The image most of us of a certain age are likely to have of Laos is a wildeyed, barefoot young Pathet Lao fighter scowling at the camera, dripping in an assortment of Soviet weaponry.
Or if there is one statistic they might know, it is that Laos is the most bombed country on Earth, a plane-load of ordnance being dropped every eight minutes by 1973 as the United States prosecuted a clandestine war against the Pathet Lao (literally Land of the Lao) and its North Vietnamese ally.
More recently, it may be an image of the Lao People’s Democratic Republic, a one-party communist state, better known for its domestic purges, failed attempts at social engineering, bitter and largely forgotten war against the ethnic Hmong and North Korean styleeconomic policies.
Yet this landlocked country of seven million people and more than 130 ethnic groups, overlaid with strong French colonial influences, is now one of the hottest travel destinations in southeast Asia, an easy and staggeringly cheap option, especially for backpackers.
Tourists number 1.6-million annually, bringing in about half the country’s revenue. The rest is from mining (notably copper and gold), sales of hydropower, a small garment sector and
agriculture.
The economy has grown at about 8% a year during the 2000s, necessary for the country to realise its goal of escaping its status as one of the poorest 20 nations worldwide by 2020.
This has also partly been on the back of increases in labour productivity, up by nearly 20% in the past decade, resulting in an annual growth in agriculture output touching 5% over this period.
As a result, rural poverty has fallen from more than 50% to less than 40%, admittedly still a very high figure, and national poverty has been halved to less than 25%.
But, despite more than $400-million in annual aid flows, in the words of one specialist, “like in many countries, donors can always find a good project, but this often just embeds the status quo”.
The recent inflow of Chinese “aid” -- in reality, the linking of services (including the building of roads and a new national stadium to future contracts and mining and business rights -- has served to worsen this effect.
China’s pattern of “aid” should be all too familiar to African countries -- and just as there are concerns in Laos about mortgaging the country’s future wealth to short-term gains from China, Africa faces a similar conundrum.
No wonder then the promises of $10-billion in Chinese soft loans made at the November China-Africa summit in Cairo.
This year the Obama administration declared that Laos had “ceased to be a Marxist-Leninist country” -- this, in terms of the US memo, a “centrally planned economy based on the principles of Marxism-Leninism”.
This move lifted a ban on Lao companies from getting financing from the US Export-Import Bank. But Laos is a land of contradictions.
Even though the hammer and sickle still flies alongside the Laos national flag on most buildings and although officially a one-party state -- only members of the Communist Lao People’s Revolutionary Party are allowed to contest elections -- with a politburo where the writings of Marx and Lenin still sell well and Soviet style posters exhorting the people to great things are a common sight, the country plans to open its first stock exchange in 2010.
Although the captions in the National Museum berate the “imperialist” US and its “puppets” at every turn, today US visitors and firms are warmly welcomed.
President Barack Obama’s decision was clearly prompted by the way the economy, not the politics, are being run. New thinking -- jintanaakaanmai -- on the economy has been encouraged by reforms in neighbouring Vietnam, Laos’s big brother.
Like Vietnam and Cambodia, Laos faces a difficult challenge in this process: dealing with rising inequality, especially between the capital of Vientiane and a handful of other towns and the poverty of the countryside, between the obvious consumption of the politically connected and the barefoot poverty of the rest. This points to the biggest challenge of all.
Unlike Vietnam and China where liberalisation followed investment in the health and education of their citizens, thus ensuring they possessed the means to make full use of the fresh opportunities globalisation offered, in Laos and Cambodia this has not been the case.
In both the benefits are mostly accruing to a tiny elite and to foreigners.
Whereas in Cambodia the process has been driven by a predatory regime, there is greater naivety in Laos, where, as one donor argues, “people are being left increasingly behind in a liberalisation process before they have the means to capitalise on the opportunities and get a slice of the pie”.
A lack of transparency doesn’t help. Despite recent improvements in the ease of doing business, on the Index of Economic Freedom, Laos ranks well down in 137th (of 157) place.
