The Monsoon Annual 2016

MONSOON THE 2016 ANNUAL 1

Photo credit: Olivia Cable

About Monsoon

How to get involved If you are interested in contributing to the Monsoon Project please contact us via our Facebook page or by email at contact@themonsoonproject.org

This print edition showcases some of The Monsoon Project’s best work for 2016.

This year’s print edition was created by Mish Khan, Catia Rizio and Rashna Farrukh.

Alternatively you can participate in the ASIA 3024 as part of your coursework studies.

Monsoon has a storied history.

Originally stemming from within the ANU College of Asia Pacific, more recently in 2013, it was transformed into an online platform to showcase student voices. It is currently run by a team of passionate undergraduates.

This year’s online team included Oli Friedmann, Tammy Cho, Patrick Cordwell, Dom Huntley, Reza Mazumder, Marco D’Alessandro, Nicky Lovegrove, Timothy Magarry, Mitiana Arbon, Jiamei Feng, Harrison Rule, Mark Rowe, and Morgan Kerle.

Acknowledgements We would like to thank the ANU College of Asia and the Pacific for their continued support of The Monsoon Project.

We have an enormous variety of writers. Some are involved in our course, ASIA 3024 Digital Frontiers in the Asia-Pacific: a Media Practicum, others are students who volunteer their time. Everyone has made an impact on what we do and have continued to help our growth.

Some of our members have gone on to work at larger publications such as East Asia Forum, New Mandala and Policy Forum.

We look forward to seeing how Monsoon grows in 2017!

Catia Rizio, Editor-In-Chief

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We would like to thank the former Associate Dean, Dr Peter Dean, for providiing the funding and impetus to make Monsoon a reality.

Special thanks to James Giggacher and Dr. Nicholas Farrelly for their support and efforts in setting up the practicum course and providing their expertise, knowledge and support to The Monsoon Project.

4-5 BHUTAN, BODY COUNTS AND BEAUTY Harrison Rule

Contents

6-7 FROM MOANA TO VAIANA Mitiana Arbon 8-9 THE HIDDEN COST OF CAMBODIA’S COASTAL DEVELOPMENT Patrick Cordwell 10 GETTING BY IN BAGAN Harry Needham 11 RACISM IN BEIJING’S MEGACLUBS Mark Rowe 12-13 PERFORMING ARTS AND POLITICAL ACTS IN HAWAI’I Phoebe Siers 14 LIGHTS, CAMERAS, INACTION Mish Khan 15 THE SUN NEVER SETS Maddalena Easterbrook 16-17 BURMESE OR BUST Catia Rizio 18-19 FACEBOOK: A COERVICE POLITICAL ACTOR? Marco D’Alessandro 20-21 THE FORGOTTEN GAMES Tammy Cho 22 POSTS, PRIVACY AND PREJUDICE Jiamei Feng & Tammy Cho 23 MADE WITH INJUSTICE Reza Mazumder 24 JAPAN’S STATE SECRECY LAWS A SECRET Aditi Razdan 25 BREADFRUIT: A PACIFIC SOLUTION TO FOOD SECURITY? Mitiana Arbon 26-27 THE KIDS AREN’T ALRIGHT Morgan Kerle 28 OUTSOURCING OBLIGATIONS Nicky Lovegrove 29 INDIAN CUISINE’S NEXT FRONTIER Drew Trivedi 30-31 MYANMAR’S BLAME GAME Oli Friedmann 32 DRUG WAR, STILL POOR Miguel Galsim 33 BEAR IN THE BIG BLUE DISPUTE Dom Huntley 34-35 2:46 PM Rashna Farrukh 36 SNOW, SPIRITS AND SAGICHOU Tim Magarry 37 WARM DIPLOMACY IN THE WORLD’S COLEST CAPITAL Harrison Ruie

Photo credit: Trish Dollisson 3

Bhutan, body counts and beauty Harrison Rule

In elegant white cursive, the words “mountains, monasteries and magic” accompany an image of a picturesque Buddhist temple delicately balanced on the edge of a rugged cliff face.

glossy depiction of Bhutan seems more fitting for a clichéd corporate motivational poster hanging above the water cooler in a dreary office break room.

This is the scene chosen by travel guide giant Lonely Planet to encapsulate what the Himalayan hermit kingdom of Bhutan has to offer visitors, as one of the “Top experiences in Asia.”

In reality, the land of the Thunder Dragon is definitely no Shambhala.

Though the company behind the iconic blue spine travel guides has always been criticised for homogenising and euphemising myriad cultures and societies, Lonely Planet’s most recent 4

Bhutan has developed an image as a tranquil Buddhist paradise. This naïve polaroid of a peaceful nation untouched by the trappings of the modern world is a convenient mask for a country plagued by a legacy of violent ethnic cleansing.

Between 1987 and 1992 the Bhutanese government systematically implemented a series of ethno-nationalist policies targeting the Lhotsampa minority who mostly resided in the south of the country. Programs which enforced the wearing of national dress in public places and the banning of Nepali in Lhotsampa schools quickly escalated to forced evictions, rape and human rights violations.

Vidhyapati Mishra, writing from a UNHCR refugee camp in 2013, described his father’s appalling ordeal with government officials in an op-ed published in The New York Times.

“They pressed him down with heavy logs, pierced his fingers with needles, served him urine instead of water, forced him to chop firewood all day with no food. Sometimes, they burned dried chillies in his cell just to make breathing unbearable.”

After ninety-one days of torture Mishra’s father agreed to sign what was called a “voluntary migration form”, giving him a week to leave the country his family had

inhabited for four generations.

Lhotshampa and Nepali communities, such as in the Paro Valley of central Bhutan, today lie mostly uninhabited.

“When Lonely Planet, the largest travel guide publisher in the word presents Bhutan as a fanciful Buddhist utopia – as close as it gets to Shangri-La – it perpetuates a narrative which discounts the experiences of over 100,000 Bhutanese refugees, many of whom are still waiting for resettlement in Nepalese camps.”

A desire to create the next big ‘undiscovered gem’ for adventurers has seemingly compromised Lonely Planet’s commitment to responsible travel. The actions of the publisher instead help bolster Bhutan’s efforts to be perceived internationally as a ‘happy country’.

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The champion of the International Day of Happiness at the UN and governed by gross nation happiness over gross domestic product, Bhutan has skilfully avoided significant international penalties for a protracted refugee crisis which remains unresolved even today.

This however is not a call for Lonely Planet to damage the reputation of Bhutan.

As a small country jammed between China and India, the hermit kingdom faces a future of unknowns as it enters the international arena. With little military might or economic power Bhutan will soon discover that its greatest resource is its rich and varied culture.

Its position as the intersection between Tibetan, Himalayan and Hindu cultures is a recipe for a strong sustainable tourism industry. It is the responsibility of publishers like Lonely Planet to highlight this diversity – laying a path for potential future reconciliation.

Image credit: Disney 6

From Moana to Vaiana Why Disney’s Polynesian inspired film will be different in French Mitiana Arbon

The release of the trailer for Disney’s upcoming film Moana has brought with it a mixture of polarising opinions about representation amongst Polynesian communities. Recent debates on the representation of the demi-god Maui have gained particular traction through the sharing of a meme by Samoan footballer Eliota Fuimaono Sapolu on Facebook, and a similarly scathing critique by New Zealand Labour MP Jennifer Teresia Salesa, highlighting the negative stereotyping of Polynesians in the media.

Despite the vibrancy of discussions around the characters and Polynesian culture that can be so far gleaned from the film, the anglo-centric media has yet to engage with other language debates. Similar discussions on cultural representation and inclusion have been raised amongst French Pacific Islander communities in French Polynesia, Wallis and Futuna and New Caledonia, and also their large cultural diaspora in France.

Of particular note for French speaking Pacific Islanders is the total lack of Polynesian in Disney France’s Moana.

While we have only heard Maui so far in the trailer, the French version is devoid of a Pacific Islander tone, with the current voicing in French thought to be that of Frantz Confiac. A French dubber of African heritage, Frantz Confiac is well known for his voicing of pre-dominantly African-American actors such as Terry Crews, Orlando Jones, Courtney Vance, Tyler Perry and Tracey Morgan.

As the French tend to dub, rather then use subtitles, over the original language, it is paramount that Disney should hold the same level of care across all its language versions, and not just solely pander to the primarily anglo-oriented audience. Unlike Disney’s praised attempt to include English speaking Pacific Islanders through an open casting call for Moana, that saw the Hawaiian Auli’i Cavalho and the Samoan Dwayne Johnson cast as Moana and Maui, no such effort has been taken up

by Disney France.

Following the release of the official Moana trailer in June, many French Pacific Islanders took to social media to express their anger at the lack of inclusion by Disney France, arguing that a French Polynesian should voice Maui and Moana in the same way as the English version does.

This even included the launch of a petition on change.org asking for Disney to give the role of Maui to a Polynesian.

The petition argues that there is no excuse for not casting a Polynesian as Maui and Moana as well (whose voice is yet to be heard).

Some French Polynesians, such as Yves Edouard Malakai and the Tahitian born singer, music producer and model Ken Carlter, have even gone as far as producing versions of the trailer dubbed by themselves to show how a French Polynesian Maui could sound.

“Considering that France has a strong Pacific presence and cultural ties in the region – through its overseas collectivities of French Polynesia, Wallis and Futuna, and New Caledonia – it seems strange that Disney would not follow the same stringent inclusive attitude that it has taken for the English version.”

However this is not the only significant change to the film, with Disney France actually chaging the title of the film from Moana to Vaiana: La Légende du Bout du Monde (Vaiana: The Legend from the End of the Earth). At one point it was even going to be called La Princesse du Bout du Monde (The Princess from the End of the Earth).

While the name change isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it does create a little linguistic confusion. The name Vaiana 7

itself can be understood in Tahitian as mean vai, or ‘water’ and ana, ‘cave’. This however clashes when you consider that her last name Waialiki contains the Hawaiian/Maori cognate word wai also meaning water.

Disney’s alteration of film and character names is not an uncommon occurrence for French versions of English films, with past movie name changes including the likes of Finding Nemo that became Le Monde de Nemo (The World of Nemo) despite the Quebec French language version remainining Trouver Nemo (Finding Nemo). However the swap from Moana to Vaiana was claimed to be due to possible trademark issues that the name posed in Europe, with Disney Spain tweeting that “The ‘Moana’ mark is registered in Spain and in some European countries. “So the film ‘Moana’, will be Vaiana.”

Other commentators have taken a more critical position, suggesting that the change to Vaiana may actually be an attempt to distance and prevent confusion of the character with the already famous Italian porn star, actress, writer and cofounder of the Love Party of Italy, Moana Pozzi, which has been cited as the reason for the films rebranding as Oceania in Italian.

