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Created by Nat on November 18, 2012, this blog is primarily for Southeast Asians, individuals of Southeast Asian descent and members of the Southeast Asian diaspora. For reblogged posts, please check the posts' tags for additional information, such as full names of people, places, etc. Content warnings are tagged with "[thing] cw" (send a message if you want something else tagged). Cinema/Film and Television tags may contain spoilers.
AI is reshaping the Philippines' outsourcing industry, raising questions over the future of the industry.
For 15 years, single mother Lisa made a living from content writing.
She began writing straight out of college, freelanced for years and eventually followed a path taken by many young Filipinos: joining a multinational in the country's booming outsourcing industry.
Lisa says she never felt the need to use artificial intelligence (AI) in her work.
"I can say that I am able to do my job, I meet deadlines. In my opinion, there is no need for [AI]," she told the BBC.
Eight months into her latest role, and one month before the position was due to become permanent, she was made redundant.
In the months before, Lisa says a public relations agency had been tasked with producing AI-generated material that she and her colleagues were asked to edit. She says her skills were used to train the AI on the company writing style.
"I feel like I dug my own grave," she says. "We were the ones who trained the artificial intelligence that replaced us."
Lisa, not her real name, is one of several former outsourcing employees the BBC spoke to who asked to remain anonymous. They signed confidentiality agreements in return for severance pay, and fear that speaking publicly could hurt their chances of finding work in an industry which has a small network.
Their experiences offer an insight into a question confronting emerging economies like the Philippines: what happens when AI begins to automate the jobs that helped lift millions of people into the middle classes?
Building an industry
Every evening around 5pm, streams of workers wearing company lanyards spill out of high-rise offices in the district of Cubao in Manila.
It's one of several areas of the capital where multinational companies have premises – providing all sorts of outsourcing work including call centres, accounting, software development and marketing copy services for clients thousands of miles away.
For over two decades, these business districts have symbolised one of the Philippines' biggest economic success stories.
Beginning in the early 2000s, the country was promoted as an English-speaking alternative to India for what's called business process outsourcing (BPO).
Successive governments offered tax incentives, invested in infrastructure and encouraged multinational companies to set up large operations.
Global groups like Accenture, Concentrix and Teleperformance built sprawling campuses, employing hundreds of thousands of Filipinos.
Today, the outsourcing industry employs roughly 1.9 million people, and generates $40bn (£30.1bn) in revenues every year, accounting for about 10% of the Philippines' economy.
But experts say the industry is disproportionately vulnerable to the impact of AI.
The International Labour Organization estimates that 12.7 million Filipinos - more than one in four workers - are employed in occupations exposed to generative AI, the highest share in South East Asia.
The organisation expects many roles to change rather than disappear but the types of service jobs that people do in the Philippines leaves it particularly at risk.
Jack Madrid, president of the IT and Business Process Association of the Philippines (IBPAP), admits that AI is being adopted by the sector.
More than two-thirds of IBPAP's members are already running AI pilots, he says.
"Agentic AI has the potential to automate at a much more accelerated pace," Madrid says. "Obviously, there's a layer of jobs that are automatable or have been automated."
But he adds that the vast majority of affected workers have been redeployed within the same organisations.
Madrid says any weakness in hiring reflects more than the impact of AI.
"We've seen a slowdown in investment decisions on whether certain job functions or processes should be offshored," he says, pointing to slower global demand and uncertainty over how companies will ultimately deploy the technology.
Even so, he acknowledges the challenge. "We cannot do enough to be prepared," he says. "The importance of reskilling" cannot be overstated.
The pressure to automate
Mary, another former content writer whose name we've changed, says her employer encouraged the use of AI as a productivity tool.
Instead of making her job easier, she says it created additional responsibilities.
"We had to edit more, fact-check more because the data AI produced was inaccurate," she says. "Technically it was more work for us."
Like Lisa, she was later made redundant.
Companies are under pressure to implement AI, to reduce costs and increase productivity, experts say.
Teleperformance, the world's largest call centre operator and one of the Philippines' biggest private employers, has said AI offers an opportunity to augment rather than replace its workforce.
The company expects AI to handle routine interactions while human agents move into more complex roles.
Teleperformance has also said it plans to retrain employees.
Accenture has similarly said that generative AI will reshape almost every job rather than eliminate positions.
The firm has promised to invest billions of dollars in AI capabilities and workforce training.
Concentrix - which is the biggest outsourcing firm in the Philippines - says its AI systems should remain under human oversight and has committed to training employees in the new technology.
Some Filipino managers are uneasy about AI and want to slow down adoption, according to Paul Quintos, from the University of the Philippines-Diliman.
They are concerned about how much of the domestic workforce might be displaced.
"But there's tremendous pressure from foreign clients to adopt AI," he says. "It's a major cost-cutting measure."
Philippine outsourcing companies compete directly with rivals in India and elsewhere for contracts from multinational corporations.
Increasingly, those clients expect suppliers not only to provide cheaper labour, but also to integrate AI into the services they deliver.
Despite hundreds of billions of dollars being invested globally in AI, Quintos says there is still limited evidence about how much productivity many workplace tools actually deliver.
"There is a term called 'AI washing'," he says.
Some layoffs are presented as being driven by AI when companies are in fact responding to weaker demand or slowing economic conditions, Quintos says.
Attributing redundancies to AI, he adds, can make restructuring appear like technological progress rather than a response to market conditions.
The next transition
Labour groups have told the BBC that existing employment laws in the Philippines govern redundancy but offer little guidance on how companies should introduce AI into workplaces or consult employees over its use.
The Philippines' outsourcing sector is also non-unionised, leaving many workers with little formal say over how new technologies are deployed.
The government says that it, and the private sector have a responsibility to retrain workers, and risks falling behind competitors like India and Singapore.
"To be completely honest, I think we're slightly behind. We have to catch up," says Leandro Aguirre of the Philippines Department of Information and Communications Technology.
"We have to double our efforts to put our people in a position where they will not be displaced but actually thrive in this growing AI race."
The government has committed to upskilling more than 300,000 outsourcing workers, but Aguirre acknowledges that the Philippines may need to rethink the economic model that helped make it an outsourcing centre.
"We relied heavily on foreign direct investment," he says. "But I think we also need to focus on local talent and local companies."
The ambition, he says, is to build home-grown AI companies capable of creating higher-value jobs.
Aguirre rejects calls for sweeping new AI legislation, arguing that existing labour, privacy and consumer protection laws can be adapted more quickly through regulatory guidance.
"The benefits of AI have to trickle down to people," he says. "It can't just benefit employers."
For more than 20 years, the Philippines built one of the world's most successful outsourcing industries by selling the skills of its people to multinational companies.
AI may not end that model, but it is certainly changing it, and risks leaving some workers behind.
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Not all victims of scam compounds are unwilling —and that’s what makes the system so hard to dismantle.
I was recently in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and approached a group of young men in front of the Indian embassy. I told them I was a University of Toronto researcher.
I asked: “Are you from the scam compounds?” Scam compounds are industrial-scale complexes where trafficked workers are confined and forced to carry out online fraud.
They were. One man in his early 30s named Akshit told me his story.
Akshit was not your typical human trafficking victim. His English is perfect, he is educated, and he has worked in banks and call centres. But he was trafficked. In 2024, a friend told him of a friend who knew about a job in Cambodia paying twice what he earned in India.
After a quick interview, he paid US$500 to fly to Phnom Penh via Kuala Lumpur. The flight and his car ride to Sihanoukville, a coastal city in southwest Cambodia, were comfortable, and on arrival at an apartment block he was given a welcome bag and a nice room. It all seemed above board.
It was anything but. He was in a scam compound where hundreds of workers sat at computers and convinced Asians and westerners to invest in fake schemes or love interests. Workers were arranged in teams of eight, led by a team leader, with a manager overseeing several teams and a Chinese criminal syndicate above them. His recruiter had sold him for US$5,000.
Labour violations
Hundreds of thousands of people have been trafficked in Cambodia and Myanmar alone. Media coverage of scam compounds has often focused on the beatings, broken bones and workers screaming as they are tasered. These outrages are real, but they are only the most extreme form of abuse.
At the core of scam compounds is a system of paid but forced labour: 15-hour days, seven days a week, multiple chats open, texting victims in English and workers’ native languages.
Akshit worked in English and Hindi, targeting southern Indians. The chats started at 10:30 a.m. — latecomers were fined — and ended at 2 a.m.
They followed a fluid but predictable script: a “developer” texts multiple clients. When they engage, he passes them on to a “chatter.” The chatter texts with the victim for three to four days, determining whether they’re interested in love or financial gain. He then passes them on to the “killer,” who seals the deal, instructing the victim on how to transfer the funds.
