I acknowledged in my previous statement that if I were to select one of the three opposition parties, SRP, Ranariddh, and FUNCINPEC, I would opt for the SRP. There are many reasons for that choice and all of which are solely based upon my study of the party’s activities, the party’s apparatus, and its rhetoric.
Since its inception in the earlier part of the 90’s, the SRP has continually demonstrated its aspiration to be the champion of the poor people. It has helped shedding lights on the plight of the poor who are on the verge of losing their homes. It has orchestrated demonstrations against human rights abuses; it has sided with the garment workers and has been helping them in procuring better wages, better working conditions, and most important of all it has been instrumental in insuring that the factory’s bosses (and their backers) do not cross the boundary that separate their profit-hungry motives from abuses. On this note, one might argue its rate of success, but one cannot ignore one simple fact: without the voices of the SRP the circumstances of the poor, the homeless, and the deprived could have been worse.
Membership of the party itself is more prominent than the other parties. As the party leader, Mr. Rainsy has packed his baggage with various credentials. His education, his job resume, his propensity in exposing the Khmer’s dilemmas to western nations, and above all, his ethics are what tower above the rest of the pact, and we, as Khmers, and other outsiders, see this in him as well. As we already know he was dismissed from his post as minister of finance because of his perseverance in exposing the lack of transparency in the government “profit & loss statement.” The dismissal could only be made possible by the engineering and the lack of moral standard of his former boss and, of course, by Mr. Hun Sen. Of late, we see repeated exposé of Mrs. Mu Sochea, who has stood tall against the “strong man” of Kampuchea over the barrage of lawsuits and counter-lawsuits. She is known among western nations as one of the defenders for democracy.
SRP’s rhetoric, at times, seems strong, confrontational, and possibly provoking, but one thing for certain is that it still stands on its principles. I have not yet seen any top SRP leadership altering his or her ideology because of any appeasement or enticement thrown at them by other political factions. The latest example of this is when the SRP and FUNCINPEC top echelons were considering the merging of the two, whereas Mr. Rainsy insisted that the other party must conform to the SRP principles or no deal at all.
From what I have briefly described thus far, one could easily come to a conclusion that the SRP is the noble party indeed, the sort of party that you would throw your supports wholeheartedly. However, since we all are humans and humans do make mistakes, the SRP, namely Mr. Rainsy, does have his Achilles heel. As they said in the days of old “he who lives by the sword shall dies by the sword.” Likewise, as in the SRP case, one can say “he who lives by the rhetoric shall die by the rhetoric.’
That which makes Mr. Rainsy strong could become the device that weighs him down also, just like an anchor that holds a vessel immobile. For instance, the recognition that he extensively receives from western countries could be one of the factors that alienates him from other great nations of the east. It seems as though he relentlessly seeks the support of the USA and other European countries more than he tries with countries in the Asian continent. This may seems trivial at times, but believe you me, the eastern nations are also led by people, and people have feelings – they want Mr. Rainsy to come to them too. In this respect, Mr. Rainsy ought not to neglect countries where Mr. Hun Sen does his shopping. He should have learned from history that countries in the west can at best offer “rhetoric” and not much action – much like they have done throughout the years. Or if I may bluntly say that if a country does not present any strategic importance to them, that country can just hope for lips service and nothing more of real substance. In other words, all is about “investment” in the game of world politics.
The volleys of words and lawsuits that are being lobbed between Mr. Hun Sen and Mrs. Mu Sochea are one thing that distracts our attention, and that of the world, from the real predicament of the Khmer people. It is indeed admirable that Mrs. Mu Sochea has the courage to stand tall against the man whom many consider to be the strong man of Kampuchea. However, I do not think that the lawsuit was needed and that the most that should have been done was to launch a complaint against Mr. Hun Sen. A letter could have been written and distributed to the press that supports her. A letter could have been written to Mr. Hun Sen personally to address the inappropriateness of his remarks. In my opinion, it was a waste of energy, the energy that was diverted from the real cause of saving Kampuchea and her children.
Again, as righteous as their action have been, one thing that the SRP must apprehend is that they are operating in a real world, a world in which your opponent is much, much strong than you are. There are many ways of taming a lion, but provoking the king of the jungle is not one of them. Real politick dictates that one must be flexible in dealing with the real world. The SRP, according to my observation, often time, seems as if they function in an ideal world and since they seem to operate in this mode, they tend to be inflexible.
This inflexibility is their Achilles heel or the heavy anchor afore mentioned. Politicians of the FUNCINPEC as well as the Ranariddh’s parties have been lured to join the CPP. There have been hints also that Mr. Nhek Bun Chhay wanted to form a coalition with the CPP. I know Mr. Hun Sen is an intelligent man and as such I doubt it very much that he would truly enjoy the partnership with the like of Mr. Nhek Bun Chhay, who has swayed to and fro like a pine tree according to the direction of the wind. Instead, I honestly believe that Mr. Hun Sen would benefit greatly if he was to have someone like Mr. Rainsy. For the benefit of Mother Kampuchea, I think this option should not be overlooked by the SRP.
