Murder and mystery
It's a gangland story with something for
everyone-midnight slayings, crooked cops, a
vengeful lesbian. But Vietnam's crime crackdown
may hold more than meets the eye
HO CHI MINH CITY - The unmistakable theme from The
Godfather snakes through the thudding techno-beat at
the Metropolis disco. On this rainy night in June in Ho
Chi Minh City, only a few dancers are gyrating beneath
video screens that dissolve into kaleidoscopes of
colour.
Things haven't been the same here since last August,
when a man was murdered outside the club's door. It
wasn't a random killing. The murder was a visible
manifestation of the power of organized crime in
Vietnam, a world that normally remains largely hidden.
Nor was it the first such killing: In preceding months
Vietnam witnessed two other shocking gangland
murders, one of them claiming the life of a casino
boss-a reputed lesbian with a penchant for unleashing
rats against rival gangsters.
Eventually, last December, police moved in and
arrested Truong Van Cam, better known as "Nam
Cam" (Fifth Orange), proclaiming a crackdown on
gangland activities.
Nam Cam, 55, is a former dock worker and ex-soldier
who, according to local press reports, rose to become
a widely feared mob boss at the heart of a web of
underground casino operators, cockfighters, loan
sharks and debt-collectors. Nam Cam, so the stories
go, raked in protection money from club-owners while
keeping a firm grip on his main business-gambling.
Back in the mid-1990s, he was confined to a
"re-education" camp for just over two years, but that
proved to be merely a blip in a flourishing career. His
network kept spreading from its Ho Chi Minh City
base to other southern provinces and the capital, Hanoi,
attracting partners from Taiwan and Cambodia.
Nam Cam is now behind bars and awaiting trial, but he
hasn't faded away. His arrest marked the start of an
apparent campaign against organized crime that has
been assiduously followed by Vietnam's state-run
media. In the past few months, readers have been
treated to a remarkable flood of lurid news reports in
normally staid state-run newspapers revealing details of
Nam Cam's colourful criminal career.
Most significantly, the media has focused on Nam
Cam's friends in high places-the officials and
law-enforcement officers accused of protecting the
alleged gangster in return for bribes and who helped
him gain release from detention in 1997. So far the
crackdown has sucked in dozens of police officers,
officials at the Ministry of Public Security, two
high-ranking prosecutors, and even two members of the
central committee of Vietnam's Communist Party.
But for all the heat it's generating, this unprecedented
campaign has thrown little real light on vice and virtue in
today's Vietnam. Instead, it's a kaleidoscope of
conflicting interpretations, coloured by the country's
peculiar politics. Many believe it's all part of a power
play at the highest levels of government ahead of key
cabinet changes later this month. But whether the crime
crackdown is real or cosmetic, whether it ultimately
benefits or weakens the government and whether it will
provoke any profound change remain matters of
speculation.
As for the public, its reaction ranges from relief that
organized crime is apparently being tackled to outrage
at the number of senior people who are reported to
have been caught up in it. "I feel angry and disappointed
with those police officers," says Nguyen Duc Truc, a
receptionist at a hotel a few steps away from where one
of Nam Cam's alleged victims died. "As ordinary
citizens, we really hope the government punishes them."
Whether angry or relieved, few can resist reading the
extraordinary tales that have emerged over the past
seven months. (And conveniently for Vietnam's media,
Nam Cam and other detainees are unable to offer any
self-defence, since they won't have access to lawyers
until charges are filed.) Take, for instance, the
allegations of how Nam Cam attempted to protect his
gambling operations from potential rivals.
One of these was Dung Ha, a reputed lesbian gangster
from the northern city of Haiphong, a notorious criminal
hot spot. The story goes that Dung Ha made her way
south to Ho Chi Minh City in 1998 after a stint in prison
for a gambling conviction. She was welcomed by Nam
Cam, who hoped she would eventually serve as his
emissary in expanding his casinos up north.
Dung Ha initially seemed keen, and began working
together with a third player, Lee Han Hsin from
Taiwan. He had come to Vietnam in 1994 with
experience in running casinos backed by the Taiwanese
mafia. Together with Nam Cam they broadened their
operations in Ho Chi Minh City, particularly in seedy
District Four. There, their pale-pink Tan Hai Ha
karaoke parlour and discotheque fronted for an
underground casino with multiple escape routes, and
was a centre for peddling the drug Ecstasy.
