Over 800 suspected of cheating on TOEIC English exam in Japan
The findings by the Institute for International Business Communication come after Wang Li Kun, a Chinese graduate student at Kyoto University, was arrested for allegedly trying to take TOEIC -- the Test of English for International Communication -- using another person's ID in May.
The examinees in question are believed to have taken advantage of the exam system that uses applicants' addresses to allocate testing sites, as they used the same or similar addresses as written on Wang's application.
Wang has allegedly told police that he received a message in Chinese around last winter that he would be paid for sitting the exam. The widespread fraud is suspected to have been organized by a Chinese group.
The 27-year-old allegedly hid a microphone inside a face mask, apparently to share his answers with other test takers. Around 40 people applied to sit the May exam using the same address as Wang.
The suspect has already been indicted on suspicion of forging a private document for sitting exams on another occasion in Tokyo.
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For example, other official press coverage indicated that, as of July 2022, only 119 joint patrols had occurred, suggesting that the larger figure of 'over 180' joint missions includes separate operations. These numbers are subject to scrutiny. One report in People's Daily claimed that police vessels patrol the Mekong for 25 days a month, contradicting other reports that suggest typical Chinese patrols only last for approximately four days. These discrepancies suggest that Chinese press reports conflate individual countries' achievements with those of the joint operations, potentially overstating the level of multilateral coordination and the effectiveness of the patrols themselves. Most of the publicly available figures come from Chinese government sources or state-run media with little independent verification of the patrols' impact. The persistence of issues like meth smuggling, armed gangs, and illegal border crossings in Golden Triangle suggests that the patrols have done more to showcase regional cooperation than to deliver security. Understanding the political and institutional context of these patrols further complicates the picture. The joint patrols have primarily used China Coast Guard (CCG) vessels, which historically operated under the Ministry of Public Security (MPS). In 2013, however, the CCG was unified as a national force, and in 2018, the CCP transferred it under the command of the People's Armed Police, which now reports directly to the Central Military Commission (CMC), reflecting broader trends toward militarization and centralized control under Xi Jinping. In 2024, China introduced a new class of fourth generation ('Gen-4') patrol vessels specifically designed for Mekong River operations. These vessels were commissioned by the Yunnan provincial public security department, but it remains unclear whether the MPS directly operates them, or if they fall under the CMC command structure. All of this raises a question: If these patrols are not clearly effective, why are they still happening? The answer may lie less in security strategy than in storytelling: who these patrols are meant to reassure and what narrative they are meant to sustain. Bargaining on the River When the CCP first proposed joint Mekong patrols after the 2011 massacre, it did not envision the compartmentalized structure that exists today. Beijing wanted full combined operations: Chinese boats patrolling seamlessly across borders. This would have extended Chinese operational reach throughout a huge portion of mainland Southeast Asia – an unprecedented level of regional access under the banner of public safety. But China didn't get that. Thailand pushed back first, citing a constitutional requirement that any foreign military or law enforcement presence in Thai waters requires parliamentary approval. More importantly, it invoked sovereignty. Allowing armed Chinese vessels into Thai territory, even as part of a cooperative patrol, was a step too far. Laos and Myanmar, while less assertive, followed Thailand's lead. The result was the diluted arrangement. It is telling that China accepted this outcome despite its regional and global power. In theory, Beijing had the economic and political leverage to press harder. Why didn't it? For Chinese domestic audiences, the appearance of CCP action was more important than actual operational control. Beijing could still frame the patrols as a win: Chinese law enforcement was now patrolling the Mekong, coordinating with neighbors, and 'making the river safe again.' Regionally, China could appear as a cooperative partner, not an aggressive bully. In a diplomatic environment where China constantly claims to respect sovereignty, strong-arming its neighbors into accepting cross-border patrols would have undercut that messaging. Importantly, the smaller states demonstrated that they were not entirely powerless. By invoking legal barriers and sovereignty norms, they forced China to scale back its ambitions