The Seoul-Incheon Airport was a shocking place to arrive Wednesday at 6:15 a.m. local time, for several reasons. Coming from the Phnom Penh airport, Seoul-Incheon is positively space-aged. A description of the departure process at PP may help explain this shock value: you pull up in a beat-up-old car that’s been converted into a taxi-cab, pay the driver more than you know it should cost, and then push your way through at least a hundred Cambodians waiting outside for people to exit. The whole process of getting through the check-in line, customs, and security takes about 30 minutes at most. (That is, unless your name is Samantha Sondag, which the Korean Airlines representative recognizes, remarking that you’re the one who kept calling about re-routing to Los Angeles even though she told you every time the flights are full. Then they give you a little more grief.) There are 10 gates, 4 of which I’ve never seen in use.

Incheon, on the other hand, was designed to function as a self-contained city. There are designer stores everywhere, coffee shops, restaurants, lounges, educational cultural centers, spas, and even “transit hotels” for overnight travelers.








I can drink the water, not buy it?? Yay!!

















Hold up, toilet paper can go IN the toilet? It's official: I've entered heaven.





I emerged into this foreign world of stainless steel and potable water fountains completely delirious. The night before my flight I hardly slept for nerves about leaving, then, on the red-eye flight to Seoul, I was placed in a seat that refused to stay reclined, forcing my neck into odd positions not complementary with the constant turbulence.

Thus, my sleep debt grew such that I was unable to contemplate the best way to exit the gate when I arrived in Seoul. I blindly walked into the transfer area, only to realize I’d entered a clean quarantine area from which I’d never be able to find my friend who was also arriving in Seoul an hour later for a long layover he intended to spend with family. I slept-walk through the terminals to find a rabbit-hole exit until I literally smacked into a group of scary Korean security guards who did not understand who or what I was looking for and yelled at me.

At this point, I gave up on finding my friend—I’m sure he met up with his family just fine. Seeing as I was unable to avoid angering the authorities in a clean, quarantined airport, I decided my plan to go into the city for the 14 hour layover could result in some possibly negative outcomes, not excluding Korean prison. Instead I checked into one of the “transit hotels” mentioned above. I paid $54 to sleep in a very nice room with TV, AC, and shower for 6 hours. Best 54 dollars I’ve ever spent, and significantly less, I am sure, than a bail-out from Korean prison.

I emerged from the dark room realizing I hadn’t eaten for many unknown hours and was ravenous. However, I was also still hungover from the Nyquil I’d taken and had difficulty choosing anything except a Starbucks soy latte, and this after an exhausting exchange with the barista about the USD to Won exchange rate. A few hours later I was competent enough to enter one of the Korean foodcourts AND to identify a dish I’d read about in the literary masterpiece that is the Korean Airlines in-flight magazine. It’s this cold buckwheat noodle soup that’s very popular in North and South Korea during the summer, composed of a pile of noodles topped with beef, a boiled egg, and pickled fruit and vegetables. The buckwheat noodles were delicious, although the slab of gray beef made an immediate departure from my bowl, and I never became wholly comfortable with the slight sweetness of the broth, deriving from the fruits and vinegar.

















A few hours later, I was making my way through the entire airport, as I do during every long layover, repeatedly encountering my security guard friends madly waving me away from certain doors and gates. During this exploration I found a restaurant featuring a much better looking picture of the noodles, and a much better price. Fail.

Bangkok

Last weekend (July 23), myself and five other Phnom Penh-ers descended into Bangkok, Thailand for a long weekend. I wouldn't have selected Bangkok for a Thai experience, but our friend’s father works at Holiday Inn and managed to get us 2 rooms at a 5 star hotel at $60/night. So we discretely jammed more persons than allowed into the rooms and embarked on a strange weekend of luxury.

Our really nice room!

I’ve been uncomfortable for much of my stay in Phnom Penh precisely because my wealth and privilege is so apparent. I regularly eat at nice places where meals cost $4 instead of 4000 reales (less than a dollar), and turn on my air conditioning most nights to sleep while others opt for outdoor mosquito-netted hammocks rather than their homes. Bangkok, though, brings this disparity to a whole new level. Luxury isn’t the strange occurrence—it’s the strived-for rule, or at least that’s what the skyscraper buildings, $20 movie theatres, VIP clubs, and designer malls would have you believe. Of course, the fact that we were staying at the Intercontinental Hotel in the most expensive area of the city didn’t downplay that reality at all.












Remember the May protests in Bangkok? Our hotel overlooked the remains of the Zen store at the foot of the Central Shopping Mall.


The first night we slept for 11 hours. Can you believe it?? I slept for 11 hours! It’s incredible how light-canceling shades and being 30 floors removed from fried-egg sellers can calm your subconscious. I don’t think I’ve had a moment of happiness in months greater than when I discovered it was 11 a.m.! That night we went to dinner/drinks on the semi-sketchy, mostly-fun tourist/backpacker road (Khaosan). Very fun, relatively inexpensive, and not opulent at all.

The final night, to celebrate a friend’s completion of her internship, we ended up at a high security club where flip-flops were banned (a 24 hour shoe rental store was conveniently next door) and my flats were VERY much looked-down-upon. This was where the young Thai elites hang out, and I felt 100% uncomfortable. It's was a strange discomfort, because I enjoy the occasional ritzy-night out in the States. I guess when you’re in a region where the poverty is so apparent, the guilt is inescapable. I could not even afford the drinks there, but a friend who is significantly looser with her money insisted on purchasing them, thereby binding me into staying. Extravagent displays of wealth are certainly lauded in the U.S., but they are also scorned (think Paris Hilton). Here, however, I feel that the tempering scorn is lacking mostly because the desire for material wealth, basic or exorbitant, is so great.

