Category: Life


  • This content originally appeared on Radio Free Asia and was authored by Radio Free Asia.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Human Rights Watch and was authored by Human Rights Watch.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.

  • On February 9, reporter Tolga Güney welcomed a CPJ representative into the apartment he shares with several colleagues in central Izmir, Turkey. It was his 362nd day under house arrest while awaiting trial on terrorism charges. “I believe I’m in this situation for doing my job,” he said over a glass of tea.

    Güney is a reporter for pro-Kurdish outlet Mezopotamya News Agency, which has long been in the government crosshairs as part of the country’s decades-long crackdown on the Kurdish insurgent movement. On February 13, 2024, anti-terrorism police raided the homes of Güney and four other reporters affiliated with pro-Kurdish outlets and later placed three of them under house arrest.

    Güney, his Mezopotamya News Agency colleague Delal Akyüz, and Melike Aydın, a reporter with another pro-Kurdish outlet JİNNEWS were charged with membership in the outlawed Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) which the government has designated a terrorist organization. In the indictments, which CPJ reviewed, authorities cited the three journalists’ work reporting on Kurdish issues, including phone calls with colleagues and books and magazines confiscated from their homes, as well as secret witness testimony alleging they work under the command of the PKK.

    Journalists who work for pro-Kurdish media are at risk in Turkey and beyond. CPJ’s most recent prison census found that 10 Kurdish journalists in multiple countries were imprisoned for their work as of December 1, 2024. Akyüz and Aydın are both Kurds, members of a large ethnic minority that spans several countries in the Middle East.

    In addition to visiting Güney at home, CPJ interviewed Aydın while she was under house arrest and spoke with Akyüz over the phone about the conditions of their confinement, their court cases, their views on self-censorship, and how they’ve continued to work from home. After our interviews, Aydın and Güney were released on February 10 while Akyüz was released on the 12th; the three remain under a travel ban while they continue to face charges. The interviews have been edited for length and style.

    CPJ Turkey representative Özgür Öğret (far left) attends a court hearing for journalists under house arrest at the Izmir Bayraklı courthouse. Melike Aydın (fifth from left) and Tolga Güney (sixth from left) were arrested over their journalism. (Photo: Courtesy of Mezopotamya News Agency)
    Delal Akyüz, reporter with Mezopotamya News Agency

    Why are you under house arrest?

    It may sound funny when I say it, but I don’t know the answer. I studied for four years to be able to write news stories. In court, they asked me if I wrote stories under the command [of someone else]. I’m under house arrest because I’m a journalist who uncover things society wouldn’t otherwise see. I’ve wired 50-150 TL (US$1.30-4.10) to people [in my personal capacity], and authorities call this “financing terrorism.” I talked to a source and asked him to send me a picture from a press conference and authorities described this as “membership in a terrorist organization.”

    What are the terms of your arrest? Do you have to wear a tracking device?

    I was never strapped with the device because the internet connection was poor. They came to our house in Izmir but they couldn’t connect it. That happened in Diyarbakır, too [to which the journalist relocated while under house arrest]. Police visited the house every day, or every two or three days to get my signature. I was at home every time, of course. I didn’t have experience of being strapped with a device but I did experience the confinement of being stuck indoors.

    You are still able to work, though it’s limited. How do you do it?

    Out of journalistic habit, I first check the news in the morning when I wake up to see what has happened in the country and the world. Then I write a story if I have one to write or I seek a story out. Ultimately, though, I’m isolated from the society. Visiting the hospital is a problem; I cannot do my own shopping. The place where a journalist can express himself is the streets.

    Are you concerned about the possibility that this experience might make you self-censor in the future?

    I don’t think that it will. Unfortunately, journalists are frequently detained or arrested in Turkey. It happened to me before, I was detained by the police, two or three times. I don’t believe that I did anything wrong. We are journalists; we may write stories that some may not like.

    Melike Aydın, reporter at JİNNEWS

    What was the evidence presented by authorities to place you under house arrest?

    The evidence against me is not evidence at all. For example, they used a phone call I made – I called my friend saying, “I’m here, where are you?” and she told me where she was – to try to find a terrorist link. Another example: the wife of a local politician called me to tell her husband was taken into police custody. I asked her if they trashed the house and could she send pictures. This is obviously journalistic activity. I’ve wired 500 TL (about $US14) to a friend. They asked if he was a member of a terrorist organization. I believe these house arrests are a result of overpopulation in the prisons. The government wants to bring the atmosphere of fear in the prisons to the neighborhoods.

    Have you ever been tried for your journalism before?

    A similar case was filed against me in 2018 regarding a social media post that authorities considered “terrorism propaganda.” I received a suspended sentence on the condition of not repeating the offense in the next five years. Prosecutors also reopened old case against me after I became a  journalist; I was taken into police custody while following the Gezi [anti-government] events in Ankara for not obeying an order to disperse. I wasn’t a journalist then but I had a camera and the enthusiasm. I was found guilty in that one. The verdict is in appeal. I was also imprisoned for three months in 2019 for my journalism; the evidence was my reporting and phone calls. The trial lasted about a year and a half before I was acquitted.

    How has being under house arrest impacted your wellbeing?

    My depression has gotten worse as my house arrest has continued. My performance at work is not the same as it was before. Being confined in one place is hard, even though I’m in the comfort of my own home with the ability to communicate with the outside world. This is a form of psychological torture. At the beginning, you wait month after month hoping they will lift [the house arrest] because the case is ridiculous. Then a year passes.

    What kind of journalism have you managed to do under house arrest, and how does this contrast to your working life before?

    I do stories that can be done at home. I do interviews on Zoom, I ask people on the phone to send me photographs. [Before my arrest] I wasn’t at home a lot. I was covering trials, social events, traveling outside of the city for stories. Sometimes I was out until 9 p.m. An interview is not the same when you do it on Zoom instead of face to face. There have been a ton of stories that I wanted to cover but I couldn’t. There was a story about local drug deal but I couldn’t do it because I had to go see it in person. I had to capture visuals, convince the people to talk to me, confirm my source’s claims. I couldn’t send somebody else because my source only trusted me. 

    Do you find yourself self-censoring, or are you concerned you will in the future?

