The unprecedented success of Operation 1027, launched in northern Myanmar by a coalition of ethnic armed organisations in October 2023, sparked a rash of articles in the news media and online applauding the opposition movement's victories and, in many cases, predicting the junta's imminent downfall. Little thought appeared to have been given by many observers to the junta's resilience or the potential for the momentum of the insurgents to falter. This article called for a more cautious approach to these and related questions, and suggested that the civil war was still far from over.

In late October, an alliance of three ethnic armed organisations (EAO) launched a major offensive against Myanmar's military regime in the north of the country. Soon afterwards, other EAOs and militia groups, including members of the opposition People's Defence Force (PDF), took advantage of the regime's troubles by opening new fronts in western, eastern and southern Myanmar.

To the surprise of many, the junta's armed forces (or Tatmadaw) suffered a series of major defeats. According to unconfirmed news reports, at least four military bases, up to 300 smaller outposts and several major towns fell to the insurgents. Important trade and communications links to China and India were cut. Large quantities of arms and ammunition, including some heavy weapons, were captured.

As Richard Horsey has written, these victories constituted “the biggest battlefield challenge to the military since the February 2021 coup”. Indeed, they may be the most significant setbacks to a central government in Myanmar since independence in 1948. As a result, there has been a strategic shift in the civil war, and in the balance of power in the country.

Inevitably, perhaps, these developments prompted a rash of stories in the news media and online, trumpeting the insurgents’ successes. Myanmar was said to be “at a tipping point”. Pundits, journalists and activists claimed that the junta was “mortally wounded”, “in a death spiral”, even “on the brink of collapse”.

There were also some statements to the effect that the junta had lost control of the country, which was “on the verge of disintegration”. The Council on Foreign Relations called on the US government to prepare for the end of the Myanmar Army, which one analyst predicted would “collapse in waves across the country”.

In October 2021, under the pseudonym Bo Hmu Gyi, I wrote a short article for the ANU's New Mandala blog, examining some questionable casualty figures that had just been issued by the Kachin Independence Army. The publication by the shadow National Unity Government in September 2023 of some equally unlikely statistics prompted me to revisit that article and rehearse the same arguments to a new audience. In both cases, the watchword was caution.

Since the latest civil war in Myanmar began in 2021, elements of the opposition movement have been making increasingly bold claims about its battlefield successes and the problems facing the military regime. Some of these claims need to be treated very carefully.

There is no doubt that the shadow National Unity Government (NUG) and its People's Defence Force (PDF), together with various other groups, have made considerable progress against the junta. Against the expectations of many observers, the armed resistance has become better organised, better trained and better equipped. It is now able to pose a real challenge to the junta's military forces (Tatmadaw) and police.

This has led to some remarkable claims. For example, in 2022 the NUG's acting president, Duwa Lashi La, announced that the regime had lost control of at least half the country. More recently, the NUG claimed (without presenting any evidence) that more than 15,000 military and police personnel had “defected” to the opposition side. This had reportedly undermined the morale of the security forces and left the junta gravely weakened.

Such claims have been welcomed by supporters of the opposition movement, who have predicted the imminent collapse of the military regime. Some claims have even been supported by professional observers. The Special Advisory Council on Myanmar, for example, stated last year that the opposition movement writ large, that is, including sympathetic ethnic armed organisations (EAO), now has the greatest claim to effective control of the country.

In 1998, I wrote an academic article outlining the structure and development of Myanmar’s intelligence apparatus. In 2018, after a number of momentous changes in this field, I wrote a research paper to update this work. The following year, the paper was published as a short book by the ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute in Singapore. While I was waiting for it to appear, I produced the following summary of my findings for the Australian Institute of International Affairs.

Over the past two centuries, Myanmar (known before 1989 as Burma) has experienced almost every major system of government, from an absolute monarchy to a parliamentary democracy. For most of this period, but particularly under authoritarian governments between 1962 and 2011, these administrations were supported by powerful intelligence services. Indeed, rather than being a “police state”, as Myanmar has often been called, the country could more accurately be described an “intelligence state”.