Transparency International rates it at 151/180 on its corruption perceptions list, and it comes in at 163/174 on press freedom rankings. Put simply, Laos cannot be considered to be open and it’s unfree.
There are other parallels with many African countries -- a heavy dependence on agriculture and the challenge of moving from subsistence to commercial agriculture, a growing divide between rural and urban areas and, most notably, a very low capacity to implement programmes.
The absence of capacity also plays out in poor qualitative and quantitative data and, thus, weak planning. But there is no gainsaying the benefit of 8% average annual growth.
The impact is visible in the number of cars in Vientiane, the spread of cellphones and even the number of ATMs -- from just four three years ago to 144 today.
This will bring other issues: traffic, pollution, a still widening urban-rural bias, which will need to be managed, though these are problems you do not have without development.
Lao live for the moment, less reliant on Marx and Lenin than the teachings of Siddhartha in their Buddhist wats. Most of the country studiously knocks off between noon and 2pm each day, their feet to be found poking out horizontally from under their tuk-tuk canopies.
More importantly, this karma enables them -- like the rest of the region, so blighted by war and violence -- to look forward, not backwards, to making a plan and generally getting on with things. That, too, is a lesson for Africa.
Source:mg.co.za
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Little Laos awaits its big moment
Long after the misadventures of the United States in Indochina, landlocked Laos evokes golden temples, golden smiles and, in the business world, golden mining prospects. But it is a different type of gold that will occupy the nation when the region's Southeast Asian (SEA) Games are for the first time staged in the country, from 9-18 December. What's in it for little Laos?
The SEA Games may not register much outside the region, but this year celebrating their golden jubilee, they are a big deal for the 11 countries involved. These are Brunei, Cambodia, East Timor, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand and Vietnam. The previous games, in Thailand in 2007, featured more that 5,000 athletes and almost 2,000 officials across 43 different sports.
Laos, a tiny country of just six million people, is understandably excited at hosting the 25th games for the first time in the event's 50-year history. Local news reports in the state-controlled media refer proudly to the "honor" of playing host, while organizers boast the event will "put Laos on the map", attract tourists and draw foreign investment.
Just as important, the ruling Lao People's Revolutionary Party (LPRP) sees the games as a boost to the regime's prestige at home. This is not just a sports event, but probably the country's biggest state extravaganza since formally gaining independence from France in July 1949.
Underlining the party-state's involvement, the president of the organizing committee is Deputy Prime Minister Somsavat Lengsavad.
Despite the difference in scale, there are parallels to the Summer Olympic Games held in China last year. Just as Beijing leveraged the event to proclaim China's emergence as a global power, the games in Vientiane represent a regional coming-out for the Lao one-party state, a symbolic culmination of the over three decade-long "revolutionary struggle" for independence and development under the LPRP.
Undertaking the complex task of the hosting a major international event, in that thinking, demonstrates the country's modern credentials.
Perennially the "smaller brother" to its regional rivals, hosting the event constitutes nothing less than a symbolic coming of age for Laos. A government spokesman told the Bangkok Post, "The SEA Games in Laos is a magnificent example of what sports can do ... and Laos has joined the giants in this respect."
Here the issue is less about showcasing the nation to attract tourism and investment, than demonstrating the munificence of the ruling party-state.
More unexpected, perhaps, is the widespread transnational support for the games among the Lao diaspora, formed from the mass exodus of refugees after the party's 1975 rise to power when it overthrew the royalist government, forcing King Savang Vatthana to abdicate.
Fans discuss the games in a Facebook group and websites, some set up even before the official games site. Many contributors plan to travel to Laos for the event, one enthusing, "I have built my whole year around this." Identified online by the flag of the pre-1975 royal regime, such posts suggest the Lao national pride of hosting the event may be linking Lao communities usually separated by distance and politics.
Yet, many questions also surround the event. Due to a lack of infrastructure, the Lao version of the games will consist of only 25 sports, little more than half the number held in Thailand. The omission of standard sports such as basketball, gymnastics and track cycling has outraged some competing nations, particularly Malaysia and the Philippines, while the addition of novelties such as finswimming - a speed competition in which swimmers don a large, dolphin-like fin - has aroused chuckles of dismay.