Bangkok’s traffic was crazy, the airport was cram-packed, and I was so unexpectedly happy to return to Phnom Penh, with its utter lack of skyline or 5 star anything!

On another note, the Royal Palace was AMAZING—a more bejeweled Angkor! Speaking of opulence, I’ve never seen more gold or precious stones in one place in my life.

Siem Reap and Angkor Wat

Early in July, I traveled south to the city of Siem Reap with three friends from Phnom Penh. Siem Reap is the town immediately adjacent to Angkor, Cambodia’s famous temple area/ Angkor housed Khmer royalty from the 9th-13th centuries, when the empire was very powerful. Kings built temples, or, let’s be real, they ordered slaves to build temples, to show their authority. The buildings reflected the society’s dual Hindu/Buddhist population. The tall temples are typically Hindu in nature, as their height reflects the many gods of that religion; the longer ones are typically Buddhist, representing the Buddha’s singularity and humility.
Ranch style temple

building upward style temple

At least that’s what our incredible tu-tuk driver Mr. Thom told us. We stayed at this wonderful inn about 5 km. outside the downtown of Siem Reap, owned by a highly opinionated and talkative Australian with two similarly fashioned parrots. Mr. Thom was the best of the Inn’s many perks. He picked us up from the bus station in the most beautiful tuk-tuk I’ve ever seen: a freshly polished black and white vehicle which we immediately and unquestionably recognized as the “limousine of tuk-tuks.” He’d even built a gorgeous wood cooler for keeping face towels and water bottles ice cold for riders! Mr. Thom is so fascinated by and knowledgeable about Angkor that he is known as “the temple nerd” and drove the National Geographic team around when they did a spread on Angkor a few years ago. He was able to tell us the depth of the moat around Angkor Wat during dry season and wet season.

Mr. Thom explaining some ancient myth.

The ruins are incredible. One of the temples, once colloquially known as the “jungle temple,” is now referred to as the Tomb Raider Temple by guidebooks, tourists, and locals because Angelina Jolie/Lara Croft discovered a time-changing device there in a terrible 2001 movie.

Tomb Raider temple :)
It’s incredible how preserved these temples are. They were basically abandoned when the empire fell in the 13th century (think monkeys playing in the Jungle Book) and then rediscovered by French colonialists in the 17th century who began the preservation, restoration, and credit-claiming process.

Jessica climbing a temple

The town of Siem Reap exploded when Angkor became a tourist-destination. The abject poverty was pushed to the side (nearer where I stayed) as bars and hotels took over the town’s main front. We spent our last morning on terrible one speed beach cruiser bikes exploring these poor villages en route to a remote temple, per the Aussie’s recommendation. It was so much fun (and so sweaty!) Yet there is something charming about the meticulously maintained green space and French colonial architecture, which is wholly absent in Phnom Penh.

It was a wonderful weekend.

Some background to this verdict thing

Below I've pasted a summary of the Duch case to which I referred in my last post. It gives a little background to who he is and why and how he is being tried. Hope this fills in a few missing pieces!


Case 001: KAING GUEK EAV, alias DUCH

Background

Kaing Guek Eav, alias ‘Duch,’ the former secretary of Democratic Kampuchea security center S-21, was the first Khmer Rouge figure to stand trial before the Extraordinary Chambers of the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC). For his leadership of S-21, in which more than 15,000 people are estimated to have died, the defendant was charged with Crimes Against Humanity, Grave Breaches of the Geneva Conventions of 1949, and homicide and torture pursuant to the 1956 Penal Code.

Duch was discovered in March 1999 in Samlot district, and unlawfully detained by the Cambodian Military Court between 10 May 1999 until July 30 2007, when the ECCC issued its order of provisional detention. Duch was indicted in August 2008, and substantive hearings took place from February 17, 2009 through September 17, with closing submissions presented in late November. The Prosecution asked for forty years imprisonment for the Accused. Duch requested acquittal on the final day, a surprise to many considering his admission of responsibility during the trial.

Ms. Chea Lang served as National Co-Prosecutor, and Mr. Robert Petit, and later Mr. William Smith, served as International Co-Prosecutors. Mr. Kar Savuth and Mr. Francois Roux led the defense.

Personal History of the Accused

Duch was born in the village of Poevveuy in Kompong Thom province and worked as a mathematics teacher in Skoun. He had clear communist leanings and in 1967 went into hiding with the Khmer Rouge movement to avoid political persecution. He nonetheless was arrested in 1968, then set free in 1970 by the Lon Nol-led military coup that deposed King Sihanouk. From 1971 until 1975, Duch chaired M13, an early Khmer Rouge security center located in Amleang, Kompong Speu province. Here Duch stated his role was to “beat, interrogate and smash [the party’s euphemism for kill]’ the prisoners, who were presumed spies of Lon Nol.

The crimes committed at M13 occurred before the Democratic Kampuchea era officially commenced in 1975, and as such are outside the Court’s jurisdiction; however, the Trial Chamber determined that Duch’s actions at the prison prove his knowledge of and input in the development of the DK prisons in question, and informed his actions at S21.

Kaing Guek Eav and S21

When the army of the Communist Party of Kampuchea (CPK) took the capital in 1975, Duch was appointed Deputy-Secretary of Office S-21, and then served as its Chairman and Secretary until the regime fell in 1979. Set up inside a former Phnom Penh high school, the prison served as the final destination for thousands of Cambodians identified as enemies of the party. Early CPK policy targeted perceived enemies outside the CPK circle, but in March 1976 the Central Committee authorized “smashing” within ranks to guard against internal demise. S-21 became a detention center principally for DK cadre, military, and government officials suspected of subversion. The regime’s secret police, Santebal, was headquartered at S-21 in order to conduct torture and executions of these suspects.