When Myanmar was under colonial rule (1824–1948), the British relied on intelligence provided by their civil and military police forces to anticipate and respond to challenges to political, economic and social stability. As the country was conquered in three stages, a network of police posts was established, charged with wide reporting responsibilities. Soon after the fall of Mandalay in 1885, an Intelligence Branch was formed. In 1906 it was absorbed by the Criminal Investigation Department and later became Special Branch.

Most British and Indian army units were withdrawn from Myanmar after the colony was “pacified” in the 1890s. The few that remained had their usual complement of military intelligence officers but there were no real external threats and internal security remained the responsibility of the police forces. A Burma Defence Bureau was created in 1937, after the perceived failure of the police to warn of the 1930–32 Saya San rebellion, but it lacked resources and had barely begun operations before the outbreak of World War II.

During and immediately after the war, the Japanese, puppet Myanmar and British administrations drew on intelligence reports to stay informed, but the civil organisations involved were always subordinate to the relevant military authorities. After Myanmar regained its independence in 1948, its fledgling intelligence apparatus did not play a significant part in U Nu’s democratic government, although in 1951 he created a Bureau of Special Investigation to counter corruption and financial crimes.

One of the many ironies of Myanmar's political scene in 2016 was that Aung San Suu Kyi and the new National League for Democracy government shared many of the same goals for Myanmar as the leadership of the armed forces. Both sides wanted to see Myanmar become more modern, more prosperous and more respected in international circles. If they genuinely cooperated, then the chances were high that some progress could be made to achieve these goals. However, the profound differences in outlook and approach between the two sides made that outcome unlikely.

It has long been the mantra of Myanmar's leader-in-waiting Aung San Suu Kyi and her National League for Democracy, echoed by Western governments and activist groups, that the greatest obstacle to the introduction of a true democracy in Myanmar has been the country's armed forces, known as the Tatmadaw. This claim over-simplifies a complex issue, but is essentially correct.

The irony is that both sides share many of the same goals. It would not be a comfortable arrangement but, if they worked together, the same power and resources that make the Tatmadaw such an issue for the NLD could be harnessed to help the party tackle Myanmar's many problems after it takes over government in March.

Myanmar once boasted the modern world's most durable military dictatorship. After General Ne Win's coup in 1962, the Tatmadaw ruled with an iron fist. The country's fledgling democratic institutions were abolished, to be replaced in 1974 by a sham parliament that simply disguised the armed forces’ continued rule.

After the Tatmadaw crushed a pro-democracy uprising in 1988, even this pretence was cast aside. The generals ruled by decree until legislative power was handed to a hybrid civilian-military government in 2011. Even then, their position was protected by the 2008 constitution, which was heavily weighted in favour of the armed forces.

The Tatmadaw remains the most powerful political institution in Myanmar. As Robert Taylor, a noted Myanmar scholar, has written, “Only the army can end its own role in Myanmar's politics, and that decision is dependent on its perception of the civilian political elite's ability to manage the future”. He might have added, “and protect the Tatmadaw as a national institution”.

No one knows for sure how many men and women there are in either the junta's security forces, or the various armed groups fighting against them. However, this has not stopped journalists, commentators, activists and others from citing specific figures to support their particular reports and claims. Some are doubtless more accurate than others. What also needs to be taken into account, however, is that it is not raw numbers that ultimately decide combat capabilities, but a host of other factors in complex combination.

Over the years, countless attempts have been made to estimate the size of Myanmar's armed forces (or Tatmadaw). However, the fact remains that no-one really knows. Despite the Tatmadaw's critical role in Myanmar's national affairs, its size has always been for observers one of the great “known unknowns”. Similar questions arise over the membership of the various armed opposition groups.

Ordinarily, such a count would be largely an academic exercise. However, the military coup in February 2021 and Myanmar's rapid and unexpected slide into a bitter nation-wide civil war have made answers to these puzzles of greater interest.

