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Sand is a valuable, increasingly scarce resource. Singapore, the world’s largest sand importer, is fueling its building and land reclamation boom by dredging away neighboring countries’ beaches, riverbeds and whole islands. Cambodian fishermen and their families are protesting the destruction and three activists have now been jailed.

Call to action

To: Prime Minister of Cambodia Hun Sen; Prime Minister of Singapore Lee Hsien Loong

“River sand from Cambodia’s Koh Kong province is being shipped to Singapore despite an export ban. Stop the devastating dredging and trafficking in sand.”

Read letter

“They destroyed our river. The water is so dirty now, and there is less fish.” Vey Van Ning is filled with righteous anger as he boards his boat on July 27. Together with other fishermen, their families and activists of the Cambodian NGO Mother Nature, he heads out to the dredgers and transport barges that are digging up the sand of the Andoung Teuk estuary. The barges belong to Rainbow International and Direct Access – companies based in Vietnam – but the sand is destined for Singapore.

“These companies have been wrecking and polluting the estuaries and coastal areas of Koh Kong since 2009,” explains Mother Nature co-founder Sun Mala. “What they are doing here is illegal.” Sun Mala and two of his colleagues were arrested on August 17 for their repeated protests against against illegal dredging.

Cambodia’s sand is literally the foundation of Singapore’s economic growth. The country was the booming city-state’s main supplier until 2009. According to the British NGO Global Witness, 796,000 tons of sand made their way from Cambodia’s southwestern coast to Singapore – every month.

Following protests by locals against the destruction of their environment, Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen imposed an export ban on sand from rivers and coastal areas in 2009. Neither the involved companies nor the Cambodian authorities seem to be particularly concerned by the ban, however. On July 30, opposition politician Son Chhay wrote Hun Sen: “Please, take more action to stop the lawless dredging, which provides little income for the state but has serious effects on the environment and residents’ livelihoods.”

Tell the governments of Cambodia and Singapore to stop the destructive dredging of rivers and coastal areas and put an end to international trafficking of this valuable resource.

Back­ground

Sand – rarer than one thinks

That is the title of a study by the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) that highlights the dramatic shrinkage of the Earth’s sand reserves. 

According to experts, sand and gravel are being extracted at an unprecedented rate. Yet sand is not an inexhaustible resource.

More than 40 billion tons of sand are consumed worldwide every year according to UNEP’s conservative estimate. That is twice the annual amount of sediment borne by all the rivers in the world. Despite this alarming situation and the devastating effects of dredging on the environment and coastal dwellers, most policymakers are ignoring the issue.

Where is the sand used?

Sand is the second most sought-after raw material in the world after water. It is used in the production of glass, electronics, paper and cosmetics. The construction industry uses the lion’s share, however, as sand makes up about two thirds of reinforced concrete. According to UNEP, global concrete production consumed an estimated 25.9 to 29.6 billion tons of sand in 2012. That would be enough concrete to build a wall 27 meters high by 27 meters wide around the equator. 30,000 tons of sand go into one kilometer of an average highway. Sand is increasingly in demand for land reclamation and shoreline development, especially in fast-growing countries like China, Brazil, India and wealthy states like Dubai and Singapore. Desert sand, incidentally, is not suitable for construction and land reclamation due to the poor adhesion of its smooth, round grains. By contrast, sand from oceans and rivers is rough and jagged.

The global sand trade is estimated at $70 billion dollars per year – trafficking not included – according to the architect and geographer Joshua Comaroff in Harvard Design Magazine.

Where does the sand in rivers and oceans originate?

90 percent of the total volume is eroded from mountains and transported to the ocean via streams and rivers, a process that takes thousands of years.

Only around half of the Earth’s sand currently reaches the ocean: it is either dredged or trapped in reservoirs. The world’s 850,000 dams not only hold back water, they also retain sediment.

The consequences of dredging for sand

In rivers: Dredging near the shore destroys the habitat of numerous plant and animal species. It changes the course of rivers and increases the likelihood of flooding or falling ground water tables during droughts. Excavators and barges pollute the water, damage riverbanks and affect the stability of bridges.

