Cambodia Rising
Arrival
The most lurid revelations often arise from the fathomless depths of inimical darkness.
Some kind of chaos had been repudiated back in Thailand, persecuting demons of a torrential disposition, and from the ashes of their fevered exodus emerged a phoenix of exonerated freedom surpassing the usual denotations of that platitudinous word. The future was now bright. However, there remained a more subtle malignancy of suppressed strife and brooding manifesting in parallel with the melancholy apologue of a nation's past and as the aircraft was dragooned into its descent I bade adieu to the phosphorescent lines of golden sunlight streaming across the sky, for it was time to search within and it was time to seek Cambodia.
Some kind of chaos had been repudiated back in Thailand, persecuting demons of a torrential disposition, and from the ashes of their fevered exodus emerged a phoenix of exonerated freedom surpassing the usual denotations of that platitudinous word. The future was now bright. However, there remained a more subtle malignancy of suppressed strife and brooding manifesting in parallel with the melancholy apologue of a nation's past and as the aircraft was dragooned into its descent I bade adieu to the phosphorescent lines of golden sunlight streaming across the sky, for it was time to search within and it was time to seek Cambodia.
Phnom Penh
I confronted a barren airport in Phnom Penh devoid of the indefatigable tumult that marks other such constructs in nations not yet known to most of Cambodia's people. Boarding a squalid tuk-tuk driven by an affable man named Sing, we juxtaposed our vehicle amid the metallic denizens of the teeming roadways, plunging into oncoming traffic through a series of controlled gambits that would have invoked wrathful retribution in any western nation and yet here were not only acceptable but expediently necessary. On the city outskirts we rode along dirt roads adorned by the destitute bivouacs of the poverty-stricken inhabitants of those regions and in the city proper we swept by crowded avenues flanked by saloons bearing shamelessly renowned symbols of western expansion, places like Costa Coffee and Domino's Pizza, before finally pulling up to Envoy HosteI.
The receptionist greeted me warmly with a beaming smile and after a brief introduction and the sorting out of the usual particulars she looked me straight in the eye and remarked "You are friendly." I did in fact feel more amiable during that moment then ever before and hoped that it would be a lasting repercussion, an augury of things to come and not some mocking chimera like so many desires before it. "Akun" I replied in thanks. The next morning I fell in with the unassuming Jack from Ireland and we sidled along several streets of congested traffic to visit the Tuol Sleng Genocide museum, formerly known as Security Prison 21 (S-21). This cold edifice was one of the most important facilities by which the Khmer Rouge, communist insurgents turned rulers who presided over Cambodia from 1975 to 1979, incarcerated and tortured and executed some 20,000 prisoners in a malevolent purgatorial holocaust. On their initial day of confinement these sorry unfortunates were photographed and forced to recount in detail the story of their entire earthly existence from early childhood to later arrest and on their final day either bashed or sliced or skinned or cruelly murdered some other way in a pandemonium of blood. In the early years of this slaughter most of the victims were government officials and soldiers from the previous regime as well as doctors and teachers and engineers and other educated members of the populace but in later years the purges diversified to include members of the Khmer Rouge itself. I could do naught in such a place other than try to learn and understand, personal lamentations being of no comfort to the former residents of this facility. To this end I ducked into a small dusty side-room and watched a documentary profiling the calamitous recollections of a few S-21 survivors and then perused room after room displaying the photographs of so many fallen martyrs. I briefly strolled through the tiny prison chambers but it dawned on me that my cup was full and I dedicated the rest of my time to sitting on a bench outside, eavesdropping on the gentle hushing sounds of the wind caressing the silently swaying trees. There is more than just history to Cambodia's capital city of Phnom Penh and its one and a half million people. Visible everywhere are the broad smiles of the Khmers, the predominant ethnic group comprising 90% of Cambodia's population, although a smile does not necessarily mean that a person is happy. Opportunities abound for those with ample finances and as such multitudes of expatriates and tourists dot the more trendy scenes of the city; some are good, some are not. Perhaps the most striking feature of Phnom Penh and its Khmer citizens is a sense of unsuspecting innocence that renders them vulnerable to the corrupting influences of enemies both foreign and domestic who enslaved by their own insecurities seek to buy or coerce or control others in their rainbow quest for power. Now to find isolation. |
The Mekong River meanders through Phnom Penh.