Initially bodies were buried on site at S-21, but in fear of epidemic Duch relocated the majority of executions and burials 15 km. away to Choeung Ek, also known as the Killing Fields. Duch also oversaw S24, Prey Sâr, another major Khmer Rouge security center.
Duch established a document unit to record important regime decisions and daily events at S21, Choeng Ek, and S24. This unit left behind extensive documentation of the crimes mentioned above in the forms of photographs, confessions, prisoner lists, and execution logs. The Prosecution filed 2,900 such documents as evidence in Case 001, including a “Combined S-21 Prisoner List” compiled from the lists found at the three sites. It names 12,380 men, women, and children who were arrested and executed under Duch’s oversight. The list excludes a large number of detainees who failed to be counted before execution. The information available on the lists indicates 5,000 victims were DK government officials, and more than 4,500 came from the military. Suspects’ families were routinely executed.

Summary of Closing Arguments

The prosecution argued that Duch is criminally responsible for the crimes committed at S21. Witness testimony and documentary evidence prove that the Accused planned, instigated, ordered, aided, and abetted the crimes committed at S21, as well as personally committed acts of torture and other inhumane acts. Because an international armed conflict existed between Democratic Kampuchea and Vietnam during 1975-1979, and Vietnamese persons were imprisoned, tortured, and exterminated at S21, Duch may be dually convicted for grave breaches of the Geneva Conventions of 1949 as well as Crimes against Humanity and premeditated murder and torture in violation of Cambodia’s 1956 Penal Code.

The defense presented several different arguments before seeking acquittal. First, since the Accused has shown clear remorse and shame for crimes committed at S21, the Court should “allow one who has exited from humanity to return to humanity.”
Duch then concluded his trial by pleading that he had operated under superior orders in fear of violent retribution against his person and his family, and that criminal responsibility should be excluded on those grounds.

The Verdict

On July 26, 2010, the ECCC Trial Chamber found Duch guilty of crimes against humanity (persecution on political grounds subsuming extermination encompassing murder, enslavement, imprisonment, torture including one instance of rape, and other inhumane acts), as well as of Grave Breaches of the Geneva Conventions of 1949 (willful killing, torture or inhumane treatment, willfully causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health, willfully depriving a prisoner of war or civilian of the rights of fair and regular trial, and unlawful confinement of a civilian). The Chamber did not evaluate the guilt of the Accused in violation of the 1956 Penal Code.

The Chamber sentenced Duch to 35 year of imprisonment, less five for the violation of his rights during his illegal detention from May 1999 until the judgment is finalized, with eleven years credited for time already served. This leaves the Accused with 19 years left in prison.

Concerning Civil Party participation, of the ninety applications the Chamber found sixty-six to have successfully proven victimization at S-21 or S-24, or bonds of affection or close kinship with victims. Concerning collective and moral reparations, the Chamber granted the Civil Parties’ request for Civil Party names to be included in the final judgment, and to compile and publish Duch’s trial apologies. The Chamber rejected all other collective and moral reparation requests on the grounds that the ECCC lacks the competence to enforce them, and has no jurisdiction over national authorities or international bodies.

"One million tears of my country": Case 001 verdict

11:10 a.m., July 26, 2010—

You can almost cut the tension and anticipation in this city. Or maybe that’s just the particular world I inhabit—maybe the only people who care about Duch’s verdict anymore are the internationals and elite Cambodians working at the court or the many tribunal-related NGOs.

But somewhere deep inside me, in some small, hidden place immune to the cynicism that has plagued me since I began this internship, I know it’s not true. As I watch and listen to the verdict in Case 001 stream live on a projector, I see Vann Nath, Bou Meng and Chum Mey, the three remaining survivors of Tuol Sleng prison, awaiting the fate of the director of that torture center from the public gallery. I took photographs at interviews with Bou Meng and Chum Mey, and though I couldn’t understand their answers, there is no doubt as to their investment in the trial. If you have toenails ripped out, electrical nodes attached to your body, and whips cut your back, the desire to see justice done does not fade over three decades. Images of the executions of over 12,000 other victims at your prison do not fade.

It’s not just the internationals, the NGO-ers, and the immediate survivors who care about the verdict. The survivors of other prisons, the victims of forced labor camps, the ranks of former conscripted Khmer Rouge soldiers—it matters to them, too. It matters to those who lost loved ones, as well as to the Cambodians who feel left behind by this trial, and disgusted at the cost and the inefficiency and the elitism. The people gathered around projector screens provided in the provinces despite scorching heat—they care too. This country has waited 30 years, through civil war and the death of a genocidal leader, for the international community to acknowledge what happened during 1975-1979.

My bosses did not secure enough seats in the court gallery for the interns, so I watched the judge read the verdict in a small room at the ECCC Victims Unit several miles away. There were about 15 of us there, the majority of whom work for organizations that, appropriately, represent victims. This background helps explain why there was a loud moan of disapproval when the Judge read that

a) the court only recognized 66 of over 93 Civil Party applicants as having “established their claim to be immediate victims of S-21 or S-24, or to have proved the existence of immediate victims of S-21 or S-24 and close kinship or particular bonds of affection or dependency in relation to them.”

And, as regards reparations for these recognized victims, that

b) the Chamber “rejected all Civil Party claims on the grounds of lack of specificity, for as being beyond the scope of available reparations before the ECCC. However, it ordered the compilation and publication of all statements of apology made by the Accused during the trial”…as well as a list of the Civil Parties’ names to be published on the ECCC website.

In summary, all the Court gave the victims in terms of reparation for their physical pain, for their lost spouses, parents, and children, for their psychological trauma, was a nameplace on the court website. This in a country with hardly any internet outside Phnom Penh.

