The NRC was composed of politicians, academics, religious figures, and retired military officers (though very few were from the south) and headed by respected former Prime Minister Anand Panyarachun. After extensive consultations in the south, the NRC issued its report in June 2006. The report was scathing in its criticism of the Thaksin administration’s response to the violence and stressed that past injustices were at the heart of the problem and needed to be corrected. The NRC recommended the government pursue political and developmental measures to achieve national reconciliation, initiate dialogue with the insurgents, and implement administrative, educational, and land reforms – it stopped short of advocating political autonomy, however.58 By the time the report was published, Thaksin was deeply embroiled in the political crisis that ultimately led to his downfall, so he essentially ignored the NRC’s recommendations. State responses under Thaksin not only fuelled the insurgency but damaged Thailand’s relations with its neighbours, especially Malaysia. In early 2004, Kuala Lumpur had agreed to Bangkok’s requests to strengthen economic linkages between the southern border provinces and the northern states of Malaysia in an effort to kick-start the economy. But bilateral relations quickly deteriorated in the wake of Tak Bai and Krue Se and reached breaking point when Thaksin alleged that militants were training, raising funds, and making bombs on the Malaysian side of the border, accusations

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Kuala Lumpur angrily denied. One of the keys to success in a counterinsurgency campaign is to secure the borders, and improved security cooperation between Thailand and Malaysia along the two countries’ porous border during the 1980s helped end the earlier insurgency. Thaksin’s megaphone diplomacy with Malaysia during 2004–6, however, hindered effective security cooperation.59 The Thaksin administration ignored all the central tenets of counterinsurgency doctrine by prioritizing military-security measures over political and developmental initiatives. The military-security measures pursued by the security forces were heavy-handed and repressive and succeeded only in alienating further the majority of Malay Muslims. Thaksin’s policies also lacked coherence and consistency. In short, state responses from January 2004 until September 2006 were counter-productive and led to an escalation of violence.

State responses under Prime Minister Surayud, October 2006–December 2007 The ouster of Prime Minister Thaksin on 19 September 2006, in an army-led bloodless coup, was clearly a setback for democracy in Thailand and the wider South East Asian region. The coup nevertheless raised expectations that the new regime might pursue a more effective and less hard-line approach in the south. These expectations were based on the character and experience of the military men who had placed themselves at the centre of power in Bangkok. The coup leader and chairman of the Council for National Security (CNS), General Sonthi Boonyaratglin, is a Thai Muslim (though not a Malay Muslim) who had voiced support for the NRC’s recommendations, opposed the blacklisting of insurgent suspects, and urged dialogue with the militants. In early October the CNS appointed retired General Surayud as interim prime minister. Surayud had been critical of the Thaksin administration’s handling of the southern insurgency. As Special Forces officers who had cut their teeth fighting Thailand’s communist movement in the northeast, both Sonthi and Surayud brought extensive counter-insurgency experience. Although the conflict in the south was not one of the central rationales for the coup, the Surayud administration made its resolution a top priority. Surayud’s policy to end the violence consisted of six elements: • address injustices in the south through a policy of reconciliation; • improve governance by re-establishing the SBPAC; • foster dialogue between Thai Buddhists and Malay Muslims and initiate talks with the militants; • raise educational standards and promote economic development; • enhance intelligence gathering and interagency cooperation to improve the effectiveness of military operations against insurgent groups; and • repair relations with Malaysia to tighten border security.

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In short, Surayud aimed to win ‘hearts and minds’ in the south and strike hard against the militants. As the prime minister prepared to transfer power to an elected government in December 2007, it had become painfully clear that the Surayud administration had failed to stem the violence in the southern border provinces; in fact, the intensity of the violence had actually increased after the September coup. Several factors account for this failure. First and foremost, the military regime failed to design a comprehensive political solution to the conflict. Most important, the Surayud administration ruled out the possibility of autonomy or devolution for the south. The official reason for doing so was that there is no clause in the Thai constitution (which the Surayud government had had rewritten) allowing for autonomous status. The prime minister rejected the idea of special administrative status for the south based on the Hong Kong and Macao models on the grounds that all parts of the country had to be governed in the same way, even though Bangkok and Pattaya enjoy a measure of decentralization.60 The real reason is that the Thai elite historically have viewed autonomy as the first step towards secession. Sovereignty remains a very sensitive issue in Thailand today because of the historical memory of territory that Siam was forced to transfer to Britain and France during the nineteenth century. Second, Surayud’s actions failed to match his rhetoric. This was partly due to bureaucratic inertia, but mainly because as time went on, the Surayud regime became increasingly preoccupied with national-level political issues, such as the machinations of the exiled former premier Thaksin, framing a new constitution, reforming the police, and economic problems. As a result, the south slipped further down the government’s list of priorities. After the coup, the government tried to replicate some of Prem’s policies but with limited effect. Also, despite his emphasis on reconciliation, Surayud continued to rely on military-security measures to end the violence and some government initiatives may have actually exacerbated sectarian tensions. From the outset the post-coup government made the righting of past injustices and reconciliation the centrepiece of its southern policy. In his inaugural speech as prime minister, Surayud acknowledged that the violence in the south was ‘primarily rooted in the lack of justice’.61 On his first trip to the Deep South in November 2006, the prime minister drew widespread praise by publicly apologizing for the excesses of the Thaksin administration, particularly Tak Bai.62 Surayud stated he would use the NRC’s recommendations as ‘guideposts’ to resolve the crisis, that he was open to the partial implementation of Sharia law in the southern provinces, and that his government would end the practice of blacklisting insurgents.63 Between September 2006 and December 2007, however, progress towards righting past injustices and building trust between Malay Muslims and the government was minimal. While charges against fifty-eight Tak Bai protesters were quickly dropped and compensation paid to the families of

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the eighty-four people killed that day, those injured in the demonstration had yet to receive promised compensation more than three years after the event.64 More important, not one military officer has been charged with human rights abuses for either Tak Bai or Krue Se. To add insult to injury, the military officer who ordered the attack on the Krue Se Mosque, General Panlop Pinmanee, was brought back into government in May 2007 as a senior security adviser to the prime minister.65 Although the government set up a special committee to investigate human rights violations and extra-judicial killings under Thaksin, including those in the south, not one person has been prosecuted.66 The perception among Malay Muslims that the security forces act with impunity was reinforced by the government’s renewal every three months of Thaksin’s 2005 emergency decree, which grants the security forces immunity from prosecution. In February 2007, the prime minister admitted the government had failed to win ‘hearts and minds’ in the south.67 Surayud’s emphasis on reconciliation, dialogue, and the need for good governance in the south led his government to re-establish the SBPAC at the end of 2006. Its performance has been disappointing. The agency has suffered from chronic staffing problems, partly as a result of lack of funding but also because Thai officials have been reluctant to transfer to the conflict-torn south from other parts of the country. The appointment of Pranai Suwannarat as its new director was heavily criticized because he is not a Malay Muslim and had little experience in the south.68 It will be difficult for the SBPAC to regain the trust of the local community given that the agency comes under the revamped Internal Security Operations Command headed by the army, a service whose reputation has been tarnished by Krue Se, Tak Bai, and other incidents.69 In an effort to resolve one of the underlying causes of the conflict, the Surayud administration endeavoured to improve socio-economic conditions. The five southern border provinces (Yala, Pattani, Narathiwat, Satun, and Songkhla) were designated as a special economic zone with generous tax breaks for those willing to invest. Post-coup, the government also revived the 1993 Indonesia–Malaysia–Thailand Growth Triangle initiative, which encompasses the five provinces. Against a backdrop of escalating violence, however, attracting outside investment proved to be a challenge, especially as insurgents targeted the south’s economic infrastructure. Moreover, as increasing numbers of Thai Buddhists migrated from the south to escape the violence, the regional economy deteriorated. Attempts to raise educational standards have also met with limited success, though this is, of course, a long-term policy. Bangkok has increased the number of university scholarships available to Malay Muslims, but it is difficult to see how this will have a major impact as the real problem lies with the inadequate provision of primary and secondary education and issues of language instruction. The government has focused its efforts

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on ‘reforming’ the Islamic education system in the south – schools, the government claims, ‘brainwash’ children to commit acts of violence.70 The Education Department announced plans to revamp Islamic education in the southern border provinces by creating a standardized curriculum and mechanisms to screen school owners and teachers in an effort to weed out undesirable teachers and prevent the teaching of Pattani nationalism or Islamic fundamentalism.71 Historically, the central government’s attempts to reform the Islamic school system in the south and bring it under closer supervision have fuelled separatist sentiment, and there is little reason to believe this programme will be different. Meanwhile, the government’s failure to provide schools with adequate security has led to severe disruption in children’s education as militants have targeted teachers for execution and burned down schools. This has resulted in the periodic closure of whole school districts and thousands of teachers applying for transfers out of the south.72 In marked contrast to his predecessor, Surayud offered to enter into talks with the militants. Efforts to establish a dialogue with the separatists were unsuccessful, however. In June 2007 the prime minister admitted this failure: ‘I am still open to talks, but no one has contacted me. We have been trying to make contact with them but received no response.’73 There have been persistent rumours of unofficial talks between government representatives and separatist leaders but none have been substantiated. According to alleged BRN-C operatives who spoke with HRW, militants consider another three to five years of sustained violence is necessary before they will have a sufficiently strong bargaining position with Bangkok.74 Another possible reason why militants have not responded to the government’s offer of talks is that they see it as a ruse to expose their identity, marking them for assassination. In addition, given that the campaign of violence is going well, there is no strong incentive for the separatists to enter into talks with the government at the present time. Despite the Surayud administration’s more conciliatory tone, postcoup, the intensity of the violence increased dramatically. According to Intellectual Deep South Watch (IDSW), an independent monitoring group based at Prince of Songkhla University, the average number of violent incidents prior to the coup was 146 per month; within the first five months of the coup, this figure had risen to 169.4.75 An average of seventy-two people have been killed each month since September 2006, up sharply from fifty-three deaths on average before the coup.76 Coordinated attacks across the three southern provinces increased in scope and sophistication. On Chinese New Year’s Eve in February 2007, for instance, militants conducted fifty coordinated bombings, shootings, and arson attacks, killing nine and injuring forty-four. The conflict’s sectarian nature has also become more pronounced since the coup. In one of the worst incidents of 2007, militants executed eight Thai Buddhists who had been travelling in a commuter van

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but allowed the Malay Muslim driver to escape. Such attacks have spawned numerous sectarian revenge attacks across the three provinces. The brutality of attacks has also intensified, with machete attacks, decapitations, and victims being burned alive. The insurgents have also achieved notable successes against the security forces with roadside IEDs: on 9 May 2007, nine soldiers died this way, followed by eleven paramilitary rangers on 31 May, and another seven soldiers on 15 June. The upsurge in violence after September 2006 has several explanations. The increased levels of violence may simply reflect the growing numbers, experience, and confidence of the insurgents – a legacy of the Thaksin era. Another possible explanation is that insurgents may have stepped up attacks to intimidate the majority of the population into non-cooperation with the Thai authorities. Increased violence may have been a signal to the government that the insurgents have rejected Surayud’s offer of reconciliation. Another reason may be that militants have been trying to provoke the security forces into a heavy-handed response to underscore their propaganda that the Thai state is anti-Muslim. To his credit, throughout his fourteen months in office, Prime Minister Surayud adhered to the line that the violence could only be resolved by political measures and not military force, despite growing criticism in the national press that his policy of reconciliation was failing.77 Another worrying aspect of the conflict post-coup was that several of the Surayud administration’s initiatives may actually have worsened the situation. Since September 2006 Bangkok has increased troop levels in the south – troops that the majority of Malay Muslims perceive as an army of occupation. The Surayud government also continued Thaksin’s policy of expanding the number of paramilitary forces and village militias to contain the violence. While locally raised troops are often vital assets in counter-insurgency campaigns, the ICG has argued that Thai irregular forces – mainly composed of Thai Buddhists – are poorly trained, ill disciplined, and have actually stoked communal and sectarian tensions.78 A change in tactics may also have been counter-productive. In mid-2007, the RTA launched a major crackdown to disrupt militant networks, raiding villages across the south in an attempt to flush out suspected insurgents and seize weapons and bomb-making equipment. By the end of July, the security forces had detained more than 2,000 people, of whom 360 were alleged to be militants belonging to the BRN-C and RKK, with the rest labelled collaborators and sympathizers and destined for ‘re-education’ camps. According to the RTA, the raids were the result of better intelligence based on improved relations with the local population, information obtained from militants during interrogation sessions, and growing divisions within the separatist movement.79 These claims were met with considerable scepticism inside Thailand, with suggestions that the offensive was simply a public relations exercise designed to allay fears – particularly among Thai Buddhists in the

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south – over the authorities’ lacklustre performance over the past four years and to justify a massive increase in defence spending for 2007–8. A major concern is that the arbitrary arrests and detentions will create more distrust between Malay Muslims and the Thai authorities. The raids continued throughout the second half of 2007, resulting in a decline in coordinated bomb attacks. During periods of intense counter-insurgency operations, insurgents generally lie low and resume attacks when the operational tempo has been reduced. This is what happened in southern Thailand. According to IDSW, the first two weeks of November 2007 witnessed the worst violence in eleven months, with fifty-six people killed and eighty wounded.80

Conclusion Political violence in southern Thailand today is rooted in the annexation of the Pattani Kingdom by Siam more than a century ago and the failure of the Thai state since then to force Malay Muslims to cast off their ethnic identity to become Thai Muslims. At bottom then, this conflict is essentially about the failure of nation-building. Separatist sentiment, present from the very beginning, has been fuelled since the early twentieth century by Bangkok’s lack of investment in the south, maladministration, poor governance, and the political marginalization of its people. The Thaksin administration stoked these latent communal tensions in the early 2000s by dismantling the administrative structure in the south and allowing the police free rein to settle old scores under the guise of the prime minister’s ‘war on drugs’. The international environment following 11 September 2001, and Thailand’s support for the US-led ‘war on terror’ and military operations in Afghanistan and Iraq added a new and unsettling dimension to the conflict. State responses under Thaksin were deeply flawed and served only to alienate Malay Muslims further and inflame separatist sentiment. Surayud, Thaksin’s successor, adopted a more conciliatory approach, one that recognized the need to address past injustices and improve governance and socio-economic conditions. But distracted and then preoccupied by national politics, his government failed to stem the escalating violence. Not all the blame should be placed at Bangkok’s door, however. Since 2004, insurgent groups have committed terrible human rights atrocities and shown themselves capable of inciting sectarian tensions for their own agenda. Although the situation in southern Thailand has gone from bad to worse, South East Asians can take some comfort in progress achieved in other areas of the region affected by ethnoreligious conflict. Both the August 2005 peace agreement between the Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement and the November 2007 breakthrough between the Philippine government and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front were made possible by creative thinking on the issue of autonomy. In Thailand, imaginative thinking has been sorely lacking, even though Surayud once declared that Bangkok had

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much to learn from the Aceh peace process.81 Many observers of the south privately concede that some form of political autonomy or decentralization is necessary to assuage separatist sentiment in the southern border provinces. Few, however, are prepared to advocate autonomy in public, given the Thai elite’s opposition to any kind of meaningful devolution.82 Until the issue of provincial autonomy for the entire kingdom is addressed, the political violence in the south will continue. Notes * This essay was originally published in Asian Affairs 35(1) (Spring 2008): 31–51. Reprinted with permission of the Helen Dwight Reid Educational Foundation. Published by Heldref Publications, 1319 Eighteenth St., NW, Washington, DC 200361802. Copyright 2008. 1. ‘More Atrocities in South’, Bangkok Post (2007). 2. ‘Suicide Killers’, Bangkok Post (2007). 3. 2009 statistics available on Thailand’s National Statistics Office website at http:// web.nso.go.th/, accessed 1 November 2007. 4. C. J. Christie, A Modern History of Southeast Asia: Decolonization, Nationalism and Separatism (London: Taurus Academic Studies, 1996), p. 174. 5. In return for recognizing the absorption of the Pattani Kingdom into Siam, Bangkok transferred control of Kedah, Kelantan, Terengganu, Perlis, and Langkawi to Great Britain. 6. For a nationalist history of Pattani, see I. Syukri, History of the Malay Kingdom of Pattani (Chiang Mai, Thailand: Silkworm, 2005). 7. NRC, Report of the National Reconciliation Commission: Overcoming Violence Through the Power of Reconciliation (2006, unofficial translation), http://thailand.ahrchk. net/docs/nrc_report_en.pdf, accessed 10 November 2007). 8. M. Gilquin, The Muslims of Thailand (Chiang Mai, Thailand: IRASEC and Silkworm, 2002), p. 73. 9. T. Aphornsuvan, Rebellion in Southern Thailand: Contending Histories (Washington, DC: East-West Center, 2007), p. 42. 10. For an interesting case study of the Nusun Dyor Rebellion, see C. Satha-Anand, ‘The Silence of the Bullet Monument: Violence and “Truth” Management, Dusun-nyor 1948 and Kru-Ze’, in D. McCargo (ed.), Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2007), pp. 3–34. 11. Aphornsuvan, Rebellion in Southern Thailand, p. 57. 12. T. A. Marks, ‘Thailand: Anatomy of a Counterinsurgency Victory’, Military Review 87 (2007): 35–51, http://usacac.army.mil/CAC/milreview/English/JanFed07/Marks. pdf, accessed 10 November 2007. 13. HRW, ‘No One is Safe: Insurgent Attacks on Civilians in Thailand’s Southern Border Provinces’ (2007), http://www.hrw.org/reports/2007/thailand0807/, accessed 10 November 2007. 14. Ibid., p. 29. 15. Aphornsuvan, Rebellion in Southern Thailand, p. ix. 16. NRC, Report of the NRC, p. 27. 17. Ibid., p. 12. 18. M. Askew, Conspiracy, Politics, and Disorderly Border: the Struggle to Comprehend Insurgency in Thailand’s Deep South (Washington, DC: East-West Centre, 2007), p. 50.

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19. S. Jitprisomsi and P. Sobhonvasu, ‘Unpacking Thailand’s Southern Conflict: the Poverty of Structural Explanations’, in McCargo (ed.), Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, p. 98. 20. Gilquin, The Muslims of Thailand, p. 90. 21. Askew, Conspiracy, Politics, and Disorderly Border, p. 56. 22. ‘Thaksin Admits 9/11 Inspired Separatists’, South China Morning Post (2004). 23. D. McCargo, ‘Thaksin and the Resurgence of Violence in the Thai South’, in McCargo (ed.), Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence, pp. 39–47. 24. Askew, Conspiracy, Politics, and Disorderly Border, pp. 50–3. 25. ‘Surayud Orders Renewed Inquiry’, The Nation (2007). 26. HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, p. 30. 27. McCargo, ‘Thaksin and the Resurgence of Violence’, p. 51. 28. HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, p. 30. 29. Classified Royal Thai Army (RTA) intelligence document obtained by the author, September 2007. 30. Author interview with RTA military intelligence, Bangkok, December 2006 and November 2007. 31. Ibid. 32. See, for instance, HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, pp. 8, 18; ICG ‘Southern Thailand: the Impact of the Coup’, Asia Report 129 (15 March 2007), p. 6; author interview with Don Pathan, The Nation, Thailand, December 2006. 33. HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, p. 8. 34. Author interview with RTA military intelligence, Bangkok, December 2006. 35. HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, p. 25. 36. Ibid., p. 20. 37. ‘Top Separatist Goes Unnoticed’, Bangkok Post (2007). 38. Z. Abuza, ‘A Breakdown of Southern Thailand’s Insurgent Groups’, Terrorism Monitor (2006). 39. Author interview with RTA military intelligence, Bangkok, December 2006. 40. ‘Insurgent Leadership a Mystery: CNS’, Bangkok Post (2007). 41. ‘Muslim Killed, 13 Schools Burned Down’, The Nation (2007). 42. J. Liow, ‘International Jihad and Muslim Radicalism in Thailand? Toward an Alternative Interpretation’, Asia Policy 2 (2006), p. 94. 43. S. P. Harish (2006) ‘Ethnic or Religious Cleavage? Investigating the Nature of Conflict in Southern Thailand’, Contemporary Southeast Asia 28(1) (2006). 44. Abuza, ‘A Breakdown of Southern Thailand’s Insurgent Groups’. 45. R. Bose, ‘Bangkok Not Interested in Peace’ (2006), http://english.aljazeera.net/news/ asia-pacific/2006/11/200852512130339262.html, accessed 15 November 2007. 46. ‘Thai Militants Adopting al-Qaeda Tactics: General’, Straits Times (2007). 47. ‘General Wantanachai Denies He Linked Khmer Muslims to Insurgency in the South’, The Nation (2007). 48. ‘Indonesia May Have Trained Thai Militants – Army’, Reuters (2007). 49. ‘Terrorist Threat Still Real, Says Expert’, Jakarta Post (2007). 50. D. Galula, Counterinsurgency Warfare: Theory and Practice (New York: Praeger, 1964). 51. Aphornsuvan, Rebellion in Southern Thailand, p. 3. 52. ‘Panel Seeks Removal of Tak Bai Generals’, Straits Times (2005). 53. ‘It Wasn’t Inhumane Treatment: Thaksin’, The Nation (2004). 54. ‘Thaksin Takes Power from Military After Attack’, South China Morning Post (2005).

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55. Author interview with Sunai Phasuk, HRW, Bangkok, December 2006. 56. ‘Thailand Blasts Former Malaysian PM for Comments on the South’, Xinhua (2004). 57. ICG, ‘Southern Thailand: the Impact of the Coup’, p. 7. 58. NRC, Report of the NRC. 59. For more on Malaysia’s attitude towards the Thai insurgency see I. Storey, ‘Malaysia’s Role in Thailand’s Southern Insurgency’, Terrorism Monitor (2007). 60. ‘PM Rules Out Special Administrative Zone in Troubled South’, Thai News Agency (2007). 61. HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, p. 41. 62. ‘Tears of Joy, Applause from Tak Bai Relatives’, Bangkok Post (2006). 63. ‘Thai PM Open to Syariah Law in Restive South’, Straits Times (2006). 64. ‘A Long Time in Coming’, Bangkok Post (2007). 65. ‘Thai Generals Ask Former Assassin to be Security Adviser’, International Herald Tribune (2007). 66. ‘Surayud Orders Renewed Inquiry’, The Nation (2007). 67. ‘PM: Hearts and Minds Not Being Won in the South’, Bangkok Post (2007). 68. ‘Thai Mediation Centre Opens in Bid to End Islamic Unrest’ (2006) (Channel NewsAsia.com), http://www.channelnewsasia.com/stories/afp-asiapacific/ print/238836/1/html, accessed 1 November 2006. 69. ICG, ‘Southern Thailand: the Impact of the Coup’, pp. 13–14; HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, p. 42. 70. (2007) ‘CNS Chief Calls for Improved Education in South’, Thai News Agency. 71. ‘A New Face for Islamic Teaching’, Bangkok Post (2007). 72. ‘Soft Approach in South Failing’, The Nation (2007). 73. ‘Rebels Ignore Government Efforts for Talks’, Bangkok Post (2007). 74. HRW, ‘No One is Safe’, p. 8. 75. ‘Soft Approach in South Failing’, The Nation (2007). 76. ‘Thais in South Put Little Faith in Elections’, Straits Times (2007). 77. ‘PM Reasserts He Won’t Use Force to Solve Southern Unrest’, Thai News Agency (2007). 78. ‘Southern Thailand: the Problem with Paramilitaries’, Asia Report 140 (2007) (International Crisis Group). 79. ‘Army Says it’s Gaining Ground Against Rebels’, Bangkok Post (2007). 80. ‘Three Women Killed in Pickup’, The Nation (2007). 81. ‘More Unhappy Muslims’, The Economist (2006). 82. For an exception, see J. Ungphakorn, ‘Only Autonomy Can Resolve Southern Conflict’, Bangkok Post (2007).

4 Myanmar/Burma Resolving the Burmese Imbroglio: a Multilateral Solution? Mohan Malik*

Two decades after the military junta seized power, Burma remains a fractured nation internally and is treated as a pariah externally. Among the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) member countries, Burma has the lowest per capita income. For decades, the Failed States Index has ranked Burma as one of the top five Asian states (along with Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Nepal) most at risk of failure and Transparency International labels Burma (along with Somalia) as the most corrupt state on its annual 180-country Corruption Perceptions Index. Profits from Burma’s enormous natural gas reserves (which constitute nearly a third of the country’s exports) are funnelled to the military junta’s paranoid leaders who use them to buy the diplomatic protection of China and others while brutally suppressing the Burmese people. The country’s ethnic minorities have waged long and bloody insurgencies against the military regime. Neither the Western policy of sanctions and isolation nor the Asian strategy of ‘constructive engagement’ has succeeded in resolving the Burmese imbroglio.1 Any state failure in Burma would have regional repercussions as its neighbours would be affected by an even bigger flow of refugees, drugs, and weapons than is the case today. A resolution of Burma’s internal political crisis would go a long way in promoting economic growth, national cohesion, and regional security because Burma touches on all the hot buttons in the twenty-first century: bad governance; human rights violations; civil–military relations; an HIV/AIDS epidemic; drug trafficking; weapons proliferation; energy and maritime security; regional community-building; and last but not least, great power machinations (the US–China and China–India geopolitical rivalries).

The problem Since its independence in 1948, Burma has experienced a complex set of conflicts between the central government and ethnic minority groups and democratic opposition. This patchwork country of 55 million people is made up of eight major ethnic groups and 135 sub-groups. The country’s 57

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largest ethnic group, the Burmans, live in Burma’s central and upper plains. About one-third of Burma’s population are ethnic minorities – Karen, Karenni (or Kayah), Shan, Chin, Kachin, Mon, Naga, Rakhine (or Arakan), and Wa – who inhabit border areas along the country’s mountainous frontiers. The Karens, both Christian and Buddhist, are the second-largest ethnic group after the Burmans, who live mostly in the Irrawaddy Delta and in the border region between Burma and Thailand. The 5 million-strong Shan minority, primarily Buddhist, aspires to self-rule which it was accorded under British colonial rule. The Chin, mostly Christian, live in the impoverished mountainous area near the India–Burma border. The Kachin are overwhelmingly Christians and live in northern Burma. Ethnic armed groups like the Karen National Union (KNU), the Karenni National Progressive Party (KNPP), the Kachin Independence Organization (KIO), the Shan State Army (SSA), and the Chin National Front (CNF) have rebelled against Rangoon for decades seeking either self-determination or independence. The government’s determination to preserve a unified state remains the main justification for military rule, and armed conflict is a root cause of ongoing human rights abuses and a deepening humanitarian crisis in ethnic minority areas.2 Ethnic minorities consider themselves discriminated against and openly accuse the ruling junta (aka SPDC: the State Peace and Development Council) of a deliberate policy of ‘Burmanization’. They are often the targets of unpaid forced labour campaigns, economic exploitation, scorched-earth policies that destroy farmland, and relocation programmes. The SPDC exploits divisions within and among ethnic groups to bolster its rule. Though the junta has signed ceasefire agreements with over a dozen armed ethnic groups fighting for autonomy in Burma, some, such as the KNU and SSA based along the Thai–Burma border, have refused to lay down their arms. The year 2008 marked the twentieth anniversary of the nationwide prodemocracy uprising in Burma that sparked a major military crackdown. Mass protests broke out in 2007 akin to those in 1988, and were again met with a forceful response from the junta, with at least twenty people reported killed and about 1,000 detained. With the opposition subdued, and the international community held at bay with empty promises of meaningless and endless talks mediated by United Nations special envoy Ibrahim Gambari, the junta has once again reverted to its long-held stance that Burma will have ‘democracy on its terms and in the colors decided by it’ and that detained opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi will have no role in the political transition or in the governance of mainland South East Asia’s largest country.3 To further consolidate its hold over power, the SPDC-dominated constituent assembly has adopted guidelines that institutionalize the military’s role in national politics, and eliminate the possibility that Aung San Suu Kyi could hold office. In May 2008, at the time of the devastating cyclone Nargis, the ruling junta held a referendum on a military-sponsored draft constitution so as to push ahead with its ‘road

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map to disciplined democracy’ which will be followed by multiparty elections in 2010. The 2010 elections would be the first since 1990, when the military ignored the results of a landslide victory for opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD). The new constitution enshrines a leading role for the military in any future government. This defiant posture signals the generals’ belief that they have ridden out the storm, and can maintain control through fear and force, offering only minor, tactical concessions to the demands of the international community whose attention on Burma is transitory and less pressing than other trouble spots around the world.4 The junta also continues to play on the anxieties and ambitions of its neighbours. Its decision to offer one billion dollars’ worth of oil and gas deals to China in January 2007 soon after Beijing vetoed a UN Security Council (UNSC) resolution censuring Burma showed that the Burmese generals have become masters at turning energy deals into protection money. Furthermore, the junta is pleased that ASEAN at its summit meetings has agreed to stay out of its affairs and passed the buck to the United Nations, and more importantly, the military junta’s patron – China. Apparently, Burma’s ASEAN neighbours, and China and India, are loath to forgo the economic benefits of trading with Rangoon. While China fears setting a precedent for international intervention on the grounds of ethnic discord and human rights violations, ASEAN and India fear a tough posture will push the military junta into a tighter embrace with China. Given the premium placed on survival by the Burmese military regime and China’s unwillingness to support a regime change in a strategically located neighbouring country, the UN is thus faced with mission impossible. The UN has repeatedly urged China, India, and ASEAN to use their influence to press for dialogue between the regime and its political opposition. In Fixing Failed States: a Framework for Rebuilding a Fractured World, authors Ashraf Ghani and Clare Lockhart point to lack of accountability in the world’s most vulnerable states as the key factor for poor governance and state failure.5 Half a century of military rule in Burma has driven a resource-rich country (‘Asia’s rice bowl’ in the 1950s) into extreme poverty, and culminated in the use of violence to stifle dissent, imprisonment of more than 2,000 political prisoners, erosion of education and health care, and conscription of children into military service. This chapter argues that with the UN-brokered talks on political reconciliation having reached a dead end, the time has come to move beyond the sterile ‘sanctions versus engagement’ debate, and establish a multilateral dialogue forum on Burma that would aim at giving incentives for the junta to embark upon genuine political reconciliation or else incur regime-threatening costs. This initiative could be led either by the United States or the European Union, and would have China, India, Japan, and ASEAN as ‘the Burma Forum’ members to prod the ruling junta to end its brutal crackdown on dissent and embrace genuine democratic reforms by holding free and fair elections. A global ‘United Front’ that

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offers both carrots and sticks would end the junta’s cynical exploitation of its neighbours’ strategic and economic interests by deftly playing them off against one another, notably China and India, in order to derive maximum benefit from each.6 This chapter’s perspective is primarily geopolitical and its focus is on the ‘fixing’ part of the problem – not on the anthropological details of the country’s multiethnic fabric.

The solution: multilateralize the Burmese question The need to multilateralize the Burmese question was first advocated in a 2004 commentary by this author which called for ‘a dialogue framework of ASEAN+3 (ASEAN plus China, India, and Japan) on Burma’ that would ‘put to the test China’s oft-stated commitment to multilateralism and its penchant for finding “Asian solutions to Asian problems”’.7 Many now describe it as ‘an idea whose time has come’ to resolve the current political stalemate in Burma.8 Interestingly, the Obama administration in the United States is a new convert to this proposal.9 On 1 April 2009, US Deputy Secretary of State Jim Steinberg said the Obama administration was seeking a ‘collaborative and constructive’ approach to Burma with India, China, and Japan, and warned against the four competing against each other for influence in ‘a mini-version of the Great Game’. Steinberg said that a better approach would be to persuade India, China, and others to come together in a multilateral forum to engage Burma, like the six-party talks over North Korea.10 While China remains noncommittal and sceptical of this proposal for discussing ‘the internal affairs of another country in a multilateral forum’, Beijing would not want to leave the job of tackling the Burma issue to the United States or Japan. Japan could surely seize this opportunity to exercise constructive leadership in the region and work with counterparts in ASEAN, India, and China to bring the junta to the negotiating table. In addition to China, the military junta in Burma depends largely on the economic and diplomatic support it receives (albeit, for varying reasons) from neighbouring Thailand and India (in that order). Discussions and interviews conducted during 2006–8 with policy-makers and opinion-makers in Thailand, India, China, and other countries show some degree of regional support for a variety of multilateral dialogue frameworks on Burma: • ASEAN+3 (China, India, and Japan) Dialogue on Burma; or • ‘Six-Party Talks’ on Burma (the European Union, China, India, Japan, Thailand, and Burma); or • ASEAN+5 (the US, European Union, China, Japan, and India); or • the US–China–ASEAN Forum (USCAF) on Burma. Though many South East Asians view the proposal for finding a multilateral solution to the Burmese problem with a degree of scepticism,

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many believe that the prospects for its success would improve if the European Union – rather than the United States – were to play the lead role in such a diplomatic effort. Since both the Chinese and the Burmese remain strongly suspicious of Washington’s involvement in internal affairs, one senior South East Asian official opined: ‘There will be no takers for a lead US role mainly because of China’s hostility and the Burmese junta’s suspicion about US involvement. Therefore, the EU could take the lead and sponsor a multilateral forum with the involvement of China, Japan, India and Thailand or Indonesia because the EU won’t invoke any concerns that the US participation involvement would invoke from the Chinese and the Burmese junta.’11 Apparently, the US invasion of Iraq has served to undermine Washington’s credibility as a power broker and trouble-shooter in Asia. Generally speaking, both Thai and Indian government interlocutors remain pessimistic about the prospects of resolving the domestic Burmese political stalemate in the near future. Many doubt whether the current domestic and international environment is conducive to any regional multilateral initiative. Significantly, officials and opinionmakers in South East Asian capitals express concern over Burma’s growing strategic ties with North Korea. They see no signs of China abandoning a winning position in favour of an uncertain multilateral alternative. They maintain that China would remain the major provider of economic, diplomatic, and military support to the Burmese military junta. Aware of Beijing’s need of Burma for geostrategic and geoeconomic reasons,12 Rangoon’s military regime remains confident and intransigent, ignoring both its internal and external critics. No other government has any leverage over either China or Burma to move that country towards moderation. And without the full cooperation of Chinese, Indian, and Thai governments, not much progress can be expected on the political front. For any multilateral initiative to succeed, these countries will need reassurance that any concerted moves towards political change in Burma will not disadvantage them. Interestingly, conversations with regional interlocutors reveal that Burma’s neighbours would be supportive of the proposal to ‘multilateralize’ the Burmese issue as long as their countries are not asked to take the leading role in garnering support for this initiative. Some South East Asians think that the ASEAN+3 framework is more likely to win support than the ‘Six-Party Talks’ (involving China, the United States or the EU, India, Japan, Thailand, and Burma) proposal because the latter involves extra-regional powers, namely the US and European countries. A diplomatic initiative to resolve the Burma problem could also come from China, India, Japan, or Indonesia (as a representative of ASEAN member states) but the push will still have to come from outside the region.

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A power-sharing arrangement A power-sharing arrangement creates broad-based governing coalitions of a society’s significant groups in a political system, makes negotiation an attractive alternative to violence, promotes and expands citizen participation in the political process, and alleviates tensions in a divided society by offering an alternative to simple majoritarian governance in which minority ethnic and other groups may be permanently excluded from power. A power-sharing arrangement in fractured multiethnic states reduces the risk of violent conflict by reconciling principles of self-determination and democracy, allowing minority groups to conduct legal political activities and providing them with an alternative to violence and a stake in the outcome of the political process. It helps promote government legitimacy and a sense of political fairness among the populace.13 There is general agreement that a set of incentives and disincentives will have to be offered to the Burmese military junta to come to the negotiating table to discuss a power-sharing arrangement. However, the catch is that there might be little agreement amongst parties involved on what these incentives should be. Ideally speaking, a win-win situation will need to be created for all parties involved, especially the Burmese military and Beijing. For, if any proposal weakens Beijing’s hold over Burma, it will certainly be opposed by China. Specific incentives that could make the junta come to the negotiating table would include the lifting of sanctions following the release of political prisoners like Suu Kyi, and external aid and developmental assistance. Disincentives would be a combination of freezing bank accounts, travel bans, suspension of ASEAN membership, cessation of investments, and an embargo on all arms sales and energy exports. Linking external trade to economic and political liberalization by China, Thailand, and Singapore could be the one carrot to which the junta might respond. Power-sharing and a general amnesty may be essential elements in cutting a deal.14 A power-sharing arrangement between the military and opposition parties (say, on a ratio of 70:30) could be a way out of the stalemate. However, nobody should imagine that this process would be simple. The key questions are: • What is in it for ethnic minorities? • What would 30 per cent mean for the National League for Democracy? • Will the Burmese military be happy to trade off absolute political control for lesser/indirect control of the state? Many of the ethnic minorities continue to distrust the majority ‘Burmans’, even including the democrats. As noted earlier, the Chins, Kachins, Karennis, Karens, Shans, and other hill tribes have long been fighting

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against the Burmese government. The real issue, many argue, is less about forging democracy than a compromise between the Burmans and the other ethnic groups. If genuine political reconciliation is to be achieved, either everyone or no one should be perceived as a winner. There are major dissimilarities between Burma and North Korea which need to be kept in mind. Unlike North Korea, mainland South East Asia’s largest country is fractured – politically and ethnically. Since Burma is a complex mixture of ethnicity, languages, religions, and cultures, it would not be easy to find a win-win solution for the military, ethnic minorities, and opposition parties. In North Korea’s case, no one is strong enough to challenge the Kim regime but the Burmese situation is complicated by the fact that ethnic minorities may not be party to any political arrangement. Thus, any power-sharing arrangement between the military and the Suu Kyi-led NLD opposition that does not take into account the ethnic minorities will not produce a satisfactory, long-lasting political settlement. That is why ethnic minorities have long called for tripartite talks involving the military, Suu Kyi, and ethnic groups but the military has turned a deaf ear. The process will obviously need to be broad-based and inclusive, taking account of the need to build a lasting stability that includes Burma’s key political and ethnic groups. Without lasting resolution to questions of local autonomy and national power-sharing, ethnic rebellions that have flared and simmered in Burma’s borderlands for nearly five decades cannot be resolved. For ethnic minorities, the struggle in Burma is essentially a two-stage process involving (i) political autonomy and (ii) restoration of democracy. Any democratic setup sidelining ethnic minorities will not bring an end to the decades’ old political imbroglio. Though Aung San Suu Kyi herself has acknowledged the need for the military to continue to play an important role in any future government, even as the military dictatorship comes to an end, a great deal of uncertainty prevails over Suu Kyi’s future role. Some Burma watchers are not convinced that she would be willing to be ‘the Benazir Bhutto of Burma’, thereby implying that she may not concede the Tatmadaw’s (Burmese army) total control over that country’s foreign and defence policies as Ms Bhutto did in Pakistan during her prime ministership in the 1990s. As Jane’s Intelligence Review’s correspondent Anthony Davis put it: ‘Suu Kyi won’t be willing to be anybody’s fig-leaf.’ Even if this hurdle is somehow overcome, any power-sharing arrangement may be a flawed concept in Burma’s case because that country ‘is unviable as a state’ over the long term. Many express fear that ‘democracy could open the floodgates and lead to Burma’s fragmentation . . . perhaps the Federated States of Irrawaddy.’15 Indonesian Defence Minister Juwono Sudarsono has cautioned that if democracy was introduced too quickly in Burma, it could trigger an Iraq-like power struggle among ethnic groups. Sudarsono also described Suu Kyi and the NLD as not presenting a ‘credible alternative’ to military government. A former ASEAN secretary-general, Ong Keng Yong, and senior ministers from some member countries have also

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voiced concern that a sudden regime change in Burma could create ‘another Iraq’, given the country’s various ethnic minority insurgencies. Others, however, argue that the military’s ‘balkanization’ theory is at worst a myth and at best an exaggeration or over-simplification because nobody is actually proposing a sudden regime change. As a first step, all parties will need to acknowledge that the military’s role cannot be wished away. Therefore, the assertion that the country’s integrity would be threatened if the SPDC is not in power may well be a bit self-serving or far-fetched. Conversely, there is validity in the argument that the army’s centralized control instead fuels the insurgency by denying autonomy to ethnic groups and preventing the accommodation of ethnic aspirations in a power-sharing arrangement. Even Suu Kyi agrees that the military should play a strong continuing role in the country in the transition period. She has also stressed the need for a growing UN role and the need to engage with other political forces including Burma’s ethnic nationalities. Fears of ethnic political clashes have been somewhat allayed by the October 2007 announcement that seven of Burma’s anti-government ethnic groups were willing to relinquish hopes of independence for a genuinely federal setup. To address domestic divisions, a tripartite dialogue (comprising the military, the NLD, and ethnic groups) may well have to precede multilateral dialogue on Burma backed by external powers. The major ethnic groups representing non-Burman communities are likely to support a multilateral initiative in return for economic gain and greater autonomy. As part of the incentives package, the junta could be given assurances of regional support for Burma’s territorial integrity and security and the dialogue partners’ commitment to provide the necessary assistance. The most effective international response would combine a UN Security Council resolution with guarantees from China to provide asylum for junta leaders, should they so wish. Security guarantees would deprive vested interests (both domestic and external) from exploiting the country’s vulnerabilities to further their parochial interests. More importantly, the best way forward is to sell any power-sharing arrangement to the next generation of reformist military leaders who know that they cannot take the indefinite continuation of the current political status quo for granted. The ever-shrinking ranks of authoritarian regimes show that time is on the side of democratic forces worldwide. For the ruling elite, the possibility of the SPDC being overthrown by a popular uprising for a democratic regime is a nightmarish scenario. Once convinced that the restoration of popular democratic rule is eventually inevitable, the military leadership might opt for cutting a deal that would safeguard their interests before it is too late. The power-sharing arrangement, coupled with the ‘carrot and stick’ approach, could also widen existing divisions within the military leadership. First, it would offer specific rewards (e.g. training and educational opportunities) that might nudge moderates/reformers to help arrange a soft landing. The generals would, of course, want to be assured that

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during the period of political transition from direct rule to constitutional governance, the vested interests of the military elite will be safeguarded and the corporate integrity of the armed forces will be preserved. As a noted Burmese historian Thant Myint-U has observed: ‘The younger generation of upcoming generals needs to know what they can gain by being more open, with the world laying out specific incentives and disincentives. No one has attempted that, so it’s worth a try.’16 Second, military engagement and exchanges with the younger generation of military officers would hopefully make them aware of what they can gain by being more open and transparent. However, the main difficulty lies in identifying such young reformist officers. In the meantime, incremental steps could be encouraged via quiet diplomacy and working behind the scenes may well be more effective. Rumours of chinks in the Tatmadaw armour have been around for a long time but gained momentum after the purge of intelligence tsar Khin Nyunt in 2005. In September 2007, five generals and more than 400 soldiers were reportedly detained for disobeying orders to shoot at monks.17 It is noteworthy that most Burma-watchers rule out the possibility of a vertical split emerging within the Tatmadaw between pro-reform and conservative factions as happened in the Philippines in the mid-1980s, at least not until Than Shwe’s rule comes to an end. Conceivably, a large-scale popular uprising would potentially divide the armed forces, but it could also heighten the risk of Burma’s fragmentation and create civil war-like conditions.

Key actors: perspectives, interests, and constraints For a multilaterally negotiated political settlement to occur in Burma, several countries – especially those with strategic equities in and around Burma – would have to come on board and agree to commit notable resources and creative solutions. China, Thailand, and India, in particular, have important energy interests in Burma, as well as more pressing internal stability issues of their own to deal with. None of Burma’s neighbours wants to see the country destabilized politically. Indeed, all three would prefer to see a strong regime in Burma that can contain the flow of militant traffic, arms, drugs, and refugees. Therefore, it is worth examining Burma’s immediate neighbours and other key players’ interests, constraints, and possible roles in a multilateral forum. Reluctant Thailand Most Thai analysts and policy-makers believe that their country lacks the moral clout to push for democracy in neighbouring Burma at a time when Thailand is itself going through a difficult political transition, with the Thai military having staged its own coup against a democratically elected government not too long ago. Besides, the issue of political reconciliation within Burma is not a priority for Thailand’s government, which is grappling with insurgency in

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southern Thailand and a long drawn-out power struggle at home. Other key points made by Thai and Burmese interlocutors in early 2007 are as follows:18 • While the Burmese masses may yearn for a US-led ‘military intervention’ to overthrow the oppressive junta (as reported widely in the international media), there is no support for any US-backed ‘multilateral intervention’ in Burma in its immediate neighbourhood. • For the Burmese government, maintaining the territorial integrity of the country and internal security remain the paramount concerns. In this context, one must not underestimate Burmese nationalism. The junta remains deeply xenophobic and nationalistic and will act in its own interests. Convincing the regime in Rangoon, which has imagined or real fears that the country will fall apart if it loosens its grip over state and society, may well be ‘the most difficult part’ in any externally backed diplomatic initiative. • The proposal for multilateral dialogue, if it is to succeed, cannot be seen as an ‘American initiative’. It must have the support of China and Burma, as well as the ASEAN+3. Some have opined that within ASEAN, Indonesia could take the lead but whether Indonesia would do anything substantive if it was not certain of China and India’s support is another question. • Many Thai and Burmese interlocutors would prefer to see the initiative coming from some neutral European (perhaps a Scandinavian) country because ‘the European Union – having repeatedly imposed sanctions against Burma over the years – is not seen as a disinterested, neutral party.’ They also see Japan as lacking the ‘clout or stamina to push through a multilateral proposal of this sort’. • Thailand will support any external initiative to resolve the Burmese issue. However, the international community could not expect Bangkok to push or lobby for such a move. Nonetheless, if regional and international consensus develops in favour of a multilateral forum on Burma, Bangkok would welcome such a move and be part of it. Interestingly, in the aftermath of protests by the Buddhist monks in September 2007, General Surayud Chulanont, the then prime minister in Thailand’s military-backed government, suggested in October 2007 the creation of a regional forum to solve the Burmese crisis in a One Plus Three framework, comprising ASEAN, India, China, and the UN, modelled on the Six-Party Talks on North Korea. This signalled a major change in Thailand’s official policy, and indicated its broad support for a multilateral dialogue forum on Burma. Ambivalent India As for India, Burma figures prominently in New Delhi’s strategic calculus. Despite growing international criticism of democratic India’s coddling of

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Burma’s military dictators, Indian policy-makers are determined to engage Rangoon in order to: • seek Burma’s military cooperation in waging counter-insurgency (COIN) operations in India’s northeastern states; • counter and neutralize China’s growing presence and influence in Burma and in the Bay of Bengal and Andaman Sea; • gain access to Burma’s market and its natural resources; and • use Burma as a strategic bridge to the east as part of India’s ‘Look East’ policy to integrate with ASEAN via trade and a railroad network linking India with Indochina.19 Most Indian observers and opinion-makers concede that ‘India faces a strategic as well as a moral dilemma in Burma’, and that the Indian government’s attempts to ‘imitate China by sucking up to the Burmese generals’ without Beijing’s ruthlessness to punish or diplomatic and military clout to protect Burma have yielded few results.20 In this context, Burma’s decision in March 2007 to renege on an original deal to sell natural gas to India from two offshore Arakan fields, even though Indian firms had a 30 per cent stake in them, and instead offer it to China as a way of expressing its gratitude for vetoing the January 2007 UNSC resolution censuring the military junta is a case in point. The decision was clearly based on political expediency rather than economic logic, confirming the regime’s prioritization of survival over prosperity. Such resource deals provide China with an additional incentive to defend the political status quo in Burma, and shield its leaders from the wrath of the international community. Furthermore, much to India’s dismay, the junta has failed to flush out the northeastern insurgents who continue to operate from Burmese soil with impunity. A senior Indian intelligence officer complained recently that ‘although we have been giving the military regime weapons and vehicles, the junta is not reciprocating in the same manner. We have been pressing for a crackdown on camps inside Burma, but Burma has turned a deaf ear to us.’21 Historically, whenever there has been a conflict between Chinese and Indian interests, Rangoon has given greater importance to the Chinese interests than to those of India for the simple reason that the Burmese dread offending China but do not fear India. While India has got very little from its coddling of the military junta, the latter, in contrast, has gained substantially not only through economic cooperation but from the respectability and legitimacy that close ties with a democratic India brings. Aspiring to play a greater role on the world stage, India finds itself under intense criticism and pressure from the international community for failing to support political reform in neighbouring Burma, and instead pursuing mercantilist energy deals and balance-of-power against China.

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Opinion on a multilateral dialogue initiative for Burma is divided in New Delhi. While some believe that the Indian government could not possibly support a move that Burma opposes or China boycotts, others think differently.22 Much like Thailand, India can be expected to jump on to the bandwagon if a multilateral initiative gathers momentum internationally. In the interim, most Indian analysts believe that power-sharing realistically should be first about loosening up socially and economically, and then politically. There is a broad agreement on the need to start a Track II dialogue of officials from Burma, China, India, and Thailand (Burma Plus Three) to first discuss transnational security issues (e.g. HIV/AIDS, drugs, small arms, and refugees) since all of Burma’s neighbours increasingly worry about these ‘destabilizing and dangerous exports’ before taking up the more contentious issue of political reconciliation in that country. Wary China Of all the regional stakeholders, Beijing indeed has a lot at stake in Burma. China often uses its veto power in the UN Security Council to block criticism and sanctions against the Burmese junta, allowing it to prop up a dysfunctional economy and resist pressure to undertake political reform. As in North Korea, Iran, and Sudan, Beijing does not support UN-backed punitive sanctions or international intervention and a regime change in Burma that might jeopardize its own strategic privileges, commercial concessions, and political interests in Burma. Over the last two decades, China has invested billions of dollars, extended concessional loans and development aid to the economically embattled nation, and become the junta’s biggest arms supplier. The primary reason for providing diplomatic protection and military aid is strategic. The strategic context in which China views its relationship with Burma is as a close ally both for southward expansion and to counteract the moves of its rival powers. Historically, a strong China (whether imperial, nationalist, or communist) has always sought to create buffer states or cultivate/install friendly, and preferably pliant, regimes and tributary states along its periphery. Burma has now come to occupy the same place in China’s calculus of deterrence in South and South East Asia that Pakistan has long occupied in South and South West Asia. A survey of Chinese commentaries shows that Beijing views its presence in Burma in zero-sum terms within the larger context of great power politics in the Asia-Pacific.23 Since 1988 Beijing has taken advantage of Burma’s isolation to satisfy its own great power ambitions, particularly its desire to counter India in the Indian Ocean and the approaches to the South China Sea, and to ensure the control of vital sea lanes by drawing Burma tightly into its sphere of influence. The cozy Sino-Burmese relationship has served to significantly reduce the US, Indian, and Japanese presence in a country on China’s southern flank. Beijing perceives ulterior motives behind Washington’s attempts to portray the junta as a threat to

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international peace and security. China wants Burma to be securely within its sphere of influence. In addition to extending Beijing’s strategic reach into the Indian Ocean, China has developed substantial economic interests in Burma over the last two decades. Beijing has invested billions of dollars in the country’s transportation infrastructure and is one of the biggest consumers of Burmese raw materials and precious metals (including timber, minerals, and gemstones) that are required in ever-larger quantities to fuel China’s industrialization and urbanization. Some sixty-nine Chinese multinational corporations are reportedly involved in at least ninety hydropower, mining (copper, jade, and gold), and oil and gas projects across the country. China’s pragmatic approach to commercial diplomacy underscores its interest in maintaining Burma’s political status quo.24 In particular, China’s diplomatic thrust is on importing energy from a neighbouring country that has estimated reserves of three trillion cubic metres of natural gas and three billion barrels of crude oil. Major US oil majors – Texaco, Unocal, Chevron – have long eyed Burma’s Yadana and Yetagun gasfields, but have been forced to stay out due to human rights concerns, thereby leaving the field open to Chinese and Russian oil companies. In addition, China seeks to enhance its energy security by building oil and gas pipelines from Burma to Yunnan – a strategy that will enable it to reduce its reliance on the Strait of Malacca – the key maritime chokepoint in Asia linking the Indian and Pacific Oceans. An agreement on building a $2 billion Sino-Burmese oil pipeline linking the deep-water port of Sittwe on the Bay of Bengal with Kunming in China’s Yunnan province was concluded recently. This pipeline, ultimately to be extended to Chongqing in Sichuan province, will ship China-bound oil and natural gas from Africa and the Middle East by ocean-going oil tankers across the Indian Ocean to the port of Sittwe in Burma, where they will be taken ashore and then sent by pipeline to China by way of Mandalay in Burma and Ruili in Yunnan before reaching Kunming. To this effect, China is investing heavily in the upgrade and expansion of port facilities along the Burmese coast. While in peacetime China is emphasizing the commercial uses of this infrastructure, it would serve important military objectives in the event of a conflict with India or across the Taiwan Straits or if a naval blockade of the sea passage through the Malacca Strait is imposed. In return, China offers cheap consumer goods, machinery, electronics, textile products, light manufactures, and capital goods that fit Burma’s level of development and spending power. To strengthen this economic nexus, more than 1.5 million Chinese nationals, entrepreneurs, and traders have moved to settle south of the border in the past two decades. They have taken over houses, hotels, and retail businesses, thereby forcing the local inhabitants to move to the outlying areas, and thus changing the whole demographic balance in northern Burma. For its part, the Burmese military junta values its relations with China more than any other country because

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Beijing’s backing has been vitally important to the regime’s survival. In fact, since gaining independence in 1948, Burma has always accommodated China as its ‘senior’ in a paukphaw (kinsmen) relationship, taking great pains not to exercise or even express any policies and actions inimical to China’s security interests. Beijing’s declaratory policy of non-interference in another country’s internal affairs notwithstanding, the Chinese have a long history of interference in Burmese politics either through their support for the opposition parties (the Communist Party of Burma and various ethnic groups) or for government-led forces over more than half a century.25 As one Burma-watcher has noted, since 1990 in particular, ‘Beijing has disturbed government–society relations by providing arms to the regime and helped to shift the center of political power toward the military.’26 By moving closer to China, Burma has established close military ties with the only country in the world that can seriously threaten (and historically, has threatened) its security interests. In short, China parlays its close diplomatic ties to the country’s ruling military junta into lucrative contracts and strategic concessions. Finally, ideological affinity between the two authoritarian regimes provides the political glue to stick together. The Chinese ruling elite has long looked upon Western-style democracy as a potentially subversive force, which could have a disintegrating influence in China – particularly in its peripheral regions such as Tibet. In particular, the Chinese worry that if the Buddhist monks’ ‘saffron revolution’ succeeds in Burma, it would have spill-over effects in neighbouring Tibet. Intelligence reports suggest that Beijing offers Rangoon an intensive programme of training and security cooperation that focuses on counter-insurgency and the suppression of street protests.27 Since China is already encircled by a large number of pro-West democratic states such as Mongolia, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the Philippines, and India, it is not in Beijing’s interests to see Burma become a liberaldemocratic state. At most, Beijing would like to see another Pakistan-like quasi-democratic state where civilians hold power so long as the military tolerates them, and where that military is paranoid of its neighbours and, therefore, remains heavily dependent on China for weapons, training, and support. So, China’s topmost priority is to have a Burmese government that maintains patron–client relations and fulfils its geostrategic goal to seek access through Burma by river, railroad, and port network towards the Bay of Bengal and Andaman Sea. The Chinese paranoia about other countries’ designs to checkmate China also makes Beijing prefer stability to regime change in Burma. Although Beijing has established contacts with exiled Burmese groups, and reportedly backs engagement with Aung San Suu Kyi, it certainly does not want to see her leading a popularly elected democratic government in her country,28 for Aung San Suu Kyi is known to be closer to India, Japan, and the West than to China. The Chinese fear that political change in Rangoon in the near future, in particular, the coming to power of

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an Aung San Suu Kyi-led democratic government, could lead to a situation where China is denied access to the very naval facilities and railroad infrastructure it is now building, and this would constitute a major setback for Chinese foreign policy. As Liu Naiqiang observes: If the tension and instability persist, once the military regime is overthrown and the pro-Western Aung San Suu Kyi comes into power, the encirclement of China in South Asia by the United States and Britain will be even tighter . . . Even if it [the Chinese–Burmese oil pipeline] gets built, its security will be badly compromised and the strategic objective behind the original plan will remain unfulfilled.29 Given China’s enormous geostrategic and geoeconomic equities in Burma, the prospects of Beijing’s support for a multilateral forum on Burma do not look bright. Beijing is certainly not going to play the game according to what the West desires but on its own terms. China’s commercial embrace of Burma is premised upon long-term grand strategic objectives. In addition, Beijing frowns upon any external intervention in domestic affairs, including a multilateral initiative led by the UN, because of the precedent it would set. China fears a similar fate if in future it proves unable to manage the rising number of internal challenges it faces in Tibet and Xinjiang. Having said that, the Chinese, renowned for their ability to plan far ahead, know full well that stability in Burma does not mean maintaining the status quo, and that they must prepare for all contingencies. As noted earlier, China has a long history of involvement in the neighbouring South East Asian country’s domestic politics (through invasions, subversion, and patronage) and thus holds a unique capacity to influence its future. The Chinese government is also aware of the potential of domestic unrest within Burma assuming an overtly anti-China character and the possible negative fallout from the growing number of protests by Burmese nationals outside Chinese embassies all over the world. The spectre of anti-Chinese riots haunts Beijing’s rulers. Long-term stability in Burma means an end to the political stalemate, and forward momentum towards limited political reforms that leads to the civilianization of the Burmese regime and faster economic development and better relations with ASEAN. In this context, the sharp U-turn undertaken in the 1990s in Beijing’s policy towards the Hun Sen government in Cambodia to protect and promote Chinese interests is quite instructive. The Chinese government’s recent attempts to establish communication with the opposition parties and ethnic groups are aimed at ensuring that Beijing’s strategic interests and investments would be preserved and guaranteed in the event of a sudden political change in Burma.30 Furthermore, given China’s desire to project itself as a facilitator of solutions to long-standing problems in the Asian region, many analysts believe that a rethink on Beijing’s long-term interests would eventually bring about

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a shift in China’s position on Burma just as China’s approach shifted on another client state: North Korea. In other words, China’s success in persuading North Korea to participate in the Six-Party Talks to prod Pyongyang out of the nuclear business is seen as a possible model for a similar Chinese intervention in the Burmese crisis.31 Much like North Korea and Iran, the situation in Burma certainly affords Beijing the opportunity to successfully transform its role from that of a troublemaker to a trouble-shooter to its own advantage.32 Some signs of change are evident. Chinese statements on Burma have lately turned somewhat critical, indicating concern over the Burmese generals’ ability to maintain the stability necessary to protect Beijing’s economic and strategic interests over the long term. The risk of transnational threats (HIV, refugees, and narcotics) culminating in the country’s degeneration into a failed state could possibly stimulate China to take greater action, again due to ‘self-interest’. Also, ASEAN’s growing angst over Burma, increasingly seen as ‘China’s puppet’, undermines Beijing’s soft-power charm offensive towards ASEAN. At the height of domestic unrest in September 2007, Foreign Minister Nyan Win visited Beijing to brief the Chinese leadership and to seek China’s support at the United Nations. After the junta’s violent crackdown on demonstrators resulted in widespread international condemnation, Chinese diplomat Tang Jiaxuan reportedly told Burmese Foreign Minister Nyan Win in September 2007: ‘China wholeheartedly hopes that Myanmar will push forward a democracy process that is appropriate for the country.’33 That veiled criticism went further the following month, when China joined with Russia and India in a call for Burma’s ruling generals to meet with the opposition.34 In mid-2007, the Chinese had also helped host a meeting between the US and Burmese officials in Beijing.35 This meeting was a signal that Washington, a vocal critic of the Burmese regime, would like to engage with Beijing in encouraging change in Burma. The next logical step would be for Beijing and Washington to take the lead in identifying certain benchmarks for the military junta. The release from house arrest of Aung San Suu Kyi will obviously be the ‘number one benchmark’. China has already come out in support of the Gambari Process, so that the UN can help Burma ‘achieve internal stability and national reconciliation, provide constructive assistance to the country in addressing economic, social, humanitarian and human rights problems’. Once a new multilateral approach to Burma begins to take shape, China will not want to be seen as the odd man out on an issue of such importance to regional security. According to some Chinese analysts, China’s preferred multilateral model for Burma would be the US–China–ASEAN Forum (USCAF) that excludes Asian rivals – Japan and India. This stance seems in conformity with Beijing’s desire to remain the sole major Asian interlocutor of the United States on regional security issues. Assuming that Beijing is able to muster political will to reorient its Burma policy, and that China does really have leverage over Burma’s generals, the

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real question then is: will Beijing use it to press for political transition and reform in the country? Opinion is divided on this issue. Pessimists argue that China is unlikely to play ball on the Burma question. Political change or democracy in Burma is certainly not on Beijing’s agenda. They question the parallel with the Six-Party Talks on North Korea as somewhat overstretched because it does not take into account significant dissimilarities in these two cases. In North Korea’s case, it was the prospect of Japan (and Taiwan) going nuclear, not the fear of damaging China’s reputation, that prompted Beijing to change its hands-off approach to North Korea because nobody in Beijing wanted the right wing in Japan to feel emboldened by Kim Jong Il’s nuclear folly. In Burma’s case, however, a similar powerful external dynamic is absent. The official Chinese position is that the situation in military-ruled Burma does not pose a threat to regional security, and that people there should be allowed to resolve their own problems without external interference. Nor will China allow the United States, which Beijing increasingly views as its global antagonist, a significant role in a neighbouring country with which it shares a 1,400-mile border.36 The Chinese leaders are convinced that under the banner of democracy and human rights, the US and its friends and allies are seeking to ‘contain China’, and are determined to fight back against any external meddling in one of their strategic client states. If anything, the situation in Burma bears more resemblance to Cambodia of the early 1990s than to North Korea of the 2000s. Nonetheless, an essential prerequisite in both cases was a compromise amongst major powers with major stakes to resolve the problem multilaterally. In Cambodia’s case, for example, it was the Soviet Union’s collapse that forced Vietnam to withdraw from Cambodia and agree to a negotiated compromise. But in Burma’s case, its largest backer, China, is a rising and expanding power with growing ambitions and burgeoning interests, not a declining power in withdrawal mode. Since influence over Burma is the key to China’s grand strategy, Beijing would use all means available to keep the regime, be it military or civilian, within its orbit. There are others who do not question or doubt Beijing’s sincerity in finding a multilateral solution to the Burmese problem, but claim that China’s influence over the military junta is exaggerated. According to one Chinese researcher associated with a think tank in Beijing run by the Foreign Ministry: ‘It’s like North Korea. Westerners think China can throw around its influence in Myanmar [Burma] and change things at once. But our influence is limited and we have to be careful not to rupture ties.’37 Unlike North Korea, Burma is not wholly dependent on China for trade and international political protection, and can afford to say ‘no’ to any Beijing-backed multilateral initiative.38 As Stanley Weiss points out, Burma’s intensely nationalistic leaders are paranoid and proud in equal measure.39 The generals who rule Burma today cut their teeth fighting against Beijing-backed ethnic insurgencies and are still deeply suspicious of Chinese designs on their country. Burma also

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has huge natural gas reserves and energy-starved neighbours eager to trade and invest. From its natural gas exports alone, the regime has in recent years earned US$3.5 billion. Add to that the lucrative drug trade which supplies 80 per cent of South East Asia’s heroin that fills the junta’s coffers.40 The examples of Cambodia, Somalia, and Afghanistan underscore that there are no quick fixes for failing, fractured, and weak states. Rethinking Japan After China, Japan is one of the main aid providers to Burma and has maintained a close relationship with the junta for half a century which traditionally has involved far more ‘carrots’ than ‘sticks’ mainly because of Japanese concerns about China replacing Japan as a likely source of economic assistance to, and political influence on, Burma. For a Japan which is renewing its role in international affairs the Burmese crisis presents an opportunity to refurbish its claims to a leadership role in Asia, a role that is vastly different from China’s.41 For much too long, Tokyo has looked towards the United Nations and ASEAN to bring about political reconciliation in mainland South East Asia’s largest nation. Signs of disenchantment with both are growing. The Japanese civil society, media, and human rights organizations have been highly critical of successive Japanese governments’ lacklustre response to the Burmese problem. They all want Japan to use its prominent influence in Asia to coordinate ASEAN, Chinese, and Indian policies to ‘put coordinated multilateral pressure on the Burmese government’.42 In November 2008, an Asahi Shimbun editorial condemned Beijing’s ‘behind-the-scenes’ moves to pressure ASEAN to block UN envoy Gambari’s briefing on Burma to the ASEAN Regional Forum, adding that ASEAN showed ‘its complete inadequacy’ in dealing with Burma. An activist Japanese role in establishing the ‘Burma Forum’ would not only reinforce Tokyo’s commitment to promoting democracy, protecting human rights, and advancing regional security but would also rob China’s claims to be the sole interlocutor on Asian problems and prod India to jump onto the multilateral bandwagon.43 China may be averse to sitting with India as its equal at the negotiating table, but Beijing will certainly not want to be left behind sharing the limelight with Tokyo on resolving the Burma imbroglio. Engaging ASEAN A decade after admitting Burma into the regional grouping, ASEAN’s hope that diplomatic inclusion would nudge Burma’s military leaders towards political reconciliation has gone unrealized, and the junta’s actions and policies have badly undermined the grouping’s regional cohesion, clout, and global credibility. Instead of ASEAN changing Burma, Burma has changed ASEAN for ever. In particular, ASEAN’s much-touted strategy of ‘constructive engagement’ and the policy of non-interference in the internal

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affairs of its members have come under harsh criticism. The last few years have seen ASEAN growing more critical of the military regime. For instance, the ASEAN foreign ministers issued an unusually strong statement on 27 September 2007 expressing their ‘revulsion to Foreign Minister Nyan Win over reports of violent suppression of monks-led demonstrators and large number of casualties’, and demanded the release of political detainees including Aung San Suu Kyi. The Indonesian Foreign Ministry spokesman, Kristiarto Legowo, stated that the junta’s actions had ‘tarnished the good image of ASEAN’, and Malaysia’s Foreign Minister Syed Hamid Albar reiterated the need for measurable progress towards democratization with a ‘timeline for improvement’.44 However, apart from verbal criticisms, ASEAN members still shy away from cutting back on extensive economic ties with Burma or taking other tangible actions. The adoption of a new ASEAN Charter in 2007 that commits members to democracy, the protection of human rights, and market integration, and softens its opposition to a policy of ‘non-interference’ was almost abandoned for fear of causing a split in its ranks. In a sense, the much-vaunted ‘ASEAN way’ has come in the wake of regional cooperation in dealing with the Burmese military junta. South East Asians continue to look towards the UN Security Council to act or chide China and India for not pushing Burma to move towards democracy. Malaysia’s Foreign Minister Syed Hamid Albar has stated that if the SPDC did not wish ASEAN to play a role in supporting its political reform process, then the UN should play a greater role.45 Too close a relationship between Burma and China is in neither the generals’ nor ASEAN’s interests. Since ASEAN acknowledges that Burma is not only a stain on its international reputation but also a drain on its diplomatic resources and a threat to regional peace and stability, it could attempt serious mediation or use the institutional mechanisms to coordinate an approach which aligns/combines its members’ interests with those of China, India, and the West. It is argued that since ASEAN lacks the cohesion or the clout to shape China’s or India’s policy towards Burma, it could play an important role, with help from the European Union, the United States, and Japan, in spearheading a new coordinated, multilateral approach that neither Beijing nor New Delhi would be able to ignore.46

Conclusions The state of Burma is an increasingly important part of the regional economic and geopolitical matrix. The widespread discontent among ethnic minorities not only contributes to the country’s fracturing and exacerbates Burma’s problem of governance but also impedes political solution. Political instability, military crackdown, economic meltdown, or collapse in Burma is not in anyone’s interest. Any state failure in Burma will have regional repercussions as its neighbours would be affected by increasing flows of

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refugees, drugs, and small arms. State failure might also have disastrous consequences for the unity of this fractious South East Asian country. With the UN-brokered talks on political reconciliation having reached a dead end, the time has come to build an international consensus aimed at establishing a multilateral dialogue forum on Burma that would give incentives for the junta to reform and increase the price it will pay if it fails to change its ways. The international and regional political environment appears conducive to establishing some sort of a multilateral dialogue forum on Burma. Thailand and the United States have recently voiced their support for a regional forum to solve Burma’s crisis, comprising ASEAN, India, China, and the UN, modelled on the Six-Party Talks on North Korea. ASEAN leaders too have expressed frustration with the military junta, and are interested in engaging with China, India, and Japan to encourage political change in Burma. Though fence-sitters India and Japan are watching from the sidelines, they can be counted on to be part of any multilateral dialogue because they stand to benefit from political reforms in Burma. However, Burma’s principal patron – China – seems reluctant to articulate and support such a forum ostensibly for fear of damaging its ties with Rangoon. No other government has as much leverage over Burma to move that country towards political moderation as China’s because of Beijing’s long history of involvement in that country’s domestic politics. Given its preference for order, stability, and continuity, Beijing seems reluctant to push for a radical political change in Burma. The Chinese paranoia about other countries’ designs to checkmate China makes Beijing prefer stability to regime change in Burma. Just as China was initially reluctant to host the Six-Party Talks on North Korea but changed its stance once the potential costs of inaction outweighed any benefits, it is argued that China’s interests would make it jump into the fray once a multilateral initiative on Burma gathers momentum both because maintenance of the status quo in Burma’s domestic politics is untenable, and because Beijing holds a unique capacity to influence its neighbour’s future. Indications are that Beijing is becoming impatient with the political stalemate in Burma as it does not augur well for the long-term protection of China’s interests and investments in that country. Besides, as China assumes a greater economic and political profile on the international stage, Beijing is sensitive to the fact that its international behaviour, especially its alliance relationships, are coming under greater scrutiny. A multilateral initiative could be led either by the European Union or the United States, and will have China, India, Japan, and ASEAN as the ‘Burma Forum’ members that will prod the ruling junta to end its brutal crackdown on dissent and embrace genuine democratic reforms by holding free and fair elections. Alternatively, some neutral, extra-regional country (Norway, Sweden, or Japan, for that matter) could take the lead. Power-sharing and a general amnesty will be essential components of any negotiated political

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settlement. To help create incentives for a phased democratic transition, Burma’s rulers would be given a set of concrete goalposts, with the meeting of each benchmark bringing positive rewards. The junta would also be given UN-backed guarantees of support for Burma’s territorial integrity and security, and commitment by the ‘Burma Forum’ members to provide the necessary financial and other assistance. A good beginning would be to initiate a Track II dialogue involving government officials from China, Burma, Thailand, and India on their common security concerns: HIV, drugs and human trafficking, and small arms proliferation. Hopefully this could culminate in discussions on sensitive political issues by bringing in major stakeholders. China could leverage its influence with the military to bring it to the negotiating table while ASEAN, Japan, and India would use their ties with NLD leader Suu Kyi and ethnic groups to win over their support for a powersharing agreement. The move towards dialogue will not be an empty gesture but indicative of the junta’s imperative for survival over the long term.

Notes * The views or opinions expressed here are the author’s own and do not represent the positions or policies of the Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies, the Department of Defense, or the US Government. 1. S. A. Weiss, ‘Whom Do Sanctions Hurt?’ International Herald Tribune [hereafter IHT], 20 February 2009. 2. H. Beech, ‘A Closer Look at Burma’s Ethnic Minorities’, Time, 30 January 2009, p. 15; International Crisis Group, Myanmar Backgrounder: Ethnic Minority Politics, Asia Report No. 52, 7 May 2003. 3. B. Lintner, ‘UN Fiddles While Myanmar Burns’, Asia Times online, 23 October 2007, http://www.atimes.com/atimes/Southeast_Asia/IJ23Ae01.html, accessed 30 August 2008. 4. S. Mydans, ‘For Myanmar Junta, Crisis is Over’, IHT, 7 December 2007. 5. A. Ghani and C. Lockhart, Fixing Failed States: a Framework for Rebuilding a Fractured World (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008). 6. S. A. Weiss, ‘Myanmar’s Neighbors Hold the Key’, IHT, 7 March 2007. 7. M. Malik, ‘Regime Shake-up in Rangoon: a Setback for Beijing?’ China Brief 5(2) (18 January 2005), http://www.jamestown.org/publications_details.php?volume_ id=408&issue_id=3201&article_id=2369110, accessed 20 January 2005. 8. P. Parameswaran, ‘US or EU Must Lead New Effort to End Myanmar Crisis: Experts’, AFP News, 3 October 2007. 9. W. Moe, ‘Six-Party Talks on Burma Proposal Gets US Support’, Irrawaddy, 2 April 2009, http://www.irrawaddy.org/article.php?art_id=15431, accessed 2 April 2009. 10. ‘Myanmar Integrates, US Cogitates’, AsiaInt Weekly Analysis, 3 April 2009, http:// www.asiaint.com/arl/arl20752.asp, accessed 7 April 2009. 11. Interview with an ASEAN diplomat, Bangkok, 18 March 2007. 12. For example, in addition to billion-dollar bilateral trade deals and major Chinese weapons sales to the junta, a new trans-Myanmar pipeline will carry Middle East oil from the Bay of Bengal to China’s southern Yunnan province.

