Monday, April 4, 2016

The Lie at the Center of the Singapore Legend


The meta-narrative of the founding of modern Singapore is that as a young lawyer and activist Lee Kuan Yew beguiled the Communists into backing the People’s Action Party and once in power turned on them, jailing them after riots in 1955 revealed their true colors, into the process making Singapore a crucial bulwark in Asia against the Communist tide.

With Lee Kuan Yew now dead for a year, the veneration of his life has started anew in Singapore. But that legend of the founding of the city state is a lie, according to Poh Soo Kai in a bitter and angry book. In fact, Poh wrote, the people who were arrested were mainly Kuan Yew’s enemies. Poh, a physician, was jailed cumulatively for 17 years, ultimately leaving for Canada in 1989 as a political self- exile before eventually returning to the island republic.

Like his fellow rebel Chia Thye Poh, who served 23 years in prison and nine more under house arrest, he writes, he could have been freed long earlier if he had apologized and confessed. Now Poh, 84 years old, has told his story in a deeply detailed and troublesome 406-page history researched out of declassified British colonial archives and a wealth of other records that he says lay bare the true story.

It is a book that in places is hard going and runs in different directions, mixing in stories of the life of his grandfather, his family’s fight to escape World War II and other accounts with his confrontation with the newly borning independent state of Singapore. But in sum, the tactics described, including what Poh calls the government’s use of a subterfuge to arrest his wife and, using good-cop bad-cop tactics for hours of questioning to turn her against him, presaged too often the tactics of modern Singapore. It is a sad story of the use of a state that would stop at nothing to keep its critics muzzled.

With Kuan Yew gone, the government arguably remains less willing to use any tactic necessary to rid the country of its perceived enemies, as Kuan Yew did. Nonetheless, today it is making sure no dissent rises up on the internet, with relatively timid bloggers going to jail and being driven out of business.

 

In the 1980s, those tactics included Operation Spectrum, which broke a nonexistent “Marxist conspiracy” of young activists working on social issues. In doing so the government sought to discredit a priest by getting the Straits Times to print salacious articles describing the time the priest was seen entering the home of a woman in the middle of the night and the time he was seen leaving her home.

It included boxcar headlines that a married US diplomat who had met with the activists had a “love child” in the Philippines despite the fact that the diplomat had since adopted the child, which was living with his new family.  It included the disgrace of the late Singapore president Devan Nair as a drunk after he broke with Kuan Yew over the rights of dissidents.

In describing the turning of his wife, Poh writes that “I have held back on a matter that affected me the most, but which I find is almost impossible for me to talk about. It is too painful. But to keep avoiding the issue would be to let Lee Kuan Yew get away with the most heinous crime perpetrated on me, and for me to be forever the silenced victim.”

The couple eventually divorced. 

“Grace and I were both too badly hurt for our marriage to survive,” he wrote. “Our divorce was finalized in 1992, after the requisite period of three years of separation. I cannot pretend that it no longer hurts. It still does very much. But I do not feel humiliated. I refuse to be destroyed. It is the pimp who should have been ashamed and made accountable. And so should those who sat at his feet, and who continue to repeat his lies, defending the use of the Internal Security Act.” 

“I am now ready to take the final step, to defy Lee’s cold and smug calculation that I would never be able to speak about the depth of his vindictiveness towards anyone who crossed him,” Poh writes. In this book, he does so in detail.

Poh originally attracted the attention of authorities by his position as a founding member of the University Socialist Club at the University of Malaya and later as a founding member of the on-campus publication Fajar (Dawn). First arrested in 1954 for sedition along with seven other Fajar journalists, he would be released, then arrested again. He was released in 1973 and on his release called Lee Kuan Yew a “political pimp.” Kuan Yew described him as defiant. He was arrested again and finally released in 1982. I am still defiant,” he said in the preface. “I draw a strict line between what is just and what isn’t.”

A physician and the grandson of Singapore’s richest tycoon Tan Kah Kee, Poh and 132 other people were victims of the infamous Operation Coldstore, as the operation was known, the code name for a covert security operation that got underway in February of 1963. They were detained without trial under the Preservation of Public Security Ordinance (PPSO).

In official accounts, the operation was a security operation “aimed at crippling the Communist open front organization,” which threatened Singapore’s internal security.

 In Poh’s account, Lee was hardly the political innocent he painted himself to be, nor were the communists PAP infiltrators. In fact, he writes, Lee himself accepted several people who were former members of the Communist Party of Malaya (CPM). Lee needed the support of the left-wing. He also put feelers out to Chinese students who had links with the underground to ask for Chinese speaking trade unionists who knew the ground well. Lim Chin Siong, a member of the Anti-British League, thus joined the PAP.

 Altogether, it is a depressing and deeply disturbing account showing the other side of clearly Asia’s most accomplished statesman, a man who on one front could establish the richest society in Asia, absolutely incorruptible in the conventional sense, a country where permits are granted, contracts are let in the absolute certainty that honesty will prevail. On the other Lee Kuan Yew was a tyrant and a man utterly without morals in working to derail those he could not otherwise control. A year after his death, sadly he leaves a society built in his image on both counts.

I am getting on in years,” Poh ends this harsh book. “Many of my friends from the Fajar and the May 13 generation have passed on. I feel I owe them all a duty to write about our common struggles; I feel I owe the younger generation a duty to leave a record of our country’s history. I hope we will live our lives in the service of our people.”

