Harsh realities mar peace efforts in South

Don Pathan
The Nation
Narathiwat

Even by local standards, the scene on a back road deep in the heart of the Muslim-majority South last Wednesday was bleak.

Bodies of seven Special Forces soldiers were scattered over the narrow back road in Narathiwat's Rangae district. Two soldiers were stuck in the cab of the pickup truck, which had flipped over, while another soldier was tossed several metres into a wooded area.

All were shot at point blank range - a damning statement from the militants to Thai authorities that they mean business regardless of the gestures of goodwill from the Bangkok government.

Two days later in the same district, two policemen were shot dead and their bodies burned beyond recognition. Police said the two attacks were carried out by the same militant cell responsible for killing the seven Special Forces soldiers.

Like other militant attacks in the restive region, the insurgents carry out their deadly strikes and then quickly blend into their villages.

Reinforcement units are often too slow, while hot pursuit is virtually non-existent in this restive region. The latest wave of the insurgency has so far claimed more than 2,100 lives since January 2004.
The immediate task, said the Fourth Army Area's chief-of-staff Major-General Chamlong Khunsong, is to send authorities back to Ban Bangor for a public consultation to "create an understanding. "We must try to bring the local community to our side or else we risk losing them to the militants," Chamlong said.

Security officials say the policy of reconciliation through peaceful means is slow and daunting, as historical mistrust between the Malay-speaking residents and the state continues to hamper efforts to win hearts and minds.

No one seems to know where the next attack will come from, which has made mapping out so-called "red areas" almost meaningless.

Attacks against security units have been a daily occurrence as the battleground has shifted from remote areas to towns and villages since this latest wave of violence flared three years ago.

The fabric of society which once held Buddhists and Muslims together has been effectively torn apart, as the scope of victims has expanded from security officials to civilians, including teachers, monks and non-security personnel.

Muslims and Buddhists who lived through the battle fought between the previous generation of Malay separatist groups and government forces didn't see themselves as being stuck in the middle of a vicious crossfire.

In fact, in areas that were not accessible by government officials, groups such as the Patani United Liberation Organisation or the Barisan Revolusi Nasional encouraged social functions and activities as a way to make day-to-day life as normal as possible for the local community.

But in the late 1980s the armed wings of the longstanding Malay separatist groups became exhausted and fell apart following the government's blanket amnesty programme.

However, Bangkok mistook the absence of violence for permanent peace and an end to Malay nationalist sentiment. No one suspected that a new generation of separatists and insurgents was in the making. For much of their early lives, these young militants, locally referred to as juwae, or fighter in the local Malay dialect, told themselves that they needed to take back their homeland from the "invading Siamese". And when they came of age, one by one, village-based cells began to emerge organically under an umbrella of a loose network scattered through out the region.

While the previous generation of fighters positioned themselves in remote hills and launched conventional attacks, today's militants don't have to go far from their homes to carry out strikes.

And because they are not organised according to any recognisable structure, taking down one cell does not necessarily mean a major breakthrough for authorities, as a similar cell could still be operating in the next district or tambon.

During his recent visit to the region, Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont said the government had received "positive feedback" from the insurgents over dialogue.

A senior officer from the Fourth Army Area said the positive signals had come from both members of the longstanding groups in exile, as well as militant cells on the ground.

"Some cell members feel their struggle has no end in sight and have begun to question the whole idea behind daily attacks. They don't see an end game," he said.

But a formal dialogue, or negotiations is far off possibility. Military officers on the ground said there was no guarantee that dialogue with one militant cell would resonate with others, given the fact that the current generation of insurgents is extremely organic. And in spite of this "positive feedback", the scene from Rangae district continues to serve as a grim reminder that a lasting peace is still a long way off.

Scars of Krue Se bloodbath refuse to go away

Don Pathan
The Nation

Three years ago today when well over 100 Malay-Muslim militants launched a coordinated attack against 11 police outposts and one station in the deep South, the entire country was jolted by the unprecedented nature of the attacks.

Few knew what to make of it - young men armed with little more than machetes charging into certain death just to be heard.