This proposition is by no mean suggesting that the SRP abandons their noble principles. Rather, the SRP can still maintain their ideology while at the same time drive forward to obtain their ultimate goal. Mr. Rainsy need to consider being in a government and from there strive to make changes from within. That is what a German political scientist called Real Politick, and not politics, which mean the ability to adapt to the real world while vigilantly maintaining the goals that you have set in sight constantly.
Imagine what Mr. Rainsy and his party could have accomplished for Khmers if they were IN the government. I am sure corruption would be curtailed, the heavy burden of the factory workers could have been lessening, and the welfare of the poor might have been fairer. Then again, I am writing from a point of view of a person who seeks not power, but prosperity for his Mother Land and whose ego is no equal to that of our current politicians. I, therefore, can only hope that the struggle that all the politicians have been waging is not the struggle for personal glory or personal vendetta, but for the glory of all.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
One lazy afternoon
Yesterday afternoon, some of my friends and my family went to an annual Crawfish Festival in Old Town Spring, Texas. It was a very beautiful late afternoon, the temperature was about 78 degree Fahrenheit and the sun was just bright enough to enjoy the lazy day such as it was.
Bands were blasting their music from different stages: Cajun music, country, and rock and rolls. People danced to their favorite music and sang to tunes they knew. Booths were set up advertising their specialties: authentic Cajun crawfish boil, crawfish pies, crawfish etoufee, jambalaya, gator gumbo, rattlesnake gumbo, etc.
As we strolled passed throngs of crawfish enthusiasts, we settled into one booth that offered jumbo crawfish with gator tail on the side. We were getting hungry and after sucking a few crawfish heads, I realized that my wife should have set up a booth here for as I know her crawfish is a lot better than all of these booths combined. I kid you not, I have never tasted a better crawfish. Period. My 3 year-old concurred.
After downing a dozen coronas and 20 pounds of the critters, we decided it was time to go listening to some Cajun music.
Then the sun went away and down came the rain. We sought shelter under a tent that read “Voodoo Arts.” As we waited out the rain, I could not help but notice that I did not see a single piece of trash on the street! And we are talking about thousands of people who must have used tons of paper napkins. Trash bins were everywhere and people actually use them.
I do not know why a simple thing like this captured my attention, but then I thought back to the time when I was in Kien Svay picnic area. There were trash bins too, but no one bothered to use them, as if depositing their own trash in a bin degrades their dignity or something. Trashes were everywhere and I thought why couldn’t they just learn one simple act: putting trashes where they belongs – in the trash bin and not on the street.
The rain never let up so we had to leave the festival. As I drove home, I took my wife’s hand and told her “Honey, there is no crawfish boiled in the world that can be compared to yours.” She thought I went loco, but I meant it. I do appreciate her and her patience with me. Other thoughts came to my mind too that has not gone away yet and that is: why on earth can’t we keep our Kampuchea clean? Perhaps we need to educate our people the simple act of trash depositing before we teach them anything else. Small things matter.
Bands were blasting their music from different stages: Cajun music, country, and rock and rolls. People danced to their favorite music and sang to tunes they knew. Booths were set up advertising their specialties: authentic Cajun crawfish boil, crawfish pies, crawfish etoufee, jambalaya, gator gumbo, rattlesnake gumbo, etc.
As we strolled passed throngs of crawfish enthusiasts, we settled into one booth that offered jumbo crawfish with gator tail on the side. We were getting hungry and after sucking a few crawfish heads, I realized that my wife should have set up a booth here for as I know her crawfish is a lot better than all of these booths combined. I kid you not, I have never tasted a better crawfish. Period. My 3 year-old concurred.
After downing a dozen coronas and 20 pounds of the critters, we decided it was time to go listening to some Cajun music.
Then the sun went away and down came the rain. We sought shelter under a tent that read “Voodoo Arts.” As we waited out the rain, I could not help but notice that I did not see a single piece of trash on the street! And we are talking about thousands of people who must have used tons of paper napkins. Trash bins were everywhere and people actually use them.
I do not know why a simple thing like this captured my attention, but then I thought back to the time when I was in Kien Svay picnic area. There were trash bins too, but no one bothered to use them, as if depositing their own trash in a bin degrades their dignity or something. Trashes were everywhere and I thought why couldn’t they just learn one simple act: putting trashes where they belongs – in the trash bin and not on the street.
