by
Ajai Shukla
Even after having been whipped in war, India is winning the peace.
And China, despite having 'taught India a lesson', feels challenged from both
sides of McMahon Line.
Who won the 1962 Sino-Indian war? This might seem a fatuous
question, especially to those reeling under the tsunami of gloomy articles
leading into the 50th anniversary of the war that began on the Namka Chu
rivulet on October 20, 1962. But consider this fact: since 1962 Arunachal
Pradesh has turned increasingly Indian, emphatically regarding itself a part of
this country. Meanwhile, Tibet simmers resentfully as Beijing’s relationship
with those easy-going people is conducted through the might of the People’s
Liberation Army (PLA); a plethora of truncheon-happy Chinese paramilitaries
that arrest protesters before they can protest; a demographic invasion by
hundreds of thousands of ethnic Han Chinese workers; and a coercive relocation
of locals that has shattered traditional pastoral lifestyles.
So how is it that, even after having been whipped in war, India is
winning the peace? And that China, despite having “taught India a lesson” in
1962, and having subdued Tibet with a brutal occupation, feels challenged today
from both sides of the McMahon Line — the disputed border in the Eastern
Himalayas between Tibet and Arunachal Pradesh. In Tibet, since 2008, Beijing
confronts a rising tide of protest. And in India it sees a growing military
build-up, and a Tibetan exile organisation that amplifies worldwide the
repression that China perpetuates within Tibet.
In contrast, India’s restraint and sensitivity and reluctance to
use military force in establishing administration across the North East
Frontier Agency (NEFA) – as Arunachal was then called – certainly won over
locals to the idea of India, but it also contained within it the seeds of the
1962 defeat. The aversion to overt demonstration of force was evident during
India’s 1951 occupation of Tawang, when Assistant Political Officer R Kathing
marched into that border town with just one platoon (36 soldiers) of the
paramilitary Assam Rifles.
And at Achingmori in 1953, when Tagin tribals
massacred an Assam Rifles platoon, Nari Rustomji, Special Advisor to the
Governor of Assam who administered NEFA, famously stopped Nehru from
retaliating with a burn-and-slash military expedition or executing his threat
to bomb the Tagins. Instead, Mr Rustomji sent a largely civilian expedition
into Tagin country, arrested the culprits, convicted them after a procedurally
impeccable trial in a makeshift bamboo courthouse, and jailed them for a few
years. Word spread quickly across the area. But placing local sensibilities above national
security also created the mindset that led to the 1962 defeat. The same
mistrust in force that won over the local people also underlay the reluctance
to deploy the army in adequate numbers, even though that was essential for
backstopping an ill-considered “forward policy” that involved establishing Indian
posts along a unilaterally decided border. The result: a stinging military
defeat for India that undermined its image in local eyes.
Today, 50 years later, with a wealthier and more assertive India
comfortable with the idea of deploying and wielding military power, it is
important to remember the lessons of the 1950s in planning how to counter any
Chinese adventurism. Firstly, in-your-face military deployment is not something
that Arunachalis are comfortable with, even though the military is sometimes the
only government that tribal people in remote areas actually see. In the 2010s
and 2020s, as in the 1950s and 1960s, local support for India will count for as
much as military power in ensuring that Arunachal remains a part of India.
But no amount of soldiers can provide a foolproof defence along
hundreds of kilometres of rugged mountain terrain. And in raising division
after division of defensive troops, India risks falling into the Pakistan trap:
getting involved in a competitive military build-up against a giant neighbour
that has far greater resources of money and military power.
Instead, the Indian Army needs to rethink its strategy, relying on
local partnership as in the 1950s, rather than on an overwhelming presence that
could start being resented. This must involve a threefold action plan: firstly,
recruit at least 20 territorial army battalions from local tribes, which will
defend their homeland fiercely against the Chinese, rather than relying on
regular army battalions that are posted into these unknown areas from their
bases thousands of kilometres away. These local tribal battalions must form the
first line of defence.
Secondly, rather than committing the bulk of our regular army
battalions into defensive deployments aimed at stopping the Chinese at the
border, reorganise these formations into offensive strike groups that are
geared, trained and equipped to retaliate against any Chinese incursion with
counter-incursions into Tibet. There should be 8-10 such fully developed
contingency plans ready for execution, along with the resources to execute them
with.
Thirdly, create the infrastructure of roads and railways in
Arunachal and Assam that will be needed to mobilise the offensive strike groups
and transport them to the border fast enough to pre-empt any Chinese
counter-deployment. This is perhaps the most essential step needed, since it
will serve both a military and civil purpose. In providing road connectivity to
villages along the McMahon Line, we are providing a lifeline that ties them to
India.
Dear all,
A thought provoking article. Out of box ideas. However I am
all for raising one if not two strike corps for the Eastern theatre.
Regards,
Sunder
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