    We are already living with self-censorship. We are reporting the truth of course but either we restrain ourselves or the people we interview do. They say “I’ve said that thing but don’t write that part” or they cancel interviews. This is censorship not by me, but by my sources. Truthfully, I self-censor, too. However, if I have indisputable proof of something and I know that my sources won’t be hurt, then I publish it.

    Tolga Güney, reporter with Mezopotamya News Agency

    How do you explain your house arrest?

    I believe I was targeted because [the government] is interested in my environmental coverage. The questions asked at the police station were all about that. They asked why did I write that report [about a mining company’s activities at the Black Sea shores] and who ordered me to do it? I don’t need to be commanded to write about something that I see with my own eyes. I take commands from my own conscience.

    What’s a typical day like under house arrest?

    The only thing different is that I don’t go outside. and I wake up at eight, prepare breakfast, take a shower and start working around nine. I live with my colleagues. We have our daily meeting on who handles which story. Then I try to work on my story via the phone or Zoom. One day a week I spend reading books or watching movies.

    Can you talk about how house arrest has limited your reporting?

    The greatest obstacle turned out to be being unable to use my camera for work. The second obstacle was to not be able to cover many events that were socially or ecologically important. I used to be outside, visiting different neighborhoods after a story.

    Are you concerned that you’re resorting to self-censorship under house arrest?

    No. I continued to report the same kind of news. I recently wrote a story about how a court order [to stop construction due to environmental damage at Mount Kaz] was ignored. It’s ironic actually, I stay at home, heeding a court order but a company can cut hundreds, thousands of trees, ignoring another. I didn’t self-censor, just the opposite, I got even more ambitious.

    What is life like with a tracking device strapped along your ankle?

    For the first two months [the strap] was tight. The device has had an effect on me, both physically and psychologically. It’s heavy; I have to turn it when I sit cross-legged because of the pain. I got used to it after some time, it almost became like another body part. But the psychological effect has persisted; I could leave the house with permission if I needed to go to a hospital or something, but I would still have this thing strapped around my ankle. I don’t usually wear pants in the summer, but I had to in order to hide it.


    This content originally appeared on Committee to Protect Journalists and was authored by Özgür Öğret.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Human Rights Watch and was authored by Human Rights Watch.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.

  • TAIPEI, Taiwan – A North Korean soldier captured in Russia has once again expressed his determination to defect to South Korea, painting a vision of a life where he can finally have “family, a home, and basic rights.”

    The soldier, identified as Ri, was among an estimated 12,000 North Korean soldiers deployed to Russia’s Kursk region to fight Ukrainian forces who occupied parts of the area in August. Neither Russia nor North Korea has acknowledged their presence.

    “I really want to go to South Korea,” said Ri, during an interview released by South Korean lawmaker Yoo Yong-won, who recently visited Ukraine.

    “If I go to Korea, will I be able to live the way I want, according to the rights I hope for? Having a home and a family,” Ri asked Yoo.

    “I’m from North Korea and also a prisoner. Would that make it too difficult for me to have a family?”

    Yoo said that Ri had sustained a gunshot wound to the jaw so severe that it impaired his ability to speak clearly. He added that Ri asked whether he could undergo another operation on his jaw upon arriving in the South.

    Another North Korean soldier, identified as Baek who was captured alongside Ri, told Yoo that he was still deciding whether he wanted to defect to the South.

    “Just in case I cannot return home … I feel like I can decide soon … I will keep thinking about it,” said Baek.

    A North Korean soldier (L), identified as Baek, captured in Kursk and now at an identified detention center in Ukraine. Part of the image has been blurred by South Korean lawmaker Yoo Yong-won (R) who interviewed the soldier.
    A North Korean soldier (L), identified as Baek, captured in Kursk and now at an identified detention center in Ukraine. Part of the image has been blurred by South Korean lawmaker Yoo Yong-won (R) who interviewed the soldier.
    (Yoo Yong-won)

    When asked whether North Korean soldiers would choose to commit suicide if about to be captured by Ukrainian forces, Baek said he witnessed it many times and thought about doing it to himself when he was wounded and collapsed.

    White House National Security Council spokesperson John Kirby said in December that the U.S. had reports of North Korean soldiers taking their own lives rather than surrendering to Ukrainian forces, likely out of fear of reprisal against their families in North Korea in the event that they were captured.

    “There’s no official training in the military instructing us to do so, but soldiers believe that being captured by the enemy is a betrayal of the homeland, so they make that decision on their own,” Baek explained.

    Yoo said captured North Korean soldiers should not be forced to return to their homeland.

    “I urge our diplomatic authorities to do everything in their power to prevent the tragic forced repatriation of North Korean soldiers captured as prisoners of war in Ukraine,” said Yoo.

    “Sending them back to North Korea would essentially be a death sentence. They are constitutionally recognized as citizens of South Korea so that must be protected.”

    South Korea’s foreign ministry reaffirmed on Wednesday that it would accept Ri and Baek if they chose to defect to the South.

    “We will provide the necessary protection and support in accordance with the fundamental principle and relevant laws that ensure the acceptance of all individuals requesting to go to South Korea,” said a ministry spokesperson, adding that it would work with the Ukrainian authorities.

    RELATED STORIES

    North Korea sending more troops to Russia, South confirms

    EXPLAINED: North Korean POW in Ukraine wants to defect to South. What’s next?

    ‘I want to defect to South’: North Korean soldier captured in Kursk breaks silence

    Yoo’s interview with North Korean soldiers came amid reports that the North was preparing to send more troops to Russia despite increasing casualties.

    South Korea’s main spy agency confirmed last week that North Korea had deployed more troops to Russia amid casualties, with media reports estimating the number at more than 1,000.

    Ukraine said earlier that about 4,000 North Korean troops in Russia had been killed or wounded, with its leader Volodymyr Zelenskyy estimating that an additional 20,000 to 25,000 North Korean soldiers could be sent to Russia.

    Edited by Mike Firn.


    This content originally appeared on Radio Free Asia and was authored by Taejun Kang for RFA.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Democracy Now! and was authored by Democracy Now!.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Democracy Now! and was authored by Democracy Now!.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.

