AFP/AFP/GETTY IMAGES
The pangolin, an endangered species, is valued for its meat
and the alleged curative powers of its scales. Although illegal to hunt
them, they fetch up to $280 a kilogram in Phnom Penh.
CHI PHAT, CAMBODIA—It’s late
afternoon when Chorn Hong gets the call. An informant tells him that
eight Sunda pangolins are being smuggled out of Chi Phat, an isolated
village in the heart of Cambodia’s Cardamom Mountains.
Valued for their meat and the alleged curative properties of their scales, these three- to seven-kilogram anteater-like mammals sell for as much as $280 a kilogram in Phnom Penh. As endangered species, capturing even one pangolin can lead to five to 10 years in prison.
In their battered pickup truck, Hong and a four-man ranger team rush to the scene. Racing along narrow dirt roads, they gain on the car carrying the pangolins until Hong takes a sharp turn too quickly. The pickup rolls into a ditch.
The truck is badly damaged. Fortunately, the rangers suffer only cuts and bruises. Hong, however, is devastated. This was his chance to deliver a serious blow to one of the area’s largest wildlife traders, someone Hong and his informants have been watching for more than two years: a major in the Royal Cambodian Army.
“In Cambodia, people with money and power think they can do whatever they want,” Hong says.
He knows this firsthand. At the age of 16, Hong watched helplessly as his older brother was beaten by a drunken police officer. The officer, who also served as his village’s chief, was never charged.
“I hate these high-ranking officers,” Hong says. “I want to do everything I can to work against them . . . I want to be a person who makes bad things about Cambodia change.”
The Cardamom Mountains, spanning more than 20,000 square kilometres, contain the second-largest contiguous rainforest in Southeast Asia. For years, the region’s inaccessibility and large Khmer Rouge presence left it relatively unspoiled, allowing rare species such as the Indochinese tiger, Asian elephant and Malayan sun bear to flourish.
While the dissolution of the Khmer Rouge in 1999 ended Cambodia’s long-standing civil war, it also paved the way for the destruction of the Cardamoms. New roads were built through the area’s once-pristine forests and existing roads were improved, allowing for an influx of illegal loggers, poachers and settlers.
Lacking the resources to effectively enforce the conservation policies enshrined in its 2002 Forestry Law, the Cambodian government has partnered with several international NGOs. The government provides these organizations with legal experts and armed military policemen, while the NGOs are tasked with building, outfitting and supervising their own ranger stations.
U.S.-based non-profit Wildlife Alliance has been working in the Cardamoms since 2002. Currently, its 89 rangers patrol a 680,000-hectare area from six ranger stations.
While wildlife poaching has declined in recent years, Wildlife Alliance CEO Suwanna Gauntlett says that instances of land encroachment and illegal logging have been on the rise. Existing communities continue to spread into protected forests, impoverished locals are being hired to clear jungle to create plantations for wealthy Cambodians and foreign companies, and illegal loggers are pushing deeper into the Cardamoms in search of rosewood — an increasingly rare luxury timber that can sell on Chinese markets for as much as $20,000 per cubic metre (about the volume of a mid-sized SUV’s cargo area).
Eduard Lefter, the project manager of Wildlife Alliance’s forest protection program, believes that elements of the Cambodian military are behind the majority of forest crimes seen in the Cardamoms.
“They think that no one will stop them,” Lefter says. “But we show them that we are stronger . . . . The law is for everyone — not only low people. The law doesn’t make any exceptions.”
So far, however, prosecuting those responsible for the illegal wildlife and timber trades remains an elusive dream. By employing the poor to extract and transport forest products, traders reap the rewards without putting themselves at risk — only those caught with evidence are legally culpable.
Even if traders were caught and convicted, there are no guarantees they would serve jail terms.
By arresting their workers and confiscating their goods, Hong hopes to encourage wildlife and timber traders to seek out other lines of work. “I feel pity for the poor offenders (we arrest),” Hong says, “but they can do something else — they have choices . . . . I also came from a poor family and I’ve never done something against the law.”
Hong rarely gets to see his wife and young children — for their safety, they live several hundred kilometres away from the Cardamoms. Hong also says he never travels alone.
His fears are not unfounded. Wildlife Alliance staff are routinely threatened and its rangers have been attacked. In 2009, two off-duty rangers were assaulted with an axe. One received a blow to his skull; the other was struck in the mouth — both miraculously survived. Similarly, in April 2012, well-known Cambodian activist Chut Wutty was shot to death by an unknown assailant while investigating military-backed logging in the central Cardamoms.
To Kaspars Cekotins, one of Wildlife Alliance’s foreign station advisers, his former assistant is emblematic of a new generation of Cambodians who are tired of seeing the wealthy and well-connected live above the law.
“He is doing this job because he feels the need to do it,” says Cekotins, a Latvian national. “If we had more people like Hong, (Wildlife Alliance) wouldn’t need people like me.”
However, despite his tireless work, Hong isn’t completely optimistic about the future of the Cardamoms.
“We cannot stop its destruction 100 per cent, but we can reduce it,” he says. “Right now, there are far fewer protectors than there are offenders . . . .
