Compounds of Coercion
The arrest and extradition of a powerful tycoon accused of running one of the world’s largest online scam networks has brought a rare moment of clarity to a murky, transnational crime industry. Cambodia’s decision to hand over Chen Zhi — alleged by US and UK authorities to be the mastermind behind a vast web of digital fraud — is being read as a breakthrough. For victims who have lost life savings, and families still searching for loved ones trapped in scam compounds, it feels like overdue justice. But the truth is less comforting. This industry does not hinge on a single kingpin or a single country’s resolve. It is a hydra that regenerates quickly, drawing strength from weak governance, global connectivity, and a brutal economic logic that treats both victims and workers as disposable. One arrest, however significant, barely dents a business that has already siphoned tens of billions of dollars from people across continents.
To understand why dismantling these networks is so difficult, one must look beyond the scams themselves to the ecosystems that sustain them. Across the Thai-Myanmar border and deeper into Cambodia, Laos, and parts of the Philippines, scam operations have embedded themselves into physical landscapes. The infamous KK Park in Myanmar, raided by the military last year, was not an anomaly but a prototype: sprawling, fortified, and designed to function like a self-contained town. When authorities moved in, workers fled across borders by the thousands, briefly exposing the scale of forced labour inside. Yet while a few buildings were demolished and headlines were written, operations elsewhere continued almost seamlessly. This ability to relocate — to shift workers, servers, and scripts from one compound to another — makes the industry resilient. These centres thrive in borderlands and grey zones where jurisdiction blurs, corruption thrives, and enforcement is selective. They are often protected by local elites who benefit from rents, bribes, or political leverage, ensuring that crackdowns remain episodic rather than systemic.
The origins of this criminal economy are revealing. Many scam compounds grew out of casinos and online gambling operations that flourished across Southeast Asia over the past decade. Built to attract gamblers from countries with strict anti-gambling laws, these enterprises had already mastered cross-border payments, digital deception, and labour control. When the pandemic halted travel and choked gambling revenues, operators pivoted with chilling efficiency. The infrastructure remained. The workforce was already in place. Only the product changed. Online scams proved more profitable and less visible than casinos, especially when powered by messaging apps and social media platforms. The labour model also evolved. While early operations relied heavily on trafficked workers from China and neighbouring countries, recruitment has since widened dramatically. Today, people from dozens of nations arrive lured by promises of clean office jobs and decent pay. Some come willingly, unaware of what awaits them. Others are trafficked outright. Once inside, distinctions blur. Passports are confiscated. Movement is restricted. Quotas are enforced through violence and intimidation. In this system, even those who arrived by choice often find themselves unable to leave.
What makes this scourge truly global is not just where it operates, but whom it targets. Victims are everywhere. A casual text offering a part-time job. A friendly message that turns into a romance. A convincing pitch for cryptocurrency or commodities trading. Scammers exploit trust, urgency, and isolation, often paying out small sums early on to hook their targets. Increasingly, they use artificial intelligence tools to translate messages instantly, allowing a scam written in one language to ensnare victims in another. The financial damage is staggering. In the United States alone, authorities estimate losses linked to Southeast Asian scam networks ran into the tens of billions of dollars last year. But the human cost is harder to measure. People lose homes, savings, and dignity. Workers inside compounds endure beatings, sleep deprivation, and constant surveillance. Rescue efforts, while vital, barely scratch the surface. Without sustained international cooperation that follows money trails, prosecutes organisers, and holds complicit officials accountable, the cycle will continue. Saving victims without dismantling the machinery that exploits them only ensures that new victims — on both sides of the scam — will take their place. This is not merely a law enforcement challenge. It is a test of whether the global system can confront a crime that thrives precisely because it sits at the intersection of technology, inequality, and indifference.
