Andy Brouwer's Cambodia Tales

News headlines from Cambodia

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4-17 January 2002 - Tuol Sleng survivor dies : Pha Thanchan, aged 65, has died, leaving only two of the seven survivors who emerged from the Khmer Rouge's infamous Tuol Sleng prison and torture center in 1979, still alive. Vann Nath, the celebrated artist and author and Chum Mey are the two who remain alive and living in Cambodia. Thanchan was cremated with full military honours as befits a man who spent the next twenty years in the army after his release from Tuol Sleng. (Phnom Penh Post)

12 January 2002 - Wildlife in Cambodia : Using automatic infrared cameras triggered by the passage of wildlife, Cambodian researchers aided by World Wildlife Fund and the Wildlife Conservation Society photographed rare species for the first time in Cambodia, the World Wildlife Fund said today. In the Kirirom National Park, surveyors sighted the elusive spotted linsang, a slender cat-like carnivore. It was the first time this species had been recorded in Cambodia. Tigers and leopards, clouded leopards, marbled cats, sun bears, Asian elephants, Asian wild dogs, and gaur and banteng, two species of wild cattle were among the species caught in the camera traps. (ENS)

10 January 2002 - Skulls Map in Tuol Sleng : A decision to remove a gruesome display of human skulls arranged in the shape of Cambodia from Phnom Penh's Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum will make it even harder for victims of the brutal Khmer Rouge regime to find justice, critics say. The map, made up of more than 300 skulls and other human bones, was hung just after the 1979 fall of the Khmer Rouge in a Phnom Penh school that was turned into a notorious prison. Amongst those calling for the remains to be removed to a more appropriate resting place are King Norodom Sihanouk. (South China Morning Post)

3 January 2002 - Border Crossings : Thailand's National Security Council has opposed the opening of the Thai-Cambodian border in Si Sa Ket. Surin's governor has said that the Sa Ngam pass in Phu Sing district was unlikely to be opened because of the council's opposition. However, the governor said the council was interested in the proposed opening of Chong Chom pass in Surin's Kap Choeng district. Opening the pass will help draw tourists from Cambodia to Surin and boost the local economy in northeast Thailand. (Bangkok Post)

- more headlines at bottom of this page -

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The Irish Times : June 30, 2001

Stepping into the Minefield - by Miriam Donohue

One in 250 in Cambodia are amputees - the legacy of decades of deadly conflict. The Halo Trust, partly Irish-funded and with mostly native staff, is clearing vast areas covered by land mines.

The landrover zigzags along the battered road, which is deeply furrowed by the heavy rains. We reach a collapsed bridge and our driver, David McMahon, has a choice: turn back or try to negotiate the river at its lowest level. Not a man to spurn a challenge, he crosses without incident. As we crawl in second gear through mile after mile of Cambodia's "Killing Fields" there is a depressing sameness about the surrounding countryside. Cambodia remains in the throes of social and economic turmoil following a quarter of a century of war and slaughter. The smell of death and decay still hangs in the air. We pass village after village of makeshift wooden houses with straw roofs, hastily built structures barely able to withstand the elements. This is the wet season and naked children splash about in the muddy ponds left by the steamy monsoon rains. Few have the privilege of going to school. The elderly sit outside their huts, many watching over their stalls, selling whatever few vegetables they have harvested from the fields. There are no electricity or telephone lines in these communities. Outside one house, batteries are being recharged. This is the village power supply. The batteries will be collected later by local people who will bring them home on the back of their bikes. They will provide enough power to burn a light bulb or two for a few nights before they will need to be charged again. A lucky few have a television to power as well. On the road from Siem Reap in north-west Cambodia to Thmar Pouk district in Banteay Meanchey province, a man is pushed along in tricycle-cum-wheelchair by two of his three children. The youngest, only two-years-old, is sitting snugly on her father's lap. We stop to talk. He is one of Cambodia's 35,000 land-mine victims, who lost both his legs near the border in 1985. His wife died last year, leaving him to raise his girls, aged 10, seven and two. This former soldier fixes radios and bicycles for a living. He has to haul himself out of his chair and crawl along the ground to get into his house. He says his children, who don't go to school, are a big help to him.

Cambodia's slide into destruction began in 1975 when Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge proclaimed a worker-peasant revolutionary state. In a disastrous campaign to achieve anarchy, whole cities were emptied and the population moved to rural work camps. There followed economic chaos, widespread starvation and brutal purges of suspected "counter-revolutionaries". It is estimated that between 1.5 and 2 million people were massacred under the Khmer Rouge regime. Vietnam invaded Cambodia in 1978, pushing the Khmer Rouge back and installing a puppet government of KR defectors in the renamed People's Republic of Kampuchea (PRK). Non-communist resistance groups emerged and in 1982 the National United Front for an Independent, Neutral, Peaceful and Co-operative Cambodia (FUNCINPEC) fought the PRK government. In 1987, negotiations for peace began, and a settlement started to be negotiated which led to in the 1991 Paris peace accord. In 1992 the country was renamed the State of Cambodia and the UN began massive peace-keeping operations. Elections in 1993 were marred by the murder of political figures and the refusal of the Khmer Rouge to disarm. FUNCINPEC and the Cambodian Peoples Party (CPP) formed a coalition government. Tensions continued however and after the 1998 election, CPP and FUNCINPEC formed a new coalition government. The death of Pol Pot in 1998 and the surrender in December of that year of two Khmer Rouge leaders completed the de facto disappearance of the movement.

The years of conflict have left Cambodia one of the most heavily mined nations in the world. While the country is finally at peace, all of the weapons have not been laid to rest. Millions of land-mines were planted and then forgotten. Their bitter harvest will haunt Cambodia for a long time to come. Cambodia has the highest rate of amputees anywhere in the world - one person in every 250 in Cambodia has lost a limb from mine and or ammunition explosions. For every amputee in Cambodia, there is person who has died from a land-mine. Eighty per cent of land-mine casualties knew they were in a mine site at the time of the accident and 90 per cent of victims are male. Three years after the ending of armed conflict, there is still an average of 26 land-mine accidents recorded in Cambodia every month. There could be many more unrecorded. And these are only the accidents the authorities hear about. Estimates of the number of mines laid in Cambodia range from half a million to six million. Nobody really knows, because few records or minefield maps were kept during the conflicts, which makes clearance even more difficult. In addition to land-mines, there are tens of thousands of unexploded bombs, shells and rockets littered throughout the country.