Akshit moved between the three roles.
The original investment would be small — around $250 — and would build from there. Once the victim had transferred enough money, it would all go quiet. The amounts varied by victim, but large transfers — hundreds of thousands of dollars or more — were rare; it was usually a few thousand.
The role of the pandemic
Scam compounds took off in Cambodia during the COVID-19 pandemic, as closed casinos and apartment blocks in cities such as Sihanoukville and the border towns of Bavet (Vietnam), Koh Kong and O’Smach (Thailand) were repurposed to house scam operations. They then spread to Myanmar (clustering along the border with Thailand) and Laos (especially the “Golden Triangle,” where Laos, Myanmar and Thailand meet).
Operations on this scale are recent, but the business model is far older: large gains based on low margins per transaction.
Billions are siphoned from victims — American losses to cryptocurrency scams alone reached US$5.6 billion in 2023 — but spread across hundreds of compounds and hundreds of thousands of workers, the returns per operation are far less impressive.
In Akshit’s team, everyone had a target of US$10,000 per month, for which they received $800; beyond that, there was a gradually increasing cut. But not everyone made the target.
Payroll sheets Akshit showed me recorded a few payouts of more than US$5,000, but many were in the low hundreds, meaning they brought in only a few thousand dollars monthly. Those who failed to make the target got less, or no, pay. Those who refused to work were abused, threatened and, in some cases, tortured.
One night, Akshit was awoken by screams several doors down. A Pakistani national had refused to comply and instead pleaded for help in texts to those he was supposed to scam. A team leader reported him, and his supervisors and security personnel used electroshock batons on him.
Illusion of shutdowns
A scam compound’s fixed costs are high once housing, food, security, transportation and team leaders’ and managers’ salaries are factored in. Forced labour makes the operation profitable. In its structural reliance on cheap labour, in fact, human trafficking in illegal scam compounds bears similarities to human trafficking in the legal fish processing or garments sectors.
The fact that so many victims come from wealthy western and East Asian countries explains the immense pressure on the Cambodian government. Hundreds of scam centres have closed since January 2026, and thousands of Chinese, South Asian, African and Indonesian workers were on the streets of Phnom Penh, struggling to get home.
But appearances deceive. Akshit’s compound was raided only after the owners had been tipped off; they moved workers to a hotel. Investigative journalist Danielle Keeton-Olsen told me in an interview that many of those released were low-level workers. Several other sources confirmed this.
What’s more, as Nathan Paul Southern from the Eyewitness Project explained to me:
“There is a huge difference between being raided and being shut down. The majority of the Prince Group (compound) closures were not raids; they just ceased operations. The cops said you need to go but keep us paid. And the doors closed.”
Much infrastructure remains, he noted, and some compounds are reportedly filling up again. The aggregate profits, generated on the back of cheap labour, are too large.
Lucrative enterprise
The total annual revenue from scams in Cambodia was US$12.9 billion in 2023, about 40 per cent of the country’s GDP. Officials throughout Cambodia — police, border guards and civil servants — receive bribes to look the other way.
Many powerful entities, including criminal organizations, businesses and politicians, have an interest in the system continuing. If scam compounds close in Cambodia, they will open elsewhere.
There is also worker agency. Some do the work voluntarily; Akshit estimates 40 per cent in his compound were willing, earning around US$5,000 per month. The figure may be exaggerated, but some clearly have an interest in the system continuing.
Globally, there are millions desperate enough to take the risk. In one form or another, scam compounds — and the trafficking that sustains them — are here to stay.
One of Singapore's oldest Indian restaurants, specialising in Southern Indian cuisine.
With its rustic charm, Samy’s Curry is one of Singapore’s oldest and truest South Indian restaurants. Spanning nearly five decades of serving free-flow biryani and other iconic dishes, Samy’s continues its time-honoured tradition of using banana leaves as a plate. A meal at Samy’s is about tradition and familiarity for the South Indian diaspora, as it is about flavour.
Singapore in the 1960s, having just gained its independence from the British and finding their footing as a small nation. Eager to make a name for themselves in the midst of ongoing conflict amongst their neighbours in South East Asia. Despite the potential of civil unrest, merchants still found the island to be a resourceful trading hub. These merchants would stay for a few months trading their spices, silk and other goods. Over time, whilst trying to assimilate into Singaporean cuisine, merchants would miss their native cuisine. As a way to navigate this problem, they hired chefs from their country. One of whom would become the owner of Samy’s Curry Restaurant.
Mr M. Veerasamy practised his craft when these merchants went to work. He found himself experimenting with new recipes and offering them to his neighbours for their thoughts. Clearly, they loved it, as his food became so popular, people requested him for weddings and celebrations. With enough encouragement, Veerasamy opened a small stall by the road. Samy’s Curry grew more popular, and he found himself moving across different parts of the island before settling the restaurant’s feet in Dempsey Road. And it has remained there for the past 50 years.
Although many decades have passed, in an instant, you will feel transported to an earlier era of Singapore when you walk into Samy’s. The restaurant’s unassuming ambience, paired with Dempsey Hill’s leafy setting, evokes a sense of timelessness. Patrons can enjoy Samy’s iconic dishes, such as their fish head curry, Masala chicken, and their free-flow briyani. Whether seated indoors or enjoying the open-air surroundings, diners are invited into a space where tradition, memory, and everyday life quietly converge.
Controversy over the law is not another chapter of legal-bureaucratic debate but a symptom of the incompleteness of Indonesia’s security sec
Indonesia, the world’s third-largest democracy, is not in the midst of a coup, nor is it under martial law. Its parliament debates legislation, civil society remains vocal, and elections continue on schedule. And yet, Jakarta seems to be clouded by a fear that, inch by inch, the country is ceding the reins of governance to the uniformed men it once thought relegated to history.
On March 20, 2025, the Indonesian parliament passed the long-awaited revisions to Law No 34 of 2004 on the Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI). The original law passed in October 2004 was a cornerstone of Indonesia’s post-authoritarian civil-military relations for more than twenty years—and thus, many lawmakers thought that the law should be updated. Yet, many saw that these revisions serve as a symbolic pushback of the post-Suharto reform consensus.
They were right to be concerned. The parliament deliberated the bill in an unconventional and accelerated manner. While most of the hearings were broadcast to the public, the definitive draft was never made public. These procedural irregularities sparked criticism from civil society groups concerned with security sector reform, such as KontraS, The National Human Rights Commission, and Imparsial.[1]
At its core, the revision was threefold. First, under the framework of military operations other than war (MOOTW), the TNI is given an expanded mandate in cyber defense and operations for the protection of Indonesian citizens and interests abroad.
Second, the list of civilian ministries or agencies open for military personnel is expanded. The new agencies include the Border Management Agency (BNPP), the Disaster Management Agency (BNPB), the Maritime Security Agency (Bakamla), Counterterrorism Agency (BNPT), and the State Prosecutors Office (Kejaksaan).[2] Other than these exceptions, soldiers are required to retire or resign their commission when they take positions in the civilian sphere.
Third, the revision also extended the retirement age of soldiers and officers. Previously, soldiers and NCOs had to retire when they reach the age of 53, and all officers at 58. The new law extends the retirement ages to 55 years old for soldiers and NCOs, 60 years old for brigadier-generals and its equivalent, 61 years old for major-generals and its equivalent, and 62 years old for lieutenant-generals and above. [3]
None of this occurred in a vacuum. Civil society groups such as KontraS, Imparsial, Komnas HAM, and others have voiced concerns about the process, arguing that the revisions held “no urgency,” and the process itself is procedurally deeply flawed as the deliberations were “conducted without meaningful participation from civic groups.”[4]
The public at large was also deeply worried that the revisions could easily pave the way for the return of the military to politics, just like during Suharto’s New Order regime (1965-1998).[5] Even retired officers, such as former president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, Agum Gumelar, and the reformist Agus Widjojo, felt compelled to voice a similar concern.
While it appears that civil society concerns on the return to the New Order are overblown, the controversy shows that Indonesia’s long history of military role in non-military affairs remains influential to the nation’s sociopolitical life.
Structural Forces
In many ways, this episode is part of the incomplete security sector reform agenda that was first put forward during the Reformasi. During the Suharto years, the military operated under the doctrine of Dwifungsi (Dual Function), in which they operated in the defense and security tasks and sociopolitical tasks, which formed the backbone for Suharto’s authoritarian rule.