without directly confronting it. In doing so, they revealed an important truth: that even asymmetric relationships allow for resistance. Security as Spectacle The Mekong River patrols may not have much operational impact, but that doesn't mean they're unimportant. They serve a different purpose entirely: to showcase China as a capable and responsible regional leader without demanding much in the way of actual risk, cost, or power-sharing. This is hardly an isolated case. Across a range of domains, China has leaned heavily on symbolic or low-stakes forms of international cooperation to reinforce its status. One of the clearest parallels is China's naval deployment to the Gulf of Aden. These missions signal China's willingness to contribute to global security, but they have involved minimal risk, little operational coordination with other navies, and almost no combat engagement. Still, Chinese state media celebrates these deployments as a sign of national prestige, showing off the navy's blue-water capabilities and broadcasting its arrival as a global maritime power. The Mekong patrols fit neatly into this pattern. Their very structure – sequential, national, heavily publicized – prioritizes optics over integration. China's message is clear: we are here, we are active, and we are leading. And for the CCP's domestic audience, that message matters more than the fine print. Southeast Asian countries seem to understand and participate in this performance. By allowing just enough cooperation to help China craft its narrative, they can extract benefits – be it economic aid, diplomatic goodwill, or stability – without surrendering too much autonomy. Playing Along If the Mekong patrols are largely symbolic, why do Southeast Asian states participate at all? The answer isn't blind obedience or passive acceptance. It's strategy. For the other countries involved, the patrols offer a way to manage China's ambitions, access economic and diplomatic benefits, and maintain the illusion of cooperation on their own terms. Thailand, for example, walks a tightrope between its U.S. alliance and its deepening economic ties with China. Bangkok gets the best of both worlds by participating in the patrols while blocking Chinese boats from entering Thai waters. It avoids confrontation, earns diplomatic goodwill, and limits Chinese intrusion. The patrols become a form of controlled cooperation: just enough to keep China satisfied, not enough to surrender sovereignty. At times, Thailand chooses not to send a boat at all, as evidenced by the July 2025 patrol – apparently with no consequences. Laos, which is far more dependent on Beijing, faces different incentives. With Chinese-backed railways, hydropower dams, and debt financing shaping its economy, Vientiane has little leverage to resist Chinese overtures outright. Participating in joint patrols, however modest, offers a way to stay in Beijing's good graces and ensure continued investment. For Laos, the patrols are less about security and more about signaling alignment with its most important benefactor. Myanmar's calculus is unclear, especially after the 2021 coup, but it follows a similar logic. The junta's isolation from the West makes China one of the few partners it can still count on. Security cooperation, including on the Mekong, helps reinforce that relationship. Even amid domestic turmoil, Myanmar's participation buys a degree of diplomatic protection (and possibly arms or infrastructure deals) without ceding meaningful control. In short, each country has its own reason for supporting China's performance. And they all understand the same thing: letting China look like a leader costs less than letting China act like one. Conclusion: Substance by Other Means? The Mekong joint patrols appear to be little more than a symbolic gesture – a meticulously staged pageant with limited operational depth. In that way, it's the decade-long version of the Naw Kham execution. The Thai soldiers truly responsible for the 2011 massacre were never held accountable, but by executing Kham Beijing walked away with a win it could sell at home. That is the real currency here: not enforcement capability, but narrative. For domestic audiences, the CCP showed swift state action. For the region, they symbolized Chinese leadership in a 'win-win' security framework. For China, that was enough. And for the Mekong states, cooperating – just enough – helped unlock economic partnerships, avoid direct confrontation, and maintain sovereignty. In this way, the patrols became a kind of regional theater in which each actor plays a part. China performs leadership. Its neighbors perform an alignment. Together, they sustain the illusion of progress. In an international order where hard power looms large but outright conflict remains costly, symbolic gestures can do real diplomatic work. The Mekong patrols may never stop the drug trade. But they've already succeeded in something else: offering all parties a way to act out stability without having to achieve it. In a region where form often trumps substance, that may be the most effective outcome of all.
