Over 10,200 miles from Paris in the South Pacific Ocean lies the French overseas territory of New Caledonia. The archipelago currently sits at the center of one of the world’s most complex decolonization and self-determination debates. Shaped by a long history of colonization, indigenous marginalization, and decades of negotiation over sovereignty, the territory has recently entered a new era of political uncertainty following French parliamentary votes that may have just opened the door to independence. In this article, I will examine the historical and political development of New Caledonia under French rule, the long-term marginalization of the indigenous Kanak population, and the recent political crisis surrounding independence movements and constitutional reform. New Caledonia is closer to independence than at any other point in its modern history, as recent constitutional crises, contested reforms, and shifting political alliances have exposed the fragility of French authority over the territory. 

Melanesian peoples first settled the islands around 3000 BC, whose descendants are now known as the Kanak population. Their societies developed complex social and political systems rooted in land, kinship, and clan identity. European contact began in the late 18th century when British explorer James Cook visited the region. Despite early British contact and the islands’ later naming after Scotland, France formally annexed the territory in 1853. However, colonial rule quickly created tension as land was confiscated, taxes were imposed, and Kanak sovereignty was dismantled. Throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Kanak resistance movements repeatedly challenged French authority.

Following the suppression of these uprisings, colonial policy deliberately attempted to reshape the islands’ demographic structure. French policies encouraged European settlement and the development of plantation agriculture, primarily around coffee. Indentured laborers from Asia and nearby Pacific islands were also introduced, further transforming the population. Over time, these demographic changes reduced the Kanak population to a minority within their own territory. Even though the Kanaks were granted French citizenship in 1946, along with the right to vote, structural inequality and land dispossession continued to limit their political influence. Gradually, frustration surrounding marginalization strengthened a unified Kanak identity.

Another major economic, political, and social transformation occurred during the nickel boom between 1967 and 1972. Today, nickel accounts for roughly 90% of the territory’s exports and 10% of its GDP. Driven by rising global demand for stainless steel and industrial metals, New Caledonia’s vast nickel reserves became central to French economic interests in the Pacific. Rapid industrial expansion followed, as new mining operations increased production and attracted significant investment from the French government and multinational firms. As a result, immigration surged as labor demand grew, which further reshaped the demographic balance of the island. These developments intensified feelings of marginalization among the Kanak population, particularly as open-pit mining operations destroyed their historic homeland. Nickel soon became the backbone of the territory’s economy, but its dominance also deepened political tensions between pro-independence groups and loyalist factions.

Tensions reached a breaking point after the 1984 establishment of Front de Libération Nationale Kanak et Socialiste (FLNKS), a major pro-independence political party. Violence emerged as independence activists clashed with French and right wing loyalist settlers. While the Matignon Agreements of 1988 ended the immediate conflict, it wasn’t until the Nouméa Accord of 1998 that a long-term framework was established. The Nouméa Accord outlined a twenty year gradual transition plan aimed to end colonization, enhance infrastructure and education, and organize future independence referendums. A key provision also restricted electoral eligibility to long-term residents and their descendants, which intended to protect Kanak political influence. Despite these measures, tensions over sovereignty remained unresolved.

In 2024, tensions escalated again when the French government proposed a controversial electoral reform to expand voting rights to more recent residents of New Caledonia. While supporters described the bill as democratic modernization, many Kanak leaders viewed it as a deliberate attempt to dilute their electoral influence. The proposal triggered widespread protests that quickly developed into violent unrest. As a result, mistrust between pro-independence groups and the French state deepened significantly. With key industries, including nickel mining, disrupted and widespread property damage occurring, the French government responded with emergency measures, which included security crackdowns and restrictions on social media platforms such as TikTok. Many critics argued that these actions violated freedom of expression, but supporters of these measures claimed they were necessary to restore order and prevent further violence. By the end of the unrest, fourteen people had been killed and economic losses exceeded $2.4 billion.

Following the protests, France and New Caledonian political factions entered renewed negotiations. However, these discussions exposed deep internal divisions within New Caledonia itself. The territory has long been divided on the issue of independence. For example, in the 2020 independence referendum, 53.26% of voters wished to remain a part of France while 46.74% sought independence. With a voter turnout of 85.6%, the 2020 referendum truly captures the narrow split between New Caledonian residents. Many who support remaining within France are descendants of European settlers, known as Caldoches. Meanwhile, the independence movement is largely supported by the Kanak population, who make up approximately 41% of the territory. Although Kanak communities represent a significant ethnic group, they continue to experience significantly higher levels of poverty and unemployment, along with reduced access to education and housing. Caldoche wealth is primarily rooted in New Caledonia’s colonialist history, which is reflected by their dominant ownership of businesses, industry, and wealth. These economic and political divisions have produced competing visions for the territory’s future, and weakened the independence movement’s ability to act as a truly unified force. 

Negotiations between French and New Caledonian representatives culminated in the 2025 Bougival Accord, which proposed to redefine New Caledonia’s political status. Instead of remaining an overseas territory, New Caledonia would be elevated to the level of statehood. The agreement granted expanded autonomy, formal recognition of Kanak identity, and the possibility of a distinct New Caledonian nationality alongside French citizenship. It also included commitments to further institutional reform and a future referendum on the proposed arrangement. Pro-independence groups agreed to expand voter eligibility and adjust the number of seats in Congress for two majority Kanak areas. Meanwhile, loyalist factions agreed to provisions for dual nationality and future consultation on political status. In accordance with the Bougival Accord, the Elysée-Oudinot Accord was signed in January of 2026 to formalize economic, cultural, and institutional arrangements. However, implementation quickly stalled. 

Three months after the signing of the Elysée-Oudinot Accord, New Caledonian pro-independence MP Emmanuel Tijbaou introduced a motion to reject the proposed constitutional bill required to enshrine the both accords into the French Constitution. His motion successfully passed 190 votes to 107. Tijbaou’s motion blocked the ratification of the accords from being ratified into French law. Despite FLNKS previously signing the agreements, many within the movement supported the rejection. FLNKS members believed the reforms constrained meaningful self-determination and over-expanded voting rights. Subsequent talks between French PM Sébastien Lecornu, FLNKS leaders, and anti-independence factions have produced little progress, as disagreements centered on voting rights and the scope of future sovereignty. At the same time, the recent rejection also exposed divisions within French politics regarding the extent of decentralization and decolonization, resulting in a political stalemate.

Despite persistent internal divisions, recent political developments suggest that New Caledonia is closer to independence than ever before. Repeated failures to implement constitutional reforms have weakened confidence in France’s ability to manage a stable long-term relationship with New Caledonia. As debates over electoral rules and Kanak representation remain unresolved, each new cycle of negotiation has intensified skepticism among pro-independence groups. Many, such as the FLNKS, view French proposals as incremental extensions of control rather than genuine steps toward sovereignty. Although the independence movement is not united and French political resistance remains strong, the accumulation of political crises has shifted the debate away from whether change will occur toward how and when it might happen. Additionally, an independence referendum has not occurred in over five years, so current public opinion is uncertain. It is possible, however, that the 2024 protests along with the ongoing disagreements between France and New Caledonian political factions may have shifted attitudes toward independence. 

New Caledonia now stands at a crossroads of competing visions of identity, governance, and sovereignty. At the heart of the issue lies a fundamental question regarding who has the authority to define membership in the territory’s future state. Equally important and unresolved is the meaning of self-determination, and whether it can exist within a French framework. While no outcome is guaranteed, the recent patterns of unrest, stalled reforms, fractured negotiations, and French hesitance have transformed independence from a distant aspiration into a tangible and increasingly plausible outcome.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: “Flag Map of New Caledonia using their second official flag and pro-independence flag,” Image Sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made

Chen Jian is a professor of history at New York University. His 2024 book, “Zhou Enlai: A Life,” is the first comprehensive biography of the powerful Chinese statesman. He is known as an expert in modern Chinese history and the history of Chinese-American relations. 

The interview was edited for length and clarity.

Vittal Sivakumar: First off, tell us a bit about what led you to write about Zhou Enlai. What in your career led to that decision?

Chen Jian: First, Zhou Enlai was an extremely important figure and a giant of the twentieth century— a statesman and a diplomatic giant. For more than half a century, he was a central figure in the Chinese Communist Revolution and in the Chinese Communist Party. Beginning in the mid-1920s, he served on the Politburo and later on the Politburo Standing Committee. After 1949, he served consecutively for 27 years as Premier of the People’s Republic of China and for 10 years as Foreign Minister. 

Internationally, he became the PRC’s diplomatic face and played a key role in major events such as the Geneva Conference of 1954 and the Bandung Conference of 1955. He also contributed significantly to the rapprochement between China and the United States. 

However, there had been no major Zhou Enlai biography before this one. In 2004, Melvin Leffler, a diplomatic historian, was editing a series on great statesmen of the 20th century. He invited me to write a brief biography of Zhou Enlai. To convince me, he said, “Chen Jian, you already published two major books. With your knowledge of Chinese foreign policy and Zhou Enlai, it would probably only take six weeks to complete the book.” Of course, this was wrong, and it took much longer. 

Finally, the project changed from a brief book to a major series because the publisher, Potomac Books, went bankrupt, so the original plan did not work out. Ultimately, it took 20 years to write the book rather than six weeks. 

Another reason was the timing. In 2004, when I was commissioned to write a biography of Zhou Enlai, the Chinese Foreign Ministry archives began to open. This opening lasted for about ten years. Then there was a system upgrade in 2014, and after the upgrade, all documents that were previously accessible could no longer be accessed. 

Sam Sanders: In your book, you mentioned that different generations of Chinese civilians and people outside China tend to view him differently. I’ve seen that in my own family. My grandparents’ generation viewed him as a hero who tempered Mao’s excesses during the Cultural Revolution. My mother’s generation admires him as the diplomat who helped open China and made it possible for people like her to come to America. 

