Southeast Asia’s megacities, long viewed as symbols of progress, are facing crises ranging from floods and ecological damage to displacement and widening inequality. Scholars of contemporary urban politics often attribute these predicaments to rapid globalization that originated in the mid-1980s. Yet APARC Visiting Scholar Gavin Shatkin argues they must be understood in the context of the Cold War era, when urban development agendas were molded by authoritarian regimes exerting political and economic control in the name of anti-communism.

Shatkin, an urban planner specializing in the political economy of urbanization and urban policy and planning in Southeast Asia, is a professor of public policy and architecture at Northeastern University. He recently completed his residency at APARC as a Lee Kong Chian National University of Singapore-Stanford fellow on Southeast Asia. Before heading to Singapore for the second part of his fellowship, he presented research from his new book project, which examines how U.S.-supported authoritarian regimes in Indonesia, the Philippines, and Thailand shaped urban politics in three megalopolises —Jakarta, Bangkok, and Metro Manila — during the 1960s and 1970s, with consequences that reverberate today.

Political Violence as Foundation

Shatkin refers to the period from the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s as Southeast Asia's "hot Cold War." During that time, in tandem with the armed conflict in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia, political violence spread through Indonesia, the Philippines, and Thailand, as the three countries witnessed the emergence of authoritarian regimes that cemented their rule by manipulating laws and institutions and deploying targeted, often extreme violence justified as necessary to combat communism.

In Indonesia, a U.S.-backed 1965 military coup, directed particularly at the Communist Party of Indonesia, led to the massacre of 500,000 to one million people, heralding General Suharto's 32-year authoritarian rule.

In the Philippines, amid leftist demonstrations and a communist insurgency, President Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law in 1972, marking the beginning of a decade defined by his administration’s widespread human rights violations, throughout which the United States continued to provide foreign aid to the country, considering Marcos a steadfast anti-communist ally.

And in Thailand, the imposition of the 1958 military dictatorship to counter communist threats and the 1976 crackdown by Thai police and right-wing paramilitaries against leftist protesters were pivotal points in establishing a royalist-nationalist model that defined "Thainess" (khwam pen thai) through loyalty to the monarchy, aligned with military power as well as American military aid and counter-insurgency policy guidance.

According to Shatkin, these were not isolated incidents but defining episodes of political violence that cemented authoritative oligarchic control over urban development. The explosive urbanization in Southeast Asian cities that followed in the mid-1980s must be read through the lens of this earlier period, when authoritarian regimes sought to exploit urban transformation to entrench political and economic power.

Oligarchic Politics

The Suharto regime's approach to Jakarta as a source of profit exemplifies this dynamic. Shatkin explains how, between 1985 and 1998, Indonesia's National Land Agency distributed land permits for extensive urban development across the Jakarta metropolitan region to a small network of oligarchic conglomerates, such as the Salim Group. These crony corporations, allied with Suharto through family ties and political patronage, came to dominate Indonesia’s economy. Many of these same corporate interests continue to influence development agendas in Jakarta today, owning exclusive rights to purchase and develop permitted land.

The same pattern of successive waves of government expansion of metropolitan regions through infrastructure development and the distribution of land to selected major conglomerates has repeated itself in Manila and Bangkok, creating in-country profit centers for economic interests and what Shatkin calls “an archipelago of exclusive gated elite spaces” that reinforces spatial dichotomy and segregation as each of these megacities also experiences a housing crisis.

For example, Shatkin’s research in Metro Manila during the late 1990s and early 2000s revealed that approximately 40% of the population lived in dense informal settlements. A significant portion of these residents were employed in the nearby container port, yet their wages were insufficient to afford legal housing near their workplace. This discrepancy highlights a structural dilemma where low-wage workers are effectively compelled to occupy land illegally.

Environmental crises in the three urban giants are also entrenched in political and social structures rooted in oligarchic and authoritarian legacies of the Cold War era, argues Shatkin. Thus, increasingly devastating floods in Jakarta, Metro Manila, and Bangkok have less to do with sea level rise and far more with the rapid spread of impervious surfaces and the extraction of groundwater resulting from uncontrolled urban sprawl on converted watershed lands within a relatively weak regulatory environment. Moreover, flooding mitigation solutions, like Indonesia’s Great Garuda seawall project, have perpetuated the same pattern of land giveaways to major developers.

Lessons from Urban Social Movements

Crucially, Shatkin's research shows that Southeast Asian urban activists themselves frame their struggles through the lens of Cold War legacies. For example, when Jakarta residents along the Ciliwung River faced eviction for flood mitigation in 2015, they challenged the Jakarta administration and the Ciliwung-Cisadane Flood Control Office in court, arguing the eviction was based on a Cold War-era law drafted during counterinsurgency operations that had no place in democratic Indonesia. They partially won the case.

In a similar vein, Thailand's Red Shirt movement, representing working-class people from the northeast, deliberately protested on land owned by the Crown Property Bureau, using iconography that critiqued the military-monarchy-elite alliance forged during the Cold War.