After Myanmar (then known as Burma) regained its independence in 1948, its armed forces grew steadily. However, despite constant challenges from a wide range of ethnic, ideological and economic insurgents, its formal strength never exceeded 186,000. This picture changed dramatically after the 1988 pro-democracy uprising, when the new military regime launched a massive expansion and modernisation program.

By the early 2000s, it was widely accepted that the Tatmadaw had grown to about 400,000 service personnel. If that was indeed the case, it made the Tatmadaw the largest armed force in Southeast Asia after Vietnam’s, and possibly the eleventh largest in the world. There were a few claims that the figure was closer to 500,000, or even 600,000, but these estimates were mistakenly based on theoretical projections by ambitious Tatmadaw planners.

During Myanmar's colonial period (1826–1948), millions of people all over the world collected trading cards, on a wide variety of subjects, making them an ideal vehicle for the spread of images, ideas and information, both true and false. Often dismissed as colourful but essentially worthless ephemera, such cards can provide modern scholars with a fascinating and often illuminating perspective on Myanmar's history, economy and culture.

Over the centuries, popular perceptions of Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, have been remarkably consistent. The mental pictures of the country formed in Europe, North America and elsewhere have invariably been of a land of golden pagodas, swaying palms and rich gemstones, populated by demure “Burma girls” and colourful “hill tribes”. Even when various wars painted a darker picture, and the crimes of Myanmar's military regimes became well known, such romantic notions were hard to shift.

These idealised images developed over many years and in many ways. Particularly during the colonial period (1824–1948), Western populations relied heavily on picture postcards and illustrated magazines for their knowledge of Burma and its people. They also drew on stories in newspapers and, to a lesser extent, novels and artworks. Others heard about it through popular entertainments, such as musical revues, and formed their views accordingly.

The impact of popular culture on international attitudes towards Myanmar is now receiving greater attention from scholars. However, one source of stereotypical views is often overlooked, namely trade and trading cards. These small illustrated slips of pasteboard have been powerful vectors of images about Myanmar, its people and place in the wider world. They have not only reflected views of the country commonly held by Westerners, but have also helped shape them.

Trade cards have a long history. Before the advent of daily newspapers and national magazines, they were a common form of advertising. They came into their own in the 1800s, when the development of lithographic printing techniques made it possible to mass produce cards in colour. They typically had an illustration on one side and a printed text on the other, and were included in containers of produce.

There have always been those who believe that the centrifugal forces of political, religious, economic and social diversity in Myanmar require a strong central government to keep the country together. The armed forces have claimed that they alone have the discipline and organization to provide that leadership. Most of their opponents argue that a federal system is much better suited to Myanmar's unique circumstances. These questions assumed particular importance as Aung San Suu Kyi and the National League for Democracy prepared to take the reins of power.

In his 1968 book Political Order in Changing Societies, the American political scientist Samuel P. Huntington wrote that violence and instability were in large part products of rapid social change and the precipitate entry of new groups into politics, coupled with the slow development of political institutions. Controversially, he also argued that order was a crucial objective in developing societies, and should be viewed separately from the nature of the governments attempting to impose it.

This thesis, which seemed to condone undemocratic practices, if exercised in the name of the greater public good, has often been challenged. Yet, Huntington's ideas are relevant to Myanmar today as the country approaches the end of its first five-year term of civilian-military government. In March, a new national parliament will be installed in Naypyidaw under Aung San Suu Kyi and the National League for Democracy. A new president will then be chosen by both elected members of parliament and military appointees.

Worth the Price?

Myanmar has already been cited in support of Huntington's thesis. Referring to General Ne Win's “caretaker” government of 1958–60, it was claimed that the loss of certain freedoms was accepted by most of the population as the price they had to pay for the restoration of order after the “chaos” of the “democratic era”, which followed the country's independence from Britain in 1948. This claim was made again after Ne Win's 1962 coup d’etat, which ushered in 50 years of military rule.