Most died at the scene of the attacks, while some were shot point blank at close range. But the ones who caught everybody's attention were the 32 militants who retreated to the historic Krue Se Mosque on the outskirts of Pattani after attacking a police outpost nearby. Through the mosque's loudspeaker, the militants urged local Malays to rise up and take back their land from the invading Siamese.

By mid-afternoon, General Pallop Pinmanee, the highest-ranking official on the scene - who just happened to be in the neighbourhood on that day - decided he had had enough and ordered a full-scale bombardment of the mosque.

He admitted later that he was concerned that local residents would rise up and side with the militants. To him, stability overdid local sensitivity and the sanctity of the mosque.

Not only did the incident shed light into the lack of professionalism in the Thai armed forces - Pallop had no business directing the attack because he was not part of the local command - it left a permanent scar on the psyche of the Thai nation.

For many local Malays these young men were fighters who gave their lives just to be heard. For the security apparatus, the attacks were a sign that the worse was yet to come and that no one could be complacent. If a whole bunch of young men were willing to charge into certain death, the possibilities were endless.

What inspired the knife-wielding militants to do what they did is still uncertain, but it was obvious that many of the insurgents saw themselves as martyrs - and so do the locals. Most if not all of the April 28 militants were buried as martyrs in line with Islamic tradition.

The unprecedented nature of the April 28 militants' attack has yet to be repeated and probably never will.

But the psychological impact continues to be felt in military circles in the restive region where daily attacks against government troops continue unabated.

Moreover, today's attacks show that the militants are employing a higher degree of precision - as seen in an attack last week when an a group of about 50 militants ambushed a convoy of military vehicles, wounding 18 soldiers who were lured to a school fire set by insurgents.

Indeed, the April 28, 2004 bloodbath also set off a storm of debate among those in religious circles who wondered if the act could be considered a suicide mission. If so, would Thailand face the kind of suicide attacks that have become commonplace in the Middle East or in the Sri Lankan civil war?

There has been no conclusive answer to the question of whether the strikes constituted a suicide mission. The government's initial response was that the militants were a bunch of drug-crazed teenagers. Bangkok didn't want to see the political and security significance of the incident.

Local Islamic leaders comforted themselves with a "technicality". They pointed to the fact that these young men carried machetes. The mission was suicidal; it was not a suicide mission.

Besides, all the targets were police outposts and one station, not high-profile places packed with innocent civilians. In other words, the insurgents weren't after a high body count.

There was a general agreement that the group had employed unorthodox, supernatural beliefs and practices of folk Islam to indoctrinate these young men. Summoning spirits, making holy water and other popular customs carried over from Hinduism continue to be an important part of the local Muslims' belief system.

In an interview with The Nation after he was taken down in a gunfight later that year, Abdulah Akoh, an Islamic studies teacher who was initially part of the April 28 clique but decided not to take part, talked about a charismatic and persuasive Ismail Yaralong and how he used his charm to persuade others to join his outfit.

For more than four years, Ismail, also known as Ustaz Soh, moved from village to village, singling out young men of good standing in the communities and, after planting the seeds of trust, recruiting them into an outfit that Abdullah called Talekat Hikmahtullah Abandan (Direction from God Towards Invincibility).

Ustaz Soh promised invincibility and supernatural powers if and when a person reached a certain state of reverence. Properly trained, he said, a person could even make himself disappear or become impervious to bullets and knives.

An organisational manual, the Birjihad di Patani, found on the bodies of some of the April 28 insurgents provides a glimpse into the mind of the militants in Soh's outfit.

Besides justifying the killing of fellow Muslims who have betrayed the cause, the book also states that the next ruler of a liberated Patani should be from the bloodline of the deposed Patani sultanates, and that he should be a Shafi'i, one of the four schools of jurisprudence in Sunni Islam.

While these points suggest that the grievances of the April 28 outfit remained local, what concerns many is the possibility that this local struggle might become part of a global jihad where the banner would no longer be Malay nationalism but a fight for Islam.

Given the way the situation is being perceived as a Buddhist versus Muslim conflict, the latter phenomenon could very well reach Patani's shores sooner than later.

