Southeast Asia

In recent months, Southeast Asian leaders—and leaders from many other parts of the world—have utilized the COVID-19 pandemic to expand executive powers, crack down on civil society and undermine opposition politicians, and reduce the space for freedom of the press and freedom of assembly. The efforts to use the pandemic to reduce political space started early on, as the virus spread through Southeast Asia. In April, Cambodia’s regime passed a new emergency law that gave Prime Minister Hun Sen massive powers, while at the same time Hun Sen’s government has been aggressively arresting activists and journalists for criticizing the government’s pandemic response, even in the mildest ways. In Thailand, the government of Prayuth Chan-ocha, while taking effective measures to stem the spread of COVID-19 (after some initial foot-dragging), also is ramping up campaigns to arrest social media users critical of the government, particularly by using the COVID-19 emergency as a pretext for these arrests, according to a report by Amnesty International. In Malaysia, the government has delayed parliament from sitting again for months, preventing the opposition coalition from taking action against the government, which came into office despite an election. (Malaysia’s prime minister is now under quarantine for fourteen days because another Malaysian official contracted COVID-19.) The Malaysian government also has arrested journalists who have investigated and criticized Malaysia’s sometimes-stumbling response to COVID-19. Other Southeast Asian states like Myanmar and even democratic Indonesia also have cracked down on dissent. Now, however Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte, who already had abused the pandemic to amass even more power, has taken the COVID-19-related crackdown on rights and freedoms one major step farther. The Philippine legislature, which is heavily controlled by Duterte allies, has now passed a far-reaching Anti-Terror bill. The bill will give the authorities massive powers to arrest people without any warrant, to conduct widespread surveillance of the population, and to label many different people as “terrorists;” the bill offers an incredibly broad definition of who might be a “terrorist.” As Alec Regino noted in the Washington Post: In particular, it allows the warrantless arrest and detainment of those the government-appointed Anti-Terror Council deems “suspicious.” Suspicious activities could range from attempting to damage government property to simply criticizing the administration online. It also allows for the secret surveillance and wiretapping of “suspected” criminals … The bill’s loose definition of terrorism allows the government to essentially tag any and all dissenters as terrorists without any judicial oversight. While many Filipinos, and outside observers, have become inured to the Duterte administration’s increasing undermining of rights and freedoms, as Philippine democracy crumbles and massive extrajudicial killings continue, the Anti-Terror bill could well be the biggest blow to Philippine democracy since the end of the Marcos dictatorship. (Duterte allies and supporters of the bill claim that it will not target peaceful protestors and that the bill has adequate safeguards; at the same time, Duterte has spoken positively of the Marcos regime, and sought to further rehabilitate the Marcos family.) It could easily lead to the government simply detaining any critics without charge, putting Duterte in a position not quite equal to that of Marcos—but not that far away either.

New Zealand’s prime minister, Jacinda Ardern, declared victory against her country’s coronavirus outbreak last week, stating that “There is no widespread undetected community transmission in New Zealand,” and that COVID-19 had “currently” been eliminated from the country. The country of 5 million people has confirmed around 1,200 cases of COVID-19 and 20 deaths so for, and had no new infections reported diagnosed on Monday this week.  New Zealand ranks among the world's most successful countries in the global fight against the coronavirus, along with Australia, where the daily number of new cases has plummeted from 460 in late March to only 16 last Friday, bringing the total to just over 6,800. Now, the two neighbors are beginning to relax restrictions on movement and economic activity. While their successful efforts to contain the coronavirus can offer lessons for other countries still struggling with major COVID-19 outbreaks, how Australia and New Zealand reopen—and whether they can do so without causing a spike in cases or sparking a political backlash—will be instructive as well. For more on the lessons from these Pacific countries, see my new World Politics Review article.  

The country has kept its number of cases relatively low by reacting immediately, decisively, and with a degree of severity.