An example from Manila is the 2001 mass protests by urban, low-income groups in defense of President Joseph Estrada, who was impeached for corruption. Their support can be interpreted as a reaction against “anti-poor” discourse that originated in the Ferdinand Marcos era. For the urban poor, Estrada represented a powerful counterweight to this legacy of elite disdain.

"We need to listen to these protest movements on the ground,” says Shatkin. They do not primarily critique globalization but rather contest entrenched oligarchy and state paternalism forged by Cold War political violence. Thus, an alternative framework for understanding debates in urban politics of Jakarta, Manila, and Bangkok is to view them not merely as capitals shaped by globalization but as Cold War frontline sites.

Beyond Southeast Asia

The implications of Shatkin’s theoretical framework extend beyond Jakarta, Metro Manila, and Bangkok, and even beyond Southeast Asia. It illuminates how periods of political upheaval create enduring social, economic, and environmental inequalities.

Moreover, these three urban giants, which produce outsized shares of their nations' GDP, rank among the world's largest cities. Their futures will not only affect Southeast Asia but also global urban development patterns. Shatkin's work suggests that this future cannot be charted without reckoning with the past.

I am coming into the MIP program from the world of foreign and defense analysis. I’ve had the opportunity to work for various groups in and out of the government in Washington D.C. looking at the foreign policy and defense strategy of various parts of Africa, the Gulf, and how the U.S. interacts with these regions.

I am particularly interested in a range of complex policy areas focusing on peace and security. My interests include evolving dynamics of drone warfare by great powers and middle powers, use of paramilitary groups by states, and strategies for countering political violence in authoritarian regimes.  

That technology aspect is one reason that drew me here to Stanford and its proximity to the Silicon Valley ecosystem. And, of course, there’s the AI aspect as well. “AI” is the buzzword in everything right now, but I want to know how these new tools and technologies are shaping political violence, democracies, and the global governance structure as a whole. If we don’t understand where the violence is coming from, we can’t understand how to pursue strategies for peace.

Another big appeal of the MIP program was that it allows me to interact with scholars like Francis Fukuyama, Larry Diamond, James Fearon, and Joe Felter. These are names I’ve read and referenced in my analytic work, and now I have the opportunity to learn from them directly. And who knows; maybe I will come back someday as a colleague if I return to Stanford for my PhD! With the hands-on experience at MIP, the networking opportunities here, and the emphasis on both quantitative and qualitative learning, I know I’m going to be in a good position to meet my goals and make a difference.
 

If you had told me ten years ago that I would be working on artificial intelligence at Stanford, in the heart of Silicon Valley, I wouldn’t have believed you. When applying to undergrad, I had to submit my application from an internet cafe in Beirut because the internet in my village in Lebanon wasn’t fast enough to upload my application. To go from a small village in Lebanon to studying at Stanford is a dream come true.

The path that led me here isn’t straightforward, but the thread that connects my experiences is a desire to be a voice for people who aren’t in the room. When I was a foreign correspondent, I published stories about systemic inequities and disadvantages. At the World Bank, it was pointing out biases and gaps in the data sets that directly impacted the distribution of aid and personal protective equipment. Today we are told artificial intelligence is going to be a “democratizing” technology. What about people who don’t have electricity? Who don’t have $20 for a ChatGPT subscription? Who have no AI literacy?  

If AI is going to impact every single person on earth’s life, how we build it can’t be decided by 0.01% of the population. If this is a printing press, Gutenberg Bible moment in history, we can’t simply leave entire communities, entire countries, nor entire continents out of the conversation. 

Drafting better AI policy is why I came back to school to the MIP program at Stanford. I worked with engineers who were Stanford CS alumni, and they were always so collaborative and inclusive. They patiently answered all of my questions while training an LLM. Those are the kinds of people and the kinds of values I want to work with to tackle these challenges. I’ve already seen that spirit here in the few weeks I’ve been at Stanford. These values of connecting the dots between engineering, policy, law and other disciplines has given me confidence that working together, we can write better AI policy and improve outcomes well beyond Silicon Valley. 
 

I come from Haiti, which is a small country. As such, we don’t always think about our foreign policy in an integrated way. How are our population, demography, topography, and borders linked? What about our trade partners and migration patterns? How do those impact our relationships with neighboring countries, or places with diaspora communities like the U.S.? I studied some of these questions while I was an undergrad at Princeton, but there’s much more to understand. 

My dream job is to work in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Haiti. So while I’m here at Stanford, I’m trying to write a handbook of sorts for myself and build out the agenda I hope to have someday. That is what is giving me direction for my time here at Stanford. If I’m learning about the balance of payments, the question I’m asking myself is, “What is Haiti’s balance of payment? What does it look like? What are the policy implications of that?”

By the time I graduate, I want to have a fully drafted idea of where Haiti’s policy landscape is currently, so I know what priorities to set to work on for the future. The fact that the MIP program is so customizable is one of the big reasons I wanted to come here; I can really tailor my studies to support these bigger projects. I get to make this time what I want it to be, and what will be most helpful to my goals.