By John Berthelsen Book Review, Headline, Singapore

 

 

China and Indonesia’s strategic options




China and Indonesia’s strategic options



Unlike earlier incidents, this one involved a Chinese coastguard vessel almost intruding into Indonesia’s 12-nautical mile territorial sea off Bunguran (Natuna Besar) Island. China should not underestimate the significance of this threat to Indonesian national integrity.

China does not dispute Indonesia’s claims to this maritime area but it asserts that Chinese fishermen have traditional fishing rights there. This is consistent with the Chinese interpretation of maritime law that would allow ‘traditional fishing’ in Indonesia’s Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ). This thinking appears to lie at the heart of China’s famous nine-dash line that surrounds a large part of the South China Sea.

Indonesia and China have no territorial dispute in the South China Sea. Indonesia has, in the past, played an active and principled part in trying to define a framework within which disputes among the various claimants to territories there — China, Vietnam, the Philippines, Taiwan, Malaysia and Brunei — might be mitigated or resolved.

Indonesia’s President, Joko Widodo (Jokowi), has declared a new maritime priority for the Indonesian state. The largest archipelagic state in the world, Indonesia encompasses huge marine resources. The country has a total land area of 1.9 million square kilometres. An additional 3.2 million square kilometres of ocean lie within its borders. Indonesia’s maritime priorities are an overdue and legitimate focus of national policy. Its seaways have too long been a barrier to, rather than a facilitator of, national integration. Its role as a maritime Asian nation needs to be strengthened as an enhancement to regional stability. Its neighbours, including Australia, Singapore, Malaysia as well as China and Japan have a constructive interest in this development.

This is a moment of strategic sensitivity in Sino–Indonesian relations, as the Jokowi administration struggles to implement its Global Maritime Fulcrum (Poros Maritim Dunia, PMD) concept. It tests whether Indonesia has the capacity to develop a maritime strategy that will achieve the PMD’s policy goals, as Ristian Atriandi Supriyanto argues.

The success of PMD depends on the development of a coherent maritime strategy with Indonesia’s archipelagic geography as the foundation of its strategic thinking. The strategy should be based on Indonesia’s foreign and maritime policy principles, the interplay between Jokowi’s PMD concept and Indonesia’s maritime strategic thinking and a realistic view of what the goals should be.

In this week’s lead essay, Sourabh Gupta explains how the squabbles around Natuna have escalated over different conceptions of the application of international maritime law.

‘For Jakarta’, writes Gupta, ‘the trawler was fishing illegally (and engaging in prohibited fishing practices) in an exclusive Indonesian maritime zone. Because Indonesia enjoys undisputed sovereign rights and jurisdiction over these waters, the vessel and its fishermen must submit to the force of domestic law’.

‘For Beijing, the vessel was “carrying out normal operations” (although Beijing has not explicitly vouched for its fishing practices) within “traditional Chinese fishing grounds”. Up to the perimeter enclosed by the nine-dash line in the semi-enclosed South China Sea, traditional Chinese fishermen individually enjoy non-exclusive “historic fishing rights”. Because Beijing reserves a vested interest and jurisdiction — to ensure the preservation of this right within the nine-dash line, Jakarta should release the detained fishermen without delay’.

The legal basis for both countries’ actions is UNCLOS. But each side presents a different interpretation of the Convention’s application and reach. As Gupta points out, the Philippines v. China arbitration winding towards a climax in The Hague should provide some answers to these impossible-to-reconcile Indonesian and Chinese fisheries-related interpretations.

The dominant view among scholars and practitioners sides with Jakarta, Gupta says. But three major points in China’s favour have arisen from jurisprudential innovations before and since Manila filed its case.

‘First,’ writes Gupta, ‘international sea law recognises history as a basis for entitlements in semi-enclosed seas — although the scope of jurisdiction associated with this local custom-based right in foreign EEZs is unclear.’ Additionally, states are able to claim supplementary rights to UNCLOS, such as those enjoyed by Indonesian traditional fishermen, through bilateral agreement or local custom.

These supplementary ‘historic fishing rights’, regulated by international law outside UNCLOS, operate equally across each of the maritime zones created by the Convention — including, presumably, in the Natuna EEZ.

This is no time for Chinese megaphone diplomacy over an incidental matter at a point of Indonesian diplomatic vulnerability. That could unwittingly change the geopolitical environment in Southeast Asia in a way that is counterproductive to constructive relations between China and, not only Indonesia, but the whole Southeast Asian region.

The EAF Editorial Group is comprised of Peter Drysdale, Shiro Armstrong, Ben Ascione, Ryan Manuel and Jillian Mowbray-Tsutsumi and is located in the Crawford School of Public Policy in the ANU College of Asia and the Pacific.

 
 

Alice in Juntaland and autocracy in Thailand

                           Will Thailand re-emerge from the rabbit hole? Photo: YouTube

Readers may have heard about a woman arrested and charged with sedition for holding a red bowl with Thaksin’s message on it for 2016 Songkran Day. It gets worse in Thailand by the minute as the country is now under full military dictatorship and a chilling sign of things to come.

On 16 October 2008 I wrote a piece for New Mandala entitled “Whither Thai Democracy” saying that Thailand was becoming like Burma under its military rule, especially given the scenario of an imminent demise of the current monarch. I was lambasted by readers who thought I was exaggerating.