But you mention in your book that younger Chinese people today tend to view him more critically, especially since new sources have shed light on what he was able to do and how he acted. Do you see this shift as part of a broader historical trend, perhaps a move into revisionist history or even a post-revisionist era? Do you see your biography fitting that middle ground of trying to synthesize the two strands?

Chen Jian: Let me put it this way. Even in China today, Zhou Enlai is generally regarded in a very positive light—not just in official discourse but also among everyday people. When Zhou Enlai died, people in Beijing poured into the streets to say farewell to him. There was overwhelming praise, admiration, and international acclaim. People regarded him not just as a giant, but also as a good person. 

But times have changed. Among younger generations, fewer people know Zhou Enlai’s name. I remember once giving a talk about Zhou Enlai after the publication of my book. A Chinese student from Shanghai who had attended high school there came to see a colleague of mine after attending the lecture, and asked, “Professor, who is Zhou Enlai?”

This change is largely due to the declassification of Chinese archives, memoirs, and other new sources that revealed previously inaccessible information, including the darker aspects of the Chinese Communist Revolution. Events like the Great Leap Forward, the Great Famine, and the Cultural Revolution became better known. Since Zhou Enlai was a main figure in the Chinese Communist Revolution, people began to regard him more critically. 

This trend became especially pronounced after 2003, when a highly influential Chinese book, “Zhou Enlai: His Later Years,” was published in Hong Kong. It was banned in mainland China. The author was the son-in-law of Zhou’s interpreter and had been the head of the Zhou Enlai biography research at the Central Documentary Research Institute of the Chinese Communist Party. In that book, he described Zhou’s performance during the Cultural Revolution in a very negative, critical light. 

As a result, Zhou’s previously entirely positive image had been overturned. This shift has less to do with historical trends like revisionism and more to do with the critical reassessment of China’s recent past, especially the history of the Chinese Communist Revolution.

Sivakumar: Your biography is the first complete English-language biography of Zhou Enlai. There have been others who have covered aspects of his life, and over the past couple of decades, there have also been English-language biographies published of other famous Chinese figures. Ezra Vogel, for example, published a highly acclaimed biography of Deng Xiaoping. How have those works influenced your biography?

Chen Jian: I learned from them, certainly, and I respect Vogel highly as a biographer. 

We talked about the Zhou Enlai biography, and I think there are two things that stood out to me. First, I believed that this biography needed solid documentary support. As I mentioned, there were other Zhou Enlai biographies published years ago. Dick Wilson, a journalist, published a biography of Zhou Enlai, but it lacked archival support. Another famous author, Han Suyin, wrote a biography of Zhou Enlai titled “Eldest Son,” largely based on interviews with people close to Zhou. Interviews are valuable, too, but the problem with interviews alone is that they’re oftentimes self-serving. You often find that interviewees can be influenced by very specific, subjective feelings, so it’s important to cross-check interview information against documentary sources. 

Secondly, as I write in this book, to understand Zhou Enlai, you must also understand China’s Communist Revolution. Why did it happen? Where and how did it go wrong? I personally experienced both the Great Famine and the Cultural Revolution. As a dissident student, I was put in jail twice as a teenager. So the question naturally arises: how could all this happen? 

Some people try to completely negate revolution, especially the Chinese Communist Revolution, labeling it as a radical leftist, transformative revolution. In my view, revolution itself is not a sin. I use the word sin, not crime. A revolution may involve crimes, but revolution itself arises because the previous regime created conditions that made it inevitable.

Revolutions have a transformative meaning: they attempt to transform human nature and bring about universal justice and equality. These goals are admirable. But when utopian visions are turned into policies, revolutions can go very wrong. When revolutions succeed, revolutionaries come to power. With power, especially unchecked power, corruption is at its most extreme. This is what happened in China. In that sense, Zhou and his comrades, including Mao, made the revolution, but they were also remade by the revolution. So I wanted the book to tell Zhou Enlai’s story and also explore the larger meaning. 

There are other important aspects, relevant particularly today. First, he was a revolutionary who tried to maintain a centrist position while others pushed politics to extremes. Today, we see politics polarized everywhere with no space for compromise. Second, Zhou was someone who tried to get things done. That was one of Zhou Enlai’s greatest achievements— the quality of his statesmanship, that even when the revolution was underway, destructive and mobilized by all kinds of labels, slogans, shouting, he prioritized maintaining equality and the quality of people’s everyday life. Political correctness alone does not justify policies and actions. Leaders must present workable plans. In that regard, Zhou Enlai has given us a good reference.

Sanders: It sounds like Zhou Enlai was a figure who could bridge the center of political authority in Beijing and translate its policies into on-the-ground action. It reminds me of the quote, “The mountains are high and the Emperor is far away.” In an age when technology shortens distances, many Chinese policies are becoming stricter in their crackdown on corruption and in imposing greater state reach into local bureaucracies. What role is there going forward for someone like Zhou? Can there be an intermediary figure, someone who can interpret policies and put them in place?

Chen Jian: You do need such figures. That’s why Zhou Enlai’s story is still so meaningful. 

He was not a person who simply carried out tasks. He was also a visionary. In China today, surveillance cameras are everywhere. There was a jewelry store robbery in Shanghai a few days ago, and the suspect was caught within an hour because cameras were everywhere. Street robbery has gone down to nearly zero. 

Still, you find corruption. Recently, nine three-star generals in China were disciplined for bribery and other crimes. This shows that systems, institutions, regulations, and laws are critical for checking and balancing power. 

China has discussed adopting a “Sunshine Law,” which requires all public servants to disclose their property. It was first proposed in 1988 and repeatedly raised at the National People’s Congress until 2008, but it was never passed. Simply punishing corruption will not be sufficient to wipe out the roots. That’s why China still needs to deepen these reforms. Opening up will require developing institutions, codes, laws, and regulations to check and balance power, preventing the emergence of unchecked, unbalanced, supreme power from persisting.

Sivakumar: I’m interested in Zhou Enlai’s time abroad. He spent time in Europe and Japan, and you yourself have spent much of your career abroad studying China. How have your experiences as part of the Chinese diaspora informed your understanding of Zhou Enlai’s time overseas?

Chen Jian: This is an absolutely great question. 

For Zhou Enlai, it’s clear that his experiences in Japan and Europe influenced him. He did not formally study in Europe. He quickly became a journalist and then a professional revolutionary, working in Germany, France, and for a short time in London. It opened his intellectual horizons and allowed him to see the larger world. That was the time, right after the First World War, when all kinds of ideological thoughts were spreading in different parts of the world.  Zhou Enlai was deeply aware of China’s backwardness and weakness after years of Western and Japanese Imperialism. His dream was to see China rise again. Through his experiences abroad, he was exposed to a range of ideologies: anarchism, pragmatism, liberalism, socialism, social divinism, and communism. 

In his diary and a lot of his correspondence, you can see him comparing the ideologies. Eventually, he concluded that the so-called “Russian past” — the Bolshevik Revolution — offered the most rapid way of changing China’s international status. In one of his letters from early 1922, he wrote that he had chosen communism and that his belief would not change. 

In my own case, studying and living in the United States was also eye-opening. It’s not just in terms of access to new opportunities and access to books; it’s a different cultural and global vision that you cannot obtain just by staying in China. In China and in other East Asian countries, there is a strong examination culture that teaches students to find the single correct answer. In the United States, education emphasizes critical thinking and trying to test the wrong answers and then come up with your own correct answers. I think this is extremely important. So in my own case, I think being overseas has changed my academic perspective and my outlook as a human being.

Sanders: Looking at Zhou Enlai’s early life and when he’s developing his leadership style, it seems like he rose to a high position for the CCP relatively early. Do you think his leadership style and personal qualities were developed from a multitude of experiences, or do you think there was one major turning point that shaped his worldview? 

Chen Jian: Early life matters. Zhou Enlai received a classical Chinese education. He then studied at the Nanhai School, a pioneer in China’s modern educational system. Then he went to study abroad. All of these experiences have combined to shape him. 

He was also raised by three women: his birth mother, his adoptive mother, and a nanny, which influenced his personality and temperament, thereby encouraging him to ambitiously pursue equality across China. However, as a youth, he lacked the kind of revolutionary ambition we see in others. Some people even called him gay because in his diary, he discussed a very unique perspective on marriage and his love interests. There is no direct evidence to confirm that he was gay. The decisive turning point in his personality was between 1921 and 1922. When he arrived in Europe, he was still comparing different ideologies. By 1922, he had committed himself to communism. At that time, he was writing for the Chinese newspaper Ye Shi Bao and reporting on the British miners’ strikes and European social conditions after the First World War. Meanwhile, China’s national crisis was deepening after the Paris Peace Conference.

All of these experiences convinced him that communism offered the best path forward for China’s transformation.

Sivakumar: There have been evolving interpretations of Zhou’s relationship with Mao. How have you grown to understand that in the course of writing this book?

Chen Jian: This is perhaps the most difficult question. 

A number of critics describe Zhou Enlai as Mao’s assistant or accomplice, arguing that without Zhou, Mao could not have implemented many of the disastrous policies. This is not untrue. 

However, Zhou’s role in helping Mao was far more complicated. When Mao entered the political arena, China was divided, weak, and plagued by warlordism, poverty, and illiteracy. When Mao died in 1976, China had become unified — except for China’s claim over Taiwan — and recognized as a major world power. Chinese people’s living standards and education have greatly improved. China’s production, despite the setbacks from the Great Leap Forward, had really advanced. Women’s social status had been greatly improved. At the same time, the suffering of the Chinese people was the price to pay for those achievements. Without Zhou Enlai, many achievements might not have been realized, because Zhou was the person who implemented policies and kept the government functioning.

On the other hand, Zhou also limited the damage caused by Mao’s radical policies. So when people ask me, “Is Zhou a good guy or a bad guy?” Yes and no. All great historical figures contain both elements. 