But I also want to challenge myself to think beyond my field and learn about other parts of the world that may not have anything in common with Haiti, at least on the surface. I want to have a local impact, but I also want to develop as a global thinker. There’s a lot that connects us beyond our borders, and being able to think about those connections in a systematic, global way will only become more and more important as populations continue to migrate and integrate into communities throughout the world.
 

When I was serving as an active duty Space Operations Army officer, I had the opportunity to work on electromagnetic warfare and space control operations around the globe. My background is originally in history, and I began my military career as a military police officer, but I’ve always been really passionate about being part of the future.

There’s so much incredible defense technology out there, but the most up-to-date and effective versions don’t always get down to the individuals who really need them to operate effectively. There are so many inefficiencies and gaps between what’s actually codified in policy and what the warfighters on the ground need to execute their missions.

And that’s true of large-scale policies as well. Take the Space Treaty, for example. It was written back in 1967 when there were just 24 known satellites in orbit. Now there are thousands of satellites in orbit, yet we don't have another foundational governing document around space protocols. That’s got to change.

That’s what I want to start tackling while I’m here at Stanford. Making systemic changes in big organizations like the Department of Defense isn’t going to be easy, but we’ve got to close those knowledge gaps between the policymakers, the high level leaders and stakeholders, and those who are actually pressing the buttons of our space systems. We can't avoid these issues anymore, because it’s not just about the military or defense: it’s ATMs, it’s GPS, it's traffic lights, it's everything. There are no borders in space, so we must work hand-in-hand with our partners and allies to be successful in this emerging domain. This problem set truly involves everyone.

This is why being here at Stanford is going to be so beneficial. In addition to my courses in policy, it’s so easy to take a law or a business class or sit in on an aeronautics course. And we’re right in Silicon Valley where a lot of this technology is being built and distributed. That makes it so easy to look at these issues from different perspectives and get new insights into how to tackle them. We need a well-rounded perspective in order to get the right knowledge to the right people to make the right decisions.
 

At the root of all my interests in policy and foreign affairs is a desire to help people. I’ve always been drawn to problems that involve alleviating difficulties, whether that’s humanitarian issues, conflict resolution, or any other issues where civilians are not fairly represented. When I was first considering working in government, it was the consular aspect—being able to serve people from Thailand all over the world— that really appealed to me.

When I had the opportunity to serve at the UN as a Peace and Security Intern at the Permanent Mission of Thailand, my excitement for that assignment came from the same place; I liked the spirit of people coming together to discuss problems. There’s been waning faith about the usefulness of these types of big, multilateral organizations, but I still believe these kinds of bodies are important forums for dealing with conflicts. Reforms are needed, yes, but we can’t simply sideline conversations that are difficult to have or shut out nations we don’t easily agree with.

My own country of Thailand, for example, is not the biggest or most influential nation on security issues, but we have a lot we can teach and discuss when it comes to development. How do we balance some of that influence? How do we give countries in the global south more representation on these stages? Or domestically, how can we create policies that actually make a difference to people for the better? There tends to be a lot of talk and lofty goals, but then little action or follow through. 

That’s why one of the major appeals of coming to the MIP program was the emphasis on studying policymaking frameworks. In my undergrad at Columbia, I studied a lot of political theory and philosophy through the core curriculum. Here at Stanford, I want my focus to be on framing, implementation, and learning how to do things that address issues, not just identify them. I will be entering the Thai Foreign Service when I’m finished with my schooling, and I want to be as prepared as possible to excel as a diplomat—someone capable of solving problems effectively as part of a team, and, above all, helping people. I’m excited to learn from the experiences and perspectives of my cohort. MIP may not be as big as the UN, but we’re our own multilateral, multinational group trying to make a difference.
 

Behind all of my interests and experiences in policy is a commitment to understand how we shape and are shaped by the environment. Living  in different places and engaging with many kinds of people in different cultures has shown me how our lives are deeply connected to the environments we inhabit. No matter where we come from, we all depend on the same planet. We all have a stake in sustaining this place we share.

That being said, as a former negotiator for the Ministry of Economy, Trade, and Industry (METI) in Japan, I know that the best course of action for how to protect the environment is not always easy or straightforward. Climate policies that make sense in one place may not be feasible in another. Requirements about renewables that work here may not work elsewhere. There are some things that we can do universally, but it’s also important that countries realize and respect that each nation has different circumstances that will require unique planning and policies to address.

One of the areas in which I would specifically like to develop is finding ways to incentivize trade policies that accelerate the dissemination of clean, low emission, or zero emission technologies. How can we make climate-related goods more appealing to the global market? How can we get over price barriers and lower the cost of climate-related products? I want to live in a world where products and trade that support climate goals are the norm, not a specialty, and those goods are easy for everyone to access.

I’ve been fortunate to have experiences already in international engagement and inter-government coordination on climate and trade negotiations, but I am looking forward to being able to learn much more about the science side of climate and the environment. Having the ability to combine my MIP classes with courses from the Doerr School of Sustainability was one of the big appeals for me in coming to this program. Gaining that dual background in policy and analytical skills from MIP and science and research from Doerr through my electives is going to be incredibly beneficial to bring back to my ministry.