Statue of the late King Sihanouk.
The Latin Quarter.
Documentary of recollections from the victims and jailers of S-21.
One of several buildings at S-21.
To prevent suicides, barbed wire was placed along the upper walkways of the buildings at S-21.
A hearty meal with Jack from Ireland.
|
Koh Totang
The bus to Cambodia's southwest rode over a flat featureless landscape bereft of any notable natural formations other than the sun itself which sat pulsating and luminous like a pyrolatrous fixity amidst the archipelagos of clouds crawling across the sky. Being the last of the passengers save one young cordial Cambodian fellow whose name I do not recall, I disembarked at the road's terminus and boarded a dinghy captained by Ot, a man of few words who was to ferry me over to the island of Koh Totang. He wore an old motorcycle helmet with a visor so as to avoid being dashed by the pounding waves as we crossed an angry sea; lacking a helmet of my own I could not partake in such a luxury but fortunately the voyage was swift and over in twenty minutes.
Since much of Cambodia's shoreline caters to tourism discovering a venue away from this at times questionable industry was of more than a passing interest to me and after some deliberation and speculation I chose to spend a week at Nomads Land, a modest getaway on the diminutive island of Koh Totang run by Nicole and Tony, an Australian couple, and staffed by Ot and his wife Chantal, local Cambodians. I was the sole guest on that isle for most of the week aside form a volunteer couple helping out, Ricky from Mexico and Cynthia from Latvia. The island tantalized me with a propitious heliotropic sunset at the start of my week and a conciliatory crimson sunrise at its conclusion. In the interim the weather raged - at what I do not know - with lightning and thunder and vehement winds all conspiring to force me into a state of poignant rumination. The days were wet and bland with my only cortege being the intermittent patter of the rain and the metronomic oration of the waves. The nights began with spangles of primal energy hurtling down from the heavens escorted by deafening detonations and maniacal squalls yet after a few hours this hysterical anarchy would regress in silent capitulation to the suzerainty of a gibbous moon which reigned over its now peaceful dominion in atavistic aplomb, and did not judge. It was amongst this impromptu opera of nature that I spent several days consciously delving into my preterite lives, starting with the earliest flashes that my mind could recall and writing down all such memories from the earliest years of childhood to the present moment, the now, in which this seething maelstrom had me so arrantly pinned. To this end I wrote like an inspired itinerant madman, not only reliving prior events but also associating them with others of a similar ilk so as to perceive the how of my arrival to this existing point in time and space. This exercise is not to be taken lightly or without earnest consideration given to the suppressed islands that litter the ocean of one's past, the cognizance of which can often rise up in the form of black and livid phantasmagoria whose single terrible purpose is to smite the unprepared soul with fear and regret and loathing. I scoured all and unearthed many long-forgotten recollections that needed to be recalled and brought into a balefire of light not so that I could linger on them but rather that I might learn from them so as to further awareness, which is all. During less introspective times I explored Koh Totang like Robinson Crusoe but with far fewer days to do so than he. The cascading downpours briefly relented one day allowing me to trudge over to the far side of the island. The waves were stronger there and threw up walls of impetuous spume against the rocks as they waltzed to the celestial melodies of the cosmos. The pantheon of the universe and its creations vocalizes with a greater authority and humility than any ideology ever has or ever could or ever will. The past being the past it could not hold me down in any meaningful way and having learned all that was needed I left seclusive Koh Totang so as to meet more of the worthy people of this country called Cambodia. Now to renounce isolation. |
A breathtaking sunset on Koh Totang.
My hut, almost worthy of Robinson Crusoe.
View from my porch during a limited break from the storm.
The far side of Koh Totang.
Waves.
My island company - Ricky from Mexico, Cynthia from Latvia, and Ot and Chantal from Cambodia.
A farewell sunrise on Koh Totang.
|
New Hope Cambodia
I pressed on by boat, bus, and plane to the city of Siem Reap in Cambodia's northwest in an effort to search out a sociable quietude that might constitute the diametrical opposite of the tempests both existential and otherwise that had assailed me on that isle. My goal was an organization called New Hope Cambodia. I was greeted at the airport by Joe, a polite New Zealander with a slightly mocking sense of humour who had been volunteering at New Hope Cambodia for some time, and he escorted me to the residency of Golden Village, my abode for the next month. After a restful night I woke up at daybreak on a Sunday and met several other volunteers over my butter coffee and their breakfast including the kind and loquacious Mark from Australia; everyone was graciously invited to a wedding reception later that day in which we were all served generous portions of local hospitality in the guise of plate after plate of delicious Cambodian fare.