“If I can, I will continue doing this job for a long time,” Hong says. “I want to be able to show these forests to my children.”
Valued for their meat and the alleged curative properties of their scales, these three- to seven-kilogram anteater-like mammals sell for as much as $280 a kilogram in Phnom Penh. As endangered species, capturing even one pangolin can lead to five to 10 years in prison.
In their battered pickup truck, Hong and a four-man ranger team rush to the scene. Racing along narrow dirt roads, they gain on the car carrying the pangolins until Hong takes a sharp turn too quickly. The pickup rolls into a ditch.
The truck is badly damaged. Fortunately, the rangers suffer only cuts and bruises. Hong, however, is devastated. This was his chance to deliver a serious blow to one of the area’s largest wildlife traders, someone Hong and his informants have been watching for more than two years: a major in the Royal Cambodian Army.
“In Cambodia, people with money and power think they can do whatever they want,” Hong says.
He knows this firsthand. At the age of 16, Hong watched helplessly as his older brother was beaten by a drunken police officer. The officer, who also served as his village’s chief, was never charged.
“I hate these high-ranking officers,” Hong says. “I want to do everything I can to work against them . . . I want to be a person who makes bad things about Cambodia change.”
The Cardamom Mountains, spanning more than 20,000 square kilometres, contain the second-largest contiguous rainforest in Southeast Asia. For years, the region’s inaccessibility and large Khmer Rouge presence left it relatively unspoiled, allowing rare species such as the Indochinese tiger, Asian elephant and Malayan sun bear to flourish.
While the dissolution of the Khmer Rouge in 1999 ended Cambodia’s long-standing civil war, it also paved the way for the destruction of the Cardamoms. New roads were built through the area’s once-pristine forests and existing roads were improved, allowing for an influx of illegal loggers, poachers and settlers.
Lacking the resources to effectively enforce the conservation policies enshrined in its 2002 Forestry Law, the Cambodian government has partnered with several international NGOs. The government provides these organizations with legal experts and armed military policemen, while the NGOs are tasked with building, outfitting and supervising their own ranger stations.
U.S.-based non-profit Wildlife Alliance has been working in the Cardamoms since 2002. Currently, its 89 rangers patrol a 680,000-hectare area from six ranger stations.
While wildlife poaching has declined in recent years, Wildlife Alliance CEO Suwanna Gauntlett says that instances of land encroachment and illegal logging have been on the rise. Existing communities continue to spread into protected forests, impoverished locals are being hired to clear jungle to create plantations for wealthy Cambodians and foreign companies, and illegal loggers are pushing deeper into the Cardamoms in search of rosewood — an increasingly rare luxury timber that can sell on Chinese markets for as much as $20,000 per cubic metre (about the volume of a mid-sized SUV’s cargo area).
Eduard Lefter, the project manager of Wildlife Alliance’s forest protection program, believes that elements of the Cambodian military are behind the majority of forest crimes seen in the Cardamoms.
“They think that no one will stop them,” Lefter says. “But we show them that we are stronger . . . . The law is for everyone — not only low people. The law doesn’t make any exceptions.”
So far, however, prosecuting those responsible for the illegal wildlife and timber trades remains an elusive dream. By employing the poor to extract and transport forest products, traders reap the rewards without putting themselves at risk — only those caught with evidence are legally culpable.
Even if traders were caught and convicted, there are no guarantees they would serve jail terms.
By arresting their workers and confiscating their goods, Hong hopes to encourage wildlife and timber traders to seek out other lines of work. “I feel pity for the poor offenders (we arrest),” Hong says, “but they can do something else — they have choices . . . . I also came from a poor family and I’ve never done something against the law.”
Hong rarely gets to see his wife and young children — for their safety, they live several hundred kilometres away from the Cardamoms. Hong also says he never travels alone.
His fears are not unfounded. Wildlife Alliance staff are routinely threatened and its rangers have been attacked. In 2009, two off-duty rangers were assaulted with an axe. One received a blow to his skull; the other was struck in the mouth — both miraculously survived. Similarly, in April 2012, well-known Cambodian activist Chut Wutty was shot to death by an unknown assailant while investigating military-backed logging in the central Cardamoms.
To Kaspars Cekotins, one of Wildlife Alliance’s foreign station advisers, his former assistant is emblematic of a new generation of Cambodians who are tired of seeing the wealthy and well-connected live above the law.
“He is doing this job because he feels the need to do it,” says Cekotins, a Latvian national. “If we had more people like Hong, (Wildlife Alliance) wouldn’t need people like me.”
However, despite his tireless work, Hong isn’t completely optimistic about the future of the Cardamoms.
“We cannot stop its destruction 100 per cent, but we can reduce it,” he says. “Right now, there are far fewer protectors than there are offenders . . . .
“If I can, I will continue doing this job for a long time,” Hong says. “I want to be able to show these forests to my children.”
2 comments:
Don't let Yuon/Vietnamese folks kill this kind of animals.
I felt sick reading about people in govt army top rank destroy our forestry for Yuon or chin benefits.
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