Considering that France has a strong Pacific presence and cultural ties in the region – through its overseas collectivities of French Polynesia, Wallis and Futuna, and New Caledonia – it seems strange that Disney would not follow the same stringent inclusive attitude that it has taken for the English version; that there are a high number of Tahitians, Marquesans, Wallisian and Futunan throughout France, there is really no excuse.

While we are yet to hear the voice of further characters, one can only hope that they will change Maui, or at least try to include the voice of French Pacific Islanders in other roles.

The hidden cost of Cambodia’s coastal development Patrick Cordwell

Tourism is booming in Cambodia, and visitors are quickly realising there’s more to the country than the magnificent temples of Angkor. An increasing number of arrivals are seeking the golden sands of the southern coastline as investors pour money into Cambodia’s beaches.

But many locals are paying a high price for the rapid development.

Foreign visitors to Cambodia have more than doubled since 2006. With nearly five million tourists visiting the country in 2015, entrepreneurial locals along the Kingdom’s coastline have taken advantage of the recent boom.

Countless Cambodians have set up shop 8

along beachfronts with bungalows, bars and restaurants welcoming visitors by the bus load. Their revenue has grown in step with the increasing tourism, with flow-on effects for local communities.

These thriving ventures offer jobs and income for thousands of locals.

But their success may also be their downfall.

Earlier in the year, businesses along Otres Beach in Sihanoukille were served eviction notices and ordered to vacate almost immediately. The government, they were told, was to bulldoze their shop fronts.

“The authorities claim the beaches are being cleared for strictly environmental reasons.

Officials repeatedly state that the businesses are being demolished to preserve the beach for the next generation.

But existing development plans for Otres Beach tell a different story.”

According to the law, they had every right to. Cambodia’s 1992 Land Law designated the coastline public land – it’s impossible for individuals to possess actual land titles. Even though many have operated there for years, the business owners have no legal basis to occupy the land.

The consequences for the many locals whose livelihoods depend on the beachfront enterprises were severe.

Thousands of jobs disappeared along with the businesses. The financial security of many local Cambodians was destroyed, including many of the poor and vulnerable who relied on the beachfront ventures for their livelihoods. As one owner reported as the demolitions were imminent, “I don’t know what I will do when this is over.”

The situation is even more dire for the business owners. Because the land is public, there will be no compensation nor any legal recourse available to them.

This is disastrous for those who invested everything in their business.

One restaurant owner took out an USD

$80,000 bank loan to open a business on the beach less than two years ago.

With only $10,000 repaid, the loss of his business would force him to take desperate measures; “I will have to sell my house.”

Why is the government calling in the bulldozers in the first place? The authorities claim the beaches are being cleared for strictly environmental reasons. Officials repeatedly state that the businesses are being demolished to preserve the beach for the next generation.

But existing development plans for Otres Beach tell a different story. Where ramshackle establishments once stood, a London company plans to erect a beachfront resort based around a 3000 room casino.

Likewise, Royal Group (Cambodia’s largest business conglomerate) has already started construction on a USD $3 billion resort complex on Koh Rong island just off the coast. Though the company has promised to leave swathes of rainforest intact, plans show an island covered with luxury hotels.

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Rapidly increasing numbers of tourists have caused property prices to skyrocket in turn. Commercial interests have become more powerful as the government looks to investment in tourism industry as a new source of revenue.

But the government’s motivations for clearing the beaches changes nothing.

For the countless locals who have relied on beach-front business, the consequences remain the same.

The dust may have settled on the plots where Otres Beach’s rickety businesses once stood, but this is far from the end for many entrepreneurial Cambodians. Plenty of bungalows, bars and restaurants remain on Cambodia’s beaches, ripe for development in a country where investment is desperately needed.

According to the Sihanoukville Tourism association, it’s just a matter of timing – “Otres is first”.

After all, like the waves crashing against the shores, tides always change.

At its height, Bagan was one of the great powers of Southeast Asia, the centre of cultural exchange, trade and artistic and intellectual innovation.

Today, walking among its ruins in central Myanmar, surrounded by buffalo-ploughed fields, it is tempting to think of Bagan as an isolated idyll, far from the bustle of Yangon or the powerful decision makers in Naypidaw.

Getting by in Bagan Harry Needham

However, a closer examination of this ancient city’s modern political economy reveals a multilayered set of economic systems at work, which demonstrate both continuity with the past and the effect of abrupt changes in Myanmar’s recent history.

Buffalo, goats and ploughed fields are a familiar site in Bagan. According to our tour guide, Hlaine, these are part of a subsistence economy, in which sesame and peanuts are the main crops. While it’s tempting to think of this as a sign of continuity with ancient Bagan, it represents a shift: the ancient city was fed by rice fields many miles away from the centre of the city.

Due to the precarious nature of employment in the tourism sector, I can’t help but feel that there’s still a future for this cow-powered economy. However, if tourist interest in Bagan grows, this livelihood may come under threat.

We saw how many families, including Hlaine’s, were displaced from Old Bagan in 1990 by the military government. An effort to gentrify Bagan could force out the small farmers.

Hopefully, land administration reform would protect those who did not wish to move and adequately compensate those who did.

The most visible element of Bagan’s political economy is the vendors selling goods such as trousers, lacquerware, sand paintings and books. At first, this seems to be a rather anarchic and informal economy, but the vendors themselves have developed regulatory systems. According to Hlaine, each vendor has a temple or an area of temples that is theirs to trade in. In return, they take care of the temples’ upkeep. The vendors sell goods sourced from across Myanmar and further abroad: lacquerware from Bagan, earrings from Shan State, and books such as Hillary Clinton biographies and The Art Of Not Being Governed.

Although it requires more serious investigation, I can’t help but feel that this is a rather precarious existence – given the sheer number of vendors compared to the small number of tourists.

However, given the growing popularity of Bagan, this sector will undoubtedly grow, and hopefully continue to employ locals such as Hlaine, rather than Myanmar outsiders or Western tour guides.

This article originally appeared on Facebook as part of the 2016 Political Economy of Myanmar study tour.

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Racism in Beijing’s megaclubs Mark Rowe

For foreigners new to Beijing, the allure of the Sanlitun megaclubs is irresistible.

There are few cosmopolitan capitals where shabbily dressed foreigners can experience the over-the-top decadence of Maserati-filled carparks, tuxedo-clad bouncers and free-flowing Moët that has come to epitomise the nocturnal stomping ground of Beijing’s superrich youth.

On these roaring marble dance floors a grand bargain has been struck.

Foreigners get in and drink for free in exchange for being, well, foreign. To many this seems like their long-awaited international acclaim has finally arrived.

What is not to love about VIP treatment?

However, behind the opulence of these glistening places lie a few uncomfortable questions. What sort of business model can sustain giving away unlimited free alcohol to thirsty foreigners? And what of those non-Caucasian foreigners who just aren’t ‘foreign’ enough to make it through the door, let alone partake in the liquid benefits of white privilege?

Monsoon subeditor Mark Rowe speaks to Vlad, a Sanlitun club promoter originally from Kazakhstan, about his three years being what he calls a ‘professional foreigner herder’ for some of Beijing’s largest nightclubs.

M: How did you end up in Beijing, and what made you want to stay?

V: I moved to Beijing in 2013 with my girlfriend who got some work here as a nightclub model. I did not have much to keep me back in Kazakhstan, so I thought why not! The relationship with my girlfriend didn’t last, but my love for Beijing and its nightlife has. Where else in the world can you get paid to go out and dance on a Monday night?

M: How can a club afford to give free alcohol to foreigners? Surely someone must be paying for it?

V: There are two important points to note in terms of the free alcohol given to foreigners. Firstly, I would not bet any money that the vodka red bull you order

with your foreigner arm band contains vodka or red bull. It is likely to contain cheap grain alcohol substitutes and something that tastes a bit like red bull but is far from it. I would not be too worried that it is going to be methanol or something like that, but, I mean, I wouldn’t want to drink it every night of the week. The hangovers from that stuff are the worst!

“On these roaring marble dance floors a grand bargain has been struck. Foreigners get in and drink for free in exchange for being, well, foreign.”

M: So in this type of club you get what you pay for?

V: Exactly. The basic business model is to use the foreigners to give the club status, in line with this Chinese idea of ‘face’. The rich young elites are willing to pay exorbitant prices for bottle service at tables if the club has a more cosmopolitan sophisticated feel to it. On one level there is this sort of logic that if foreigners are in the club it is more sophisticated and international and must be good.

M: How much would a table cost for a night?

V: In some places you can pay the equivalent of $USD 500. But these kids are so rich they don’t even care. A lot of them will spend money just to show off and get girls. It is by getting these sort of rich kids into the clubs that the clubs make their money. That is why the alcohol they give for free is often so cheap.

M: So are foreigners just the dancing bears for the people spending up big at the tables?

V: I actually think it’s a win-win. The foreigners get to party for free, the rich kids get to feel important and I get paid 11

OK money to make it all happen.

M: I have heard of promoters being paid per foreigner they get into the door?

V: Yes, depending on the club, the promoters do get a small commission per invitee they get into the club.

M: Are the reports of racism in the clubs true? Are white foreigners worth more than foreign-born Chinese or people of African heritage?

V: Look, the short answer is somewhat, but I mean, it is more complicated than how it has been portrayed. The clubs I work for are trying to create a certain vibe, just like any club around the world—I am sure also in Australia. As a promoter it is my job to bring in the most good-looking blonde girls possible. A lot of the clubs pay models to come to the clubs again to bring a certain status with them. The people at the tables are paying for that vibe.

Anyway in my years as a promoter I have never seen someone be refused entry because of the colour of their skin. Some have had to pay for their own drinks or a cover charge, for sure, but not flat-out refused.

M: Isn’t that basically the definition of racism?

V: You don’t see the white Westerners complaining about their drinks being free do you? Even though the locals have to pay for entry and drinks.

M: Touché.

Beijing’s nightclub scene is relatively young by international standards, only really emerging in the early 1980s in large cities. Nevertheless, for a place full of inebriated sweat-soaked people dancing to sub-par music, Beijing clubs are a microcosm of a Chinese society coming to grips with growing income inequality, racism and ever more encounters with the West.

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Performing arts and political acts in Hawai’i Phoebe Siers

During my time at the ANU 2015 Pacific Islands Field School, two things stood out to me.

Firstly, that the way Hawai’i had been represented to me in the past was very different from the truth of Hawaiian history and culture.

And secondly, that the arts were an integral part of communicating those truths.

In 1959 Hawai’i was made a state of the United States of America, but it was once a globally recognised sovereign kingdom. The indigenous monarchy was overthrown in 1893 by American businessmen backed by the power of the navy.

