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China’s race for hydroelectric power

Beijing’s enthusiasm for dam building spills over into Southeast Asia, displacing thousands of people in Cambodia.

The Lower Sesan 2 dam building site, located only 25km away from the Mekong itself. Once completed, its reservoir will flood several villages, displacing thousands of people. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
The Lower Sesan 2 dam building site, located only 25km away from the Mekong itself. Once completed, its reservoir will flood several villages, displacing thousands of people. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
By 
Giorgio Taraschi
25 Sep 2015

Stung Treng province, northern Cambodia – China’s race for hydroelectric power has been going on for over 20 years, leading to development plans and to the construction of a 28 dam cascade in the Lancang river.

However, in recent years, its enthusiasm for dam building has spilled over into Southeast Asia.

Hydrolancang, a Chinese state-owned enterprise responsible for no less than seven dams in the upper Mekong, began in 2013 the construction of its very first overseas hydropower project, the Lower Sesan II dam in northern Cambodia.

The $800m and 400MW project, located less than 100km south from the Don Sahong dam in Laos, has been among the most controversial and destructive developments in recent years.

Once completed, it will block the Sesan and Srepok rivers – two of the main tributaries of the Mekong – creating a 36,000-hectare reservoir, flooding several villages, and displacing thousands of people who have been living along the river banks for generations, relying on it for survival.

The potential impacts, both good and bad, are enormous.

Cambodia, with its population 60 percent under the age of 30, is growing fast, and some estimates suggest that the dam could potentially generate a fifth of the power the country is likely to need by 2018; yet, its physical impacts could threaten the food security of tens of thousands of people. 

Related: Cambodian fury over proposed dam

 