Sanders: Having studied and lived in the US and China for a long time now, what course of evolution do you see US-China relations taking, and what would Zhou have thought about the path forward?

Chen Jian: It’s a difficult question to answer because even in recent years, Chinese-American relations have shifted rapidly. Still, I’m cautiously optimistic. The reasons are quite simple. Both countries are big, and their biggest challenges are internal rather than external. Sometimes leaders emphasize external threats because it is easier to scapegoat than to address domestic problems. Both countries are nuclear powers with enormous capacity to undermine the other party. Historically, the American GPS was destroyed by the Chinese, and the United States retaliated by taking out its satellite system. You know, we have now brought warfare into our space. So, in other words, a confrontation would impose enormous costs on both sides, far exceeding the superficial victory either side could win. 

The question is how the two countries can reach some level of mutual understanding and compromise. Even within the United States, compromise between the political parties has become difficult, even though the American Constitution is built on compromise. 

I believe the risk of direct military confrontation between China and the United States remains low. Ultimately, people should understand that to address the main source of their challenges, they should pursue compromise. Even during the Cold War, Chinese and American leaders sought to avoid a direct, all-out confrontation. That restraint should remain the top priority. The second priority for the government is to prioritize people’s everyday lives. If both countries avoid full confrontation and prioritize practical improvements to people’s lives, relations can remain stable. That’s why I’m cautiously optimistic. 

Sanders: Thank you, Professor.

Featured/Headline Image: Jian Chen | NYU Shanghai, Image Sourced from NYU Shanghai Faculty Directory | CC License, no changes made

In Conversation with Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan, Former Pakistani Ambassador to Afghanistan, conducted in December 2025

In 2025, Pakistan once again stood at a critical juncture in one of the world’s longest-running refugee crises. At that pivotal moment, the voices of those who had witnessed policy and diplomacy firsthand proved invaluable, as the country confronted one of the most complex displacement situations of our time.

What began as a humanitarian response to war in 1979 has since evolved into one of the longest protracted refugee situations in modern history. In 2025, the refugee question is no longer confined to humanitarian circles; it now sits at the intersection of security policy, regional diplomacy, internal stability, and state identity.

To better understand the stakes, I sat down with Mansoor Ahmed Khan, Pakistan’s seasoned diplomat who served as Permanent Representative to the UN in Vienna (2018–2020) and later as Ambassador to Afghanistan until his retirement in 2023, witnessing firsthand the U.S. withdrawal in 2021. He currently serves as Director of the BNU Centre for Policy Research (BCPR) at BNU Lahore.

Having observed Pakistan–Afghanistan relations at close quarters during one of their most turbulent phases, Ambassador Khan offers a rare, unfiltered assessment of where policy hasn’t worked, and what a realistic path forward might look like.

Alishba Barech: Pakistan has hosted Afghan refugees for over four decades. How has it balanced its humanitarian obligations with its own security, economic constraints, and national capacity?

Ambassador Khan: Pakistan has hosted Afghan refugees in millions since 1979–80, when Soviet forces invaded Afghanistan. Since then, at every phase, there have been at least three to five million refugees living in Pakistan, depending on the dynamics of that particular period.

What made this possible was the extremely friendly and open policies adopted by successive Pakistani governments. Refugees were not confined strictly to camps. They were allowed to move into towns and villages. They were given opportunities of education like Pakistanis, opportunities of work like Pakistanis, and access to health facilities far more openly than in many other countries, including Iran or even Western states.

A large number of refugees who received education in Pakistan later went back to Afghanistan and today work in Afghan ministries and public and private institutions. Pakistan has spent much more from its own resources than what UNHCR has provided. These refugees have been socially and environmentally absorbed into Pakistani society over decades.

Security concerns have existed at times, particularly when Pakistan faced waves of terrorism. But generally speaking, Afghan refugees themselves have not been involved in terrorism in Pakistan. The threats Pakistan faces come from groups like the TTP or BLA, not from refugee populations.

Alishba Barech: Refugees are often framed within security discourses. How does the state ensure Afghan refugees are not collectively stigmatized or securitized? How do we separate perception from evidence?

Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan: The issue enters security discourse primarily because Pakistan and Afghanistan share a long, porous border. This border has been subject to cross-border militancy for decades: jihad, insurgencies, and now terrorism.

Despite this, Afghan refugees have generally not been found involved in major security breaches. However, the state has not been able to evolve a nuanced policy that distinguishes between different categories of refugees. This is where the problem lies.

When refugees stay for decades, when second and third generations are born in Pakistan, they become socially integrated. Many of them are culturally closer to Pakistan than to Afghanistan. Ignoring this reality and framing refugees as a ‘single’, ‘security’ category leads to collective stigmatization, which is neither fair nor effective.

Alishba Barech: Many Afghan refugees have lived in Pakistan since the 1980s, with second and third generations born here. How does the state view these long-term refugees, especially those who remain undocumented?

Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan: I think this anomaly has to be addressed. In the last few years, the government of Pakistan or state of Pakistan has been facing serious security challenges. These challenges also require Pakistan to have a comprehensive review of this policy.

There are refugees who were born in Pakistan and are, in many ways, more Pakistani than Afghan in terms of culture, language, and societal affiliation. But when even after second or third generation born here can’t call the country home, it creates a psychological toll. They live in fear and uncertainty. Whenever policy changes, they can be sent back. Documentation is a real challenge, and the state has not sufficiently addressed this.

In my personal view, many of these people cannot go back. I have met people who speak Urdu better than Pashto or Dari. The government will eventually have to decide whether it continues to disown them or evolves a special legal status, or even citizenship, for them.

Alishba Barech: What criteria should guide Pakistan in deciding between repatriation (voluntary), deportation, or integration of Afghan refugees?

Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan: According to international refugee law, repatriation should always be voluntary. Pakistan is not a signatory to the UN Refugee Convention, but international norms still apply.

What Pakistan needs is a comprehensive refugee policy based on categorization. There should be at least three categories: registered refugees eligible for repatriation, undocumented Afghans who must be documented, and those Afghans who were born in Pakistan.

Importantly, Afghans born in Pakistan, their return is neither realistic nor humane. Thus, for the third category, we need a politically difficult but pragmatic solution. The most plausible way forward would be to give them Pakistani citizenship in the next few years, or at least a special legal status.

For those eligible for repatriation, the process must be phased. If millions came over five decades, you cannot deport them in one or two months. That will create a crisis for both Pakistan and Afghanistan.

If, hypothetically, there are three million refugees to be repatriated, then repatriating 100,000 or 200,000 people per year would be sustainable.

Repatriation, must be slow, negotiated, and coordinated.

Forced deportation may seem the easiest option, but it will not deliver lasting results. Since the current Afghan government lacks the capacity to accept large numbers, forced returns are bound to fail. Without the Afghan government’s economic inability to absorb them, many will inevitably cross back into Pakistan given the porous nature of the border. Therefore, it is important that both the governments have to be engaged in terms of having a very comprehensive and holistic refugee policy.

Afghan government has an Afghan Ministry of Refugees Repatriation, MORR, and Pakistan has also a Saffron Ministry (Ministry of States and Frontier Regions under which the Commissionerate for Afghan Refugees was established in 1980), which is dealing with refugee issues. So, the relevant state authorities, relevant security authorities can also be part of this dialogue. And then they should evolve a comprehensive policy on Pakistan side, a comprehensive repatriation or resettlement policy on Afghan side

Alishba Barech: What humanitarian risks do sudden deportations pose for vulnerable groups like women, children, and the elderly?

Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan: This aspect has not been sufficiently thought through. Many families came in the 1980s as small units of ten people and today consist of forty or fifty members. Over time, they have built assets; homes, businesses, livelihoods.

When such families are suddenly deported without arrangements to manage their assets, it becomes a serious humanitarian issue. Afghanistan’s economy is not in a position to absorb them. This creates hardship not only for the refugees but also for the receiving state.

Alishba Barech: Ambassador Khan, I understand that the state points to education, health, and employment as evidence of opportunity. But we cannot gloss over the reality: without legal status, refugees cannot fully benefit. They live under fear and scrutiny, are excluded from higher-end jobs, and remain trapped in low-income strata.

Definitely, that is what defines the third category. These groups should be granted legal status or some form of permanent documentation, as this is an essential step toward ensuring their security and integration.

Alishba Barech: How do Pashtun cross-border communities complicate refugee policy, given cultural homogeneity across the western border of Pakistan?

Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan: Pashtuns have lived on both sides of the border for centuries. These linkages are historical, cultural, and familial. There are more Pashtuns in Pakistan than in Afghanistan.

We have to be cognizant of these realities. And these Pashtuns living in Afghanistan and living in Pakistan, they have been having close relations with each other, close interaction with each other for centuries. And Pashtuns are not only living in Pakistan, in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and in Balochistan, but also even if there is a large Pashtun population in Punjab and in Sindh, in Karachi particularly. So, this issue should be seen as an important issue affecting intra-Pashtun dynamics and also Pakistan’s own national security dynamics.

Any refugee policy that ignores this reality risks destabilizing internal dynamics. We already see movements like the Pashtun Tahafuz Movement emerging around rights and grievances. Unilateral deportations can exacerbate resentment and create space for non-state actors.

Groups like the TTP are already exploiting forced repatriation as propaganda against Pakistan. This is avoidable.

Alishba Barech: What diplomatic and strategic consequences does Pakistan face from mass deportations of Afghan refugees?

Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan: Forced deportations always affect diplomatic relations. While every state has the right to deport undocumented individuals, exercising that right without foresight can damage long-term relations.

Pakistan’s image has already suffered in Afghan public opinion over decades. Forced repatriation of refugees who lived peacefully in Pakistan for forty years further worsens that image.

There are regional implications and from a strategic perspective, its not a positive development either.

 Detractors like India gain space to criticize Pakistan on humanitarian grounds. Refugees become another fault line.