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13. See T. D. Sisk, Power Sharing and International Mediation in Ethnic Conflicts (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, and New York: Carnegie Commission on Preventing Deadly Conflict, 1996). 14. Interestingly, the new military-sponsored draft constitution already contains a new immunity clause that protects the junta and all government personnel from being prosecuted for any act carried out in the name of the state. 15. Interview with Anthony Davies, Bangkok, 20 March 2007. 16. Quoted in Weiss, ‘Myanmar’s Neighbors Hold the Key’. 17. ‘Myanmar Attempts Damage Control’, AsiaInt Weekly Analysis, 12 October 2007. 18. Discussion here is based on talks and interviews at the Office of the Prime Minister, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and others in Bangkok, Thailand, 16–20 March 2007. 19. For details on India and China’s interests and objectives, see M. Malik, ‘Burma’s Role in Regional Security’, in M. B. Peterson, E. Rudland, and R. J. May (eds), Burma/Myanmar: Strong Regime Weak State? (London and Adelaide: C. Hurst & Co/ Crawford House Publishing, 2000), pp. 241–77; J. M. Malik, ‘Sino-Indian Rivalry in Burma: Implications for Regional Security’, Contemporary Southeast Asia 16(2) (September 1994): 137–56. 20. Discussion here is based on author’s talks and interviews with Indian diplomats, journalists, and military officers in 2006–7. Also see B. Chellaney, ‘A ForwardLooking Approach on Burma: Don’t Hold Burma to a Higher International Standard than Other Autocracies’, The Hindu, 14 May 2008. 21. ‘India-Burma Secretary Level Talks in Vain’, 12 September 2008, http://www. indoburmanews.net/archives-1/archive06/323/267/, accessed 30 October 2008. 22. See C. S. Kuppuswamy, ‘ASEAN and Myanmar’, Saag.org, Paper No. 2447, 5 November 2007, http://www.saag.org/papers25/paper2447.html, accessed 20 November 2007. 23. See Z. Liwei, ‘Stop Relying on the Malacca Strait, and Speed Up Implementation of Look-West Strategies’, Shiji Jingji Baodao, 16 March 2009, p. 4; L. Naiqiang, ‘China’s Energy Diplomacy Faces Challenges Ahead’, Nanfeng Chuang [Guangzhou], 16 November 2007, pp. 22–4; and J. Junbo, ‘China Wary of US–Myanmar “Détente”’, Asia Times online, 17 April 2009, http://www.atimes.com/atimes/ China/KD17Ad01.html, accessed 17 April 2009. 24. B. McCartan, ‘China’s Footprint in Myanmar Expands’, Asia Times online, 1 November 2008, http://www.atimes.com/atimes/China_Business/JK01Cb02. html, accessed 3 November 2008. 25. A. Bezlova, ‘China Cherishes its “Jade Kingdom”’, Asia Times online, 3 October 2007, http://www.atimes.com/atimes/China/IJ03Ad01.html, accessed 10 October 2007. 26. B. Berger, ‘Why China Has it Wrong on Myanmar’, Asia Times online, 3 October 2007, http://www.atimes.com/atimes/China/IJ03Ad03.html, accessed 3 October 2007. 27. ‘China’s Hand Behind Junta’s Fist’, Australian, 1 October 2007. The junta’s 2007 crackdown was reportedly planned and executed on the Chinese model, using stealth, intimidation, psychological shock tactics, and the selective use of lethal force. 28. ‘China Hedges Regime Bets’, Australian, 1 October 2007. 29. Naiqiang, ‘China’s Energy Diplomacy Faces Challenges Ahead’. 30. D. Lague, ‘China Makes Contingency Plans for Junta’s Fall’, IHT, 26 September 2007. 31. M. Green and D. Mitchell, ‘Asia’s Forgotten Crisis’, Foreign Affairs 86(6) (November–December 2007): 147–58.

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32. T. Buri, ‘China Can Shine by Acting on Burma’, South China Morning Post, 30 November 2007; Editorial, ‘The Tyrant’s Friend’, Financial Times (London), 22 September 2007. 33. McCartan, ‘China’s Footprint in Myanmar Expands’. 34. Ibid.; Editorial, ‘The Tyrant’s Friend’. 35. A. Zaw, ‘Many Firsts with Chin’, Irrawaddy, 14 September 2007. 36. S. Tripathi, ‘The Monks and Realpolitik’, IHT, 2 October 2007. 37. Quoted in C. Buckley, ‘China Quietly Reaches Out to Myanmar Opposition’, Reuters, 26 September 2007, http://www.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idUSPEK 6098020070926?sp=true, accessed 26 September 2007. 38. D. Thompson, ‘Washington’s Weakening Influence: Sino-Indian Competition over Burma’, China Brief 7(17) (19 September 2007), http://www.jamestown.org/ china_brief/article.php?articleid=2373664, accessed 20 September 2007. 39. Weiss, ‘Whom Do Sanctions Hurt?’ 40. Though the junta claims to have cracked down on the country’s opium trade, ceasefire agreements with drug lords who operate in the region’s notorious Golden Triangle suggest that junta leaders look the other way in return for a slice of the action (as in Afghanistan). 41. Green and Mitchell, ‘Asia’s Forgotten Crisis’, pp. 151–2. 42. C. Chenard, ‘HRW Urges Japan to Speak Out on Burma’, Mizzima.com, 9 April 2009, http://www.mizzima.com/news/regional/1955-hrw-urges-japan-to-speakout-on-burma.html, accessed 9 April 2009. 43. ‘Japan Halts New Aid to Myanmar’, Asahi Shimbun, 26 June 2006; M. Green, ‘Japan Fails the Test on Democracy and Burma’, Washington Post, 8 June 2006. 44. ‘ASEAN Criticizes Myanmar’, The Straits Times, 27 September 2007; Indonesian and Malaysian responses quoted in Burma Media Watch online, July–September 2007, http://www.bma-online.org/BMW_2007_Sep.html, accessed 13 July 2009. 45. ‘ASEAN Toughens Up: Impatience with Myanmar’s Military Junta Grows’, Economist Intelligence Unit, 2 August 2007. 46. Green and Mitchell, ‘Asia’s Forgotten Crisis’.

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Part II South Asia

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5 Pakistan Ethnic Separatism in Balochistan: Tribal Turbulence on the Energy Corridor Robert G. Wirsing

Introduction1 In Afghanistan’s Shadow, a book published in 1981 by well-known author Selig S. Harrison, examined that era’s threat of Soviet expansionism in the light of Baloch nationalism. It was in Balochistan,2 the vast and sparsely populated province in southwestern Pakistan, that the Pakistan army had ruthlessly suppressed a tribal separatist insurgency in the course of the 1970s. Rebellious Balochistan lay between Afghanistan and the sea; and since Soviet forces had occupied Afghanistan militarily in late 1979, the possibility that Soviet leaders might be tempted to realize the long-cherished Russian goal of securing a warm-water port by exploiting lingering separatist grievances in neighbouring Pakistan had naturally arisen. ‘A glance at the map’, Harrison wrote at the outset of the book, ‘quickly explains why strategically located Baluchistan and the five million Baluch tribesmen who live there could easily become the focal point of superpower conflict.’3 Nearly three decades have passed since Harrison made that observation. Baloch nationalism is again on the rise; and Balochistan is again the scene of violent encounters between Baloch separatists and Pakistani security forces. Not surprisingly, between today’s insurgency4 and its 1970s forerunner there are numerous evident continuities. Conspicuous among them have been the government’s persistent refusals to concede any legitimacy to Baloch nationalism or to engage the Baloch separatists in serious political negotiations. These refusals run in company with its parallel tendency to secure its aims in Balochistan mainly by military means. No less evident, however, are the discontinuities between the earlier and current episodes of Baloch insurgency. These discontinuities have arisen because the context of today’s conflict in both its external and internal domains has in the meantime undergone some obvious transformation. The Soviet Union is no more. Shrunken Russia’s historic quest for a warm-water port now seems barely conceivable and is rarely discussed. American and North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) forces have taken the place of 83

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Soviet troops in Afghanistan, and today the Afghan enemies of these Western forces, in more than a few instances, are drawn from the ranks of what were at one time their staunch anti-Soviet allies. In the 1970s, Pakistan was just recovering from a disastrous military defeat suffered at the hands of India. It today manages to sustain a comprehensive dialogue with India, albeit somewhat falteringly, aimed ostensibly at lasting peace and resting on a surprisingly successful ceasefire in Kashmir that marked its fifth anniversary near the end of 2008. The 1970s episode of Baloch insurgency featured the elected civilianled government of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto as the militants’ principal antagonist. In the current round of fighting, the Baloch nationalists have been squared off initially against the army-dominated government of President Pervez Musharraf, who seized power in 1999, and then, after Musharraf was driven from power in August 2008, against the civilian-led government of Asif Ali Zardari.5 The cast of characters in today’s confrontation has, thus, clearly undergone major modification and role reversal; and the political and strategic motivations currently driving actions in the region are not simply copies of what they were in the earlier period. It is this change in the context of Baloch separatist nationalism that is examined in this chapter. One of the most remarkable changes pertinent to today’s conflict, and the particular focus of this chapter, has taken place in its energy context. Put simply, assured access to hydrocarbon resources, including both oil and natural gas, has in recent decades assumed a far greater importance than hitherto as a driver of Pakistan’s security policy, both domestic and external. This is to say that energy security in Pakistan, as in most other countries in its neighbourhood, now stands at or near the top of national priorities.6 A sizeable hint of energy’s gathering importance to the conflict in Balochistan was, of course, already apparent decades ago in the pages of Harrison’s book. ‘If it were not for the strategic location of Baluchistan and the rich potential of oil, uranium, and other resources’, he observed, ‘it would be difficult to imagine anyone fighting over this bleak, desolate, and forbidding land.’7 But what was then a hint has taken on Himalayan proportions, exerting weight both in government and among the separatists that is often decisive. With the gradual mounting of tensions between Baloch nationalists and the central government in the last six years or so have come frequent acts of anti-state violence, a substantial portion of them directed against the province’s energy infrastructure and personnel. Pakistan’s energy resources are thus tangibly implicated in the insurgency. Considered more closely, they have a direct and important relationship to Baloch nationalism in at least three ways. One is that Balochistan itself – the largest, least populated, and least developed of Pakistan’s four provinces – is rich in energy resources. Among the many grievances expressed by the Baloch nationalists, the most persistent and long-standing has been that these resources, including coal as well as gas, have been exploited by the central government without adequate compensation to the province.

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A second way is that Balochistan is a transit site for major proposed natural gas pipelines that would carry gas from either Iran or Turkmenistan to Pakistan and, from there, potentially to India. One of many obstacles to the implementation of these pipeline projects has been the threat of Baloch militant attacks to disrupt gas supplies. A third way in which energy resources relate importantly to Baloch nationalism is that Balochistan is the site of a major port facility and energy hub under development at Gwadar on the province’s coast. Gwadar is the terminus of a projected interstate transport corridor that is to link Pakistan by road, rail, air, and, to some extent, pipeline with both China’s sprawling Xinjiang province and, via Afghanistan, with the energy-rich Central Asian republics (CARs). Baloch nationalists have complained that the government is developing the port and corridor without consultation with, involvement of, or benefit to the Baloch. The anger of Baloch nationalists has sometimes been directed against China, whose investment in the Gwadar project and in other Balochistan-based ventures has been substantial. A number of Chinese nationals have been the target of five violent attacks in Pakistan in recent years, with three of these attacks taking place in Balochistan, two of which resulted in fatalities.8 Moreover, the additional fact that the port is being constructed to serve Pakistan’s huge ambition to become a major energy resource and commercial trade intermediary on the Arabian Sea lends this grievance special geostrategic salience. Obviously, the changed energy context exerts a strong influence on the tactical ebb and flow of the insurgent/counter-insurgent dynamic. But beyond this, the argument is made in this chapter that the changed energy context also exerts a powerful threefold impact on Baloch nationalism itself. First, it vastly increases the importance of Balochistan and Baloch nationalism to the central government. This increased importance is evident in the compounding pressures on government to bring the insurgency to a swift and definitive closure, the reinforcement of the government’s deep-seated intolerance of insurgent demands, and the growing temptation to settle the matter with brute force. Second, the changed energy context simultaneously arms the Baloch insurgents with greater incentives than ever for reclaiming control of Balochistan and, even more important, with the capacity to drive the economic and political costs of the government’s counter-insurgency effort far higher than ever in the past. Third, to both sides’ advantage, the changed energy context, which includes the potential for major increases in Pakistan’s revenues and dramatic improvements in Balochistan’s economy and social infrastructure, also supplies novel and abundant opportunities to address Baloch nationalist demands in a positive and mutually acceptable manner. Thus, while the insurgency unquestionably has its dark sides, its rapidly expanding energy context may supply the means to bring the insurgency to a negotiated and amicable end. This chapter begins with a closer look at the energy–insurgency nexus.

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Energy geopolitics I: Balochistan’s energy resources Balochistan has sizeable reserves of coal and natural gas, and there is speculation that it may also hold large reserves of petroleum. At the moment, however, it is the province’s natural gas that has special importance in Pakistan’s energy profile. There are three reasons for its importance. One is that natural gas, accounting for about 50 per cent of Pakistan’s total energy consumption, is currently the country’s principal energy source. Indeed, Pakistan’s economy is one of the world’s most natural gas dependent. The second is that, of Pakistan’s proven natural gas reserves – in 2006 estimated at 28 trillion cubic feet (tcf) – as much as 19 trillion tcf (68 per cent) are located in Balochistan. The third is that Balochistan accounts for from 36 to 45 per cent of Pakistan’s natural gas production, but consumes only a modest 17 per cent of it.9 Of particular note is that the largest share of the province’s contribution to the nation’s natural gas production comes from the long-operating Sui gasfields in the Bugti tribal domain, located among the parts most seriously afflicted by Baloch militancy. The militant separatists’ capability either to block or disrupt the operations of the natural gas industry is clearly considerable, constituting a genuine threat, not a mere nuisance. The state-owned Sui Southern Gas Company Limited alone, for instance, maintains a 27,542-kilometre pipeline distribution network, sprawling across the two provinces of Sindh and Balochistan, the size of which obviously defies continuous monitoring and policing.10 According to reports compiled by writers for the Washingtonbased Jamestown Foundation, militant attacks and incidents of violence in general have become commonplace since the insurgency began escalating in 2002, and attacks against natural gas installations and pipelines in particular are steadily increasing in number. A January 2006 report maintained that there had been a total of 843 attacks and incidents of violence . . . reported in different parts of [Balochistan], including 54 attacks on law-enforcement agencies, 31 attacks on gas pipelines, 417 rocket attacks on various targets, 291 mine blasts, and 50 abductions. In the same period, a total of 166 incidents of violence were reported in the Kohlu [Marri tribal headquarters] district, including 45 bomb blasts and 110 rocket attacks.11 A report by the same organization in late May 2006 declared that the violence had increased in frequency and intensity. ‘The favorite targets of insurgents’, it advised, are energy production sites – such as Sui in Dera Bugti – and energy infrastructure that supplies natural gas to Pakistan’s industrial hub in Punjab and Karachi . . . On 19 May, two main gas pipelines to Punjab were

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blown up, cutting off gas supplies to the province . . . Although it is easy to damage Pakistan’s extended but unguarded network of gas pipelines, insurgents are now hitting harder targets such as gas production sites.12 For Baloch nationalists, the over half-century history of Pakistan’s domestic natural gas industry is one of unremitting indifference to the province’s indigenous tribal population. When it came to jobs, for instance, the gas industry’s well-paid managers and technicians were almost invariably drawn from outside Balochistan; local Baloch, inevitably viewed with some suspicion, were mainly employed in low-end jobs as day labourers.13 An obvious remedy for the shortage of technically skilled Baloch qualified for employment in the gas industry – government funding of technical training institutions in Balochistan – was never seriously considered until recently. The nationalists’ strongest dissatisfaction is reserved, however, for what they term Balochistan’s lopsidedly deficient share in revenues from the government’s sale of natural gas. As it has evolved, the fiscal arrangement honouring provincial ‘ownership’ of natural resources is fairly complex. Balochistan suffers from having been the first province in which gas was discovered. The royalty on natural gas paid by the central government to the provinces is based on wellhead production costs. These costs, since Balochistan’s gasfields were discovered and developed much earlier than those in the Punjab and Sindh, were long ago stabilized and are today much less than in the other provinces. The result is that Balochistan receives proportionately about one-fifth as much in royalty payments as the other two gas-producing provinces, a fiscal circumstance that has the ironic effect of turning Balochistan, the country’s poorest province but leading supplier of gas, into an important subsidizer of the richer provinces.14 The nationalists also maintain that historically very little of the huge earnings of the central government in natural gas revenues was ever returned to the province in the form of development expenditures.15 In this, as will be discussed later in this chapter, they are undoubtedly correct. Pakistan’s annual consumption of natural gas, currently running at about 1 trillion cubic feet, is increasing at a fast pace at the same time that proven reserves are sinking. That means that, apart from any increased reliance on imported supplies, pressure on Pakistan’s natural gas resources coming from industrial, commercial, transport, and residential consumers is bound to increase. Some of that pressure can be relieved with more aggressive exploration and extraction. But that avenue of relief could be negated by any production lost to militant strikes. The remedy there will have to come either by thoroughly crushing the militants or by striking a political bargain with them. That fact, in turn, guarantees that Pakistan’s indigenous natural gas supplies, as long as they last, will remain a focal point of sharp controversy between Islamabad and Baloch nationalists.

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Energy geopolitics II: natural gas pipelines16 Two projects for transporting natural gas via overland pipelines to markets in Pakistan and India, shown in Figure 5.1, are today actively being considered. One is the proposed 2,700 kilometre-long (nearly 1,700 miles) Iran–Pakistan–India (IPI) pipeline with a capacity to transport 2.8 billion cubic feet (bcf) of gas daily from Iran’s huge offshore South Pars field to terminals in Pakistan and India. Estimated originally to cost about $4 billion and more recently anywhere from $7 to $9 billion, it has been under discussion since the mid-1990s. The other project is the proposed 1,680 kilometrelong (about 1,050 miles) Turkmenistan–Afghanistan–Pakistan–India (TAPI) pipeline, with cost estimates currently running somewhere between $3.3 billion and $10 billion. This pipeline would have the eventual capacity to transport up to 3.2 bcf daily from Turkmenistan’s Dauletabad field to markets in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and, having been invited to join the project in February 2006, India. In neither of the two projects has the precise overland route of the pipeline been decided, but both would transit Balochistan.

Figure 5.1

Proposed natural gas pipeline routes transiting Pakistan

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Energy experts are generally agreed that the trilateral IPI project, which gained ground in 2004 with the relaunching of the India–Pakistan peace process, would bring enormous economic benefit to all three countries involved: Iran, because the project would help it bypass the US-imposed and economically painful Iran–Libya Sanctions Act of 1996 (renamed by Congress the Iran Sanctions Act at the time of its renewal in September 2006); India and Pakistan, because in both countries – and especially in India – energy supplies are falling increasingly below energy demands.17 The hope briefly entertained in India that its spiralling appetite for natural gas could be satisfied from its own offshore Krishna Godavari (KG) natural gasfields in the Bay of Bengal has been largely discarded.18Although the three parties to the deal have shown positive signs in the past few years of a determination to bring the project to fruition, the obstacles are still formidable and the possibility remains that the project may unravel. Spiralling costs of construction are one, but probably not insuperable, obstacle. Another is the price India would have to pay for the gas delivered at its border, which has to reflect consideration not only of Pakistani demands for a hefty customs tariff and transit fee but also of the substantial opposition found in influential quarters of Iranian officialdom to the export, especially what might appear to be ‘discounted’ export, of Iran’s gas supplies. Since Iran’s natural gas reserves stand second in the world only to Russia, this may seem strange. But there exists, in fact, substantial concern, especially but not only among Iranian conservatives, that Iran will in future require most of its gas supplies to meet its own increasing energy needs. As David Temple observes in a recent research report on the IPI pipeline, ‘Iranian support for the IPI pipeline is far more tenuous than might be expected.’19 The pricing barrier seemed to lessen somewhat with the agreement of the three states in July 2007 on at least part of the pricing formula.20 But Tehran’s abrupt dismissal on 12 August 2007 of oil minister Kazem Vaziri Hamaneh seemed to have made this barrier still higher. According to news media accounts, the action against Hamaneh, a leading architect of the IPI pipeline’s arduously negotiated tri-nation framework agreement, was taken ostensibly on grounds that he had offered to sell gas to India and Pakistan at an unacceptably high 30 per cent discount. Rumoured Iranian anger at the time over Pakistan’s alleged support for American clandestine activity in Iranian Balochistan was also said to be a possible factor. There was inevitably speculation that the pipeline project, which the Iranians had recently been claiming could begin to supply gas as early as 2011, had exited along with the oil minister.21 These already formidable obstacles were given substantial reinforcement in the first eight years of the present decade by the Bush administration’s stiff public opposition to the project and its threats to enforce sanctions against Iran.22 Conveyed repeatedly and over several years to both Pakistan and India, the Bush administration’s distaste for Iran’s alleged nuclear and other ambitions in the region was extremely difficult for either country to ignore.

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Pakistan, anointed by Washington in March 2004 as a ‘major non-NATO ally’, has been the recipient of billions in American aid for its cooperation in the war against terrorism. India, in turn, had been reluctant to place at risk the critically important civilian nuclear accord, signed by the United States and India in July 2005. To ensure against India’s backsliding on the pipeline matter, Washington had dispatched energy secretary Samuel W. Bodman to India in March 2007 with the stern message, publicly delivered, that the IPI pipeline, if allowed to go forward, would ‘contribute to the development of nuclear weapons’. And that, he made clear, had to be stopped.23 The accord won full approval in 2008 when the two governments agreed on the specific terms governing New Delhi’s access to US nuclear fuel and equipment.24 It remains to be seen, of course, whether New Delhi will act towards Iran any more independently of Washington now that the nuclear accord has been finalized and the Bush administration itself has passed into history. According to Temple, even the Bush administration, acutely aware of India’s mounting energy deficit, had itself shown clear signs of ambivalence in regard to the IPI pipeline. His judgement, writing in early 2007, was that ‘while the US will seek to maintain pressure on India and Pakistan to avoid investing in Iran for their energy supplies, it is unlikely to take any substantive action should the pipeline proceed.’25 Added to all of these obstacles is the deep distrust that many Indians harbour when it comes to dealing with Pakistan on a matter as critical as India’s energy security. No doubt, this basic distrust is aggravated by Pakistan’s current domestic instability, including the potential for an out-of-control Baloch nationalist insurgency in Pakistan’s sprawling province of Balochistan. The IPI pipeline, unavoidably vulnerable to acts of sabotage, would have to transit about 760 kilometres of ‘sensitive distance’ (about 28 per cent of the pipeline’s total length) in this province.26 Electronic monitoring of the pipeline can reduce the hazard; and repairs to damaged pipelines typically take from only a few hours to a few days.27 According to most observers, however, gas pipelines of the proposed length are an easy target and difficult to defend; and attacks on them can have cumulatively severe economic costs. Baloch militants, as noted earlier, have taken increasingly in recent years to attacks on energy infrastructure. That development, even when the damage inflicted is minor, is bound to dampen investor confidence in energy ventures – a hugely important objective of Pakistan’s economic strategists.28 As for the quadrilateral, America-boosted TAPI pipeline project, the obstacles are conceivably much worse. Setting aside the inevitable difficulties that arise in any four-party negotiation of this sort, the fact is that two of these parties (Afghanistan, Pakistan) present a security challenge – an estimated ‘sensitive transit distance’, according to one source, of 1,200 kilometres, or 58 per cent of the pipeline’s length – that to most onlookers looks virtually insuperable.29 Indeed, the full-blown insurgency that presently engulfs large parts of southern Afghanistan, on top of the frequent episodes of militant protest and

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violence in Pakistan’s Balochistan, would appear for the time being to render entirely moot the issue of constructing the TAPI natural gas pipeline. That Washington has made clear its preference that New Delhi should scrap the IPI project and embrace the TAPI alternative does not necessarily add to its attraction for Indians. They, after all, might be at least as unwilling to place their country’s energy security in American hands, which the TAPI pipeline – transiting US-dominated Afghanistan – requires, as in Pakistan’s. Admittedly, the Pakistan government’s surprise announcement on 20 August 2007 that it had awarded a $10 billion contract to the American-based International Oil Company to build an oil and gas pipeline from Turkmenistan to Pakistan (TAP), extending all the way to Gwadar on the Balochistan coast, may have breathed at least a little life back into this pipeline option, albeit without India’s explicit inclusion. But the TAP/TAPI project has been periodically ‘revived’ over the past decade without material consequence, and the government’s promise that the newly unveiled venture was scheduled for completion within three years falls noticeably short of credibility.30 The dim prospects for realization of these gas pipeline projects, especially in the near term, would appear certain to have some negative consequences for Balochistan and Baloch nationalism. For one, any material gains to development-starved Balochistan province that might have resulted from its being on the pipeline’s path would be lost. Such gains include an opportunity for construction and maintenance jobs, for instance, or the possibility of a provincial share in gas transit fees, or wider distribution of natural gas within the province. Another negative is that the attention paid by the sensation-seeking news media to the militants’ frequent resort to acts of sabotage against Balochistan’s existing energy infrastructure seems bound to assist the government in its effort to fix the militants in the public mind as pernicious agents of Pakistan’s rapidly mounting energy crisis – a crisis whose demonstrably adverse impact on the daily lives of most Pakistanis grows larger with each passing day.31 Pakistan’s energy shortage is certain to shorten tempers, in other words, along with reducing ethnic tolerance. It does not matter that the militants’ tactics for the most part have thus far inflicted only minor and quickly repaired damage – far less, one suspects, than the militants’ capabilities would permit. What does count, however, is that these tactics, instead of winning converts to the Baloch cause, reinforce the government-promoted stereotype of the Baloch as reactionary, vengeful, and self-defeating foes of Pakistan’s economic progress and of modernity itself.

Energy geopolitics III: Gwadar and the Central Asia transport corridor In place of the ill-starred eastward-running natural gas pipelines, the region is witnessing instead the fast-paced development of competitive and politically

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divisive ‘transport corridors’ built on a north–south axis. These corridors consist mainly of port, road, rail, and air infrastructural networks. The primary function of these networks is, along with promotion of commercial and political ties, to improve Indian or, as the case may be, Pakistani access to the energy-rich CARs and to achieve some influence over the production, processing, and distribution of energy resources. The inauguration on 20 March 2007 of Pakistan’s Chinese-assisted Gwadar deep-sea port on the Balochistan coast gave clear sign of Islamabad’s intention for Pakistan to become the CARs’ favoured commercial and energy intermediary. Likewise, the completion in 2008 of the Indian-constructed Zaranj–Delaram highway in southwestern Afghanistan gave an equally transparent sign of New Delhi’s similar intent. Then President Musharraf inaugurated the Gwadar deep-sea port in the presence of the Chinese Minister for Communication Li Shen. Musharraf paid tribute in his address to the friendship between China and Pakistan that had made the port a reality. He dwelt at some length on the new seaport’s potential for opening a major trade corridor to Central Asia, China, and Turkmenistan. Included in the address was a blunt warning to ‘extremist elements’ in Balochistan who would be ‘wiped out of this area’ if they failed to surrender their weapons.32 Musharraf’s comments at Gwadar, brief and inelegant as they were, commemorated an event of far more than passing interest to the countries in the region. An obscure fishing village with a population of about 5,000 when the project was begun in earnest in 2001, Gwadar has already grown into a bustling town of at least 125,000 – with prospects, if the current boom in real estate investment is any sign, of far greater expansion. Its location 650 kilometres (about 400 miles) west of Karachi provides some needed strategic depth for Pakistan’s modest-sized naval force, subject in the past to the blockade of its major base at Karachi by the much more powerful Indian navy. However, the obvious military advantages gained by Pakistan from the new port are only one dimension of Gwadar’s significance. Interviewed by the author in March 2007, an official of Pakistan’s Ministry of Ports & Shipping asserted with apparent confidence that Gwadar would within a few years rank among the world’s biggest, best, and busiest deepsea ports. It had at the time of the inaugural event three functional berths, with space for at least fourteen more. It had enormous advantages, the official claimed, over its rivals in the region, including Iran’s port of Chabahar, located in the province of Balochistan and Sistan near the Pakistan border on the coast of the Gulf of Oman. Like Chabahar, the official insisted, Gwadar lies on major maritime shipping lanes, close to the region’s vast oil and gas resources, and also close to the rapidly growing and dynamic Gulf economies. In contrast to Chabahar, however, Gwadar, he averred, is an all-year, all-weather, deep-channel port that will eventually be able to offer accommodations for the largest oil tankers, along with ease of access to the docking area and unusually short turn-around times.33

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Pakistani plans for Gwadar envision it evolving into a major and multidimensional hub of economic activity, to be linked in coming years to a rapidly expanded web of road, rail, air, and pipeline networks to neighbouring states, and potentially satellite by a liquid natural gas (LNG) terminal, a steel mill, an automobile assembly plant, a cement plant, and facilities for oil refining. Plans also call for a first-rate international airport at Gwadar. Undoubtedly, it was ‘the convergence of Sino-Pakistani strategic interests [that] put the port project onto a fast track to its early completion’;34 and it is the Chinese connection with Gwadar, of course, that has attracted most attention from regional security observers. As the principal contributor (of about $200 million) to the project’s first phase, China has transparent interests both in monitoring the supply routes for its rapidly increasing energy shipments from the Gulf and also in opening an alternative route via Pakistan for import/export trade serving China’s vast, sometimes restive, and rapidly developing Muslim-majority Xinjiang Autonomous Region. From New Delhi’s point of view, the strategic implications of the Gwadar project are substantial – and potentially worrisome. First, Gwadar complicates the Indian navy’s strategic planning. It is one of several naval bases mentioned by Musharraf in his inaugural comments, two of them on the Balochistan coast, which Pakistan is building to diversify and deepen its naval defences. It is one of several signs that Pakistan aspires to a significantly greater and better-defended naval presence in the Indian Ocean. Second, the construction of Gwadar and its associated road, rail, and pipeline networks has been openly justified as a means to materially strengthen Pakistan’s influence with Afghanistan and the Central Asian states, with whom it is already formally associated in the Economic Cooperation Organization founded by Turkey, Pakistan, and Iran in 1985 and which expanded to its present membership of ten (entirely Muslim) states in 1992. Third, New Delhi will inevitably view Gwadar as another link in the China-built chain encircling India on its eastern, northern, and western borders. More perhaps than any other development in the history of SinoPakistan relations, Gwadar establishes the major infrastructural architecture for substantially strengthened military and economic ties between Pakistan and China. Potentially, these ties could lead to Pakistan’s near absorption into a China-centric strategic partnership.35 Last, but by no means least important, New Delhi now has to reckon as well with the strategic significance of Washington’s own increasingly aggressive engineering activity in the region. On 26 August 2007, US Secretary of Commerce Carlos Gutierrez presided over the dedication of a 673-metrelong bridge over the Pyanj river dividing Tajikistan and Afghanistan. The bridge, costing over $37 million and able to handle as many as 1,000 trucks per day, is the largest US Government-funded infrastructure project in Tajikistan. Described by the Commerce Secretary as a ‘physical and symbolic

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link between Central Asia and South Asia’,36 the bridge is a transparent challenge to Russia’s continued dominance in the Central Asian region. Indians could not help noticing, however, that US embassy press releases at the time called attention (not without some irony) to Karachi as a ‘warm-water port’ and to Pakistan as the southern destination of the bridge’s future traffic.37 New Delhi is, of course, not without its own plans for developing energymotivated transport corridors reaching into the CARs. Formally launched in 2000, the International North–South Transport Corridor (INSTC) was a first step in this direction. It joined India initially with Russia and Iran, and eventually with several other Asian and European nations, in a project meant primarily to draw Europe-bound commercial trade traffic away from the Suez Canal to an alternative and much shorter road, rail, and sea route leading from the major Iranian port of Bandar Abbas northwestward to the Caspian Sea and beyond to the St Petersburg gateway and Europe. A branch of INSTC led into Turkmenistan. When the Taliban regime was driven from Kabul in November 2001, the way was cleared for a still more ambitious Indo-Iranian plan calling for the addition of a second INSTC route in Iran’s less populated eastern sector. One of the first items on New Delhi’s list of aid projects for the new Northern Alliance-based government in Afghanistan was construction of a 218-kilometre (135-mile) Zaranj–Delaram highway link reaching from the Iranian border in southwestern Afghanistan to Afghanistan’s existing intercity ring road, and from there eventually to Tajikistan in Central Asia (see Figure 5.2). The new highway was intended to connect with Iranian roads (and, eventually, with a new rail line) leading to Iran’s port of Chabahar, currently under development with Indian assistance. The project was publicized as providing Afghanistan with a route to the sea shorter than was currently available through Pakistan. The need to bypass Pakistan, which had consistently stonewalled Indian requests for overland commercial access to Afghanistan and Central Asia, partially drove New Delhi’s plan.38 This plan naturally creates anxiety in Islamabad, which cannot at this point be certain of the success of its own Gwadar scheme. Baloch nationalism thus finds itself astride two nearby and rival transport corridors under construction, with the region’s economic future at stake in their success or failure. Moreover, the Baloch tribal minority’s relentlessly voiced demands for equity, justice, and self-determination again confront the powerful drivers of energy security, with intensified urgency and ever higher stakes. That the Baloch are positioned to be a major beneficiary of this development – as well as to be a major actor, negative or positive, in its prospects – is abundantly clear. It is just as clear, however, that Islamabad’s design – as implied in Musharraf’s inaugural comments at Gwadar – has thus far mainly been to sweep them aside, apparently reflecting the view that this option is simpler and presents fewer risks.

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Figure 5.2

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The Zaranj–Delaram link highway in Afghanistan

Baloch nationalism: aims and potential The Baloch nationalist movement is not a unitary force. Neither in its leadership nor in its tactics and goals does it speak with one voice. For some Baloch nationalists, the horizon of nationalism does not extend much beyond the boundary of a single tribal identity – Marri or Bugti, for instance. For others, the horizon embraces all of the seventy-odd Baloch tribes resident within or near the borders of Balochistan. Some Baloch nationalists demand complete independence. Most, hailing the 1973 Constitution as a workable basis for a reconstructed and strengthened federalism, limit their aspirations to greater autonomy. Anti-state violence has been the chosen tactic of some. For the great majority, a remedy of grievances has been sought mainly through established state institutions. Notwithstanding these differences, however, there is virtually no chance that the problems confronting Islamabad arising from the current resurgence of Baloch nationalism can be swept aside. The actual scale of the present Baloch rebellion is a matter of considerable controversy, not only with regard to the number of tribesmen under arms but also to the number of tribes directly involved, the amount of damage they have inflicted, and their degree of success in maintaining control over significant swathes of provincial territory. Fuelling the controversy is the

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fact that much of Balochistan is inaccessible and off limits to news media representatives and independent observers. That has made reliable and verified information about the fighting there extremely hard to come by. There are huge differences, for instance, in the estimates given of the number of tribesmen currently in rebellion. One close observer has claimed that the Bugti tribe alone had as many as 10,000 tribesmen under arms.39 A leading English-language newspaper in Islamabad, The Nation, quoted then President Musharraf as having told a gathering of Pakistan Muslim League-Quaid-iAzam(PML-Q) leaders on 26 March 2005, that the Bugti, Marri, and Mengal tribal chiefs commanded private armies, of 7,000, 9,000, and 10,000 men, respectively.40 Spokesmen for the Pakistan army interviewed by the author in early 2007 ridiculed such figures, insisting instead that to label the sporadic and often desultory acts of violence as an insurgency was itself fundamentally misleading. A senior police bureaucrat in an off-the-record interview with the author at the same time put the figure of full-time fighters for the entire insurgency at no more than 1,000.41 According to him, the Baloch militants are ‘not a structured army or organization’. The so-called Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) and Balochistan Liberation Front (BLF), he said, are ‘myths [existing] only on paper’. In fact, he claimed, only two tribes, the Marris and the Bugtis, are responsible for most of the violence; and only one of them, the Marris, is a major problem. The third of the trio of historically troublesome tribes, the Mengals, have few tribesmen under arms, he added, and generally offer little but moral encouragement to the militants. This means that the insurgency, in this official’s view, is a serious law and order problem in only two of the province’s twenty-seven districts, and only a minor vexation elsewhere. The government’s estimates of the rebels’ manpower have waxed and waned over time depending on circumstances and the government’s immediate political desire either to over- or understate the problem’s magnitude. Minimizing the number of rebels suits Islamabad’s present understandable objective to have Balochistan seen by potential foreign investors in the mega-projects discussed above as a good place to invest. But such a picture is almost certainly excessively sanguine. Many well-positioned and knowledgeable individuals among the author’s interlocutors, while freely admitting the relative narrowness of the insurgency’s immediate tribal and territorial base, insisted that severe alienation from the Pakistan state was spreading rapidly to the province’s urban areas and to growing numbers of educated Baloch youths. That trend, unless reversed, would, of course, give the nationalist movement an entirely different and much more threatening coloration. Competent outside observers continue to warn that ‘the conflict in Baluchistan is steadily gaining ground.’42 Given the fairly massive scale achieved by the 1970s insurrection, Islamabad is in no position, in any event, to be complacent over the present rebellion’s currently more limited dimensions.

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Baloch nationalism has deep roots in Pakistan. In fact, alienation from the state has been a constant in Pakistan’s post-independence history ever since 1948 when the country’s fledgling military, faced with an independence movement in Kalat in southern Balochistan, forcibly annexed the principality. In the years since, indigenous alienation has from time to time led to renewed rebellion, as in the 1970s with the eruption of a full-scale insurgency so well described in the pages of Harrison’s book. While no Baloch rebellion has extended to the entire province or succeeded in mobilizing more than a handful of the Baloch tribes that dwell there, distrust of the Punjab-dominated central government and festering discontent with the political order fostered over the years by that government are very widely shared among the Baloch. They constitute a nearly inexhaustible source of fuel for the nationalist agenda.43 There is, in fact, powerful evidence that Balochistan has not fared well at all in Pakistan’s political order. For instance, a recent and methodologically sophisticated study that disaggregated Pakistan’s gross domestic product (GDP) into its provincial components for the years 1972–73 to 1999–2000 – a period of twenty-eight years – found that the Punjab alone of the country’s four provinces had seen its share of national GDP rise. The North West Frontier Province (NWFP) had managed merely to maintain its share while Sindh and Balochistan provinces saw theirs reduced by about 1 percentage point each – in Balochistan’s case falling from 4.5 to 3.7 per cent. The figures looked even more dismal, moreover, when broken down in terms of per capita GDP. In the Punjab, per capita GDP rose annually in the period surveyed by about 2.4 per cent, in the NWFP by 2.2 per cent, in Sindh (even with the country’s industrial colossus of Karachi included) by only 1.7 per cent, and in Balochistan by a miserable 0.2 per cent. ‘The results’, observed study authors Kaiser Bengali and Mahpara Sadaqat, ‘tend to confirm earlier evidence of an emerging north–south economic divide in the country.’ They also concluded, somewhat despairingly, that ‘on the whole, Balochistan appears – at best – to remain trapped in a low level equilibrium and – at worst – regressing further into under-development.’44 Baloch leaders have been arguing for years that turning the situation around requires, among other things, an overhaul of the rules governing intergovernmental fiscal relations – including both those pertaining to how the central government shares the divisible pool of tax revenues with the provinces (the so-called ‘vertical’ distribution), and those pertaining to how the provincial share is divided up among the four provinces (the so-called ‘horizontal’ distribution). There is apparent agreement among the provinces that the provincial share in the vertical distribution, now set at 47.5 per cent of revenue collected, should be set at 50 per cent. However, where the Baloch are most adamant about the need for change, and where there is as yet no consensus among the provinces, is in the area of horizontal distribution. As it now stands, revenues are distributed among the provinces in accord with a strict per capita population criterion. This formula

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finds favour in the Punjab, and to some extent also in Sindh and the NWFP. It means, of course, that Balochistan, with just short of 5 per cent of the country’s population, inevitably gets a very small share of the pie. Possessing, on the other hand, 43.6 per cent of the country’s area, with the unique costs entailed thereby, along with an exceptionally low level of development, Balochistan, say its advocates, requires a different distributional formula. One such formula, proposed by the renowned economist Mahbub ul Haq, would adjust the provincial population weight in accord with a complicated formula involving a number of factors – the income level of each province, the disparity of physical infrastructure and social services, and differences in fiscal discipline and revenue generating effort.45 Another approach offers an Inverse Population Density (IPD) formula, in which the size of the province is given due weight.46 All such formulas are premised on the reasonable conviction that population, while obviously the simplest criterion, is ‘not always a reasonable approximation of need’, and that Pakistan should not remain wedded to a conflict-generating criterion that has long since been abandoned by other countries, including India.47 Obviously, not all Baloch grievances can be as readily addressed as by adoption of an alternative revenue distribution formula. Baloch leaders have for many years claimed, in particular, that they are being demographically displaced and marginalized in their own province, the reasons for which will be discussed below. While reliable population figures in regard to Balochistan’s ethnolinguistic composition are notoriously hard to come by, demographic circumstances and trends in the province lend this claim strong support. Pakistan’s fifth and most recent national census taken in 1998 reported a total national population of 132.3 million. Of that, Balochi-speakers accounted for 3.57 per cent, or around 4.72 million. Roughly 3.59 million of these Balochi-speakers (2.71 per cent of the national population) resided in Balochistan. The population of Balochistan province itself was given as 6.5 million (4.96 per cent of the national population). Balochi (including the Brahui dialect), the language of the province’s titular ethnicity, was given as the mother tongue of 54.7 per cent of the provincial population; Pashtu, the language of the second largest group, the Pashtuns, of about 29.6 per cent.48 Language data from the 1972 census were never published; and in the census taken in 1981, language data were collected on a household rather than individual basis, frustrating intercensus and intergroup comparisons. The 1998 figures themselves, in any event, are not taken as fully authoritative, even in official quarters. For instance, in a briefing in 2005 given by the Home Secretary of Balochistan to members of the Parliamentary Committee on Balochistan, the province’s ethnic composition was said to be 45 per cent Baloch and 38 per cent Pashtun.49 Two important facts should be kept in mind with regard to Baloch demography. One is that many Pakistani Baloch, 23.9 per cent of the total if we extrapolate from the figures above, live outside of Balochistan,

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especially in Sindh. The second is that the Baloch may already be a minority in Balochistan, and, even if one chooses to accept the official census figures, they are almost certainly heading in that direction. One reason for this is that decades of nearly continuous warfare in neighbouring Afghanistan has resulted in the influx into Balochistan’s northern districts of hundreds of thousands of Afghan refugees, most of them Pashtuns. Many of them are expected to remain there, substantially augmenting the province’s already formidable Pashtun minority. Another reason is that the development of Gwadar is almost certain to result eventually in a huge influx – estimates run as high as 5 million – of non-Baloch into the province’s southern reaches. Sandwiched as they are between these two seemingly inexorable immigrations, the Baloch have good cause for worry. The fact is that modernization, globalization, Pakistan’s steadily rising population, and the massive forces of change unleashed by economic development are threatening to leave the Baloch far behind. They are among the poorest, least educated, and least urbanized of Pakistan’s population; and they are too easily passed over or pushed aside in the highly competitive social and economic environments now gaining traction in Pakistan. This is in part, of course, a structural problem, not lending itself readily to policy manipulation. But these circumstances did not arise unassisted by the government, whose policies have almost never been designed to give serious attention to Baloch problems. One final facet of Balochistan’s contemporary situation impacting heavily on the aims and potential of Baloch nationalism is best described as the military-strategic environment encircling the province. By this, I mean that the present insurgency is taking place amid circumstances that, by any reckoning, merit classification as among the most unstable, violent, and turbulent on the planet. In neighbouring Afghanistan, there is a bloody war in progress involving the armed forces of many nations, with no end in sight. The spill-over effects into Balochistan – in the form, for instance, of the province’s harbouring of fugitives from the fighting or its provision of sanctuary or training camps for forces hostile to the US-led coalition forces50 – have already turned Balochistan into something akin to a second front in the Afghanistan war. On 12 August 2007, Pakistan’s then President Musharraf made the surprising admission at a major tribal gathering in Kabul that Afghan militants were indeed getting support from Pakistan soil.51 Observers often name the provincial capital, Quetta, as the chief haunt of al-Qaeda and Taliban chieftains. Pakistan routinely accuses India of using its consulates in both Afghanistan and Iran for the dispatch of covert agents in aid of the Baloch rebels.52 Speculation is rife about which ‘foreign hand’ is currently most busily engaged in Balochistan in the dirty business of arms supply, espionage, sabotage, and assassination. In regard to the assassination of Chinese engineers in Balochistan, in particular, responsibility has been variously assigned, apart from the Baloch militants, to a grand assortment of agents, including the ‘Uighurs from the Uighur diaspora in Pakistan’,53

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and the governments of India, Iran, Afghanistan, the United Arab Emirates, Russia, and even the United States. One conspiracy-obsessed published narrative, blithely passing over a host of contradictions, offered the unlikely thesis that Baloch nationalism’s most potent international support was coming from a United States–Russia–India intelligence triad whose diverse motives somehow converged in Balochistan!54 While the larger part of this speculation about foreign covert activities in Balochistan must be taken with more than a pinch of salt, the ample record of such activities in this part of the globe merits serious attention. Pakistan has plenty of antagonists in the region; and the Baloch insurgency, after all, can readily serve more ends than those of the Baloch themselves.

Pakistan’s response to Baloch nationalism Reliable information about the fighting in Balochistan has always been scarce; and in Pakistan’s perennially overheated political environment, disinformation flourishes and propaganda frequently masquerades as objective fact. Even experienced commentators may from time to time fall victim to one side or the other’s deliberately disseminated disinformation.55 It is essential, therefore, to treat carefully the subject of Pakistan’s counterinsurgency strategy. Nevertheless, the allegations hurled at the security forces – of indiscriminate killing of non-combatants, collective reprisals, coercive disappearances, and arbitrary arrests, all against a background of wanton disregard of civil rights and legal protections nominally enshrined in the country’s generally unheeded Constitution – are simply too numerous and too convincingly documented to be dismissed lightly.56 To be sure, at times in this conflict unfettered brutality appears to have been the rule of engagement on all sides. The markedly superior numbers and firepower of the government’s forces make it virtually certain, however, that the lapses occur far more often, and with far worse consequences, at their hands. What, then, can confidently be said of Pakistan’s so-called ‘strategy of conflict management’? In particular, how has it impinged on Pakistan’s energy planning vis-à-vis tribal nationalist unrest in Balochistan?57 First of all, the impression is inescapable that Islamabad, in the words of a 2006 International Crisis Group (ICG) report, ‘pins its hopes on a military solution’;58 it has, in other words, placed its faith overwhelmingly in the multifaceted and forceful suppression of the Baloch nationalist movement. This is consistent with the counter-insurgent strategy the government employed under the civilian leadership of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto in the 1970s; and it also appears largely consistent with the strategy currently employed under the civilian leadership of Asif Ali Zardari, Bhutto’s son-in-law. In some respects, however, the version of counter-insurgency employed by the Musharraf regime up until its ouster in August 2008 – in its single-mindedness, inflexibility, and comprehensiveness – far surpassed the admittedly brutal

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approach the government took to the tribal uprising in the 1970s. In this regard, Harrison’s 2006 assessment – that the Musharraf government was ‘using new methods, more repressive than those of his predecessors, to crush the insurgency’59 – was certainly correct. Accounting for this, I believe, have been the added pressures of energy security in the mix of factors driving the government’s strategy of conflict management in Balochistan. Nothing else explains as well Islamabad’s apparent endorsement of what has been, at least until very recently, a virtually ‘zero-tolerance’ model. This model has three main elements, the first two of which are mainly carry-overs from the 1970s insurgency: 1. Information management: psychological warfare, information operations, and public diplomacy. One important element of the strategy falls under the heading of what is nowadays commonly designated as ‘psychological warfare’ or ‘information operations’ or, especially when directed at foreign audiences, ‘public diplomacy’. Though extremely difficult to measure, some of the themes that have been emphasized by the government in programmes of this sort have very likely had the desired impact on target audiences, especially in the West. One such theme, elaborated by spokesmen for the Pakistan army in discussions with the author in early 2007, was that the ‘real’ problem in Balochistan was the persistence of the backward and anachronistic sardari or tumandari system – in which ordinary Baloch occupied social positions distinctly inferior to those of the tribal leaders, the sardars or tumandars. These tribal chiefs and sub-chiefs, it is claimed, lord it over ordinary tribesmen, treating them virtually as bonded labour, demanding total submission and loyalty, and, to enforce conformity, meting out severe punishments, including incarceration in tribal prisons or even death.60 From the army’s perspective, the so-called insurgency is little more than the dying gasp of an obsolete and terribly oppressive system of tribal authority. It has very little to do, as the army describes it, with Baloch self-determination or Baloch defence against government oppression, and much to do instead with defending an oppressive system of traditional tribal authority – with perpetuating, in other words, the power and privilege of traditional tribal elites. In this telling, the sardars fear that modernity – in the form of governmentsponsored roads, schools, electricity, health clinics, improved water supply, democratic institutions, and so on – will eventually erode their authority. They fight back by mobilizing and arming tribal militias against alleged government ‘encroachment’ on tribal terrain and also against alleged ‘expropriation’ of natural resources properly belonging to the indigenous tribes.61 Apart from methodically blaming and disparaging the tribal leadership, the government’s information initiative has included belittlement of the insurgency’s scale. This has been done in terms not only of the number of fighters in rebellion mentioned earlier, but also in terms that emphasize the absence of genuine ideological motivation among the insurgents as well as

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the extraordinary narrowness of their tribal base. Most of what is written about the militancy problem in Balochistan, an army spokesman heatedly assured me, is concocted: ‘It is not an insurgency . . . The Baluch militants are employed people [mercenaries]. There is no [nationalist or other ideological] motivation!’62 Only three of over seventy tribes, he said, account for the bulk of the insurgents – the Bugtis, Mengals, and Marris. Concentrated mainly in only three (Dera Bugti, Kohlu, and Khuzdar) of the province’s twenty-seven districts, they have very little support from the rest of the Baloch tribes; and even these three tribes, he assured me, are highly fractionalized, with most of the tribesmen, in fact, favouring the government side. In sum, the government’s information management strategy aims at belittlement and disparagement of Baloch political leadership. The unfortunate effect is to depict the objectives of its Baloch adversaries in terms that discourage and delegitimize political compromise and accommodation, while at the same time providing justification for the government’s determination to employ whatever methods are required, however unsavory, to crush the nationalist movement once and for all. 2. Political management: political harassment and intimidation; decapitation of separatist leadership; divide and rule; and co-option of tribal leadership. Government and Baloch statements explaining the reasons for the government’s crackdown on Baloch nationalist political leadership naturally differ; but that a determined crackdown was launched five or six years ago is openly acknowledged. Excellent accounts exist of the government’s actions in this vein,63 and there is no need to repeat all the details here. In general, these actions consisted of mass arrests of Baloch political activists, numbering, in most accounts, in the many hundreds or even thousands; exploitation of the many fissures found within the Baloch ethnicity itself, both between the major tribal groups and within them; and the encouragement of divisions and distrust between the province’s two largest ethnonational groupings – the Pashtuns and the Baloch. Differing ethnolinguistically and mobilized into separate political parties, these two groupings inevitably compete for political space in the province. In their rivalry lies ample opportunity for government interference and manipulation. In early February 2003, when the Baloch insurgency was still at a relatively low boil, then President Musharraf appointed retired former corps commander Lieutenant General Abdul Qadir Baloch to the crucial provincial post of governor. Reasons given for his dismissal from that post barely six months later in early August 2003 have included alleged corruption and, according to an official source, ‘that he hailed from the relatively small Zehri tribe in Balochistan and [therefore] could not play his role effectively, keeping in view the dominant influence of the much stronger sardars of other major tribes’.64 Another account – unverified – told to the author in an off-the-record interview in Islamabad in early 2007 by a senior political

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notable, was that General Abdul Qadir infuriated Musharraf by attempting on his own initiative to negotiate an end to tribal disturbances at Dera Bugti with Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti. Earlier, as Quetta corps commander, Qadir had already had some notable success in this regard.65 Reportedly, only two persons were considered as Qadir’s replacement – Lieutenant General (retired) Ali Jan Orakzai, an Orakzai Pashtun,66 and Owais Ahmad Ghani, a Kakar Pashtun with ancestral ties to Balochistan.67 Owais Ghani got the nod. Ethnic ties and the possible willingness of a Pashtun leader at that time to go along with heavier reliance on military force to settle matters with the Baloch almost certainly would have figured in Musharraf’s calculations. Interestingly, General Abdul Qadir, at one time spoken of as a loyal friend of Musharraf, quickly associated himself, following his removal, with other prominent Pakistanis in public efforts calling upon Musharraf to either resign as President or as Chief of Army Staff.68 Decapitation efforts also have a long history in the Balochistan struggle. Arrest, imprisonment, assassination, and involuntary exile of prominent Baloch leaders were features of Zulfikar Bhutto’s approach to Balochistan as well. Four highly publicized cases in recent years are especially notable in this regard. The first was the killing on 26 August 2006 of Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti at his cave hideout in Marri territory (Kohlu district). He was the influential leader of the Baloch nationalist Jamhoori Watan Party (Republican National Party). Culminating a massive siege by army special forces, the killing of the nearly 80-year-old tribal leader along with many of his associates removed from the scene a politically cunning and charismatic figure, whose death, some believe, dealt ‘a major blow to the insurgency’ and gave Islamabad ‘a decisive edge over the Baloch rebel movement’.69 Bugti, having been in earlier years both Governor and Chief Minister of Balochistan and having worked hand-in-glove with Zulfikar Bhutto against the tribal insurgents in the 1970s, hardly fit the stereotype of a tribal guerrilla fighter. In more recent years, however, he had emerged as one of the most irritating thorns in Musharraf’s side. Precisely how he perished is controversial, with some government spokespersons claiming that he died when the walls of the cave collapsed on him during the fighting, but with the government’s critics insisting that he was the intended victim of a state-directed assassination. The second case, following almost immediately in the wake of Bugti’s death, was that of Sardar Akhtar Mengal, former Chief Minister of Balochistan and head of the Balochistan National Party (BNP). Mengal was the son of Ataullah Mengal, the ageing sardar of the Mengal tribe and one of the tribal icons of the 1970s rebellion. Mengal was arrested in November 2006 and tried in the Karachi Anti-Terrorism Court for treason, a fabricated charge in the view of many observers. He was subjected, according to the eyewitness report of a Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) observer, to humiliating confinement during the trial in a cage-like structure in the courtroom that prevented any contact

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with his attorney. Mengal’s example presented a stark warning to other disgruntled Baloch tribesmen of the price to be paid for resistance to state authority.70 The third notable case of decapitation came in late November 2007 with the reported slaying by Pakistani security forces of guerrilla commander Nawabzada Balach Marri, the youngest of six sons of Nawab Khair Baksh Marri, another of the most eminent nationalist leaders of the 1970s insurgency. The younger Marri, leader of the banned Baloch Liberation Army (BLA), had apparently fled to Afghanistan in the wake of Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti’s death in August 2006. Details of Balach Marri’s killing were not announced; but the resulting widespread outbursts of rage among his tribal kinsmen testified to the gravity of the loss.71 As one of Pakistan’s most senior and highly respected journalists put it, ‘anyone challenging the military’s authority in a country presently being ruled by the chief of army staff [sic] General Musharraf should think many times before daring to do so. Bugti paid with his life for committing this mistake [of] picking up the gun to fight the armed forces. Akhtar Mengal has launched a verbal assault only on the military and his punishment is imprisonment for an uncertain period in tough prison conditions.’72 A fourth case that has been seen by many in Balochistan as another instance of decapitation at the hands of security forces occurred in April 2009. The bodies of three Baloch leaders, who ironically were members of a committee formed by the central government to investigate the cases of missing persons in the province, were found near Turbat in southern Balochistan. In spite of denials of official involvement by both the military and civilian leadership of Pakistan, a strike was called and there were days of violent rioting in many parts of the province.73 3. Military management: increased deployment of security forces; new cantonments, military roads, and other infrastructure; and reliance on military repression. The greatest divergence in management strategy between the 1970s’ insurgency and today’s exists in the military realm. Underway today are plans for bringing responsibility for Balochistan’s security more fully than ever before under central control, for increasing exponentially the central government’s capacity for surveillance and policing there, and also for increasing dramatically the presence and reach in the province of the country’s regular security forces. Foremost of these plans are: • Establishment of three new military cantonments in Balochistan to augment the two now in existence at Sibi and Quetta. One is to be established at Gwadar on the southern coast, another at Kohlu, where the rebellious Marri tribe is headquartered, and a third at Dera Bugti, site of both the rebellious Bugti tribal headquarters as well as of the huge Sui natural gasfields. • Elimination by 2010 of the separate and indigenously recruited tribal police forces (levies) presently responsible for policing the so-called Category B areas, non-urban portions constituting 95 per cent of the

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provincial territory. These tribal police forces are to be integrated into the regular provincial police, who up to now bore responsibility only for urban provincial territory, the so-called Category A, amounting to 5 per cent.74 The government’s preoccupation nowadays with Pakistan’s energy security assuredly looms large in these military management strategies – aimed obviously at increasing the central government’s policing and surveillance capabilities. In the absence of their determined implementation, as the government understands the issue, none of the three crucial energyrelated initiatives discussed earlier in this chapter – that is, exploiting Balochistan’s own as yet only partially tapped energy resources, laying natural gas pipelines transiting the province, and constructing the vast infrastructure for a transport corridor to Central Asia and Xinjiang – can be successfully accomplished. Much is at stake: Pakistan’s economic progress, the security of its borders in a hostile neighbourhood, and the future of its vital alliance relationships with China and the United States. Better, it is apparently believed by those who rule Pakistan, to depend on coercive state power – the immediately at-hand and reliable security forces – than accede to the demands of a small, politically weak, recalcitrant, and untrustworthy ethnotribal minority whose interests inevitably run significantly counter to those of the state. It is not that accommodating the Baloch minority hasn’t been thought about in the highest circles of government and military. On 29 September 2004, then Prime Minister Chaudhry Shujat Hussain announced the formation of a Parliamentary Committee on Balochistan, constituted to examine the situation in the province and to make recommendations to ameliorate conditions and promote inter-provincial harmony. The Committee produced an admirably detailed and comprehensive report at the end of 2005. Its recommendations, filling seven pages and numbering in the dozens, called for numerous programmes and reforms including an increase in the provincial share in natural gas revenues, stricter implementation of the job quota for Balochistan-domiciled persons in the federal services, larger provincial representation on the Gwadar Port Authority, construction of new dams and reservoirs to counter drought conditions in the province, and the discontinuance of humiliating treatment of provincial citizens at hundreds of security checkpoints maintained by the federal government’s Coast Guard and Frontier Corps personnel throughout the province.75 However, when it came to the exceedingly sensitive matter of new cantonments, the Committee took refuge in discreetly phrased language, urging delay in construction pending ‘resolution of major current issues of Balochistan . . . so that the congenial atmosphere currently created may be sustained’.76 It was clear: the Committee members believed that construction of the new cantonments could not, and perhaps should not, be stopped.

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Although Musharraf’s military-dominated government thus appeared willing to pay at least lip-service to political options suggested by some members of the country’s civilian political elite, genuine accommodation of the Baloch minority does not seem ever to have attracted the military’s sincere and sustained interest. This fact was driven home forcefully to the author by comments made in a lengthy interview in January 2007 with a senior bureaucrat with years of top-level experience in Balochistan. He professed some sympathy with the viewpoint of the Baloch sardars. They routinely pointed out to him, he said, that government decisions in regard to planned mega-development projects in Balochistan, projects like the Gwadar deep-sea port and the Kachhi Canal irrigation project that would have huge impact on the lives of Baloch, were taken without any participation at all by the Baloch. This, he said, was true. Their exclusion was the product of a ‘military mindset’, a ‘tunnel view’ that precluded ‘carrying the people along’ with government planning. This view, he added, was especially prominent among military intelligence officers. ‘If the Baloch sardars had been taken into confidence’, he emphasized, ‘the militancy problem would have been diminished . . . Everything is possible if political dialogue is opened up . . . even if the sardars are unreasonable.’77 My interlocutor’s willingness to parcel out the blame for the Baloch insurgency more widely than was customary for Pakistani government officials seemed to me a promising departure from the egregiously one-sided vilification campaigns characteristic of the ‘information operations’ discussed above. Even more promising was his extraordinary confidence in the healing power of political dialogue. He did not strike me as naïve. On the contrary, he had dwelt at length during the interview on the subject of foreign support of the insurgents, arguing earnestly that a tiny handful of sardars could not possibly take on the government of Pakistan unless given material support from the outside. But even in the face of foreign interference, he averred, ‘all things are doable’. In this official’s view, then, the government’s methodical demonization of the offending sardars, even in cases where some amount of rebuke might have been warranted, has been counter-productive. The more they’ve been hounded, harassed, and humiliated, the more certain the Baloch became that the government’s real aim was to marginalize them and to reduce them to second-class citizenship in their own province. Observe that this official’s endorsement of a distinctly political approach to the Baloch problem is not to be confused or conflated with the contention in some quarters (the recent ICG report, for instance) that ‘the conflict could be resolved easily’, provided free and fair elections were held in Pakistan by the end of 2007.78 That sort of sanguine claim relies much too heavily on hoped-for outcomes of ‘democratic transition’ – in other words, changes in political attitudes and behaviour expected from competitive elections, civilian-run legislative bodies, and accountability to voters – to bring the threatening tribal insurgency to a close. In this connection, it is well to keep

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in mind that the 1970s insurgency erupted in the midst of one of Pakistan’s infrequent periods of civilian rule, with the country’s leader – Zulfikar Ali Bhutto – displaying as little inclination to accommodate the Baloch leadership’s quest for greater autonomy as did the military strongman, Pervez Musharraf. Pakistan’s democratization is not some kind of magic carpet that will carry the country inexorably in the direction of better government. The domestic and regional circumstances facing today’s civilian-led government in Pakistan offer little hope for movement in that direction. Admittedly, there were developments early in its existence that promised otherwise. On 1 September 2008, within days of Musharraf’s removal from power in Islamabad, the leaders of three major Baloch militant groups – the Baloch Liberation Army, Balochistan Liberation Front, and Baloch Republican Army – announced a unilateral ceasefire. Only four months later, however, complaining that their decision had not been properly reciprocated by the Pakistani security forces, they ended the ceasefire.79 The powerful geopolitical and geostrategic forces we have been considering here – energy rivalry foremost among them – that today inhabit a regional environment involving India, China, Russia, Central Asia, Iran, and the United States, along with a host of sub-state entities like Balochistan, seem unlikely to yield a solution so easily. No doubt, democratic elections are one essential component of a solution. But something more than an election – more than the mere substitution of civilian in place of military rule – is needed to right the obviously wrong circumstances facing Balochistan. That something more is meaningful recognition that Pakistan’s energy security can be fully safeguarded only when Baloch nationalism has been accommodated in good faith. The Baloch should be partners of energy development, not its enemies. Any other course is fraught with danger.

Conclusion To conclude, the context of today’s Baloch separatist-motivated insurgency differs in important respects from that of its 1970s predecessor, most fundamentally in terms of energy resource developments in what some are calling the ‘Asian Middle East’ (embracing parts of South, Central, and South West Asia). This change in the energy context exerts a powerful threefold impact on the insurgents’ prospects: first, by lifting Balochistan and Baloch nationalism to a point much higher on the scale of central government priorities, warranting, as the government has seen the problem, zero tolerance and a crushing response; second, by arming the Baloch insurgents both with greater incentives for reclaiming control of Balochistan and with the capacity to drive up the economic and political costs to the government of continuing insurgent activity; and third (on a more hopeful note), by creating major opportunities – specifically, by turning Balochistan into an important energy conduit in the region – to address Baloch nationalist demands in a positive

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and mutually acceptable manner. Despite the ruthlessness of the counterinsurgency strategy pursued by the government thus far, Balochistan’s rapidly intensifying energy context could supply both the means and the incentives for bringing the insurgency to a swift, negotiated, and amicable end. Persuading the Pakistan government to reverse course in Balochistan and engage the Baloch nationalists politically, and with a far more measured and judicious resort to the military option, will not be easy. The problem is not the alleged military ‘mindset’. The problem is rather more complicated. The energy-related and other strategic forces impacting on that part of the world join together in shaping Pakistani perceptions of their policy requirements, in some instances narrowing options, in others practically dictating Islamabad’s actions. Unfortunately, as Justin Dunne has perceptively observed, these forces ‘have demanded that the central government more strongly exert its authority in Baluchistan’.80 As in the 1970s, Balochistan still stands in the shadow of Afghanistan, a source of endless policy dilemmas for Islamabad; but innumerable other shadows, equally dark and each with its own set of imperatives, have emerged. Pakistan’s energy imperatives relate not only to its own natural gas resources but also to the proposed importation of natural gas from Iran and/ or Turkmenistan, as well as to its all-important collaboration with China in laying a north–south commercial and energy corridor. All these factors crowd in upon Pakistan’s policy-making in regard to the circumstances in Balochistan. Particularly, every effort must be made to ensure that no more Chinese engineers are slain anywhere in Balochistan.81 It seems highly unlikely that these imperatives will grow any less pressing as time goes on. Giving significantly higher priority to the accommodation of the Baloch tribal minority, in the face of these imperatives, will be a hard sell. However, Islamabad must come to realize that accommodating the Baloch nationalists makes far better sense than either neglecting or exterminating them. After all, energy rivalry is not the only factor affecting the context of the Baloch insurgency. Contemporary insurgency more generally, as Steven Metz persuasively argues, is undergoing fundamental change in its strategic context, structure, and dynamics, so that it bears less and less resemblance to its forebears. This metamorphosis, he says, mandates that governments adopt ‘a very different way of thinking about (and undertaking) counterinsurgency’. The real threat posed by insurgency, he observes, is the deleterious effects of sustained conflict. Political destabilization and a host of other damaging pathologies may be the consequence of attempts to destroy insurgents. ‘Protracted conflict’, he declares, ‘not insurgent victory, is the threat.’82 Thus Pakistan’s leaders, along with the leaders of states supporting Pakistan, should undertake on an urgent basis a re-examination of their policies so as to avoid if possible protracted conflict in Balochistan. The best overall way to do this is to make the Baloch partners to energy development, not antagonists of it.

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Notes 1. This chapter is a substantially revised and updated version of a paper published in April 2008 by the Strategic Studies Institute of the US Army War College under the title ‘Baloch Nationalism and the Geopolitics of Energy Resources: the Changing Context of Separatism in Pakistan’. 2. The tribe and province are commonly spelled either as Baluch and Baluchistan or Baloch and Balochistan. The latter spelling seems currently to be winning out in writings on the subject and thus has been adopted here. 3. S. S. Harrison, In the Shadow of Afghanistan: Baluch Nationalism and Soviet Temptations (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1981), p. 1. 4. Words themselves are, of course, weapons in the discourse of political conflict. Hence, the word ‘insurgency’ is used with care here to mean a serious level of organized, widespread, and persistent anti-state violence, without implying that the current separatist rebellion in Balochistan has reached the level attained by its 1970s forerunner or that it has necessarily outstripped the government’s capacity to contain it. The current rebellion certainly qualifies at a minimum as a ‘lowintensity insurgency’. 5. Ending an eight-year reign as military ruler and a 46-year military career, Musharraf stepped down as chief of the Pakistan army and took the oath as civilian president in late 2007. He survived as president for about six months following the 28 February 2008 national elections, which brought to power in Islamabad the People’s Party of Pakistan, led by Asif Ali Zardari since his wife Benazir Bhutto was assassinated in late 2007. 6. Indian President A. P. J. Abdul Kalam, an engineer by training, observed in a speech on energy security in 2005 that ‘energy independence has to be our nation’s first and highest priority.’ Quoted in ‘India’s President Seeks Energy Security’, Tech Policy, 17 August 2005, www.techpolicy.typepad.com/tpp/2005/08/ indias_presiden_1.html, accessed 9 September 2007. 7. Harrison, In the Shadow of Afghanistan, p. 7. Emphasis added. 8. B. Raman, ‘Security of Chinese Nationals in Pakistan’, International Terrorism Monitor 266, South Asia Analysis Group Paper No. 2329, 11 August 2007, www. saag.org/papers24/paper2329.html, accessed 13 August 2007. 9. For statistics and description of Pakistan’s energy resources, see Energy Information Administration, Country Analysis Brief: Pakistan, routinely updated, at: www.eia. doe.gov. 10. Petroleum & Natural Resources Division, Ministry of Petroleum & Natural Resources, Government of Pakistan, ‘Sui Southern Gas Company Limited: Introduction’, www.pakistan.gov.pk/divisions/ContentInfo.jsp?DivID=49&cPath=768_ 775&ContentID=4177, accessed 11 September 2007. 11. N. Ahmad, ‘Trouble in Pakistan’s Energy-Rich Balochistan’, ISN Security Watch, 30 January 2006, www.isn.ethz.ch/news/sw/details.cfm?ID=14606, accessed 11 August 2007. 12. T. Niazi, ‘Baloch Insurgents Escalate Attacks in Pakistan’, ISN Security Watch, 24 May 2006, www.isn.ethz.ch/news, accessed 11 August 2007. 13. International Crisis Group (ICG), Pakistan: the Worsening Conflict in Balochistan, Asia Report No. 119, Islamabad/Brussels, 14 September 2006, p. 16, www.crisis. org/library/documents/asia/south_asia/119_pakistan_the_worsening_conflict_ in_balochistan.pdf, accessed 11 September 2007.

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14. M. Ziauddin, ‘Accessing Fossil Fuels in Balochistan’, Dawn, 4 September 2006; and M. Haider, ‘Balochistan Seeks Increase in Royalty’, The Nation, 24 January 2005. See also M. A. Kundi, ‘Provincial Autonomy: a View from Balochistan’, in P. I. Cheema and R. A. Khan (eds), Problems and Politics of Federalism in Pakistan (Islamabad: Islamabad Policy Research Institute, 2006), especially p. 43. 15. ICG, Pakistan, pp. 16–17. 16. This and the next section incorporate some material from the author’s paper, ‘In India’s Lengthening Shadow: the US–Pakistan Strategic Alliance and the War in Afghanistan’, presented in London on 19 July 2007, to an international seminar on Pakistan: Its Neighbors & the West, sponsored by the Royal United Services Institution (RUSI) and the Public Policy Research Organization (PPRO). 17. India’s rapidly spiralling energy crisis is outlined in the author’s paper, ‘The Progress of Détente in India–Pakistan Relations: New Chapter or Strategic Charade?’, presentation to an international symposium on Pakistan: International Relations & Security, sponsored by the Institute of South Asian Studies (ISAS), National University of Singapore, 24–25 May 2007. 18. Following exaggerated claims about the magnitude of the Krishna Godavari gas find, the Indian government announced a sobering ten- to twenty-fold reduction in the estimated amount of domestic natural gas reserves projected for the KG basin. The readjusted estimate was bound to cast a new light on New Delhi’s calculations in the IPI negotiations. India’s probable future gas deficit now seems larger than ever. S. Srivastava, ‘India Eyes Military Favors for Myanmar Oil’, AsiaTimes Online, 19 July 2007, www.atimes.com/atimes/South_Asia/IG20Df01. html, accessed 6 September 2007. 19. D. Temple, The Iran–Pakistan–India Pipeline: the Intersection of Energy and Politics, IPCS Research Paper No. 8 (New Delhi: Institute of Peace and Conflict Studies, 2007), p. 35. 20. ‘IPI Gas Price Formula Agreed’, Asian Age, 16 July 2007. The cost of gas delivered through the IPI pipeline would be based, according to the agreement, on the price of natural gas in Japan, which accounts for roughly half the world’s natural gas consumption. 21. S. Srivastava, ‘Exit Iran’s Oil Minister and a Pipeline Too’, AsiaTimes Online, 17 August 2007, www.atimes.com/atimes/South_Asia/IH17Df01.html, accessed 6 September 2007; K. Sanati, ‘Iran: an Oil Industry that Lost its Head’, AsiaTimes Online, 5 September 2007, www.atimes.com/atimes/Middle_East/II05Ak03.html, accessed 6 September; and ‘Iranian Oil Minister Steps Down’, Japan Today, 13 August 2007, www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1880252/posts, accessed 6 September 2007. For an illuminating comment on the pricing issue, see K. L. Afrasiabi, ‘A Blockage in the Peace Pipeline’, AsiaTimes Online, 9 July 2007, www. atimes.com/atimes/South_Asia/IG10Df01.html, accessed 6 September 2007. 22. As of this writing, no firms had been sanctioned under the Iran Sanctions Act (ISA) or its predecessor Iran–Libya Sanctions Act (ILSA). Congress, in extending the Act to 2011, strengthened some of its provisions, but at the same time left the executive branch with considerable leeway in applying them. K. Katzman, ‘The Iran Sanctions Act (ISA)’, CRS Report for Congress, Order Code RS20871, Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service, 25 January 2007. 23. ‘We Need to Stop Pipeline, Says Bodman’, The Hindu, 23 March 2007, www. hinduonnet.com, accessed 10 September. See also P. G. Thakurta, ‘Iran–Pakistan– India Gas Pipeline in Trouble’, Counter Currents, 14 February 2006, www.counter currents.org/india-thakurta140206.htm, accessed 10 September 2007; and

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24.

