The South China Sea (18 page)

In short, when subjected to the arcane rules and customs of international justice what might appear to be a ‘natural’ Vietnamese claim to the Spratly Islands off their country's coast is less strong than it might appear. Unless the French government formally cedes its claims to the Spratlys, Vietnam cannot rely on the actions of the French Empire in the 1930s and 1940s. There may also be legal argument over whether the current Socialist Republic of Vietnam is legitimately the successor to the Republic of Vietnam and its actions and whether Pham Van Dong's letter undermined the Democratic Republic of Vietnam's claim.

China's historic claim to the Spratlys relies on references to islands in ancient documents. However, a closer reading of those texts provides no information about exactly which islands are being referred to and nothing
that amounts to proof of conquest, cession, occupation, prescription or accretion. An international court will have to grapple instead with China's complex modern history. The Republic of China was proclaimed in January 1912 and formally recognised by the ‘great powers’ in October 1913. But even before this had happened, seven southern provinces had rebelled against Beijing's control, beginning a revolt that would result in the establishment of a separate, rival government in Guangzhou in 1917 by Sun Yat-sen and his allies. It would be 11 years before this administration could fight its way to power over the whole country and become China's internationally recognised government. During this turbulent period, the authorities in southern China are said to have carried out a number of actions that form the basis of Chinese sovereignty claims over the Paracel Islands.

In particular, the southern administration placed the islands under the nominal administration of Hainan Island in 1921 and then granted permits for the extraction of guano. In 1923 and 1927 they sent patrols to inspect the activities of the guano collectors. (The historian Ulises Granados has found evidence in contemporary reports by British intelligence that these permits were actually agreed with a front company for Japanese interests which reportedly promised to provide weapons and funding in exchange for development rights over Hainan Island and the Paracels.
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) The French authorities (on behalf of the protectorate of Annam) failed to protest against all this and this inaction is now used as evidence of French acquiescence to Chinese sovereignty. But how should a modern tribunal regard actions taken by a government that had no recognition from the ‘great powers’ before 1928?

The situation becomes more complex after the establishment of the (Communist) People's Republic of China on 1 October 1949 and the expulsion of the Republic of China to Taiwan. Beijing clearly doesn't recognise the legitimacy of the Republic of China in Taiwan but the Communist state's rights in the Spratly Islands rest entirely on the claim to Itu Aba, first made by forces of the Republic of China in 1946. The Communist authorities in Beijing now champion the voyage of the
Taiping
as a claim of sovereignty made on behalf of all China. They took a different view of the ship 60 years ago, during the first Taiwan Strait crisis, seeing it as a symbol of American imperialism. Communist forces sank the
Taiping
off
the Tachen Islands on 14 November 1954. The incident highlights the problems the Beijing leadership might have constructing a legal case for its sovereignty over the Spratlys. If it is the successor state to the Republic of China, can it claim that actions taken by the Republic of China after the declaration of the Communist state on 1 October 1949 reinforce its own claim? For example, in 1956 it was the navy of the Republic of China that evicted the Cloma brothers’ expedition from Itu Aba and North Danger Reef. That would appear to be a concrete assertion of sovereignty by the Republic of China – but is it one that can be appropriated by the People's Republic of China? If the Taiwan government ever chose to merge with the People's Republic of China on the mainland this is one point over which it would have considerable leverage.

None of these issues has been tested in an international court and, given the complexity and uncertainty of the intersecting legal difficulties, it seems unlikely that they ever will. All we can say is that, from historical perspective, none of the claims to the islands – whether by Britain, France, the Republic of China, the People's Republic of China, Vietnam or, as we shall see later, the Philippines – appears to be entirely convincing. If Britain had kept its flag flying on Spratly Island and France had done the same on Itu Aba or if either had formally ceded its rights to another claimant, the situation might be clearer. But they haven't, so the countries around the shores of the sea have, instead, created their own facts in the ‘dangerous ground’.

