Guess who he voted for (AP)
One of the last (we hope) Asian strongmen
OLD-SCHOOL Asian strongmen have become an endangered species. The future of even Central Asia’s venerable strongman tradition has been in doubt since the death in 2006 of Turkmenistan’s Sapurmurat Niyazov, who called himself “Turkmenbashi”, the father of the Turkmen. The daddy of them all, Genghis Khan, is probably spinning in his grave at Mongolia’s turn toward namby-pamby multi-party democracy.
Indonesia’s Suharto and the Philippines’ Ferdinand Marcos are long gone, their countries now democracies, albeit messy ones. The top dog in Myanmar’s regime, General Than Shwe, is old, ailing and—it is said—circled by would-be successors. In other authoritarian states like China, Vietnam and Laos, the party, rather than any particular dominating individual, is in charge.
Standing firm against what one hopes is a strong tide of history is Hun Sen, Cambodia’s newly re-elected prime minister. After his sweeping victory on August 27th Mr Hun Sen looks as strong as ever, 23 years after first becoming prime minister at the age of just 33. The election was riddled with irregularities, mostly in favour of his Cambodian People’s Party (CPP). But he would likely have won anyway: the stability he has brought to a previously war-wracked country, though often iron-fisted, has given Cambodia one of Asia’s fastest-growing economies.
Furthermore, like many successful strongmen, he has the common touch, which allows him to connect with ordinary Cambodians in a way that his principal opponent, Sam Rainsy of the eponymous Sam Rainsy Party, has struggled to equal. The opening pages of “Hun Sen, Strongman of Cambodia”, a flattering 1999 biography by Harish and Julie Mehta, describe him descending by helicopter on a rural paddy-field and, after hugging some grannies and babies, showing off his skills as a rice-harvester. “I am a farmer. I am very poor. I am not like a prince,” he told admiring villagers.
Of course, he did not get where he is today by being entirely loveable. He was an officer in the army of Pol Pot’s ghastly Khmer Rouge regime, fleeing to Vietnam in 1977 to avoid being purged. He returned two years later when the Vietnamese army entered Cambodia and deposed the Khmers Rouges. He was made foreign minister in the Hanoi-installed government and then, in 1985, prime minister.
In a United Nations-backed election in 1993 that ended years of civil war, Mr Hun Sen lost and became “second prime minister” under Prince Norodom Ranariddh. This did not suit him. Four years later, amid renewed street fighting between the CPP and the prince’s royalist movement, Mr Hun Sen seized power in a coup, and had dozens of royalist officials shot.
In the three elections since then the Cambodian leader has gradually eased up on the hardball tactics, occasionally jailing or exiling critics, but also wooing opponents into the fold with promises of power. Divided and in disarray thanks to Mr Hun Sen’s manoeuvrings, the royalists’ vote collapsed in the latest election. Cambodia’s King Sihamoni, unlike his once-powerful father Sihanouk, is very much a ceremonial monarch.
So assured was he of victory, Mr Hun Sen kept a low profile in the election campaign, making few public comments. On the CPP’s posters he appeared in equal-sized portraits with Heng Samrin and Chea Sim, two party stalwarts. But neither they nor anyone else wields as much power as Mr Hun Sen. Except, that is, the prime minister’s fearsome wife, Bun Rany, whom he met when she was running a hospital for the Khmer Rouge.
Though none in the CPP would challenge him, that does not mean Mr Hun Sen is in absolute command. Last year he rebuked corrupt officials and soldiers for stealing land from peasants and city slum-dwellers, warning them: “I really don’t want bloodshed, but if you still fail to obey me, blood must flow.” The old Hun Sen, of course, might have given no warning.
Like Suharto and other Asian strongmen of old, Mr Hun Sen likes to see himself as a benign “father of development”. He has won grudging acceptance from the outside world and many Cambodians by arguing that without his tight rule the place would collapse in chaos again. Suharto’s Indonesia demonstrated that fast growth is possible for a while even under deeply corrupt governments. But as the system grows ever more rotten, such regimes tend eventually to collapse, leaving a nasty mess.
Mr Hun Sen is said to be obsessed with Cambodia’s ancient Khmer kingdom, which built the awesome Angkor Wat complex and once ruled much of Indochina. His critics fault him for having a sense of the past but not the future. Mr Sam Rainsy says that “Hun Sen has no vision. He has a genius for one thing: political survival. This is his biggest achievement.” Some diplomats who have met the prime minister agree.
Still, Mr Hun Sen looks set to continue comfortably unchallenged for the foreseeable future. Some speculate that he plans to hand the reins of power one day to his studious, British-educated son, Hun Manet.
In the meantime, foreign governments moan about his government’s corruption, ineptitude and abuses, but he knows they are itching to spend their aid budgets and they lack the guts to turn their tough words into action. With rising Asian neighbours like China and Vietnam keen to invest in Cambodia, and Western ones like America and France keen to maintain their presence, Mr Hun Sen can cheerfully play them off against each other, while collecting goodies from all.