25.

26.

27. 28.

29. 30.

31.

32. 33. 34.

35.

36.

37.

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P. G. Thakurta, ‘US Frown Turns Gas Pipeline Into Pipe Dream’, Inter Press Service News Agency, 22 March 2007, www.ipsnews.net, accessed 10 September 2007. For an illuminating discussion of the nuclear accord’s development, see C. R. Mohan, Impossible Allies: Nuclear India, United States & the Global Order (New Delhi: India Research Press, 2006). Temple, The Iran–Pakistan–India Pipeline, pp. 36–7. For an argument supportive of the Bush administration’s efforts to block the IPI pipeline, see A. Cohen et al., ‘The Proposed Iran–Pakistan–India Gas Pipeline: an Unacceptable Risk to Regional Security’, Backgrounder No. 2139 (The Heritage Foundation, 30 May 2008). See also M. Lall and I. A. Lodhi, ‘Political Economy of Iran–Pakistan–India (IPI) Gas Pipeline’, ISAS Working Paper No. 26 (Institute of South Asian Studies, 23 October 2007). V. Kathuria, ‘Promise of Transborder Gas Pipelines’, The Hindu, 8 May 2006, www.hindu.com/biz/2006/05/08/stories/2006050800341600.htm, accessed 29 September; and G. Luft, ‘Iran–Pakistan–India Pipeline: the Baloch Wildcard’, Energy Security (Institute for the Analysis of Global Security, 12 January 2005), www.iags.org/n0115042.htm, accessed 2 April 2007. ‘Tough, but Workable Options’, Tehelka.com, 28 July 2007, www.tehelka.com, accessed 29 September 2007. See, for instance, J. Daly, ‘The Baloch Insurgency and its Threat to Pakistan’s Energy Sector’, Terrorism Focus 3(11) (21 March 2006), www.jamestown.org/terrorism/ news, accessed 10 September 2007; T. Niazi, ‘Baloch Insurgents Escalate Attacks on Infrastructure’, Terrorism Focus 3(20) (23 May 2006), www.jamestown.org/ terrorism/news, accessed 4 August 2007; and Luft, ‘Iran–Pakistan–India Pipeline. Kathuria, ‘Promise of Transborder Gas Pipelines’. ‘Editorial: How Realistic is TAP Gas Pipeline?’ Daily Times, 21 August 2007, www. dailytimes.com.pk/print.asp?page=2007%5C08%5C21%5Cstory_21-8-2007_pg, accessed 8 September 2007. The scale of Pakistan’s energy crisis is, from all accounts, formidable. On this, see K. Kiani, ‘Power Crisis to Deepen in Coming Years: 50pc Demand Rise in Two Years Likely’, Dawn, 8 January 2007; and ‘Massive Gas Shortfall Forecast’, Dawn, 7 March 2007. ‘President Musharraf’s Address at the Inauguration of Gwadar Deep Seaport’, www.presidentofpakistan.gov.pk/FilesSpeeches/Addresses, accessed 2 April 2007. Interview by author in Islamabad in March 2007. Name withheld on request. T. Niazi, ‘Gwadar: China’s Naval Outpost on the Indian Ocean’, Association for Asian Research, 28 February 2005, www.asianresearch.org/articles/2528.html, accessed 4 April 2007. For a comment on the expansion and consolidation of Sino-Pakistani bilateral cooperation in the area of defence, see S. Fazl-e-Haider, ‘China Rises to Pakistan’s Defense’, AsiaTimes Online, 11 July 2007, www.atimes.com/atimes/South_Asia/ IG11Df02.html, accessed 10 September 2007. Quoted in M. K. Bhadrakumar, ‘Afghan Bridge Exposes Huge Divide’, AsiaTimes Online, 4 September 2007, www.atimes.com/atimes/printN.html, accessed 29 September 2007. Embassy of the United States in Dushanbe, Tajikistan, Press Release: Fact Sheet on Tajik-Afghan Nizhny Pyanj Bridge, n.d., www.dushanbe.usembassy.gov/ bridge_fact_sheet.html, accessed 15 September 2007. According to the Fact Sheet, ‘the bridge will provide the region with inter-connectivity by cutting the distance between Dushanbe and seaports almost in half. It also facilitates access to a warm

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41. 42.

43.

44.

45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

Fixing Fractured Nations water port in Karachi, Pakistan, for the countries to the north. This should spur increased trade and economic development throughout the region.’ Pakistan does not, however, deny overland passage to India of Afghanistan goods. Frederic Grare, ‘Pakistan: the Resurgence of Baluch Nationalism’, Carnegie Papers No. 65 (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, January 2006), p. 8. Quoted in B. Raman, ‘Baloch Shadow Over Wen Jiabao’s Visit’, South Asia Analysis Group Paper No. 1339, 18 April 2005, www.saag.org/papers14/paper1339.html, accessed 10 September 2007. Interview by author in Pakistan in January 2007. Identity withheld on request. C. Gall, ‘Another Insurgency Gains in Pakistan’, The New York Times, 12 July 2009, http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/12/world/asia/12baluchistan. html?_r=1&hp=&pagewant, accessed 13 July 2009. Harrison’s book, cited earlier, provides an excellent overview of Baloch history as well as the evolution of Baloch nationalism. The most useful recent account of the background and development of the current Baloch insurgency is that of the ICG, cited above. It is now available in updated form: ICG, Pakistan: the Forgotten Conflict in Balochistan, Asia Briefing No. 69, Islamabad/ Brussels, 22 October 2007, www.crisisgroup.org/library/documents/asia/ south_asia/69_ pakistan_the_forgotten_conflict_in_balochistan.pdf, accessed 10 January 2008. Other recent and valuable sources are R. Jetly, ‘Baluch Ethnicity and Nationalism (1971–81)’, Asian Ethnicity 5(1) (February 2004): 7-26; and J. S. Dunne, ‘Crisis in Baluchistan: a Historical Analysis of the Baluch Nationalist Movement in Pakistan’, thesis submitted to Department of National Security Affairs, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, California (2006), p. 68, www.ccc. nps.navy.mil/research/theses/dunne06.pdf, accessed 20 July 2007. K. Bengali and M. Sadaqat, Regional Accounts of Pakistan: Methodology and Estimates 1973–2000 (Karachi: Social Policy & Development Centre, 2006), pp. 74–5. Other more recent examinations of interprovincial disparities in Pakistan confirm the findings of the Bengali and Sadaqat study. See, for instance, ‘Regional Disparities’, Social Development in Pakistan: Annual Review 2006–07 (Karachi: Social Policy and Development Centre, 2007), pp. 112–17; and H. Jamal and A. J. Khan, ‘Trends in Regional Human Development Indices’, Research Report No. 73 (Karachi: Social Policy and Development Centre, 2007). These studies, based on a composite measure of health, education, and income (the Human Development Index; HDI), place Balochistan at the bottom of Pakistan’s four provinces in all categories. P. Tahir, ‘Problems and Politics of Fiscal Federalism in Pakistan’, in Cheema and Khan (eds), Problems and Politics of Federalism in Pakistan, p. 75. Senate of Pakistan, Report of the Parliamentary Committee on Balochistan, Report 7, Islamabad: Senate Foreign Relations Committee, 2005, p. 84. Tahir, ‘Problems and Politics of Fiscal Federalism in Pakistan’, p. 76. Complete census data are available online at: www.statpak.gov.pk. Senate of Pakistan, Report of the Parliamentary Committee on Balochistan, p. 12. L. King, ‘Battles Raging in Remotest Pakistan’, Los Angeles Times, 13 August 2007, p. 1. T. Shah and C. Gall, ‘Afghan Rebels Find a Haven in Pakistan, Musharraf Says’, The New York Times, 12 August 2007. The most recent such public accusation was made to Pakistan’s National Assembly by Interior Minister Rehman Malik, ‘Pakistan Blames India for Baloch Unrest’, The Peninsula (Qatar), 23 April 2009. See also S. Baldauf, ‘India–Pakistan

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Rivalry Reaches into Afghanistan’, The Christian Science Monitor, 12 September 2003; ‘Afghanistan Asked to Clamp Down Indian Consulates Interference in Balochistan’, PakTribune, 21 February 2006, www.paktribune.com/news, accessed 25 July 2007; and M. H. Ahsan, ‘“RAW is Training 600 Baluchis in Afghanistan”: Mushahid Hussain’, Boloji.com, 2 July 2007, www.boloji.com/analysis2/0116. htm, accessed 20 April 2007. 53. B. Raman, ‘Gwadar: Balochs Blast Deal with Singapore Company’, South Asia Analysis Group Paper No. 2127, 8 February 2007, www.saag.org/papers22/ paper2127.html, accessed 12 April 2007. 54. T. Saeedi et al., ‘Pakistan: Unveiling the Mystery of Balochistan Insurgency’, IntelliBriefs, 1 March 2005, www.intellibriefs.blogspot.com, accessed 10 July 2007. 55. A case in point is the description veteran writer Selig Harrison gave of the methods the Musharraf government employed against its Baloch nationalist adversaries. A ‘slow-motion genocide’, he wrote, is being inflicted on the Baloch. In August 2006, thousands of them were forced to flee their villages ‘to escape bombing and strafing by the US-supplied F-16 fighter jets and Cobra helicopter gunships of the Pakistan air force’. Pakistan President Pervez Musharraf, he alleged, ‘is using new methods, more repressive than those of his predecessors, to crush the insurgency’. Baloch spokesmen, he says, ‘have reported large-scale kidnappings and disappearances, charging that Pakistani forces have rounded up hundreds of Baloch youths on unspecified charges and taken them to unknown locations’. S. S. Harrison, ‘Pakistan’s Baluch Insurgency’, Le Monde Diplomatique, 5 October 2006, www. mondediplo.com/2006/10/05baluchistan, accessed 4 August 2007. With most of Harrison’s description there is no need to quibble. Some of it, however, is unnecessarily provocative. For one thing, his use of the word ‘genocide’, even if slow motion, is unwarranted. And his mention of F-16 fighter jets presents a real problem. In his article, Harrison cites the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan as the source for the reported use of F-16s in recent fighting. A careful reading of that group’s meticulously assembled report, published in early 2006, reveals, however, that there is no mention of that aircraft anywhere in it. It does mention bombings and, also, strafing by gunship helicopters; but it leaves to the reader’s judgement whether Pakistan would have used for this militarily rather piddling task some of the hundreds of much cheaper Chinese-supplied fighter aircraft in its inventory as opposed to any of the dwindling stock of its very expensive, nuclear capable, ageing but still highly prized F-16s. Similarly, the 2006 International Crisis Group report on Balochistan also states categorically that ‘US-supplied Cobra helicopters and F-16s’ are being used against the Baloch. ICG, Pakistan: The Worsening Conflict in Balochistan, p. 22 (reference 180). The ICG report cites an article in The New York Times contributed by correspondent Carlotta Gall in support of its contention. Gall’s sole cited source for this information, however, was an interview with the Baloch nationalist leader Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti, at the time a guiding force of the Baloch insurgency and a shrewd but hardly impartial witness, who had told the American journalist (with perhaps the hope of bringing American pressure down upon Islamabad) ‘that the government was using its American-supplied jets and helicopter gunships against them’. C. Gall, ‘In Remote Pakistan Province, a Civil War Festers’, The New York Times, 2 April 2006. Given the extraordinary strategic significance that has for decades been attached to America’s sale of F-16s to Pakistan, any reference to their use against Pakistan’s own citizens (especially when linked with the politically charged reference to the ‘genocidal’ onslaught of Pakistan’s armed forces) is inevitably freighted with potentially momentous political consequences.

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56. There are a number of revealing reports on human rights violations in Balochistan. For a report that emphasizes the government’s transgressions, see Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), Conflict in Baluchistan: Human Rights Violations, Report of Fact-Finding Missions December 2005–January 2006 (Lahore: HRCP, 2006). For a report that catalogues abuses by both sides but that is weighted heavily against the Baloch tribal chiefs, see Ansar Burney Trust International, HR Violations in Balochistan: 2005–2006, Fact-Finding Report by ABTI (Karachi: ABTI, 2006). 57. The content of this section draws to a large extent on the author’s interviews in recent years on the Baloch question with a fairly broad assortment of serving Pakistan military intelligence officers, retired senior bureaucrats with service in Balochistan, human rights investigators, senior police officials, professional analysts, veteran politicians, academics, and others. In most instances, they requested – and are granted – anonymity. 58. ICG, The Worsening Conflict in Balochistan, p. 22. 59. Harrison, ‘Pakistan’s Baluch Insurgency’. 60. The alleged sadistic cruelty of the sardars, especially of the recently slain powerful head of the Bugti tribe, Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti, looms as the principal theme in an obviously propagandistic, pro-government photo-magazine published a few years ago showing, apart from gruesome photos of the sardar’s torture victims, the huge arsenal of modern weaponry he had assembled with which to fight the government. Terrorism in Balochistan & Government’s Response, Quetta, no date and no sponsorship identified. 61. Noticeable in the Pakistan government’s depiction of the struggle over Balochistan is a striking continuity between the themes currently in use and those used in earlier periods of armed confrontation. Propaganda cartoons distributed by the Zulfikar Bhutto government during the 1970s insurgency, for instance, played heavily on the oppressive tribal authority theme. One set of cartoons featured in that period, for instance, cleverly displayed a sword (in Arabic, zulfikar), happily evoking Bhutto’s own name and wielded by Bhutto’s People’s Party government, slicing off the hand of the dreaded sardari system, thus freeing from bondage the suppressed Baloch held in its clutches. Sample cartoons are reprinted in the author’s monograph The Baluchis and Pathans, Report No. 48 (London: Minority Rights Group, 1981). 62. Interview by the author in Rawalpindi in January 2007. Identity withheld on request. 63. See, for instance, ICG, The Worsening Conflict in Balochistan, pp. 19–25; HRCP, Conflict in Baluchistan; Grare, Pakistan: the Resurgence of Baluch Nationalism; and R. Jetly, ‘The Re-emergence of the Baluch Movement in Pakistan’, ISAS Insights No. 15 (Singapore: Institute of South Asian Studies, 2006). 64. I. Khan, ‘Owais Confirms his Nomination: Balochistan Governor’, Dawn, 9 August 2003. 65. S. S. Shahzad, ‘Balochistan Tribes Threaten Pakistan’s Gas Riches’, AsiaTimes Online, 25 July 2002, www.atimes.com, accessed 15 August 2007. 66. In a development seeming to mirror the Pakistan government’s increasing difficulties of managing insurgent activity in the country’s northwest, Owais Ghani was shifted in early January 2008 to the post of NWFP governor, a position vacated, ironically, by the sudden resignation of Lieutenant General (retired) Ali Muhammad Jan Orakzai, who had been Ghani’s main rival for posting as governor of Balochistan. 67. Shahzad, ‘Balochistan Tribes Threaten Pakistan’s Gas Riches’.

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68. P. Swami, ‘Balochistan Shadow Over India-Pakistan Ties’, The Hindu, 9 May 2006. 69. ‘Pakistan: the Death of a Rebel Leader’, Strategic Forecasting, 26 August 2006, www. stratfor.com, accessed 20 April 2007. 70. M. S. Akbar, ‘Taking on the State’, Frontline 24(4) (24 February–9 March 2007), www.hinduonnet.com/fline, accessed 15 April 2007. Mengal was acquitted of the treason charges in early 2007, and he was released from prison in 2008 soon after a civilian-led government was voted into power in February that year. 71. S. Shahid, ‘Balach Marri Killed: Violence in Quetta, Schools Closed’, Dawn, 22 November 2007; and S. S. Hasan, ‘Top Baloch Rebel Leader “Killed”’, BBC News, 21 November 2007, www.news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/south_asia/7106270. stm, accessed 30 November 2007. For an unusually impassioned Indian commentary on the killing, see B. Raman, ‘Baloch Che Guevara is Dead: the Freedom Struggle Continues’, South Asia Analysis Group, Paper No. 2473, 23 November 2007, www.saag.org/papers25/paper2473.html, accessed 26 November 2007. 72. R. Yusufzai, ‘The Case Against Mengal’, The News, 9 September 2007, www. jang.com.pk/thenews/sep2007-weekly/nos-09-092007/dia.htm#4, accessed 13 September 2007. 73. ‘Balochistan Deaths Spark Strikes’, BBC News, 10 April 2009, http://www. newsvote.bbc.co.uk/mpapps/pagetools/print/news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_ asia/799335, accessed 29 April 2009; and Gall, ‘Another Insurgency Gains in Pakistan’. 74. Senate of Pakistan, Report of the Parliamentary Committee on Balochistan, pp. 46–7. 75. Ibid., pp. 95–101. 76. Ibid., p. 100. 77. Interview by author in Pakistan in January 2007. Identity withheld on request. Emphasis is the author’s. 78. ICG, Pakistan: the Worsening Conflict in Balochistan, p. ii. 79. ‘Ceasefire Ended’, Baloch, Balochistan and Others, 6 January 2009, http://www. baluchi.wordpress.com/2009/01/06/ceasefire-ended/, accessed 30 April 2009. 80. Dunne, ‘Crisis in Baluchistan’, p. 68. 81. The contents of a number of major recent initiatives by the Pakistan government to protect Chinese nationals in Pakistan are outlined in Raman, ‘Security of Chinese Nationals in Pakistan’. 82. S. Metz, Rethinking Insurgency (Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, June 2007), pp. v–vi, www.StrategicStudiesInstitute.army.mil, accessed 24 September 2007.

6 India Democracy, Nation, and the Spirals of Insecurity: State Response to Ethnic Separatism in India’s Northeast Samir K. Das Never before in its history has the Indian nation looked as severely fractured as it does now – not because the fracture is unprecedented but because it continues at a time when no one seems sure of how to fix it. Clearly, the post-independence (1947) consensus about ‘who belongs to the nation, democratic access and rights, the relationship between state and ever-more diverse society’ is now in a shambles.1 The newly born Indian state took time to realize that it was left with a ‘nation’ that was fractured in at least two critical ways. First, it inherited a vast territory containing some groups and communities that either refused to be part of the Indian nation or, at the very least, wanted to exercise the freedom to renegotiate their inclusion in it. They resented that they had ab initio become part of the nation without forming a party to the ‘contract’ or the ‘common undertaking’ that brought the new political dispensation into existence. Thus, Manipur’s 1949 ‘merger’ in the Indian Union – as we will have occasion to see – is being disputed not only by the insurgents but also by a plethora of overground groups and forces circulating in the state. The fracture is thus constitutive of the Indian nation. However, Manipur’s problems have been subsequently compounded by poor governance, sub-regional asymmetries growing between the hills and the plains, almost routine violations of human rights, and, of course, steady erosion of democratic institutions and practices. Second, India’s independence was accompanied by the partition of the sub-continent. Partition itself was an extension of the old colonial practice of settling the hitherto wandering groups and tribes of the eastern frontier within a clearly demarcated political and administrative space and preventing others from encroaching on them. The post-partition Indian nation, as we will see, decided to follow the same colonial policy of granting homeland territory to the agitating groups and communities. Homeland, according to Baruah, has in fact become the sub-text of many an interethnic struggle in the region.2 Insofar as the logic of partition gets re-enacted through state responses and everyday political practices, the Indian nation in a region as diverse and heterogeneous as the northeast is caught in a homeland bind. 116

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Our second case study on Bodoland shows how rapid depletion of the native Bodo population (thanks to incessant immigration from outside posing a threat to their land, livelihood, language, and culture), poor governance, and political bickering were responsible for aggravating the homeland crisis. The logic of partition is intrinsic to the formation of the postcolonial nation; and much of today’s problem in the northeast is rooted in the way the nation is imagined and sought to be accomplished by the Indian state. Our selection of Manipur and Bodoland as case studies is prompted by the fact that they represent two rather divergent prototypes of ethnic separatism that plagues the region. Like the one in Manipur, the roots of Naga and Mizo insurgencies can be traced back to the inclusion of the then Naga and Mizo Hills in India in the wake of independence. The insurgency in Assam, based more or less on the same argument of its ‘independent’ history, only took off much later in the 1980s. The case of Bodoland, on the other hand, sums up the dilemma involved in the hitherto followed policy of homeland by the Indian state. The same dilemma is responsible for having triggered many ethnic conflicts in the region, including the ones between the Bengalis and the tribes in Tripura, particularly in 1980, between the Nagas and the Kukis in the hills of Manipur in 1992–3, and between the Karbis and the Dimasas in the North Cachar Hills of Assam since the beginning of the new millennium. Manipur and Bodoland, in simple terms, point to two rather different fault lines of the fracture that elicit two – not altogether different – kinds of state response to ethnic separatism. Manipur, as we will see, is viewed as a security problem that calls for a security solution. Although initially having viewed Manipur as a simple law-and-order problem, the Indian state seems to have learned from past mistakes and retrieved what Fukuyama calls ‘institutional memory’3 in the case of Bodoland. The formation of the Bodoland Territorial Council (BTC) in 2003 ranks as a novel experiment inasmuch as it represents perhaps for the first time a non-territorial solution to the homeland problem, offering recognition to the rights of the non-Bodos living within its jurisdiction. The success, however, was only short-lived as the area again plunged into some of the worst-ever rounds of violence in the second half of 2008. This chapter reviews how the Indian state has responded to the phenomenon of ethnic separatism in India’s northeast. While ethnic separatism in the region has assumed various forms, the demands underlying it range from complete secession and the formation of sovereign states to affirmative action achieved by securing recognition as a Scheduled Caste/Tribe as per the Constitution of India. But, as our studies will indicate, the state has hitherto treated ethnic separatism in the northeast more as a security problem than as a political one. As a result, most of the region for much of its post-1947 existence has witnessed poor governance, intense counter-insurgency operations, and flagrant violations of human rights: ‘a military response to a political problem became embedded in the system and in Delhi’s approach’.4

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Barring the BTC and perhaps a few other experiences, the Indian state’s responses in both the Bodo and Manipur cases have been particularly repressive. As an ever greater number of security forces are pressed into service, ever newer technologies of coercion are constantly put on trial resulting in almost routine violations of human rights. A number of extraordinary legislative enactments (such as the Armed Forces Special Powers Act, the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act, the Assam Disturbed Areas Act, and other prohibitory orders) have been promulgated while the security forces have been invested with legal impunity. Democratic institutions and practices reportedly alive and well in other parts of India are thus perpetually kept in limbo. Meanwhile, the state follows the twin policy, first, of quarantining the sources of insecurity by keeping them confined to certain carefully marked out zones and, second, of governing them by making permanent exceptions to democratic institutions and practices. As insecurity is zoned, a ‘politics of fear’, as Žižek argues, engulfs the region and prevails over a ‘politics based on universal axioms’.5 Recurring violations of basic human rights to life and liberty, along with wanton destruction of the environment, do not seem to cause any alarm in a scenario that puts a premium on security against ‘others’ – whether immigrants, foreigners, or other species of outsiders. Such outsiders are officially declared a threat, not to this or that part of the Indian nation but to ‘the whole nation’.6 Security preparations are made to apply to a whole nation that is defined in abstract and aggregative terms – indeed, too abstract to be identified with any concrete group or community. As I have argued elsewhere, in any discussion on national security, ‘nation’ continues to be the key undefined term.7 The whole Indian nation thereby acquires – to borrow a term that Lyotard has used – ‘a universal value’ so as ‘to describe and analyze a situation or condition from this point of view and to prescribe what ought to be done in order for this subject to realize itself, or at least for its realization to progress’.8 In simple terms, in the name of the ‘whole’ nation it is then possible to permanently suspend democratic institutions and unleash militaristic and repressive measures. Fear, in other words, becomes the means left for fixing the nation. The Indian state’s tacit policy of hierarchically ordering the nation and differentially zoning its security preparations, according to some commentators, speaks of a deep racial and civilizational divide that marks the ‘Indian mainland’ from the northeast. The differences in appearance are increasingly being translated into pure hatred and active discrimination. The Indian nation is seen to embody an internal clash of civilizations and races.9 One wonders how the racial and civilizational divide drives New Delhi to routinely transgress the democratic norms and practices that it has otherwise set for itself and followed reasonably well in other parts of India during the last sixty-odd years of its democratic career. This chapter at one level proposes to argue that routine violation of democratic norms and practices in certain peripheral areas is precisely the means

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through which the Indian state seeks to ensure the security of the country as a whole. India is not alone in this regard. Other modern democracies appear also to require a junkyard (Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo Bay serve as classic examples) where such norms and practices are flouted with impunity, ironically for the sake of securing and strengthening democracy elsewhere. So long as security threats are marked out and zoned, democracy is held to be safe; insofar as they permeate the body politic, they pose a constant threat to its democratic foundations. It is this project of securing democracy that fractures the nation. Thus, it may be too much to expect that the existing democratic framework, barring a radical change in its basic premises, will be able to fix the fractured nation. At another level, this chapter turns the civilizational argument on its head: democratic norms and practices are flouted not because there is the civilizational divide; the civilizational divide exists because democratic norms and procedures are not observed. It will be interesting to see how persistent transgression of democratic norms and procedures translates over time into the racial and civilizational divide. As our case studies will suggest, the early history of assimilation into mainstream Hinduism on the part of both the Manipuris (commonly knows as the Meiteis) and the Bodos gradually gave way to a process of return to their pre-Hindu past. A stage has been reached where their democratic aspirations are expressed in a language that defies assimilation while it also threatens to destabilize and fracture the nation. Democracies today, as we are informed, are ‘in no way teleologically or theologically conditioned’ by any given form of nation.10 The chapter in simple terms argues that whatever the Indian state has done while claiming to ‘secure’ the Indian nation has led to growing insecurity of some ethnic groups and communities inhabiting democracy’s junkyard. It has also catalyzed ethnic separatism. The central government’s obsession with macro security, in other words, has only fomented and escalated innumerable micro insecurities in the periphery. How can the Indian state reconcile these antagonistic tendencies? At one level, the state is encouraged to carefully distance itself from the people’s world of ethnic identities and completely ‘disburden’ it of the responsibility of having to shun or promote any of them. The state, according to this view, is more an instrument of governance than a moral and normative entity.11 At another level and parallel to the above, a plea is often made for ‘reviving and rejuvenating’12 the state and to restore to it the ‘normative concerns’13 or – as we have already mentioned – the ‘universal axioms’ that it ought to pursue and follow. Neither of these pleas actually tells us how, and more importantly why, a state should act in the way it is expected to. While civil society activism is often cited as a potential prime mover, the argument made in this chapter underlines the importance of recognizing that the Indian nation is fractured in a way that is constitutive of it and therefore not amenable to being fixed without fairly radical surgery. The state has

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now to learn how to extend democracy beyond the fault lines. The task of democratizing the junkyard may turn out to be extremely painful insofar as some disaffected groups and communities may prefer to exercise their freedom to renegotiate the terms of the Constitution and body of laws that brought the Indian body politic into existence and/or claim a share in the country’s sovereignty.14 The question is not one of simply fixing the nation, in other words, but of redefining the very foundations of the body politic. The chapter is divided into three parts. The first part provides a short background to the separatist conflicts in the northeast with special reference to the processes of decolonization and consequent reorganization of international borders and almost incessant immigration from across the region. Considering that the northeast as a region is both vast and heterogeneous, the second part makes only a select study of how the Indian state has responded in the cases of Manipur and Bodoland (in the state of Assam). The third part discusses in brief the geopolitical implications for Indian security of ethnic separatism, including separatism’s links with radical Islam in South Asia.

Northeast: home to ethnic separatism The emergence of the northeast as a separate geopolitical region is fairly recent. It was only with India’s independence and the reorganization in its wake of India’s international borders with its eastern neighbours (East Pakistan/Bangladesh, Tibet/China, Burma/Myanmar, Nepal and Bhutan) that the northeast emerged as a separate region. It is connected rather precariously with the Indian heartland by the narrow (roughly 21-kilometrelong) Siliguri corridor – popularly known as the ‘chicken neck’. Presently the region consists of the seven Indian states of Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, Tripura – also known as ‘Seven Sisters’ – and Sikkim, incorporated into the Indian Union in 1974. The region is characterized by extraordinary ethnic, cultural, religious, and linguistic diversity. It boasts more than 160 Scheduled Tribes15 belonging to five different ethnic groups, and it has over 400 distinct tribal and subtribal groupings speaking about 175 languages and dialects. In addition, it has a large and diverse non-tribal population concentrated mainly in Assam and Tripura. The northeast region, historically one of the world’s greatest migratory routes, cuts across many countries of South and South East Asia and is a meeting ground of many races and communities. It is only in modern times (more particularly, since the beginning of the twentieth century when British annexation was nearly complete and had culminated in the establishment of ‘frontiers’ and ‘frontier outposts’) that many groups and communities, claiming themselves ‘native’ to the region, started to feel alarmed at the rapid influx of ‘outsiders’ from across either real or imagined

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frontiers. It is this fear of either being already a minority or being reduced to one in the near future, in what one imagines as one’s homeland, that has inaugurated a new era of ethnic politics in the region. Earlier migrations at times generated religious and racial conflicts; but as far as livelihood was concerned, nature generally had enough to give to everyone. Although the region is landlocked on all sides, migration, whether intraregional or from across international borders, continues unabated thanks to a variety of factors. Consequently, the region has frequently been rocked by violent tremors of acute xenophobic reactions against the outsiders. Tripura provides a classic case of how the tribals, once a majority in the kingdom, were slowly reduced to a minority facing the threat of dispossession of their land, language, and culture. The earliest chronicles available suggest that the state has had a substantial non-tribal Bengali population certainly since the fifteenth century. The 1901 census recorded a tribal population that was 52.89 per cent of the total. This figure remained relatively stable till the early 1940s, when communal clashes in British-ruled East Bengal provoked a steady migration into princely-ruled Tripura. The trickle turned into a flood during and after Partition. By 1951, the tribal population had fallen to 36.85 per cent, and further to 28.44 per cent in 1981. The 1991 census indicated a marginal reversal of the trend, however, with the tribal population rising to 30.95 per cent. The National Liberation Front of Tripura (NLFT), one of the major rebel organizations currently active in the state, calls for expelling all Bengalis settling in the state after 9 September 1949 – the date the princely state was merged in the Indian Union. The nativist movement in Assam (1979–85) brought the ‘foreigners’ problem to the centre of the public agenda. Estimates of their numbers in Assam during this period ranged anywhere from 800,000 to 4,500,000. India’s northeast has been the theatre of the earliest and longest lasting insurgency in the country – in the Naga Hills, following independence a district of Assam. There violence centring on a demand for independence commenced in 1952. That was followed by the Mizo rebellion in 1966 as well as by a multiplicity of more recent conflicts that have proliferated especially since the late 1970s. According to one estimate, there are about sixty-five major militant organizations presently operating in the northeast. Every state excepting Sikkim is currently affected by some form of insurgent violence. Four of these states (Assam, Manipur, Nagaland, and Tripura) have witnessed conflict on such a scale that they could be categorized – at least between 1990 and 2000 – as low intensity conflicts in which fatalities were over 100 but less than 1,000 per annum. While immigration remains at the heart of most of the conflicts in the region, the transformation of these conflicts into insurgencies, particularly in such states as Nagaland, Mizoram, Manipur, Assam, and Tripura, coincides with a radical reinterpretation of their respective histories in which the Indian state is perceived as an ‘external’ agency – often as a ‘colonial power’. Insurgent groups such as

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the Naga National Council (NNC) and National Socialist Council of Nagalim (NSCN) Isaak-Muivah Group, Mizo National Front (MNF), United National Liberation Front of Manipur (UNLF), and United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA) seem to be in accord on this point. Intergroup conflicts based on mutually rivalling homeland demands (say, between the Bodos and the non-Bodos in Bodoland, the Karbis and the Dimasas in Assam, the Nagas and the Kukis/Paites in the hills of Manipur, the Mizos and the Brus/Reangs in Mizoram) have of late sparked off widespread ethnic cleansing and internal displacement in the region.

Manipur: the paling of a gem The story of Manipur (literally the gem of a land) is the story of how the tiny state lost its sheen and turned pale over the years. Right from the early 1870s, colonial administration gradually extended political control and administration until the annexation of upper Burma in 1889 and the final Anglo-Manipur war of 1891. As the war came to an end, Manipur became a princely state administered under the paramountcy of the British crown until its merger with the Indian Union on 21 September 1949. With the lapse of British paramountcy and restoration of sovereign power to the ruling prince, the maharaja of Manipur decided, in his words, to ‘associate the people of my state more closely with my state’. As a part of this exercise, the Manipur State Constitution Act 1947 was enacted. It is usually hailed as the essential first step towards the foundation of a democratic state in Manipur.16 Among other things, it provided for the institution of a popular Assembly with the power even to override a decision by the maharaja to withhold consent from any bill (Section 26). Besides that, it guaranteed certain fundamental rights, including those of equality before law (Section 44) and freedom of speech and religion (Section 52). In accord with the Act, elections were held in 1948, albeit on the basis of limited franchise. The maharaja was invited to Shillong by the then Governor of Assam, Sri Prakash, and subsequently a merger agreement was signed on 15 October 1949 that made Manipur a part of the Indian Union. The Assembly never subsequently ratified the treaty. All the insurgent groups presently operating in Manipur – notwithstanding their ideological differences – derive their legitimacy from their critique of the merger agreement.17 All of them contend that the maharaja was forced to sign the treaty at ‘gun point’. The UNLF, formed in 1964, alleges that the agreement was signed by the maharaja under duress outside his kingdom. The maharaja reached Shillong, the then capital of Assam, on 17 September, reportedly on an invitation from the Governor of Assam. He was pressured by his dewan (secretary), planted in office allegedly by the Government of India to ensure his agreement with Manipur’s merger. The maharaja apparently wanted to go back to his kingdom and consult with his people, particularly with the Council of

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Ministers. His proposal was ‘turned down politely’ at the instance of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, the then home minister of India. A document published as recently as 2003 by the United Committee, Manipur, proclaims: much to the agony of the people of Manipur and in gross violation of democratic norms the then State of India merged Manipur state within Indian Union by virtue of a document called Manipur Merger Agreement . . . on October 15, 1949. Unfortunately His Highness Maharaja Bodhachandra Singh signed this document by his own authority and without the authority of the State Council of Ministers. The democratically elected Manipur State Assembly never ratifies the agreement.18 It may be noted that the State Council of Ministers was never dissolved, and according to the Supreme Court of India (Dr Ram Manohar Lohia v. V. Sundaram, District Magistrate of Manipur, AIR 1955, Manipur 41 v. 42 c. 9 December), the Manipur State Constitution Act did not lose its validity with the signing of the merger agreement. Manipur’s merger in the Indian Union was controversial and allowed parallel power structures to exist alongside that of the state. This has substantially ‘undermined’ the state’s ability to establish ‘local authority’ and its capacity for ‘managing’ ethnic and identitybased conflicts.19 Gopalakrishnan proposes to classify Manipur’s period of insurgent activity into two phases – between 1947 and 1956 and from the late 1960s until the present.20 As Manipur merged in the Indian Union, the disgruntled feudal and aristocratic elements rallied around the monarchy and sought to organize them against the Indian state and revive the pre-Hindu culture of the Meiteis, particularly the Sanamahi cult and its traditional institutions and practices. Although the separatist process started slowly in the late 1960s, by the 1970s the movement seemed to have taken a distinct Maoist turn in which the insurgents’ call for independence was coupled with an agenda of peasant revolution. Revivalism of course remains one of the running themes of insurgency in the state. Kanglei Yawol Kanna Lup (KYKL), with its demand for ‘de-Sanskritizing’21 the majority Meiteis, was formed as recently as 1994. With this turn, the insurgents’ agenda came to be defined increasingly by the demand for abolition of capitalism and massive land reforms. Manipur today is highly divided along ethnic lines, the roots of which lie deep within the post-independence transitional history. According to the 2001 census, Meiteis constitute a majority (65.8 per cent) of the population. They live mainly in the Imphal valley, which accounts for 10.02 per cent of the total geographical area of the state. The Nagas and the Kukis constitute two major clusters of tribal groups and communities living in the otherwise sparsely populated Manipur hills. Many of the smaller tribal groups (like the Anals, Aimols, Chirus, Chothes, Lamgong, Moyons, Monsengs, Koirengs, Thadous, and Paites), whose ethnic identity was thought to have

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been closer to the Kuki group – or at least remained acceptably ambiguous until only recently – are seen increasingly to cling to the Naga fold.22 As the Naga National Council had taken up arms as long ago as the early 1950s, it had had an inevitable impact on the Nagas living in the hills of Manipur. Back in 1948, a section of Nagas for the first time raised the demand for merger of Naga-inhabited areas with the Naga Hills of then undivided Assam. By all accounts, Kuki leaders voiced their resentment for the first time when the Manipur (Village Authorities in Hill Areas) Act was passed in 1956. The Act, they feared, would take away the tribal chief’s rights to land. By 1960, the resentment took the form of an organized Kuki movement for the creation of a separate state within the Indian Union. The Naga–Kuki clash came into the open in 1992–3 when hundreds of people (336, according to an unofficial estimate) lost their lives. The contention over the hills of Manipur had an impact on the majority Meiteis of the valley. As Phanjoubam notes: the most prominent and dangerous faultline today runs between the tribes that have aligned themselves with the Naga identity and the Meiteis . . . the call for unification of pan-Naga tribes into possibly a sovereign nation called Nagalim, comes directly into conflict with the idea of Manipur which the Meiteis in particular uphold passionately.23 While the Nagas have accused the Meiteis of ‘Meiteizing’ them, the conflict came to a head when the Government of India – already in a ceasefire mode with the NSCN (I-M) in neighbouring Nagaland since 1997 – decided in June 2001 to extend the scope of the ceasefire ‘without territorial limits’ beyond the Indian state of Nagaland and made a declaration to this effect. This was understood by the valley-based Meitei groups as an implicit recognition of the demand for a unified Nagalim consisting of the present state of Nagaland and the Naga-inhabited areas of Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, and Manipur, and therefore a prelude to Manipur’s dismemberment. The Manipur Legislative Assembly within a limited span of five years (1997–2002) passed five resolutions vowing ‘unanimously to protect the territorial integrity of Manipur’; and the Manipur government brought out a document entitled ‘Manipur Culture Policy 2020’ that reiterated ‘the unity and integrity of the state of the country’. This triggered off one of the worst-ever bouts of violence in Manipur’s recent history. Eighteen people by official estimate lost their lives and most government establishments in the capital were set on fire by protesting mobs. As a result, the Government of India withdrew the controversial June declaration and the agitation subsided. As Manipur merged in the Indian Union, it was made a Part C state with a chief commissioner at the helm of administration. From then until Manipur became a fully-fledged state in 1972, one of the major demands of almost all political groups, parties, and popular movements had been to

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‘restore a representative assembly and a responsible state’.24 That perhaps marked the real beginning of the current separatist crisis. Manipur happens to be one of the most poorly governed states of India. Democracy evidently has not become rooted in the electoral and parliamentary institutions. Frequent change of sides by the political leaders and statesmen makes a mockery of parliamentary institutions. As Ved Marwah – one of the former governors of Manipur – recalls: ‘A Chief Minister changed his party three times in one month, and his coalition partners three times in 48 hours. A party label has no meaning.’25 Ever since it became a fullyfledged state, Manipur has witnessed as many as eight chief ministers with frequent change of guards on eighteen occasions. This included seven alternative phases of presidential rule, three of them culminating in Assembly elections. Jumbo ministries were formed to keep the disgruntled elements pacified. Thus Okram Ibobi Singh, the present chief minister, at one point had more than thirty ministers in his Council in a sixty-member Assembly. Added to this, there is rampant corruption. As E. N. Rammohan, former adviser to the governor of Manipur, has written: A coterie of contractors, all followers of the party in power in Delhi, was created which came to be called the Delhi Durbar. They bagged most of the contracts in the Northeastern states. 95 percent of the development funds, which came from Delhi, were taken back to Delhi by this infamous band of contractors. Hundreds of kilometers of roads were built on paper and even annually maintained on paper. Food grains from the public distribution system were siphoned off wholesale into the black market. The politicians and bureaucrats of Manipur quickly adapted to this system.26 Hazarika shows that the ethnic militias coerce ‘without fuss or tumult, the state employees from junior to senior levels (to) pay not less than 24% of their income as annual “tax” [protection money, in other words]’.27 The composite Human Development Index (HDI) for 1981 and 1991 shows that of the seven states of the northeast (omitting Sikkim), only two (Manipur and Mizoram) feature in the national top ten. Manipur and Meghalaya have moved down the scale (from 4 to 9 and 21 to 24 respectively) during this ten-year period.28 The use of narcotics, by all accounts, was unknown in Manipur before 1983. One source quotes an official estimate made in the mid-1990s stating that 6–7 kilograms of heroin were being smuggled into the state every day from South East Asia’s golden triangle, of which half went out of it.29 This probably explains the high incidence of HIV positive cases recorded in Manipur, for 76 per cent of such cases are intravenous drug users (IDUs). While Manipur accounts for 2 per cent of India’s population, it contributes nearly 8 per cent of total HIV positive cases.30 The northeast region in general has also witnessed a huge proliferation of small arms and ‘arms are used

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in exchange for drugs’.31 Ninety per cent of all casualties in armed conflict have been victims of small arms and light weapons. Ethnic conflicts, as Tarapot notes, have taken a toll ‘mostly on innocent children, hapless women and incapacitated old folks’ rather than on the armed combatants involved in the conflicts.32 Many of the civilian casualties are caught in crossfire between the security forces and armed groups. While the physical wounds heal, psychological trauma lingers. Many cases of violation never come into the open as the victims are fearful of reprisals from their aggressors. A fictive world is thus created in which violations and abuses, as it were, do not take place. As a result, people, as one victim confessed, are ‘getting used to pricks’.33 Much of the violence that results in human rights abuses is therefore institutionalized. A society where rights claims are not allowed to be voiced should not be confused with a society where such claims are non-existent. When rights claims are articulated without the freedom that makes voicing of those claims possible, they are voiced at great risk. The violations and abuses reached a flashpoint when 32-year-old Thangjam Manorama alias Henthoi was picked up by the jawans (soldiers) of the 17th Assam Rifles from her home at Baman Kampu Mayai Leikei village in the outskirts of Imphal around midnight on 10 July 2004. She was detained for her alleged link with the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) (her arrest memo describes her as ‘a suspect of PLA’). Her bullet-ridden body was recovered next morning by villagers about three kilometres from where she was arrested. The members of her family refused to accept her body on grounds that she was raped before being murdered. Manorama’s killing was a critical event. Protest against her alleged rape and murder became an integral part of a sustained people’s struggle for the repeal of the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) of 1958, a transparently draconian enactment emblematic of how democratic norms are violated and how rights and liberties enshrined in and guaranteed by the Constitution of India do not seem to apply to the people of the state. The AFSPA gives the armed forces virtual impunity and authorizes even a non-commissioned officer ‘to open fire or use force even to the causing of death’ without any necessary order from higher authority. Article 6 the Act also deprives the victim or anyone else of the right to legal remedies except in certain circumstances: No prosecution, suit or other legal proceeding shall be instituted, except with the previous sanction of the Central State, against any person in respect of anything done or purported to be done in exercise of the powers conferred by this Act. One may note that such sanction has so far not been given by the central government since the Act was legislated. On 15 July 2004, the movement took an unprecedented turn when about a dozen women protesters of the

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All-Manipur Social Reformation and Development Samaj bared themselves in front of the historic Kangla Fort, the then headquarters of the 17th Assam Rifles, banged on the stately gate and asked the ‘Indian Army’ to ‘rape them’ in full public view. A committee (namely the Committee against the Brutal Killing of Thangjam Manorama Devi by 17 AR) set up to coordinate and organize protests firmly maintained that Manorama was an innocent civilian who did not have any connection with any of the underground organizations operating in the state.34 Manorama’s is certainly not an isolated incident. Similar protest movements were led by the Naga Peoples’ Movement for Human Rights (NPMHR). Nevertheless, there is rarely any concerted action cutting across rival ethnic communities. Manipur, where many a public protest is believed to have been organized at the instance of the insurgents, is now simmering with growing discontent over atrocities committed by the insurgents. Of course, there is reason to believe that such discontent has not yet turned into widespread disillusionment with the insurgency phenomenon. Many civil society groups in the northeast have been protesting against abuse and violation of civil and political rights by the armed opposition groups such as the Peoples’ Revolutionary Party of Kangleipak (PREPAK), UNLF, and NSCN (I-M). The public voicing of critiques signifies not only the arrival of a new public in the region but also a willingness to voice criticisms that were hitherto heard only in whispers. Criticisms of the state and the insurgents alike now show signs of being articulated and organized in public. Civil society during the last twenty years seems to have come out of the closet with the emergence of a public critical of the excesses committed by both the state and the insurgents. The process, however, is never smooth.

Bodo insurgency: peeling of a homeland Bodo is a generic term used to refer to a number of groups like the Kacharis, the Mech-Kacharis, the Sonowal-Kacharis, and Lalungs living mainly on the northern bank of the Brahmaputra valley of Assam and speaking any of the languages or dialects of the Bodo family. Bhattacharjee prefers to trace the emergence of a ‘distinct political consciousness’ amongst them only towards the end of the 1920s.35 In their memorandum to the Simon Commission set up with the purpose of suggesting administrative reforms, the Bodos like other communities shared the belief that Indians were entitled to self-government and vociferously opposed the transfer of the predominantly Bodo-inhabited district of Goalpara from Assam to Bengal on the ground that ‘We, Bodos, can by no means call ourselves other than Assamese.’ Wanting to be recognized as a distinct nationality, they demand reservation of seats in legislative bodies. However, their breakup from what is called the ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’36 was indeed a long process. The mainstream Assamese-speaking, Varna-Hindu society sought to define the scope of Assamese nationality

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expansively by including the tribal groups and sub-groups within it and by making a simultaneous plea both for their assimilation and expulsion. The Bodos by all accounts have adapted themselves ‘overwhelmingly’ to Hindu society in general and to the Varna-Hindu Assamese mainstream in particular, at least through the 1960s. They were as Mukherjee and Mukherjee point out, ‘for a long time eager to be accommodated into the lower rungs of Hindu hierarchy’.37 Many Bodos enthusiastically took part in the erstwhile Assam movement while voicing their resentments against encroachment of ‘outsiders’ on tribal belts and blocks. Faint murmurs of disquiet were audible as early as 1979 when some of the tribal families were served with quit notices and were asked to evacuate. Assimilation and expulsion in other words served as the means of realizing what Gohain calls ‘the Assamese Varna-Hindu dream of turning Assam into a homogeneous society’.38 The now abortive Memorandum of Settlement that brought the Assam movement to an end helped only to tighten the grip of the Varna-Hindu Assamese mainstream on its homeland. It declares: ‘Constitutional, legislative and administrative safeguards, as may be appropriate, shall be provided to protect, preserve and promote the cultural, linguistic identity and heritage of the Assamese people’ (Article 6). It is in the context of the rising belligerency of Assamese nationalism that the Bodo critique gained its strength. In 2004, Jadav Pegu, a Bodo scholar known for his moderate views, observed: ‘The tendency to homogenize and to pass off the state’s culture as one “Assamese” culture fails to recognize its multiplicity and its essential Bodo or Mongoloid character.’39 The early signs of Bodo separatism can be traced back to the establishment of the Bodo Sahitya Sabha (Bodo Literary Society) in 1952. Immediately after its establishment, the Sabha raised the demand for recognition of the Bodo language as a medium of instruction in primary and higher secondary schools. The use of Bodo language was officially recognized at the primary level in 1963 and for the higher secondary level in Bodo-concentrated areas in 1968. Similarly in 1974, the Plains Tribal Council of Assam (PTCA) launched an agitation demanding the use of Roman script in place of the Assamese script. The Devanagari script replaced the Assamese one two years later. The PTCA launched a movement for a separate Udayachal State for the plains tribals in 1967 and continued the movement for some twenty-three years. The United Tribal Nationalist Liberation Front (UTNLF), led by Binay Khungur Basumtary, came into being in 1984. It called for a separate Union Territory for the plains tribals to be carved out of Assam. Whether promoted by PTCA or UTNLF, the proposed homeland was meant not only for the Bodos but also for all the plains tribes including the Miris, Rabhas, Tiwas, and others. But as the All-Bodo Students’ Union-Bodo People’s Action Committee (ABSU-BPAC) combination established its hegemony over the movement, the idea of a composite tribal territory gradually gave way to an exclusive Bodo homeland or Bodoland.

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In 1985, when the Asom Gana Parishad (AGP) came to power with the promise of fulfilling the demands of detection, disenfranchisement, and deportation of foreigners, Upendra Brahma – a young Bodo student leader and long-time associate of Prafulla Mahanta, who became the chief minister – was unceremoniously dropped from the cabinet. Personal chemistry between the two leaders – ‘shabby treatment’40 as Barpujari puts it – along with New Delhi’s reported bickering with the AGP government in order to destabilize and discredit the non-Congress regime played a role in aggravating the Bodo movement. Many cadres of the Special Services Bureau, a force raised with the purpose of countering covert Chinese operations in the region, were, as Assam’s then home minister alleged, turned into armed Bodo militants. In the words of Tilottama and Udayon Misra: ‘This has resulted, for the first time, in the final snapping of the age-old social and emotional bonds in the rural areas.’41 The ABSU resolution entitled ‘Divide Assam fifty-fifty’, adopted in its Bansbari conference (1987) and regarded as the foundation stone of subsequent Bodo militancy, underscores the social and cultural break in these terms: the attitude of the Assamese people is anti-tribal; Assamese people are importing Assamese colonialism in tribal areas and dominating the tribals; Assamese people are following the policy of Assamese expansionism and chauvinism; Assamese people feel that Assam is only for Assamese and not for tribals; Assam Government is nothing but only an Assamese Government and not the Government of the people of Assam; Assamese people want to assimilate others.42 The ‘final snapping of bonds’ was soon followed by the Gohpur riots of 1989. Not a single Bodo rendered homeless as a result took shelter in any of the relief camps on the ground that they were run by the Assamese-dominated administration.43 Some of them even fled to nearby Arunachal Pradesh. Besides, Rabi Ram Brahma, then the General Secretary of ABSU, issued a warning that all non-Bodos living in proposed Bodoland would be expelled if they did not vacate it on their own by 15 August 1989. As a series of clashes between the Bodos and the non-Bodos occurred in Gohpur, Mangaldoi, and parts of North Lakhimpur covering three districts of Assam, a ‘reign of terror was established through blanket arrests of the guilty and the innocent alike in their hundreds’ under the TADA. As H. K. Barpujari observes: In Kokrajhar and Udalguri subdivisions of the Darrang district majority of the houses remained vacant at night. Not only the young, but women and children had to take shelter in nearby jungles for fear of raiding by the police parties. Boros [sic] were suspected as terrorists and in the name of encounters not even old and invalids were spared.44

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Even before the violent outbursts of 1989, there were allegations that security forces had raped several Bodo women in the Bhumka village – an act that led to protests by both Bodo and non-Bodo women’s organizations. The AGP government tried to bring down the insurgency through the use of repressive measures. Kokrajhar, the epicentre of the Bodo movement, was declared a Disturbed Area under the Assam Disturbed Areas Act 1955, and over 2,000 ABSU activists were thrown into prison. As the Bodo movement started to gather momentum, the Assam government in its bid to reach a settlement entered into an agreement with the ABSU-BPAC leadership. This was preceded by as many as eight rounds of talks between the government and the Bodo leadership. The accord signed in February 1993 sought to provide the Bodos with some measure of ‘autonomy’ in areas which were ‘contiguous’ and in which they constituted a majority of 50 per cent or more of the population. For the sake of preserving contiguity, even areas where Bodos constituted less than 50 per cent were to be considered constituent parts of the Bodoland Autonomous Council (BAC). A cursory glance at the population figures of the autochthonous Bodos living in the villages claimed by the ABSU-BPAC group shows that their percentage had been declining rapidly from the middle of the nineteenth century. Factors such as a massive influx of outsiders, deforestation, rapid environmental degradation, and land alienation were primarily responsible for this remarkable decline.45 In over 500 villages which were claimed to fall within the jurisdiction of the Bodoland Autonomous Council, Bodos have reportedly been reduced to a minority. An Assam government pamphlet, while quoting the 1971 census figures (no census could be held in Assam in 1981), shows, for instance, that only at Sadiya (Jonai area) did the tribals constitute a majority (65.68 per cent) with non-Bodo tribals accounting for 59.24 per cent of the total tribal population.46 The nonBodo tribals certainly do not like to be forced to live in what is avowedly a ‘Bodo’ land.47 Never before in their history had the Bodo leadership been caught in such a quandary. Unless they could decisively prove their majority within a space that they prefer to define as their homeland, they would not achieve whatever political autonomy they might claim over it. At its 28th Annual Conference held at Langhin Tinali, Karbi Anglong, from 3–5 March 1996, ABSU disowned the Bodo Accord and revived its demand for a separate Bodoland. A section of the Bodo leadership sought to resolve the circularity by taking up arms and resorting to the path of secessionist militancy. While the National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB), under the leadership of Ranjan Daimary, insists on complete secession from the Indian Union, moderate organizations such as ABSU and the Bodo Liberation Tigers (BLT) have clung to the demand for a separate Bodo state within the Union. Within or without, each group views partition of space as a means of establishing the Bodos as a majority in the proposed homeland. When Bodo leaders reiterated their demand for inclusion in a Bodo homeland

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of about 1,000 contiguous villages, they were curtly told by Hiteswar Saikia, Assam’s then chief minister, that they did not constitute a majority in these villages. The Bodo leadership got the message, went deep inside the villages and cleansed them of non-Bodos in their bid to create a Bodo majority.48 A series of riots was reportedly organized to trigger the desired exodus. In a grotesque parody of democracy the ethnic cleansing resorted to by a section of militant Bodo leadership sought to create a majority of their own in order to lay claim to the villages under the jurisdiction of the BAC. While the Bodos have historically undergone an irreversible process of being depleted into a minority in what they claim as their homeland, the Bodo militants are accused of further mainstreaming their land in a manner that alienates and marginalizes its non-Bodo inhabitants (including the other plains tribals, the Assamese, Santhals, Koch-Rajbangshis, and the Bengali-speaking Muslims, amongst others). With the rising crescendo of violence since the early 1990s, however, their target slowly shifted from the Assamese and Koch-Rajbangshis to the Santhals and Bengali-speaking Muslims. By restricting their attacks to these groups, the Bodo leadership sought to establish a degree of convergence of interests with the VarnaHindu Assamese leadership and there is reason to think that the latter remain largely indifferent to the orgy of violence in the area. A community that exercises ethnic cleansing as an option in order to create a majority obviously turns the democratic-majoritarian logic on its head. The acts informed by this logic eventually led the minorities to organize themselves and resist the domination of the ‘majority’ Bodos. The formation of tribal organizations such as the Adivasi Cobra Force and Sanmilit Janagoshthi Sangram Samiti (SJSS) is illustrative of this point. The tribals describing themselves as adivasis (the original inhabitants) – descendants of tea workers who were brought to Assam as indentured labourers as early as a century and a half ago – want to be officially recognized as a Scheduled Tribe and to enjoy the opportunities that follow upon such recognition. Adivasi activists argue that since their ethnic kin in their place of origin are recognized as a Scheduled Tribe, they should have the same status in Assam. Insofar as they seek to resist the stridency of the Bodos, who have become a minority, the same ethnic game is played with all its deadly implications. In a highly ethnicized scenario, common issues such as environmental degradation, social justice, and human rights violations take a back seat and anyone trying to cross the ethnic line faces dire consequences. For instance, Golap Basumatary, the founder-secretary of the Bodo Women’s Justice Forum, was brutally assassinated in 1996 for having tried to initiate Assamese–Bodo dialogue. In a paper published in 1995, Bhattacharjee aptly summed up the Bodo problem in the following words: ‘what the situation in reality demands is that the existing political system needs to be restructured to the satisfaction of the total population and not only of a particular community or

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communities’.49 The problem was addressed first by scrapping the lameduck Bodoland Autonomous Council on 27 May 2003 and then by signing a fresh accord with the BLT leaders on 10 February 2003. That accord subsequently led to the creation of the Bodoland Territorial Council (BTC) on 7 December. The formation of this council was preceded by the declaration of a unilateral ceasefire by the BLT in 1999. The BTC was formed with the objective of ‘providing Constitutional protection under the Sixth Schedule to fulfil economic, educational and linguistic aspirations and the preservation of land rights, socio-cultural and ethnic identity of the Bodos and speeding up the infrastructure of development in BTC area’. Article 4 of the Memorandum of Settlement aims to ‘safeguard’ the interests and concerns of the ‘non-tribals in the BTC area’ by ensuring their special representation in the BTC (clause 2) and promising suitable modification in the Sixth Schedule of the Constitution, while securing their settlement rights and transfer and inheritance of property: The amendments to the Sixth Schedule shall include provisions in such a manner that non-tribals are not disadvantaged in relation to the rights enjoyed by them at the commencement of the BTC and their rights and privileges including land rights are fully protected. The Bodo insurgency represents the classic paradox involved in the official policy of granting homeland to the agitating groups and communities of the region. While the seeds of the present Bodo insurgency, particularly since the 1980s, lie in the very document that led to the ‘settlement’ of the Assam movement by assuring a homeland for the Assamese, its settlement in 1993 triggered off a fresh round of homeland demands from other tribal and non-tribal communities of the area. Peeling of homelands resembles what Ziarek might call ‘inassimilable alterity’ that at one level obliges everyone within a social body to become very like the other, but at another forces one to perpetually suffer the anxiety of becoming the other and thereby decimating one’s identity.50 The state came to realize this at great cost only in 2003, when a fresh accord was signed with the BLT and attempts to protect the rights of the non-Bodos were made for the first time within the jurisdiction of the BTC. By now, such attempts seem to have reached a dead end. While the BTC might have been effective in addressing the issues that have hitherto kept apart the Bodos, the adivasis, and other tribal communities within its area, its formation has gradually led to a realignment of forces. On 14 August 2008, MUSA (a Muslim students’ union active in Assam) called for ‘Assam Bandh’ (shutdown), demanding an end to the atrocities on the ‘Indian Muslims’ in the name of expelling the ‘illegal’ Bangladeshis. To foil this plan, six organizations including the All-Assam Students’ Union (AASU) and Assam Jatiyatabadi Yuva Chatra Parishad (AJYCP) – the two organizations

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predominantly representing the Assamese-speaking population – convened a joint meeting and opposed it. This triggered a series of violent clashes between the Muslims on one side and the non-Muslims including the Bodos, the adivasis, and the Nepalis on the other in such districts as Darrang, Udalguri, Baksa, and Sonitpur. About thirty people were killed, many more injured and the clashes rendered more than 45,000 Muslims and Bodo tribals homeless and forced them to take shelter in relief camps. Besides, a faction of the Bodos organized under the Christian-dominated NDFB is yet to close its ranks with the BLT, a predominantly non-Christian organization – although they too have been in a ceasefire mode with the Government of India since 2005. The NDFB was accused of having indulged in systematic ethnic cleansing in October 2008 when thirty-two people were killed and more than 100 in the BTC area were injured. At least 60,000 people fled their villages. The NDFB has not given up its demand for an independent Bodo homeland. Again, the adivasi demand for recognition as a Scheduled Tribe has gathered considerable strength in recent years and is likely to widen the divide between the tribals and the non-tribals.

The northeast in geopolitical perspective Insurgencies in South Asia have been viewed by the countries in the region as opportunities for covertly interfering and tinkering with the internal affairs of another country. While Pakistanis saw in them ‘a useful tactic to stretch India’s military machine’,51 the external linkage of the Naga insurgency underwent an important diversification after the 1962 war when China, becoming alarmed at the ‘Indian support for insurrection in Tibet’, started arming and training first the Nagas, then the Mizos and finally the Meitei rebel groups based in Manipur. According to Bhaumik, ‘by late 1970, the situation in the region had become a major headache’ for India.52 The war with Pakistan in 1971, according to him, provided India with an opportunity for installing a friendly regime in Dhaka that temporarily allayed much of India’s anxieties. As a result, the Nagas and the Mizos had to relocate their bases to the jungles of Burma/Myanmar. With the assassination of Mujib-urRahman, the first premier of Bangladesh, in August 1975, relations between India and Bangladesh began to deteriorate; and between 1979 and 1984 all the major insurgent groups of the northeast had bases in Bangladesh. During the tenure (1991–5) of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party, India accused Bangladesh of allowing Islamic militant groups to run camps in such areas as Chittagong Hills Tracts, Chotodamai, Ramnagar, Nagdhari, Bhanugachh, Sylhet, Shamshernagar, Moulavi Bazar, Rangpur, and Satchari These camps allegedly remain dormant when the Awami League is in power. By all accounts, Bangladesh’s image as a ‘moderate, even liberal, Muslim country’ has been changing, particularly with the ‘the arrival of more militants with Al Qaeda connections’53 and its emergence, a step behind

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Pakistan, as the ‘second front of Islamic terror’. There are some strategic writers who prefer to see insurgencies of the northeast as part of the global game plan of Islamic fundamentalism.54 They seem to ignore the local roots of ethnic insurgencies and to collapse each single insurgent activity in the region into the master narrative of Islamic fundamentalism.55 Their arguments lose sight of the fact that the local and cultural differences even amongst the Islamic militant groups are too significant to be brushed aside. For example, Bhaumik, in his interview with an undisclosed Islamic underground leader of Bangladesh who also served as a jihadi (religious warrior) in Afghanistan, found him accusing al-Qaeda of harbouring an overbearing and ‘racist attitude’ towards the cadres from Bangladesh.56 The relationship between the locally based insurgent groups and the radical Islamist groups operating from outside does not work in any mechanical way. On being asked by the Pakistani agencies some time in the late 1980s to ‘disrupt communications and economic targets such as oil, pipeline and gas fields, create chaos and pave the way for a general uprising against the government’, both Paresh Baruah and Sunil Nath – two of ULFA’s top leaders – reportedly expressed their opposition to major strikes on civilian targets as advocated by ULFA. Nath explained: ‘Major attack on government property will alienate us from the people and they will turn against us.’57 ULFA, however, could not maintain this stance for long. As its top leadership took shelter in Bangladesh particularly after the military operations of the early 1990s, ULFA too toned down its tirade against the Bangladeshi settlers in Assam. Indeed, in 1992, it produced a document that described the immigrants from Bangladesh as ‘an indispensable part’ of Assam. In a society marked by intense xenophobia against foreigners particularly in recent years, such a position did not go down well amongst the people of Assam. Since most of the bomb blasts in Assam today are attributed to the ULFA acting in collusion with the radical Islamist groups based in the region (like the Muslim United Liberation Front) as well as in Bangladesh (like Harkat Ul Jehad Al Islami), its popularity by all accounts has taken a considerable beating.58 As Myanmar tightened its operations against the Kachins along the IndoMyanmar border, the militants of India’s northeast have found it difficult to take shelter in that country. Towards the end of 1999, Myanmar ‘under political pressure from India’ took effective military action against various underground groups’ camps in that country.59 Myanmar seems to have continued with the same policy by dismantling some of these camps through frequent military operations. India had been requesting Bhutan to crack down on the insurgent camps since 1996. The Bhutan government obliged India by targeting the militant camps in December 2003. When in the same year the displaced ULFA militants sought shelter in the Chinese territory, the Chinese ambassador to New Delhi expressly rejected their plea. Since the early 1990s India has been following the policy of connecting the (northeastern) region with its transnational neighbours (popularly known as

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the ‘Look East Policy’) across South East Asia. The connection is expected to ‘liberate’ the region from its presently landlocked status and enable it to reap the opportunities that are expected to flow from it. The policy became part of a massive ‘public diplomacy’ exercise by the Ministry of External Affairs of the Government of India. A series of meetings was organized in the region under its auspices during the prime ministership of Dr Manmohan Singh (2004–9) in order to popularize the policy particularly amongst the intelligentsia of the region. As the northeast is exposed to the outside world and poised for economic prosperity, it is – according to Baruah – likely to establish the ‘civic principle’ within a ‘territorially defined’ nation.60 The more the people enjoy these opportunities, the more prolonged conflicts instead of being resolved, tend to ‘disappear’.61 However, available evidence, although inadequate, suggests that market exchanges and transactions follow, rather than do away with, the existing lines of ethnic preference. Besides, transborder communication will provide opportunities for comparison between ethnic kinsmen and might contribute to a certain hardening of ethnic positions.62

Concluding remarks The insurgency in Manipur, like those in Assam, Nagaland, and Mizoram (formerly Naga and Mizo Hills) is of a fundamental nature in the sense that ethnic separatism in these cases reflects first and foremost a desire on the part of the insurgent groups and organizations to renegotiate the terms of the ‘contract’ or the ‘common undertaking’ that brought the political dispensation in India into existence. ULFA’s demand to incorporate the ‘right to secession’ by suitably amending the Constitution of India and NSCN (I-M)’s demand for establishing Nagalim (land of the Nagas) with ‘special federal relations with India’ by way of enacting an appropriate body of laws will have to be viewed in this light. On the other hand, both the demand for and the hitherto followed official policy of granting homeland to the groups and communities of the region feed each other and one still does not know how to break the vicious circle. Although the BTC and similar non-territorial experiments have been remarkable, they have been far from successful in resolving the homeland bind. The area under the control of BTC continues to remain fractured in ever newer ways. India’s policy of fixing the fractures by isolating the sources of insecurity and keeping them confined to certain carefully marked out zones like the northeast has led to the creation of a junkyard where democratic norms and practices are flouted with impunity, ironically for the sake of securing the nation and strengthening democracy elsewhere. It is this project of securing the nation and strengthening the democracy that destabilizes and fractures the nation. Macro securities have produced hundreds of micro insecurities particularly in the peripheral regions. Democratic aspirations in the northeast are increasingly being couched in a language that refuses assimilation into the

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Indian nation. The divide seems insuperable. The early history of assimilation into mainstream Hinduism as illustrated by both our case studies gradually gave way to a process of return to the pre-Hindu past. The argument made in this chapter underlines the importance of recognizing that the Indian nation is fractured in a way that is constitutive of it and therefore not amenable to being fixed without radical surgery. The state has now to learn how to extend democracy beyond the fault lines. The task of democratizing the junkyard may turn out to be extremely painful in that some disaffected groups and communities may prefer to exercise their freedom to renegotiate the terms of the Constitution and body of laws that brought the Indian body politic into existence and/or claim a share in the country’s sovereignty. The question is not one of simply fixing the nation, in other words, but of redefining the very foundations of the body politic. A new agenda of democratization calls for questioning the very foundations of Indian nationhood and also for recognizing the great difficulty in fixing the fracture. It suggests that India should discard the old national imaginary and offer room for renegotiating the terms of contract to those who have yet to become partners in India’s democratic dispensation more than sixty years after independence. It is, after all, a foundational question. Notes 1. S. Rajagopalan, ‘Introduction’ in S. Rajagopalan (ed.), Security and South Asia: Ideas, Institutions and Initiatives (New Delhi: Routledge, 2008), p. 9. 2. S. Baruah, Durable Disorder: Understanding the Politics of Northeast India (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 183–208. 3. F. Fukuyama, ‘Introduction: Nation-Building and the Failure of the Institutional Memory’, in F. Fukuyama (ed.), Nation-Building: Beyond Afghanistan and Iraq (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006), pp. 1–16. 4. S. Hazarika and Charles Chasie, The State Strikes Back: India and the Naga Insurgency, Policy Studies 52 (Washington, DC: East-West Center, 2009), p. 11. 5. S. Žižek, Violence: Six Sideways Reflections (London: Profile Books, 2008), p. 34. 6. Ibid., p. 13. 7. S. K. Das, Ethnicity, Nation and Security: Essays on Northeastern India (New Delhi: South Asia, 2004), p. 1. 8. J.-F. Lyotard, Political Writings, trans. Bill Readings and Kevin Geiman (London: UCL Press, 1993), p. 3. 9. A. B. Akoijam and T. Tarunkumar, ‘Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act 1958: Disguised War and its Subversions’, Eastern Quarterly 3(1) (April–June 2005). See also S. Baruah, ‘A New Politics of Race: India and its North-East’, in G. Sen (ed.), Where the Sun Rises When Shadows Fall: the North East (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006). 10. A. Negri, The Savage Anomaly: the Power of Spinoza’s Metaphysics and Politics, trans. M. Hardt (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991), p. 214. 11. P. B. Mehta, ‘Chairman’s Comments Made in the Roundtable Discussion on “Migration and Circles of Insecurity”’ organized by Women in Security, Conflict Management and Peace (WISCOMP) in New Delhi on 26 August 2005.

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12. B. Oinam, ‘Dynamics of Ethnic Conflicts in Manipur: Towards a Proposal for Solution’, in M. Hussain (ed.), Coming Out of Violence: Essays on Ethnicity, Conflict Resolution and Peace Process in North-East India (New Delhi: Regency, 2005), p. 138. 13. B. Oinam and H. Thangjam, ‘Indian “Nation-State” and Crisis of the “Periphery”’, in P. Biswas and H. Thangjam (eds), Peace in India’s North-East: Meaning, Metaphor and Method (New Delhi: Regency, 2006), pp. 74–5. 14. I have discussed this elsewhere. See S. K. Das, ‘Where Do the Autonomous Institutions Come From?’ in R. Samaddar (ed.), The Politics of Autonomy: Indian Experiences (New Delhi: Sage, 2005), pp. 71–92. 15. Such terms as ‘tribe’ and ‘tribals’ are freely used in the Indian context both in official circles and in popular parlance – without any of their necessarily pejorative connotations. 16. N. J. Singh, Colonialism to Democracy: a History of Manipur 1819-1972 (Guwahati: Spectrum, 2002), p. 178. 17. P. Tarapot, Bleeding Manipur (New Delhi: Har-Anand, 2004), pp. 165–75. 18. United Committee, Manipur, The Greater Autonomy of Manipur: a Demand of the People of Manipur (Imphal: United Committee, Manipur, 2003), p. 3. 19. M. S. Hasan, ‘Explaining Manipur’s Breakdown and Mizoram’s Peace: the State and Identities in North East India’, Crisis States Programme Working Papers Series No. 1 (London: Development Research Centre, London School of Economics, 2006), mimeo, p. 5. 20. R. Gopalakrishnan, Insurgent North-Eastern Region of India (New Delhi: Vikas, 1995), p. 79. 21. Meiteis, who constitute the majority in the government, embraced Hinduism in the early eighteenth century by a royal decree. The process is known as Sanskritization. I borrow the expression from Gangmumei Kabui in order to refer to the process whereby the Meiteis started distancing themselves from Hinduism and more particularly its Brahmanical orthodoxy and the Bengali script as a trace of the mainstream Indo-Aryan languages of India and embracing accordingly the preHindu symbols and traditions, customs, and practices of the Meiteis. See G. Kabui, Ethnicity and Social Change: an Anthology of Essays (Imphal: P. Kabui, 2002), p. 46. 22. R. K. R. Singh, ‘Problems of Ethnic Identity among Major Tribes of Manipur during the Post-Independence Period’, in Pankaj Thakur (ed.), India’s North-East: a Multi-Faceted View (Tinsukia: Prakash Publishing House, 1982), p. 200. 23. P. Phanjoubam, ‘Manipur: Fractured Land’, in Sen (ed.), Where the Sun Rises, p. 280. 24. J. Roy, History of Manipur (Calcutta: Firma K.L.M., 1999 [1958]), p. 176. 25. V. Marwah, ‘India’s Internal Security Challenges’, Strategic Analysis 27(4) (October–December 2003), p. 515. 26. E. N. Rammohan, ‘Blue Print for Counter Insurgency in Manipur’, U.S.I. Journal 132(548) (April–June 2002), p. 243. 27. S. Hazarika, ‘Land, Conflict, Identity in India’s North-East: Negotiating the Future’, Futures 36(6–7) (August–September 2004): 771–80. 28. Planning Commission, National Human Development Report (2001) (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 153. 29. C. J. Thomas, ‘Insurgency in Manipur’, in B. Pakem (ed.), Insurgency in North-East India (New Delhi: Omsons, 1997), p. 305. 30. R. K. B. Singh, ‘Drug Abuse and the AIDS Menace in Manipur’, in C. J. Thomas, R. Gopalakrishnan, and R. K. Ranjan Singh (eds), Constraints in Development of Manipur (New Delhi: Regency, 2001), p. 68.

