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Mongolia’s prime minister, Luvsannamsrain Oyun-Erdene, recently expressed his country’s fear that the world is heading towards a new cold war as the relations between Russia and China and the west – particularly Nato – have taken a turn for the worse. “It’s like a divorce,” he said. “When the parents divorce, the children are the ones who get hurt the most.” The country sits landlocked between Russia and China and is fearful of antagonising either. It gets much of its power from Russia, and China buys much of its exports – mainly agricultural goods and minerals such as copper. By pursuing a nimble foreign and trade policy since it transitioned to a multiparty democracy in the early 1990s, Mongolia has established a stable economy, receiving a thumbs up from the World Bank in its latest country report: With vast agricultural, livestock and mineral resources, and an educated population, Mongolia’s development prospects look promising in the long-term assuming the continuation of structural reforms. But the war in Ukraine has brought home to Mongolia just how carefully it must now navigate its foreign and trade policies to remain independent.Smooth transition to democracyFrom 1921 to 1990, Mongolia was effectively part of the Soviet bloc, although not part of the Soviet Union itself. The country’s centralised command economy was almost entirely dependent on Moscow for survival. The collapse of communism in the early 1990s resulted in what proved to be a smooth transition. The then leader, Jambyn Batmönkh, refused to even consider quelling pro-democracy demonstrations, instead saying: “Any force shall not be used. There is no need to utilise the police or involve the military … Actually, these demonstrators, participants, and protesters are our children.” His resignation in 1990 and the emergence of Ardchilsan Kholboo (Mongolian Democratic Union) paved the way for the development of a multiparty democracy. The June 1993 presidential election in Mongolia, which was ruled as free and fair by the International Foundation for Electoral Systems, saw the incumbent president, Ochirbat Punsalmaa – who had been appointed after a ballot by members of the existing Presidium of the People’s Great Khural (the national assembly) – elected for a four-year term. A new constitution was adopted, with a three-part structure under the speaker of the parliament, the prime minister and the president and, while there have been instances of political corruption, Freedom House gives the country a high rating for both political rights and civil liberties. All of which cannot disguise that the fledgling democracy remained wedged between (at the time chaotic) Russia and an increasingly assertive and authoritarian China. The obvious policy for Mongolia to pursue was to attempt to balance the two great powers in the region. Initially, Mongolia’s foreign policy relied heavily on “omni-enmeshment”. This basically meant building relationships with as many partners as possible, both regionally and globally – including, significantly, the US. But since 2000, Mongolia has embraced the policy concept of “balance-of-power” to reduce the country’s reliance on any one nation. To this end, they have partnered with strategic states in Asia, such as Japan and India, and rekindled military ties with Russia by entering a “strategic partnership” and conducting joint military exercises, while still maintaining a strong relationship with China. Mongolia has also strengthened bilateral security relations with the US. Mongolia’s relationship with China is complicated by the fact that a significant part of what was traditionally Mongolia is now an “autonomous region” of China (Inner Mongolia), with a population of ethnic Mongolians larger than that of Mongolia itself. This, and the activities of secessionist groups in the province, is a persistent point of conflict between China and Mongolia.Third neighboursBut Mongolia sees its independence increasingly threatened as Russia and China grow closer. Since the demise of the Soviet Union, Mongolia has adopted a strategy of maintaining strong ties with “third neighbours” – countries that embrace democratic values but also practice market economics, including the US (it was a term first articulated with connection to Mongolian foreign policy in August 1990 by then US secretary of state James Baker). The US and Mongolia formalised their relations as a Strategic Partnership in 2019 and in 2022 – clearly with one eye on Ukraine – the two countries announced they were deepening the partnership “in all areas of mutual interest”, including an “open skies” agreement which would guarantee scheduled nonstop passenger flights between the two countries. The US – with other third-neighbour allies – also takes part in the annual Khaan Quest military exercises.Dangerous timesThe war in Ukraine has brought the precarious geopolitical situation in Ukraine into sharp focus. The latest joint declaration from the US-Mongolia Strategic Partnership stressed that “disputes should be resolved by peaceful means and with respect for the United Nations Charter and international law, including the principles of sovereignty and respect for the independence and territorial integrity of states, and without the threat or use of force”. It added: “To this end, both nations expressed concern over the suffering of the Ukrainian people.” Mongolia has abstained from the UN votes condemning Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, while also refusing to criticise the sanctions imposed on Russia by the west, despite the fact that they have affected Mongolia – for example, sanctions against Russian banks have made it difficult to pay for its imports from Russia. And, for all its efforts to forge ties around the globe, Mongolia remains heavily dependent on both Russia and China. The prospect of a new cold war setting the west against the Beijing-Moscow axis is a major concern for Mongolia. As Elbegdorj Tsakhia, a former prime minister and president of Mongolia – now a member of The Elders group of global leaders – told Time magazine in April 2021: “I feel that we have just one neighbour. China, Russia, have become like one country, surrounding Mongolia … Every day, we face very tough challenges to keep our democracy alive. Mongolia is fighting for its survival.”

