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…

A Brief Aside

Ideally, this blog would focus exclusively on Cambodia, as there is more than enough going on here to fill these here Internets. However, this bit on China in "Lens," the NYTimes' photojournalism blog, caught my eye.

It contains some of the most visceral pictures I've seen documenting China's pollution crisis. They are from Lu Guang, a freelance photographer, who just won $30k from some award.

Check it out.

Take that, Yemen!

The United Nations' Development Programme (UNDP) recently released its Human Development Index report, which rates the quality of life in 182 countries. Norway took the top prize, followed by Australia, with Iceland, Canada, and Ireland rounding out the Top 5. The U.S. checked in at Lucky Number 13. And how about my current, adopted homeland of Cambodia? Well, let's take a look:

Hmmm...Estonia, no. Mexico, no. Libya, no...

Still looking...Belarus, no. Grenada, no. Kazakhstan, no(?).

Must be around here somewhere...Lebanon, Algeria, the Occupied Palestinian Authorities...

BAM.

#133. Laos
#134. India
#135. Solomon Island
#136. Congo
#137. Cambodia
#138. Myanmar

Wow, that's quite a neighborhood.

Cambodia beat out such illustrious states as: Yemen (140), Pakistan (141), Haiti (149), and then basically all of sub-Saharan Africa.

All in all, however, I must say how much I've enjoyed my first week here in Cambodia, living in Phnom Penh. While I will certainly have more to say on the quality of life here and the pros and cons of living here, for now suffice it to say that I would rather being living here than in Congo.

Angkor Wat(er)

My friend Nate and I spent last weekend climbing and exploring the ancient Khmer city of Angkor (802-1431AD). At its height, Angkor was the pre-imminent civilization in Southeast Asia, controlling land and projecting military power into parts of Vietnam, Laos, and Thailand. The Angkor Empire achieved much of its power and wealth through its mastery of hydrology- that is, water. National Geographic had a cover story on the civilization in July 2009. It's well worth the read, plus there are some cool interactive features, too.

Angkor was able to harness the powers of the Monsoon rains, creating run-off basins that would remain full well into the dry season. Through a series of incredibly advanced dams and irrigation canals, Angkor was able to harvest rice up to three times a year (as opposed to the normal one time of most other contemporaneous civilizations). This allowed Angkor to accumulate huge amounts of wealth.

In turn, the rulers of the ancient civilization, who viewed themselves as god-kings, used much of this wealth to construct ancient temples, such as the majestic Angkor Wat, the largest religious building in the world. The temples at Angkor comprise, in my opinion, the most amazing sites I have ever seen on this earth. That's right, I said it.

So, given this mastery of hydraulics, it was ironic to say the least that the entire town that borders the ancient temples was completely flooded while we were there. Siem Reap was indeed flooded. The temples, with one exception shown above, were dry as could be. In the town center however, there was anywhere from 3-24 inches of water in the streets.

The flooding was caused, not by the French as an Italian friend suggested, but by the heavy rains of Typhoon Ketsana, which absolutely demolished the Philippines a few days prior. Given that we only had to deal with wet feet and gloriously dry temples, we were pretty lucky.

The Interweb to the Rescue

For those of you wanting either more information or updates on the ongoing trial of the Khmer Rouge, I would suggest checking out this website: http://www.cambodiatribunal.org/index.php. It has by far the best collection of up-to-date information on the trial, as well as background on the officials currently indicted and soon to stand trial.

Memories Lost, Recovered

This is what I remember: A man standing next to his motobike, staring intensely past me. His eyes are focused so hard, I'm sure he can see the past. We're standing in Kampong Thom, a village in Cambodia, and I'm shifting my weight uncomfortably, not knowing where this conversation is headed. I don't remember the man's name, but I do remember his words:

"They're all gone. Dead. My brother. Father. Mother. Sisters. Children. Everyone..."

This is 2003 and I'm in Cambodia for the first time. And I vow I'll never go back.

Shortly after leaving Cambodia for the superficial wonderfulness that is the beaches of Southern Thailand, I wrote in an email:

"[A]bove everything, the poverty was omnipresent and some of the worst I have seen anywhere."

Reading that again, I wince. It's one of the few emails I can find in which I actually talk about my feelings about Cambodia from 2003. I have the strong suspicion that the absence of my words, the sparse record of my feelings was some sort of defense mechanism. I just didn't know how to process what I saw there. So I said nothing.

What I'm left with is my memories.

Mothers with infants begging in the streets. People talking with a sense of profound detachment about losing their family to the Khmer Rouge. Children asking for money if they can name the capital of the state you're from. Landmine victims in the streets, missing legs. Shrapnel wounds...