The Halo (Hazardous Areas Life-Support Organisation) Trust is a British-registered charity which specialises in the removal of the debris of war. Founded in 1988, it currently operates in Afghanistan, Angola, Mozambique, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Somaliland, Abkhazia, Nagrno Karabakh, Kosovo and Cambodia. Worldwide, Halo clears an average of 20,000 mines and 170,000 unexploded ordnance (UXO) annually. Halo set up in Cambodia in 1991 and started mine clearance in Cambodia in 1992. It has cleared more than 12,000,000 million square metres of mined land, and destroyed more than 25,000 mines and 20,000 UXO's in that period. The Irish Government has been part-funding Halo since 1994, and last year donated £260,000 through Ireland Aid. Irish money has allowed Halo to clear the way for thousands of refugees to return to their homes, develop local infrastructure, and to build community facilities such as schools and health centres. In the last six months of last year, Irish Government-funded Halo de-miners cleared 180,000 square metres of land and destroyed 234 land-mines, one anti-tank mine and 93 UXO's. Halo is unique in that virtually all of its 900 staff here is native. One of the two foreigners heading the organisation is 30-year-old Clare-man, David McMahon, Deputy Programme Manager of Halo in Cambodia. In 1993, at the age of 22, McMahon left his job with Clare County Council to manage Concern's transport fleet in Cambodia. "I always wanted to work for Concern and when the opportunity arose I jumped at it," he says. He then worked for Shell Oil for a year, before joining the Halo Trust. McMahon has worked at every level in Halo and even trained as a de-miner. He has moved rapidly up through the management structure and was appointed to the number - two job six months ago. McMahon is a self-confessed Cambodia addict. He loves the country and its people. Five years ago he married a Chinese-Cambodian woman, Bunly, who gave birth to their first baby, Daragh, three months ago. Bunly had her son in Ireland and is one of the few Cambodians holding Irish citizenship.

At present, Halo operates in four areas in Cambodia - Thmar Pouk, Anlong Veng, Siem Reap and Samrong. Chheu Kroam village is in the Thmar Pouk district just a few miles from the Thai border and the famous K5 minebelt. The K5 is a strip between one and two kilometres wide along the Cambodian-Thai border between Cambodia and Thailand which is the most heavily mined area in the country and which will not be touched by de-mining companies for many years to come. The priority is to clear land for families to resettle first. This area was the scene of fierce fighting between Khmer Rouge, government, resistance forces and Vietnamese. Most of the mine-laying here was done in 1984 and 1985. People are now beginning to move back, thanks to Halo, which started mine clearance after a request from the village chief, Em Moem. There had been 20 accidents in the village before clearance work started, with seven people killed and 13 injured. Two areas in Chheu Kroam, funded by Irish Government grant aid, have been finished and Halo is working on phase three. A sign outside the village proclaims that this project is funded by Ireland. Since Halo started operations there have been no mine accidents here. Halo staff have been conducting mine-awareness classes for villagers, who attend in huge numbers. So far in phase three, 47 houses have been resettled. Each house has been provided with an outdoor lavatory by a Norwegian aid agency and each householder has been allocated a 40 metre by 50 metre plot of land. Seventy per cent of the people villagers cannot read or write. There is no school. Most of the villagers go across the border to Thailand to work as labourers for $1 a day.

Clearing the land is hot, dangerous and meticulous labour. Working in temperatures of up to 100 degrees, de-miners must wear helmets with visors and protective vests. They adhere to strict operational procedures. Land is cleared in metre-wide corridors. In this area, a de-miner can declare safe up to 50 metres of land a day. In an area where there is a lot of metal in the ground, the mine clearance work is much slower. The de-miners start work at 7a.m and take a 10-minute break after every half an hour of de-mining work. They finish their days work at 5p.m. They work three weeks on and a week off. McMahon points to a group of ten houses in Chheu Kroam which have been built on land not yet cleared by Halo. In this lethal minefield three children play: Chhean (10), Voeun six and Somnang (five). Somnang means " lucky" in English. The children have been warned of the dangers and try to stick to a path leading from their houses to the safe area. "Our mother and father have told us to be careful," says Chhean. This morning, his mother is in the forest looking for food. Feeding her family takes precedence over her personal safety. The woods can contain lethal surprises. "Many of these people feel they don't have any choice. When they haven't money to buy food they go and hunt for it, even if it does mean risking their lives ." says McMahon. In the next few months, the Halo team will de-mine around the houses, in this unsafe zone, giving peace of mind to the families there. "And peace of mind to us as well," says McMahon. "We do try to discourage families from settling in an area that we have not made safe. But they don't listen. The best we can do in these situations is do some de-mining awareness and ask them not to touch anything that looks suspicious and to keep to pathways and tracks."

Nearby, within the safe zone, a 16-year-old girl is minding her younger brothers and sisters,who are sitting underneath their house sheltering from the sweltering sun. In a couple of hours, the rains will start again. The young woman explains that her mother is in the woods digging for bamboos and looking for vegetables. Her father is a de-mobilised soldier. They lived in a military base until they moved here. This has been a bad week. Normally, the young woman travels the few miles across the border into Thailand to work for $1 a day. The only other family income is the $20 a month army pay her father gets. But the army money does not always come. The border has been closed for the past three days, so she has not been able to work and the money has dried up. There is not enough food. Sman Makera is the Halo Trust location manager for the Banteay Meanchey region and joined in 1992. He is responsible for 270 staff. He is especially proud to be involved in mine clearance. His mother, father, and five of his brothers and sisters were killed by the Khmer Rouge in the 1970s, when he was a little boy. Only Sman and his sister survived. "My mother knew that the Khmer Rouge were going to get the people in the village. She sent me away to another village to live with a childless couple. My sister was sent somewhere else. I remember when my mother said goodbye. She patted me on the head and she was crying. I never saw the face of my mother or father again." When he was 22, Sman Makera joined the Khmer Rouge for six months, despite what had happened his family. He joined in a moment of madness he says. "I don't know why I joined. I was young. I regret it now. But I never killed anybody. I was part of a group that destroyed a bridge. My friend joined with me."