In oceans: As river sand becomes increasingly rare, dredgers are becoming more common in coastal areas. To minimize costs, they operate in shallow water as close to beaches as possible. The destruction is colossal: “Dredge boats suck up flora and fauna and destroy entire marine ecosystems,” notes Singapore-based marine biologist Chou Loke Ming. Food chains collapse, with a far-reaching impact on marine life.

Coastal erosion: The holes in the seabed left by the giant dredgers unsettle nearby coastal sand, which then shifts into the depressions. This has caused the disappearance of entire Indonesian islands near the border to Singapore – 25 to date.

Singapore’s hunger for sand

The city-state is among the 20 smallest countries in the world and is the richest country in Southeast Asia. Since its independence in the 1960s, its population has more than tripled – from 1.63 to 5.5 million (2014). No wonder Singapore needs more space: its original territory of 582.5 km2 has expanded to 712.4 km2 due to land reclamation and a further 70 km2 are due to be added by 2020.

Singapore is the world leader in importing sand: 517 million tons over the last 20 years, and currently nearly 30 million tons – or 5.4 tons per inhabitant – a year!

The economic giant has long since run out of sand of its own for skyscrapers and land reclamation: “We have been taking sand from our hills and then, when there are no more hills left, we have been dredging sand from seabeds, and now most of it is being imported from neighboring countries,” explains Professor Chou Loke Ming from the Biological Science Center of the National Institute of Singapore.

Singapore’s sand sources: its neighboring countries

More than two decades ago, Singapore began to satisfy its hunger for sand by “absorbing” it from its neighbors. Its first source was Malaysia, which banned the export of sand to Singapore in 1997. Indonesia followed suit in 2007 after a number of remote islands in the Riau Archipelago of northeastern Sumatra vanished – only to re-emerge as Singapore’s new coastline. Cambodia banned the export of sand in 2009.

Since then, Myanmar and the Philippines have become the main suppliers of Singapore’s sand, according to architect Joshua Comaroff.

Myanmar’s respected news outlet Eleven reports that the country has exported more than four million cubic meters of sand to Singapore since 2011. The people of the affected Tanintharyi region have been suffering landslides and erosion as a result. Myanmar’s prime minister nevertheless announced that his country would continue delivering sand, cement, granite and other building material to Singapore over the long term.

Sand trafficking is booming

Export bans in a number of countries have opened the floodgates for illegal dredging and trafficking, fueling corruption in countries like Cambodia and Indonesia. In 2010, the NGO Global Witness published “Shifting Sand”, a report implicating companies owned by members of the Cambodian government in illegal dredging operations. Licenses were allegedly issued despite official export bans. Singapore is the purchaser of this illegally dredged and smuggled sand.

Dredging in the rivers and estuaries of Koh Kong province has had a severe impact on the environment, destroying mangrove forests and causing the collapse of fish stocks, thus depriving thousands of families of their livelihoods. Both Cambodia and Singapore vehemently deny the report’s accusations. 

Rainforest Rescue’s Cambodian partner organization Mother Nature frequently reports on illegal dredging and protests by conservationists and the people of Koh Kong province:

https://www.cambodiadaily.com/news/fishermen-claim-victory-against-sand-dredgers-81942/

http://www.phnompenhpost.com/national/locals-turn-against-activists

http://www.rfa.org/english/news/cambodia/detention-06252015181117.html https://www.cambodiadaily.com/news/environmental-activists-rights-worker-detained-before-march-86603/

There is also mounting evidence of ongoing sand smuggling to Singapore from Indonesia: on February 10, 2015, the newspaper Medan Bisnis Daily published a photo of a barge loaded with sand destined for Singapore. 

In 2012, Indonesian customs confiscated two ships with a total of 5,000 cubic meters of sand for Singapore. 

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Singapore’s hypocrisy

Singapore denies all allegations of involvement in corruption and sand trafficking. In its response to the 2010 Global Witness report, the government wrote that private companies import the sand – not the government. Those companies would ensure that their contractual partners in the source countries act in an appropriate manner. Furthermore, Singapore does not consider itself responsible for monitoring compliance with the laws of other countries.

At the same time, the city-state presents itself as a leader in environmental protection in Southeast Asia. On its website, Singapore’s Building and Construction Authority states that it is “dedicated to contributing to the well-being of the community and the environment”.

