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9 May, ASIA WEEK/Pipeline
- Subject: 9 May, ASIA WEEK/Pipeline
- From: ccraig@xxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Tue, 27 May 1997 09:12:00
Asia Week
May 9, 1997
In The Name of Money
SLORC, the Thais and two multinational oil giants are building a gas
pipeline. The Karen are in the way -- and that's just too bad
By Dominic Faulder
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---
A GRAY SUNDAY MORNING, and all is quiet at Ban-I-Thong, a collection of
corrugated iron and timber houses on a precipitous section of the
Thai-Myanmar border. A rickety stockade marks the frontier; a wooden
barrier
projects sharp stakes, defenses best suited to elephant warfare. There
are
no pillboxes with machine guns or artillery emplacements, just helipads.
Light mists skim the ridge, occasionally obscuring the Thai and Myanmar
flags fluttering side by side.
At this point along the rugged 2,400-km border, the Thai and Myanmar
militaries stand toe-to-toe in peace, the enmity of centuries set aside.
Both sides are solicitous, intent upon building cross-border confidence.
The
reason for this sudden friendliness: mutual business interests. From far
below, I can hear the clink of chains and the roar of heavy machinery.
Men
are starting work on a pipeline. It is being built by an international
consortium comprising the state-owned Myanma Oil and Gas Enterprise, the
Petroleum Authority of Thailand's exploration arm and two oil
multinationals, France's Total and America's Unocal. Once completed next
year, the pipeline will carry natural gas from the Yadana field some 400
km
offshore in the Andaman Sea to a new power station 270 km inside
Thailand.
An enormous, sandy-haired man is scanning the scene below, from time to
time
fussing over a two-way radio. He is a former South African soldier. Now
he
works for Ordsafe, an American security outfit. He is here for America's
Texaco, a company not in the consortium. Somewhere below, a Texaco
survey
team is figuring out how another pipe can be laid alongside Total's. By
1999, the second pipeline is supposed to carry gas from a smaller field.
"I hear this [Total] project has attracted bad publicity," says the
affable
South African. He is a master of understatement. We are gazing at what
is
easily Southeast Asia's most controversial infrastructure project. Its
many
critics say Myanmar's military junta, the State Law and Order
Restoration
Council, will stop at nothing to ensure the pipeline gets built. Even if
that means stamping hard on anyone in the way. Or weathering economic
sanctions, such as those imposed in April by U.S. President Bill
Clinton.
The stakes are high. Consider Unocal's recent decision to open a "twin
corporate headquarters" in Malaysia. That may help it evade Clinton's
ban on
American investment in Myanmar (though the sanctions may well torpedo
Texaco's plans for a second pipeline). SLORC -- directly or otherwise --
stands to earn $200 million a year from the pipeline, and plainly it is
prepared to ignore worldwide opprobrium. "I cannot see that the pipeline
is
going to benefit the public at large," says Myanmar's voice of
conscience,
Aung San Suu Kyi. "What it will do is put money in the pockets of the
authorities. This could be used for buying weapons or building
extravagant
hotels. That is not going to help the ordinary people of Burma." No one
knows that better than those unlucky enough to be in the pipeline's path
--
especially the Karen people. Given that they account for at least a
tenth of
Myanmar's 48 million citizens, presumably they deserve some say in their
future.
A minority group shunted aside by "progress" is not unusual. In this
case,
however, history and geography have made things extra-complicated. For
starters, armed Karen groups have been battling the central authorities
for
nearly half a century. Until early 1995, the powerful Karen National
Liberation Army controlled much of the border with Thailand, charging a
7%
tax on smuggled goods to bankroll its struggle. The leaders of the group
are
mainly Christians who once wanted to secede from the mostly Buddhist
country, but would now settle for a degree of autonomy. Unlike most
rebel
groups in Myanmar, the KNLA was sufficiently well-armed, organized and
confident to scorn any peace treaty with SLORC. It obtained weapons in
Thailand, where authorities generally looked the other way when rebel
fighters regrouped on the wrong side of the border. Each dry season, the
Myanmar military would hurl its troops, many of them boys, against the
battle-hardened Karen. Each year the Karen would defend their jungle
redoubts. When the rains began, the army would withdraw, leaving the
Karen
in their malarial barracks to prepare for the next dry-season offensive.
So
it went, year after year.
The tide began to turn when Thai and Myanmar officials recognized the
area's
commercial potential. In late 1988, Thai army chief Gen. Chavalit
Yongchaiyudh, now the prime minister, flew to Yangon with a planeful of
Thai
reporters and embraced his SLORC "brothers." Fishing and timber
concessions
quickly followed to Thai companies, many with military connections. The
Karen found themselves in an economic vice. This decade, the oil
companies
entered the picture. The junta wants the money that the pipeline will
bring;
the Thais need the electricity. With so much at stake, an armed
insurrection
could no longer be tolerated.