I also quoted Alice, the heroine of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking Glass, which made perfect sense (to me) at the time:

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn’t be. And what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?

Now to get the record straight, the Thai junta and its bosses behind the National Council for Peace and Order (Kor Sor Chor) will no longer need to use the nice term “attitude adjustment” for political miscreants. It now has Article 44, a gazetted Order 13/2559 (29 March 2016 [2559], vol.133 Special Section).

A brief summary of the eleven points follows:

  • Military officers above the rank of major will be able to suppress and arrest anyone at any time for any act (they) deem a threat to the (military) state; while all those military personnel below the rank of major can assist in this policing and suppression.
  • No evidence is necessary for arrests and no arrest warrant is henceforth necessary.
  • Any individual must report to the military and give any documents and information as requested. No justification is necessary.
  • Military officers can arrest and detain anyone on the spot and can be involved in all aspects of the investigative and policing process.
  • Military have the right to search any place at any time and detain anyone for seven days at any place other than a police station or a civil detention centre.
  • Military officers can perform full policing and also the duties of civil administrators and they will not come under administrative law.
  • All officers are legally protected in their duties under the emergency administrative act (2548 [2005]).

Readers can check this at the Ratchakitcha website (if accessible), or for a summary (in Thai) see Thai-enews. A new English version has also appeared (at the time of writing) in Khao Sod.

Orwell was right about a dystopic world, such as we see in today’s Thailand (no wonder his 1984 was banned).  The implications will be to create a further entrenched, divided and unjust autocratic system in Thailand, discrediting even further in the eyes of the masses what remains of the civil judiciary and even-handed policing.

It also opens the door to (further) wide scale corruption by the military, as democracy slides further into the recesses of a creeping new fascism.

Dr James L Taylor is an Adjunct Associate Professor in Anthropology & Development Studies at the University of Adelaide.

 

The Most Dangerous Place on Earth - A Nuclear Armageddon in the Making in South Asia



Undoubtedly, for nearly two decades, the most dangerous place on Earth has been the Indian-Pakistani border in Kashmir. It’s possible that a small spark from artillery and rocket exchanges across that border might -- given the known military doctrines of the two nuclear-armed neighbors -- lead inexorably to an all-out nuclear conflagration.  In that case the result would be catastrophic. Besides causing the deaths of millions of Indians and Pakistanis, such a war might bring on “nuclear winter” on a planetary scale, leading to levels of suffering and death that would be beyond our comprehension.

Alarmingly, the nuclear competition between India and Pakistan has now entered a spine-chilling phase. That danger stems from Islamabad’s decision to deploy low-yield tactical nuclear arms at its forward operating military bases along its entire frontier with India to deter possible aggression by tank-led invading forces. Most ominously, the decision to fire such a nuclear-armed missile with a range of 35 to 60 miles is to rest with local commanders. This is a perilous departure from the universal practice of investing such authority in the highest official of the nation. Such a situation has no parallel in the Washington-Moscow nuclear arms race of the Cold War era.

When it comes to Pakistan’s strategic nuclear weapons, their parts are stored in different locations to be assembled only upon an order from the country’s leader. By contrast, tactical nukes are pre-assembled at a nuclear facility and shipped to a forward base for instant use. In addition to the perils inherent in this policy, such weapons would be vulnerable to misuse by a rogue base commander or theft by one of the many militant groups in the country.

In the nuclear standoff between the two neighbors, the stakes are constantly rising as Aizaz Chaudhry, the highest bureaucrat in Pakistan’s foreign ministry, recently made clear. The deployment of tactical nukes, he explained, was meant to act as a form of “deterrence,” given India’s “Cold Start” military doctrine -- a reputed contingency plan aimed at punishing Pakistan in a major way for any unacceptable provocations like a mass-casualty terrorist strike against India.

New Delhi refuses to acknowledge the existence of Cold Start. Its denials are hollow. As early as 2004, it was discussing this doctrine, which involved the formation of eight division-size Integrated Battle Groups (IBGs).  These were to consist of infantry, artillery, armor, and air support, and each would be able to operate independently on the battlefield. In the case of major terrorist attacks by any Pakistan-based group, these IBGs would evidently respond by rapidly penetrating Pakistani territory at unexpected points along the border and advancing no more than 30 miles inland, disrupting military command and control networks while endeavoring to stay away from locations likely to trigger nuclear retaliation. In other words, India has long been planning to respond to major terror attacks with a swift and devastating conventional military action that would inflict only limited damage and so -- in a best-case scenario -- deny Pakistan justification for a nuclear response.

Islamabad, in turn, has been planning ways to deter the Indians from implementing a Cold-Start-style blitzkrieg on their territory. After much internal debate, its top officials opted for tactical nukes. In 2011, the Pakistanis tested one successfully. Since then, according to Rajesh Rajagopalan, the New Delhi-based co-author of Nuclear South Asia: Keywords and Concepts, Pakistan seems to have been assembling four to five of these annually.

All of this has been happening in the context of populations that view each other unfavorably. A typical survey in this period by the Pew Research Center found that 72% of Pakistanis had an unfavorable view of India, with 57% considering it as a serious threat, while on the other side 59% of Indians saw Pakistan in an unfavorable light.