Generally, Pakistan has earned a very good name in the past four decades for hosting refugees in Afghanistan, I mean, we have earned a very good name in Afghanistan and we have earned a very good name, good reputation internationally. However, through forced mass repatriation, Pakistan risks undermining its decades-long tradition of hospitality and open accommodation, while simultaneously fueling resentment among Afghans and ethnic groups within state.

Alishba Barech: In your view, what does the future require in terms of Pakistan’s refugee policy?

Ambassador Mansoor Ahmed Khan: Pakistan needs a revised, comprehensive refugee policy that is humane, realistic, and security-conscious. Categorization is key. Documentation is essential. Repatriation must be phased and coordinated with the Afghan government.

Unilateral measures may appear decisive, but they create long-term instability. A farsighted approach, one that balances sovereignty with humanitarian responsibility and regional stability, is the only sustainable path forward. 

For Afghan refugees born in Pakistan or those whose return isn’t possible, as they’re fully integrated, there can be a policy of specially giving them rights to citizenship. But this will also require some legislation, because there is a legislation on citizenship and that policy has to comply with the legislation. So, I think that is why there is a more in-depth consideration or examination of these issues is required rather than going for forced deportation. Forced deportation is perhaps the easiest way of trying to get rid of this issue, but it will not actually yield positive results for the government finally, and it will lead to some negative consequences internally for Pakistan also.

The Afghan refugee question is not merely a question of borders or documentation, it is a question of history, identity, and statecraft. Pakistan and Afghan state are engaged in a very complex relationship. 

Pakistan’s image in Afghanistan has suffered for decades, and there are reasons for it. Now it can suffer more. Our challenge; therefore, in 2025, is not a lack of authority or security measures, but a lack of a coherent, long-term vision.

The current global landscape is fragmented and changing. The stability of the perception of the world order remains in question. Since the end of the Cold War, Western liberal democracy has seemed to cement its status as the dominant force on the global stage. Recently, however, the entire world has experienced democratic backsliding.

Autocratic Powers in the 21st Century

The authoritarian regimes driving the resurgence of autocratic power share common strategies of centralized control, suppression of dissent, and perhaps most importantly, projections of power. While inhumane, coercive, and mechanized authoritarian forces are slowly eroding the liberal international order and reshaping the global balance towards the East.

At the heart of the shift is the “Dictator Trio”: Kim Jong-Un of North Korea, Vladimir Putin of Russia, and Xi Jinping of China. To the general public, these names generally sound the same, symbolic of all dictators. However, the specific way each of them wields power makes the three fundamentally different from one another. 

Because of North Korea’s relative isolation, it heavily relies on nuclear posturing and close economic cooperation with newly emerging nations, especially those in Africa (e.g., training in Uganda), Southeast Asia (especially for cyber operations and sanctions evasions), and Latin America. This is especially dangerous due to the ideological manipulation and power that North Korea holds over these emerging economies. This is historically rooted in “Juche diplomacy,” a model for which Pyongyang sought to mold post-colonial states. Meanwhile, Putin’s Russia is currently entirely focused on the Ukraine War. It has primarily been driven by revanchism, a desire to reclaim Soviet-era influence and revenge through military power to reclaim lost territory with aggressive rhetoric and military policies. 

Xi Jinping, by contrast, is a whole different challenge and threat to the global order. Though China has been corrosive to the current world order through its structural and strategic influence, China under Xi has fused authoritarian control with technocratic governance and economic dominance. China’s extraordinarily long history grants Xi a unique level of legitimacy and power.  Even with the revisionist and modernized focus, which largely casts a negative light on pre-communist history, Xi has claimed selective legacies and nostalgic sentiments to strengthen nationalist legitimacy. This bolsters China’s soft power, especially in terms of diplomacy, economic partnerships, and ideological outreach. For instance, the “Three Summits” of 2022 illustrate how Beijing institutionalized its influence via the binding of Gulf Economies to Chinese digital infrastructure and energy cooperation frameworks. The main reason why Xi was able to gain respect from these Gulf leaders is due to his strategic recalling of pre-colonial trade routes between China and the Arab World. With that cultural affinity and long-standing historical ties, Xi plays into historical rhetoric and frames China and other states as equals. This is a good reason why countries in the Middle East, especially Saudi Arabia, are more skeptical of modern Western nation-states than China. 

Due to the increasing ideological foothold that these authoritarian regimes have claimed, democratic systems have been weakening around the world. Specifically, authoritarian regimes target elections, media, and economic networks, undermining transparency and stability. China and North Korea have been engaging with the Global South, echoing the past strategic alignments of the Cold War through partnerships and political blocs that challenge Western leadership. This is especially true in the Middle East and Africa, where China’s involvement in local economies, such as the Belt and Road Initiative, has strengthened diplomatic relations. This is compounded by China aiding the Global South through technological exchange, supporting innovation, and building human capital, further legitimizing China’s role in the Global South. Thus, the global south tends to have more positive opinions of China than the United States. The tension between the United States and China on the question of leading emerging economies and the upcoming world order is fracturing the current balance of the world. 

At a conference at Yale, the president of the American Chamber of Commerce Shanghai, Eric Zheng, remarked that “policymakers in Washington want U.S. companies to leave China, [because] they see China as a threat, an adversary, [and] nothing more than competition.” However, what this zero-sum thinking misses is that China’s strategy isn’t about challenging America directly. Instead, China’s strategy is to use aesthetics and order to focus on repositioning Asia as the center of gravity of world politics. Reminiscent of 1984 by George Orwell, China is seeking to alter the memory of the world through its posturing. Whether through massive parades, martial discipline, or rewriting history, China has implicitly set a significant precedent in abolishing the previous liberal international order. 

Strategies of Positioning or Posturing

China’s self-presentation is all about spectacle: military formations that synchronize and blur, leaders framed against blood-red backdrops, ancient Chinese motifs in drone light shows. These displays aren’t mere aesthetic displays, but show of power. They’re meant to impress China’s controlling governance.

To the domestic Mainland China audience, these displays are meant to unify and broadcast a message of stability. To the international audience, these displays are meant to be juxtaposed against the United States’ lackluster displays of power, contrasting its new, futuristic architecture and the outdated Western infrastructure. These parades broadcast China’s argument to the world that ironclad order triumphs over disorder. China also draws on centuries of Chinese cultural codes in these displays, such as discipline, hierarchy, and harmony. More specifically, they draw on the Confucian idea of li (ritual), stating that beauty is proof of virtue. China has rebranded authoritarianism into efficiency instead of oppression. Even if it is posturing, China sees it as an emblem of its civilization. 

Core Case Study

Take the 80th Anniversary of the Victory of the Chinese People’s War of Resistance against Japanese aggression: 12,000 troops, 500 weapon systems, and Xi flanked by Putin and Kim. From a Western perspective, this parade is clearly propaganda. However, propaganda is too small a word to describe the occasion. It’s a historical theatre, a deliberate rewriting of the history and memory of the 20th century: The United States’ version of World War II positions itself as the liberator and trailblazer of peace, while China’s version of history replaces the American narrative with a story of moving from victimhood to salvation. This precisely recalls an imagery of a phoenix, reborn from the ashes, leaving imperialism and the Century of Humiliation behind and transforming it instead into moral capital.

In this Chinese version, China is not just powerful, it is also righteous. Its Victory Day celebration combines spectacle and scripture, which philosopher Benedict Anderson may call a ritual of “imagined community.” This is the subtle genius of China. While America individualizes its triumphs via Hollywood war heroes, lone rangers, freedom as self-expression, and individualism, China collectivizes its memory. Its message isn’t “look what we did,” but more “look who we are,” and that message has traveled across the whole world. 

China’s narrative has landed most persuasively in the Global South, where countries are disillusioned by Western paternalism yet still hungry for alternative models of hope. Lin & Wang (2025) note that China’s diplomatic outreach increasingly frames Beijing as a “partner in sovereignty” instead of a patron, which resonates far more deeply than the paternalistic framing of the United States. Leaders in Dhaka, Jakarta, and Colombo yearn for partners instead of neoimperialism. Through China’s Belt and Road Initiative, digital Silk Roads, and security partnerships, China has built a network that combines infrastructure with ideology. In Pakistan, Chinese projects are marketed as investments into respectful partnerships. In Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, Chinese aid arrives without the moral lectures characteristic of Western institutions. 

Thus, for many leaders across the Global South, Beijing’s message of “order without interference” sounds more appealing than Washington’s offer of “freedom without conditions.” This is especially compounded by China’s roots in anti-colonial memory, which dovetails with South Asia’s own historical wounds. In essence, China doesn’t sell power to the Global South; instead, it sells dignity. 

Furthermore, the symbolic inclusion of foreign troops and observers at the parades and Asian leaders in Chinese media coverage contributes to a sense that Asia’s voice is finally being heard. Perhaps this is the most revolutionary aspect of China’s rise: Asian dialogue is speaking for itself as a dominant, independent voice instead of being shadowed or paralleling that of the West. 

Still, China’s view of order is paradoxical. Its harmony is enforced, not organic, so it depends on silence. For their structure and enforcement to work, they have to repress dissent, erase minority stories, and tighten borders. The unity that it presents is maintained through internal fractures and fragmentation. This tension exposes the limits of China’s narrative power. Their order is so perfect that it’s brittle. Southeast Asian nations understand this: their pragmatism toward China is equally rooted in caution. Case in point, Vietnam tentatively cooperates with China economically while still preparing militarily through securitization in the South China Sea. India, too, resists absorption, building its own network of influence through the Global South. 

Consequently, the question lies in whether China’s aesthetic of order can survive contact with Asia’s plural realities, or whether it will unravel due to its rigidity. For now, though, China only needs admiration, not unanimity. Even beyond geopolitics, China is playing a long-term game with epistemic legitimacy, i.e., the right to define what is “normal” in world politics. In reframing World War II and staging military order as moral order, elevating Asian unity as global virtue, China has tentatively succeeded in rewriting belief systems. The West once convinced the world that legitimacy comes from democracy and the rule of law. China, on the other hand, has proposed a new source: performance. In this view, legitimacy doesn’t come from elections and the political efficacy of the people. Legitimacy comes from the ability to deliver stability, growth, and continuity.