An old fisherman from Kbal Romeas holds one of his hand-made bamboo fish traps he sells to other fishermen. His house, along with many others, will soon be under water once the dam is completed, and he will be forced to relocate. 'I know I have no choice, but my spirit is here; I was born here from a family of fishermen, and that's what I've always done. What am I going to do in the new place without my river?'. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
An old fisherman from Kbal Romeas holds one of his hand-made bamboo fish traps he sells to other fishermen. His house, along with many others, will soon be under water once the dam is completed, and he will be forced to relocate. 'I know I have no choice, but my spirit is here; I was born here from a family of fishermen, and that's what I've always done. What am I going to do in the new place without my river?'. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
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Daily life in the village of Srae Sronok, where all the houses have been spray-painted in red with the 'LSS2' sign (Lower Sesan 2), meaning the owners will soon be forced to relocate. However, no official document has been provided by the dam authorities yet. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Daily life in the village of Srae Sronok, where all the houses have been spray-painted in red with the 'LSS2' sign (Lower Sesan 2), meaning the owners will soon be forced to relocate. However, no official document has been provided by the dam authorities yet. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Father and son sit on a wooden cart outside their house which, like many others, has recently been spray-painted with the dam logo LSS2. They'll soon be forced to move into the designated area, a scorching dusty piece of land along the main road to Ratanakiri in northern Cambodia. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Father and son sit on a wooden cart outside their house which, like many others, has recently been spray-painted with the dam logo LSS2. They'll soon be forced to move into the designated area, a scorching dusty piece of land along the main road to Ratanakiri in northern Cambodia. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Workers from the relocation site arrive in the village of Kbal Romeas to collect teak wood from abandoned houses. Having no choice but to move away, 89 out of 139 families from this village agreed to be relocated. The villagers were offered two options: either accept $6,000 per family and re-build a house by themselves, or move into a small concrete house with a tin roof with 5 hectares of land to farm. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Workers from the relocation site arrive in the village of Kbal Romeas to collect teak wood from abandoned houses. Having no choice but to move away, 89 out of 139 families from this village agreed to be relocated. The villagers were offered two options: either accept $6,000 per family and re-build a house by themselves, or move into a small concrete house with a tin roof with 5 hectares of land to farm. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
A security guard walks at the newly built houses at the villagers' relocation site. The dry land conditions and the complete lack of trees and fresh water will make it very hard for people to resettle. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
A security guard walks at the newly built houses at the villagers' relocation site. The dry land conditions and the complete lack of trees and fresh water will make it very hard for people to resettle. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Mae Ton, 64, outside the sacred forest of Kot Bou along the Srepok river. 'The company never warned us about the project. We weren't offered any benefit like the people in the village. Here I have my fruit trees, my cows, but above all, here I have buried my ancestors. I'm not moving anywhere until the water rises up to my knees,' said Mae. Like many other villagers from Kbal Romeas, she belongs to the Phnong ethnic group, animists who believe their guardian spirits reside in the sacred forest, burial ground of their ancestors. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Mae Ton, 64, outside the sacred forest of Kot Bou along the Srepok river. 'The company never warned us about the project. We weren't offered any benefit like the people in the village. Here I have my fruit trees, my cows, but above all, here I have buried my ancestors. I'm not moving anywhere until the water rises up to my knees,' said Mae. Like many other villagers from Kbal Romeas, she belongs to the Phnong ethnic group, animists who believe their guardian spirits reside in the sacred forest, burial ground of their ancestors. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
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Children watch a movie on a laptop powered by a car battery in Kbal Romeas. Due to the electricity shortage in Cambodia, car batteries are used to run pretty much everything from televisions to light bulbs. Most of the hydroelectric projects planned along the Mekong river seem to be necessary for the power demand of the rising metropolis around south-east Asia. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Children watch a movie on a laptop powered by a car battery in Kbal Romeas. Due to the electricity shortage in Cambodia, car batteries are used to run pretty much everything from televisions to light bulbs. Most of the hydroelectric projects planned along the Mekong river seem to be necessary for the power demand of the rising metropolis around south-east Asia. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
A family sharing dinner by candlelight in Kbal Romeas. Far from cities and towns, most Cambodians lack of electricity. 'They say we're going to have electricity in the new relocation site, but, like many other promises they made, it's just a rumour and no one has ever shown up with an official document to prove it. All we know, we learnt by word of mouth,' said Keo Meap, community leader of Kbal Romeas. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
A family sharing dinner by candlelight in Kbal Romeas. Far from cities and towns, most Cambodians lack of electricity. 'They say we're going to have electricity in the new relocation site, but, like many other promises they made, it's just a rumour and no one has ever shown up with an official document to prove it. All we know, we learnt by word of mouth,' said Keo Meap, community leader of Kbal Romeas. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Snow Town, a brand-new attraction inside one of the hundreds of shopping malls in Thailand. The hunger for electricity in cities like Bangkok is driving dam construction throughout the lower Mekong basin in Cambodia and Laos, but with an environmental impact that can be felt up to the river's delta in Vietnam. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Snow Town, a brand-new attraction inside one of the hundreds of shopping malls in Thailand. The hunger for electricity in cities like Bangkok is driving dam construction throughout the lower Mekong basin in Cambodia and Laos, but with an environmental impact that can be felt up to the river's delta in Vietnam. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
An old woman from Kbal Romeas sitting on a typical wooden canoe in the Srekor river. Most of the people left the village already, and the boats are rarely used for fishing; instead, old people use them to hang on to while bathing in the river. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
An old woman from Kbal Romeas sitting on a typical wooden canoe in the Srekor river. Most of the people left the village already, and the boats are rarely used for fishing; instead, old people use them to hang on to while bathing in the river. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Boys from Kbal Romeas gather at sunset to enjoy some home-made rice wine, a highly alcoholic drink young villagers brew and sell. In the background, one of the many houses that have been sprayed in red by the company carrying out the relocation project. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Boys from Kbal Romeas gather at sunset to enjoy some home-made rice wine, a highly alcoholic drink young villagers brew and sell. In the background, one of the many houses that have been sprayed in red by the company carrying out the relocation project. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Teenagers playing volleyball at dusk inside one of the many construction yards of Diamond Island, the brand-new commercial and residential area in the capital Phnom Penh. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
Teenagers playing volleyball at dusk inside one of the many construction yards of Diamond Island, the brand-new commercial and residential area in the capital Phnom Penh. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
View of Diamond Island from the window of a brand-new Japanese hotel in Phnom Penh.The dam in north of the country could potentially generate a fifth of the power Cambodia is likely to need in the next years, but the chance that small communities are ever going to benefit from that same electricity is very unlikely. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
View of Diamond Island from the window of a brand-new Japanese hotel in Phnom Penh.The dam in north of the country could potentially generate a fifth of the power Cambodia is likely to need in the next years, but the chance that small communities are ever going to benefit from that same electricity is very unlikely. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
A young girl heads back home with buckets filled with river water. Located only 11km downstream from the dam's construction site, the village of Phluk was once famous for his fishing community. Now, because of the dam and the calcium carbide they use for drilling, the amount of fish in the area has dropped dramatically. 'The village is now very quiet, and we no longer sell fish since there's barely enough to feed ourselves. We only have buffaloes and chickens, but with the deforestation going on around here, it's getting harder and harder. As if this wasn't enough, the rain stopped too. We are cursed,' said Bun Aeng, a 50-year-old fisherman. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]
A young girl heads back home with buckets filled with river water. Located only 11km downstream from the dam's construction site, the village of Phluk was once famous for his fishing community. Now, because of the dam and the calcium carbide they use for drilling, the amount of fish in the area has dropped dramatically. 'The village is now very quiet, and we no longer sell fish since there's barely enough to feed ourselves. We only have buffaloes and chickens, but with the deforestation going on around here, it's getting harder and harder. As if this wasn't enough, the rain stopped too. We are cursed,' said Bun Aeng, a 50-year-old fisherman. [Giorgio Taraschi/Al Jazeera]

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