Later in the afternoon I reconnoitred Siem Reap, a relatively placid city of 175,000 residents. While Siem Reap lacks Phnom Penh's size the two are alike in the severity of the chasm of economic disunion divorcing local from sightseer as evidenced by the excess of poverty espied in the outer slums and yonder countryside villages the likes of which cradle a prospering city boasting scores of extravagant hotels and exotic nightclubs and sumptuous restaurants in a superficial shroud of feigned happiness attempting to cloak a deeper rancor of indigence that only feels good if one does not look behind the veil. Returning to Golden Village that evening I stumbled upon a young girl in her late teens with foam fountaining out of her mouth writhing and jerking and thrashing on the side of the street as a group of inquisitive bystanders looked on in uncertain concern. Now if there is any kind of emergency situation that a neurologist is most suited for it is this very one, often but not always the result of en epileptic seizure. I ensured that she was clear of any additional hazards and placed my duffel bag under her head and rolled her over to one side whilst she carried on for three more minutes. She was shaking her head and hips in such an atypical manner for epilepsy that I leant towards an alternative differential and after checking vital signs and performing a few "roadside tests" concluded that this was in all probability a psychogenic non-epileptic attack. When she had fully recovered I moved on and in doing so posited that a neurologist in Cambodia might be more useful than I had initially thought, a presage of the weeks ahead. Monday morning arrived and I rode tuk-tuk style with a few other volunteers towards Mondul 3, one of the poorest slums in Cambodia. In this transient community of displaced and broken military families most of the men are or were soldiers and as such have been maimed or killed and many of the women are or were involved in the prostitution industry such that more than a few are broken and too many of the children have been abused in the most sinister sense of that word and even so remain at perpetual risk of slipping into the loathsome clutches of the child trafficking trade. Living conditions range from onerous to atrocious. We hurtled through the muddy lanes of Mondol 3 until arriving at New Hope Cambodia, a non-government organization founded in 2007 by a Khmer named Soth Kemsour who recognized the need for food and education and healthcare in the area; through his efforts and those of others the organization has grown from its humble origins as a grass hut to a small complex of buildings providing free education and healthcare to anyone who cannot afford to pay for it. New Hope Cambodia employs local Cambodians as well as foreigners; the bulk of the volunteers help out with teaching. My own destination was the medical clinic attached to the school. I planned to spend a month at New Hope Cambodia and after a short orientation ambled over and met the staff as they diligently managed the morning influx of patients. The Cambodian staff consisted of two doctors, one triage nurse, one pharmacist, one translator, one assistant pharmacist/translator, and two receptionists while the volunteer staff consisted of one doctor (that would be me), a nurse, an assistant pharmacist, and a medical student - all in all a convivial troupe with the right balance of animated playfulness and austere professionalism culminating in an undulating harmony mandatory to the sustained operations of any medical clinic. I was immediately posted to an office with the lovely Malineth, one of the Cambodian doctors, and she interpreted for me on that initial day as my brain adjusted to a new culture and environment not to mention a number of unfamiliar conditions - pediatric ailments chief among these - which being trained in adult general medicine and neurology I had not confronted for a decade and even then in no significant way. It seemed that Malineth was satisfied with my inaugural performance such that by Tuesday I was working independently alongside one of the chatty and humorous translators Oul or Sreymean or Chanroum and by Wednesday the staff had transformed the storage room into a spacious office for their volunteer medic. The ensuing month rolled by in a gratifying blur as a fluctuating stream of endearing whimsical folk meandered into my new headquarters ranging from wide-eyed curious infants with trivial infections to stoic octogenarians bearing serious infirmities. The biggest surprise of all was the enormous burden of disabling neurological disease that traipsed or limped or rolled into the medical clinic from headaches to seizures to dystonias and even stranger conditions, the latter best defined by their ability to keep a humble neurologist awake at night probing the blackness for diagnostic and therapeutic epiphanies that may never come. While the lion's share of my time was devoted to the medical clinic, twice a week a few of us ventured off to the village hinterland to visit those patients incapable of travelling to New Hope Cambodia in any way or shape or form. King Tai, our driver, deftly slalomed us through the puddles and chickens and dogs sharing the