What do you do? What do you do?

I’ve been working for the Documentation Center of Cambodia (DC-Cam) for the past few months as a legal associate. Among other things, I’ve been writing legal briefs on certain issues that are before the Khmer Rouge Tribunal. So far, I’ve written two such briefs.

The first brief was on the admissibility of torture-related evidence before the Tribunal. You can find it here. Because thousands of pages of documents survive from various prisons, including the notorious S-21, a key question is, should confessions and related information that were almost certainly the result of torture be allowed into evidence.

The second brief I wrote was on the current state of victim participation before the Tribunal. The Tribunal’s rules are heavily influenced by French civil law and for the first time ever, this internationalized criminal tribunal allowed victims to formally join the proceedings as so-called “civil parties.” The role of victims as civil parties has been gradually curtailed both by decisions of the Trial Chamber and re-writings of the Court’s Internal Rules. It was the latter that prompted me to examine the current status of victims before the Court, stating that they could no longer in good faith be considered “civil parties.” You can find the public version of this brief here.

Story Time

One of the things you quickly learn in Cambodia is that everyone has a story. Everyone. And it’s not just a “story”—often, it is a devastating rendition of human suffering, of someone truly being a victim of their circumstances, the kind of story where you just have to stare into oblivion for a few minutes after hearing it, shaking your head. In a country where anyone over the age of 35 experienced and remembers the unfathomable horrors of the Khmer Rouge, these stories often sneak up on you.

Here are three such stories.

I went with my work out to the village of Svay Kleang in Kampong Cham province, about 5 hours drive northeast from Phnom Pehn. Svay Kleang is a Cham Muslim village nestled on the banks of the Mekong River. It was the center of Muslim scholarship in Cambodia before the Khmer Rouge and has a long history as the cultural heart of Cambodia’s Cham community. During the Khmer Rouge, the area was under KR control by 1973, about two years earlier than the rest of the country. By October 1975, the Khmer Rouge controlled the whole country and had already force-evacuated Phnom Penh. People were just beginning to understand the horrors that they would face for the next three years.

The Cham, however, already well knew the utter depravity and devastation wrought by the Khmer Rouge. Already, most Muslim leaders had been taken from the villages, with little explanation. They never returned. This was part of a systematic assault upon the Muslim religion in Cambodia. Cham Muslims were prohibited from prayer, forced to eat pork, and women were made to uncover and cut their hair. The Khmer Rouge viewed any institution—be it the monarchy, the family, or religion—as a threat to their absolute power, and they worked to eviscerate all such institutions. By October 1975, the Cham had had enough and rose up against the Khmer Rouge, with one of the largest rebellions taking place in Svay Kleang village. It is one of the few open rebellions against the Khmer Rouge during their 3 years, 8 months and 20 days in power.

Despite their bravery, the Cham rebels were massacred. And retribution was swift. Persecution increased, plans for extermination were quickened. Prior to 1975, approximately 2,000 Cham families (6,200 people) lived in Svay Kleang. After the fall of the Khmer Rouge in January 1979, only 100 Cham families (600 people) remained.

My work went there to conduct outreach about the activities relating to the Khmer Rouge tribunal that is currently underway, assist villagers interested in signing up as civil parties to the proceedings, and conduct interviews with villagers about their experiences during the Khmer Rouge so as to preserve their stories as part of our Living Documents Project.

It was this work that led to the first two of the stories I will recount, stories that indeed helped me understand that everyone in Cambodia has a story to tell.

We first conducted a targeted outreach session with the village and Muslim leaders. At this meeting, an old man with a back shaped like candy cane appeared. Age is a very difficult thing to gauge, but there was no doubt about it: this guy was old. He took a seat on a crude wooden bench next to our interview team. When the rest of the village elders went inside the mosque for the meeting, he stayed behind. Our interview team—Fatily and Bon—took this opportunity to ask him if he was interested in being interviewed. He agreed and they set up their camera and microphone. He began to tell his story but at some point he began to talk to Fatily, the interviewer. Wearing a headscarf that identified her as Cham, he asked her where her family was from. Coincidentally, her family was from a village not 5 kilometers from where we were. The old man said that he too was originally from that village.

He then asked for her father’s name. She told him. He asked for the name again. She repeated it. I know your father, the old man said. ‘He’s my cousin, but everyone in my family thought he died during the Khmer Rouge.’ After the Khmer Rouge fell, Fatily’s father moved to the capital, Phnom Penh, while the old man moved from his birth village to Svay Kleang, where we were now standing. Given the staggering number of people who died from 1975-1979, each assumed that the other had died.

Fatily quickly pulled out her cellphone and dialed a number. After a few quick words, she put the phone up to the ear of the old man. The old man then spoke with his cousin for the first time in over 30 years. Fatily kept the phone to the old man’s ear, tears slowly running down her face. The old man told her father that he would tell the rest of the family that he was alive.