No one expected fiscal reparations—the court will hardly have enough money to try Case 002, which goes after the highest ranking surviving Khmer Rouge members. But in terms of a moral reparation, this is insulting. As Chum Mey later said, villagers construct stupas everyday for almost no cost to honor memories and events. The least the court could have done was offer to construct a stupa at Toul Sleng. Or request the government to step in and build outhouses in villages. Or ask for public donations for roads through towns in the Northeast. Chum Mey offered this comparison: he lives in a hut with no stable food source and a small pan in which to defecate. Duch has lived and will continue to live in an air-conditioned cell with an unquestioned supply of food. A list of names will do nothing to repair this lack of justice.

As for the sentence: The Chamber gave Duch an initial sentence of 35 years. They avoided a life sentence and undercut the Prosecution’s request for 40 years, to honor Duch’s cooperation and “genuine remorse” and “rehabilitation.” These terms refer to Duch’s repeated confessions of guilt and regret for his crimes. To again cite Chum Mey, who challenged the truthfulness of these displays, referencing Duch's final, shocking plea for acquittal as well as his own reading of the hearings. "One tear from him does not equal one million tears of my country," he said.

From the 35 years, the court deducted five to recognize that the government violated Duch’s rights when they imprisoned him from 1996 until 2009 without a trial, exceeding the three years of pre-trial detention allowed by law. It counted those 11 years as time already served, putting the total sentence at 19 years.

At first I was fuming. 30 years for supervising over 13,000 murders? It’s not as if we can equate the two terms—mass murder and imprisonment—in the first place, but a life sentence certainly seems most appropriate of the options available. But in speaking with people far more knowledgeable than myself, including attending a panel discussion of lawyers, activists, and civil parties tonight, I came to recognize some good in the verdict. Duch’s rights WERE violated, and if we choose to ignore that because of the monstrous acts he committed and apply justice arbitrarily, we implicitly condone indefinite imprisonment without trial, the very crime so many international criminal courts like this one have and are themselves prosecuting. From a somewhat more uncomfortable, ends-justify-means perspective, rewarding cooperation might prove beneficial in Case 002, the defendants in which have all refused to admit any guilt. This court is mandated with a truth-finding mission as much as it is with a mission of distributing justice. Duch’s cooperation and acknowledgment of crimes committed at Tuol Sleng sped Case 001 to an end; if rewarding that cooperation incentives Nuon Chea, Kheu Samphan, Ieng Thireth, and Ieng Sary to do the same then perhaps that alone makes the reduced sentence acceptable. I’m not falling on either side of this one, but it is worth considering.

This incredibly long and, for most of you, somewhat boring post is now over and it’s time for bed. I promise more light hearted posts on Bangkok, Siem Reap, and egg sellers will come soon, with only a few heavy ones interspersed. 

Khmer Massage

A few weeks ago I had my first Khmer massage. I created an astonishingly accurate representation of how I found myself forty minutes in:

Some said this combination of stretching and deep tissue massage was like a Thai massage. I've never had a Thai massage, so I cannot affirm or deny. I can say that it was interesting, and absolutely wonderful when they got to my back and shoulders. But when I returned yesterday and asked only for a back/shoulder massage it was quite disappointing. I guess you go big (i.e. FULL body) or you go home.

P.S. The massage place we go to is certified abuse-free :) Although I know you can never really tell...but none of the telltale signs of brothel-in-disguise are there, at least!

SISHAAAA

So, I've been meaning to give a shout-out to the organization for which two of my friends here work. SISHA (South East Asia Investigations into Social and Humanitarian Activities) is doing great work in a field that, as most of you know, is very close to my heart. SISHA is involved in the anti-human trafficking movement every step of the way. It sends investigative teams to identify brothels filled with young, trafficked girls, raids them, places the girls in the custody of safe, well-staffed shelters, and then offers after-care and legal services. The free, quality legal services are essential to assuring victims that any testimony they give against their trafficker will be effective, and that they will be protected from vengeful action, whether from the trafficker or the state. Yay Sisha! Yay Jessica and Erin!

A few weeks ago, SISHA apprehended a "suspected pedophile" who has committed some unfathomably disgusting and reprehensible acts. Namely, this known British pedophile set up a 501K NGO to "help out" kids living in the dumps of Phnom Penh, on the outskirts of the city. He kindly offered to oversee the project.

But SISHA got him! Things can move so slooowly in the nonprofit world here, that hearing about something positive and tangible that's happened to salvage some basic rights for at least a few kids is wonderful.

more info on the apprehension:
http://www.expat-advisory.com/articles/southeast-asia/suspected-pedophile-david-fletcher-arrested-bangkok

and the creep:
http://ki-media.blogspot.com/2010/06/cops-alert-as-paedo-brit-david-fletcher.html

Disheveled musings and the Kiss of Cambodia

Phnom Penh is a frenetic city. I think I've mentioned that in several of my earlier posts; since the chaos is a constant echo in my thoughts it naturally recurs often in my written musings.

I wake up to the sound of the fried egg woman pacing the street below my apartment. Twice a week I open my bedroom door to find the cleaning lady mopping the floor with an offensively pungent chemical agent. Outside my gates, the moto and tuk tuk drivers inquire, "Moto, lady?"; "Tuk-Tuk, lady?" Dust is in the air, really mean dogs bark and snarl, vehicles clog the roads at all hours, in all directions, and in general, Cambodians speak very loudly.

What's the result of this lifestyle? Recently, physical and mental pain. Physical when I jumped off a moto in a hurry last week and seared a deep burn in my leg from the smoking tailpipe. This is apparently so common it has a name: The Kiss of Cambodia. But it is not an enjoyable Kiss at all, and it leaves a really nasty mark.