Off-the-wall comments, suggestions have not helped

Don Pathan
The Nation

Opinions of various ministers and generals have clouded real understanding of Bangkok bomb blasts, and crisis in South 

Thailand's senior security chiefs could learn a great deal from the famous American writer, Mark Twain, who once said: "It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt."

Indeed, the quote sums up nicely the opinion of many people about some of the country's policy makers, a number of whom have been making off-the-wall comments about the deep South, where more than 2,000 people have been killed since January 2004.

Few seem to care that their comments have grave consequences. Sadly, this has long been the nature of Thai generals.

First, there was Defence Minister Boonrawd Somtas, who flip-flopped this way and that after the New Year's Eve bombs, which left three dead and about 40 injured. At first he suggested it was the work of southern militants and warned that some of them had enrolled in universities in Bangkok, using student activities as a cover while planning future bombings in the capital.  But days later, Boonrawd changed his statement, saying it was the result of a power struggle in the aftermath of the September 19 coup.

But when the dust settled on this case, which has yet to be concluded, the newly appointed police chief Gen Seripisut Temiyavej, known for rattling colleagues' cages throughout his career, told reporters that Muslim insurgents from the deep South may have been responsible. Up until Seripisut's statement, Thai officials, particularly Council of National Security chief, General Sonthi Boonyarat-glin, had all but ruled out southern militants being behind the Bangkok blasts.

Seripisut didn't say much about the two young men who have been trying desperately to clear their names after police released photos of them to the public. Embarrassment is inevitable, as it becomes clear the two were innocent of the alleged crime. It is said that the police are now praying the real bombers look like the two they issued warrants for.

The most farfetched comment and initiative came from retired General Watanachai Chaimuanwong, chief adviser to Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont. He said the current level of brutality in the South showed a growing Islamic influence on the separatists, and that the militants had adopted al-Qaeda's tactics.

In a recent interview with Agence-France Presse (AFP), Watanachai referred to the new generation of separatists as "young turk militants who want to challenge the old groups. Their operations are more gruesome and more violent because they have imported those techniques from al-Qaeda and the Taleban, with the goal of creating a pure Islamic state.

"They want to create a state called Pattani Darussalam" which would include Thailand's Muslim-majority south and two northern states in Malaysia."

He said the militants were unable to stage attacks outside of the Malay-speaking region because they had failed to recruit new members from outside of the provinces of Narathiwat, Pattani and Yala.

Oh, and if the public is not confused enough, the New Year's Eve bombs were, he said, made and carried out by militants from the South - but the real culprits were people who lost political power in after the coup. They had hired the militants to advance their own political interests.

To ensure that militants in the South don't fully embrace the global jihadist mindset of the al-Qaeda group, Watanachai suggested that a Shura Council be created to prevent the militants from embracing the "wrong path".

Considering the fact that insurgents have also targeted fellow Muslims, perhaps Islam - whatever version one embraces - is not the problem. Perhaps the problem has more to do with the historical mistrust and animosity between the Thai state and Malay-speaking region still struggling to come to terms with Bangkok's notion of a nation-state.

The shallowness and "Bangkok-knows-best" attitude was evident in the photo showing Watanachai standing between a senior monk and an Islamic leader. He got the pair to shake hands, as if they were representatives of warring Karen factions trying to make peace.

The man was good at keeping Burmese insurgents at bay, but brokering an interfaith dialogue is surely out of his league.

Old separatists still dream of a free Patani

Doubts over the ability of 'old-guard' to curtail young 'juwae' and a lack of faith in both KL and Bangkok cloud the road to peace, write DON PATHAN from Malaysia.

Sitting in the living room of a small compact row house in the back of a mosque, three elderly men sip tea and reminisce about the time when they were at the top of their game.

They were part of an armed separatist movement that emerged in the late 1960s to try to carve out a separate homeland for Malays in the three Muslim-majority southernmost provinces of Thailand.

But the movement took a nosedive in the 1980s when a general amnesty persuaded most insurgents to give up armed struggle. With their military wings clipped, separatist leaders went into exile. Many resettled in Western Europe, while others have opted for Malaysia and elsewhere in Southeast Asia where they have taken up citizenship in their respective host countries.

