Latest News

Although the two-hour TV special came to an end shortly before the men were put to death by lethal injection, the program became an instantly polarizing sensation, with viewers divided on whether the program was a crass exercise in blood lust or a long-awaited catharsis for a nation outraged by the killings. Some critics said the program recalled the days when condemned prisoners were paraded through the streets before being shot.

"Rather than showcasing rule of law, the program displayed state control over human life in a manner designed to attract gawkers," Han Youyi, a professor of criminal law, wrote on his microblog account. "State-administered violence is no loftier than criminal violence."

One prominent rights lawyer insisted that the show, on the national broadcaster CCTV, violated the Chinese criminal code by making a spectacle of the condemned.

The program largely focused on Naw Kham, the Burmese ringleader of a drug gang, who was accused of orchestrating the brutal execution of the sailors in October 2011 as they sailed down the Mekong in Myanmar and then making the crime appear to be drug-related. In China, a nation where millions work overseas, often in dangerous corners of the world, the killings were especially unsettling.

Last April, six men accused in the killings, including Naw Kham, were apprehended in Laos by a team of investigators that included officers from China, Thailand, Laos and Myanmar. Naw Kham and his accomplices were convicted last November during a two-day trial in the southwestern Chinese province of Yunnan. The men, including a Laotian, a Thai and a third of "unknown nationality," reportedly confessed to the crime. The two men who escaped execution received long prison terms.

Last month, a Chinese public security official told a newspaper that Beijing had considered using a drone strike to kill Naw Kham but later decided to capture him alive.

Given the considerable viewership on Friday, that decision proved to be a good one.

The program included interviews with triumphant police officers, images of the condemned men in shackles and the sort of blustery talking heads that would be familiar to American cable television audiences. The graphic elements that flashed behind the CCTV news anchor included the tagline "Kill the Kingpin."

In one segment, Liu Yuejin, director general of the central government's Narcotics Control Bureau, cast the executions as not only an important victory for a newly confident China but also for ethnic Chinese across the globe. "In the past, overseas Chinese dared not say they were of Chinese origin," he said. "Now they can hold their heads high and be themselves." 

Supporters of the program were many, and enthusiastic. One blogger suggested that death by lethal injection was too lenient, adding "These beasts should be pulled apart by vehicles." 

Shortly before the men were led from their cells to the van that would take them to the death chamber, a reporter asked Naw Kham to talk about his family and then taunted him by showing photos of the victims' grieving relatives. "I want to raise my children and have them educated," Naw Kham said with a faint smile on his face. "I don't want to die."

ANKARA (Reuters) - Turkish Prime Minister Tayyip Erdogan's reported comment equating Zionism with crimes against humanity is "particularly offensive" and has a "corrosive effect" on U.S.-Turkish relations, a senior U.S. official said on Friday.

"This was particularly offensive, frankly, to call Zionism a crime against humanity," the senior U.S. official told reporters as U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry flew to Ankara. "It does have a corrosive effect (on relations)."

"I am sure the secretary will be very clear about how dismayed we were to hear it," the official, who spoke on condition of anonymity, added.

(Reporting by Arshad Mohammed; Editing by Nick Tattersall and Alison Williams)

Mido Macia, a 27-year-old taxi driver from Mozambique, was found dead in detention with signs of head injuries and internal bleeding, according to an initial post-mortem report released by South Africa's police watchdog.

"We would like to assure the country and the world that what is in the video is not how the South African Police Service in a democratic South Africa goes about its work," Commissioner Riah Phiyega told a news conference.

She said the eight officers involved had been suspended and the station commander would be removed from his duties.

President Jacob Zuma and opposition politicians have condemned the incident, caught on video on Tuesday and broadcast nationwide on Thursday.

"The visuals of the incident are horrific, disturbing and unacceptable. No human being should be treated in that manner", Zuma said of what he called "the tragic death of a man in the hands of the police".

Police told media they had detained Macia after he parked illegally, creating a traffic jam, and then resisted arrest.

The video shows the man scuffling with police, who subdue him. He is then bound to the back of a pick-up truck by his arms before the vehicle drives off in front of scores of witnesses in the east Johannesburg area of Daveyton.

It was the latest in a series of scandals to hit South Africa's police force in recent months.

The lead detective in the murder case against Olympic and Paralympic star Oscar Pistorius was removed from the investigation last week when it emerged he was facing seven attempted murder charges for allegedly opening fire on a minibus full of passengers.

