Laos on the doorstep of change
The power of China is knocking, bringing radical transformation
ANDREW LODGE STAFF
Deep in northern Laos, in the small provincial capital of Oudomxai, each night a parade of sorts happens, a parade of transport trucks, and, to an Asian economy bursting at the seams, a parade of progress.
One by one the trucks pull over to the side of the road and lumber to a halt in a neat row, their brakes hissing and sighing. They’ve come over high mountain roads and they’ve come a long way, from China in fact. As they pull up, their frames groan from the long journey. But it’s not over and this is just a rest stop. The men driving them (it’s all men that I’ve seen so far — communism is over after all, both here and in China, so women don’t operate heavy equipment so much these days) hop down and light cigarettes, yelling over to each other as they congregate for their nightly communion. This is a caravan like any other caravan and it replays itself all over this continent every night. In groups they walk over to the dimly lit noodle stands and sit on benches or squat, bullshitting about the roads and whatever else it is that Chinese truck drivers talk about.
China is literally producing more than it can ship out these days. They can’t build the ports and the superhighways fast enough. And this fuels production on the other side of its borders, Laos in this case. China is no longer the periphery it was once referred to as; it is the nexus, the hub, the “core” in development-speak.
Without looking at the numbers and without actually seeing the behemoth in action, it is difficult to fathom what is happening in the East. Six out of 10 of the world’s largest ports are in China, and these are not keeping up with production, production that promises to continue increasing at these astronomical rates. Currently, economic growth is in double-digit figures, placing China as the world’s fourth-largest economy, which, like its transport trucks, continues to plough forward.
The Chinese economic transformation is not just about China: it is the transformation of a region, a rising tide that engulfs everything around it. For Laos and its people, just as for Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia and others, this means huge changes are on the horizon and indeed have already begun to manifest themselves.
In North America, we don’t hear much of Laos these days, or ever for that matter. Its history is as fascinating as any, though, not surprisingly, contact with the West has meant more tears than anything. Like neighbouring Vietnam, it was a French colony for years, and the French, in their inept plunder and their wonderful mission civisilatrice, created a colonial legacy that is still visible today (on the plus side, Laotians still make the best baguettes east of Paris). Soon after the French, the Americans also got their turn to have a go at the landlocked country when they were busy foundering in Vietnam. In fact, there were more U.S. bombs dropped in Laos than in any other country in history, and unexploded ordinance remains a problem for this largely rural population. Limbs and lives are still lost by inadvertently triggering the “bombees,” as they are referred to here.
Today, though, while U.S. dollars still rule the Laotian market, outside pressure is being mounted from the north in China, and repercussions are being felt everywhere. China is busy building a major highway linking the southwest province of Yunnan to Thailand, and the road runs right through the heart of northern Laos.
The Laotian government jumped at the chance of being part of the link. In a country that didn’t have much in the way of paved routes only 10 years ago, a super-highway was seen as a major boon.
It’s difficult to explain how absolutely massive such a link will be for this country without first explaining what life is like here now, and how radically different it is from the economic giant to the North.
Whereas in China the roads are seething with vehicles of all kinds, packed together in a seemingly endless rush hour, here in Laos, cars are virtually non-existent in most cities. There are trucks, of course, and ramshackle tractors bounce down the roads, but it is by no means crowded. More and more popular are the “motos,” small 100cc bikes that zip around; these seem to be the newest fad in transportation. But the lack of an addiction to the motor vehicle, something that much of Asia and, of course, countries in the West have nurtured, means that the roads are relatively quiet, and what traffic there is must share the road with chickens and children.
Many villages are still inaccessible by road, and boat is the main means of transportation. This is now changing on a yearly basis, as roads are pushed further into the countryside, making the movement of people and products easier and more compelling.
These roads now meander through the striking natural beauty of Laos, the so-called “jewel of the Mekong.” Craggy hills split by ancient rivers and covered by lush sub-tropical forest seem to go on endlessly, no doubt previously serving as a major impediment to the construction of modern-day transportation arteries. Laos has somehow managed to maintain virgin forestland and, up in the mountains at least, rivers that people still drink out of.
But logging is big business here — Laos produces some of the world’s best teak — and now with the Chinese market open for business and ready to swallow anything it’s fed, that teak can be transformed into ever-valuable foreign currency, a very important thing here, where the local Laotian currency — the kip — does not compete well on the global market. One needs 10,000 kip to buy one U.S. dollar. So converting century-old trees into the Chinese yuan is seen as sensible economics.
While there is no doubt that the environment will fall victim to economic transformation, it is by no means the only aspect of Laos that will be affected. A backpacker I ran into the other day confided to me that “in 10 years Laos will be wrecked.” Through his pretension, what he was trying to say was that there wouldn’t be any funky hill-tribe ladies walking around and he wouldn’t be able to smoke opium lying on a bamboo mat in some village that he “discovered.”
Now admittedly, it’s hardly the decision of the backpacker to set what path Laos and its people take. But for Laos, nurturing strong links to the global economy is not necessarily the direction towards self-determination. Greater prosperity, as seen in some other countries in the region, comes at a cost — a cost that can sometimes be severe.
For the visitor, Laotian society seems hopelessly idyllic. It is a laidback, quiet country, where everyone smiles and says hello and where people seem to treat each other decently. For many foreigners here, this is a far cry from back home or from other countries in this region. But it is, from a monetary point of view, desperately poor, and the line between surviving and perishing can be perilously thin at times. The almost spiritual hope is that greater links to foreign markets will somehow create wealth and a buffer between the privatization and destitution that are so close at hand.
What’s more, just as with most people, “things” can be very seductive, especially when wrapped up in colourful plastic packaging. Few will say “no” as more and more goods come rolling across the border. The commercialization of everything has already landed here and gained a foothold. Its growing momentum can be sensed.
Likewise, the great cultural homogenizers, television and the Internet, while still not prevalent, are becoming more popular by the day. If the recent histories of other countries are at all indicative, and one must suspect that they are, it will be very difficult to withstand that onslaught.
What is playing out in Laos is similar to what has happened in many countries all around the world over the past century. It has also been the source of endless debate and, at times, the almost ritualistic slaughter of language. “Modernization” is equated with “progress,” and “progress” is by definition positive. “Modernization” is conflated with “self-determination,” but the link between the two is by no means clear and the terms certainly aren’t synonymous.
Oudomxai goes to sleep, like almost everywhere in Laos, with sunset, and soon the only noise comes from the crickets. Dawn will be greeted by roosters before all else. Soon after the trucks will start rolling. Great change is afoot here, even if this sleepy town isn’t completely aware of it. It is how these people negotiate the approaching changes that will determine the state of the country in the years to come.