But turning a new leaf hasn't been easy. Solace is taken at get-togethers. Some of the exiles said they are still clinging to some hope, however small it may be, that someday the Malay region would be freed from Thai rule and the political, cultural and social baggage that comes with it. Morally bankrupt usually comes to mind whenever these leaders talk about modernity bought about by the Thais, but others are saying it's time to come to terms with the past and move on.

But while they complain bitterly about the fear of losing their cultural identity, these old guard from the Patani United Liberation Organisation (Pulo), Gerekan Mujahidin Islam Patani (GMIP), Barisan Islam Pembangunan Patani (BIPP) and Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN) say they would be willing to sit down with the Thai government again to talk about peace in the South.

In late 2005, a number of these exiled leaders went to Langkawi for several rounds of meetings with senior Thai security officials. A set of recommendations was handed to the Thai side in February of last year. In it they professed their loyalty to the Thai state, demanded amnesty for those in exile and called for the reinstatement of the Southern Border Provinces Administrative Centre (SBPAC). They also asked for the Malay language to be used as a medium of instruction in private and public schools in the deep South.

The Malaysian government described the talks as a "private initiative" because it was organised by former prime minister Mahathir Mohamad. The Thaksin administration didn't make much of the proposals. But with a new government in place the idea of having a similar dialogue with the separatist leaders of long-standing groups and militants on the ground has been picking up steam.

In recent interviews with The Nation, members of the old guard made no specific demands but talked at length about the poverty and the lack of social mobility and representation for Thai-Malays.

They did not say how the violence in the deep South could be stopped or explain the extent of their influence, if they have any, over the militants referred to locally as juwae, or fighters.

The most they would say is that they still have their network of supporters and sympathisers in place within the deep South.

They said that while the Langkawi talks were more of a mental exercise, future talks should be transparent and with international observers present to ensure that Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur do not mislead them. They also demanded that the Thais formally recognise their groups. Attending any talks with the Thais as individuals, they said, would be tantamount to committing treason.

While the extent of the old guards' network or influence on the militants in the deep South is still unclear, it is just as unclear how seriously Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok are taking them.

Mahathir, in a recent interview with Nation TV, said a breakthrough with the old guard could pave the way for the new generation of fighters on the ground to follow suit.

Hard-liners in Thailand think it's a long shot, while doves in the government think Thailand has nothing to lose. If anything, dialogue with the old guard should be part of the country's reconciliation efforts with Thai-Malays in the South.

Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont, meanwhile, appeared to be directing his gestures of goodwill to the local Malays in the South in the hope that they would side with the government in the fight against the militants on the ground. A bit of wishful thinking perhaps, given the long history of mistrust between the Thai state and the Malay community, not to mention the fact that today's enemies are no longer armed men camped in remote hills, but rather residents of the villages from which they launch their daily attacks.

And while Surayud moved to reinstate the SBPAC and permitted Malay to be used as a "working language" along with the "official" Thai, none of the credit went to the participants in the Langkawi talks.

Besides reaching out to the people in the South, the government has quietly sought help from Kuala Lumpur in bringing the people behind the bloodshed to the table.

No particular organisation was singled out but officials in both capitals said the members of the old guard who attended the Langkawi talks would be included.

Some of those in exile don't trust either the Thai or Malaysian government to look after the interests of the Malays in the South, while others see the dialogue as a possible trap. The handing over of three Pulo commanders - Isma-ae and Da-oh Thanam and Abdul Rahman Bazo in January 1998 - was a grave reminder that no one is expendable.

But if a breakthrough can be made between the two prime ministers who had a meeting in Bangkok yesterday, those in exile living in Malaysia could be forced to accept a deal that they may not like.
But that could also mean trouble in the long term, according to observers from both capitals, because any agreement reached would not be sustainable. Nevertheless, it would mean a new beginning in the Thai-Malaysian relations with regard to the restive south.

In the past, Thai security officials have often complained about their Malaysian counterparts not handing suspects over when requested to do so. Sources in Malaysia said the fear of political fallout is just too great if the wrong person were to be sent to the gallows.