The rain never let up so we had to leave the festival. As I drove home, I took my wife’s hand and told her “Honey, there is no crawfish boiled in the world that can be compared to yours.” She thought I went loco, but I meant it. I do appreciate her and her patience with me. Other thoughts came to my mind too that has not gone away yet and that is: why on earth can’t we keep our Kampuchea clean? Perhaps we need to educate our people the simple act of trash depositing before we teach them anything else. Small things matter.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
In remembrance of April 17, 1975
“And blood will be spilled so high as to reach the elephant’s belly…And there will be roads, but they will be emptied of people…And people will chase after dogs for a single grain of rice that’s stuck to the dogs’ tail…” So it was prophesized.
And dusk fell upon a civilization as rapaciously as the guillotine blade fell upon a hapless victim. Then darkness settled in and the people who dwelled in the land of the smiling faces were silenced.
My friends and I were having coffee one evening at my house and for some reason the following discussions came up…
Friend 1:
“My family was in a jewelry business in PP. When they came, we managed to hide some of our jewelry and we would use them to barter for food, salt, sugar, etc. One ounce of gold would fetch us a can of uncooked rice. Or one diamond bracelet would be exchanged for a sarong. Such were the values of precious metals and stones. We were relocated to Battambang, away from our home. I was very young, but I remember that fateful day when they surround our house (if you could call it that). My father was trying to burry the jewelries in the ground behind our shack. Someone caught sight of him digging and the whole village was roused. They took him to “reeducate” that very same night. We prayed that he would not be killed. Miraculously, they did not kill him. They released him soon afterward. My father became sick after the incident. I guess the whole ordeal must have traumatized him so badly that his health was deteriorating by the hours. I remember his final words to my mother as she cradled him in her arms, “…do not worry about the jewelries they took from us. One day when things change again, I will make more and we will sell more. As long as we have our lives, things will be alright…” He passed on in my mother’s embrace.
I learned how to survive and to fend for ourselves. I became a good, little thief that the word ever knew. I stole rice from the sack, still stacked up in the oxen cart. I would get my little shirt pocket by the rice sack and gape a hole in the sack and let the grain trickled in my pocket about half way full. Then I would run home to empty the pocket. If opportunity presented itself, I would repeat again and again.”
Friend 2:
“We were relocated in Kampot province somewhere near Touk Meas district. My parents were sent off to work in the field far from home. There were rumored that my father would be taken to “reeducate.” He did not really believe it at first, but then when he heard it from the “old people” (those who took part in the revolutionary struggle prior to 1975) mentioned that he would be next, he made a plan to escape. The night of his escape, he planned on taking my youngest brother with him, but then changed his mind for fear of my brother’s safety. He planned to escape to Siam. We did not know why Siam since Vietnam was much closer. He was caught not too far away from the village and was executed shortly after. Soon, my mother was sent off to work away from us again as a punishment. Now there were only three of us children, left alone to care for ourselves. I was the oldest and I was seven year old.”
Friend 3:
“There I was in a commune somewhere in Praneth Preah, Battambang. Hunger and fatigue was my companion. I was 16 0r 17 year old, in my prime, or, should I say in this circumstance, lack thereof. I was sent off to work in a district “mobile unit. The unit moved from commune to commune as worked dictated. In my unit, there was a guy who was always absent from work duty. One afternoon during our regular “criticism and self-criticism” meeting, the leader of the unit called on the guy’s name to come forward so that “Angkar” could conduct a criticism session. After several minutes into the session, a few strong “old people” rushed forward and pinned him down to the ground, face down. They bound his hand behind his back. The leader came forward with a bayonet and declared that “this man incurs no gain to Angkar if we were to keep him nor would he be a loss if we eliminated him.” With that, he planted his foot firmly on the man’s neck and plunged the bayonet into the man’s back. The man screamed, agonizing scream. The time seemed to have stood still for I closed my eyes and I heard the screaming. I wanted to close my ears so as to shut off the cry, but I was afraid to.”
Friend 4:
“The area where I was relocated to was relatively safe, as far as the killing goes. They did not kill the “new” people outright. No, but, there was another way they killed us…by starvation. By 1976, you could see skeletons walking the fields. Literary, people were starving to death. The number of people in my commune was decimated to a just a few families. Soon there were words going around of cannibalism. Family members would be sitting around their dying loved one, crying and so on, but at the same time waiting for the dying to pass on so they could “eat” the body instead of burying the corps. I never thought anything of it until one day as I entered my hut, I noticed that my two children were cowering in the corner of the hut. I thought they were sick, so I went closer. The closer I went the more I saw fear in their faces. I asked if they did something wrong they shook their heads no. Then like a flash of lightning that hit me, I understood their fear. I broke down and cried. I gently told my children that I would never resort to eating them, no matter what. Several months after this incidence, my older child passed away in her sleep. Her younger sister followed her a few weeks afterward. I buried both of them.”