These are the images I'm left with. These images are what made me flee Cambodia after only 8 days in 2003. But now I'm going back in for 3 months. I'm sure it will be nothing if not intense, but I take comfort in the fact that I am not going back there as a tourist. Instead, I'm going back to work for a process that I believe in, that I believe is working to bring relief, accountability, truth back to the people I met there.

But there's one more image, the one image I can't escape. I'm fleeing Cambodia for the comforts of Thailand, and the Safe Haven is in sight. It's 100 meters away, all that stands in my way is the Cambodian passport control office. And then I see him. He's sitting on the ground because, no doubt, he has to. His body disfigured, covered in burns. But his eyes are intact, searing.

One last stomach punch.

Six Seconds from Death

During their reign from April 1975 to January 1979, it is estimated that the Khmer Rouge caused the death of approximately 1.7 million people. Out of a population of 8 million. That is almost 25% of the population that was either killed by the regime itself and dumped in one of the infamous "Killing Fields" scattered throughout the country, or, more likely, perished due to starvation resulting from the disastrous and inhumane policies of the Mao-inspired Khmer Rouge.

So, as I travel through Asia on my way to the site of so much death, to observe a process established for the very purpose of establishing accountability and truth regarding those killings, perhaps it was written that I myself should come closer to death than at any time in my own life.

You see, on August 30th, I almost died.

Six seconds, I reckon. I was six seconds away from breathing in sea water. Six seconds away from drowning while diving inside a World War Two Japanese cargo wreck off Coron, the Philippines. Six seconds away from freaking dying.

We were diving the Olympia Maru, which had been sunk in a U.S.-air raid. We were twelve minutes into the dive and twelve minutes into the ship. The 100-meter ship had fallen on its starboard side and we were winding our way through the ship's various compartments. There were narrow passages to fit through and sideways doorways to navigate.

And in amidst all this, I ran out of air. For those of you who don't dive, let me just quickly say that there probably could not be a worse place to run out of air than where we were. At first, I didn't quite know what was happening. All I knew was that suddenly, breathing air from the tank strapped to my back was like trying to suck an extra thick milkshake through a plugged straw. After two unsuccessful pulls on my primary regulator, I switched to my backup. But since my tank had run out of air, the backup was empty, too.

I'm out of air. That realization set in instantly and it was terrifying. I had no air in my lungs, because I had exhaled out my last breath in normal anticipation of breathing in more air.

I. Am. Out. Of. Air. And I'm going to die. Honestly, that was my thought process. There were no epiphanies, no flashes of memories lost and now suddenly recalled. Instead, what I was left with was, I cannot believe this is happening. I cannot believe this is where I am going to die.

Frantic, I turned around in the ship's hold and searched for my friend and diving partner Jesse, and I swam to him. I would love to say that I calmly motioned to him that, Hey, I happen to be out of air, so could you please pass me your extra regulator so that I can breathe in air again. But alas, I turned to him in a full panic, forgot how to signal that ohmyfuckinggodiamoutofair, and started groping for his extra regulator. He later said that he saw the panic in my eyes and realized what I was trying to do. He pulled out his extra regulator and passed it to me. And with literally no air in my lungs and my body telling me to breathe in anything- seawater, even!- I took the regulator into my mouth and breathed in air. Six seconds.

Back on shore later that night, I will say that the air smelled a little sweeter, the San Miguel Pilsner seemed a little cooler, and the chicken curry tasted...well, the chicken curry was actually kind of bad. I guess the poor food was my definitive clue that I had not, as of yet, reached the afterlife.

And so I wonder, when I get to Cambodia, for those that survived, is the air still a little sweeter for them; is the breeze still a little cooler; the food more compelling? Or has it all dissipated, lost through decades of corruption, unfilled promises and poverty?

"Bienvenue, Vilkomen, Come on In"

So, here's the deal. I'm going to Cambodia for the fall to intern at the Documentation Center of Cambodia (DC-Cam; http://dccam.org/) which is an non-governmental organization (NGO) that is supplying 90% of the evidence to be used in the international war crimes tribunal of the senior Khmer Rouge officials (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khmer_Rouge).

So, the real purpose of this blog is to document my experience living and working there. I was in Cambodia just under 6 years ago and it was, in a word, intense. I thought I'd never go back. But now I am and hopefully this blog will provide me with a space to not only share some of my experiences there but also to help me work through what will undoubtedly be a crazy time in my life.

But first, I need to have some fun. That's just how I do. So, on the way, I'm heading to Japan, the Philippines, Indonesia, and Borneo (Malaysia) to see some friends, family and do some scuba diving.

Word.