Besides, few trust Thai law enforcers to give anyone suspected of committing treason a fair trial.

For the time being, the exiles are permitted to live in Malaysia as long as they don't take up arms. In other words, they can dream about a free Patani (former independent Muslim sultanate in the deep South) but they can't organise an army to liberate it.

It's not clear, however, if this new-found friendship between Thailand and Malaysia will kill their dreams of a freer Patani.

Don Pathan
The Nation
Kuala Lumpur

-----------------------------------

PM accepts M'sian offer to broker peace talks

Published on February 17, 2007 - Prime Minister Surayud Chulanont said yesterday the government had agreed to accept Malaysia's offer to mediate negotiations with insurgents in the deep South, reversing an earlier denial by the foreign minister.

"We have agreed to the talks, if Malaysia will help us figure out the right group [to talk to] so that we can produce a practical outcome," the premier said.

Kasturi Mahkota, the foreign affairs chief of the Patani United Liberation Organisation (Pulo), a long-standing separatist movement, issued a statement from abroad saying it welcomed reports about possible dialogue - but preferred the talks to take place in a "neutral and uninvolved third country".
Pulo has also suggested that an international mediator be part of the discussions to ensure transparency and credibility.

Malaysian Prime Minister Abdullah Badawi offered to help mediate between the insurgents and the Thai government during his visit to the Kingdom this past week.

Foreign Minister Nitya Pibulsonggram, however, issued a statement on Wednesday saying there was no plan for any mediation that would necessitate such a request.

Surayud yesterday declined to say whether the negotiations would take place soon, and which specific group would attend. "It's a general idea with no details. We don't want to talk about rice with mango growers," he said.

The violence continued yesterday, with an explosion in Yala injuring six border police on patrol.

'Talks vital to restore peace in the South'

Dialogue between officials and Malay separatists is developing trust: consul

Don PathanThe Nation

Pattani

A mid a new surge in violence in the deep South, a key man behind meetings of senior Thai officials and established Malay separatist leaders insists the dialogue must continue as peace in the volatile region could depend on the outcome. 

In an exclusive interview with The Nation, Shazryl Eskay Abdullah, honorary consul at the Royal Thai Consulate in Langkawi, said sides had reached a "certain level of comfort and trust" over the past year following a series of meetings. 

He encouraged the government to "shift to the next phase". "The next phase doesn't have to be in Malaysia. But it's important it continues because channels of communication have been established and topics for further discussion identified," Eskay said. 

Eskay and former Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad initiated the series of meetings over this past year. They became known as the "Langkawi process". Eskay said Bangkok took the talks seriously and this was illustrated by its sending of the then Armed Forces' Security Centre chief Lt-General Vaipot Srinuan and General Winai Pathiyakul of the National Security Council. 

Separatist participants have included Gerakan Mujahideen Islam Pattani president Mohammed Bin Abdul Rahman, Pattani United Liberation Organisation (Pulo) vice president Razi Bin Hassan, Barisan Revolusi Nasional Congress (BRN) president Abdulah Bin Ismail, its vice president Abdullah Bin Idris and Bersatu president Wan Kadir Che Man. 

The process started in late 2005 and by February 2006 a Joint Peace and Development Plan for Southern Thailand was handed to the government. It was a list of topics for further discussion. It remains unclear why the Thaksin-Shinawatra administration sat on it. With the former prime minister now out of power, participants are calling on the government to kick-start the next phase. 

Eskay said the Langkawi process was not a "formal negotiation" but "an attempt to identify common ground between the two sides and designed to reconcile differences". The most fundamental of these was the difficult relationship between Bangkok and the ethnic Malay historic homeland - including Pattani, Yala and Narathiwat. 

Eskay explained the process discussed a wide range of issues already - including Malay identity, social mobility, use of Malay as a "working language", amnesty, education and economic development. The topic of a "separate state" was not on the table. 

"The Thai side would have never come to the table if the issue of a separate state was on the agenda," Eskay admitted. 

Eskay confessed there were hardliners among the separatists which he referred to as "splinters". They were unwilling to compromise on the issue of a separate state. Nevertheless, Eskay said "tremendous" ground had been made towards reconciliation with separatist groups. 