At the end of March, the negotiations that started in June 2021 on the accession of the United Kingdom to the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership (CPTPP) were successfully concluded, reflecting radical changes in British trade priorities after Brexit. More broadly, this move by London undoubtedly confirms the special importance that the Indo-Pacific region has acquired in the concept of "Global Britain" and in its subsequent relevant updates. The signing ceremony is scheduled for July 2023, for which the trade ministers of the participating countries and the United Kingdom will meet in Auckland (New Zealand). As a result of London's accession, this bloc will surpass the EU in terms of the combined population of its constituent countries. However, unlike the European Union, which the United Kingdom, on the contrary, left, the CPTPP does not have - to the satisfaction of British Eurosceptics - its own court like the EU Court of Justice, or a supranational budget. The union operates as a multinational trade agreement. An important obstacle that hindered reaching an agreement more quickly was London's refusal to weaken national food standards. But in the end, Ottawa (Canada) backed down on calls for London to lift the ban on importing beef with growth hormones. Beijing has also applied for membership in the CPTPP following London (the Chinese application is dated September 16, 2021, but negotiations have not yet begun). However, with London's accession as a full member of the agreement, China's chances of joining the bloc look somewhat weaker, as London is likely to obtain veto power on this issue. It is possible that they will use this veto under the pretext of ensuring higher trade standards within the agreement (including issues related to ecology and food safety). In any case, as It is known, the current British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak refers to China as a "systemic challenge", which London intends to respond to with "dynamic pragmatism." Currently, the CPTPP includes 11 states (Australia, Brunei, Canada, Chile, Japan, Malaysia, Mexico, New Zealand, Peru, Singapore, and Vietnam), none of which are European. These countries collectively account for 13% of global GDP. The new partnership replaced the Trans-Pacific Partnership agreement of 2016 with 12 participants, after former US President Donald Trump withdrew the US from the agreement in 2017. In 2020, the 11 countries of the CPTPP accounted for 8.4% of goods and services exported from the United Kingdom. In turn, 6.8% of imports to the United Kingdom came from these countries. The terms of the Trans-Pacific Partnership eliminate unnecessary barriers to mutual trade of services by opening financial markets and reducing obstacles to cross-border investment, facilitating data exchange, increasing business mobility, and ensuring regulatory transparency. All of this will support the British government's plans to turn the country into a global technology and service hub, strengthen semiconductor and critical mineral supply chains to produce electric vehicles and wind turbines.London already has trade agreements with most members of this trading bloc, but now these relationships can deepen, and 99% of British goods exported to the bloc countries will be subject to zero import tariffs. Tariffs on imports of Peruvian bananas, Vietnamese rice, crab sticks from Singapore, and Malaysian palm oil into the UK will be reduced (this is a controversial issue that has sparked discussion in the UK, as the production of palm oil, as ecologists point out, leads to deforestation of tropical forests). At the same time, according to assessments by the British government itself, joining the CPTPP is expected to add no more than 0.08% per year to the country's economic growth in the long term (while the slowdown in growth due to Brexit is estimated at 4%). Many politicians and trade experts rightfully point out that participation in the Trans-Pacific Partnership is not capable of compensating for the economic losses that the UK is experiencing due to its departure from the EU. Moreover, due to differences in its rules and standards from European regulations, Britain's accession will prevent it from returning to the European Union in case of a change of priorities. In other words, this agreement is like driving an additional wedge into the relationship between London and Brussels, which are just starting to improve. It is worth remembering in this regard that it was Liz Truss, a former trade minister in Boris Johnson's cabinet and one of the main advocates of independence from the EU, who submitted the British application to join the CPTPP. So far, for London, it is not so much a direct economic, but rather a strategic and symbolic acquisition, firstly due to the rapid growth (according to some estimates, up to 65% by 2030) in the number of middle-class consumers in a dynamically developing region, committed to innovation, and