The authority and legality of these events is still questioned, but voices of dissent are hard to find amidst the waves of dominant media portraying Hawai’i as a passive island paradise. Anna Keala Kelly writes that the lack of alternative narratives causes native Hawaiians to appear to desire assimilation.

Before arriving at Field School, I thought of Hawai’i only as palm trees and surfing, but in reality there is a strong oral tradition, embodied in hula, theatre and poetry, that carried the Hawaiian Kingdom from ‘old’ to present day. As long as the arts exist, Hawaiian voices and their allies are not going to be silenced or limited.

Hula is a dance of rhythmic movements to chants and percussion that literally embodies and preserves stories of a Hawaiian past. Students of hula are taught not just the physicality of the dance but must also learn the literal and poetic aspects of the songs and chants that go with them.

With the Hawaiian cultural renaissance of the 1970s, hula competitions blossomed in popularity and became a testing ground for new choreographic developments. Of course, as Amy Stillman writes, “implicit in the license to create original choreographies is knowing and understanding the items of repertoire should be maintained intact… adhering to poetic texts dedicated to gods or high ranking chiefs.’ While still embodying the stories of the past, Hula brings Hawai’i from old tradition to modern practice. It says, ‘We are still here.”

“The way Hawai’i had been represented to me in the past was very different from the truth of Hawaiian history and culture.”

Kumu Kahua Theatre in downtown Honolulu has supported the development of over 200 original plays about life in Hawai’i, by Hawaiian playwrights, for a Hawaiian audience. We all perform our identity in the choices we make, what we say, how we respond, and the stage reflects those choices back into the collective memory; it creates culture.

Therefore, if a community only sees a narrow representation performed, that is the only culture they will accept.

Representation of native Hawaiians in theatrical arts is important because it gives visibility and validity to the experiences, hardships and dreams of native Hawaiian viewers. I went to see a show when I was there, and the Hawai’i I saw reflected back at me was not grass skirts and tiki bars but language revival, 13

familial connections, and the struggle of dual identity. Theatre says, ‘We are here, and these issues are valid.’

Slam poetry is as performative as theatre and as embodied as hula, and currently enjoying a revival through organisations like Youth Speaks and Pacific Tongues, which aim to deconstruct dominant narratives in hopes of achieving a more inclusive, and active culture amongst young people.

Integral to the vision of Pacific Tongues is that it would create a cross­cultural exchange of Pacific voices, harking back to Epeli Hau’ofa’s vision of a connected Pacific, “Theirs was a large world in which peoples and cultures moved and mingled, unhindered by boundaries of the kind erected much later by imperial powers.”

Reconnecting young people across the Pacific cuts down the idea that Hawai’i is small, powerless, or dominated by the United States. Rather, its young people are using poetry as a rallying cry for their Pacific identity. They say, “We are here, and we are not alone.”

As Jonathan Osorio writes, “there is hope in what we have done to reclaim our heritage ­finding our voice in our languages, stories, and songs, our perspectives in our arts and literatures, our muscle and will in our own political advocacy.”

The power of the performing arts is to create spaces to perform and embody dissent, identity and tradition. Hula, theatre and poetry are all doing this in Hawai’i, and I was fortunate to witness it.

Lights, cameras, inaction Mish Khan

There is no stage quite like Cambodia, where political elites double as divas.

Cambodia’s theatrical culture of antagonistic politics has eroded any slimmer of healthy political dialogue between the two major parties, Prime Minister Hun Sen’s ruling Cambodian’s People Party (CPP) and Sam Rainsy’s opposition Cambodia National Rescue Party (CNRP).

The face of Cambodian politics has grown rife with ugly hostility and public disputes over the past several years, arousing headlines such as “PM Hun Sen expresses remorse about taking a selfie with opposition leader Sam Rainsy”, and Hun Sen re-sharing a Thai fortune teller’s status to his Facebook page, predicting the downfall of the “dishonest” CNRP. This incited the comical, official response from CNRP, “The fortune teller has a personal view that has no impact on the Cambodia National Rescue Party.”

Currently, Sam Rainsy is in self-exile after being stripped of parliamentary immunity and charged with defamation. Acting CNRP opposition leader, Kem Sokha, has been hiding in Pnom Penh CNRP headquarters for months after failing to appear in court over allegations of an affair with a 25-year-old hairdresser.

The basis for these accusations stem from audio clips leaked online under a questionable Facebook account. The CNRP denies their authenticity and many remain suspicious that the days-old account was created as a political tactic to smother the opposition.

The culture of ferocity in Cambodia’s politics has only grown worse with the proliferation of social media, as both parties battle to win over the 4.1 million Cambodians who have an online presence, amounting to roughly twentyfive percent of the population. For perspective, there were just 6000 internet users in Cambodia ten years ago. While much of the increase can be credited to the penetration of new technologies, it’s also important to note that the tragedy of the Khmer Rouge genocide means that sixty-eight percent of Cambodia’s population is under thirty-years-old.

Twenty-six percent of Cambodians are between fourteen and thirty-years-old, an age perfectly ripe for political influence.

A lack of well-established alternative media in Cambodia means Facebook provides the largest secondary platform for political influence.

This is something Hun Sen has perfected after the 2013 elections where young, savvy opposition CNRP supporters rallied support online. Hun Sen’s public Facebook page boasts 5.6 million likes, and is flooded with constant photos and regular live-streams of himself in public. In February, he made headlines for surpassing Sam Rainsy in Facebook popularity and even launched the Samdec Hun Sen phone app, which “offers news, photos and videos” featuring the Prime Minister and provides links to his Facebook page.

Yet beyond the fun and festivities of his common-man approach to social media 14

lie a sinister undertone – late last year, Hun Sen announced that Cambodian Facebook users who criticise himself or sensitive government issues will be traced, warning, “If I want to get you, I need less than seven hours.”

Interestingly, there is strong evidence that Hun Sen’s page has purchased likes stemming from India and the Philippines.

Hun Sen has denied this, instead stating he is flattered to have won over the Indian people.

This is not the first example in Cambodian history of spotlights for the elite leaving leadership blind to serious national issues. King Norodom Sihanouk, the extravagant monarch who reigned after independence in 1953, was famous for his obsession with producing films in which he often played the leading role.

As the Vietnam War began to spill over to Cambodia’s borders, many Cambodians “saw Sihanouk’s preoccupation with films as an important symbol of his failure to address more serious issues,” a factor in the overthrow that eventually descended into the Khmer Rouge gaining power in 1975.

The average Cambodian suffers at the vanity of the elite. In a country plagued by corruption, poverty, political violence and the shadows of genocide, a political crisis fuelled by personality politics and repressing political competition has left the nation in deadlock.

This show cannot go on.

The sun never sets On September 13 I had the honour of meeting Michiko Yamaoka, a sixty-five-year-old grandmother of four, who has spent years learning English so that she could share her mother’s story with visitors at the Hiroshima Memorial Museum.

Her mother, Kiyoko, was twenty when America dropped the A-Bomb on Hiroshima. Kiyoko’s thirteen-year-old sister, Atsuko, had left home that morning to go to school in the city centre. Kiyoko spent days searching for Atsuko, and finally found her in a hospital.

Her skin was burnt black and her face was unrecognisable. It was only her voice that led Kiyoko to find her. Atsuko, despite her immense suffering, would only ask her older sister if she was ok.

She died later that night.

Kiyoko is now ninety-one and gradually losing her memory of what happened on August 6, 1945. But she still cannot bear to look at sunsets, as the colours of the sky remind her of the fires that burnt her city to the ground.

Her daughter has now dedicated her life to ensuring that people know about the horrors of nuclear warfare.

There are currently over 15,000 nuclear weapons in the world, spread between nine states -- and most are much more powerful than the A-Bomb dropped on Hiroshima seventy-one years ago.

Maddalena Easterbrook This article was originally posted to Instagram as part of the Media and Politics in Japan study tour

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Burmese or bust Catia Rizio Attending school in Myanmar produces vastly different results to the Australian education system. Some students learn Burmese whereas some learn their local mother tongue. This is the result of alternative education systems that teach in very different ways. This has created a vacuum of education inequality that children of ethnic minority groups are being sucked into.

This vacuum is why language education policy needs to be a part of Myanmar’s peace process dialogue.

For the past sixty years Myanmar has been fractured with civil conflict in ethnic minority areas. Government services have been non-existent in many areas.

Non-state systems have stepped in to fill this void. Government services, such as education, were not provided to people in areas such as Kachin and Mon State.

As a result of significant distrust of the military government different education systems emerged. Many of these regard learning Burmese as a low priority. Instead the local mother tongue is strongly promoted as a means of preserving culture. However, this promotion of their mother tongue can lead to enormous gaps in knowledge and is creating a divide amongst the young people of Myanmar.

Now, with the election of the National League for Democracy (NLD) party in the 2015 election and a renewed commitment to peace, education needs to be a priority for discussion. Given the first Union Peace Conference in late August of this year, the NLD government needs to make clear decisions about how it will bring all stakeholders to the peace process, and how discussions about education in ethnic minority states fit into this dialogue.

One example of an extensive non-state education system emerged in Karen State. Civil society organisations also stepped in to help. This system has been hugely successful. With an emphasis on speaking English as well as the local Karen language students have emerged as highly educated individuals.

The only issue is, they don’t speak

Burmese. Any chance of moving to a city such as Yangon and obtaining employment is difficult. Enormous equity issues have arisen and this threatens the stability of any further peace gains.

Similarly, in Kachin State a lack of trust in the government has led to a staunchly independent education system. Moves away from the government system can be observed through the use of Jingphaw textbooks in primary school.

However, a greater tension has emerged in terms of which direction to follow with language learning. Learning their mother tongue (Jingphaw) gives children access to a rich cultural heritage and continues threatened traditions in Kachin State.

However, learning Burmese gives them access to opportunities in a Myanmar that is undergoing rapid change.

“As a result of significant distrust of the military government different education systems emerged.

Many of these regard learning Burmese as a low priority.”

A situation has evolved where language education policy differs from school to school. A mix of Jingphaw, English and Burmese learning has emerged in a confusing manner, leaving children with varying degrees of language competency.

The local Kachin population are increasingly antagonistic to the government and believe supporting this education system will lead to greater government intervention. One teacher commented that due to “atrocities and mistrust” many are refusing to use government endorsed materials and text.

Whilst the government has endorsed Jingphaw, the prevalence of a government historical narrative is clear in the way that they use government textbooks to “transmit ideological messages on a discursive as well as 17

explicit level” and propagate a Burman majority view.

A different pattern has occurred in Mon State. Due to a ceasefire agreement signed in 1995 anti-government sentiment is much lower. Local people are more accustomed to the government moving and operating in their region.

Education is done in a much more government-friendly way. Mon language is heavily emphasised in primary school, whilst, secondary schooling closely mimics the broader government system with the use of Burmese. Students who are educated under this system are able to sit government matriculation exams and enter higher education if they choose.