After Suharto fell in 1998, the country followed a process of Reformasi (Reforms). In the security sector, the Reformasi aimed to break that spine—it sought to remove the military from politics, separate it from the police, dismantle the territorial system, and revamp the military judicial system. The Reformasi, however, never fully dismantled the military’s institutional logic. The territorial command system remains intact, and military justice reform has stalled.[6]
When the country was hit by a series of terror attacks in the early 2000s, efforts to abolish the Army’s territorial system and reform the military judicial system quickly lost steam. The state found new roles for the Army’s old system in military operations other than war (MOOTW) such as in counter-terrorism and disaster relief.[7] Meanwhile, other programs such as the village-level Army civic action projects also remained part of the military’s repertoire in rural development, albeit in a much smaller scale.
Now, necessity is once again the watchword. The Reformasi-era security sector reform agenda, so the argument goes, left a long-term problem within its ranks—namely bottlenecks and logjams within the officer corps.[8] In order to solve these organizational problems, the TNI has long floated the idea of assigning its surplus officers to civilian positions in order to solve this problem—latest by former Armed Forces Chief of Staff Hadi Tjahjanto in 2019.[9] This organizational problem is also evident in the Indonesian National Police (Polri) in 2021.[10] Back then the idea was met with strong resistance from civil society activists, who warned then president Jokowi not to revive the Dwifungsi.[11]
In October 2023, the Jokowi administration passed Law No.20 on Civil Service (UU No.20 Tahun 2023 tentang Aparatur Sipil Negara), which ultimately allowed members of the military and police from taking up “non-managerial” positions in the bureaucracy.[12] Again, civil society activists protested this law, to no avail.[13]
Perhaps, interservice rivalry is also fueling the controversy. After the Reformasi, the Polri were separated from the military, and it quickly took over many roles of territorial or dual functions that had been previously dominated by the Army.[14] In September 2019, the daily Kompas pointed out to Jokowi administration’s trend in using active duty or retired Polri officers in non-security positions as “Dwifungsi Polri.”[15] In fact—in his short speech at the Army Training Facility in Baturaja, South Sumatra, Army Chief of Staff Maruli Simanjuntak also alluded to the unbridled spread of this “other institution.”[16]
To be fair, there are valid institutional and geopolitical reasons for the military’s role in non-military affairs, particularly in the spheres of disaster management, border management, and maritime security. Just like other countries, Indonesia’s disaster management and SAR agency, the BNPB and Basarnas, has always relied upon support from the military in times of crisis. Indonesia has also long suffered in the sphere of cybersecurity.[17] Further, a renewed attention to maritime security is of fundamental importance for Indonesia, as the country engages with China’s grey-zone tactics in the South China Sea, which lies north of its Natuna Islands.[18]
Indonesia’s evolving civil-military dynamics must also be understood within the broader context of a shifting global order. The collapse of the American-led liberal international system and the concurrent rise of powers like China and Russia—alongside the growing influence of the BRICS bloc, which Indonesia has just recently joined—have fostered an international environment that is increasingly permissive of illiberal governance. This geopolitical realignment not only emboldens leaders to challenge liberal democratic norms but also provides ideological and institutional models for centralized, security-driven governance.
Emerging Dynamics
The inauguration of Prabowo Subianto and Gibran Rakabuming Raka has garnered attention from experts who raised fears that Indonesia’s Reformasi agenda is falling apart in its seams as the country falls into further democratic backsliding.[19]
In 2025, the V-Dem Institute recently categorized Indonesia as an “electoral autocracy,” claiming that the country’s democracy is at the lowest since the beginning of the 21st century. [20] Others, however, are more optimistic, arguing that the country’s decentralized and fragmented democracy is actually keeping wannabe autocrats from exercising total control.[21]
Recent developments, however, show that, we are witnessing a deepening securitization of the state under Prabowo. This phenomenon is both a result of the incompleteness of the Reformasi era security sector reform agenda and a continuation of recent patterns incurred by the country’s previous administration under Joko Widodo (Jokowi).
As a former military man, Prabowo has a penchant for parades, drills, and uniforms, and he is not ashamed to show it to the world—or to those working for him. In what The Economist has called as a “bizarre initiation ritual,” he gathered his cabinet members—complete with Army fatigues and combat boots—for a retreat in the Military Academy at Magelang, Central Java. [22]
During this “ritual,” Prabowo constantly hemmed the importance of what he calls the “military way” of discipline and loyalty to the nation-state to his cabinet members. [23] He did the same thing with the four hundred and eighty newly-elected regional heads, including provincial governors, regents, and mayors from across the country.[24]
Prabowo is also more open to the use of military and police forces in his policies. To be fair, Jokowi’s administration was also marked by the extensive use of TNI and Polri members in his ministries—according to one report, there were 2,569 active-duty officers in various bureaucratic appointments during Jokowi’s tenure.[25]
But this trend only accelerated with Prabowo. Out of the 136 ministers, deputies, and agency heads in Prabowo’s cabinet, at least twenty-four are active and retired officers from the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Police.[26] Since October 2024, mid-rank and flag officers have taken positions in various ministries, such as the Ministry of Transportation, Ministry of Agriculture, The Hajj Agency, and most recently, the State Logistics Agency.[27] Civil society activists have decried these as a deep violation of Law No.34 of 2004 on the TNI.[28]
Compared to its predecessor, Prabowo is also less shy in overtly mustering the military’s capacities to support his hallmark projects, such as the nationwide free food program (Makan Bergizi Gratis, MBG) and the Food Estate programs in Sumatra, Kalimantan, and Papua. The agency responsible for the free food program, the National Nutrition Agency, is dominated by retired military officers.[29] Meanwhile, many of its new cadres—projected to be 32,000-strong—are being trained in the Indonesian Defense University.[30]
TNI units are also directly participating in Prabowo’s hallmark projects. In support of the MBG, many of the Army’s territorial commands were deployed in overseeing and constructing the public kitchens for the program, such as in Southeast Sulawesi.[31] In supporting its food estate projects, the TNI is establishing 100 new “Territorial Development Battalions,” which will be equipped with company-sized units specializing in agriculture, fisheries, and animal husbandry.[32] Meanwhile, the TNI is also involved in a leading role in forestry management through the new Taskforce for Forestry.[33]
Most recently, Prabowo gathered two hundred mid-rank officers at his personal estate in Bogor, where they received training on economics, business, and finance from lecturers and professors at the University of Indonesia, Bandung Technological Institute, and Prasetya Mulya—an odd move that made the investigative weekly Tempo to suspect that they are being prepared to take positions in various state- and Ministry of Defense-owned enterprises. [34]
The military and police’s gradual reentry into non-security roles—a tenet once so central to Suharto’s New Order regime and was revived under Jokowi—is quickly gaining momentum under Prabowo. If these trends of centralization and securitization are kept unchecked, we are perhaps looking at further autocratization in the world’s third largest democracy.
Three Possible Futures?
Considering the current evidence, inherent structural forces, and emerging dynamics discussed above, there are three possible trajectories for the future of Indonesian civil-military relations under Prabowo, namely consolidation, escalation, or a rollback of current trends.
In the first scenario—which is the consolidation of the current status quo, we are looking at a limited but continuous proliferation of active-duty military and police officers in the various civilian ministries and agencies, with exceptions provided by the president / government in areas deemed necessary for the administrations’ strategic programs. This means there will be continued appointment of active and retired military and police officers in non-security roles, such as in the bureaucracy. Meanwhile, there will be an expansion of military and police resources used for Prabowo’s hallmark projects, such as the free food and food estate programs in Kalimantan and Papua.
Shifting the problem into the civilian sphere only masks the officer logjam without addressing the structural deficiencies within the TNI and Polri officer corps. Securitization of governance solves short term administrative gaps but creates long-term vulnerabilities. Civilian agencies like Basarnas, Bakamla, and BNPB will grow dependent rather than capable. Indonesia will not get its own FEMA or Coast Guard so long as the military and the police continues to occupy the void. Nor will it build a robust cybersecurity regime if the digital domain is monitored by those trained for kinetic conflict.
Continued military and police domination in the fields of intelligence, cyber and cryptography, disaster management, search and rescue, border patrol, and maritime security will ultimately inhibit the growth of institutional professionalism in those domains. In the long run, this will not help Indonesia face its immediate security challenges in the cyber, disaster resilience, and maritime domains. Even the military’s own effectiveness erodes, as its core mission—external defense—is diluted by domestic affairs. Ultimately, the gradual yet persistent levels of securitization will affect the country’s sociopolitical condition, leading to further democratic backsliding. So far, this is the most likely scenario.
In comparative terms, this “soft consolidation” scenario echoes patterns seen in other countries, such as Turkey under Erdoğan—not because the military remains politically autonomous, but because security institutions became deeply embedded in governance. In Turkey, Erdoğan used the failed 2016 coup as a pretext to purge the armed forces and bring them further under executive control. Elections continue, but under conditions where security apparatuses have been absorbed into a centralized, illiberal executive.
