U.S. Engagement in Myanmar Until the Age of Trump

The Irrawaddy

America’s involvement in Myanmar has always been confusing as different agencies have pushed their own, often contradictory agendas. Now, given the unpredictability and inconsistencies of President Donald Trump, anything is possible. Only one thing is certain: promoting democracy and human rights have ceased to be part of Washington’s foreign policy agenda.

The U.S. military first began engaging forces inside Myanmar during World War II, when it recruited, armed and equipped an irregular force of Kachin tribesmen that ultimately numbered about 11,000 men. “The Kachin Rangers”, as they were called, operated under a unit known as Detachment 101 and fought to expel Japanese occupation forces from the far north of the country. According to retired U.S. Army officer Charles M. Simpson: “They operated deep in the jungle as individual agents, in small groups, or in battalion strength. They kept the Japanese under surveillance, raided, ambushed and harassed without cease. The high command in the theater credited almost 90 percent of its intelligence to Detachment 101, and 85 percent of the 10th Air Force’s targets were designated by them. Detachment 101 counted 5,428 Japanese known killed, and a fair estimate of the real total is closer to 10,000. Once General Joseph Stilwell [the leader of the U.S. forces] asked the leader of a successful Kachin ranger guerrilla unit how they could be so sure of the large and exact number of Japanese killed in a particular engagement. The Kachin opened a bamboo tube and dumped a pile of dry ears on the table. ‘Divide by two,’ he told Stilwell.”

The U.S. Embassy in Yangon now hosts a life-size bronze statue of a U.S. soldier and a Kachin fighter standing side-by-side, honoring the guerrilla force that played a crucial role in defeating the Japanese.

U.S. priorities shifted after Myanmar’s independence in 1948. The main enemy was now communist-ruled China. Consequently, the U.S. began supporting Nationalist Chinese Kuomintang (KMT) forces who had retreated into northern and northeastern Myanmar following their defeat in the Civil War. KMT soldiers upgraded the tiny airstrip in Mong Hsat in the Shan States, and supply arrived from Bangkok and Taipei. A cluster of bamboo barracks was erected across the airfield and a nearby paddy field was cleared and levelled into a parade ground, where soldiers performed daily drills against the backdrop of a gigantic portrait of Nationalist leader Chiang Kai-shek.

The effort was aimed at reconquering China—and it coincided with the war in Korea, where U.S.-led UN forces as well as South Korean regulars fought against North Korean and Chinese troops. The Allied forces, led by the legendary Gen. Douglas MacArthur, began discussing the possibilities of opening a second front against China. Taiwan’s troops were already there: south of the Yunnan frontier, China’s soft underbelly.

Another hardline former U.S. general and World War II veteran, Claire Chennault, had served as Chiang Kai-shek’s main adviser for many years and now headed the unofficial “China Lobby” in the U.S. which advocated close ties with Taiwan and confrontation with Beijing. Chennault’s airline, Civil Air Transport (CAT), had from the very beginning been responsible for air drops of arms and ammunition to the KMT at Mong Hsat. He later admitted publicly that a plan did exist to implement MacArthur’s idea of a broader war against China using Myanmar as a springboard: “It is reported—and I have reason to believe it is true—that the Nationalist [KMT] government offered three full divisions…of troops to fight in Korea, but the great opportunity was not putting the Nationalists in Korea. It was a double envelopment operation. With the United Nations forces in Korea and the Nationalist Chinese in southern areas…the Communists would have been caught in a giant pincers.”

That did not materialize as KMT forces which did manage to cross the border into China were repeatedly driven back to their sanctuaries in the Shan States. It was a top-secret operation, and when U.S. President Harry Truman originally agreed to support the KMT forces, he specifically ordered that senior diplomatic staff be kept in the dark to maintain plausible deniability. The U.S. ambassador in Yangon, David McKendree Key, only learned the truth in the spring of 1951—ironically, after being briefed on the Chinese Nationalist movements by the then British ambassador, Richard Speaight.

Key was furious that a covert paramilitary operation was actively undermining Myanmar’s sovereignty and destroying U.S.-Myanmar relations behind his back. He strongly protested to Washington, famously warning that the adventure was costing the U.S. heavily in terms of “Burmese good will and trust.” Recognizing that his position had been completely compromised by his own government’s intelligence agency, he resigned in protest in October 1951.

The “secret” KMT army tried on several occasions to invade China but was repeatedly driven back to its sanctuaries in the hills of northeastern Shan. Burmese forces led by Brig. Gen. Kyaw Zaw also fought successfully against the KMT intruders, and Myanmar diplomats raised the issue in the UN. On April 22, 1953, the UN General Assembly adopted a resolution demanding the evacuation of all KMT troops in Myanmar. Several thousand were repatriated to Taiwan via Chiang Mai and Lampang in northern Thailand. But many remained and soon took over the Golden Triangle opium trade, which had a devastating effect on Shan politics and social life. There is also no doubt that the renegade KMT forces at the same time remained useful intelligence assets for the CIA.