George Boden of Global Witness describes Singapore’s failure to mitigate the social and ecological cost of sand dredging as “hypocrisy on a grand scale”.

Letter

To: Prime Minister of Cambodia Hun Sen; Prime Minister of Singapore Lee Hsien Loong

Excellencies,

Vast quantities of sand are being dredged in the river estuaries of Koh Kong province for export to Singapore. As reported in the IUCN’s “Study of Coastal Mangrove Forest Devastation and Channel Sedimentation”, the resulting destruction of mangroves and riparian vegetation have deprived local fishermen and their families of 80 percent of their catch.

The impact was already so severe in 2009 that you, Prime Minister Hun Sen, imposed a ban on the export of sand from rivers and coastal areas. The dredging activities are nevertheless continuing unabated.

In late July 2015, fishermen, their families and conservationists expelled dozens of dredging and transport vessels belonging to the Vietnamese companies Rainbow International and Direct Access from the Andoung Teuk river. These companies were not only violating the present export ban, they had also not submitted an environmental impact analysis for their activities. While the Cambodian Ministry of Mines and Energy asserts that they have a license, they are not only operating outside the designated area, but also dredging 8.5 meters deeper than permitted. Opposition politician Son Chhay has described the actions of the two companies as illegal.

Photos document that the Vietnamese barges transferred their cargo to the Ikan Jenahar, a ship chartered by Pacific Carriers, a Singapore-based shipping company. “The sand is destined for Singapore,” confirmed a Pacific Carriers representative.

According to the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) 2014 report, “Sand, rarer than one thinks”, Singapore has imported 517 million tons of sand over the past twenty years, making it by far the largest buyer in the world. Every year, Singapore buys a further 30 million tons.

The price for the growth of your country, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong, is being paid by the people living in the countries where the sand originates – whether through legal or dubious sources. The trade is being facilitated by a lack of monitoring, rampant corruption and illegally awarded licenses.

Sand is not an inexhaustible resource. We therefore call on you as the heads of your respective governments to put an end to the destructive dredging of sand in Cambodia and to imports to Singapore from other countries.

Kind regards,

Built on Sand: Singapore and the New State of Risk

Joshua Comaroff

Featured in:

39: Wet Matter

Essay

In June 2014, drivers crossing the causeway between Singapore and Johor, Malaysia, began to notice something strange. A slender sandbar, which had long stood in the middle of the narrow straits, had started to grow, and was slowly inching toward Singapore. Construction vehicles had arrived, and small barges passed continuously, dumping load after load of sand into the water. Newspapers soon reported that this expanding mound was to become the site of Forest City, a 2,000-hectare high-rise housing development jutting out from the Malaysian port of Tanjung Pelepas. As this privately funded project crept toward Singapore’s national border, the security state doubtlessly felt violated. In response, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong requested that the Malaysian government halt work on the project, and threatened to file a complaint with the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea in Hamburg.

Forest City and its backstory are emblematic of an emerging issue of a transnational order. Less obvious than the increased capital flows across territories is the flow of territory itself. That is, land. Or, more accurately, sand.

With the rise of sand trading, the nation-state has entered a dangerously fluid phase. With the coastal earthworks that are under way throughout Southeast Asia and the Middle East—a series of reclamations so large that they nearly encroach on sovereign borders—territory has acquired an unprecedented liquidity. The malleability of sand makes it a uniquely volatile substance. Its softness and scalability distinguish it from other modes of infrastructure. As journalist Chris Milton pointed out in a 2010 essay in Foreign Affairs, sand is a medium by which massive environmental change can be effected via incremental processes. It is granular—neither liquid nor solid—which means that it can be transported by the boatload or by the handful. In large quantities, it can be engineered into the most fundamental of all infrastructures: land itself. In contrast to the materiality of other “fixed” infrastructures, however, sand is removed and sold by a great number of agents, and is brokered by governing authorities at local and national levels. Many dealers are illicit, and allegedly trade without genuine receipts. As such, the transnational drift of sand leaves only the most fragmentary of traces. Disappearances are difficult to map and nearly impossible to quantify. A number of importers, including Singapore, consider the details of their sourcing to be confidential and a matter of national security. In this context, the physical basis of the state can be incrementally eroded or expanded, legally or otherwise, through the work of private actors—much to the benefit of expanding nations. It is a form of appropriation that differs rather dramatically from traditional seizures of territory, through war or colonial expansion.

