Post-Khmer Rouge Cambodia:
The Haunting Present By: Chath pierSath
Home,
I once thought, is a country where I was born, cuddled between enemy Thais
and Vietnamese. Others know it as the land of death and smiling people.
Throughout my childhood, I had known miseries, war and violence. There are
three generations in my family without a father. One wonders why I keep
insisting on returning to this land, this Cambodia of mass genocide. I
wasn’t sure why I went back either.
When
I returned for the first in 1994 to work as a volunteer of the Cambodian
American National Development Organization (CANDO), I went with high hopes
that I would be able to contribute something positive to the
reconstruction and development of Cambodia. The first week there was a time
of reflecting, mourning, sadness and heart wrenching observation of how
others struggle with poverty and joblessness.
Eachtime
I saw an abandoned child, I cried. I would give all I had to beggars, to
people missing limbs from landmines, and to those widows who moaned for food
to feed their hungry children.
Among those women were my two widowing sisters, who
arrived with their hands and fists full of violent stories. All my nieces
and nephews hobbled around me in awe of having an uncle from far away place
visiting them. That was our first meeting, and as time has gone by, I
learned to love them as my own flesh and blood, who I would later feel
responsible for by giving away whatever salary I made to supply them with
rice.
Weeks
turned into months and then years, facing more death and violence in my
life. I nearly had a break down. My head swelled with pain, buzzing with
thoughts of unwilling defeat over human misery. One of my brothers was dying
of AIDS. My younger sister elapsed into seizures now and then, and she would
pound her chest to rid herself of choking desperation. Each time I saw
her in that state, I couldn’t do anything, but in helplessness watched her
convulse into a dead sleep. She would cry herself to exhaustion and give in
to the dark of her closed eyes. My only aunt and uncle alive were there to
offer parentage in their resemblance of the mother and father I had lost.
Meeting my uncle was like meeting my father again. I had no memory of my
father, but the facial resembling of my uncle to him satisfied my yearning
all those years to have one.
My
sisters, in their own way, would describe their suffering to me, the way
they were robbed and beaten. The youngest one had a mark on the forehead
because one of the thieves hit her with a rifle. She was lucky that
she hadn’t been raped. The first time, they only threatened and beat them
and took whatever they could of their possessions. The second time, they
killed my sister’s husband and left her orphaned as the third widow of my
family. Mother was the first into widowhood, and then her two daughters
followed, and like me, their children were all too young to remember their
father.
One day, I locked myself up in my room and screamed
violently. I would not let anybody in, even the assistant director of my
volunteer program. I cried to exhaustion and went to sleep. Afterward, my
head felt lighter, and all those haunting memories and suffering I had seen
dissipated, at least for a while. Then, another migraine headache, as if my
head was about to explode, came pricking me in the middle of the night, and
my smallest nephew scrambled for help all in tears.
I
stayed two years in Cambodia to work as a volunteer, and my love for that
country turned to hate and disgust. I made a mental transition from a state
of cultural shock, to a process of adaptation and finally acceptance of the
hopeless situations beyond my ability to change. Political corruption,
continued killing, socio-economic inequity, joblessness, poverty and
national insecurity were rampant, and I, alone, could never change any of
that. I decided to shove those things away and concentrated on work. As I
took on more work, more people became my dependents. I could write grant
proposals to bring money for their development project as well as money for
them to have to buy food. With more work, there was more stress, and I began
to hate Cambodia even more, with my brother deteriorating to his death day
by day. Cambodia became a place of nightmares and screams. I wanted to
leave, but I stayed because of the smiling children, the warmth of those
people I know, the friendship I developed, and the simple sign of hope in
the strengths and endurance of the people.
I
still want to go home, even though I would be going to the graves of my
parents, my brother who died of AIDS, my brother-in-law and my brother who
was murdered by the Khmer Rouge. I would be going to Tuol Sleng, a high
school turned torture center and the mass grave at Choeug Ek. I would be
going back to the past in Cambodia’s present as the politicians bicker and
fight for power and social status. I am going back to the pre-Khmer Rouge
social class, where the rich spit on the poor, and the poor resented the
rich, wanting another Khmer Rouge to spill their blood again. Past lessons
have been forgotten, even though there have been talks of bringing all Khmer
Rouge leaders to justice through an international tribunal trial. This
trial, to many people, would never happen. The former Khmer Rouge leaders
are now very wealthy. Their children are now governors of provinces. King
Sihanouk has already pardoned Khieu Sampan, one of the leaders responsible
for ordering all those massacres. Tak Mok, the butcher is now in jail
awaiting trial, but due to the slowness of the Cambodian justice system, he
will soon be let free. The ordinary Cambodians don’t seem to care as they
struggle day to day for their survival. Bringing back the past, for some, is
a consolation. For others, it may be re-experiencing the horror all over
again. Some mental health experts are concerned that people would be
reliving the past if the trial were to happen.
I
personally don’t think that any trail would ever justify what they did to
us. They took away my childhood, killed my parents, destroyed my sense of
community and family, and all my hope for a freer and just world. It could
never be enough to just bring them to trial. Many people suffered, and to
this day, the remnants of that suffering remain visible. The powerful
are still dominant over the poor and the weak. The leaders think only
about themselves. They are building villas and threatening to take away
other people’s land. The ordinary people have no voice, and often times,
they give up.
The
coup d’etat led by Hun Sen in 1997 was an example of how the powerful used
their guns to deprive others of voice and hope. When I returned to Cambodia
the second time in 1999, people I talked to hate Hun Sen for what he did. He
destroyed their businesses, their hope for free enterprise and their sense
of peace and freedom. The tanks and the army shooting people took them back
to that day in 1975, when the Khmer Rouge entered the city to mark more than
twenty decades of war and massacre. Millions of dollars were lost and
any sense of security that people had, disappeared.
My
return to Cambodia in 1999 on a research mission was one of hope and
inspiration. Many people I interviewed had strengths and life lessons that
many people can learn from. A colleague, Cheryl West, who was doing her
master’s thesis on “Thriving and Resiliency,” interviewed many strong
women in leadership positions. One woman led a rebellion against the Khmer
Rouge. After escaping and surviving the Khmer Rouge, she led another
rebellion against the Vietnamese rule, and she was jailed for five years as
a result. In jail, she gave birth to a daughter in chains. She is now
working as one of the undersecretaries for the Ministry of Women and
Veteran’s Affairs. Amidst the ruins of poverty, corruption and
environmental deterioration, there are smiles, children saying hello,
laughter and festivities. Phnom Penh is full of people interacting, motors
and cars converging, cyclos carrying loads and people from place to place,
bustling with sounds and awe striking sights. One visit could never be
enough to gather bones and skulls and good memories of this torn, but
thriving land of hidden smiles and surviving people.