  • Seg3 lamar 2

    We speak with death row inmate Keith LaMar live from the Ohio State Penitentiary, after the release of The Injustice of Justice, a short film about his case that just won the grand prize for best animated short film at the Golden State Film Festival. “I had to find out the hard way that in order for my life to be mine, that I had to stand up and claim it,” says LaMar, who has always maintained his innocence. LaMar was sentenced to death for participating in the murder of five fellow prisoners during a 1993 prison uprising. His trial was held in a remote Ohio community before an all-white jury. On January 13, 2027, the state intends to execute him, after subjecting him to three decades in solitary confinement. LaMar’s lawyer, Keegan Stephan, says his legal team has “discovered a lot of new evidence supporting Keith’s innocence” that should necessitate new legal avenues for LaMar to overturn the conviction.


    This content originally appeared on Democracy Now! and was authored by Democracy Now!.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.

  • Istanbul, February 14, 2025–Turkish authorities must continue searching for those who masterminded the 2007 murder of Armenian-Turkish journalist Hrant Dink, the Committee to Protect Journalists said Friday, after a retrial in which an Istanbul court issued nine defendants with life sentences.

    Lawyers representing the Dink family said they would appeal the February 7 verdict due to an “incomplete investigation and prosecution.”

    Dink, founding editor of the bilingual Turkish-Armenian weekly Agos, was shot in Istanbul in 2007 after receiving multiple death threats regarding his work.

    “After almost 20 years of trials and retrials of those who allegedly murdered Hrant Dink, the latest verdict has once again failed to satisfy the journalist’s family, who desperately need closure,” said Özgür Öğret, CPJ’s Turkey representative. “Turkish authorities must stop ignoring the Dink family lawyers’ demands for a deeper investigation if they are to achieve full justice for Dink and expose those behind the conspiracy to murder him.”

    The court handed down the following sentences:

    • Muharrem Demirkale, life for “premeditated murder”
    • Bekir Yokuş, life for “violating the constitution” and 10 years for “assisting in a premeditated murder”
    • Yavuz Karakaya, 12 ½ years for “assisting in a premeditated murder”
    • Ali Öz, Gazi Günay, and Okan Şimşek, life for “violating the constitution” and 25 years for “premeditated murder”
    • Mehmet Ayhan, Hasan Durmuşoğlu, and Onur Karakaya, life for “violating the constitution” and 12 ½  years for “premeditated murder”
    • Osman Gülbel, life for “violating the constitution” and 16 years and eight months for “premeditated murder”
    • Veysel Şahin, 15 years for “manslaughter due to neglect”

    The court also acquitted three defendants — Volkan Şahin, Şükrü Yıldız, and Mehmet Ali Özkılınç — in its retrial of 26 people who were found guilty of criminal conspiracy in 2021

    The court ordered the arrests of Yokuş, Ayhan, and Onur Karakaya, who were free pending trial.

    On January 9, the same court reached a verdict in a parallel trial regarding the murder conspiracy. In that trial, prosecutors had accused defendants with alleged ties to a recently deceased preacher, whom the Turkish government claims had run a terrorist organization, of playing a role in Dink’s murder. Two defendants in that trial received life sentences for “attempting to eliminate the constitutional order,” while lesser charges against some of them were dropped.

    CPJ’s email to the chief prosecutor’s office in Istanbul for comment did not receive a reply.


    This content originally appeared on Committee to Protect Journalists and was authored by CPJ Staff.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Radio Free Asia and was authored by Radio Free Asia.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.

  • Part of a three-story series to mark the fourth anniversary of Myanmar’s 2021 coup, looking at how the military treats its own soldiers.

    The 2021 coup that plunged Myanmar into civil war has been a disaster for its military. It has lost control of much of the country, and thousands of soldiers have been killed or wounded in the face of rebel advances.

    That’s also made it one of the riskiest places on Earth to enlist as a soldier – one where life insurance sounds like a sensible idea to those on the front line and a risky business for those offering it.

    Not so Myanmar, where members of the armed forces are required to take out life insurance provided by a company run by the son of army chief and coup leader Senior Gen. Min Aung Hlaing.

    The scheme is operated by Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance, or AMMMI, established in June 2013, when Myanmar opened up life insurance to the private sector. The company, however, is believed to be a subsidiary of Myanmar Economic Corporation, one of the military’s two sprawling business conglomerates.

    Aung Pyae Sone, Gen. Min Aung Hlaing's son, left, and Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance Company in Yangon in 2018.
    Aung Pyae Sone, Gen. Min Aung Hlaing’s son, left, and Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance Company in Yangon in 2018.
    (Justice For Myanmar via X and Google Maps)

    A U.N. report in 2019 said the top general’s only son Aung Pyae Sone, 40, holds a “significant stake” in AMMMI. The U.S. government sanctioned Aung Pyae Sone in March 2021 for profiting from his connection to the coup leader. His business interests extend to telecommunications, real estate and the health sector.

    Families of soldiers killed in the past year tell Radio Free Asia that they have been unable to get a payout from the life insurance that the U.N. report described as “required” for all personnel in the Tatmadaw, as the military is known in Myanmar. AMMMI also offers policies to government employees and the public.

    RFA contacted the company for comment. It said that life insurance payouts are processed within a few days of a policyholder’s death.

    Myanmar military chief Min Aung Hlaing in Naypyidaw on June 10, 2017, at a donations event for victims of the military transport plane crash in the Andaman Sea.
    Myanmar military chief Min Aung Hlaing in Naypyidaw on June 10, 2017, at a donations event for victims of the military transport plane crash in the Andaman Sea.
    (Aung Htet/AFP)

    “It should surprise nobody that control of the military life insurance policies for Myanmar’s army rests with the son of Senior Gen. Min Aung Hlaing. Corruption in Myanmar’s military flows from the top down,” said political analyst Jonah Blank from the Rand Corporation, a think tank partially funded by the U.S. government.

    “Corruption permeates every rank, with profits flowing straight to the top,” he told RFA.

    RELATED STORIES

    ‘My father’s death wasn’t worth it’: Poverty awaits families of Myanmar army dead

    Myanmar’s forced conscription: How the junta targets young men for military service

    ‘We protect the family’

    Former Maj. Tin Lin Aung, who defected from the military after the coup, said a service member starts paying premiums with their first paycheck, and the policy’s beneficiary is their spouse or other nominated family members.