secondly, because of the fact that in the foreseeable future, mid-ranking trading powers such as Thailand and South Korea, which have already submitted applications, are planning to join the Trans-Pacific Partnership. Membership in the TPP is becoming more important for Britain due to the unattainability of a large trade agreement with the United States and the crisis in the World Trade Organization, which is currently unable to firmly enforce the rules of global trade. The matter is not limited to trade alone as London's foreign policy is clearly shifting towards the Indo-Pacific region. In this sense, Australia and Japan, concerned about economic pressure from China and its military ambitions, see Great Britain as a natural ally in opposing Beijing. It is assumed that stronger economic ties will lead to the strengthening of geostrategic alliances. Due to the high dependence of countries such as Chile on Beijing, which is the largest trading partner and main investor for Chileans, Britain's participation in the CPTPP, according to London's opinion, will contribute to the establishment of necessary connections that are seen by Britain's partners in the region as an attractive alternative to ties with China.

In the Philippines, digital disinformation campaigns have become central to electoral politics. Unfortunately, their use of vitriolic and socially divisive techniques has become increasingly normalised in the country’s politics, as these techniques are put into play even between national voting seasons. In the Philippines, one pernicious technique that digital disinformation campaigns use is to fan the flames of toxicity on social media. By instigating the loudest and most polarised online supporters to express support for a particular political camp, disinformation producers ignite social media engagement from the broader public. These producers target the most socially divisive of people’s ‘imaginaries’ about politics. As the authors wrote in a previous piece, these imaginaries refer to people’s shared narratives and collective emotions about the political world in which they live.  The year preceding the Philippines 2022 national elections saw disinformation stoking Filipinos’ nationalist and racist sentiments. This was done by hyping up the Chinese military’s supposedly impending occupation of the Philippines and by blaming the pandemic situation on Manila’s rapprochement with China. Such campaigns targeted deep-seated Filipino narratives and emotions of resentment towards the Chinese, which problematically lump together the Chinese state, Chinese nationals, and even Filipinos of Chinese descent.  Some anti-Chinese sentiments are historically rooted. However, more recent resentment has arisen in reaction to China’s increasingly assertive claims in what the Filipinos call the West Philippine Sea (that is, the Philippine-claimed portion of the South China Sea), the feeling of a subtle invasion due to the almost 300 per cent increase of overseas Chinese in-migration to the Philippines between 2016 to 2019, and even the fear of China annexing the Philippines as a province.  Despite former Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte’s so-called pivot to China, Filipinos generally disliked China’s disregard for the 2016 United Nations Permanent Court of Arbitration’s decision favouring the Philippines on the territorial disputes in the West Philippine Sea. The presence of Chinese Philippine offshore gaming operators (or POGO) workers, Chinese-only restaurants, Chinese-subtitled movies in cinemas, and reports of Chinese tourists being rude to Filipinos also heightened the sense that the country was being gradually ‘colonised’. In the lead-up to the 2022 Philippines elections, disinformation drawing from such shared narratives and collective emotions regarding anti-Chinese resentment featured in campaigns across political camps. Supporters of Duterte disseminated content like misleading videos to bolster his image as a strong leader and master tactician. This played into the crafted narrative of him pursuing the Philippines’ best interests by hedging between China and the U.S. Meanwhile, supporters of anti-government factions targeted Duterte’s perceived closeness to Beijing, thinking that this was one of the few weaknesses in his campaign. These anti-Duterte elements put out content falsely attributing quotes to Duterte and his allies that were aimed at amplifying the image of his government as China’s lapdog. To explore the impact of such disinformation on Filipinos, the authors conducted qualitative interviews from June to December 2021 with 15 of Manila’s precarious middle-class citizens. Although these individuals had incomes that technically allowed them a taste of the middle-class lifestyle, they did not live in gated communities and were still exposed to the difficult grind of life in Manila. The interviewees answered questions on disinformation about the Philippines-China territorial disputes and the