In the minds of many people, Myanmar, or Burma as it was known, and Mandalay, are irrevocably bound together with Rudyard Kipling and his famous poem. Yet, the irony is that Kipling only visited Burma once, very briefly, and never went to the old capital. Nor did he sail up the Irrawaddy River. However, this has not stopped travel agents, artists, booksellers and others from capitalizing on these misconceptions and playing up the supposed connection between them all.

A recent visit to Burma brought home to me the fact that, in the minds of many Westerners, the country is still irrevocably attached to the bard of the British Empire, Rudyard Kipling. At the Governor's Residence in Rangoon, for example, there is a watering hole known as the Kipling Bar, where the hotel's guests are invited to imbibe, along with their drinks, the atmosphere of the Raj. In its promotional literature, the Strand Hotel proudly (and probably inaccurately) boasts that Kipling once stayed there. A best-selling guide book states that the Pegu Club in Rangoon was where Kipling was inspired to write his famous poem “Mandalay”. It was more likely an incident in Moulmein that sparked Kipling's muse, but this claim is repeated in a brochure produced by an organisation dedicated to preserving Rangoon's marvellous but now sadly neglected colonial buildings. In other places, and in other ways, Kipling is repeatedly invoked, giving the impression that the poet paid a lengthy visit to Burma and knew it well.

Kipling wrote a number of poems and stories that featured Burma, but he only visited the then province of India for three days, and part of that time was spent at sea. In fact, he later wrote that his sojourn in Rangoon was “countable by hours”. Despite the claims of several writers, he never sailed on the Irrawaddy River, nor did he ever visit Mandalay.

In his essay “Tradition and the Individual Talent”, the poet T.S. Eliot spoke of how, when a new literary work appeared, every existing work was somehow modified by it and the whole scene subtly rearranged. He was speaking purely of literature, and his comment can be applied to Kipling's oeuvre, but the poem “Mandalay” did this in another sense too. Despite all the critical comments that have appeared over the past 125 years or so, both the poem and its musical settings (usually published under the title “On the Road to Mandalay”) have been enormously influential.

Barack Obama's policy of “pragmatic engagement” acknowledged momentous changes in Myanmar and broke decades of unproductive stalemate between it and the US. The president even made a visit to Myanmar. The newlyelected Donald Trump, however, showed no interest in, let alone knowledge of, Myanmar. More to the point, his disdain for human rights and ambiguous attitude towards China and North Korea made it unlikely that he would try to capitalise on Obama's legacy and further promote US-Myanmar relations.

Aung San Suu Kyi was quick to congratulate US president-elect Donald Trump on his recent victory, but there is no doubt that Myanmar's state counsellor, her government and probably most of the country would have preferred to see Hillary Clinton installed in the White House next year.

Not only was Clinton a driving force behind Barack Obama's successful and far-sighted policy of “pragmatic engagement” with Myanmar, but she was familiar with the country and had established a personal rapport with Aung San Suu Kyi. Under a Clinton administration, Myanmar would be treated very sympathetically by the US, which would have been appreciated by the state counsellor and her fledgling National League for Democracy (NLD) government as they struggle to cope with Myanmar's modernisation and democratisation.

Naypyidaw has other good reasons to be grateful to the Obama administration, and Clinton in particular. During Suu Kyi's visit to Washington in September, for example, it was announced that economic sanctions against Myanmar would be lifted, in order to unleash the country's “enormous potential”. Earlier, Obama had notified the US Congress that he would be reinstating preferential tariffs for Myanmar under the Generalised System of Preferences (GSP), which provides duty-free access for goods from poor and developing countries.

The future of the bilateral relationship under a Trump presidency is much more difficult to predict. Specific policies are either unknown, or the subject of inconsistent statements. Some positions taken by the presidentelect during his campaign have already been subject to unexpected reversals. A number of key executive appointments have yet to be made. Even so, it is possible to speculate about some Myanmar-related issues that are bound to arise after Trump takes office in January.

In the weeks following the 1 February 2021 coup, the level of violence mounted rapidly. As the security forces escalated their response to the crowds on the streets, the opposition movement fought back, initially with defensive measures but later with violent tactics of their own. It soon became clear, however, that the protesters could not match the military weapons and brutal practices that were increasingly employed by the army and police.

