A History of Violence

"Better to kill an innocent by mistake than to spare an enemy"
- Pol Pot

It's a middle-class neighborhood in Phnom Penh. Though small by Asian standards, the capital city is still chaotic, lively, bright and of course noisy. This section of the city is no different. Children play in doorways, shrieking with joy. Women push fruit carts as men call to foreigners "Moto, lady? Tuk tuk?". Dogs bark incessantly and vehicles honk and weave through the mess of traffic. The pervasive smell of burning garbage adds another layer to the already stifling air.

As you make your way down Street 313 from the main thoroughfare, you pass shops where Cambodians are going about their daily business. On the corner, there's a 3-story school building from the 1960s. But something is off. You stop for a moment to take in your surroundings. Then you feel it, the chilling silence. No shouts, no laughter, no cries. There are no students. In fact, Chao Ponhea Yat High School hasn't held classes in nearly 40 years.

 

On April 17, 1975 the Khmer Rouge finally took hold of the capital. Many were relieved to see the end of the Lon Nol's puppet Vietnamese government and the civil war. No one knew of the extreme communism Pol Pot had planned for Cambodia. In a weakened society where 80% lived in severe poverty, the people had a fleeting moment of salvation.

Within 48 hours the city was abandoned, a ghost town. The Khmer Rouge forced the entire population to migrate hundreds of kilometers to rural regions of the country. On a mission to create a solely agrarian society, they expunged all centers of commerce and capitalism. Known at the time simply as Angkar ("the Institution"), their radical methodology didn't stop there. Under Pol Pot's leadership they rid Cambodia of all schools, pagodas, religion, monetary system, healthcare, and personal belongings. The idea was to return Cambodia to Year One. Compulsory farm work bordered on slavery and the living conditions were no better. Even if these farmers did manage to evade Angkar, landmines throughout the countryside prevented any real escape.

In order to enforce such a drastic transition, the Khmer Rouge needed to eliminate anyone who might challenge their authority: the educated, members of the previous government, dissidents, those who wore glasses, etc. They set up interrogation centers throughout the country. The largest, housed in the former Chao Ponhea Yat High School, was known as Tuol Sleng or Security Prison 21 (S-21). Here over 17,000 Cambodians were incarcerated during the Khmer Rouge's 3.5-year rule.

There were 7 survivors.

In 1980, just one year after the Vietnamese forced the Khmer Rouge to flee, Chao Ponhea Yat High School reopened as the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. Your visit begins in Building A which held special prisoners. The rooms have not been altered: a single rusty bed frame in the middle of the room, shackles or electrocution equipment sitting on top. Each room features a large, grotesque black-and-white photo of a tortured prisoner sprawled out on the bed or floor. Like the Nazis, the Khmer Rouge meticulously documented the horrors they inflicted daily. You continue onto Building B which is filled with photos of newly-arrived prisoners. Mounted torture photos. Written "confessions" of prisoners admitting to their collaboration with the CIA or KGB. Horrifying stories of the few survivors. 

Finally in Building C you walk past the tiny brick and wood cells, the barbed wire along the hall to prevent suicide. A display holds torture instruments. There are several photos of skulls and bones, perhaps to remind you of what's to come, of what inevitably happened to all those faces you just passed. In the courtyard a sign explains how an exercise structure had been turned into a torture device. Fourteen unmarked graves dominate the center of the yard, the bodies inside decomposed beyond recognition when the Vietnamese arrived.

 You walk out of the school into the neighborhood feeling numb and find your tuk tuk driver. You hold onto the armrest and take a breath, unable to relax knowing it's only going to get worse. 15 kms outside of the city, you arrive at the Choeung Ek Killing Fields. As a Westerner, you're unnerved by how direct they are. No euphemism. Quite literally a killing field where thousands of Cambodians were brutally murdered. You learn that this was one of 300+ sites of mass murder throughout the country from that time. Walking past the stupa, you see a lawn with huge grassy indentations. Dug-up mass graves. The man on your headset is describing the killings. That they used whatever tools they had in the shed, bludgeoning their victims to death because bullets were precious commodities. That they spread DDT on the bodies to cover the stench and to kill those who survived the beatings. You see the Killing Tree where babies' heads were smashed in. Another tree where speakers hung, blasting music to drown out the screams. You overlook a peaceful pond, crying as the man illustrates his own story and how he held onto hope. After a harrowing hour you make your way back to the stupa, peeking inside to see 17 levels of bones from the 9,000 excavated bodies.