Covid-19 pandemic. When interviewees who supported Duterte were confronted with disinformation meant to positively portray his government’s approach to Beijing (that included friendlier ties with China), that they would engage in mental acrobatics to reconcile this content with their narratives and emotions of resentment against the Chinese. One of the clearest articulations of this came from a 29-year-old administrative assistant, who disliked feeling that the Philippines was becoming a “province of China”. Without differentiating between Chinese nationals and Chinese Filipinos, she said that Manila’s Chinatown was teeming with Chinese people. She added, however, that even if she were uncomfortable with the Chinese influx into Manila, there was nothing “majorly wrong” with Duterte wanting to be close to China. She could forgive the president for this one thing.  Meanwhile, the interviewees who leaned towards opposing Duterte were adamant that despite their opposition to his stance towards China, they were “not racist”. However, their exasperation that no difficult issue could strike a mortal blow to Duterte’s popularity led to remarks that validated, even if only subtly, their internalised narratives and emotions of anti-Chinese resentment.  For instance, a 45-year-old store supervisor who claimed to have a nuanced view of China-Philippines relations expressed his unfounded belief that 90 per cent of the Chinese migrants presently in the Philippines were “illegal” and had “no papers”. He thought that the government’s laxity with these migrants was probably why Covid-19 spread in the Philippines. This reflects the problematically racist assumption that links the Covid-19 pandemic to the recent increase in the migration of Chinese into the country.  These interviews indicate that anti-Chinese digital disinformation from across political camps does not shift individual Filipinos’ political positions. However, these disinformation campaigns can reinforce toxic nationalism and racism in people’s shared narratives and collective emotions. This kind of impact is an urgent reminder that those engaged in counter-disinformation need to pursue a cross-sectoral code of conduct in election campaigns that explicitly shuns socially vitriolic and marginalising stances, which should include, amongst other factors, racism. 

The dollar’s strength is placing pressure on economies around the world, including in developing Asia. What makes this bout of dollar strength unique is that the stress is not limited to Asia’s developing economies. Asian economies are diverse and the direct financial impact of dollar strength varies. Some regional economies have significant foreign currency debts and limited foreign currency reserves. Unsurprisingly, these economies are in financial trouble. Sri Lanka defaulted on its bonds earlier in the year and is now trying to restructure its external debt. Pakistan has had to seek an emergency financing package from the International Monetary Fund, backstopped with pledges of additional support from both China and the Gulf. Bangladesh has proactively sought out IMF financing in the face of a terms of trade shock. Laos is, in all probability, relying on the continued forbearance of China’s policy banks to manage its unsustainable debt loads. All these countries are struggling to pay for imports of oil and natural gas. A broader set of Asian economies have relatively strong foreign currency balance sheets and are not at risk of immediate financial distress. Many have been able to rely on their local currency bond markets to finance fiscal deficits, limiting their direct financial vulnerability to swings in the dollar. India is in a much stronger position than during the 2013–14 ‘taper’ tantrum. It started 2022 with US$650 billion in foreign reserves, more than double the US$250 billion it held in 2012. The Indian government’s external debt, primarily to the multilateral development banks, only totalled US$125 billion. Thailand’s government started 2022 with over US$250 billion in foreign exchange reserves — or over 50 per cent of its GDP — while owing a bit over US$30 billion to external creditors. Other countries have more subtle strengths. For example, a substantial share of Indonesia’s US$80 billion in international sovereign bonds are denominated in yen. At the same time, balance sheet resilience is not sufficient to insulate a country’s broader economy from the impacts of a strong dollar. Even countries that have little to fear financially worry about the impact of currency weakness on households’ costs of living. There has been little correlation to date between the extent of currency depreciation across the main Asian currencies and the underlying strength of countries’ foreign currency balance sheets. The currencies of advanced Asian economies have actually depreciated more than the currencies of developing Asian economies. Japan — with plenty of reserves, significant foreign assets in its government