size of England and Wales. Until Afghanistan
overtook it in the 1990s, Shan was the world’s
biggest source of opium and heroin. Later,
as heroin production waned and ethnic mili-
tias wrestled semi-autonomous fiefdoms from
Myanmar’s feeble ruling junta, Shan became
the home of “yama” (“horse pills”), meth-
and-caffeine tablets first produced to stimulate
pack horses across the area’s dense, hilly terrain.
Humans soon acquired a taste; they either
crushed and snorted them or burned them on
tinfoil and chased the dragon of their fumes
(AKA freebasing). The high could last days:
perfect for an all-night party or a long shift
at work. But it rotted teeth and skin. Meth
addicts often looked like wild-eyed zombies.
Thai authorities found another name for the
drug: “yaba”. Crazy pills.
It was a new pandemic for a drug that existed
long before Walter White and Breaking Bad. A
German scientist first synthesised meth in 1887.
Its use became widespread by soldiers fighting
the Second World War, when even Adolf Hitler
reportedly received a regular shot. When the
war ended, meth fell into the hands of mobs
across Asia and doctors prescribed ampheta-
mine – AKA speed – as diet pills.
Zhao found himself at the crossroads of a new
meth boom. Mong La helped traffic drugs while
providing safe access for constituent chemicals
from the neighbouring Chinese province of
Yunnan. His casino welcomed Chinese citizens
and officials to squander their savings. When
Beijing caught wind in 2005 it banned travel
to Mong La. Two years later, the Laos govern-
ment signed a 99-year lease with Zhao on a
38 square-mile stretch of land on the banks of
the Mekong. A third of it became the SEZ on
which the Kings Romans, which broke ground
in 2009, now stands.
Zhao denied the Kings Romans was a crim-
inal haven, while keeping close relations with
Lao officials: resort brochures boasted of a visit
from the country’s once-leader Choummaly
Sayasone. Though meth shipments seized in
Thailand have been traced back to the SEZ, Lao
police complain they aren’t able to gain access.
“We have done a lot to stop drug trafficking
here,” Zhao said in a rare 2011 interview. “We
have our own special economic zone police and
an office of the Lao police here. We take a very
strong position against drug trafficking: this is
our responsibility.”
The US government disagrees. In January
2018 its Treasury sanctioned what it called
the “Zhao Wei Transnational Criminal
Organisation”, which it claimed was exploit-
ing the region “by engaging in drug traffick-
ing, human trafficking, money laundering,
bribery and wildlife trafficking, much of which
is facilitated through the Kings Romans casino”.
Reporters who tried locating Zhao’s Hong Kong
holding company found only denials and deadends (I could not reach the business either,
nor would the Kings Romans comment for this
story). Zhao himself described the sanctions as
“malicious rumour-mongering”.Mong La still exists. But it is one of
many “black zones” in Myanmar that
are entirely shut off to foreigners.
According to the United Nations Office On
Drugs And Crime (UNODC), it and the Kings
Romans are part of a network of dozens of
casinos that help fuel a drug industry worth
up to £47bn, between two and three times that
made by Mexican cartels. “We’re talking about
guys in Myanmar bigger than El Chapo,” Jeremy
Douglas, the UNODC’s regional representative,
told me. A suspected Canadian-Chinese crime
boss named Tse Chi Lop is accused of building
an empire worth £14bn alone.
Yaba and crystal meth travels mostly through
Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia into the
Philippines, Japan, Korea, Australia and New
Zealand. Each country faces its own meth epi-
demic. A small amount of Southeast Asian
drugs make their way to Europe. Local produc-
ers showed me pictures of ecstasy pills taken in
clubs in Berlin and London. The region’s meth
has even washed up in Los Angeles and other
coastal US cities.
The number of casinos has exploded along-
side the drug trade. Cambodia has almost three
times the number of licensed venues it had in- Laos, similar in size and shape to Italy but
with a ninth the population, confines its five to a
handful of SEZs. Many are suspected of playing
a role for regional druglords that experts believe
ramped up when a 2014 Chinese corruption
crackdown smashed its drug and money laun-
dering industries, scattering criminals among
its neighbours.
Myanmar ditched a law banning foreign-
owned casinos in 2018, paving the way for
even more drug money. Ruled by a barely
fathomable patchwork of ethnic militias, rebels
and corrupt Burmese army (Tatmadaw) gen-
erals, crime bosses could land in an isolated
spot, pay off the relevant strongmen and get
to work. Myanmar’s new meth lords have
upended the country’s economy. Entire towns
rely on drugs to survive, in a country where
almost half the population lives in poverty.
Myanmar’s hinterlands rely on drugs in the
same way as Medellín during the years of
Pablo Escobar. Myanmar is a narco-state.
In recent years crystal meth, or “ice”, has
become the country’s export-of-choice, cooked
in factory-sized labs that look like breweries.
Meth doesn’t rely on good poppy harvests and
it employs far fewer people. Its users cut across
all levels of society, from poor addicts craving
a quick high to truck drivers on long shifts and
high-end bankers working across time zones.
Many Burmese labs switch from ice to yaba
production, knocking out the cheaper and
lower-grade pills to poorer, local markets. The
rest goes to rich nations such as Australia.
There, hounded by cops and priced out, biker
gangs have given up on domestic production.
Instead, they go to Thailand, party and bring
home Burmese ice.
Some sources suggested to me that the bigger
facilities are able to switch production from drug
to drug, using chemists largely brought from
Taiwan. Many in the trade know these sites by
a simple name: “The Machine”.Military checkpoints litter the land-
scape and each demands different
paperwork to pass. Entire towns are
encircled by them. Fighting breaks out sporad-
ically and nine of the country’s 14 states are
riddled with minefields. Maps are unreliable and
out of date. The government is one of the most
corrupt on earth. Experts – even those who’ve
lived in Myanmar for decades – rarely agree on
who is producing ice and where. The Tatmadaw
denies it plays a role. But with its omniscient
presence in the country and its web of ceasefire
and peace deals with militia groups, that must
surely be questionable.
“Are they actually providing physical secu-
rity for them? Probably not,” John Whalen, a
Myanmar-based former DEA agent, told me of
the Tatmadaw. “They are providing security by
allowing it to exist.”
At the top of this, like the heads of a hydra,
sit places such as the Kings Romans. It is alleged
that Zhao’s creation acted as a kind of Charon,
ferrying rich Chinese from their regulated land
to a Hades of sordid lawlessness.
“Once you’re in there, you don’t even know
who you are any more,” said the Chinese-
speaking taxi driver who took us into town on
day one. “You spend all your money. Any kind
of drugs you can think of, they will provide,” he
claimed. That afternoon we visited the casino. >>The KingsRomanswas crazy.Touristshunteddrugs andwomenin packsMYANMAR04-20FeatureMyanamar_3468200.indd 183 13/02/2020 17:18
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