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Neighboring Thailand, where the economy is also fattening on a rich diet of U.S. cash, is happily exercising what amounts to Asia's most institutionalized system of corruption. From ancient times, Thai officials have shored up their legal income by "tax farming"—that is, by collecting a quota of cash or goods from peasants and villagers. Today, everyone is still expected to expand his salary by shrewd use of the influence of his office. The general who runs the government tourist organization, for example, serves on the board of the privately owned Siam Inter-Continental Hotel. At Udorn, where U.S. jets take off to bomb North Viet Nam, the Thai airbase commander owns the local bus line. In Korat, another center of U.S. military activity, no one can open a new nightclub without cutting in the commanding general of the Royal Thai Second Army.
Dead End
To the Thais, it is all a matter of degree. "There is a difference between corruption and privilege," explains a prominent educator. "It becomes corruption when one gets greedy and takes too much." Thus, when Premier Sarit Thanarat was alive, no one was particularly concerned about the obvious financial benefits he and his relatives were enjoying as a direct result of his position. Sarit's wife got more than her share of special favors in her silk business; hordes of cousins, uncles and in-laws controlled 15 companies that had special government concessions. But Sarit's death was followed by a certain official chagrin. For only then was it discovered that he had siphoned $29 million of public funds into his own pocket, partly to support no fewer than 100 "minor wives" (concubines). No one denied his talent in government; he had simply paid himself too much. A somewhat embarrassed government appointed a special committee to probe the estate, and, typically, its report was never published.
For all that, the Asian tendency to take graft for granted is now being recognized as a debilitating mistake. Recently, even revered King Bhumibol Adulyadej added his voice to the growing concern. "I am at a dead end to offer a solution to the corruption problem," he told a student group. He added, only half in jest: "If we solved the problem by executing people, Thailand would be left with few people."
Other Asian countries share the same growing anxiety, which, in large part, reflects their contact with Western ethics. Once it was almost patriotic to steal from a colonial government, but that excuse is now gone. What is left is colonial teaching about the evils of corruption—and almost daily reminders that by bribery and graft, onetime colonial subjects are now harming only themselves. Not long ago, the Malaysian government organized an "Honesty Month" to instill a sense of duty among civil servants; after a series of lectures, things improved considerably. Some campaigns are notably less successful. When the privilege-ridden little government of Laos established an "economic police force," its members were soon demanding a cut from the very businessmen they were supposed to investigate. "They are economic parasites," fumed one Vientiane merchant. "It is one bit of bribery that I really object to paying."