Many of these groups have been active since the 1960s. They disappeared or were rendered ineffective after a government amnesty crippled their military wings and forced their leaders into exile. Eskay said the Langkawi participants were willing to settle for less than complete independence for Malays in southern Thailand. 

He said the challenge now was to find ways these groups and their members could reconcile their past with the Thai state. This could be achieved at the next stage of the process. It is not clear if separatist leaders are hoping for some sort of political niche. To date the topics on the table have been broad and few specifics have been discussed, Eskay added. 

With communications open and a level of confidence achieved the government and separatist leaders could move to the next phase. This could tackle specifics and sensitive issues - including a ceasefire or permanent peace. This could end violence in the Muslim-majority South where as many as 1,800 people have lost their lives since January 2004. 

Eskay reported the separatist leaders who attended the Langkawi process admitted to Bangkok they had "a network of supporters" on the ground but fell short of confirming if they had any role in directing attacks. Much daily violence is blamed on a new generation of village-based militants, organised in small cells numbering about 10 and run by a leader. These cells call their own shots. Locals often refer to these cells as "juwae" - or fighters in the Malay dialect - and do not associate them with formal groups such as Pulo or BRN. 

But Eskay believed traditional-group leaders - some of whom emerged in the 1960s - could have influence with the juwae. A second phase of the Langkawi process may be an opportunity for hardliners to be included. There may even be room for suspected separatists such as Masae Useng or Sapae-ing Baso.

Hopelessly adrift in the stormy south

Stand-offs between villagers and officials at four other sites should have taught a lesson

Don Pathan
The Nation
Rangae, Narathiwat

It was somewhere between a pep talk and an order, but the words from the Fourth Army commander, Lt-General Ongkorn Thongprasom, to the two village heads summed up the deeply disturbed relationship between the ethnic Malays in the deep South and state officials sent here to maintain law and order.

"You have to tell the people in your village to work with us" Ongkorn told the headmen, who were at the scene where 10 men, believed to be insurgents, beat two elementary school teachers senseless in a small dark room. The teachers had been held hostage by a group of villagers demanding the release of two suspected militants arrested earlier in the day.

What's disturbing about the conversation between Ongkorn and the village officials is the sad reminder that not much has changed since Siam incorporated the region into its boundary over 100 years ago. The situation today is pretty much as it was then, although the Siamese elite have been replaced by pipe-smoking top brass more concerned about law and order than more abstract issues, such as identity, ethnicity, history and social mobility for Malays. Every generation or so, a separatist organisation emerges, saying a liberated Patani is the only solution to this predicament.

What's disturbing about the latest generation of insurgents is that they don't seem to abide by any guiding norms or rules of engagement, say local residents and exiled Malays living abroad.

"I was able to negotiate with the BRN [Barisan Revolusi Nasional] to get out of paying protection money. They left me alone because they knew five Muslim families depended on my plantation for a living," recalled a Buddhist local in Yala's Yaha district.

BRN was a prominent Malay separatist organisation formed to resist Thailand's policy of disbanding Islamic private schools.

The two young teachers who were savagely beaten in this Narathiwat district last week were from Chiang Rai. They came here to pursue their careers, bravely taking up an assignment in a region spurned by most civil servants. The village they were sent to has been declared a "red area", meaning it has a high concentration of insurgents. Yet the security units that swooped on Friday morning and sparked the violence appear to have given little consideration to the possibility of repercussions, even though similar incidents have occurred before.

The stand-offs between officials and villagers in Tanyonglimo, Ban Laharn, Ai Ba Thu and Ban Joh Koh show a pattern that should have become an important lesson for the security forces. But it took security officials about two hours to get to Rangae, by which time the two teachers were already being rushed to hospital.