    Ei Ei Aung, an independent online insurance agent, said that when life insurance was operated by state-run Myanma Insurance soldiers would be fully covered in the event of their death as soon as they submitted their first premium.

    Things became more flaky when Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance, whose motto is “We Protect the Family,” took control.

    Rescue workers carry a body at Sanhlan village in Dawei on June 8, 2017, after a Myanmar military plane crashed in the Andaman Sea off southern Myanmar.
    Rescue workers carry a body at Sanhlan village in Dawei on June 8, 2017, after a Myanmar military plane crashed in the Andaman Sea off southern Myanmar.
    (Ye Aung Thu/AFP)

    The first high-profile sign of the company’s unwillingness to pay out came in 2017, when a military transport plane crashed in bad weather offshore near the southern city of Dawei killing 122 people.

    It was one of the worst aviation disasters in the nation’s history. Among the dead was a captain travelling to see his wife, who was about to give birth.

    “Aung Myint Moh Min Company claimed that only 30% of the premium had been paid and therefore refused to pay the full life insurance amount. They offered to refund only the amount that had been paid,” Tin Ling Aung said.

    When a colleague of the dead captain shared online a photo of the rejection letter from the insurer, it was widely circulated, drawing attention to how the scheme operated, and reportedly causing trouble for the captain’s colleague who was redeployed to the frontline.

    Little information

    There is scant public information about the company, but a university thesis supported by the AMMMI and submitted to Yangon University’s Economics Department in 2019 outlined the company’s revenue stream and payouts in its first five years of operation.

    The thesis, “Customer Perception on Life Insurance Service of Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance,” written by Min Aung, showed that army personnel life insurance was by far its biggest earner and that claim payouts in 2018-19 amounted to less than 7% of premiums paid.

    10,000 kyat banknotes currently in use in Myanmar.
    10,000 kyat banknotes currently in use in Myanmar.
    (RFA)

    Aung Myint Moh Min has a variety of policies catering for different ranks. Payouts on maturation of a policy or the death of the policyholder start as low as $110. Those cost the equivalent of $1.55 to $2.65 per month, depending on the lifespan of the policy. There are policies offering higher payouts with higher monthly premiums.

    RFA could not find publicly available financial information about the current operations of AMMMI, but if the number of military personnel is estimated at 130,000 and each person contributed $2 a month in premiums, the Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance company would be raking in more than $3 million a year in life insurance premiums.

    Concerns over the life insurance have intensified in the past four years since the coup, as conflict has escalated across Myanmar, and the military’s casualties have mounted.

    Insurance agent Ei Ei Aung told RFA there are many ways the company avoids paying out.

    “In the military, there are numerous cases where families of deceased soldiers fail to claim compensation,” she said.

    “This may be due to family members being unaware of the soldier’s death, lack of notification from responsible superiors, or insufficient communication. As a result, many compensation claims go unprocessed and are ultimately lost,” she said.

    Graphic by Amanda Weisbrod
    Graphic by Amanda Weisbrod
    (RFA)

    Documents lost

    One widow, Hla Khin, told RFA about her attempts to secure a military pension or life insurance payment for her husband, Sgt. Min Din who died in a battle in Shan state in June. She discovered after her husband died that applications for any benefit had to be made in person where the soldier last served. The battalion in which he had served suffered major losses.

    “There was nobody in Battalion 501 as many people died. Almost all documents have been lost as some office staff moved out, some died and some are still missing,” she said.

    Six months after Min Din was killed, the paperwork has now been filed. Hla Khin is waiting for a response.

    Tin Lin Aung describes how the process works.

    “If an entire battalion is captured by resistance forces, there are significant challenges. For single soldiers, their parents can still apply for the insurance, but this is little more than a hope because, in many cases, the battalion’s office and records are gone, and the military commander responsible for the claim may also have been captured. In such cases, Aung Myint Moh Min Company seizes the life insurance for the entire battalion,” he said.

    The firm would also have pocketed the payments of the thousands of soldiers who have defected. Two opposition-aligned groups, People’s Embrace and People’s Goal, estimate that nearly 15,000 soldiers and police have defected – at the risk of the death penalty if caught – in the past two years.

    Capt. Zin Yaw defected from the military a month after the February 2021 coup. He provided RFA with a copy of his August 2020 pay slip, which shows the 25,000 kyat ($5.55) deduction for life insurance taken from his pay.

    In 2017, he redeemed his first life insurance policy after it reached maturity. He got nothing out from the next policy he took out because he defected. He also confirmed that families of fallen soldiers are being denied money.

    “If they couldn’t show photos and any proof of the death, then both the army and the insurance company put them on the missing list, not in the dead list,” he said.

    Ei Ei Aung said that claims have to be made within one month of death, although it can take much longer for families to get word that a soldier has died. If there’s no notification after a year, any claim for compensation is forfeited.

    Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance Company deducted a 25,000 Myanmar kyat ($11.93) monthly premium for life insurance from a captain's August salary in 2020. Capt. Zin Yaw, who left the Burmese military in 2021, provided this document to RFA.
    Aung Myint Moh Min Insurance Company deducted a 25,000 Myanmar kyat ($11.93) monthly premium for life insurance from a captain’s August salary in 2020. Capt. Zin Yaw, who left the Burmese military in 2021, provided this document to RFA.
    (Zin Yaw)

    Missing out

    Relatives of Min Khant Kyaw, a 23-year-old from Ayeyarwady region, learned from authorities in November of his death in the military, without saying how, when or where he died. It was the first time the family had learned he was even in the military. Now they say they don’t know how to claim any benefits for him as they have no idea which unit he fought in.

    “The key issue is that the person connected to the deceased must be aware of the death and notify the insurance company,” Ei Ei Aung said.

    “If a death goes unreported, the family of the deceased misses out on significant rights as well. As a result, even though it is undeniable that these people have died, many do not receive the benefits they are due.”

    This is not the only benefit that the junta or its associates are accused of pocketing.

    Former and current soldiers told RFA that deductions from their salaries were made to buy shares in the two military-run conglomerates, Myanmar Economic Holdings Limited (MEHL) and Myanmar Economic Corporation, which have interests in everything from banking to mining and tobacco, and tourism, and are a direct source of revenue for the military. In 2020, Amnesty International released documents showing that MEHL had funneled up to $18 billion in dividends to the military.