It matters little that these countries are aggrieved at the loss of medal opportunities, nor that all SEA Games' hosts nominate their own, often quirky events. Press coverage has focused not on Laos' unprecedented national achievement, but on the games' loss of "glamour" and reduced "priority" for these countries. The poverty and lack of development of Laos - one of the region's poorest nations - has attracted particular attention, the exact opposite of what the Lao government is trying to promote.
Most symbolically, perhaps, Laos is able to host the games only through massive assistance from its larger, richer allies in the region. The Chinese Development Bank has provided financing for the US$100 million main stadium complex, which is being built by Chinese contractors on the outskirts of the capital, Vientiane.
A Vietnamese company has built the $19 million athletes' village and Thai funds have been used to refurbish the existing National Stadium. Dozens of smaller financial agreements with countries like Japan and South Korea will provide everything from training to tracksuits.
Strategic patronage
There are good reasons for these countries to contribute their patronage. First is the simple commercial benefit. In return for building the stadium, Chinese developers were reportedly granted 1,640 hectares of prime land near the That Luang stupa, the national symbol, on which to develop a "Chinatown" complex in Vientiane. The Vietnamese company that funded the athletes' village is opening a wood-processing factory and hotel in Laos.
Second is regional influence. Thailand, Vietnam and China have long competed for influence in Laos. While socialist Vietnam has held political sway since the 1975 revolution, China has aggressively expanded its economic presence and soft power in the region, and some in the government, notably the Chinese-educated Somsavat, have increasingly turned to the regional giant. Thailand, meanwhile, considers Laos a natural part of its sphere for cultural and historical reasons, a perception boosted by the flow of goods, people and information across the Mekong River that separates the two countries.
Third is regional friendship and cooperation. For half a century, the SEA Games and their predecessor, the Southeast Asian Peninsula Games, have been the region's major cultural expression of regionalism, providing opportunity for friendly cooperation and rivalry without the risk of political fallout.
But despite all the pluses, the huge foreign assistance required to host the event has raised stubborn questions about Laos' national autonomy. For every article invoking the "spirit of ASEAN", others scoff at Laos' inability to fund and organize their own event. (The 11 participants at the SEA Games comprise the 10 members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, plus East Timor.)
The New York Times recently summed up the feeling in the headline "Laos stumbles on Path to Sporting Glory". Reinforced in the region's own press, such views emphasize Laos' dependence on foreign aid, undermining the games' perceived benefits at home and abroad.
This ambivalence is also evident in the country. Opposition to the Chinatown deal, which saw the original development plan significantly scaled back, was framed in xenophobic nationalist terms, with residents questioning how the government could give up land to foreigners in the heart of the capital. With the deal pared back, questions linger as to how the Chinese will be compensated, raising the specter of massive government debt at a time the financial downturn has already applied added pressure on the games.
Meanwhile, web-board contributors ask how the new facilities can be "Lao" when they are adorned with banners in Chinese or Korean. Others wonder why developers have imported their own workers from China, rather than employing local Lao labor. Others still ponder why Laos cannot even produce its own merchandise for the games.
Such criticisms point to the central paradox of the SEA Games: how can they be a national achievement when the nation is so dependent on others to host them? Ultimately, factors which seem to mitigate the positive impact of the games need to be viewed in historical perspective.
The Lao nation and nationalism have always emerged from the intersection of national, regional and international ideologies and interests. In pre-colonial times, minor Lao kingdoms paid tribute to one or more overlords, allowing them to retain a substantial degree of autonomy in the process. Likewise, the peculiarity of French colonialism was that, rather than destroying Lao identities, it actually created the modern idea of Laos as a political and cultural entity.
The post-colonial Royal Lao Government was the heir of this national identity, which further solidified despite, or perhaps because of, Cold War rivalries, the Vietnam War and a budget largely underwritten by US assistance. After the US withdrawal and the communist revolution of 1975, the new regime looked to the socialist bloc, especially Vietnam and the Soviet Union, to plug the financial gap.