If this argument takes root in the Global South, international relations will evolve quickly. The world is currently rooted in a binary dynamic of liberal versus authoritarian and democracy versus autocracy. However, this doesn’t truly capture the moral imagination of the world beyond the West. Instead, the emerging world order is a contest of narratives of order, and China is currently in the lead.

The trio of Xi, Putin, and Kim may represent autocracy, but their alignment represents a realignment. China’s rise, especially, is economic, military, and, most importantly, a moral narrative. 

When future historians describe this era, they might not speak of “great power competition” but instead of a civilizational shift from the Atlantic’s democracy to Asia’s discipline and concrete order. Especially with Global South countries quickly evolving through the Demographic Transition Model and Western countries facing the worries of an aging workforce, the Global South will soon determine the fate of the new world order.

That doesn’t necessarily mean that the Global South will follow China’s script. South Asia, Southeast Asia, and smaller powers across the Global South still have agency. They can determine for themselves what “order” means next. Still, ignoring China’s narrative of history, ritual, and diplomacy into legitimacy would be blindness. The parade was never just a spectacle to counter Trump’s weak military parade. It’s an announcement that the axis of history is tilting eastward. As the EU, IMF, UN, and other Western democracies debate themselves into paralysis, Asia, led, but not wholly defined, by China, is slowly but stably recapturing the global stage. 

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: World leaders attending the 2025 China Victory Day Parade (2), Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made

The heavy rains of late November 2025 devastated many countries in South East Asia. Indonesia was hit the hardest, with more than 953 lives lost in Aceh, Sumatra Utara, and Sumatra Barat in the floods and landslides. The tragedy kindled public anger, and social media has been flooded after the resurfacing of a 2024 speech by President Prabowo, where the President undermined the risks that result from increasing oil palm production as well as the deforestation that has been happening in Sumatra. Beyond momentary outrage, these events have signaled a deep reflection for Indonesia about palm oil and the international political economy of our everyday lives. 

Opportunity & Meeting Global Demands 

Ever since 1970, the demand for palm oil has increased fortyfold. In 2024, Indonesia had the largest consumption of palm oil in the world at 20.35 million metric tons. To meet such demands, not to mention the export-led growth targets, Indonesia has rapidly increased its palm oil production, and now is the largest producer in the world. However, alongside this change game a range of social and environmental grievances. Sumatra, the region hit hardest by the recent floods, contains the most extensive palm oil plantation area in Indonesia. This is no coincidence.

Palm oil production in Indonesia is complex interplay between state corporations, private corporations and smallholders. The majority of palm oil production in Indonesia is controlled by private corporations. The state has supported plantation expansion and eased trade barriers since the post Soeharto era of private corporations who can produce faster with their technology, to increase foreign-exchange earnings. Moreover, private corporations rely heavily on monoculture systems. Given that private corporations operate on large-scale areas of land, monoculture significantly reduces biodiversity and weakens soil stability as oil palm trees have shallow roots. Therefore, it increases the risk of flooding and soil erosion. 

Environmental Responsibility

The environmental consequences of Indonesia’s massive palm oil production play out alongside a shifting global political economy agenda that is more climate-conscious. On one hand, China, one of Indonesia’s largest importers of palm oil, has begun an ambitious path towards greener supply chains. On the other hand, Indonesia faced a trade dispute with the European Union over environmental concerns of palm oil production. Although Indonesia recently won the dispute, it cannot ignore the mounting global expectations for sustainability. Many countries have also developed more international environmental standardization in trade. For instance, the Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil (RSPO), a voluntary internationally recognized certification, has also gained more usage in Indonesia, but its reach remains limited. 

To raise environmental standards and international competitiveness, Indonesia currently has the Indonesian Sustainable Palm Oil (ISPO), a certification regulation introduced in 2009. Although the number or certificate holders have increased, as of 2025, only 39.33% have obtained ISPO certification. Additionally, Presidential Decree No. 16 of 2025 has pushed for stronger implementation, however overall compliance remains low and slow. However, critics argue that the ISPO falls short in addressing key issues such as post-plantation land rehabilitation. 

The moratorium regulation aimed at halting the expansion of palm oil plantations in Indonesia between 2018-2021 was deemed as a step forward in sustainability efforts. However, the policy was not renewed, and expansion in regions such as Sumatra has continued.

Overlooking the Smallholders & Everyday Lives

Smallholders, defined as those who own less than 25 hectares of land, make up roughly 40% of oil production in Indonesia. Despite this, they are often overlooked and occupy a precarious position. Some smallholders are associated with private corporations, while others are fully independent. The latter has less financial capacity, knowledge and technology, making them vulnerable within the supply chain compared to private corporations. Moreover, they do not have the access to the markets that private corporations do.

A study on palm oil justice movements in Indonesia highlights how the dominating practices of state elites and private corporations have not only weakened smallholders’ political and economic aspirations, but also cause the most environmental damage. 

The November floods pose a strong reminder that the government’s negligence to govern palm oil production has ultimately impacted the lives of the grassroots communities such as smallholder farmers. The palm oil sector supports more than 16 million workers, whose livelihoods bear the immediate heaviest burden—losing homes, schools, and roads to the very mud of private corporations misconduct and policies. 

As consumers, without realising, palm oil is embedded in our everyday lives whether it be the food we eat or the products in our bathroom cabinets. Hence, we cannot simply stop consuming it, especially since many people depend on the industry for their livelihoods. While we can make more mindful choices, the government must make a more strategic position.

Moving Forward

Several research studies have suggested that the “bottom-up” approach of supporting smallholders may be a practical solution to reconcile higher output with environmental protection. Approaches include investing in capacity building and exposure to international markets. Evidence also shows that the adoption of sustainable practices leads to increased productivity.In light of the hundreds of lives lost, focusing on the narrative of the palm oil industry as a ‘blessing from the almighty’ that should be expanded ignores the failure of the government to empower and protect those who contribute the most. Focusing on corporate expansion while ignoring the power asymmetry of smallholders undermines environmental implications, long-term competitiveness and rural welfare. If the government lacks the political will to empower and protect those at the base of the supply chain, the cost of the next flood will be even higher.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Menstrual Products, Image sourced from Roboflow Universe | CC License, no changes made

During the ongoing war in Ukraine, Russia has quietly threatened many of its neighbors, gauging their ability to withstand future Kremlin aggression. The battlefield for global influence between NATO and Russia extends far beyond Ukraine. While reports of Russian drone incursions into Poland made it to front pages across the world in September 2025, far fewer people have heard of the struggles for political dominance in the tiny nation of Georgia, or Russia’s campaign of sabotage against Estonia in Northern Europe. While not as violent or destructive as the full-scale war raging in Eastern Ukraine, each struggle plays an important role in the broader conflicts between world powers. Given the strategic advantage that would be afforded to Putin if he achieves success along these smaller fronts, it is vital for NATO to take decisive action and begin taking these challenges more seriously. The most crucial steps for NATO and its allies in their struggle against Russia include an increased military presence in threatened allied countries, a stronger effort towards leveraging soft power and information campaigns within the various political battlegrounds across Eurasia, and a coordinated initiative to ease Baltic policies against the Russian language that feeds Kremlin narratives of marginalization.  

One of the most important theatres of Russia’s competition with Western powers lies in the local politics of much smaller nations. Georgia, a nation of nearly four million people located south of Russia, has seen a shift in popular support towards NATO and the EU in the last two decades in defiance of Russian aggression. This strategic victory for the West has begun to deteriorate after Georgia’s request to join the EU was halted in protest of what the EU described as democratic backsliding. More recently the Georgian government passed a controversial foreign agents law, sparking massive protests after critics accused it of mimicking Russian legislation targeting NGOs. Georgia is not the only small country that Russia has been making efforts to win over. Russian officials have been paying friendly visits to Kyrgyzstan to solidify friendly relations, despite the fact that the Kyrgyzstani government has passed laws against the Russian language in their home country. These laws closely resemble similar laws passed in the Baltics, which have ignited outrage from the Kremlin and are used as the justification for increased hostilities and aggressive actions against the tiny EU member states Latvia and Estonia. Altogether, while seemingly distant scenarios, these situations share an opportunity for strategic action by NATO and its allies. 

Kyrgyzstani pushback against the degradation of their native tongue represents a perfect opportunity for NATO to leverage the situation to their political advantage. Russian is the second most spoken language in Kyrgyzstan and has been frequently used in broadcasting, business, and governance, leading to legislative pushback seeking to ensure the preservation of Kyrgyz as the dominant language. This effort has gained traction in light of a surge of Russian migrants into Kyrgyzstan due to the invasion of Ukraine, primarily in 2022 and 2023. These migrants are perceived by some locals as a threat. The Kyrgyzstani government passed a law resembling controversial laws in Estonia and Latvia that mandate increased usage of Kyrgyz in broadcasting, government, and the names of various locations. While these laws have sparked Russian outrage against the Baltics, it is interesting to note that Russia has still maintained a cordial relationship with Kyrgyzstan, likely due to Kyrgyzstan’s strategic value to the Russian economy, particularly in its effort to avoid tariffs. Given the fact that some within the Kyrgyz population have voiced frustrations against the prevalence of the Russian language within its borders as well as Russian immigration, this is likely the most effective argument for NATO to convince Kyrgyzstan to expand its relationship with the West. NATO faces an uphill battle to achieve diplomatic wins in a nation bordering Russia, with a high population of ethnic Russians, a significant trade relationship with the Kremlin, and a location isolated from the democratic world, signaling that any potential opportunity cannot be ignored. It would work towards NATO’s benefit to increase public awareness in Kyrgyzstan of this controversial surge of Russian migrants, putting pressure on the Kyrgyz government to become more vocally critical of Russia’s actions. This could be quickly acted upon via American and European state-funded news, NGO funding within Kyrgyzstan, and diplomatic dialogue. 

