Showing posts with label Cambodia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cambodia. Show all posts

Monday, August 31, 2009

Self portrait (two views after the last photo)

Image of the author.Dear Gentle Reader,

Apsu and Tiamat were the primordial (Babylonian) progenitors of the universe.

As Apsu said to his wife, Tiamat, in the Babylonian creation myth, the Enuma elish--when speaking of their children, the first pantheon of gods:
"Their ways are verily loathsome unto me. By day I find no relief, nor repose by night..."
And, therefore, the two progenitors set about to annihilate their progeny.

Genocide, which I have previously recounted the etymology of, is an old concept for mankind, even if it is a young word.

But, the twentieth century saw more than its fair share of genocides, such as the Cambodian genocide of the 1975-1979.

I did not intend to be gratuitous with my usage of the images of skulls and bound bones in last Friday's post.

I stand by that image; I do not believe it was gratuitous.

As individuals, and as members of various communities, we all have many perceptions of ourselves.

While we likely recognize some aspects of ourselves accurately, we do not always acknowledge other aspects.

In order to grow and to overcome various pasts, as people, as communities, as nations, and as world citizens, we need to embrace these pasts and not try to eradicate memory or awareness of them.

I am a firm believer that wishing things away does not make it so. However, the closing image of Friday's post was an ugly image for which I gave no warning.

Today, in response, one slice of a self-image:


THE MONSTER WITHIN...

(the one who can take pictures of loathsome things, I suppose...)
(...which would imply a potentially monstrous, post-Jekyllandhydian duality as both subject and photographer...)


Image of a slice of the author's brain, this section shows fangs rather than teeth, due to the angle of the image 'slice'.

Tschuess,
Chris

Friday, August 28, 2009

No remembrance = No memory = No life

Image of two child Khmer Rouge soldiers taken sometime between 1975 and 1979 in Cambodia.
Dear Gentle Reader,

Yesterday, I posed two questions based on Chairman Mao Zedong's (1893-1976) "paper tiger" bombast injected into the global cold war debate of the 1950s.

What would it look like if half a country went missing? And, who chooses which half?

Generally speaking, especially in the modern West, it is hard to imagine half a country missing.

Many parts of the developing world, unfortunately, do not have such difficulties.

They just look around them.

A case in point would be Cambodia.

One third of Cambodia's population was killed, from 1975 to 1979, by the Khmer Rouge under the leadership of Pol Pot.

Why would such a thing be done?

As one of the Khmer Rouge slogans went:

"To keep you is no benefit; to destroy you is no loss."


Who was killed?

Only the government workers.
And the religious people.
And the professionals.
And the tradespeople.
And the intellectuals--such as anyone who had had any schooling. Or wore glasses. Or lived in a city. Or used any post-industrial revolution tools.

Or anyone else who didn't toil in the fields and live in a village.


...


When you don't meet the people, it is hard to fathom their losses.

Especially as most people try to minimize it and forget about it. After all, with survivors, a difficult thing to bear in mind, sometimes, is "How did this person survive?"...

Nonetheless, there are many survivors who were victims.

Remember the boat people? Those refugees who flooded to our shores three decades ago, desperate for hope and sanctuary?

This is why they fled and what they fled...



The New Regime
by Sarith Pou from the book "Corpse Watching"

No religious rituals.
No religious symbols.
No fortune tellers.
No traditional healers.
No paying respect to elders.
No social status. No titles.

No education. No training.
No school. No learning.
No books. No library.
No science. No technology.
No pens. No paper.

No currency. No bartering.
No buying. No selling.
No begging. No giving.
No purses. No wallets.

No human rights. No liberty.
No courts. No judges.
No laws. No attorneys.

No communications.
No public transportation.
No private transportation.
No traveling. No mailing.
No inviting. No visiting.
No faxes. No telephones.

No social gatherings.
No chitchatting.
No jokes. No laughter.
No music. No dancing.