Mentally, I come home around 8 or 9 p.m. excited for a relaxing evening only to find the chaos has penetrated even my internal composition. There's email from home to check, email from work to stay up on, Skype chats to have, electronics constantly malfunctioning, travel plans to make, and as tonight, tickets to buy on websites that just won't work. The answer, it seems, is TO UNPLUG, as it is so often in the states. But my laptop is also the very thing that feels like my lifeline to a safer, calmer world.

So, why am I cluttering your time with rants on cluttered lives, especially when there are so many more exciting topics I have to get to sometime (temples, travels, court visits, and incredible sex-trafficking arrests)? Because I've noticed that natives here don't seem to feel nearly as frantic as the barangs (foreigners). And I find that interesting. Perhaps it is merely a comfort level acquired through birth here. But I think it's more: I think it's this ability to quietly fold inside oneself amidst all the noise. There's this strength I can't really describe in the calm and carefree faces I see here, and it's at such odds with the anxiety I observe so often on the faces of my intern-friends the moment we talk of finances, or law school, or jobs. Before now, I don't think I would have even noted this anxiety as potentially irregular or harmful.

The other day, I frantically ran into a Kodak photo shop to take mug shots for a visa extension. It was 5:15 and I needed them by 5:30 to submit, along with my passport--essentially my identity in Cambodia--to a middleman. The whole process is so illustrative of the culture here. The government is not going to help you; it would rather you pay the $5/day fee for overstaying your visa, which is automatically processed as a 30 day allowance despite the length of stay you indicate. So what do you do? You give it to a guy who knows a guy who's bribed a guy in the government. Something that would typically make me just a little wary. But Cambodians really don't seem bothered by this, nor do long-term expats. The owner of a bed and breakfast I stayed shrugged at the mention of middlemen and said, "It always works out. You can trust people here."

But I digress. Back to my frantic wandering to the photo shop. I sat tapping my foot while the counter workers took their calm time processing my photographs. Finally they're ready, at 5:28, and I realize I left my wallet at my friend's guesthouse. I do not have even the meager $1.25 they were asking for the collection of 10 ugly self-portraits. Worse, the woman spoke no English. So there I stood, appearing to politely ask to take the photos without paying. Finally I offered my cell phone for the photos saying in loud, slow English (because of course that makes it more intelligible) to leave it as collateral until I returned. The girl laughed and rolled her eyes, said "Later" and gave me the photos. No questions asked.

When I returned 3 hours later--why a photo shop is open at 8:30 p.m. continues to boggle me--she was still there. I gave her a whopping $1.75 as a thank-you for dealing with my absentmindedness. She stared at the real notes for a while, and then said "But only 5,000." I replied in my extensive, stirring Khmer, "Late--akun (thank you)." She said, no-no-no, returned the 2,000 real and flashed a huge smile. All the while little children ran underfoot, motos screamed by, tuk-tuk drivers yelled from the doorway, and the fried egg lady made her final rounds of the day.

For a few brief moments, I didn't notice.

Weekend 3: a long report

Friday at 5:30 p.m. a van carrying 11 interns, myself included, turned into Phnom Penh rush hour traffic (changed my mind—makes L.A.’s look tame) toward Sihanoukville, Cambodia’s 2nd largest city. Sihanoukville is about 3 and a half hours southwest of Phnom Penh, on the coast of the Gulf of Thailand. It was dark by the time we really left Phnom Penh’s outer limits, so the drive consisted mostly of endless games of categories and finite amounts of beer.

We stayed in a collection of bungalows on a hill overlooking one of Sihanoukville’s many beaches. It was lush and green, and the bungalows were beautiful, despite the fact that the AC in mine was broken and ants had invaded my bed—a problem remedied the next night by some Raid and sacrificed brain cells.

Caroline and Jessica on their deck overlooking Serendipity Beach.

Sihanoukville is an interesting place. When I imagined Cambodia’s 2nd largest city, I pictured something the size of Berkeley. But what I saw of Sihanoukville—the nicer, gentrified center—was more like a Seaside beach (reference for Oregonians only). I understand that the city sprawls outward, into slums and a thriving child sex industry. The juxtaposition of wealth and luxury and poverty and exploitation never ceases to take my breath away.

Seven of us spent most of Saturday at the beach, moving umbrellas up and down to ward off rain (oh, monsoon season). It was worth it. I’d been craving fresh air and open spaces more than I’d realized. So much so, in fact, that I broke into a barefoot run on the beach that did not end until a sharp pain gripped my foot and I limped back to our lounge chairs. Three days of swollen discoloration, and two nagging fears that I’d either sprained my foot or suffered a nasty insect bite later, I learned Tuesday that I most likely fractured a tiny bone on the top of my foot. Nothing too bad—I can walk fine—but no more barefoot running for me in the future.


The beach that prompted my injured foot

I sat in the front seat on the drive back on Sunday, meaning I was perfectly situated next to the most powerful speaker. This enable me to best appreciate the driver’s “English love songs” CD. After two times through the 17 tracks of Celine Dion, Usher, Enrique Iglesias, and some other super-talented singers I could not identify, I think my brain actually rewired. (Or maybe that was the after-effects of the Raid inhalation).

I was glad I got to see the countryside during the daylight that day, even if my perception was slightly altered by Enrique singing “I can be your hero, baby.” For a U.S. semi-city girl born and raised, these huge expanses of rural countryside without electricity or running water have not yet become expected. Shirtless children herd skinny cattle and water buffalo across the highway, men and women tend to flooded rice paddies barefoot, and the porches that look ready to collapse are filled with laughing, joyous families.
Indeed,

I am continually amazed by the love that shines from the faces of so many Cambodians, every day, regardless of social status or economic prosperity. They are such a gentle, considerate people, and the genocide that happened here is so fundamentally opposed to what I see and hear that I cannot begin to wrap my mind around it. Not only the question of how any human being could enact that much pain and death onto other human beings, but how he could do it to Cambodians in particular.