The myriad of systems available within Myanmar indicate that clear discussion of language policy needs to be part of the peace process. There are three ways that the Union government can tackle this.

Firstly, a proper negotiation between government school systems and nonstate school systems needs to occur.

Questions over cooperation, resources and regulation of this system all need to be answered. This can be done most convincingly through the peace process.

On top of this a system of accreditation and transfer between state and non state-school systems needs establishment. For example, Burmese language training could be offered for those who want to transfer to government schools. This would ease the equity gap that has been created.

A renewed focus on curriculum content is needed. Will the curriculum include classes in the mother tongue language?

Will there be modules detailing ethnic language and culture? These are decisions waiting to be made that can be aided by clear discussion in the peace process.

Without proper and sustained dialogue about language policy in ethnic minority states, the peace process will suffer.

Facebook: a coercive political actor?

Marco D’Alessandro If Facebook could stack an election against the likes of Pauline Hanson or Donald Trump, would you want it to?

Would you want it to quash the threat of global terror by employing algorithms to censor content that demonstrates partiality to flagged organisations or individuals?

Facebook may seem to be an innocuous and convenient communication platform, however it has become apparent that it has the means to transform these questions into reality. In the majority of situations the only mechanism capable of constraining Facebook is corporate morality.

The website’s capacity to intervene in political activities gained media attention earlier this year when it took a partisan and coercive approach to

conflicts between Kashmiri separatists and Indian forces.

In early July, The Guardian sourced numerous reports claiming that videos, posts and accounts had been deleted for displaying content relating to the death of Burhan Wani. Wani lead the Hizbul Mujahedeen, an organisation seeking Kashmiri independence, viewed by many in India as a terrorist group but as freedom fighters by Kashmiris and Pakistanis.

The deletion of content was extensive.

In one instance a journalist’s account was shut down under Facebook’s no tolerance policy for support or praise of terrorist organisations, due to the inclusion of a photo depicting the funeral of Wani.

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Many argued that this and other examples of censorship, such as a week-long block imposed on an account for providing a link to a blog mentioning Wani, were political. Facebook’s policy caused deep frustration in Kashmir, depriving people of a forum many had used in the past to voice opinions about regional politics and tension.

From the nature of censorship incidents uncovered by The Guardian it’s easy to see why many Pakistanis and Kashmiris believe that Facebook took a pro-India stance and actively participated in political suppression, extending beyond its duty under its own policy to shield users from extremist content.

Facebook’s actions in Kashmir provide a complete contrast to the defined status of political neutrality the website has

adopted in the United States.

never try to control elections.”

Evidence emerged in 2012 that Facebook had conducted an experiment aimed at discovering whether the site could be used to affect voter turnout in that year’s Federal election. An academic paper published on the study found that Facebook’s I voted initiative could have raised participation by as much as 0.6%.

Facebook’s 2012 experiment appears not to have favoured any one party. Despite this, if Facebook wished to do so, the only significant constraint would be their own morality. Facebook is protected by the First Amendment in the same way a media outlet is, unconstrained by the law in the censoring of content.

Earlier this year speculative articles were published contemplating the website’s capacity to rig an election.

The site has approximately 1.59 billion users worldwide and the tweaking of algorithms to alter what users see therefore has strong potential to influence thought globally. After founder Mark Zuckerberg publically made antiTrump comments the question was raised by employees as to whether the company should attempt to stack the election against him.

According to Eugene Volokh, a UCLA law professor, the only time in which a legal constraint would apply is if Facebook were to collude with a candidate.

This issue was suggested as a discussion point in regular Q&A sessions between employees and Zuckerberg, although it did not receive adequate votes to be the topic for that week. However, a statement made by Sheryl Sandberg, a high-level company employee, suggests that there is no intention of doing this: “Facebook would

Despite Facebook presenting a stance of neutrality this does not seem to extend beyond the borders of the United States or perhaps other Western nations, as evidenced by Kashmir. The role the website will take outside of this somewhat protected bubble is uncertain.

Facebook’s neutrality is already undermined by existing algorithms which

“If Facebook was actively coordinating with the Sanders or Clinton campaign, and suppressing Donald Trump news, it would turn an independent expenditure (protected by the First Amendment) into a campaign contribution because it would be coordinated—and that could be restricted.”

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filter content to display posts based on your ‘likes’ and interests, meaning most users are deprived of exposure to conflicting views.

The capacity of Facebook to influence a wide range of political matters has become evident in the last few years, however the implications of this remain unclear, its potential remaining in its infancy.

Despite choosing to make a public commitment to relative neutrality in the US the site’s involvement in the quashing of Kashmiri political discourse is worrying.

Facebook’s capacity to yield influence and its recent actions surrounding tensions in Kashmir demonstrate that it has now become a coercive political actor, almost devoid of legal constraint. The question of how or if it should exercise its considerable influence is one for each individual and begs another important question; how is Facebook influencing you?

The forgotten games Tammy Cho Earlier this year, the world marvelled at Olympian feats in Rio. But on the other side of the globe, Monsoon subeditor Tammy Cho explores why the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) passes another year without a Mass Games.

gymnastic display with some 100,000 people participating in the performance.

The Mass Games is a ninety-minute spectacle of coordinated gymnastics, acrobatics, theatre and dance set to nationalist music that tells the story of North Korea’s revolutionary struggle.

While an annual extravaganza since 2002, there were none in 2014 and 2015, and we do not know yet whether there will be a 2016 Games.

The Games are the world’s largest

The show’s annual title and theme is ‘Arirang’, a Korean folk song about

The show demonstrates the regime’s might to its people, and its mammoth scale and coordination exhibits the power of collectivism.

two lovers who are torn apart by unknown forces – a symbol of Korea’s distant history and the dividing of the Korean peninsula. The precision and coordination of movement are an aweinspiring visual display, but also embody the mass-ideology of the state.

Participants are expected to devote their lives and train for months, while spectators witness the power of conformity — teaching the people the value of obedience and subjugating the individual for the collective good.

The Games perpetuate the nationalist narrative in its storyline and use of familiar propaganda symbols. Crushed and exploited by wicked foreigners, Kim Il-Sung (born atop Korea’s highest peak, Mount Baekdu) rises to lead North Korea to victory, and the people prosper under his leadership.

Many of the Mass Games performers are children. In 1987 Kim Jong-Il declared On Further Developing Mass Gymnastics that it was ‘important in training children to be fully developed communist people’, in teaching ‘a high degree of organisation, discipline and… to subordinate all their thoughts and

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actions to the collective.’

For example, a ‘screen’ at the back of the stadium is comprised of 20,000 school children holding and changing cards in perfect time – each child’s card creating a ‘pixel’ of the image.

Another year without a Mass Games is significant. While a 2016 Games may still run, they are traditionally performed between the months of July and October and there is no known preparation for them so far.

The failure of the DPRK government to deliver a Mass Games is more significant given the especially volatile climate of current DPRK politics and foreign relations. Heightened UN sanctions against North Korea, fears of China distancing itself from the DPRK with Xi Jinping and Kim Jong-Un yet to ever meet, and sharp economic falls have increased pressure on the DPRK to secure national stability and regime legitimacy.

Given this political context, a key question remains: why has the government decided not to reignite nationalist loyalty with a 2016 Games?

One reason may be greater economic desperation within North Korea.

In the past, despite widespread

famine and stagnant socio-economic development, the government would allocate massive resources to state demonstrations and the Games.

Monumental statues and parades in Pyongyang’s Kim Il-Sung square would create a sense of worship and misrepresent the prosperity of the state.

“Participants are expected to devote their lives and train for months, while spectators witness the power of conformity — teaching the people the value of obedience and subjugating the individual for the collective good.”

However, the decision not to run the Games possibly for a third year could indicate an unprecedented low level of resources. On top of this, North Korea’s growing number of nuclear tests and recent ballistic missile launches could indicate that military threats and firepower are now the primary mode of internal nationalist propaganda — with potentially dangerous ramifications for the international community.

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The North Korean Mass Games is much more than mere spectacle. The failure of the DPRK to deliver a Mass Games for the third year running demonstrates the changing priorities and challenges for the regime.

Although the scale and coordination of the performance is awe-inspiring, the Mass Games is much more than a symbol of international unity or sporting rivalry that we are accustomed to seeing in spectator-filled stadiums.

Posts, privacy and prejudice Tammy Cho & Jiamei Feng

In August, China was stunned by actor Wang Baoqiang’s social media post announcing his intention to divorce his wife Ma Rong, due to her affair with his agent. Since the announcement, talk of sex, marital roles and the splitting of millions of dollars have enthralled the nation.

Wang is a popular Chinese movie star with a rags-to-riches story. Born in the rural province of Hebei to a poor family, he became a household name after starring in the film A World Without Thieves (2004). Wang plays roles that portray him as naïve, hardworking and comical. This screen image has shaped public perceptions of his character.

While the public recognises Ma as the wife of Wang, she is relatively unknown.

She comes from a family of average wealth and was famous at her university for her beauty.

The couple have been married for seven years, and have a daughter and son.

News of the divorce exploded onto the Internet when Wang posted on Chinese social media platform Weibo, that Ma was engaged in an extramarital affair with his agent Song. Five hours later, Ma replied through her Weibo account saying “I will reveal the truth when the time is right”. Ma has also filed for defamation.

Chinese netizens have been quick to respond – reminding us of the power of social media in China, where statistics show that there are over 659 million social media users. The nation has embraced ‘people power’ through the Internet, using social media to express opinions, and spark moral and political debates.

This celebrity scandal has taken online action to a whole new level.

One article reported that the hashtag #WangBaoqiangDivorce had been viewed over 8.6 billion times on Weibo.

Even though these are not all unique

views, very few issues garner so much interest.

treat him as a coward and mock him for tolerating a ‘whore’.

Wang’s first ever post, which describes himself as a sincere and faithful husband has attracted over 5.3 million ‘likes’ and 3 million comments.

However, where the husband cheats, the wife will be surrounded by her parents, friends, colleagues and even neighbours – who ‘kindly’ try to persuade her to forgive the deceiving husband because of her responsibilities to her family. She is often told “it is common for a man to have an affair.”

In the wake of the scandal, netizens are also in full conspiracy mode and have called for investigations. Some claim that Ma and Song had planned two car accidents in 2013 and 2015 that left Wang injured, that Wang is not the father of Ma’s son, and that Ma has been transferring Wang’s property into her own name for years.

“Not only have netizens become fervent sleuths into the sex lives and finances of the couple, but comments on Weibo have sparked wide debate about Chinese perceptions of marriage and divorce.”