The second scenario sees the escalation of military and police encroachment into nearly all aspects of governance—an acceleration of current trends into outright securitized rule. We will see an increased placement of active-duty and retired military and police officers in civilian positions, a heavy usage of military and police forces as a “reserve army” for governmental projects that are not directly related to military or security affairs—such as cultural or public information programs. This solves the military’s organizational problem of logjams as the military is allowed to allocate officers to civilian positions and to new units assigned to territorial or developmental tasks.
There will be strong civil society pushback in this scenario as the trauma of the New Order regime remains firmly planted in the minds of Indonesians. Perhaps we will also see an uptick in regional resistance and agrarian conflict in areas heavily impacted by the central government’s policies, such as in Papua, or possibly Northern Sumatra and Aceh.
Institution-wise, military professionalism is heavily impacted by the enmeshing of civil-military spheres, particularly in the six domains mentioned in the previous scenario. The TNI and Polri’s capacity and effectiveness as a fighting and policing force—and ultimately its capability to provide deterrence against external enemies or criminals—withers away as security agencies become agents of development. Most importantly, the democratic system will not survive this accelerated and rapid securitization of the state, thus leading to a higher degree of autocratization. This scenario is possible, but unlikely.
This more aggressive path of militarization would place Indonesia closer to post-2014 Thailand. Back then, the Thai military did not only staged a coup, but embedded itself in governance through constitutional engineering, bureaucratic appointments, and civilian repression. Though elections eventually resumed, they were tightly controlled, and democratic oversight never fully recovered. In a more extreme case of this pathway, Indonesia could become Myanmar, where democratic institutions served as a transitional façade for military retrenchment. The Tatmadaw tolerated civilian rule only so long as it did not threaten its prerogatives—until it seized power outright in 2021. While Indonesia’s political institutions and civil society are stronger and its public more mobilized, these examples show how quickly a security-led governance may become entrenched once the military’s civilian role is normalized and protected by law.
Rollback remains the least likely, yet most necessary path. The closest analogies are post-Pinochet Chile and late 1980s South Korea. This third scenario would require judicial checks, political will, legislative courage, and meaningful civic mobilization. It would mean not only repealing laws, but also substantially reforming the security institutions, dismantling territorial commands, and building civilian expertise from scratch. It would also require facing the truth: after Reformasi, Indonesia never truly ended its security-first mindset.
In this scenario the territorial system is dismantled and replaced with bases with forward-deployed troops in strategic bases. Improvements in civilian oversight would also allow the TNI to benefit from an influx of external expertise in talent management—thus allowing them to address its promotional logjam problems through revised promotional systems, accelerated retirements, and redirection of military officers to other institutions.
The gradual withdrawal of military and police professionals from foreign intelligence, cybersecurity, cryptography, disaster management, search and rescue, border management, and maritime security ultimately provides the opportunity for these institutions to build their own institutional culture and professionalism leading to increased effectiveness. Of course, they will maintain a close relationship with the military and police as supporting elements.
Additional measures could include stricter regulation of post-retirement appointments through mandatory waiting periods and further legislative reforms—such as on the law on the military judicial system, Polri, and others—that would limit military and police roles in non-security affairs. In this scenario, the government would be desecuritized and Indonesia could begin to restore its democratic principles that have eroded in recent years.
A democratic rollback of military and police influence—however remote—would require a path more akin to Chile in the 1990s or South Korea in the 1980s, where sustained public mobilization, elite negotiation, and international pressure converged to restore civilian supremacy. In both cases, rollback was not organic—it was engineered through plebiscites, constitutional amendments, civilian institution-building, and the slow erosion of securitized governance. If Indonesia is to pursue this path, it must first reckon with its unfinished Reformasi and confront the quiet normalization of security-first governance.
The recent controversy over the law is not merely another chapter of legal-bureaucratic debate. It is a symptom of the incompleteness of Indonesia’s security sector reforms that first began during the Reformasi years. By revising one of the last remaining symbols of Reformasi-era security sector reform, the current administration has opened the gates to military and police expansion once more. For civil society, one thing is clear: whether by drift or by design, the generals are back.
Norman Joshua
Hoover Institution, Stanford University
[2] The original bodies were : Coordinating Ministry for Political and Security Affairs, Defense, Presidential Military Secretary, State Intelligence, Cryptography Agency, National Resilience Institute, National Defense Council, National Search and Rescue, Narcotics Agency, and the Supreme Court. See https://www.tempo.co/politik/-hasil-revisi-uu-tni-tentara-aktif-akan-lebih-banyak-menduduki-lembaga-sipil-1220723
[6] Marcus Mietzner. Military Politics, Islam, and the State in Indonesia: From Turbulent Transition to Democratic Consolidation. Singapore: ISEAS. 2009.
[7] Muhamad Haripin. Civil Military Relations in Indonesia; The politics of military operations other than war. New York: Routledge. 2020.
[8] Laksmana, Evan A. 2019. “Reshuffling the Deck? Military Corporatism, Promotional Logjams and Post-Authoritarian Civil-Military Relations in Indonesia.” Journal of Contemporary Asia 49 (5): 806–36. doi:10.1080/00472336.2019.1613556.
[18] Arif, Muhamad, Arie Afriansyah, Tangguh Chairil, and Gita Ardi Lestari. “Grey Zone Conflict in the South China Sea: The Challenges for Indonesian Maritime Security Governance.” Contemporary Southeast Asia: A Journal of International and Strategic Affairs 46, no. 3 (2024): 407-434. https://muse.jhu.edu/article/949720.
[19] Paul Marshall, “Will Prabowo’s Election End Indonesia’s Era Reformasi?,” The Diplomat, October 7, 2024, https://thediplomat.com/2024/10/will-prabowos-election-end-indonesias-era-reformasi/.
[20] Nord, Marina, David Altman, Fabio Angiolillo, Tiago Fernandes, Ana Good God, and Staffan I. Lindberg. 2025. Democracy Report 2025: 25 Years of Autocratization-Democracy Trumped? University of Gothenburg: V-Dem Institute. https://www.v-dem.net/documents/60/V-dem-dr__2025_lowres.pdf
[21] Ben Bland, “Indonesia’s Democracy Is Stronger Than a Strongman,” Foreign Affairs, February 13, 2024.
[22] “Yes Sir: A Bizarre Initiation Ritual for Indonesia’s Cabinet,” The Economist, October 31, 2024, https://www.economist.com/asia/2024/10/31/yes-sir-a-bizarre-initiation-ritual-for-indonesias-cabinet.
[23] Achmad Ibrahim and Edna Tarigan, “Indonesia’s New President and Ministers Begin a Military-Style Retreat Which Includes Morning Drills,” AP, accessed November 17, 2024, https://apnews.com/article/indonesia-prabowo-subianto-military-retreat-af8cec0a57ba334a1f39912e89d1609a.
[25] Mis Fransiska Dewi, “Di Era Jokowi, Ada 2.569 Perwira TNI Duduki Jabatan Sipil,” Bloomberg Technoz, October 9, 2024, https://www.bloombergtechnoz.com/detail-news/51195/di-era-jokowi-ada-2-569-perwira-tni-duduki-jabatan-sipil.
[26] Adhi Priamarizki and Muhamad Haripin, “A Most Militarised Cabinet,” New Mandala, November 13, 2024, https://www.newmandala.org/a-most-militarised-cabinet/.
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Forgotten forts that were pivotal in Singapore’s military history.
Seemingly forgotten in the ever-changing and bustling city of Singapore, the forts of Sentosa stand as remnants of a bygone era. Despite having played pivotal and strategic roles in most of Singapore’s conflicts, the forts are the last of their kind in this small country. Fort Seranpong, Fort Connaught and Mount Imbiah Battery deserve just as much recognition as their larger counterpart: Fort Siloso.
Named after the hill, Fort Seranpong became fully operational in 1887. In the early 1940s, during the midst of the Second World War, it was manned by the joint artillery of Hong Kong and Singapore. Although it was operational, a lack of records suggests it never fired at enemy forces. (Coincidentally, it was also then bombed by them). In an attempt to prevent the Japanese from using the fort, British engineers destroyed the battery and its gun just before surrendering to them. However, with reconstruction, the fort was last used in the 1960s during the confrontation known as Konfrontasi.