Police shot dead 34 striking workers at a platinum mine in August last year - the deadliest security incident since apartheid ended in 1994.

The latest video footage and the taxi driver's death raised fresh concerns about police brutality in a country where more than 1,200 people a year die while in custody.

(Reporting by Jon Herskovitz; Editing by Alistair Lyon)

The verdict against Delawar Hossain Sayedee, a leader of Jamaat-e-Islami, an Islamist party, resonated across the country. It was celebrated by the hundreds of thousands of young protesters who have taken to the streets in recent weeks to condemn Jamaat and demand justice in the war crimes cases against other party leaders, insisting that those who were convicted be hanged.

"This verdict is a victory for the people," declared Imran H. Sarkar, a blogger and an organizer of the protests, during a rally on Thursday afternoon.

But followers of Jamaat reacted with fury, saying the case brought against Mr. Sayedee and others was politically motivated and tainted by judicial irregularities. The police and witnesses said that of the 42 people killed in the unrest, six of them were policemen.

Jamaat leaders had called a nationwide strike on Thursday to protest the verdict, and by afternoon bloodshed had erupted across the country, as party workers fought with the police in the streets.

The protests for and against Jamaat have convulsed Bangladeshi politics, demonstrating that the country has still not healed from the bloody 1971 conflict, in which an estimated three million people were killed and thousands of women were raped. Before the war, Bangladesh was East Pakistan, separated from the rest of that country by a wide expanse of India. The war pitted Bangladeshi separatists against Pakistani soldiers and local collaborators, who were known then as the Razakar Bahini.

"As judges of this tribunal, we firmly hold and believe in the doctrine that 'justice in the future cannot be achieved unless injustice of the past is addressed,' " Justice A. T. M. Fazle Kabir commented in a written summary of the judgment.

The war crimes tribunal has convicted three Jamaat leaders in connection with the war, and other cases are under way, including some against defendants not affiliated with the party.

Mr. Sayedee, 73, is a well-known religious speaker with a bright red beard who became a member of the Bangladeshi Parliament after the war. Prosecutors accused him of involvement in looting and burning villages, raping women and forcing members of religious minorities to convert to Islam during the war.

His defense lawyer, Abdur Razzaq, scoffed at the court's verdict and accused the authorities of deliberately prejudicing the trial and preventing an important witness from testifying.

"This is unfortunate, and this is unexpected," Mr. Razzaq said of the verdict and sentence in a telephone interview. "This is a perverse judgment. It is inconceivable that a court of law awarded him a conviction. This prosecution was for a political purpose."

Jamaat leaders and other opposition politicians have said for months that the government was manipulating the war crimes process to go after political rivals, accusations that the authorities deny. The proceedings have already created dissent and some international criticism. The chief presiding judge resigned after reports, based on hacked Skype conversations, that the judge had improper contacts with a legal expert linked to prosecutors and the government.

But to many Bangladeshis, the real injustice has been that war criminals have remained free for decades. On Feb. 5, the tribunal convicted another Jamaat leader, Abdul Quader Mollah, and sentenced him to life in prison. Furious that the tribunal had not sentenced Mr. Mollah to death, protesters gathered in growing numbers, surpassing 200,000 on some days.

The protests have become known as the Shahbagh movement, named for a large intersection in central Dhaka where the main demonstrations have taken place. Many political analysts say the Shahbagh protests are the most significant spontaneous political movement in Bangladesh in decades. Though the movement may be suffused with idealism and proud nationalism, it also bears a hard edge, with demands for the execution of convicted war criminals.

Sultana Kamal, a prominent human rights leader in Dhaka, said that she disagreed with the calls for the death penalty, but that they reflected the cynicism of Bangladeshis who have seen war criminals evade punishment for decades. Many people were infuriated when Mr. Mollah flashed a victory sign after receiving his life sentence.

"We have a problem in accepting that they are demanding the death penalty," Ms. Kamal said in a telephone interview. "But we understand that it was from a nervousness among the people here that unless they are given the highest penalty in the land, these people will come back out."

The group, which is occupying an isolated village in attempt to revive a historical claim to the area, tried early Friday morning to breach the perimeter established by Malaysian police, said Ricky Carandang, a Philippine presidential spokesman.

The group claims the territory in Malaysia's Sabah State as its own, and has rejected a plea from President Benigno S. Aquino III of the Philippines to leave. The group's seizure of the coastal village has complicated relations between the Philippines and Malaysia.