This is the background against which Indian leaders have said that a tactical nuclear attack on their forces, even on Pakistani territory, would be treated as a full-scale nuclear attack on India, and that they reserved the right to respond accordingly. Since India does not have tactical nukes, it could only retaliate with far more devastating strategic nuclear arms, possibly targeting Pakistani cities.

According to a 2002 estimate by the U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), a worst-case scenario in an Indo-Pakistani nuclear war could result in eight to 12 million fatalities initially, followed by many millions later from radiation poisoning.  More recent studies have shown that up to a billion people worldwide might be put in danger of famine and starvation by the smoke and soot thrown into the troposphere in a major nuclear exchange in South Asia. The resulting “nuclear winter” and ensuing crop loss would functionally add up to a slowly developing global nuclear holocaust.

Last November, to reduce the chances of such a catastrophic exchange happening, senior Obama administration officials met in Washington with Pakistan’s army chief, General Raheel Sharif, the final arbiter of that country’s national security policies, and urged him to stop the production of tactical nuclear arms. In return, they offered a pledge to end Islamabad’s pariah status in the nuclear field by supporting its entry into the 48-member Nuclear Suppliers Group to which India already belongs. Although no formal communiqué was issued after Sharif’s trip, it became widely known that he had rejected the offer.

This failure was implicit in the testimony that DIA Director Lieutenant General Vincent Stewart gave to the Armed Services Committee this February. “Pakistan’s nuclear weapons continue to grow,” he said. “We are concerned that this growth, as well as the evolving doctrine associated with tactical [nuclear] weapons, increases the risk of an incident or accident.”

Strategic Nuclear Warheads

Since that DIA estimate of human fatalities in a South Asian nuclear war, the strategic nuclear arsenals of India and Pakistan have continued to grow. In January 2016, according to a U.S. congressional report, Pakistan’s arsenal probably consisted of 110 to 130 nuclear warheads. According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, India has 90 to 110 of these. (China, the other regional actor, has approximately 260 warheads.)

As the 1990s ended, with both India and Pakistan testing their new weaponry, their governments made public their nuclear doctrines. The National Security Advisory Board on Indian Nuclear Doctrine, for example, stated in August 1999 that “India will not be the first to initiate a nuclear strike, but will respond with punitive retaliation should deterrence fail.” India’s foreign minister explained at the time that the “minimum credible deterrence” mentioned in the doctrine was a question of “adequacy,” not numbers of warheads. In subsequent years, however, that yardstick of “minimum credible deterrence” has been regularly recalibrated as India’s policymakers went on to commit themselves to upgrade the country’s nuclear arms program with a new generation of more powerful hydrogen bombs designed to be city-busters.

In Pakistan in February 2000, President General Pervez Musharraf, who was also the army chief, established the Strategic Plan Division in the National Command Authority, appointing Lieutenant General Khalid Kidwai as its director general. In October 2001, Kidwai offered an outline of the country’s updated nuclear doctrine in relation to its far more militarily and economically powerful neighbor, saying, “It is well known that Pakistan does not have a ‘no-first-use policy.’” He then laid out the “thresholds” for the use of nukes.  The country’s nuclear weapons, he pointed out, were aimed solely at India and would be available for use not just in response to a nuclear attack from that country, but should it conquer a large part of Pakistan’s territory (the space threshold), or destroy a significant part of its land or air forces (the military threshold), or start to strangle Pakistan economically (the economic threshold), or politically destabilize the country through large-scale internal subversion (the domestic destabilization threshold).

Of these, the space threshold was the most likely trigger. New Delhi as well as Washington speculated as to where the red line for this threshold might lie, though there was no unanimity among defense experts. Many surmised that it would be the impending loss of Lahore, the capital of Punjab, only 15 miles from the Indian border. Others put the red line at Pakistan’s sprawling Indus River basin.

Within seven months of this debate, Indian-Pakistani tensions escalated steeply in the wake of an attack on an Indian military base in Kashmir by Pakistani terrorists in May 2002. At that time, Musharraf reiterated that he would not renounce his country’s right to use nuclear weapons first. The prospect of New Delhi being hit by an atom bomb became so plausible that U.S. Ambassador Robert Blackwill investigated building a hardened bunker in the Embassy compound to survive a nuclear strike. Only when he and his staff realized that those in the bunker would be killed by the aftereffects of the nuclear blast did they abandon the idea.

Unsurprisingly, the leaders of the two countries found themselves staring into the nuclear abyss because of a violent act in Kashmir, a disputed territory which had led to three conventional wars between the South Asian neighbors since 1947, the founding year of an independent India and Pakistan. As a result of the first of these in 1947 and 1948, India acquired about half of Kashmir, with Pakistan getting a third, and the rest occupied later by China.

Kashmir, the Root Cause of Enduring Enmity

The Kashmir dispute dates back to the time when the British-ruled Indian subcontinent was divided into Hindu-majority India and Muslim-majority Pakistan, and indirectly ruled princely states were given the option of joining either one. In October 1947, the Hindu maharaja of Muslim-majority Kashmir signed an “instrument of accession” with India after Muslim tribal raiders from Pakistan invaded his realm. The speedy arrival of Indian troops deprived the invaders of the capital city, Srinagar. Later, they battled regular Pakistani troops until a United Nations-brokered ceasefire on January 1, 1949. The accession document required that Kashmiris be given an opportunity to choose between India and Pakistan once peace was restored. This has not happened yet, and there is no credible prospect of it taking place.

