[Background / related]
Timber Inspection Thwarted by Svay Rieng Border Police
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The anti-logging commission established in
January by Prime Minister Hun Sen boasted in an April report that it had all but eliminated illegal
logging and smuggling in the eastern provinces. Locals in the Kingdom’s east
tell a vastly different story.
Interviews with NGOs, government institutions and more than 30
people from six different communities in Tbong Khmum, Kratie and Mondulkiri
indicate that – thanks to rampant official corruption and spiking demand –
smuggling has continued unabated, and could even be on the rise.
Small-time timber transporters, who either illegally log or pick
up leftover wood, almost entirely support a shadowy bribe economy. Meanwhile,
large timber trucks belonging to wealthier entrepreneurs remain untouched, and
sometimes even get police escorts on their way to the Vietnam border, locals
say.
“Every gathering in the village talks about this issue,” said
Khim Tha, a resident of a village in Kratie’s Thmey commune where most people
eke out a livelihood by selling wood.
Documented timber
exports to Vietnam – the bulk of them rosewood – soared between 2013 and 2015,
with the volume of logs exported increasing by a factor of 142 and seven times
that amount in sawn wood crossing the border, according to Vietnamese customs
data.
Communities living in Cambodia’s eastern provinces, along with
multiple NGOs working there, have said that illegal timber exports are
expanding, apparently contradicting the words of anti-logging commission
spokesman Eng Hy and a local Forestry Administration official as well as the
more optimistic assessments of some NGOs.
“There are at least 20 to 30 big trucks per night” on some roads
in Tbong Khmum and Kratie, said Prey Lang Community Network coordinator Seng
Sokheng on Wednesday. “There are many hundreds of minivans.”
Locals engaged in the timber business described a three-step
process in the collection of graft. The first bribes are paid when picking up
wood from economic land concessions (ELCs) or initially getting it out of the
forest.
The second comes when the timber is taken onto a national road
and driven to the border or to a middleman in Tbong Khmum. The third takes
place during the sale of the timber to the broker who will take it into
Vietnam.
However, many community members said that since last year, they
have seen a sharp increase in the amount of wood being sold for stakes for
growing crops, especially pepper.
This draws in an increasing number of small-time cutters and
smugglers, while large-scale smuggling by wealthy businesspeople continues at
its pre-crackdown pace, locals and NGOs said.
In interviews, community members never acknowledged cutting
trees themselves, and said that they make a living by picking up leftover wood
from cleared ELC land. However, many were happy to pin the blame on
neighbouring communities, where they say anywhere between 25 and 40 per cent of
the residents engaged in illegal logging.
“The real picture is: the people are cutting the forest,” said
an eco-tour guide in Mondulkiri. “There is very little leftover wood from ELCs.
They cut down the big trees and burn the rest.”
According to the Forestry Administration (FA), any logging is
illegal when the loggers lack an official permission document.
Almost all those who cut wood and are not employed by an ELC are
poor and see selling lumber as their best chance to make money. Depending on
the quality and quantity of the wood, the payoff can run from 30,000 riel
(about $7.50) to hundreds of dollars per haul.
Much of this wood is transported via hundreds of vans and
minivans, which can be seen all over the main roads in the east. The majority
goes to Vietnam, residents say. In Tbong Khmum there is a market for middlemen
to buy wood from the locals, then take it over the border.
The roads are lined with checkpoints belonging to different
branches of police, military police and the FA. Officers at these checkpoints
try to extract as many bribes from passing transporters as possible. Soldiers
and blackmailing “journalists” drive up and down the roads in order to extort
money of their own.
The amount of money these checkpoints take varies, but most of
those interviewed said it’s usually 5,000 to 10,000 riel per stop. To cover the
entirety of their trip, transporters have to pay a total of 100,000 to 200,000
riel, about $25 to $50, in bribes, according to Kong Pon, another resident of
Thmey commune.
If transporters don’t cooperate or say they can’t pay, they risk
having their chainsaws or vehicles confiscated and held for as much as $1,000,
according to Leng Ty, a timber transporter in Kratie. Sometimes the police,
military police, FA or “journalists” come to the transporters’ homes to claim
the money, multiple villagers said.
Sometimes the
police will station themselves with a civilian’s house near a major road.