No romance. No flirting.
No fornication. No dating.
No wet dreaming.
No masturbating.
No naked sleepers.
No bathers.
No nakedness in showers.
No love songs. No love letters.
No affection.

No marrying. No divorcing.
No marital conflicts. No fighting.
No profanity. No cursing.

No shoes. No sandals.
No toothbrushes. No razors.
No combs. No mirrors.
No lotion. No make up.
No long hair. No braids.
No jewelry.
No soap. No detergent. No shampoo.
No knitting. No embroidering.
No colored clothes, except black.
No styles, except pajamas.
No wine. No palm sap hooch.
No lighters. No cigarettes.
No morning coffee. No afternoon tea.
No snacks. No desserts.
No breakfast [sometimes no dinner].

No mercy. No forgiveness.
No regret. No remorse.
No second chances. No excuses.
No complaints. No grievances.
No help. No favors.
No eyeglasses. No dental treatment.
No vaccines. No medicines.
No disabilities. No social diseases.
No tuberculosis. No leprosy.

No kites. No marbles. No rubber bands.
No cookies. No popsicle. No candy.
No playing. No toys.
No lullabies.
No rest. No vacations.
No holidays. No weekends.
No games. No sports.
No staying up late.
No newspapers.

No radio. No TV.
No drawing. No painting.
No pets. No pictures.
No electricity. No lamp oil.
No clocks. No watches.

No hope. No life.
A third of the people didn’t survive.
The regime died.


...


And, if they didn't flee, or were not fast enough, or lucky enough...


Image of bound bones and skulls with the blindfolds still fastened around them, from the genocide in Cambodia.

Tschuess,
Chris

Friday, June 19, 2009

Carrot teeth and bulging eyes of death... Spider of the Apocalypse, redux

First image of a fearsome Cambodian spider.Dear Gentle Reader,

A face like this is just another reason why these guys give your humble scribe the creeps.

I mean, look at those teeth...

This guy is like a monster drawn by a three-year old child with carrot teeth and bulgy eyes.

(Note, I am referring to the drawn monster as having the carrot teeth and bulgy eyes.)

(Further note, were the three-year old child to have carrot teeth and bulgy eyes, and be drawing a picture of the same, your humble scribe would be afraid of the three-year old child, too...)

The above-pictured beast is decidedly real, although he also inhabits my nightmares...

Come on, Harry...

Smile for the camera...

Second image of a fearsome Cambodian spider.
If Little Red Riding Hood had described this guy, instead of the the wolf, I really don't know how I would have made it through childhood, especially the nights.

Heck, even the frogs are hiding from this guy in the daytime...


Third image of a fearsome Cambodian spider.Image of a Cambodian frog cowering in a water tank












So, mental imagery time...

It's hot.

Really hot.

And humid.

Really humid.

You go to bed au naturel because it's so hot and humid.

Feral noises come from the jungle outside your building, until silence coccoons you in the tight embrace of sleep.

And then you wake in the middle of the night.

You wake in a panic, but, also,
and wisely,
you wake, frozen in place...

For Something is upon you...

And, by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes...

That Something is moving...

That Something is heavy...

That Something is the size of a plate...
...and on your chest...

And,

and here I save the best for last...
that Something has no body heat...

although you know It moves quite fast
by Its quick, twitching, spiky feet...

It's as if fluid night has coagulated into prickly substance.

A lethal bit of dark matter has congealed and been extruded from the night and dripped upon your body, discernible only by the pressure it exerts on your ever tightening psyche and skin...

...It is another spider of the apocalypse.

My questions to you are:

Do you open your eyes to see impending doom... and show the spider of the apocalypse where you keep the wet, juicy morsels to quench its thirst?

Do you move at all?

Do you hope it goes sideways? (Rather than towards your head, or towards a warm site further south...)

Do you let your partner know now, or later?

I remember these questions flitting across my fevered brain through the horror of one sweat-drenched night.

