China-India Relations After Doklam

The summer 2017 standoff between hundreds of Chinese and Indian military personnel at the Bhutan-China-India tri-border area was an exceptional event. A standoff between Asia’s continental giants over a tract of disputed Himalayan territory is an all-too-common affair. The Doklam incident, however, was exceptional because it was so different, in so many ways, from the hundreds of other stare-downs at the China-India border that occur every year.

The duration and geographic location were both unprecedented. China’s rhetoric and public posturing was uncharacteristically hostile. And India’s response was remarkably measured and effective. Arguably the most consequential aspect of the standoff, however, was its timing. Not in the narrow sense of the calendar year, as any adventurism in the Himalayas is largely restricted to summertime. Not in terms of the political calendar, either, though the timing just months before China’s five-year Party Congress was peculiar. Instead, the strategic significance of the Doklam dispute derives from the critical juncture at which it unfolded in the broad sweep of China-India relations and in India’s long-term, post-Cold War strategic maturation.

Just the Facts

Unlike most disturbances at the Line of Actual Control (LAC) that serves as the de facto China-India border, the Doklam standoff attracted a surplus of international attention and commentary. It was perhaps the most highly-scrutinized border incident between China and India in modern times, and the most volatile since a large military buildup in the Eastern Sector of the border dispute in the late 1980s.

In the abridged version, a Chinese military construction team operating near the disputed tri-border was confronted by a Bhutanese military patrol on June 16 when it began work to extend a road southward, farther into disputed territory. Within 48 hours Indian military personnel from nearby Sikkim intervened on Bhutan’s behalf to halt construction work, citing their commitment to defend Bhutan under a 1949 Friendship Treaty (which had been subsequently updated in 2007). Within weeks, thousands of Indian and Chinese troops were moved to supporting positions nearby and put on high alert.

In the Himalayas, the fog of war is so thick it obscures events in peacetime and for weeks the standoff was mired in secrecy and geographic obscurity. In the pages of The Diplomat and elsewhere, analysts dissected the three sides’ competing claims, including China’s insistence that the tri-border was fixed at Mount Gipmochi, several miles south of the site of the standoff, by an 1890 convention signed by the British Raj and Qing dynasty.

India countered that the watershed principle serving as the foundation for that treaty placed the tri-border several miles north, at Batang La, and insisted that the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) was operating in Bhutanese territory. Furthermore, Delhi argued the road construction violated a verbal agreement reached years prior, committing all three sides to abstain from any unilateral changes to the status quo. For its part, the Bhutanese government released a single statement insisting China’s road construction was a “direct violation of [bilateral] agreements and affects the process of demarcating the boundary between our two countries.”

As the dispute dragged into July, a clearer picture of events began to emerge in the Indian press. At the peak of the crisis, several hundred troops from each side were eyeball-to-eyeball in a valley on the Dolam plateau, part of the larger “Doklam area” but not geographically contiguous to the Chinese-claimed, Bhutan-administered Doklam plateau farther north.

China had been operating a road in the area for the past several years without incident under the watchful eye of Indian and Bhutanese forces on the ridges lining the valley. In its only public statement on the matter, the Indian government explained that the effort to extend the road southward carried “serious security implications” for Delhi, with analysts emphasizing its proximity to India’s vulnerable Chicken’s Neck, a narrow strip of territory connecting the main mass of the subcontinent to its more remote northeast.

In something of a role-reversal the Chinese government, which generally avoids public commentary on border incidents with India, assumed an unusually threatening and uncompromising tone. Delhi had grown accustomed to fiery rhetoric from the nationalist Global Times, which accused India’s “shallow and arrogant” elite of “behaving like clods” and charged India with “humiliating the civilization of the 21st century.” The Chinese nation, it urged, “must teach New Delhi a bitter lesson.”

Far more surprising, and alarming, was the tone assumed by Chinese government officials and authoritative media outlets. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs insisted India’s actions were posing “a grave security threat to China.” The PLA signaled its patience with India was wearing thin. China’s ambassador to India declared there was “no scope for compromise.”

Rare reports on the 1962 China-India border war began surfacing on the state-run CGTN English, with elderly PLA veterans stating their willingness to take up arms and return to the LAC. The official Xinhua news agency released a controversial and startlingly racist video mocking Indians and their culture. Beijing began charging Delhi with adopting a neo-colonial approach toward Bhutan, suggesting India’s actions had “challenged Bhutan’s sovereignty and independence.” Most concerning, Beijing publicly refused to enter negotiations until India met its maximalist precondition: namely, a full withdrawal of Indian troops from the standoff site.

Indian officials, by contrast, were surprisingly reserved. Like Bhutan, the Indian government released a single statement on the matter while Indian officials were barred from public commentary on the dispute. Indeed, over four months later, Prime Minister Narendra Modi has yet to acknowledge the Doklam standoff or comment on its significance, save for a passing reference during an October speech. Noting that his domestic political opponents had doubted his ability to deliver on his promises, Modi remarked: “When Doklam happened these same people…” before making a dismissive gesture with his hands.