This became clear in 1995 when Karen fighters launched an attack along
the
pipeline route and killed five workers and wounded eleven others. The
repercussions were grave. Twelve Karen reportedly were executed after
the
attack on the pipeline crew. Since then, the military balance has
shifted
inexorably in SLORC's favor. Indeed, no central Myanmar government has
been
more successful in projecting influence over border areas since the
Union of
Burma was founded in 1948. One by one, Karen strongholds have fallen
before
the SLORC onslaught. The army easily overran the newest Karen
headquarters
in late February. Even Bo Mya, the veteran Karen guerrilla leader, has
fled
north and is talking retirement.
In February, Myanmar TV showed SLORC deputy chairman Gen. Maung Aye
stomping
on a Karen flag after a company of fighters had surrendered. He made the
Karen commander kneel before him and apologize. The general's gesture of
contempt was sure to radicalize some Karen not involved in the
insurgency,
but the military junta clearly smells victory. Maung Aye says the Karen
rebels should be finished by July, when Myanmar is due to join ASEAN.
Front-line officers expect to "mop up" by the end of the 1998 dry season
--
coincidentally about the time the pipeline is due for completion. With
the
Karen National Liberation Army teetering, refugees are pouring into
Thailand. In 1988 there were about 20,000 along the border; today there
are
six times as many -- and the Thais are proving to be fickle hosts,
letting
some refugees stay and pushing others back.
At a noodle shop along the southern border, a scruffy man with a wispy
beard
sketches a map showing the site of a new refugee camp. He describes the
condition of the refugees, mostly women and kids, with unaffected
sympathy.
"They have nothing to eat at home," he says. "Very bad." He tugs out an
ID
card that reveals him to be a Thai Special Forces officer. Without his
map,
there would be no finding the camp and its 2,500-plus refugees. Down a
dusty
track and across two small streams, the road is barred by Thai rangers.
They
are friendly but adamant -- no access without a special pass.
Further north in Tak province, the refugees are more accessible. Mae Hla
is
the largest refugee camp along the border. It houses 26,000 Karen,
having
recently absorbed two other camps: Its occupants believe there is safety
in
numbers. Here, Pastor Simon worries about the future of his children. At
49,
the Karen Christian is as old as the insurgency. Pictures of the Thai
royal
family hang in his hut; the Karen know how important it is to show
respect
to their hosts. "We're very vulnerable to attack," says Pastor Simon. In
January, a group of men crossed the border and tried to torch Mae Hla.
Sixteen huts burned down before Thai border police and Karen fighters
drove
off the intruders. Similar incursions up to six km inside Thailand have
almost wiped out other camps. In one incident more than half of 2,500
huts
were razed. In another, 145 houses burned to the ground at the Sho Klo
and
Mawkier camps near Mae Sot; 500 people were left homeless.
The way the attacks were orchestrated says a lot about how SLORC is
waging
this dirty little war. Eyewitnesses claim that a breakaway Karen faction
bankrolled by the junta took part in the cross-border raids. The
renegade
group has its genesis in a typically subversive SLORC tactic. In 1994,
the
junta planted an activist abbot named U Thuzana in a Karen monastery. He
managed to set the Buddhist and animist rank-and-file against the mostly
Christian leadership. As a result, up to 400 fighters joined SLORC.
Later,
they led government soldiers straight to the Karen base camp. It was
captured, and other camps followed suit. The Karen fighters, now
numbering
perhaps 2,000 and low on ammunition, have been on the run ever since.
In March, Thai army chief Gen. Chettha Thanajaro went to the Friendship
Bridge that will soon connect Thailand to Myanmar and publicly embraced
Gen.
Maung Aye, SLORC's deputy chairman. The bonhomie was a tonic for
business
interests but made refugees nervous. They fear any accommodation between
the
two militaries will come at their expense. They may be right. It was the
generals' second meeting this year. A month earlier they got together at
the
Myanmar border town of Tachilek, which is linked to Thailand's Mae Sai
by a
two-lane bridge. Not long after, the Thai army reportedly forced several
thousand refugees back into Myanmar. Some also were turned away at
Thongphaboom, near where the pipeline will cross the border. The same
thing
happened at Bongti, where a new road will connect Thailand to the
Andaman
sea. How the Thai military treats the Karen refugees seems to depend
largely
on whether or not they are close to an infrastructure project.
When SLORC is too heavy-handed, Thai officials feel bound to react.
After
the January attack on the Mae Hla camp where Pastor Simon lives, the
foreign
ministry called in Myanmar Ambassador Hla Maung. He emerged unchastened.
"The Thai government is not expressing concern," he said. "We did not
discuss in detail how to solve the border problem. Repatriating the
Karen
refugees, though, must be the first step. We want to see the removal of
the
camps from Thailand."