The clashes in Myanmar's streets between largely peaceful protesters and armed members of the security forces over recent weeks evoke memories of similar confrontations in 1974, 1988 and 2007. The result in each of those cases was the brutal suppression of the popular will and a crackdown on dissent throughout the country that lasted years.

So far, the civil unrest sparked by the 1 February military coup has followed a similar pattern, and the eventual outcome looks likely to be the same. However, both sides have clearly learned lessons from the past, and these have been reflected in their tactics.

The initial demonstrations were peaceful, with large crowds marching in the cities, holding printed placards calling for the release of Aung San Suu Kyi and recognition of the National League for Democracy's landslide election win last November. Other placards depicted coup leader Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, his face disfigured by a large cross.

At night, people banged pots and pans and honked car horns in a symbolic gesture of defiance. A civil disobedience movement has attracted tens of thousands of supporters.

As these efforts were met with increasing resistance from the security forces, barricades were erected on the streets, and defensive measures adopted. Protesters wore plastic construction helmets, goggles and makeshift gas masks. Many carried metal shields or wore improvised protective vests. Protesters began to respond to the tactics of the riot police by throwing rocks, and using slingshots to fire pellets and nails.

The protesters also employed psychological measures. They placed pictures of Min Aung Hlaing on the streets, hoping that the security forces would be reluctant to tread on their commander's image. Women's clothing was hung on lines across the street, drawing on the traditional belief that anyone walking under them would lose their hpoun, or spiritual power.

The protesters also exploited social media platforms (when not blocked by the regime) and appealed to international opinion (most placards were written in English).

Myanmar has always had mixed feelings about its membership of ASEAN. Indeed, all international organisations are viewed with suspicion, particularly if cooperation is seen to be at Myanmar's expense. If it was felt that the Association had turned against Myanmar, because of the February 2021 coup, then it would not take much for the junta to decide that membership was more trouble than it was worth, and threaten to withdraw. If pushed far enough, it might even do so.

The decision by the Association of Southeast Asian Nations not to invite Myanmar's military leader to two related summits in Brunei on 26–28 October raises an intriguing question: if pushed far enough, would the junta in Naypyidaw take Myanmar out of the regional grouping?

Myanmar's military rulers thought long and hard before joining ASEAN in 1997. To do so was seen as a break with the country's long-held and deeply-felt attachment to independence and strict neutrality in foreign affairs. ASEAN was not allied with any major power bloc, and undertook not to interfere in its members’ internal affairs, but even so membership would compromise Myanmar's traditional stance.

At the time, a conservative faction of the ruling military council believed that ASEAN membership offered nothing of significant value, and would expose Myanmar to foreign pressures. However, a more progressive faction successfully argued that ASEAN could provide a buffer between the regime and its foreign critics. It would also help Myanmar to balance its problematical relationship with China.

For its part, ASEAN was under pressure from its US and European dialogue partners not to expand, but it felt that Myanmar's membership would strengthen the grouping's influence. It was also keen to woo Myanmar away from China's embrace, which had been strengthened by Western sanctions. Besides, Myanmar was relatively undeveloped, was rich in natural resources and offered a potential market for technology and consumer goods.

Myanmar's place in the geopolitical calculations of the major powers has always been a source of considerable interest, and controversy. Some Old Myanmar Hands see the country as an important factor in the competition between the United States and China, for example, while others argue that this aspect of the region's strategic environment has been overstated. North Korea's role too seems poorly understood. This report, prepared in 2013 for the Australian think-tank Future Directions International, attempted to clarify the picture for the uninitiated.

Key Points

• 1. Over the past 25 years, the international community's perceptions of Burma have changed dramatically. It has variously been viewed as a pawn of China, an important strategic pivot in the region and a pariah state allied with North Korea.

• 2. These perceptions have been influenced by several factors, ranging from moral and humanitarian concerns to more objective, evidence-based analyses. Reliable information about Burma, however, has always been hard to come by.