As my friend Randle said, Cambodia is really big small country. Thirty years later, people are still discovering long lost relatives. The magazine published by my NGO, Searching for the Truth, still publishes notices of people looking for family members lost during the Khmer Rouge. People refuse to give up hope because of stories like this.

Shortly after this, I heard a second story, one with no happy ending. We were inside the mosque, holding an information session with the local Muslim and village elders regarding the ongoing Khmer Rouge trial. During this discussion, Terith, the staff member leading the discussion, asked if any of the elders wanted to share their personal story during the Khmer Rouge. A few people volunteered, describing the disappearances, the suffering, the fear. One elderly man remained silent but then leaned forward, close to Terith and said, ‘I would like to tell you my story, but I cannot do it in front of all these people. I am still too emotional.’

After the formal session ended, people broke into small groups. Terith and the elderly man retreated to a quiet corner of the mosque and with a

tape recorder in front of him, the man began to recant his story. His story was similar to many others—the forced labor, the loss of religious freedom, the hunger—but one thing struck me as different: his continued rage. Many people just want to forget everything that happened during the Khmer Rouge; others want justice. This man wanted revenge.

After telling his story, his voice raised and said that if he saw someone right now that he knew to be responsible for his suffering and that of his family, he would kill them right there. He said that in front of everyone, he would drink their blood. You see, this man lost eight children to the Khmer Rouge.

After returning to Phnom Penh, I mentioned this story to a tenant in my apartment building. Shaking his head, he asked if I knew Sophip, our landlord. Of course I did. Had I noticed how she walks kind of funny? No, actually, I had not, but I knew that it took her a long time to get up from sitting down. I assumed it was from old age, but he told me it was because the Khmer Rouge cut out her kneecaps. Her kneecaps.

In Cambodia, one story of horror inevitably leads to another, possibly much worse. It’s a cruel and twisted version of ‘can you top this’. And in this big small country, practically no one went unscathed.

At Least A Million Words

They say a picture is worth one thousand words. So, here are links to some photos I've put up already. More to come, because I am just that verbose.

Temples of Angkor: Here.

A work trip to Kampong Cham Province, Svey Khleang village: Here.

Slow D'oh to Battambang

This past weekend, my friend Jeff and I took a 6-hour boat ride from Siem Reap (where the temples of Angkor are) to Battambang, in the northwest. It was an incredibly scenic and beautiful ride, and I'll post some pictures soon. But in the meantime, here's a video I took as we made our way through the passageways of the floodplain. Enjoy!

CambodiYEAH

I just couldn’t resist posting this video. For 3 hours, we sped through the countryside, away from Phnom Penh to Kampong Cham Province, serenaded by the best love songs of the 80s—Whitney Houston’ “Greatest Love of All” was played at least twice, there was also some Rod Stewart, Boys II Men, and Vanessa Williams thrown in there, too. And then, like a lightening bolt on a clear day, out of nowhere this song came on, and all was right in the universe, as the countryside whizzed past us…

Underrated Cuisines of the World Unite!

There are a lot of overrated cuisines in the world (Egyptian anyone?). Everyone has their pick, I’m sure. But what about underrated cuisines? That’s a more difficult category. To qualify, not only must the food be really good, but it must also not register on most people’s culinary radars.

With that in mind, allow me to submit my entry for Khmer (Cambodian) food. I really didn’t expect much, I’ll be honest. I didn’t remember a thing about the food from being here 6 years ago. But I know my geography, so I figured that since it was between Thailand and Vietnam, it might be passable.

Instead, what I’ve found is a burgeoning culinary scene here, with Khmer staples (such as Amok- baked fish in banana leaf; pictured above) mixed with delicious curries, and other pan-Asian deliciousness. Sure, there is some Khmer food I can’t get down with (spicy noodles with beef for breakfast, for example), but overall, the food has been fresh, tasty, and rather unique.

“Never Start A Land War in Asia…”

But only slightly less well-known is this: Never give a Cambodian barber free reign. The result could leave you lamenting the fact that you left your hair clippers back in the US.

I however had yet to hear this sage piece of advice. Furthermore, I started talking with a guy in the chair next to me. Before I knew it, I had a haircut that only a 17-year old Khmer guy could love: a full blown Mohawk that went all the way down to the back of my head, where, astonishingly, my hair had been shaved to come to a point. Oh, with a rat-tail intact.

That lasted about 2 seconds. I had him fix the back, but I was still left with the tightest Khmer tween haircut ever. So, I asked him to make the Mohawk a bit shorter. Reasonable request, no? Well, something was lost in translation and he proceeded to cut only the ridgeline of the Mohawk really short. This left me with…I dunno, a reverse Mohawk?

At this point, I gave up hope and just paid him $4 for the haircut, walked directly across the street to “7 Elephants” (the Khmer version of 7-11) and bought a pair of scissors. Tried to fix it, tried to make it somewhat presentable, but this was beyond repair.

My friend Randall spent last summer here. This year, he wisely brought his hair clippers with him. Someone had obviously told him about starting land wars in Asia…