A key question: Who runs the land of a million elephants?
Three years ago, Communist Pathet Lao guerrillas emerged from their jungle hideouts and quietly but firmly seized power in the languid nation once known as "the land of a million elephants." Since then, the People's Democratic Republic of Laos has been off limits to most Western journalists. Among the handful of U.S. reporters who have been allowed to visit the country is TIME Hong Kong Correspondent Richard Bernstein. His report:
The thing that is most notably different about Laos today: there are fewer people. In proportion to the country's small population (roughly 3 million), the exodus has been staggeringly large. Since the spring of 1975, around 140,000 Laotians have fled to refugee camps in Thailand—in recent months, most of them by paying $150 to secure a nighttime passage on boats plying the Mekong River. Although Pathet Lao soldiers often shoot at those who attempt the crossing (four died in one incident two weeks ago), an estimated 2,500 to 4,000 people seek refuge in Thailand every month.
In Vientiane, once flourishing centers of sin—like the notorious White Rose Café—have been closed down by the puritanical Pathet Lao government. On Rue Setthathirath more than half the shops are shuttered tightly, though not the Large Soviet cultural center on the corner. Rusting hulks of cars and trucks lie at the side of the roads leading out of the city. Even the front garden of the old Royal Palace has fallen into a state of near total disrepair—the King was sent to a reeducation camp in 1977.
Vientiane, nevertheless, still retains some traces of its old insouciance. The antique shops along Rue Samsenthai, mostly owned by Vietnamese, are still open. One shopkeeper, fortunate enough to hold a French passport, said that she was preparing to leave Laos soon, since the government had announced plans to take over her store. The large central market seemed adequately stocked with fresh vegetables, soap, cigarettes, pots and pans, cotton cloth and even finely wrought silver works —all still being sold by private merchants. While virtually all women obey a government order to wear the traditional Lao skirt, called the sin, some top them with T shirts promoting ADIDAS or "U.C.L.A. BRUINS."
Despite the lingering tokens of prosperity in Vientiane, Laos as a whole is near bankruptcy. The country's foreign exchange earnings, mostly derived from exports of timber, tin and hydroelectric power, total no more than $15 million annually. In a normal year, the government has to spend that amount to buy the 50,000 tons of rice it needs to supplement Laos' lagging grain production. With practically no industry (except for small soap, match and textile plants), most manufactured articles, from fertilizer to earth-moving equipment, must be imported.
Laos' economic plight has been complicated by natural disasters. During the summer planting this year a severe drought caused a shortfall of roughly 100,000 tons of food grain—10% of the hoped-for harvest. When the rains finally came, the Mekong and Sedone rivers deluged 30% to 40% of the rice land in Champassak, Savannakhet and Khammouane provinces.