After the group tried to breach the perimeter, the Malaysian police fired warning shots to force them to return to the cordoned off area and no one was injured, Mr. Carandang said.

"They apparently tried to leave the area and were stopped," Mr. Carandang said by telephone. "We have conflicting reports but this is what we have verified so far."

The Malaysian home minister, Hishammuddin Hussein, confirmed on his Twitter account that shots had been fired but said "the situation is fully under control".

"I confirm that our security forces have not taken a single shot but were shot at at 10 a.m. this morning," he wrote on Friday, adding that the group is still surrounded by Malaysian police.

Abraham Idjirani, a spokesman in Manila for the armed group, said during a Friday press conference that at about 6 a.m. Friday the Malaysian police began approaching the perimeter and shots were fired. The police then retreated, he said.

"The first shot came from the Malaysian authorities," the spokesman said.

The episode began Feb. 12, when the group, which is seeking to revive a historical claim to part of Borneo, arrived by boat from the Philippines and seized the land. The Philippines on Monday sent a navy vessel to the area with medical and diplomatic personnel to pick up the group or escort them back to the Philippines, hoping to resolve the situation.

Mr. Aquino said Tuesday that his government had sent emissaries to meet with Mr. Kiram to resolve the issue.

"These are your people, and it behooves you to recall them," Mr. Aquino said to the leader in his Tuesday statement. "It must be clear to you that this small group of people will not succeed in addressing your grievances, and that there is no way that force can achieve your aims."

The Philippines has been coordinating with the Malaysian government to resolve the issue peacefully, but Malaysian police officials in the area where the standoff is taking place had earlier suggested that they were prepared to use force if necessary.

"My family worked all day to be able to eat at night," he said.

At a temple fair in their village, there was a small ring for muay Thai fights. Like many Isan men, Somluck's father had been a fighter when he was young.

"My father put me in the ring, but I didn't want to do it," said Somluck, who was 7 or 8 at the time. "He hit me, so I had to fight."

He won money, a trophy and his first fans. When Somluck walked around the village, people complimented his skill.

"I had a natural talent," he said through an interpreter. "A gift from heaven."

Local notice led to regional fame for the charismatic Somluck.

"I was a bet hunter," he said. "I'd go from village to village fighting to earn money."

Muay Thai is sustained by gamblers, who contribute to the atmosphere at matches but are more concerned with results than artistry. For others, muay Thai is a spectacle, and for a select few like Somluck, it is a way to a better life.

When he reached 15 and the minimum fighting weight, 100 pounds, he made his debut at the prestigious Lumpini Stadium here. As usual, the second and third tiers of the stadium, which holds 9,500 spectators, were full of bettors wiggling their raised fingers throughout the fights, indicating the changing odds of wagers among themselves.

Muay Thai, a sport closely linked to kickboxing that was adapted from hand-to-hand combat, is as known for intricate rituals like the prefight dance wai kru ram muay as for devastating elbow and knee strikes.

"Such a mixture of gentleness and violence is characteristic of the Thai people and their culture," the Thai poet Montri Umavijani wrote.

Virat Vacirarattanawong, a Lumpini Stadium promoter, remembered watching the 15-year-old Somluck. "He was shining," he said through an interpreter. "He had a kind of glamour about him. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that he was not an ordinary boy."

Thai fighters compete so frequently that they are usually considered veterans by age 27. But Kamsing, now 40, returned to the ring last fall and won. On Saturday, an American audience will get a chance to take the measure of Somluck when he faces Chike Lindsay in Pomona, Calif.

By the time Somluck was 18, he had competed in more than 200 bouts. Despite his ability, he never became a champion at Lumpini or at the smaller Rajadamnern Stadium, the nation's other storied muay Thai arena. Somluck was considered such a prohibitive favorite that the big gamblers lost interest and the promoters did not want to risk their best prospects against him.

"I was out of a job," he said. "I could not support myself."

So Somluck switched to amateur boxing by refining the four striking tools of muay Thai — fists, feet, elbows and knees — into one. He approached matches the way he always did: before each fight, he paid respect to his amulet, which he believes protects him, and thought about his deceased father.

"The most important thing is I trust in myself," he said. "I am a boxer. I have to believe that I can beat my opponent. For some of them I have to train, for some don't. It is easy for me to read fighters."

