“One village, two countries” used to be the tagline for
Yinjing on China’s south-western edge.
An old tourist sign boasts of a
border with Myanmar made of just “bamboo fences, ditches and earth ridges” - a
sign of the easy economic relationship Beijing had sought to build with its
neighbour.
Now the border the BBC visited is
marked by a high, metal fence running through the county of Ruili in Yunnan
province. Topped by barbed wire and surveillance cameras in some places, it
cuts through rice fields and carves up once-adjoined streets.
China’s tough pandemic lockdowns
forced the separation initially. But it has since been cemented by the
intractable civil war in Myanmar, triggered by a bloody coup in 2021. The
military regime is now fighting for control in large swathes of the country,
including Shan State along China’s border, where it has suffered some of its
biggest losses.
The crisis at its doorstep - a
nearly 2,000km (1,240-mile) border - is becoming costly for China, which has
invested millions of dollars in Myanmar for a critical trade corridor.
The ambitious plan aims to connect
China’s landlocked south-west to the Indian Ocean via Myanmar. But the corridor
has become a battleground between Myanmar rebels and the country's army.
Beijing has sway over both sides but the ceasefire it
brokered in January fell apart. It has now turned to military exercises along
the border and stern words. Foreign Minister Wang Yi was the latest diplomat to
visit Myanmar’s capital Nay Pyi Taw and is thought to have delivered a warning
to the country's ruler Min Aung Hlaing.
Conflict is not new to impoverished
Shan State. Myanmar’s biggest state is a major source of the world’s opium and
and methamphetamine, and home to ethnic armies long opposed to centralised
rule.
But the vibrant economic zones
created by Chinese investment managed to thrive - until the civil war.
A loudspeaker now warns people in
Ruili not to get too close to the fence - but that doesn’t stop a Chinese
tourist from sticking his arm between the bars of a gate to take a selfie.
Two girls in Disney T-shirts shout
through the bars - “hey grandpa, hello, look over here!” - as they lick pink
scoops of ice cream. The elderly man shuffling barefoot on the other side
barely looks up before he turns away.
“Burmese people live
like dogs,” says Li Mianzhen. Her corner stall sells food and drinks from
Myanmar - like milk tea - in a small market just steps from the border
checkpoint in Ruili city.
Li, who looks to be in
her 60s, used to sell Chinese clothes across the border in Muse, a major source
of trade with China. But she says almost no-one in her town has enough money
any more.
Myanmar’s military junta
still controls the town, one of its last remaining holdouts in Shan State. But
rebel forces have taken other border crossings and a key trading zone on the
road to Muse.
The
situation has made people desperate, Li says. She knows of some who have
crossed the border to earn as little as 10 yuan - about one pound and not much
more than a dollar - so that they can go back to Myanmar and “feed their
families”.
The war has severely
restricted travel in and out of Myanmar, and most accounts now come from those
who have fled or have found ways to move across the borders, such as Li.
Unable to get the work
passes that would allow them into China, Li’s family is stuck in Mandalay, as
rebel forces edge closer to Myanmar’s second-largest city.
“I feel like I am dying
from anxiety,” Li says. “This war has brought us so much misfortune. At what
point will all of this end?"
Thirty-one-year-old Zin
Aung (name changed) is among those who made it out. He works in an industrial
park on the outskirts of Ruili, which produces clothes, electronics and vehicle
parts that are shipped across the world.
Workers
like him are recruited in large numbers from Myanmar and flown here by Chinese
government-backed firms eager for cheap labour. Estimates suggest they earn
about 2,400 yuan ($450; £340) a month, which is less than their Chinese
colleagues.
“There
is nothing for us to do in Myanmar because of the war,” Zin Aung says.
“Everything is expensive. Rice, cooking oil. Intensive fighting is going on
everywhere. Everyone has to run.”
His parents are too old
to run, so he did. He sends home money whenever he can.
The men live and work on
the few square kilometres of the government-run compound in Ruili. Zin Aung
says it is a sanctuary, compared with what they left behind: “The situation in
Myanmar is not good, so we are taking refuge here.”
He also escaped
compulsory conscription, which the Myanmar army has been enforcing to make up
for defections and battlefield losses.
As the sky turned
scarlet one evening, Zin Aung ran barefoot through the cloying mud onto a
monsoon-soaked pitch, ready for a different kind of battle - a fiercely fought
game of football.
Burmese, Chinese and the
local Yunnan dialect mingled as vocal spectators reacted to every pass, kick
and shot. The agony over a missed goal was unmistakable. This is a daily affair
in their new, temporary home, a release after a 12-hour shift on the assembly
line.