In the Halo training centre in Kdep Thmor, new staff are put through their paces and get intensive training before they go out into the field. There is huge competition for jobs. Everywhere he goes, McMahon is approached and asked if he has a job to give. Halo is more than a de-mining agency. It also provides much needed employment for local people. De-miners are paid $150 a month, six times the national average wage which can support many extended families. An important part of mine clearance work is making safe explosive material. Pete Williams, a former British army explosives ordnance expert, is holding a training course for Halo staff in Kdep Thmor this month. He is putting a group through their paces, teaching the six stages of disposal: detection, identification, evaluation, the rendering safe procedure, recovery and final disposal. "Cambodia is basically one big minefield and it is important to train de-miners to dispose of items in a safe manner," he says. What McMahon loves about his job is that he sees immediate results. "With long-term development work, you might not see the fruits of your work for years in some cases. Here the results are instant. One week an area is unsafe and the next week it has been cleared by our operations. I feel we really make a difference to people's lives here." It may be slow, painstaking work, but every square metre that is cleared presents a lifeline to families who are barely surviving. And every square metre of land recovered is another step in the rebuilding of Cambodia.

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The Asahi Shimbun : May 14, 2001

Dolphins charm ex-banker to a new life - by Susumu Maejima

Former bank worker Keiichi Iwashige decided to turn his life around before he got too old to appreciate it. Iwashige left his job at Mitsubishi Trust & Banking Corp. after 29 years in March, seven years ahead of the bank's mandatory retirement age, to focus on researching and protecting the endangered Mekong River dolphin. "I want to shed light on the Mekong River dolphin's habitat because little is known about it," said Iwashige. "I want to draw on (the knowledge of) a network of officials, scholars and other experts that I have built up over the years." Iwashige, 53, was so spellbound by the creatures that he forked out 3 million yen to cover the cost of constructing a center for the research and conservation of the mammal. The one-story building in the port town of Kratie, 150 kilometers northeast of Phnom Penh, is built on 3,300 square meters of land leased for free by the provincial government and is scheduled for completion soon.

Iwashige, who heads a citizens group called Human Animal Bond for the 21st Century (HAB21), first visited Cambodia in 1996 with other members of the group. Although the country has been scarred by prolonged civil war, Iwashige managed to kick start efforts to protect dolphins with help from like-minded government officials and representatives of nongovernmental organizations. Local residents rarely kill dolphins in Cambodia, but during Pol Pot's reign, soldiers shot them for target practice and used their fat as fuel. Many also have been killed by dynamite, grenades or electrocution, which is a popular fishing technique. Iwashige estimates that about 100 Mekong River dolphins now live between Kratie and Cambodia's northern border with Laos.

In 1997, HAB21 sponsored a seminar in Kratie, where participants, including experts and officials from Japan and Cambodia, as well as local fishermen, decided for the first time to establish a dolphin conservation campaign. The provincial governor later agreed to set up a 40-kilometer-long sanctuary along the Mekong. Iwashige formed HAB21 with six former high school classmates in 1991, after learning of a decline in the number of dolphins in Kinko Bay in his native Kagoshima Prefecture. When Iwashige was young, dolphins were so common that he had to drive them away when he was fishing. "When we were kids, we were full of life and had a sparkle in our eyes every day," Iwashige said. "I wanted to do something that would allow younger generations to enjoy a similar experience." In Japan, with its corporate-centered society, people usually wait until retirement to pursue their dreams. But Iwashige, who was in his early 40s when he established HAB21, was worried he was leaving things too late. Since then, the group has taken children dolphin watching off Mikura Island, part of the Izu Islands, among others, and has organized seminars on dolphins, other animals and broader issues such as the environment. The group now has about 100 members.

In March, Iwashige completed a graduate program at the Tokyo University of Fisheries, earning a master's degree in fisheries resource management. His thesis was about Mikura Island. He hopes to produce a paper on the Mekong River dolphin for his doctorate in the future. "Mr. Iwashige may not have been a perfect banker, but he has been faithful to himself, unconstrained by the precedent," said Shiro Umeda, his former supervisor at Mitsubishi Trust & Banking Corp. "Many salarymen, even if they turn over a new leaf in their 50s, stay more or less along the track on which they began, but Mr. Iwashige has gone way beyond this." Although Kagoshima natives are known for their fiery tempers, Iwashige has won the hearts of many Japanese and Cambodians with his eloquence, broad smile, affable character. "Mr. Iwashige was bright, friendly and respectful when I first met him in 1996," said Touch Seang Tana, a Cambodian government official. "His English was not so good at the time, but he managed to communicate not only with words but also with body language." For his part, Iwashige says working in war-torn Cambodia is as challenging as the work he did for the student movement during his university days in the 1960s.

In Kratie, an inauguration ceremony for the new center is expected within weeks. As a base for dolphin watching, the facility is expected to play a key role in regional development and nature studies for visitors, and Iwashige plans to teach Japanese and environmental studies to local children. "The dolphin is a symbol of the environment that even kids can easily understand," he said. "I want to make the best of my experience so that we can hand down to future generations an environment where humans and dolphins live side by side."

The following information is supplied by the Whale & Dolphin Conservation Society: Description: The Irrawaddy dolphin has a rounded head with no beak, and a flexible neck. They can vary in colour from dark and light blue-grey, to pale blue. It is grouped as an oceanic dolphin, although some dolphins may live in the freshwater of rivers all their life (such as the Ganges in India). This species of dolphin has a small triangular shaped dorsal fin with a rounded tip, below the centre of the back, and is a slow swimmer - usually moving in small groups. Irrawaddy dolphins are very similar to the shape of the Beluga (toothed whale), and to the shape of the Finless Porpoise with its blunt round head, so they are sometimes difficult to tell apart. It has a streamlined body, round melon, flexible neck, a single blowhole, long, broad, spatulate flippers, normally in small groups and shy and retiring by nature. Adult Irrawaddy dolphins can grow between 2.1 and 2.6 metres long. New-born are about 1m in length. A fully grown Irrawaddy dolphin can weigh between 90 and 150 kg. Birth weight is about 12kg or so. Their diet consistes of fish, crustaceans and squid.