To the Southeast lies the Caucasus, a region divided by the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, home to the ancient nation of Georgia, which is currently balancing a tightrope between Russia and the West. After a decade of growing popular support for membership in the European Union which signaled a political loss for Russia, the Georgian government enacted a controversial law to the dismay of both the European Union itself and supporters for Georgian membership. This “Foreign Agents Registration Act” has stoked massive protests in the capital of Tbilisi, accused of mirroring a similar Russian law. Given that until recently NATO had been gaining ground in the country which harbored anger against Russia due to the military annexation of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, these recent developments have marked a drastic turn of events. By investing in diplomatic and grassroot efforts aiming to swing the advantage back in their favor, Western powers would be taking the first step towards addressing one of the most contentious power struggles in their competition with Putin. 

An imminent reinforcement of military strength and capability in Estonia is vital for ensuring European security. Estonia is largely considered to be the most vulnerable EU member state to a Russian attack, and constant Russian aggression has proven that this vulnerability is not one to be ignored. Russia has cut internet cables in the Baltic Sea, flown aircraft in Estonian airspace, and even sent a drone over the border, “Estonia now finds itself in what officials describe as a ‘silent war’—a campaign of hostile actions that stop short of open conflict but aim to destabilize and intimidate.” Despite spending an exorbitant portion of their budget on national defense and announcing plans to increase military spending in the future, Estonia’s active-duty armed forces still number fewer than ten thousand. One counterargument against the case for bolstering troops in Estonia is that it is the least tactically important nation in the Baltics. If Russia chose the most anticipated strategy for invasion, Estonia would be cut off from the rest of Western Europe, and any foreign detachments stationed there would become trapped. Despite the truth of this argument, neglecting to increase NATO’s military presence within the country would jeopardize deterrence efforts. By continuing to bolster its meager number of troops in Estonia, NATO would display a powerful and unwavering commitment to its members not only to Russia, but to the entire world. 

While Estonia is more vulnerable to invasion, Latvia and Lithuania are considered the most likely Russian targets for a major offensive against Europe. The Suwalki Gap is a sparsely populated stretch of Lithuanian and Polish land separating Belarus with Kaliningrad, a small Russian enclave within mainland Europe. Many military strategists believe that Russia would target this gap in the case of an invasion, solidifying this location as well as all of Lithuania as a crucial piece of land to defend. As seemingly straightforward as the need to bolster these defenses may be, the effort to do so has been slow moving. By 2026 NATO will have a Brigade size force stationed within Latvia. Germany also made a significant move by pledging to station a full brigade in Lithuania by 2027, but in the case of a full-scale war the Suwalki Gap would likely need a division sized force (15,000-20,000). If EU lawmakers follow through on increasing defense spending in 2026, stationing a larger force in the Baltics is not only feasible, but vital to European security amid ongoing tensions with Russia.  

The Baltic states’ approach towards handling the Russian language should be softened and humanized to ease domestic tension and prevent handing the Kremlin free political capital, which will in turn benefit Western powers in the information war. When it comes to winning over hearts and minds, Russia has used the Baltic states to its advantage by attacking their policies against the Russian language as harsh and discriminatory. It is not just the Russian government that has been enraged, but the Russian minority has responded harshly to the Estonian government in Tallinn, especially towards the removal of monuments to Soviet soldiers. This is a similar narrative to the position the Kremlin has taken to justify their invasion of Ukraine launched in 2022. The fact that laws dealing with the Russian language in Kyrgyzstan (a country that has been important to Russia in its efforts to survive tariffs) have not met a similar outcry from the Russian government suggest that accusations against the Baltics and Ukraine of marginalizing their Russian minorities are likely as strategically motivated as they are ideological. Russia will likely use these allegations as a justification for force in the event of a conflict in the Baltics regardless of their truth, yet it nonetheless remains vital to ensure that these narratives lack any truth altogether. Any developments dispersed to an international audience that align with Russian claims work to legitimize Russian claims and degrade NATO’s values of freedom and democracy for all. This leaves proper treatment of the Russian minority in Estonia and adherence to their rights as Estonian citizens of paramount importance, regardless that many native Estonians associate this minority with the harsh memories of a Communist past. 

Ukraine is only one sphere of the ongoing struggle between Putin and the West; many smaller post-Soviet countries remain critical in their strategic value. NATO’s position necessitates coordinated and persistent efforts by policymakers, diplomats, and intelligence agencies on behalf of democracies across the world, while also maintaining respect for each nation’s core values and sovereignty. NATO leaders, especially those within mainland Europe, must remember that active efforts towards the defense of member states and the advocation towards Western values of self-determination must be a constant priority to preserve stability. NATO must increase its forces in the Baltics, settle tension with Russian minorities, and capitalize on political opportunity in Georgia and Kyrgyzstan with urgency today to prevent Russia from exploiting vulnerabilities in the future.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: NATO Headquarters, Image sourced from Flickr | CC License, no changes made

Over the past decade, artificial intelligence has moved from a niche technological frontier to a transformative global force. The number of new AI firms financed globally has increased four times, and investments have increased fifteenfold, a rate of acceleration that is starting to represent the dawn of the fourth stage of production, governing principles, and social existence. Asia-Pacific countries are also trying to ride this wave. However, according to a recent UN report, the initial positions of the countries in this region are highly unequal. The IMF AI Preparedness Index shows this contrast: while advanced economies like Singapore, South Korea, Australia, and China are at ease with scores well above 70 percent, weak or low-income states can barely score above 20. For many, the new AI environment poses an external threat, creating more gaps between countries unless carefully handled.

This gap is not only a result of differences in the level of technological enthusiasm, but is also structural. The nature of some economies has built the foundation of AI based on good digital infrastructure, uninterrupted power supply, good data systems, and high-speed connectivity. On the other hand, some continue to struggle with intermittent power supply, lack of adequate data governance, and low-level internet access services. These concerns define who is part of the AI-controlled change and who is left behind. While Singapore experiments with large-scale AI deployment in finance, healthcare, and public administration, several South Asian and Pacific Island economies still struggle to build reliable data centres or digital authentication systems. The technological race, therefore, begins on an uneven track. 

These inter-regional divisions lie over centuries-old inequalities even within nations. Income and wealth are very concentrated in the upper ten percent in most regions of Asia and the Pacific. Those with access to higher education, urban connectivity, and access to capital are in a better position to reap the benefits as AI tools become part of the workplace and change the forces of demand. At the same time, low-income employees, informal labourers, and rural communities are more vulnerable to these changes. AI is not just a reward for those with skill; it increases existing privilege. Without international policy intervention, the AI revolution may strengthen deeply-rooted structural inequalities.

The aforementioned UN report highlights the fact that the inclusive adoption of AI needs to reinforce both hard and soft infrastructure. Hard infrastructure is defined as the physical infrastructure of digital transformation: cheap internet, reliable and clean power, data center cooling, and sufficient computing power. Though the use of the internet has increased in the region, huge disparities exist. Some economies continue to experience a lack of affordability, lack of equal coverage between rural and urban areas, and gender differences in access. Such gaps are important since AI systems are based on stable high quality connectivity. It is impossible to jump into advanced governance with AI-driven technologies when a high percentage of the population does not have the basic access to high-speed data transmission.

Soft infrastructure also plays an important role in this issue. The capacity of societies to take up the opportunities of AI without falling into its pitfalls is determined by human capital, robust state institutions, and reputable regulatory systems. There is an acute skills shortage in data science, machine learning, cybersecurity, and advanced analytics in many countries in the Asia-Pacific. The education systems in some countries do not yet match the rapidly changing requirements of the AI economy. Meanwhile, public institutions are not able to adopt or establish ethical protection, privacy, and algorithm accountability measures. Unchecked AI adoption is unlikely to deliver sustained growth. Without effective governance, AI will be deployed unevenly and unpredictably, exposing countries to heightened risks of surveillance abuse, labour displacement, and the entrenchment of digital monopolies.

This is due to another dilemma created by AI and gender. In the Asia-Pacific, women are more exposed to AI-based automation than men. This is mainly due to the fact that women are overworked in clerical, administrative, and routine cognitive work-places; these are the areas that are highly prone to algorithmic replacement. This feminine vulnerability is aggravated by the inequalities that exist in access to digital devices, education, and labour participation. Devoid of intentional inclusion policies, the region is prone to establishing a future where technological advancement will replace women more than it empowers them.

The interplay of inequitable infrastructure, institutional underperformance, labor shortage, and gender inequality implies that the AI transition cannot be delegated to the market forces alone. The coming decade of AI uptake in Asia-Pacific will determine the growth direction of the economies, geopolitics, and stability of societies. The countries able to implement AI in manufacturing, services, and governance can gain significant productivity, while the others will become losers in a new technological tier of divergence. More to the point, the social gap between connected and disconnected, skilled and unskilled, and protected and unprotected workers might become even more rigid without early government intervention.

A multilayered solution beyond an increase in infrastructure is necessary to establish a more equal AI future. States should manage AI as a challenge of development and governance and reinforce public institutions, reestablish education systems, and invest in digital rights infrastructure that protects citizens against exploitation and expands access to opportunity. The key to inclusive adoption will be the ability of countries to democratize the benefits of AI, not just allowing them to be concentrated among elites. It is not a question of whether the Asia-Pacific will embrace AI—the actual question is whether the region will permit AI to intensify the existing inequalities or whether it will adopt the course of joint technological development.

If the Asia-Pacific can close its preparedness gaps and build cohesive, inclusive AI ecosystems, the technology has the potential to become a force for development, resilience, and inclusive growth. But if disparities remain unaddressed, the region may soon find itself confronting a new digital divide, one defined not by access to the internet alone, but by access to the future itself.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: AI, Image sourced from Peak Outsourcing | CC License, no changes made

In October 2025, a South Korean man escaped human trafficking captivity in Cambodia. When he rushed to the Korean Embassy in Phnom Penh for help, he was reportedly turned away—it was outside office hours. There was no 24/7 consular response. The embassy had just one police attaché and two staff to handle a surge in kidnappings, fraud cases, and rescue operations, out of a total of fifteen personnel.