And dusk fell upon a civilization as rapaciously as the guillotine blade fell upon a hapless victim. Then darkness settled in and the people who dwelled in the land of the smiling faces were silenced.
My friends and I were having coffee one evening at my house and for some reason the following discussions came up…
Friend 1:
“My family was in a jewelry business in PP. When they came, we managed to hide some of our jewelry and we would use them to barter for food, salt, sugar, etc. One ounce of gold would fetch us a can of uncooked rice. Or one diamond bracelet would be exchanged for a sarong. Such were the values of precious metals and stones. We were relocated to Battambang, away from our home. I was very young, but I remember that fateful day when they surround our house (if you could call it that). My father was trying to burry the jewelries in the ground behind our shack. Someone caught sight of him digging and the whole village was roused. They took him to “reeducate” that very same night. We prayed that he would not be killed. Miraculously, they did not kill him. They released him soon afterward. My father became sick after the incident. I guess the whole ordeal must have traumatized him so badly that his health was deteriorating by the hours. I remember his final words to my mother as she cradled him in her arms, “…do not worry about the jewelries they took from us. One day when things change again, I will make more and we will sell more. As long as we have our lives, things will be alright…” He passed on in my mother’s embrace.
I learned how to survive and to fend for ourselves. I became a good, little thief that the word ever knew. I stole rice from the sack, still stacked up in the oxen cart. I would get my little shirt pocket by the rice sack and gape a hole in the sack and let the grain trickled in my pocket about half way full. Then I would run home to empty the pocket. If opportunity presented itself, I would repeat again and again.”
Friend 2:
“We were relocated in Kampot province somewhere near Touk Meas district. My parents were sent off to work in the field far from home. There were rumored that my father would be taken to “reeducate.” He did not really believe it at first, but then when he heard it from the “old people” (those who took part in the revolutionary struggle prior to 1975) mentioned that he would be next, he made a plan to escape. The night of his escape, he planned on taking my youngest brother with him, but then changed his mind for fear of my brother’s safety. He planned to escape to Siam. We did not know why Siam since Vietnam was much closer. He was caught not too far away from the village and was executed shortly after. Soon, my mother was sent off to work away from us again as a punishment. Now there were only three of us children, left alone to care for ourselves. I was the oldest and I was seven year old.”
Friend 3:
“There I was in a commune somewhere in Praneth Preah, Battambang. Hunger and fatigue was my companion. I was 16 0r 17 year old, in my prime, or, should I say in this circumstance, lack thereof. I was sent off to work in a district “mobile unit. The unit moved from commune to commune as worked dictated. In my unit, there was a guy who was always absent from work duty. One afternoon during our regular “criticism and self-criticism” meeting, the leader of the unit called on the guy’s name to come forward so that “Angkar” could conduct a criticism session. After several minutes into the session, a few strong “old people” rushed forward and pinned him down to the ground, face down. They bound his hand behind his back. The leader came forward with a bayonet and declared that “this man incurs no gain to Angkar if we were to keep him nor would he be a loss if we eliminated him.” With that, he planted his foot firmly on the man’s neck and plunged the bayonet into the man’s back. The man screamed, agonizing scream. The time seemed to have stood still for I closed my eyes and I heard the screaming. I wanted to close my ears so as to shut off the cry, but I was afraid to.”
Friend 4:
“The area where I was relocated to was relatively safe, as far as the killing goes. They did not kill the “new” people outright. No, but, there was another way they killed us…by starvation. By 1976, you could see skeletons walking the fields. Literary, people were starving to death. The number of people in my commune was decimated to a just a few families. Soon there were words going around of cannibalism. Family members would be sitting around their dying loved one, crying and so on, but at the same time waiting for the dying to pass on so they could “eat” the body instead of burying the corps. I never thought anything of it until one day as I entered my hut, I noticed that my two children were cowering in the corner of the hut. I thought they were sick, so I went closer. The closer I went the more I saw fear in their faces. I asked if they did something wrong they shook their heads no. Then like a flash of lightning that hit me, I understood their fear. I broke down and cried. I gently told my children that I would never resort to eating them, no matter what. Several months after this incidence, my older child passed away in her sleep. Her younger sister followed her a few weeks afterward. I buried both of them.”
Friday, March 6, 2009
Of governance by consent
I would like to offer a statement made by Abraham Lincoln, a statement which I believe to be so profound and can be applied universally: “No man is good enough to govern another, without that other’s consent.”
As I ponder the depth of Mr. Lincoln’s statement, I cannot help but be reminded of the predicament that befallen Kampuchea.
I am wondering whether or not the population of Kampuchea, or the majority of, consenting to the government that is governing them? From the result of the last election it appears that indeed Khmers gave their consent, or authorized the present regime to govern them via their elected “representatives.”