The rapid spread of COVID-19 in Southeast Asia, where the pandemic recently has hit Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines (as well as other regional states like Singapore) hard, has not stopped jockeying over the South China Sea. In fact, while handing out COVID-19 aid to Southeast Asian states—and many other countries—Beijing reportedly has upped its pressure on other claimant states in the South China Sea. It has sailed the survey ship Haiyang Dizhi 8 off the Malaysian coast, to closely shadow a Malaysian ship exploring for state oil giant Petronas, in waters near areas claimed by both Malaysia and Vietnam. The actions by the Haiyang Dizhi 8, which previously shadowed Vietnamese ships in waters claimed by Vietnam, are hardly China’s only sign that it is stepping up its pressure in the South China Sea. The New York Times reports that last weekend Beijing “announced that it had formally established two new districts in the South China Sea that include dozens of contested islets and reefs.” In recent months, Chinese vessels and forces also have conducted new exercises in the Sea, made incursions into waters claimed by Indonesia and near the Natuna Islands, and, according to Hanoi, rammed and sunk a Vietnamese ship, among other steps. To some extent, Beijing may be trying to gain advantage at a time when the locus of the pandemic has shifted to other countries and away from China. It is doing so even if this attempt undercuts China’s efforts to gain regional and global goodwill through aid to neighboring states and promoting China’s cooperation with other countries in the fight against COVID-19.   At the least, Beijing may be wanting to demonstrate that COVID-19 has not incapacitated its increasingly powerful naval, coast guard, and air forces. Outside of the South China Sea, Beijing is appearing to demonstrate force too: In recent months, Chinese military aircraft also have flown close enough to Taiwan to lead Taiwanese forces to intercept them. As Richard Heydarian notes, many Southeast Asian civilian and military leaders are basically incapacitated, sick themselves or in self-isolation, leaving countries like the Philippines—which already was tilting toward Beijing and has little ability to protect its South China Sea claims anyway—with even less ability to defend itself. (Philippine army chief Felimon Santos Jr. has been diagnosed with COVID-19.) Even if Southeast Asian leaders themselves are not isolating, many of their senior military staff are, and civilian leaders are focused on the pandemic, creating a distraction that has become a potential opportunity for China. Or, the continued assertiveness in the South China Sea shows the bottom line, indeed, is that no crisis, no matter how large, will stop Beijing from advancing its regional agenda. Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines—all increasingly dependent on Chinese investment and infrastructural aid—have mostly tried to stay mum about China’s assertive actions, even as some military leaders in these countries want to push back harder. At this point, it seems unlikely that U.S. forces can deter Beijing, despite the Trump administration’s intensive pushback in the South China Sea, which recently has included sending the U.S. ships America and Bunker Hill (along with Australian vessels) into waters near Malaysia.

As Southeast Asian countries struggle with the spread of the coronavirus, the region appears like it could be the next major COVID-19 hot spot. Malaysia, which has the biggest outbreak in Southeast Asia, now has over 4,300 known COVID-19 cases, although the true number is probably much higher, while the Philippines has over 4,100. Other large regional countries like Indonesia supposedly have fewer cases, but with minimal testing, the real number of sick Indonesians remains completely unknown. Even wealthy, well-governed Singapore, which attacked the virus early and pursued model, well-funded control efforts, has seen a spike in cases in recent weeks. The rapid growth in cases in Southeast Asia, which is in the middle of its hottest time of the year, also suggests theories stating the virus will diminish in warm weather may be inaccurate. While Southeast Asian states prepare for a rise in infections, most of the region’s countries are going to be battered economically as well. Dependent on trade with China and Southeast Asia’s own region-wide free trade area, globalized, and often centered on export-oriented manufacturing, tourism, and exported services, Southeast Asian states are enormously exposed to COVID-19’s economic effects. Whether Southeast Asian countries can reduce the economic damage while also protecting their populations will offer lessons for other middle-income countries facing similar perils. For more on Southeast Asia’s one-two punch, see my new World Politics Review article.

Singapore, one of the world’s wealthiest and most trade-dependent countries, punches above its weight in regional and global affairs.

Duterte, like other illiberal populists, has fumbled his initial handling of the pandemic. The fallout could damage his popularity and legacy.

Azerbaijan’s dictator, Ilham Aliyev, is a wily survivor. He woos European democracies with gas exports, hosts the Eurovision song contest and wins $100 million offers of military aid from the United States. Those laurels are all the more remarkable considering he is a ruthless autocrat who tosses politicians and reporters in prison. Now, he sees a new opportunity to consolidate his rule. In recent weeks, Aliyev has used the threat of the novel coronavirus to crack down on opposition groups and independent media: Last month, for instance, he closed a dissident group’s office, saying people could not “gather en masse.” There were four people present. Aliyev is hardly alone. Indeed, from the Philippines to Hungary, autocratic leaders in many nations are using the virus to enhance their own powers—­to put in place new rules that will be hard to overturn even if the coronavirus is defeated. Yet many of the new powers have no clear end date. The pandemic will have entrenched these strongmen indefinitely. For more on my analysis of how authoritarians are taking advantage of the virus to bolster their powers, see my new Washington Post Outlook article.