The more research I do about the post-genocide justice process, the more angry I become. I consider myself a generally fair, judicious person—I try to think through situations that involve other people thoroughly before I react. But I lack that control and that level-headedness completely in the case of the Khmer Rouge: a normal reaction to genocide, I know. The research I am doing, however, requires me to read through summaries and headlines of legal arguments that defend as well as prosecute the living perpetrators of the 1975-1979 mass torture and killing. My fists clench as I read Ieng Sary deny he knew what was going on. I am totally captivated by Nuon Chea’s claims of innocence. My heart speeds up as I read that Ieng Thirith’s defense sought to exclude records of the “confessions” from torture-prisons, which would prove the defendants’ compliance in the tactics used to obtain them, on the very grounds that they were torture tainted and thereby inadmissible. It’s like rubbing salt in the biggest, deepest wound we cannot imagine. It is insult to the gravest injury committed.

I have the deepest respect for the lawyers who are defending these men and woman, for “true” justice, whatever that is, will only occur if the trial is seen as legitimate. But the how’s and the why’s and the guttural feelings that their arguments incite are not easily processed.

World Cup Week

***NOTE: The reference to my beloved father in paragraph 2 was intended as a self-deprecating rhetorical move; that is, as a joke about how lame I am to be spending nights in an american-esque dive bar with american-esque people with terrible beer and (of late) disappointing games while in CAMBODIA. This behavior is wholly acceptable in the United States, especially if the dive bar and american-esque people are not contributing factors in the situation.****

Now that I’ve begun to adapt to Phnom Penh, every little event has become less novel and I feel that daily updates might be slightly forced in terms of content. I think this is evidenced by the fact that I am writing this over a week after “the next week” headline applied. So I will change to chunk entries.

The days of this week blurred together for one primary reason: the World Cup. That is, I worked during the day, went out to dinner, and then to a bar in the backpacker’s area to watch the games. On my third night at Hunter’s Bar—the place is like a Berkeley dive bar transported into the heart of Phnom Penh—I looked at my glass of beer, then at the large screen in front of me, and realized my life had come to resemble my father’s during March Madness or the NBA playoffs to a disturbing degree. Except that I’m not in a basement in Oregon, and the beer sucks. (Really, it does, and this from someone who doesn’t even know beer much. But it’s cheap.)

Then, on Wednesday, the amazing happened. The U.S. soccer team gave all the expats something to cheer. The final-minutes victory prompted a group of not-particularly-overly-patriotic Americans to begin chanting “U.S.A” at midnight in the capital of Cambodia.

Day 7 & 8 (Weekend 2)

Saturday I discovered why some call the rainy season here “monsoon season.” In a matter of twenty minutes, the sun disappeared behind unexpected clouds, said clouds grew darker, and sheets of rain so thick you couldn’t identify individual drops began to fall. The sound was one of the most singularly beautiful and peaceful I’ve heard. I took a still video which unfortunately does not transfer onto the camera’s memory card, but the audio could easily appear on a token “soothing nature sounds” CDs.

Sunday two other interns and I went to the Russian market. This market may be smaller than the Central Market in terms of total area, but it is exponentially denser. Knockoff brands, cheaply made clothing, and tacky souvenirs crowd in so closely that the hordes of shoppers are repeatedly reduced to single file lines as we weave our way through the consumer maze. My guidebook warns that the Russian Market, while a “must-see” for tourists, should be avoided on hot days because it becomes “a literal microwave” inside. Unfortunately, the months when hot days were distinguishable are long over, so into the microwave we went.

The focus of my fellow shoppers was a positive influence: even with all the crowds and chaos, I still managed to pick up some desperately needed clothing and trinkets. (Alright, I concede, the trinkets weren’t desperately needed). Afterwards we took a tuk tuk over to a really posh pool and lounged around for hours. It was an odd feeling: I’d spent all week sweating through blouses and khakis discussing issues of genocide and justice, as I will the rest of the summer, and now here I was in an expat’s heaven. Overpriced spa-type food was only a wave away, imported greenery surrounded me, and an 8 foot concrete wall was all that separated me from the reality of Cambodia’s overwhelming poverty and corruption. And yet I feel that in some way, moments like these will be essential to maintaining my sanity.

These girls asked me to take their pictures on my way back into Phnom Penh from a nearby village, a day before entry into swanky-pool-land.

Day 7 (Friday)

I felt a little feverish and tired last night and this morning, and spent a good chunk of this afternoon bawling to my parents on Skype about how I didn’t want to get sick and miss out on fun things, and have to go to a Cambodian hospital, and blah blah blah. Then I actually bought a thermometer and discovered I am running no discernibly high temperature and most likely am suffering only a cold.

Went to dinner with Caroline and a friend on the riverfront (read: expensive Western restaurants). We went to the “Cantina”—a highly questionable decision in Cambodia. I ordered a bean burrito and was greeted by a butter-fried “tortilla” filled with boiled black beans. Period. Mmm mmm unencumbered fatty fiber.

P.S. Sorry if this last one reads kind of like a twitter feed.

Day 6 (Thursday)

A taxing but very important day. The VT team accompanied the Transcultural Psychosocial Organization, an NGO that provides psychological counseling to KR survivor-victims (among others), to The Killing Fields. The Killing Fields are now-lush green spaces that also were mass graves for up to 20,000 KR victims. The KR soldiers used horrifying tactics to save bullets when torturing and murdering “subversives.”