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These days Richard Spratly's ‘sandy isle’ is known to its inhabitants as Truong Sa Lon – big Truong Sa. ‘Big’ is relative. It is the largest piece of dry land in the Spratlys under Vietnamese control – but that's not saying much. Its highest natural point is two and a half metres above sea level although there's very little that's natural about Spratly Island now. The beach has been enclosed behind a high concrete wall intended to keep out both waves and unwanted visitors. Over the wall protrude dozens of posts and pylons: solar-powered floodlights, electricity-generating windmills, radar towers and a huge mobile phone mast. Urban roofs mingle surreally with the trees: standard-issue Vietnamese state-sector buildings (red tiles,
ochre walls, neo-classical balconies) transplanted from the mainland by the forces of socialist construction.

Viewed from above, the island forms a neatly isosceles triangle, like a way-marker pointing back towards the motherland, 470 kilometres away. Stretching right across its base, and occupying about a quarter of the entire area, lies a concrete runway – originally built by South Vietnamese forces and rebuilt in 2004. A mesh of pathways runs parallel and perpendicular among the imported trees, creating a garden suburb in the sea. Protruding from the base of the triangle into the sea, a cedilla of a jetty stretches 75 metres over the first bank of coral into water deep enough to welcome fishing boats and the occasional supply vessel. Less welcoming structures fill the water around the rest of the perimeter: hull-smashing spikes intended to wreck an invading force before it can reach the shore.

It's crucial for the Vietnamese cause that the island appears to be a settled, economically vibrant community, so great efforts are made to construct the appearance of ‘normality’. Like almost every Vietnamese village, the island hosts a Buddhist pagoda, a temple devoted to a patron figure (in this case socialist Vietnam's ‘founding uncle’, Ho Chi Minh) and an overbearing grey monument to heroes who fell in the fight for national liberation (‘the nation remembers your sacrifice’). There's also a large school building to cater for the tiny number of children living on the island. Visitors can enjoy the hospitality afforded by the ‘Capital Guest House’, paid for by donations from the people of Hanoi.

Such ‘voluntary’ collections and other state subsidies make the local government, or People's Committee, one of the best funded per capita in the country. In the past few years, its deputy chairman Nguyen Duc Thien told the official Vietnam News Agency in 2011, investments in solar and wind power mean the island has a regular supply of electricity, the construction of reservoirs allows it to store enough water to meet demand and communications links have given it access to the internet.
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Chickens and ducks roam the island. Small vegetable plots have been established behind high screens that attempt to keep out wind, sand and salt. Bananas and other fruit trees line the pathways. A $170,000 project run by the Southern Vietnam Institute for Agricultural Science is trying to increase productivity but Truong Sa Lon is hardly self-sufficient.
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The population
has grown so large that food, water and even the soil in which the plants grow still have to be shipped in.

It's not just material needs that need to be catered for. The island population's moral welfare must also be protected. In April 2012 five monks from the official Vietnam Buddhist Sangha (motto: Dharma, Nation, Socialism) set sail for a six-month sojourn on Truong Sa Lon with a mission to improve the spiritual lives of the community. The Communist Party of Vietnam is also concerned about morale. Apart from the usual round of military inspections and national days, two anniversaries are carefully marked: the 1975 ‘liberation’ of the islands from South Vietnamese control and the 1988 Battle of Johnson Reef. At these ceremonies young soldiers are urged to be eternally vigilant against the ‘insidious schemes’ of the unnamed ‘enemy’.
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Spratly Island is not a ‘normal’ island: it's an unsinkable bulwark. Hidden among the trees – between the school and the guesthouse and the pagoda – are bunkers, barracks, at least five battle tanks, 20 gun emplacements and a garrison to defend them.
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But living there – or on one of the 21 other Vietnamese-controlled smaller islands and reefs – is tough. Keeping the troops and sailors motivated is crucial and the Party is ever keen to nurture emotional links between the units out at sea and the folks back home.

The Party excels at organising ‘grassroots’ solidarity activities and, as nationalist sentiments have swelled in recent years, participation in fund-raising campaigns for the soldiers and sailors out at sea has become ever greater. The sums involved are relatively small, easily within the gift of central government, but the mobilisational power of the campaigns cannot be measured in monetary value alone. They are powerful tools with which the leadership wins popular support. Newspapers have publicly committed themselves to ‘propagandise’ information about the islands and provinces organise gift-giving events at which coral branches and beach pebbles are exchanged for donations of karaoke DVDs, table tennis tables, electrical generators and cartons of cigarettes. TV programmes feature reporters in patriotic T-shirts extolling the courageous men and women who defend the faraway national territory. A decade ago these would have been dull rituals but now they are enthusiastically followed by an appreciative audience.