road while I gazed upon a shifting topography ranging from pastoral landscapes to delapidated shanties to cauterized wastelands and as we whizzed through the villages some of the older folk froze in postures of dazed inquisitiveness whilst the children gleefully scurried after us demanding high-fives and bequeathing ecstatic smiles as they skipped to the soundtrack of their own elated jubilant laughter. The patients whom we visited in their homes were without exception extremely disabled and cared for by a devoted family member as they lay either on the floor or a sturdy piece of wood outside. Once again neurological ailments reigned supreme ranging from incapacitating strokes to ungoverned disorders of movement to insidious afflictions of chronic pain; these were followed by rheumatological maladies and chronic wounds, the latter sometimes ignored by the patient for so long a time that they achieved monstrous dimensions rendering them practically impossible to treat given the limited resources. If there was one underlying factor that subverted and impeded and defiled my clinical objectives and those of the medical clinic at every conceivable turn it was poverty. Destitution. Exiguity. Pauperism. A hydra with many heads that could lead one to be overwhelmed by frustration and despair and anguish should they pause too long in contemplating how to slay the beast as a whole. All one could do was tackle each patient's issues one at a time and if any tests or medications were deemed imperative yet not affordable by either the patient or medical clinic then financial support from a volunteer doctor appeared to be morally and ethically obligatory, drops in a gargantuan ocean seemingly without end but potentially crucial drops for the person in front of me. In the midst of my tenure at New Hope Cambodia, Oul introduced me to Khem Veasna, founder and leader of one of Cambodia's national political parties, the League for Democracy Party. Khem treated me to an excellent dinner with a dozen of his supporters and the two of us debated Cambodian history and politics and Buddhism all evening although Khem took on the brunt of the discussion with his more personal knowledge of the subject matter. We discussed the apocryphal actions of so many Cambodian political leaders past and present each more concerned with gaining power and criticizing others than in helping the people and devising solutions; a true leader possesses is not really a leader in the classical sense but rather a visionary with a pure heart and a humble wisdom and a conscientious vision for with these qualities such a luminary seeks to enlighten others to think for themselves rather than establish a parade of devoted adherents who accept anything they are told. Khem and I saw eye to eye on this. However, when he launched into a disquisition on the Khmer Rouge we clashed hotly and vigorously. The widely published doctrine that one reads in nearly all the books is that the Khmer Rouge leader Pol Pot held absolute control over Cambodia from 1975 to 1979 and therefore he is largely if not entirely responsible for the murders of two million people during his time in office, a genocidal maniac if there ever was one. To my initial shock and anger Khem flatly stated that this was preposterous propaganda and offered an alternative theory, that Pol Pot's authority was undermined on multiple levels by the covert operations of a duplicitous Vietnam, a thesis that exonerates Pol Pot from much of the massacre and by the reckoning of some even paints him as a sort of nationalistic hero. I was deeply troubled by this second theory which was at odds with everything I thought I knew about the Khmer Rouge and went home to a restless night followed by an infernal headache all morning as my mind churned over what Khem had told me. The echoes of that conversation gnawed at me for a month, for here was a darkness of historical subterfuge where no amount of reading might ever reveal the light of truth. Which theory was true and who was to blame? Both? In the end and after much cogitation I decided that the answer to this question was that perhaps it did not matter for regardless of whether we condemn Pol Pot or Vietnam the responsible party acted upon an ideology that may have been good in its earlier stages but was ultimately warped and twisted and used to justify acts of evil in its later stages. Any ideology is only as good as its ability to be willingly and internally embraced by each and every individual it encounters; if it must be forcibly imposed for its continued survival then said ideology is inherently broken or is no longer useful or has become extremist and if not discarded will only disseminate pain and suffering as evidenced by the tragedies that occurred during the era of Cambodia's Khmer Rouge and the doctrines of other misled nations throughout modern history. There is a better way. My final days at New Hope Cambodia were wistfully pleasant. Working to the smiles and laughter of children is good for the soul. |
Siem Reap, more relaxed than Phnom Penh.
Poverty underlies the tourism in Siem Reap.
I finally made it to New Hope Cambodia, free education and health care for anyone in need.
The children line up for morning assembly.
