BANGKOK — Protesters have erected a building in central Bangkok that resembles a medieval rampart topped with pointed wooden stakes. The military was preparing to wipe them out.
As the sun was setting, I found rebel Maj. Gen. Hattiya Sawaddipol, who had defected to the demonstrators, and asked him what he was going to do next.
His “people's army” will not back down, he said. “The military can't come in here.”
At that moment, I heard a loud crack and the sound of a sniper's bullet breaking through the sound barrier. General Hattiya fell at my feet.
A moment ago he had answered my question. Now he fell to the ground, his blank eyes still open, blood spilling onto his camouflage uniform. The world around me went into slow motion as I watched the general being dragged away by his supporters.
I've been covering life and death in Southeast Asia for the past 10 years. His job was to interview former CIA mercenaries who had been perplexed by the disappearance of a Malaysian Airlines plane (it's still missing two years later) and were being chased by the government in Southeast Asia.jungle Laos another. It seemed like I spent almost as much time evading the authorities as I did interviewing them.
The bullet that killed General Khatiya in 2010 came inches from my head.
It is difficult to talk about a region that has so many different languages, ethnicities, religions, and political traditions all at once. But as I begin a new mission in Northern California, part of an alternate universe, I've been trying to make sense of what I've seen in Southeast Asia.
I return again and again to the theme of impunity.
In the case of General Hattiya's murder, he did not regain consciousness and died several days later. An independent report concluded that the assassin likely fired from a military-controlled building.
However, no one has been charged yet. The general who killed 58 civilians and helped lead the deadly military crackdown that followed is now ThailandPrime Minister.
“Unfortunately, some people have died,” then-Prime Minister Abhisit Vejajiva said. The murder case against him was dismissed.
In Southeast Asia, it's often no secret who commits human rights abuses, whether it's illegal deforestation, drug trafficking, skimming government deals or shooting protesters.
Extraordinary wealth, a euphemism for suspected fraud, is everywhere.
The general who currently rules Thailand, Prayut Chan-o-cha, is a career military man with a modest background. But shortly after seizing power in a coup two years ago, he declared a net worth of $4 million, nearly half of which was in cash. (In a strange holdover from the country's democratic past, members of the military junta were required to declare their assets.)
He has never explained how he managed to save up this considerable amount from his $40,000 annual military salary. “Don't judge people based on their own perceptions,” he said in a televised address after he and other top-ranking military and police officers revealed their wealth.
Even in countries where there is strict control over the press, such as Vietnam; Malaysia, there is an army of brave journalists and bloggers and Facebook commenters trying to expose wrongdoing. But the problem in Southeast Asia seems to be doing more about the truth than exposing it.
While I was here, I watched the rise of Asia and wondered how it could continue to thrive without justice. Can a society with such widespread corruption continue the impressive economic progress achieved in recent decades?
Sometimes all you have to do to check for fraud here is to knock. On the edge of a forest in Laos across the Mekong River, I found the walled compound of Viksai Keosavan, a Laotian businessman who has been described as the Pablo Escobar of wildlife trafficking.
After I banged on the heavy metal gate of the compound, a security guard rolled it open. Yes, the guard said there were live tigers, bears and many other endangered species inside. Neighbors say trucks regularly leave Viksai's property with lizards and pangolins. Pangolins are anteater-like animals that are rapidly becoming extinct because they are eaten for their medicinal properties.
Mr. Biksai went about his human trafficking business so casually that he used private couriers to ship rhino horn and ivory directly to his company's offices in Laos.
My article prompted the U.S. State Department to offer a $1 million bounty for information leading to the dismantling of Mr. Biksei's business, the first of its kind.
No one has come forward claiming this. Mr. Biksei has never been charged. Laotian authorities say they have no evidence against him.
After telling me about the animals inside, the guard called Mr. Viksey on his cell phone and handed the phone to the interpreter.
“There's nothing there,” said Mr. Wiksey. “Who told you about it?”
Laos, ruled by an authoritarian Communist Party, has also erected a wall of silence over the disappearance of civic leader Sombas Somphon, who campaigned for greater public participation in society and decision-making. Security cameras showed him being stopped and taken away at a police checkpoint in December 2012. But the government has repeatedly said it has no information about his whereabouts.
Authorities in Southeast Asia have access to many of the same tools as authorities in wealthy countries. What appears to be missing is not technology, but the political will to investigate deeply connected people. Malaysian opposition leader Tony Puah calls this a “forget and move on” culture.
When the boats were full of refugees, Myanmar When I was left adrift in the Andaman Sea last May, abandoned by my crew and without adequate food or fuel, I obtained the number of the person on board and had my phone company track the location of my phone. I asked him to do so.
The telephone company was reluctant, so I contacted a friendly naval officer, Lieutenant Colonel. Veerapong Nakprasit persuaded the company to give him the location of the phone on humanitarian grounds. The Navy probably could have made the request and found the boat on its own, knowing that without help the refugees would likely die.
We rented a speedboat and followed the coordinates until we found the stranded boat. Hundreds of thin refugees saw us and called for help. Many of them were women and children. I dictated a story over the phone to a newsroom in Hong Kong, and soon readers around the world learned about the plight of refugees. We brought a bottle of water and threw it to the grateful passengers.
That night, the Thai navy pushed the boat back into the open sea out of sight of journalists.
Southeast Asia's refugee crisis last year escalated into a regional embarrassment, with governments forced to admit that their own officials were complicit in the trafficking of desperate migrants from Myanmar. However, in Thailand, where the military government is said to be cracking down on human trafficking, the head of the investigation fled to Australia and applied for political asylum, claiming he was receiving threats from people in power.
Thailand's military junta has not set a firm date for leaving power, but its members are seizing the opportunity.
Immediately after the May 2014 coup, the government promulgated a decree that prioritized “all actions” taken over the law, including the seizure of power and “punishment” committed by them.
The last words of the constitution they wrote for themselves call for blanket immunity. Members of the military regime will be “completely discharged” for their actions.
Lawyers representing victims of the 2010 crackdown say there is little hope for justice now that the military is in power.
One of the key witnesses to the crackdown, Nattatida Meewampura, is an emergency worker who said she witnessed six people being shot dead by soldiers.
She had been detained for the past year on orders of a military court for participating in a social media chat group opposing the military takeover. Her lawyers claim her military is trying to silence her.
“People were chased and killed,” she wrote to me from prison last month. “I'm the only witness still breathing.”
My ten years here were a time of intense ambivalence. I was fascinated by the warmth, friendliness and politeness of the people. When I interviewed protesters on hot summer days, they often fanned my face as they talked. I learned from a Thai friend how to laugh at life's disappointments and frustrations. The food was delicious and I was surprised by the hospitality.
But I despaired at the vileness of the elites and the corruption that engulfed the lives of many of the people I interviewed. I came to see Southeast Asia as a country with great people and bad governments, with amazing benevolence, but with tragic levels of impunity.