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31. B. Nepram, ‘Society under Siege: the Proliferation of Small Arms and Narcotics in India’s North East Region’ (mimeo, 2001). 32. Tarapot, Bleeding Manipur, p. 188. 33. For illustrations, see S. Akoijam, ‘The Psychological Impact of Violence on Society: Living in a Culture of Fear’, in S. Hazarika (ed.), Contested Space and Identity in Indian Northeast (New Delhi: Academy of Third World Studies, Jamia Milia Islamia, 2008), p. 24. 34. I have dwelt on this issue at length in S. K. Das, ‘Ethnicity and Democracy When Mothers Protest’, in P. Banerjee (ed.), South Asian Peace Studies: Women in Peace Politics (New Delhi: Sage, 2007), pp. 54–77. 35. C. Bhattacharjee, Ethnicity and Autonomy Movement: Case of Bodo-Kacharis of Assam (New Delhi: Vikas, 1996), p. 174. 36. A. K. Baruah and M. Sharma, ‘Nationality Question in Assam: Some Conceptual Issues’, in U. Misra (ed.), Nation-Building and Development in Northeast India (Guwahati: Purbanchal Prakash, 1991), p. 20. 37. D. P. Mukherjee and S. P. Mukherjee, ‘Contemporary Cultural and Political Movements among the Bodos of Assam’, in K. S. Singh (ed.), Tribal Movements in India, vol. I (New Delhi: Manohar, 1982), p. 277. 38. H. Gohain, ‘Bodo Stir in Perspective’, Economic and Political Weekly 34(25) (24 January 1989), p. 1377. 39. J. Pegu, Reclaiming Identity: a Discourse on Bodo History (Kokrajhar: Jwngsar, 2004), p. 99. 40. H. K. Barpujari, North-East India: Problems, Policies and Prospects (Guwahati: Spectrum, 1996), p. 96. 41. T. Misra and U. Misra, ‘Movements for Autonomy in India’s North-East’, in T. V. Sathyamurthy (ed.), Region, Religion and Culture in Contemporary India, vol. III (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996), p. 125. 42. Quoted in P. S. Datta (ed.), Autonomy Movements in Assam: Documents (New Delhi: Omsons, 1993), p. 240. 43. R. Ramaseshan, ‘Carnage in Gohpur’, Sunday (27 August–2 September 1989), p. 101. 44. Barpujari, North-East India, p. 96. 45. B. Das Gupta, ‘Bodo Agitation: Background Prospects’, Mainstream (24 June 1989), pp. 15–17, 23. 46. Government of Assam, A Brief Note on the Situation Arising Out of the Agitation Launched by ABSU (UB Group) (Guwahati: Government of Assam, March 1989), pp. 53–4. 47. These figures have, however, been disputed by ABSU. In a survey conducted by it in 1990, the Scheduled Tribes are said to account for 70 per cent of the total population in the northern bank – of which 51 per cent are Bodos. Quoted in T. Pulopillil, ‘The Bodos: an Introduction’, in J. Pulopillil and J. Aluckal (eds), The Bodos: Children of Bhullumbutter (Guwahati: Spectrum, 1997), p. 4. 48. See S. Bhaumik, ‘Flower Garden or Fluid Corridor? Internal Displacement in North East India’, Refugee Watch (Calcutta) 1 (January 1998), p. 13. 49. C. Bhattacharjee, ‘Bodoland Movement: Issues and Lessons’, in P. S. Dutta (ed.), North-East and the Indian Government: Paradoxes of a Periphery (New Delhi: Vikas, 1995), p. 208. 50. E. Ziarek, ‘The Uncanny Style of Kristeva’s Nationalism’, in J. Lechte and M. Zournazi (eds), The Kristeva Critical Reader (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2003), p. 151.

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51. It is argued that ‘Pakistan no longer entertains any territorial interest, she is merely utilizing the region’s discontents to engage the Indian army far away from Kashmir front.’ See G. Das, ‘Northeastern India Soft Underbelly: Strategic Vulnerability and Security’, Strategic Analysis 26(4) (October–December 2002). 52. S. Bhaumik, ‘The External Linkages in Insurgency in Northeastern India’, in Pakem (ed.), Insurgency in North-East India, p. 96. 53. B. Lintner, ‘Championing Islamic Terrorism’ (mimeo, n.d.). 54. See, for instance, D. Sengupta and S. K. Singh (eds), Insurgency in North East India: the Role of Bangladesh (Delhi: Authors Press in association with SPANDAN, 2004). 55. S. K. Das, ‘Des Terroristes dans I’Inde du Nord-Est? L’Improbable Hypothèse d’un Dialogue’, trans. Nassima El Medjira and adaptation by R. Ivekovic, Rue Descartes 62 (2008): 15–22. 56. S. Bhaumik, ‘Bangladesh: the Second Front of Islamic Terror’, in O. P. Misra and S. Ghosh (eds), Terrorism and Low Intensity Conflict in South Asian Region (New Delhi: Manak, 2003), p. 277. 57. Quoted in S. Hazarika, Strangers of the Mist: Tales of War and Peace from India’s Northeast (New Delhi: Viking, 1994), p. 174. 58. For an explication of this argument, see S. K. Das, ‘Assam: Insurgency and the Disintegration of Civil Society’, Faultlines: Writings on Conflict and Resolution 13 (November 2002): 95–116. 59. Lt. Gen. Narahari, Security Threats to North-East India: the Socio-Economic Tensions (New Delhi: Manas Publications, 2002), p. 23. 60. S. Baruah, Postfrontier Blues: Toward a New Policy Framework for Northeast India, Policy Studies 33 (Washington, DC: East-West Center, 2007), p. 52. 61. S. Baruah, ‘Note’, in Hazarika (ed.), Contested Space and Identity, p. 48. 62. S. K. Das, ‘The Ethnic Dimension’, Seminar 550 (June 2005): 65–9.

7 India and Pakistan Dangerous Place: Kashmiri Separatism in a Disputed Territory Robert G. Wirsing

The separatist movement in the former princely state of Jammu and Kashmir (J&K) has its roots in the 1947 partitioning of British India into the two successor states of India and Pakistan. As independence neared, the British drew up a partition plan providing only two options to the hundreds of quasi-autonomous princely states dotting the sub-continent at the time – accession either to India or Pakistan. However, the Hindu ruler of Muslim-majority J&K at that time, Maharaja Hari Singh, favoured neither of those options and, instead, clung to the ill-fated hope of retaining the shred of independence awarded only in principle to all the princely states at the moment when British paramountcy lapsed in August 1947. Indians and Pakistanis disagree fundamentally about what happened next. But the issue of J&K’s de facto accession to one or the other side was ultimately settled, in any event, not by the maharaja but on the ground in the course of the first war between India and Pakistan (1947–9). That war ended indecisively, with the state divided into two parts by a heavily fortified ceasefire line (CFL). Divided it has remained ever since, cited endlessly and fruitlessly as the unsettled ‘core issue’ in India–Pakistan relations. Over more than six decades, this issue has been battered and substantially reshaped by numerous regional storms – including Pakistan’s defeat and breakup in the 1971 Bangladesh war, the acquisition by India and Pakistan of nuclear weapons, the surfacing of a prolonged and bloody Kashmiri separatist insurgency in the final decade of the twentieth century, and, at the start of the twentyfirst century, the onset of the global war on terrorism. These momentous developments have unquestionably added to the issue’s complexity. They have also boosted Kashmir’s reputation for being one of the world’s most dangerous places. India and Pakistan have succeeded in recent years, against all odds, in sustaining a so-called Composite Dialogue encompassing the major issues between them, including Kashmir. Thus far, however, the dialogue has few tangible achievements to its credit; and not surprisingly – in the face of J&K’s acutely divided circumstances – it has failed to produce a mutually 140

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acceptable formula of permanent resolution for the Kashmir dispute. Whether there is any realistic likelihood that such a formula may soon be found is one focus of this chapter. Its primary focus, however, is on the new significance Kashmir and Kashmiri separatism have acquired in the uniquely contested strategic environment that J&K has inhabited since combating terrorism rose to the top of the American strategic agenda in 2001. This chapter examines the impact of this changed significance on the bilateral relations of India and Pakistan in this period. It also considers the ways in which the emerging regional security environment has helped in shaping both states’ responses to Kashmiri separatism, and, in particular, how this turbulent environment is affecting the search for Kashmir’s resolution. It points, finally, to some of the implications the unfolding Kashmir dispute has for current great power, especially American, security policies in the region.

Kashmir on the global security agenda Not since the late 1980s, when Kashmir was forcefully thrust upon the global consciousness by a massive and sustained Kashmiri Muslim separatist uprising against continued Indian rule in Kashmir, has it been possible for the world to ignore the problem of Kashmir. Coming to an understanding of this problem has not been easy, however, for the meaning attached to ‘the Kashmir dispute’ has not remained unchanged. For instance, for some years in the wake of the uprising international human rights organizations repeatedly held Kashmir up to global scrutiny mainly as a staging ground for egregious human rights violations, mainly by Indian security forces but also by the separatists. That development was given a helpful boost by New Delhi’s employment in the militant-infested Valley of Kashmir of a counter-insurgency strategy that emphasized overwhelming military force and that inescapably brought Kashmir under an oppressive regime of military occupation. The human rights perception was in its turn forced to yield ground in the late years of the 1990s, when back-to-back nuclear weapons tests openly displayed both Indian and Pakistani nuclear capacities. That stunning development, followed shortly thereafter by the Kargil mini-war fought between the two countries within sight of the Line of Control (LoC)1 in Kashmir, compelled the world to shift its gaze to Kashmir’s acquired potential for triggering a nuclear holocaust. Hardly had that view of the problem gained prominence, however, when Kashmir took on yet another guise, this time that of a nesting ground for terrorism.2 This latest and increasingly sinister portrayal had begun to eclipse earlier images of the Kashmir dispute even before the catastrophic events of 11 September 2001. Indeed, the change was already apparent during President Bill Clinton’s short stopover in Pakistan on 25 March 2000, when he delivered to the Pakistani nation a televised address sternly rebuking Pakistan for its misguided Kashmir policy. In astonishingly blunt language, he admonished his

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listeners to recognize ‘that no grievance, no cause, no system of belief can ever justify deliberate killing of innocents. Those who bomb bus stations, target embassies and kill those who uphold the law are not heroes . . . [I]t is wrong to support attacks against civilians across the Line of Control.’3 What finally cemented Kashmir’s reputation as a haven for terrorists, of course, were the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. They gave birth not only to the global war on terrorism but also to vastly greater intolerance, especially but not only in the West, for anti-state political violence of any kind, no matter whether its perpetrators styled themselves as ‘freedom fighters’ or had once won a sizeable share of the world’s sympathies for resisting tyranny. Pakistanis now found themselves in the uncomfortable position of facing a chorus of accusations that their government’s support for Kashmiri self-determination was no better than a blatant case of state-supported terrorism. The cause of Kashmiri self-determination still had its supporters, of course, but their support was increasingly conditioned on the renunciation of violence by the separatists. More recently, the terrorist label still clung firmly to Kashmir. The spectacular terrorist attacks by Muslim militants on leading hotels and other soft targets in Mumbai towards the end of November 2008, motivated in part, perhaps, by the perpetrators’ grievances over Kashmir, reinforced the connection and brought Kashmir to world notice once again.4 Nevertheless, there were signs at the same time that Kashmir’s position on the world’s security agenda was changing once more, that Kashmir was now being viewed as a potentially valuable bargaining chip, and that brokering a compromise over it between India and Pakistan might be not just a desirable but an essential task for the Barack Obama administration that had been installed in Washington, DC, in January 2009.5 Standing out among these signs were several notable written works focused on Pakistan and its neighbourhood. One of these, published in the final days of the Republican administration of George W. Bush, was an article in the November/December 2008 edition of the prestigious journal Foreign Affairs; another was a lengthy report by a team of writers attached to the Washington, DC-based Center for American Progress also published in November 2008. The Foreign Affairs piece, provocatively entitled ‘From Great Game to Grand Bargain: Ending Chaos in Afghanistan and Pakistan’, was written by the well-known and respected authors Barnett R. Rubin and Ahmed Rashid, both of them for many years close observers of these two countries.6 The Center for American Progress (CAP) report, titled Partnership for Progress: Advancing a New Strategy for Prosperity and Stability in Pakistan and the Region, was written by a team of four, including Lawrence Korb, a well-published academic expert on national security affairs who served the Reagan administration as an assistant secretary of defence.7 There are some common positions taken in these two works. Both deplore the manner in which the Bush administration had pursued its objectives

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in the war on terrorism; both acknowledge the extreme unpopularity of America and disdain for its tactics in the region; both recognize that Pakistan’s largely India-focused security calculus renders inconceivable, in the absence of a major improvement in India–Pakistan relations, Pakistan’s wholehearted cooperation with Washington’s plans for Afghanistan; both acknowledge that India’s rapidly escalating support for the Afghan government in Kabul, given the strategic importance of Afghanistan in Pakistani eyes, is bound to trigger major apprehension in Islamabad; both argue for a longer-term and more substantial American commitment to Pakistan’s economic recovery and political stabilization; and both also insist that America must acknowledge the limitations of its own power and embrace a multilateral approach to the region’s problems. There are also some important differences in the positions taken in these works. Rubin and Rashid state emphatically, for instance, that sending more troops to Afghanistan will not help the United States; and they are equally emphatic that Washington must seek compromise with the insurgents. ‘Only a political and diplomatic initiative’, they write, ‘that distinguishes political opponents of the United States – including violent ones – from global terrorists such as al Qaeda can reduce the threat faced by the Afghan and Pakistani states and secure the rest of the international community from the international terrorist groups based there.’8 The CAP team is more reserved when it comes to America’s retention of a military option in Afghanistan and expresses much less confidence in the likely success of talks with insurgents;9 it candidly allows for the possibility that Washington may need to act alone militarily – even to the extent of continuing unmanned drone missile attacks on targets within Pakistan with or without Pakistani consent – if the Pakistanis prove lacking in either the capacity or will to shut down the militants themselves.10 About Kashmir, these two works come to very similar conclusions: both urge Washington’s assistance in crafting a settlement of the Kashmir dispute; both deem a settlement an inescapable concession due Pakistan if it is to give needed military priority to pacification of its western border with Afghanistan; and both seem confident that Washington’s promotion of increased dialogue on Kashmir between India and Pakistan could lead to enhanced collaboration on shared regional objectives. Focusing more narrowly on Pakistan, yet emphasizing some of the same themes found in the above two publications, was a third report entitled Needed: a Comprehensive US Policy Towards Pakistan, brought out in the early days of the administration of Barack Obama by the Washington, DC-based Atlantic Council.11 This report, echoing a judgement that has achieved the status of a cliché in much of the world media, stresses that for Pakistan time is running out, that it is on the way to becoming a failing or failed state. The report estimates ‘that the Pakistan government has between 6–12 months to put in place and implement security and economic

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policies or face the very real prospect of considerable domestic and political turbulence’.12 In the face of Pakistan’s apparently dire circumstances, the report – even more determinedly than its predecessors – calls for ‘far greater and more urgent support and assistance from the international community in general and the United States in particular’.13 About the Kashmir dispute itself, the Atlantic Council report says little. But on the subject of India–Pakistan relations in general, it is as emphatic as the other two reports that a major effort is required to repair them. ‘Clearly’, it states, ‘the tensions in South Asia between Pakistan and its neighbors stand in the way of major US interests in peace, stability, and democratic governance in the region. The problems of the region are interrelated and will require sustained and even-handed US engagement with a focus on long-term objectives . . . [I]mproved relations between India and Pakistan lie at the core of any US strategy to stabilize both Pakistan and Afghanistan.’14 In this connection, the report observes that ‘the opportunity exists for the US to help both Pakistan and India rethink their relations with each other, which might be encouraged by enhanced economic and energy integration between the two countries.’ It then adds, provocatively, that ‘despite India’s objections on this score, the new regional envoy of the United States [Ambassador Richard Holbrooke] can and should play a role in this regard.’15 In these judgements, all three works, in this author’s view, stray dangerously wide of ground realities, ignoring almost entirely the contradictions bound up in the way Pakistan and India define their national interests, both in general and vis-à-vis Kashmir, and, as a consequence, grossly underestimating the difficulty both in transforming their relationship and in removing Kashmir from the list of issues between them. Even more deplorable, I believe, is the assumption implicit in all three reports that the achievement of Washington’s counter-terrorist objectives in Afghanistan and Pakistan’s western borderlands somehow outweighs in importance and can be reconciled with the objectives the Indian and Pakistani governments have set for themselves in the region. With these considerations in mind, the task set for the balance of this chapter is to explore the Kashmir dispute’s current circumstances and, in particular, to assess whether these circumstances allow for any realistic prospects of a settlement, whether grand or modest in scale.

The changing role of Kashmir in India–Pakistan relations Had the Kashmir dispute somehow been frozen in time and remained unchanged through the decades, perhaps it would today be easier to explain if not to resolve. But, of course, as mentioned at the start of this chapter, what it represents today scarcely resembles the territorial dispute of 1947: the battering it has taken since then from its association with

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nuclear weaponization, terrorism, insurgency and counter-insurgency, as we observed, has fundamentally transformed it and rendered it more complicated than ever. Two especially significant aspects of this transformation concern us here. One is river resource related, by which is meant the massive and rapid escalation in recent years of Kashmir’s importance – equally for India and Pakistan – both as a source of hydropower and irrigation waters and as a setting for intensifying river resource rivalry between these two states. The second relates to the war in Afghanistan and its increasing spill-over into parts of Pakistan. A vast geographic area embracing Afghanistan and Pakistan’s borderlands – the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), the North West Frontier Province (NWFP), and the northern belt of Balochistan Province – has been drawn inexorably into America’s war on terrorism; and this war now casts a lengthening shadow over Kashmir. River resource rivalry In my concluding remarks in a recent essay, I highlighted Kashmir’s importance in regard to river resources in the following words: A realistic assessment of the situation compels one to the conclusion . . . that water’s exclusion from any plan of conflict resolution pertaining to the India–Pakistan dispute over Kashmir would kill the plan at its birth. The burden of the argument in this article has been that water resource issues are moving rapidly to center-stage in the India–Pakistan bilateral relationship, that water-related pressures on this relationship are mounting rapidly and inescapably in the region, and that the Kashmir dispute is now, as much as anything, about water resources. Any serious effort to resolve the Kashmir dispute today, whether one welcomes it or not, requires that far more attention must be given than hitherto has been the case to Kashmir’s potential role in ensuring the equitable and agreed sharing of Indus River resources between its riparian neighbors. To ignore this fact is self-defeating. Unless river resources are given their due, Kashmir’s political liberation and peaceful development will remain permanently elusive.16 Visible today to any serious observer of India–Pakistan relations is the fact not only that river resources command an increasingly prominent position on the bilateral agenda of these two states but also that this position is much more noteworthy for its competitive than for its cooperative character. This fact was clearly evident in the Baglihar Dam dispute, which arose over India’s construction earlier in the present decade of a large hydropower project on the Chenab river. The Chenab is one of the three so-called northern rivers having their headwaters in the Indian-controlled portion of J&K but reserved for Pakistan’s downstream use for all but non-consumptive

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purposes in the important Indus Waters Treaty (IWT) of 1960. It is the site currently of five Indian hydropower projects – four of them fully built and one more underway – and there are plans for as many as ten more.17 India and Pakistan were unable to reconcile their differences over the Indian design of the Baglihar and, in January 2005, Pakistan took the matter to the World Bank, which retains a limited arbitral function carefully defined in the IWT. Both sides agreed to the appointment of a so-called neutral expert, whose decision whether the dam was or was not designed in conformity with the IWT was to be considered binding. This was the first time that the conflict-prevention provisions of the IWT had been put fully to the test. When the neutral expert’s decision was released in 2007, it was clear to all that Pakistan had been significantly bested by India. The sub-continent’s well-wishers could derive some comfort from the fact that the treaty’s conflict prevention mechanisms appeared to work. The plain fact of the matter, however, was that the neutral expert, a Swiss hydrologist, gave tacit endorsement to India’s obvious upper riparian advantage – its ability to ‘create facts’ on the upriver portion of the Chenab in the form of a virtually complete and hugely expensive hydropower project and then to take advantage of the IWT’s inescapable ambiguities to win the neutral expert’s endorsement. This, anyway, was how knowledgeable Pakistanis understood the matter. Having suffered at least some damage over the course of the Baglihar dispute, the IWT may now be even less able than before to withstand further challenges. And the challenges are coming thick and fast. One of the smaller of these challenges is the Pakistan Foreign Office’s formal protest to the Government of India in September 2008 against what it claimed was a sharp reduction in the Chenab river flow resulting from India’s filling of the just completed Baglihar Dam.18 The Chenab feeds into twenty-one major irrigation canals in Pakistan, delivering water to millions of acres of arable land. Responding to the Pakistani complaint that the sharp drop in the water level had placed agricultural production in parts of the Punjab in jeopardy and that it was a serious violation of the IWT, the Indian side insisted that it had given advance notification to Pakistan of the unavoidable lowering of released waters.19 Another and likely more serious challenge were reports in early 2009 that India had begun construction of three dams on the Indus river or its tributaries in distant Ladakh – the three together expected to generate 219 MW of hydropower. According to the reports, construction was begun without notification being given to Pakistan’s Indus Waters Commissioner, a snub with potentially very serious implications for the IWT’s future.20 Even more likely to prove contentious is a fairly spectacular ‘battle of the dams’ growing between India and Pakistan over their recently accelerated development of massive rival hydropower projects – divided by only 70 kilometres – exploiting waters of the Jhelum river. Called the Kishenganga Hydroelectric Project (KHP) on the Indian side and, reflecting a change in the

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river’s name when it crosses the border, the Neelum-Jhelum Hydroelectric Project (NJHP) on the Pakistani side, these projects have been underway – at some stage of planning and preliminary construction – for over twenty years. India’s project, which includes a 330 MW power plant, is priced at US$740 million. Pakistan’s China-backed project, which is expected to generate 963 MW of power, has a cost estimate of US$2.16 billion. Pakistanis believe that India’s upriver project, which includes a 16 kilometre-long diversion tunnel, will cut deeply into the planned electric power output of the NJHP. Both sides, anticipating that their efforts to exploit the Jhelum’s hydroelectric potential are bound for the courts, are currently fine-tuning their legal arguments. While it is certainly an exaggeration to describe this singular hydrobattle as a ‘race to the death over Kashmir waters’,21 it dramatizes as clearly as anything could the acute interstate rivalry emerging over Kashmir’s water resources. Kashmir in Afghanistan’s shadow The war in Afghanistan, now in its seventh year, casts its shadow over many things in the wider region, one of them clearly being Kashmir. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, one effect of the war in Afghanistan – and the war on terrorism, in general – has been to conflate virtually all violent anti-state struggles under the heading of terrorism, a generally detested phenomenon, and thus to shrink the world’s tolerance for violent struggles in general. The Kashmiri Muslims’ own long struggle to win independence from India has certainly been a victim of this process. By this, I do not mean to excuse the separatists of some responsibility for Kashmir having acquired a reputation for being a terrorist nesting ground; no doubt, some of this reputation was earned. Kashmir’s geographical proximity to Afghanistan, coupled with the Pakistan army’s sustained and strategically motivated patronage of militant activities in both Afghanistan and Kashmir, helped greatly to ensure that. Interestingly, however, Kashmir has come under increasingly close scrutiny in the past year or so less for its harbouring of terrorists than for its possible service in helping Washington-led NATO forces to pacify Afghanistan. Pakistan, it is generally observed, cannot focus its military resources on the disturbed border region to its west, where they are needed to eradicate the safe havens hardcore Taliban and al-Qaeda militants have built up in Pakistan’s Federally Administered Tribal Areas, so long as the Kashmir dispute stands in the way of improved relations with India to its east. Once freed of the Kashmir separatist burden, according to the conventional narrative, Islamabad will be able to throw its considerable military muscle unreservedly against the common extremist adversary. I have already indicated my deep scepticism in regard to this appealing but doctrinaire formula. It is flawed on at least two fundamental and virtually unalterable counts. One is that the perspective Westerners generally have in regard to the Kashmir dispute, that it is basically a partition era hand-me-down

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territorial conflict rooted in communal (religious) hostility between Hindus and Muslims and readily resolvable by making some concessions to the Kashmiri Muslim minority, is way out of date and scarcely characterizes what Kashmir has come to represent. True, Pakistanis never tire of declaring their fidelity to precisely this perspective. But no matter how often they may dutifully champion the cause of Kashmiri Muslim self-determination at one or another international gathering, in the end Pakistan’s interests invariably trump those of the Kashmiris. Moreover, the dreary fact of the matter is that there is no realistically imaginable circumstance that could produce a significant change in Kashmir’s current political status unless New Delhi willed it so – a development whose utter improbability Pakistanis well recognize. Kashmir, let us be quite clear about it, remains an issue between India and Pakistan – indeed, a mammoth issue. But this is far more a consequence of Pakistan’s mounting water insecurity and desperate dependence on Kashmir’s river resources than of any deep interest in the political liberation of Kashmiris. This means, of course, that Kashmir, when viewed from the standpoint of its water resources, is indeed extremely important to Pakistanis and likely to grow even more so. It also means that negotiating a peaceful settlement of Kashmir between India and Pakistan is going to take a lot more time, imagination, and energy than anyone so far seems willing to invest. Needed, I believe, is a complete overhaul in the way Kashmir is understood in the West together with the recognition that India and Pakistan are now in the midst of a contest over water resources that rivals both in its complexity and importance almost every issue that has come between them in the past. Western discussion of the conflict over Kashmir that treats it as little more than an historical leftover, an irritating and irrational sub-continental ‘obsession’ in need of a reality check, trivializes or even totally ignores what is in fact one of the most profound developments of our day – the rapidly mounting international rivalry in water-scarce parts of the planet for control of fresh water resources. Nowhere in the world is this rivalry more acute, more perilous, and more difficult to pacify than between the South Asian states of India and Pakistan.22 The second flaw in the way the West understands the Kashmir dispute is the naïve belief that the unsettled border between them is the principal barrier to the reconciliation of India and Pakistan. Understood in this way, all that is required is to remove the alleged ‘core issue’ of Kashmir from their bilateral agenda and their full collaboration in the Afghanistan theatre cannot be far behind. Implicit in this belief is that the national interests of India and Pakistan, once the Kashmir blinder has been removed, are mainly compatible, or at least convergent enough when the focus is on Afghanistan to enable them to put their differences aside in the interest of defeating the common terrorist threat. Nothing could be further from the truth. To their credit, both the Rubin/Rashid and CAP reports discussed above acknowledged, as we have seen, that India and Pakistan are serious rivals for influence in Afghanistan. But both these reports seem oblivious to the

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larger facts about them – namely, that India and Pakistan possess deeply antagonistic interests, that they are implacable rivals practically everywhere in the region, including Afghanistan, and that the expectation that their rivalry can somehow be set aside in Afghanistan long enough to ensure that America’s interests are satisfied is nothing less than preposterous. We have very little reason, in fact, to imagine that America’s objectives in Afghanistan are themselves any better aligned with those of Pakistan than are Pakistan’s with India. On the contrary, American and Pakistani objectives in Afghanistan today, as I have elsewhere argued in considerable detail, ‘are far from fully convergent, and . . . they are perhaps least convergent regarding India’.23 Particularly prominent among these differing objectives, to mention only two, is Washington’s open and vigorous courting of India in recent years as a ‘strategic partner’ and the welcome mat it has put out for India’s massive aid programme in Afghanistan – an especially alarming development from Islamabad’s point of view, since Pakistanis ‘have long viewed Afghanistan as Pakistan’s own natural backyard and a convenient corridor to the CARs [Central Asian Republics], and also counted on it for strategic depth . . . Afghanistan’s slow transformation into a surrogate battlefield of the two traditional South Asian rivals is unmistakable.’24 It is clearly essential, in any event, to recognize that the Kashmir dispute is only one of several major issues between Pakistan and India, and that even in the unlikely event it was somehow to vanish from the list there would still remain abundant grounds – a relentless struggle over Afghanistan’s future political alignment among them – for continued distrust and animosity between them.

The search for Kashmir’s resolution The West’s misconceived characterization of the Kashmir dispute as a relatively senseless relic of the partition era, in other words less a problem of irreconcilable national interests than of failure to identify a workable compromise formula, has fed the belief that this dispute, if not already ripe for resolution, can fairly readily be brought around to that condition. Inevitably, this belief in the dispute’s ripeness or near ripeness has generated among observers a remarkable interest in designing a settlement. For some of the would-be designers, the problem was mainly one of identifying a successful historical model (the Trieste, Andorran, or Northern Ireland/Ulster models, for instance), reasonably well matched to Kashmir’s circumstances, whose experience could point the way out of the Kashmir impasse.25 A virtual cottage industry grew up around this modelling endeavour, and the industry continues to thrive in spite of its apparent failure so far to come up with quite the right match. Other observers, no less convinced of the dispute’s fundamentally senseless properties but persuaded that what was needed was a well-reasoned

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disclosure of the terrible price – in economic performance as well as in human lives – that Indians and Pakistanis have paid to carry on with their dispute, have crafted elaborate cost-benefit analyses heavily weighted on the cost side. In the best of these, Shahid Javed Burki, a former vice president of the World Bank, explained the approach in these words: I contend that any process that ultimately resolves the Kashmir impasse will involve changing the way the Kashmir problem is viewed from both sides of the India–Pakistan border and within Kashmir itself. I hope to contribute to this reframing of the problem by first estimating the costs already borne by the parties engaged in the conflict. One of the innovations of this study is the introduction of a new way of understanding the impacts of the conflict – namely, through broadly defined opportunity costs. My estimates suggest that these costs are much higher for Pakistan than for India . . . I ask what would have happened to the Pakistani economy had it not spent so much on building up its military strength, had it continued to trade with India as it did before achieving independence, had it become an attractive area for foreign investment, and domestic investors taken a longer view of its economic potential.26 Still others have set forth inventive schemes of territorial autonomy, in some cases supported with highly sophisticated cartographic representations of the needed truncations of Indian and/or Pakistani sovereignty, in the belief that the surest antidote for protracted conflict between India and Pakistan is to be found in the concession of political self-determination to the aggrieved Kashmiri Muslim minority.27 Oddly, this school of thought managed to sustain its enthusiasm in the face of the distressing fact that neither India nor Pakistan had ever shown the slightest inclination to favour a solution which essentially excluded both of them from the list of beneficiaries. The West’s instinctive impatience with the Kashmir dispute has even fed the belief in some quarters that India and Pakistan have on a few occasions been only a stone’s throw from resolving it themselves, have actually assembled practically all the required elements of a settlement, and are lacking only the favourable circumstances – or a forceful push in the right direction – needed to bring the matter finally to an agreed end. Nourished to some extent by the ritually sanguine public declarations of the Indian and Pakistani governments themselves, this understanding of Kashmir must clearly be ranked among the most optimistic of the breed. The most recent example of it was an arresting narrative in a March 2009 issue of The New Yorker by the renowned journalist and author Steve Coll. In it, he writes of Pakistan’s ‘secret, sensitive negotiation with India, known to its participants as “the back channel”’. He reveals that for several years India and Pakistan dispatched special envoys to hold unpublicized talks in hotel rooms in Bangkok, Dubai, and London with the aim of bringing

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about a so-called ‘paradigm shift’ in their relationship, including, of course, in regard to Kashmir.28 According to one of Coll’s Pakistani interlocutors, Khurshid Kasuri, who was Foreign Minister at the time, the discussions about Kashmir were so far along by early 2007 ‘“that we’d come to semicolons”’. An unnamed ‘senior Indian official’ involved in the talks told Coll: ‘“It was huge – I think it would have changed the basic nature of the problem. You would have then had the freedom to remake Indo-Pakistani relations.”’ The final version of the so-called ‘non-paper’ drafted by the envoys in early 2007, according to Coll’s account, contained provisions that would have enabled Kashmiris to move about and trade freely on both sides of the Line of Control. A measure of autonomy was granted to each of Kashmir’s several sub-regions, and there was even a provision for the gradual withdrawal of troops from Kashmir once violence had subsided. Thought had been given to establishment of a joint body to oversee issues affecting both sides of the LoC, including water rights. As Coll explains it, the Indian and Pakistani officials involved in the talks regarded the effort as politically risky and exceptionally ambitious – a potential turning point in history, as one official put it, comparable to the peace forged between Germany and France after the Second World War. At issue, they believed, was not just a settlement in Kashmir itself but an end to their debilitating covert wars and, eventually, their paranoiac mutual suspicions. They hoped to develop a new regime of free trade and political cooperation in the region, from Central Asia to Bangladesh.29 These officials, Coll says, believed that the only formidable barrier still remaining was selling the deal to the two publics. That barrier quickly proved insuperable when Pakistan’s leader, President (General) Pervez Musharraf, sacked the chief justice of Pakistan’s Supreme Court in March 2007, setting in motion a train of events that eventually demolished Musharraf’s political standing and ended with his forced resignation from office in August 2008. With his exit went all hope for an expedited move towards the longed for ‘transformational peace’ between India and Pakistan. Obviously, one can’t be certain about the motivations and sincerity of the two governments in undertaking this attempt at back-channel diplomacy. Whether either one or both of them actually banked on a successful outcome we may never discover. There is more than a passing chance, in my judgement, that these talks were in fact little more than an exercise in confidence-building, successful enough to kindle the imaginations of at least some of the participants but falling well short of anything that would signal a genuine breakthrough. In any event, the same scepticism is bound to surface in connection with this attempt as surfaced in 1999, when the two governments launched an earlier and similar effort. Ironically, on that occasion it was the same General Musharraf, then Chief of Army Staff, who wrecked

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those talks – then also claimed to have been on the verge of a breakthrough in India–Pakistan relations – by launching the ill-fated Kargil invasion.30 In regard to secretive efforts of this kind aimed allegedly at a negotiated resolution of the Kashmir impasse one can, however, be fully certain of one thing: their colossal susceptibility to failure in an environment as politically chaotic, strategically perilous, and largely unpredictable as the one in which Kashmir finds itself. Exchanging draft non-papers that speak of an end to distrust and paranoia in such an environment, where daggers seem forever drawn, seems quixotic at best. Coll himself reports that the Indian side was positioning warplanes for an air raid against Pakistan as recently as late December 2008 in the wake of the terrorist assault on Mumbai.31 And it is hard to imagine that another such terrorist incident would pass without the Indians feeling strongly compelled to retaliate militarily against Pakistan – a step whose consequences might well be horrific. Unfortunately, the Kashmir dispute is not the relic of a bygone era. Nor is it now or has it ever been, in the mindsets of Indians and Pakistanis, about missed opportunities for economic trade and investment. Even less, as Indians and Pakistanis see it, is it about the self-determination of Kashmiris. And it is not, sorry to say, on the brink of resolution. Inconveniently, it stands today not only in its own right as an important physical battleground between Indian forces and Pakistani surrogates but also as symbol of a wide-ranging and farreaching contest over regional dominance – a matter still undecided over sixty years after independence. There are plenty of reasons to regret this and to hope for Kashmir’s eventual resolution. In the meantime, however, it is important that we recognize that India and Pakistan have good reasons for their dispute over Kashmir – as good, in any event, as are invoked to justify any number of other unsettled disputes that currently trouble the world. These other disputes, amongst which I would unhesitatingly place the incontestably thorny Palestine question, for instance, clearly have no better purchase on our tolerance of them than does Kashmir. And yet there is very little tolerance of Kashmir, which, as this is being written, is being treated as an annoying obstacle in the way of Washington’s plans for Afghanistan, not as an important conflict affecting countless millions of lives in the most profound ways conceivable. Indeed, just as important to recognize is that how a Kashmir settlement comes about would be every bit as crucial to the future trajectory of India–Pakistan relations as whether it ever comes about at all. Too often ignored is the possibility that a settlement acquiesced in under duress or disregardful of what Kashmir is all about might yield something other than the desired regional harmony.

America’s Kashmir dilemma In a nutshell, the Kashmir dilemma that faced the Obama administration in its early months amounted to this: in spite of Washington’s keen awareness both that the Pakistan army continued to view its traditional

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rival, India, as the principal threat to Pakistan’s security and also that there was virtually no realistic hope for a change in this view anytime in the foreseeable future, Washington had yet somehow to persuade the Pakistan army to reinvent itself as a domestic counter-insurgency force, to redeploy to its western borderlands a substantial portion of its forces now on the eastern border with India, and to use these forces aggressively to wipe out militant strongholds of the so-called Taliban in Pakistan’s northwestern borderlands. Washington considered the situation that was developing in Pakistan in spring 2009 to be extremely grave. In the face of the Pakistan government’s inaction and seeming paralysis, the militant forces appeared to be steadily expanding their territorial reach deep into the country. Most alarming was the possibility, however remote it seemed at the time, that Pakistan’s nuclear weapons might fall into the hands of militants. No doubt with this in mind, US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton reportedly said to lawmakers in testimony before the House Foreign Affairs Committee in late April 2009 that the situation in Pakistan ‘poses a mortal threat to the security and safety of our country and the world’.32 Her ominous language was interpreted in some quarters as a scarcely veiled threat that if Pakistan didn’t take action to stop the onward march of the militants, then Washington would.33 Washington had to galvanize Islamabad into action, unfortunately, without benefit of any assurance to Pakistanis that there would be a reward for them, apart from military and economic aid, coming down the road in the form of American involvement in seeking a settlement of the Kashmir dispute. Pakistanis had been led to think there might just be such a reward by a number of widely publicized references to Kashmir by Obama both before and after his election in November 2008. In a widely cited interview with Time magazine’s Joe Klein only days before the election, for instance, Obama explained his views on Kashmir at some length. Conceding that Kashmir ‘is obviously a potential tar pit diplomatically’, he went on to say that the next administration would nevertheless have to work with both India and Pakistan to attempt to resolve the Kashmir crisis ‘in a serious way’. Washington would have to commit ‘serious diplomatic resources’, including a special envoy tasked with persuading both countries that it was time to set Kashmir aside. In response to Klein’s remark that it sounded like a job for Bill Clinton, Obama said he had actually talked to the former president about this over lunch in Harlem.34 These and other comments on Kashmir by Obama excited a great deal of apprehension on the Indian side of the border. One renowned and persistently pro-American Indian commentator, C. Raja Mohan, objecting to ‘the simplistic trade-off [the Obama thesis] sets up between Kashmir and Afghanistan’, accused the likely next president of the United States of ‘meddling’ where he wasn’t needed.35 A week following Obama’s election, Pakistan’s President Asif Ali Zardari, in his turn, wrote an op-ed article for

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The Washington Post reacting to Obama’s appointment of Richard Holbrooke as special envoy to Afghanistan and Pakistan – an appointment conspicuous for its omission of India from his formal mandate. Zardari gently prodded Obama about the urgency of addressing the question of Kashmir and signalled his ‘hope that the special envoy will work with India and Pakistan’ on this and other matters.36 Apparent in all of this was that getting Pakistan to turn its military gaze to the west was going to be extremely difficult, if not wholly impossible, to accomplish. Apparent, too, was the Indian government’s determination, expressed in a reportedly frenzied lobbying effort aimed at excluding India from Holbrooke’s official brief, to prevent Washington’s involvement in the Kashmir dispute.37 Notwithstanding its frothy election campaign pledges about Kashmir, the Obama administration’s quick post-election retreat from them suggested that strategic sobriety had already set in: the dramatic upgrading of Indo-US relations that had been achieved over a decade’s length by the combined efforts of the Clinton and Bush administrations was not to be overturned. The full weight of American pressures was to be directed against economically and politically faltering Pakistan. Unfortunately, few were likely to notice, much less care, that in Zardari’s thoughtfully written op-ed article he had drawn attention to the important but irksome fact that ‘[t]he water crisis in Pakistan is directly linked to relations with India’.38

Conclusions With the coming of spring and the melting of snows in mountainous Kashmir, there appeared in the media – this year as in the past – Indian reports of Pakistan-aided Muslim guerrilla crossings of the LoC into disputed Kashmir from the Pakistani side.39 The reports conceded that violence has declined in recent years, but there are still frequent shootouts between Indian security forces and the militants, and there are plenty of other signs that Kashmiri separatism – and India’s resolute opposition to it – is alive and well. Even were the news better about developments in Kashmir itself, there would still be very little to cheer about. For Kashmir is nested in a region about whose dangerous character there is little disagreement. In this chapter we have not taken all aspects of the danger into account. Had we done so, the list would have been considerably longer and would have included, among other things, the region’s amassing of nuclear arms and missile delivery systems, its massive expenditures on conventional weapons, its ongoing rivalry for access to energy resources, the extreme political instability and fragility of Afghanistan and Pakistan, the entanglement of India and Pakistan in rival strategic alliances, and – not least – the spread of radical (both Hindu and Muslim) political ideologies. We dwelt, instead, upon only two dimensions of the danger – one of them having to do with water resource scarcity and rising demand for hydropower, the other concerning what Americans are now choosing to call

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the Long War in Afghanistan. Both of these features of Kashmir’s geopolitical environment are massive in scale and they are certain to leave their own deep marks on Kashmir. Deepest of these, sadly, is likely to be the continuing failure of India and Pakistan to arrive at anything approximating either a Kashmir settlement or a durable peace between themselves. We must conclude, then, that the fixing of Kashmir’s fractured condition is not currently on the cards and that it must await fundamental change in the region’s geopolitical circumstances for its possibility even to merit serious consideration. This is confessedly a dreary conclusion. It rests, however, on my strong convictions, first, that water resource rivalry between India and Pakistan, much of it centred in Kashmir, is rapidly gathering momentum as a key divisive issue on their bilateral agenda and, second, that Afghanistan’s equally rapid growth into an arena of fierce great power competition – for access to and control of energy resources among other things – will keep the entire region seething in geopolitical turmoil for many years to come. This conclusion certainly does not rule out progress in India–Pakistan relations in general or further stilling of violence in Kashmir in particular. Indeed, keeping Kashmir on low boil is itself a worthy objective and one that is certainly within reach. Neither does it rule out taking serious measures to prevent the worst imaginable consequences of the divisive and conflictive trends we have highlighted in this chapter – escalation of tensions between India and Pakistan into a nuclear war, for instance, or Pakistan’s actual conversion into a fully-fledged battlefield in America’s war on terrorism. These outcomes can and must be avoided. What I believe is unquestionably ruled out, however, are grand settlements of the sort envisioned for the region by so many in the West – settlements that would miraculously remove the rivalry and distrust from India–Pakistan relations and speedily usher in the longed for ‘transformational peace’. For it is the region’s insistent and highly problematic ground realities, not the perverse self-destructiveness or blindness of its people, that drive India–Pakistan relations. No amount of smug and imperious exhortation by the Western media – like that in an April 2009 International Herald Tribune editorial, urging Pakistani leaders to end the duplicitous ‘dangerous farce’ in which they were currently engaged and then the White House, in turn, to ‘persuade [Pakistan’s Chief of Army Staff] General Kayani to shift at least part of his focus and far more resources away from the Indian border to the Afghan border’ – is going to alter that.40 It is Westerners, as much as anyone else, who need to refocus their energies and resources in this deeply troubled region. And the first essential step in that direction has to be the recognition that Kashmir, considered in the broadest sense, is indeed a dangerous place.

Notes 1. At Indian insistence, the CFL was renamed the Line of Control in 1972 following Pakistan’s defeat in the Bangladesh war.

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2. My view that the Kashmir dispute has a composite character, having exhibited major alterations in its meaning and interpretation since its birth in 1947, is developed in some detail in R. Wirsing, Kashmir in the Shadow of War: Regional Rivalries in a Nuclear Age (Armonk: M. E. Sharpe, 2003), especially pp. 8–9. 3. Cited in ibid., p. 111. 4. At one point in the course of the three-day long and fiercely fought battle between the heavily armed terrorist gunmen and Indian commando forces, one of the militants reportedly mentioned the suffering of Kashmiris as one of the motives for the attack. The only one of the ten known gunmen to have been captured by Indian police during the siege was said by the police to have admitted belonging to a Pakistan-based militant group – the Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) – with links to the disputed Himalayan region of Kashmir. ‘Police: Pakistani Group Behind Mumbai Attacks’, Associated Press Online, 30 November 2008, http://www.msnbc.msn. com/id/27940231/print/1/displaymode/1098, accessed 1 December 2008. 5. In some quarters, there is a belief that Kashmir’s terrorist label, were Pakistan, or parts of it, to fall into the hands of Islamic extremists, might take on a new, greatly expanded, and vastly more dangerous content. See, for example, P. Escobar, ‘Kashmir: Ground Zero of Global Jihad’, AsiaTimes Online, 17 July 2009, http:// www.atimes.com/atimes/South_Asia/KG17Df01.html, accessed 17 July 2009. The article is in the form of an interview Escobar conducted with Arif Jamal, the Pakistani author of a new book Shadow War: the Untold Story of Jihad in Kashmir (Hoboken, NJ: Melville House, 2009). 6. B. R. Rubin and A. Rashid, ‘From Great Game to Grand Bargain: Ending Chaos in Afghanistan and Pakistan’, Foreign Affairs (November–December 2008), http:// www.foreignaffairs.org/20081001faessay87603/barnett-r-rubin-ahmed-rashid, accessed 17 November 2008. 7. C. Wadhams, B. Katulis, L. Korb, and C. Cookman, Partnership for Progress: Advancing a New Strategy for Prosperity and Stability in Pakistan and the Region (Washington, DC: Center for American Progress, November 2008), www.americanprogress. org, accessed 20 November 2008. Significantly, CAP’s president and chief executive officer since its founding in 2001 was John Podesta, who headed Obama’s presidential transition team. 8. Rubin and Rashid, ‘From Great Game to Grand Bargain’. 9. The CAP authors do express support for negotiations with militant groups. But their recommendation is significantly qualified by the candid admission: ‘Negotiations are essential, even if only to buy legitimacy for subsequent military action.’ Wadhams et al., Partnership for Progress, p. 31. 10. Ibid., pp. 29–30. The CAP report urges Washington to ‘maintain capability to conduct military strikes in Pakistan when Pakistan lacks the capability or will to do so. Given the danger posed by Al Qaeda and Taliban safe havens in FATA, the United States must maintain this capability. Any military strikes into Pakistan territory, however, must be made with extreme caution and only in cases where intelligence officials have the highest confidence that such strikes will be able to eliminate Al Qaeda and Taliban leaders whose removal would have the greatest effect on the rest of their networks.’ 11. Atlantic Council, Needed: a Comprehensive US Policy Towards Pakistan (Washington, DC, February 2009), http://www.acus.org/tags/south-asia, accessed 10 March 2009. 12. Ibid., p. 5. 13. Ibid., p. v. 14. Ibid. p. 19. 15. Ibid., p. 18.

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16. R. G. Wirsing, ‘Kashmir Territorial Dispute: the Indus Runs Through It’, The Brown Journal of World Affairs 15(1) (Fall–Winter 2008): 225–40. 17. The Baglihar Dam dispute is discussed in ibid., pp. 227–30. 18. A. Khan, ‘Panel to Assess Pak’s Claims on Chenab Flow’, The Tribune (Chandigarh) (2008), http://www.tribuneindia.com/2008/20080918/world.htm, accessed 19 April 2009. 19. Contributing to the Chenab issue was India’s withdrawal of water from the Tawi river, a tributary of the Chenab, to feed into the newly created Tawi–Ravi irrigation system. K. Mustafa, ‘Chenab Inflow Ebbs as India Withdraws Water from Tawi’, The News, 28 March 2009, http://www.thenews.com.pk/daily_detail. asp?id=169495, accessed 19 April 2009. 20. K. Mustafa, ‘India Constructing Three Dams in Held Kashmir’, The News (9 February 2009), http://www.thenews.com.pk/top_story_detail.asp?Id=20205, accessed 19 April 2009; K. Mustafa, ‘Armed Forces Alarmed over Construction of Dams on River Indus’, 21 February 2009, http://www.pakistanpal.wordpress.com/ 2009/02/24/armed-forces-alarmed-over-construction-of-, accessed 19 April 2009; and A. F. Khan, ‘India Building Small Dams on Indus’, Dawn (23 February 2009), http://www.dawn.com/2009/02/23/ebr21.htm, accessed 19 April 2009. 21. Haroon Mirani, ‘Race to the Death over Kashmir Waters’, Asia Times (13 January 2009), http://www.atimes.com/atimes/South_Asia/KA13Df01.html, accessed 19 April 2009. 22. For an excellent and eye-opening recent assessment of the extraordinary scale of dam building currently going on or planned in the Himalayas, see S. Dharmadhikary, Mountains of Concrete: Dam Building in the Himalayas (Berkeley, CA: International Rivers, December, 2008), http://www.internationalrivers.org/en/ himalaya-report, accessed 19 April 2009. 23. R. G. Wirsing, ‘In India’s Lengthening Shadow: The US–Pakistan Strategic Alliance and the War in Afghanistan’, Asian Affairs 34(3) (Fall 2007), p. 167. 24. Ibid., pp. 160–1. 25. A good example of this approach, drawing lessons from Northern Ireland/Ulster, is S. Bose, Kashmir: Roots of Conflict, Paths to Peace (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003). 26. S. J. Burki, Kashmir: a Problem in Search of a Solution (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, March 2007), pp. 5–6. 27. See, for example, Kashmir Study Group, Kashmir: a Way Forward (Larchmont, NY, September 1999). 28. S. Coll, ‘The Back Channel’, The New Yorker (2 March 2009), http://www.newamerica. net/publications/articles/2009/back-channel_11191, accessed 22 April 2009. 29. Ibid. 30. The 1999 secret talks are discussed in detail in my Kashmir in the Shadow of War, Chapter 1, pp. 25–35. 31. For the view that New Delhi actively contemplated military retaliation against Pakistan in the wake of the Mumbai terrorist assault, see S. Srivastava, ‘Indian Army “Backed Out” of Pakistan Attack’, Asia Times (21 January 2009), http:// www.atimes.com/atimes/South_Asia/KA21Df02.html, accessed 23 April 2009. 32. A. Mohammed, ‘Clinton Says Pakistan is Abdicating to the Taliban’, Reuters, 23 April 2009, http://www.reuters.com/articlePrint?articleld=USTRE53L69J20090423, accessed 27 April 2009. 33. C. Lamb and D. Khattak, ‘“Stop the Taliban Now – or We Will”’, The Sunday Times Online, 26 April 2009, http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/asia/article6168940.ece?print=yes&randnum, accessed 27 April 2009.

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34. Joe Klein, ‘The Full Obama Interview’, posted on Swampland, Time.com, 23 October 2008, http://www.swampland.blogs.time.com/2008/10/23/the_full_ obama_interview/, accessed 27 April 2009. 35. C. R. Mohan, ‘Barack Obama’s Kashmir Thesis!’, The Indian Express (3 November 2008), http://www.indianexpress.com/story_print.php?storyid=380615, accessed 27 April 2009. 36. A. A. Zardari, ‘Partnering with Pakistan’, The Washington Post (28 January 2009), http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/01/27/ AR2009012702675.html, accessed 27 April 2009. 37. See, for example, B. Ghosh, ‘Will Kashmir be an Obama Foreign Policy Focus?’, Time (28 January 2009), http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1874627,00. html, accessed 27 April 2009. 38. Zardari, ‘Partnering with Pakistan’. 39. ‘India Says Pakistan Still Aiding Kashmir Rebels’, The New York Times (25 April 2009), http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/2009/04/25/world/ international- us- indiapakistan-kashmir, accessed 27 April 2009. 40. Editorial, ‘Pakistan’s Fragile Democracy Ignores a Mortal Threat’, International Herald Tribune (28 April 2009), p. 6.

8 Sri Lanka Managing Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka: Going Beyond the LTTE Shaheen Akhtar

Introduction The Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), which waged a fierce war for a separate state of Tamil Eelam in the northern and eastern parts of Sri Lanka since the 1980s, has been crushed. Its top political and military leadership, including its near legendary leader Velupillai Prabhakaran, has been virtually wiped out; most of its fighting cadre have been killed, others have surrendered, and the remnants are scattered or are on the run. Before Eelam War IV, which proved to be its Waterloo, the LTTE controlled or at least had significant presence in over 15,000 square kilometres or one-quarter of the territory and two-thirds of the coastline of the Sri Lankan island. For Sri Lanka, it was a hard-earned victory that cost the island over 100,000 lives, besides huge social, economic, and military losses. The victory has certainly removed a big hurdle in the way of a political solution of the ethnic separatist conflict in Sri Lanka. The LTTE’s stunning defeat in May 2009 has transformed the Tamil conflict dramatically. The end of the military conflict with the LTTE has brought Sri Lanka to a major turning point in its history. At this critical juncture, the choices made by its political leadership will determine how the state can pull itself out of nearly three decades of civil war. At war’s end, the Sri Lankan government is now faced with issues of an immediate nature like relief, rehabilitation, and resettlement of the internally displaced people (IDPs) from the wartorn north and reconstruction of the north and east. However, reconciliation between the majority Sinhala community and minority communities, especially the Tamils, to include a permanent political solution, is central to conflict management in Sri Lanka. Sri Lankan President Mahinda Rajapaksa has talked about a ‘home grown’ political solution acceptable to ‘all sections of the people’. How to reconcile the competitive Sinhala and Tamil nationalisms and satisfy the aspirations of the two communities, while also giving other minorities an honourable deal, will be a major challenge. 159

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This chapter explores the challenges of post-LTTE conflict management in Sri Lanka. It will consider how military victory against the LTTE is going to shape the political solution of the Tamil conflict in Sri Lanka. The main argument of this chapter is that the LTTE was part of the problem and yet also a by-product of the unaddressed grievances of the Tamils, and unless these grievances are removed, ethnic peace will not return to Sri Lanka.

Drivers of the Tamil conflict Tamil ethnic separatism in Sri Lanka has gone through several twists and turns since 1983, when a brutal spate of anti-Tamil riots fuelled armed Tamil insurgency in the north and east of the island. Sri Lanka is a multiethnic, multireligious and multicultural state with a functioning democracy. The conflict between the Sinhalese majority (74 per cent) and the Tamil minority (18.2 per cent) is primarily rooted in competing Tamil and Sinhalese nationalisms and the Sinhalization of the Sri Lankan state that resulted in the marginalization of the Tamils in the areas of language, culture, education, employment, access to state land, and economic opportunities. The Sinhalese majority’s insistence on the solution of the conflict within the framework of a ‘unitary state’ and thereby resistance to a meaningful devolution of powers to the Tamil-majority north and east has sustained the conflict. There were several past attempts made in 1957, 1965, 1985, 1987–8, 1994, and 2002 to resolve the conflict through political negotiations, but none of them could succeed due to Sinhalese opposition to a federal solution. In the 1950s and 1960s, the struggle was political in nature and was led by Tamil political leadership divided between the moderates led by G. G. Ponnambalam, leader of the Tamil Congress (TC), and federalists led by Chelvanayakam, leader of the Federal Party (FP). The issues at heart were the status of the Tamil language, employment in the state sector, access to higher education, regional autonomy, and settlement of Sinhalese on land which the Tamils claimed as the traditional homelands of the Tamils.1 The demand for a separate state gained momentum in the 1970s. In 1975, sections of the two dominant Tamil parties, the FP and the TC, united to form the Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF). On 14 May 1976, the TULF adopted the Vaddukoddai resolution calling for the creation of a separate Tamil state of Eelam. The demand for Eelam not only challenged the unitary character of the Sri Lankan Constitution but also the very integrity of the island, while giving a new dimension to Tamil politics. There was intensification of separatist agitation and mushrooming of Tamil militant outfits in the late 1970s. This period saw the emergence of the Tamil Eelam Liberation Organization (TELO), the People’s Liberation Organization of Tamil Eelam (PLOTE), the Eelam People’s Revolutionary Liberation Front (EPRLF), the Eelam Revolutionary Organization (EROS),

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and the LTTE. The LTTE was very quick in eliminating rival militant leaders and establishing its international linkages. Since the 1980s, the LTTE spearheaded the armed struggle for the creation of a separate state of ‘Eelam’ and opposed any settlement that conceded less than a separate state. The emergence of the LTTE as a formidable force under the authoritarian leadership of Prabhakaran made the settlement of Tamil conflict much more difficult and complex. Prabhakaran used periodic offers of talks as a pause, only to return to a more lethal war. He accepted the Indo-Sri Lanka Accord of 1987 very reluctantly and later refused to lay down arms or give up the demand for Eelam. He fought against the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) and later entered into a tactical dialogue with then President Premadasa to get rid of the IPKF. When the IPKF left Sri Lanka, he pulled out of talks and went back to fighting. In October 1994, he again entered into talks with President Chandrika Kumaratunga, who had come into power on a peace plank. After four rounds of talks focusing on the redress of immediate problems facing the LTTE, Prabhakaran went back to war. He used both ceasefires to regroup and reorganize the LTTE, resorting to fresh recruitment and training. He came back to talks in 2001 after a spell of almost six years of fighting due to ‘continuing deprivations and material suffering of their own civilian population’2 coupled with pressures against terrorism emanating from the post11 September 2001 global environment hostile to non-state military actors.3 A Ceasefire Agreement (CFA) was signed between the government and the LTTE in 2002 with the aid of Norwegian mediation. There were six rounds of talks held in Thailand, Norway, and Japan, but they were inconclusive. One significant outcome of the talks was the Oslo Declaration (December 2002), in which the LTTE agreed to explore a federal solution within a united Sri Lanka. However, the LTTE retained the right to self-determination and maintained secession as a ‘last resort’. Eelam War IV and decimation of the LTTE When Mahinda Rajapaksa took over as President of Sri Lanka, the LTTE still had control over vast areas of the country. The peace process with the LTTE had been stalemated since April 2003, and there was a low intensity conflict in progress that was reflected in continuous violations of the CFA. Two rounds of talks were held in early 2006, but they were used by the parties to the talks merely to advance their arguments justifiying escalation of the undeclared war. Rajapaksa and his core team comprising Defence Secretary Gotabaya Rajapaksa and army chief Lieutenant General Sarath Fonseka, made a political decision in August 2006 to launch a ‘fight-tofinish’ campaign against the LTTE when the LTTE cadres closed down the Mavil Aru sluice gates in the eastern part of the country, denying water to more than 30,000 civilians. The ranks of the military were increased to over 200,000, and the allocation for defence for 2009 was pegged at SLR

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177.1 billion ($1.66 billion). The allocation for defence in 2008 had stood at SLR 166.44 billion.4 On the political front, the Rajapaksa government continued to make politically attractive public statements on matters of peace, development, and steps towards conflict resolution all the while planning for an all-out war. The facade of the CFA was kept alive until January 2008, despite the fact that the ceasefire had for all practical purposes broken down in early 2007. Rajapaksa also did not ban the LTTE as a terrorist outfit until January 2009, after Kilinochchi, the Tigers’ administrative and political headquarters, had fallen. On the propaganda front, the government, taking a leaf from LTTE tactics, created the Media Centre for National Security (MCNS). Its main objective was to counter the pro-LTTE portal TamilNet. The Defence Ministry also refurbished its website and launched a relentless counter-LTTE and counter-insurgency campaign. The main objective of the government’s military campaign was to defeat, not merely to weaken, the LTTE militarily and to make the LTTE irrelevant to any political solution of the ethnic conflict.5 On the battle front, the motto, as described by army chief General Fonseka was: ‘Go for the kill, maximum casualties and destruction of infrastructure of the enemy with minimum possible damage to the troops.’6 Sri Lankan forces were pitted against the LTTE, with a reputation for being one of the militarily most powerful terrorist outfits in the world. It had acquired ships, aircraft, submarines, and advanced weaponry. Its military strategy combined landmines, claymore mines, small suicide vessels, light aircraft that could evade radar, and suicide killer jackets. The LTTE had waged a brutal war for the past thirty years and had assassinated two heads of state – Sri Lankan President R. Premadasa and former Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. It had also killed Sri Lankan Defence Minister Ranjan Wijeratne, Minister of National Security Lalith Athulathmudali, Navy Commander Admiral Clancy Fernando, a number of senior army generals, and more than thirty-five pilots. The LTTE also resorted to a policy of systematic elimination of opponents and alternate leadership within the Tamil community. Along with rival Tamil militant leaders, it eliminated top Tamil political leaders such as Amirthalingham, general secretary of the TULF, and Tamil intellectuals Rajani Thiranagama, Dr Neelan Tiruchelvam, and Kethesh Longanathan and Sri Lankan Tamil foreign minister Lakshman Kadirgamar. Once the Sri Lankan military had wrested control of the county’s east in July 2007, with the assistance of a breakaway LTTE faction under Karuna, it intensified its campaign in the north. The government forces, now well trained and enjoying superiority in fire power and mobility, launched a four-pronged attack on the LTTEcontrolled areas comprising the districts of Mullaitivu and Killinochchi and parts of Mannar and Jaffna. The idea was to gradually encircle Killinochchi, the administrative capital of the LTTE. The army also deployed its ‘deep penetration units’, operating under the Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol, to assassinate selectively the LTTE leadership as well as gain field intelligence.

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The navy and the air force also effectively supported the army’s advancement.7 Air strikes were used to destroy LTTE defences and installations, while the navy cut the supply lines of the LTTE and crippled the Sea Tigers’ ability to launch any amphibious attack. Estimates of the number of air attacks vary from 15,000 to 20,000 sorties.8 Conversely, the LTTE’s military strategy suffered from many flaws. Four specific factors seemed to have worked against the LTTE. First, being forced to defend a vast territory with a large population, the LTTE had to fight a defensive conventional war whereas the Sri Lankan state had a decisive advantage in offensive warfare in terms of resources, legitimacy, international support, and sustainability. Second, the LTTE could not turn the tables on Colombo because it was bereft of allies and friends at home or abroad ‘whose support was crucial to secure a strategic advantage over the Sri Lankan state’. Third, the LTTE’s exclusive reliance on war tactics to achieve political goals was out of tune with the times. ‘Little did the LTTE leaders realise that they were fast becoming victims of their own past successes in war and violence.’ Fourth, the LTTE failed to realize that its armed struggle had become totally incongruous with the post-9/11 world.9 On the other hand, the Rajapaksa government succeeded by aligning itself with the global discourse of ‘war against terrorism’. For the most part, international actors did not want to do anything that altered the war trajectory in Sri Lanka. Some of them actively supported the government. The disappointment of the LTTE over the loss of international support was evident in the message that appeared on the TamilNet as the LTTE crumbled. The message was titled: ‘Long live human dignity, shame on international community’. It read: ‘While the so-called international community is exposed in its shameful cunning’, thousands of Tamil civilians and combatants are laying down their lives to ‘uphold Tamil dignity and human dignity’.10 Another report on TamilNet said that the UN, which is ‘supposed to be guardian for the oppressed people in the world, turned out to be a silent spectator’.11 Eelam War IV proved fatal for the LTTE, resulting in the destruction of its military capabilities and elimination of at least eighteen of its top leaders, including its feared supremo Prabhakaran; intelligence chief Pottu Amman; the political wing head B Nadesan; the peace secretariat in-charge S. Pulithevan; Tamil police chief Ilango; and Sea Tiger chief Soosai. It marked the restoration of the government’s total control over the entire island for the first time in the last three decades. Eelam War IV that began in August 2006 incurred enormous casualties. Military sources claimed that 22,000 LTTE cadres and 6,261 members of the security forces were killed and another 29,551 were injured. According to Ministry of Defence sources, 9,100 LTTE cadre surrendered, of whom 7,237 have been rehabilitated at various centres. These included 1,601 women. There are no accurate estimates of civilian deaths. UN sources estimate that at least 8,000 civilians died in the course of 2009.12 The human costs of three decades of conflict

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are evident in over 100,000 lives lost and maimed, and over half a million displaced at different times, including the 280,000 in internment camps in Vavuniya at this time.13 The mounting economic cost of conflict is evident in the fact that in the final year of war the government spent almost 17 per cent of Sri Lankan GDP on the war effort. This is partly the reason for Colombo’s $1.9 billion IMF loan request at this time.14

State management of the conflict: post-LTTE Rehabilitation of the IDPs Early rehabilitation of the officially acknowledged 280,000 IDPs from the north, dislocated in the course of government–LTTE fighting, is one of the immediate challenges for the Rajapaksa government in its efforts to win the hearts and minds of the Tamils. The war has left humanitarian suffering on a huge scale. The Tamil civilians caught between the military and the LTTE have suffered grievously, especially in the final stage of the war. The IDPs who fled the LTTE-controlled areas during the war are currently living in different camps spread across Vavuniya, Mannar, and Jaffna. The biggest camp is Manik Farm, located near Vavuniya. The government describes these temporary shelters as ‘welfare villages’ while Tamil leaders term them as ‘open prisons’ and international aid agencies as ‘internment camps’. The logistics of feeding nearly 300,000 people, ensuring their health, education, and security, are enormous. The government maintains that those in the camps would be resettled by the end of 2009, once it weeds out suspected rebels. In his opening address to the Parliament on 19 May 2009, Rajapaksa highlighted his determination to resettle the Tamil civilians displaced by the conflict. He said: ‘We shall resettle all those who have been freed from being hostages in very welcome surroundings. People who have not had electricity and not seen modern roads will be resettled in environments complete with all facilities.’15 On 21 May, two days after the military operations against the LTTE ended, Rajapaksa announced a 180-day resettlement plan. Later, in an interview on 30 June with N. Ram, editor of The Hindu, Rajapaksa defended the prevailing conditions in the IDP camps and elaborated on his road map of what needed to be put in place to ensure the safety and meet the basic needs of those who are to be sent back to their villages. Rajapaksa contended that the ‘condition in our camps is the best that any country has’ and the basic needs of the IDPs, including schooling, were being met. He argued that the displaced individuals in the camps were ‘satisfied with the housing and shelter’. His main argument for not sending IDPs back to their original dwellings was that it was not possible in the absence of basic facilities and security. He said: ‘I can’t send them to a place without basic facilities . . . We can’t send them back to a place where there are just jungles.’16 He added that the government was spending money on electricity, on roads, and on water. Although he agreed that the real ‘problem’ of the IDPs ‘is movement,

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freedom of movement’, he nevertheless linked that with ‘security concerns’. ‘Since there are security concerns’, he commented, ‘I don’t know how to do that immediately.’ He explained that ‘We have to identify these people. So if anybody takes the responsibility, we are ready to send them.’ Another security concern emanated from the need to clear the area of mines. Rajapaksa emphasized that de-mining has first to be completed and certified by the United Nations. He pointed out that ‘every square centimetre has been mined by the LTTE. If something happens, I am responsible.’ This implied that return of the IDPs would be a long drawn-out process. The plight of the civilians held in camps guarded by the military is becoming a hot issue between the government and the Tamil community at large, supported by international non-governmental organizations (NGOs) in particular. The civilians are not allowed to freely move out or to have visitors. The Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF) leader V. Anandasangaree, in a letter to the President, accused the government of holding some 300,000 war-displaced civilians in ‘open prisons’ and demanded their immediate release. He observed: ‘They are virtually kept under compulsion without any justification, giving them the feeling that they are kept in an open prison with too many restrictions and not in a welfare centre.’17 Leaders of the Tamil diaspora are demanding that the IDPs be allowed to return to their villages immediately. International aid agencies and journalists are also not allowed free access to the camps. The New York-based Human Rights Watch said the squalid camps, which are ringed with barbed wire, were a ‘national disgrace’ and violated international law.18 The UN and various NGOs are demanding unhindered access to the camps of the displaced. These demands have not only created bitterness in the government’s relationship with international bodies but also tarnish its image internationally. There is also some apprehension that the IDPs will be kept in camps for an indefinite period. Moreover, there is ‘suspicion of a hidden government agenda to settle Sinhalese in the Wanni [the northern Tamil heartland] and to alter demographic patterns’.19 The resettlement of the IDPs is a big challenge for the Rajapaksa government. It is not just a question of political will but of resources and expertise. According to reports, there are at least 3,000 pregnant women in addition to children and a large number of aged men and women in the camps. Going by the military estimate, they are living amongst 9,100 self-confessed or otherwise identified LTTE cadre.20 The government has to do a balancing act to ensure the safety and security of the displaced persons while also rehabilitating the LTTE cadre. The government was apparently able to handle the situation when the Eastern Province was liberated in August 2007. It has set up several IDP rehabilitation schools in the Akkaripattu-Oluvil area, where ex-fighters are being retrained and released back to their villages. The scale of the distress is much higher in the north where almost all the Tamil population has been displaced.

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Postwar reconstruction of the north and east Another huge challenge facing the Rajapaksa government is the reconstruction of the war-ravaged north and east. Twenty-six years of war have shattered the economy of these territories, in both their agricultural and industrial sectors. The basic infrastructure has been destroyed either by the LTTE or by military operations. In his speech on 19 May, Rajapaksa said a Presidential Task Force was already set up to expedite development work in the Wanni (or Vanni) heartland and the north. ‘We are committed to carry out accelerated development . . . within the next three years.’21 He said the government will provide education and health facilities, and that it will launch a ‘northern spring’ by providing needed infrastructure such as irrigation, highways, electricity, and facilities necessary for agriculture, fisheries, and tourism sectors. He asserted that with an end to terrorism, the biggest obstacle in the way of private sector investment in the country’s north and east has been removed. He invited the business community to invest in the Tamil areas and urged the international community to cooperate with Sri Lanka in that regard. In his victory day speech on 3 June, Rajapaksa promised an end to discrimination against the Tamils in the areas of economic development and higher education. He emphasized: ‘It is necessary to remember that carrying out higher education, providing electricity, doing urban development and many other matters on the basis of populist political decisions is a grave enmity to the country. We were able to construct the Norochcholai and Upper Kotmale power projects by moving out of the frame of populist politics and thinking more of the country.’22 He reaffirmed that government would provide all facilities that had been denied to the people of the north for thirty years. There would be a massive development exercise and the northern spring would not only dawn but also spread with speed across the north. With the end of fighting in the north and east, the government has planned several ambitious development projects to galvanize an area which has long been devastated by war. Massive projects are being planned in the road, railway, and electricity sectors, and industrial development in the north is to be encouraged. The government is looking to local and foreign investors to make this possible. According to Secretary of the Highways and Road Development Ministry Sirisena Amarasekera, ‘the road network programme in the north is a mega project where 1260 km have to be tarred. It would take at least 10 years to finish the entire project. Surveys and other initial work in road development in the north have already started.’23 Transport Ministry Media Secretary Sumith Weerasinghe commented that the government has accelerated rebuilding of the northern rail track to Jaffna. ‘The first stage of the Vavuniya–Kankesanthurai railway line which was from Vavuniya to Thandikulam has been completed. The next stage from Thandikulam to Omanthai has been started. The total cost for various railway projects is approximately Rs. 18,000 million.’ Minister of Power and

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Energy John Seneviratne observed that plans were being prepared to electrify the whole of the Northern Province within two to three years. The entire cost of the grid stations has been estimated to be in the region of Rs. 7,500 million and is to be funded by the Asian Development Bank (ADB) Conflict Affected Area Rehabilitation Project (CAARP), among other donors.24 According to Industries Minister Kumar Welgama, the small and medium enterprises (SMEs) in Jaffna will be encouraged to start new ventures in the peninsula. ‘The Kankesanthurai cement factory is completely damaged and it will take another one and a half years to restore it. Development of the 650 acre salterns [salt-making installations] would be commenced as soon as the area is cleared of land mines. United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) has given us Rs. 7 million for the production of a fishing nets project. The restrictions on fishing in the northern seas have now been removed after the war. Government has taken steps to provide a fertiliser subsidy to farmers in the north.’25 The government has also lifted restrictions on fishing in the north seas that will help to restore economic activity in the area. The government’s promise of a ‘northern spring’ is contested by Tamil moderate leaders. In a letter to the President, TULF leader V. Anandasangaree said, for instance, that what the people of the north ‘want is real “spring” and not an agency rule’. He pointed out: ‘What the people here are experiencing is a silent cyclone that started at the time Jaffna was liberated 12 years back, gradually gained momentum and has now reached its climax with the abundance of facilities, made available to certain individuals that are misused at random.’26 There is also resource constraint. The government needs international financial support to supplement its resources to develop the north and east and take the country on a fast track of economic development. Search for a political solution The LTTE was to a large extent a product of unaddressed Tamil grievances, and unless they are addressed politically, the reasons for a resurgence of Tamil militancy will remain intact. The reaction of the majority and minorities to the end of war has been strikingly different. Most sections of the ethnic Sinhala-speaking majority have viewed the end of the LTTE as a positive development that opens space for peace, development, and prosperity of the country. The majority celebrated the military victory ‘joyously, waving Sri Lankan flags and lighting firecrackers to mark end of the war and the crushing of the LTTE’.27 There were victory rallies, parades, and commemorations across the island. On the other hand, ‘many amongst the Tamil’ population bore a ‘sense of grief, anger and despair at the manner in which the war has ended’.28 Muralidharan reported that the mood in Tamil- and Muslim-dominated areas spoke of a sombre and sullen atmosphere.29 ‘They are coping with the fallout of the war and there is a sense amongst them that all the sacrifice that they made has ended in vain.’