Chinese society has a traditional belief in the “perfect match” theory – an engaged couple’s family backgrounds, economic conditions and social classes ought to be similar. Further, wealth (for men) and beauty (for women) can improve their positions on the marriage market.

Wang and Ma don’t fit this “perfect match” rule. Wang was born into a much poorer household, but has now surpassed Ma in career achievements, popularity and social networks. Some members of the public have responded without sympathy for the marriage that was doomed to fail.

Where a marriage breaks down due to an affair, China’s double gender standards also become obvious. Where a wife is found cheating, the husband is likely to demand an immediate divorce. If he chooses to forgive the wife, others 22

Further, the traditional family division of “men as breadwinners, and women as homemakers” contributes to long-lasting gender inequality. The public disregard Ma’s contribution to the family and say she should be grateful for her husband’s hard work.

In addition to criticism, netizens have sent Ma death threats, exposed her identity number and home address online, and started to harass her parents.

Although China’s law emphasises the importance of privacy protection, it is poorly applied.

Celebrities are especially vulnerable.

Their romances, marriages and divorces are public events.

On the other hand, celebrities can use curiosity about their lives as a tool to gain popularity or manipulate reputation.

For example, in two recent Chinese celebrity divorces, the wives who were having affairs used social media to publicly criticise their husbands, thereby winning public opinion for the first few months of their divorce before the affairs came to light.

This could explain why Wang first announced his divorce through Weibo – a tactical move garnered to win the public’s sympathy. Sadly, in the age of social media, Chinese affairs of the heart have become a public social affair.

Made with injustice Reza Mazumder Bangladesh’s garment industry is notorious for its use of sweatshops.

In April 2013 Bangladesh’s Rana Plaza building – home to this type of garment factory – collapsed, killing 113. More than three years later the victims and their loved ones are still in search of justice.

largest exporter of clothes. The government parades the industry as the greatest asset to the economy.

The court case of eighteen people accused of construction code violations at Rana Plaza was postponed from its scheduled August 24 hearing.

The Rana Plaza Donor Trust fund was set by the UN’s International Labour Organisation in response to the tragedy.

The fund independently assesses money owed to victims and families for medical costs and income loss. Some, but not all companies have paid contributions.

The delayed hearing has pushed back testimonies from 130 witnesses against those in charge of Rana Plaza. The owners had illegally built three extra storeys within a six storey structure.

This overwhelmed the standing of the building and resulted in the collapse that killed 1000 workers’ lives.

The factory owner, Mohammad Sohel Rana, and former chief engineer are in custody while five of the accused eighteen are on the run.

Delayed court cases and lack of support from the government have sustained the use of sweatshop production methods in Bangladesh’s garment factories.

This apathy from authorities is induced due to the fact that Bangladesh has become the world’s industry hotspot for clothes manufacturing. It’s soon expected to top China as the world’s

Yet the workers fuelling this asset are only paid a $68 monthly wage - less than a quarter of what workers in to mainland China earn.

This comes after ISIS attacks in July meaning Bangladesh’s garment industry faces uncertainty as its foreign stakeholders pull back from trade in fear of terrorist attacks.

The ISIS attacks on July 1 bring into question the job security of garment workers. Foreign companies have begun to request less production from Bangladesh factories due to fears of becoming terrorist targets.

Any shock to Bangladesh’s garment industry is likely to trip the country into recession. The country relies on garments for around eighty percent of exports and 4 million jobs. The continued attacks on foreign diplomats, queer rights activist and religious minorities is turning off overseas investors from 23

doing business in Bangladesh.

The attacks have begun to slow income for the industry. Any substantial halt could jeopardise the entire livelihood of the country. This includes the livelihood of garment workers who are repeatedly failed by the legal justice system.

It’s failing people like Hasina; a young woman who worked for ten years at my grandmother’s house as a maid and now works at a garment factory making men’s jeans for American retailer GAP. One night she’d visited my grandmother’s at 11:00 PM. Her skin sunk below her collarbone. Her ribs rose into her dress each time she breathed in. I asked her about work.

“It’s tiring but it gives me money. I’m not good enough to get married but I’m supporting my whole family. Women like me have nothing to look forward to but marriage because our husbands are meant to earn money. But now I can earn my own. I don’t want to marry anymore.

My job is dangerous but I’m not elite like you or Sheikh Hasina (the Prime Minister). I don’t have many choices. I must take pride where I can find it, no matter how bad it is for my body.”

She stayed over that night. She left for work at 6am the next morning.

The hearing is now scheduled for October 26.

Japan’s state secrecy laws a secret Aditi Razdan In the first year after Japan’s State Secrecy Law was enacted, various ministers and agencies classified 382 issues as state secrets. The law is well into its second year, yet we still don’t know what actually constitutes a ‘state secret’. Prime Minister Abe railroaded the Act on the Protection of Specially Designated Secrets (SDS) through the Diet, or Japanese parliament, in spite of eighty percent opposition from the public.

As of December 2014, whistle-blowers can be imprisoned for ten years if they leak state secrets, and journalists publishing this information face up to five years in jail and a hefty fine. The law targets terrorism, espionage and defence leaks, and at first glance, it is familiar given the current reality of transnational crime and terrorism.

So what makes this law potentially destructive? It’s because it makes Abe and his administration the judge, jury and enforcers.

The ambiguity of the law extends beyond the definition of a state secret.

Government ministers and agencies determine what a state secret is, and oversight is managed by a panel and committee appointed by Abe. There has been little public consultation, no parliamentary consensus on what a state secret is, and a lack of

transparency in the law’s operation.

Alarmingly, any agency or government minister can store a secret for thirty-sixty years. This is longer than the tenure of a regular bureaucrat or politician, bestowing power to a government far beyond their elected time in office.

Freedom of speech is enshrined in Japan’s post-war constitution. It has ensured trust in media, politics and Japan’s democratic society. This recent law shifts the norm, making freedom of speech conditional and communication between politics and wider society a condition of the government.

This has implications for information gathering. Whilst Hashimoto maintained that the state broadcaster remained independent, he revealed that the new laws “make it harder to find sources in the bureaucracy.”

opinions are not coerced.

Katsumi Sawada is a reporter from Japan’s oldest newspaper Mainichi Shimbon. In his opinion, “The law shows that the influence of Abe has increased, as his personal opinions have influenced the law.” Personal opinions should not override the opposition of a 100 million citizens. But in a post-2014 Japan, it seems Abe’s do.

Ordinarily, a country would have countermeasures that protect journalists and their sources from this type of law. This source of protection is non-existent in Japan. Furthermore, there is no “public interest override” that would recognize circumstances where the public interest outweighs any potential harms of disclosure.

This chilling effect is arguably more damaging than the law itself. In such a way the ambiguity of the SDS was likely intentional to allow for discretionary operation by ministers and government agencies, as well as acting as a mechanism that scares people into silence.

It is difficult to measure the effects this law has had on free media in Japan.

When a state secret itself is not defined, it is nearly impossible to determine what media outlets can no longer report on.

What is clear however is that this law signals that the government are the ultimate arbiters of what is free and what is not. This is blatant overreach and something that Japan did not choose.

The only place that has answers-the government. This is the fastest way to reverse a culture where facts are dissected, truth is grappled with and

In a time of constitutional change, open debate is needed. However, a monopoly on truth does make it much easier to govern.

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Breadfruit: a Pacific solution to food security?

Mitiana Arbon

Breadfruit has been grown as a staple crop throughout the Pacific region for over 3000 years. Following European exploration in the Pacific, naturalists and colonial officials saw the trees’ productiveness and high nutritional value as a cheap source of food security for slaves in the British Caribbean. So when the sailors sent to fetch breadfruit from Tahiti mutinied against Captain William Bligh, the desire for the fruit was so high that a second attempt to procure them was made. While Bligh’s second voyage proved successful and the plant established well, unfortunately, the slaves were less keen to adopt the new food.

Recent trends have seen a comeback for breadfruit. High in essential nutrients and vitamins – with ten times the amount of potassium found in bananas – just one breadfruit is thought to provide a foundational meal for a family of five. It is also more productive per acre than other staples such as rice, wheat and maize.

Organisations like the Hawaiian not-forprofit breadfruit Institute have drawn on the potential applications of breadfruit within development and food security programs. As leading Breadfruit expert and current Director Dr Diane Ragone argues “eighty percent of the world’s hungry live in tropical and subtropical regions… Facing soaring food, fuel, and fertilizer costs, farmers in the tropics need sustainable, low-input, nutritious crops…. many countries… have [the] ecological conditions suitable for cultivating breadfruit.” Since 2009, the Global Hunger Initiative (supported by the Breadfruit Institute) has sent more than 60,000 breadfruit trees to thirtythree countries and territories worldwide.

In 2008, the National Tropical Botanical Garden and the Government of Samoa entered into a Memorandum of Understanding allowing for the distribution of three Samoan breadfruit varieties with royalties from sales shared. Samoa’s cultivar of Ma’afala

has been identified as optimal for mass propagation and high in protein and mineral content. Prime Minister Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi reported at the time that Ma’afala is Samoa’s “contribution to saving the hungry in Africa.”

Nonprofits, like Trees That Feed Foundation, have distributed it to schools, hospitals, and public spaces in Jamaica, and shipped over 12,000 trees to Haitian communities alone. In Haiti, the trees are praised for their continuous fruiting period and enhancement of local watersheds in deforested regions.

The seedless nature of the trees’ production also prevents the potential of it becoming invasive in foreign enviroments.

“The humble Pacific breadfruit has the potential to combat food insecurity, in addition to improving the environment and living standards of millions of people living in the equatorial belt.”

In West Africa, where communities are still recovering from the ravages of the Ebola epidemic, breadfruit can potentially offer food security for communities faced with reduced mobility and trade. Other potential benefits include the high levels of provitamin A carotenoids that could potentially reduce infant blindness.

Breadfruit crops can potentially improve the quality of life for rural women in African communities. For example with approximately ninety percent of farmers African women, breadfruit can reduce labour to a minimum. One tree alone can produce between 200-450 kilograms of fruit per season. In addition to freeing valuable time for women, the fruits are a cheap source of iron, crucial amongst pregnant and lactating women.

Breadfruit contains high levels of fibre, protein, and essential nutrients that 25

unlike potatoes or white rice score low on the glycaemic index providing stable blood sugar levels. It can be eaten raw, baked, boiled, fried, pickled, steamed, candied, and even dried and milled into a nutritionally rich gluten free flour alternative. Breadfruit can be consumed at all stages of its development, both ripe as a fruit and mature as a vegetable, and resembles a cross between a potato and fresh bread when baked.

With greater food insecurity due to climate change and soil degradation, breadfruit provides niche solutions for tropical communities. It can be intercropped and does not require land clearing, cutting labour time and reducing topsoil loss. The tree is low maintenance, requiring no agrochemicals, reducing farmers’ capital input and producing more food per tree than other equivalent tropical staples, such as plantain or cassava. It also has high salinity tolerance, enabling survival from climate change induced sea level rise, which other crops such as taro, tapioca, and yams cannot.