Vietnam did not enjoy ‘first mover advantage’ in its choice of positions in the Spratlys. The Republic of China reoccupied Itu Aba, the largest island, in 1956. The Philippines occupied Thitu (Pagasa in Filipino), Nanshan (Lawak) and Flat (Patag) Islands, and North Danger Reef, sometime before July 1971. (They considered landing on Itu Aba too but were deterred by Taiwanese ships.) By the time the South Vietnamese sent in the marines in September 1973, choices were becoming more limited. Spratly Island – Truong Sa Lon – was an obvious candidate as it was the closest proper island to the Vietnamese mainland and also outside the area claimed by the Philippines. They learnt from the Filipinos’ mistake and didn't try to occupy Itu Aba: it had been heavily reinforced by this time. Instead they surreptitiously moved onto Namyit Island, another part of the same atoll – the Tizard Bank – about 20 kilometres across the lagoon.
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Around the same time they also took over Sin Cowe Island (Dao Sinh Ton) on Union Bank (the seventh largest island) and, much further to the south, Amboyna Cay (Dao An Bang).

Another prize fell to the Vietnamese through a combination of alcohol and bad weather. The two northernmost islands of the Spratlys lie on what the British had named North Danger Reef. This was where, in October 1956, Filemon Cloma had been forced by the Taiwanese Navy to abandon his island-grabbing antics. As its French name – Les Deux Iles – suggests, the reef has two main features: the 2-kilometre-long Northeast Cay (Parola in Filipino) and the 650-metre-long Southwest Cay (Pugad in Filipino). In early 1975 Filipino garrisons occupied both and the two units would often socialise together. One night the officers and men from Pugad were invited to Parola for a party. According to General Juancho Sabban, former head of the Philippine Western Command, they were unable to return to Pugad because of severe weather. Unfortunately for the Filipinos, the weather wasn't severe enough to prevent South Vietnamese troops sneaking onto the island in their absence.
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Pugad has been occupied by the Vietnamese ever since and is now known to its inhabitants as Dao Song Tu Tay.

That wasn't the end of the story, as we saw in Chapter 3. Only a few months later, in the closing weeks of the Vietnam War, Hanoi launched its ‘East Sea Campaign’ to grab all the islands that were under South Vietnamese control. Southwest Cay was their first target. Special forces landed on 13 April. After a short firefight some of the defenders realised
their position was hopeless and surrendered. But one lieutenant, facing the prospect of a Communist prison camp, put his faith in capitalist camaraderie. He threw himself upon the good offices of the same Filipino soldiers his unit had so recently humiliated and swam the 3 kilometres across the lagoon to the safety of Parola. Luckily for him, the Filipinos were forgiving and gave him sanctuary. Meanwhile, the Communists pressed on – taking the remaining South Vietnamese-held islands even before the fall of Saigon.

Today, the garrisons of the twin islands are on speaking terms. Better still, they are now on sporting terms. In March 2012 the admirals in charge of the Vietnamese and Philippine navies agreed that, as a confidence-building measure, the two militaries would schedule a series of football and basketball games. The first matches were played in June 2014. For the visiting Filipinos, the contrast between their spartan accommodation on Parola and the increasingly comfortable facilities on Dao Song Tu Tay was stark. Just as they've done on Spratly Island, the Vietnamese have installed wind and solar power generators, radar towers and an artificial harbour. An elegant 40-metre-high lighthouse towers over the trees and the island's sporting facilities.

Back home on Parola, members of the Philippines’ garrison live like smallholders on their desert island: tending vegetables, harvesting coconuts and fishing. Keeping busy is the best way to fight the boredom and loneliness in the months between the supply boat's visits. A broken-down bulldozer by the beach is a rusting testament to unfulfilled ambitions. For General Sabban, the situation on Parola is particularly depressing. He was its commander for six months in 1981 and remembers the days when his marines enjoyed a much better standard of living than their neighbours who, back then, were enduring the privations of state socialism. Since then Vietnam has liberalised its economy and generated the resources to develop its islands. In the Philippines, priorities have been different. Military budgets have been cut and the marines have had to cope with the consequences.