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Rajapaksa tried to sustain communal harmony as the majority community celebrated the military victory over LTTE. He urged people gathered at a mammoth War Heroes Commemoration rally held at Sri Jayawardenapura, close to the Parliament, to accept victory against the LTTE looking towards the future and without hurting anyone’s feelings. He emphasized that ‘at a time when everyone is thinking as being in one country, one should not hurt the feelings of anyone. If when you raise the national flag to celebrate this victory, a single Sinhalese, Tamil, Muslim, Burgher, Malay or any other person is hurt, there is no purpose in that celebration.’30 In his opening address to the Parliament on 19 May 2009, Rajapaksa emphasized the multiethnic, multicultural, and multireligious character of Sri Lanka. In Tamil, he said: We should live in this country as children of one mother. No differences of race, caste or religion should prevail here . . . The war against the LTTE is not a war against Tamil people . . . defeating the LTTE is the victory of this nation. The defeat of the LTTE . . . will never be the defeat of the Tamil people of this country.31 He repeatedly emphasized that Tamils were ‘our own’ people and took credit for freeing Tamil people from the LTTE terror. He said that ‘protecting the Tamil speaking people of this country is my responsibility. That is my duty . . . All should live with equal rights. That is my aim.’32 He pledged: ‘I will respect all ethnic and religious identities, refrain from using force against anyone and build a new society that protects individuals and social freedoms.’ He urged the Tamil diaspora, which had supported the LTTE with funds, that ‘if they have any love for their own people, [they] should not help terrorism again.’33 During the war Rajapaksa had been making statements that ‘there is, and can be, no military solution to political questions. A military solution is for the terrorists; a political solution is for the people living in this country.’34 After the war ended, he reaffirmed his view that a ‘military solution’ is not the ‘final solution’. He has also aired his views on the contours of the political solution, stating that he wants a solution that is developed through consensus. He talked about bringing the lives of the people into the ‘democratic political structure’ and about giving ‘freedoms’ to the Tamil people. He was conscious of the urgency of a political solution. He said: ‘It is necessary that the political solutions they need should be brought closer to them faster than any country or government in the world would bring.’ However, he made clear his strong opposition to any foreign solution. ‘It cannot be an imported solution. We do not have time to be experimenting with the solutions suggested by other countries. Therefore, it is necessary that we find a solution that is our own, of our own nation. It should be a solution acceptable to all sections of the people.’35 He urged the international community

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to cooperate with Sri Lanka and not obstruct such a solution. At the G11 summit in Jordan on 16 May 2009, Rajapaksa observed that ‘History has taught us that solutions externally prescribed, with little understanding of the complexity of the problem on the ground, are prone to failure. My government is therefore fully committed to seeking a home grown solution acceptable to all communities living in Sri Lanka.’36 Rajapaksa’s ‘home grown’ solution is rooted in his belief in the Buddhist philosophy incorporating the qualities of Mettha (loving kindness), Karuna (compassion), Muditha (rejoicing in others’ joy), and Upeksha (equanimity). Such a solution, he claims, ‘can bring both relief and an example to the world’. 37 He sought support of all political parties for that solution. While spelling out such a solution, he pointed out there were no ‘minorities’ in the country. ‘No longer are the Tamils, Muslims, Burghers, Malays and any others minorities. There are only two peoples in this country. One is the people that love the country. The other comprises the small group that have no love for the land of their birth. Those who do not love the country are now a lesser group.’ His vision at the moment is vague and seems to derive strength from the conception of a ‘unitary state’ and supremacy of Sinhalese Buddhist nationalism that has been at the centre of Sri Lanka’s ethnic conflict. It should be noted that at a function at Kandy, the honorary title of Vishva Keerthi Sri Thri Sinhaladheeshawara (the highest possible honorary title in the Buddhist tradition) was conferred on Rajapaksa. Mahinda Rajapaksa’s speech in Parliament on 3 June 2009 announcing victory over the LTTE provides further insight into his conception of a home grown political solution. He declared that the dream of a ‘single unitary state’ has come true; and he referred to Sri Lanka as a ‘single country unified under a single standard’ and its inhabitants as ‘children of one mother’. He said: ‘In the solutions that we offer there will not even be an iota of space for racism and separatism. We shall, as soon as possible, move towards our own solution of not dividing the land that is now made one and ensuring that there will be no threat to peace in our region.’38 Speaking in Tamil, he tried to reach out to Tamils, saying: ‘It is now the time to win over the hearts of the Tamil people. The Tamil-speaking people should be protected. They should be able to live without fear and mistrust. That is today the responsibility of us all!’39 How this will translate into reality is yet to be seen. At least in his public statements, Rajapaksa seems to want a consensus solution backed by the Tamils. In an interview with N. Ram, he stated: ‘Even tomorrow I can give that [solution] but I want to get that from the people.’ He says he wants all parties, and especially the Tamil National Alliance (TNA) representatives, to participate in discussions on the political solution. ‘I know what to give and I know what not to give. The people have given me the mandate, so I’m going to use it. But I must get these people [the TNA representatives] to agree to this. They must also know that they can’t get what they want. No way for federalism in this country. For reconciliation

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to happen, there must be a mix [of ethnicities].’40 He reiterated his belief in ‘my theory . . . [that] there are no minorities in Sri Lanka, there are only those who love the country and those who don’t. They tried to twist that but I still maintain that position.’ Another important aspect of the situation is that Rajapaksa almost certainly wants to cash in politically on the victory over the LTTE in upcoming elections. Many think that national elections will take place as early as November 2009. Rajapaksa has made perfectly clear that the solution to Sri Lanka’s ethnic dilemma will come after, not before, his re-election. Devolution debate Currently, the national debate on the political solution in Sri Lanka is dictated to a large extent by the hardline nationalist groups. These groups, led by Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) and Jathika Hela Urumaya (JHU), maintain that with military defeat of the LTTE Tamil ethnic politics has died on the banks of the Nandikadal. They are politically dominant, but are not necessarily a majority in either the government or in the electorate at large. There are also some members of the government itself who are adamant that a political solution has become irrelevant after the defeat of the LTTE. They feel that with the restoration of central rule over the entire country, there is no need for a political solution. They argue that the only way to deal with the problem is to have a military solution, and that only continued military dominance can ensure that another insurrection does not happen.41 The co-optation of Tamil and Muslim political parties into the ruling alliance and the manner in which they have been compelled to contest together in the Northern Province elections are indications of the government’s desire and design for unity within a single alliance. ‘The vision appears to be one of ethnic minority participation within a centralized system of power, rather than of independent decision making powers within a devolved system of power.’42 All-Party Representative Committee (APRC) The long sought-after ‘southern consensus’ that has thwarted political solution in the past remains elusive. An All-Party Representative Committee (APRC) was appointed in 2006 by the President with a mandate to prepare a set of proposals that would form the basis for a solution to the ‘national question’. It managed to get representations from only fourteen political parties out of more than fifty-eight recognized by the election commission. The main opposition United National Party, the Marxist Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna, and the Tamil National Alliance were not part of the process. Only two parties from the opposition, the Sri Lanka Muslim Congress (SLMC) and the Western People’s Front (WPF) led by parliamentarian Mano Ganeshan, made representations. The APRC, in its interim report submitted in January 2008, recommended implementation of the 13th Amendment

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to the Constitution to be the basis for its own political power-sharing proposal.43 The APRC, however, sought to clarify the ambiguities in the existing provincial council law, such as the list of concurrent powers that are shared by both the central government and the provincial councils, invariably to the disadvantage of the latter. The APRC has also proposed improvements to the scheme of devolution by creating an entirely new upper chamber, through which representatives from the provincial councils will have a voice in central government.44 ‘13th Amendment plus’ The 13th Amendment to the 1978 Constitution was enacted on 14 November 1987, following the Indo-Sri Lanka Accord of July 1987. It envisaged establishment of a Provincial Council and a High Court for each province, made Tamil an official language and English the link language, incorporated merger of the north and east subject to a referendum, and appointment by the President of a governor with executive powers in each province. Under the Amendment, the devolution of power was spelled out in three lists – the Provincial List, Reserved List, and the Concurrent List. The subjects devolved to the provincial councils were, however, ‘critically cut down and hedged by restrictions, while the concurrent list and reserved list were expanded to allow the Centre control over all significant subjects and functions’.45 The Amendment did not devolve the powers over land and law and order or concede a permanent merger of eastern and northern provinces into a single Tamil linguistic region. Both the LTTE and the JVP had violently opposed the 13th Amendment and the formation of a Northeast Provincial Council. The TULF had also rejected the provincial council system. It should be noted that in October 2006, the Supreme Court of Sri Lanka in a judgement declared the 1987 merger ‘unlawful’. The court observed that the merger was in ‘excess of the powers reposed in the President’ and only Parliament was competent to decide on such a subject. The ruling came in response to a fundamental rights petition filed by the JVP against the merger. The verdict came as a big blow to the Tamil moderates and undermined the 13th Amendment. The TNA leader Rajavarothajam Sampanthan declared that the ‘judgement knocks the bottom from the peace process as a merged north-eastern province must be the basis for any peace negotiations’.46 The TNA members of Parliament favour going beyond the degree of provincial autonomy envisaged by the 13th Amendment. On the other hand, the JHU opposes the provincial council system and wishes to introduce a ‘Gram-raj system’ in the country to decentralize and devolve governmental power and administration to the grassroots level.47 The JVP continues to oppose the 13th Amendment. Its leader Somawansa Amarasinghe has warned the government that the JVP ‘will not allow even thirteen minus’.48 On 27 May, it submitted a set of fourteen proposals to develop the nation ‘within three months’, beginning 1 June 2009. The proposals included amongst

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other items ‘replacement by a strong unitary Government policy of the authoritative leadership over the police, property and finance in provincial council’,49 which is far less than is conceded in the 13th Amendment. The government is, however, implementing the language component of the 13th Amendment, giving due recognition to Sinhala, Tamil, and English throughout the island, an issue that has been a source of deep grievance among the Tamil population. Tamil has also been made a compulsory subject at schools in the Sinhala-speaking areas since mid-2007; and proficiency exams have been introduced at various levels of the public service that give incentives to those with bilingual capacity.50 According to Lalith Weeratunga, secretary to the President, the President has issued a directive that with effect from 1 July 2009 ‘we will not recruit people to the public service unless they know Tamil – and vice versa, that is Tamils must know Sinhala, Sinhalese must know Tamil.’51 President Rajapaksa and the moderates in the government are for a ‘13th Amendment plus’ solution, and it is the ‘plus’ that needs to be decided. The proponents of 13th plus give several arguments in its favour. It is already in place and does not have to be (re)negotiated. It has only to be implemented and Sri Lanka’s military triumph would be politically reinforced instantly. Sri Lanka’s until recently Geneva-based UN Ambassador Dayan Jayatilleka, elaborating on what he terms its strategic benefits, has observed: Tamil nationalism would be split between the hyper-nationalists who reject it and the moderates who accept and participate, the Tamil Diaspora would be divided, the North–South gap would be bridged, a renewed cycle of conflict would be less likely or possible, the impressive weight of India in the world system would be solidly with us, the international pressure on us would lift somewhat, our allies and friends in the international system would be relieved and vindicated, external financing would be more readily available, the anti-Sri Lanka global campaign would be severely weakened and the attempt to encircle Sri Lanka internationally would be defeated.52 The Eelam People’s Democratic Party (EPDP) leader Douglas Devananda spoke of 13th plus as ‘deeper provincial autonomy than currently in the Constitution . . . this will include a Second Chamber based on Provinces.’53 Meanwhile, on 2 June 2009, the UNP also extended support to the implementation of the 13th Amendment in full and termed it ‘a good beginning’ for the resolution of the national question. According to Lakshman Yapa Abeywardana, Minister for Media (a non-cabinet minister), the government is planning to implement the 13th Amendment ‘speedily’ in the north, following local council elections in Jaffna and Vavuniya in August 2009. The process has already begun. It is significant that almost all the major parties, including the United People’s Freedom Alliance (UPFA), UNP, TULF,

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and TNA, are contesting the polls. The Eelam Revolutionary Organization (EROS) and Tamil Eelam Liberation Organization (TELO), once the rival militant groups of the LTTE, are also in the fray. These elections will be followed by polls in the rest of the north, including the recently recovered LTTE-held Kilinochchi and Mullaitivu areas. In May 2008, after a gap of twenty years, polls were held for the de-merged Eastern Province. The ruling UPFA, in alliance with the Tamil Makkal Viduthalai Puligal (TMVP) and dissident Sri Lankan Muslim Congress (SLMC), won twenty seats gaining a slim majority to form the government. The pro-LTTE TNA had not participated in the elections.

Postwar Tamil politics The LTTE was certainly not the sole representative of the Tamils, as it always claimed, but it had certainly become a symbol of Tamil resistance. The reaction of the Tamils to Prabhakaran’s death was one of shock, denial, and confusion. The confirmation of the death itself took some time. It was not until 24 May that K. Pathmanathan (KP), the head of the LTTE’s International Affairs section acknowledged formally in a press statement that Prabhakaran had ‘attained martyrdom’. TamilNet promptly denounced the statement and, quoting the intelligence wing chief of the Tigers, insisted that Prabhakaran was alive and would resurface at the appropriate time.54 In fact, Rajapaksa’s observations on post-Prabhakaran Tamil leadership were quite revealing. He told N. Ram, ‘Most Tamil people believed they had a leader – whether he was right or wrong. This man [Prabhakaran] made them proud . . . They thought: “There is a leader who is keeping us up in the world.”’55 However, Rajapaksa’s main worry is bound to be the transnational network of the LTTE and the possible role of the Tamil diaspora in keeping the insurgency alive. He has commented that ‘Their propaganda machinery is alive, to get the money . . . My fear is this. Now, to collect money again, somebody will have to plan something here. Just one incident. Just to upset the world and then to show they have started the movement – so that they can continue to collect the money. They think that will help. But we are very vigilant.’ The result of this is that even when the LTTE is gone, the government has not downgraded the threat of insurgency. Inevitably, security remains on the mind of the Rajapaksa regime. After the defeat of the LTTE, it was hoped that life would return to normal, the barriers and check-points come down. These hopes have been dashed. Emergency regulations have not been lifted. On 26 May, the government asserted in Parliament that the emergency will not be relaxed in the immediate future, as it was ‘too premature’, despite the end of the LTTE. Speaking in Parliament, minister Nimal Siripala Silva said the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) and State of Emergency will be continued as it is still premature to lift the emergency regulations. ‘There are still apprehensions that surviving

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LTTE cadre, hiding at different places, may carry out attacks against soft targets . . . There is still a great deal of hostility towards Colombo, and latent support for Tamil militancy, in pockets of the international community as well and until the LTTE networks abroad are entirely dismantled, there will remain a residual risk of the revival of separatist terrorism.’56 On the other hand, Tamils in Sri Lanka are finding it very hard to come to terms with twenty-five years of armed struggle that gave them nothing in return for so much suffering, deprivation, and sacrifice. The struggle only offers them an asymmetrical and loser’s peace. The ‘liberation’ war has only reaffirmed their second-class status. In fact, Sri Lanka’s ‘intercommunity balance of power has now changed and the bargaining power of the minorities has weakened decisively’.57 The Tamil community is largely left at the mercy of the political magnanimity of the majority community. The removal of the LTTE, however, provides space to the Tamil political parties and forces to move to the centre stage and fight for the rights of the Tamils politically. The TNA and the TULF and EPDP are better placed to do this. The elimination of the LTTE has had a sobering effect on the Tamil parties, especially the TNA, which was regarded as a pro-LTTE overground outfit and strongly pursued a pro-independence agenda. TNA member of Parliament N. Srikantha, who represents the Jaffna district, says in the postLTTE era ‘they can work within a unitary state – something they could not openly espouse during the LTTE’s years of dominance’.58 The TNA, with twenty-two members of Parliament drawn from the Northern Province, is the single largest party of Sri Lankan Tamils in Parliament. It can fill the vacuum in the north as the Tamil Makkal Viduthalai Puligal (TMVP) did in the east. On 2 July, the TNA participated in the first meeting of the newly constituted All Party Committee on Development and Reconciliation and made a plea for the speedy resettlement and rehabilitation of the wardisplaced people. Srikantha assured Rajapaksa of the TNA’s support and cooperation, saying: ‘Our party assures all support to you and all democratic parties in achieving democratic solutions.’ He told the conference that the TNA believed the country now had the political will to solve the national question.59 Speaking in Parliament on 8 July, Srikantha said ‘We are there with you to protect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of this country.’60 A few weeks earlier, the TNA had chosen to stay away from an all-party conference convened by the President. The role of the 1.2 million-strong Tamil diaspora, which has been the backbone of the LTTE and is estimated to have generated $300 million in support funds annually,61 will be very important in any future Tamil militancy in Sri Lanka. It launched widespread protests and demonstration in various Western cities to save the LTTE, and after the LTTE’s defeat it held protests against Western failure to salvage the LTTE. K. Pathmanathan has declared the LTTE’s intention to join the ‘democratic process’. However, a 16 May report citing Italian intelligence sources quotes a satellite phone

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conversation between Prabhakaran and Pathmanathan, instructing the latter to take over the leadership of the LTTE if ‘circumstances’ demanded, and urging him to ‘carry on the struggle since the conditions are good for Eelam struggle internationally’.62 There are also clear indications that Tamils in Britain and Canada have vowed to continue the LTTE’s struggle. In both countries, the Tamils are mobilizing to play a part in what local leaders describe as a new phase in their struggle for an independent homeland. Thus, the risk of diaspora elements aligning with surviving LTTE cadres cannot be ruled out entirely. The Sri Lankan military and even President Rajapaksa are contemplating boosting military manpower by more than 100,000 troops to prevent resurgence of the LTTE or any other such group. The troop buildup, if implemented, will increase the number of Sri Lankan forces from 200,000 to 300,000.

Engaging the international community The international reach of Tamil ethnicity has made it very important for Sri Lanka to engage the international community and India, in particular, so as to prevent resurgence of the LTTE, attract financial assistance to rebuild its war-ravaged economy, and mitigate the pressure from international human rights organizations that have accused Sri Lanka of war crimes excesses. The international community in general and India in particular display concern about the early settlement of the IDPs and a political solution of the Tamil conflict. The Rajapaksa government has promised both that civilians currently sheltered in government camps will be taken care of and that his government is seriously committed to a political solution of the problem by addressing the legitimate grievances of Tamils and other minorities. He has also tried to engage the international community in efforts to help Colombo in the reconstruction of the wartorn north and east and rebuilding of the country’s economy. Rajapaksa told the Indian envoys, National Security Adviser M. K. Narayanan and Foreign Secretary Shiv Shankar Menon, that his government had drawn up a plan for resettlement of war-displaced people in their original places of habitation in the north within the next six months.63 With the LTTE out of the way, Sri Lanka has also assured India that it is willing to go beyond the 13th Amendment in devolving powers to Tamil-dominated areas. With the elimination of the LTTE, the international community is increasingly pressuring Colombo to provide access to the IDP camps and to expedite the process of ethnic reconciliation in the island. Given the frictions that were created during the last phase of war, Colombo is keen to address the sensitivities of the international community. Shortly after the end of war, UN Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon visited an IDP camp in Vavuniya and stated that he would mobilize UN agencies and international nongovernmental organizations to help with the resettlement. He observed that

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there are ‘huge challenges that can only be overcome by strong support from the international community’. In his meeting with President Rajapaksa, he focused on the need to give UN agencies and international humanitarian organizations immediate and unhindered access to all areas where there are displaced people, to fast-track the screening and processing of refugees as quickly as possible, and to take immediate steps to initiate a political process of dialogue, accommodation, and reconciliation.64 Although Colombo is not very comfortable with such demands, it is trying to appease apprehensions regarding the conditions of the IDPs and their early settlement, and it is also looking for a political solution to accommodate the aspirations of the Tamils. At the fifteenth summit meeting of the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), President Rajapaksa stated: ‘First and foremost, we are engaged in attending to the needs of the 287,000 civilians . . . Our goal is to quickly return the displaced to their homes and to restore their livelihoods.’65 The issue of the war-displaced, conditions in the relief centres, and the need for reconciliation among all communities were discussed at the bilateral meeting between Rajapaksa and UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon on the sidelines of the fifteeenth NAM summit. Rajapaksa told Ban that his government was committed to the resettling and rehabilitating of the war displaced in the north of the country in the shortest possible time, and also that the clearing of landmines and setting up of proper infrastructure facilities for resettlement and rehabilitation were the factors impeding the fast return of the IDPs. On reconciliation, Rajapaksa informed Secretary-General Ban that work had already been initiated with the All-Party Committee of Development and Reconciliation. ‘The government was engaged in talks with all sections of the Tamil community in Sri Lanka, as well as the expatriate Tamil community abroad, to achieve reconciliation.’66 The government needed international cooperation to prevent sections of the Tamil diaspora, who may try to support the remnants of the LTTE, from stoking Tamil militancy in Sri Lanka.

Conclusion With the military defeat of the LTTE, ethnic conflict in Sri Lanka has undergone a fundamental transformation. The ethnic balance has dramatically tilted in favour of the Sri Lankan state and the Sinhalese majority. President Rajapaksa, who came to power in 2005 by whipping up Sinhala nationalism to win the support of the majority Sinhalese community, is riding high on military victory over the LTTE. He is generally regarded as a populist leader whose support base is the countryside in the Sinhala-Buddhist-dominated south; and he has an eye on his re-election. He has announced that a final political solution will be presented only after the next presidential polls. In the last elections, he had struck pre-poll deals with the JVP and the JHU,

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both diehard Sinhala nationalist parties. It seems that he is unlikely to do anything that will open up divisions within the majority Sinhalese electorate prior to the forthcoming elections. This implies that there will not be any substantive movement on a political solution for at least a year or so. Secondly, Rajapaksa has increasingly talked about adopting a ‘home grown’ approach to solving the country’s ethnic problems; but his ideas are immersed in Sinhalese nationalism. He has strongly opposed federalism and made clear his commitment to a unitary state. He warns against racism and declares that there are no minorities in country. His vision draws inspiration from Buddhist values, yet he declares he wants to win the hearts and minds of the Tamils. He is for building consensus on a power-sharing arrangement, but he is ready to concede only the restrictive 13th Amendment plus devolution. It appears that Rajapaksa is walking a tightrope between the two competing nationalisms – Sinhalese and Tamil – that have been at the root of the ethnic conflict. There are thus clear indications that in the foreseeable future the Rajapaksa government is unlikely to extend power-sharing beyond what has been provided for in the existing system of provincial councils established under the 13th Amendment. The de-merger of the north and east has practically demolished the dream of a traditional Tamil homeland. It should be underscored that any political solution imposed on the Tamil people will not be durable. What the government has successfully demonstrated is that a militant movement can be defeated by military means. But the nationalism of one people cannot prevail by force of military victories or larger numbers over the nationalism of another people. While the plight of Tamil IDPs is an immediate and potentially resolvable issue, the long-term question of constitutional reform will remain a very tricky affair. Unfortunately, the lack of consensus among the southern Sinhalese political parties on the devolution of powers remains as elusive as ever. Notes 1. C. R. de Silva, ‘The Sinhalese–Tamil Rift in Sri Lanka’, in A. J. Wilson and D. Dalton (eds), The States of South Asia: Problems of National Integration (London: C. Hurst and Company, 1982), p. 163. 2. J. Uyangoda, Beyond Mediation, Negotiation and Negative Peace: Towards Transformative Peace in Sri Lanka, Guide to Learning Peace II, Programme for Alternative Learning (Colombo: Social Scientists Association, 2003), p. 19. 3. J. Goodhand, B. Kelm, D. Fonseka, S. I. Keethaponcalan, and S. Sardesai, Aid, Conflict, and Peacebuilding in Sri Lanka: 2000–2005, vol. 1, a report prepared for the governments of the Netherlands, Sweden, and UK (Colombo: The Asia Foundation and World Bank, 2005), pp. 30–3. 4. B. M. Reddy, ‘Changes in Sri Lanka Armed Forces Brass, Fonseka Chief of Defence Staff’, The Hindu (13 July 2009), http://www.thehindu.com/2009/07/13/ stories/2009071359241000.htm. 5. J. Uyangoda, ‘New Configurations and Constraints’, Frontline, Chennai (27 February 2009).

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6. B. M. Reddy, ‘The War is Over’, Frontline, Chennai (19 June 2009). 7. N. Manoharan, ‘Eelam War IV: Strategy of the Government of Sri Lanka’ , IPCS No. 2654 (20 August 2008), http://www.ipcs.org/article_details.php?articleNo=2654. 8. Reddy, ‘The War is Over’. 9. Uyangoda, ‘New Configurations and Constraints’. 10. B. M. Reddy, ‘Final Hours’, Frontline, Chennai (19 June 2009). 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid. 13. ‘De-militarizing Democracy and Governance in Sri Lanka: From National Security to Human Security’ (9 July 2009), http://www.groundviews.org/2009/07/09/demilitarizing-democracy-and-governance-in-sri-lanka-from-national-security-tohuman-security/#more-1295. 14. Ibid. 15. ‘Address by HE President Mahinda Rajapaksa at the ceremonial opening of Parliament, Sri Jayawardhanapura-Kotte’ (19 May 2009), http://www.president. gov.lk/speech_New.asp?Id=74. 16. N. Ram, ‘I Want to Resettle These People as Soon as Possible: Rajapaksa’, The Hindu, Delhi (6 July 2009), http://www.thehindu.com/2009/07/06/ stories/2009070655940900.htm. 17. ‘Anandasangaree Demands Freedom for 300,000 IDPs’, Daily Mirror (13 July 2009), http://www.dailymirror.lk/DM_BLOG/Sections/frmNewsDetailView. aspx?ARTID=54553. 18. Ibid. 19. D. B. S. Jeyaraj, ‘Sri Lankan Tamils in a Post-War Scenario’, The Hindu, Delhi (21 May 2009), http://www.thehindu.com/2009/05/21/stories/2009052154850800. 20. B. M. Reddy, ‘Battles Ahead’, Frontline (3 July 2009), http://www.flonnet.com/ fl2613/stories/20090703261302500.htm. 21. ‘Address by HE President Mahinda Rajapaksa at the ceremonial opening of Parliament, Sri Jayawardhanapura-Kotte’. 22. ‘Address by President Mahinda Rajapaksa at the Victory Day Parade to pay national tribute to the Security Forces following the defeat of terrorism: Galle Face Green’, Colombo (3 June 2009), http://www.hindu.com/nic/victory_day_ speech_june_03_2009.pdf. 23. ‘North to See Massive Development’, The Sunday Leader (12 July 2009), http:// www.thesundayleader.lk/20090712/development.htm. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. B. M. Reddy, ‘Key Role for Security Forces’, The Hindu (7 July 2009), http://www. thehindu.com/2009/07/07/stories/2009070754991200.htm. 27. J. Perera, ‘First Steps to be Considered in Post-War Phase’, The National Peace Council of Sri Lanka (18 May 2009), http://www.peace-srilanka.org. 28. Ibid. 29. Reddy, ‘Final Hours’. 30. B. M. Reddy, ‘6,261 Soldiers Killed since August, 2006, says Sri Lankan Minister’, The Hindu, Delhi (23 May 2009), http://www.thehindu.com/2009/05/23/ stories/2009052356421300.htm. 31. ‘Address by HE President Mahinda Rajapaksa at the ceremonial opening of Parliament, Sri Jayawardhanapura-Kotte’. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid.

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34. Interview with N. Ram, The Hindu, Delhi (29 October 2008). 35. ‘Address by HE President Mahinda Rajapaksa at the ceremonial opening of Parliament, Sri Jayawardhanapura-Kotte’. 36. Reddy, ‘Final Hours’. 37. ‘Address by HE President Mahinda Rajapaksa at the ceremonial opening of Parliament, Sri Jayawardhanapura-Kotte’. 38. ‘Address by President Mahinda Rajapaksa at the Victory Day Parade to pay national tribute to the Security Forces following the defeat of terrorism: Galle Face Green’. 39. Ibid. 40. N. Ram, ‘I Have a Political Solution in Mind but I Want to Get That From the People: President Rajapaksa’, The Hindu (6 July 2009), http://www.thehindu. com/2009/07/06/stories/2009070657360100.htm. 41. J. Perera, ‘The Debate Over the Devolution of Power’, The National Peace Council of Sri Lanka (29 June 2009), http://www.peace-srilanka.org. 42. Ibid. 43. See text of APRC Proposals to President (24 January 2008), http://www.priu.gov. lk/news_update/Current_Affairs/ca200801/20080124aprc_proposals.htm. 44. J. Perera, ‘Home Grown Solution Needs to Include the 13th Amendment’, The National Peace Council of Sri Lanka (14 July 2009), http://www.peace-srilanka. org. 45. A. Shastri, ‘The Provincial Council System in Sri Lanka: a Solution to the Ethnic Problem?’, in S. Bastian (ed.), Devolution and Development in Sri Lanka, International Centre of Ethnic Studies, Colombo (New Delhi: Konark Publishers, 1994), p. 206. 46. A. K. Singh, ‘Tainted Dawn’, South Asia Intelligence Review (SAIR), South Asia Terrorism Portal, Weekly Assessment and Briefings 8(1) (13 July 2009), http:// satp.org/satporgtp/sair/Archives/sair8/8_1.htm. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid. 50. M. Roberts, ‘Some Pillar for Lanka’s Future’, Frontline, Chennai (19 June 2009). 51. Ram, ‘I Have a Political Solution in Mind’. 52. D. Jayatilleka, ‘The 13th Amendment and the International System’ (9 July 2009), http://www.island.lk/2009/07/09/features8.html. 53. Singh, ‘Tainted Dawn’. 54. Reddy, ‘Final Hours’. 55. Ram, ‘I Want to Resettle These People’. 56. Singh, ‘Tainted Dawn’. 57. Uyangoda, ‘New Configurations and Constraints’. 58. Sanjaya, ‘Grand Alliance in Making as Basil Makes Strategic Visit to India’, The Sunday Leader (12 July 2009), http://www.thesundayleader.lk/20090712/politics. htm. 59. B. M. Reddy, ‘A New Dawn?’, Frontline, Chennai (2009), http://www.frontlineonnet.com/stories/20090731261512900.htm. 60. Ibid. 61. Reddy, ‘Battles Ahead’. 62. A. Sahni, ‘Out of Chaos’, South Asia Intelligence Review (SAIR), South Asia Terrorism Portal, Weekly Assessment and Briefings 7(46) (25 May 2009), http://www.satp. org/satporgtp/sair/Archives/7_46.htm#assessment1.

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63. B. M. Reddy, ‘Sri Lanka Draws Up Resettlement Plan for Displaced’, The Hindu, Delhi (22 May 2009), http://www.thehindu.com/2009/05/22/stories/2009052258200100. htm. 64. B. M. Reddy, ‘Huge Challenges in Sri Lanka: Ban’, The Hindu, Delhi (24 May 2009), http://www.thehindu.com/2009/05/24/stories/2009052455991400.htm. 65. ‘Sri Lanka now looks to future with renewed hope and enthusiasm – President at NAM’ (16 July 2009), http://www.defence.lk/new.asp?fname=20090716_01. 66. B. M. Reddy, ‘Rajapaksa: Committed to Reconciliation’, The Hindu, Delhi (17 July 2009), http://www.thehindu.com/2009/07/17/stories/2009071753171500.htm.

Part III East Asia

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9 China Retribution and Retaliation: Uyghur Separatism and Chinese Security in Xinjiang Elizabeth Van Wie Davis1

A suicide bomb attempt on a plane en route to Beijing from the restive western region of Xinjiang in China highlights a key Chinese security dilemma and a challenge to fix fractures in the state while coping with a people’s desire to remain distinct. While the July 2009 ethnic riots swirling around the Uyghurs in Xinjiang grab the attention of the global media and highlight the discord between the ethnic Uyghurs and the ethnic Chinese, Chinese officials and Western intelligence sources say Uyghur militants are entering the far western province of Xinjiang – particularly across the isolated Pamir Mountains in the south that separate China from Tajikistan and Afghanistan – from training camps in Afghanistan and Pakistan and elsewhere.2 The well-funded and well-schooled militants allegedly obtain money and plans directly from sponsors and from their involvement in smuggling opium and heroin from Central and South East Asia.3 While the intensity of the violence has been escalating in recent years, there still does not appear to be a single unified force at work. As in many similar cases throughout Asia, the root causes of the problem are a complex mix of history, ethnicity, and religion, fuelled by poverty, unemployment, social disparities, and political grievances. The solutions to the problem are equally complex. A series of recent incidents highlight the problem for China regarding Uyghur groups, most of whom are non-violent, but some of whom have adopted violent means and extremist rhetoric. The violence has coloured the way the Uyghur movement is perceived, but there appear to be divisions even among those using violence. The broad agenda behind the violence is to establish a separate state, perhaps a Muslim state but certainly not realistically an ethnically pure state. Recent incidents are broken down into three categories: those that indicate a strong transnational linkage to extremists; those that have a domestic separatist character; and those that illustrate a relatively unique characteristic: the use of women in terror activities. The first sets of incidents are distinguished by threats of extreme violence, attacks that include civilian targets, and transnational linkages. For instance, a Chinese Islamist group, the Turkestan Islamic Party4 – an arm of 183

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the East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM), internationally identified as a terrorist group – released a video obviously inspired by the transnational Islamist network in August 2008 threatening planes, trains, and buses in China. The militants are believed to be across the border in lawless areas of Pakistan and Afghanistan, where security experts say core members received training from al-Qaeda.5 In a 23 July 2008 video, Seyfullah (Saifula) of the Turkestan Islamic Party claimed credit for several attacks, including the 5 May Shanghai bus bombing which killed three people, another Shanghai attack, an attack on police in Wenzhou on 17 July using an explosive-laden tractor, a bombing of a Guangzhou plastics factory on 17 July, and bombings of three buses in Yunnan province on 21 July – all in 2008. ‘Through this blessed jihad in Yunnan this time’, threatened Seyfullah, ‘the Turkestan Islamic Party warns China one more time.’ He added, ‘Our aim is to . . . attack Chinese central cities severely using tactics that have never been employed.’6 The speaker in the six-minute video wears a black turban and covers his face. Gripping a Kalashnikov rifle, he speaks in Uyghur, urging Muslims to ‘choose your side’. The video claims that China’s alleged mistreatment of Muslims justifies holy war.7 In a related move highlighting transnational linkages, Chinese police in October 2008 called for the extradition from unspecified countries of eight alleged separatists accused of plotting a terror campaign coinciding with the Beijing Olympics – a scheme that reportedly included bomb attacks within China and in the Middle East and South Asia. The eight Chinese Uyghurs are accused of financing, inciting, and organizing attacks during and around the August 2008 Games. Allegedly one of the men planned to bomb a supermarket popular with Chinese business people in an unspecified Middle Eastern country while another suspect prepared to attack a Chinese club in an unspecified South Asian nation.8 A news release offered basic biographical information and photographs of the men and their alleged terrorist activities. It identified one man, 37-year-old Memetiming Memeti, who allegedly supported militants slipping into Xinjiang and other Chinese areas with plans to ‘sabotage the Olympic Games by conducting terrorist attacks within the Chinese territory before the Games opened’.9 He also allegedly ‘sent dozens of terrorist teams to some Middle East and west Asian countries to raise funds and buy explosive materials for terrorist attacks against Chinese targets outside Chinese territory’.10 Two others named in the report were Tuersun Toheti, an alleged bomb maker blamed for planning attacks on Chinese targets outside the country, and Seyfullah, the individual issuing threats on the videotaped message released in July 2008.11 Earlier, in another instance of the transnational character of the violence, a January 2007 Chinese raid on a training camp in Xinjiang uncovered an hour-long video as well as killing eighteen militants and capturing seventeen suspects with explosives.12 Mentioned in the video entitled ‘Jihad in Eastern Turkestan’ was the book The Call for Global Islamic Resistance by

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al-Suri, which includes China as a target for jihad. The video, attributed to the overseas-based ETIM, illustrates Uyghur militants displaying their weapons and combat training prowess with rocket-propelled grenades, M-16s, AK-47s, detonators, and small rockets. In a dramatic conclusion, the video showcases the faces of their enemies – the Chinese leadership.13 Moreover, Dr Ayman al-Zawahiri, the prominent al-Qaeda leader, also mentioned China in his speech in December 2006. ETIM has established its ‘military headquarters’ in Pakistani territory, senior Chinese officials warned President Zardari during two separate meetings in February and March 2009.14 Pakistan is one of several key locations for militant Uyghur diaspora communities and has also seen the assassination of Chinese nationals by Uyghurs documented with bloody videos. For instance, three Chinese nationals working just outside of Peshawar were killed and another seriously wounded as militants fired at the Chinese nationals from two cars, while fellow militants in a third car filmed the action shouting religious slogans; the video was sent to Chinese authorities by Uyghur militants warning that attacks would continue against Chinese in Pakistan if Beijing did not change its policy in Xinjiang. Pakistani officials suggest that nearly a thousand Uyghur militants from Xinjiang region have made their way to Waziristan,15 not far from where US intelligence agencies believe Osama bin Laden is sheltered. There are also well-known links with the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) and perhaps lesser-known links to current camps north of Kabul. Worrisome for Beijing, some Uyghur militants in Xinjiang and the diaspora community have linked into the Islamist network, which operates within a corridor that overlaps drug trafficking routes and facilitates the movement of militants, weapons, and explosives. They have apparently decided to take an extremist stance against China and to showcase their cause. A second set of incidents have a strong domestic component and primarily target police and military. These groups appear unnamed for the most part, primarily secular, and seek self-rule. There may also be an element of targeting Uyghurs who are seen as working with Chinese authorities. For instance, police raided an apartment in Urumqi and killed two Uyghurs during the ensuing shootout on 27 January 2008. Fifteen Uyghurs were arrested and, according to the official report, five police officers were injured when three homemade grenades were thrown. As the year progressed the attacks accelerated, climaxing in July and August 2008. The spike in violence claimed at least thirty-one lives.16 According to Nicholas Bequelin, a researcher with New York-based Human Rights Watch’s Asia Division who is usually critical of the Chinese government and sympathetic to Uyghur nationalism, the domestic attacks present ‘several new aspects which were not present in previous incidents in Xinjiang’. Bequelin adds, ‘One is the sophisticated coordination of the attacks: It was not just one attack. It’s a string of bombings that requires much more planning and a larger organization.’17

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This string of domestic attacks was concentrated in the summer of 2008 around the Beijing Olympics. In Kashgar, sixteen paramilitary border guards were killed in an incident on 4 August 2008, when attackers rammed a truck into a group of border police, then assaulted them with knives and homemade bombs.18 This was closely followed by another attack in the nearby Xinjiang town of Kucha on 10 August 2008. In the Kucha attack, thirteen men and two women used an explosive-laden motorized tricycle and lobbed homemade bombs at seventeen sites – mostly government buildings – in quick succession and then fought with police. Two attackers blew themselves up in the Kucha bombings. Ten attackers, one security guard and one bystander died, according to state media reports.19 Continuing this string of attacks, two days later in nearby Yamanya an unknown number of attackers jumped from a vehicle and stabbed Uyghur civilian guards. The guards were taking down the names of people passing through a vehicle checkpoint on 12 August 2008. Three guards died at the scene, and a fourth guard was hospitalized in critical condition.20 Yet another incident occurred on 27 August 2008, where both the attackers and the victims were all Uyghurs. Seven Uyghur police officers, two of whom were killed and five wounded, were ambushed while searching for a Uyghur woman suspected of involvement in earlier violence. Brandishing knives, the Uyghur attackers set upon this group of unarmed police officers as the officers were walking through a cornfield in the village of Qizilboy. It suggests that some of the recent domestic violence in Xinjiang could be aimed at Uyghurs seen by other Uyghurs as collaborators with the ethnic Han Chinese and the Chinese state.21 Some less violent incidents similarly highlight the domestic nature of the Uyghur cause: for instance, a pair of protests in the market town of Hotan, Xinjiang, in March 2008 and a family protest in March 2009. One of the pair of protests was apparently sparked by the death in custody of a prominent local businessman, Mutallip Hajim, and the other protest centred on a proposed headscarf ban in the workplace, where allegedly several dozen Uyghur militants distributed leaflets calling for demonstrators to follow the lead of the Tibetans in protesting on the eve of the Olympics. The March 2009 family protest involved the horrible attempted self-immolation of a Uyghur family over a property dispute with the government. Most notable in recent times, the Uyghur riots in July 2009 over the treatment of the death of two Uyghurs, first in Guangdong and then in sympathy in Xinjiang, were met with powerful counter-protests by the Chinese citizens of Xinjiang. These were then followed by the September 2009 riots between Uyghurs and Chinese in Xinjiang over stories of Uyghurs stabbing Han Chinese with hypodermic needles. These incidents are indicative of the widespread dissent in Xinjiang’s Uyghur community and how quickly that dissent can become explosive with only a little agitation. A third set of incidents highlights that women seem to be playing a prominent role in the violence unfolding in Xinjiang. For instance, a failed airline

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attack involved a female suicide bomber. China Southern Airlines Flight CZ6901 left Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang, on 7 March 2008, and made an emergency landing in Lanzhou, Gansu, where a female passenger and her male companion were taken into custody, both carrying Pakistani passports. Nineteen-year-old Guzalinur Turdi, an ethnic Uyghur woman who spent a significant amount of time in Pakistan, confessed to attempting to ignite a flammable substance, perhaps petrol, syringed into a beverage can, in an attempt to blow up the plane. She aroused the suspicions of the crew and passengers when she came out of the toilet smelling of petrol to pick up a second can after the first can failed to ignite. The man arrested with her, estimated to be in his thirties, was from Central Asia. A third suspect, a Pakistani, detained a week later, admitted that he had masterminded, instigated, and helped carry out the attack. The airliner suicide attack occurred on the eleventh anniversary of a bus explosion claimed by ETIM, in Beijing near Zhongnanhai, the headquarters of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), and both happened during the National People’s Congress (NPC) annual session. The carefully planned attack, which included using a young Uyghur woman and also boarding through the less scrutinized first class compartment, was designed to deliver a clear warning to the Chinese government.22 In another incident in July 2008, a Xinjiang police raid on a hideout in the regional capital Urumqi also highlighted the relative prominence of women in the Uyghur militancy movements. Of the fifteen-member Uyghur militant group found in a residential apartment on Tuanjie Road, a full third were women. They wielded knives and threatened to die along with the policemen shouting ‘sacrifice for Allah’. The police, who were allegedly searching for individuals that stabbed and wounded a Han woman at an Urumqi beauty salon on 23 May 2008, shot and killed five militants, injuring two and seizing another eight. ‘The suspects confessed to receiving training on the launching of a “holy war”.’23 There are other indications that women might be playing a prominent role in the violence unfolding in Xinjiang. A key suspect in the August 2008 checkpoint attacks is a young woman identified as Anargul, aged 22. The report said that she is the daughter of Amangul, a 50-year-old woman arrested after that attack. Similarly on 10 August 2008, a 15-yearold girl was wounded while throwing an explosive in the Kucha incident.24 While the use of women, including suicide bombers, is not unknown in militant movements, it is generally not a feature of transnational Islamist movements. It appears to be a distinctive feature of Uyghur militancy to use women, perhaps illustrating that although the transnational Islamist movement has a foothold in Xinjiang, there is also popular unrest that is being exploited and an indigenous movement. The violence thus is not yet unified. This is a thin but bold line to draw between these groups for the Chinese government, if Beijing wants to stop the infiltration of the transnational movement into the separatist movements.

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The Uyghur diaspora community portrays the ongoing incidents as the oppressed Uyghur community versus an oppressive and unaccountable Chinese government, while the Chinese government portrays the Uyghurs as separatists and terrorists. Reality lies somewhere in between. While it is true that Uyghurs are at a disadvantage in China, it is also true that a small number of Uyghur militants are linked into the transnational Islamist network and there are some in the Uyghur community who have violent domestic agendas, which contaminate the image of the majority of the Uyghur movement as a legitimate nationalist movement. Beijing vacillates between sporadically labelling all Uyghur violence as ETIM-based transnational Islamist violence and quietly responding with police action more often than with military action. This vacillation, however, allows voices such as Rebiya Kadeer, head of the Uyghur American Association, to pronounce the recent incidents as fabricated by the Chinese government, despite Western intelligence agencies’ knowledge of an al-Qaeda cell in Xinjiang as well as camps in Afghanistan and Pakistan that have trained Uyghur militants since the 1980s.25

State responses The response to the Uyghur movements from Beijing has been officially reasonable, but less so in practice. According to the December 2008 Defence White Paper, ‘[T]errorist, separatist and extremist forces are running rampant, and . . . the capability for coping with regional security threats in a coordinated way has to be improved.’26 ‘Separatist forces working for “Taiwan independence”, “East Turkistan independence” and “Tibet independence” pose threats to China’s unity and security. Damage caused by non-traditional security threats like terrorism, natural disasters, economic insecurity, and information insecurity is on the rise.’27 According to the Defence White Paper, in 2007 and 2008, the People’s Armed Police (PAP) took part in operations regarding the ‘3.14’ Lhasa riots (that is, the riots that occurred in March 2008 before the Beijing Olympics), captured East Turkistan ‘terrorists’, conducted accident rescues, dealt with large-scale mass disturbances, and responded to various emergencies.28 The central government has gone through several waves regarding the treatment of religion and ethnicity within the territory of the People’s Republic of China. Historically, ethnic minorities that are adherents to religions other than Chinese Buddhism raised fears of social unrest in China. For instance, in the nineteenth century the Taiping Rebellion and the Hui Minorities War29 both had their roots in religious movements. The ethnic minorities and Muslim majority in Xinjiang, which means the ‘New Territories’ in Chinese, were largely conquered and integrated into the Chinese state in the 1750s. Xinjiang became a province in 1884, fixing a firm western border with Russia.30 According to the noted historian

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Jonathan D. Spence, the Xinjiang region was not initially colonized or settled, but was maintained as a strategic frontier zone, with up to 20,000 Manchu and Chinese banner garrisons, at a huge annual cost. The largely Muslim inhabitants kept their own religious leaders, who were bound by salaries and titles to the Qing state (China).31 After the dissolution of the Qing Dynasty, the last Chinese dynasty, the Republic of China’s Nationalists gradually saw the country fall into Japanese-occupied territories and warlord fiefdoms, including Xinjiang, which was ruled by an autonomous military governor who nervously sought aid and sponsorship first from Soviet Russia and then from the Nationalists, before ultimately surrendering to the Communists in Xinjiang in September 1949.32 Although initially declaring the People’s Republic of China a multinational state33 in 1949, the Communist Party’s Anti-Rightist Policy of 1957 opposed ‘local nationalism’ among ethnic minorities and clamped down on religions. A decade later, the harsh Cultural Revolution (1966–76) saw many even greater injustices against ethnic minorities. Religion was especially suppressed, but so was ethnic language, cultural cuisines, and regional garb. The Uyghur in Xinjiang, like other Muslim minorities throughout China, saw their religious texts and mosques destroyed, their religious leaders persecuted, and individual adherents punished. With the more open policies of the late 1970s and 1980s, internal restrictions on minorities and religions began to loosen. This opening resulted in more minorities speaking out against what were seen as discriminatory economic, religious, and political practices. Paralleling internal opening was Beijing’s increased external involvement in the 1980s, including in Afghanistan.34 Some scholars contend that this involvement included Chinese-made weapons and Beijing’s advisers to anti-Soviet fighters.35 Violence in Xinjiang – both the Chinese government cracking down on dissent and Uyghur militants agitating for a post-Soviet Union independent state like their ethnic neighbours – escalated in the 1990s. The Chinese government began to crack down in Xinjiang in 1996, shortly after the first meeting of the Shanghai Five, soon to be the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, whose members include Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan.36 In September 1999, the National Minorities Policy and Its Practice in China was released by the Office of the State Council. The policy outlines a fairly generous policy towards minorities.37 The problem, of course, is always in the actual adherence to policy in real-life situations where minorities are often viewed in terms of various preconceived notions of race and ethnicity. Open tolerance of minorities declined further in Xinjiang after 11 September 2001, when China felt it was now both internationally permissible to ‘crack down’ on separatists in Xinjiang and nationally more urgent to protect its porous borders from an influx of more violent forms of extremism, borders which abut Afghanistan as well as Pakistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan.38

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Chinese central government policies are also reflected in recent policy statements. For instance, at the May 2006 meeting of the Chinese National Islamic Council, Jia Qinglin, chairman of the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress, urged Muslim leaders in China to play a positive role in building a ‘harmonious society’.39 The message reflects the Chinese government’s perception of a connection between Muslims, of whom Uyghurs are one part, and social unrest.40 According to Ye Xiaowen, Director of the State Administration for Religious Affairs, ‘As Chinese Muslims advance with the nation, this is our response to the many turbid misunderstandings that tarnish the Muslim image: Islam is a peaceloving religion. Chinese Muslims love peace, oppose turmoil and separatism, advocate tolerance and harmony, and treasure unity and stability.’41 Clearly the Chinese government has been cracking down on Uyghur militants. Western human rights groups are concerned about overall treatment of prisoners and the targeting of minorities, while the Chinese government is concerned that transnational Islamist rhetoric and funding are finding their way into China. The issue then becomes whether China is victimizing the Uyghur minority, using terrorism and separatism as an excuse to violate their human rights, or whether China itself is a victim of separatists and terror networks like the al-Qaeda camps,42 which trained Uyghurs in Afghanistan for activities in Xinjiang.43 The Chinese tend to refer to this concern by the three-character slogan of separatism, extremism, and terrorism, implying a distinct link between the three concepts. For instance, Chinese President Hu Jintao said on 17 June 2004 in a speech at a summit meeting of the six-nation Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) that ‘We have to fight against the three evils of separatism, extremism and terrorism’,44 adding that terrorism in all forms must be suppressed and double standards must be ruled out in fighting what is regarded as a grave threat to world peace and development. Efforts should be made to tackle the problems of regional confrontation and poverty, which are considered the roots of terrorism, said the Chinese President. ‘Terrorism is not automatically related to certain ethnic groups or religions’, he added.45 It is clear that the Chinese leadership fears that Xinjiang separatism will continue to gain support from transnational Muslim extremists, with possible ramifications both for other latent Chinese separatist movements without a Muslim connection and for other Chinese Muslims without a separatist agenda. The central government’s policies on separatists include the use of force, certainly evident in Xinjiang. For example, in August 2001 the Chinese military undertook large-scale exercises in Xinjiang with an imposing parade of military hardware through the centre of the city of Kashgar.46 ‘In August 2007, within the framework of the SCO, China, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan held a joint counter-terrorism military exercise in the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, China, and Chelyabinsk, Russia, focusing on the task of combating terrorism, separatism and extremism.’47

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This was followed by an April 2009 SCO counter-terrorism exercise, with all participating except Uzbekistan. The use of force is possible partly because of the heightened international focus on terrorism, the prevailing perception of the linkages between terrorism and separatism, the general regional reluctance to condone ethnic separatism, and the global concern that religion is mixing with both terrorism and separatism. Economic incentives, however, may well be the largest tool in the central government’s policies towards Xinjiang and the Uyghurs, especially the Western Development policies. The western regions, over half of China’s vast expanse of land with its highlands and deserts, are made up of six provinces and three autonomous regions, including Xinjiang. The Western Development policies were first an economic development strategy to reduce poverty and then an urgent social necessity for Chinese leaders. In the early 1980s, then-leader Deng Xiaoping developed a policy to first develop the eastern coastal regions, which already had a better economic foundation than the western regions, and then to increase the development of the western regions after the development of the eastern regions reached a certain point. In the following decades the poverty gap between eastern and western China widened, resulting in Beijing’s creation in June 1999 of a leading group responsible for the development of the western regions with Premier Zhu Rongji and seventeen ministerial-level officials as members. The attempt to use economic tools to address ethnic separatism in Xinjiang reflects the Chinese government’s long-standing belief that most peoples, Uyghurs included, primarily want a good economic life for themselves and their children. The current Chinese government, under President Hu Jintao and Premier Wen Jiabao, is acutely aware of the challenges and dangers that lesser development in the western regions like Xinjiang means for not only China’s overall continued prosperity, but also for political stability, the possible enticements of Islamist extremism, and the calls for ethnic separatism. In 2006, Wang Jinxiang, deputy director of the National Development and Reform Commission, assured the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress (CPPCC) that the national strategy to develop the country’s western region had made great progress. He said that a total of one trillion yuan (US$125 billion) had been spent building infrastructure in western China with an annual average regional economic growth rate of 10.6 per cent for six years in a row.48 China, continuing with its transportation infrastructure projects, will build twelve new highways in Xinjiang to connect with Russia, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, and Pakistan. The longest road will stretch 1,680 kilometres from Xinjiang to Uzbekistan, Iran, Turkey, and finally reach Europe, scheduled for completion before 2010.49 Other major infrastructure projects either significantly underway or recently completed are: a south-to-north water diversion, a west-to-east natural gas transfer, a west-to-east power transmission, and the completed Qinghai–Tibet Railway.50

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The underlying idea is that if the western regions, most notably Xinjiang, have sufficient development, then the minorities will prosper, be less restive, offer less support for separatist activities, and be more integrated into the fortunes – both economic and political – of China. A complicating factor that has become manifest along with this economic development has been migration into the western regions, primarily of Han (or majority) Chinese. Not only is this making the western regions more ethnically Chinese, but it is also reinforcing the ‘minority’ status of the Uyghurs, who watch the better paying jobs go to Han Chinese while the harder, poorer paying positions are given to Uyghurs. The other ethnic groups living in Xinjiang – Kazaks, Hui, Kirgiz, Mongols, and others – have more mixed feelings about Han money and people moving into the region. Economically, Xinjiang has dramatically improved relative to its economy of a decade ago, although it still lags behind the industrialized coastal areas. However, the very improvements attributed to economic enhancement open China to risk in Xinjiang. For example, as part of its development plans, Beijing is connecting Xinjiang to Central Asia through roads, railways, and pipelines to Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan. But these very openings are exposing Xinjiang directly to transnational militant training and arms as well as the drug trade emanating from these countries and beyond. In addition to the national Western Development policies, there are the provincial and local policies in Xinjiang.51 As in many places, local politics often prevail in China. While it would be a mistake to underestimate the importance of Muslim status and politics inside China, with a Muslim population of approximately 20 million,52 there is a decidedly regional, provincial, and ethnic character to Islam in China as well. China’s ten Muslim ethnic minorities usually find common cause only when they feel an issue denigrates Islam, as was the case with the offensive Danish cartoons of the Muslim prophet Mohammed. The largest group – the Hui, who have blended fairly well into Chinese society – regard some Uyghurs as unpatriotic separatists who give other Chinese Muslims a bad name. The local perception of groups as radical Muslims or ethnic separatists can have severe consequences. Provincial policies also include the threat of force. Armed police held a large-scale anti-terror exercise in Xinjiang on 30 August 2005. In the exercise, special police forces fought and subdued a group of ‘armed terrorists’ who took over a company building and held some people hostage following a failed attack at a prison.53 It is clear that both the central government and the provincial authorities broadly fall on the side of avoiding becoming a victim of terrorist or separatist activities when it comes to the question of whether China is victimizing the Uyghur minority or whether China itself is a victim of Uyghur militants. For instance, following the mass protests and violent riots of April 1990 in Baren, there were further Uyghur demonstrations and disturbances

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in various cities including Yining, Khotan, and Aksu in the mid-1990s. This was followed by the Chinese government response: the initiation of a ‘strike hard’ campaign against crime throughout China in 1996 which made Uyghurs and separatists in Xinjiang a key target. After the forceful suppression of a demonstration by Uyghurs in the city of Yining in February 1997, several days of serious unrest reigned in the city. A renewed national ‘strike hard’ campaign against crime was initiated in April 2001 and has never formally been brought to a close. Several levels of police conspicuously and daily patrolled the Uyghur sections of Urumqi in 2007; Han police officers patrolled the streets in a six-man formation wearing black uniforms and black flak jackets, armed with batons and side arms. China’s official statement on ‘East Turkestan terrorists’ published in January 2002 listed several groups allegedly responsible for violence, including ETIM, the East Turkestan Liberation Organization (ETLO), the Islamic Reformist Party ‘Shock Brigade’, the East Turkestan Islamic Party, the East Turkestan Opposition Party, the East Turkestan Islamic Party of Allah, the Uyghur Liberation Organization, the Islamic Holy Warriors, and the East Turkestan International Committee.54 There is not always clarity in the way these groups are officially labelled nor do these groups seem to stay static. For instance, in 1997, the Uyghurstan Liberation Front and the United National Revolutionary Front of East Turkestan (UNRF) overcame their differences and joined together in a jihad in Xinjiang. The UNRF fears Uyghurs who agree with China, and announced that it had assassinated an imam of the mosque in Kashgar in 1996 because of his pro-China views.55 Some of the issues between Uyghurs and the Chinese government, however, seem unrelated to separatist issues. For instance, hundreds of Uyghurs protested outside government offices over plans to push them off their farmlands to build a dam, before police arrested at least sixteen protesters in Xinjiang’s Yili County, the site of clashes between security forces and Uyghurs seven years earlier. The June 2004 protests began outside the offices of a reservoir and hydropower station planned for the local Tekas river, which involved moving some 18,000 farmers, forestry workers, and herders to make way for the reservoir. Protesters said they had been paid only 880 yuan (about US$100) out of 38,000 yuan (US$4,600) promised to them, the station said, citing anonymous witnesses. An officer at Tekas County police headquarters confirmed the 11 June 2004 protest, saying, ‘The protest was big. People don’t want to move because they aren’t satisfied with the amount of compensation for resettlement.’56

International responses The international community is not united in any one stance on the question of whether China is victimizing the Uyghur minority or whether China itself is a victim of Uyghur militants. A report produced in December 2001 by

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the US Congressional Research Service, for instance, documented a number of armed groups operating in the region.57 Its list of armed groups included: the United Revolutionary Front of Eastern Turkestan, the Organization for the Liberation of Uyghurstan, the Wolves of Lop Nor, the Xinjiang Liberation Organization, the Uyghur Liberation Organization, the Home of East Turkestan Youth, and the Free Turkestan Movement. Pakistan also considers several of these organizations as terrorist or militant separatist organizations. The US determined in 2002 to single out ETIM specifically as a terrorist organization, closely followed by the UN Security Council, in response to a planned attack on the US embassy in neighbouring Kyrgyzstan.58 Deputy Secretary of State Richard L. Armitage announced that ETIM had been added to a State Department list of terrorist groups, freezing its assets in the United States, saying the group ‘committed acts of violence against unarmed civilians without any regard for who was hurt’.59 Although some in the US initially voiced concern that the move to declare ETIM as a terrorist organization was merely a geopolitical strategy, a spokesman for the embassy went further, accusing ETIM of working with Osama bin Laden’s al-Qaeda network and ‘planning attacks against US interests abroad, including the US Embassy in Kyrgyzstan’.60 ETIM’s leader and China’s most-wanted terrorist, Hasan Mahsum, who was later killed by Pakistani forces on 2 October 2003, said, ‘We don’t have any organizational contact or relations with al-Qaeda or the Taliban . . . Maybe some individuals fought alongside them on their own.’61 Two suspected ETIM members were deported to China from Kyrgyzstan in May 2002 for planning terrorist attacks. The Kyrgyz government has identified the men as Mamet Yasyn and Mamet Sadyk and said they were planning attacks on embassies, markets, and public gathering places in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.62 However, the US has declined to formally add another Uyghur organization, ETLO, to its list. In a Radio Free Asia interview, conducted on 24 January 2003, the leader of ETLO, Mehmet Emin Hazret reportedly stated, ‘Our principle [sic] goal is to achieve independence for East Turkestan by peaceful means. But to show our enemies and friends our determination on the East Turkestan issue, we view a military wing as inevitable.’63 Regarding other Uyghur militants, Chinese officials have repeatedly asked the United States to return Chinese Uyghurs captured fighting in Afghanistan. The United States has rejected China’s claims and in May 2006 released five Uyghurs64 to Albania, while continuing to hold seventeen more Chinese Uyghurs in the US prison in Guantanamo Bay.65 Lawyers for thirteen Uyghurs say the men were moved to Guantanamo Bay’s high-security facility,66 while the US government does not comment on enemy combatants held in Guantanamo. In October 2008, a federal judge ordered the release of the seventeen Uyghurs into the United States, but in February 2009 that decision was overturned following an appeal to the US Supreme Court.67

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An apparent compromise was reached in June 2009, under pressure from the Obama administration to close the US prison in Guantanamo, to resettle the remaining Uyghur detainees in the Bahamas in the Caribbean and in Palau in the South Pacific. China has repeatedly called for the return of the seventeen Uyghurs, who they classify as terrorists. ‘China demands the US side implement relevant resolutions of the UN Security Council as well as live up to international antiterrorism obligations, stop the transfer of these suspects to any third country and repatriate them to China’, Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesman Qin Gang told a news conference in June 2009, adding, ‘The 17 Chinese terrorist suspects held in Guantanamo are members of the East Turkistan Islamic Movement, which has been listed as a terrorist group by the UN Security Council.’68 The main issue for the United States currently is how the Uyghur issue ties into American concerns in Afghanistan. US and Chinese concerns in Afghanistan largely coincide over issues like eliminating transnational extremist training camps and minimizing the drug trade, both of which impact China individually and coalesce as drugs fuel militant movements. There is also some coincidence of Chinese and American interests in Pakistan, where both countries would like to encourage a strong, moderate country that is economically prosperous and focused on domestic rebuilding. Both countries would like to avoid a likely scenario where the problems of Afghanistan continue to bleed over into and worsen problems in Pakistan. However, there is no strong consensus between the United States and China on how to achieve their similar objectives. Whereas the US prepares for a military buildup in Afghanistan, Beijing believes a lower visibility response is less likely to encourage new militant recruits or inflame the larger Muslim community, generate a more Afghan-based set of solutions, and looks to an SCO forum rather than a NATO forum. The hardest part for US policy is to sort out which part of the issues in Xinjiang are genuine terrorist issues and which part are genuine human rights concerns for the Uyghurs in Xinjiang. The more the movements merge the more difficult the distinction will become. While the European Union and Canada hold stances generally similar to that of the United States, Pakistan, both a neighbour and friend of China, has taken a more stringent line towards Uyghurs, closer to the policies of most Central Asian neighbours. China and Pakistan agreed to enter into an extradition treaty to facilitate the exchange of prisoners in 2003. Ismail Kadir, reported to be the third highest leader of ETIM, was returned to China in March 2002 following his capture by Pakistani authorities reportedly in either Kashmir or in the city of Rawalpindi, Pakistan, home to a sizeable community of Uyghurs. In Pakistan, a senior Interior Ministry official confirmed Kadir’s repatriation to China, saying the man had been arrested in March 2002. ‘He was sent back to China after being interrogated’, the official

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said, giving no further details.69 Ismail Semed, allegedly another Uyghur ETIM founder, was executed in Urumqi after being deported from Pakistan where he had fled after serving two jail terms for alleged involvement in the violent Baren uprising in 1990. Semed was convicted in October 2005 of ‘attempting to split the motherland’ and of possessing firearms and explosives.70 And Pakistani troops reportedly killed Hasan Mahsum, yet another ETIM leader, in the South Waziristan region of Pakistan on 2 October 2003.71 Pakistan’s former President Musharraf stated during his November 2003 visit to Beijing that ‘his country will never allow anybody, including the terrorist force of “East Turkestan”, to use the territory of Pakistan to carry out any form of anti-China activities.’72 Thousands of Uyghurs reportedly travel to and from Pakistan for business and religious purposes, particularly to study in Pakistan’s madrassas. China believes that more than 1,000 Uyghurs were trained by bin Laden’s forces in Afghanistan,73 with approximately 110 returning to China, about 300 allegedly captured or killed by US forces, and a further 600 escaping to northern Pakistan.74 In addition, some reports at the beginning of this decade suggest that Uyghurs were already training in unofficial Pakistan militant training camps.75 As mentioned earlier, Chinese officials in 2009 believe ETIM has established its ‘military headquarters’ in Pakistan.76 This combination of ethnicity and religion also involves the Uyghur population resident in Central Asia who are associated with the movement of religious and political ideologies, weapons, and individuals.77 Uyghurs, who live throughout Central Asia, are often viewed with a great deal of caution in Central Asia. Uyghur separatists within Xinjiang drew inspiration and envy from their Central Asian neighbours’ independence after the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, and they increased their movement towards a separate Uyghur state. Militant Uyghur groups exploited Xinjiang’s porous border with Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Afghanistan to establish training camps outside of China’s reach78 as well as to move explosives and small arms into China. Additionally, it is much easier for citizens of surrounding countries to serendipitously travel into China. ‘This year, we have arrested nineteen people from abroad who were sent to Xinjiang for violent sabotage’, Xinjiang Communist Party Secretary Wang Lequan told reporters at a news conference in Xinjiang’s capital, Urumqi. ‘When they entered the territory of Xinjiang, we immediately caught them’, Wang said, without elaborating.79 The very rapid growth of economic relations and connecting infrastructure between China and Central Asian countries80 has also enabled the enhanced movement of ideas, weapons, and people. There are roughly half a million Uyghurs in Central Asia. Most of the Central Asian governments, notably Kyrgyzstan, have made several attempts to crack down on Uyghurs whom they view as undesirable or militant. There is a tendency to view Uyghurs with suspicion – they are frequently unemployed and thus stigmatized as

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thieves and troublemakers as well as harbouring discontent towards their host governments. Uyghurs in Central Asian countries often join hands with other dissident groups, united by the transnational Islamist movement. For instance, Uzbek leaders assert ethnic Uyghurs from Central Asia and China are members of the terrorist Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU).81 Since the beginning of 2005, there has been a wave of ‘election-related turmoil’ or so-called ‘Colour Revolutions’ in Central Asia, with terrorist and extremist forces often funded from outside and uniting religious extremists with political dissidents against authoritarian governments. Afghanistan has witnessed the resurgence of the Taliban and al-Qaeda in the wake of a new wave of militant attacks following the Iraq War. More worryingly, Hizb-ut-Tahrir and other extremist groups are quickly winning popular support in Central Asia, particularly in the poverty-stricken Ferghana Valley, bespeaking a re-emerging grim security situation in the region that poses new challenges to both Central Asian countries and China.82

Energy Although most experts agree that the primary issues at stake in Xinjiang are ethnic separatism and Islamist extremism, the issue of energy is not negligible. Not only does Xinjiang have considerable energy resources in terms of gas and oil, in addition to its former role as the Chinese nuclear test grounds, but it is also the gateway to Central Asian energy resources. China is pursuing pipeline deals with its oil-rich neighbours in Central Asia, as well as Russia, to help meet the booming economy’s demand for energy. China and Kazakhstan started energy cooperation in 1997, marked by an intergovernmental agreement covering diverse means of collaboration in oil and gas fields, including an oil pipeline between western Kazakhstan and China’s Xinjiang. The transnational Atasu pipeline was completed in November 2005. The deal, signed in 2004, came as Kazakhstan’s President Nursultan Abishevich Nazarbayev and President Hu Jintao signed a broad agreement for joint exploration and development of oil and gas resources in the Caspian Sea. The two sides are also stepping up consideration of plans for a natural gas pipeline to connect gas fields in the Caspian Sea with China.83 Kazakhstan and China signed an agreement to build up international passenger and freight rail transport, as part of an effort to boost trade and complete routes through Kazakhstan to Europe. A China–Kazakhstan rail link opened in 1992.84 Additionally, China and Kazakhstan have opened a free trade zone at their mutual border to further enhance their already rapidly growing economic relationship. Gas pipelines from Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan to China are also in the offing. These pipelines, when connected with the Xinjiang–Shanghai gas pipeline, will also contribute to the implementation of China’s Western Development policies. Turkmen President Saparmurat Niyazov, now deceased, and Chinese

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President Hu Jintao signed a framework agreement on oil and gas cooperation on 3 April 2006, including a Turkmenistan–China gas pipeline to be completed by the end of 2009.85 Turkmenistan’s gas reserves are considered to be the largest in Central Asia.86 These developments usher in new energy cooperation between China and Central Asia, and these energy supplies – unlike Middle Eastern or other energy supplies – do not require maritime security.87

Alternative futures The future that most worries the Chinese is that the Uyghur movements in Xinjiang will, on the one hand, externally hook up with transnational Islamist movements throughout Asia and the Middle East, bringing with it an influx of extremism and a desire to challenge the Chinese central government. On the other hand, the Chinese fear the Uyghur movements could internally radicalize other minorities, whether it is the ethnic Tibetans or the Muslim Hui. While Beijing is currently successfully managing the separatist movements in China, the possibility of increased difficulty is linked partly to elements outside of Chinese control, such as political instability or increased Islamist extremism in neighbouring Pakistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan. Partly, however, the progress of separatist movements in China will be determined by the Chinese themselves in policies and reactions. If ‘strike hard’ campaigns do or are seen to discriminate against non-violent Uyghurs and if the perception that economic development in Xinjiang aids Han Chinese at the expense of Uyghurs, the separatist movements will be fuelled and the transnational Islamist movements will be more appealing. So far the string of orchestrated violence in the summer of 2008 has galvanized the Chinese public against the Uyghur movements. This was intensified once again by the Xinjiang riots of July and September 2009. The region as a whole has concerns about growing Uyghur violence. Central Asian countries, especially those with sizeable Uyghur minorities, already worry about Uyghur violence and agitation as part of a large focus on terrorist activities inside and outside of the SCO. Many of the regional governments, especially authoritarian secular governments in South Asia and Central Asia, are worried about the contagion of increasingly powerful transnational Islamist movements. The governments of South East Asia too are worried about growing radical networks and training camps, but they also fear the very idea of a fragmenting China. Not only is China economically important to the region, but also political instability in China would impact all of Asia.

Fixing fractured nations Clearly the issues of fixing fractured nations are of importance to the stability of the twenty-first century. Fixing the fractures in the Chinese relationships with its ethnic minorities, specifically the Uyghurs, is complex to say the least.