Additionally, breadfruit tree wood is termite resistant; the sap can be used for caulking and waterproofing; the male breadfruit flower can be burnt as a natural mosquito repellent; and the bark fibers can be harvested without killing the trees and made into clothing, and paper as evident in many Pacific communities. Samoan Vailima breweries have managed to even develop a gluten free breadfruit beer. This multi-use can provide communities with further value added products The humble Pacific breadfruit has the potential to combat food insecurity, in addition to improving the environment and living standards of millions of people living in the equatorial belt. While many of the plants are barely reaching their potential now, we can only ponder the future benefits that will soon hang from these trees.

The kids aren’t alright Morgan Kerle To today’s youth in Japan, the fast cars and pricey whisky abundant during the bubble of the 1980s must seem like an alcohol fuelled delusion. Young workers, sobered by the continued decline of the Japanese economy, face a much starker reality.

During the bubble, Japan’s economy maintained a strong average growth rate of four percent despite a lack of local resources and high global oil prices. By the late 1980s the value of the Japanese Yen and real estate market had become so high that the Australian government sold one-third of the land upon which its embassy was built for A$649 million as part of a plan to reduce its national deficit.

This boom was not to last.

Known as the Lost Two Decades, the period following the 1980s saw Japan’s market stall and deflation take hold.

Japan’s economy is yet to recover from this contraction and the average annual

growth rate between 2011-2015 was a measly 0.7%. Japan’s GDP to debt ratio now stands at 240%, the highest in the world (compiled from the World Bank database).

These are the grim conditions which young people trying to find work now confront. Many of them, due to increasingly outdated business customs and hiring practices, are unable to find regular employment and live paycheck to paycheck. With limited job security and career opportunities, these young people have little ability to pursue their dreams and gain their independence.

In 2007, Bloomberg Business published an article entitled “Japan’s Lost Generation” recounting the difficulties facing young job seekers”, featuring Sadaaki Nehashi. The thirty-one-year-old contract worker at delivery company Yamato Transport makes just $1,100 a month sorting packages—about a third of the average income for full-time employees in Japan. He lives at his 26

parents’ modest home in central Tokyo.

These young people who are either unemployed, or contracted to work low-paid and low skilled jobs are known as Freeters in Japan. Freeters reflect a broader trend in developed countries in which the transition from school to work has become far more complex and often lengthy.

A number of different factors are responsible for this tendency including the growth of the service based sector and a rise in the demand of employers for flexible labour and contract workers.

It is difficult to estimate the exact number of freeters in Japan as the precise definition of the term varies. One White Paper on National Life published in 2004 estimated the number of freeters in 2001 to be about 4.17 million, more than one-fifth of the population between the age of fifteen to thity-four.

“I don’t want to talk to anybody. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t even have the will to pick up the phone. Just what am I supposed to do?” Welcome to NHK! was a novel, comic book and cartoon about the life of a hikikomori

The Japanese Institute for Labour identifies three different types of freeters based on the reason for their lack of regular work.

Some freeters, identified as the “moratorium type” are unsure of what kind of career they are interested in, and so chose to delay taking a full-time job until they decide what field they are interested in.

who are unable to find a regular job before they graduate high school or university. In the Japanese workplace, a high degree of job security is protected by case law and is a core part of social norms. Coupled with traditional hiring practices in which almost all of new employees are hired in the final year of their university degree, it is extremely hard to find a full-time job after this period.

Others, known as the “dream-pursuing type” chose to pursue goals outside the conventional ‘salaryman’ career path and forgo regular employment. Traditional Japanese white-collar workers are expected to work gruelling hours and Karoshi, literally translated as “death by overwork” is a medically recognised condition. Instead, some young workers choose the relative freedom and ease of casual work so that they can pursue their other interests.

The Japanese government has taken some steps to curb growth in the number of freeters in Japan including providing subsidies to employers to train casual staff who they intend to eventually take on as regular employees.

However, critics argue that these measures do not go far enough. Freeters have little or no workers rights, and due to the nature of the Japanese pension system are unlikely to earn sufficient savings for retirement.

The final type known as the “no alternative type” are those young people

These concerns feed into a wider debate about the effects of Freeters upon 27

Japanese society as a whole.In an article published in 2005, The Daily Yomuri estimated the marriage rate of male freeters to be about half that of those with regular employment. Due to factors such as the high cost of home ownership and their inability to support themselves, freeters often delay having children.

There is significant concern that this trend will worsen Japan’s aging population problem and place further stress on the already overburdened pension system and faltering economy.

Surprisingly as noted by the Financial Times, in a recent government survey of those aged between twenty to twentynine almost two-thirds of all participants reported they were satisfied - the highest observed level of youth happiness since the survey began in the 1950s.

Perhaps the hangover hasn’t quite hit yet.

Outsourcing obligations Nicky Lovegrove The world’s system for dealing with refugees is broken, and the Asia Pacific is no exception. Leaders in the region need to create a market of tradeable refugee quotas to deal with this issue.

Such a system would produce better outcomes for refugees, a fairer way of sharing the burden, and would be much more cost effective.

We hear so much about the refugee crisis in the Middle East that it’s easy to forget that we have one in our own backyard. The UNHCR estimates that there are 3.5 million refugees in the Asia-Pacific region, with 500,000 from Myanmar alone. These are people fleeing persecution and violence who should qualify for protection under the 1951 UN Refugee Convention. Instead, most are detained in squalid refugee camps or are rejected outright by the countries where they seek asylum.

The Refugee Convention was forged against the backdrop of World War II, during which time European countries closed their doors to Jews fleeing the horrors of the Holocaust. At its core, the Convention obligates signatory countries not to commit the crime of ‘refoulement’ – sending genuine refugees back to the borders of countries where they face death and persecution.

But the Convention has a serious flaw in that it makes no mention of how the refugee burden should be allocated among states.

Without this clarity of responsibility, states go to extreme lengths to discourage refugees from becoming their problem. Whether it is Australia creating a punitive system of mandatory detention, or Japan’s narrow interpretation of a refugee allowing it to reject ninety-nine percent of asylum applicants, the effect is that countries which border refugee-producing nations shoulder the vast majority of the refugee burden. Overwhelmingly these are poor countries of the global south struggling with their own domestic problems even before they have to provide for the wellbeing of thousands of war-stricken refugees.

The UNHCR is supposed to provide resources for these countries, but

because it depends on contributions from member countries, in particular the wealthy ones of the global north, it is particularly vulnerable to funding shortfalls in times of crisis.

What emerges is a free-rider problem, where wealthy countries are happy to let poorer nations which are closer to conflict zones pick up the slack of taking in refugees. Yet as much as countries like Australia like to claim they are abiding by their treaty obligations, the effect of this on refugees is much the same as refoulement: the inability to reach places of lasting protection.

A new approach is needed – one in which the burden of sheltering the world’s refugees is more evenly distributed, yet still gives states the ability to determine their own intake. A simple mechanism would be a market of tradeable refugee quotas.

In 1997, political scientist Peter Schuck outlined how this would work. Countries would enter into a regional agreement to share the burden of refugees, and would decide on a system for establishing appropriate quotas for each country.

Given that the task of protecting and providing services to refugees can mostly be expressed in financial terms, quotas would likely be a function of each country’s GDP per capita.

Once quotas are determined, countries would have the option of trading them among each other. This would give wealthy countries like Australia and Japan, who are particularly adverse to accepting refugees, the option of paying other countries to provide protection for a portion of their quota of refugees.

It would also allow poorer countries to shelter refugees with adequate resources, and gain another source of income for their efforts.

The market would be regulated by the UNHCR, which would be responsible for monitoring and publicising the treatment of refugees in each country.

Wealthy countries would be barred from offloading their quotas on any country found to be providing inadequate protection or services to refugees.

Why would wealthy countries agree to 28

fork out money when others are already doing the heavy lifting? Because as long as the world has such an uneven distribution of refugees, the whole system is vulnerable to shocks, and these affect everyone. The big influx of refugees over the last decade has not remained contained within the global south. When first port-of-call countries are overburdened, when they seek to deter refugees through harsh treatment or by turning them back altogether, it is unsurprising that refugees try their luck in the more affluent West.

A tradeable quota system would also be in the interest of the free-riders because it would actually save them money. In the 2014-15 financial year, Australia spent over $1 billion to run its offshore detention facilities on Nauru, Christmas Island, and Manus Island, housing less than 2000 refugees. Compare this to the figure of $157 million, which is what the UNHCR spent on its entire budget for Southeast Asia. The money of countries like Australia would go much further, and could aid many more refugees if it was spent on resettlement programs rather than prisons.

But isn’t it immoral to trade refugees like commodities? Isn’t it unfair to let wealthy countries shift their obligations onto poorer ones? What about the preferences of the refugees to be settled in one country over another?

In an ideal world, all countries would have high enough refugee quotas that we wouldn’t have a problem. Or better yet, countries would remove border restrictions so that we all have freedom of mobility. But unfortunately, the world we live in is one where state sovereignty and national interest remain overriding concerns.

In this world, states do whatever they can to minimise what they see as a refugee burden, and wealthy states are already outsourcing their refugee obligations to poorer ones. Let’s at least regulate it and make sure they do it properly.

This article was first published at Policyforum.net -- Asia and the Pacific’s leading platform for policy analysis and debate.

Indian cuisine’s next frontier Drew Trivedi Enjoyed all over the world, many are unaware just how Indian cuisine is tied to social circumstances dating back to ancient times. These play an extremely important role in the lives of Indian people.

Indian society has been divided into a five-tier caste system: Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaisyas, Sudras and the Dalits, from the highest to lowest rungs of the social ladder. Caste status dictates one’s relationship with food.

Caste groups, shaped by various cultural and geographical lines, possess unique forms of cuisine conforming with its inherent religious requirements.

Dalits, often referred to as ‘untouchables’, are relegated to the least desirable work. Necessary for society, they are nevertheless reviled by others.

Formally abolishing caste discrimination post-independence hasn’t uprooted the deeply ingrained hierarchies and prejudices prevalent in society, facing both social and economic degradation, they are disproportionately affected by Indian food politics.

Based on the divinity of cows in Hinduism, Hindu nationalists have long petitioned for state bans on beef consumption, often as opposition to Islamic cultural practices. Already-

impoverished Dalits, who have long depended on beef as an affordable and nutritious foodstuff, are regarded as collateral damage.