It was the first visit to the fields for many of the survivors, all of whom had lost an unfathomable number of loved ones during the KR. After an emotional walk-through of the fields, we all participated in a Buddhist ceremony seeking peace in some form. I know this only through feeling: the chants were, of course, all indecipherable in language to me.

Then the buses took us to a nearby pagoda, where survivors shared their stories in Khmer, translated quietly for the internationals in attendance. I cannot repeat here what I heard—it was too terrible, and too wrenchingly personal. Today I remembered why I came here. It is essential to document the terror of 1975-1979 and what has followed since in a way that is accessible to everyone, rather than just internet-savvy Westerners, lest history repeat itself. Time is rapidly diminishing before these memories are lost forever.

Day 5 (Wednesday)

Another amazing day with amazing people. Today I met Zelie Pollon, an independent journalist who has written for People magazine and Reuters. She was in Iraq in 2004 and 2005 creating a photojournalism collection about Iraqi reactions to the war. She’s will be working on a similar project in Cambodia, documenting the stories of genocide survivors.

In the evening I experienced Tiny Toones with Angel. Tiny Toones is an amazing non-profit that provides a unique education to kids who either wouldn’t have one (from slums) or who would be going to incredibly subpar public schools. (Californians, not to diminish our fiscal issues, but there’s some mind-blowing perspective here). They run 34 buses a day to bring students from the outskirts of the city into the center to learn English, Khmer, math, and most other standard classes.

After 5 p.m., the curriculum changes. Those who choose can participate in break-dancing sessions and lessons, providing a great alternative to hustling or gang activities. The program was started by a Cambodian refugee who was deported to Phnom Penh after pleading guilty to a felony in 2004, per a Bush administration law mandating deportation for any noncitizen who commits a felony. These dancers are AMAZING. They travel the world performing, including to the U.S., and troupes from around the world come to Phnom Penh to dance with them.

Angel break dances, so she fit right in with the circle. I, on the other hand, have been told I’m “the stiffest girl in the world” on the dance floor. However, I believe I still served a purpose: I think my pathetic dancing made the shy girls in the male-dominated space feel much better.

Day 4 (Tuesday)

Our whole team was finally complete today, so we had a long welcome dinner at an Indian restaurant near the backpacker hostel-area/less ritzy-but-still-expensive tourist section of Phnom Penh. I spend a good amount of time in this area—there are a huge number of expats and college/grad students living here now. I should have expected as much, since Phnom Penh is home to so many NGOs, dealing with a broad range of issues. And how do nonprofits run? Right, interns. There’s even a strip of streets known as NGOland.

Went to a housewarming party that evening with all law students, and determined my decision to join their ranks will be either the best or worst of my life. (OK, that may be a little dramatic).

Day 3 (Monday)

My first day at work didn’t start until the afternoon, an indication of the flexible schedule that will surely characterize my summer. My housemate Caroline took me to the Westernish mall after I complained about having packed too little. This means that I had not allotted for sweating pieces of clothing to an un-wearable state every single day. However, like the Central Market (which is outdoor) that we would tour later, the space was so jammed with clothes, accessories, and aggressive salespeople—and conspicuously bereft of dressing rooms—that I ended up too overwhelmed to buy anything except a pair of sunglasses for $3, which I later saw a street kid selling for $1. My bartering skills have improved, but not my ability to handle the immense crowding.

After the director updated me on the project in our VERY small office, we met with the filmmakers who will be creating interactive videos for site users. It’s the same company that produced Duch on Trial, which about one-fifth of the country watched—a huge percentage considering how many in rural provinces do not have televisions. Afterwards, we toured their studio, which right now has a set prepared on one floor for a soap opera they’re producing to increase cooperation and tolerance among Khmers and Cham Muslims. Get this—and this is the best part—it’s funded by the U.S. Department of State.

Later, wonderful dinner at an Indonesian restaurant, a brief exploration of some rather avante garde short films at a Cambodian film archive, and then another fitful night sleep.

Day 2 (Sunday)

The next morning’s sun rose on stucco roofs near me and tin roofs in the distance—indeed, the slums are not far from me, at least not geographically. But in terms of social reality they may as well be in another city. Starting with the slate-floored three bedroom apartment I share with two others, replete with 15 foot ceilings and a giant chandelier (holdover style of French colonialism). It’s actually not especially nice by American standards—a smelly toilet-turned-laundry room and incredibly cramped kitchen are not selling points—the $200/mo rent I pay for a private, AC’d room is unfathomable to the majority of Cambodia’s population, who live on $1/day. My tourist-y wanderings of that day would reveal city defined in whole by haves and have-nots. (Hint: Tourists, foreign aid workers, and government officials make up the bulk of the haves.)

Since the other team members had left at 4 a.m. that morning to go to an ECCC forum in another province, I took a tuk-tuk to the to the riverfront without much of a plan. A tuk-tuk is an open-air cabin attached to a motor bike, that, as Angel said, remind her a bit of Disneyland. The riverfront is the heart of the “haves:” as one nears the Mekong river, the number of 5 star hotels, spas, and ritzy restaurants grows at a dizzying rate. My apartment is just outside this bubble.

When I got to the riverfront, I pulled out my map and asked the driver to take me to Wat (Temple) Phnom instead. The Cambodian temples are beautiful in a different way than Seoul’s palace. Both involve bright colors and incredible detail; but Phnom Penh seems more interested in steep, angled roofs and statues resembling lions. There were also real elephants imported to wander near the entrance. (New city slogan? Phnom Penh: not particularly worried about your safety.)