Fearing a defeat in such a plebiscite, given the pro-Pakistani sentiments prevalent among the territory’s majority Muslims, India found several ways of blocking U.N. attempts to hold one. New Delhi then conferred a special status on the part of Kashmir it controlled and held elections for its legislature, while Pakistan watched with trepidation.

In September 1965, when its verbal protests proved futile, Pakistan attempted to change the status quo through military force. It launched a war that once again ended in stalemate and another U.N.-sponsored truce, which required the warring parties to return to the 1949 ceasefire line.

A third armed conflict between the two neighbors followed in December 1971, resulting in Pakistan’s loss of its eastern wing, which became an independent Bangladesh. Soon after, Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi tried to convince Pakistani President Zulfikar Ali Bhutto to agree to transform the 460-mile-long ceasefire line in Kashmir (renamed the “Line of Control”) into an international border. Unwilling to give up his country’s demand for a plebiscite in all of pre-1947 Kashmir, Bhutto refused. So the stalemate continued.

During the military rule of General Zia al Haq (1977-1988), Pakistan initiated a policy of bleeding India with a thousand cuts by sponsoring terrorist actions both inside Indian Kashmir and elsewhere in the country. Delhi responded by bolstering its military presence in Kashmir and brutally repressing those of its inhabitants demanding a plebiscite or advocating separation from India, committing in the process large-scale human rights violations.

In order to stop infiltration by militants from Pakistani Kashmir, India built a double barrier of fencing 12-feet high with the space between planted with hundreds of land mines. Later, that barrier would be equipped as well with thermal imaging devices and motion sensors to help detect infiltrators. By the late 1990s, on one side of the Line of Control were 400,000 Indian soldiers and on the other 300,000 Pakistani troops. No wonder President Bill Clinton called that border “the most dangerous place in the world.”  Today, with the addition of tactical nuclear weapons to the mix, it is far more so.

Kashmir, the Toxic Bone of Contention

Even before Pakistan’s introduction of tactical nukes, tensions between the two neighbors were perilously high.  Then suddenly, at the end of 2015, a flicker of a chance for the normalization of relations appeared. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi had a cordial meeting with his Pakistani counterpart, Nawaz Sharif, on the latter’s birthday, December 25th, in Lahore. But that hope was dashed when, in the early hours of January 2nd, four heavily armed Pakistani terrorists managed to cross the international border in Punjab, wearing Indian Army fatigues, and attacked an air force base in Pathankot. A daylong gun battle followed. By the time order was restored on January 5th, all the terrorists were dead, but so were seven Indian security personnel and one civilian. The United Jihad Council, an umbrella organization of separatist militant groups in Kashmir, claimed credit for the attack. The Indian government, however, insisted that the operation had been masterminded by Masood Azhar, leader of the Pakistan-based Jaish-e Muhammad (Army of Muhammad).

As before, Kashmir was the motivating drive for the anti-India militants. Mercifully, the attack in Pathankot turned out to be a minor event, insufficient to heighten the prospect of war, though it dissipated any goodwill generated by the Modi-Sharif meeting.

There is little doubt, however, that a repeat of the atrocity committed by Pakistani infiltrators in Mumbai in November 2008, leading to the death of 166 people and the burning of that city’s landmark Taj Mahal Hotel, could have consequences that would be dire indeed. The Indian doctrine calling for massive retaliation in response to a successful terrorist strike on that scale could mean the almost instantaneous implementation of its Cold Start strategy. That, in turn, would likely lead to Pakistan’s use of tactical nuclear weapons, thus opening up the real possibility of a full-blown nuclear holocaust with global consequences.

Beyond the long-running Kashmiri conundrum lies Pakistan’s primal fear of the much larger and more powerful India, and its loathing of India’s ambition to become the hegemonic power in South Asia. Irrespective of party labels, governments in New Delhi have pursued a muscular path on national security aimed at bolstering the country’s defense profile.

Overall, Indian leaders are resolved to prove that their country is entering what they fondly call “the age of aspiration.” When, in July 2009, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh officially launched a domestically built nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarine, the INS Arihant, it was hailed as a dramatic step in that direction.  According to defense experts, that vessel was the first of its kind not to be built by one of the five recognized nuclear powers: the United States, Britain, China, France, and Russia.

India’s Two Secret Nuclear Sites

On the nuclear front in India, there was more to come. Last December, an investigation by the Washington-based Center for Public Integrity revealed that the Indian government was investing $100 million to build a top secret nuclear city spread over 13 square miles near the village of Challakere, 160 miles north of the southern city of Mysore. When completed, possibly as early as 2017, it will be “the subcontinent’s largest military-run complex of nuclear centrifuges, atomic-research laboratories, and weapons- and aircraft-testing facilities.” Among the project’s aims is to expand the government’s nuclear research, to produce fuel for the country’s nuclear reactors, and to help power its expanding fleet of nuclear submarines. It will be protected by a ring of garrisons, making the site a virtual military facility.

Another secret project, the Indian Rare Materials Plant, near Mysore is already in operation. It is a new nuclear enrichment complex that is feeding the country’s nuclear weapons programs, while laying the foundation for an ambitious project to create an arsenal of hydrogen (thermonuclear) bombs.