This volunteer, James from Australia, encourages his class to sing for all the others.
The New Hope Cambodia medical clinic from the outside.
Many mothers and children from Mondul 3 come to the medical clinic.
Working in the office with my friend Oul, translator and Renaissance man, and two of our gracious patients.
Vantin and Malineth, the kind and caring local doctors.
Leakenai, the outstanding pharmacist.
The other two volunteers, Sahar, an assistant pharmacist from the UK, and Jane, a nurse from Australia.
Most of the medical clinic crew at New Hope Cambodia.
Mondol 3 as seen from the home of a patient.
King Tai, our driver, proudly poses with his trusty tuk-tuk in front of the home of a patient in one of the outer villages.
The sometimes shy grandchildren of the same patient.
Visiting the home of a patient in one of the outer villages, and their livestock.
Some of the medical clinic crew on my last day.
Farewell from New Hope Cambodia.
Children playing in front of the medical clinic.
|
Angkor
In ages past the Khmer ancestors of Cambodia established and presided over the vast dominion of the Khmer Empire, a Hindu-Buddhist civilization that flourished for over 600 years from 802 AD to 1431 AD. The origins of this mighty realm started with the Khmer warrior prince Jayavarman II who upon vanquishing and subjugating so many circumambient Khmer states proclaimed in divine ceremonial fashion the genesis of a single unified kingdom that as the years and decades and centuries crept by grew to encompass most of Southeast Asia including much of modern Thailand and Laos and southern Vietnam. The Khmer Empire enjoyed an enduring line of successful rulers after Jayacarman II, mostly warriors but some of whom expanded the empire without resorting to warfare and concentrated on voluminous building projects instead. Rice farming formed the economic backbone of the Khmer Empire and as such monolithic hydraulics systems were constructed with complicated networks of canals and giant water reservoirs ensuring a reliable water supply for farming.
The capital city of the Khmer Empire at its apex was the megalopolis of Angkor, a name derived from the Sanskrit word for "Holy City," situated in and around present day Siem Reap. During its zenith from the 11th to 13th centuries, Angkor held one million people - an incredible 0.1% of the world's population - spread out over a surface area of 1,000 square kilometers (390 square miles) - twice that of Manhattan. Angkor was truly awesome in every sense, the largest pre-industrial center that the earth has ever known. The peak of Khmer art and architecture remains alive today in Angkor's magnificent temples the most stunning of which may be Angkor Wat and the Bayon. Built in the 12th century by king Suryavarman II, Angkor Wat is the most colossal religious monument in the world and while originally erected as a Hindu temple it was later transformed into a Buddhist temple. Angkor Wat is a powerful symbol of Cambodia and a source of immense national dignity and pride. Built in the late 12th or early 13th century by king Jayavarman VII as his official state temple, the Bayon is equally impressive with its huge sets of bas-reliefs depicting various scenes from the mythological to the historical to the ordinary and it is this unlikely collaboration that underpins Angkor's essence. My friend Jay from the US whom I had met in Thailand happened to be in the area for a day and that was all that was needed to experience Angkor Wat and the Bayon both of which emit nobility and stateliness as the sun emanates light. Some kind of translucent adamantine force protects these structures as the centuries fall and and it cannot be seen or heard or touched yet it is stronger than the stone of the edifices themselves and it will never be destroyed. |
Angkor Wat.
Side view of Angkor Wat.
Inside Angkor Wat with Jay from the US.
The Bayon.
Countless bas-reliefs in the Bayon depict scenes from the mythological to the historical to the ordinary.
|
Departure
Since the majesty of the Khmer Empire, Cambodia has been ruled by corrupt kleptocrats and frivolous reprobates and revolutionary zealots more interested in hoarding power and criticizing others and imposing ideology than they are in helping the people. Perhaps what is needed more than any leader or ideology is a simple visionary who merely leads by example and abides by the grace of the golden rule - do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Cambodia can rise above its historically extremist road to perdition if the people want it badly enough for as Buddha said "The mind is everything, what you think, you become" and with this enlightenment one cannot be stopped by any spiteful prison or any maniacal storm or any overwhelming poverty they all fade into oblivion revealing a dynasty of ancient solace that never abandoned me and it never abandoned Cambodia it has always been there there just waiting and hoping and praying for those with the strength of will to believe in a vision and the courage to act on it.