He was a success as a featherweight boxer. At 19, Somluck represented Thailand at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona, Spain, and he won his nation's first Olympic gold medal four years later. Some may remember Somluck as the boxer who bowed to each compass direction before his bouts at the 1996 Atlanta Games. In the final, he outpunched the Bulgarian Serafim Todorov, who had beaten 19-year-old Floyd Mayweather Jr. in the semifinals.

Somluck, then 23, returned from the Olympics a national hero. He had an audience with King Bhumibol Adulyadej. He received more than $1 million in bonuses from the government and his sponsors. "My life went from the earth to the stars," he said. "I was famous. I was able to do advertising, movies, music, you name it. Everything changed."

Somluck is the Muhammad Ali of Thailand, but few people outside his homeland saw his movies, "Born to Fight" (2004) and "Soi Cowboy" (2008), or his debut as a singer in 2006. His appearances in the ring decreased as his celebrity increased, but he has defeated foreigners in sporadic muay Thai matches. Somluck has continued to box, losing to the American Rocky Juarez in the quarterfinals at the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, Australia, and falling in the first round at the 2004 Games in Athens. In the early 2000s, he opened a muay Thai gym in Bangkok.

Muay Thai's popularity has grown with recent international competitions like Thai Fight and Best of Siam, and in mixed martial arts organizations like the Ultimate Fighting Championship and the K1 circuit, with their corner girls, light shows and fireworks.

But Thais under 30 are increasingly more interested in English Premier League soccer than their national sport. Widespread mobile phone use has enabled gamblers to bet on muay Thai fights remotely, and attendance at Lumpini and Rajadamnern has fallen.

Somluck noticed other changes in the sport.

"Referees score fights differently these days," he said. "A boxer can have the better kicks but lose because he gets thrown down in the clinch. Fighters don't use classical muay Thai anymore; they spend most of the time clinching like wrestlers. It's made people bored of watching the fights. The art is gone. If people want to see real art muay Thai now, it's better to watch foreigners."

Techniques that were once part of Somluck's repertory — the spinning back kick, known as the crocodile tail whip, and the elbow smash to the thigh, or breaking the elephant's trunk — are now rarely seen in Thai stadiums.

"They are battlefield techniques, really, but they are seen as a bit showy nowadays," said Rob Cox, a fight photographer and muay Thai gym owner. "The gamblers don't like it if a fighter does them too much. They place more importance on solid, heavy kicks; strong knees; throwing someone down in the clinch."

Gambling has been a driving force throughout Somluck's life. He called himself a "passionate gambler" who bets "especially when I fight."

Last September, he placed an undisclosed bet on a fighter from his gym, Jaisoo Thor Thepsutin, who was knocked out inside a minute. When Somluck announced his return to the Rajadamnern ring after an absence of about 18 years, many suspected a financial motivation.

"Money wasn't really the reason," he said. "I just wanted to promote muay Thai, and I thought it would be fun to fight in the big stadiums again."

Although Somluck stopped his 51-year-old opponent, Yodwanpadet Suwanwichit, the fight's pace was slow, and it was difficult to gauge the level of his skills. But Rajadamnern had sold out for the first time in more than 15 years, and Somluck received a deal for six more fights.

"People who did not have a chance to watch Somluck fight during the Olympics are keen to see his real ability," the promoter Sumeth Suesattabangkoch said through an interpreter. "They want to know whether his talent is worth his fame."

Last October, Somluck was embarrassed by Jomhod Kiatadisak, 42, who had won Lumpini and Rajadamnern championships and 15 world titles in his heyday. Before they met, Somluck told reporters that he had been sick and unable to train; not everyone believed him. Somluck faded quickly after the second round and was gasping for air in the fifth and final round, staggering on jelly legs. But he had sold out Lumpini Stadium.

For their February rematch, Rajadamnern also sold out. Outside the arena, vendors sold T-shirts, food and cigarettes amid panhandlers. Inside, the air was heavy with camphor and menthol from the fighters' liniment.

During their wai kru ram muay dance, Somluck and Jomhod circled the ring's perimeter. They whispered incantations into each corner, marking a boundary to keep out evil spirits.

At the end of the third round, Somluck was cut, but not badly, and had landed the more decisive blows. His swagger returned. He grinned in victory and raised his fist toward the gamblers in the third tier. They chanted his name, drowning out the ethereal sounds of the Javanese oboe, the cymbals and the drum that followed the rhythms of the fight.

Somluck soaked in the adulation, alone on the canvas with a golden chalice holding bundles of cash. Then he was hoisted onto his team's shoulders and carried out of the ring.