Nestled in Sentosa’s golf club, Fort Connaught tranquilly remains hidden in the jungle. Formerly known as Blakang Mati East Battery, in honour of Duke Connaught’s visit to the country, Singapore renamed it. Despite Japan’s widely recognised naval advantage, it attacked Singapore overland through Malaya rather than by sea. Unbeknownst to the enemy forces, the guns at the fort could be turned to face them. Although this was a clever technical advantage, Singapore surrendered. Fortunately, the site would not be used again after the war; however, it remains forgotten. The site has sadly been in decay since, due to the redevelopment of the island for commercial usage in the 1960s.
Just adjacent to its famous sibling (Fort Siloso), engineer Colonial Henry McCallum commissioned Mount Imbiah Battery and oversaw its construction in 1878. Chinese coolies working on the fort hauled heavy artillery and other equipment through an intense parbuckling system, as no roads led up to the hill. Just like Fort Connaught, the guns could turn and face the north. Despite the impressive artillery installed, it would prove no match for Japan’s ironclad warships. By the 1960s, the guns of Fort Siloso and Mount Imbiah Battery became non-operational.
Though built to guard the seas, Sentosa’s forts stand as reminders of Singapore’s gruelling experience during the Second World War. While they may not boast a bold presence, their quiet history forms an essential part of the nation’s story.
A hidden hot spring in Singapore with a surprising history.
A small island, situated on the equator, with temperatures averaging nearly 30°C; the last thing on most people’s minds? A hot spring. To the surprise of tourists and even locals, hidden in the northern jungles of Singapore is Sembawang Hot Spring Park. In its prime, it was known for its “mystic” powers, true or not; many flocked to use it. Despite having multiple renovations over the years, it still retains its Kampong rustic charm!
In the early 20th century, Sembawang was just a dense forest. Perfect for cultivating crops like pepper, coconut, and rubber. A Chinese merchant, Seah Eng Keong, followed in the footsteps of his famous father, Seah Eu Chin, a successful owner of plantations. Keong established a pineapple plantation. In the jungle, secretly bubbling away, he noticed steaming water emerging from the ground. He found three springs in proximity and merged them into one. Thus, in 1909, the site became the Sembawang Hot Spring. Eventually, word spread, and many flocked to see the site, as this is the first of its kind on mainland Singapore. Unfounded or not, rumours began that the spring had healing properties. The area was then named Kampong Ayer Panas — the Village of Hot Water.
As time passed, the hot spring underwent multiple acquisitions. In 1922, the popular local soft drink brand Fraser & Neave (F&N) established a bottling plant to tap the mineral water. However, once the Second World War hit Singapore, operations were temporarily ceased due to nearby aerial bombing. In 1942, sadly, enemy forces seized the region. Onsen culture forms a significant part of Japanese life, with roots stretching back to ancient times. Assimilating Singapore into one of their colonies, Japanese forces converted the bottling plant into their own onsen. Thankfully, at the end of the war, Singaporean locals returned to their hot spring. In the 1960s, it was thriving, and rumours began that you could have “good luck” baths. To cash in on this luck, gamblers would have these baths before the start of horse races. Villagers loved the hot spring so much that it became a part of Sembawang’s way of life, and even encouraged the authorities over the years to develop the area into an onsen resort. However, the idea was shelved as geologists could not locate the source of the spring. The lack of commercial interest resulted in the hot spring losing popularity.
The site began to catch the locals’ attention again, drawing people back with fresh curiosity. In 2002, with enough interest from locals, the community leaders of Sembawang understood what their residents wanted. With signatures from locals, they petitioned authorities to preserve the hot spring and keep it open. The Ministry of Defence, which acquired the land, was going to close it to the public. Today, the area has public access, making it easier for visitors to enter. Changes to the site were made, for example: there is a separate station to boil your eggs in (onsen eggs, as they are called), instead of having eggs and feet in the same pool. It is worth remembering that, as it is a hot spring, the temperatures reach an average of 70°C (almost 160 degrees Fahrenheit), and there have been cases of scalding. Despite these incidents, locals continue to frequent and enjoy the site.
Prabowo’s tilt toward Trump signals a risky transactional turn—polishing his image while risking Indonesia’s diplomatic autonomy.
The Indonesian public has grown increasingly uneasy with President Prabowo Subianto’s foreign policy pivot toward the United States. From Indonesia’s decision to join the Board of Peace (BoP) initiated by Donald Trump to the signing of the Agreement on Reciprocal Trade (ART) on February 19, 2026, the trajectory is clear: Jakarta is tilting towards Washington at a cost many fear will be borne by ordinary Indonesians.
Prabowo once framed his diplomacy as rooted in resilience, autonomy, and national interests. However, in practice, his recent manoeuvres suggest a readiness to align closely with Trump’s agenda, even if it means diluting Indonesia’s bargaining position.
Prabowo’s efforts to draw Indonesia closer to the US under the Trump’s administration raise serious doubts about his underlying motives. Rather than clearly advancing long-term national interests, these efforts appear driven by transactional calculations and short-term gains.
Rehabilitating personal image at the public expense
Prabowo was barred from entering the US for a decade over alleged human rights violations tied to 1998. The ban was lifted in 2020 when he served as Indonesian Defence Minister during which Trump first served his tenure.
The lifting of the ban drew harsh criticism from human rights groups such as Amnesty International for providing impunity over the violations he was accused of. It was also condemned by prominent US lawmakers like Senator Patrick Leahy, author of the US human rights legislation known as the Leahy Law, who stated Prabowo was legally ineligible to enter the country.
Today, his closeness to Trump signals more than diplomacy. Rather, it also suggests a personal redemption arc playing out on the global stage – from a figure who was once rejected by Washington to one who now stands shoulder to shoulder with the White House.
Trump’s public praise of Prabowo as a “tough” leader at the BoP Summit was symbolically powerful.
What is unfolding looks less like statecraft and more like image management. Indonesia’s foreign policy appears to be repurposed as a vehicle to polish Prabowo’s international standing.
Trump and Prabowo: transactional power over principles
Trump’s foreign policy stance is defined by transactional deals and loyalty politics, moving far from human rights issues or democratic values, which were previously the main guidelines for his predecessors in conducting foreign policy. Prabowo’s leadership style appears strikingly compatible.
In international relations, transactionalism or transactional diplomacy refers to a strategy that prioritises short-term gains and treats statecraft much like a business deal. It favours bilateral over multilateral agreements, with a tendency towards a zero-sum world view, disregarding value-based policy-making and longer-term strategic diplomatic goals.
Eric Jones writes in The Jakarta Post that Prabowo-Trump relationship reflects a “strongman’s mirror” – a psychological and political alignment between two leaders who view power as something personalised, not institutional. Trump relies on loyalty and patronage, while Prabowo appears comfortable with similar transactional logic. Both project a performative, personality-driven style of leadership.
This model could work to Prabowo’s advantage. Under Trump, lingering human rights concerns regarding Prabowo are no longer a diplomatic obstacle. The recent trade agreement, which reduces Indonesia’s export tariffs to the US from 32% to 19%, could even be framed as a quick diplomatic win for Prabowo, in line with transactional diplomacy’s emphasis on tangible, immediate outcomes.
The compatibility between Trump’s and Prabowo’s leadership styles could therefore produce smoother, more flexible ties than if the US were led by an administration that prioritises institutional norms and liberal values.
A risky departure from Indonesia’s free-and-active tradition
Indonesia’s long-standing “free-and-active” (bebas-aktif) foreign policy has defined its identity since independence and emphasised strategic autonomy amid great-power rivalry. For many Indonesians, Prabowo’s alignment with Trump’s transactional approach has drawn criticism and anger, as it signals a shift away from that principle and may erode diplomatic independence.
The decision to join the Board of Peace has also sparked concerns over potentially weakening Indonesia’s position as one of the first countries to support Palestinian independence.
No deals at the cost of sovereignty
Closer ties with the US under Trump’s controversial leadership do not automatically betray Indonesia’s national interest. However, overreliance on transactionalism, at the expense of enduring principles, risks making the relationship volatile. The recent pushback by the US Supreme Court against Trump’s tariff policy shows how quickly US policy can change.
Indonesia’s real strength lies not in personal ties to certain leaders, but in its consistency in maintaining autonomy and balance. Its free-and-active politics is a strategic asset, not a slogan to be traded for short-term legitimacy at the cost of credibility and sovereignty.
14th century Temasek Wreck uncovers Singapore’s early trading port with 3.5 tonnes of Chinese ceramics, including rare blue-and-white porcel
A four-year maritime excavation off the coast of Singapore has produced the earliest known shipwreck in the country’s waters and strong evidence of a busy trading port in the 14th century. The vessel, known as the Temasek Wreck, sank sometime between 1340 and 1352. At that time, Singapore was called Temasek and functioned as an entrepot linking regional and long-distance trade networks.
