In an age of global polarization, Southeast Asia offers a rare, working model of pluralistic peace.
I was sitting at a warung in Surabaya the other night, sweating through my shirt, slurping mie ayam bakso (chicken noodle soup with meatballs), and chasing it down with a glass of es teh tawar that tasted more like room temperature philosophy. On my left, a Chinese mother was arguing with the vendor about whether the bakso was better last week; on my right, a Javanese couple was trying to keep their toddler from knocking over a bowl of soto. Across from me, two Madurese ojol (Indonesian slang term for online motobike taxi) joked about football and fuel prices.
And it struck me, this is the miracle: not the food, not the nostalgia, but the fact that people from vastly different backgrounds have somehow figured out how to live side by side without killing each other.
That, in essence, is Southeast Asia’s quiet genius.
A Region Defined by Stability, Not Conflict
In a world obsessed with conflict, this region has managed, against all odds, to stay largely intact. No grandstanding superpower alliances. No utopian revolutions. Just a string of post-colonial countries, stitched together with pragmatism, patience, and a deep understanding that shouting across the table rarely helps.
But to truly appreciate this achievement, we have to remember what came before. Peace wasn’t our default setting, it was a hard-earned pivot from decades of violence, suspicion, and foreign interference.
Legacy of the Cold War
Let’s not sugarcoat it; Southeast Asia was once one of the bloodiest stages of the Cold War. This region was a testing ground for ideology, and often, the people paid the price.
Cambodia was torn apart by U.S. bombing campaigns, followed by the genocidal madness of the Khmer Rouge. Vietnam became a synonym for war itself, a brutal proxy struggle between communism and Western ambition that claimed millions of lives. Laos, largely forgotten in global memory, was bombed more heavily than any country on Earth per capita.
Take Indonesia in 1965. In just a few short months, thousands of people were killed in anti-communist purges following an attempted coup. The violence, fueled by Cold War paranoia and tacit international meddling, was so widespread that villages were left with empty homes and haunted silences. And yet, Indonesia didn’t descend into civil war.
By the 1970s, it was back at the regional table, helping form the foundations of ASEAN. That transition, from bloodshed to diplomacy, isn’t often highlighted. But it should be. It’s living proof that peace isn’t born out of purity; it’s forged in fire. And Southeast Asia knows that better than most.
So when people look at ASEAN today and see slow decision-making or endless meetings, they miss the deeper point. The point is not speed, it’s restraint. It’s about giving diplomacy time to breathe. Because we’ve seen what happens when dialogue breaks down.
ASEAN’s Approach to Regional Cooperation
Unlike Europe, our peace wasn’t enforced by the shadow of NATO or the promise of American muscle. We didn’t build a union after two world wars, we built trust while still healing from Cold War trauma. ASEAN, for all its bureaucracy and slow-moving communiqués, is a diplomatic marvel.
When Indonesia and Malaysia had a confrontation in the ’60s, they didn’t spiral into war. When Vietnam emerged from isolation, we didn’t freeze them out, we found a way to bring them in. The 1976 Treaty of Amity and Cooperation might sound like a snoozefest to foreign observers, but for us, it was revolutionary: a declaration that disputes would be settled not with bullets, but with words.
This wasn’t theoretical. This was survival.
Ongoing Challenges to ASEAN’s Credibility
Still, let’s not pat ourselves on the back too quickly. The region’s peace, while impressive, remains fragile. And Myanmar is a painful reminder of that.
Since the 2021 military coup, ASEAN has struggled to find its voice. The principles that guided us, non-intervention, consensus, quiet diplomacy, have become obstacles in moments of moral urgency. Excluding Myanmar from summits was a start. But more is needed. If ASEAN wants to be seen as a credible peace framework, it must demonstrate that its red lines are real, and not just convenient press releases.
This is ASEAN’s test. Because if we can’t hold the line at home, how can we expect the world to take our peace model seriously?
The Practical Foundations of Regional Peace
Southeast Asia isn’t peaceful because we’re naturally docile. This isn’t about “Asian values” or some mystical Eastern harmony. No, our peace is the result of hard work, daily compromise, and the lived reality that in a region this diverse, nobody wins when one side dominates.
Look at Indonesia, a country with over 700 languages, more than 1,340 ethnic groups, multiple religions, and a patchwork of islands that could’ve easily torn itself apart. Look at Malaysia, where politics and ethnicity have long danced a delicate waltz. Look at Thailand, the Philippines, Singapore, Cambodia. None of us are perfect. But we’ve chosen the path of negotiation, again and again.
And that choice? That’s what peace actually looks like.
Sharing Southeast Asia’s Peace Model with the World
So why doesn’t the world see this?
Part of the problem is us. We’ve been too modest. Too hesitant to tell our story with confidence. If ASEAN wants to be the global narrative of peace, we need to act like it, not with arrogance, but with clarity and conviction.
We should be nominating Southeast Asian peacebuilders for top UN posts. We should be exporting our model of coexistence: cross-border student exchanges, ASEAN cultural scholarships, shared historical education. Imagine a Vietnamese student learning about Aceh, or a Filipino youth understanding what happened in Cambodia, not through textbooks, but through shared experiences.
We don’t need to compete with the West or China on weapons or GDP. We have something rarer: a working model of coexistence in a world increasingly defined by division.
And maybe, just maybe, if we shout it loud enough—not with guns, but with good stories—the world will finally start listening.