Talk to local residents and you can feel their resentment at television anchors in Bangkok painting a simple picture of violence in the region, while ignoring that many Malay Muslims are caught up in this clash between state security forces and the insurgents. There is a breakdown of trust between the community, especially in remote areas, and the state apparatus. And when a community loses all respect for state agencies, it takes matters into its own hands - sometimes violently. Former hostages, such as the teachers who were held at Joh I Rong district's Ban Chor Koh School by hundreds of villagers, warn against implicating the entire community. Dire consequences face those who ignore commands and demonstrate in the streets, say the former hostages, who refuse to point out the five people who attacked them.

While the patrolling forces come and go, local villagers don't have the luxury of being able to pack up and leave. The fact few come forward to identify the miscreants among them reflects the lack of confidence they have in the government's ability to protect them. While no one here condones the brutality against the teachers, most are bitter the same kind of condemnation was not expressed when at least 78 unarmed Tak Bai demonstrators died in custody of police and soldiers 18 months ago. The taking of public school teachers as hostages following a dispute between security forces and local residents in this so-called "red area" could very well happen again.

Lt-General Ongkorn said from now, when a suspect was arrested, security officials will be required to stay and explain the charges to the local community, to prevent a repeat of this week's incident.

The villagers may listen to the officials who are armed to the teeth. But whether they will believe them is another thing altogether.

Whither the WA?

Statements of intent aren't enough to make the UWSA respectable

Don Pathan
Irrawaddy/Transnational Institute

October 2005

This year’s international anti-drugs day was supposed to be a special occasion for the United Wa State Army, reputedly the world’s largest armed drug trafficking group.

Wa opium farmers, outskirts of Panghsang, last cultivation season. 

The shadowy outfit, said to control a sizeable portion of the Burmese sector of the Golden Triangle, was supposed to announce in front of some 200 diplomats, aid workers, journalists and anti-narcotics officials at its Panghsang headquarters on the Sino-Burmese border that the organization has officially kicked the habit.

Opium would from now on be prohibited in the UWSA-controlled region, officially known as Special Region 2. The UWSA planned to announce that this past season was the last opium harvest for the poor farmers who for generations had grown poppy because there was nothing much else they could cultivate in this mountainous region. Hundreds of invitations were sent out to various international agencies and VIPs, but there was one slight problem. The language wasn’t right.

The Burmese government didn’t have anything against the fact that the invitation cards were written in Chinese. What irked the generals in Rangoon was that the invitation for the event, which was supposed to coincide with the International Day Against Drug Abuse and Illicit Trafficking on June 26, explicitly stated that the host of this event was the "Government of the Wa State".

For the generals in Rangoon, there is only one government in Burma. And so they called off what was to be an historic event for the Wa and possibly a turning point in the history of Burma’s opium politics. The wording on the invitation cards was the UWSA’s way of telling the junta that Special Region 2—together with areas along the Thai border that they had taken from former drug warlord Khun Sa after they defeated his Mong Tai Army in 1996—was their turf.

Today more than ever, according to one UWSA official, the Burmese junta has to be reminded of this reality because the status quo that defined their relations is resting on very shaky ground. Since the ouster of former prime minister Khin Nyunt, who had orchestrated a series of ceasefire deals with armed ethnic groups like the UWSA, Burmese army commander Deputy Snr-Gen Maung Aye and junta chief Snr-Gen Than Shwe had made a concerted effort to redefine Rangoon’s relationship with the ethnic armies.

One of the stipulations placed upon the UWSA, said a Wa official and a commander of a Thai army unit monitoring the border area, is that Burmese government troops can enter any of the autonomous regions they please without prior approval or having to be disarmed and escorted. So far three relatively small ceasefire groups have taken part in a staged and well-publicized ceremony that saw their troops surrendering their weapons to Burmese government officials.

But the real targets, observers said, were major armed groups like the Wa, Kokang Chinese, Chin and Kachin, all of whom control their own territory and in one way or another benefit from the lucrative drug trade. Rangoon turned up the heat last December when it dispatched 10 separate units of up to 10 men each to the UWSA’s Special Region 2. Officially it was supposed to be a geographical survey, but Thai military officials monitoring the situation think they were there to map out a plan of attack. The UWSA reluctantly agreed to the request but on condition that the Burmese officials disarm and that Wa officials escort them.