Since Brahmins often promote vegetarian elitism, Dalits face retaliatory violence for choosing to consume beef. Civil institutions such as schools, temples and restaurants also have a long history of formally and informally segregating Dalit participants. Some schools, for example, continue to segregate Dalit students in classrooms and in dining halls during breaks, even going so far as to provide them with separate cutlery, and ensuring that upper-caste students aren’t served food by a Dalit cook.

Slowly but surely, Dalits are reclaiming their rights to make their stories heard, and they’re doing so through food.

Caste-based cookbooks are a growing genre in Indian food culture, and they are providing Dalits with a new voice.

Several cookbooks have been authored

by Dalits bringing to light what was once an obscure, never-mentioned aspect of their culture. Upper-caste authors and scholars are also expressing a growing interest in the historical complexity, not to mention the gastronomical value, of dalit food. These serve not only as

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recipe books, but explorations of dalits lifestyles and cultural practices in general.

Others are going a step further, and producing traditional dalit foods to be sold on the market. Many dalit food producers are boldly marketing their produce with its dalit roots, rather than obscuring them out of shame, such as Dalit Foods started by Chandrabhan Prasad.

Increased public knowledge about Dalit food practices has spurred some longawaited inquiry into the nutrition and health benefits of Dalit food. One study has spearheaded Dalit food analysis, claiming that they are healthy due to being free from pesticides and additives which, ironically, Dalits could not traditionally afford.

These growing trends are indicative of a growing acceptance for Dalits.

Increased entrepreneurship, coupled with a platform to express their personal stories and perspectives, seems to be the way forward for Dalit integration into society. India is still undoubtedly far from casting off its caste-based prejudices, but these small steps in the right directions will certainly have a huge impact in paving the way forward.

Myanmar’s blame game

Myanmar’s blame game Oli Friedmann

Oli Friedmann

Picture a man tied up in rope. He is restricted from head to toe. His arms and legs are locked to his side. He has not moved for years. One day, the rope is cut loose. For a long while, the man does not move —it is as if he has forgotten how. Finally, he builds up the courage to take his first step. Straight away the man gains overwhelmingly confidence. He decides to run. But his body is not used to moving so rapidly and strands of rope still dangle by his side. Inevitably, he trips and falls. This was a good lesson for the man. He decides to take more care. He still finds himself tangled here and there. When he clears the rope from his right hand, his left leg gets stuck.

When he frees his right foot, the rope seems to lock around his neck. With each step, he learns. But the lessons are slow and sometimes painful.

This is how many ministers and analysts interpret the current state of Myanmar politics.

We are usually taught that democratisation takes one of three forms: transformation, replacement

or transplacement. Supposedly, after periods of transition, we should see regime changes, corruption, welfare demands and statehood problems. In Myanmar, we’ve seen many of these things. But often we do not engage critically with how both government and community function in the interim period — the period just after transition, when there are often growing pains and structural awkwardness. It seems a common trend in many democratic states that political talk does not necessarily translate to political action.

Although the transition of presidential power takes time in Myanmar, it is still surprising how little has been done during the first few months of the National League for Democracy’s leadership.

The current political outlook is all about people to people diplomacy. Progress aims to be domestic focus. But it seems to be an ethos with not much associated action. There is not much movement on the migration front. In the agriculture sector, there is little to no evidence of concrete legislation regarding shifting 30

cultivation and land claims. The NLD’s lack of progress regarding the peace process and national unity is troubling.

Maybe most troubling of all is that there is a palpable sense that the Myanmar people are comfortable with this limbo because of their faith and confidence in Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. In a July article published on Channel NewsAsia, Dr Khin Zaw Win, Director of the Tampadipa Institute, argued that “you just can’t plead that ‘we’re still unprepared.’ People want results… She’s running the government like the way she’s running the party and that’s not really advisable or realistic at all.”

There is definitely public hype around the NLD, but their ability to actively function in government has left many observers disappointed. Most institutions in Myanmar, whether they be governmental or not, are plagued by a lack of information, and although this makes it difficult to generate solutions, many community leaders and politicians are simply scared of making decisions.

At the same time, everything is still in trial phase. The most baffling example I have come across are the tax stickers that get slapped onto every bill you receive in the country. It costs the government more to produce these than the tax revenue they receive from them.

Just like the bus companies, the hotels and many other private sector activities, they are running at a loss. The purpose?

They want Myanmar to start looking and feeling like a democratic state. They hope to increase democratic literacy.

Another big question is how citizens are relating to the military.

When cities develop organically, their people and culture develop slowly and steadily. Both person and place begin to interact and impress upon one another, until both the built environment and community become one and the same.

You can feel it in the streets, in the walls, on the bridges, in the fashion. It is the reason that people travel and it is the reason that we are in awe of cultural meccas like Rome, Delhi or Moscow.

Elijah Anderson talks about a

‘Cosmopolitan Canopy’. In enclaves and urban environments where segregation is the norm, Anderson shows that diverse peoples often come together and develop civility — how eating, praying and shopping under the canopy creates relationships that transcend difference.

In their own way, Myanmar’s armed forces, the Tatmadaw, need to start healing the historic memory.

Healing those wounds means getting involved with the people. If the Tatmadaw is going to rebuild its relationship with the people, they need to make a more concerted effort with their community engagement.

Responsibility needs to be taken by people other than Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. There is definite need to reform what I would call the Myanmar ‘blame game’.

The President needs to start playing a more active leadership role. The NLD as a whole needs to relinquish the fear of losing face. They will make mistakes, but making mistakes is better than doing nothing at all. Local ministries need 31

to push for action. The development of a third major party, as some have forecasted, might help to push this along.

There is also a sense that the Tatmadaw may have to risk some of its ego to connect with the people. Show some vulnerability. Loosen up a bit. Get involved with some development activities. Engage with community leaders. Start to build friendships.

Hopefully a new generation of military leadership will shift toward a more communitarian focus.

Most of all, the country needs to focus on education in all its forms. Education is the cornerstone of development; development of community, livelihood, enterprise and nation. A more informed democracy will allow citizens, public servants, the military and civil society to engage more actively and honestly in the transition process. What cannot be denied is that the Myanmar people love democracy and their newly democratic nation. But to make this truly mean something, there needs to be action.

Drug war, still poor Miguel Galsim

People in the Philippines support the President Rodrigo Duterte’s Drug War, and it is not surprising to see slum residents voicing support for the anticrime crusade. In reality, it is often the poorest in Philippine society who have to deal with drug-related crime and experience in the flesh the destruction of families and communities by the shabu industry. Accordingly, many votes for Duterte were votes against the spectre of drug crime. Many people hoped for a better future.

Yet, hope quickly morphs into anxiety when the brutality of the war does little to alleviate the poverty of those on the receiving end of drug crime. So long as the poor remain on the periphery of policymaking in the Philippines, the same problems of drugs and crime will persist, and the poverty that breeds this criminality will remain entrenched if genuine structural reform centred on the Filipino poor is ignored.

Many have argued the Drug War is a war on the lower class. President Duterte denied this, and recently Philippine National Police Director General Dela Rosa stated that the war would soon target the higher echelons of the drug trade. What is undeniable, however, is that slum dwellers are often caught in the crossfire with little say in the war that is often touted as being waged for their benefit.

while he had used shabu in the past, he was not involved in its distribution. He thought he was safe. Four days later gunmen on a motorcycle attempted to kill him. His five-year old granddaughter, Danica, died instead.

A contract killer, profiled by the BBC, kills on the order of a police officer, her boss. Also impoverished, contract killing became a way to feed her family.

However, leaving the field appears not to be an option as she claims the officer “threatened to kill anyone who leaves the team.”

Both situations are not only symptomatic of a wider disenfranchisement of the urban poor, but indicative of ignorance surrounding the root causes of drug crime and usage, particularly poverty.

“Killing 100,000 pushers may decrease crime for a while, but when people continue to live in crushing poverty the urge to use narcotics as an escape mechanism, or to kill and extort in order to survive, remains constant.“

The police enter the slums and arrest and/or kill whoever is named on a list provided by the barangay (district/ward) captain, although it is rarely verified how the information was gathered, or if it is even accurate. Concurrently, the encouragement of vigilantism has given unprecedented impunity to contract killers, regardless of the purpose of the hit. The contraventions against due process within these operations also go without saying, further entrenching power in the hands of the state, pushing the poor further into the periphery.

Across the ocean, the example of Colombia demonstrates how underlying political problems can prevent effective solutions to crime. Even though the government conducted an all-out assault on the Medellin Cartel, destroying it by 1993, crime rates did not suddenly decrease, nor did narcotics operations.

Income inequality and the incapacity of the state to monopolise security resulted in the continuation of organised criminality to present. Similarly in Mexico, the collapse of certain cartels does not spell peace, as the underlying issue of “anaemic public institutions” remains unresolved.

Maximo Garcia was one day labelled a pusher by one of these lists, and hurriedly declared to the police that

In general, a greater distribution of wealth and extension of services needs to be achieved. In July, the Duterte 32

administration announced plans for rice subsidies benefitting the country’s poorest, although the effectiveness of its implementation remains unknown.

Additionally, the administration should consider its Conditional Cash Transfer program -- a targeted safety net for the countries poor and vulnerable -- and refine its scope to prevent wastage.

Moreover, the government would do well to incentivise infrastructure providers to extend critical services like electricity and water to slum districts. A concerted effort from the government and relevant private sectors is necessary to gradually lift the nation’s lowest socio-economic bracket.

From the perspective of slum residents, a more effective strategy against crime would be to include the urban poor in decision making, especially by engaging grassroots community leaders and unionists. Reinforcing and elongating the proposed rehabilitation and incarceration programs for surrendered drug users – which are often under-resourced and ineffective, further demonstrating the state’s ignorance of underlying issues – would also be critical for reducing recidivism within impoverished communities.

Failing to understand the situation of the poor, especially in urban slums, the Drug War is doomed to continue marginalising these people and trapping them between the extremes of poverty and a hail of bullets.

The crusade may destroy the current syndicates, but crime will continue to spring out of the neglected margins. If these shortcomings remain unrealised, innocent boys and girls will continue to be made unnecessary sacrifices in a brutish government policy.

Bear in the big blue dispute Dom Huntley Russia’s policy of non-involvement in the South China Sea (SCS) is now uncertain after Moscow began to participate in joint exercises with China last September.

Any joint exercises have the potential to alienate ASEAN for questionable gain, and undo Russia’s fruitful Asian policy.

How ASEAN will interpret these exercises will depend on where they take place. If the exercises occur near Hainan or another part of the sea that is internationally recognised as Chinese, there should be no real risk. The exercises would simply be a bilateral affair occurring in Chinese territory.

If they were to occur in an area that is only claimed, such as the Paracel Islands, ASEAN could interpret the exercises as an expression of Chinese claims, with Russian involvement getting them into hot water.