To be sure, elements of India’s boisterous press and hawkish strategic community were less sanguine, portraying China’s road building as yet another coercive effort to change the territorial status quo, as Beijing had done with such success in the East and South China Seas in years prior. Analysts and public figures from diverse corners of Indian society implored Delhi to remain firm in resisting China’s adventurism. “We talk in the language of Yoga but the one who doesn’t get it must be answered in the language of war,” declared Guru Baba Ramdev, one of India’s most popular Hindu Yogis.

Resolution and Aftermath

Despite China’s public refusal to enter negotiations, Indian Ambassador to China Vijay Gokhale was engaged in frenzied discussions in Beijing throughout the crisis, with the Indian Army “closely involved in the consultations.” By early August tensions began to subside. As the public rhetoric from Beijing eased, Indian External Affairs Minister Sushma Swaraj told parliament that a simultaneous withdrawal from both sides would be acceptable to the Modi government. On August 28, the two sides announced a “mutual but sequential” disengagement, effectively ending the 71-day standoff.

Indian forces agreed to withdraw 150 meters from the standoff site before noon, with the PLA following suit later that afternoon. Now 300 meters apart, the two sides remain in an “intermediary stage” of withdrawal, with India continuing to press for an eventual return to the pre-June status quo.

The weeks following the disengagement were eventful. Indian and Chinese border patrols engaged in an unusually raucous bout of fisticuffs and stone-throwing along the LAC in Ladakh, captured in a widely-circulated YouTube video. China conducted rare live-fire naval drills in the Indian Ocean and an 11-hour live-ammo exercise in Tibet, though the latter was likely planned well in advance. The Global Times warned “difficult times for India are just beginning,” if Beijing begins to view India as a rival. For its part, India unveiled plans to keep one-third of its forces along the Eastern Sector of the LAC acclimatized at all times and a slate of additional upgrades to dual-use infrastructure along the disputed border.

To the Winners Go…

International observers overwhelmingly declared India the victor in the Doklam standoff. Oriana Mastro and Arzan Tarapore, international relations scholars, argued that India had provided China’s neighbors and the United States a template for how to resist territorial aggression and coercion beyond arming small states and “imposing incremental costs.” By standing firm, they wrote, India demonstrated that the United States “may have to accept the greater risks associated with intervening more directly if it hopes to counter Chinese expansion in East Asia.”

The Modi government clearly articulated the stakes and its interests, refused to budge on its core concerns or engage in a public war-of-words with Beijing, and conducted quiet yet effective diplomacy. Most impressively, Delhi wisely left China a face-saving offramp by agreeing to “move first” in the simultaneous withdrawal and despite the temptation of triumphalism in the immediate aftermath, Delhi agreed with Beijing not to publicly dispute or comment on each others’ descriptions of the withdrawal and resolution. For India, the whole episode demonstrated an uncommon level of confidence, resolve, and strategic maturity.

By contrast, for many Chinese nationalists the Doklam standoff represented an embarrassing loss of face. Analyst Yun Sun of the Stimson Center noted at a recent event in Washington, DC that many questioned the timing of the crisis, months before China’s pre-eminent 19th Party Congress. Nationalist commentators had urged Beijing to resist pressure to reach a settlement, convinced the PLA could have maintained its position indefinitely as its soldiers were better trained and equipped, negating any numerical advantage enjoyed by Indian forces. Retired Maj. Gen. Yao Yunzhu argued that the PLA and civilian government were “under great pressure” not to make any concessions as “we cannot accept Chinese territory to be invaded or occupied.”

Other Chinese analysts noted with dismay that Beijing had failed to win any expressions of support from the international community, including from tactical ally Russia or any of the dozens of countries involved in its “One Belt One Road” initiative.

By contrast, India won at least tacit expressions of support from the United States and Japan. A Pentagon spokesman called for “direct dialogue aimed at reducing tensions and free of any coercive aspects,” distancing Washington from China’s demand for a full Indian withdrawal as a precondition to negotiations. As the standoff neared its conclusion, the Press Trust of India quoted an American official as supporting India’s desire for a return to the pre-June 16 status quo: “If there’s anything the U.S. can do to help [restore peaceful relations] we stand ready to assist.”

Why Now?

How did China blunder so badly, at such a sensitive time in its domestic political calendar? In an article for War on the Rocks, I explored some of the potential motivations behind China’s road-building adventure, including: driving a wedge between Bhutan and Delhi; pressuring India to accept a “freeze of forces” at the LAC that Delhi has thus far resisted; punishing India for its opposition to Xi’s signature Belt and Road initiative; pressuring Bhutan into establishing diplomatic relations and ceding the Doklam plateau to China; and improving the PLA’s position in the one sector of the LAC where the Indian military holds a substantial tactical advantage.

