LAMPI ISLAND, Myanmar — Off a remote, glimmering beach in Myanmar backed by a lush tropical forest, Julia Tedesco skims the crystalline waters with mask and fins, looking for coral and fish life.
“There is almost nothing left down there,” the environmental project manager says, wading toward a sign planted on the shore reading “Lampi National Park.”
Some 50 yards behind it, secreted among the tangled growth, lies the trunk of an illegally felled tree. Nearby, a trap has been set to snare mouse deer. And just across the island, within park boundaries, the beach and sea are strewn with plastic, bottles and other human waste from villagers.
The perilous state of Lampi, the only marine park in this Southeast Asian nation, is not unique. Though the country’s 43 protected areas are among Asia’s greatest bastions of biodiversity, encompassing snow-capped Himalayan peaks, dense jungles and mangrove swamps, they are to a large degree protected in name alone. Park land has been logged, poached, dammed and converted to plantations as Myanmar revs up its economic engines and opens up to foreign investment after decades of isolation.
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Of the protected areas, only half have even partial biodiversity surveys and management plans. At least 17 are described as “paper parks” — officially gazetted but basically uncared for — in a comprehensive survey funded by the European Union.
So rangers rarely see a tiger in the (8,452-square-mile Hukaung Valley Tiger Reserve. It’s the world’s largest protected area for the big cats, but has been overrun by poachers supplying animal parts for traditional medicines in nearby China.
And Myanmar’s first nature reserve, the Pidaung Wildlife Sanctuary set up in 1918, has been “totally poached out and should be degazetted,” says Tony Lynam, a field biologist for the New York-based Wildlife Conservation Society.
Inaugurated in 1996, Lampi National Marine Park fit squarely into the paper park category until possibly last year, when six rangers from the Forestry Department were finally assigned to protect this 79-square-mile marine gem. It had been, and still largely remains, a do-as-you-please place.
Local residents and staffers with Italian Instituto Oikos, the group Tedesco works for, say dynamite fishing persists even within earshot of the ranger station. They say Thai and Burmese trawlers encroach into no-fishing areas, and that natural forest on one park island, Bocho, is being converted to rubber, encouraged by government policy.
Without any management plan in place, four settlements in the park and a fifth within a proposed buffer zone have grown dramatically and now total about 3,000 people, many of them Burmese migrants from the mainland. Blast fishing has become so intense that the Myanmar navy sent four vessels to the area earlier this year in an attempt to curb it.
Despite the ongoing depredations, the park retains an incredible variety of natural life, according to a report by Oikos and the Burmese nongovernment group BANCA.
Its evergreen forests harbor 195 plant species, including trees soaring as high as 98 feet, and many of the park’s 228 bird species. Sea life ranges from dugongs — large mammals similar to manatees — to 73 different kinds of seaweed.
Nineteen mammal species, seven of them globally threatened, are at home here, including macaques seen on rocky headlands hunting for some of the 42 crab species. There’s even a wild elephant, lone survivor from a herd earlier transported from the mainland.
These wonders have sparked a recent push by tourism developers into the once isolated Mergui archipelago where Lampi is embedded amid some 800 stunning, mostly uninhabited islands. Tedesco says that a Singapore company has already been granted permission to build a hotel within the park “even before a management plan is in place.”
She says the onset of possible mass tourism carries risk, but also potential benefits.
Pressure from scuba-diving outfits and divers was largely responsible for halting blast fishing in many marine areas of neighboring Thailand, where some parks have curbed illegal activities by providing tourist-related income to the local culprits who once carried them out.
Tedesco says the Moken, the sea nomads who have inhabited the Mergui archipelago for centuries, would make ideal nature guides.
“We need community participation to preserve the parks,” says Naing Thaw, director of Myanmar’s Forestry Department.
Foreign experts working with Burmese are impressed by the high level of dedication and professionalism by some in the government, especially given the powerful forces they must challenge to guard depredation — generals, government cronies, Thai and Chinese dam builders.
Lynam, of the Wildlife Conservation Society, works with elephant protection in several parks and says patrols he has accompanied have caught villagers hauling timber out of parks who confessed to working for the local police and forest rangers. Even some Buddhist monks are involved, he says, with logs “donated” by illegal loggers who split the profits with log-laundering monasteries.
He sees the accelerating infusion of foreign funding for the parks, and the general environment, as a two-edged sword.
“As the resources are made available, I think you are going to see some very good parks emerging in five to 10 years. There’s lots of hope,” he says. “But foreign money can also help empower the powerful guys who abet corruption. I’ve seen it in other countries.”
Associated Press writer Aye Aye Win contributed to this report.