• 3. The different attitudes taken towards Burma by the international community have prompted a wide range of policies. Some countries and organisations have favoured tough, punitive measures while others have preferred a much softer line.

• 4, None of the approaches adopted by the international community seemed to have any appreciable impact on the military government's core beliefs and key policies. Burma insisted on choosing its own path to a “disciplined democracy”.

• 5. Since the advent of President Thein Sein's reformist government in 2011, perceptions of Burma have changed yet again. It is now seen as a potential partner, sparking an effort by many countries, including Australia, to develop much closer bilateral relations.

Summary

Over the past 25 years, Burma has been variously described as a pawn of China, an important strategic pivot in the region, and a pariah state allied with North Korea. These perceptions prompted different approaches from the international community, ranging from the US's hard line, focussed on sanctions and other punitive measures, to the softer line adopted by the ASEAN countries, which emphasised “constructive engagement”. None of these policies were able to dissuade Burma's military government from pursuing its own path to a “disciplined democracy”.

When I worked for the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs, as it was then known, I was discouraged from publishing anything in public journals or newspapers. It was felt that members of staff should not share their private views on international developments, lest they be seen as somehow representing official policy. Even the use of pseudonyms was ruled out as it implied that the author had something to hide. On questioning this line, I was told bluntly that I had chosen a career as a diplomat, not as an academic or, God forbid, a journalist. It was to my great surprise, then, that after transferring to the Joint Intelligence Organisation (as it was then called) in 1986, I was given permission to publish articles and books, both under pseudonyms and my own name. The usual caveats applied, regarding the protection of classified material, for example, and all my drafts had to be cleared by a senior officer, but the intelligence community seemed to be able to tolerate my literary aspirations much more easily than the diplomatic one.

My first publication about Myanmar (then known as Burma) was an occasional paper on race relations in the country during the Second World War. It was released by James Cook University's Centre for Southeast Asian Studies in 1985. Since then, I have published nine books and more than 400 research papers, articles, commentaries and book reviews related to Myanmar in some way. About forty-five of these articles, many of them written under the pseudonym “William Ashton” for the Asia-Pacific Defence Reporter and Jane's Intelligence Review, formed the core of my full-length study Burma's Armed Forces: Power Without Glory, which was published in 2002. Ninety-seven other articles, all taken from the Lowy Institute's blog The Interpreter, were collected and published in 2020 by Australian National University Press as Interpreting Myanmar: A Decade of Analysis. This latest anthology reproduces another seventy-two works, covering a greater range of subjects, and taken from a wider variety of sources.

Against the expectations of many Myanmar watchers and security analysts, the poorly organised, poorly trained and poorly armed opposition movement gradually developed significant military capabilities. It began to pose a serious challenge to the junta's security forces. This prompted a number of prominent observers to revise their earlier pessimistic views. A few even began to contemplate the possibility that the People's Defence Force and its allies might actually win the civil war. To others, however, a military victory increasingly began to look like a chimera.

Over the past few months, there has been a significant shift in the tone of the expert commentary on Myanmar's civil war. Experienced observers are starting to hedge their bets on the eventual outcome of the conflict. A few are even allowing for the possibility of a military victory by the opposition movement, something once dismissed as impossible.

Following the coup on 1 February 2021, most professional Myanmar watchers warned that, despite the unprecedented support shown for the pro-democracy movement, Myanmar's armed forces (or Tatmadaw) should not be under-estimated. They had weaknesses, but were powerful, ruthless and determined to assert their control over the country, whatever the cost.

The nationwide civil disobedience campaign weakened the regime but could not bring it down. A shadow National Unity Government (NUG) was formed, and included a few ethnic armed organisations (EAO), but it was weak and divided. Its People's Defence Force (PDF) was disorganised, ill-equipped and poorly trained. Also, the NUG had little control over many of the other armed groups that emerged to resist the junta.