In a completely different development, at least two Myanmar intelligence officers were sent to the secret CIA training facility on the U.S.-held Pacific island of Saipan in the late 1950s. One was Tin Oo (frequently called “Spectacles Tin Oo”) who later rose to become the chief of Myanmar’s Military Intelligence and was a powerful figure in the regime until his ouster in 1983. Another was Lay Maung, who climbed the ranks of the ruling Burma Socialist Program Party as well as the government, eventually serving as foreign minister in the early 1980s. Their CIA links became public knowledge during the trial of Tin Oo and put an end to rumors that he had been trained by the Soviet Union’s KGB or East Germany—he said he had never even been to those countries.

Some Western scholars have assumed that the CIA was behind U Nu and Edward Law-Yone’s rightwing resistance in the 1960s and early 1970s. But that is nonsense. Financial support came from Asmara, a Canadian oil company, which had been promised exclusive exploration rights “once Rangoon had been captured.” Support also came from Kwong Yung-Hui, a Sino-Burmese businessman whose home in Yangon had been confiscated by Gen. Ne Win’s post-1962 Revolutionary Council. Liaison with groups and potential supporters outside was maintained through Ahmad Kamal, a Turkish-American who was assumed to be a CIA operative. More precisely, Kamal belonged to an entangled network of past or present intelligence operatives, arms merchants and covert operation types whose activities were not always approved by Washington or the CIA’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia. In 1969, Kamal offered U Nu US$2 million if he could depose Ne Win, but it is uncertain if the rightwing resistance got any money at all from him.

Although the rightwing resistance was pro-Western, the CIA was convinced—and rightly so—that it was not going to defeat the Myanmar army and drive Ne Win from power. Instead, America’s security services and the Myanmar military shared a common adversary: the Communist Party of Burma (CPB) and its Chinese backers. The CIA and Myanmar’s MI exchanged information, and the U.S. also provided the Myanmar military with limited support, primarily rocket-launchers, automatic carbines and even some artillery. But it was a sensitive issue because of Myanmar’s officially neutral stance in regional politics, and, like the support for the KMT in the early 1950, it is uncertain to what extent everyone in the U.S. establishment was aware of what was agreed upon behind closed doors. Openly, however, the U.S., did give support for the Myanmar military’s alleged anti-narcotics efforts, including sending helicopters and airplanes that were supposed to be used for such purposes but were in reality deployed in general counterinsurgency campaigns.

Again, the CIA and now also the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) acted without much consultation with other branches of the U.S. establishment. Burton Levin, the then ambassador to Yangon, commented in a speech at the Asia Society in New York in 1988: “We had no meaningful contact with any element of the Burmese government. They had a designated group of Foreign Ministry types who would come to our dinners and talk about golf and tennis, the weather and what fruits were in season…during my first three months in Burma, my backhand improved immensely, and I even took up the game of golf, which I had thought was just a waste of time. But I had time to waste.”

In August and September 1988, the traditional image of Myanmar as a peaceful country known mostly for its friendly people and golden pagodas collapsed like the house of cards it had always been. Millions of people from all walks of life joined marches against the old regime, demanding a new, democratic future. The U.S. was the first foreign power to condemn the massacre of pro-democracy demonstrators in August 1988. Anti-narcotics assistance was terminated, as were all other aid programs. Interactions with the military junta that took power in September that year were reduced to a minimum.

But the DEA, apparently believing that the junta’s largely imaginary narcotics suppression was more important than defending human rights, held several unauthorized meetings with Myanmar’s MI—which, when exposed, led to serious conflicts within the U.S. Embassy in Yangon.

Relations were normalized after Gen. Thein Sein became a civilian and took over the presidency in 2011 but deteriorated once again when Gen. Min Aung Hlaing seized absolute power in a coup in February 2021. Today, with Trump in the White House, U.S.-Myanmar relations are entering a new period of uncertainty. U.S. support for Myanmar’s independent media and pro-democracy groups has been terminated, and PR firms lobbying on behalf of Myanmar’s military government are active in Washington and appear to have direct access to Trump.

A major lobbyist, Roger Stone, is a close associate of Trump and has been so since the early1980s. He co-founded the high-profile Washington lobbying firm Black, Manafort, and Stone, and Trump was its first client. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, Stone handled state and federal government relations for Trump’s real estate and casino businesses and he is currently retained as a consultant by the lobbying outfit DCI, focusing particularly on rare earth extraction and countering Chinese influence in Myanmar. Clearly, relations between Myanmar and the United States are shifting once again, adding to a turbulent and deeply complex history—and that is not good news for Myanmar’s pro-democracy forces.