An alternative, if unlikely, explanation is offered by proponents of the “rogue PLA” theory. The notion that the PLA may have been acting autonomously was buttressed by the quiet ouster of General Fang Fenghui, the chief of the PLA’s Joint Staff Department, in July. Fang reportedly faced a disciplinary probe despite being positioned by rank and age to advance further. Additional intrigue was stoked when Gen. Zhang Yang, the political commissar of the Guangzhou Military Region during the Chumar standoff of 2014, was also placed under an anti-corruption investigation around the same time.

The most likely explanation, however, is often the simplest and it’s quite possible that China – or someone in the Chinese chain of command – simply miscalculated. They may well have failed to anticipate that the road-building exercise would prompt such a fierce reaction from Delhi or that India would prove so resistant to pressure if it did. Several Chinese sources have claimed Beijing informed India and Bhutan of its road-building plans in advance. While it’s unclear what type of response they received, the Chinese government may well have interpreted a non-response as acquiescence. 

China had ample reason to believe it would get away with it. Since 2008 China has been using “grey zone” coercion tactics to expand its territorial boundaries, most notably in the East and South China Seas. It has successfully, if incrementally, advanced changes to the status quo without encountering much resistance, including the seizure of Scarborough Shoal from the Philippines in 2012, the establishment of an Air Defense Identification Zone in the East China Sea in 2013, the creation of artificial islands in the South China Sea from 2014, and the establishment of a “new normal” around the disputed, Japanese-administered Senkaku/Diaoyu islands in the years since.

This year alone, several of China’s neighbors effectively cowed to pressure campaigns from Beijing. When China threatened war with Vietnam over oil exploration activities in the South China Sea by the Spanish energy firm Respol in July, Hanoi halted the company’s work in response. Despite their bonhomie, this spring Xi Jinping threatened Filipino President Rodrigo Duterte with war if he followed through with plans to visit and develop infrastructure on Thitu Island in the South China Sea. Duterte promptly canceled his plans.

Timing and India’s Geopolitical Ascent

Unlike Vietnam and the Philippines, India didn’t stick to the script. Prior governments in Delhi may well have acquiesced to China’s road-building or recoiled under the repeated threats of war. This year, however, Beijing could not have chosen a worse time to test India’s resolve.

The election of Narendra Modi in 2014 heralded an acceleration of several strategic trends set in motion during the UPA government that preceded him from 2004-2014: growing mistrust toward China, a tightening embrace of Japan and the United States, and a growing sense of geopolitical confidence on the world stage.

Modi entered office as one of the few Indian leaders who had visited China multiple times during his tenure as the chief minister of Gujarat. He was convinced his personal diplomatic touch could open a new chapter in bilateral relations. Modi’s efforts to extend an olive branch to Xi early in his term were, in the opinion of his government, not reciprocated.

Less than four months after assuming office, the Modi government was preparing for the inaugural visit of President Xi Jinping on September 18, 2014. Eleven days before Xi’s arrival, a Chinese submarine surfaced for the first time in neighboring Sri Lanka, where China had made a series of high-profile investments in port infrastructure. The port call to Colombo, which handles the vast majority of India’s transshipment trade, caught Delhi off guard. Far worse, three days later a PLA construction team began extending a road into disputed territory along the LAC in Ladakh, prompting an intervention by Indian forces determined to halt the road work and a 16-day standoff that poisoned the atmosphere of Xi’s visit.

If the events of 2014 soured the bilateral atmospherics, developments in 2015 and 2016 did even more lasting damage to China-India relations. In 2015, China substantially elevated its strategic partnership with Pakistan when a Chinese firm assumed control of Pakistan’s Gwadar port, the two sides finalized a deal for the transfer of eight submarines to Pakistan in China’s largest-ever defense sale, and Beijing announced it would be investing $46 billion in a China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) that traverses Indian-claimed Kashmir. Paired with the submarine port calls to Colombo and Chinese inroads into Nepal and the Maldives, the events revived Indian fears of encirclement via a Chinese “String of Pearls” in the Indian Ocean.

A pair of events in 2016 may have proven even more destructive to bilateral ties. First, following a flurry of backdoor diplomacy from India, China surprised observers in Delhi when it moved to block India’s bid to join the Nuclear Suppliers Group, part of a longer-term, U.S.-led effort to integrate India into the international nuclear regulatory regime as a status quo nuclear power. Months later, China effectively vetoed an Indian effort to sanction the head of a notorious Pakistan-based terrorist group. Each event further fed a sense of distrust toward China already ingrained in the BJP foreign policy elite and the broader strategic community in Delhi. China, many have concluded, is determined to prevent India’s geopolitical ascent, in part by keeping Delhi preoccupied with its arch-rival to the west.

If these emerging fault lines further weakened the case for non-alignment in Delhi, the Doklam crisis drove a stake through its heart. As the Brookings Institution’s Tanvi Madan noted at a recent event in Washington, DC there are no “panda huggers” left in the Indian government, only “panda shruggers” and “panda sluggers.” With the re-election of Prime Minister Shinzo Abe in Japan and China-U.S. relations entering a new stage of competition, the Doklam crisis has helped solidify India’s position as the third pole in an emerging balancing coalition increasingly determined to constrain China’s most aggressively nationalist impulses.