The overarching aim of these projects is to give India an extra stockpile of enriched uranium fuel that could be used in such future bombs. As a military site, the project at Challakere will not be open to inspection by the International Atomic Energy Agency or by Washington, since India’s 2008 nuclear agreement with the U.S. excludes access to military-related facilities. These enterprises are directed by the office of the prime minister, who is charged with overseeing all atomic energy projects. India’s Atomic Energy Act and its Official Secrets Act place everything connected to the country’s nuclear program under wraps. In the past, those who tried to obtain a fuller picture of the Indian arsenal and the facilities that feed it have been bludgeoned to silence. 

Little wonder then that a senior White House official was recently quoted as saying, “Even for us, details of the Indian program are always sketchy and hard facts thin on the ground.” He added, “Mysore is being constantly monitored, and we are constantly monitoring progress in Challakere.” However, according to Gary Samore, a former Obama administration coordinator for arms control and weapons of mass destruction, “India intends to build thermonuclear weapons as part of its strategic deterrent against China. It is unclear, when India will realize this goal of a larger and more powerful arsenal, but they will.”

Once manufactured, there is nothing to stop India from deploying such weapons against Pakistan. “India is now developing very big bombs, hydrogen bombs that are city-busters,” said Pervez Hoodbhoy, a leading Pakistani nuclear and national security analyst. “It is not interested in… nuclear weapons for use on the battlefield; it is developing nuclear weapons for eliminating population centers.”

In other words, as the Kashmir dispute continues to fester, inducing periodic terrorist attacks on India and fueling the competition between New Delhi and Islamabad to outpace each other in the variety and size of their nuclear arsenals, the peril to South Asia in particular and the world at large only grows.

Dilip Hiro, a TomDispatch regular, is the author, among many other works, of The Longest August: The Unflinching Rivalry between India and Pakistan (Nation Books). His 36th and latest book is The Age of Aspiration: Money, Power, and Conflict in Globalizing India (The New Press).

Saturday, March 26, 2016

What Australia’s stance on the South China Sea means for Southeast Asia



In the 190-page long document, Canberra pledges to increase capital investment in defence capabilities from the current AU$9.4 billion (US$7.1 billion) to AU$23 billion (US$17.4 billion) in 2025–26. Most of this investment will be channelled to the maritime domain. But what does this investment means for Southeast Asia and the South China Sea?

The 2016 DWP reflects continuity with the two preceding Defence White Papers in two key ways. First, the 2016 DWP reiterates the primacy of maritime strategy emphasised in previous White Papers, with a focus on the sea–air gap along Australia’s north. Maritime capabilities will be central in this enterprise, especially submarines that can provide what the 2016 DWP describes as ‘a strategic advantage in terms of surveillance and protection of our maritime approaches’. Second, the 2016 DWP echoes the previous two White Papers in highlighting ‘maritime Southeast Asia’ as a region that ‘will always have particular significance to [Australia’s] security’.

This emphasis on Southeast Asia is highlighted in the DWP’s list of Australia’s ‘strategic defence interests’. These interests are the security of Australia’s northern approaches and proximate sea lines of communications, a secure nearer region encompassing Southeast Asia and the South Pacific, and a stable Indo-Pacific region with a rules-based global order.

What differentiates the 2016 DWP from the previous ones is its selective emphasis on the South China Sea. While all the strategic defence interests are critical, the 2016 DWP puts great emphasis on the second. According to the 2016 DWP, ‘Australia’s reliance on maritime trade with and through South East Asia means the security of our maritime approaches and trade routes within South East Asia must be protected, as must freedom of navigation’.

Nowhere is freedom of navigation being challenged so close to Australia than in the South China Sea. Although the 2013 DWP called the South China Sea disputes to Australia’s strategic attention, the blunt emphasis of the 2016 DWP is unparalleled: ‘Australia does not take sides on competing territorial claims in the South China Sea but we are concerned that land reclamation and construction activity by claimants raises tensions in the region’, particularly ‘the unprecedented pace and scale of China’s land reclamation activities’.

Such a robust statement encapsulates the reactionary assertiveness implicit in the 2016 DWP. This new strategic stance may involve Australia conducting military ‘freedom of navigation operations’ in the South China Sea, as well as anticipatory measures against China’s larger military modernisation drives.

Australia’s concerns about China can partly, if not entirely, explain what Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull describes as ‘an historic modernisation’ of Australia’s naval capabilities, including the acquisition of 12 regionally superior submarines, three additional air warfare destroyers and nine new anti-submarine warfare frigates.

That the 2016 DWP elicited a predictably strong criticism from Beijing is not necessarily bad news. A stronger Australia can give Southeast Asia greater leverage vis-à-vis China in the South China Sea disputes. Australia’s strategic interests in Southeast Asia can also create more opportunities for defence cooperation. Regional countries can selectively draw upon Australia’s unique access to US defence technology and intelligence to complement their own military modernisations.

Australia’s bilateral and multilateral defence operations in the region, such as the Five Power Defence Arrangement, may begin to involve more sophisticated exercise scenarios that will benefit its Southeast Asian partners. Australia’s middle power status arguably makes it a politically less sensitive defence partner for Southeast Asia than major powers, such as the United States.

