In eastern Myanmar,
just a stone's throw from the Chinese border, lies a den of drug smuggling,
gambling, and vice.
BY
Sebastian
Strangio JULY 30, 2014
MONG LA, Myanmar — At
first glance, it could be any dingy border town in China. Much of the population
seems
to speak Mandarin, the currency of choice is Chinese yuan, and it runs on
Chinese cellphone networks.
The kitschy, neon clock tower in the center of town
even shows Beijing time -- an hour and a half
ahead of Myanmar.
But it isn't long before Mong La's "special" features become
apparent. At the Caixin Hotel, the stained hallways are littered with plastic
cards advertising the services of prostitutes, some as young as 15. The cable
connection features round-the-clock Japanese pornography, while bedside
advertisements hawk sex workers billed as "Burmese girls" and
"Vietnamese younger sisters." While vice is not uncommon in China, Mong La
makes little attempt to hide it. At one bustling eatery
in the center of
town, a Chinese madam in a tight, brown dress approached my table and offered
me two shy-looking women who appeared to be in their early 20s.
"Do you want younger?" she
asked. "I have younger."
"Do you want younger?" she
asked. "I have younger."
Mong La is the largest town in Special Region No. 4,
a 1,910-square-mile crescent of autonomous territory in Myanmar's
eastern Shan state. For more than two decades, the National Democratic Alliance
Army (NDAA), the militia that runs this tiny Golden Triangle fiefdom, has
survived by creating a settlement of gambling halls, low-rent hotels, and
brothels. Mong La's biggest draw is its 24 nearby casinos, which operate 24/7,
attracting a steady stream of visitors from mainland China,
where gambling is banned, and from the rest of Myanmar -- where gambling is also
against the law.
Abraham Than, 88, a retired bishop who lives next to the Catholic church
overlooking town, first moved to Mong La in 1969 from Taungoo in central
Myanmar, and has seen it transformed into a Chinese satellite. "When I
arrived here it was all Shan farmers," he said. "There were no
houses, no buildings, nothing. During these last four, five years it has become
a Chinatown. Mong La, Chinatown!"
The anything-goes ethos of Mong La hints at the broader challenges Myanmar's
government faces in securing its borderlands -- a patchwork of ethnic rebel
zones and warlord statelets that have eluded central control since the
country's independence in 1948. One of the smaller of Myanmar's estimated
30-plus ethnic armed groups, the NDAA is led by the warlord
Sai Leun (aka Lin Mingxian), who broke away from the Communist Party of Burma
(CPB) when it collapsed in 1989. Like other factions of the CPB, the NDAA cut a
deal with the military junta in Yangon, promising
to end the insurgency in exchange for autonomy and lucrative business
concessions, including control over the opium trade in the region of Mong La,
where many of his fighters settled
.
In the mid-1990s, after coming under strong Chinese and U.S. pressure
to stem the flow of drugs from the region, the NDAA announced a crackdown and
in 1997
declared itself "opium-free." That year it even
built a museum in Mong La to commemorate the achievement, a musty building
featuring photos of the drug-burning ceremonies and other anti-narcotics
propaganda. In March 2000, the U.S. State Department was satisfied enough to
report
that Leun had "successfully rid his area of opium cultivation." One
senior NDAA official, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said, "There is
no more opium; it is guaranteed." The official said that most of the
region's revenue comes not from drugs or gambling, but from Chinese plantations
of banana, rubber, and corn. "Go around and see," he said, "it's
all green, all rubber plantations up to the Mekong River."
But some observers remain less convinced. Paul Keenan, a researcher at the
Burma
Center for Ethnic Studies in Chiang Mai, Thailand, said that while opium
cultivation may have ceased in Special Region No. 4, it was hard to believe
that there were no other drugs coming from the area, especially given the
boom in methamphetamine production in eastern Myanmar over
the past decade. "It just makes a lot of sense that they would continue to
do it, because it's the most lucrative thing," Keenan said.
Special Region No. 4 has its own military force, a
2,500-strong army of ethnic Shan and Akha youths, but it's
unclear exactly what laws apply in the area. While Beijing has pressured the
NDAA to shut down the casinos and crack down on illegal border crossings,
businessmen and county-level authorities in China's nearby Yunnan province also
profit from Mong La's gambling and black marketeering and do little to enforce
Chinese laws, said Wang Bangyuan, a public health specialist
with
extensive experience working in the Myanmar-China border region.
"It's like a vacant place for
law enforcement, so you can basically do anything," Wang said.
finalized
during talks in May -- in places like Mong La a lucrative status quo
persists. David Mathieson, a researcher at Human Rights Watch, said the current
situation in Mong La was a perfect example of what writer Kevin Woods has
described as "ceasefire capitalism" -- the Myanmar
military's strategy of turning restive rebels into pliant businessmen.
"They don't have the capacity to control all these borderlands, and so
they need to cut deals with local strongmen," he said. "Strongmen
with large armies that are engaged in business are more predictable than rebel
groups fighting for political reasons."
Mathieson said officers in the Myanmar
military, like local government officials in China, also benefit from this
organized chaos by levying lucrative taxes on the flow of goods throughout the
border region, and even getting involved in business for themselves. As long as
this political and economic logic prevails, Mong La's casino barons and rebel
leaders, as well as the Myanmar
military, will all continue to turn a steady profit. "If they weren't
benefitting financially, then it wouldn't be an acceptable situation,"
Mathieson said. "They benefit from that kind of disorder."