Homeowners spoken to by the Post refused to say whether the police pay
rent. However, one woman who owns a house but rarely stays in it said of its
use by the police: “When they come, we can’t kick them out.”
Despite this, arrests of timber transporters are extremely rare.
Those caught with illegal wood need only hand over some cash for authorities to
turn a blind eye, multiple witnesses told reporters.
Even FA officials themselves have been accused of clearing
forests, then selling the timber for hundreds of dollars per hectare to various
entrepreneurs, said Ho Phally, who lives in Khyoem commune, in Kratie’s Snuol
district.
Officers from the
military police, economic police and the FA along national roads in Kratie and
Tbong Khmum approached by the Post largely refused to speak.
One forestry officer who spoke on condition of anonymity would
only say: “Taking money is illegal. I don’t see it happening so I cannot say.
You should go look for it if you want to know.”
But that very
officer, along with half a dozen others spoken to by reporters, featured
prominently in videos provided to the Post by a timber transporter. In the
videos, the men can be seen coming up to timber-loaded vans and taking money
from drivers. Sometimes the driver who supplied the videos would get out and
hand them money, filming with a camera hidden in his sleeve. In most cases, few
words are exchanged.
On Sunday evening
in Tbong Khmum, a Post reporter watched as a military police
officer accompanied by a local journalist stopped a timber van and requested
money from the driver. When the driver paid up, the officer allowed the vehicle
to proceed.
Military police spokesman Eng Hy, who also serves as the
spokesman for the anti-logging commission, said in an interview yesterday that
an officer who could be seen taking money from a transporter in one of the
videos – which was uploaded to the internet – has been suspended, pending an
investigation.
Hy also vowed that the military police will investigate each of
the bribery incidents uncovered by the Post, but didn’t offer additional
comments. National Police spokesman Kirth Chantharith yesterday asked a
reporter to report all such incidents to the National Police’s tip office,
which would then take action.
Multiple attempts to reach the Forestry Administration for
comment this week were unsuccessful. Villagers interviewed across several
communes said that authorities have prevented transporters in the area from
buying wood over the past several days following the leaking of the video
showing the military police officer taking money.
But large
timber trucks manage to stay above the bribe economy. Community members in
different provinces, as well as NGOs, said they see military police vehicles,
marked and unmarked, escorting big trucks and sometimes even helping them when
they break down.
Phally, of
Snuol district, says he sees at least five trucks pass his house daily. Others
put the number at 20 or 30 per day. “These trucks belong to powerful people,
because we see the military allow them to go freely,” said a Tbong Khmum
resident who said he had to flee the province because of death threats due to
his secret filming of bribes. “Why do they only extort money from small people
like us?”
Yim Choen, of
the Phnong indigenous community in Mondulkiri, said that when they stop illegal
loggers and confiscate their vehicles, law enforcement officers come to rescue
the vehicles. “They have guns and we don’t have guns; we can’t do anything,” he
said.
In some places,
police engage in car chases with fleeing timber transporters, posing a major
threat to other drivers on the narrow roads, which are already made uneven by
the weight of heavy trucks. The chases can result in injury or death. Other
people have occasionally been shot by pursuing officials, locals say, an
assertion police in the area refused to comment on.
“We have seen
police, military police and soldiers . . . chase people for money . . . This makes a
mess along the roads in Dambe, Ponhea Krek, Memot and Tbong Khmum districts,”
said Neang Vat, the Tbong Khmum provincial coordinator for rights group Adhoc.
Yet few people
have been arrested. In nearly every publicised timber bust this year, drivers
managed to “escape”, according to officials. Sceptical NGOs, however, say that
it’s far likelier they paid a bribe and were simply allowed to leave.
Amid this
corruption, Cambodia’s forest cover continues to vanish. Some timber
transporters interviewed said they were aware of this, but didn’t want to give
up the most lucrative livelihood available to them. As several said, if they
don’t cut or collect the wood, somebody else will.
And yet, the
growing burden of bribes is making the illegal timber business more troublesome
every year, locals say. But still the trade rolls on, and will continue to,
said Choen, the Mondulkiri resident, as long as there’s a demand for timber.
“Some NGOs try
to help but the relevant authorities do not help,” he said. “To prevent this
from happening, we need to block the ones who buy the wood.”
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