Many
of the workers are from Lashio, the largest town in Shan State, and Laukkaing,
home to junta-backed crime families - Laukkaing fell to rebel forces in January
and Lashio was encircled, in a campaign which has changed the course of the war
and China’s stake in it.
Beijing’s predicament
Both towns lie along
China’s prized trade corridor and the Beijing-brokered ceasefire left Lashio in
the hands of the junta. But in recent weeks rebel forces have pushed into the
town - their biggest victory to date. The military has responded with bombing
raids and drone attacks, restricting internet and mobile phone networks.
“The fall of Lashio is
one of the most humiliating defeats in the military’s history,” says Richard
Horsey, Myanmar adviser to the International Crisis Group.
“The only reason the
rebel groups didn’t push into Muse is they likely feared it would upset China,”
Mr Horsey says. “Fighting there would have impacted investments China has hoped
to restart for months. The regime has lost control of almost all northern Shan
state – with the exception of Muse region, which is right next to Ruili.”
Ruili and Muse, both
designated as special trade zones, are crucial to the Beijing-funded 1,700km
trade route, known as the China-Myanmar Economic Corridor. The route also
supports Chinese investments in energy, infrastructure and rare earth mining
critical for manufacturing electric vehicles.
But at its heart is a
railway line that will connect Kunming - the capital of Yunnan province - to
Kyaukphyu, a deep sea port the Chinese are building on Myanmar’s western coast.
The
port, along the Bay of Bengal, would give industries in and beyond Ruili access
to the Indian Ocean and then global markets. The port is also the starting
point for oil and gas pipelines that will transport energy via Myanmar to
Yunnan.
But these plans are now in jeopardy.
President Xi Jinping had spent
years cultivating ties with his resource-rich neighbour when the country’s
elected leader Aung San Suu Kyi was forced from power.
Mr Xi refused to condemn the coup
and continued to sell the army weapons. But he also did not recognise Min Aung
Hlaing as head of state, nor has he invited him to China.
Three years on, the war has killed
thousands and displaced millions, but no end is in sight.
Forced to fight on new fronts, the
army has since lost between half and two-thirds of Myanmar to a splintered
opposition.
Beijing is at an impasse. It
“doesn’t like this situation” and sees Myanmar’s military ruler Min Aung Hlaing
as “incompetent”, Mr Horsey says. “They are pushing for elections, not because
they necessarily want a return to democratic rule, but more because they think
this is a way back.”
Myanmar’s regime suspects Beijing
of playing both sides - keeping up the appearance of supporting the junta while
continuing to maintain a relationship with ethnic armies in Shan State.
Analysts note that many of the
rebel groups are using Chinese weapons. The latest battles are also a
resurgence of last year’s campaign launched by three ethnic groups which called
themselves the Brotherhood Alliance. It is thought that the alliance would not
have made its move without Beijing’s tacit approval.
Its gains on the battlefield spelled the end for
notorious mafia families whose scam centres had trapped thousands of Chinese
workers. Long frustrated over the increasing lawlessness along its border,
Beijing welcomed their downfall - and the tens of thousands of suspects who
were handed over by the rebel forces.
For Beijing the worst-case scenario
is the civil war dragging on for years. But it would also fear a collapse of
the military regime, which might herald further chaos.
How China will react to either
scenario is not yet clear - what is also unclear is what more Beijing can do
beyond pressuring both sides to agree to peace talks.
Paused plans
That predicament is
evident in Ruili with its miles of shuttered shops. A city that once benefited
from its location along the border is now feeling the fallout from its
proximity to Myanmar.
Battered by some of
China’s strictest lockdowns, businesses here took another hit when cross-border
traffic and trade did not revive.
They
also rely on labour from the other side, which has stopped, according to
several agents who help Burmese workers find jobs. They say China has tightened
its restrictions on hiring workers from across the border, and has also sent
back hundreds who were said to be working illegally.
The owner of a small
factory, who did not want to be identified, told the BBC that the deportations
meant “his business isn’t going anywhere… and there’s nothing I can change”.
The square next to the
checkpoint is full of young workers, including mothers with their babies,
waiting in the shade. They lay out their paperwork to make sure they have what
they need to secure a job. The successful ones are given a pass which allows
them to work for up to a week, or come and go between the two countries, like
Li.
“I hope some good people
can tell all sides to stop fighting,” Li says. “If there is no-one in the world
speaking up for us, it is really tragic.”
She says she is often
assured by those around her that fighting won’t break out too close to China.
But she is unconvinced: “No-one can predict the future.”
For now, Ruili is a
safer option for her and Zin Aung. They understand that their future is in
Chinese hands, as do the Chinese.
“Your
country is at war,” a Chinese tourist tells a Myanmar jade seller he is haggling
with at the market. “You just take what I give you.”