Behaviour: The Irrawaddy dolphins usually swim in groups of six, or less. They rarely show themselves above the surface of the water, but sometimes may make low horizontal leaps. They may also do something called 'spyhopping', which is the name given to the activity of poking their heads out of the water - perhaps to have a good look around! They have also been seen to spit out water from their mouths whilst spy-hopping! The Irrawaddy dolphin species do not ride the waters infront of the bows of boats, but they do have a special relationship with fisherman on the Irrawaddy and Mekong rivers, by driving fish into their nets. Distribution: This species of dolphin lives in the shallow, tropical, and sub tropical waters of the Indian and Pacific Oceans, around Indonesia, northern Australia, and Southeast Asia. It prefers to live near to the coast and at the mouth of rivers. It also lives upstream in some tropical rivers, such as the river Irrawaddy in Burma - where the species gets its name from. It is unusual for an Irrawaddy dolphin to swim further than two kilometres away from the shore, because they prefer sheltered areas, and more cloudy/turbid waters.

Fascinating Facts: When scared, the Irrawaddy dolphins can dive underwater for up to 12 minutes! The dolphin is seen to be a sacred animal by fishermen in Vietnam. If they catch a dolphin in their nets, they will free it, and in areas along the Mekong river, a dead dolphin will be cremated and given a religious ceremony in respect! In at least one river village the dolphins help fishermen by rounding up fish and driving them into the nets. Investigations sponsored by WDCS established that a small population of Irrawaddy dolphins remains in the upstream reaches of the Mekong River in Laos and Cambodia, but that the dolphins and their prey are seriously threatened by entanglement in gillnets, explosive fishing, and the potential barrier effects and habitat degradation from planned dams.

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Time : April 23, 2001

Travel Watch : A River Lost in Time but Open for Travel - by Steven Martin

A journey up the Mekong into the jungled heart of Southeast Asia has had a hold on popular imagination since Martin Sheen's nightmarish voyage in Apocalypse Now. Francis Ford Coppola's film, shot in the Philippines, probably did as much to inform armchair experience of the Vietnam War and its virgin forest battlegrounds as any travel brochure. But recreating Captain Willard's mythical journey has been impossible for decades due to civil war in Mekong and tourist restrictions in communist Laos. Until now. Although not yet officially announced, the Mekong border crossing has been reopened to foreigners, allowing river travel from the Cambodian capital Phnom Penh to southern Laos for the first time in half a century.

The fighting and political concerns that kept outsiders away for so long also acted as a kind of bell jar. River life has changed little since the Mekong was a major artery of French Indochina, when mustachioed messieurs shot crocodiles from steamboats while mademoiselles sipped fine wines and snacked on tinned delicacies. The journey begins in Phnom Penh, a city of wide boulevards where the Mekong meets the Tonle Sap River. The first leg starts at dawn - a six-hour ride upriver on a modern ferry to the town of Kratie. For the best views, pick a spot on the roof - as far forward as possible to avoid being soaked by spray. The Mekong is more than 1 km wide at this point, and fishermen throwing butterfly nets from bobbing sampans are a common sight. Arriving in Kratie at noon, you have time for lunch and a short siesta. Then hire a motorcycle taxi to the town's northern edge to see endangered freshwater dolphins frolicking just off the river bank in the late afternoon.

After a night in Kratie (there are several basic hotels, all less than $10), it's seven hours to Stung Treng. An American visitor in the 1920s described the town as "a savage little poem," and there is little to see. But you must stop to obtain permission to cross the border, either from the immigration office ($1) or the Sekong Hotel ($20, but hassle-free). The last three hours to the border are by outboard-powered dug-out. The going is slow but the pace affords fine views of the delta at its most pristine. The thick jungle harbors flocks of parrots, egrets and electric-blue kingfishers, while the banks are lined with tree roots twisted by monsoon floods into banyan shapes. The border post exudes an air of the illicit - a battered desk, a netted bed and a rack of rusting AK-47s cram a one-room shack. The Cambodian guard may ask for a $5 "gift" to expedite the paperwork: refuse only if you have plenty of time. The Lao post is on the opposite bank. The official there will also ask for a tip and may invite you to get drunk but it's best to beg off, as your next halt, Don Khon, is still a 20-minute boat ride away.

This jewel of an islet, known to the French as "the Tahiti of Laos," is a perfect rest stop. Flanking it are waterfalls, including Khon Falls - the largest in Southeast Asia - marking the start of an unnavigable stretch. On arrival, follow an old railway track to the main village. A French hospital has been converted into the fine Auberge Done Khone ($14-$22 a room), great for a cold beer and a stunning sunset. If you must have air-conditioned accommodation, an hour upstream by canoe is the island of Don Khong. There a French colonial house with a spacious veranda overlooking a garden of mango trees has been transformed into the 24-room Auberge Sala Done Khong ($20-$30). Feast at the restaurant on succulent Mekong fish steamed in banana leaves. Both rest houses are owned by Auberges Sala Lao, tel: (856-31) 212725. From Don Khong take a bus to Pakse (three hours) and continue to Vientiane or cross into Thailand, an hour away.

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Phnom Penh : March 15, 2001

Faces of the dead haunt former Khmer Rouge photographer - by Eric Unmacht and Chheang Sopheng

Unlike any normal school, the classrooms' walls at Phnom Penh's Tuol Sleng High School are not adorned with educational material, but with the haunting faces of the dead and the tortured. The faces, carrying expressions of numbness, sorrow, terror, fatigue, and pain, stand as a stark reminder of the lives snuffed out by the iron fist of Cambodia's Khmer Rouge regime. "I felt the hairs on my skin stand up when I saw those photos," said Inger Vinje, 37, a Norwegian tourist. "When you look at their eyes, they have this expression of emptiness and horror."

Capturing much of "the emptiness and horror" was Nhem En, chief photographer for the Khmer Rouge during S-21's operation as the main security center for interrogating, torturing and sometimes exterminating suspected betrayers of Angkor from 1976 to 1979. Chosen for the job by being a model student in 1970s rural Cambodia, he still struggles to erase the mental imprint left by the photographs and the faces in them. Academically excellent, friendly to his classmates and - most importantly - always obeying authority, rewarded the 16-year-old with a scholarship to study abroad. "When I was recruited for training in China, I was very happy and thankful that they had chosen a really poor farmer's son like me to be a photographer," said Nhem En, 41, who grew up in Kompong Chhnang, north of Phnom Penh. "I never imagined that I would get a job," he said. "Much less have a chance like that."