 

I've heard several people comment that visiting the Killing Fields or Auschwitz is twisted, like when you're unable to look away from a train wreck. I don't think it has anything to do with some perverse curiosity. Rather I think it's important to recognize the past, to memorialize the death of innocents, and to acknowledge what humans are capable of. Believe me, when you stands in those rooms, you have to force yourself to look and see just how terrifying those years must have been.

2 million Cambodians lost their lives because of the Khmer Rouge. I'm not sure what disturbs me most: That 1 in 4 people died during the 3 year 8 month-long nightmare; that they were killed by fellow countrymen (of their same ethnicity); that young farm boys with no education were brainwashed to kill in the name of the Khmer Rouge; that anyone over the age of 34 is a survivor; that this very modern history not taught in American schools; that this trial is still ongoing; or that after the UN learned of the atrocities they still recognized the Khmer Rouge as the legitimate leader of Cambodia, so blinded by their fear and hatred of Vietnam.

 

Some expats say Cambodia is, for lack of a better word, fucked. I disagree but you can see why they might argue such. After losing one quarter of their population, including all the educated and many skilled professionals, they literally had to start anew. How do you educate without teachers? How do you create a health system without doctors or nurses? How can you help one another grieve and heal when nearly every family lost a member and many lost several? How do you move on but still remember? And how do you build a strong government without succumbing to the corruption so ubiquitous to these parts?

It's an uphill battle every day here in Cambodia and evidence of the Khmer Rouge's legacy has seeped into the culture. Yet you see hope there too. You see young children who understand the importance of an education. You see beautiful weddings celebrations and Buddhist ceremonies. You see day-to-day routine and plans for the distant future. It's been 34 years since the Khmer Rouge terrorized Cambodia. Today is my parent's 35th anniversary. In the time my parents spent creating a life for our family, this country has managed to stand back up and move forward. It took help and there's still plenty of work to be done, but I'm not sure I'd consider that "fucked."

On Graduating

Today is Boston University's graduate school commencement ceremony. My commencement ceremony. Technically, I graduated in January but they only dress us up in robes and dole out those $60,000 pieces of paper once a year. So one week after my twenty-fifth birthday, I should be sitting in an auditorium, clad in traditional academic regalia among friends and classmates. I should be beaming with pride as they call my name and I walk across that stage, waving at my parents. And tonight I should be celebrating our hard work, our accomplishments, and our new title: Masters.

BU 2013 Commencement Ceremony

Instead my Saturday consisted of catching up on my favorite television show, reading in bed, having a solo dinner at my regular spot and playing music trivia at one of the guesthouses. (In all fairness, the trivia was in support of a local NGO.) I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bummed about missing my own graduation. Who doesn't like an excuse to celebrate? I worked harder in grad school than ever before and would have relished the moment. But I've been pretty far removed from Boston this past year. From the Philippines back to California and now Cambodia, it has hardly been a student's life.

In the past two months, I've put said Master of Public Health degree to use, ceremony or not. My role at Cambodian Child's Dream Organization (CCDO) is as the Women's Health and Education Center Manager. But in actuality, the job requires me to be at the front end of all of our education, health, water well, agricultural and collaboration programs. At least for the time being.

Our health projects are fairly basic: workshops on domestic violence, education on hand washing and toothbrushing, breakfast programs for the students to decrease malnutrition. These are simple solutions to reduce morbidity and mortality. Simple in concept, though decidedly more difficult in practice, especially among children. Working for a small NGO, I have the ability to change programs, suggest improvements and implement entirely new concepts. My inexperience makes me second-guess myself. It takes daily reminders that I have studied and prepared for this sort of work.

We are a grassroots organization, continuously reshaping ourselves as we gain further resources and expertise as well as a greater understanding of the needs of those we cater to. CCDO began by building a few water wells back in 2007. Today we've built nearly 700 wells, with another 100+ donated. Each well costs $250, serving 30-40 people (multiple families) for 8-10 years. But once you arrive at a village, you realize how much more work there is to be done. So we moved into the schools, providing English classes and a breakfast program. We built a playground, more toilets, and tippy taps for hand washing. In the villages we hold health workshops. Now we're collaborating with hotels in town and hope to begin our agricultural project soon. The list grows by the week.

