The Leftovers
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“Looking into Sino-Burmese relations, it obviously goes back hundreds of years, but this particular strand of history is, well, obviously it was a civil war! The Nationalists were losing, and had all but lost, and the Nationalist government relocated—or [I should say], the ROC government relocated—which is still the official name of Taiwan, the Republic of China. It relocated to Taipei, having moved several times.”
Following their defeat by Mao’s Communist forces, remnants of the Nationalist army remained scattered in the hinterlands, including two divisions, most notably the 93rd, which crossed into and then settled in Burma’s Shan States. Today’s interview with journalist James Baron explores how their unexpected and inconvenient arrival marked the beginning of a complex chapter in the region’s history, which went on to reshape the sociopolitical and economic landscape of Burma.
Led by General Li Mi, the Nationalist Army initially claimed it was continuing the anti-communist struggle. However, it soon became involved in exploiting local resources, notably opium cultivation. Li Mi and his forces, facing limited options for survival, leveraged the burgeoning opium trade as the means to sustain their activities and maintain control in the region. This initially involved relatively small-scale operations, but opium production expanded exponentially under the KMT’s control, transforming the region into the Golden Triangle—what is now a global epicenter of the drug trade. The instability caused by So Li Mi and his forces would entrench themselves in local Burmese affairs, eventually roiling the fledgling nation and diverting significant resources from Rangoon to deal with the resulting turmoil.
In the early 1950s, Burma’s Prime Minister U Nu faced immense pressure as the KMT’s activities undermined his control. He appealed to the country’s recent colonial masters, the British, who in turn pushed the Americans to reign in their allies, the KMT, fearing the geopolitical fallout from Burma’s destabilization. Yet the Americans, through covert CIA channels, remained complicit in funding and arming the KMT irregulars under the guise of anti-communist operations. Covert networks channeled arms and money via Taiwan, Thailand, and Hong Kong. Key figures like Claire Chennault, formerly of the Flying Tigers, played pivotal roles in these operations, using fronts like Civil Air Transport (CAT) to facilitate the arms-drug trade triangle.
As the KMT solidified their fiefdoms in Shan State, their relationship with local ethnic groups deteriorated. Initially they formed tactical alliances with groups like the Karen and Mon, likely based on their shared anti-communist sentiments and intent to resist the central government, but these crumbled as the KMT’s exploitative practices became more apparent. The KMT levied taxes, conscripted locals, and forced indigenous populations to cultivate opium. This alienated potential allies, deepening mistrust and fragmenting resistance to the central government. As Baron explains, “The KMT was able to say [at first], ‘Look at what these guys [the Chinese Communists] are doing. Man, they're going to destroy your society, that's what they want! They want destruction and then to start again. Do you want that? Obviously, not.’… But then, I guess, as atrocities were committed by both sides, especially the KMT in that area ... [those alliances] didn't last very long.”
U Nu’s administration, often mocked as controlling little beyond Rangoon, struggled to respond to this chaos. A critical by-product of this dynamic was that Burma’s fledging military saw its role expand significantly, as it became essential for combating these internal threats. This laid the groundwork for its eventual political dominance, using KMT’s actions as justification for greater militarization and centralization of power. “They were conscripting people into the army, or just forcibly marching people. They were committing atrocities! Already there were American missionaries there who reported atrocities against farming communities,” Baron says. “They started to force these groups to cultivate [opium]. Some of them had already had small scale farms, but they were imposing quotas here, saying, ‘You're going to do this, and if you don't, we’ll come in …’"
A turning point came when U Nu brought the issue to the United Nations, submitting Resolution 707 in 1953. This move, supported by the British, forced the Americans and the Republic of China (ROC) to address the KMT’s continued presence in Burma. Under intense diplomatic pressure, the KMT began evacuations, with logistical support from the CIA and Chennault’s CAT. However, the process was fraught with complications, as the ROC claimed it had no control over the irregulars. Left mainly to their own devices, the former KMT soldiers resisted evacuation, fearing a loss of their newfound power as drug lords. They facilitated sham shows of compliance: reports surfaced of press-ganging civilians onto planes bound for Taiwan to inflate evacuation numbers (which even included ethnic minorities who had no Chinese ancestry of any kind), along with handing over caches of useless weapons.