As the United States, the United Kingdom, and European nations face rising tolls from the coronavirus pandemic, their slow, often confused initial responses have come under widespread criticism. China, meanwhile, suppressed information about the virus at first, allowing it to spread out of Wuhan. After initially silencing medical workers, and covering up the extent of the danger, Beijing pivoted. It enforced essentially a nationwide quarantine, which seems to have stemmed the spread, at least for now. However, China’s draconian approach stifled nearly all economic and social life, and may be hard to implement elsewhere The United States and other countries could learn from Singapore, South Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, which have adopted highly effective measures to battle the virus. For more on how to learn from these places, see my new CFR In Brief.

In recent weeks, Malaysian politics have been upended by a series of dramatic moves, countermoves, and reversals. Less than two years after the landmark May 2018 election that ousted Malaysia’s long-ruling coalition, in-fighting within the new government exploded into the open. Nonagenarian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad resigned on February 24, though the king asked him to briefly remain as caretaker prime minister. Apparently, Mahathir had attempted to ditch most of his May 2018 allies and form a broadly ethnic Malay government consisting of a few members of his coalition plus the United Malays National Organization (UMNO), which had ruled the country for decades, and the Islamist group Parti Islam SeMalaysia (PAS.)  But the king did not appoint Mahathir as prime minister. Instead, he chose Muhyiddin Yassin, who cofounded Bersatu, the small party Mahathir was aligned with in the May 2018 coalition. The choice of Muhyiddin sparked ire among many Malaysians. They took to social media or public protests, arguing that they had not voted for Muhyiddin—his party was a junior partner in the May 2018 coalition—and condemning him for allying with UMNO, long known for autocracy and graft.   Now, with Muhyiddin as prime minister and a cabinet full of UMNO ministers, Malaysia seems poised at a crossroads. For more on the path of Malaysia’s democratic experiment, see my new World Politics Review article. 

The planned summit between representatives from the ten countries in the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) and U.S. President Donald J. Trump in Las Vegas has been postponed, because of the coronavirus threat. The summit was supposed to be a sign that the administration is not ignoring Southeast Asia. Postponing it right now makes sense. But even with a summit, the administration cannot paper over ASEAN’s internal problems or the tensions between ASEAN and the United States. Many Southeast Asian leaders have become so wary of the White House’s unreliability that they have reluctantly embraced China. The administration has proclaimed that the Indo-Pacific region is a top priority, but last autumn the administration sent a relatively low-level delegation to the U.S.-ASEAN summit in Bangkok. A recent survey of regional opinion leaders by Singaporean think tank ISEAS-Yusof Ishak Institute found Southeast Asians trust China less than the United States or Japan. Yet the survey showed that, if forced to choose, 70 percent of Southeast Asians would align with Beijing rather than Washington. Whenever the meeting is actually held, the White House will emphasize how ASEAN fits into its “Free and Open Indo Pacific” vision, which focuses on promoting fair and reciprocal trade, supporting regional institutions including ASEAN, protecting sovereignty, and promoting good governance, among other priorities. Trump will likely emphasize how the administration has stood up for these concepts, including by conducting more freedom of navigation patrols in the South China Sea and launching new governance initiatives in places like Myanmar. The administration also will outline U.S. economic alternatives to China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). One U.S. response is the nascent Blue Dot Network, a plan for governments, civil societies, and private sectors to create a set of high standards for infrastructure projects. This higher-quality infrastructure would supposedly contrast with the BRI, which administration officials claim supports poor-quality infrastructure and traps countries in debt (a debatable argument). Some White House policies are relatively popular in Southeast Asia. Frustrated with China’s influence activities and militarization in the South China Sea, countries such as Singapore and Vietnam have mostly welcomed the Free and Open Indo-Pacific idea, which resists Beijing’s encroachment on other states’ territorial waters and meddling in other societies. Yet other mainland Southeast Asian states care less about the South China Sea. And the Philippines, a U.S. treaty ally, has shifted toward China’s orbit. The Trump administration has had little success convincing regional states that it has an alternative to the BRI or an effective trade policy. And Many Southeast Asian states still welcome the massive infrastructure funding BRI can provide, seeing Blue Dot and other U.S. initiatives as limited, in terms of actual aid amounts, compared to BRI. Beijing has launched prominent BRI projects in Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Thailand, and other Southeast Asian states. And ASEAN is faltering on its own, limiting what it could accomplish with any partner. ASEAN members cannot agree on how to handle long-term issues, such as Beijing’s South China Sea policy or climate change, which could place much of Southeast Asia underwater by 2050. ASEAN’s structure, in which major decisions are made consensus, enables this disunity. Even on pressing short-term issues, including the coronavirus and the Rohingya crisis in Myanmar, ASEAN usually punts. When the Rohingya crisis accelerated in 2017, with the Myanmar security forces reportedly committing ethnic cleansing, ASEAN could only agree to provide some minimal relief for refugees, whitewashing abuses facilitated by Myanmar’s government. Since the prospect of ASEAN changing how it operates remains miniscule, and the Trump administration prefers to deal with states bilaterally, ASEAN is likely to be even more marginalized in the coming years—whether or not a summit is eventually held.