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The issues surrounding the Uyghur question involve the fractures within the Uyghur community itself. They also involve questions of social equity and justice within a large multiethnic state. Further, they involve the broader community of states not only in Central and South Asia, but also states with large Uyghur diaspora communities and their own ethnic separatists. Finally, there is also a question for the international community as it develops stances on the use of violence by non-state actors and the current standards for nationalist movements in the aftermath of the collapse of Yugoslavia and other similar instances. While the intensity of the violence is escalating, there still does not appear to be a single unified force at work. The Uyghur violence inside and outside of China has elements that are tied to transnational Islamist movements and those that are clearly of a separatist nature and those that are distinctly Uyghur in their use of women and targeting other Uyghurs. It is to the advantage of the Chinese government not to impose a single image of a unified Uyghur terrorist movement for fear that it may become a reality. It is also necessary for the international community to make distinctions between the parts of the Uyghur movements who do not use violence and those that use horrific violence when making classifications of terrorists and of human rights abuses. At the base of this question is the larger question of social justice for minorities within large twenty-first-century multiethnic states. In this regard, China is not much different to other states faced with similar issues. While equal rights and opportunities may exist on paper, there need to be further steps to ensure that these rights are reflected in hiring, housing, and general attitudes. Economic solutions remain the backbone of Beijing’s approach, but these must be supplemented with clear policies that ensure that the bulk of economic incentives in Xinjiang are for the ethnic minorities and not primarily for the new majority Chinese immigrants to the region. Additionally there needs to be increased sensitivity in targeted ‘strike hard’ campaigns to make sure that they do not appear to be exclusively targeting Uyghurs as well as more religious tolerance. The final two questions of geopolitics and the international community’s approach to ethnic nationalism are too broad to be comprehensively dealt with here. However, the current piecemeal approach of allowing or even supporting ethnic separatism in communities which seem advantageous to some larger powers at the time is having a very divisive and destabilizing impact on the world order. There are lessons to be learned from Yugoslavia, Afghanistan, Iraq, and Chechnya among others. The root causes of the problem of Uyghur separatism, like many other similar problems that scatter around the globe, are complex. The solutions to the problem are equally complex. Notes 1. The author gratefully acknowledges both the Asia Times and Asian Affairs: an American Review for printing earlier versions of some of this chapter.

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2. ‘While China was able to maintain a firm grip on Uyghurs in Xinjiang, it could not prevent Uyghur militant groups across the western border from mounting actions within Xinjiang or Uyghurs from Xinjiang from making their way to Afghanistan for training with the Taliban . . . [The Shanghai Cooperation Organization’s] creation radicalized some Uyghurs into terrorist action against Chinese government targets in Xinjiang.’ J. Rudelson and W. Jankowiak, ‘Acculturation and Resistance: Xinjiang Identities in Flux’, in S. F. Starr (ed.), Xinjiang: China’s Muslim Borderland (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 2004), p. 308. 3. ‘[T]here was the danger of Muslim radicals . . . supplying weapons and instructors to the people of the “explosive” Scin-Czyan-Uyghur [sic] region of China. According to specialists dealing with the drug problem, there was concern that international narco-mafia interests were moving in to gain control of the China Kara-Korum [sic] [Pass]’. R. Isralowitz, Drug Use (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2004), p. 88. 4. According to global intelligence analysts at Stratfor, the Turkestan Islamic Party is another name used by the Islamic Party of East Turkestan (ETIM). See AFP, ‘Uighur Group Claims China Bus Attacks, Threatens Olympics’ (2008), http://afp.google. com/article/ALeqM5hn-RS89mZLpCR_CyIATJLUlG8YDQ, accessed 25 July 2008. 5. Before 11 September 2001, there was a special training camp for Uyghurs at Tora Bora under al-Qaeda and Taliban auspices near the Pakistan border, and a safe house maintained in the Afghan town of Jalalabad. See P. Lee, ‘Taliban Force a China Switch’, Asia Times (2009), http://www.atimes.com/atimes/China/ KC06Ad01.html, accessed 10 March 2009. 6. ‘Uighur Group Claims China Bus Attacks, Threatens Olympics’. 7. W. Foreman, ‘Chinese Islamic Group Issues New Olympic Threat’, International Business Times (2008), http://in.ibtimes.com/articles/20080808/islambeijing-olympic-threat-video-turkistan-xinjiang-site-urumqi.htm, accessed 7 August 2008. 8. Associated Press, ‘China Releases Terror Blacklist in Olympic Plot’, International Herald Tribune (21 October 2008), p. 8. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid. 12. K. G. Pereire (2006) ‘The East Turkestan Islamic Movement in China: Uighur Discontent Must be Addressed to Stem the Tide of the Jihadi Movement in China’, Institute of Defence and Strategic Studies (23 June 2006). 13. ‘Realities of the Conflict – Between Islam and Unbelief Full Transcript of Zawahiri Tape December 20, 2006’, As-Sahab Media, Dhu Qa’dah 1427 AH, December 2006, CE, obtained by Laura Mansfield International Institute for Counter-Terrorism. 14. O. Waraich, ‘China Leans on Pakistan to Deal With Militants’, Time 173 (10 April 2009), p. 19. 15. F. Tak-ho, ‘“Terror” Attack a Warning Shot for Beijing’, Asia Times (2008), http:// www.atimes.com/atimes/China/JC14Ad01.html , accessed 14 March 2008. 16. J. Drew, ‘Three Security Officials Killed in W. China: Stabbings at Checkpoint Are 3rd Deadly Incident in Xinjiang Region in Days’, Washington Post (13 August 2008), p. A08. 17. Ibid. 18. ‘Weapons in Xinjiang Attack Resembled Those of East Turkistan Terrorists’, Xinhua (5 August 2008). 19. Drew, ‘Three Security Officials Killed in W. China’.

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20. Ibid. 21. E. Wong, ‘Uighurs on Both Sides of Conflict in China’, as quoted in Article No. 5 (TR348A05) in the Terrorism Open Source Intelligence Report (TOSIR), No. 348 (11 September 2008), prepared by Interaction Systems Incorporated (isincreports@ mindspring.com). 22. J. Drew, ‘Crew Foiled an Attack on Airliner, China Says: Separatists in Region Were Raided Earlier’, Washington Post (10 March 2008), p. A11. 23. ‘Nabbed Suspects in Xinjiang Trained for “Holy War”: Police’, China Daily (2008) http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/china/2008-07/09/content_6832123.htm, accessed 9 July 2008. 24. A September 2008 report ‘by Radio Free Asia, a station that promotes democracy and is financed by the American government, identified her as Anargul, 22, and said that she was suspected of aiding the people who carried out the checkpoint attack’. Wong, ‘Uighurs on Both Sides of Conflict in China’. 25. ‘For some years, Pakistan and Afghanistan were key centers of religious education and training for Uyghurs abroad.’ G. E. Fuller and J. Lipmann, ‘Islam in Xinjiang’, in Starr (ed.), Xinjiang, p. 351. Although the authors adroitly outline the strong possibility of increased Pakistan promotion of radical Islam in their chapter in this edited volume, they, along with many other scholars including this author, overestimated the Afghanistan government’s control of society or groups outside of Kabul and hence of the Uyghur groups in Afghanistan. 26. China’s National Defense in 2008 (Beijing: Information Office of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2009), p. 5. 27. Ibid., p. 6. 28. Ibid., p. 46. 29. The Hui, ethnically Chinese but religiously Muslim, are a unique minority in China. K. Hodong, Holy War in China: the Muslim Rebellion and State in Chinese Central Asia, 1864–1877 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004). 30. J. D. Spence, The Search for Modern China (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1990), pp. 97, 110, 210, 221. 31. Ibid., p. 98. 32. Ibid., pp. 450, 512. 33. ‘The People’s Republic of China is a united multi-ethnic state founded jointly by the people of all its ethnic groups. So far, there are 56 ethnic groups identified and confirmed by the Central Government . . . As the majority of the population belongs to the Han ethnic group, China’s other 55 ethnic groups are customarily referred to as the national minorities.’ National Minorities Policy and Its Practice in China (Beijing: Information Office of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 1999), Part 1.A. 34. ‘China is very concerned that Xinjiang separatism enjoys a favorable regional environment thanks to the collapse of political order in Afghanistan and western Pakistan – a collapse that China accelerated by pouring arms, training and some fighters into the anti-Soviet jihad in Afghanistan in the 1980s.’ Lee, ‘Taliban Force a China Switch’. 35. Ibid. 36. ‘In April 1996 and April 1997, two agreements for security and disarmament along the borders –the “Treaty on Deepening Military Trust in Border Regions” and the “Treaty on Reduction of Military Forces in Border Regions” – were signed by China, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. These two agreements marked the beginning of the Shanghai Five-SCO process.’ P. Guang, ‘China and

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37.

38.

39. 40. 41.

42.

43. 44. 45.

46.

47. 48.

Fixing Fractured Nations Central Asia: Charting a New Course for Regional Cooperation’, China Brief/The Jamestown Foundation 7 (7 February 2007). In 1994, the Regulation Governing Venues for Religious Activities was released with terms defining acceptable activities. There are several dimensions to the rules on religion. According to Article 2, ‘Registration is required for the establishment of a venue for religious activities.’ And ‘“venues for religious activities” refers to monasteries, temples, mosques, churches and other fixed venues’. This registration allows the government to keep administrative tabs on all religious activities to prevent excessive dissidence against the government, but allows their practice in principle. Regulation Governing Venues for Religious Activities – 1994 (Promulgated by Decree No. 145 of the State Council, signed by Premier Li Peng, January 31, 1994). G. Christoffersen, ‘Islam and Ethnic Minorities in Central Asia: the Uyghurs’, in E. V. Davis and R. Azizian (eds), Islam, Oil, and Geopolitics (Boulder, CO: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2006), pp. 45–60. ‘Jia Qinglin Meets with Representatives of the Chinese National Islamic Congress’, Guangxi News (15 May 2006) (in Chinese). CIIR, ‘Chinese Muslims Encouraged to Help Build a Harmonious Society’, Global Issues Report (22 May 2006). ‘State Administration for Religious Affairs: Chinese Muslims Must Continue to Carry Forward their Peace-loving Tradition’, China News (8 May 2006) (in Chinese). The primary target of China’s anti-terror campaign is the ‘East Turkestan’ terrorist group. The Chinese government asserts that Osama bin Laden told the terrorists: ‘I support your jihad in Xinjiang’. ‘East Turkestan’ Terrorist Forces Cannot Get Away with Their Offences (Beijing: Information Office of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China, 2002). Christoffersen, ‘Islam and Ethnic Minorities in Central Asia’, p. 48. ‘Chinese President Calls for Joint Efforts in Fighting Terrorism in Central Asia’, People’s Daily (18 June 2004), p. 1. Ibid. Similar comments were made when China and Tajikistan agreed on 14 May 2006 to intensify cooperation in fighting the ‘three evil forces’ of terrorism, separatism, and extremism. The two countries vowed to continue their joint crackdown on drug trafficking, according to a consensus reached between Chinese Foreign Minister Li Zhaoxing and his Tajik counterpart Talbak Nazarov. ‘China, Tajikistan Pledge to Further Cooperate in Fighting “Three Evil Forces”’, People’s Daily (16 May 2006). The Xinjiang exercises, which were spread over almost a month, reportedly involved 50,000 troops, one of the largest ever such events staged by the Chinese in the region, featuring dozens of armoured personnel vehicles, tanks, and camouflaged trucks filled with troops, capped off by a flyover of fighter jets. The parade was presided over by General Fu Quanyou, then chief of general staff of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) and a member of the Central Military Commission. A number of other generals and senior officers, based at the Lanzhou military region which coordinates defence in Xinjiang, also sat on the podium to view the parade. R. McGregor, ‘Chinese Military in Muslim Region’, Financial Times (15 August 2001), p. 8. China’s National Defense in 2008, p. 73. The combined GDP of western regions reached 3.33 trillion yuan in 2008, compared with 1.66 trillion yuan in 2000, when the central government launched

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49. 50.

51.

52.

53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64.

65. 66. 67.

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the current strategy to help its relatively backward west catch up with the more prosperous east. According to Wang, in the period 2001–5, net income grew on average 10 per cent for urban residents in the west and 6.8 per cent for rural residents. The progress was spurred by increased financial support and infrastructure projects from central government. In addition, the central government has invested more than 122 billion yuan on western environmental protection in the past six years. Wang, ‘One Trillion Yuan Spent On Western Infrastructure’, China Net (2006), http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2006-09/06/content_5055217. htm, accessed 6 September 2008. ‘China to Build Twelve New Highways Linking its West Region with Central Asia’, Xinhua (2007), www.chinaview.cn, accessed 6 April 2007. M. H. Glantz, Q. Ye, and Q. Ge, ‘China’s Western Region Development Strategy and the Urgent Need to Address Creeping Environmental Problems’, Arid Lands Newsletter 49 (May–June 2001). Amnesty International, ‘People’s Republic of China: Uighurs Fleeing Persecution as China Wages its “War on Terror”’ (2004), http://web.amnesty.org/library/ index/engasa170212004, accessed 10 September 2008. The number of Muslims in China is rich in disparity and controversy. The US government adheres to a number of 19.5–20 million. See The CIA Fact Book (2008), https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/ and the US State Department, International Freedom Report (2006), http://www.state.gov/g/drl/rls/irf/2006/71338. htm, accessed 3 March 2008. The BBC’s Religion and Ethics webpage, however, assesses a range of 20–100 million Muslims in China, http://www.bbc.co.uk/ religion/religions/islam/history/china_4.shtml, accessed 3 March 2008. Official Chinese censuses, whatever their flaws, are closer to the 20 million mark. ‘Armed Police Holds Large-Scale Anti-Terror Exercise in Xinjiang’, People’s Daily (30 August 2005), p. 1. ‘East Turkestan’ Terrorist Forces Cannot Get Away with Their Offence. Christoffersen, ‘Islam and Ethnic Minorities in Central Asia’, p. 48. ‘Government Land Grab Plan Causes Stir in Muslim China’, Associated Press (16 June 2004). D. L. McNeal, ‘China’s Relations with Central Asian States and Problems with Terrorism’, Congressional Research Service Report (17 December 2001). E. Eckholm, ‘China Muslim Group Planned Terror, US Says’, New York Times (31 August 2002), p. A24. P. P. Pan, ‘US Warns of Plot by Group in W. China’, Washington Post (29 August 2002), p. A27. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. ‘Separatist Leader Vows to Target Chinese Government’, RFA (29 January 2003). Radio Free Asia, ‘Guantanamo Uyghurs Find Freedom “Like a Celebration”’ (2006), http://www.rfa.org/english/news/2006/05/10/uyghur_guantanamo/, accessed 10 August 2008. J. White, ‘Lawyers Demand Release of Chinese Muslims’, Washington Post (5 December 2006), p. A13. J. Smith and J. Tate, ‘Uighurs Detention Conditions Condemned’, Washington Post (30 January 2007), p. A4. C. J. Williams, ‘Supreme Court is Urged to Order Uighurs’ Release into US’, Los Angeles Times (7 April 2009), p. 12.

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68. Radio Free Europe, ‘China Demands US Send Guantanamo Uyghurs Back’ (2009), http://www.rferl.org/content/China_Demands_US_Send_Guantanamo_Uyghurs_ Back/1751929.html, accessed 11 June 2009. 69. Kadir fled Xinjiang after 11 September, said Wang Lequan, Xinjiang’s Communist Party secretary, adding China finds it ‘hard to understand and a pity that some people do not believe that our efforts to fight terrorism are part of the international campaign’. Aziz Ait, deputy director general of the paramilitary People’s Armed Police in Xinjiang, said the number of terrorist incidents has declined, though he did not give details and said he could not give an estimate of how many active terrorists there are in the region. ‘It is not safe to say Xinjiang is completely free of terrorist attacks, so we have to remain on guard,’ Ait said. Associated Press, ‘China: Terror Suspect Handed Over’ (27 May 2002), as quoted in The World Uighur Network News, http://www.uygur.org/wunn02/2002_05_ 27.htm, accessed 10 August 2008. 70. ‘China “Executes” Uighur Activist’, BBC News (2007), http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/ asia-pacific/6345879.stm, accessed 10 August 2008. 71. Amnesty International, ‘People’s Republic of China: Uighurs Fleeing Persecution as China Wages its “War on Terror”’. 72. ‘China, Pakistan Highlight Cooperation in Beijing’, Xinhua (4 November 2003), p. 1. 73. That claim is supported by the United National Revolutionary Front of East Turkestan (UNRF), which also claimed that there were more than 100 Uyghurs in Afghanistan at that time helping the Taliban. The UNRF’s backing of these figures that support the Chinese claim is given credence because the UNRF stridently opposes Sinification of Xinjiang. Christoffersen, ‘Islam and Ethnic Minorities in Central Asia’. 74. Associated Press, ‘China: Terror Suspect Handed Over’. 75. McNeal, ‘China’s Relations with Central Asian States and Problems with Terrorism’. 76. Waraich, ‘China Leans on Pakistan to Deal With Militants’. 77. For an analysis of the reasoning behind the Central Asian governments’ positions, see M. Sharipzhan, ‘Central Asian Leaders Balk at Opening Pandora’s Box of Separatism’ (2008), http://www.rferl.org/content/Central_Asian_Leaders_Balk_At_ Opening_Pandoras_Box_Of_Separatism/1194838.html, accessed 29 August 2008. 78. A. Wolfe, ‘China Takes the Lead in Strategic Central Asia’, Asia Times (2004), http://www.atimes.com, accessed 29 August 2008. 79. Emma Graham-Harrison, ‘China Arrests Foreign Militants in Restive West’, New York Times (18 October 2005), p. A12. 80. Overall levels of trade have grown from a meagre US$500 million in 1992 to $8.5 billion in 2005, an increase of more than sixteen times in fourteen years. Among the bilateral trade relations between China and the Central Asian countries, SinoKazakh trade is the largest, reaching $6.8 billion in 2005. Guang, ‘China and Central Asia’. 81. The IMU changed its name to the Islamic Party of Turkestan in 2001, but it is still commonly referred to as the IMU. 82. Guang, ‘China and Central Asia’. 83. ‘Kazakhstan Oil Piped into China’, China Daily (2006) http://www.chinadaily. com.cn/china/2006-05/25/content_600060.htm, accessed 25 May 2006. 84. ‘China, Kazakhstan to Build Oil Pipeline’, New York Times (18 May 2004), p. A16.

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85. S. Blagov, ‘Turkmenistan Seeks to Strengthen Energy Ties with China’, Eurasia Daily Monitor (10 April 2006), p. 1. 86. ‘Chinese Sign Up for Turkmen Gas: Turkmenistan and China Have Agreed to Build a Pipeline to Supply Turkmen Natural Gas for the Energy-Hungry Chinese Economy’, BBC News (2006), http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/1/hi/ world/asia-pacific/4872668.stm, accessed 29 August 2008. 87. Guang, ‘China and Central Asia’.

10 China Tibet: At the Crossroads of Ethnic Nationalism and Geopolitical Rivalry Paul J. Smith1

Introduction On 10 March 2008, some 300 Tibetan monks marched from Drepung monastery to the centre of Lhasa to observe the 49th anniversary of the uprising against Chinese rule in 1959.2 Three days later, hundreds of monks began a hunger strike, and at least two attempted suicide. Thousands of Chinese soldiers and police reacted to the incidents by sealing off Lhasa’s three largest monasteries.3 From 14 March, the protests began to be violent, ‘with shops and vehicles torched and gunshots echoing through the streets of Lhasa’.4 More ominously, the protests began to spread throughout China. By 16 March, the protests – and accompanying violence – became manifest in neighbouring provinces, particularly Sichuan, Gansu, and Qinghai, where large numbers of ethnic Tibetans reside. The Chinese government reacted quickly by mobilizing tens of thousands of police and soldiers, including members of the People’s Armed Police Force (PAPF), spreading them throughout affected regions. Beijing accused the Dalai Lama of orchestrating the various protests, a charge which he denied. Overall, the Chinese government claimed that twenty-one Tibetans had been killed in the violence, while pro-Tibetan groups contended that the number was in excess of 140. In many ways, the protests and violence associated with Tibet might have been contained, both physically and temporally, but internationally based Tibetan activist organizations saw an opportunity to be exploited in an age of globalization and the information revolution, particularly as China was set to host the Olympic Games in August 2008. As one activist reportedly stated: ‘We realized this would be a monumental opportunity for the Tibetan people to be put in the international spotlight’.5 Through a carefully coordinated international campaign, Tibetan groups managed to organize demonstrations that corresponded with Olympic publicity, particularly the international Olympic torch relay. On 24 March, protesters disrupted the Olympic flame-lighting ceremony in Olympia, 206

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Greece, where the torch relay was to begin. On 30 March, as the Olympic torch was handed over to Beijing Games organizers in Athens, pro-Tibet protesters shouted ‘Save Tibet’ and waved Tibetan banners. On 6 April, British police attempted to prevent Tibetan protesters from disrupting the relay as it proceeded through London. On 7 April, pro-Tibetan protesters in Paris caused the Olympic flame to be extinguished three times, while the ultimate relay was curtailed as it passed through the French capital. Olympic officials considered abandoning the international relays because of the large wave of protests. For many Chinese, whether in China or throughout the world, the Tibetan protests were an odious distraction that obscured the glory of China’s historic moment. Many were made indignant by what they saw as a pro-Tibet bias in Western media (and the West generally). Some Chinese residing abroad organized counter-protests. Others set up websites with links to video clips that portrayed the March 2008 Tibetan protests in a different light (i.e. focusing on the violence perpetrated by Tibetans). Moreover, nature itself interceded in May 2008 with a devastating earthquake in Sichuan province, which killed more than 60,000 people. This tragedy took much of the ‘publicity oxygen’ away from Tibet and tilted international opinion more favourably towards China. The Tibet-inspired protests of early 2008 highlighted an issue that has persisted since the founding of the People’s Republic of China and continues to this day – the question of Tibet’s status and its relationship with the larger Chinese nation. For China, there is no ‘question’ about Tibet; it is an internal matter that should not receive outside attention or interference. Moreover, Beijing has described those who condone or conduct agitation and violence on behalf of Tibet as being no better than terrorists, including those associated with the al-Qaeda organization.6 Indeed, for China, the Tibet issue lies at the heart of one of the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) primary concerns: territorial and national integrity, a goal that is pursued through a battle against the ‘three evils’: separatism, extremism, and terrorism.

Tibet: the origins and parameters of the controversy Tibet is a subject about which different people and groups have varying opinions and interpretations. Chinese officials clearly see the issue through one lens, while Tibetan activists see the issue quite differently. As Yasheng Huang once stated, ‘debate on Chinese rule in Tibet is often long on passion and political partisanship but short on evidence.’7 The region of Tibet generally refers to what is now known as the Tibet Autonomous Region or TAR (xizangzizhiqu). The TAR contains about half of the ethnic Tibetans living in China (about 2.43 million according to a 2000 census), while the others reside in the neighbouring provinces of Gansu,

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Qinghai, Yunnan, and Sichuan.8 Outside of China, ethnic Tibetans can be found primarily in India (85,147), Nepal (13,720), and North America or Europe (approximately 10,000).9 Tibetans are considered a unique ethnic group, which has its own language, religion, customs, and rituals that are distinct from those of eastern Han civilization. Indeed, a key component of Tibetans’ autonomous cause is that they are a separate and distinct nationality. For Tibetans living outside China, and particularly those living in India, ‘recreating and preserving the memories of Tibet is crucial for maintaining the vision of Free Tibet as a common cause.’10 China does not attempt to counter this ‘uniqueness’ portrayal, although it would seem to undermine some of the legitimacy of Chinese governance in Tibet. In fact, Beijing’s strategy has been predicated on not only acknowledging the uniqueness of Tibetan culture, but also characterizing it as one among many ethnic groups flourishing within the larger Chinese nation or empire. Thus, Tibet, notwithstanding its uniqueness, is included within the larger fabric of Chinese civilization, or what Beijing calls the ‘big family of the Chinese nation’.11 This is consistent with the Chinese construct of the ‘motherland’ as a multinational state. As Ashild Kolas argues: ‘The “Middle Kingdom” is not meant to be comprised of “one nation, one state”, but rather of a territory corresponding to the “Chinese Empire”.’12 Tibetans are thus accepted as a nation or ‘nationality’ within this larger empire, ‘but according to the Chinese government this does not give them the right to form a separate state’.13 Thus, under this reasoning, Tibetans’ insistence on their ethnic ‘separateness’ or ‘uniqueness’ does not vitiate Beijing’s claim upon their territory. This notion was best summed up in a recent Chinese White Paper on Tibet which stated that the ‘Tibetan cultural heritage is an important part of Chinese cultural heritage’.14 A corollary to the ethnic ‘uniqueness’ controversy is the question of Tibet’s historical relationship with China. As might be expected, many Tibetans tend to focus on their legal and historical ‘separateness’ from China, while China insists that Tibet has enjoyed a long (and beneficial) history under Chinese sovereignty. A former Chinese ambassador once stated that ‘as far as China is concerned, it has been her practice, through the centuries, to regard Tibet merely as another part of her domain, much like her other parts, and to allow it a large measure of autonomy.’15 More recently, Zhu Weiqun, a member of the CCP Central Committee stated that ‘it is known to all people with some historical knowledge that the Chinese central authorities have exerted undisputable and effective administration over Tibet since the beginning of the Yuan Dynasty (1271–1368).’16 Although the Chinese position appears to maintain that China exercised uninterrupted sovereignty over Tibet from the thirteenth century onwards, others support alternative theories. Elliott Sperling argues that ‘the idea

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that Tibet became part of China in the 13th century is a very recent construction.’17 Other scholarship suggests, as well, that the ‘history question’ is more complicated than the narrative presented by both sides. Prior to the close of the seventeenth century, China and Tibet enjoyed a period of ‘equality and mutual independence’.18 However, relations tightened with the rise of the Qing dynasty: ‘In the second decade of the eighteenth century Chinese suzerainty over Tibet became an established fact.’19 Manchu emperors became more interested in Tibet and the Dalai Lama, particularly as the latter exercised ‘spiritual authority over Buddhist communities outside Tibet, in Mongolia, Nepal, Bhutan, Sikkim and India’.20 The Qing dynasty, in the interest of preserving its rights in Tibet, maintained permanent representatives in Tibet.21 Yet, as Melvyn Goldstein and Cynthia Beall argue, China–Tibet relations under the Qing dynasty were less formal than presumed; there were no treaties or other written agreements. Essentially, Tibet was ‘loosely subordinate to China’ but at the same time, it administered itself with its own body of laws and officials.22 The period from 1912 (following the Chinese revolution) until 1949 appears to provide many Tibetans (and Tibetan activists) with the most viable argument that Tibet was once a de facto sovereign state in the modern sense. Many historians agree that from 1912 until 1949, when the People’s Republic of China was founded, ‘no Chinese government exercised control over what is today China’s Tibet Autonomous Region.’23 But even this argument is problematic because, while the Chinese state was preoccupied and consumed by revolution, internal strife, and the Japanese invasion, it did not mean that China had formally and legally abandoned its sovereign claims over Tibet. Instead, China was simply too weak – and self-absorbed – to be in a position to actively exercise those claims. The significance of the history debate lies in its resonance to today’s controversies about the legitimacy of contemporary Chinese rule in Tibet and discussions about the possibility of ‘genuine autonomy’ within Tibet. The notion that Tibet was ‘loosely subordinate’ to China, with varying degrees of intensity during the past few centuries (often characterized as Chinese suzerainty – versus sovereignty – over Tibet), generates enough moral and legal ambiguity to seemingly provide justification to both sides’ positions. Complicating the picture is the fact that major powers active within the region in the early twentieth century – namely Britain, India, and the United States – decided to recognize Chinese suzerainty over Tibet ‘but dealt directly with Tibet as if it were a de facto independent state’.24

CCP governance within the TAR Since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, the Tibet controversy has been predicated primarily on events that occurred in two key periods: 1950–1 and 1959. In 1950, the nascent PRC regime consolidated

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its authority over Tibet by deploying forces of the People’s Liberation Army, which thereby ‘liberated’ the region. The Chinese government demanded negotiations with the Tibetan authorities and eventually a Tibetan delegation travelled to Beijing and signed a ‘Seventeen Point Agreement for the Peaceful Liberation of Tibet’ in 1951. This agreement allowed Beijing to assert sovereignty over Tibet, while the Tibetans were granted the privilege of maintaining the Dalai Lama and Tibet’s traditional political and economic system.25 It is generally accepted that in the initial years (from 1950 onwards), Chinese rule in Tibet was ‘not easy’ and the years from 1951 to 1959 were characterized by ‘increasing discord between the traditional Tibetan government, Chinese officials in Tibet, and after 1955–56, a growing rebel force in the countryside’.26 Many Tibetans, moreover, complained that Beijing had failed to live up to its side of the ‘Seventeen Point Agreement’, which could have been attributed to the fact that Chinese leaders viewed their obligations to respect and maintain Tibet’s political, social, and monarchical system as ‘conditional’ and ‘provisional’.27 For various reasons, following the imposition of PRC governance over Tibet, living standards in Tibet declined precipitously: ‘After much privation and massive food shortages, more than 65,000 Tibetans died.’28 The Chinese government paints a very different picture of the events of 1950. It argues that Tibet was a backward, undeveloped, and feudal society, which featured a hierarchical and downtrodden serf class, which suffered exploitation prior to Tibet’s liberation in 1950. In addition, Beijing asserts that its liberation of Tibet naturally upset the ‘serf-owner class’ who, comprising just 5 per cent of Tibet’s population, ‘owned the entire cultivated land and grassland and the majority of the livestock, and . . . controlled the freedom of serfs and slaves, who accounted for 95 per cent of the total population’.29 Consequently, this privileged class has never been, nor is likely ever to be, satisfied by the outcome of Tibet’s post-1950 status. In addition, the various events of 1959 are also subject to broadly divergent interpretations by both Tibetan activists and the Chinese government. It is generally accepted that on 10 March 1959, thousands of Tibetans began to gather around the Dalai Lama’s summer palace, Norbulingka, because of a rumour – generally accepted to be false – that he was in imminent danger of being kidnapped by Chinese government officials and taken away from Tibet. By the middle of the day, the generally quiet demonstration deteriorated into a major popular revolt, which included the stoning to death of several high-ranking PLA officials. Although considering the rebellion a serious challenge to its authority, the Chinese government decided to act with restraint. Beijing instructed its PLA commands in Tibet to hold their ground, but to wait for the rebels to fire the first shot so that they would be forced to ‘fully expose themselves’.30 In this way, Beijing viewed the rebellion as an opportunity to exploit the

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overreaction of ‘reactionary elements’ so that the conditions would be in place to proceed with long-delayed ‘democratic reforms’ in Tibet.31 Despite being ordered to proceed with restraint, an errant PLA soldier (or possibly lower ranking officers) fired two artillery rounds, which exploded near Norbulingka. The Dalai Lama, who had been reluctant to leave Tibet, now felt that his life was in danger and thus, he and his followers fled the Tibetan capital on 17 March 1959.32 Mao Zedong was apparently unconcerned with the Dalai Lama’s escape from Tibet. He reportedly wrote: ‘If the Dalai Lama and his entourage flee [the Tibetan capital] . . . our troops should not try to stop them. Whether [the Tibetans] are heading to southern Tibet or India, just let them go.’33 With the Dalai Lama out of the picture, the Chinese government on 20 March 1959 gave the official green light to launch a ‘comprehensive counter-offensive’ in Tibet.34 Reaction to the events of 1959, like those of 1950, varies widely, depending on the particular perspective of Beijing or Tibetan activists. Many Tibetans argue that a massacre took place in 1959, while China characterizes the period as the ‘Democratic Reform in 1959’.35 The director of the China Tibetology Research Centre recently described events surrounding that date as a reactionary initiative of the Tibetan upper class who, in hopes of maintaining their paradise, ‘launched an armed rebellion, backed by international anti-China and anti-communism forces’.36 The rebellion was put down by the PLA and on 17 March 1959, ‘the Dalai Lama, his family and his supporters ran away’.37 These rebellious forces, living in exile, ‘have never given up their attempt to restore their paradise lost’.38 In the 1960s, the Cultural Revolution, which had swept through much of China, was probably the harshest period for Tibet under CCP governance, an assertion with which many contemporary Chinese officials would agree. Tibetans found themselves particularly vulnerable to the campaign to ‘destroy the four olds’ (old ideas, old culture, old customs, and old habits).39 Cultural Revolution activists targeted Tibet’s religious traditions and values, in hopes of creating ‘a new homogenous and atheistic communist culture’.40 With the end of the Cultural Revolution and the rise of Deng Xiaoping, the Chinese government re-evaluated its policies towards Tibet. Premier Hu Yaobang and Vice Premier Wan Li conducted a fact-finding trip to Tibet in 1980 and were apparently ‘dismayed by what they saw and heard’.41 In a subsequent report, Premier Hu advocated the implementation of ‘specific and flexible policies suited to conditions in Tibet’ and also argued that ‘vigorous efforts must be made to revive and develop Tibetan culture, education, and science’.42 In more recent years, Chinese and Tibetans (both within Tibet and China and abroad) have disagreed about the merits of CCP governance within the TAR. Not surprisingly, Beijing characterizes its rule in positive terms, as exemplified by a recent speech delivered by PRC Foreign Minister Yang

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Jiechi who stated that Tibet had undergone ‘earth-shaking development’ including rapid economic growth, a doubling of life expectancy, and improving living standards. Moreover, he asserted that the PRC had protected Tibet’s traditional culture and that Tibetan people ‘enjoy all kinds of rights as provided for in the law’.43 Moreover, the Chinese government contends that it has taken great efforts to protect and preserve Tibetan culture. Its Tibetan White Paper states that the government expends great amounts of financial and human resources ‘to ensure the inheritance, promotion and development of the fine traditional culture of Tibet on the basis of effective protection’.44 Tibetans – and exiled Tibetan activists – promote an alternative narrative that features a far grimmer portrayal of Tibet (and specifically the TAR) under the PRC. According to this assessment, PRC rule has been largely detrimental to the Tibetan people, socially, economically and politically. In a recent speech, the Dalai Lama accused Beijing of turning Tibet into a ‘hell on Earth’ because of the CCP’s imposition of martial law and various other hardline policies.45 Tibetan activists assert that China has engaged in forced sterilization, infanticide, and other policies in an attempt to limit the growth of the ethnic Tibetan population (a charge that Beijing has denied).46 Some Tibetans also allege that Beijing has encouraged Han migration into Tibet as a means of diluting Tibetan culture. Similarly, there is substantial discontent regarding the presence of Chinese troops in Tibet who, according to the Dalai Lama ‘have their hands on the trigger when they carry weapons’.47 According to Tibetan activists, such military presence generates tensions and reflects Beijing’s excessive focus on control and political consolidation over the region. Tibetans also resent Beijing’s periodic ‘strike hard’ campaigns in which usual criminal procedures are suspended so as to maximize the number of individuals arrested. Although ostensibly directed against classic criminals, the campaign can also be directed against anyone engaged in ‘anti-government activities’, including listening to ‘reactionary music’ on mobile (cell) phones.48

The geopolitical dimensions of Tibet Tibet is often regarded primarily as an ethnic, national, or religious issue. However, at its core – and certainly in the 1950s and 1960s – Tibet was a key geopolitical issue, impinging upon the interests of major powers and their relationships within the region: ‘During the first few decades of the Cold War, Tibet was a fulcrum of great-power rivalry.’49 The most obvious geopolitical dimension to Tibet was its impact on Sino-Indian relations. As Chen Jian observes: ‘Throughout the 1950s, even during the heyday of Sino-Indian friendship, Beijing and New Delhi were never able to escape the shadow of the Tibet issue.’50 From 1947 to 1951, a newly independent and sovereign India had hoped to continue the British policy of treating Tibet as an autonomous

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region – subject to Chinese suzerainty but not sovereignty – which had served as a buffer state between India and China.51 However, it soon became clear to India that China was contemplating a military solution to the Tibet issue. Prime Minister Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru sincerely believed that, given his efforts to cultivate relations with the newly established Chinese regime (India had been one of the first non-communist countries to recognize the new government and establish formal diplomatic relations), China would refrain from using military force. However, by the middle of 1950, if not earlier, Indian leaders began to recognize that the CCP’s military intervention in Tibet was inevitable. On 7 October 1950, as was expected, the People’s Liberation Army marched into Tibet to ‘liberate’ the region. On 26 October, India sent a diplomatic note to the Chinese government noting ‘with great regret’ reports that Chinese military forces had entered Tibet. The note further characterized the invasion as ‘deplorable’ and not ‘in the interest of China or peace’.52 Within four days, the Chinese government responded with similarly strong words: ‘The problem of Tibet is entirely the domestic problem of China . . . and no foreign interference shall be tolerated.’53 Notwithstanding the bitterness generated by the 1950 invasion, India adopted a generally conciliatory posture towards China in subsequent years, although New Delhi recognized that the absorption of Tibet had placed China ‘militarily in a stronger and more strategic position vis-à-vis India’.54 When the Dalai Lama visited India in late 1956 and early 1957 (in both cases exhibiting some signs of wanting to seek asylum), Nehru urged him to return to Tibet, so as not to anger China. India was also keen to avoid inflaming tensions with China over residual border disputes. When the 1959 rebellion erupted in Tibet, however, relations between India and China declined precipitously. China was particularly angry that India had granted political asylum to the Dalai Lama and his followers. Moreover, the Chinese government believed that Prime Minister Nehru and the Indian government had been ‘deeply involved in the rebellion in Lhasa’.55 Beijing began criticizing India publicly, calling New Delhi ‘expansionist’ and claiming that India ‘had adopted the British colonial traditions’.56 This would lead to a serious decline in the relationship between the two countries, establishing the foundation for a future border war (1962) and other tensions (including low-level skirmishes) that have lasted until the present day. Ironically, however, American intelligence documents suggest that, notwithstanding Chinese suspicions and accusations, India maintained a policy of diplomatic restraint towards China (and the Tibet question) even after granting political asylum to the Dalai Lama in 1959. When the Dalai Lama arrived in India, he was carrying a press statement drafted before crossing into India which announced, among other things, the establishment of a Free Tibetan government at Lhuntse Dzong and ‘the fact that he was now

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in India to fight the Chinese Communists’.57 However, a representative from India’s Ministry of External Affairs (MEA), P. N. Menon, urged the Dalai Lama to refrain from making such a statement.58 When the Dalai Lama insisted, the Indian government relented and allowed him to make a lengthy press statement, although he was required to make no mention of ‘the establishment of a Free Tibetan Government, the letters exchanged between the Dalai Lama and the Chinese Communists, or of Tibetan termination of [the] Seventeen Point Agreement’.59 Clearly, the Indians wanted to contain, as much as possible, the inevitable diplomatic damage to relations with China. A second geopolitical dimension to Tibet was its role in US–China relations. American activities seeking to oppose Chinese rule in Tibet must be seen in the context of the Cold War and the fact that the United States did not recognize the Government of the People’s Republic of China as the legitimate Chinese governing authority. Prior to the 1950s, the United States government had limited relations with Tibetan authorities. In 1942, administration officials working under President Franklin Roosevelt contacted the Tibetan government to facilitate the transportation of supplies to troops in China; this led to the visit of two American officers to Tibet that year.60 In 1949, American interest in Tibet grew dramatically following the establishment of the People’s Republic of China, although the US was reluctant to push for international attention to highlight the plight of Tibetans under PRC rule. By the mid 1950s, however, this posture began to change. In the summer of 1956, the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) began what would eventually become a sixteen-year effort to support and train Tibetan resistance fighters. Elements of the Tibetan resistance fighters, known as the Chushi Gangdrug, were first trained in Saipan, then at a secret site in Virginia.61 In 1958, training was expanded to Camp Hale, in Leadville, Colorado. From 1958 to 1964, several hundred Tibetans were trained at Camp Hale ‘in a variety of guerrilla warfare techniques such as paramilitary operations, bomb building, map making, photographic surveillance, radio operation techniques, and intelligence collection’.62 In 1959, American interest in the Tibet issue deepened following the Tibetan rebellion and subsequent flight of the Dalai Lama to India. The United States contemplated treating Tibet as a new Hungary (referring to the Soviet Union’s invasion of Hungary in 1956). A memorandum for record drafted on 23 April 1959, noted that Secretary of Defence Neil McElroy ‘inquired whether this government was doing all it could in order to keep the “ruthless” Chinese Communist action against Tibet on the front pages’.63 The document noted that it would be in the US’s interest to ‘keep it there’ (i.e. the story on the front pages of major newspapers). During this period, the United States government regularly communicated with the Dalai Lama through the US ambassador in New Delhi. In a 6 December 1959 memo to US President Dwight D. Eisenhower, the

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Dalai Lama thanked the US government ‘for not only rendering your active support but also for arousing the interest of all peace-loving nations of the world in the tragic situation the Tibetan people are facing today’.64 He further stated that he would ‘certainly welcome the declaration of the United States Government for the right of self determination to the Tibetan people’.65 Nevertheless, historical documents suggest that the United States followed a careful path with regard to Tibet’s status, notwithstanding supportive (and often effusive) statements towards the Dalai Lama and his representatives. Partially, this was motivated by a desire to avoid creating a political dilemma for the Nehru government, which American officials felt was already under excessive Chinese pressure. India’s opposition to recognizing a Tibetan government-in-exile on their soil in 1959 greatly constrained American enthusiasm for such recognition.66 In addition, American leaders were beginning to question the wisdom of their policy of covertly funding and training Tibetan resistance fighters. At a high level meeting on 4 February 1960, President Eisenhower ‘wondered whether the net result of these [covert training] operations would not be more brutal repressive reprisals by the Chinese Communists’.67 Instead of directly addressing Eisenhower’s question, a CIA representative at the meeting simply responded ‘that there could be no greater brutality than had been experienced in Tibet in the past’.68 As noted earlier, US support for the Tibetan resistance cause must be understood in the context of the Cold War and the American imperative to ‘counter Communist aggression’.69 China’s decision to send troops across the Yalu river in October 1950, thus bringing about the PRC’s entry into the Korean War, reignited the adversarial posture between the CCP and the American government, which had indirect but important implications for Tibet.70 Ironically, many years later, another American military engagement in Asia – the Vietnam War – would also have indirect effects on Tibet, although in a very different way. The American desire to strategically withdraw from Vietnam led to a gradual American acceptance in the 1970s of the Chinese regime in Beijing, which in turn ‘allowed Washington to withdraw from Vietnam without suffering the geostrategic consequences’ that the war was originally designed to prevent.71 Thus, Tibet’s geopolitical salience correspondingly declined and US covert operations in support of Tibet were significantly curtailed. In addition to its effects on India and the United States, the Tibet issue also influenced Sino-Soviet relations. Although the Soviet Union generally supported Chinese military actions in response to the Tibetan rebellion of 1959, such support was tempered as China began to direct its ire towards India’s Prime Minister Nehru. China was dismayed when it became clear that the Soviet Union was more supportive of India than first presumed. This growing rift became particularly obvious when First Secretary of the Soviet Communist Party (CPSU), Nikita Khrushchev, who was visiting Beijing to celebrate the PRC’s tenth anniversary, criticized Chinese leaders

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for ‘trying to solve their disputes with New Delhi by military means’.72 Khrushchev also challenged a number of China’s claims of sovereignty on the Sino-Indian border and, as if to deliver the ultimate blow, ridiculed China for ‘having committed a serious mistake in allowing the Dalai Lama to escape to India’.73 Overall, as China began to emerge as a significant power in the international system (partly a result of its entry into the United Nations and the Security Council in October 1971), the geopolitical importance of Tibet in the Cold War context began to decline significantly. Eventually, the Tibetans would come to realize that, notwithstanding military and other support from foreign governments, they had remained for a number of countries merely a ‘pawn on the imperial chessboard’.74 However, a new and unfolding geopolitical configuration in Asia in the 1970s and 1980s left little political space for the Tibetan cause. This would mark the transition from the geopolitical phase of the Tibetan controversy to the freedom and human rights phase.75 Moreover, this new phase would benefit from both globalization and the internationalization of the Tibet question – and the increasingly effective efforts of both exile Tibetan interest groups and their Western sympathizers.

Globalization and the rise of Tibet as a human rights question On 23 April 2008, the prominent American actor Richard Gere testified before the US Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Gere, who is Chairman of the Board of Directors of the International Campaign for Tibet, commented on the unrest that began in Tibet in March 2008. He asserted that the ‘spontaneous demonstrations and unrest were the direct result of nearly six decades of brutal repression and calculated efforts to control religious practice and attack the very foundation of the Tibetan religious, cultural, and ethnic identity’.76 Later in the testimony, Gere portrayed the controversy as a grand binary struggle, or a ‘tug of war between freedom and repression, survival and extinction’.77 In addition to his enthusiastic promotion of the Tibetan cause, Gere’s testimony – and the fact that it was readily available on the internet and electronic databases – also demonstrated the power of distributed information in a globalized, networked world. The Gere testimony was also emblematic of a transformation in the strategy of exiled Tibetans and their Western supporters, which had its roots in the 1970s. Realizing they had little ‘hard power’ to pressure Beijing, Tibetan activists decided to go on an information offensive. They launched a new information campaign, which recast the Tibet issue as a freedom and human rights matter, rather than a geopolitical issue.78 As part of this campaign, the Dalai Lama travelled around the world and delivered speeches describing the plight of Tibetans, which generated further publicity and sympathy for the Tibetan

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cause. In the United States, the exiled Tibetan leadership enlisted or attracted the support of the mass media (including Hollywood stars) ‘as a means of mobilizing American public opinion in Tibet’s favour’.79 In June 1987, the Dalai Lama delivered his first political speech in the United States, after an invitation from the Congressional Human Rights Caucus. His speech was well received and thus Congress put non-binding measures in place urging the President (and executive branch generally) to ‘make Tibet’s situation a higher policy priority and . . . [to] urge China to establish a constructive dialogue with the Dalai Lama’.80 In June 1988, the Dalai Lama gave speeches to a US Congressional caucus as well as the European Parliament in Strasbourg. In 1989, two critical events occurred which advanced the Tibetan cause. First, the Tiananmen Square crackdown by the Chinese government in 1989 severely tarnished the image of the CCP and highlighted the plight of Tibetans who were popularly viewed as being caught in a David-versus-Goliath struggle for ethnic and political survival.81 Second, the Dalai Lama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989, whereupon he ‘became an international symbol of peace and justice and a powerful spokesman for Tibet’.82 Overall, the various international groups campaigning for Tibet demonstrated that, in an era of globalization and the internet, China could no longer control the parameters of the debate regarding Tibet. In essence, the ‘centre of gravity’ of the Tibet campaign had been partially transported from Dharamsala to major cities throughout the world, and especially in the West. In many ways, this is consistent with Geoffrey Samuel’s argument that Tibet was a ‘stateless society’ in which ‘most Tibetans lived outside the area of the nominal authority of the Lhasa government’.83 Moreover, one factor that has bolstered the potency of the international Tibetan movement is the fact that the Tibetan diaspora – and its Western supporters – is relatively well educated and politically astute and thus able to insert its views or perspectives into respective domestic political processes. In the United States, the US Buddhist community has acted as the base for lobbying on behalf of Tibet. As Barry Sautman observes, US Buddhists tend to be more educated than average Americans and many are similarly more politically active and articulate: ‘They often bring to the Tibetan exile cause a convert’s zeal and are affected by Tibetan exile internal politics.’84 In addition, their campaign is advantaged by the fact that many Americans are fascinated by Tibet, viewing it – or its past manifestations – as a utopia or ‘Shangri-La’, which in turn has seared an enduring and idealistic image into American public consciousness.85 The net effect, as was seen in March 2008, is that the international campaign for Tibet has become extremely powerful and effective, although it has not necessarily improved the plight of Tibetans living in China. It has also, however, evoked a response from the Chinese government which has sought, particularly during the past two years, to counter what it views as a powerful information offensive. Beijing understands that the ‘narrative battles’ over

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Tibet will occur within the realm of electronic information – the internet, news media outlets, and television – within China and, perhaps more importantly, outside of China. China has thus sought to counter this information campaign through press releases (emphasizing China’s position on various Tibetan issues) and cultivation of Chinese scholarship on Tibet, which tends to reflect its various positions. The Chinese narrative has first sought to debunk the utopian image of Tibet prior to 1951; ‘Tibet was never a political and social Shanghri-La before the peaceful liberation.’86 China asserts that Tibet was a backward and feudal society prior to 1951; moreover, the Democratic Reform in 1959 ‘abolished theocratic feudal serfdom, while ending the monopoly of the minority of nobility and senior monks over culture and education’.87 The 28th of March is now commemorated as ‘Serfs Emancipation Day’, which highlights the harsh conditions of the lower classes in Tibet prior to the intervention of Beijing. As noted earlier, Beijing portrays traditional (pre-1950) Tibet in unflattering terms, alleging in particular that the minority ‘serf-owner class’ exploited roughly 95 per cent of the population, which was composed of serfs and slaves.88 Thus, China essentially argues that it has ‘democratized’ Tibetan culture, so that it can be enjoyed by common people, and not merely elites. For example, Beijing contends that Tibet now has twelve large modern libraries, two museums, six multi-functional public art centres, thirty-seven countylevel cultural activity centres, twenty-two satellite stations for sharing cultural resources, 175 township-level cultural centres and 550 village-level culture rooms and halls.89 In addition, Beijing has put much emphasis on improving its ability to project a positive image regarding contemporary Tibet. In November 2008, the Chinese government announced the creation of a new and ‘face-lifted’ multilingual Tibet television channel. The English version of this channel, directed at overseas audiences, would provide about twenty programmes that would highlight different aspects of Tibet, including its economy, religion, tourism, environment, and language, among other subjects.90

Tibet in the context of China’s growing power In November 2008, the US National Intelligence Council issued a report that described various power transitions and transformations that would likely shape the global security environment through to the year 2025. In its chapter on rising powers, the report stated that ‘few countries are poised to have more impact on the world over the next 15–20 years than China. If current trends persist, by 2025 China will have the world’s second largest economy and will be a leading military power.’91 Such an assessment underlies the strategic position that China believes that it enjoys regarding the Tibet issue. Guided by a ‘realist’ outlook that places a premium on the role of power in

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shaping state behaviour in the international system, Beijing recognizes that while the Tibet question attracts enormous sympathy around the world, this does not necessarily translate into ‘hard support’ for Tibetans residing within the PRC, particularly as PRC sovereignty over Tibet is virtually unquestioned by the international community.92 This is particularly significant due to Tibet’s increasing value to China. While Tibet’s geopolitical advantage to China was – and still is – its role as a frontline state in South Asia, its future strategic value may lie in the realm of resources. Tibet is increasingly viewed as a treasure trove of energy resources and minerals; in fact, the TAR holds approximately 40 per cent of China’s mineral resources, including coal, gold, lithium, and copper and ‘what are estimated to be the world’s largest uranium deposits’.93 However, Tibet’s most critical resource is arguably water, particularly as the Tibetan Plateau, which includes the Tibetan Autonomous Region (as well as other provinces), is the source of most of Asia’s major river systems, including the Yellow, Yangtze, Mekong, Salween, Brahmaputra, Ganges, and Indus.94 China’s keen interest in developing Tibet is an underlying reason for development of the Qingzang (Qinghai–Tibet) railway, which stretches more than 710 miles.95 In light of Tibet’s wealth of resources, a realist framework would explain why the PRC could never countenance the idea of diminishing its legal or political sovereignty over the TAR. Similarly, Beijing recognizes that, given China’s rising power, few countries are willing to sacrifice their larger interests – economic, political, and military – to the agenda of Tibetan exiles and activists. In the United States, although there are ambitious pronouncements regarding US concern about the plight of Tibetans – for instance, Deputy Secretary of State Negroponte’s statement that ‘Tibetans have legitimate grievances, stemming from years of repression and Chinese policies that have adversely impacted Tibetan religion, culture and livelihoods’96 – the fact remains that Tibet is relegated to a relatively low to medium priority (particularly within the executive branch), when compared to other issues (such as North Korea, Taiwan, the South China Sea, trade disputes, etc.) that shape the US–China relationship. Similarly, India, despite decades of support granted to the exiled Tibetan leadership, is similarly conflicted with regard to the role of Tibet in the larger geopolitical context of India–China relations. In August 2008, when Tibetan protesters attempted to storm the Chinese embassy in New Delhi, India quickly responded by deploying hundreds of police and paramilitary soldiers, equipped with tear gas and water cannons. ‘Our approach [towards the issue of anti-Chinese protests] is not to allow any illegal or political activity against China by refugees who have to respect the law of the land in India’, stated Indian Foreign Secretary Shivshankar Menon in June 2008.97 India’s main opposition party, the BJP (or Bharatiya Janata Party), criticized the government’s position on Tibet, characterizing it as a ‘complete

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surrender’ to China.98 In fact, it is not entirely clear whether India will allow the Tibetan exile government to remain in Dharamsala following the death of the Dalai Lama.99 Recognizing its growing power, China has also begun more aggressively to apply political muscle to countries that seek to use the Tibet issue to advance political agendas. When the European Parliament passed a resolution on Tibet on 13 March 2009, China responded by urging Europe ‘to immediately stop using Tibet-related issues to interfere in China’s internal affairs’.100 This followed an incident in late 2008, when China attempted to leverage its growing influence to pressure French President Nicolas Sarkozy to halt his visit with the Dalai Lama in Gdansk, Poland, ultimately to no avail. Sarkozy attempted to minimize the furore, arguing that ‘there’s no need to dramatize things’.101 Beijing went so far as to cancel a major China–European Union summit over the issue. Most recently, China used its growing influence to pressure South Africa against allowing the Dalai Lama to attend a peace conference originally scheduled for March 2009. Such pressure campaigns reflect a policy shift, announced by Chinese Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi in early 2009, in which China now urges other countries to ‘not allow the Dalai Lama to visit their countries [and allow] their territories to be used [by] the Dalai Lama to engage in separatist activities’.102 Overall, China’s growing confidence would seem to explain the country’s increasingly hardline stance towards the exiled Tibetan leadership, and particularly the Dalai Lama. When the Dalai Lama returned to Dharamsala in November 2008, for instance, he stated that he had ‘given up’ on talks with Beijing. He reported that China had called him a ‘separatist’ and did not even consider his organization’s memorandum ‘saying it was an agenda of independence’.103 China, however, countered that the Tibetan delegation, which was headed by the Dalai Lama’s private representatives (Lodi Gyari and Kelsang Gyaltsen), was not sincere and used ‘obscure’ words that indicated a possible motive to seek independence. In addition, Beijing accused representatives of the Dalai Lama of supporting organizations (such as the Tibetan Youth Congress) that were seeking Tibetan independence, fanning or organizing ‘violent criminal activities’, and seeking to ‘internationalize the Tibet issue’ (thus causing foreigners to pressure the Chinese government), among other transgressions.104 Thus, the ‘middle way’ option – which was once thought of as a reasonable meeting point between the positions of Tibetan exiles and Beijing – has now been cast as suspect by the Chinese government. Such an uncompromising stance appears to reflect, as some observers have noted, Beijing’s belief that time is on its side. Some believe Beijing is waiting for the Dalai Lama, who is 75 years old, to pass from the political scene. In addition, there are indications that the Chinese government is putting its hope in a new generation of Tibetans who may be less religiously oriented and more willing to embrace the ideas and visions of a modern China.

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China’s peaceful rise and a way forward for Tibet At a speech delivered at the Moscow State Institute for International Relations in 2003, Chinese President Hu Jintao reassured his audience that notwithstanding China’s rise, the country ‘will never seek hegemony . . . [never] be expansionist . . . [and will] always remain a staunch force protecting world peace and promoting development in common’.105 Such talk is emblematic of Beijing’s attempts, through its ‘soft power’ and other diplomatic efforts, to promote a benign and non-threatening image regarding its rise. Beijing has made great efforts in trying to assuage and diminish international concerns and anxieties regarding the country’s economic and military ascendancy. In addition, China orchestrates its soft power campaign towards other state actors by emphasizing its ‘role as a major source of foreign aid, trade and investment’.106 However, China’s policies toward the TAR (past, present, and future) may affect, at least to some degree, the way countries around the world view the rise of China, an image that Beijing is keen to manage. Although the Tibet issue is probably not the most important factor underlying concerns about the rise of China (compared with, for example, China’s annual growth in military expenditures),107 it does raise questions about what sort of country China is likely to become once it obtains substantial national power with global reach. Countries fearful of China’s rise – whether influenced by the Tibet issue or not – may thus seek to balance (internally or externally) against Chinese power, which ultimately may lead to outcomes not necessarily in Beijing’s interest. Another complication for Beijing is the possible impact of the Tibet controversy on future relations with Taiwan. Although there is a view held among some Chinese writers that Taiwan is a chess piece used by the United States to contain China, the reality is that US policy advocates a ‘peaceful resolution’ of the Taiwan matter.108 The presidency of Ma Ying-Jeou appears to have ushered in an unprecedented era of rapprochement between Taiwan and the mainland. In the longer term, if the PRC offers Taiwan an arrangement similar to Hong Kong – a federation or ‘one country, two systems’ type of settlement – it would be in Beijing’s interests to be able to demonstrate a successful and internationally verifiable precedent in the TAR. Thus, notwithstanding the fact that from a realist perspective, Beijing has little to worry about regarding the status of Tibet, the reality is that the international system is simultaneously driven by – or heavily influenced by – liberal notions of norms, values, institutions, and laws. When the United States chose to adopt interrogation policies as part of its ‘war on terrorism’ that appeared to violate international norms and laws, notwithstanding tendentious legal reasoning by US government lawyers, the United States subsequently lost international prestige and its traditional moral leadership position. This decline in moral standing may be a factor

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in the United States’ inability to obtain adequate commitments from NATO allies to increase troop levels in Afghanistan. As far as Tibet’s long-term future is concerned, historical circumstances have bestowed upon the People’s Republic of China the custodianship of the Tibetan nation, not only within the TAR but also within the five contiguous provinces where substantial numbers of Tibetans reside. Moreover, such custodial responsibilities are carried out not only for China’s benefit, but also for the entire world, which has much to learn from Tibet’s cultural and spiritual wealth. As China’s White Paper on Tibet explains: ‘Tibetan culture is a lustrous pearl of Chinese culture as well as a precious part of world culture’.109 As a rising power that seeks to be viewed as peaceful and benevolent, the Chinese government may determine that it has the ‘political space’ – and national self-confidence – to gradually grant Tibet some degree of ‘functional autonomy’,110 while preserving PRC sovereignty over the TAR’s international borders and foreign engagements. Although such an arrangement might be perceived as a major concession on the part of Beijing, the reality is that China would likely gain much more, in terms of international goodwill and strategic influence. Moreover, such policies might attract ethnic Tibetans back from India, thus reducing the role of exiled Tibetans in fostering Sino-Indian rivalry and also neutralizing the potency of New Delhi’s ‘Tibetan card’.111 In this way, Beijing would be in a position to demonstrate convincingly that its political and economic ascendancy on the world stage is something to be celebrated and welcomed, as opposed to being feared and opposed.

Conclusion Since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, Tibet has remained a controversy with international and geopolitical implications. During the Cold War era, Tibetans and Tibetan exiles found themselves ensconced (either by choice or otherwise) in the geopolitical machinations of countries consumed by great power rivalry. The end of the Cold War, the disastrous Tiananmen incident of 1989, and the rise of globalization transformed Tibet into an international issue of freedom and human rights. The Dalai Lama was able to weave Tibet’s struggle into the larger international dialogue about international peace, human rights, environmental protection, democracy, and freedom.112 China’s official view that ‘Tibet is an inalienable part of Chinese territory, and Tibet affairs are exclusively China’s internal affairs’ is correct from the standpoint of national sovereignty.113 But globalization and international concerns about human rights have shaped and transformed the Tibetan controversy in such a way that it thrives within an amorphous and ubiquitous electronic information sphere, which cannot be contained

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(or controlled) by the Chinese government. China’s response – conducting a counter-information campaign while striving to deny the Dalai Lama ‘political space’ for his various activities – reflects both China’s growing power and its persistent insecurities about Tibet. What remains to be seen, however, is whether an increasingly self-confident and powerful China would be willing to grant the Tibetan Autonomous Region some degree of ‘functional autonomy’ – while preserving PRC legal sovereignty – in order to foster a long-term solution to this seemingly intractable and corrosive controversy. Notes 1. The views or opinions expressed here are the author’s own and do not represent the positions or policies of the Naval War College, the Department of Defense, or the United States Government. 2. ‘Timeline of Recent Unrest in Tibet and Neighboring Regions in Western China’, Associated Press (26 March 2008). 3. Ibid. 4. Ibid. 5. S. Clifford, ‘Tibet Backers Show China Value of P.R.’, New York Times (14 April 2008), p. A1. 6. T. Johnson, ‘China Calls Tibet Youth Group a Terrorist Organization’, Knight Ridder (Washington Bureau) (26 November 2008). 7. Y. Huang, ‘China’s Cadre Transfer Policy Toward Tibet in the 1980s’, Modern China 21(2) (April 1995), p. 186. 8. G. Childs et al., ‘Tibetan Fertility Transitions in China and South Asia’, Population and Development Review 31(2) (June 2005), p. 338. 9. Ibid., p. 340. 10. A. Kolas, ‘Tibetan Nationalism: the Politics of Religion’, Journal of Peace Research 33(1) (1996), p. 51. 11. ‘Protection and Development of Tibetan Culture’, Chinese White Paper on Tibet (2008), Xinhua (25 September 2008), reported in BBC Monitoring Asia PacificPolitical (25 September 2008). 12. Kolas, ‘Tibetan Nationalism’, p. 64. 13. Ibid. 14. ‘Protection and Development of Tibetan Culture’. 15. T. Li, ‘The Legal Position of Tibet’, American Journal of International Law 50(2) (April 1956), p. 394. 16. ‘China Focus: China Says No Compromise on National Sovereignty, Refute Dalai’s So-called “Middle Way”’, Xinhua General News Service (10 November 2008). 17. E. Sperling. ‘Don’t Know Much About Tibetan History’, New York Times (13 April 2008), p. 16. 18. C. H. Alexandrowicz-Alexander, ‘The Legal Position of Tibet’, American Journal of International Law 48(2) (April 1954), p. 267. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. M. C. Goldstein and C. M. Beall, ‘The Impact of China’s Reform Policy on the Nomads of Western Tibet’, Asian Survey 29(6) (June 1989), p. 620.

224 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

44. 45. 46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56.

Fixing Fractured Nations Sperling, ‘Don’t Know Much About Tibetan History’, p. 16. Goldstein and Beall, ‘The Impact of China’s Reform Policy’, p. 621. Ibid. Ibid. J. Chen, ‘The Tibetan Rebellion of 1959 and China’s Changing Relations with India and the Soviet Union’, Journal of Cold War Studies 8(3) (Summer 2006), p. 61. G. Xu, ‘The United States and the Tibet Issue’, Asian Survey 37(11) (November 1997), p. 1064. ‘Serfs’ Emancipation Topples Dark Rule in Tibet: Scholar’, Xinhua [in English] (21 January 2009), OSC# CPP20090121968211. Chen, ‘The Tibetan Rebellion of 1959’, p. 73. Ibid., p. 72. As quoted in ibid., pp. 74–6. Ibid. Ibid., p. 77. ‘Protection and Development of Tibetan Culture’. ‘Serfs’ Emancipation Topples Dark Rule in Tibet: Scholar’. Ibid. Ibid. Goldstein and Beall, ‘The Impact of China’s Reform Policy’, p. 623. Ibid. Ibid., p. 625. Ibid. ‘Full text of speech by PRC Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi delivered at the US Center for Strategic and International Studies, 12 March 2009, which is titled: “Work Hard to Advance China–US Comprehensive Cooperative Relations in the 21st Century”’, Xinhua (13 March 2009), OSC# CPP20090313706003. ‘Protection and Development of Tibetan Culture’. P. Stobdan, ‘Fifty Years and Counting. . .’, The Times of India (online) (13 March 2009), OSC #SAP20090313463002. M. C. Goldstein and C. M. Beall, ‘China’s Birth Control Policy in the Tibet Autonomous Region: Myths and Realities’, Asian Survey 31(3) (March 1991), p. 287. D. Martin, ‘China Issues Call to Crush Tibetan “Separatists”’, Agence France Presse (19 February 2009). G. Wong, ‘China Detains 81 People in Tibetan Crackdown’, Associated Press Online (28 January 2009). M. Kramer, ‘Great-Power Rivalries, Tibetan Guerrilla Resistance, and the Cold War in South Asia’, Journal of Cold War Studies 8(3) (Summer 2006), p. 5. Chen, ‘The Tibetan Rebellion of 1959’, p. 80. D. Norbu, ‘Tibet in Sino-Indian Relations: the Centrality of Marginality’, Asian Survey 37(11) (November 1997), p. 1079. ‘Text of Indian and Red China Notes on Tibet Invasion’, New York Times (3 November 1950), p. 6. Ibid. D. Norbu, ‘Strategic Development in Tibet: Implications for its Neighbors’, Asian Survey19(3) (March 1979), p. 258. Chen, ‘The Tibetan Rebellion of 1959’, p. 85. Ibid., p. 87.

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57. ‘Dalai Lama’s meeting with GOI and his continued struggle for freedom and independence of Tibet’. Cable: Central Intelligence Agency, confidential. Issue date: 23 April 1959. Date declassified: 31 March 1995. Reproduced in Declassified Documents Reference System, Farmington Hills, Michigan: Gale, 2009. Document number: CK3100063380. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid. 60. Q. Zhai, ‘Tibet and Chinese–British–American Relations in the Early 1950s’, Journal of Cold War Studies 8(3) (Summer 2006), pp. 39–40. 61. C. McGranahan, ‘Tibet’s Cold War: the CIA and the Chushi Gandrug Resistance’, Journal of Cold War Studies 9(3) (Summer 2006), pp. 113–14. 62. Ibid. 63. ‘Discussions at the 403rd NSC meeting on Chinese Communist aggression in Tibet’. Memo: National Security Council, top secret. Issue date: 23 April 1959. Date declassified: 21 August 1996. Sanitized. Complete. 6 pages. Reproduced in Declassified Documents Reference System, Farmington Hills, Michigan: Gale, 2009. 64. ‘Tibetan spiritual and political leader, the Dalai Lama, expresses his appreciation to President Dwight D. Eisenhower for US support of the fight for Tibet’s independence’. Letter: White House. Omitted. Issue date: 6 December 1959. Date declassified: April 1996. Unsanitized. Complete. 2 pages. Reproduced in Declassified Documents Reference System. Farmington Hills, Michigan: Gale, 2009. 65. Ibid. 66. J. K. Knaus, Orphans of the Cold War: America and the Tibetan Struggle for Survival (New York: Public Affairs, 1999), p. 189. 67. ‘Secretary of State John Foster Dulles briefs President Dwight D. Eisenhower on CIA operations in support of the Tibetan resistance movement against Communist China’. Memo: White House. Secret. Issue date: 4 February 1960. Date declassified: 24 November 1998. Unsanitized. Incomplete. Reproduced in Declassified Documents Reference System. Farmington Hills, Michigan: Gale, 2009. Document number CK3100156386. 68. Ibid. 69. M. C. Goldstein, A History of Modern Tibet, 1913–1951 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1989), p. 786. 70. M. M. Sheng, ‘Mao, Tibet, and the Korean War’, Journal of Cold War Studies 8(3) (Summer 2006), p. 15. 71. H. White, ‘Why War in Asia Remains Thinkable’, Survival 50(6) (December– January 2008–9), p. 90. 72. Jian, ‘The Tibetan Rebellion of 1959’, p. 95. 73. Ibid. 74. McGranahan, ‘Tibet’s Cold War’, p. 112. 75. M. C. Goldstein, ‘The United States, Tibet, and the Cold War’, Journal of Cold War Studies 8(3) (Summer 2006), p. 156. 76. Statement of Richard Gere, President, the Gere Foundation, before the Committee on Senate Foreign Relations, CQ Congressional Testimony (23 April 2008). 77. Ibid. 78. Goldstein, ‘The United States, Tibet, and the Cold War’, p. 156. 79. D. Norbu, China’s Tibet Policy (Richmond, UK: Curzon Press, 2001), p. 273. 80. K. Dumbaugh, ‘Tibet: Problems, Prospects, and US Policy’, Congressional Research Service Report for Congress (Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service, April 2008), p. 16.

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81. Norbu, China’s Tibet Policy, p. 272. 82. Goldstein, ‘The United States, Tibet, and the Cold War’, 160. 83. G. Samuel, ‘Tibet as a Stateless Society and Some Islamic Parallels’, Journal of Asian Studies 41(2) (February 1982), p. 215. 84. B. Sautman, ‘The Tibet Issue in Post-Summit Sino-American Relations’, Pacific Affairs 72(1) (Spring 1999), p. 16. 85. Norbu, China’s Tibet Policy, p. 272. 86. ‘West in Dark on Tibet, Basic Facts Shed Light’, Chinadaily.com.cn (20 February 2009). 87. ‘China Issues White Paper on Tibet, Denies “Cultural Genocide”’, BBC Monitoring International Reports (25 September 2008). 88. ‘Serfs’ emancipation topples dark rule in Tibet: scholar’, Xinhua General News Service, 21 January 2009. 89. ‘Protection and Development of Tibetan Culture’. 90. ‘China’s Xinhua Website Launches “Face-Lifted” Multilingual Tibet Channel’, Xinhua (2008), reported in BBC Monitoring Asia Pacific-Political, 25 November 2008. 91. Global Trends 2025: a Transformed World (Washington, DC: National Intelligence Council, 2008), p. 29. 92. For a good discussion of China’s ‘realist’ inclinations, see H. Wang, ‘Multilateralism in Chinese Foreign Policy: the Limits of Socialization’, Asian Survey 40(3) (2000), p. 487. 93. ‘Tibet’, Jane’s Sentinel Security Assessment – China and Northeast Asia (2 May 2008) (electronic edition). 94. M. Zhao and O. Schell, ‘Tibet: Plateau in Peril’, World Policy Journal (Autumn 2008), p. 174. 95. T. Mathou, ‘Tibet and its Neighbors: Moving Toward a New Chinese Strategy in the Himalayan Region’, Asian Survey 45(4) (July–August 2005), p. 506. 96. Statement of John D. Negroponte, Deputy Secretary of State, Department of State, CQ Congressional Testimony (23 April 2008). 97. ‘China “Naturally” Raises Tibet Issue with Indian Minister – Official’ [text of report by Indian news agency PTI], BBC Monitoring South Asia-Political (6 June 2008). 98. ‘Indian Opposition Party Accuses Government of “Complete Surrender” before China’ [text of report by Indian news agency PTI], BBC Monitoring South AsiaPolitical (29 April 2008). 99. Kramer, ‘Great-Power Rivalries’, p. 14. 100. ‘Foreign Ministry Spokesman: China Urges the European Parliament to Stop Using Tibet-Related Issues to Interfere in China’s Internal Affairs’, Beijing Xinhua Domestic Service (13 March 2009), OSC# CPP20090313172017. 101. G. Wong, ‘China Lodges Protest over Dalai Lama Meeting’, Associated Press (8 December 2008). 102. K. Kwok, ‘Beijing Calls for an End to Visits by Dalai Lama’, South China Morning Post (8 March 2009), p. 6. 103. ‘India: Tight Security for Tibetans “Special” Conclave’ [Indian news agency PTI, 2008], reported in BBC Monitoring South Asia-Political (17 November 2008). 104. ‘China says Serious Differences in Talks with Private Envoys of Dalai Lama’, Xinhua, reported in BBC Monitoring Asia Pacific-Political (10 November 2008). 105. ‘Text of Hu Jintao’s speech at Moscow State Institute for International Relations’, World News Connection (Lexis-Nexis Database) (23 May 2003).

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106. T. Lum et al., China’s ‘Soft Power’ in Southeast Asia (Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service) (4 January 2008), p. 1. 107. Office of the Secretary of Defense, Military Power of the People’s Republic of China 2009 – Annual Report to Congress (Washington, DC, 2009), p. 31. 108. K. Dumbaugh, Taiwan–US Relations: Recent Developments and their Policy Implications (Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service) (7 January 2009), p. 18. 109. ‘Protection and Development of Tibetan Culture’. 110. Functional autonomy, as envisioned by this author, would entail a revival of the primacy of Tibetan culture and language within the TAR. Among other things, it would privilege ethnic Tibetans in public education, as well as give preference to ethnic Tibetans in civil service hiring procedures. It would also strengthen Tibetan religious institutions and ensure that religious traditions and clergy are not constrained or otherwise infringed upon by the state. Functional autonomy would not challenge PRC sovereignty over Tibet, however, particularly with regard to Tibet’s external relations. Functional autonomy would be the ‘end state’, not a condition precedent to any further autonomy or political distancing from the Chinese state. 111. Norbu, China’s Tibet Policy, p. 294. 112. Ibid., p. 273. 113. ‘Full text of speech by PRC Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi delivered at the US Center for Strategic and International Studies, 12 March 2009’.