    According to military defector Capt. Lin Htet, soldiers are coerced into buying shares according to a sliding scale according to rank, requiring payments of between 1.5 million and 5 million kyats ($110 and $330).

    Capt. Zin Yaw, another defector, said the practice has been that if foot soldiers can’t come up with the full amount on the spot, deductions are taken from their pay.

    Before the coup, annual dividends were paid to soldiers in September each year, but defectors and serving soldiers have told RFA dividend payouts became sporadic after the coup and stopped altogether in 2023.

    “I left the army in 2023,” said Lin Htet. “From 2021 to 2023, MEHL paid us the benefit very late. Sometimes, they pretended to forget to pay it. They paid us six months late.”

    Currently serving warrant officer Soe Maung’s experience has been similar.

    He was told he had to buy 1.5 million kyats in shares. He didn’t have the money to pay outright, so he paid in monthly installments of 10,000 kyats. He said that after 2021, there was a year-and-a-half delay in getting dividends that used to be paid regularly at the end of the fiscal year.

    The names of many RFA quoted in this story have been changed to protect their identity and their family’s safety.

    Additional reporting by RFA Burmese. Edited by Mat Pennington.


    This content originally appeared on Radio Free Asia and was authored by Aye Aye Mon and Ginny Stein for RFA Burmese.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Radio Free Asia and was authored by Radio Free Asia.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.

  • On February 1, Myanmar will mark four years since soldiers and military vehicles raided the country’s capital at dawn, signaling the military’s forceful seizure of power from the civilian government. RFA Insider sits down with three staffers who’ve recently traveled to the region to learn what life is like for those actively resisting the regime and those who’ve chosen to flee.

    Off Beat

    Since the coup, Myanmar has descended into civil war as the military and various resistance groups battle for control of key areas across the country.

    Jim Snyder from RFA’s Investigative team and Gemunu Amarasinghe from the Multimedia team recently traveled to Myanmar to report on life inside rebel-controlled territories in Kayah State. Insurgents have successfully seized large sections of countryside from the military forces, and now are undertaking a new operation: building a new state government. Jim and Gemunu explain the aims of the newly-established Interim Executive Council (IEC) and how residents are reacting to the IEC’s initiatives, including a new police force.

    Additionally, they share stories from their visit to a rebel hospital in the area, where Yangon medical professionals and students who oppose military rule have moved their practice.

    Double Off Beat

    While production engineer Wa Than is present at almost all of RFA Insider’s recordings, he joins Eugene and Amy inside the recording booth this episode to talk about his recent trip to Thailand.

    At 11, Wa abruptly fled Myanmar to the U.S. with his family to escape persecution from the then-military regime. Last November, he traveled to the Thai-Myanmar border, the closest he’s able to get to his home country under the current circumstances. Wa spent time with acquaintances from Myanmar who have since migrated to Thailand to escape the military’s conscription orders.

    How difficult was it for these young people to leave Myanmar, and how were they faring in Thailand? What kinds of attitudes did young, displaced Burmese have towards Myanmar’s future, as well as their own? Tune in to hear these answers and more from Wa.

    BACK TO MAIN


    This content originally appeared on Radio Free Asia and was authored by Amy Lee for RFA Insider.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Democracy Now! and was authored by Democracy Now!.

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  • Seg2 jackson father home

    Upon returning to the presidency, Donald Trump has granted presidential pardons to over 1,500 of his supporters involved in the violent January 6 insurrection at the U.S. Capitol, including members of far-right, anti-government militias like our guest’s father. Guy Wesley Reffitt helped lead the crowd that stormed the Capitol, just weeks after his then-18-year-old son Jackson attempted to warn the FBI about his plans. Jackson Reffitt now believes that Trump’s pardons will embolden far-right extremists to commit further political violence, including potential backlash against those close to them. “To completely validate actions like that is going to be explosive,” says Jackson Reffitt, who is now estranged from his family and fears for his own safety.


    This content originally appeared on Democracy Now! and was authored by Democracy Now!.

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  • ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

    In advance of this year’s state legislative sessions, lawmakers are filing more than a dozen bills to expand abortion access in at least seven states, and a separate bill introduced in Texas seeks to examine the impact that the state’s abortion ban has had on maternal outcomes.

    Some were filed in direct response to ProPublica’s reporting on the fatal consequences of such laws. Others were submitted for a second or third year in a row, but with new optimism that they will gain traction this time.

    The difference now is the unavoidable reality: Multiple women, in multiple states with abortion bans, have died after they couldn’t get lifesaving care.

    They all needed a procedure used to empty the uterus, either dilation and curettage or its second-trimester equivalent. Both are used for abortions, but they are also standard medical care for miscarriages, helping patients avoid complications like hemorrhage and sepsis. But ProPublica found that doctors, facing prison time if they violate state abortion restrictions, are hesitating to provide the procedures.

    Three miscarrying Texas women, mourning the loss of their pregnancies, died without getting a procedure; one was a teenager. Two women in Georgia suffered complications after at-home abortions; one was afraid to seek care and the other died of sepsis after doctors did not provide a D&C for 20 hours.

    Florida state Sen. Tina Polsky said the bill she filed Thursday was “100%” inspired by ProPublica’s reporting. It expands exceptions to the state’s abortion ban to make it easier for doctors and hospitals to treat patients having complications. “We’ve had lives lost in Texas and Georgia, and we don’t need to follow suit,” the Democrat said. “It’s a matter of time before it happens in Florida.”

    Texas state Rep. Donna Howard, who is pushing to expand the list of medical conditions that would fall under her state’s exceptions, said she’s had encouraging conversations with her Republican colleagues about her bill. The revelations that women died after they did not receive critical care has “moved the needle here in Texas,” Howard said, leading to more bipartisan support for change.

    Republican lawmakers in other states told ProPublica they are similarly motivated.

    Among them is Kentucky state Rep. Jim Gooch Jr., a Baptist great-grandfather who is trying for the second time to expand circumstances in which doctors can perform abortions, including for incomplete miscarriages and fatal fetal anomalies. He thinks the bill might get a better reception now that his colleagues know that women have lost their lives. “We don’t want that in Kentucky,” he said. “I would hope that my colleagues would agree.”