At Huay Kraloke, 14 km from the Friendship Bridge, it is immediately
clear
why the Karen are in no hurry to go home. Much of the fire-stormed camp
looks like an over-size ash tray. Refugees say the whole place would
have
gone up had Thai fire-fighters not arrived. In one of the remaining
houses
sits the vice chair of the Karen Refugee Committee, Mary Oh, 63. An avid
pipe-smoker, she is an indomitable soul who once played right-wing for a
football team. Oh considers herself a "Karen Joan of Arc," and has a
disconcerting habit of bursting into song. "We're not intending to stay
here
forever," she says. "If there is genuine peace in Burma, we would go
back
tonight. We look forward to cake, not the whip or fire." =CA=CA
At her feet sit the widows of three Karen farmers. The women are numbed
by
predicaments that leave them beyond tears. Naw Myi, 26, has three
children
clinging to her, the eldest Mu Ker Htee, 5. In December, Naw Myi's
husband,
28-year-old Par Pya, a farmer with no connection to the Karen rebels,
tried
to beg off sick as a military porter. Shortly, she says, more than 100
soldiers surrounded their house. An officer nicknamed Captain Sparrow
watched his men lynch the young father. With a rifle stock they broke
Par
Pya's legs, then his arms and finished him with two shots. According to
Naw
Myi, little Mu Ker Htee saw it all. "She screamed and cried," says her
mother. Terrified neighbors did not dare move the body until the next
day.
Not long after, there were reports that 3,000 porters had been dragooned
for
an impending offensive. Most came from towns well inside Myanmar. Forced
portering is standard operating procedure for the military. Groups of
starving men and boys who escape, or have been released in the middle of
nowhere, regularly appear at the border. The bodies of the less
fortunate
sometimes float down the Moei and Salween rivers.
Meantime, human-rights workers say minority villages are being relocated
for
a variety of security and economic reasons. The military is said to be
trying to contain villagers and prevent embarrassing tell-tale exoduses
into
Thailand. The latest controversy surrounds the creation of the
million-hectare Myinmolekat Nature Reserve south of the pipeline
corridor.
New York's World Conservation Society and Washington's Smithsonian
Institute
are under fire over a project that may involve wholesale village
relocations.
On a bright day, one can look down the pipeline corridor from
Ban-I-Thong
almost as far as the Andaman Sea. On this murky Sunday in March,
however,
the sky has obscured the high ground where more than 10,000 troops are
scattered along the route. This is the most secure zone in a country in
one
of the tightest military grips on Earth. Total says the figure is
fantasy. I
board a helicopter and can see little evidence of such a robust
presence.
Nevertheless, Myanmar soldiers certainly cleared the corridor, and by
most
accounts were none-too-gentle. As a result, key players in the pipeline
consortium have been named as defendants in a California class-action
suit.
They face 19 charges, such as crimes against humanity, torture, violence
against women and wrongful death. The case may hinge on proof of
"vicarious
liability" -- that is, guilt by association.
Even if the consortium did not knowingly use forced labor, it cannot be
unaware of it nearby. Consider the new freight-and-passenger railway
from Ye
to Tavoy. It actually bisects the pipeline. Human-rights types call it
the
"Second Death Railway" -- a reference to the line Allied prisoners built
during World War II. The activists say the tracks are being laid with
forced
labor, but not a soul can be seen when I fly over.
Security along the corridor is low-key but tight. Workers do not live
inside
mine-ringed compounds, as has been alleged. Critics of the project say
the
consortium has used forced labor. There are allegations that children
have
worked the pipeline. But clearly kids and unskilled laborers would be
incapable of driving the heavy machinery brought in to lay the massive
4.5-ton, 12-meter sections of pipe. To be sure, the consortium is in
full
public-relations mode. Total has committed $6 million over three years
for
schools, agricultural projects and health programs. "We cannot imagine
working in the area and ignoring the people," says Total personnel
manager
Sandy MacKay. "We cannot build the pipeline and simply walk away."
=CAMost of the villages in the corridor are inhabited by the Mon people.
But
Eindayaza, located near the new railway, is entirely Karen. SLORC
officers
say residents still have ties with the rebels. That may explain the
reports
of a nearby army garrison that withdraws when journalists like me show
up.
"The villagers have to bribe the soldiers to get a one-week pass," says
Kay
Hsaw Wa (White Elephant), a Karen who helped research Total Denial, a
critical report on the project. "Normally, it's three bottles of alcohol
and
two chickens." Nai Rot Sa, chief of the New Mon State Party, says the
army
has been extorting money from villagers near the pipeline to hire cheap
labor. "During the [press] visits, all the abuse stopped," he said. "But
as
soon as they left, everything returned to normal." Well, as normal as it
gets along the border.
The embattled pipeline consortium can take credit for shedding light on
a
situation it did not create but that has long been mostly ignored. The
Clinton sanctions may make Texaco think twice about building its
pipeline.
But they will not scare off non-American companies. Nor will the
sanctions
help the Karen. For them it has all come too late.
ends