Between 2016 and 2019, archaeologists recovered about 3.5 tonnes of ceramic cargo from the seabed. Most of the material consists of broken shards, yet the team also retrieved a small number of intact or nearly intact pieces. The haul includes around 136 kilograms of blue-and-white porcelain from Jingdezhen, more than any other documented shipwreck has yielded. Longquan celadon, qingbai or shufu ware from Jingdezhen, whiteware from Dehua, greenware from Fujian kilns, and brown stoneware jars from Cizao formed part of the cargo as well.
Dr. Michael Flecker of Heritage SG (a subsidiary of the Singapore National Heritage Board) analyzed the assemblage in a study published in the Journal of International Ceramic Studies. He examined decorative styles, kiln origins, and production histories to narrow the date of the ship’s final voyage. Several blue-and-white bowls display a repeated motif of mandarin ducks swimming in a lotus pond. Production of this design appears to have been limited to a short span during the Yuan dynasty before unrest disrupted kiln activity. This places the sinking in the mid-14th century.
Although no remains of the wooden hull survived, the nature of the cargo and regional trade patterns point to a Chinese junk likely loaded in Quanzhou. The mix of high-quality tableware and large storage jars suggests a merchant vessel carrying both luxury goods and containers for bulk commodities.
The intended destination becomes clearer when the ceramics are compared with finds from land excavations in Singapore. Decorative patterns on smaller bowls and vases match fragments unearthed at Fort Canning and other sites. Large blue-and-white platters measuring 40 to 50 centimeters across were popular in India and the Middle East during this period. None appear in the Temasek cargo. The dishes on the wreck measure under 35 centimeters. This absence supports the view that the ship was headed for Temasek rather than the Indian Ocean.
The cargo offers a tightly dated snapshot of trade goods circulating in Southeast Asia during the Yuan dynasty. Because the assemblage represents a single shipment from a narrow time frame, researchers view the material as a reference collection for identifying less well-documented finds elsewhere.
For decades, popular accounts described precolonial Singapore as a small fishing settlement. Archaeological work over the past few decades has presented a different picture. The Temasek Wreck adds maritime evidence to that record. A ship carrying several tonnes of ceramics and a concentration of high-grade blue-and-white porcelain did not sail to an isolated village. The finds point to an active port integrated into regional exchange networks centuries before 1819.
More information: Flecker, M. (2025). The Temasek Wreck ceramics cargo: Yuan blue-and-white porcelain, celadon and other ceramics found in Singapore waters. Journal of International Ceramic Studies, 1(1), 100013. doi:10.1016/j.joics.2025.100013
More than 40 progressive lawmakers could be barred from politics for life, but the election results show support for pro-democracy parties r
Thailand’s prime minister, Anutin Charnvirakul, will almost certainly stay in the job after a surprise result in last week’s elections saw his conservative Bhumjaithai Party win the most seats in the lower house.
The outcome was another significant setback for the progressive People’s Party – and Thailand’s pro-democracy movement more broadly.
While the People’s Party made some missteps in the campaign, the election demonstrates, yet again, the immense hurdles faced by progressive, democratic parties in a country where pro-military and pro-monarchy forces have outsized influence in politics.
The People’s Party finished second after leading in most pre-election polls. It will now be the primary opposition party in the country.
The formerly powerful Pheu Thai party came a distant third, and agreed to join the Bhumjaithai-led ruling coalition.
So, what does the election mean for the direction of a country? And what’s next for the pro-democracy movement that has attempted for years to bring reforms to the country?
Who is Anutin Charnvirakul?
Anutin took over the Bhumjaithai Party from his father, a former acting premier, in 2014. He had already followed his father into the family construction business, one of Thailand’s biggest.
Anutin came to national prominence as the key backer of legalisation that decriminalised cannabis, although he has since distanced himself from the issue in a bid to appeal to more conservative voters.
Anutin rose to the premiership last year after the previous prime minister, Paetongtarn Shinawatra, was removed from office for purportedly being too conciliatory towards Cambodia over an ongoing border dispute.
Anutin was elected prime minister in the parliament with the surprise backing of the People’s Party, in exchange for the promise of constitutional reform.
This elevated Anutin’s previously provincial Bhumjaithai Party to be a national-level player. It also allowed him to attract influential defectors from other parties to consolidate his position.
Support for his government dropped in early December due to the mishandling of floods in southern Thailand and alleged connections of his government to transnational scam criminals.
Soon after, Anutin launched preemptive airstrikes against Cambodia over their border dispute. This boosted nationalist sentiment among the public and providing a welcome distraction from domestic pressures.
With the People’s Party looking ready to withdraw support from the ruling coalition, Anutin then dissolved parliament and called early elections.
The airstrikes, drone attacks and ground clashes continued for the next few weeks along the border, ensuring national security would be a key election theme. This worked in favour of the conservatives, but provided challenges for the People’s Party.
Do progressive stand a chance in Thailand?
Many of the People’s Party’s problems are rooted in the struggles of predecessor parties to gain a toehold in Thai politics.
In the last election in 2023, the Move Forward Party won the most seats. But its popular leader was prevented from becoming prime minister by conservative forces in Thai society.
Thailand’s Constitutional Court then dissolved the party. This followed a pattern: its predecessor, the Future Forward party, was dissolved after its strong showing in the 2019 election.
Within 24 hours of the polls closing last week, the National Anti-Corruption Commission unanimously ruled that 44 former lawmakers from the Move Forward party committed gross ethical misconduct by proposing amendments to the Criminal Code’s Section 112. This is the lèse majesté law that carries stiff penalties for insulting or defaming Thailand’s monarchy.
The lawmakers, which include the People’s Party leader, Natthaphong Ruengpanyawut, and 14 other newly elected party MPs, could face lifetime bans from politics.
Did support collapse for the People’s Party?
Although Bhumjaithai handily won the election, capturing nearly 200 seats out of 500 in the lower house, the voting data suggest the People’s Party did not haemorrhage support to Bhumjaithai, as various news headlines made it seem.
Under the military-authored 2017 constitution, Thailand’s lower house elections include 400 individual constituency seats elected by first-past-the-post and 100 party list seats elected by proportional representation.
Bhumjaithai did very well in rural and regional constituency seats, where alleged vote-buying and patronage networks are more prevalent.
Some groups across the country have demanded national recounts following reports of electoral irregularities, in addition to the release of vote counts from polling stations and the re-running of some races.
However, the People’s Party leader has acknowledged that even if there were irregularities, they wouldn’t have been substantial enough to change the outcome.
The party’s support in constituency seats was mostly concentrated in cosmopolitan centres with more educated urban voters, such as Bangkok, where it swept all 33 seats. However, it struggled to win seats in rural and regional areas.
In the national party list vote, though, the progressive party emerged clear winners. It earned around 30% of the national vote, compared with only 18% for Bhumjaithai in second place.
This suggests some people split their votes, supporting a Bhumjaithai candidate for their local seat and the People’s Party in the party list. Unfortunately for the People’s Party, the party list MPs only comprise one-fifth of the lower house.
In a small silver lining for progressive forces, a referendum on amending the constitution (held at the same time as the election) passed easily.
But Anutin and the conservatives are now in control of the drafting and approval process, which they could draw out for years. And in their hands, it may not deliver the changes sought by progressives anyway.
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Myanmar says The Gambia has failed to provide enough evidence of genocide against the Muslim-minority people.
Myanmar has denied committing genocide against the Ronhingya people, saying The Gambia has failed to provide enough proof, as it begun its defence at the UN's top court.
Ko Ko Hlaing, a Myanmar government representative, told judges at the International Court of Justice (ICJ) that the allegation was "unsubstantiated".
Earlier this week, The Gambia's foreign minister Dawda Jallow told the court Myanmar wanted to erase the minority Muslim population through its use of "genocidal policies".
Thousands of Rohingya were killed and more than 700,000 fled to neighbouring Bangladesh during an army crackdown in Myanmar in 2017.
A damning report issued by the UN the following year said top military figures in Myanmar must be investigated for genocide in Rakhine state and crimes against humanity in other areas.
Myanmar - which has been under military control since it overthrew the civilian government in 2021 - rejected the report and has consistently said its operations targeted militant or insurgent threats.
On Friday, Hlaning told the ICJ that "Myanmar was not obliged to remain idle and allow terrorists to have free reign of northern Rakhine states", where the majority of Rohingya lived.
"These attacks were the reasons for the clearance operations, which is a military term referring to counter-insurgency or counter-terrorism operations," Hlaing said.
The Gambia launched its case against Myanmar in 2019, with Jallow telling the ICJ it did so out of a "sense of responsibility" following its own experience with a military government.