There I met a German woman traveling solo and I accompanied her to the Tuol Sleng Museum. The museum is housed in the same building where Khmer Rouge tortured “confessions” from S-21 inmates from 1975-1979, after having converted it from a school. It looks as if you only wiped the rust off and shooed away the tourists, the detention center could still be in use. It is disturbing in a way words cannot convey, but imaginations can.
I will write a post later detailing the rise and fall of the Khmer Rouge, the hybrid Extraordinary Chambers of the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC) trying the leaders three decades later, and how my project fits in. For now, I think the imagery of preserved cells, torture devices, skulls, and photographs of emaciated prisoners give a good idea of the absolute horror that the Cambodian people endured during those four years, when over 20% of the country perished.

Over a silent cup of coffee and smoothie, Katherine and I slowly moved out of our paralyzing depression. By then the team that had traveled to Pursat had returned, and I went to meet them at a restaurant, which Kris (the director) and the map assured me was not more than a 2 minute tuk-tuk ride away. Fifteen minutes later I arrived sweating, frustrated, and newly cognizant that if you can’t direct the driver to your destination, or at least a nearby well-known monument, odds are you won’t get there any time soon. Or at all.

Later that night, I passed up a beautiful tomato salad for fear of stomach explosions. Fresh vegetables, I will miss you.

Important Interruption

Answer to the question, “What exactly is Sam doing in Cambodia?” appears below. I have explained it so many times that I am actually just pasting a section from the Virtual Tribunal’s brochure, with a few parentheses explanations included.

***The core idea of the Virtual Tribunal is to support and enhance the outreach and legacy efforts of the ECCC and the many civil society organizations involved in related transitional justice projects. [Note: ECCC stands for the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia—right now the main living leaders of the Khmer Rouge are on trial, 30 years later, for war crimes in a hybrid court, composed of Cambodian and UN officials]. Expanding conventional notions about the archival legacy of a court, the Virtual Tribunal uses cutting-edge information
technology to develop an interactive, multimedia educational resource for both national and international users. For the first time, the vast collection of information relating to the transitional justice process will be accessible to the public in a single interactive and user-friendly digital database. The Virtual Tribunal seeks to encourage greater understanding of the ECCC’s role in Cambodia, and increase access to the work of many civil society organizations working for justice.

The Virtual Tribunal will assist the ECCC in making trial-related materials such as decisions,
filings, trial transcripts and videos of the court proceedings, available to the public. The Virtual Tribunal will link these resources and combine them with expert commentary, educational
discussions, interviews and other multimedia resources. Working in partnership with the ECCC, the Virtual Tribunal Project encourages broad cooperation from Cambodian civil society organizations, schools and media entities in order to build the richest resource possible for Cambodian citizens, schools, and universities, as well as for international audiences, and posterity.****

Wheeewwie, what a mouthful. So in layman’s terms, my work involves communicating with all of these civil society organizations to let them know about the VT and discuss collaborations. This often comes in the form of materials that we can eventually upload to the site (still under construction), but also can involve other arrangements; for example, working with a school to instruct students in how to use the technology—itself an interesting example, since we then have to consider how best to relay the information in provinces without electricity, let alone internet access (exciting possibilities—more on that later). Once we begin receiving more materials, I’ll sort through them, to determine how best to categorize them for search purposes and relevance.

Days 0-1

I don’t know where “Day 1” begins because I have no concept of when Day 0, aka “fly day(s?)” ended. So I’ll start there.

Day 0 was much like a trail-mix bag. The icky raisins included Korean Airlines alerting me one week prior to departure that they’d changed flight schedules by 25 minutes: just enough to ruin my Seoul connection to Phnom Penh. (Get it? Soul Connection?) Other raisin-y moments included sitting on the runway in San Francisco for an hour before beginning the 12 hour flight. (Can you say California traffic? Get it?)

The sweet M&M moments, on the other hand, came when karma caught up on Korean Air and I was bumped into business class after they overbooked economy. At the airport I was met by a friend from childhood, Christina, who is living in Seoul and whom I’d contacted re/ a place to stay. We bussed to her host family’s beautiful downtown flat, and I slept in the room of the child who was visiting family with this mom. The next day we made a small voyage through Seoul before I jumped on a bus back to the airport to catch the flight to Phnom Penh.



It was pouring in Seoul that day. Two weeks in cloudy, drizzly Portland clearly magnetized me, since it had not rained once in the two months Christina had been there. The sheets of water did not prevent me, however, from taking in the city’s skycraper buildings and larger-than-life ads: for new movies, new fashions, new skin-whitening creams, you name it. Traffic was worse than in L.A, but the subway system is awesome—better than any I’ve traveled on, perhaps excepting Berlin. The streets were painted red by the end of the afternoon, as screaming S. Korea soccer fans celebrated the World Cup opening regardless of weather.



Tranquil spaces existed amid the city’s chaotic energy, often preserving remnants of Seoul’s past. Christina and I found an unexpected palace that was so serene and beautiful that it would have looked appropriate shrunken to fit in a Bonsai arrangement. (Christina’s response was, “oh, another one.”) I am so lucky that Christina made what could have been a frustrating situation wonderful—I only wish I’d had more time, and not merely an extended layover, to explore that HUGE city.



A half-full plane took me to the tiny airport of Phnom Penh at 10 p.m. that night. I was met by none of the corrupt customs officials that the guidebook had warned against, and the organization’s lovely driver picked me up, so I couldn’t test the claims about lying cab-drivers. On the drive into town, I stared at the slums lining the highway. Shirtless, skinny men dumped trash onto the sidewalk for sifting, while a naked little boy looked in discarded soda cans for any remaining liquid. I am embarrassed to admit that my thoughts oscillated between “this is terrible” to “I hope this is not near where I’ll be living.”