But little by little, much—but significantly, not all— of the KMT eventually did evacuate from their strongholds in Burma. However, the legacy of their presence can still be felt today. The Golden Triangle’s drug trade, set in motion by the KMT, flourished, contributing to regional instability and developing a global reach. They sold heroin to American soldiers during the Vietnam War, and eventually, their product was sold in inner cities across the United States, leading to Reagan’s infamous “War on Drugs” in the 1980s.
Meanwhile, the Burmese military’s strength and influence, which had to be beefed up in part to combat the irregulars, continued to grow, culminating in the 1962 coup, which ended the country’s brief experiment with parliamentary democracy. From there, it evolved into an authoritarian institution, consolidating power and marginalizing ethnic groups. So one could say that the KMT’s incursions contributed to the country’s subsequent decades of military rule, as did the CIA’s covert support of their activities.
In Taiwan, the remnants of the KMT’s Burmese chapter have also left their mark, most notably in areas like New Taipei City’s Zhonghe District and Taoyuan’s Zhongli. These communities, known today as “Little Burma,” maintain a cultural memory of their time ruling the roost there. However, Baron notes that broader Taiwanese society remains largely unaware of this Burma connection. Among those who do, perceptions are shaped by ideological leanings: some view the KMT’s actions as a noble, anti-communist struggle, while others recognize the exploitative and destabilizing impact of their activities.
Interestingly, Baron describes how the KMT’s Burmese experience helped form Taiwan’s evolving global political and military strategy. The ROC’s Bureau of Investigation and Statistics, and the Ministry of National Defense’s Political Warfare Division, refined their approach to relation-building. Taiwan’s tactics, blending propaganda with coercion, morphed into its Cold War-era alliances, notably in Central America and Africa. Its collaboration with the CIA, they launched a network of counter-revolutionary training programs, with institutions like Fu Hsing Kang College tutoring operatives who exported those methods globally.
In sum, the KMT’s Burmese chapter created a unique, historical episode, a confluence of Cold War geopolitics, regional and ethnic complexities, and the nationalist-communist struggle. Its ramifications—from the rise of the Golden Triangle to the militarization of Burma and the global export of political warfare—reflect its enduring impact of this almost-forgotten chapter in modern history.
“By the mid to late 1950s, only about seven or eight thousand had gone [back to Taiwan], which was satisfactory for the government,” Baron says, noting the lasting footprint of the KMT’s presence in Burma, and highlighting the incomplete resolutions and ongoing legacies of this historical chapter. “But there was simply in the region, loads that just stayed, loads that never left, and you see their relatives or their descendants still there now.”
If you would like to listen to past episodes from our archive that touch upon similar themes, we suggest the following:
· Kenton Clymer shares how his research into the U.S.-Burma relationship since 1945 reveals a complex web of historical, political, and cultural intersections, shaped by shifting priorities from World War II through to modern democracy movements. He shares insights into the dynamic interplay between American missionaries, Cold War fears, and the persistence of ethnic and regional divides.
· Patrick Winn discusses Myanmar's narcotics trade, which exposes the widespread social and socioeconomic implications of the $60 billion methamphetamine industry that dominates Southeast Asia. His emphasis is on humanizing the individuals navigating this illicit economy, and his work reflects broader themes of survival and adaptation amid systemic inequalities and geopolitical neglect.
· Robert Lyman talks about the Burma Campaign of World War II. He focuses on the region's complex dynamics, including the background of the Naga people. His exploration of the cooperation between hill tribes and Allied forces tells a story of surprising alliances amid global upheavals, reflecting broader struggles for identity and survival.
· Wes Kingsley describes how his career in U.S. diplomatic communications, including his CIA postings in Myanmar and Vietnam, which offer firsthand insight into the intricacies of Cold War-era diplomacy and the human cost of geopolitical strategies.
· Brian Klingborg talks about his novel, partially set in post-coup Myanmar. He uses crime fiction to explore the intersection of individual moral dilemmas and systemic injustices. His nuanced portrayal of characters within a complex cultural and political backdrop resonates with the challenges of navigating fractured societies and ideological divides.