Jallow told the court on Monday that the Rohingya "had suffered decades of appalling persecution and years of dehumanising propaganda", which was followed by the military crackdown and "continual genocidal policies meant to erase their existence in Myanmar".
Lawyers for the Muslim-majority West African country also argued that the killing of women, children and the elderly, along with the destruction of their villages, was hard to justify under combatting terrorism.
"When the court considers... all of the evidence taken together, the only reasonable conclusion to reach is that a genocidal intent permeated and informed Myanmar's myriad of state-led actions against the Rohingya," said Philippe Sands, arguing for The Gambia, which has the backing of 57-nation Organisation of Islamic Cooperation in its action.
More than a million Rohingya refugees now live across the border in Bangladesh's Cox's Bazar region alone - some of the largest and most densely populated camps in the world, according to the UN's refugee agency.
Hlaing - the Myanmar government representative - said on Friday that it was committed to "achieving the repatriation to Myanmar of persons from Rakhine State currently living in camps in Bangladesh". But he also said external forces, such as Covid-19, had hampered those efforts.
"Myanmar's commitment and constant efforts since 2017 contradict Gambia's narrative that Myanmar's intention is to destroy or forcibly deport this population," Hlaing told the court.
He added that "a finding of genocide would place an indelible stain on my country and its people", so the outcome was of "fundamental importance for my country's reputation and future".
The court has also set aside three days to hear from witnesses, including Rohingya survivors, but these sessions will be closed to the public and media.
A final ruling is expected towards the end of 2026, Reuters news agency reported.
It is expected to set a precedent in other genocide cases, including one brought by South Africa against Israel over the war in Gaza, as it is the first to be heard in more than a decade - and is being seen as an opportunity for ICJ judges to refine rules around the definition of genocide.
The 1948 UN Genocide Convention, which The Gambia accuses Myanmar of breaching in its treatment of the Rohingya, was adopted following the mass murder of Jews by Nazi Germany during the Second World War. It defines genocide as crimes committed "with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group".
Singh, who was convicted for lying to MPs, has always maintained his innocence.
Singapore's Leader of the Opposition in parliament, Pritam Singh, has been stripped of his title by the prime minister following a vote by lawmakers.
The vote took place on Wednesday in parliament, which is overwhelmingly dominated by the ruling People's Action Party (PAP).
The move follows Singh's conviction for lying under oath to a parliamentary committee. Singh has consistently maintained his innocence.
He remains a member of parliament and secretary-general of the largest opposition party, Workers' Party (WP), but will lose privileges such as additional allowances and the right of first reply during parliamentary debates.
Singh's case stands out as one of the only criminal convictions against a sitting opposition lawmaker. He was also the first person to hold the title of Leader of the Opposition.
Critics have previously accused Singapore's government of using the judiciary to go after its political opponents - charges authorities have always denied.
On Wednesday, Indranee Rajah, the Leader of the House who had initiated the debate, said that Singh's lies "strike at the trust" Singaporeans place in parliament and accused him of "failing to take responsibility".
Singh defended himself during the debate, saying that his "conscience remains clear" and disagreed with the debate's resolution that his behaviour was "dishonourable and unbecoming". He also vowed to continue his work as an MP.
After three hours of debate, the parliament backed a motion that agreed Singh should not be the Leader of the Opposition. All 11 present WP members voted against it.
The parliament also agreed to review the implications for two other WP lawmakers at another time.
On Thursday, Prime Minister Lawrence Wong said in light of Singh's conviction and the vote that it was "no longer tenable" for him to continue as the Leader of the Opposition.
He also invited the WP to nominate another of their MPs to take the title.
In response to BBC queries over text messaging, Singh responded with a single word: "#WeContinue".
The WP said it will deliberate on the move and respond "in due course". It previously said it would conduct an internal review of whether Singh contravened their rules.
The party holds 12 seats in Singapore's 108-seat parliament.
What to know about Singh's case
The saga began in 2021, when WP lawmaker Raeesah Khan claimed in parliament that she had witnessed police misbehave towards a sexual assault victim.
She later admitted that her anecdote was not true, but said during a parliamentary committee investigation that the party's leaders, including Singh, had told her to "continue with the narrative" despite knowing about the lie.
Khan has since resigned from the party and parliament, and was fined for lying and abusing her parliamentary privilege.
A criminal case was subsequently brought against Singh for lying under oath to the parliamentary committee during hearings for Khan's case.
Last February a court found him guilty and fined him several thousands of dollars. It ruled that Singh's actions were "strongly indicative" that he had not wanted Khan to clarify her lie.
But Singh, who maintained his innocence throughout the closely-watched trial, argued that he had wanted to give Khan time to deal with what was a sensitive issue.
In December he lost an appeal against the conviction.
Hundreds of glow in the dark designs bring a Thai temple to life once the sun has set.
Many temples in Thailand are in their fullest glory with the help of the fierce Thai sun — golden spires seemingly glowing in the afternoon sun, or the twinkle of a sunset casting a temple in cotton candy hues. However, there's one temple in Thailand's Ubon Ratchathani province where the real showstopper happens once the sun has set.
What distinguishes Wat Sirindhorn from other temples is the amazing show of glowing art that comes alive once the night arrives. Surrounding all sides of the main temple hall are countless flourishing glow-in-the-dark designs. Many of the motifs reference the sacred Bodhi tree in Buddhism. In other places, swirls arc and lead visitors on winding paths around the grounds of the temple. The outer walls of the temple are also adorned with luminescent Buddha figures.
Inside the prayer hall, an imposing gilded Buddha statue provides a visually luminous crescendo as it is backlit by an illuminated tree design. The entire display mirrors off the reflective tile flooring, inviting you to take a moment to take in the glowing scenes inside and out.
Wat Sirindhorn Wararam Phu Phrao, named after beloved Thai princess Sirindhorn (herself an avid traveler and photographer) spreads across a green hilltop in a natural setting. The "phu" in the name tells you this temple is on a hilltop. The waters of lake Sirindhorn lap against one side of the hill, while the Laotian border is tucked a mere half mile away on the other side.
Leave the sunscreen at your hotel and time your visit for sunset. This will allow you to watch the last rays of the day set the nearby lake ablaze in colors and then, once the sky is dark, the real show at the temple silently begins. And if you've spent any time in Southeast Asia, you'll appreciate the chance to go temple hopping after dark. The temple is some distance from the nearest town, but like most popular temples in Thailand, there will usually be a tuk-tuk driver waiting for farangs (foreigners) to shuttle back to town. If you come with your own wheels, there is parking available directly at the temple.
Learn about the overlap between archaic humans that once lived on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi and the modern humans that replaced them
Deep down in a cave on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, layer upon layer of archaeological evidence may show how modern humans lived alongside archaic humans. Years of excavation have brought the cave’s history to light, revealing a major transition between two phases of human occupation during the Pleistocene epoch.
A new study published in PLOS One describes the stone artifacts and fossilized animal remains that have been found 8 meters (about 26 feet) below the surface at the limestone cave, known as Leang Bulu Bettue. The findings establish a clear divide between two phases of human occupation; the later phase, marked by improved toolkits and artistic expression, may have been ushered in by the arrival of modern humans as early as 65,000 years ago.
Turning Back Time
The island of Sulawesi is home to several archaeological sites that have been crucial in studies of hominin expansion into Southeast Asia. Previous research has found that hominins likely began occupying the island at least 1.04 million years ago, according to a study in Nature. However, archaeologists haven’t determined which archaic hominin species started living here first; it could have been Homo erectus, Denisovans, a relative of Homo floresiensis (which inhabited the nearby island of Flores), or even a species that isn't yet documented.
Over the years, excavations at Leang Bulu Bettue have gradually unearthed additional details about the hominin occupants of the cave. Now, archaeologists have reached depths of 8 meters, encountering layers of preserved evidence that have never been observed before. While the initial layers beneath the surface show the items left by modern humans, the lower layers contain the remnants of archaic human occupation.
“The depth and continuity of the cultural sequence at Leang Bulu Bettue now positions this cave as a flagship site for investigating whether these two human lineages overlapped in time,” said lead author Basran Burhan, a Ph.D. candidate at Griffith University, in a statement.
The oldest stone tool found at the cave dates back to between 132,300 and 208,400 years ago, before modern humans had arrived.
A New Phase of Human Occupation
The older layers at Leang Bulu Bettue reflect what the researchers are calling “Phase I” of human occupation in the cave. This phase is defined by stone artifact production using core and flake technology (which involves striking flakes off a rock), along with the butchery of large vertebrates like dwarf bovids (wild cattle that are endemic to Sulawesi) and now-extinct Asian straight-tusked elephants.