An obvious question that follows is thus: Since those who are in power were chosen by us and for us why is there so much dissenting opinion about the government’s inept? And why are there so much displays of disgruntlement throughout the country? Did we not choose the right people? Did we not know how to choose? Perhaps yes and yes.
Let it be known that the present government did not come to power by force. Though some may dispute this statement and would allege that there were some irregularities of this and that sort prior to the election. May be there is some validity in their allegation, but the fact remains that Khmers did choose their representatives with (or without) their conscience. And by the end of the day, the government came into being by the decree of the ballots – ballots that were cast freely by the people.
Or was it free?
If we take the approach that Mr. Lincoln took that “no man is good enough to govern another man, without that other’s consent”, then only two possible arguments can be made here. First, if the Khmer people were forced to choose or were coerced to consent, then we can say that the current regime is not a legitimate one in that it did not possess the “trust” of the people and that the people were forced into accepting them. Hence the government was born not out of free will, but out of oppression. Mr. Mahatma Gandhi (or the Great Soul) put it more eloquently, “The institution that fails to win public support has no right to exist.”
Second, if it can be unequivocally established that indeed the government was born out of free will of the people yet dissatisfactions is mounting from within, then we can conclude that the Khmer people did not know how to choose when they were offered a chance to choose. If this is this the case, then we are faced with a much bigger dilemma: that we, as a nation, lack the education and the knowledge of being a free man. Ignorance is the worse form of evil and through ignorance tyrants rule.
Kampuchea is a house under construction. No one mighty person can build it alone. As is customary in building a house, there need to be a team of builders, craftsmen, technicians, and, yes, inspectors. All would have to work together harmoniously if the joints are to fit perfectly. The dwellers, too, must take part in the building process unless they do not mind living in a house with a leaked roof. The people of Kampuchea are the dwellers of the house. They must be vigilant in their efforts in overseeing the construction of the house. Idleness invites incompetence on the part of the builders. Arrogance will result in a faulty frame. We are our worse enemy and we have but ourselves to blame if the house is henceforth crumbled.
As I ponder the depth of Mr. Lincoln’s statement, I cannot help but be reminded of the predicament that befallen Kampuchea.
I am wondering whether or not the population of Kampuchea, or the majority of, consenting to the government that is governing them? From the result of the last election it appears that indeed Khmers gave their consent, or authorized the present regime to govern them via their elected “representatives.”
An obvious question that follows is thus: Since those who are in power were chosen by us and for us why is there so much dissenting opinion about the government’s inept? And why are there so much displays of disgruntlement throughout the country? Did we not choose the right people? Did we not know how to choose? Perhaps yes and yes.
Let it be known that the present government did not come to power by force. Though some may dispute this statement and would allege that there were some irregularities of this and that sort prior to the election. May be there is some validity in their allegation, but the fact remains that Khmers did choose their representatives with (or without) their conscience. And by the end of the day, the government came into being by the decree of the ballots – ballots that were cast freely by the people.
Or was it free?
If we take the approach that Mr. Lincoln took that “no man is good enough to govern another man, without that other’s consent”, then only two possible arguments can be made here. First, if the Khmer people were forced to choose or were coerced to consent, then we can say that the current regime is not a legitimate one in that it did not possess the “trust” of the people and that the people were forced into accepting them. Hence the government was born not out of free will, but out of oppression. Mr. Mahatma Gandhi (or the Great Soul) put it more eloquently, “The institution that fails to win public support has no right to exist.”
Second, if it can be unequivocally established that indeed the government was born out of free will of the people yet dissatisfactions is mounting from within, then we can conclude that the Khmer people did not know how to choose when they were offered a chance to choose. If this is this the case, then we are faced with a much bigger dilemma: that we, as a nation, lack the education and the knowledge of being a free man. Ignorance is the worse form of evil and through ignorance tyrants rule.
Kampuchea is a house under construction. No one mighty person can build it alone. As is customary in building a house, there need to be a team of builders, craftsmen, technicians, and, yes, inspectors. All would have to work together harmoniously if the joints are to fit perfectly. The dwellers, too, must take part in the building process unless they do not mind living in a house with a leaked roof. The people of Kampuchea are the dwellers of the house. They must be vigilant in their efforts in overseeing the construction of the house. Idleness invites incompetence on the part of the builders. Arrogance will result in a faulty frame. We are our worse enemy and we have but ourselves to blame if the house is henceforth crumbled.
Friday, February 27, 2009
A Rude Awakening
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A rude awakening came to me one night in a form of a storm To be precise, it was more than a storm; it was a hurricane whose name was that of one of my favorite person: Ike. Yes, indeed, Ike was strong and vicious as it wreaked havoc in the lives of many thousands, mine included.
Or was Ike a blessing in disguise? Yes, it was a wake-up call alright; a reminder to me, especially. It was as though it said to me “hey, Chumnith, complacency is over. Wake up and be reminded of the time that you did not have what you have today.”