Until now Russia has avoided making firm statements on territorial disputes in the South China Sea, maintaining neutrality. In the wake of the 12 July Hague Ruling on overlapping claims in the SCS between China and the Philippines, Maria Zakharova, a representative from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, explicitly stated that Russia was not involved in the dispute.

Russia has pursued good relations

with both ASEAN and China. Russia and ASEAN recently signed the Sohi Deceleration in hopes of greatly increasing trade and cooperation.

The extent to which it will succeed is debatable but represents an intention to build on present ties.

More concretely Russia also maintains a strong arms relationship with Vietnam.

It is currently contracted to supply a number of vessels to the Vietnamese Navy, including the Kilo-class dieselelectric submarine, vessels which incidentally would be ideal for operations in the SCS. Russo-Chinese relations are even stronger. The two have engaged in several major military and counterterrorism exercises. They also have ongoing arms deals and joint development programs, such as in the development of 4+ and fifth generation fighter jets.

Most significant is their trade relationship, it is Russia’s largest with a single country, and for China is a major source of raw materials. Siberia, to the north of China, is increasingly significant in their long-term resource security, and has seen rising Chinese investment.

The pursuit of good relations with both sides is only possible while Russia is on neither. It is possible that Russia has accepted this, choosing ASEAN.

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Russia’s material relationship with China far exceeds that with ASEAN, and China is more important in strategic terms. If Russia needed to pay for greater Chinese support, ASEAN would be an affordable price.

However, Russia has nothing to gain from siding with China on this issue.

While the two nations often cooperate as a loose bloc, this should not be confused with some NATO-style alliance.

Russia has also so far managed to enjoy its relationship with China without needing to pay a high geopolitical price.

Perhaps most importantly, Russia in recent years has had considerable success without support from any major power. The reacquisition of Crimea and the operations in Syria were entirely Russian successes. Why does Moscow suddenly need support from Beijing?

If Russia is allowing itself to be drawn onto one side of this dispute, it is sacrificing much for little gain. RussoChinese relations have been beneficial for both countries at little cost; the cost of sacrificing Russo-ASEAN relations will not be commensurate with the gain from China.

How ASEAN responds to September’s exercises will reveal the extent of rationality in Russia’s foreign policy in Asia, and whether in this Asian Century the Russian bear will sink or swim.

2:46 PM Rashna Farrukh At 2.46PM, the most powerful earthquake in Japan’s history magnitude 9 - struck Kadowaki Elementary School. Time stopped. A black wall of water hit the school all at once, lighting it on fire.

“Every 30 years or so, the Miyagi prefecture suffers a big tsunami,” the former principal of Kadowaki Elementary school, Youko Suzuki tells us.

“In 1978, the earthquake was a magnitude 7.4. I remember being pregnant and lying down when a big cupboard fell on top of me. Bowls and dishes soon came crashing down. I can’t imagine going through that again, but somehow this was worse.”

still and remain firm. As I was counting the number of students, another siren started blaring.”

crashed against the mountain, as high as 20 metres in some places. My students were terrified.”

Out of around 300 students, 224 were in school at the time of the disaster. The youngest children were only six years old.

One student, Sachi Takahashi, was only 9 years old at the time. She is now 14 and in junior high school. As she walked down the very hill that saved her, and through a graveyard overlooking her elementary school, Mrs. Suzuki stopped to greet her.

“As snow started falling and the wind became incredibly strong, I ordered for everyone to escape to Hiriyoma mountain located directly behind the school. Just half an hour after we had evacuated the school, the powerful water

We’re standing in front of the school, located in Ishinomaki. Half a decade after 3/11, the building was still fenced off from the public, surrounded by graves and excavator trucks.

“This time we couldn’t stand still.

“I was the principal at the time. As the earthquake shook the ground underneath us, I made an announcement for everyone to gather outside, to stand 34

Soon after, Sachi came forward to greet us with her own memories of the evacuation.

“I remember all of my class members and I were told to get together outside.

We began running up the mountain where it was snowing. I couldn’t figure out what was going on until we reached the top where I could see what was happening. I had never seen anything like it - houses were broken and floating around in what used to be our school’s pool. Everything beneath us was chaotic.

“I cannot forget it.”

It is this emotional trauma that Mrs. Suzuki worries about most.

“The government has spent money on counsellors and psychologists for the region. I appreciate this but I am most concerned about the serious mental health issues children have developed after witnessing such tragedy at a young age.”

At the time, Kadowaki was one of the only schools that practiced a combined tsunami and earthquake evacuation procedure.

“Other schools would prepare for an earthquake separately to preparing for a tsunami. It also remained a ceremonial practice - not taken seriously.”

She mentions the infamous Okawa Elementary School in which 74 students and 10 teachers died because of a lack of preparedness. The school was located 12km from the sea.

A moment of silence passes.

“I was very afraid that despite preparing my students I wouldn’t be able to reach them with the information that they needed. Luckily our preparation was very effective. Our teachers remained incredibly calm, did as they had practiced, and made all 224 students safe.”

Today, there is a clear distinction between the two sides of the main road which the elementary school faces.

“5,000 people used to live in front of the school, in around 1,500 houses.”

There is nothing there now.

“The Government is not allowing people to build houses or live on that side anymore due to safety issues in the case of future tsunamis.”

Rather a 6.7 metre tall concrete wall is being constructed, to break the grunt of the impact of any future tsunamis.

“A new road is being constructed to replace the temporary one.”

Rather than demolishing the school, workers are renovating it. However, some survivors from the community don’t believe in keeping the building, citing that its facade symbolises the pain people had to endure at the time.

“Personally I would like to maintain at

She pulled out a poster from her cloth bag, pointing us in the direction of where we stand now - 800 metres from the ocean, and 500 metres from the river.

“After the earthquake the school got hit by two waves; one from the ocean, and one from the river. The inside of the tsunami was like a tornado - it had swallowed burning cars and houses which hit the school.”

The wall of water made it impossible for firefighters to try and put out the flames from the front so the only way was to go around the school, climb up the hill and shoot water down from above.

“The fire lasted for three consecutive days however they still managed to save some parts of the school, like the first graders classrooms and the gym.”

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least the centre portion of the building to commemorate the disaster.”

She hopes that the school can act as a symbol to push others to take practice evacuations and the threat of disasters more seriously.

“We are at risk of losing our collective memories of this event. We need to keep this building to deliver a message to the world of the seriousness of such disasters, and the horrors that they ensue.”

The debate around the building didn’t seem to get in the way of Mrs. Suzuki’s hopes for the future of Ishinomaki’s children.

“Having grown up after the destruction of the war, I know that wherever there is a blue sky, we can make a school. I always keep this in mind.”

Snow, spirits and Sagichou Timothy Magarry

Every year, once the snow starts to clear, the people of Katsuyama City pray for a rich harvest by holding the Sagichou Festival. The largest in the city, it has a history stretching back more than 400 years. Six metre tall wooden turrets are set up in each of the city’s twelve districts and house men and women in red kimonos playing music, making food, and dancing for the duration of the two-day festival.

The above picture marks the end of the festival, where lines of torchmen lead hundreds of people from the centre of the city to the mouth of the Kuzuryuu River. There, they set fire to a ring of enormous wooden effigies each symbolising the local deities.

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Warm diplomacy in the world’s coldest capital Harrison Rule “The sleeping giant of Asia has awakened.”

So what has changed? Why reach out to Mongolia now?

So warned Charles Morgan, the Honourable Member for Reid speaking of Asia to a deeply divided Australian parliament in the midst of the Cold War.

The importance of engagement with Asia has never been of greater strategic value than today. Following mutual recognition in 1967, diplomatic officials in Canberra were “at a loss” to describe the exact nature of Australia’s business in Mongolia. It was only recently, with the shift in focus towards the “Asian Century”, that Australia has realised the economic and strategic potential of deepening relations with powers like Mongolia.

“It has been said that he who rules or dominates Asia rules or dominates the world. As the methods and techniques of Genghis Khan are being revived … we could suddenly be embroiled in trouble.”

At the time, the image of a ruthless conqueror whose great Golden Horde toppled even the most equipped armies of Central Asia and beyond, sent shivers down the spine of Australia – a young nation that viewed itself as alone in its own region, highly reliant on far off powers for protection.

The Mongol Warlord whose empire stretched from the Caspian Sea to Siberia, has acted as a cautionary symbol in Australian Defence politics, of an Asia with an inherently aggressive and expansionist spirit. An Asia that is to be feared, placated or contained.

It thus with great irony, that Australia’s newest embassy has been erected in a city guarded by the watchful gaze of the Great Khan himself. Casted in steel and gold a stoic Genghis watched on from the wild steppes just east of Ulaanbaatar as diplomatic relations were formalised between the two unlikely partners earlier this year.

This was a move that seemed quite out of character for a sea-girt middle power that has traditionally focused its diplomatic efforts on Oceania and Southeast Asia, while consolidating its presence in Northeast Asia to a few major capitals.

With a rapidly changing global order, Australia is facing increased competition for access and influence in the region.

Larger Asian countries are becoming more central to global diplomatic decision-making and are beginning to encroach on Australia’s traditional diplomatic stomping grounds.

Mongolia presents an opportunity for deepening and broadening our relationship with Asia. The Land of Blue Skies has already backed Australia’s bid for a UN Security Council seat as well as advocated for Australian participation in important biennial diplomatic forums such as the Asia–Europe Meeting. Like other small powers squeezed between military giants, Mongolia is looking to combat its vulnerable geographic position by expanding its diplomatic networks.

By supporting Mongolia’s aspirations for involvement in the ASEAN Regional Forum as well as other international financial institutions, Australia may in return win the support and cooperation of a state in the heart of the world’s most dynamic region.

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As mineral-rich nations, both Mongolia and Australia rely heavily on Chinese importation of resources for economic prosperity. The Australian Strategic Policy Institute released a report suggesting that the two nations will find themselves in deep competition for mineral and agricultural export markets in North-east Asia. While this may in part be true, the economic relationship shared by Australia and Mongolia is in fact far more complex.

Fifty Australian companies have a presence in Mongolia, according to data released by the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, including mining giants Rio Tinto, BHP Billiton, Leighton, Xanadu Mines and Kumai Energy – all of which have significant Mongolian mineral leases and investment plans.

On the other hand, Mongolia lacks the domestic technology, wealth and expertise to capitalise on its resource potential. In a 2011 joint-statement, it was made clear by the Mongolia government that the country is looking to Australia for vocational, agricultural and legal assistance in the coming decades.

While some Australians may still be sceptical of their country’s engagement with Asia, we must depart from the political trappings of the past. The image of a terrifying Mongol horde surging towards Australia is today unfounded and laughable.

The “sleeping giant of Asia”, as the late member for Reid warned, has indeed awakened. The threat posed today, however, is not one of ideology or a PanAsian Empire, but of a failure to engage.

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