Background:
Indochina Report (October 1984)
Part II: Vietnamization of the Economic Framework (continued)
The Unequal Exchange
It is within
this new institutional framework that the Vietnamese are asserting their hold
over the economy and future of Kampuchea. Fisheries, rubber and rice are the
three main sectors affected by what should be termed the Unequal Exchange
between Vietnam and Kampuchea.
. . .
Blocking the Flow: Cambodia’s Sesan II Dam
Luc
Forsyth and Gareth Bright have set out on a journey to follow the
Mekong river from sea to source, The Diplomat will be sharing some of
the stories they’ve found along the way. For more about the project, check out the whole series here.
Starting in the northern city of Steung Treng, we near the end of our
exploration of Cambodia by investigating how people in the area rely on
the Mekong and how this could be affected by the nearly completed dam.
Thon Min, 65, fishes in the early morning on the Mekong River near the island of Koh Sralay. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
We heard the phone ring in the darkness (Nokia’s ubiquitous
descending cadence adapted from Francisco Tárrega’s 1902 classical
guitar composition) well before we could see the boat driver who
answered it.
“Allo?” came the groggy voice. Though most Cambodians are notorious early risers, clearly 4 a.m. was not a time the man enjoyed [receiving unexpected interruption].
Pre-Sunrise view of Koh Sralay. Photo by Gareth Bright.
We had met him the previous afternoon while walking along Steung
Treng’s riverfront promenade and chartered his boat on the spot to take
us to the nearby island of Koh Sralay, where we hoped to gain insight
into how the human-river interactions in sparsely populated northern
Cambodia differed from those further south along the Mekong and Tonle
Sap.
After we were settled onto the boat’s wooden benches, the driver
stood in the shallow water along the river’s edge and spun the bow
towards open water, clucking his concern about the lack of visibility
around the high powered flashlight clenched between his teeth.
Residents
of Koh Sralay are entirely reliant on the river for survival and will
be heavily impacted by the Chinese-owned Sesan II dam, which will
disrupt fish migrations and sediment flow. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
An hour later, the sun still not yet risen, the tip of the island
appeared out of the gloom. The outlines of numerous fishing boats
visible only for being slightly blacker than the water they floated
upon. We were searching for one fisherman in particular, whose wife we
had spoken to the day before as she sold catfish in Steung Treng’s
market, but in the grey darkness it was nearly impossible to distinguish
individual faces – let alone identify a man we had been told to seek
out based solely on a name and a loose physical description that could
have applied to nearly every fisherman on the river.
Thon Min, 65, fishes in the early morning on the Mekong River near the island of Koh Sralay. Photo by Gareth Bright.
“Thon Min?” As our translator called out the man’s name to each boat
we passed, invariably they waved us further downriver while offering few
specifics. When we eventually found him it was nearly 6 a.m. and his
morning’s fishing was all but finished. Not long after, he headed for
home.
“Only one fish today,” Thon told us as he tied his boat up to a
thicket of mangrove trees. “People from upriver came last night and used
electric fishing nets. Whenever they do this we catch nothing the next
day. But this is still enough.”
Thon
Min, 65, hangs his fishing nets from trees along the banks of the
Mekong river. When he catches enough fish, the surplus will be sold at a
nearby market, while the remainder are kept alive until they are eaten.
Photo by Luc Forsyth.
The Last Bastions of Sustainability
“Here we can feed the whole family without buying anything, other
than spices and oil.” Thon told us as we sat cross legged on the floor
of his large stilted home. “When we catch more fish than we can eat, we
sell them at the market, and we produce enough rice and vegetables to
feed our family.” Considering that Thon’s family counted 10 members,
this was no small feat.
Residents
of Koh Sralay. Families here are entirely reliant on the river for
survial and will be heavily impacted by the Chinese-owned Sesan II dam,
which will disrupt fish migrations and sediment flow. Photo by Gareth
Bright.
From crop watering to protein intake to drinking water, virtually
every aspect of Thon’s life was connected to the health of the Mekong
and its nearby tributaries – and it was the first time in the 3 months
since we began the project that we had talked to someone who didn’t
report a drastic decrease in water quality. Compared to the dwindling
resources and environmental degradation we had witnessed on the Tonle
Sap Lake, or the extreme poverty we encountered in Phnom Penh’s Cham
village, Koh Sralay seemed like a positive example of how the river had
supported life in Southeast Asia for millennia.
Kuch
Hen, 45, looks out over the Mekong river. Her family supports itself
entirely from the river, and will be heavily affected by the
Chinese-owned Sesan II dam. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
“On the Tonle Sap there are too many people and too many fishermen,”
Thon explained when we asked him why Koh Sralay was flourishing in
comparison to the Tonle Sap. “This is bringing down the quality of the
water and the numbers of fish. There they fish every day of the year,
but here we follow the seasons.”
A
Monks poses for a portrait in the water at the end of a pier extending
into the Sekong river in the city of Steung Treng. Photo by Gareth
Bright.