    He said doctors need more clearly defined exceptions to allow them to do their jobs without fear. “They need to have some clarity and not be worried about being charged with some type of crime or malpractice.”

    After a judge in North Dakota overturned the state’s total abortion ban, Republican state Rep. Eric James Murphy acted quickly to stave off any similar bans, drafting a bill that would allow abortions for any reason up to the 16th week and then up through about 26 weeks if doctors deem them medically necessary.

    “We need other states to understand that there’s an approach that doesn’t have to be so controversial,” said Murphy, who is also an associate professor of pharmacology at the University of North Dakota School of Medicine and Health Sciences. “What if we get the discussion going and we get people to know that there are rational Republicans out there? Maybe others will come along.”

    Under state rules, North Dakota lawmakers are required to give his bill a full hearing, he said, and he plans to introduce ProPublica’s stories as evidence. “Will it make it easier? I sure hope so,” he said. “The Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, I sure hope so.”

    So far, efforts to expand abortion access in more than a dozen states where bans were in effect have faced stiff opposition, and lawmakers introducing the bills said they don’t expect that to change. And some lawmakers, advocates and medical experts argue that even if exceptions are in place, doctors and hospitals will remain skittish about intervening.

    As ProPublica reported, women died even in states whose bans allowed abortions to save the “life of the mother.” Doctors told ProPublica that because the laws’ language is often vague and not rooted in real-life medical scenarios, their colleagues are hesitating to act until patients are on the brink of death.

    Experts also say it is essential to examine maternal deaths in states with bans to understand exactly how the laws are interfering with critical care. Yet Texas law forbids its state maternal mortality review committee from looking into the deaths of patients who received an abortive procedure or medication, even in cases of miscarriage. Under these restrictions, the circumstances surrounding two of the Texas deaths ProPublica documented will never be reviewed.

    “I think that creates a problem for us if we don’t know what the hell is happening,” said Texas state Sen. José Menéndez.

    In response to ProPublica’s reporting, the Democrat filed a bill that lifts the restrictions and directs the state committee to study deaths related to abortion access, including miscarriages. “Some of my colleagues have said that the only reason these women died was because of poor practice of medicine or medical malpractice,” he said. “Then what’s the harm in doing the research … into what actually happened?”

    U.S. Rep. Jasmine Crockett agreed. The Texas Democrat and three other members of the House Committee on Oversight and Accountability on Dec. 19 sent a letter to Texas state officials demanding a briefing on the decision not to review deaths that occurred in 2022 and 2023.

    Crockett said the state has not responded to the letter, sent to Texas Public Health Commissioner Jennifer Shuford.

    “If you feel that your policies are right on the money, then show us the money, show us the goods,” she said. “This should be a wakeup call to Texans, and Texans should demand more. If you believe that these policies are good, then you should want to see the numbers too.”

    Doctors are starting to hear about heightened concerns in conversations at their hospitals.

    Dr. Austin Dennard, a Dallas OB-GYN, said her hospital recently convened a meeting with lawyers, administrators and various specialists that focused on “how to keep our pregnant patients safe in our hospital system and how to keep our doctors safe.” They discussed creating additional guidance for doctors.

    Dennard, who noted she is speaking on her own behalf, said she is getting more in-depth questions from her patients. “We used to talk about vitamins and certain medications to get off of and vaccines to get,” she said. “Now we do all that and there’s a whole additional conversation about pregnancy in Texas, and we just talk about, ‘What’s the safest way we can do this?’”

    In addition to being a doctor, Dennard was one of 20 women who joined a lawsuit against the state after they were denied abortions for miscarriages and high-risk pregnancy complications. When she learned her fetus had anencephaly — a condition in which the brain and skull do not fully develop — she had to travel out of state for an abortion. (The lawsuit asked state courts to clarify the law’s exceptions, but the state Supreme Court refused.)

    Dennard said stories like ProPublica’s have crystallized a new level of awareness for patients there: “If you have the capacity to be pregnant, then you could easily be one of these women.”

    Mariam Elba contributed research and Kavitha Surana contributed reporting.


    This content originally appeared on ProPublica and was authored by by Ziva Branstetter and Cassandra Jaramillo.

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  • Guestshrouq

    For our first live interview of 2025, we go to Deir al-Balah in the Gaza Strip to get an update from Palestinian journalist Shrouq Aila, the head of Ain Media, a media company founded by her late husband, Roshdi Sarraj, who was killed in an Israeli airstrike in October 2023. Aila describes worsening conditions in the winter rain and cold, and the complete hollowing out of infrastructure as Palestinians are struggling to survive. “Being here in Gaza means I’m doing a change,” she says about her “duty” to report. Her dedication to reporting on Israel’s now 15-month-long assault on Gaza was recently honored by the Committee to Protect Journalists.


    This content originally appeared on Democracy Now! and was authored by Democracy Now!.

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  • Guestshrouq

    For our first live interview of 2025, we go to Deir al-Balah in the Gaza Strip to get an update from Palestinian journalist Shrouq Aila, the head of Ain Media, a media company founded by her late husband, Roshdi Sarraj, who was killed in an Israeli airstrike in October 2023. Aila describes worsening conditions in the winter rain and cold, and the complete hollowing out of infrastructure as Palestinians are struggling to survive. “Being here in Gaza means I’m doing a change,” she says about her “duty” to report. Her dedication to reporting on Israel’s now 15-month-long assault on Gaza was recently honored by the Committee to Protect Journalists.


    This content originally appeared on Democracy Now! and was authored by Democracy Now!.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty and was authored by Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty.

    This post was originally published on Radio Free.


  • This content originally appeared on ProPublica and was authored by ProPublica.

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  • Illustration of three sunflowers in a brownfield

    The vision

    The tarp shade snaps and flutters in the breeze above the harvest volunteers. The CSA is bountiful this spring — crunchy lettuce, sweet strawberries, and even some cherries from the new windbreak. Stores around here sell produce this tasty, organic, and local for a fortune, but our volunteers feed families on it for just an hour of work a week and some dirty fingernails. The model is spreading. Vacant lots and brownfield sites all over the city have started sprouting biodigesters and sunflower fields, compost vessels and prairie plantings, communities of care: the phytoremediating foot soldiers of food sovereignty in recovery.