Last week, Thailand’s constitutional court dissolved the Future Forward Party, a powerful opposition group in a country that has just emerged from five years of military rule. The court also banned the party’s executives, including its leader, Thanathorn Juangroongruangkit, from participating in politics for the next decade. For more on the implications of the dissolution, see my new CFR In Brief.

Thailand could be headed toward unrest after the disbandment of Future Forward Party, an opposition group popular among young people.

Last week, after hinting at it for some time, Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte officially announced he would terminate the Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA) with the United States. Under the agreement, in place for two decades, the Pentagon can keep rotations of troops in the Philippines. As Richard Heydarian has noted, the deal also provides a legal basis for U.S.-Philippine joint exercises. Although Duterte often makes bold statements and then recants, he appears determined to go through with this move. But while Duterte proclaims that shifting away from Washington, and toward Beijing, will improve the Philippines’ strategic position, tearing up the VFA carries bigger risks for Manila than for Washington. For more on the implications of potentially ending the VFA, see my new World Politics Review article.

Although Southeast Asia remains the region where the coronavirus is most likely to spread in significant numbers, most of the region’s states remain significantly underprepared to deal with the virus. Many started off slow as the outbreak emerged in China, with some Southeast Asia ministers strangely downplaying the severity of the virus or offering public suggestions of folk remedies to combat it. Many Southeast Asian states, perhaps fearful of drawing China’s anger, and heavily dependent on Chinese tourism, aid, and investment, did not initially close border links or substantially crack down on tourism from China, an unwise decision. In recent weeks, some Southeast Asian states have begun to respond more forcefully. (Singapore, the wealthiest state in the region, unsurprisingly responded to the outbreak from the get-go, with highly praised measures.) Thailand has proven more effective and responsive than at first, and other regional states have begun strengthening their defenses, though some remain wary of taking more stringent measures that might offend China by further restricting bilateral ties. Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte, for instance, was very slow to shut down flights to and from China. But most Southeast Asian states are vastly underprepared. Countries like Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar, and the Philippines have extremely poor public health systems, and a very limited ability to respond to a major disease outbreak. The Philippine government has come under criticism for slashing its health budget for 2020, and for panic-like conditions at hospitals dealing with the virus, where some suffer from a reported lack of basic supplies. Add in these countries’ autocratic governance, and allergy to transparency in public policy, and you have a further recipe for disaster. Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen initially claimed that the country had no cases of the virus, an impossible declaration. Then, just this past week, Hun Sen made another fateful decision. He allowed the cruise ship Westerdam to dock in the port of Sihanoukville. Although this was a compassionate measure, and widely praised, the Cambodian prime minister, and the Cambodian authorities, treated the threat of coronavirus from the ship with total blitheness. As if to show he was not worried about the virus, the strongman Hun Sen, in his typically grandiose style, did not wear a mask when greeting passengers (others with him did not wear masks, either.) The Cambodian authorities allowed people to exit the ship, and then leave the country, claiming that there were no infected people on board—another grandiose claim not backed up by evidence. Unfortunately, as the New York Times reported, “Only 20 people out of the 2,257 onboard were tested for the virus before disembarking, and that was because they had reported themselves to ship medical staff with various ailments.” It later turned out that one person on board was positive for the virus, but by then many passengers had traveled to other destinations around the world—a potential public health nightmare. Infectious disease experts believe the number of cases already known in Southeast Asia probably does not reflect the real spread of the disease, because of the region’s weak public health systems, and because people can be asymptomatic at first when they have the coronavirus. Given the region’s extensive trade and tourism links with China, it probably would be the next place for a massive number of coronavirus cases. But states in Southeast Asia will need massive assistance from the international community if the virus does spread en masse in the region.