Causeway linking Johor, Malaysia, to Singapore, 2002.

Nowhere is Milton’s observation more true than in Singapore, where access to sand has become a matter of national security; it is the key currency in a new geopolitics of risk. The “Little Red Dot” has, since 1965, dilated from 224.5 to 276.5 square miles. The target of a 30 percent (or three square mile) increase of the country’s original land area has been set for 2030. Much of this city’s Central Business District, and its showpiece Gardens by the Bay, occupy what were the straits separating Singapore and Indonesia at the time of independence from Britain. Singapore’s sand works, geographical in scale, have exceeded even the figural archipelagos of Dubai’s trophy housing boom.

The island’s expansion has been a colossal undertaking. It is not merely a matter of coastal reclamation: Singapore is growing vertically as well as horizontally. This means that the nation’s market needs fine river sand—used for beaches and concrete—as well as coarse sea sand to create new ground. And the ground must be solid, as the lion’s share of Singapore’s architecture is high-rise. Foreign sand and aggregate, along with foreign labor, are essential in replicating the island’s ground in the sky. Both supply a burgeoning condo market and the ongoing rollout of a public housing program that serves more than 80 percent of the population.

For Singapore’s government, sand security is a safeguard of the state’s right to development. It is a precondition of fiscal and political survival. Sand, like money, must remain liquid for the economy to keep moving. The vulnerability of the island, its entropic tendency toward general decline, has long been imagined as a byproduct of its physical limits. The ruling People’s Action Party, which lays claim to the success of the housing initiative, has asserted time and again that the endurance of the nation depends upon a continual expansion of its market and its population. Both require Lebensraum. For this reason, sand and aggregate are stored in vast stockpiles in the areas of Seletar and Tampines, and are sold to contractors when regional disputes threaten the availability of the material. Paradoxically, the management of coastal risk comes to greatly affect the territory’s interior. The large tracts of land dedicated to storing sand and gravel aggregate become securitized sites—their area is taken “off the map.” The interior is leveraged such that the coast may grow.

The need for sand, then, is a kind of original debt: for the territorial state to survive, land must continually be introduced. Milton notes that .6 miles of new ground requires 37.5 million cubic meters of fill—around 1.4 million dump trucks’ worth. This translates into a de facto transfer of territory from other countries. Despite the accepted terminology, earth cannot be “reclaimed” from the ocean by the magic of sovereign right; it needs to be brought from somewhere.

Unsurprisingly, this process of expansion has become a regional sore point—whetting old tensions between the island republic and its neighbors. The geopolitical narrative is that Singapore, in an undiscriminating fever of consumption, has begun to absorb surrounding territory. In a climate of heated diplomatic exchanges, fewer options for legal imports remain. Malaysia ceased shipments of sand to Singapore as early as 1997; Indonesia instituted a similar ban after claims that several of its Riau Islands had vanished, only to reappear as part of the Singapore coastline; and Vietnam suspended dredging in 2009. In turn, Myanmar and the Philippines have become principal sources. Cambodia also announced a freeze on river sand in 2009, but so much continued to disappear that locals joked of traveling to Singapore to plant the Cambodian flag.

Rendering of Forest City, a new development in Johor, Malaysia.

Recently, nationalistic outrage has been joined by environmental concern, most pointedly the loss of fragile coastal habitat and sea-grass colonies. Many accusations allege ongoing smuggling from embargoed nations, as well as dredging at both seaside and river locations. Singapore, in keeping with its policy of transparency, has replied that it pursues its imports through lawful channels.

The island nation is hardly alone in its addiction. Sand has been called the “most wanted raw material on the planet.” Not only is it essential for construction, it is a key ingredient in the microprocessors and memory chips used in nearly all computer technology. Its legal trade is estimated at $70 billion per year. Environmental consultant Kiran Pereira figures the global annual sand consumption to be in excess of 15 billion tons. Even Dubai imports sand for construction, as do most other regions that build chiefly in concrete. Many of the nations that export sand to Singapore also require immense quantities for their own domestic projects. Diplomacy is thus burdened with negotiating the flow of sand, and territory, at multiple sites and scales.