pension fund and insurance companies that are structurally ‘long’ dollars — has experienced the largest depreciation. Taiwan and South Korea have followed. Meanwhile India, Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand have experienced smaller depreciations. The reason for this is simple. Up until Japan’s heavy intervention in late September 2022, lower income Asian economies had been more willing to defend their currencies through a combination of rate increases and foreign reserve sales. There are signs that this is changing. Japan intervened heavily in September and October. South Korea is now worried that the won  has become too weak and is seeking to join Japan in obtaining a standing Federal Reserve swap line to meet dollar liquidity needs in its financial sector — potentially freeing up more of its existing reserves for intervention. Even though the dollar is now off its October peak, developing Asian economies continue to face several risks. The first is that certain economies may overestimate their balance sheet strength and sell foreign exchange for longer than is prudent. The basic principle is that temporary shocks can be financed with borrowed or reserve sales while permanent shocks require adjustment. The longer global energy prices remain high and the dollar remains strong, the more difficult it will be for countries to avoid adjustment. The second risk is the possibility of an additional shock from Japan. Japan’s efforts to limit the yen’s depreciation through intervention may fail, as it is harder for Japan to defend its currency through intervention than it is for smaller economies, whose financial markets remain less integrated into global markets. There is the additional risk that yen weakness and imported inflation could lead the Bank of Japan to abandon its policy of ‘yield curve control’ and that the associated rise in long-term Japanese government bond rates could push up interest rates globally. Many emerging economies would likely need to raise their domestic interest rates to avoid importing additional inflation, and to limit popular pressure for fiscal subsidies to offset higher fuel prices. This would be the Asian version of what is now called a reverse currency war. The third risk is a currency shock from China. China has long relied primarily on the signal sent by the People’s Bank of China’s daily fix — the central reference point for daily trading — to manage the yuan with only limited direct intervention by its central bank. To date, the pressure on China appears manageable. News reports suggest that the PBoC has leaned on China’s large state banks to use their balance sheets to help maintain the trading band around the yuan, but there is little evidence of pressure on the central bank’s reserves. However, if its economy remains weak, China may choose to allow more depreciation — both against the dollar and against the currencies of its trading partners to restart its economy. This would be an admission that China’s ability to avoid a prolonged stall through internal demand is limited and that exports are again required for growth. A yuan that is as weak as the yen could easily trigger a race down across the currencies of developing Asia. Many, though not all, developing Asian economies are less vulnerable to a repeat of the 1997 crisis. But few countries will be able to escape the fallout from the dollar’s current strength. A broader overshoot of many currencies that amplifies concentrated pockets of debt difficulties and complicates the fight against inflation globally remains a real risk.

The relationship between Myanmar and Russia has become increasingly close. This is fueled by practical considerations as well as geopolitics. Myanmar junta chief Senior General Min Aung Hlaing and Russian President Vladimir Putin lauded the 75th anniversary of Russia-Myanmar relations when they met for the first time at the Eastern Economic Forum in Vladivostok in early September. However, Moscow and Naypyidaw interactions only started getting cosier about two decades ago. Min Aung Hlaing observed to Putin, “During this period [of 75 years of bilateral ties], there have been ups and downs. But, starting from the past two decades, the relations between Myanmar and Russia have noticeably improved.” Burmese generals are widely thought to be close to Beijing. Why then did the Myanmar military, also known as the Tatmadaw, attempt to forge closer relations with the Kremlin? The state of affairs can be summed up in two words: pragmatism and geopolitics. A key motivation lies in the Tatmadaw’s continuous quest for arms, which it justifies as necessary for counter-insurgency operations and to defend the country from outside threats. After the 1988 coup, the Tatmadaw turned to China when the West imposed arms embargoes and broad-based sanctions. Though necessity dictated this turn, Myanmar generals have for years been dissatisfied with China-made weapons, especially combat aircraft. “We felt