Yes, indeed, it was mighty strong reminder. And Ike made sure I won’t ever forget the hard time again.
I felt Ike’s presence at 10:30 p.m. The howling of the wind, the swaying of the trees (which I had about 50 on my property), the twisting of branches, and the pouring of rain did not bother me that much. I had been through hurricane before. Nothing to worry about. Then out went the light. I told everyone to go to sleep and when we “wake up tomorrow the worse will pass.”
But the worst had not even arrived yet. I awoke to the crashing sound on my roof. A pine tree was uprooted and felt on my roof. It sounded like a grenade had exploded meters away from me; I tried to go outside to see for myself, but I found myself unable to open the door. The wind, with its might, pressed the door shut as if mine was a doll house.
You know, I use candles to “create” ambient whenever I throw a party at my house. Lots of them. Candles by the stairways, by the fire place, on the tables, bathroom, etc. They all were beautiful when you use them to achieve the desired effect. But not that night. And surely not the 15 nights that followed. I burned the candles very sparingly since there was not any electrical power to my whole neighborhood.
As I sat during these nights having dinners, I was reminded of the time that, not so long ago, my family and I sat on the cold, damped floor around the faintly lit lamp fueled by coconut oil in our thatched hut somewhere in the land of Angkar. We sat and whispered night after night as if the grim reaper is hovering around waiting to snatch our soul. Come to think of it, Angkar was not any different from that at all.
Aside from not having electrical power, we did not have other things that we normally take for granted: water and natural gas. Hence, to have potable water for cooking and drinking, we resorted to use all of our available pots and pans and coolers, etc. to catch the rain water. My little king (my three year old son) had a blast at first as we let him bathe in the rain water; he ran around butt-naked in the rain. After that he got tired of if after a couple of times, for the rain water were cold, as cold as ice water. Again, as I watched my little king danced in the rain water, I was taken back to the time of Pol Pot where drinking rain water was a luxury. I saw myself crouching on the ground trying to drink rain water that was collected in a little pond. I also saw the worried look on my parents’ faces as they knew that they could not and did not have any food for us to eat; my three-year old sister had to stop drinking her milk. It was painful to see their helpless faces. Now my face was probably like theirs as I was wondering where on earth I could get milk for my son. Since almost all gas stations and convenient stores were shut down for lack of power.
Thus 15 days and so many recollections later, the light came back on as if heaven suddenly said: “enough of this test for Chumnith already. Let there be electricity.” And “poof” the power came back on. My wife and I jumped with joy as we realized that the bad time had passed. We understood that we were reminded that there is always sunshine after the rain. We were reminded that one should never, ever take anything for granted, but the most important reminder of all was that one should not let his or her guard down and must never forget the past no matter how bitter that past may have been.
Or was Ike a blessing in disguise? Yes, it was a wake-up call alright; a reminder to me, especially. It was as though it said to me “hey, Chumnith, complacency is over. Wake up and be reminded of the time that you did not have what you have today.”
Yes, indeed, it was mighty strong reminder. And Ike made sure I won’t ever forget the hard time again.
I felt Ike’s presence at 10:30 p.m. The howling of the wind, the swaying of the trees (which I had about 50 on my property), the twisting of branches, and the pouring of rain did not bother me that much. I had been through hurricane before. Nothing to worry about. Then out went the light. I told everyone to go to sleep and when we “wake up tomorrow the worse will pass.”
But the worst had not even arrived yet. I awoke to the crashing sound on my roof. A pine tree was uprooted and felt on my roof. It sounded like a grenade had exploded meters away from me; I tried to go outside to see for myself, but I found myself unable to open the door. The wind, with its might, pressed the door shut as if mine was a doll house.
You know, I use candles to “create” ambient whenever I throw a party at my house. Lots of them. Candles by the stairways, by the fire place, on the tables, bathroom, etc. They all were beautiful when you use them to achieve the desired effect. But not that night. And surely not the 15 nights that followed. I burned the candles very sparingly since there was not any electrical power to my whole neighborhood.
As I sat during these nights having dinners, I was reminded of the time that, not so long ago, my family and I sat on the cold, damped floor around the faintly lit lamp fueled by coconut oil in our thatched hut somewhere in the land of Angkar. We sat and whispered night after night as if the grim reaper is hovering around waiting to snatch our soul. Come to think of it, Angkar was not any different from that at all.