“These activities appear to represent an archaic hominin cultural tradition that persisted on Sulawesi well into the Late Pleistocene,” said author Adam Brumm, an archaeologist at Griffith University, in the press statement. “By around 40,000 years ago, however, the archaeological record shows a dramatic shift.”
The traditions of Phase I were replaced by a new cultural phase (Phase II), seen in evidence from the layers just below the surface at Leang Bulu Bettue. This later phase is characterized by a more complex technological toolkit, as well as the use of pigments, leading to the first instance of artistic expression and symbolic behavior at the cave.
“The distinct behavioral break between these phases may reflect a major demographic and cultural transition on Sulawesi, specifically the arrival of our species in the local environment and the replacement of the earlier hominid population,” said Basran.
The Arrival of Modern Humans
The researchers suggest that modern humans may have reached Sulawesi as early as 65,000 years ago, coinciding with their arrival in Australia. These modern humans may have lived alongside and interacted with the archaic humans that had already been living there for a million years. The stone tool technology of the modern human newcomers eventually replaced the archaic human technology by 40,000 years ago.
According to the researchers, there are several additional meters of archaeological layers beneath the current deepest level that have not yet been excavated. Going deeper down into the cave’s history, therefore, is likely to reveal even more evidence of Sulawesi’s ancient inhabitants.
Article Sources
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This article references information from the recent study published in PLOS One: A near-continuous archaeological record of Pleistocene human occupation at Leang Bulu Bettue, Sulawesi, Indonesia
This article references information from the recent study published in Nature: Hominins on Sulawesi during the Early Pleistocene
Jobs, family, and the pursuit of better opportunities abroad are driving a steady outflow of citizens, data and experts show.
Over the past five years, 61,116 Malaysians have renounced their citizenship, with women making up the majority of applicants
While the numbers tell one part of the story, the reasons behind this trend reflect a mix of economic, personal, and legal factors.
Economic opportunities top the list.
Many skilled and educated Malaysians leave because local jobs do not match their qualifications or pay expectations.
Singapore is by far the most popular destination, accounting for 93.78% of renunciations, followed by Australia (2.15%), Brunei (0.97%), and other countries (3.1%).
"For some, it's about work and income," explained National Registration Department (JPN) Director-General Datuk Badrul Hisham Alias.
"It's easier to secure citizenship abroad if they are employed there and have stable earnings, particularly in countries like Singapore."
Family considerations, along with legal and procedural factors, also play a major role in decisions to renounce Malaysian citizenship
Some applicants relocate to join their spouses abroad, such as marrying a foreign national, and choose to adopt their partner's citizenship.
The largest group of renunciations is among those aged 31 to 40, followed closely by the 21-to-30 bracket. Women lead the trend, accounting for 35,356 of the total applicants, highlighting a demographic shift in migration patterns.
Malaysia does not recognise dual citizenship under its Federal Constitution.
Citizens who acquire a foreign nationality and exercise associated rights, such as voting, may face revocation of their Malaysian citizenship. While such cases are fewer than voluntary renunciations, they form part of the broader context.
"Every application to renounce or reapply for citizenship is reviewed carefully," said Badrul.
"The process ensures that citizenship rights are not misused, and only those genuinely eligible are granted or allowed to give up citizenship."
Experts say this trend underscores the need for Malaysia to address talent retention
They added that Malaysia must create quality job opportunities and improve conditions for skilled workers to prevent a steady brain drain.
"People are leaving not just for personal reasons but because the system abroad offers better recognition of their skills and opportunities for career growth," Ahmed Abdul Latiff of Putra Business School noted.
"If this continues unchecked, the country could lose more of its brightest minds."
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Najib was convicted for his role in the billion-dollar scandal involving the country's sovereign wealth fund 1MDB.
Former Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Razak has been jailed for 15 years for abuse of power and money laundering, in his second major trial for a multi-billion-dollar state funds scandal.
Najib, 72, was accused of misappropriating nearly 2.3 billion Malaysian ringgit ($569m; £422m) from the nation's sovereign wealth fund 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB).
On Friday afternoon a judge found him guilty in four charges of abuse of power and 21 charges of money laundering.
The former PM is already in jail after he was convicted years ago in another case related to 1MDB.
Friday's verdict comes after seven years of legal proceedings, which saw 76 witnesses called to the stand.
The verdict, delivered in Malaysia's administrative capital Putrajaya, is the second blow in the same week to the embattled former leader, who has been imprisoned since 2022.
He was handed four 15-year sentences on abuse of power charges, as well as five years each on 21 money laundering charges. The jail terms run concurrently under Malaysian law.
On Monday, the court rejected his application to serve the remainder of his sentence under house arrest.
But the former prime minister retains a loyal base of supporters, who claim that he's a victim of unfair rulings and who have showed up at his trials calling for his release.
On Friday, dozens of people gathered outside the court in Putrajaya in support of Najib.
The 1MDB scandal made headlines across the world when it came to light a decade ago, embroiling prominent figures from Malaysia to Goldman Sachs and Hollywood.
Investigators estimated that $4.5bn was siphoned from the state-owned wealth fund into private pockets, including Najib's.
Najib's lawyers claim that he had been misled by his advisers - in particular the financier Jho Low, whohas maintained his innocence but remains at large.
But the argument has not convinced Malaysia's courts, which previously found Najib guilty of embezzlement in 2020.
That year, Najib was convicted of abuse of power, money laundering and breach of trust over 42 million ringgit ($10m; £7.7m) transferred from SRC International - a former unit of 1MDB - into his private accounts.
He was sentenced to 12 years in prison, but saw his jail term halved last year.
The latest case concerns a larger sum of money, also tied to 1MDB, received by his personal bank account in 2013. Najib said he had believed the money was a donation from the late Saudi King Abdullah - a claim rejected by the judge on Friday.
Separately Najib's wife, Rosmah Mansor, was sentenced to ten years in jail in 2022 for bribery. She is free on bail pending an appeal against her conviction.
The scandal has had profound repercussions on Malaysian politics. In 2018 it led to a historic election loss for Najib's Barisan Nasional coalition, which had governed the country since its independence in 1957.
Now, the recent verdicts has highlighted fissures in Malaysia's ruling coalition, which includes Najib's party United Malays National Organisation (UMNO).
Najib's failed house arrest bid on Monday was met with disappointment from his allies but celebrated by his critics within the same coalition.
Malaysia's Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim called for politicians on all sides to respect the court's decisions.
Former Malaysian lawmaker Tony Pua told the BBC's Newsday programme that the verdict would "send a message" to the country's leaders, that "you can get caught for corruption even if you're number one in the country like the prime minister".
But Cynthia Gabriel, founding director of Malaysia's Center to Combat Corruption and Cronyism, argued that the country has made little headway in anti-corruption efforts despite the years of reckoning after the 1MDB scandal.
Public institutions have not been strengthened enough to reassure Malaysians that "the politicians they put into power would actually serve their interests" instead of "their own pockets", she told Newsday.
"Grand corruption continues in different forms", she added. "We don't know at all if another 1MDB could occur, or may have already occurred."
A street with an infamous past where the terminally ill were sent to die.
In the heart of Singapore's Chinatown, despite its unassuming modern appearance, there is a historically infamous street. Known for its macabre past, “death houses” inundated Sago Lane, places to send the terminally ill to die during the 20th century.
Sago Lane derives from the sago factories that were prominent in the area, becoming a staple export for Singapore in 1834. In its former days, the area annually produced nearly 8,000 tons, with 30 factories. Cantonese settlers with occupations such as traders, coolies, hawkers, peddlers, resided in the area. Sag0 Street, nearby, was predominantly known for its prostitutes and brothels.
Its nickname, Sei Yan Gai (“Street of the Dead”), would gain notoriety due to its macabre functions in the 20th century. As mentioned, death houses arose between the 1930s and 1960s. Death houses were not just known for their hospice facilities, but for the overcrowded and impoverished conditions of these lettings. Funeral homes were present as well. People believed the act of dying in one’s home was inauspicious, as they were superstitious.
They paid a small fee to stay in these death houses, rates depending on how close you were to death. The area also housed shops that sold coffins and paraphernalia related to Chinese funerals, including incense paper and funeral clothing. The street was notorious for its foul odour due to unsanitary conditions and distrust in Western funeral practices such as embalming.
Due to international scrutiny in the 1960s, the horrendous conditions became apparent worldwide, thus making it easy to support its shutdown. Eventually, being banned in 1961, the government converted the remaining death houses into funeral parlours.
Today, barely resembling the poor conditions of its past, the remaining shophouses along Sago Lane have been converted into souvenir shops and eateries. It is also part of festivities in celebrations like the Chinese New Year.