The enduring theme in this history has been the inability of Laos to pay its own way; its engagement with and dependence on foreign powers. The country's current strategy of market-based development underwritten by foreign investment, foreign aid and ASEAN integration continues the trend.
Far from being undermined, the party-state represents itself as the all-powerful and benevolent conductor of these forces. This explains why state-run newspapers are filled constantly with photographs of "handover ceremonies", and never more so than in the lead-up to the games. In this worldview, hosting the games demonstrates not the government's lack of independence, but its consummate skill in harnessing aid from the region.
The general population might not be completely convinced, but this does not matter in the wider view. The 2009 SEA Games' limited size and dependence on foreign help merely accords with the self-image of Laos as a small country with limited resources. Last year, for instance, the country sent a tiny team of four athletes to the Beijing Olympics, thanks to funding from the International Olympic Committee. While there was certainly some criticism on the Internet, more comments focused on the positive.
"Four is better than nothing," said one, while another suggested plaintively, "When we are poor, we have to accept that we are poor."
This may not be how the government sees its hosting of a scaled-back games, but, together with positioning itself as a benevolent conductor of foreign assistance, such views help to explain how the event is being seen as a success inside the country when those outside see mainly dependence and poverty. Laos' little SEA Games are a big deal for the poor country, foreign-funded or not.
Simon Creak is a PhD candidate at the College of Asia-Pacific, Australian National University, with a specialization in the history of Laos. He may be contacted at simon.creak@anu.edu.au.
(Copyright 2009 Asia Times Online (Holdings) Ltd. All rights reserved. Please contact us about sales, syndication and republishing.)
Source:atimes.com
The SEA Games may not register much outside the region, but this year celebrating their golden jubilee, they are a big deal for the 11 countries involved. These are Brunei, Cambodia, East Timor, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand and Vietnam. The previous games, in Thailand in 2007, featured more that 5,000 athletes and almost 2,000 officials across 43 different sports.
Laos, a tiny country of just six million people, is understandably excited at hosting the 25th games for the first time in the event's 50-year history. Local news reports in the state-controlled media refer proudly to the "honor" of playing host, while organizers boast the event will "put Laos on the map", attract tourists and draw foreign investment.
Just as important, the ruling Lao People's Revolutionary Party (LPRP) sees the games as a boost to the regime's prestige at home. This is not just a sports event, but probably the country's biggest state extravaganza since formally gaining independence from France in July 1949.
Underlining the party-state's involvement, the president of the organizing committee is Deputy Prime Minister Somsavat Lengsavad.
Despite the difference in scale, there are parallels to the Summer Olympic Games held in China last year. Just as Beijing leveraged the event to proclaim China's emergence as a global power, the games in Vientiane represent a regional coming-out for the Lao one-party state, a symbolic culmination of the over three decade-long "revolutionary struggle" for independence and development under the LPRP.
Undertaking the complex task of the hosting a major international event, in that thinking, demonstrates the country's modern credentials.
Perennially the "smaller brother" to its regional rivals, hosting the event constitutes nothing less than a symbolic coming of age for Laos. A government spokesman told the Bangkok Post, "The SEA Games in Laos is a magnificent example of what sports can do ... and Laos has joined the giants in this respect."
Here the issue is less about showcasing the nation to attract tourism and investment, than demonstrating the munificence of the ruling party-state.
More unexpected, perhaps, is the widespread transnational support for the games among the Lao diaspora, formed from the mass exodus of refugees after the party's 1975 rise to power when it overthrew the royalist government, forcing King Savang Vatthana to abdicate.
Fans discuss the games in a Facebook group and websites, some set up even before the official games site. Many contributors plan to travel to Laos for the event, one enthusing, "I have built my whole year around this." Identified online by the flag of the pre-1975 royal regime, such posts suggest the Lao national pride of hosting the event may be linking Lao communities usually separated by distance and politics.