Our projects bring small changes and they take time to discern a positive impact. Some days you wonder why you're even doing this at all. Those are the days I like to find myself at the primary school, watching the happy-go-lucky children and remembering this is for them. Because they deserve a better life after the war and the genocide, the sickness and the famine, the poverty and the lack of resources Cambodia has seen in the past 50 years. I just graduated with my Master's degree, as did quite a few of my friends this week. Here the kids will be part of the minority if they continue past Grade 6. If that's not enough of a reason, I don't know what is.

Kelly arrives on Tuesday and I'm excited to get to share my life in Cambodia with someone who knows me so well from home. Someone who's seeing the country through fresh eyes. Someone who's never been to a developing country before. Let's hope she's ready!

But returning to the present, congratulations to my fellow BUSPHers - we did it!!! I was there with you all in spirit, as you tossed your caps and proceeded back down the aisle as Masters. Good luck to you, wherever this degree takes you. And if it takes you to Southeast Asia, don't be a stranger.

1st Day of BU School of Public Health, Sept 2011

Back in Action

I've been here a month in the Kingdom of Cambodia. Long enough for me to secure a job, a house, a bike, a few friends (though they might deny it), a good number of colleagues and a routine which includes Monday "Game of Thrones" + noodles Night. From Khmer New Year to my work in the villages, I haven't been without material to write about. Yet I didn't. Even my journal remains tucked in the drawer by my bed, the latest entry from my layover in Singapore. I've sent periodic emails and kept up with loved ones, but the blog remained untouched.

Part of this reluctance to write stems from a disappointment in myself. I fully believe you are only as good as your word, and right now my word is less than reliable. Our ambitious plans to begin our own NGO focusing on volunteering and women's health here in Siem Reap are not being realized. Upon hearing this development, the reaction I receive from most is a mixture of "I told you so" and "You shouldn't feel bad." The reasoning for halting our plans is legitimate, but no matter how many times I remind myself that, it feels like a creative excuse.  

When I came to Siem Reap at the beginning of April, I wasn't sure what would happen to our grand idea. My partner, Anna, cannot join me until the fall. Ironically, living here and working for an established NGO relieved some of my concerns about starting our own organization. This is not to say it would be some modest undertaking. I just found myself less overwhelmed by the process, with renewed confidence in my own abilities. My issues and concerns morphed, resembling the darker forms of disillusionment and misdirection. Should I really be promoting "voluntourism"? Will this growing sub-industry prove beneficial? Or will it just be another example of the West trying, with the best of intentions, to help only to cause further dependency? Are volunteers and Westerners taking away jobs from locals, who have nowhere else to go for work? What happens when we leave? 

And you wonder why I haven't blogged yet...

All of my friends here also work for local NGOs, so I'm not alone in this dilemma. These are the questions we reflect upon. And our answers, generally speaking, can be summed up in a quote from Across the Universe: "Surely, it's not what you do, but the way you do it" (pardon the random, yet applicable movie reference). Meaning that these local organizations need to be responsible. If you aren't qualified to run a school in the US, what makes you think you are in Cambodia? Yes, you may be the most educated. There tends to be an arrogance that comes along with an education. I have a Master's degree and am often the most educated person in the room. But I'm not about to give financial planning advice to local businesses here. Because my degree is in HEALTH. If we want to help the developing world develop, we cannot treat them so differently and cut corners. We need to leave the superiority complex at the door. We can help by training and educating and working alongside one another to find solutions to their greatest problems. If you're coming over here to, as my roommate says, "hug some brown kids" and feel better about yourself, then you're not likely to leave a positive impact. As volunteer or as a director of an NGO. 

So will I start my own NGO? Honestly, I have no idea. I'm still an advocate of volunteering abroad (responsibly). At the moment, I can do more good working for my current organization than founding a volunteer group. Guess we'll just have to wait and see...

And with that happy little post, I leave you with this adorable picture of the older women from the hand washing workshop last Friday. Check back soon for updates on my work (for realz), my life in Siem Reap and the big 2-5! :)