Returning from China in mid-1976, he was posted as chief photographer to Tuol Sleng High School in Phnom Penh. It soon became a notorious torture center under the Khmer Rouge, who took control of the country in 1975. "When I first got my job to take photographs of the prisoners at the school I was scared," Nhem En said. "I didn't know how I could take pictures of these people. But the Khmer Rouge had a rule and anyone who would not follow it was regarded as an enemy and was killed or immediately sent to prison," he said. "I decided then I would try my best to fulfill my duty. I never betrayed or committed any violation to the Khmer Rouge regulations."

For the next few years he spent his days at Tuol Sleng photographing prisoners soon after they came through the door. He would take two photographs of every prisoner. One was a portrait, shot from the waist up, for Khmer Rouge documentation purposes, many of which now line the walls of the school-turned-torture-center-turned-museum. The photographs of men and women, girls and boys, Cambodians and foreigners, monks and laymen are one aspect of the museum most tourists cite as being the most unforgettable. The second photograph had to be appropriate for public posting, should a prisoner have ever escaped. Nhem En, who was the head of six photographers stationed at the school, estimated that he photographed thousands of people, who were then questioned, tortured and usually sentenced to die in nearby killing fields. "I'd hear shouts every time the Khmer Rouge would ask a question," Nhem En said. "The questions were fierce. I heard them hit the prisoners. The prisoners would shout and tell them the answers they want to hear."

Every day he would report to his boss, 'Duch,' the now notorious prison director - one of only two Khmer Rouge leaders now incarcerated. Then the long day of silently and obediently photographing every prisoner admitted would begin. "They always believed that after the Khmer Rouge arrested them they would die or face problems. So when I took photographs, their faces looked scared, eyes full of pity, hands in handcuffs. They were already scared when they were put into handcuffs, but when I took their photograph, it made them even more scared," he said. "It was very strict. I was the photographer. I had no right to ask any questions or to talk to them at all. There were others there to ask questions. My job was to ask them to take a seat so I could take their photographs."

Three of Nhem En's eight brothers had high-ranking positions in the Khmer Rouge movement, so he never felt his family was endangered, as long as he obeyed the rules and performed his duties adequately. His strong discipline was tested when friends, distant relatives or acquaintances would walk through the door of the prison to be photographed. "I was so scared and felt so bad when they walked through the door and I had to take their photograph. I reminded myself of the Khmer Rouge slogan, 'Your hair is your hair and your head is your head. It means everyone has their own duty to fulfill and nobody can interfere with the duty of others," he said. On January 7, 1979, Nhem En fled to the Thai border, hours before the Vietnamese would capture the city and discover, preserve and publicize the horrors left behind in Tuol Sleng High School.

Near the border Nhem En transported food and weapons - and took photographs of Khmer Rouge meetings and events, until he defected from the movement in 1995. He still lives in the former Khmer Rouge stronghold of Anlong Veng, also the home of such former leaders as Khieu Samphan, Nuon Chea, and Ieng Sary. "Sometimes when I see the photographs, I remember my job in Tuol Sleng. Sometimes when I dream, I dream about the job. I'm trying my best to forget. I've been to Tuol Sleng a couple times after I defected," he said. "The inside remains the same, nothing's changed. But outside is different, more buildings, trees, houses, roads, traffic. When I think of past, I feel so sad and so much regret. But when I see the outside of the prison, it looks okay, the country's developing, this is going to get better."

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Asiaweek : March 2, 2001

Lights, Camera - Tourists! Cambodians hope the movie Tomb Raider will lure more visitors. They should be careful what they wish for - by Alexandra A Seno

This is no average movie set. The magnificent sandstone ruins of the 9th-century Angkor Wat monument loom in the background. In a rowboat, American movie star Angelina Jolie, dressed in black battle fatigues, has been paddling around the pond for hours in 35-degree heat. On shore, hundreds of Cambodian villagers are jostling for a glimpse of the Oscar-winning actress. A tall white stuntman in a black wet suit and flippers watches her every move, too - just in case she should fall in. "With water and stuff you can never be too careful," says production designer Kirk Petruccelli. It's been a thrill-packed five days. Paramount Pictures brought in minesweepers to check out the set before Jolie and the crew arrived. A few days after shooting started, an armed rebellion erupted on the streets of Phnom Penh, just an hour's flight away. Eight insurgents died after their assault on a military building. "There was a moment of concern," admits Jolie at the end of a day of filming. She says her stint in Cambodia has been a life-altering experience, though. "If anything was to happen to me here, it would be worth it."

With a little luck, the only thing that will happen is that Jolie will become an even bigger star. Paramount hopes Tomb Raider, which is based on the exploits of curvaceous videogame star Lara Croft, will be this summer's biggest blockbuster. Cambodian officials are praying for a hit, too. They want the movie to help put their country, one of Asia's poorest, on the international tourism map. Since the Khmer Rouge surrendered in 1998, and the ruins of Angkor became safe from rebel attacks, the country has again become more attractive to tourists - but until now, they have been mostly limited to intrepid backpackers and super-luxury travelers. The country, whose economy was ravaged by the Khmer Rouge's brutal regime, followed by decades of civil wars and bad government, desperately needs more tourism dollars. "Tourism is going to go crazy," says Nick Ray, author of the Lonely Planet Cambodia guide, who was hired by Paramount as a location manager. "People who see the film are going to look at Cambodia and know it's a real place and will want to come here. They'll say: 'If Hollywood can go, then I can go.'"

Sounds like a typical Hollywood happy ending, right? Think again. Though tourism will give a vital boost to Cambodia's comatose economy, hordes of visitors could destroy Cambodia's ancient treasures. Conservationists already worry that tourists clambering over the ruins threaten to damage sites already in need of major restoration work. Over the centuries, the temples and other buildings around Angkor literally had disappeared into the tropical jungle, until they were rediscovered by French explorer Henri Mouhot in 1860. In recent years, the United Nations named the temples World Heritage sites, and millions in foreign aid has flowed in for restoration work. But with little central government control and rampant corruption, looting and destruction have continued as traders cart Khmer busts and other relics off to the antique markets of Bangkok, Hong Kong, and New York. Meanwhile, tourists are allowed to freely wander the sites - with no controls over what they take or what they do. "Any number of tourists will cause some damage," says Anita Sach, author of the European Bradt travel guide to Cambodia. "Currently visitors are privileged to have such freedom to wander but with that there is the risk of long-term damage."