Yet, many questions also surround the event. Due to a lack of infrastructure, the Lao version of the games will consist of only 25 sports, little more than half the number held in Thailand. The omission of standard sports such as basketball, gymnastics and track cycling has outraged some competing nations, particularly Malaysia and the Philippines, while the addition of novelties such as finswimming - a speed competition in which swimmers don a large, dolphin-like fin - has aroused chuckles of dismay.
It matters little that these countries are aggrieved at the loss of medal opportunities, nor that all SEA Games' hosts nominate their own, often quirky events. Press coverage has focused not on Laos' unprecedented national achievement, but on the games' loss of "glamour" and reduced "priority" for these countries. The poverty and lack of development of Laos - one of the region's poorest nations - has attracted particular attention, the exact opposite of what the Lao government is trying to promote.
Most symbolically, perhaps, Laos is able to host the games only through massive assistance from its larger, richer allies in the region. The Chinese Development Bank has provided financing for the US$100 million main stadium complex, which is being built by Chinese contractors on the outskirts of the capital, Vientiane.
A Vietnamese company has built the $19 million athletes' village and Thai funds have been used to refurbish the existing National Stadium. Dozens of smaller financial agreements with countries like Japan and South Korea will provide everything from training to tracksuits.
Strategic patronage
There are good reasons for these countries to contribute their patronage. First is the simple commercial benefit. In return for building the stadium, Chinese developers were reportedly granted 1,640 hectares of prime land near the That Luang stupa, the national symbol, on which to develop a "Chinatown" complex in Vientiane. The Vietnamese company that funded the athletes' village is opening a wood-processing factory and hotel in Laos.
Second is regional influence. Thailand, Vietnam and China have long competed for influence in Laos. While socialist Vietnam has held political sway since the 1975 revolution, China has aggressively expanded its economic presence and soft power in the region, and some in the government, notably the Chinese-educated Somsavat, have increasingly turned to the regional giant. Thailand, meanwhile, considers Laos a natural part of its sphere for cultural and historical reasons, a perception boosted by the flow of goods, people and information across the Mekong River that separates the two countries.
Third is regional friendship and cooperation. For half a century, the SEA Games and their predecessor, the Southeast Asian Peninsula Games, have been the region's major cultural expression of regionalism, providing opportunity for friendly cooperation and rivalry without the risk of political fallout.
But despite all the pluses, the huge foreign assistance required to host the event has raised stubborn questions about Laos' national autonomy. For every article invoking the "spirit of ASEAN", others scoff at Laos' inability to fund and organize their own event. (The 11 participants at the SEA Games comprise the 10 members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, plus East Timor.)
The New York Times recently summed up the feeling in the headline "Laos stumbles on Path to Sporting Glory". Reinforced in the region's own press, such views emphasize Laos' dependence on foreign aid, undermining the games' perceived benefits at home and abroad.
This ambivalence is also evident in the country. Opposition to the Chinatown deal, which saw the original development plan significantly scaled back, was framed in xenophobic nationalist terms, with residents questioning how the government could give up land to foreigners in the heart of the capital. With the deal pared back, questions linger as to how the Chinese will be compensated, raising the specter of massive government debt at a time the financial downturn has already applied added pressure on the games.
Meanwhile, web-board contributors ask how the new facilities can be "Lao" when they are adorned with banners in Chinese or Korean. Others wonder why developers have imported their own workers from China, rather than employing local Lao labor. Others still ponder why Laos cannot even produce its own merchandise for the games.
Such criticisms point to the central paradox of the SEA Games: how can they be a national achievement when the nation is so dependent on others to host them? Ultimately, factors which seem to mitigate the positive impact of the games need to be viewed in historical perspective.
The Lao nation and nationalism have always emerged from the intersection of national, regional and international ideologies and interests. In pre-colonial times, minor Lao kingdoms paid tribute to one or more overlords, allowing them to retain a substantial degree of autonomy in the process. Likewise, the peculiarity of French colonialism was that, rather than destroying Lao identities, it actually created the modern idea of Laos as a political and cultural entity.
The post-colonial Royal Lao Government was the heir of this national identity, which further solidified despite, or perhaps because of, Cold War rivalries, the Vietnam War and a budget largely underwritten by US assistance. After the US withdrawal and the communist revolution of 1975, the new regime looked to the socialist bloc, especially Vietnam and the Soviet Union, to plug the financial gap.