China downgraded the quality of its arms exports, including fighter jets, to Myanmar,” shared a former major-general speaking on condition of anonymity. This eventually compelled the generals to look further afield for new arms suppliers. Myanmar approached Russia, other East European countries and even North Korea. Myanmar generals purchased Russian MiG-29s after a border clash with Thailand in February 2001 showed up the inadequacy of Myanmar’s China-made aircraft, such as the F-7 IIK, against Thailand’s US-made F-16 fighters. Shortly after the border clash, the Tatmadaw purchased 12 MiG-29s in 2001. In 2009 it negotiated a further purchase of 20 MiG-29s. Then, the acquisition was reportedly Russia’s biggest fighter deal since Algeria scrapped an agreement to buy 34 MiG-29s. The Tatmadaw also turned to Russia for military modernisation and training. This started before Min Aung Hlaing became Commander-in-Chief in 2011. Vice Senior-General Maung Aye, the second-in-command of the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), made the overture with the consent of SPDC supremo Senior General Than Shwe, according to military and related sources. The same retired major-general who divulged the Tatmadaw’s dissatisfaction with China also shared that both Tatmadaw generals — Than Shwe and Maung Aye — fought against the China-backed Communist Party of Burma. He added that they both understood “where the real external threat lay”. There has also been an awkwardness in the junta’s relations with China after the 2021 coup, underscored by China’s concerns to safeguard its economic interests in Myanmar. This may have persuaded the current crop of generals to recall their mentor Maung Aye’s idea of seeking a new partner and arms supplier in Russia. Unlike other generals who had visited China since taking power, Min Aung Hlaing has not been to China since the coup. The junta has also rebuffed a Chinese request for Sun Guoxiang, its special envoy for Asian Affairs, to meet Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. Russia and the Burmese generals both seem pleased with their two-decade-old supplier-buyer relationship. In June 2020 Russia’s state-owned RT (Russia Today) TV interviewed Min Aung Hlaing who was in Moscow for Russia’s 75th Victory Day parade. When asked whether he was “satisfied with the Russian-made planes and helicopters” he replied in the affirmative, stating that “they are really good, and of high quality.” The Tatmadaw also sought Russia’s assistance in modernising Myanmar’s air defence system. The Tatmadaw established the Office of the Chief of Air Defence in 1997, which became fully operational in 1999.  A key business crony of the Burmese generals takes credit for this. He shared with the author that he had recommended to Than Shwe and Maung Aye that Myanmar acquire Russian air defense systems to modernise the Tatmadaw’s air defense capabilities. There is also a capacity-building dimension. Since the early 2000s, thousands of Myanmar military officers have received training in Russia. Min Aung Hlaing reportedly developed this training programme. Topics included military studies, information technology as well as missile and nuclear technology. Some of the returned trainees are now serving in the Office of Strategic Studies, a think-tank advising top generals at the War Office in Naypyidaw. In this capacity, they have some influence over Myanmar’s current Russia policy, including support for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.  Russia’s continued supply of arms to Myanmar, and its recognition and support for the junta since the 2021 coup seems to confirm to the generals that Russia is indeed among the “few friends” remaining amid mounting international pressure from Western democracies and perceived friends such as China and ASEAN. Facing calls to free Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and requests for dialogue with her, the generals view Russia, which wields veto power at the United Nations Security Council, as an important part of the junta’s power-balancing strategy. Russia, which has weathered global opprobrium for its February invasion of Ukraine, is also keen to find friends. Cautious about making firm statements on Myanmar shortly after the coup, the Kremlin is now more willing to discuss closer ties with Naypyidaw. “After the Ukraine war, Russia and Myanmar became closer as the world treats both countries similarly,” said a senior officer familiar with the junta’s current Russia policy. He observed that Myanmar’s policy on Russia is now driven by geopolitics. With the Tatmadaw continuing to embrace the Kremlin, Myanmar may become Russia’s strategic foothold to expand its geopolitical reach in Southeast Asia and the Indian Ocean, and could spark regional tensions. Whether the Tatmadaw’s turn to Russia may prove to be a wrong strategy seems to be contingent on diplomatic compromises on many fronts, which key actors are currently unwilling to cede.