But the wily Dung Ha had her own plans: She wanted
to carve out her own independent territory, leading to
clashes with Nam Cam. In her most outrageous fit of
pique, Dung Ha ordered the unleashing of
excrement-covered rats, disguised in a gift box, on
guests attending a September birthday party at one of
Nam Cam's restaurants. After this humiliation, Nam
Cam is said to have given the order to rub out his
troublesome partner. And so, on October 2, 2000,
after a midnight coffee break with some gal pals at the
Z Cafe, Dung Ha was shot in the head. All it took was
$20,000 and an assassin brought in from Hanoi.
Dung Ha's funeral in Haiphong attracted thousands of
mourners. Lee subsequently fled to Cambodia, fearing
revenge after his bodyguard allegedly gunned down a
Nam Cam ally last August in front of the Metropolis
discotheque.
Even though Nam Cam survived at the top, Dung Ha's
killing proved to be a turning point. After years of
basking under the protection of various local police
officers and public security officials, Nam Cam found
himself faced with two determined southern
gang-busters. The first was Nguyen Viet Thanh,
described by the local press as a squeaky-clean cop
from southern Tien Giang province who was promoted
in 1999 to a powerful position in the Ministry of Public
Security with jurisdiction over all of southern Vietnam.
No bribes for him, the press concluded-he still zipped
around on an old Honda motorbike while his wife
laboured on the farm back at home.
The second crusader was Nguyen Minh Triet,
promoted to secretary-general of the party committee
in Ho Chi Minh City in January 2000 after winning
kudos for spurring industrialization in neighbouring Binh
Duong province. His political clout is believed by many
to have been key in the push against Nam Cam: "As far
as I know, without Mr. Triet this case would not have
been handled so promptly," says one local reporter.
Few analysts believe the media would have had the guts
to pursue the Nam Cam story without a green light from
above. The widespread view is that the Communist
Party hoped to use the case to prove to the public that
it is serious about purging official corruption along with
organized crime. "The party is getting stronger and
stronger, so it dares to disclose these cases," argues a
former high-ranking police officer and party member in
Ho Chi Minh City. "If the party were weak, it would
hide these cases."
Struggle for power
Party loyalists insist that the raids on crime dens and
dismissals of police and officials burnish the credibility
of both the party and the police force. But in some
circles, the belated campaign has left the damaging
impression that top officials were either powerless to
stop long years of mafia activity, or nursed their own
motives for holding back. "Everyone is struggling over
power, but no one is in power," notes one Hanoi
intellectual.
Even party leaders seem to be growing worried that the
Nam Cam affair could prove a Pandora's box. On June
20, Nguyen Khoa Diem, chief of the party's Central
Ideology and Culture Board, urged reporters covering
the case not to "expose secrets, create internal
divisions, or hinder other key propaganda tasks."
The warning came at a key juncture in Vietnam's
politics. In 10 days of meetings from July 5, the party's
central committee is expected to finalize new cabinet
appointments. Those will almost certainly be
rubber-stamped by the national assembly, the nation's
highest legislative body, at its opening session on July
19. Insiders say that the central committee meeting was
delayed to let the party's Politburo to discuss just how
far the crackdown should go.
For many party watchers, the timing of the affair reflects
a struggle over upcoming cabinet appointments. For
instance, Triet, the Ho Chi Minh City official who
helped galvanize the campaign against Nam Cam, was
once touted as a contender to replace Prime Minister
Phan Van Khai, who is now expected to retain his seat
for the next two years. Paradoxically, some say the
Nam Cam affair was initially stirred up to make Triet
appear ineffectual on his home turf.
As the affair yields up its heroes and villains, the credits
and debits pile up within the political patronage system.
One of the most sensitive issues raised by observers is
whether Nam Cam's network is being gutted to prevent
further political blackmail. Police acknowledge that the
gangster was often a useful informant. Did Nam Cam
and his followers merely cough up dirt on rival criminal
operations? Or did they also foil political promotions by
fingering officials who engaged in illegal activities?
No one expects those questions to be answered in
Vietnam's secretive communist society. Besides, many
ordinary Vietnamese don't care all that much about
possible political skulduggery. What seizes their
attention is the juicy chronicle of life in gangland, as
dished out by the local press.
For all their entertainment value, the stories of Nam
Cam's rise and fall won't spell an end to organized
crime in Vietnam. In a state run by poorly paid civil
servants, who operate in an economy run largely on
cash, organized crime faces few obstacles. Even if
severe punishments do come down the road this time,
scaring off some potential rogues, there's a strong
chance that the power vacuum will eventually be filled
by other godfathers-all of them, perhaps, humming the
same tune.
By Margot Cohen - The Far Eastern Economic Review - July 04, 2002.
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