Tomb Raider is just the beginning. Cambodia is going to the movies big-time. Much as Tibet became part of the pop culture conversation via movies in the 1990s, the drama of Cambodia's history, the breath-taking nature of its aesthetics and the frisson of danger has somehow launched the dusty town of Siem Reap, near where Angkor is located, into trendy status in Hollywood. Cambodia is this year's Tibet - the flavor-of-the-month among movies seeking an exotic Asian setting . No fewer than four high-profile productions will include scenes among the ruins of the palaces and temples of what was once Southeast Asia's great empire.

Some outsiders think Hollywood isn't exactly what the sacred temple of Angkor Wat needs. The temples are the stunning legacy of a kingdom that ruled Southeast Asia between the 9th and 12th centuries; in many ways, they represent the soul of the Cambodian nation. "We hope Tomb Raider will encourage more visitors to come to our kingdom," says Sambo Chey, Cambodia's undersecretary of state for tourism. But as Cambodia struggles to emerge from its war-torn history, will Lara Croft send the right message to the world? The deputy director for culture at UNESCO, the Paris-based United Nations organization, wrote a letter last November to Cambodian monuments officials urging them not to give Paramount permission to make the film in Cambodia. "I would like to call your attention to the violent nature of the adventures of Lara Croft," wrote UNESCO's Mounir Bouchenaki. "The association of [Angkor's] image with a film about tomb raiders isn't appropriate." More importantly, he said, the filming could "cause irreparable damage to the monuments." Paramount is aware of such concerns. "[Lara] is not a looter," says Jolie. "And she'd probably shoot you for saying so." When the Cambodian preservation authorities negotiated with Paramount for the rights to film at Angkor, they expressed concern that a film about raiding tombs would portray the wrong image for their country - particularly given continuing concerns about rampant looting of Khmer antiquities from the temples. Paramount eventually persuaded them that the film's plot isn't about looting of the sites. The preservation officials did insist, however, on excising a celebration scene with fireworks, which they thought sounded too much like bombs. Given the fact that Khmer Rouge rebels hid in the temple during the 1970s, and that bullet-holes are visible in the stone walls, bomb-like fireworks seemed tasteless. Paramount dropped it from the script.

Nonetheless, the film is a rough and tumble, shoot-'em-up story. On Jolie's first filming day, Croft dropped by parachute onto Phnom Bakheng, the hilltop 10th-century Hindu temple. "I looked around at this great view and it was, like, I had arrived," says Jolie. Over the next few days, she did car stunts in a Land Rover in front of the sacred Bayon temple, perched at the edge of a cliff ["the Cambodians thought I was insane," she says], and received a blessing from Buddhist monks. Jolie says she was "amazed" by the experiences. But the film isn't exactly spiritual. In the movie, Croft, the fictitious British aristocrat who turns thrill-seeker after surviving a Himalayan plane crash, is in hot pursuit of a mysterious "Magic Triangle."

So far, about 1,000 tourists a day flock to Angkor Wat, clamoring to capture the monument as the sun rises behind it. If more tourists are going to start swarming in, Cambodia has a lot of work to do. The hotel and services industries are tiny and underdeveloped. In Siem Reap, which is the country's most important tourism destination, of 32 hotels, only two are five-star. "To tell you the truth, we are not well prepared," says Ang Choulien, director of culture and monuments for the government preservation effort in Angkor and the key negotiator with Paramount. "Very quickly the number of tourists has increased. We are rather overwhelmed by the multiple tasks." Last year, 470,000 foreign visitors arrived in Cambodia, up 30% from 1999. Prime Minister Hun Sen has vowed that the million-tourist mark should be reached by 2003. To achieve this goal, the number of hotel rooms will have to go up from 7,000 two years ago to 17,500 by 2005. Tourism receipts already account for about a 30% share of the national budget. In 1999, the most recent available year for which the figure is available, Cambodia earned $200 million from the entire tourism sector, a record amount. The government is forecasting that the industry will post a 25% annual increase for the next decade - the global average is under 4%. Such dizzying growth only highlights the problems that the country faces in achieving visitor-nirvana.

So far, Cambodia has had no real tourism plan to speak of. The Asian Development Bank has just allotted $136 million for tourism-related programs, including building roads and training tourism officials on forming master plans for hotel and service industry development. But the authorities' prime focus is still simply boosting the numbers of arrivals. "They need to learn how to channel interest in Angkor Wat so they can manage how to do minimal damage to the monuments and forests," says Barend Frielink, the Cambodia officer at the Manila headquarters of the Asian Development Bank. In December, noting the 8 million visitors that were welcomed by Thailand, the location for over a dozen films last year, Cambodia announced a "two countries, one film locale" promotional campaign with its neighbor to jointly attract more movie projects.

Be careful what you campaign for. The Paramount Pictures operation by itself strained the country's primitive infrastructure. In early November, 27 heavy trucks, trailers and container vehicles roared onto Vithei Charles de Gaulle, one of Siem Reap's main streets. Rains had washed out many of the roads between Thailand and the Cambodian town, so an advance crew had to repair roads and build bridges before the caravan could set out. "At one moment, I thought we weren't going to have anything," says production manager Chris Kenny. "But everything got here at the last moment and we made a movie." To guarantee electrical supply, Paramount brought in generators. It also shipped in a mobile kitchen truck to feed the 150 crewmembers - and cater to Jolie's idiosyncratic diet, including health bars, tuna, and sardines. Understandably, the people of Siem Reap were a little overwhelmed by the filmmakers' demands. Around the set, many of the conservation department's guards, peasants from surrounding villages, had never used walkie-talkies before. On the first day, batteries ran out, and coordination broke down. Angry tourists complained that guides hadn't told them that sections of the monuments would be blocked off.