Following the seasons, Thon explained, meant that they fished only
when the river was in the process of rising or falling with the coming
and going of the monsoon rains – the times when fish were moving to or
from their spawning grounds. During the rest of the year, they hung up
their nets and turned to inland farming instead, giving fish stocks a
period of respite. By contrast, fishermen on the Tonle Sap often set
their nets multiple times a day, every day of the year.
A fish vendor carries a catfish to shore in the city of Steung Treng. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
Though there were almost certainly examples of irresponsible river
stewardship taking place (the clandestine raiding by upstream fishermen
toting electrified nets Thon had mentioned, for example), in general
this was a prosperous symbiotic relationship between civilization and
the environment. But a threat loomed on the horizon, one with the
potential to completely and irrevocably derail the lives of people like
Thon.
The
construction site of the Sesan II dam. The Chinese-financed dam will
block two major tributaries of the Mekong, displacing thousands,
disrupting fish migrations, and inundating roughly 36 000 hectares of
land. Photo by Gareth Bright.
Stopping the Flow
“We worry about the dam,” Thon told us before we left Koh Sralay. “If
it breaks, a big wave will come and destroy this island, and I don’t
know how it will affect our fishing.”
Locals
gather along a pier extending into the Sekong River in the city of
Steung Treng. The Sekong is a major tributary of the Mekong and will be
heavily affected by the Sesan II dam. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
The Sesan II hydropower dam is arguably Cambodia’s most controversial
environmental issue. When completed, the Chinese-owned dam will block
two of the nation’s most important Mekong tributaries – the Sesan and
Sekong rivers. The ensuing damages would be varied and devastating.
Migrating fish would be unable to reach their breeding grounds; reduced
sediment flow would disrupt the fertility of downriver farmland as well
as increase erosion; a vast reservoir would displace thousands and
inundate huge swaths of forest. An entire way of life could be lost,
very possibly forever.
A fisherman flings out his net. Photo by Gareth Bright.
“The river is for life, for Cambodia, and for community identity,”
Meach Mean told us over a bowl of fish soup. An independent
environmental activist and the founder of the 3S Rivers Protection
Network (a grassroots organization that mobilizes disparate villages to
rally against the project), Meach is one of the most outspoken opponents
of the dam. “Rivers create a lot of our culture [in Cambodia],
including our annual boat festivals, the ancient belief in water
spirits, Buddhist water blessings, and the national diet. If the dam is
built it will stop our culture, not just fish.”
The main market in the riverside city of Steung Treng. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
Wanting to see the physical manifestation of the controversy, we
asked Meach to take us the to the dam. With security checkpoints
stationed along the roads leading to the construction site, we had to
hire two small wooden fishing boats to circumvent the roadblocks. It was
more than an hour’s journey against the river’s current, during which
time we saw little evidence of development, save a few small fishing
hamlets scattered amongst the tree lined banks. It was hard to imagine
that something so destructive could be lurking in such an idyllic and
remote place.
The construction site of the Sesan II dam. Photo by Gareth Bright.
“There,” Meach said as we rounded a bend. At first I couldn’t see
what he was pointing at, but gradually the shapes of industrial cranes
emerged on the skyline, towering over a wall of concrete. Initially it
seemed like the river was completely blocked, but as we drew nearer we
could see that a small channel remained open. As our boats made for this
gap, I asked Meach what would happen if we were confronted by security:
“What do you think? We leave very quickly,” was his simple response.
The construction site of the Sesan II dam. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
The boats dropped us behind the dam in order to minimize the chances
of being spotted by construction personnel before we had a chance to see
the site. After a sweaty scramble up a loose stone slope, we found
ourselves standing on a gravel road, the entire building site in front
of us. The immensity of the project was hard to process, stretching
beyond what our peripheral vision could take in. For a moment we just
stood and stared, but Meach quietly urged us to get our pictures as
quickly as possible as a security patrol could be along any minute. Not
wanting a confrontation we heeded his advice, snapping pictures
furiously. When a dump truck rumbled past a few minutes later and the
driver immediately began speaking into his radio, we knew it was time to
leave.
The construction site of the Sesan II dam. Photo by Gareth Bright.
We skidded back down the rocky embankment and boarded our boats for
the drive back. “How did that make you feel?” Meach asked. Overwhelmed,
intimidated, and worried were all words that entered our minds. Having
read a great deal about the ecological dangers of damming the Mekong and
its tributaries had prepared us intellectually, but the reality of
seeing such a massive structure nearly blocking an entire waterway was
another matter.
People
play and relax in the water under the pilings of a bridge over the
Sekong river in the city of Steung Treng. Photo by Luc Forsyth.
We were mostly quiet and reflective on the hour long boat back
towards Steung Treng. The following day we were headed to a village of
indigenous Bunong people, whose homes sat directly in the path of the
dam’s proposed reservoir and we wondered if we had just seen the future
destroyer of people we hadn’t yet met.
This piece originally appeared at A River’s Tail.
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