The Rantau Panjang duty-free zone on Malaysia’s northeastern frontier was a picture of cross-border vibrancy. Shoppers from both sides of the Malaysia–Thailand border thronged the narrow streets near a modest bridge linking Kelantan to Sungai Golok in Thailand’s Narathiwat province. Students crossed daily to attend school, traders ferried groceries and household goods, and families slipped back and forth across the Golok river via makeshift jetties that dotted its banks.
Today, the once-bustling zone is largely silent. “This place used to be full of people, but nowadays nobody comes here,” said a hardware shop owner in late September, gesturing at shuttered storefronts and empty walkways. The dramatic change follows Malaysia’s sweeping crackdown on illegal crossings and cross-border smuggling, a campaign that authorities say has sharply reduced the flow of drugs and firearms but has also hollowed out border economies built over generations.
For decades, residents along the Kelantan–Narathiwat frontier occupied a legally grey area. While official checkpoints exist, many locals opted for informal river crossings, using small boats that shuttled between makeshift jetties spaced sometimes just metres apart. As little as 30 metres separate Malaysia and Thailand along parts of the Sungai Golok stretch, making the river both a conduit for daily life and a challenge for law enforcement.
Hundreds of students — Malaysian and Thai citizens alike — were known to cross from Thailand into Malaysia each day to attend school. Families visited relatives, bought groceries or worked small trades without the need to navigate immigration posts that are not open around the clock.
That changed in November 2024, when Kelantan police chief Mohd Yusoff Mamat announced that anyone crossing illegally, particularly via the Golok river, would face arrest from December. Around the same time, the Kelantan state government revived long-discussed plans to build a wall along the border, arguing it was needed to curb smuggling and mitigate chronic flooding.
By September this year, yellow tape cordoned off many jetties, warning signs threatened prosecution, and official notices declared that the structures would be demolished. “The jetties are now fully closed. Nobody can cross,” the hardware shop owner said.
A woman sitting outside her home beside a sealed jetty described Rantau Panjang as a “dead” town. “I used to cross over frequently, but now I’m scared,” she said. “People who want to come here, like last time, are also afraid. Because they will be caught here.”
Police say the crackdown is working. From January to October this year, Kelantan recorded 23,974 drug-related arrests and 22,798 cases, down 19 per cent compared with the whole of last year. The total value of seized drugs fell even more sharply, from RM73.5 million in 2024 to RM28.6 million in the first 10 months of this year.
“The closure of illegal jetties since Dec 1, 2024 has made a clear impact,” Yusoff said. “The smuggling of drugs has decreased significantly, the value of seized drugs has halved, and high-risk areas are now more secure and subjected to systematic enforcement.”
Authorities argue that informal crossings were not just about groceries or family visits. Boats have been used to ferry illegal immigrants, while controlled goods — cattle, rice, subsidised fuel and cooking oil — often moved alongside drugs and firearms. Malaysia tightly regulates such imports to protect local farmers and prevent revenue leakages.
Federal Internal Security and Public Order acting director Fisol Salleh said demolishing illegal jetties would also stem losses to the state. Of the 223 illegal jetties identified in Kelantan, 216 are on government land and are slated for demolition, with work already underway.
Yet the gains have come at a steep social cost. On both sides of the river, residents say livelihoods have evaporated almost overnight. In Sungai Golok, Thai locals long depended on informal trade to supplement meagre incomes in an area with few job opportunities.
At a local market, mixed rice vendor Anwar Hassan, 26, said customer numbers have plunged. “I used to use up one kilogram of onions a day. Now I use half a kilogram in two days,” he said, noting that Malaysians who once crossed over for supper no longer come.
Motorcycle taxi riders clustered outside a hotel during a light drizzle said business had dropped by at least 50 per cent. “I hope the Malaysian government can open the jetties again,” said Roslan Muhammad, 57, who has worked the area for three decades. “If people are committing crimes, they should be caught. Those who are not in the wrong should be free to cross.”
Thai authorities have taken a more flexible stance, acknowledging the drug threat while tolerating informal crossings as part of local culture. Phimon Chongrak, security division head of the Sungai Golok district council, said the drug situation had become “very serious” over the past five years but stressed that the jetties were “natural crossings” used for generations.
“If we completely shut them down, it would affect livelihoods and local culture,” he said, adding that drugs were a red line and that locals had been warned against hiding them in everyday goods.
Despite tighter enforcement, signs of illicit activity persist. Boats remain parked along the Thai bank opposite Rantau Panjang, and observers have seen people carrying duffel bags toward jetties while others wait on the far side. East of Sungai Golok toward Tak Bai, dozens of jetties still line the river — the arteries of an informal trade route that once fed warehouses and rural lanes crowded with workers and trucks.
Some traders continue at great risk. Near the Tak Bai ferry terminal checkpoint, boats were seen loading fish, rice and fruit for short illicit trips across the river. “Jobs are in short supply,” said one man at the jetty, speaking anonymously. “I know not all of us are pure; some take advantage to smuggle drugs. But if it’s just to transport goods like these, people are suffering.”
One organiser of illegal Thai rice exports to Malaysia, who identified himself only as Abu Baja, warned that a border wall would be a “death knell” for villagers earning RM40 to RM50 a day moving goods. “For those who do large-scale businesses like drug smuggling, they will still find a way,” he said.
Kelantan’s border is uniquely challenging. Unlike the forested and hilly stretches further west in Kedah and Perlis, Kelantan is separated from Thailand by the narrow Golok river, flanked by flat land and residential areas that extend to the water’s edge. This has made the state a major transit point for drugs, police say.
Yusoff argues that a wall would provide a physical barrier against smugglers, particularly in areas riddled with concealed “rat holes”. The Home Ministry is reviewing proposals that include a wall, CCTV and other technologies, with RM1.5 billion allocated. The wall would also serve as a flood barrier, though details on its length and timeline remain unclear.
Thai officials, however, worry about the human cost. Narit Sondit, director of Thailand’s Office of the Narcotics Control Board Region 9, said many jetties on the Thai side are operated by locals, complicating enforcement. “Constructing a border wall would certainly aid in preventing drug smuggling,” he said, “but we must also consider the impact on people’s livelihoods.”
Underlying the debate is a persistent suspicion of corruption. Border residents and analysts alike point to allegations that some law enforcement personnel have colluded with smugglers. Senior lecturer Mohd Ramlan Mohd Arshad of Universiti Teknologi Mara described corruption as a “critical and persistent” vulnerability that undermines enforcement from within.
Yusoff confirmed that police have received information about abuse of power and set up a special task force to investigate. “Any individuals, including our own personnel, will be arrested if found to be involved,” he said.
Ramlan cautioned that while walls are politically appealing, their real-world impact is often mixed. “Barriers are not a panacea,” he said. “They redirect and displace illegal activity.” Instead, he advocated an integrated approach using drones, thermal cameras and sensors to multiply enforcement capacity.
For now, villagers on both sides of the Golok river continue to navigate an uncertain future, weighing the risk of prosecution against the need to feed their families. On the Thai bank, a resident recounted how mourners crossing for a funeral were later arrested inland in Malaysia after drones tracked their movements.
“Because of some people committing drug crimes, everyone else is implicated,” he said. As Malaysia presses ahead with demolitions and considers a wall, the borderlands remain suspended between security imperatives and human realities — a once-fluid frontier now hardened, but still far from sealed.