What concerns Thailand and China is that Rangoon’s efforts to demilitarize the ceasefire groups could turn the clock back to the days when all armed groups were fighting against the Burmese or among themselves to stake their claim. An all-out battle between the Burmese and the Wa, they said, could send hundreds of thousands of displaced opium farmers as refugees into neighboring Thailand and China.

Rangoon’s decision to snub the June 26 drug-burning ceremony in Panghsang was further evidence that nothing comes easy in trouble-plagued Burma. Historically, relations between the junta and the country’s armed ethnic minorities have never been smooth. Burma-watchers say many people tend to mistake the "ceasefire" agreement for a permanent peace.

Since the opium-free announcement on World Drug Day failed to resound internationally, it can be speculated whether the Wa will go back on their assurance that 2005 will be the last year for opium cultivation, or whether they intended to initiate the ban at all.

A Chinese officer monitoring the border said that China, like Thailand, is concerned that starving opium-farmers may seek to resettle on their side of the border where sizeable Wa communities are scattered. Some Thai officials believe the UWSA will churn out more methamphetamine tablets, or ya ba, to make up for the losses from the opium ban if it is actually enforced.

Rangoon bears much of the responsibility for the situation, having adopted a laissez faire policy during the past 16 years rather than making meaningful efforts to change the status quo. Groups like the UWSA used this time to strengthen themselves strategically and formulate their own foreign policy, hoping to legitimize themselves in the international community.

UWSA chairman Bao Yu-xiang has called on the UN and other international agencies to help with crop substitution, while Rangoon has put the plight of the poor opium farmers in its own formulation of an opium policy.

For the UWSA leadership, a further major setback occurred earlier this year when a US federal court charged eight UWSA leaders, including Bao and seven of his lieutenants, with drug trafficking. Although it was billed as an inevitable occurrence, the indictment in absentia of the Wa leaders jolted not only the Burmese government but the Thai and Chinese as well. UWSA investments are largely placed in neighboring countries, especially China’s Yunnan Province and the northern region of Thailand.

Bao’s indictment came as he expressed confidence that he had been making headway in his quest to be recognized as running a legitimate organization. In one interview, he even said "you can have my head" if 2005 is not the last year for opium cultivation.

As part of his effort to win legitimacy, Bao opened up his region to foreign envoys and aid workers, persuaded the UN to set up a small crop-substitution project and threatened to punish farmers in his territory if they continued to grow opium after this year. He even managed to obtain from the Thai government a 20 million baht (US $500,000) contribution towards an alternative crop scheme, the Yong Kha Development Project, with the help of then Burmese prime minister Khin Nyunt. But when the US federal court charges were announced, Bao’s dream of having the UWSA accepted internationally as a legitimate outfit went out the window.

The US indictments were also embarrassing for Thai Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, who had given the UWSA the benefit of the doubt when dispatching then Third Army Region commander Lt-Gen Picharnmate Muangmanee to participate in the opening ceremony for a Thai-funded school in Wa territory in December 2003.

Thaksin reached out to the Wa despite having publicly declared war on Wei Hsueh-Kang, one of the UWSA commanders wanted in Thailand as a suspected drug lord. Thaksin has said he will take down Wei one day, dead or alive, while Thai troops are reportedly clashing regularly with Wa soldiers along the border.

For a brief moment at the opening ceremony of the Yong Kha Project, it looked as if things would change for the better in the region. But nobody seriously believed the good times would last. After all, that particular event in December 2003 had more to do with whitewashing the world’s largest drug-trafficking army—and strengthening Thai-Burmese relations—than it did with the interests of Wa peasants or any long-term peace settlement.

Throughout the entire kiss-and-make-up episode between the Thais and the Wa, Wei and his gang continued to run their drug-funded businesses through his associates in Burma, China and Thailand, while heroin and methamphetamine coming out of clandestine laboratories in Wa-controlled areas continued to flood world markets.

Today, a cloud of uncertainty hangs over Burma’s sector of the Golden Triangle as Wa leaders and others wonder what is in store for the stake holders. The future does not look bright.

Don Pathan is editor of the regional desk at The Nation, Thailand’s independent English language daily newspaper.

https://www.tni.org/my/node/11707