The Cambodia crisis of 2025 saw 513 suspected cases of missing Koreans reported to local police between January and early November. The incident exposed what analysts had long suspected: South Korea’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA) lacks the institutional capacity to match the country’s expanding global role. In an effort to ensure adequate responses to future crises, the ministry has promised to expand the consular division with increased funding. However, the incident shed light not only on overseas Korean missions but also on an institutional problem that spans the entire Korean diplomatic apparatus.

Korean diplomats stride onto the global stage with Indo-Pacific initiatives, APEC summits, and nuclear-submarine negotiations. But the very institution tasked with sustaining this momentum has changed far more gradually than the demands placed upon it.

Inside Korea’s Foreign Service Shortage

In 1994, MOFA headcount was about 2,092; in 2024, it stands at just 2,896, a mere 30 percent increase over three decades. By comparison, the U.S. Department of State employs nearly 27,230 people, while mid-sized powers like France and Japan field diplomatic corps many times larger. Italy, a country with a comparable population, employs approximately 7,000 career diplomats, more than twice the number Seoul affords. Meanwhile, of Korea’s 193 overseas missions, 102 operate with five or fewer staff. At MOFA headquarters in Seoul, there are 935 staff members in 2025, up from just 814 in 1994. 

Meanwhile, South Korea’s global engagement has exploded over the past 30 years. Trade volume has surged more than sixfold since the early 1990s. Outbound tourists have increased more than twentyfold. Seoul has gone from zero free-trade partners in 1994 to 22 FTAs with 59 countries. As these international linkages broadened, MOFA’s staffing structure changed more slowly.

The Foreign Ministry Is Bleeding Its Mid-Career Core

Voluntary resignations within the foreign ministry have more than doubled, jumping from 34 in 2020 to 75 in 2023, concentrated among mid-career professionals bearing the heaviest workloads. 

The appeal of a foreign service career is fading: the competitiveness ratio for the entry-level diplomat cadet exam fell from 42.8:1 to 36.2:1, converging with other civil service tracks it once far outranked. Experts cite long hours and heavy workloads, coupled with pay that fails to compensate for the intensity of the work.

The Interplay of Personnel and Expertise

On paper, this appears to be a simple personnel shortage. But this has been compounded by a deficit of specialized expertise, creating situations in which a single diplomat handles portfolios across multiple divisions.

The generalist model remains one of MOFA’s defining characteristics in its hiring and retention of personnel. Career diplomats follow a single track: a grueling two-round civil service exam, a year of training at the Korean National Diplomatic Academy, then rotations every two to three years across headquarters and overseas postings.

But as global diplomacy grows more technical, the monolithic hiring process has come under renewed discussion, and Seoul’s foreign ministry has tried to diversify at the margins. It designated “open positions” for mid-career temporary hires and, in 2013, created a separate application track to encourage regional and functional specialists to join the foreign ministry, exempting them from the first-round examination.

The special intake of functional and regional experts peaked at 31 percent of new diplomats in 2013, then plummeted to 8 percent by 2020 before being scrapped. A renewed specialist exam introduced in 2021 yielded five hires in its first year, then none in 2024 or 2025. The regional specialist track was also quietly halted in 2022.

The “open positions” program, intended to source mid-career individuals for temporary, senior-level positions at MOFA for a fixed period, has fared no better. From 2023 to 2024, MOFA converted 10 positions meant for external talent into internal postings filled by career diplomats. Half of those jobs had never once been filled by an outsider; they were repeatedly filled by insiders until MOFA claimed no suitable external candidate could be found.

When Outsourcing Fails

In theory, the foreign ministry can simply “outsource” functions to specialized agencies, making it more efficient. The creation of the Overseas Korean Agency in June 2023 appeared to support this approach. When the new agency launched to handle diaspora programs, MOFA’s Korean Nationals Overseas Protection Division was halved, dropping from 28 staff to 14.

But the Overseas Korean Agency focused on diaspora welfare rather than consular emergencies. The headquarters division it replaced was the ministry’s crisis-management hub—responsible for coordinating surge deployments, triaging overseas incidents, and linking embassies with domestic law enforcement. Halving that unit left missions without an institutional backstop when caseloads surged. Cases involving Korean nationals abroad had already grown from 10,664 in 2014 to 23,596 in 2024, a 121 percent increase.

The consequences surfaced in Cambodia. After reports of deaths in captivity in October 2025, MOFA scrambled to dispatch 40 temporary consular officers to Phnom Penh. The government recently approved a minor amendment to restore—and expand—the previously slashed consular division.

How Other Countries Adapt

Governments elsewhere have moved in the opposite direction. Japan has set a national goal to increase the number of diplomatic personnel from 6,674 in 2024 to 8,000 by 2030, with an emphasis on regional experts and longer-term geographic assignments. According to the Lowy Institute’s 2024 Global Diplomacy Index, Türkiye has recently increased its overseas posts so rapidly that it surpassed Japan and France. India is also enlarging its diplomatic posts as its global role grows.

Several major powers have also institutionalized specialist tracks alongside generalist rotations. Germany’s foreign ministry largely separates headquarters-based policy specialists in the Auswärtiges Amt (Federal Foreign Office) from field-based, operation-heavy diplomats in the Federal Office for Foreign Affairs (BfAA), allowing both to develop distinct competencies. The United States operates a special counsel fellow track for regional experts, and the UK focuses heavily on hiring economic specialists in its foreign service program, separate from generalist diplomats.

A Foreign Policy Without Institutional Muscle

Analysts have long noted that South Korea’s diplomacy swings wildly with domestic political winds, and that bipartisan polarization leads each new administration to reverse or discard its predecessor’s foreign policies, preventing sustained strategies and leaving no consensus on handling key relationships with China, Japan, or North Korea. Some observers question whether Seoul’s diplomacy follows a coherent long-term vision or is simply reactive dealmaking with whichever great power exerts pressure.

In this context, MOFA’s difficulties in retaining talent, cultivating specialists, and incorporating outside expertise may be one factor preventing the ministry from anchoring a consistent line.

To its credit, MOFA has initiated organizational restructuring. In May 2024, it announced the annexation of its Office of Korean Peninsula Policy into a broader Office of Strategy and Intelligence—though the reorganization downgraded the ministry’s only unit specializing in inter-Korean affairs, burying it under a larger office housing three other bureaus. In 2025, MOFA launched an AI Diplomacy Division and signaled interest in external hires.

The ministry is also moving to significantly improve the once-slashed consular division: the official FY2026 budget shows a 6.3% year-on-year increase in funding for working conditions and a 5% increase in capacity-building for overseas mission staff. It also promises to create a subdivision within the current consular division for protecting Korean nationals abroad.

Yet even with recent moves to increase consular staffing after the Cambodia crisis, the overall personnel picture remains stagnant. The ministry’s November budget presentation projected slower growth in ordinary personnel costs, from 4.6 percent in FY2025 to 3.5 percent in FY2026—suggesting little meaningful shift toward a larger or more specialized corps.

During a recent in-flight press conference returning from the G20 summit, President Lee remarked that he felt the need to “reorganize Korea’s foreign-affairs workflow in a much more systematic way,” noting that external relations remain “extremely fragmented.” He had reportedly discussed the matter thoroughly with the foreign minister and national security adviser. Perhaps such reform would position MOFA as a central agency to coordinate the fragmented apparatus. Perhaps it would begin with hiring more diplomats across a wider range of specialties.

After all, Korea’s diplomatic crisis doesn’t begin at the 38th parallel or in the contested West Sea. It begins in the ministry’s own hallways.

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: MOFA Building, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, no changes made

In 2013, a Philippine high school expelled three students. Their crime? Speaking their native language. Their school’s policy mandated the use of English in all on-campus interactions, punishing the use of any other language, but especially those indigenous to the Philippines. While the decision to expel the offending students was uniquely harsh, the school is not alone in strictly enforcing English language education.

Many Filipinos believe that proficiency in English is key to the country’s economic and political success, and encourage its use in academic settings. However, with a declining number of people speaking certain Philippine dialects, mandatory English policies are also seen as hindrances to Philippine culture and catalysts for language extinction. While English language policies are also present in government and legal settings, it is the sphere of education that directly impacts the most Filipinos, and is thus at the center of this linguistic debate.

Modern-day English language education in the Philippines has its roots in 1898, when the United States officially took control of the islands after the short-lived Spanish-American War. Prior to 1898, very few Filipinos spoke English. Most elites had some knowledge of Spanish from the previous colonial era, but the majority of Filipinos used a variety of local languages and dialects to communicate. However, when the United States took charge of the Philippines, English became the standard, at least when it came to education. 

In 1901, the Second Philippine Commission (a U.S.-appointed body tasked with governing the Philippines) enacted Philippine Public Law Act 74 Section 14, which proclaimed that “The English language shall, as soon as practicable, be made the basis of all public school instruction.” The Philippine Commission cited three main reasons for implementing this law: English was practical, Filipinos needed a common language to unite them, and English education would instill Western values in Filipinos.¹

After decades of mandated English education systems, the Commonwealth of the Philippines was established in 1935. It operated as a transitional government between American colonial administration and full independence. The Commonwealth’s government acknowledged the benefits that English language education had provided in terms of Filipino literacy rates, but wanted to insert native Philippine languages into the narrative as well. In its first year, the Commonwealth ordered the adoption of an indigenous language as an official language of the Philippines alongside English. Ultimately, the government landed on Tagalog, the language which it believed was most linguistically developed and most likely to be accepted by the largest number of Filipinos.