At the Sofitel Royal Angkor hotel, where Tomb Raider occupied 70 rooms - half the total - staff members happily volunteered information about how much the company was paying for the rooms ($1,900 for Jolie's suite) and who was staying where. Says Weng Leong Aow, Singaporean general manger of the Angkor Hotel: "People here have a natural charm and grace but do not understand what quality of service truly means." Given the country's tragic, recent past, the young Cambodians working in the hotels and travel agencies could hardly be expected to know what "service" means. But villagers have had no trouble figuring out how to make a buck from tourists. Swarms of souvenir and snack vendors assault foreigners outside the monuments. "One dollar, one dollar," they shout, as they tug on tourists' bags, pants, or whatever they can grab. The numbers of hawkers no doubt will increase. And some Cambodians, like Princess Rattana-Devi Norodom also worry that the sacred meaning of Angkor will be lost in the quest for dollars. One problem: local children have been dropping out of school to sell trinkets. Says the granddaughter of King Norodom Sihanouk, the ceremonial head of the country: "The little children selling Cokes at the temple are cute, but I am not so sure that they are growing up to respect a sacred place. Finding the balance is something Cambodia will be struggling with in the years to come."

Tourists arguably will bring in money to help guard against looters and to finance preservation. "The interest ensures that there is investment, so that the temples don't disappear into the jungle again," says guidebook author Sach. According to Cambodian press reports, Paramount paid the preservation authorities $10,000 a day to film at Angkor. "They got screwed," says one foreign businessman. But in a country with an average urban income of $300 a year, even that amount of money can go a long way - if it's used properly. The conservation process so far has been an opaque one, raising concerns that inexperienced operators are in charge of taking in the money. APSARA, the official preservation department, lost its right to collect fees for tickets into Angkor in 1999 when Sokimex, a privately owned petroleum company that allegedly has ties to high-level officials, was suddenly given the license. Tourists pay Sokimex $20 a day to visit the temples. It pays from 50% to 70% of its proceeds to APSARA, depending on how many visit.

The Siem Reap natives, meanwhile, loved the production. Postcard hawker Prak Mon, 25, was determined to be part of the film. A Titanic fan, Prak had heard there would be parts for monks - so he set out to become one. A week before shooting began, he joined a Buddhist monastery on the Angkor Wat grounds. He put up with the awkwardness of his newly shaved head and nights of going to bed hungry observing the temple's evening fast. Then his skin began to itch - he caught ringworm from the communal blankets. Prak stayed long enough to get on the set for a day. "Somehow, I enjoyed it," he says. For his troubles, he earned $20. "I would not be here if I truly thought they hated us being here. We have plans to give back quite a lot [to the local community]," says Jolie while waiting to do a scene with monks in the main Angkor Wat building. Known for her tattoos (in addition to one on her arm that says "Billy Bob," her husband's name, she just announced that she has a new one on her pubic bone) and naughty image, Jolie "isn't a sanitized version of Lara," says Simon West, the director of the movie. "She doesn't do it for the children's eye hospital. She does it because she wants to have fun." West hopes she will become a heroine for a new, pop culture-crazed generation.

The Cambodians, meanwhile, have a different sort of poster girl in mind. Says preservation official Ang, a James Bond fan: "I hope people will talk about Angkor because of Tomb Raider." For the Cambodians, the film is not just about the money - it's also about the country's quest for peace and respect in the world. "I am very happy that this big movie has come to Cambodia," says Leung Choun, 65, the abbot of the monastery next to Angkor Wat. "This is a sign that a prediction in Buddhist scripture is being fulfilled. It promises peace in our country and that Angkor Wat will become great again." His dreams of religious revival may come true. But if Lara Croft conquers the box office, the abbot will have to brace himself for a new kind of pilgrim: the international tourist.

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Kyodo News : February 7, 2001

Ex-Khmer Rouge houses to become tourist site

ANLONG VENG, Cambodia - The Cambodian government plans to turn 36 houses of former Khmer Rouge leaders in the group's last stronghold of Anlong Veng, a frontier town near the Thai border, into a museum to attract more tourists to the country. Sim Mony, an official of the town's tourist office, told Kyodo News that the government decided on Nov. 20 last year to go ahead with the project. It is yet unclear what the project will cost. In coming months the government will renovate the houses and create a historical site expected to attract foreign tourists to Cambodia, he said. According to the plan, the site will recreate battlefields and hidden residences of ex-Khmer Rouge leaders.

Khmer Rouge leaders built many houses along the Cambodia-Thai border, making it easier for them to conduct guerrilla activities. The 36 to be renovated belonged to the late Pol Pot, alleged mastermind of the genocide, military chief Ta Mok, Khieu Samphan, head of state, Noun Chea, head of the parliament, the late Son Sen, minister of security, as well as other senior leaders of the 1975-1978 regime that is said to have killed at least 1.7 million people. ''The renovation will bring back the image of the old days as under the Khmer Rouge regime,'' Sim Mony said.

When the plan is realized, there will be a second historical site commemorating the ''unforgettable sufferings'' of genocide. Currently, a historical museum of genocide exists in Phnom Penh, known as Tuol Sleng, where some 14,000 prisoners were killed. Foreign tourists to Cambodia rarely miss seeing the Tuol Sleng prison, as the brutality of the Khmer Rouge regime in late 1970s is known worldwide.

Anlong Veng was brought under government control in 1998. Most of the ruined houses were on Dong Reik Mountain, commonly known as ''border demarcation mount,'' between Cambodia and Thailand. The majority of the houses were destroyed when the government's armed forces launched offensives against the remaining guerrillas before occupying the area. With the plan to build a ''historical zone,'' the Cambodian Foreign Ministry is negotiating with its Thai counterpart to open the border between the two nations, said Thong Khon, state secretary of the Tourism Ministry. ''When the border is opened, foreign tourists who come from or through Thailand will visit not only Anlong Veng, but also to visit Angkor temples complex,'' he said. Anlong Veng is about 100 kilometers north of Siem Reap, gateway to Angkor Wat. Some 26,000 people live in Anlong Veng, which has entertainment facilities such as karaoke bars along with guesthouses and restaurants.