In the event of hostilities in the Taiwan Strait, Manila’s defense treaty with the United States will give it little room to manoeuvre. President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr.’s recent visit to China underscores his intent to have a constructive relationship with China, and a balanced and diversified Philippine foreign policy. But as Sino-US relations deteriorate and United States President Joseph Biden veers towards strategic clarity to defend Taiwan amid heightened cross-Strait tensions, the risk of getting entangled in a Sino-US conflict over Taiwan has become a major policy issue for Manila.  All Philippine presidents have strictly adhered to the One-China policy which is enshrined in the Joint Communique on normalisation of Sino-Philippine ties in 1975. Even President Benigno Aquino III, who arguably pursued the most critical China policy in 2010-2016, toed the line on the One-China policy and repatriated wanted Taiwanese nationals to Beijing in 2011. Manila’s adherence to the One-China policy was reaffirmed by Marcos Jr. after U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s visit to Taiwan last year.  In the event of a Sino-U.S. conflict over Taiwan, the legal status of Manila’s commitment to the One-China policy would be tested against its obligations under the 1951 Philippine-US Mutual Defense Treaty (MDT). The treaty highlights the “sense of unity,” “common determination” and “collective defense” against an “external armed attack” and “potential aggressor”, but it is ambiguous about the specific geographic scope of its application in the Pacific. While the Philippines sees the utility of the MDT primarily for a South China Sea contingency, the U.S. can invoke Article IV of the MDT in a Taiwan conflict. The article states that each party deems that “an armed attack in the Pacific area on either of the Parties would be dangerous to its own peace and safety and declares that it would act to meet the common dangers in accordance with its constitutional processes.”  With respect to “constitutional processes”, the 1987 Philippine Constitution gives the Congress the power to declare “the existence of a state of war”; only under such conditions or another national emergency, would the President be authorised by law to wield the necessary powers “to carry out a declared national policy.” As such, congressional intervention would be an important variable that needs to be closely watched. Manila can also mitigate entrapment risks by exercising its sovereign authority on where and how the U.S. military could access and use its facilities. The preamble to the Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement (EDCA) states that “US access to and use of facilities and areas will be at the invitation of the Philippines and with full respect for the Philippine Constitution and Philippine laws.” Yet, history has shown how the Philippines could be involved in a war over Taiwan even in the absence of a U.S. formal invocation of the MDT. Manila could send boots on the ground and/or provide logistical access for U.S. military operations. This was the case in the Korean War, Vietnam War, and U.S. wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.  Put differently, Manila is caught in a bind. On one hand, it fears Washington’s abandonment in the event of a South China Sea conflict with China. Manila has repeatedly demanded clarity and immediacy in U.S. alliance commitments. To this end, Manila concluded the 1998 Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA) and the 2014 EDCA with Washington to secure U.S. military presence in the region and security guarantees. On the other hand, the Philippine security establishment increasingly fears entrapment, where the country’s military is drawn into a Sino-US conflict over Taiwan. This reality became evident following former U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s visit to Taiwan in August 2022. In September 2021, the Philippine ambassador to America said that the U.S. can use Philippine bases in a Taiwan conflict if it is important for the Philippines’ security. The condition, however, remains open-ended and is contingent on many indeterminate factors.  At the moment, the risks of entrapment are increasing, at least from the operational perspective. Since its coming to power, the Marcos Jr. administration has taken steps to bolster security ties with Washington. Both countries have agreed to explore joint patrols in the South China Sea, and accelerate the implementation of the EDCA through infrastructure enhancement at various locations. Both allies are looking at adding more sites for American military access, including in the northern province of Cagayan near Taiwan, to facilitate faster response to crisis situations. They have also agreed to double the number of troops involved in joint exercises and plan to sharply increase the number of bilateral defence activities in 2023. Given the timing of these initiatives, Beijing would likely see these Philippine moves as siding with America to undermine its One-China principle and enable U.S. military prepositioning for war-time contingencies. Should the Philippines provide basing access in a cross-strait conflict, Manila would certainly face Chinese sanctions. China could also play hardball in the South China Sea and its ballistic missiles could target countries facilitating U.S. combat operations. But if tensions in the South China Sea escalate and coincide with tensions in Taiwan, there will be a greater incentive for Manila to strategically align with Washington and accommodate U.S. military hardware.  How the Philippines should respond to a Taiwan contingency is not simply a legal question but a critical national security concern. There are around 200,000 overseas Filipino workers in Taiwan; repatriating them during an armed confrontation over Taiwan would be an enormous undertaking. This will be compounded by a massive human migration of Taiwanese nationals.  Even if Manila manages to sidestep the risks associated with entrapment in a Taiwan Strait conflict, it cannot escape the geopolitical ramifications of such a historic event. Should China successfully reunify Taiwan by force, China could inch closer to the northern Philippines and it will be easier for China to break through the First Island Chain. China’s takeover of Taiwan would also augment its power projection capability in the South China Sea. This would consequently impact Philippine maritime and security interests. Given the Philippines’ geographic proximity to Taiwan, its status as a U.S. defence treaty ally and its stakes in the South China Sea, there will be complications in Manila’s desire to be neutral in a Taiwan contingency.