To make matters more turbid, the nightmare of coastal reclamation occupies an imaginary and regulatory space created by several misunderstandings about territory itself. These become urgent against both the backdrop of our “oceanic” moment and the apparent dissolution of that idyll of 19th- and 20th-century geopolitical thought, the grounded state.

First among these misconceptions is that territory is a finite and intransigent thing. A longstanding myth of the state, propagated by realist and idealist schools of international relations alike, is the solidity of physical boundaries. In these traditions, the geo-body of the developed nation is thought to be, in the words of geographers John Agnew and Stuart Corbridge, a “set or fixed units of sovereign space.” Its peoples and economies were thought to be discrete and independent, its form and extents unchanging. Stranger still, cultures and countries were considered naturally isomorphic. At its conceptual extreme, this involved the conflation, on maps and in cartoons, of the shape of the nation with cultural icons or founding fathers. In Thailand, it was the person of the king, fending off rapacious foreigners. In Italy, it was Garibaldi with a sword. This ignored an untidy fact: that the form of the state has been highly fluid, its edges in particular. Since its invention, the borders of the global map have been continually redrawn. This is clearest, perhaps, in postcolonial contexts such as Singapore, where the reapportioning of territory, and the development of the coastline, had much to do with the play of regional geopolitical strategies.

Sand in Singapore is sourced from throughout the region, despite export moratoriums. Map: OPSYS/Alexandra Gauzza.

The difficulty of sand likewise relies on a second error of territorial thought: the reified belief in the state as a unitary actor with sole control over its own space. That is, the state is mistaken for an object, rather than a web of processes. Part of the failure of diplomacy, here, is precisely that it occurs at the “official” level. In reality, the problem ramifies through the myriad actions of substate and supranational actors: dredgers, contractors, developers, ecological activists, overseas investors and property speculators, and politicians at every scale.

Accounts of sand trading, by journalists and advocates alike, articulate terrors arising from the apparent dissolution of national integrity. Milton, for one, relates claims of seedy exchanges between foreign and local elements throughout Southeast Asia. Likewise, a damning 2010 report by environmental watchdog Global Witness describes clandestine dredging of rivers and coastlines, and flotillas of tiny barges carrying stolen ground to undisclosed locations. Erosion, as the undermining of both natural and human ecologies, plays a key symbolic role—it is the geophysical analogue of the “haze,” an annual pollution crisis forced on Singapore and Malaysia by Indonesian slash-and-burn farming. As sociologist Ulrich Beck noted many years ago, these are influences that “add up to an unknown residual risk […] for everyone everywhere.” In the immediate wake of Chernobyl, Beck was quick to point out that the mobility of vectors such as wind-born radiation and pollution—not to mention the contagion of financial disasters—dramatically undermines the notion of an impervious sovereignty. National borders cannot repel such invasions, particularly when the very materiality of those borders is itself in flux.

The complexity of this issue is exemplified by Johor’s Forest City project, the latest episode in the Asian “sand wars.” Clearly, this is a situation in which conditions at a national boundary are changing—much to Singapore’s chagrin. But the controversy also shows how inchoate such works are with respect to the position of the state itself. The venture involves myriad actors, most of them above or below the level of formal governance. The investor, Country Garden Holdings, is a company majority-owned by China’s richest woman, Yang Huiyan. Country Garden’s minority partner is none other than the Sultan of Johor, a regional hereditary ruler. The contractors and sand suppliers are a constellation of private companies. The presumed buyers are global expatriates expected to migrate to Malaysia’s new Iskandar special economic zone, which is currently being built around the existing city of Johor Bahru. In particular, Forest City is positioned to cater to those priced out of Singapore’s condominium market, where high-rise prices rarely fall below 1,000 Singapore dollars per square foot. It is not quite clear who is realizing this new territory; it is almost certainly not “Malaysia” itself.