The enduring theme in this history has been the inability of Laos to pay its own way; its engagement with and dependence on foreign powers. The country's current strategy of market-based development underwritten by foreign investment, foreign aid and ASEAN integration continues the trend.
Far from being undermined, the party-state represents itself as the all-powerful and benevolent conductor of these forces. This explains why state-run newspapers are filled constantly with photographs of "handover ceremonies", and never more so than in the lead-up to the games. In this worldview, hosting the games demonstrates not the government's lack of independence, but its consummate skill in harnessing aid from the region.
The general population might not be completely convinced, but this does not matter in the wider view. The 2009 SEA Games' limited size and dependence on foreign help merely accords with the self-image of Laos as a small country with limited resources. Last year, for instance, the country sent a tiny team of four athletes to the Beijing Olympics, thanks to funding from the International Olympic Committee. While there was certainly some criticism on the Internet, more comments focused on the positive.
"Four is better than nothing," said one, while another suggested plaintively, "When we are poor, we have to accept that we are poor."
This may not be how the government sees its hosting of a scaled-back games, but, together with positioning itself as a benevolent conductor of foreign assistance, such views help to explain how the event is being seen as a success inside the country when those outside see mainly dependence and poverty. Laos' little SEA Games are a big deal for the poor country, foreign-funded or not.
Simon Creak is a PhD candidate at the College of Asia-Pacific, Australian National University, with a specialization in the history of Laos. He may be contacted at simon.creak@anu.edu.au.
(Copyright 2009 Asia Times Online (Holdings) Ltd. All rights reserved. Please contact us about sales, syndication and republishing.)
Source:atimes.com
Sea Games tours to Laos lacks attraction due to high cost
VietNamNet Bridge – Even though the 2009 Southeast Asian Games, or the 25th Sea Games, is drawing near, few Vietnamese tourists have put their names down for the regional sports event due to the high costs.
Doan Thi Thanh Tra, marketing executive of Saigontourist Travel Service, said only 50 people had come to register with her travel firm for tours to Laos on this occasion.
High cost is a hindrance, preventing people from attending Sea Games, said another tour operator in HCMC.
“Though lots of people have come for information, no one has registered till now,” said Ta Thi Cam Vinh in charge of Ben Thanh Tourist’s outbound section. The price is at US$375 exclusive of the return air ticket per person for a tour to Laos within seven days compared to a tour to Thailand costing only US$300, she told the Daily.
Vo Dong Hai, marketing executive of SPSC Tour under Saigon Petroleum Service Company, predicted that around 40 people will register to go to Laos for this Sea Games.
It is the first time Laos ever hosts the Southeast Asian Games from December 9 to 18. This event will take place in its capital city of Vientiane, Prabang and Savannakhet, where athletes from the region will compete in 25 sports.
The opening ceremony will take place at the New Laos National Stadium, which has a seating capacity of 25,000 people.
Source:vietnamnet.vn
Doan Thi Thanh Tra, marketing executive of Saigontourist Travel Service, said only 50 people had come to register with her travel firm for tours to Laos on this occasion.
High cost is a hindrance, preventing people from attending Sea Games, said another tour operator in HCMC.
“Though lots of people have come for information, no one has registered till now,” said Ta Thi Cam Vinh in charge of Ben Thanh Tourist’s outbound section. The price is at US$375 exclusive of the return air ticket per person for a tour to Laos within seven days compared to a tour to Thailand costing only US$300, she told the Daily.
Vo Dong Hai, marketing executive of SPSC Tour under Saigon Petroleum Service Company, predicted that around 40 people will register to go to Laos for this Sea Games.
It is the first time Laos ever hosts the Southeast Asian Games from December 9 to 18. This event will take place in its capital city of Vientiane, Prabang and Savannakhet, where athletes from the region will compete in 25 sports.
The opening ceremony will take place at the New Laos National Stadium, which has a seating capacity of 25,000 people.
Source:vietnamnet.vn
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