Aside from not having electrical power, we did not have other things that we normally take for granted: water and natural gas. Hence, to have potable water for cooking and drinking, we resorted to use all of our available pots and pans and coolers, etc. to catch the rain water. My little king (my three year old son) had a blast at first as we let him bathe in the rain water; he ran around butt-naked in the rain. After that he got tired of if after a couple of times, for the rain water were cold, as cold as ice water. Again, as I watched my little king danced in the rain water, I was taken back to the time of Pol Pot where drinking rain water was a luxury. I saw myself crouching on the ground trying to drink rain water that was collected in a little pond. I also saw the worried look on my parents’ faces as they knew that they could not and did not have any food for us to eat; my three-year old sister had to stop drinking her milk. It was painful to see their helpless faces. Now my face was probably like theirs as I was wondering where on earth I could get milk for my son. Since almost all gas stations and convenient stores were shut down for lack of power.
Thus 15 days and so many recollections later, the light came back on as if heaven suddenly said: “enough of this test for Chumnith already. Let there be electricity.” And “poof” the power came back on. My wife and I jumped with joy as we realized that the bad time had passed. We understood that we were reminded that there is always sunshine after the rain. We were reminded that one should never, ever take anything for granted, but the most important reminder of all was that one should not let his or her guard down and must never forget the past no matter how bitter that past may have been.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Stop Patronizing Siam
In light of recent event, the obvious question that came to my mind was WHAT SHOULDN’T Mr. HUN SEN DO?
Siam has blatantly violated Khmer sovereignty not once but twice since the temple of Preah Vihear was listed as a World Heritage site. On one occasion, three civilian crossed the border and were detained but were handed back to Siam authority. That was understandable in so far as since the intruders were civilians. The last act was not excusable and was very provocative. Forty or so of Siam soldiers crossed the border with the intent of drawing fire from the Khmer troop. Luckily no fire was shot.What would happen have Khmer soldiers took the bait and open fire? Return fires from the 40 odd Siam soldiers are expected and back-up fire from hidden contingencies is highly probable. I am not sure how many units of Khmer soldiers are deployed in the area, but the number should be increased to a minimum of a battalion size with appropriate supports units.This deployment should not be designed to provoke Siam, but to show that we are ready and able to defend our land. Our intention should be made crystal clear.
We must register our complaints with the UN and other international agencies. A border watch organization should be invited to observe the situation.The arrogance and the aggression of Siam should serve as a reminder to Khmer leadership that the Siamese government cannot be trusted and that as Khmers we should be vigilant in this regard. As Khmers, we cannot dismiss this as a mere political move by this or that faction (Siam or Khmer). This intrusion must be seen in its seriousness and we all must do our part.We have seen what Siam has done: the shooting of Khmer civilians, the canceling of 1000 or so tourist to srok Khmer, and the invasion of Siam troop. These are just the beginning. I am sure there are more to come: when and how is the question.
As Khmers living overseas, w can do something to help: stop patronizing Siam. Stop giving them businesses. Stop spending our hard-earned dollars or Euros in Siam. Our government must make it known to Siam about this fact.An apology is in order here, Siam. And it is high time that you, Siam, accept the fact that Preah Vihear is Khmer’s: always was, always will be.
Siam has blatantly violated Khmer sovereignty not once but twice since the temple of Preah Vihear was listed as a World Heritage site. On one occasion, three civilian crossed the border and were detained but were handed back to Siam authority. That was understandable in so far as since the intruders were civilians. The last act was not excusable and was very provocative. Forty or so of Siam soldiers crossed the border with the intent of drawing fire from the Khmer troop. Luckily no fire was shot.What would happen have Khmer soldiers took the bait and open fire? Return fires from the 40 odd Siam soldiers are expected and back-up fire from hidden contingencies is highly probable. I am not sure how many units of Khmer soldiers are deployed in the area, but the number should be increased to a minimum of a battalion size with appropriate supports units.This deployment should not be designed to provoke Siam, but to show that we are ready and able to defend our land. Our intention should be made crystal clear.
We must register our complaints with the UN and other international agencies. A border watch organization should be invited to observe the situation.The arrogance and the aggression of Siam should serve as a reminder to Khmer leadership that the Siamese government cannot be trusted and that as Khmers we should be vigilant in this regard. As Khmers, we cannot dismiss this as a mere political move by this or that faction (Siam or Khmer). This intrusion must be seen in its seriousness and we all must do our part.We have seen what Siam has done: the shooting of Khmer civilians, the canceling of 1000 or so tourist to srok Khmer, and the invasion of Siam troop. These are just the beginning. I am sure there are more to come: when and how is the question.
As Khmers living overseas, w can do something to help: stop patronizing Siam. Stop giving them businesses. Stop spending our hard-earned dollars or Euros in Siam. Our government must make it known to Siam about this fact.An apology is in order here, Siam. And it is high time that you, Siam, accept the fact that Preah Vihear is Khmer’s: always was, always will be.
I, the Accuser, find the government guilty as charged.
I, the Accuser, find the government guilty as charged.