But despite these opportunities, Southeast Asia should also be aware of the associated risks that accompany Australia’s reactionary assertiveness. Given the region’s sensitivity towards the divisive prospect of major power influence, the 2016 DWP begs the question of whether Australia’s strategic policies are chiefly based on their own raison d’etre or are largely a reflection of those of its principal ally, the United States. While the strategic interests of some ASEAN countries may align more closely with Australia’s, ASEAN should remain cautious of being drawn deeper into Sino–American strategic competition, which could potentially undermine its unity.

At the operational level, Australia’s reactionary assertiveness might affect Southeast Asian maritime security with far reaching effects. Sandwiched between Australia and China, Southeast Asia would likely be the first region affected by a miscalculation involving Chinese and Australian maritime forces in the South China Sea. Controlled or orchestrated escalation during freedom of navigation operations is not foolproof.

Regardless of whether the plans of the 2016 DWP are achievable, they are a bellwether of Australia’s future strategic policy. Australia’s assertiveness is not tantamount to greater instability in Southeast Asia but ASEAN should not react idly to Australia’s new strategic direction. Unless Australia’s reactionary assertiveness takes the interests of Southeast Asian states into account, it will remain part of the problem rather than the solution.

Ristian Atriandi Supriyanto is Indonesian Presidential PhD Scholar with the Strategic and Defence Studies Centre at The Australian National University. He is a former associate research fellow with the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies at Nanyang Technological University, Singapore.

 

Managing Indonesia’s imprisoned extremists



Those at the heart of the scheme have insisted the new facility will not be a ‘special prison’ but rather ‘a place for intensive counselling for ex-terrorists’. But given the stated aims include preventing the spread of radical views among general prison populations and easing pressure on overcrowded penitentiaries, the impetus for isolation appears to be broader than simply pre-parole preparation.

The underlying dilemma is one that a number of governments are currently pondering: is it better to segregate extremist prisoners or disperse them among the general inmate population?

The first conscious decision to disperse terrorist prisoners came in the United Kingdom in the 1970s, in response to the Irish Republican Army’s penitentiary power base within the notorious Maze Prison in Belfast. Today, unmanageable inmates — both extremists and otherwise — are routinely shifted between eight dispersal prisons in order to avoid the entrenchment of problems and the development of undesirable relationships.

Preventing the concentration of prisoners with similar extremist worldviews may mitigate the chance of ideologies becoming further internalised. Proponents also argue that interaction with group outsiders can promote social inclusion among extremists. Valuable intelligence may be collected from the close observation of these dynamics.

But there is an obvious problem associated with integrating persuasive radicals and naïve delinquents under the same roof. The unstructured nature of the global jihadist movement, and its combination of anti-establishment rhetoric with an ostensibly pious religious framework, means it is generally open to anyone. The global jihadist movement is potentially attractive to angry young criminals seeking both redemption and the protection of a prison gang.

Spain has recognised the danger of inmate recruitment. While the government maintains a dispersal policy for imprisoned ethno-nationalist Basque separatists, jihadi extremists are largely segregated from the general prison population. The UK is also revisiting the utility of dispersal. Is the strategic separation of imprisoned extremists a better option?

The United States houses the majority of its extremist prisoners in two relatively new maximum security facilities called Communication Management Units. As the name suggests, these specialised prisons allow for total control and surveillance of inmates’ interactions. Security is the absolute priority and the reportedly repressive environments are not ideally conducive to rehabilitation initiatives. Although the US approach does not involve total segregation of extremist prisoners, the two facilities are often referred to as ‘Guantanamo North’.

Obstacles to rehabilitation are a key problem with the segregation model. US Vice President Joe Biden once called the Guantanamo Bay prison complex ‘the greatest propaganda tool that exists for recruiting terrorists around the world’. While other cases of extremist prisoners being segregated are not logically equivalent, memories of Guantanamo scandals and the Abu Ghraib atrocity mean that any remotely comparable facility risks being painted with the same brush.

France appears to be seeking to avoid this problem by creating designated wings for extremists in established prisons. Two were completed in January 2016 and the government plans to have five up and running by the end of March. The specialised wings will differ from the US model in that rehabilitation — or so-called de-radicalisation efforts — will be the focus, with dozens of counsellors and psychologists recruited to work towards positive change.

An interesting example of a mixed approach is Denmark. Instead of opting for outright segregation, the Danish authorities have decided to remove prisoners they believe are vulnerable to influence while maintaining interactions between extremists and inmates deemed resistant. Given the right conditions and context, this could well be a promising strategy.

So how do Indonesia’s proposed changes measure up?

Authorities in Indonesia are well aware of the dispersal–segregation dilemma. The head of the BNPT’s de-radicalisation division, Dr Irfan Idris, has been quoted in the media summarising the drawbacks of each approach. There have been reported cases of prisoners and even guards succumbing to the influence of charismatic extremists behind bars in Indonesia. Yet authorities are concerned that a segregation model would allow militants to close ranks, as witnessed in Belfast’s Maze Prison.

The specialised centre in Sentul was close to realisation in 2014, when a memorandum of understanding was signed between the BNPT and the Ministry of Law and Human Rights to begin transferring prisoners. But a subsequent visit by the then president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono scuppered the plans, as the former leader expressed apprehension about the facility’s proximity to the capital.