    — a drabble by Looking Forward reader Betsy Ruckman

    The spotlight

    There are more than 450,000 brownfield sites across the U.S. — previously developed parcels of land that have been left abandoned, with some form of contamination. They may be former industrial facilities, gas stations, mines, landfills, dumping sites. And before they can be reused, they need to be cleaned, or remediated.

    So, what does that mean exactly? It’s not as if a bunch of volunteers can go out with sponges and buckets of soapy water to rid the land of pollution. Brownfield remediation may involve a number of tactics — like digging up contaminated soil and carting it offsite for safe disposal or treatment; putting some sort of barrier between the contaminated ground and whatever’s going to be built on top of it; injecting chemicals or microbes into the soil that can break down harmful substances; or planting plants that can suck them up.

    Using plants to treat pollution is known as phytoremediation, and it’s been used successfully to remediate heavy metals, petroleum, fertilizer runoff, and even radioactive elements in the wake of the Chernobyl disaster.

    Any of these efforts can be costly and time-consuming, which is why brownfields often sit idle for years or even decades (although President Biden’s bipartisan infrastructure law mobilized billions of dollars to address a backlog of Superfund sites, brownfields, and abandoned oil and gas wells). Still, despite high barriers, some communities have taken their own initiative to remediate brownfields and return the land to use. Looking Forward reader Betsy Ruckman, who submitted the drabble above, described “phytoremediating foot soldiers” — envisioning a world in which small-scale, community-led remediation efforts give rise to a patchwork of healthy and communal green spaces.

    “I was inspired by the Chicago-area Green Era Campus,” Betsy said, which is “turning brownfields into productive organics-recycling hubs, teaching gardens, and productive fields.”

    The Green Era Campus is just one example of how community leaders are taking remediation efforts into their own hands, investing in returning land to beneficial uses and testing strategies for dealing with some of the toughest soil contaminants.

    Revitalizing an abandoned lot on Chicago’s South Side

    Erika Allen has been working in urban agriculture for over two decades. “I was at that time, and still, really focused on juvenile justice diversion,” she said. She began with art therapy as an intervention that could keep young people from going down a path toward incarceration, but quickly realized that the food system offered a more promising opportunity — “because it’s also economic,” she said. “We can all grow food and consume it and sell it and create other products.”

    In 2002, she founded the Chicago chapter of Growing Power, which has since reorganized as Urban Growers Collective — an organization focused on food security, job training, and community engagement through farming. While working on other growing projects, Allen and other partners began to develop a vision for a multidimensional site that could be a hub for energy development, composting, education, community events, and of course, growing food: the Green Era Campus.

    In 2015, the team acquired a 9-acre piece of abandoned land in the neighborhood of Auburn Gresham that had formerly been used as an impound lot. They bought it from the city for just $1.

    “Everybody on the South Side knows the space because if you had your car towed, it was usually towed to this place,” Allen said. Prior to that, it was owned by a manufacturer of agricultural equipment.

    A top photo shows an aerial view of a gray, empty lot, and two side-by-side photos show litter and debris in the same abandoned lot.

    The site of the Green Era Campus, before remediation efforts began. Courtesy of Green Era Chicago

    The site had a mixture of contaminants, including petroleum and motor oil from the cars that had been held there and debris from illegal dumping. The crew also discovered a submerged tank that was still filled with linseed oil, dating back to the manufacturing days. “That was a surprise,” Allen said.

    The remediation process took years. After being denied once, the team was awarded an EPA grant for brownfield remediation in 2017. They contracted the environmental firm Terracon to lead the remediation efforts, which included a variety of strategies.

    Some of the remediation tactics were tailored to the variety of intended uses for the site. “We built on top of some of the contamination, so a lot of it was treated on-site,” Allen said. For instance, one of the key elements of the campus is a commercial-scale anaerobic digester to process food waste from local restaurants, manufacturers, and residents (which may have inspired the “biodigesters” referenced in Betsy’s drabble). That facility is built on top of concrete, which acts as a barrier. In other places, the team excavated contaminated soil and brought in clean soil to replace it.

    The price tag was ultimately in the millions. “It was absolutely astronomical,” said Jason Feldman, co-founder of Green Era Sustainability, an investment entity that is one of several partner organizations working on the project. “The cost of the cleanup was more than the value of the land, even if it was clean.”

    But, Feldman and Allen stressed, they see that investment in the land as a key value that the project is bringing to the community, flipping a narrative of chronic disinvestment. “We were able to figure it out and innovate and educate the community, but also take away the extreme expense of what the community is required to do to be able to address environmental racism that created those issues in the first place,” Allen said.

    An aerial photo shows the plot of land from the previous images, now green, with a large white composting facility

    The new-and-improved Green Era Campus. Courtesy of Green Era Chicago

    Although phytoremediation was the focus of Betsy’s vision, it wouldn’t have been appropriate for the Green Era site — plant roots, while amazing, can’t clear away debris or a submerged tank. But Feldman says he’s interested in that approach for future projects and partnerships. The Green Era team also hopes that the compost produced at their facility might be able to help out other remediation projects in the future. “One of the biggest costs of the whole remediation process at the Green Era Campus was actually bringing in the clean soil,” Feldman said. “Which is a resource that’s being taken from one place and brought to another place. We could use this beautiful, nutrient-rich material that we’ve got to help remediate other sites.” He’d also like to see the compost be used to support urban reforestation efforts, which he views as a form of phytoremediation of city soil, even in places that aren’t designated as brownfields.

    As far as the campus goes, phase one is now officially complete. The site is clean and the digester is built and operating, creating compost and capturing gas that is already being sent to the grid as energy. “I’m in the process of raising the funds to build the rest of the campus,” Allen said, which will include a vertical farm, a community education center, a plant nursery and produce store, and a stormwater mitigation area.

    Cleaning up PFAS in the northeast corner of Maine

    Halfway across the country, another group of community partners is testing the limits of phytoremediation on one of the most pernicious substances in the environment.