Posted by Hang, Chumnith on July 17, 2008 at 10:38am
The headlines read “In Cambodia, progress for some means eviction for others (International Herald Tribune)Yes, progress has a price. And, mind you, who pays for this “progress” today? Yep, you’ve got it right: the poor and the miserable. Just read the following quotes and tell me whether or not the vast majority of Khmers are protected by the constitution:“Mao Sein, 34, is a widow and a scavenger, and as these things go, she could be doing worse. When the government raided a squatter colony in Phnom Penh two years ago to clear it for a new development, it allowed 700 families to resettle to this open field 20 kilometers, or 12 miles, outside the capital.”“With the economy on the rise, land is being seized for logging, agriculture, mining, tourism and fisheries, and in Phnom Penh, soaring land prices have touched off what one official called a frenzy of land grabs by the rich and powerful.”“In a recent report, Amnesty International estimated that 150,000 people around the country were now at risk of forcible eviction as a result of land disputes, land seizures and new development projects.”“"One thing that is important to note is that the government is not only failing to protect the population but we are also seeing that it is complicit in many of the forced evictions," said Edman of Amnesty International.”Chapter 3, Article 32 states:“Every Khmer citizen shall have the right to life, personal freedom and security.”The right to life and personal freedom is nice and dandy, but how about security? According Merriam-Webster dictionary, one of the definitions of security is “freedom from fear or anxiety.” I dare to bet that those that live on or below the poverty line don’t have security. I bet they have plenty of fear and anxiety. The fear of the unknown, the fear that constantly reminds them that wherever they are today is only temporary. Sooner or later they and their family will be forced to move again, and again. The anxiety that the parents of the impoverished kids have daily 24/7 about whether their kids will grow up to be like them or not.In this regard, I, the accuser, find the government guilty.Chapter 3, Article 38 states:“The law shall protect the life, honor and dignity of the citizens.”What honor or dignity is there when you ain’t got a piece of land to call your own? What dignity and honor is there when you have to live off garbage dumps and your kids are sent to beg for tourist dollars?In this regard, I, the accuser, find the government guilty.Chapter 3, Article 44 states:“The right to confiscate possessions from any person shall be exercised only in the public interest as provided for under law and shall required fair and just compensation in advance.”Public interest is loosely defined as always. Who is to say what constitutes “public interest?” And the fair and just compensation part? Who in hell can tell me how much is fair, when your monthly earning is less than the cost of a visit to a brothel?In this regard, I, the accuser, find the government guilty.
Posted by Hang, Chumnith on July 17, 2008 at 10:38am
The headlines read “In Cambodia, progress for some means eviction for others (International Herald Tribune)Yes, progress has a price. And, mind you, who pays for this “progress” today? Yep, you’ve got it right: the poor and the miserable. Just read the following quotes and tell me whether or not the vast majority of Khmers are protected by the constitution:“Mao Sein, 34, is a widow and a scavenger, and as these things go, she could be doing worse. When the government raided a squatter colony in Phnom Penh two years ago to clear it for a new development, it allowed 700 families to resettle to this open field 20 kilometers, or 12 miles, outside the capital.”“With the economy on the rise, land is being seized for logging, agriculture, mining, tourism and fisheries, and in Phnom Penh, soaring land prices have touched off what one official called a frenzy of land grabs by the rich and powerful.”“In a recent report, Amnesty International estimated that 150,000 people around the country were now at risk of forcible eviction as a result of land disputes, land seizures and new development projects.”“"One thing that is important to note is that the government is not only failing to protect the population but we are also seeing that it is complicit in many of the forced evictions," said Edman of Amnesty International.”Chapter 3, Article 32 states:“Every Khmer citizen shall have the right to life, personal freedom and security.”The right to life and personal freedom is nice and dandy, but how about security? According Merriam-Webster dictionary, one of the definitions of security is “freedom from fear or anxiety.” I dare to bet that those that live on or below the poverty line don’t have security. I bet they have plenty of fear and anxiety. The fear of the unknown, the fear that constantly reminds them that wherever they are today is only temporary. Sooner or later they and their family will be forced to move again, and again. The anxiety that the parents of the impoverished kids have daily 24/7 about whether their kids will grow up to be like them or not.In this regard, I, the accuser, find the government guilty.Chapter 3, Article 38 states:“The law shall protect the life, honor and dignity of the citizens.”What honor or dignity is there when you ain’t got a piece of land to call your own? What dignity and honor is there when you have to live off garbage dumps and your kids are sent to beg for tourist dollars?In this regard, I, the accuser, find the government guilty.Chapter 3, Article 44 states:“The right to confiscate possessions from any person shall be exercised only in the public interest as provided for under law and shall required fair and just compensation in advance.”Public interest is loosely defined as always. Who is to say what constitutes “public interest?” And the fair and just compensation part? Who in hell can tell me how much is fair, when your monthly earning is less than the cost of a visit to a brothel?In this regard, I, the accuser, find the government guilty.
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