The challenge of sand is shifting and particular to each site. It articulates a nightmare both old and new: a radically liberated state, free of stabilizing ideologies such as soil and ground. Sand is an unstable and promiscuous alternative, quickly drained of historical and geographical traces. Perhaps it is telling that in Hebrew “sand” and “secular” are homonyms. It holds allegiances to no nation, no religion. Its form is transience. The fear goes: there is no more land; there is only sand.

Label

Foreign Affairs, August 4, 2010,
2. In fact, Geoff Manaugh of BLDGBLOG and Alexander Trevi of Pruned have suggested a “forensic geology” to trace sand back to its origin. See
3. Peter Dupont, “Sand Wars,” trans. Rafael Njotea, working grant proposal for the Pascal Decroos Fund, 2013/995,
4. See ibid.
5. John Agnew and Stuart Corbridge, Mastering Space: Hegemony, Territory, and International Political Economy (London: Routledge, 1995), 83.
6. This was associated with numerous individual kings, but most famously with Mongkut. Likewise, the propaganda method of maps as human figures had a negative version. Like the famous Nazi “octopus” of American newsreels, Thai political cartoons often pictured Vietnam as an imperialist aggressor with a voracious, open mouth. This is shown in Thongchai Winichakul, Siam Mapped: A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1994), 113.
7. This had to do with the imperial tactics of large regions in the classically geopolitical tradition, for example in the influence of thinkers such as Alfred Mahan—especially where water power was understood to be the key to military superiority. It also had lasting influence on British planning schools that emphasized the development of the coast, such as Otto Königsberger. See Vandana Baweja, “A Pre-History of Green Architecture: Otto Königsberger and Tropical Architecture, from Princely Mysore to Post-Colonial London” (PhD diss., University of Michigan, 2008),
8. See Agnew and Corbridge, Mastering Space, 81–82.
9. See Global Witness, “Shifting Sand: How Singapore’s Demand for Cambodian Sand Threatens Ecosystems and Undermines Good Governance” (May 2010),
10. A much-debated argument, presented in Ulrich Beck, Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity, trans. Mark Ritter (London: Sage Publications, 1992), 29.

See Chris Milton, “The Sand Smugglers,”, August 4, 2010, http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2010/08/04/the_sand_smugglers 2. In fact, Geoff Manaugh ofand Alexander Trevi ofhave suggested a “forensic geology” to trace sand back to its origin. See http://bldgblog.blogspot.sg/2011/09/caverns-of-singapore .html 3. Peter Dupont, “Sand Wars,” trans. Rafael Njotea, working grant proposal for the Pascal Decroos Fund, 2013/995, http://www.fondspascaldecroos.org/en/inhoud/werkbeurs/sand-wars 4. See ibid.5. John Agnew and Stuart Corbridge,(London: Routledge, 1995), 83.6. This was associated with numerous individual kings, but most famously with Mongkut. Likewise, the propaganda method of maps as human figures had a negative version. Like the famous Nazi “octopus” of American newsreels, Thai political cartoons often pictured Vietnam as an imperialist aggressor with a voracious, open mouth. This is shown in Thongchai Winichakul,(Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1994), 113.7. This had to do with the imperial tactics of large regions in the classically geopolitical tradition, for example in the influence of thinkers such as Alfred Mahan—especially where water power was understood to be the key to military superiority. It also had lasting influence on British planning schools that emphasized the development of the coast, such as Otto Königsberger. See Vandana Baweja, “A Pre-History of Green Architecture: Otto Königsberger and Tropical Architecture, from Princely Mysore to Post-Colonial London” (PhD diss., University of Michigan, 2008), http://deepblue.lib.umich .edu/bitstream/handle/2027.42/60709/vbaweja_1.pdf?sequence=1 8. See Agnew and Corbridge,, 81–82.9. See Global Witness, “Shifting Sand: How Singapore’s Demand for Cambodian Sand Threatens Ecosystems and Undermines Good Governance” (May 2010), http://www.globalwitness.org/library/ shifting-sand-how-singapore%E2%80%99s-demand-cambodian-sand-threatens-ecosystems-and-undermines-good 10. A much-debated argument, presented in Ulrich Beck,, trans. Mark Ritter (London: Sage Publications, 1992), 29.

Joshua Comaroff is an architect, landscape architect, and academic geographer. Together with Ong Ker-Shing, he is cofounder and director of Lekker Design.

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