Yudhoyono also warned that the centre ‘must not be like Guantanamo’. The fact that proponents have claimed the current scheme merely amounts to a counselling facility for ‘ex-terrorists’ appears to be aimed at extenuating this type of attribution. The newly appointed head of the BNPT, Inspector General Tito Karnavian, has stated that prevention and rehabilitation are the agency’s primary functions.

If the Sentul plan goes ahead and is well managed, it could provide a long-awaited opportunity to establish a robust disengagement program in Indonesia, while avoiding the problem of general inmate radicalisation. The de-radicalisation facility needs to balance the internal challenge of preventing undesired unity among extremists and the external one of placating public perceptions. But the potential benefits outweigh the possible risks.

Cameron Sumpter is a Senior Analyst at the Centre of Excellence for National Security (CENS), a constituent unit of the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS), Nanyang Technological University (NTU), Singapore.

This article was first published by RSIS.

 

Dictator’s Family - The return of the Marcoses

            A myriad of Marcoses; from left, Imelda, Bongbong and Imee; all politicians.

The Philippines is known for dismissing despots. But ahead of this year’s presidential election Mong Palatino asks why there is still so much love for the family of a former dictator. 

Ferdinand Marcos ruled the Philippines like a dictator for two decades until he was ousted by the ‘People Power’ uprising in 1986. Three decades later, his wife and children hold elected positions in government. Now, his eldest son and namesake is running for vice president.

Many people ask, especially international observers, how did the Marcoses achieve a political comeback in a nation known for deposing corrupt despots?

The Marcos family went into exile in Hawaii in 1986, but their friends, allies, cronies, and subordinates remained in the Philippines and weren’t held accountable for their criminal complicity in implementing the brutal policies of the martial law regime.

Joker Arroyo, the executive secretary of President Cory Aquino who replaced Marcos, noted that the persons who visited the presidential palace to lobby and socialise with the stalwarts of the new ruling party were also Marcos minions. As he told Sunday Inquirer Magazine in 1992

When I was still in the Guest House, I asked for the logs which listed those who had visited President Marcos. I compared them with those visiting President Aquino. They were the same people – they came from the same companies, shared the same business views, the same mindset, and they went to the same parties.

That the Marcoses were able to run for public office again reflects the failure of successive post-1986 regimes to decisively prosecute and arrest those responsible for committing atrocious human rights violations and the plundering of the nation’s wealth. Compared to other notorious dictators of the 1970s, such as Augusto Pinochet of Chile and Jorge Rafael Videla of Argentina, Marcos was never indicted with criminal charges and his heirs didn’t spend a single day in prison.

Five presidents (including two Aquinos; the incumbent president is the son of Cory Aquino) were unable to recover most of the Marcoses’ ill-gotten wealth. Imelda, wife of the late dictator and she of the shoes, is one of the richest members of Congress.

If Filipinos mistakenly assume that life during Martial Law was better then part of the blame goes to the post-Marcos governments that restored democratic institutions on one hand but refused to dismantle the rule of oligarchs on the other. Cory, whose family owns one of the largest agricultural estates in the country, passed a land reform law which has several loopholes that allowed landlords to retain control of their vast landholdings.

There were high expectations that People Power would lead to the improvement of the lives of most Filipinos. But post-Marcos governments have fundamentally failed to address poverty, inequality, and corruption. A mere 15 years after the uprising, another president was ousted from power because of corruption.

With post-Marcos leaders turning out to be inferior copies of the original dictator, the Marcoses started winning elections. Imelda became a congresswoman in 1995, and her two children won as governor and congresswoman in 1998. Twelve years later, Bongbong Marcos became a senator of the Republic.

We could interpret Filipinos’ nostalgia for the martial law years as an expression of disgust against those who succeeded Marcos. When some praise the strongman tactics of Marcos, it is commonly described as a desperate longing for peace, stability, and discipline in society. It could also be an indirect condemnation of the incompetent governance of the post-Marcos regimes.

That Bongbong Marcos is leading in some polls, despite the anti-Marcos rhetoric of no less than the incumbent president, is a sign that a segment of the population is seeking to hit back at the ruling party by voting against its sworn enemy. Amid the deteriorating quality of life in the country, despite contrary claims of the government, the high rating of Bongbong should be linked to the growing frustration of many voters to the callousness of some government leaders.

It doesn’t help that the present generation of first- time voters have little or no knowledge of the dark days of Martial Law. Young Filipinos didn’t experience the loss of democracy and civil liberties during the Marcos years. The Philippines doesn’t have a law which makes it a crime to deny that human rights violations were rampant during the reign of Marcos.

It is not simply enough to ask why the Marcoses are back in the political limelight. Equally important is to probe the shameful lack of political will of the post-Marcos governments when it comes to seeking justice, and accountability for the horrors of Martial Law.

The truth is that even if Marcos is the epitome of an evil leader, his sins are not that much different from those committed by his successors in government. Both Marcos and regimes that followed him are liable for perpetuating a deeply flawed, elitist and corrupt political system. Bongbong continues to be unrepentant about the excesses of Martial Law in the same way politicians today are unapologetic for administering an inefficient and unjust political system.

Forgetting the sins of Marcos is unpardonable; but the greater crime is the refusal to put an end to a system of governance designed for the exclusive benefit of big landlords, political dynasties, and business cronies of political parties in power.

Mong Palatino is a Filipino activist and former legislator. He is the Southeast Asia editor of Global Voices, a social media platform.