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Part IV Pacific Islands

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11 Papua New Guinea The Melting Pot: Ethnicity, Identity, and Separatism in Bougainville, Papua New Guinea Jim Rolfe

Introduction On 12 November 2004 the Constitution of the Autonomous Region of Bougainville was adopted. Bougainville remained a constituent part of the Independent State of Papua New Guinea (PNG, the country’s full name), but an Autonomous Bougainville Government (ABG), with a charter to develop and promote Bougainville’s autonomy, was established. The ABG is to a large extent, or will be when the processes are complete, effectively an independent government. Bougainville has gained significant autonomy and PNG avoided losing completely a large and potentially wealthy region. The adoption of the Bougainville Constitution effectively brought one chapter of a long-running and often violent dispute between the people of Bougainville (or North Solomons as they had preferred to be called at times to differentiate themselves from the remainder of PNG) to a close. Bougainville’s secessionist conflict had been the ‘most violent and sustained . . . to have occurred anywhere in the Pacific’.1 The demand for independence had been resisted not only by the central government, but also by many on Bougainville, a characteristic that made the conflict particularly bloody. Although a chapter closed in 2004, the story has not. In the thirty years before the development of the Constitution there had been earlier attempts at autonomy, civil war, mediation, and truce and peace agreements. Still to come are the development of comprehensive systems of internal governance and a final referendum on the region’s future. The events show the complex nature of ethnic identity in this region, and how ethnicity melds with other forms of identity, attracts or is attracted by separate grievances (‘economic and social development can disrupt traditional patterns and cause dislocations, on which ethnic resentment can feed’2), and leads to conflict and ultimately, in this case, reconciliation. Ethnicity is always a difficult and often contested concept, and this is especially so in Melanesia generally and in PNG specifically. In this region 231

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ethnicity is rarely based on ‘race’. Instead, identity groups are based on family, tribe, village, island, and other such groupings horizontally, and loyalty to a ‘bigman’ or ‘bigwoman’ vertically in what are known as ‘wantok’ (one-talk, language group) relationships.3 These relationships have been described as being based on ‘land, locale and descent lines’.4 PNG is a colonial construct with no form of political (or other) unity before European colonization. Instead it is made up of thousands of more or less independent tribal units. In many ways it is ‘a state in search of a nation’.5 On most measures of ethnolinguistic diversity PNG is probably the most heterogeneous state in the world with some 852 different languages spoken in a population of about 5.3 million.6 Bougainville itself has a population of 175,000 and eighteen distinct languages.7 Using standard definitions of ethnicity as comprising groups with a distinctive language, customs, and memories allowing them to distinguish themselves and be distinguished from other groups, then PNG may have more than 1,000 such ethnic groups within its borders.8 This is not normally an issue because these groups have generally conducted their often conflictual politics locally rather than nationally.9 Part of the difficulty in defining what constitutes an ethnic group in PNG is the ‘sheer variation of its ethnic structure’,10 which limits the ability to make generalizations. Even stronger: ‘in Bougainville . . . the concept of ethnicity itself is difficult to apply’.11 The extreme version has it that there are no ethnic groups involved in the Bougainville dispute. Former PNG Justice Minister Bernard Narokobi asserted before the UN Human Rights Commission that ‘there is no such tribe as Bougainville’ to refute any historical or cultural basis for Bougainville independence.12 Narokobi was, of course, arguing as a central government minister against the attempt by a province to separate from the state. Given that people in Bougainville as elsewhere do identify themselves as part of a distinctive group, ethnicity does exist and is, as elsewhere, a mixture of primordial and constructed factors. In Bougainville the degree to which constructed factors add to and vary the primordial mix varies considerably from the norms in other parts of the world. Separatist conflict in Bougainville is equally as complex as its ethnicity. It should be seen as a component of wider problems relating to a general breakdown in governance regionally, long-running grievances held since colonial times, and a belief that the centre privileges itself at the expense of the regions. The breakdown of governance across the region can be seen at the macro-level with the characterization of (parts of) the region as forming an ‘arc of instability’ to Australia’s north and northeast,13 populated by at least one ‘failing state’,14 to the extent that the region could be described as having been ‘Africanized’.15 Many states in this region, one might conclude, are ‘failed, failing or fragile’; a term that dates from the 1990s to aggregate a range of otherwise disparate states.16

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Reilly notes that the most problematic Pacific states in terms of stability and success, however measured, are in Melanesia rather than Polynesia (or, indeed Micronesia).17 As failed, failing, or fragile entities the states are particularly prone to bouts of internecine conflict and, as recent violence in Solomon Islands shows, ethnicity is as useful a ‘reason’ for this as any other. Melanesian states have suffered army mutinies, coups and separatist armed conflict, and internal civil war. Reilly does not conclude that ethnic diversity is the sole cause of state weakness, but he does argue that a combination of factors, including ethnic diversity, ‘appears to have generated particular pathologies of governance, with a focus on rent-seeking by ethnic interest groups leading to collective action problems, the under-provision of public goods, and below-par economic performance’.18 The concept of ethnicity and the concept of separatism are relative latecomers to Bougainville. The former is a consequence of colonialism, which began in 1884, and the latter, the politicization of ethnic identity, began in the 1960s in the context of decolonization and of grievances against the colonial regime.19 Both factors are important in understanding the separatist movement, but difficult to generalize from, even as linked issues, because the wider context within which ethnic separatist impulses flared is important. In Papua New Guinea the most serious separatist issue has been that of Bougainville province and its Bougainville Revolutionary Army which, in the period 1989–98, fought a bloody separatist war with the central government. Although this conflict was not primarily about ethnicity, it was always a sub-text with the Bougainville separatists fighting the ‘redskins’ of Papua New Guinea.20 It is almost unnecessary to note that the people of Bougainville are distinctly darker in skin colour than the rest of PNG and closer to the people of neighbouring Solomon Islands, because of the arbitrary nature of the boundaries drawn in colonial times. But ethnonationalist tendencies have been just one component of a much more complicated mixture. In 1975, immediately following independence from Australia, separatism was primarily to do with the distribution of resources and that was still an issue in 1989. The dynamics of the conflict exacerbated the ‘us’ and ‘them’ nature of the conflict.21 The immediate cause of the violence that broke out on Bougainville in 1989 was an intergenerational dispute within landowning communities over the distribution of revenues from the Panguna copper mine. Violence against the mine, intended primarily to get more revenue from it, led to a violent response by PNG armed forces and degenerated into a combination of civil war among the people of Bougainville themselves (not all of whom supported secession) and between the secessionist forces within Bougainville and the central government. The conflict is perhaps best understood initially as a civil war in which villages, clans, and families were divided between those who supported the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA), which demanded independence

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from PNG, and those who supported the national government, known as the Bougainville Resistance Forces (BRF).22 Separatism became important after the conflict had started rather than being a cause of the conflict. Local considerations (the alignment of or perceived threat from a long-standing enemy, for example) were often as important in determining which side was supported as were issues of principle. Consequently, it is not easy to argue that any one identity group (such as an ethnic group) was dominant in the autonomy process and not easy to argue that this is a case of one ethnic group versus another. In light of these ambiguities, ‘the very issue of whether “Bougainville” constitutes an ethnic identity has been a point of contention.’23

Papua New Guinea and Bougainville Bougainville’s identity had been formed during colonial times from a range of factors that included: • characterization of tribal ethnic identities by missionaries and colonial administrators; • the use by plantation owners and police of Bougainvilleans in other parts of PNG, reinforcing their sense of difference and perhaps superiority; • the sense by Bougainvilleans that they were ‘superior’ because after World War Two they did not work on plantations; • dislike of the outsiders who came into Bougainville following the construction of mines and associated infrastructure; • close ethnic and cultural links with the western Solomons; and • neglect by the central government.24 The ethnic-cultural-emotional gap between the people of Bougainville and other citizens of Papua New Guinea is encapsulated in the way that Bougainvilleans refer to other PNG citizens as ‘redskins’ to differentiate themselves and their distinctly darker skin colour. Secessionist impulses had been expressed in the 1960s as Bougainvilleans voiced concerns about colonial governance and their relationship with the centre and about the ways that revenue from the newly established and very profitable Panguna copper mine was not used for the benefit of the province. In the years leading up to independence as part of the processes leading to decolonization Bougainville’s leaders had been able to negotiate a set of what they believed would be constitutionally entrenched autonomy arrangements for their province with the Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC), established in 1972. Other provinces had similar although more generalized sets of arrangements for autonomy. Papua New Guinea gained independence from Australia in 1975 with a system of governance designed to reflect PNG’s diversity and to give the people an opportunity ‘to actively participate in the process of government’.25

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Almost simultaneously, however, Bougainville unilaterally declared itself completely independent of PNG and styled itself as the ‘Republic of North Solomons’: North Solomons to emphasize their province’s links with its state neighbour. Bougainville’s action was taken as a result of the central government ignoring the recommendations of the CPC, particularly in the central government’s opposition to entrenched autonomy arrangements and the supremacy of provincial over national laws. Bougainville’s leaders considered that they had been unsuccessful in their attempts to move PNG on a path of more thoroughly devolved autonomy rather than on the more centralized state system ultimately chosen by the national government,26 and they believed that their only viable approach was to become independent. Bougainville’s leaders sought support from the United Nations and they attempted to form some kind of political arrangement with Solomon Islands. Neither initiative succeeded. Independence attempts did not succeed in 1975 because of a lack of external support. Moves to gain significant autonomy did not succeed because the imperatives of the development of a centralized state on independence conflicted with the necessary political fluidity of a federal arrangement; such fluidity being especially important in a new state developing its own processes to some extent by trial and error.27 Specifically, in Bougainville, there was no agreement between the central and provincial governments over the degree of financial autonomy for the province. Overall then, before independence autonomous provincial government had failed to work well and the relationship between central and provincial governments had become quite strained. Despite this, Bougainville’s provincial government was strong in itself. It had strong community support, a strong revenue base, and good relations with the central government. What the government did not have, however, was the ability to control key components of the physical and financial infrastructure, or the ability to control the movement of people into Bougainville attracted by economic opportunities.28 These outsiders often took over customary land and were seen as undermining traditional authority and cultural values and as contributing to a growing problem with disorder. The provincial government had little if any ability to respond effectively to the tensions raised by these issues. Consequently, although the North Solomons as an independent or even semi-autonomous province did not last, the sense of identity engendered by its short existence did. Ethnic identities and secessionist impulses remained generally quiescent until the late 1980s, although in the 1970s, after the Panguna mine had been operating for some years, then provincial premier Sarei asked ‘are we to be a fat cow, milked for the rest of Papua New Guinea?’29 The answer, as far as PNG was concerned then, was ‘yes’; and to the extent that that remains the case today may be a continuing source of conflict.

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Conflict between the people of Bougainville in their diverse manifestations, the mine owner, and the government of PNG began in early 1989, with the proximate cause being the development of the Panguna copper mine within the area of a language group (one of nineteen on the island) called Nasioi without any significant benefits being received by the local people.30 The Nasioi, however, had cultural links with western Solomon Islands rather than Bougainville, a consequence of the colonial boundary drawn in the early twentieth century as German New Guinea was taken over and administered by Australia. One scholar has argued ‘that the disillusion and disaffection with the colonial experience, together with sentiments that recognized connections with the Solomon Islands rather than Papua New Guinea were widespread among Nasioi before 1964’.31 Initial tensions were intergenerational between the landowners themselves and were related to the distribution of compensation and rents within and between the landowning group.32 At first, the mine itself was the issue rather than secession, but the over-enthusiastic response to the disorder by PNG police and later the PNG Defence Force (redskin outsiders) gave the conflict a distinctly ethnic character. By mid-1989, following appalling human rights abuses by the armed forces, the BRA had been established and secession was the formal goal of the group of young landowners controlling the area around the Panguna mine. The BRA developed a core ideology that focused on the ways that outsiders (a generous definition of ‘outsider’ was used to include ‘wealthy Bougainvilleans’) had caused the province’s problems.33 Traditional ways had been lost and the outsiders’ influence had to be removed to ensure that customary roots could be rediscovered. The mine was closed in 1989 because of the disruption caused by Francis Ona’s Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) group. Attempts by the PNG government to negotiate compensation were rejected, in large part because the PNG Defence Force was effectively out of control and acting with extreme brutality. In early 1990 a ceasefire and withdrawal of the military and of police riot squads was negotiated. In the event all the police, not just the riot squads, left and central government authority in the area collapsed completely. Within months Ona ‘declared independence’ and, given the widespread although not unanimous support he could command, could have achieved it if the BRA had been at all disciplined. Instead, there was no effective organization and the core of the independence movement retreated into a mystical ideology, the main components of which were a rejection of all forms of modernity, defined to include education, health, and significant economic activity. Ona formed a Bougainville Interim Government (BIG) to give a ‘civilian’ face to the independence movement and to gain recognition in the international arena. The BIG had little influence over the BRA and neither the BIG nor the BRA had influence over the fighters who were local and who

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had a range of motivations, many of them criminal, for fighting. The lack of coherent organization and the degeneration of the conflict into a fight against an ever-expanding definition of ‘enemy’ meant that many Bougainvilleans withdrew support for the BRA and the independence movement, and began to oppose them through the formation of ‘resistance’ groups. By mid to late 1990 the ethnonationalist component of the independence movement had begun to degenerate into a more or less free-for-all civil war in which tensions between villages, between mountain and coastal districts, between (perceived) wealthy and poor, and between those who had power and those who wanted it led inexorably to conflict and killing. Violence became the ‘main means of resolving disputes’.34 The next nine years were a mixture of bloody fighting between central forces and the BRA and internally between different groups on Bougainville, and attempts at developing a form of settlement between the warring groups. A failed peace conference was held in 1994 and there were further conferences in 1995. There was little good faith in these conferences; indeed in January 1996, as BIG and BRA members returned to Bougainville following a conference in Australia between the parties, the PNGDF (perhaps, but not necessarily on the instructions of the PNG Government) attacked the leadership group, and between then and 1997 killings continued unabated. The BRA retaliated in kind. No categorical assessment of numbers of dead in the civil war can be made. Estimates range from 12,000 to 14,000 to around 50,000 or much higher.35 Estimates at the extremes may be designed to serve some political end, but for a territory with a population of Bougainville’s even the lower number represents between 6 and 10 per cent of the population. In addition, by mid-1994, some 50,000 residents (between one-third and one-quarter of the population) were in ‘care centres’ or refugee camps. Built up areas were mostly completely destroyed by the years of fighting. By 1997 most participants were ready to stop fighting. Women’s groups were especially vocal in calling for an end to the cycle of violence. At a series of conferences in New Zealand in mid and late 1997 a truce was brokered between all the parties. The truce led to a ceasefire and allowed detailed political negotiations to occur over a protracted period between June 1999 and August 2001 when a detailed peace agreement was signed. The civil wars were particularly bloody and the course of the conflict and the attempts at achieving some form of peace particularly convoluted. By the time peace negotiations were able to begin substantively in 1999 (following a period of some two years in which the different groups within Bougainville had to resolve their differences) there were, broadly, three factions within Bougainville: those who wanted to secede from PNG, those who supported stronger autonomy within PNG, and those who refused to join the peace process at all on the grounds that independence had already been achieved.36

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Before peace negotiations began in mid-1999 several compromises were made. Demands for independence were dropped in favour of a referendum amongst Bougainvilleans, but deferred to allow a reconciliation process to take place.37 The political settlement was central to the success of the peace process.38 Peace negotiations led to an agreement on enhanced autonomy for Bougainville and for the issue of independence to be kept alive and revisited through a referendum for Bougainvilleans on independence, deferred for between ten and fifteen years after establishing the autonomous government.

Autonomy From 2001 Bougainville was no longer a province of Papua New Guinea but an ‘autonomous political entity’. Following the development of its Constitution in 2004 it became an ‘autonomous region’. The promise of autonomy had been fundamental to being able to achieve agreement between the antagonists. The August 2001 peace agreement, a ‘joint creation by the Government of the Independent State of Papua New Guinea and Leaders representing the people of Bougainville’ was built on ‘three pillars’: autonomy for Bougainville; a referendum on independence; and a weapons disposal plan.39 The three pillars are interlinked and sequenced. Interpretations of the peace agreement to implement it are to be made ‘liberally, by reference to its intentions, and without undue reference to technical rules of construction’.40 Autonomy involves the development of an autonomous government under its own Constitution and with lists of powers reserved respectively to the national and autonomous government. Now, only a small range of legislative powers is reserved to the national government and in the exercise of some its powers (such as defence, foreign affairs, and law and order) PNG is required to consult with and encourage the participation of Bougainville on issues that might affect Bougainville.41 A detailed list of powers reserved to the autonomous government was not a part of the peace agreement, but generally they will eventually incorporate ‘all known and identifiable powers not on the national government list’. Bougainville now has the right to establish its own judiciary (subject to the continuing right of appeal to the PNG Supreme Court), a public service, and a police force. Bougainville also has the right to transfer central powers to itself by giving twelve months’ notice and then working with the PNG government to ensure it has the capacity to exercise the powers. The second pillar of the agreement guarantees a referendum on Bougainville’s future status. The referendum, which will include an option of independence, will be held between ten and fifteen years following the election of the ABG. The referendum does not have to be held if Bougainville

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decides it does not want one, and if it is to be held the PNG government can demand specified conditions be met, such as the disposal of weapons (the third pillar of the peace agreement) and that ‘good governance’ be established and maintained. Most importantly, the result of the referendum is advisory rather than binding – in itself a potential source of future conflict if the final decision-making authority, the National Parliament, does not ratify the referendum’s result. Weapons disposal, the third pillar, is being implemented in stages area by area and is overseen by a sub-committee of the Peace Process Consultative Committee and chaired by the UN Observer Mission on Bougainville. The arrangements for autonomy contained in the peace agreement are a compromise between all parties. Bougainville still sends members to the National Parliament, but as Bougainville is outside the Organic Law on Provincial Government and Local Level Governments Bougainville’s MPs do not participate in consultative or planning mechanisms and do not have access to the same government funds as MPs from other parts of the country.42 As a result of their inability to access central funding systematically, a lack of financial resources continues to be a problem for the ABG. Not all of Bougainville is subject to the autonomy and disarmament processes. The hard core of Francis Ona’s closest supporters rejects the process and road blocks are still hindering access to the Panguna mine area, the focus of the fighting between 1989 and 1997. Although the political processes have gone ahead, there is still much to be done to repair infrastructure lost through ‘destruction, damage, or neglect’ during the fighting and subsequently.43 If this is not acted upon there is still the possibility that Bougainville will again consider that it is not being treated fairly. As part of the autonomy process, and with a considerable learning curve for all parties, the ABG and national government have had to develop a modus vivendi. The main mechanism for consultation, cooperation, and prevention of disputes (and their resolution if necessary) is a Joint Supervisory Body established by the Bougainville Peace Agreement. In early 2006 the ABG produced the first five-yearly instalment of a rolling plan, the Strategic Action Plan 2006–2010. This does not prioritize its goals and does not specify how it will be funded.44 Bougainville is now moving quite quickly in the direction of greater political and economic independence, although much remains to be done. Also, it is not clear that an independence referendum will necessarily succeed at the expense, for example, of an option for greater autonomy within PNG. By then that might not matter, but equally if a solid rump of the separatist movement will not accept anything short of independence then there could be a recurrence of the violence. Bougainville’s politicians hope that mining revenues will allow them to repair destroyed infrastructure and raise living standards, but this has

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brought them into conflict with PNG about the terms of the autonomy arrangements that originally ended the war in 1997.45 The seeds of potential failure are here also. It is too soon to argue that Bougainville is, or will be a ‘failed state’. Boege argues that Bougainville is a ‘hybrid political order’ with a ‘golden opportunity for a fresh start . . . to build a new form of statehood based on positive mutual accommodation of indigenous customary institutions and introduce western institutions’.46 This may be so, but there is still much baggage to be worked through before that opportunity becomes a fact.

Conclusions This case reflects the reality of many so-called ethnic separatist conflicts. The issue is rarely so simple that it can be reduced to a simple slogan about ethnicity or separatism. Instead, there are often (perhaps normally) mixed motives strongly but differently held by all the antagonists, and causes and effects are interrelated and can and do change to meet new circumstances. In Bougainville at different times conflict has been about resource control, both within the local area and between the local and national arenas, ethnic autonomy, and the impulses of anarchy that may appear whenever both central and local restraints disappear. Overall ethnic separatism might have been the least of the factors in material terms, although it undoubtedly had the strongest emotional resonance and the greatest appeal in international terms as without the sense of ‘self determination’ wider interest would have been difficult to attract. An important lesson is that although internal administrative boundaries might act as a focus for a territorial identity, some pre-existing political or cultural consciousness is necessary for effective devolution. Bougainville had this, other parts of PNG did not, and consequently ethnic identity has played only a limited role elsewhere in PNG.47 Bougainville’s relative success could, however, resonate more widely in PNG and lead to new demands for greater autonomy for the provinces from the centre. In this respect, the ways that profits from the exploitation of natural resources are divided will be crucial to PNG’s longer-term stability. Ethnicity was a useful hook on which to focus the conflict. PNG’s redskins were clearly different from the people of Bougainville and the BRA had few economic or financial resources to draw upon. Ethnic solidarity not only provided a powerful political rationale, but also generated the manpower and matériel necessary for the successful guerrilla campaign.48 But ethnicity was not the original casus belli and did not sustain the conflict. The secessionist movement changed with time, as did the conflict engendered by it. From a resource-based conflict, it evolved into a them and us ethnonationalist conflict with independence at its base and from there,

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because of institutional failings, degenerated into anarchic and formless civil war. Resource control was at the base of the independence conflict, as it had been at the base of the attempt to gain independence in 1975. Ethnicity was a sub-text, but it was not the whole story and it was not even the most important part of the story for much of the period of the conflict. Because of the range of motivations and agendas in internal conflict of this kind, the path to a solution is rarely obvious. Even when a solution might appear obvious to an outsider, because of the internecine nature of this kind of conflict personal antagonisms and hidden histories may derail any attempts at resolution. This was the history in Bougainville. Solutions often appear only ‘when the time is ripe’. In this case initiatives for talks and a ceasefire during the early years of the conflict did not succeed because there was no real will on either side for them to succeed, although it must be noted that those not involved in the conflict, but affected by it, desperately wanted it to stop. By 1997 talks were able to proceed to ultimate success because all sides of the conflict had concluded that there was no solution through the use of force and that some form of political settlement and social reconciliation had to be found, as it was. Now, Bougainville’s autonomy is different in kind from the relationship other provinces within PNG have with the central government. This brings its own challenges, both for PNG and for the ABG. In the future this could change as other provinces gain greater autonomy. As long ago as 1999 Stephen Pokawin, a PNG member of Parliament and provincial governor, argued that ‘the provinces need to be empowered to function as autonomous units within the national framework without reference to national government.’49 He noted that there would need to be changes to the Constitution to affirm that ‘political power originates from the people’ and that ‘autonomous units of development would stand a better chance of meeting the challenges brought about by rapid changes’ – the issue in Bougainville. We now know that constitutional change along these lines is completely possible. PNG is a melting pot that runs counter to the prevailing wisdom of the ‘nation-state’ as the ideal state form. The country is an extreme form of multination state, and as such faces special problems in achieving state unity. The challenge is to develop a form of political management that allows the constituent identity groups to function effectively within the PNG state without going through the drawn-out and violent conflict experienced by Bougainville. Notes 1. B. Reilly, ‘Ethnic Conflict in Papua New Guinea’, Asia-Pacific Viewpoint 49(1) (April 2008), p. 18. 2. Y. Ghai and A. Regan, The Law, Politics and Administration of Decentralisation in Papua New Guinea (Waigani: The National Research Institute, 1992), p. 5.

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3. C. Moore, ‘Pacific View: the Meaning of Governance and Politics in the Solomon Islands’, Australian Journal of International Affairs 62(3) (September 2008), pp. 392–3. 4. G. M. White, ‘Natives and Nations: Identity Formation in Post-Colonial Melanesia’, in R. Prazniak and A. Dirlik (eds), Places and Politics in an Age of Globalization (Boulder, CO: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001), p. 146. 5. Reilly, ‘Ethnic Conflict in Papua New Guinea’, p. 13. 6. Ibid. 7. Y. P. Ghai and A. J. Regan, ‘Bougainville and the Dialectics of Autonomy, Ethnicity and Separation’, in Yash Ghai (ed.), Autonomy and Ethnicity: Negotiating Competing Claims in Multi-Ethnic States (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 243. 8. S. Levine, ‘Culture and Conflict in Fiji, Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu and the Federated States of Micronesia’, in M. E. Brown and S. Ganguly (eds), Government Policies and Ethnic Relations in the Asia-Pacific (Cambridge, MA and London: MIT Press, 1997), p. 479. 9. Reilly, ‘Ethnic Conflict in Papua New Guinea’, 12. 10. Ibid., p. 13. 11. G. M. White, ‘Natives and Nations: Identity Formation in Post-Colonial Melanesia’, in Prazniak and Dirlik (eds), Places and Politics in an Age of Globalization, p. 144. 12. Cited in ibid., p. 145. 13. R. May, ‘Arc of Instability’: Melanesia in the Early 2000s, Occasional Paper 4 (Christchurch: Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies, Canterbury University, 2003). 14. ASPI, Our Failing Neighbour: Australia and the Future of Solomon Islands (Canberra: Australian Strategic Policy Institute, 2003), p. 3. 15. B. Reilly, ‘The Africanisation of the South Pacific’, Australian Journal of International Affairs 54(3) (November 2000). 16. See for example E. S. Reinert, Y. Ekoué Amaïzo, and R. Kattel, ‘The Economics of Failed, Failing and Fragile States: Productive Structure as the Missing Link’, Policy Innovations, Carnegie Council (2007), http://www.policyinnovations.org/ideas/ policy_library/data/01442/_res/id=sa_File1/Paper.pdf, accessed 10 January 2009. 17. B. Reilly, ‘State Functioning and State Failure in the South Pacific’, Australian Journal of International Affairs 58(4) (December 2004): 479–93. 18. Ibid., p. 490. 19. Ghai and Regan, ‘Bougainville and the Dialectics of Autonomy, Ethnicity and Separation’. 20. A. J. Regan, ‘The Bougainville Conflict: Political and Economic Agendas’, in K. Ballentine and J. Sherman (eds), The Political Economy of Armed Conflict: Beyond Greed and Grievance (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2003), p. 163. 21. Y. Ghai and A. Regan, ‘Unitary State, Devolution, Autonomy, Secession: State Building and Nation Building in Bougainville, Papua New Guinea’, Round Table 95(386) (September 2006), p. 601. 22. E. P. Wolfers, ‘Challenges of Autonomy in Papua New Guinea’s Autonomous Region of Bougainville’, Journal of Pacific Studies 30 (2007), p. 5. 23. White, ‘Natives and Nations’, p. 145. 24. A. J. Regan, ‘Causes and Courses of the Bougainville Conflict’, Journal of Pacific History 33(3) (1998), p. 273; J. Connell, ‘Bougainville: the Future of an Island Microstate’, Journal of Pacific Studies 28(2) (November 2005), p. 193. 25. S. P. Pokawin, ‘Greater Autonomy for Provinces: a Strategy for Meaningful Development for Papua New Guinea’, Development Bulletin 50 (1999), p. 41.

Papua New Guinea: the Melting Pot 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47. 48.

49.

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Ghai and Regan, ‘Unitary State, Devolution, Autonomy, Secession’, p. 593. Ibid., p. 595. Ibid., p. 596. Connell, ‘Bougainville: the Future of an Island Microstate’, p. 197. J. Rolfe, ‘Peacekeeping the Pacific Way in Bougainville’, International Peacekeeping 8(4) (Winter 2001), p. 41. Cited in ibid., p. 42. Regan, ‘Causes and Courses’, p. 277. Ibid. Ibid., p. 279. Rolfe, ‘Peacekeeping the Pacific Way’, p. 43. Ghai and Regan, ‘Unitary State, Devolution, Autonomy, Secession’, p. 597. Ibid. A. J. Regan, ‘The Bougainville Political Settlement and the Prospects for Sustainable Peace’, Pacific Economic Bulletin 17(1) (May 2002), Policy Dialogue, p. 117. Bougainville Peace Agreement, signed between the parties at Arawa (2001), p. 1. Ibid., p. 7. Ghai and Regan, ‘Unitary State, Devolution, Autonomy, Secession’, p. 598. Wolfers, ‘Challenges of Autonomy’, p. 3. Ibid., p. 2. Ibid., p. 18. Economist, ‘Peace in Bougainville Under Threat’ (9 February 2008), p. 48. V. Boege, ‘A Promising Liaison: Kastom and State in Bougainville’, Occasional Papers Series [Online], Number 12 (Brisbane: The Australian Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, 2008), pp. 46–7. Ghai and Regan, ‘Unitary State, Devolution, Autonomy, Secession’, p. 601. K. Ballentine, ‘Beyond Greed and Grievance: Reconsidering the Economic Dynamics of Armed Conflict’, in Ballentine and Sherman (eds), Political Economy of Armed Conflict, p. 264. Pokawin, ‘Greater Autonomy for Provinces’, p. 43.

12 Conclusion Ethnic Separatism in Geopolitical Perspective Ehsan M. Ahrari

Ethnic separatism has its roots in the Peace of Westphalia (peace treaties of Osnabrück and Münster) of 1648. The ensuing order was based on national sovereignty. That peace is regarded as the dawn of the modern era. But it was not until the nineteenth century that nationalism became a sweeping and powerful force. Nationalism emerged as a powerful force in Germany, as a result of which the fragmented Germany was unified as the German Empire in 1871. In the United States, nationalism manifested itself in the concept of ‘manifest destiny’, which played a crucial role in the emergence of a nation the size of a continent. However, it was the Civil War of 1865 that may be regarded as a battle for the successful emergence of the United States of America as a unified nation. President Abraham Lincoln declared war against secessionists of the South. The victory of the North firmly established the notion of an ‘indivisible nation’. However, it was not the size but the notion of a unified nation that enabled the United States to emerge as a powerful entity. As such, it cautioned European colonial powers to stay out of Latin America under the Monroe Doctrine. When the United States declared that doctrine, it did not amount to much as a military power. However, the fact that it declared its intentions to dominate Latin America signalled to the European powers that a new and powerful nation indeed was in the making. Nationalism spread to Asia, Africa, and Latin America during the struggle of countries of those regions to overthrow the yoke of colonialism. The end of the colonial era after World War Two is regarded as the golden age of nationalism and the beginning of the modern version of ethnic conflict.1 As these nations won independence, they were driven by their respective national pride and by the desire to establish sovereignty within their borders. Sovereignty, a post-Westphalian idea, was to remain the basis of law among nations, until it was challenged during the Serbian crisis of the 1990s. NATO’s declaration of war against the ethnic cleansing practices of Slobodan Milosevic was, in essence, a rejection of the erstwhile sacred notion that a sovereign government is also sovereign in determining how 244

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much force or violence it could use against its own citizens. The US invasion of Iraq in 2003 was also partially based on challenging (indeed rejecting) the rule of a brutal tyrant. The terms ‘ethnic identity’ or ‘ethnicity’ in this chapter will follow Wirsing’s definition provided in the introductory chapter. He writes, these terms ‘understood in their broadest sense, refer to a comprehensive assortment of group cultural identities rooted in language, race, nationality, religion, tribe, and so on. When linked to separatism, the concept implies existence of a more or less organized movement whose actions may range from the mildest forms of social protest all the way up to the most extreme forms of secessionist violence, and whose objectives range just as broadly from a modest level of cultural autonomy to complete territorial independence.’ Regrettably, the history of ethnic conflict has remained predominantly (if not entirely) violent, as one examines that issue on at least four of five continents. Whenever ethnic identity has also involved religion, the struggle for autonomy or independence almost invariably became ferocious. National liberation was brutally suppressed by some colonial powers, while others were not as vicious in the application of force to suppress or to defeat the liberation movement. In the case of national liberation movements, most, if not all, colonial nations envisaged such movements with hostility. Since the colonies were a source of raw materials, the colonial powers had no intention of letting them go without a fight. How bloody that fight became depended upon the colonial power itself. For instance, France, on a number of occasions, regarded its colonies as part of greater France. Thus, a colony’s attempt to free itself from the French colonial death grip was regarded as ‘treason’ that should be quelled with brutal force. Algeria bore the brunt of French colonial brutality. That is not to say that the Front de Liberation Nationale (National Liberation Front; FLN) – the Algerian political party that was fighting for liberation – did not use violence in its tactical manoeuvres against French occupiers. Any watcher of Gillo Pontecovo’s classic movie, La Battaglia di Algeri (‘The Battle for Algiers’) knows only too well that the French occupiers of Algeria as well as the FLN were eager in their use of violence and counterviolence. Comparatively speaking, Great Britain was less violent and brutal in responding to the freedom struggle of its colonial groups. Ethnic separatism was given a harsh response, whether the responding nation was a democracy or an authoritarian system. As readers of this volume have undoubtedly noticed, most if not all ethnic conflicts are envisaged by leaders of existing states as efforts to fracture that nation, which have to be suppressed or eradicated. Regardless of the size of a country that is facing ethnic conflict, the struggle for autonomy (which often was envisaged as a crucial first step towards freedom) was regarded as a challenge to the nation’s sovereignty. If the country was large (China or India), the top leadership viewed an ethnicity-based struggle as a major threat to the unity of

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the country as a whole. Both China and India have multiple ethnic groups. If one is granted autonomy, even that measure establishes a bad precedent, as those countries’ top leaders see it. Besides, what guarantee is there that there would be no further action on the part of the ethnic groups (Tibetans or Uyghurs in the case of China and Kashmiris, Manipurans, or Bodos in the case of India)? Neither China nor India could afford to take that risk. That may be one reason why both those countries have been equally brutal in suppressing the ethnic separatists. This chapter provides geopolitical perspectives on ethnic conflicts. Geopolitics is ‘the study or the application of the influence of political and economic geography on the politics, national power, foreign policy, etc., of a state’.2 As much as geopolitics is focused on these variables, one cannot study them without understanding the linkages between domestic and foreign policy. Thus, this chapter consistently includes relevant discussion of domestic politics and their relevance to foreign policy. For a systematic presentation, this chapter is divided between the Cold War and post-Cold War years and, more important, the post-9/11 era – which started in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on the US homeland on 11 September 2001. The concluding year of analysis is 2009, which is also the cut-off point of this book. The chief argument here is that, before the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001 on its territory, the United States had consistently observed nuanced perspectives on different protest movements – even the violent ones – that were related to ethnic separatism. For instance, it urged India to negotiate with Pakistan on the Kashmir conflict. However, in the post-9/11 era, the United States made a special point of lumping all secessionist movements into the category of ‘terrorism’. That measure made almost all of those conflicts well-nigh impossible to resolve anytime soon. Consequently, the world has witnessed a heightened level of violence stemming from the activities of a number of ethnic groups in Asia and Africa.

The Cold War and post-Cold War years Ethnic separatism has been viewed differently during the Cold War years, after the Cold War, and in the post-9/11 era. Most ethnic conflicts did not become part of ‘high politics’ of the two superpowers. The only exception was the Arab–Israeli conflict, if it were to be considered as an ethnic conflict at all. However, it falls in the category of sui generis conflict for a variety of reasons. First, it was not about breaking up part of a nation. The creation of Israel was the end of Palestine. From the Arab point of view, the only acceptable solution was unravelling the Jewish state, which, realistically speaking, was not possible. Second, religion, as opposed to ethnicity, was the chief reason for the establishment of a separate Jewish state. Third, both the United States and the Soviet Union agreed about the creation of a Jewish

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state and readily endorsed its creation. Where they disagreed later was over how much Arab territory Israel should give up – territories that it captured and annexed in the aftermath of the war of 1967, which permanently transformed the map of the Middle East. Even when the Soviet Union sided with the so-called ‘rejectionist states’,3 it never endorsed the destruction of Israel. The Kashmiri and Tibetan separatists Another conflict that intermittently became a part of superpower rivalry was the Kashmir dispute. Pakistan attempted to make it a part of the superpower agenda, but without much success. During the 1965 round of the Indo-Pakistan war on Kashmir, that conflict came close to becoming part of the Cold War, until the United States decided to impose an arms embargo on the warring countries, thereby undermining Pakistani endeavours to make it so. That US decision significantly limited the fighting capabilities of the Pakistani forces, while the Indian armed forces retained unlimited access to Soviet arms, thanks to the special relationship between Moscow and New Delhi. In the judgement of many specialists, the US embargo on Pakistan might have contributed to its defeat in that round. The Kashmir conflict tangentially remained a part of Cold War politics in the sense that India had close ties with the Soviet Union, and Pakistan, at least for a short while, was allied to the US through the Southeast Asian Treaty Organization (SEATO) and Central Treaty Organization (CENTO). India refused to establish warm relations with the United States largely because of that superpower’s close relations with Pakistan. Even then, the overall benefit of that artificial divide was in favour of India throughout the duration of the Cold War. It not only received a variety of Soviet weaponry at special rates, but leaders in Moscow were also willing to transfer technology for the manufacture of a number of Soviet tanks and military aircraft in India. Pakistan did not even come close to having similar ties with the United States until the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, when the administration of President Ronald Reagan decided to use Pakistan as its chief conduit to defeat and oust the Soviet Union from Afghanistan. Throughout the 1980s, Pakistan enjoyed an enormous amount of economic and military payoff stemming from its role as the chief US conduit to fight that war. One has to be very clear that the opening of American economic and military largesse for Pakistan had no direct bearing on the Kashmir conflict. However, there is little doubt that Pakistan found it easy to channel huge quantities of military weapons and economic assistance to sustain its fighting arm in Kashmir. Where Pakistan did enjoy discernible benefits during the Cold War years was through the US position that both South Asian countries should expend a considerable amount of energy in finding a political solution to the conflict. From the Pakistani side, an ideal situation would have been a direct American role – à la its role in the resolution of the Arab–Israeli conflict during the administration of President Jimmy Carter or even during the waning days of

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President Bill Clinton’s tenure in 2000. However, India never agreed to such an American role, knowing full well that it would be likely to favour Pakistan. During the Cold War years, neither the United States nor the Soviet Union was really interested in getting embroiled in the Kashmir conflict. In their intricate hierarchy of global and regional interests, Kashmir did not carry much weight. Even Russia’s decision to supply arms to India had a lot to do with its larger predilection to keep India in its camp, but not necessarily to help India resolve the conflict. The United States was even less interested in that conflict. It certainly wanted to see it resolved, but not at the expense of giving large military assistance to Pakistan or by getting heavily involved even in its political resolution. After the declaration of a ceasefire between India and Pakistan at the end of their military skirmishes of 1965, the Soviet Union agreed to host the Tashkent conference in January 1966.4 However, the chief focus of that superpower was to play the role of broker while remaining neutral. China’s annexation of Tibet in 1951 resulted in more than decade-long covert operations carried out by the United States to liberate Tibet. However, perhaps because of its sustained reluctance to complicate the highly intricate US–Soviet Cold War related manoeuvres the United States was not interested in escalating the level of its covert involvement in Tibet at any cost. In the end, the US decision was to abandon the CIA-supported covert Tibetan army during the Kennedy administration. ‘Cut off and surrounded, between six and eight thousand Tibetans were annihilated by the Chinese in a massacre.’5 China’s manoeuvring in East Asia was a major preoccupation of Western powers. France fought and lost a battle with the Chinese-backed North Vietnamese forces at Dien Bien Phu in 1954. The United States fought the Chinese forces on the Korean Peninsula in the 1950s and then in South Vietnam after the ouster of France from that country in 1954. Tibet did preoccupy the United States, India, and the PRC. Even then the pendulum of advantage continued to swing in favour of China. It not only occupied Tibet, but also managed to keep it out of the focus of international attention through the entire course of the Cold War. By giving refuge to the Dalai Lama in the Himachal, India remained in the limelight of the Tibet conflict, but China never lost its ability to set the agenda for Tibet – which, by and large, was about the irrevocability of its annexation of Buddhist Tibet. No other conflict covered in this volume fared any better than the Kashmir conflict, in terms of capturing the attention of either of the superpowers or in terms of getting either one of them directly involved during the Cold War years. The implosion of the Soviet Union unleashed the twentieth century’s ‘third wave of ethnic nationalism and conflict’.6 An overview of a number of ethnic conflicts in the brief duration of post-Cold War years – between 1991 and September 2001 – is given in the next section.

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Tamil separatists of Sri Lanka In Sri Lanka, the ethnic conflict between the dominant Sinhalese and the minority Tamil population led to demands for a homeland for the Tamil starting in 1983. The systematic discrimination against minorities in Sri Lanka, for which South Asia is notorious, made a majority of the Tamils of that island seek a separate state of their own under the leadership of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). The LTTE emerged as a paramilitary organization, but then transformed itself into the world’s most brutal terrorist group. Consequently, for the next twenty-five years or so, Sri Lanka remained a dangerous place with very little or no chance of political resolution until 2009, when the LTTE was completely wiped out as a powerful and autonomous group, which had ruled over a third of the island. According to one source, the ethnic conflict in Sri Lanka may best be understood from the point of view of two of its related ‘conflicting perceptions’ or even as a ‘classic case of relative deprivation’. The ‘powerful but still insecure’ Sinhalese majority perceived the Tamils as having ‘enjoyed a privileged position under British rule’, and believed that advantage must shift in favour of the Sinhalese. The Tamil minority, on the other hand, envisaged its privileged status as stemming from the fact that it is highly educated, industrious, and achievement oriented. However, those variables, according to the Tamils’ thinking, made them the target of ‘frequent acts of communal violence and calculated acts and policies of discrimination directed at them’. This interpretation underscores a powerful feeling of relative deprivation on the part of the Tamils of Sri Lanka.7 Burma (Myanmar) Burma has more than 100 different ethnic groups and sub-groups, which makes the country the home to ‘one of the most ethnically diverse populations in Southeast Asia’.8 Because of the iron rule of the military junta of that country, Burma remains a stable state. However, for a country like Burma and other Central Asian countries, it is hard to tell how long the internal dissent can be successfully suppressed or controlled. By the same token, it is anyone’s guess when the internal pressure for change might lead to the implosion of the entire country, how many ethnic groups would then emerge to claim autonomy and independence, and, most important, how badly such an eventuality would damage regional stability. Because China and India are very interested in what happens to Burma, any potential implosion of that country is likely to see them immediately involved. Right now, even though the Burmese junta is more pro-Chinese that it is proIndian, both its large neighbours would be very concerned to maintain their political influence (and in the case of China, its military presence). By the same token, given the significance of the American military presence in the AsiaPacific, the lone superpower is not expected to watch the potential implosion of Burma without taking any action to enhance its own influence.

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It should also be noted that, as Mohan Malik states in this volume, ‘The state of Burma is an increasingly important part of the regional economic and geopolitical matrix. Political instability, military crackdown, economic meltdown, or collapse in Burma is not in anyone’s interest. Any state failure in Burma will have regional repercussions as its neighbours would be affected by increasing flow of refugees, drugs, and weapons.’ He goes on to add, ‘State failure might also have disastrous consequences for the unity of this fractious South East Asian country.’ Thailand The ethnic conflicts of Thailand and the Philippines involve Muslim minorities. In the case of Thailand, the genesis of the conflict goes back to the annexation of the sultanate of Pattani by the Thai government in 1902. Thai Muslims include those of Malay origin, Thais who were hereditary Muslims or converted to Islam, Cham Muslims who were originally from Cambodia, West and South Asians that include Shias and Sunnis, Tamils, Punjabis and Bengalis, and Indonesians from Java and Minangkabau.9 Between the 1940s and the 1980s, the Muslim minority in Thailand were striving for autonomy and fighting the ‘forced assimilation’ of Muslims. The Muslim insurgency was ‘largely confined to the three provinces of Pattani, Yala, and Narathiwat and to five districts of the Songkhla province – Chana, Thepa, Na Thawi, Saba Yoi, and Sadao’.10 There has been ample resentment among the Muslim populace stemming from human rights abuses by the Thai security forces, including extra-judicial killings and forced disappearances, according to a report by the International Crisis Group.11 In the 1980s the Thai government of Prime Minister General Prem Tinsulanonda reversed its policy of forced assimilation and started working with the Malaysian government to enhance its economic development and cultural rights and to reduce marginalization of Thai Muslims. As a result, the Thai insurgency calmed down considerably by the late 1990s.12 The Philippines Muslims of the Philippines comprise ‘the largest category of unhispanicized inhabitants’ of that country. Even though they live in a largely Christian country, the reason for cultural conflict stems from the prejudice that Muslims experience from the Christians as well as from the government. The ‘Christian Filipinos, including representatives of the Philippine state, have often tended to view Philippine Muslims as socially backward and untrustworthy precisely because of their history of resistance to hispanicization.’ Starting in 1946, it might have been the distrust and contempt shown towards Muslims that motivated the new government of the Philippines to initiate a policy of largescale Christian migration into the southern islands. Consequently, Mindanao Muslims ‘found themselves a relatively impoverished minority in their homeland’ by the late 1960s. The government’s policy over the distribution of services

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also discriminated against Muslims. ‘[G]overnment services available to Muslims were not only meager compared to those obtained by immigrant Christians but were also fewer than they had received under the colonial regime.’ Building on the discriminatory legacy of the preceding governments, the regime of Ferdinand Marcos pursued ‘an unusually antagonistic stance toward Muslims’.13 Such policies reached their peak in the late 1960s, when the conflict between Muslims and Christians over land became more frequent and violent. In 1957, the Philippine government established a Commission for National Integration (CNI) to remedy Muslim grievances. However, the CNI itself became a target of resentment and suspicion by Muslims who envisaged the real objective of that entity ‘to be the destruction of Philippine Muslim identity under the guise of “national integration”’.14 Muslim grievances reached their peak in 1968, when a number of Muslim recruits – who were reportedly being trained for an invasion of the Malaysian state of Sabah – were shot during an alleged mutiny. That incident was the beginning of a separate Bangsa Moro (Moro nation) movement.15 The Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) – which was formed as a reaction against the harsh policies of the Marcos regime and against the brutal attacks by vigilante groups of settlers – emerged as an insurgent movement in the Philippines. In January 1987, it signed an agreement forgoing its goal of a separate state for Muslim regions and accepting the government’s offer of autonomy. The Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) splintered from the MNLF in the early 1980s as a radical Islamist group. The Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG), in contrast, ‘is a small group of “kidnap-for-ransom” criminals who adopted Islamic trappings to gain publicity’.16 Ethnic separatist conflict has been very much present both during the Cold War and after its conclusion. However, except for the Arab–Israeli conflict (which may or may not be classified as a manifestation of ethnic discord) no other ethnic separatist dispute reached the level of a mega-conflict involving the two superpowers of the Cold War years, or two major powers. Even the Kashmir dispute failed to capture the attention of both superpowers on a sustained basis. During that time (the Cold War years), neither India nor Pakistan was militarily strong enough to carry on a protracted or a deadly war over it without an unhindered flow of arms from the United States or the USSR. The Indo-Pakistan war of 1965 over Kashmir fizzled out when Pakistan realized that it had no backing from the United States to continue the fight. Even though, technically speaking, India emerged a winner of that round of skirmishing, it could not dictate the terms of ceasefire on Pakistan that would have drastically diminished the chances of future wars over Kashmir. A brief mention must also be made of the Pakistan–India war over East Pakistan in 1971. Strictly speaking, that was also an ethnic conflict between a Punjabi-dominated West Pakistan and a Bengali-dominated East Pakistan (later Bangladesh). However, the real war was fought by a hopelessly encircled

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and outgunned Pakistani army, which had no chance of winning against India. East Pakistan was surrounded either by the Indian territory or by water, and was more than a thousand miles from its western wing. During that war, superpower rivalry was involved, but only indirectly. India and the Soviet Union had signed the Indo-Soviet Treaty of Peace, Friendship, and Cooperation just prior to the war, only four months before the commencement of hostilities in East Pakistan. There was little doubt that, because of that treaty, India was emboldened enough to the extent of dismantling East Pakistan. India’s leadership might also have calculated that the United States was not likely to take any military counter-measures against it. However, when the United States manifested a now-famous ‘tilt’ towards Pakistan by sending the USS Enterprise to the Bay of Bengal, Indian leaders got the shock of their lives. From the US vantage point, there is no doubt that Pakistan’s crucial role in the then ongoing highly sensitive, secretive, and critical US–China dialogue was a crucial factor in President Richard Nixon’s decision to send its first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. What is also noteworthy is the fact that the United States’ ‘show of force’ was mostly symbolic and was not aimed at swinging the battle rhythm in favour of Pakistan. By the same token, since India had signed a friendship treaty with the Soviet Union before invading East Pakistan, it is purely a matter of conjecture whether the Soviet Union would have risked a nuclear conflict over India in 1971, if the United States had come to the aid of Pakistan.

Ethnic separatism in the post-9/11 era The terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001 on the United States ushered in an era in which all secessionist movements came to be seen through the prism of terrorism. Those attacks certainly shook up America’s views relating to its inviolability. As the United States was gearing up for the invasion of Afghanistan, an overarching question was what kind of an enduring frame of reference was going to be developed for its future actions. The 1941 Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor brought about America’s entry into World War Two. President Franklin D. Roosevelt entered with a complex strategy, which was a blending of the isolationists’ preference for keeping America out of European wars and the interventionists’ predilections for getting involved by developing ‘a coherent and consistent strategic approach’. He entered the war with limited objectives, yet with the full resolve to dismantle the Nazi regime.17 At the conclusion of that mega-conflict, the world settled into fighting a long Cold War between two superpowers who were determined to dominate the globe. The United States’ blueprint for a strategy (or even a grand strategy) was containment of the Soviet Union with a view to ultimately defeating it. The Soviet Union, for its part, wanted to defeat the United States by creating communist polities in the developing countries of

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Asia, Africa, and Latin America. That conflict lasted some fifty years. When the Soviet Union imploded, the United States declared ‘victory’. Whether or not that was a correct depiction of the finale of the Cold War, the world was expecting the beginning of a similar narrative when the lone superpower was attacked by a group of rag-tag terrorists in September 2001. President George W. Bush was neither as thoughtful nor as complex as the FDR, but he provided the genesis of a framework when he famously (or infamously) declared to the global community of nations, ‘either you are with us or you are with the terrorists’. At least in the months following that statement no country was to be given the luxury of sitting on the fence in its approach to terrorism. All nations were expected to view the world through the lens of George W. Bush. Indeed the entire world was told that no nuanced approach in their respective handling of counter-terrorism would be allowed. Because the United States was the lone superpower, and because it had suffered terrorist attacks, world history following those attacks was going to be remade. China, Russia, and India – three major powers – fully understood that reality. Since all three of them were dealing with secessionist movements – China involving the Uyghurs, Russia involving Chechnya, and India involving Kashmir – they knew that they could couch their treatment of those issues by recasting them under the rubric of terrorism, thereby creating a series of collaborative agreements with the United States. China China, due to its proximity to Afghanistan, was increasingly wary of the purported growing nexus between al-Qaeda and the Uyghur Muslims of Xinjiang. The Chinese fear of Islamist insurgency was one of the major reasons behind the formation of the Shanghai Five Organization in 1996. It included, aside from China and Russia, three states of Central Asia: Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan. The Shanghai Five Organization changed its name to the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) in 2001 when Uzbekistan became a member. China viewed the United States’ ‘war on terrorism’ as a positive development, especially its invasion of Afghanistan. The general hope was that a dismantlement of the Taliban regime would also eliminate al-Qaeda as a growing regional (and even global) terrorist organization. More to the point, Beijing envisaged that the US declaration of war on terrorism would result in great benefits for its own potential capabilities to eradicate ethnic separatists inside its borders. Soon after the terrorist attacks on the United States, President Jiang Zemin of China made the first crucial move by sending a telegram to President Bush, assuring his country’s wholehearted support in fighting terrorism. To underscore the earnestness of his commitment for that support, Jiang broke the ‘foreign policy taboo and explicitly supported US military operations in Afghanistan and sent anti-terrorism experts to Washington to share

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intelligence that could be useful for the war’.18 In addition, China agreed to consider favourably the US request to set up a legal attaché’s office at its embassy in Beijing staffed with FBI agents. In return, President Bush stopped referring to ‘strategic competition’ with the PRC. Instead, during a visit to Shanghai, he described China as a ‘great power’ and a country with which the US should have honest, constructive, and cooperative ties.19 The evolution of a quid pro quo relationship was fast-paced. During the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) meeting in October 2001, Bush and Jiang agreed to set up ‘a mechanism for bilateral interagency counterterrorism consultations’ and also agreed to cooperate in the ‘interdiction of terrorist financing networks’. The continued escalation of collaboration between the US and the PRC resulted in Washington’s decision to put the East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM) on its terrorist blacklist.20 That was a major prize for China. In the past, it had categorized the ETIM as a ‘terrorist’ group with connections to al-Qaeda. The United States was sceptical of that portrayal and was reluctant to endorse it. ‘But this time [August 2002], the Bush administration appeared convinced of the terrorist nature of ETIM.’21 A lot of behind-the-scenes political manoeuvring took place before the United States went along with the Chinese. However, Washington was in dire need of China’s support in the UN regarding Iraq. According to one source: critics claim the US decision to recognize ETIM as a terrorist group was a political move, designed to appease China during UN Security Council negotiations over a resolution on Iraq. Human rights groups have accused China of repressing Xinjiang’s native Uighur population, the region’s Turkic-speaking ethnic majority who practice a moderate form of Sufi Islam. Until recently, the United States had accused China of using the war against terrorism as an excuse to clamp down on political dissent in the region, and castigated the Chinese military for human rights violations against Uighur nationalists. ETIM leader Hahsan Mahsum has denied any connections between al Qaeda and his group.22 One may question the veracity of the claim regarding the change of mind on the part of the United States regarding ETIM. However, one has to look at what transpired regarding the Bush administration’s treatment of Chechen secessionism in the pre-9/11 and post-9/11 milieu. India–Pakistan The 9/11 attacks on the United States provided an enormous boost to the fledgling US–India strategic partnership. Before 2001, the United States, despite its growing empathy for India’s side of the argument – that it has been a regular victim of Pakistan-sponsored attacks – was still urging India to negotiate with Pakistan over Kashmir. The terrorist attacks on the US homeland pushed that insistence to the backburner, at least temporarily.

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India was hoping to emerge as a major player in America’s military action in Afghanistan. However, General Pervez Musharraf not only anticipated India’s zeal to participate in military operations in Afghanistan alongside US forces, but was eager to nullify it. When the Bush administration virtually told Musharraf to abandon his country’s long-term support for the Taliban regime and to become a ‘front-line state’ in America’s war on terrorism, he quickly agreed. More important, Musharraf, through an intricate manoeuvre that included abandoning the Taliban and secretly allowing US forces to operate from Pakistan, deftly converted that major volte face of his country’s policies towards Afghanistan into a highly profitable venture by extracting military and economic assistance from Washington. India had no option but to watch those developments in dismay. The resurgence of US–Pakistan cooperation notwithstanding, India’s greatest advantage in the post-9/11 era was that the Kashmir separatist conflict permanently became a part of the US global agenda related to terrorism. That reality – even though it emerged slowly – was to persuade Pakistan between 2001 and 2009 that the resolution of Kashmir ethnic separatism would not materialize through the use of terrorism. Before 9/11, Pakistan used the transparently disingenuous argument that it only provided ‘moral support’ to terrorist organizations. The Kargil conflict of 1999 might have been the last occasion when Pakistan initiated a military conflict by directly involving its army. However, the US insistence that it should withdraw from Kargil or face a dangerous escalation of Indian military retaliation forced Pakistan to oblige. As Pakistani journalist Ahmed Rashid wrote: ‘The world swiftly turned against Pakistan, and President Clinton forced [Nawaz] Sharif to carry out a humiliating climb down during the Pakistani prime minister’s visit to Washington on July 4. Pakistan was forced to withdraw its forces and abandon Kargil after suffering some one thousand casualties.’23 According to US intelligence sources, the United States’ insistence on swift cessation of hostilities was based on reports that Pakistan was preparing its nuclear arsenal for possible deployment. Needless to say, General Musharraf denied that claim.24 An important characteristic of the Indo-Pakistan dispute over Kashmir is that Pakistan is committed to its resolution, while India has insisted on numerous occasions that the ‘Line of Control’ (LOC) separating their troops in Kashmir is the final border. However, whenever their mutual ties become less tense, they are ready for another round of negotiations. For instance, a ‘back channel for secret talks’ was opened in 2004, when the national security advisers to the then Prime Minister, Atal Bihari Vajpayee and to President Musharraf – Brijesh Mishra and Tariq Aziz – negotiated a deal over Kashmir. The most significant points that were agreed upon were Pakistan’s pledge not to allow its territory to be used for terrorism, while India ‘promised to negotiate on settling the Kashmir dispute’.25 However, that progress became irrelevant when the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) of Vajpayee surprisingly lost the 2004 general election. The incoming

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coalition headed by the Congress Party was in no mood to start negotiations where the Vajpayee government had left off. Instead, it returned to ground zero by preferring to launch only ‘a blitz of small confidence building measures’.26 There was still hope for progress between 2004 and 2007, when India and Pakistan kept the negotiation channels open. During that time, there were few militant attacks in the Indian-administered Kashmir, but ‘New Delhi acknowledged that infiltration was down.’27 However, the terrorist attacks of November 2008 in Mumbai – which paralyzed India’s largest hub of economic activities for three days – severely undermined future chances of a major breakthrough over Kashmir. Considering the on-again-off-again patterns of negotiations in the past, its South Asian neighbours are very likely to return to the negotiating table. The change of government in the United States, as a result of the presidential elections of 2008, underscored the need for a fresh approach towards South Asia. However, that approach focused only on Pakistan and Afghanistan. The administration of President Barack H. Obama is primarily interested in defeating al-Qaeda and Taliban-led insurgency in Afghanistan and on pressuring the newly elected civilian government of President Asif Ali Zardari in Pakistan to unravel the growing influence of Tehrik-e-Talabae-Pakistan (TTP).28 In reality, this US emphasis is exactly the same as that of the Bush administration. One palpable difference is that the unpopular phrase ‘global war on terrorism’ has been dropped. Instead, a comparatively staid phrase ‘overseas contingency operations’ is now in vogue. It is important to note that the Obama administration, in its zeal to produce its approach under the rubric of AfPak Strategy,29 made a crucial mistake when it decided to exclude India. By doing so, it has failed to recognize a highly intricate cloak-and-dagger game in South Asia. India and Pakistan, more than Pakistan and Afghanistan, are two of the most significant players in that game. Excluding India from the complicated negotiations that are in progress in Washington is a grave error. Sri Lanka Despite George W. Bush’s assertion to the community of nations, ‘either you are with us or you are with the terrorists’, the LTTE-led insurgency in Sri Lanka remained largely outside that framework. One main reason might have been that the LTTE had no quarrel with the United States or any other Western country. In fact, Norway played a crucial role – one too friendly towards the LTTE, as the Sri Lankan government saw it – in trying (unsuccessfully) to conclude a peace deal between the LTTE and the government in Colombo.30 However, precisely because that conflict remained largely outside the focus of global attention, both the government and the LTTE terrorists maintained an unending series of violence and counter-violence in an attempt to gain the upper hand. Velupillai Prabhakaran, the LTTE ‘Supremo’, was reported to be an effective (in reality, a very vicious) leader in the realm of guerrilla warfare. The LTTE

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was the only insurgent organization that could maintain a small navy and air force of its own for quite some time. However, the LTTE’s Achilles’ heel might have been the lack of political sophistication and the attendant requirements of conducting negotiations skilfully with ample flexibility. Its famous theoretician, Anton S. Balasingham, played that role deftly. He served as mouthpiece and chief adviser to Prabhakaran, who himself once stated, ‘I do all the thinking and planning in the LTTE. As I am bad in English, Balasingham articulates my views.’31 Balasingham was also a crucial player in persuading Prabhakaran to accept a ceasefire in 2002. Despite all his savoir faire, however, there were limits to Balasingham’s ability to persuade the LTTE leadership to be politically adroit. His death in December 2006 created an enduring void. No one was politically sophisticated or trustworthy enough to take his place and advise the LTTE leadership on intricate matters, such as when to be flexible and when to remain unyielding on political resolution of the Tamil ethnic conflict. In the opening months of 2009, the Sri Lankan government devised an aggressive military strategy of eradicating the LTTE. Given that the LTTE had no powerful friends left anywhere in the world – because of its own long-standing bloody history of conducting ferocious military campaigns and suicide attacks – the administration of President Mahinda Rajapaksa operated under the assumption that his government had a free hand. One can get a snapshot of the use of harsh tactics by the government and the LTTE when reading an opinion piece by Lasantha Wickrematunge, Sri Lanka’s best-known journalist, and arguably one of the bravest human beings of our time. In that essay, aside from predicting his own assassination, he was very critical of ‘terrorism’, regardless of who the perpetrators were.32 His determination to unswervingly remain the conscience of Sri Lanka cost him his life. According to one source, both the United States and India gave their ‘tacit support’ to the Sri Lankan government in their heavy-handed military campaign of 2009.33 The ultimate defeat of the LTTE has brought an end to only one important phase of the Tamils’ desire to live in dignity in Sri Lanka. However, that desire is very much alive within the Tamil population of the island. Timor-Leste The ethnic conflict of Timor-Leste (TL, aka East Timor), like most such disputes, was bloody. It won its independence from Indonesia in 2002, after twenty-five years of occupation by that country and brutal suppression of dissent by its army. Indonesia annexed TL in 1975 through the use of force, after the withdrawal of its previous colonial occupier, Portugal. In that sense, Indonesia became the new occupying power of TL. It is worth noting that, when it occupied TL, Indonesia was also one of the important client states of the United States, which was continuing its Cold War against communism in South East Asia. As one BBC report notes, ‘World powers were accused of

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contributing to the subsequent calamity [in TL] by turning a blind eye or by actively supporting the [Indonesian] occupation by supplying weapons.’34 Finally, Indonesia agreed in 1999 to allow the citizens of TL the option of choosing between independence and autonomy. The Indonesian army soiled its reputation further by conducting a campaign of terror in order to keep the natives from voting. However, the East Timorese remained undeterred and overwhelmingly opted for independence. Even such a convincing desire for freedom brought rounds of further murderous attacks by the Indonesian ‘loyalists’, who also reduced several towns to rubble. The intervention of the UN peacekeeping force – in which Australia played a highly visible role – not only brought order and stability to TL, but later played a crucial part in reviving TL as an independent nation. Even though TL has become an independent state, the Australian role in peacekeeping and its controversial exploiting of the natural gas reserves of TL has created considerable resentment inside Indonesia.35 However, in 2009, Indonesia’s eyes are firmly fixed on the potential of establishing new strategic ties with the United States. That may be one reason why Indonesia has been willing to set aside its previous resentments related to Australia’s role in TL’s independence. However, there is no guarantee that it will not become a source of tension between Jakarta and Canberra in the future. Thailand In the post-9/11 era (between 2004 and 2008, to be precise) insurgency in Thailand has claimed nearly three thousand lives. For the most part, the brutal tactics implemented during the rule of former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra were responsible for that outcome. The continuous tug-and-pull between the military and civilian government in that country also contributed to deterioration of the situation.36 The worsening of the insurgency might not have been the chief reason for the military’s decision to oust Thaksin in 2006, but it was an important factor. General Sonthi Boonyaratglin, a prominent Thai Muslim, advised Thaksin to negotiate with the insurgents in the south. Thaksin refused. Boonyaratglin proceeded with a military coup. The ensuing governments brought about palpable changes in their policies towards the Muslim-dominated provinces of Pattani, Yala, and Narathiwat. The government even established structures to manage conflict resolution, and sought the help of Malaysia. However, a recently issued report of the International Crisis Group states that military brutality has been very much a standard practice. ‘Torture after arrest remains a serious problem and appears to have increased since June 2007.’ Consequently, the death rate of Muslims has also gone up. ‘The claim is that some officials prefer to kill those identified as key insurgents rather than go through the tedious and time-consuming process of gathering evidence to prove their guilt in the court.’ The Thai government has ‘barely touched education reform’. Schools have been hotbeds of conflict in the south. State-run schools

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are viewed by Malay nationalists as vehicles of assimilation and indoctrination of ‘Thainess’, while the authorities suspect private Islamic schools as being ‘breeding grounds for insurgents’. The report goes on to add, ‘The government will need to address the sense of injustice and alienation from Thai society felt by Malay-Muslims, eradicate the abusive behavior of officials and offer the Malay Muslims ways of living life with dignity in Thailand without having to compromise, or abandon, their cultural identity.’37 Looking at the prospects for resolving the Malay-Thai Muslim separatist conflict, the chief obstacles are the continued discriminatory policies of the government that fail to provide equal opportunities for economic prosperity. The prevalence of poverty in the Muslim region not only creates a permanently divided society, but becomes a vital reason why Muslims believe that they are better off seceding from a Buddhist-dominated prejudiced government. Some Muslim groups also favour becoming a part of Malaysia, since a majority of them are Thai Muslims of Malay ethnicity. While the government of Malaysia does not support insurgency, there is a high degree of empathy and support in northern Malaysia for their brethren in Southern Thailand. According to one source, ‘There is also currently little evidence to suggest that Southern Thailand is emerging as a new front for transnational Jihadism. The focus of local militants remains firmly fixed on specific Malay-Muslim concerns.’38 The Philippines The separatist conflict of the Philippines has brought death and misery to the southern part of the country. One source cites 120,000 deaths and 2 million displaced persons related to the conflict involving Muslim-dominated Mindanao of the Philippines since 1978. The most under-publicized – but crucial – development of the post-9/11 era was that the government reached a framework of agreement with the MILF in 2008. However, one day before the signing ceremony in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, the Philippine Supreme Court declared it unconstitutional. The now-shelved peace agreement of 2008 was to establish a Muslim autonomous region. The deal was to expand the boundary of an autonomous Muslim region with a high degree of self-governance. It also had provisions to establish ‘separate police force, local security force and a separate judicial system’. The chief objection to that agreement came from the Christian leaders in Mindanao. They wanted to nullify it by questioning its legitimacy, and the Supreme Court upheld their position. Needless to say, the MILF leaders who were strong supporters of the peace process felt betrayed. From the vantage point of conflict resolution, the most troubling aspect of that development was that, since the Supreme Court declared the agreement unconstitutional, there was no chance that a similar ruling would not be issued for a future peace agreement, if it were based on similar principles.39

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The outbreak of violence after the nullification of the peace deal gave a further excuse for the government of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo to claim that it could not negotiate with groups (meaning the MILF) that carry out violent attacks. What is important to note is that the United States government – as visible as it has been in ‘pacifying’ the insurgency, and even in nation-building in the Philippines – gave no public reaction regarding the ruling of the Philippine Supreme Court. It should be noted that in the Philippines, the Bush administration negotiated a new agreement of greater military cooperation in the post-9/11 era. The United States not only started an intense programme of training for the armed forces of the Philippines (AFP) personnel, but also initiated nation-building projects in the islands of Basilan and Jolo. Since the Philippine Constitution bans any combat role for foreign forces, the chief focus of the US Special Forces was to provide ‘non-combat assistance’. That included providing training for the AFP in the fields of logistics, intelligence gathering, and aiding planning operations. The cumulative effect of this participation resulted in lowering the presence and effectiveness of the Abu Sayyaf Group, but not in its eradication. Another outcome of the US presence in the Philippines was that it escalated the prospects for cooperation among the Philippines and its neighbours in future maritime interdiction operations. Another potential US policy decision could come out of the December 2005 agreement among the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Brunei for joint maritime patrols in the waters separating them. The agreement specifically covers Mindanao and the Mindanao–Sulawesi corridor. Any future programmes to establish maritime interdiction cooperation between the Philippines and its neighbours is likely to result in proposals for expanded US military aid and training for the Philippine navy.40

Whither ethnic separatism? During the Cold War years, some ethnic conflicts were characterized by the participation of the United States (Tibet and Kashmir) or were tangentially affected by both superpowers (the East Pakistan war of 1971). However, as a general rule, both superpowers decided not to make ethnic separatism an integral aspect of their rivalry and competition. Their chief motivation was to create and sustain their respective spheres of influence and ultimately to win the Cold War. Besides, the concept of national sovereignty was so pervasive and almost sacrosanct during that time that no superpower wanted to violate it. The Yugoslavian conflict was an exception to that rule. However, it occurred after the end of the Cold War, when the rules of engagement among nationstates were ready for a major adjustment. The Yugoslavian conflict, and especially NATO’s war against Serbia in 1999, was the beginning of a new tradition in the post-Cold War years when national sovereignty was violated

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by outside powers to bring an end to ethnic cleansing. That contentious position of the NATO countries – even though it was promoted by the United States and was severely criticized by both China and Russia – did not cause any intra-alliance tensions. However, when the United States used a similar argument to bring an end to the brutal dictatorship of Saddam Hussein in 2003, that action caused a serious rift among NATO, the EU, and other nations. The United States, as self-styled champion of democracy, self-determination, and freedom, manifested a sustained attitude of a moral force, especially during the Cold War, and even in the short duration between the post-Cold War and the pre-9/11 years. In that capacity, it urged or admonished Russia, China, and India to be open to a political resolution of conflict inside their borders. However, it lost that high-minded attitude in the post-9/11 era. The post-9/11 era is one in which ethnic conflicts are least likely to be resolved. The whole idea of lumping all ethnic separatist movements under the rubric of ‘terrorism’ promises to continue – indeed, in most instances, worsen – the misery of those ethnic groups that want to attain autonomy or to become free. That global (or at least transregional) reality does not bode well for the prospects of peace and stability. Tibetans, Kashmiris, Uyghurs, Tamils, and all other ethnic groups who are not dealt with in this volume wish to break the yoke of neo-colonialism. However, unlike colonial struggles between the 1940s and 1960s – when the struggle for independence was envisaged as one of the basic and sacred rights of peoples – in the post-9/11 era such endeavours against dominant nation-states are condemned as terrorism. Repressing such aspirations or clamping down hard on those who seek independence is not likely to end their desire to have either autonomy or an independent homeland. In this sense, ethnic separatism – which may be depicted as the right of the minority to have their own homeland – will continue to destabilize parts of Asia. This volume covers a number of important ethnic conflicts. When one examines the general reasons for those conflicts, poor governance – which causes economic deprivation, poor education, the marginalization of ethnic minorities, and alienation from the dominant society – appears as recurring and prevalent. The Kashmiri conflict may still fall in a separate category because it is so intrinsically linked with the stability of Pakistan, Afghanistan, and even India. India has been able to persuade the Obama administration that it should be treated as a great power of South Asia and should not be forced to become a party to the negotiations involving Pakistan and Afghanistan. In the meantime, President Obama, wittingly or unwittingly, has reduced the significance of Pakistan by bracketing it with Afghanistan in those negotiations. In South Asia, countries exercise their power in a variety of ways. That is true of the strong as well as the weak ones. India successfully dismantled Pakistan’s eastern wing. However, Pakistan has never forgotten that defeat.

