The Land of Feeling Good

Capitalist reforms and socialism with a disco beat

Each year during the dry season, small islands and shallows appear in the Mekong River, which forms the border between Thailand and Laos. Normally it is a time for Thais and Laotians to compete in dragon-boat races, attend temple fairs and visit relatives on both sides. This year the ebbing of the great river brought instead an increase in tensions between the two countries. Vietnamese troops stationed in Laos sporadically opened fire on Thai fishermen, causing four deaths. The Thais not only shot back but lodged sharp protests with the Laotian government over the Vietnamese military presence. Underlying the hostilities, though, is a less visible effort by Thailand to encourage a three-year-old attempt by the Laotian government to achieve a more moderate form of socialism and one independent of Viet Nam. TIME Bangkok Bureau Chief David De Voss recently traveled to Laos. His report:

The signs of Laos' new, softer version of socialism are everywhere. In the capital city of Vientiane (pop. 115,000), the organs of state power are evident enough, but their presence seems muted by crenellated temple roofs and reinvigorated marketplaces. In contrast to the oppressive presence of Communism in Hanoi, few propaganda banners festoon the streets, and soldiers in battle dress are rarely encountered. Buddhism flourishes: Marxist reservations notwithstanding, men still don the saffron robes of priesthood for a time and rise before dawn to walk through the morning mist in search of alms. Well-off Laotians may apply for exit visas and generally receive them. Items such as enamel spray paint, light bulbs and vitamins, all unavailable in Hanoi, are in plentiful supply. "Sure, the market is full of clothes and medicine," laughs Luang Prabang Merchant Chan Manee. "This isn't Viet Nam."

Despite the presence of 40,000 Vietnamese troops (and some 5,000 Soviet advisers), Laos has been struggling since 1979 to sustain a socialist course unfettered by Hanoi's doctrinaire style. When the Pathet Lao Communists took over in Vientiane in 1975 after the U.S. withdrawal from Viet Nam, they quickly forced the resignation of King Savang Vatthana and instituted hard-line Marxist policies that brought the country to the edge of ruin. Private trade was banned, the few existing factories were nationalized, and restrictions on private life burgeoned. The Pathet Lao appropriated livestock and went so far as to require young people to obtain approval from party cadres before falling in love. More than 40,000 former royalist military officers and other "enemies of the state" were banished to "reeducation camps" in a jungle gulag that, in proportion to the respective populations, was larger than Stalin's.

As a result, by 1979 nearly 14% of the population, or an estimated 400,000 people, had fled the country, most of them ending up in Thai refugee camps. The economy was moribund. Late that year, Premier Kaysone Phomvihane, now 58, apparently after consultation with Soviet advisers (who feared that Moscow would be forced into a large aid commitment if the situation deteriorated further), called for a dramatic change of course. He lifted the ban on private trade, called for a more efficient price structure and an increase in wages, and ordered a dramatic 60% devaluation of the kip. Declared Kaysone: "It is inappropriate, indeed stupid, for any party to implement a policy of forbidding the people to exchange goods or carry out trading. Such a policy is suicidal."

Since then Kaysone has repeatedly stressed his belief that "capitalist laws" will stimulate economic growth and "promote socialist transformation." Reforms in the key agricultural sector have been impressive: a government program to supply farmers with herbicides and fertilizer, combined with new tax incentives, has increased rice production from 866,940 tons in 1979 to 1.2 million tons today. In addition, a government literacy campaign has raised attendance at Laotian primary and secondary schools to 600,000, from 350,000 in 1979. Says former Premier Souvanna Phouma: "It is necessary to build a new socialist man. But this doesn't mean we must destroy everything. We're trying to keep the good and get rid of traits like superstition and laziness that impede development."

Even so, economic growth has been painfully slow. With a per capita income of only $95 annually, Laos is one of the poorest countries in the world. President Souphanouvong, who led the Pathet Lao guerrilla campaign from 1946 to 1953, earns $7 a month. A middle-level government official takes home $4 a month and is able to survive only because prices in state stores are heavily subsidized by the government. Rice, for example, costs 3-c- a kg in government outlets; on the open market, it goes for 38-c-. The government has encouraged private businesses to develop consumer and service markets. Vientiane's Samsenthai commercial strip, closed five years ago, is slowly coming back to life. "This may not be Thailand," says one Laotian businessman, "but most people seem happy."

Despite its modest gains, the government remains heavily dependent on foreign assistance. Last year 80% of Laos' annual revenues came from foreign aid, including assistance from the Soviet Union. In an attempt to streamline notoriously inefficient and corrupt foreign-assisted and Laotian-administered development projects, the authorities recently charged more than 50 bureaucrats with "antiparty activities." Translation: they were guilty of frustrating government efforts to obtain international economic aid. The crackdown was a measure of the government's seriousness about expanding economic relations with the non-Communist world. The Laotians specifically hope for greater commitments from Japan, France and Australia; they would also like improved ties with the U.S., which still prohibits assistance to Viet Nam, Kampuchea and Laos.

In the long run, Laos' effort to forge its own form of socialism will be no easy task. The national psyche does not lend itself to strict regimentation: sabai di, the Laotian hello, literally means "feel good" and Laotians try to live up to it. In Praise of Ho Chi Minh, an official anthem in the three Communist Indochinese states, blares martially from loudspeakers in Hanoi and precedes performances of the national ballet in Phnom-Penh; in Laos it is played to an eminently danceable disco beat. Farmers continue to resist collectivization: only 17% of the peasants work in state-owned agriculture.

The government is also beset by security problems. Anti-Communist guerrillas still roam the countryside, despite the efforts of Vietnamese counterinsurgency forces. While the guerrillas may not pose a serious political threat--estimates are that there are only 3,000 insurgents, mostly in small, ill-equipped groups--many of the country's roads remain unsafe, particularly at night. "The insecurity is like a fever," says one European diplomat in Vientiane.

The most serious failing of the government is the continued persecution of supporters of the old regime. Jails and camps still hold somewhere between 2,000 and 5,000 political prisoners. A recent reorganization brought hundreds of former officials back into the government, but many who survived the re-education camps have returned to shattered lives. One man, a former secretary-general in the Ministry of Industry and Commerce, returned to find that his sons had become drug addicts; he now works as a dishwasher in a Vientiane bakery. A former captain in the Royal Lao Air Force toils in the rice fields during harvest season. Few survivors are willing to talk about their experiences. Says one: "Only after you say yes, yes, yes to everything do you become eligible for release."

Outside pressure on the Laotians comes mainly from Thailand, which has labeled Kaysone's government "a mouthpiece of Hanoi." Thai efforts to drive a wedge between Laos and the Soviet-backed Vietnamese meet with diffidence on the part of Laotian leaders. Both privately and publicly, they profess no great admiration for the Vietnamese: indeed, they admit the relationship with Hanoi is based only on military considerations, namely their fear of both Chinese aggression and internal subversion. Only rarely do the Laotians describe their, relationship to Hanoi with words like "friendship" and "cooperation." This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.