While this progress was being made, the Commonwealth still emphasized the need for proficiency in English. As the so-called “language of democracy,” it was perceived as the key to meaningful interaction with other countries and Philippine growth on the global stage. Therefore, even after decolonization occurred in 1946, English language education persevered. In 1987, the Department of Education, Culture, and Sports established Order No. 52, setting guidelines for which languages should be used in which academic fields. Specifically, it proclaimed that English should be used in order to advance technological education in the fields of science and math, but Tagalog should be used in all other subjects. 

This, however, drew opposition as globalization increased and many came to believe that English was critical to economic and political progress. Limiting the use of English to two subjects, many claimed, was not enough to propel the Philippines forward. So, in 2003, President Arroyo issued an executive order mandating the use of English as the primary language of instruction in all public and private schools at the secondary level, stating that English should be used no less than 70% of the time in educational settings. More recently, in 2024, Republic Act 12027, also known as the “Act Discontinuing the Use of Mother Tongue as Medium of Instruction,” required that kindergarten through 3rd grade teachers move away from local dialects and instead teach solely in English or Tagalog.

These gradual shifts away from local languages and dialects have prompted debate among Filipinos, as some schools have adopted strict language policies that punish those who do not speak in English. These regulations are especially common in high schools and universities. The three expelled high school students drew massive media attention in 2013, and just this year, on February 3, 2025, another controversy arose when the University of Cabuyao implemented a policy stating that all official interactions and meetings on campus must be held in English. 

While some defend these schools, arguing that English language education creates global citizens who can get outside of their comfort zones, others say that extensive English use limits the expression of cultural identity and hinders critical thinking. Albert Madrigal, a former president of the University of Cabuyao, pushed back on the current administration’s policies, saying “quality education is not solely defined by fluency in English but rather by the ability to think critically, solve problems and communicate effectively in various contexts and languages,” further adding that English-only rules, by limiting the use of languages Filipinos are most comfortable with, can inhibit meaningful collaboration and connection. 

Opponents of English language mandates also point out that as many as 59 indigenous Philippine languages are facing extinction, with two already considered extinct. This problem is often tied to the longstanding dominance of not only English in Philippine society, but also Tagalog, especially in education. And because one language is indigenous to the country while the other was originally a foreign imposition, English attracts the most backlash.

Debates about the use of English in Philippine schools remain contentious, with no end in sight. There is no clear-cut solution to this linguistic conflict; English language use in the Philippines is inherently a double-edged sword. Balancing global collaboration, crucial for economic and political power, and cultural expression is not easy and is a dilemma many countries face in today’s increasingly interconnected world. Language policies express a country’s values and aspirations. The Philippines and similarly positioned countries want to be global players, but also protectors of cultural heritage. The Philippines’ historic English language policies have shown an emphasis on the former, and while this is understandable, it ultimately comes with a price.

1.  Isabel Pefianco Martin, The Filipino Bilingual: A Multidisciplinary Perspective (Linguistic Society of the Philippines, 1999), 134. ↩︎

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Philippine School, Image sourced from RawPixel | CC License, no changes made

By August of last year, Myanmar’s ruling military Junta, the Tatmadaw, appeared to be on the brink of collapse. Since seizing power from the nation’s democratically elected government in 2021, the Tatmadaw, under the iron-fisted rule of Min Aung Hlaing, has faced numerous defeats at the hands of the pro-democracy National Unity Government (NUG) and its allies in the nation’s civil war. By August of last year, it allegedly controlled less than a third of the nation’s towns. However, the still-fragile Tatmadaw has since made a surprising comeback, even recapturing the strategic town of Kyaukme in October 2025. Coincidentally, the Tatmadaw has started receiving an abundance of military and diplomatic support from a likely ally: China.

In the early years of the war, China sought a balanced approach to the various sides of this highly unpredictable conflict. Despite tacitly supporting the Tatmadaw, Beijing has also maintained ties with various rebel groups. This is perhaps best displayed by China’s implicit support for Operation 1027, a widely successful rebel offensive by the anti-Junta Three Brotherhood Alliance. And yet, possibly fearing the establishment of a pro-American democracy by the NUG and viewing Min Aung Hlaing’s government as more stable than it initially appeared, China has now more heavily thrown its support behind Myanmar’s ruling military Junta.

Despite increased Chinese support, the Tatmadaw continues to face strong opposition from the NUG and other rebel groups, with many believing it is still likely to lose the civil war. And yet, the United States, hyper-focused on the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, not to mention its escalating tensions with Venezuela, has failed to provide any form of military aid to the NUG or its allies, nor has it put any meaningful pressure on the ruling military Junta. In maintaining this stance of neutrality and non-intervention, the United States is missing out on a golden opportunity to help establish a pro-US democracy on the border of what is perhaps its greatest rival, while helping to eliminate a brutal dictatorship in the process.

So why hasn’t the United States provided military aid to the NUG? There are several explanations. 

Unlike the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, the conflict in Myanmar does not involve or potentially threaten key US allies like NATO and Israel. In a world where these two wars have taken center stage, Western media outlets often describe the Myanmar Civil War as “forgotten.” As such, many Americans view Myanmar as a far-off corner of the world that the United States has no obligation, nor reason, to protect, especially considering increasing economic problems within the US, the tens of billions already given to support Ukraine and Israel over the past three years, and the much closer threat of Venezuela. Many also argue that providing military aid to the NUG would antagonize China, as Beijing would likely see US military support as little more than a hostile act of Western interference in East Asian affairs.

Despite these reservations, the benefits the United States would reap from providing military aid to Myanmar are enormous. With US support, the NUG would be well-positioned to topple Min Aung Hlaing’s oppressive regime and restore democracy. This would not just be a victory for democracy over authoritarianism, but with enough support, it could bring about a pro-American federal state strategically positioned to counter China’s rising influence and military reach. A democratic, pro-US government in Myanmar would undermine China’s influence and hegemony in East and Southeast Asia. Moreover, Myanmar’s position along the Andaman Sea would give the US greater ability to blockade the Malacca Strait, a vital waterway which China relies on to import critical materials like oil. The threat of a blockade could severely restrict China’s ability to pursue military aggression in the region. This could help deter a Chinese invasion of democratic Taiwan, or at the very least provide a military advantage for the United States should a horrific war break out between these two powers.

Of course, a new democratic government in Myanmar would not necessarily be fully pro-American and anti-Chinese. Still, it is vital to consider both the Tatmadaw’s great unpopularity in Myanmar and, more recently, the historic surge in anti-China sentiment among the Burmese populace as a result of Chinese support for the Junta. While it would be naive to assume that a democratic Myanmar would naturally become a close US ally simply because both countries are democratic, it makes sense that extensive US military support in toppling an unpopular, oppressive regime would win some gratitude and loyalty from the NUG and the general populace. Moreover, should the NUG and its allies succeed in reestablishing a democratic state despite Chinese military aid to the Tatmadaw, this new government would naturally have a negative disposition towards China and would likely seek support from a more powerful nation to counter the hostile influence of Beijing. A democratic US, having just provided extensive military support to the new government, would be a natural choice for establishing military pacts and improving ties. Alternatively, should the NUG emerge victorious even without US support, the new government would likely emerge from the conflict with no favorable disposition towards the United States. Such a government may even be wary of American influence and choose instead to deepen ties with another democratic nation, such as nearby India.

The many atrocities committed by the Tatmadaw since 2021 provide a compelling moral argument for the United States to support Myanmar’s pro-democracy rebel groups. In addition to the brutal suppression of civil liberties, the Tatmadaw is guilty of numerous human rights violations conducted with appalling cruelty. Since 2021, the military Junta has conducted countless massacres against its own people, often using lethal machine guns, explosive weapons, and, more recently, motorized paragliders. Earlier this month, the Tatmadaw used such devices to slaughter more than two dozen civilians at a religious festival in Sagaing, adding to an already extensive list of atrocities. Aerial bombardment campaigns like this one, far from unusual in present-day Myanmar, were known to have displaced roughly 3 million people by 2024.

Min Aung Hlaing’s Tatmadaw also engages in brutal war crimes against rebel forces and vicious terror campaigns against Myanmar’s populace. These atrocities include torturing, mutilating, beheading, and even burning captured rebel soldiers alive, many of whom were in their teens or early twenties. The Tatmadaw has gone as far as forcing local villagers to watch these gruesome executions as part of a twisted fear tactic, and has reportedly started using chemical weapons on their own people. Such atrocities have been widespread throughout this war, and appear more horrific than even the better-known atrocities committed by Russia and Israel thousands of miles away. As such, the United States ought to take a much stronger stance against Min Aung Hlaing’s brutal regime, not just to advance its own strategic interests, but also to put an end to the Junta’s unparalleled atrocities and support both life and liberty for the Burmese people.

American foreign policy regarding the conflict in Myanmar has thus far failed to live up to the ideals the nation professes to hold so dearly. While the Biden-era BURMA Act of 2022 provided humanitarian aid to many rebel groups and sanctioned an array of Tatmadaw-linked organizations, this legislation failed to deliver the military support the NUG actually needs to bring lasting change and establish a pro-US democracy. Moreover, the recent dropping of US sanctions on critical Tatmadaw allies by the Trump administration serves only to bolster Min Aung Hlaing’s China-backed regime while betraying core American Interests and values.

Such policies run contrary to America’s strategic interests in both Southeast Asia and the wider world, and allow for the continued existence of a brutal dictatorship guilty of numerous atrocities. By providing moderate military aid to the NUG and some of its allies, the United States could help establish a pro-American democratic state in Myanmar, advancing US foreign policy goals while providing freedom and humanity to the long-ravaged Burmese populace.

For nearly half a decade, the Burmese jungles have burned under the heel of authoritarianism. With American support and military aid, the NUG can restore democracy, and freedom may yet return to the “Golden Land.”

Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: Mandalay People’s Defense Force Female Commander and Recruits during Training, Image sourced from Wikimedia Commons | CC License, Cropped