Since the beginning of this year, however, the security situation in Myanmar has been changing. The Tatmadaw is now stretched very thinly, and is relying on the police force, intelligence agencies and ad hoc militias to help enforce its will over the population. Reports of military casualties are doubtless exaggerated, but security force losses are high enough to raise questions about the attrition rate, and the sustainability of key military formations.

The resistance still lacks weapons, equipment and expertise, but it is now better organised, better trained and better armed. It reportedly consists of some 259 PDF units, with approximately 80,000–100,000 members. In addition, there are around 250 local defence groups, and 400 other “guerrilla forces” (a term that seems to include both rural guerrilla bands and urban resistance cells), that broadly support the NUG's aims.

On taking office in 2011, President Thein Sein frankly acknowledged many of Myanmar's problems and announced that he planned to introduce a wideranging reform program. This surprised many who followed developments in the country and gave rise to a vigorous debate about his sincerity, and possible motives. Hopes were high that these steps heralded a new and more relaxed approach to politics in Myanmar. However, there were many pessimists who, based on the country's recent past, were reluctant to give the new quasi-civilian government the benefit of the doubt.

Strategic analysts who studied the Soviet Union during the 1980s can still recall the excitement and intellectual challenge of trying to interpret developments as Mikhail Gorbachev first introduced his policy of perestroika (restructuring), and followed it two years later with glasnost (openness).

As is now well known, there were some diehard Cold Warriors in official and academic circles who steadfastly refused to believe that a creature of the Communist Party, who had enjoyed the patronage of figures like KGB chief Yuri Andropov and risen to the rank of General Secretary, would ever challenge the system that nurtured him.

Then there were those experts who, on the basis of a careful analysis of the objective realities, were prepared to give Gorbachev the benefit of the doubt and accept that he was trying to introduce a range of genuine reforms, albeit for his own purposes. Few observers, however, went so far as to predict the downfall of the entire Soviet power structure.

It is useful to keep that period in mind when looking at developments in Myanmar, also known as Burma, since the inauguration of a hybrid civilian-military government this January.

President Thein Sein, a former army general widely believed to have been hand-picked by strongman Senior General Than Shwe, has made several public statements and promised a number of changes that appear to herald a more open-minded and conciliatory approach to government.

There is no question that the armed forces intend to remain firmly in control of Myanmar, but there now appears to be the possibility of greater personal freedoms, rational economic policies and a more relaxed attitude towards the development of civil society.

After retiring from the Australian Public Service and joining the Griffith Asia Institute in 2006, my first major research project was a paper examining the widely accepted claim that China had established a “massive” signals intelligence collection station on Myanmar's Great Coco Island, in the Andaman Sea. This paper was later revised and published as an article in the journal Asian Security. However, the audience for such academic works was rather limited, prompting a shorter piece on the subject in The Irrawaddy, a dissident journal specializing in Myanmar that enjoyed a wide circulation.

For almost 15 years, there has been a steady stream of newspaper stories, scholarly monographs and books that have referred inter alia to a large Chinese signals intelligence (SIGINT) station on Burma's Great Coco Island, in the Andaman Sea. Yet it would now appear that there is no such base on this island, nor ever has been. The explosion of this myth highlights the dearth of reliable information about strategic developments in Burma since the creation of the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC) in 1988.

The Great Coco Island mystery seems to stem from a report issued by the Kyodo News Agency on 17 September 1992. Citing diplomatic sources in Beijing, Kyodo claimed that China was building a radar facility on Burma's Coco islands, under a secret agreement with the SLORC. The Kyodo report was picked up by Reuter's the next day, and repeated in the US newspaper The Estimate the following week. From there, the story quickly found its way into a wide range of newspapers and military journals.

Questioned about the Kyodo report, the Chinese Foreign Ministry flatly denied it. When asked to make a comment, the SLORC declined either to confirm or deny the report. On 22 October, however, The Estimate published a follow-up story citing a “highly-placed, knowledgeable US military source”, who stated that Chinese personnel had been seen on Hainggyi Island in the Irrawaddy delta, where another secret base was believed to be under construction. The Great Coco Island facility was mentioned in the same context.