    In 2009, the Mi’kmaq Nation in Maine acquired around 800 acres of land that had been part of the Loring Air Force Base. Due to contamination from fuel, pesticides, on-site landfills, and other hazards, the base was declared a Superfund site in 1990 (four years before it officially closed, and one year before the Mi’Kmaq tribe received federal recognition). Superfund sites differ from brownfields in their level of contamination, and because of the hazard they pose to human health, the federal government is obligated to clean them. Loring Air Force Base remains on the EPA’s National Priorities List, but some efforts to date have included capping the former landfills and removing low-level radioactive waste from nuclear weapons operations.

    But the tribe discovered there was another contaminant on their new land: per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, or PFAS. Sometimes known as “forever chemicals,” PFAS are a class of toxic chemicals that have been used in a huge variety of industrial and household items since the 1940s, though in recent years, governments have taken steps to regulate them due to mounting evidence linking the chemicals to health issues. PFAS are often found on military bases, in the residue of firefighting foams.

    Meanwhile, Chelli Stanley, the founder of a small environmental remediation organization called Upland Grassroots, was studying ways that hemp might be used to clean toxic substances from polluted ground. “It’s a bioaccumulator, it’s very versatile in phytoremediation, in that it can take up a lot of different chemicals,” Stanley said of the plant. “Once it became legalized, I just started reaching out to people to see if we could start testing its abilities on different chemicals.”

    Stanley reached out to Richard Silliboy, vice-chief of the Mi’Kmaq Nation. “He was very interested in finding solutions to cleaning land — that we could do it ourselves, and we didn’t have to wait on anybody,” Stanley said. “And we could further the science so that it could help to further the ability to clean the land in the future.” In 2019, the tribe began a research project to find out if hemp could help rid the land of PFAS contamination, working with Stanley and Upland Grassroots as well as researchers at the Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station, and now also at the University of Virginia.

    Two side-by-side images show a man scattering hemp seeds from a bag over a dirt plot, and a woman in PPE watering a stand of hemp plants

    Left: Richard Silliboy plants hemp seeds on the land the Mi’Kmaq tribe owns at the site of the former Loring Air Force Base. Right: Chelli Stanley tends the experimental hemp plot. Courtesy of Upland Grassroots

    Five years in, their experiments have shown that hemp does remove PFAS from the soil. But Sara Nason, one of the lead researchers from the Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station, said that it stops short of being a total solution. “For most organic chemicals, an important aspect of phytoremediation is that plants and the soil bacteria around them help to break down the contaminants and detoxify them,” Nason said. But PFAS are synthetic chemicals, and as their nickname, ‘forever,’ would suggest, they can’t easily be broken down. “Even if the plants remove PFAS from the soil, we still need other methods to destroy the PFAS in the plants.”

    That has been one of the greatest challenges to date, Stanley said. “There’s no way to destroy the PFAS at this point, and we don’t want to put it in a landfill or just have a bunch of hemp sitting around that’s full of PFAS.” Currently, all of the hemp from the site is going to labs where scientists are working on a variety of techniques that might help to break the chemicals down. This fall, the group received a four-year grant from the EPA to continue the research.

    All of the partners involved are taking a long view of this work, with the goals of continuing to clean the land as much as possible, contributing to the scientific understanding of PFAS, and, for the tribe, being able to someday harvest plants from the land without fear of what may lurk inside them.

    “Our actual phytoremediation results have not been as impressive as we would like them to be,” Nason said, “but in some ways, that has not mattered as much as I would have thought. There are very few ways for communities to take action on PFAS-contaminated soil right now, and doing something that helps in a small way has been very motivating for the people participating.”

    Although questions remain about how to fully remediate the persistent chemicals, Stanley noted that working with hemp or other bioaccumulating plants is a low-cost, low-tech option available to any land steward dealing with different forms of contamination in soil and water.

    “Phytoremediation is very accessible. You don’t need a degree, you don’t need specialized training,” Stanley said. “As long as you know how to grow plants, then you would be able to do it” — much like the grassroots vision Betsy shared in her drabble.

    — Claire Elise Thompson

    More exposure

    A parting shot

    After their successful use at Chernobyl, sunflowers were planted in Japan in the wake of the Fukushima nuclear accident in 2011. In this case, the efforts were not as effective, likely due to the variety of sunflowers planted. But as Reuters reported at the time, the cheerful yellow flowers stood for more than literal phytoremediation, bringing a sense of hope and agency to residents in impacted areas. This photo from 2011 shows a sunflower farm in full bloom in Fukui, Japan, about 300 miles from the disaster.

    A closeup of a sunflower, with a blooming field in the background and people standing on a platform

    This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How communities are giving new life to polluted land on Nov 20, 2024.


    This content originally appeared on Grist and was authored by Claire Elise Thompson.

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  • Businesswoman Truong My Lan was sentenced to life in prison on Thursday in relation to a multi-billion-dollar fraud for which she already faces the death penalty, Vietnamese media reported.

    The Chairwoman of property developer Van Thinh Phat appeared at Ho Chi Minh City People’s Court to hear the verdict after a month-long trial.

    Lan, 68, was found guilty of fraud, money laundering and cross-border currency trafficking.

    In April, Lan was sentenced to death for embezzling US$12.5 billion, and a total of 40 years for bribery and violating bank regulations. The court ordered her to repay $27 billion in loans to companies in the Van Thinh Phat group from Siam Commercial Bank, or SCB, in which she holds a 91% stake.

    Lan’s lawyers said she planned to appeal the death sentence, although a date has not been announced.


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    On Thursday Lan was sentenced to life for fraudulent property appropriation, 12 years for laundering more than $18 billion, and eight years for illegally transferring $1.5 billion out of the country and receiving $3 billion from abroad, according to Vietnamese daily the Tuoi Tre.

    During the trial of Lan and 33 other defendants, including her husband Eric Chu, the court heard that the Van Thinh Phat chairwoman told senior staff at the property company, SCB and Tan Viet Securities to issue more than 300 million bonds, allowing her to appropriate $1.2 billion from nearly 36,000 investors.

    Last Friday, as the trial ended, Lan had been allowed to address the court, appealing for clemency.

    “Standing here today is a price too expensive for me to pay. I consider this my destiny and a career accident,” Lan said, according to the VNExpress news site.

    “For the rest of my life, I will never forget that my actions have affected tens of thousands of families.”

    Edited by Taejun Kang.


    This content originally appeared on Radio Free Asia and was authored by By Mike Firn for RFA.

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