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Now it sees its entire relationship with India through a prism of humiliation. It wants to get even. One way to get even is by acquiring nuclear weapons so that Pakistan never again faces that situation vis-à-vis India. However, in the post-9/11 era, rules of regional and global power games have been changed. Pakistan has studied the Indian model of becoming a rising power and is driven by its desire to become India’s equal in the political, economic, military, and diplomatic realms. It will adopt a variety of strategies and tactics to achieve its objectives. One present and pressing requirement of Pakistan is to remove India’s presence from Afghanistan. If Pakistan’s chief interlocutor – the United States – is not persuaded of the seriousness of Pakistan’s fear of India, it has the Taliban weapon to use, and use it Pakistan will. Even the darkest minds of the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) – Pakistan’s intelligence service – have not quite figured out the ‘how’ of that strategy. But they know what they want: to remover India from Afghanistan. Pakistan will do everything to persuade America to see things its way. In this sense, the Kashmir conflict is very much part of the Pakistani strategy to bring India to the negotiating table. Of the separatist conflicts covered in this volume, the dispute in Sri Lanka stands out as the most contentious of all. The underlying question is whether the perceptual differences held by the Sinhalese and the Tamils, alluded to earlier in this chapter, were so wide or acute that they defied all chances of the emergence of a common ground between these ethnic groups, or whether the desire of Prabhakaran (since he was the overarching leader of the LTTE) to prevail at all cost made that conflict utterly intractable. It seems that the Tamil desire to have an autonomous region could have been achieved through negotiations. But it is also possible that Prabhakaran never envisaged that as an adequate goal, and wanted nothing short of complete independence. If that was the case, then the Tamil conflict followed the logic of a zero-sum game: eventually only either the Sinhalese or the Tamil Tigers could have emerged as winners. If that were true, then why did Prabhakaran even consider the possibility of peace with the Sri Lankan government? Perhaps he pursued that option only to bide time, and to opt for an advantageous negotiating position in the future that would give the Tamils their own homeland. Another question is why did Prabhakaran not recognize the deteriorating conditions of his fighting force between 2008 and 2009, and seek a political resolution? One suggestion is that he never calculated that the international community would let him and his organization perish. The very nature of that ethnic conflict made any compromise out of the question. The nation of Sri Lanka could not die, but the Tamil sub-nation could be reduced to a subservient entity. That is one ugly reality the Tamils of Sri Lanka have to live with in the post-LTTE years. As unjust as that option sounds, when the final end for the LTTE came, the world was in no mood to shed any tears over it. That organization had accumulated so much ill-will emanating from its brutal tactics that, when

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the government of President Mahinda Rajapaksa adopted equally harsh tactics in destroying the LTTE, the international community contented itself with public rebuke. No major power moved any warships or took any military action to bring an end to the conflict. The conscience of the international community appeared so numb that no rescue missions were carried out to end the suffering of Sri Lanka’s civilian Tamils. In Sri Lanka, the chances of the resurgence of the LTTE are quite slim. However, in the coming years, a conventional Tamil protest movement is likely to re-emerge to assert their rightful demands from the Sinhalese majority government. The Tamil diaspora comprises some of the most highly educated and entrepreneurial individuals in the world. Through the use of conventional politics, they might gain some version of autonomy. The international community is likely to be supportive of that goal. Another important question is whether the crushing of the LTTE as a secessionist organization will have any spill-over effect on the activities or modus operandi of other such groups anywhere else in the world. Now the Tamil sub-group of Sri Lanka is at the beck and call of a government that is too deliriously happy to spend much time pondering the plight of the Tamils. One wonders what lessons the leaders of other ethnic conflicts will draw from the LTTE’s calamitous defeat. The geopolitical aspect of ethnic separatism in Thailand and the Philippines is guided by George W. Bush’s post-9/11 obsession of seeing all Muslim protest movements as an integral part of regional or global terrorism. As extensive as America’s intelligence activities have been in those countries, there is little doubt that Washington has been quite comfortable in ‘buying lock stock and barrel’ the simplistic, alarmist, and misleading interpretations of those governments that Muslim insurgencies inside their borders are linked with Jemaah Islamiya (JI) of Indonesia or al-Qaeda. An alternative explanation is that the United States has been too busy conducting its ‘war’ on terrorism in the Middle East and South Asia between 2001 and 2009 to formulate its own extensive intelligence judgement regarding the true nature of those insurgencies, and has not felt the need to antagonize Bangkok and Manila on these matters. It is a well-known fact that the JI had some presence in the Philippines between 2001 and 2007. However, thanks to coordination between the security services of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore, that presence was essentially wiped out between 2008 and 2009. We periodically hear reports that some small-time JI functionaries are stuck in the remote parts of the Southern Philippines. However, they are desperately attempting to return to Indonesia without being captured. The counter-terrorism forces of those countries are getting better in destroying the terrorist financial network, which, in turn, is seriously hampering their capabilities to cause major damage.41 In contrast, as previously noted, there is no JI connection in Thailand as yet. However, if Muslim grievances remain unattended, the chances are that young

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hardline elements of the Malay-Thai insurgency will not only come to the forefront of their organizations, but will also further radicalize them. We have seen too many examples of extreme radicalization in the past in countries such as Algeria, Somalia, Pakistan, and elsewhere to ignore this possibility. In the highly interdependent globalized world of the twenty-first century, there is no need for terrorist groups or insurgents to establish any actual link with regional and global terrorist groups like the JI or al-Qaeda. The internet serves as the best source for those groups who are eager for selfradicalization. So the best option for the United States is to encourage its South East Asian allies to promote policies aimed at integration of Muslims in Thailand and the Philippines. The entire process of integration requires an array of policies aimed at improving educational facilities, increasing economic opportunities, and enhancing equal treatment of citizens under the law. What Thailand and the Philippines really need is a fundamental overhaul of government: good governance alone will go far to lower the level of conflict involving ethnic minorities. What is also important to keep in mind is that the demands of the Thai and Philippine separatist groups for autonomy may not necessarily lead to independence, even if that autonomy succeeds in improving their quality of life. If ethnic separatism is seen as the aspiration of stateless ethnicities to emerge as fully-fledged nation states, then we are in for many more decades of extreme ethnic separatist turbulence. The chance that China’s Uyghurs, Thailand’s Malay Muslims, the Philippines’ Muslims, or any of the innumerable ethnic groups of Burma/Myanmar or northeastern India will emerge with independent statehood is slim to non-existent. In every instance, a dominant ethnic majority, or in some instances a great power, has stood in the way of the fulfilment of such a goal. After all, what power could persuade Russia, China, or India to give up part of what these countries consider to be an integral part of their sovereign territory and to accept the lost territories as new and potentially hostile neighbours? During the post-9/11 era, the United States has sacrificed its role as a moral force on the altar of ‘defeating’ terrorism. Bush was so obsessed with depicting the terrorists as ‘evildoers’ that he was prepared to go to any extreme in order to defeat them. Fighting evil was a noble cause in and of itself; and that very end justified all means of achieving it. In that process, the Uyghurs and the Kashmiris seem to have become permanent losers because America has legitimized a policy of ‘no holds barred’ globally. Even in the case of the Muslims of Thailand and the Philippines, so long as the governments of those countries can successfully make a case (no matter how spurious) that their ethnic separatists are part of regional or global terrorism, the United States will continue to tolerate their suppression, no matter the cost. Where is ethnic separatism heading? Some general observations and specific references to chapters to this volume are in order. Not all chapters of this book cover the geopolitical angle. For instance, in Papua New Guinea

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(James Rolfe) there seems to be little if any geopolitical dimension. There is no outside interference, subversion, or domination. In Baluchistan, on the contrary, Robert Wirsing, while careful not to exaggerate the externalities, emphasizes the great importance of multiple external variables, energy rivalry being one of them, aggressive involvement in Afghanistan and the United States’ war on terrorism another. For Mohan Malik, the external dimension plays a central role in Burma. He argues that the obstacles to concerted international action in regard to Burma are practically insuperable. As previously stated, ethnic separatism is likely to be one of the chief reasons for further upheaval and turbulence around the world. The Xinjiang Province may explode if China were to encounter serious economic turbulence.42 Elizabeth Davis goes beyond China’s borders in expressing the seriousness of this conflict in her chapter. She notes, ‘The region as a whole has concerns about growing Uyghur violence. Central Asian countries, especially those with sizeable Uyghur minorities, already worry about Uyghur violence and agitation as part of a large focus on terrorist activities inside of and outside of the SCO [Shanghai Cooperation Organization]. Many of the regional governments, especially authoritarian secular governments in South Asia and Central Asia are worried about the contagion of increasingly powerful transnational Islamist movements. The governments of South East Asia too are worried about growing radical networks and training camps, but they also fear the very idea of a fragmenting China. Not only is China economically important to the region, but also political instability in China would impact all of Asia.’ The Tibetans will be right behind their Muslim counterparts in exploiting opportunities stemming from economic instability in China to win their freedom. But an economically powerful China is likely to be repressive in eradicating ethnic separatism. It should be noted, however, that Paul Smith is more cautious in expressing his views about the future of Tibet in his chapter. He notes, ‘What remains to be seen, however, is whether an increasingly self-confident and powerful China would be willing to grant the Tibetan Autonomous Region some degree of “functional autonomy” – while preserving PRC legal sovereignty – in order to foster a long-term solution to this seemingly intractable and corrosive controversy.’ India’s northeast is a hotbed of separatism. India’s problems are likely to intensify if Bangladesh becomes more politically unstable than it is right now, if Nepal becomes a battleground between the Maoist and monarchist forces, and especially if Burma erupts into internal civil strife. That entire region is a hotchpotch of a variety of ethnic-based insurgencies. In this context, Samir Kumar Das’ observations are sober and worth pondering. He writes, ‘Never before in history has the security of the nation in India been as violently opposed to the northeast as it is today. The region is reduced to a junkyard of Indian democracy. On the other hand, democratic aspirations in the region are increasingly being couched in a language that refuses to assimilate into the Indian nation. The divide seems insuperable. A new

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agenda of democratization calls for questioning the very foundations of India’s nationhood and also for recognizing the impossibility of fixing the fracture. It implies that India should instead discard the old national imaginary and offer room for renegotiating the terms of contract to those who are yet to become partners of India’s democratic dispensation even after more than sixty years. It is, after all, a foundational question.’ Ethnic separatism in Asia – when it erupts in violence – has captured the attention of the global community. In the post-9/11 era, especially while the administration of President Barack Obama is busy emphasizing multilateral and negotiated solutions to all conflicts that have a potential to destabilize one or more countries or an entire region, it will be interesting to see whether any serious and systematic measures will be taken by great powers to resolve ethnic conflicts, such as we have described in Kashmir, Tibet, Xinjiang, Sri Lanka, Thailand, or the Philippines. Notes 1. W. A. Stofft and G. L. Guertner, Ethnic Conflict: the Perils of Military Intervention (US Army War College: Parameters, 1995), http://www.carlisle.army.mil/USAWC/ PARAMETERS/1995/stofft.htm, accessed 11 July 2009. 2. Geopolitical (Dictionary.com: Online Etymology Dictionary, Douglas Harper, Historian, 2009), http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/geopolitical, accessed 11 July 2009. 3. Iran, Syria, Libya, Iraq, and Algeria were frequently referred to as rejectionist states. They were given that title because they rejected a peaceful solution to the Arab–Israeli conflict, and preferred a military conflict to resolve it. The Soviet Union used its friendship with those states to maintain some influence in the Middle East, even though the United States – despite heavy preference for Israeli perspectives on the Arab–Israeli conflict – remained a favoured actor in the Arab camp. 4. Pakistan, The Tashkent Declaration [1966] (Karachi, Pakistan: Story of Pakistan: A Multimedia Journey, 2003), http://www.storyofpakistan.com/articletext. asp?artid=A139, accessed 11 July 2009. 5. J. B. Roberts II, ‘The Secret War Over Tibet: a Story of Cold War Heroism’ (DejaNews, 1998), http://www.takhli.org/rjw/tibet.htm, accessed 11 July 2009. 6. Stofft and Guertner, Ethnic Conflict. 7. K. M. de Silva, Sri Lanka: Keeping the Peace in a Sharply Divided Society (Sri Lanka: Virtual Library, 2006), http://www.lankalibrary.com/pol/background.htm, accessed 11 July 2009. 8. Burma Issues, Ethnic Groups (2004), http://www.burmaissues.org/En/ethnic groups1.html, accessed 11 July 2009. 9. Global Security, ‘Thailand Islamic Insurgency’ (2005), http://www.globalsecurity. org/military/world/war/thailand2.htm, accessed 11 July 2009. 10. J. Bajoria and C. Zissis, The Muslim Insurgency in Southern Thailand (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 2008), http://www.cfr.org/publication/12531/ muslim_insurgency_in_southern_thailand.html?breadcrumb=%2Fregion%2F290 %2Fsoutheast_asia, accessed 11 July 2009.

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11. ICG, ‘Thailand: Political Turmoil and the Southern Insurgency’ (2008), http:// www.crisisgroup.org/home/index.cfm?id=5640, accessed 11 July 2009. 12. Bajoria and Zissis, Muslim Insurgency. 13. N. Shaikh, ‘Q&A on the Muslim Rebellion in [the] Philippine[s] with Professor Thomas McKenna’ (New York: Asia Source, 2000), http://www.islamawareness. net/Asia/Philippines/mckenna.html, accessed 11 July 2009. 14. Word Press, ‘The Moro and Muslim Separatism in the Philippines’ (2004), http:// faroutliers.wordpress.com/2004/10/28/the-moros-and-muslim-separatism-in-thephilippines, accessed 11 July 2009. 15. Ibid. 16. E. Martin, On the Issues: Philippines Agreement in Question (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, 2008), http://www.usip.org/resources/issuesphilippines, accessed 11 July 2009. 17. Joint Force Quarterly, ‘Reappraising FDR’s Approach to World War II in Europe’ (2008), http://goliath.ecnext.com/coms2/gi_0199-8342875/Reappraising-FDR-sapproach-to.html, accessed 11 July 2009. 18. X. Gu, China and the US After 9/11 (Berlin: International Politik, 2002), http:// www.ip-global.org/archiv/2002/summer2002/china-and-the-us-after-9-11.html, accessed 11 July 2009. 19. Ibid. 20. X. Xin, ‘Harmonization of NTS Securitization in US–China Security Cooperation’ (Kyoto, Japan: Ritsumeikan Journal of Asia Pacific Studies, 19 (2005)), http://www. princeton.edu/cwp/publications/xu_xin_harmonization_of_nts_securitization_ rjaps_vol_19.pdf, accessed 11 July 2009. 21. Ibid., p. 14. 22. S. Gunitskiy, In the Spotlight: East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM) (Washington, DC: Center for Defense Information, 2002), http://www.cdi.org/terrorism/etim. cfm, accessed 11 July 2009. 23. A. Rashid, Descent into Chaos: the United States and the Failure of Nation Building in Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Central Asia (New York: Viking-Penguin, 2008), p. 42. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid., pp. 122–3 26. Ibid., p. 123. 27. Ibid. 28. J. Bajoria, Pakistan’s New Generation of Terrorists (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 2008), http://www.cfr.org/publication/15422/, accessed 11 July 2009. 29. J. Jones, President Obama’s Afghanistan–Pakistan (AFPAK) Strategy (Washington, DC: US Department of State, 2009), http://fpc.state.gov/120965.htm, accessed 11 July 2009. 30. Raw Story Media, ‘Sri Lanka Strips Norway of Peace Role’ (2009), http://rawstory. com/news/afp/Sri_Lanka_strips_Norway_of_peace_ro_04132009.html, accessed 11 July 2009. 31. N. Manoharan, Anton Balasingham: the Political and Diplomatic Face of the LTTE (New Delhi: Institute of Peace and Conflict Studies, 2006), http://www.ipcs.org/ article_details.php?articleNo=2166, accessed 11 July 2009. 32. L. Wickrematunge, ‘And Then They Came for Me’ (Colombo, Sri Lanka: The Sunday Leader, 2009), http://www.thesundayleader.lk/20090111/editorial-.htm, accessed 11 July 2009.

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33. A. Ethirajan, ‘How Sri Lanka Military Won’ (London: BBC News, 2009), http://newsvote.bbc.co.uk/mpapps/pagetools/print/news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_ asia/8063409.stm?ad=1, accessed 11 July 2009. 34. BBC News, ‘Country Profile: East Timor’ (2009), http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asiapacific/country_profiles/1508119.stm, accessed 11 July 2009. 35. J. Miller, ‘Reported Australia/Timor-Leste Oil Deal “Cheats” East Timorese, Says ETAN’ (Brooklyn, NY: East Timor and Indonesia Action Network, 2009), http:// www.etan.org/news/2005/05cheat.htm, accessed 11 July 2009. 36. Bajoria and Zissis, Muslim Insurgency. 37. ICG, ‘Thailand: Political Turmoil and the Southern Insurgency’, pp. 11, 14, 16, passim. 38. P. Chalk, The Muslim-Malay Insurgency in Southern Thailand: Understanding the Conflict’s Evolving Dynamic (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2008), http:// www.rand.org/pubs/occasional_papers/2008/RAND_OP198.pdf, accessed 11 July 2009. 39. J. McGivering, ‘Peace Hopes Fade in Philippine South’ (London: BBC News, 2009), http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7935163.stm, accessed 11 July 2009. 40. T. Lum and L. A. Niksch, ‘The Republic of the Philippines: Background and US Relations’ (Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service, 2009), http://www. fas.org/sgp/crs/row/RL33233.pdf, accessed 11 July 2009. 41. For example, RAND Corporation’s recent study on South East Asia gives credit to the effectiveness and rising professionalism of the security forces of Indonesia – a country that has served as ground zero for the activism of Jemaah Islamiya (JI) in the past – in reducing the potency of that terrorist group. It should be noted, however, that even in complimenting the Indonesian security forces, the report remains very cautious. It notes: ‘On the one hand, the latent threat posed by Islamist radicalism has definitely declined since 2000, reflecting both more effective CT actions on the part of the police (especially Detachment 88) and widespread popular disillusionment generated by attacks that have disproportionately affected Muslim interests. On the other hand, an undercurrent of support for the institution of strict Islamic order remains in Indonesia, which, under the right circumstances, could spark a resurgence of JI/DI-instigated fundamentalism across the country.’ P. Chalk, A. Rabasa, W. Rosenau, and L. Piggott, The Evolving Terrorist Threat in Southeast Asia (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2009), http://www. rand.org/pubs/monographs/2009/RAND_MG846.pdf, accessed 11 July 2009. 42. In fact, major riots were reported in Xinjiang between the Uyghurs and Han Chinese as this chapter was being written. E. Wong, ‘Clashes in China Shed Light on Ethnic Divide’ (New York Times, 2009), http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/08/ world/asia/08china.html, accessed 11 July 2009.

Index Abdul Aziz Angkat 17 Abdul Qadir Baloch, Lieutenant General 102–3 Abeywardana, Lakshman Yapa 172 Abu Ghraib 119 Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG) 251, 260 Abuza, Z. 43, 44 Aceh 15–16, 17, 31–2 armed resistance and 27 independence sentiment and 28 as Military Operation Zone (DOM) 20, 21 peace process and Thailand 54 secessionism 18–25 Aceh Legislative Council 24 Aceh Monitoring Mission (AMM) 24 Aceh Referendum Information Centre (SIRA) 22, 24 Acheh-Sumatra National Liberation Front (ASNLF) 19 Aceh Transition Committee (Komite Peralihan Aceh) (KPA) 24 ‘act of free choice’, 1969 Papuan ‘plebiscite’ 27 Adivasi Cobra Force 131 adivasis (original inhabitants) 131, 132–3 Afghanistan 1–2, 74, 199 Balochistan and 83, 100 Central Asian republics and 85 China and 183–4, 189, 198 India and 143 Iraq War and 197 jihadis and 134 Kashmir and 145, 147–9, 152, 155, 261 Pakistan and 93, 143 pipeline projects and 85, 88, 90–1 refugees in Balochistan 99 Soviet invasion of 247 Tajikistan and 93 Thailand and 41, 44, 53 training camps in 183–4, 188, 190, 196

Turkmenistan and 88 US and 83, 99, 143–4, 195, 252, 253, 256 Uyghurs and 194, 196 Zaranj–Delarum link highway 95 Africa 5, 244 Ahmad Humam 24 Aimols 123 Akbar Khan Bugti, Nawab 103, 104 Akhtar Mengal, Sardar 103, 104 Akkaripattu-Oluvil area 165 Aksu disturbances 193 Albania 194 Algeria colonial brutality and 245 radicalization in 264 Ali Jan Orakzai, Lieutenant General 103 Al Jazeera 44 All Manipur Social Reformation, women protesters of 126–7 All Party Committee on Development and Reconciliation (Sri Lanka) 174, 176 All Party Representative Committee (APRC), Sri Lanka 170–1 All-Assam Students’ Union (AASU) 132 All-Bodo Students’ Union–Bodo Peoples’ Action Committee (ABSU–BPAC) 128–9, 130 Bansbari conference 129 Langhin Tinali conference 130 al-Qaeda 99, 143, 207 Bangladesh and 133–4 China and 184, 190 ETIM and 254 in Federally Administered Tribal Areas 147 geopolitics and 256, 263–4 Kyrgyzstan and 194 Thailand and 40, 42, 44 in Xinjiang 185, 188, 197, 253 al-Zawahiri, Dr Ayman 185 Amangul 187 Amarasekera, Sirisena 166 269

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Ambon 17, 32 Amirthalingham, A. 162 Amman, Pottu 163 Amungme people 27 Anals 123 Anand Panyarachun, Prime Minister 47 Anandasangaree, V. 165, 167 Anargul 187 Andorra 149 Anglo-Manipur war 122 Anglo-Siamese Treaty (1909) 37 Arabian Sea 85 Arab–Israeli conflict 246, 247, 251 Arakan gas fields 67 Armed Forces Journal 1 Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) (India) 118, 126 Armitage, Richard L. 194 Arunachal Pradesh 120, 129 Asahi Shimbun 74 ASEAN see Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) Asia nationalism and 244 rise of 9 Asian Development Bank (ADB) 167 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) 254 ‘Asia’s rice bowl’, Myanmar as 59 Askew, M. 40 Asom Gana Parishad (AGP) 129, 130 Aspinall, E. 17 Assam 120, 121, 122, 124, 127, 134 Assam movement 128 Assamese 131 ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’ 127 Governor of 122 insurgency 117 Scheduled Tribes 131 ‘Assam Bandh’ (shutdown) 132 Assam Disturbed Areas Act 118, 130 Assam Jatiyatabadi Yuva Chatra Parishad (AJYCP) 132 17th Assam Rifles 126, 127 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) ASEAN + 3 60–1 ASEAN + 5 60

Myanmar and 57, 59, 60, 62, 66–7, 71–2, 74–5, 76–7 US–China–ASEAN Forum (USCAF), on Myanmar 60, 72 Atasu pipeline 197 Ataullah Mengal 103–4 Athens, pro-Tibet protesters and Beijing Olympics 207 Athulathmudali, Minister for National Security Lalith 162 Atlantic Council 143–4 Aung San Suu Kyi 58–9, 62–4, 70–2, 75, 77 Australia East Timor and 258 Papua New Guinea (PNG) and 234, 236, 237 Autonomous Bougainville Government (ABG) 231, 238–40 Awami League 133 Ayutthaya 37 Aziz, Tariq 255 Baglihar Dam dispute 145–6 Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian language) 20 Bakhtiar Abdullah 24 Balach Marri, Nawabzada 104 Balasingham, Anton S. 257 ‘balkanization’ theory, Myanmar and 64 Baloch 2 Baloch Republican Army 107 Balochistan 83–115, 145 Baloch nationalism 95–100 energy issues 86–7, 88–91, 91–5 Gwadar, Central Asia transport corridor and 91–5 natural gas pipelines 88–91 Pakistan state responses 100–7 Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) 96, 104, 107 Balochistan Liberation Front (BLF) 96, 107 Balochistan National Party (BNP) 103 Baman Kampu Mayai Leikei village 126 Ban Ki-Moon 175–6 Banda Aceh 22, 23 Bandar Abbas 94

Index Bangladesh 120, 133, 134, 251–2 al-Qaeda and 133–4 Bangladesh Nationalist Party 133 Bansbari 129 Banten 16–17 Baren uprising 192, 196 Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Pattani 38 Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN) 38, 43 Barisan Revolusi Nasional–Koordinasi (BRN–C) 42–3, 51, 52 Barpujari, H. K. 129 Baruah, Paresh 134 Baruah, S. 116, 135 Basumatary, Golap 131 Basumtary, Binay Khungur 128 Battagliadi Algeri (film) 245 Beall, C. 209 Beijing Olympics (2008) terrorism and 184, 186 Tibet and 206–7 Bengal 127 Bengalis in Thailand 250 Bengalis in Tripura 117, 121 Bengali, K. 97 Bequelin, Nicholas 185 Bereueh, Daud 19 Bertrand, J. 17 ‘Better Institutions, Not Partition’ (Weinstein) 5 Bhanugachh 133 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) (India) 219, 255 Bhattacharjee, C. 127, 131 Bhaumik, S. 133, 134 Bhumibol Adulyadej, King 38 Bhutan 120, 134, 209 Bhutto, President Zulfikar Ali 84, 100, 103, 107 Bhutto, Prime Minister Benazir 63 bin Laden, Osama 185, 194, 196 Bintang Kejora (Morning Star) 26, 28 Bishkek 194 ‘Blood Borders: How a Better Middle East Would Look’ (Peters) 1 Bodman, Samuel W. 90 Bodo Liberation Tigers (BLT) 130, 132, 133 Bodo Sahitya Sabha (Bodo Literary Society) 128

271

Bodo Women’s Justice Forum 131 Bodoland 117–18, 120, 122 Autonomous Council (BAC) 130–1, 132 Hinduism and 119 Territorial Council (BTC) 117–18, 132, 135 Bougainville 231–43 Autonomous Bougainville Government (ABG) 231, 238–40 Constitution 231, 238 Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC) 234–5 identity 234–8 peace agreement (2001) 237–8 referendum on independence 238–9 Strategic Action Plan 2006–2010 239 weapons disposal plan 238–9 see also Papua New Guinea (PNG) Bougainville Interim Government (BIG) 236–7 Bougainville Peace Agreement, Joint Supervisory Body 239 Bougainville Resistance Forces (BRF) 234 Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) 233, 236–7 Brahma, Upendra 129 Brahmaputra Tibetan Plateau as source of 219 valley 127 Britain see United Kingdom (UK) Brunei, 2005 joint maritime patrols agreement 260 Brus, conflict with Mizos 122 brutality colonialism and 245–6 in Philippines 251 Buddhists in China 188 Dalai Lama and 209 Shan in Myanmar 58 Sri Lanka and 169 Thai 37–8, 259 in US 217 Bugti tribe (Balochistan) 86, 95, 96, 102 Burgher community (Sri Lanka) 168, 169 Burki, S. J. 150

272

Index

Burma ‘Burma Forum’ 59, 74, 77 Burma Plus Three discussions 68 ‘Burmanization’ 58 Burmans 58, 62–3 see also Myanmar Bush, President G. W. 89–90, 142, 154, 253–4, 255, 256, 263 Call for Global Islamic Resistance (al-Suri video) 184–5 Cambodia 71, 73–4, 250 Cambodian Muslims, in Thailand 44 Camp Hale, Leadville, Colorado, training camp 214 Canada Tamils and 175 Xinjiang and 195 Carter, President Jimmy 247 Caspian Sea 94 oil/gas reserves 197 Ceasefire Agreement (CFA) (Sri Lanka, 2002) 161, 162 Center for American Progress (CAP) 142, 143, 148 Central Asia republics (CARs) 85, 92–4, 105, 149 transport corridor 85, 91–5 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) 214, 215, 248 Central Kalimantan 17 Central Treaty Organization (CENTO) 247 Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue (HDC) 22 Cessation of Hostilities Agreement (CoHA), in Aceh 23 Chabahar 92, 94 Chakri Dynasty 37 Cham Muslims, in Thailand 250 Chaudhry Shujat Hussain, Prime Minister 105 Chechen secessionism 254 Chechnya 199 Chelvanayakam, S. J. V. 160 Chelyabinsk 190 Chen Jian 212 Chenab river 145–6 Chevron 69 Chin 58, 62

Chin National Front (CNF) 58 China 9 Balochistan and 99 China–European Union summit 220 Defence White Paper (2008) 188 energy cooperation with Kazakhstan 197 ethnic groups and 245–6 garrisons, Xinjiang region 189 geopolitics 253–4, 261, 264 Gwadar project and 92–3 India and 120, 134 Japanese invasion of 209 Kazakhstan rail link 197 Myanmar and 57, 59–62, 64, 66–7, 68–74, 76–7, 249 Pakistan and 85, 105 post-9/11 253 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and 189, 253 Sino-Burmese oil pipeline 69 Sino-Indian relations 212, 222 Sino-Pakistani strategic interests 93 Sino-Soviet relations 215 State Council 189 ‘strike hard’ campaigns 193, 198, 199, 212 Thailand and 41 Tibet and 248 Tibet White Paper 208, 212, 222 Turkmenistan gas pipeline 198 United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA) and 134 US and 73, 214–15, 218–19, 252 US–China–ASEAN Forum (USCAF), on Myanmar 60, 72 Western Development policies 191–2, 197 see also Tibet; Uyghur separatism China Southern Airlines Flight CZ6901, attempted bombing 187 China Tibetology Research Centre 211 Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 187, 217 anti-rightist policy 189 Central Committee 208 Tibet, governance in 207, 209–12, 213, 215

Index Chinese National Islamic Council 190 Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress (CPPCC) 190, 191 Chirus 123 Chittagong Hills Tracts 133 Chothes 123 Chotodamai 133 Christians Filipinos 250–1 in Indonesia 15, 17–18, 26, 30 in Myanmar 58 National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB) and 133 Chua, A. 8–9 Chulanont, General Surayud 37 Chushi Gangdrug 214 Civilian Military Police Unit 43 (CPM–43) 39, 41 civil–military relations, Myanmar 57–60 Clinton, President Bill 141, 153, 154, 248, 255 Clinton, Hillary, Secretary of State 153 Cold War 252–3 post-Cold war years 246–52, 260–1 Tibet and 214, 215, 216 Coll, S. 150–2 colonialism 232, 244–5, 261 ‘Colour Revolutions’ 197 Commission for National Integration (CNI) (Philippines) 251 Committee against the Brutal Killing of Thangjam Manorama Devi by 17 AR 127 Communist Party of Thailand 38, 70 Composite Dialogue, India and Pakistan 140 Conflict Affected Rehabilitation Project (CAARP) (ADB) 167 Congress on Papuan independence (2000) 28 Congress Party (India) 256 Congressional Human Rights Caucus (US) 217 Congressional Research Service (US) 194 ‘constructive engagement’ 57 Corruption Perceptions Index 57

273

Council for National Security (CNS) (Thailand) 48 Croats, population movement 4 Cultural Revolution (1966–76) 189, 211 cyclone Nargis 58 Czechoslovakia 5 Daimary, Ranjan 130 Dalai Lama 206, 209, 210–12, 213–15, 220, 248 Nobel Peace Prize 217 Damal people 27 Danish cartoons 192 Darrang 129 Darul Islam 19–20 Dauletabad gas field 88 Davis, A. 63 decapitation 103–4 Delaram highway link, Zaranj 92, 94, 95 Delhi Durbar 125 Democratic Party (Thailand) 41 ‘Democratic Reform in 1959’ 211 Deng Xiaoping 191, 211 Der Spiegel (magazine) 8 Dera Bugti 86, 102, 103, 104 ‘de-Sanskritizing’ 123 ‘destroy the four olds’ campaign in Tibet 211 Devanagari script 128 Devananda, Douglas 172 Development Samaj, women protesters of 127 devolution, Sri Lanka 170 dewan (secretary) to maharajah of Manipur 122 di Tiro, Chik 19 di Tiro, Hasan 19–20, 23 Dien Bien Phu 248 Dimasas, conflict with Karbis 117, 122 Dr Ram Manohar Lohia v. V. Sundaram, District Magistrate of Manipur 123 Drepung Monastery, Tibet 206 drug trade Myanmar and 57, 74, 77 Xinjiang and 183 Dunne, J. 108 Dusun Nyor Rebellion 38, 46 Dutch East Indies 19, 31

274

Index

East Bengal 121 East Kalimantan 16 East Pakistan 120, 251–2 see also Bangladesh East Timor 15, 31 armed resistance and 27 geopolitics 257–8 UN peacekeeping force and 258 East Turkestan International Committee 193 East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM) 184–5, 187–8, 193, 194–6, 254 East Turkestan Islamic Party 193 East Turkestan Islamic Party of Allah 193 East Turkestan Liberation Organization (ETLO) 193, 194 East Turkestan Opposition Party 193 ‘East Turkestan terrorists’ (publication) 193 Eastern Province (Sri Lanka) 173 Economic Cooperation Organization 93 Education Department (Thailand) 51 education, in Thailand 50–1, 258–9 Eelam People’s Democratic Party (EPDP) 172, 174 Eelam People’s Revolutionary Liberation Front (EPRLF) 160 Eelam Revolutionary Organization (EROS) 160, 173 Eelam War IV 159, 161–4, 163 Eisenhower, President Dwight D. 214–15 Enembe, Lukas 29 energy issues Balochistan 86–7, 88–91, 91–5 Pakistan 105 Uyghur separatism and 197–8 ethnic cleansing 2, 131, 244 ethnic conflicts, India 117 ethnic identity, Wirsing’s definition 245 ethnic separatism 1–11, 190, 207 ethnic nationalism 3–7, 9 globalization vs group identity 7–9 rise of Asia 9 Xinjiang and 197 see also geopolitics

Europe ethnic Tibetans and 208 Monroe Doctrine and 244 European Community 4 European Parliament 217 European Union (EU) 261 China–European Union summit 220 Myanmar and 59, 60–1, 66 Xinjiang and 195 extremism 190, 207 Failed States Index 57 Fearon, J. D. 5 Federal Party (FP) (Sri Lanka) 160 Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) 145, 147 Ferghana Valley 197 Fernando, Admiral Clancy 162 Fixing Failed States: a Framework for Rebuilding a Fractured World (Ghani & Lockhart) 59 Fonseka, Lieutenant General Sarath 161, 162 Foreign Affairs (publication) 3, 5, 6, 142 Foreign Ministry (China) 195 Foreign Office Pakistan 146 United Kingdom (UK) 27 Foreign Relations Committee, US Senate 216 France colonialism and 245 Thailand and 49 Free Aceh Movement (Grakan Aceh Merdeka) (GAM) 19–25, 27, 32, 53 Free Papua Movement 27, 30, 32 Free Papua Organization–National Liberation Army (TPN–OPM) 30 Free Tibetan Government 213–14 Free Turkestan Movement 194 Freeport McMoran Copper and Gold Inc. 27 Friedman, T. L. 7–8 ‘From Great Game to Grand Bargain: Ending Chaos in Afghanistan and Pakistan’ (Rubin & Rashid) 142 Front de Liberation Nationale (FLN) 245

Index Galula, D. 45 GAM (Grakan Aceh Merdeka) (Free Aceh Movement) 19–25, 27, 32, 53 Gambari, Ibrahim 58 Gambari Process 72 Gandhi, Prime Minister Rajiv 162 Ganges, Tibetan Plateau as source of 219 Gansu 206, 207 gas pipelines 69, 86, 88–91, 104–5, 108, 197–8 production, in Aceh 22 Geneva 23 geopolitics 244–67 Balochistan 86–7, 88–91, 91–5 Cold war/post-Cold war years 246–52 defined 246 India 133–5, 254–6, 261, 264 Kashmir 155, 247–8, 254–6, 261–2, 264 Myanmar 249–50 Northeast India 133–5 Pakistan 254–6, 261–2 Philippines 250–1, 259–60 post-9/11 era 252–60, 261–4 Russia 261, 264 Sri Lanka 247, 256–7, 262–3 Tibet 212–16, 248 Timor-Leste 257–8 Gerakan Mujahideen Islam Pattani 43 Gere, Richard 216 German Empire 244 German New Guinea 236 Germans, ethnic, population movement 4 Ghani, A. 59 ‘Globalization 3.0’ 7 globalization Tibet and 216–18 vs. group identity 7–9 Goalpara 127 Gohain, H. 128 Gohpur riots 129 Goldstein, M. 209 Golkar Party 28 Gopalakrishnan, R. 123 ‘Gram-raj system’ 171 group identity vs. globalization 7–9

275

Guangzhou, plastics factory bombing 184 Guantanamo Bay 119, 194–5 Gutierrez, Carlos 93 Guzalinur Turdi 187 Gwadar Central Asia transport corridor and 91–5 military cantonment 104 port facility 85, 91, 106 Gwadar Port Authority 105 Habibie, President B. J. 15, 16–17, 21, 28 Hamaneh, Kazem Vaziri 89 Han Chinese 186, 187, 192, 198 Han police officers 193 ul Haq, Mahbub 98 Harish, S. P. 44 Harrison, S. S. 83–4, 97, 101 Hasbi Abdullah 24 Hazarika, S. 125 Helsinki Agreement, on Aceh (2005) 23 Helsinki negotiations, GAM and 23 Hindu (publication) 164 Hinduism 119, 140, 148, 154 HIV/AIDS, Myanmar and 57, 68, 77 Hizb-ut-Tahrir 30, 197 Holbrooke, Ambassador Richard 144, 154 Home of East Turkestan Youth 194 Hotan, protests 186 Hu Jintao, President 190–1, 197, 198, 221 Hu Yaobang, Premier 211 Huang, Y. 207 Hui Minorities War 188 Hui, in Xinjiang 192 Human Development Index (HDI), northeast India and 125 human rights groups 190 Indonesia and 31 Kashmir and 141 Thailand and 46 Tibet and 216–18 Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) 103 Human Rights Commission (UN) 232

276

Index

Human Rights Watch (HRW) 28, 43, 51, 165 Asia Division 185 human trafficking, Myanmar 77 ‘Humanitarian Pause’, in Aceh 22 Hungary, Soviet invasion of 214 Hussein, Saddam 261 hydropower projects 146–7 identity ethnic 234–8 group 7–9 Ilango, Tamil police chief 163 Imphal 123, 126 improvised explosive devices (IEDs) 46, 52 In Afghanistan’s Shadow (Harrison) 83 ‘inassimilable alterity’ 132 India 8, 9, 116–39, 262 Afghanistan and 94 Baglihar Dam and 146 Balochistan and 99–100 Bodo insurgency 127–33 British 140 Buddhists in 209 Chabahar port and 94 China and 120, 134 civilian nuclear accord with US 90 Cold War and 247–8, 251 Constitution 117, 120, 135–6 ethnic groups and 208, 245–6 geopolitics 133–5, 254–6 India–Pakistan peace process 89 India–Pakistan relations 149, 254–6 Indo-Myanmar border 134 INSTC and 94 Iran–Pakistan–India (IPI) pipeline 88–90 ‘Look East Policy’ 135 Manipur 122–7 military occupation of Kashmir 141 Myanmar and 59–60, 60–1, 66–8, 70, 76–7, 249 natural gas pipelines and 88, 91 Northeast ethnic separatism 120–2 Pakistan and 84–5, 246 partition plan 140 post-9/11 253 Sino-Indian relations 212, 222 Soviet Union and 252

Sri Lanka and 161, 171, 175 Supreme Court 123 Tibet and 212–15, 219–20 Turkmenistan and 88 Union of 116 US–India strategic partnership 254 see also Kashmir Indian Muslims, in Assam 132–3 Indian Ocean, Pakistan naval presence 93 Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) 161 Indonesia 15–35, 53 2005 joint maritime patrols agreement 260 Aceh, secessionism 18–25 anti-Dutch struggle 25 Law 21/2001 (Papuan autonomy) 28 Myanmar and 61, 66 Papua 25–31 state relations 16–18 Timor-Leste and 257–8 US and 258 Indonesian Republic 19 Indonesians, in Thailand 250 Indonesia–Malaysia–Thailand Growth Triangle, 1993 initiative 50 Indo-Pakistan war (1965), Kashmir and 247, 251 Indo-Pakistan war (1971), East Pakistan and 251–2 Indo-Soviet Treaty of Peace, Friendship and Cooperation 252 Indo-Sri Lanka Accord (1987) 161, 171 Indus 145, 219 Indus Waters Commissioners 146 Indus Waters Treaty (IWT) 146 information management, zero-tolerance approach 101–2 INSTC (International North–South Transport Corridor) 94 Intellectual Deep South Watch (IDSW) 51 internally displaced persons (IDPs), Sri Lanka 159, 164–5, 175–6, 177 International Campaign for Tibet 216 International Crisis Group (ICG) Aceh and 24 Balochistan and 100, 106 Papua and 30 Thailand and 52, 250

Index International North–South Transport Corridor (INSTC) 94 Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) (Pakistan) 262 Inverse Population Density (IPD) formula 98 Iran Balochistan and 85, 99–100, 108 Economic Cooperation Organization and 93 INSTC and 94 natural gas reserves 89 transport links with Xinjiang 191 Iran–Libya Sanctions Act (1996) (US) 89 Iran–Pakistan–India (IPI) pipeline 88–90 Iraq 2, 199 Thailand and 41, 44, 53 US invasion of 61, 197, 245 Irrawaddy Delta 58 Irwandi Yusuf 24 Isaak–Muivah Group 122 Iskandar Muda, Sultan 19, 20 Iskandar Thani, Sultan 19 Islam, South Asia and radical 120 Islamic education, in south Thailand 51 Islamic fundamentalism 51, 134 Islamic Holy Warriors 193 Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) 185, 197 Islamic Reformist Party ‘Shock Brigade’ 193 Islamist extremism China and 191 Xinjiang and 197 Islamist groups 17–18 GAM and 20 rhetoric, China and 190 Islamist movements 198 Israel, Cold War and 246–7 Jaffar Umar Thalib 17 Jaffna 162, 164, 166, 167, 172 ‘Jakarta Charter’ 18 Jamestown Foundation 86 Jamhoori Watan Party (Republican National Party) 103 Jammu & Kashmir (J&K) 140–1, 145

277

Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) 170, 171 Japan 70 Myanmar and 59, 60, 68, 74, 76 Pearl Harbor and 252 Jathika Hela Urumaya (JHU) 170, 171 Java 16 Darul Islam and 19 Islamic militants from 17 Muslim migrants from 18 Jayatilleka, Dayan 172 Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) 17, 32, 42, 44, 263–4 Jia Qinglin 190 Jiang Zemin, President 253 ‘Jihad in Eastern Turkestan’ 184 Jonai 130 Jones, S. 24, 30, 44 Kacharis 127 Kachhi Canal irrigation project 106 Kachin 58, 62 Kachins, Myanmar and 134 Kachin Independence Organization (KIO) 58 Kadeer, Rebiya 188 Kadir, Ismail 195 Kadirgamar, Foreign Minister Lakshman 162 Kandy 169 Kangla Fort 127 Kanglei Yawol Kanna Lup (KYKL) 123 Kankesanthurai 166, 167 Karachi Anti-Terrorism Court 103 Karbi Anglong 130 Karbis, conflict with Dimasas 117, 122 Karen 58, 62 Karen National Union (KNU) 58 Karenni (Kayah) 58, 62 Karenni National Progressive Party (KNPP) 58 Kargil conflict 255 invasion 141, 152 Karuna (compassion) 169 Karuna (LTTE) 162 Kashgar 186, 193

278

Index

Kashmir 84, 140–58, 152 Afghanistan and 147–9, 155 geopolitics 247–8, 254–6, 261–2, 264 India–Pakistan relations 144–9, 152, 155 Indo-Pakistan war (1965) 251 river resource rivalry 145–7 self-determination for 142 solutions, search for 149–52 US and 152–4 Kasuri, Khurshid 151 Kayani, General 155 Kazakhstan 189 China and 197, 198 counter-terrorism and 190 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and 189, 253 training camps in 196 transport links with Xinjiang 191, 192, 197 Kazaks, in Xinjiang 192 Kei Islands of Maluku 30 Kelsang Gyaltsen 220 Kennedy, President J. F. 26, 248 Khair Baksh Marri, Nawab 104 khalwat (‘approaching adultery’) 23 Khin Nyunt 65 Khotan disturbances 193 Khrushchev, Nikita 215 Khuzdar 102 Kilinochchi 162, 173 Kim Jong Il 73 Kingsbury, D. 23 Kirgiz, in Xinjiang 192 Kishenganga Hydroelectric Project (KHP) 146 Klein, J. 153 Koch-Rajbangshis 131 Kohlu 86, 102, 103, 104 Koirengs 123 Kokrajhar 129, 129–30 Kolas, A. 208 Korb, L. 142 Korean Peninsula 248 Korean War 215 Krishna Godavari (KG) natural gas fields 89 Kristiarto Legowo 75 Krue Se Mosque incident 46, 47, 50 Kucha incident 186, 187

Kukis 117, 122, 123, 124 Kumaratunga, President Chandrika 161 Kunming 69 Kurds 2 Kyrgyzstan 189 China and 198 counter-terrorism and 190 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and 189, 253 training camps in 196 transport links with Xinjiang 192 US embassy in 194 Laitin, D. D. 5 Lalungs 127 Lamgong 123 Langhin Tinali 130 Langkawi Process 47 Laskar Jihad 17 Laskar Jundullah 17 Latin America nationalism and 244 US and 244 Law on the Governing of Aceh 23 Lhasa 188, 206 Li Shen 92 ‘liberal-optimist’ 3 Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) 159–60, 249 decimation of 161–4 geopolitics 256–7, 262–3 international community and 175–6 postwar politics 173–5 state management 164–73 see also Sri Lanka Libya GAM and 20 Iran–Libya Sanctions Act (1996) (US) 89 ‘licence to kill’ (Thai emergency decree 2005) 47 Lincoln, President Abraham 244 Line of Control, Kashmir 141–2, 151, 255 Linggadjati Agreement 25 Liow, J. 44 Liu Naiqiang 71 Lockhart, C. 59 Lodi Gyari 220

Index Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol (Sri Lanka) 162 Longanathan, Kethesh 162 ‘Look East’ policy, of India 67 Lyotard, J.-F. 118 Ma Ying-Jeou, President 221 Macapagal-Arroyo, President Gloria 260 MacIntyre, A. 31 Mahanta, Prafulla 129 Mahathir Mohamad, Prime Minister 47 Mahbubani, K. 9 Mahsum, Hasan 194, 196, 254 Malacca, Straits of 69 Malay community (Sri Lanka) 168, 169 Malay Muslims, in Thailand 37–9, 40–1, 43–4, 45–6, 48, 49–50, 52–3, 259 Malaya 38 Malayan Peninsula 19 Malays, ethnic, in Indonesia 16, 26 Malaysia 47–8 2005 joint maritime patrols agreement 260 Thailand and 250, 258 Malik, M. 250 Malik Mahmud 23 Mamet Sadyk 194 Mamet Yasyn 194 Manchu emperors, Tibet and 209 Manchu garrisons, Xinjiang region 189 Mandala Command, operation in Papua 26 Mangaldoi 129 Manik Farm IDP camp 164 Manipur 116–18, 120–2, 133 1891 war 122 Council of Ministers 122–3 Hinduism and 119 Legislative Assembly 124 ‘Manipur Culture Policy 2020’ 124 State Constitution Act 122–3 United Committee 123 Mannar 162, 164 Manorama, Thangjam (aka Henthoi) 126–7 Mao Zedong 211 Maoism, Manipur separatists and 123 Marcos, President Ferdinand 251

279

‘market-dominant minorities’ 8 Marri tribe (Balochistan) 95, 96, 102, 104 Marwah, V. 125 Mavil Aru 161 McCargo, D. 41 McElroy, N. 214 Mech-Kacharis 127 Medan 17 Media Centre for National Security (MCNS) 162 media, pro-Tibet bias in Western 207 Megawati, President 17, 21, 23, 28 Meghalaya 120, 125 Mehmet Emin Hazret 194 Meiteis 119, 123, 124, 133 Mekong River, Tibetan Plateau as source of 219 Melanesia 231, 233 ‘Melanesian race’, defining native Papuans 29 Memeti, Memetiming 184 Memorandum of Settlement, Assam 128, 132 Mengal tribe (Balochistan) 96, 102, 103 Menon, P. N. 214 Menon, Shiv Shankar 175, 219 Merauke 29 Metha (loving kindness) 169 Metz, S. 108 Micronesia 233 Middle East 1–2, 198, 247, 263 militant groups, Thailand 42–5 military intervention, Myanmar and 66 military junta, Myanmar 57–60 Military Operation Zone (Daerah Operasi Militar) (DOM) 20, 21 military-security measures, Thailand 45 Milosevic, Slobodan 244 Mindanao 25, 45, 259 Mindanao–Sulawesi corridor, joint maritime patrols 260 Minister for Communication (China) 92 Ministry of Defence (Sri Lanka) 162 Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) (India) 135, 214 Ministry of Interior (China) 195

280

Index

Miris 128 Mishra, Brijesh 255 Misra, T. 129 Misra, U. 129 Mitzner, M. 29 Mizo National Front (MNF) 122 Mizoram 120–1, 122, 125 Mizos 133 insurgency 117, 121, 122 Mohammed, Prophet 192 Mohan, C. R. 153 Mon 58 Mongolia 70, 209 Mongols, in Xinjiang 192 Monroe Doctrine 244 Monsengs 123 Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) 53, 251, 259–60 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) 251 Moscow State Institute for International Relations 221 Moulavi Bazar 133 Moyons 123 MRP (Majelis Rakyat Papua) 29 Muditha (rejoicing in others’ joy) 169 Muhammad Nazar 24 Mujib-ur-Rahman 133 Mukherjee, D. P. 128 Mukherjee, S. P. 128 Mullaitivu 162, 173 Muller, J. Z. 3–6 multinational corporations, Chinese in Myanmar 69 Mumbai, attacks in 142, 152, 256 Münster, peace treaty of 244 Muralidhar 167 MUSA (Muslim students’ union, Assam) 132 Musa’ad, Muhammad 29 Musharraf, President Pervez 84, 92–3, 96, 99, 100–7, 151, 196, 255 Muslims Bengali-speaking 131 in China 190, 192 in Indonesia 15, 17–18, 30, 32 in Jammu & Kashmir 140, 141, 148 in Kashmir 147, 150, 154 in Mindanao 250 Mumbai attack and 142

in Philippines 250, 250–1, 259, 264 in Sri Lanka 168, 169, 170 in Thailand 250, 258, 264 in Xinjiang 188–9 Mutallip Hajim 186 Muzakkir Manaf 24 Myanmar 57–79 army (Tatmadaw) 63, 65 ASEAN and 74–5, 76–7 China and 68–74, 76–7 civil–military relations 57–60 ethnic groups and 264 geopolitics 249–50 India and 66–8, 76, 120, 133 Indo-Myanmar border 134 Japan and 74, 76 Kachins and 134 multilateralize, need to 60–1 power-sharing 62–5 Sino-Burmese oil pipeline 69 Thailand and 65–6 Nadesan, B. 163 Naga Hills 121 Naga National Council (NNC) 122, 124 Naga Peoples’ Movement for Human Rights (NPMHR) 127 Nagaland 120, 121 Nagas 58, 123–4, 133 insurgency 117, 122 Nagalim 124, 135 Nagdhari 133 Nanggröe Aceh Darussalam 22 Narathiwat Province, Thailand 36, 37, 39, 40, 43, 45–6, 50, 250, 258 Narayanan, M. K. 175 Narokobi, Bernard 232 Nasioi language group (Bougainville) 236 Nasori Saesaeng 43 Nath, Sunil 134 Nation (newspaper) 96 National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB) 130, 133 National Development and Reform Commission (China) 191 National Intelligence Council (US) 218 National League for Democracy (NLD) 59, 63–4, 77

Index National Liberation Front of Tripura (NLFT) 121 National Minorities Policy and Its Practice in China (State Council) 189 National People’s Congress (NPC) (China) 187 National Reconciliation Commission (NRC) (Thailand) 47, 48, 49 National Socialist Council of Nagalim (NSCN), Isaak-Muivah Group (NSCN (I–M)) 122, 124, 127, 135 nationalism, ethnic 3–7, 9 Nationalists, Republic of China 189 NATO 195 ethnic cleansing and 244 forces in Afghanistan 147, 222 Serbia and 260–1 natural gas pipelines, Pakistan 88–91, 105, 108 Nazarbayev, President Abishevich 197 Nazi regime 4 Needed: a Comprehensive US Policy Towards Pakistan (Atlantic Council) 143 Neelum-Jhelum Hydroelectric Project (NJHP) 147 Negroponte, John 219 Nehru, Prime Minister Pandit Jawaharlal 213, 215 Nepal 120, 208, 209 Nepalis, in Assam 133 Netherlands Indonesian independence and 25–6 Papuan natural resources and 27 New PULO 43 see also Pattani United Liberation Organization (PULO) New York Agreement (1962), Indonesian Papua and 26 New Zealand, Bougainville and 237 Nixon, President Richard 252 Niyazov, President Saparmurat 197 Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) 176 non-governmental organizations (NGOs) Indonesia 20, 22, 29 Sri Lanka 165 Thailand 43 Norbulingka 210–11 Norochcholai power project 166

281

North America, ethnic Tibetans and 208 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) 83–4 North Cachar Hills, Assam 117 North Korea 61–2, 72–3, 76 North Lakhimpur 129 North Maluku 17 North Sumatra 17 North Vietnam 248 North West Frontier Province (NWFP) 97–8, 145 Northern Alliance (Afghanistan) 94 Northern Ireland 149 Northern Province (Sri Lanka) 167, 170, 174 Norway, mediation in Sri Lanka 161, 256 Northeast Provincial Council (Sri Lanka) 171 Nyan Win 72, 75 Nye, J. S. 7 Obama, President Barack 60, 142–3, 152–4, 195, 256, 261, 266 oil in Aceh 22 pipelines, China and 69 Oman, Gulf of 92 Ona, Francis 236, 239 Onde, William 28 One Plus Three framework, Myanmar and 66 Ong Keng Yong 63 Organisasi Papua Merdeka (OPM) (Free Papua Movement) 27, 30, 32 Organization for the Liberation of Uyghurstan 194 Oslo Declaration (Sri Lanka, 2002) 161 Osnabrück, peace treaty of 244 outsiders, in Bougainville 236 Owais Ahmad Ghani 103 Paites 122, 123 Pakistan 1–2, 63, 68, 194 Afghanistan and 93 China and 189, 195, 198 Coast Guard 105 Cold War and 251 Constitution 100

282

Index

Pakistan – continued Economic Cooperation Organization and 93 energy security and 105 ethnic composition 98 ETIM and 185 Frontier Corps 105 geopolitics 254–6, 261–2 India–Pakistan peace process 89 India–Pakistan relations 149, 246, 254–6 Iran–Pakistan–India (IPI) pipeline 88–90 Kashmir and 247 natural gas pipelines 88–91, 108 radicalization in 264 Sino-Pakistani strategic interests 93 Supreme Court 151 training camps in 183–4, 188 transport links with Xinjiang 191 Turkmenistan and 88 US and 93, 105, 142–4, 149, 153, 195, 247, 255 Zaranj–Delaram highway link and 94 see also Balochistan; Kashmir Pakistan Muslim League–Quaid-i-Azam (PML–Q) 96 Palestine 246 Panguna copper mine 235, 236 Papua (Indonesian) 15–16, 17, 22, 25–31, 32 Papuan People’s Council (Majelis Rakyat Papua) (MRP) 29 Papuan Presidium Council 28 Papua New Guinea (PNG) 30 Defence Force 236, 237 Supreme Court 238 see also Bougainville Paris, pro-Tibet protesters and Beijing Olympics 207 Partnership for Progress: Advancing a New Strategy for Prosperity and Stability in Pakistan and the Region (CAP) 142 Pashtuns 98–9, 102 Pattani nationalism 51 Pattani province 25, 36, 37, 40, 43, 46, 50, 250, 258

Pattani United Liberation Organization (PULO) 38, 43 see also New PULO Patel, Sardar Vallabhbhai 123 Pathmanathan, K. 173, 174–5 Pattaya 49 paukphaw (kinsmen) relationships 70 PDI-P party (Indonesia) 23, 29 Pegu, J. 128 Pentagon 1–2, 142 People’s Armed Police Force (PAPF) (China) 188, 206 People’s Liberation Army (PLA) China 210–11, 213 Manipur 126 People’s Liberation Organization of Tamil Eelam (PLOTE) 160 Peoples’ Revolutionary Party of Kangleipak (PREPAK) 127 Pertamina Oil Company 30 Peters, R. 1–2, 4 Phibun Songkhram, Prime Minister 37–8 Philippines 25, 45, 53, 70, 250 2005 joint maritime patrols agreement 260 armed forces of (AFP) 260 Constitution 260 geopolitics 250–1, 259–60, 263–4 Supreme Court of 259–60 Plains Tribal Council of Assam (PTCA) 128 Poland, visit of Dalai Lama 220 Poles, population movement 4 political management, zero-tolerance approach and 102–4, 104–5 Polynesia 233 Ponnambalam, G. G. 160 Pontecovo, Gillo 245 Poso 17, 32 post-9/11 era 252–60, 261–4, 266 post-LTTE conflict management 160 post-Soeharto era (Indonesia) 16 power-sharing, Myanmar 62–5 Prabhakaran, Velupillai 159, 161, 163, 173, 175, 256–7, 262 Pranai Suwannarat 50 Prem Tinsulanonda, General 38–9, 41, 49 Premadasa, President R. 161, 162

Index Presidential Task Force on development (Sri Lanka) 166 Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA) (Sri Lanka) 173 Prince of Songkhla University 51 prophet Mohammed 192 Provincial Councils, Sri Lanka 171 PT Freeport Indonesia Company 27 Pulithevan, S. 163 Punjab 87, 97–8, 146 Punjabis, in Thailand 250 putra daerah (sons of the region) 15, 16 Pyanj river 93 qanun (Aceh ‘constitution’) 22–3 Qin Gang 195 Qing Dynasty 189, 209 Qinghai 206, 208 Qinghai–Tibet (Qingzang) railway 191, 219 Qizilboy, terrorist attack 186 Quetta 99, 103, 104 Rabhas 128 Rabi Ram Brahma 129 Radio Free Asia 194 Rajapaksa, Defence Secretary Gotabaya 161 Rajapaksa, President Mahinda 159, 161–2, 164–6, 168–70, 172–3, 175– 7, 257, 263 Rakhine (Arakan) 58 Ram, N. 164, 169, 173 Ramage, D. E. 31 Rammohan, E. N. 125 Ramnagar 133 Rangpur 133 Rashid, A. 142–3, 148, 255 Reagan, President R. 142, 247 ‘realist-pessimist’ 3 Reangs, conflict with Mizos 122 ‘Redeclaration of Independence for Aceh’ 19 ‘redskins’ of PNG 233–4 Reilly, B. 233 religion, Israel and 246 ‘Republic of North Solomons’ 235 Republican National Party ( Jamhoori Watan Party) 103 Riau 16–17

283

river resource rivalry, Kashmir 145–7 Robinson, G. 25 Roosevelt, President Franklin D. 214, 252, 253 Rosecrance, R. 6, 7 Royal Thai Army (RTA) 42, 52 Rubin, B. R. 142–3, 148 Rundu Kumpulan Kecil (RKK) 43, 52 Russia Balochistan and 83, 100 counter-terrorism and 190 geopolitics 261, 264 INSTC and 94 Kashmir and 248 natural gas reserves 89 post-9/11 253 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and 189, 253 transport links with Xinjiang 191 see also Soviet Union Ryacudu, General Ryamizard 28 Sadaqat, M. 97 Saddam Hussein 261 Sadiya 130 ‘saffron revolution’, in Tibet 70 Saikia, Hiteswar 131 Saipan 214 Salafists 17, 30 Salween river, Tibetan plateau as source of 219 Sampanthan, Rajavarothajam 171 Samuel, G. 217 Sanamahi cult 123 ‘sanctions versus engagement’ 59 Sanmilit Janagoshthi Sangram Samiti (SJSS) 131 Santhals 131 Sanz, Ortiz 27 sardari system 101 Sarei, Bougainville provincial premier 235 Sarkozy, President Nicolas 220 Satchari 133 Satun Province, Thailand 50 Saudi Arabia 2 Sautmann, B. 217 Scheduled Tribes (Assam) 131 Sea Tigers 163 secessionism, Aceh 18–25

284

Index

Secretary of Commerce (US) 93 Security Operations Command (Thailand) 50 Semed, Ismail 196 Seneviratne, John 167 separatism see ethnic separatism ‘separatist project’ 5 11 September 2001 40–1, 189, 246 post-9/11 era 252–60, 261–4, 266 Serbia 260 1990s crisis 244 Serbs, population movement 4 ‘Serfs Emancipation Day’ (Tibet) 218 ‘Seven Sisters’ (India) 120 ‘Seventeen Point Agreement for the Peaceful Liberation of Tibet’ 210, 214 Seyfullah, Commander 184 Shamshernagar 133 Shan 58, 62 State Army (SSA) 58 Shanghai 189 bus bombing 184 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) 189, 190–1, 195, 198, 253 Sharia law, Thailand and 38, 49 Sharif, Prime Minister Nawaz 255 Shia 2, 250 Shillong 122 Shinawatra, Prime Minister Thaksin 37, 39–42, 45–8, 49–50, 52, 53, 258 Siam see Thailand Sibi 104 Sichuan 206, 208 earthquake 207 Sikkim 120, 121, 125, 209 Siliguri corridor 120 Silva, Nimal Siripala 173 Simon Commission (India) 127 Simpang KKA 21 Sindh 86–7, 98, 99 Singapore, Myanmar and 62 Singh, His Highness Maharaja Bodhachandra 123 Singh, Maharaja Hari 140 Singh, Okram Ibobi 125 Singh, Prime Minister Dr Manmohan 135 Sinhalese community 159, 160, 167, 168, 176–7, 249, 262 suspected resettlement of 165

Sinhalization 160 Sino-Burmese oil pipeline 69 Sino-Indian relations 212, 222 Sino-Pakistani strategic interests 93 Sino-Soviet relations 215 Sino-Thais 37 SIRA (Aceh Referendum Information Centre) 22, 24, 32 Sistan 92 Sittwe 69 Six-Party Talks Myanmar 60–1 North Korea 66, 72–3, 76 Slovaks, population movement 4 Smith, A. D. 31 Soeharto, President 15, 27, 31 Soekarno, President 26, 27, 31 Sofyan Dawood 24 Solomon Islands 233, 236 Somalia 74, 264 Somchai Nilaphaichit 46 Songkhla Province, Thailand 50, 250 Sonowal-Kacharis 127 Sonthi Boonyaratglin, General 43, 48, 258 Soosai, Sea Tiger chief 163 South Africa, China and 220 South Asia radical Islam and 120 transport link to Central Asia 94 South East Asia 19 India and 135 South Korea 70 South Pars gas field 88 South Vietnam 248 Southeast Asian Treaty Organization (SEATO) 247 Southern Border Provinces Administration Centre (SBPAC) 39, 40, 41, 48, 50 sovereignty 1, 49, 244 Soviet Union 5, 73, 252 Afghanistan and 247–8 arms supplies 251 Communist Party of (CPSU) 215 expansionism and 83–4 Hungary and 214 India and 252 Israel and 246–7 Kashmir and 247–8 Sino-Soviet relations 215

Index Xinjiang and 189, 196 see also Russia Special Forces Thailand 48 US 260 Special Services Bureau (Assam) 129 Spence, Jonathan D. 189 Sperling, E. 208 Sri Jayawardenapura 168 Sri Lanka 159–80 ‘13th Amendment plus’ 171–3, 177 All Party Representative Committee (APRC) 170–1 armed forces 162 Constitution 160, 170, 171 devolution debate 170 drivers of Tamil conflict 160–4 Eelam War IV, LTTE decimation 161–4 ‘fight-to-finish’ campaign (2006) 161 geopolitics 247, 256–7, 262–3 High Courts 171 internally displaced persons (IDPs) 159, 164–5, 177 international community and 175–6 official languages 171, 172 postwar Tamil politics 173–5 solutions, search for 167–70 state management, post LTTE 164–73 Supreme Court of 171 Sri Lanka Muslim Congress (SLMC) 170, 173 Sri Prakash 122 Srikantha, N. 174 State Administration for Religious Affairs (China) 190 State of Emergency (Sri Lanka) 173 State Peace and Development Council (SPDC) (Myanmar) 58, 64, 75 Stein, A. 6, 7 Steinberg, Jim 60 Steingart, G. 8 Sudarsono, Juwono 63 Suebu, Barnabas 29 Suez Canal 94 Sufi Islam 254 Sui natural gas fields 86, 104 Sui Southern Gas Company Limited 86 suicide bombings 183, 187 Sulawesi 18 Darul Islam and 19

285

Sulong, Haji 38 Sulu 25 Sumatra 19 Sunni Muslims 250 Surayud, Prime Minister 44, 48–53, 66 Sweden, Aceh exiles in 23 Syariah law 18, 21–2 Syed Hamid Albar 75 Sylhet 133 Syria 2 Tabrani Rab 16 Taiping Rebellion 188 Taiwan 70, 188, 221 Tajikistan 189 Afghanistan and 93, 94 China and 183, 198 counter-terrorism and 190 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and 189, 253 training camps in 196 transport links with Xinjiang 191, 192 Tak Bai atrocity 46, 47, 49–50 Taliban 44, 94, 99, 197, 253, 255, 256 ETIM and 194 in Federally Administered Tribal Areas 147 in Pakistani borderlands 153 Tamil Congress (TC) 160 Tamil Eelam 159, 160–1, 175 Tamil Eelam Liberation Organization (TELO) 160, 173 Tamil Makkai Viduthalai Puligai (TMVP) 173, 174 Tamil National Alliance (TNA) 169, 170, 171, 173, 174 Tamil United Liberation Front (TULF) 160, 162, 165, 167, 171, 172, 174 TamilNet 162, 163, 173 Tamils community 159, 162, 168, 169, 177 conflict, drivers of 160–4 diaspora 172 geopolitics 249, 257, 262–3 postwar politics 173–5 in Thailand 250 see also Sri Lanka Tang Jiaxuan 72

286

Index

Tapanuli 17 Tarapot, P. 126 Tashkent Conference (1966) 248 Tatmadaw (Burmese army) 63, 65 Tehrik-e-Talaba-e-Pakistan (TTP) 256 Tekas County, Xinjiang 193 Temple, D. 89–90 Tempo (magazine) 21, 24 Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI) 17, 21, 24–5, 30 terrorism 190–1, 207, 246 Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act (TADA) (India) 118, 129 Texaco 69 Thadous 123 Thai Buddhists 38, 40, 43, 50, 51–2 Thai Muslims 37, 41, 48, 258–9 Thai Rak Thai 41 Thailand 25, 36–56 geopolitics 250, 258–9, 263–4 historical context 37–9 militant groups 42–5 Myanmar and 60–1, 62, 65–6, 66, 68 Prime Minister Surayud 44, 48–53, 66 Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra 37, 39–42, 45–8, 49– 50, 52, 53, 258 Sino-Thais 37 state actions, resentment to 39–45 Than Shwe 65 Thandikulam 166 Thant Myint-U 65 Theys Eluay 28 Thiranagama, Rajani 162 ‘13th Amendment plus’, Sri Lanka 171–3, 177 Tiananmen Square 217 Tibet 70, 71, 120, 133, 188, 206–27 1959 rebellion 210–11, 213 China and 248 Chinese Communist Party (CCP) governance 209–12 Chinese power and 218–20 controversy, origins and parameters 207–9 Democratic Reform in (1959) 218 future 221–2 geopolitics 212–16, 248

globalization and human rights 216–18 monks’ demonstration/hunger strike 206 resistance fighters, CIA and 214 Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) 207, 209, 219, 221–2 Tibetan Youth Congress 220 Timor-Leste see East Timor Tinsulanonda, Prime Minister Prem 250 Tiruchelvam, Dr Neelan 162 Tiwas 128 TNI (Tentara Nasional Indonesia) 17, 21, 24–5 Toheti, Tuersun 184 Track II dialogue 68 transnational security 68 Transparency International 57 transport corridors 85, 91–5, 105 Trieste 149 Trikora ultimatum 26 Tripura 120, 121 tribes, conflict with Bengalis 117 tsunami (‘Boxing Day’ 2004) 23 tumandari system 101 Tumeng, Johanes 28 Turbat 104 Turkestan Islamic Party 183–4 Turkey 2 Economic Cooperation Organization and 93 transport links with Xinjiang 191 Turkmenistan 88, 197–8 Balochistan and 85, 108 INSTC and 94 Turkmenistan–Afghanistan–Pakistan (TAP) pipeline 91 Turkmenistan–Afghanistan–Pakistan– India (TAPI) pipeline 88, 90–1 Turkmenistan–China gas pipeline 198 Udalguri 129 Uganda 5 Ukrainians, population movement 4 Union Territory (Assam) 128 United Arab Emirates 100 United Kingdom (UK) colonial brutality and 245 Manipur and 122

Index Tamils and 175 Thailand and 49 United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA) 122, 134, 135 United National Liberation Front of Manipur (UNLF) 122, 127 United National Party (Sri Lanka) 170, 172 United National Revolutionary Front of East Turkestan (UNRF) 193 United Nations Temporary Executive (UNTEA), Indonesian Papua and 26–7 United Nations (UN) Bougainville and 235 China and 71, 72 Development Programme (UNDP) 167 Human Rights Commission 232 Indonesia and 27, 28, 31 Japan and 74 Myanmar and 58, 64, 66, 68, 69, 72 peacekeeping force, East Timor 258 Security Council (UNSC) 59, 64, 67, 68, 75, 194–5, 216, 254 Sri Lanka and 165, 175–6 United People’s Freedom Alliance (UPFA) (Sri Lanka) 172, 173 United Revolutionary Front of Eastern Turkestan 194 United States of America (USA) Afghanistan and 83, 99, 143–4, 252, 253, 256 AfPak Strategy 256 arms supplies 251–2 Balochistan and 100 China and 73, 214–15, 218–19 Civil War 244 civilian nuclear accord with India 90 concept of ‘manifest destiny’ 244 embargo on Pakistan 247 ETIM and 194 extraditions by 194–5 geopolitics 91, 260–5 India and 149 India–Pakistan relations and 255–6 invasion of Iraq 61, 197, 245, 254 Kashmir and 152–4, 247–8 Monroe Doctrine 244 Myanmar and 59, 60–1 Pakistan and 93, 105, 142–4, 149, 153

287

protest movements and 246 South Asia region and 144 Supreme Court 194 Taiwan and 221 Thailand and 41 Tibet and 217, 219, 221–2 US Special Forces, Philippines and 260 US–China dialogue 252 US–China–ASEAN Forum (USCAF), on Myanmar 60, 72 US–India strategic partnership 254 US–Pakistan cooperation 255 ‘war on terror’ 41, 53, 141, 142–3, 145, 253–4, 263–4 see also 11 September 2001 ‘United States of Indonesia’, proposed 26 United Tribal Nationalist Liberation Front (UTNLF) 128 Unocal 69 Upeksha (equanimity) 169 Upper Kotmale power project 166 Urumqi 187, 193, 196 ‘Us and Them: the Enduring Power of Ethnic Nationalism’ (Muller) 3 USS Enterprise 252 Uyghur American Association 186 Uyghur Liberation Organization 193, 194 Uyghur separatism 183–205, 264 alternate futures 198 energy issues 197–8 family protest (2009) 186 international responses 193–7 as Muslim state 183 Muslims, al-Qaeda and 253 state responses 188–93 violent incidents 183–8 Uyghurstan Liberation Front 193 Uzbekistan 189, 197 counter-terrorism and 190–1 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and 253 transport links with Xinjiang 191 Vaddokoddai resolution 160 Vajpayee, Prime Minister Atal Bihari 255–6 Vanni (Wanni) 165, 166 Varna-Hindu Assamese society 127–8, 131

288

Index

Vavuniya 164, 172, 175 Vavuniya–Kankesanthurai railway 166 Vietnam 73 Vietnam War 215 Virginia, training camp for Tibetans 214 Vishva Keerthi Sri Thri Sinhaladheeshawara 169 Wahid, President A. 17, 22, 28 Wan Kadir Che Wan 44 Wan Li, Vice Premier 211 Wang Jinxiang 191 Wang Lequan 196 Wanni (Tamil heartland) 165, 166 ‘wantok’ language group 232 ‘war on drugs’ (Thailand) 41–2, 53 ‘war on terror’ 41, 53, 141, 143, 145, 253, 256, 263 War Heroes Commemoration rally (Sri Lanka) 168 Washington Post 154 Watanachai Chaimuanwong, General 44 Watubun, Komaruddin 29 Waziristan, Uyghur militants and 185 Weerasinghe, Sumith 166 Weeratunga, Lalith 172 Weinstein, J. 5–6 Weiss, S. 73 Welgama, Kumar 167 Wen Jiabao, Premier 191 Wenzhou, attack on police 184 West Kalimantan 17 West Nieuw Guinea 25 West Pakistan 251 Western People’s Front (WPF) 170 Westphalia, Peace of (1648) 1, 244 Wickrematunge, L. 257 Wijeratne, Defence Minister Ranjan 162 Wolves of Lop Nor 194 women organizations for (Assam) 130 Xinjiang violence and 186–7 World Bank 146, 150 World on Fire: How Exporting Free Market Democracy Breeds Ethnic Hatred and Global Instability (Chua) 8

World is Flat: a Brief History of the Twenty-First Century (Friedman) 7 World Trade Centre 142 World War One 4 World War Two 4, 19, 25, 151, 244, 252 Xinjiang Communist Party of 196 see also Uyghur separatism Xinjiang Autonomous Region 71, 85, 105 Xinjiang Liberation Organization 194 Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region 190 Xinjiang–Shanghai gas pipeline 197 Yadana gas field 69 Yala Province, Thailand 37, 40, 43, 50, 250, 258 Yamanya, terrorist attack 186 Yang Jiechi, Foreign Minister 211–12, 220 Yangtze river, Tibetan plateau as source of 219 Yawi (Malay dialect) 37–8, 40 Ye Xiaowen 190 Yellow river, Tibetan plateau as source of 219 Yetagun gas field 69 Yili County, Xinjiang 193 Yining disturbances 193 Yuan Dynasty 208 Yudhoyono, President S. B. 18, 23, 32 Yugoslavia 5, 199, 260 Yunnan province 208 bus bombings 184 Zaini Abdullah 23–4 Zaranj–Delaram highway link 92, 94, 95 Zardari, President Asif Ali 84, 100, 153–4, 185, 256 Zehri tribe (Balochistan) 102 Zhongnanhai, bus explosion 187 Zhu Rongji, Premier 191 Zhu Weiqun 208 Ziarek, E. 132 Žižek, S. 118