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December 30, 2000

For Vietnam Boat People in Cambodia, No Anchors - by Seth Mydans

CHONG KNEAS, Cambodia - When Dung Thanh Men lies back in his hammock on the long, golden afternoons here, it swings gently by itself with the rocking of his home, a fishing boat at the northern tip of Cambodia's great lake. The rocking may be gentle, but like other scenes of serenity in Cambodia, it belies the turmoil that lies beneath it - in this case, the energy of more than a ton of fat, silver elephant fish trapped inside a gigantic wooden cage that is the underbelly of Mr. Men's houseboat. And the comforting sounds of children's voices and sweet smell of cooking fires that drift from other houseboats mask the precariousness of his unmoored life here.

Mr. Men is an ethnic Vietnamese fisherman, one of thousands who have clustered for generations in some 40 floating villages around the edges of the broad, fecund lake, Tonle Sap. Like other floating things, their lives follow the tides of their environment, both the seasonal rise and ebb of this restless lake and the sharper and more dangerous shifts of Cambodia's violent recent history. "The people here have no land, only boats," said a Cambodian boatman who visited them recently. "So when the water is up, they are up; when the water is down, they are down. It seems very easy, but their life is very difficult."

Permanent boat people, they are true citizens neither of Cambodia nor of Vietnam but of the great lake, ready to follow the schools of fish or to flee the violence that can visit at any time from the hostile shore. "Vietnam is my homeland," said Mr. Men, 34, speaking in Vietnamese, although both he and his parents were born in Cambodia and he has seen Vietnam only once, as a child, when a huge flotilla of fishing boats escaped there during an anti-Vietnamese purge. When he does go ashore, a 20-minute boat ride away, he says he is "going to Cambodia." In waterborne villages like this one, just off the lotus swamps and flooded rice fields of the lakeside, the fishermen have created self-enclosed worlds with floating markets, churches, schools, ice plants, slaughterhouses, mechanic shops - even pool halls, where the players must take the motion of the lake into account before they make their shots.

At dawn on the river that flows south from the lake, small boats with tiny domed shelters drift down the glittering water with their nets for a while, then paddle back up against the current before drifting back. The afternoons aboard Mr. Men's boat are slow and peaceful, as his wife brews tea at the foot of the family's Buddhist altar and passing fishermen stop by to share news. But like the others who live here, Mr. Men is prepared in a moment to untether his home and flee farther from the shore, or even down the length of the lake and along the Mekong River to the no man's land along the border with Vietnam. As many as half a million ethnic Vietnamese live in Cambodia, but with Vietnam a historical enemy and occasional invader, they are widely feared and resented, and are a routine target for the country's political demagogues. As the Indochina war spread to Cambodia in 1970, the government of Prime Minister Lon Nol began a wave of killings of Vietnamese, causing thousands to flee the country. When the Communist Khmer Rouge ruled from 1975 to 1979, causing the deaths of more than a million people, Vietnamese became targets again.

Seven years ago this village, with some 1,500 people, was the scene of one of Cambodia's worst recent massacres. Out of the dark, boatloads of Khmer Rouge fighters attacked with machetes and rifles, killing 33 people and wounding 19. Most of the victims, many of them children, were killed in a floating video parlor. More recently, Vietnamese boat people who cluster along the river's edge in Phnom Penh, the capital, have been evicted as part of a political power play. When fighting flares, as it did during a coup in 1997 or in a late-night firefight in Phnom Penh last month, they are the first to flee for safety. Perhaps there is resentment among Cambodians that a foreign population dominates the great lake at the center of their country. Tonle Sap is the heartbeat of Cambodia, a living, throbbing organ that reshapes itself with the seasons and forms the natural core of the country's agriculture. The river that flows south from it, also called Tonle Sap, reverses its course during every monsoon season, causing the lake to overflow into the surrounding countryside.

If Cambodians fear that their country may someday be swallowed by Vietnam, that fear could find inspiration in the huge cage beneath Mr. Men's houseboat, teeming with the riches of their lake. Mr. Men is a broker, gathering the catch of his fellow fishermen and selling it on periodic trips south to Phnom Penh for export to Hong Kong, where elephant fish are an expensive delicacy. Elephant fish are hard to find in the restaurants of the nearest city, Siem Reap. But Mr. Men's long afternoons in his hammock, as he waits for his deliveries, do not seem conducive to introspection or metaphors. His philosophy, as he expressed it, is simple: "We do what we can to make a living." If he has an ambition, it lies with his twin 6-year-old daughters, who are learning to read and write in both Vietnamese and Cambodian. His hope for them, he said, is to go to school, to study hard, to find a job on land.

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Far Eastern Economic Review: December 28, 2000 - January 4, 2001

Biting Bugs - by Robert Turnbull

It's become something of a joke among foreigners in Phnom Penh restaurants that the pork chop on their plate might be a piece of Pol Pot reincarnated. That's because many Cambodians are convinced that the deceased dictator returned to this life as a pig. But the smile is quickly wiped off their faces when large trays of roasted tarantulas hover menacingly over their tables.

For poor Cambodians, insects are staple fare. The capital's rambunctious markets would not be complete without squatting women selling mountains of wasps and silk worms, crickets and konteh long, the giant water beetles from Neak Luong near the Vietnamese border. Tarantulas, or a-ping, are the kings of the crop. About seven centimetres long and priced at around 400 riel (10 cents) each, these creatures are brown and chewy and, it's said, especially succulent when fried with garlic and pepper. For some they're an acquired taste with strong medicinal powers. "The spiders are most popular with pregnant women and men who work very hard," says Kim Hourn, owner of one of the many unnamed eateries around Phnom Penh's Kandal market.

In the small town of Skuon an hour north of the capital, a-ping is a frequent dish, if not always a fixture, at many roadside cafés, often brought in by children carrying trayloads of spiders on their heads. To see the spiders in their natural habitat, and get a free demonstration of the tricky art of catching them, requires a trek to Ro Vey, a hilly village 10 kilometres outside the central market town of Kompong Thom. Do they often bite? "They don't like to bite, but when they do, they make you very sick," says local spider-catcher Kuong with a grin. "You then start feeling cold. It's not good to be bitten."

This page is designed to keep you up to date with recent events in Cambodia that make the international newswires. Any additional news stories that I feel warrant exposure, will also appear here, so keep checking back on a regular basis. Copyright for all stories remains with the original publishers.

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