Spiders of the apocalypse; one of the lesser joys of Taiwan.

Thank goodness this Cambodian cousin didn't know the standard operating procedure for his ilk.

And, hopefully, nothing snuck into my luggage...


Tschuess,
Chris, Regina, a wide-eyed Pommes who used to like hiding under the furniture, and a visiting Dad who doesn't know that those spiders I showed you last year are fattening up, as I write, as they prepare for this year's inspection tour, and a possible sacrificial offering...

Monday, June 15, 2009

Empty tanks

Image of a roadside gas, or petrol, station in Cambodia...Dear Gentle Reader,

Feeling lethargic? Torpid? Hebetudinous?

Overwhelmed by stuporous lassitude?

Listless and dull?

You, too, could be running on an empty tank, like the gentleman in the picture, above, on the streets of Phnom Penh.

Oh, for an empty tank.

I long for such a thing.

A nipple-grazing, body-hugging belly leaped out and attacked me last week.

I have no idea where it came from, but it symbiotically attached itself to my otherwise svelte body in a near-seamless grafting procedure.

This likely happened while I slept.

I woke one morning, and there it was.

The Heroine merely laughed when I asked where this monstrosity had come from.

So the exercise regime in the gym has increased (a fancy word meaning begun) and the weekend was spent rock climbing, cliff-jumping, and swimming in the ocean all in the noble effort of both leaving the Heroine to study in peace and quiet for some upcoming exams and trying to convince the torpid belly that it had attached itself to the wrong body.

Oh, and food intake has stopped, or dramatically diminished.

If I can't work the belly off, I'll starve it off.

So, empty tank?

I know whereof I speak.

And, vaguely related, what happens if you are driving in Cambodia and run out of gas?

You pull over at the side of the road.

And buy a bottle or two. Of fuel.

You don't "fill 'er up" because that is likely not in the budget, but, you do what you can.

This is the gas stall attendant in Cambodia filling up the "tanks" which she then sells to customers.

Image of a roadside gas, or petrol, station operator in Cambodia...
As you can see, very little infrastructure is required for this gas/petrol station.

The owners of these stalls have low overheads. They don't need underground tanks or fancy pumps.

They also don't need to worry about, or plan for, environmental remediation, because they are not tied or even linked to the land that extra gas spills upon.

This attendant just fills up a Johnny Walker bottle with gasoline and sells it to a scooter or taxi driver.

The driver pours the contents into their tank, immediately, and hands back the bottle. (The driver pours the fuel in so that the driver, alone, is responsible for spilled fuel.)

The owner/attendant may put the empty into the rack to be refilled or she might hand the bottle to her infant child to sniff and play with.

(I could not bring myself to take a picture of that. Taking the bottle from the child, I even tried to explain why this was a bad idea to the stall attendant, but she spoke no French and I spoke no Khmer. And she gave the bottle back to her little girl...)

Eventually, the attendant refills her bottles, again, from her reservoir tank...

Image of a roadside gas, or petrol, stand and station operator in Cambodia...
As an aside, Cambodia has some of the best environmental laws and regulations on the planet.

I didn't draft them, but I know folks who did.

Civil society projects have helped them draft great worker safety and health standards, too.

Cambodia has some of the best environmental laws and regulations on the planet; but they aren't enforced very often.

They tend to be trotted out only when a joint-venture or foreign enterprise is making too much money and somebody wants a bigger cut.

Then infractions matter...

Of course, this cheap, private-sector provisioning of fuel is not just a health and environmental hazard.

It also puts money directly into the pocket of the stall owner so she can put food into the mouths of her children.

This cheap, private-sector provisioning of fuel is also a great way to effectively and quickly allow for increased transport and logistical provisioning in Cambodia.

Taxis and scooters get goods in and out of regions, quickly, which yields increased economic activity and better living standards, eventually, to workers.

Medical services and medical supplies are also delivered faster when roads, engines, and fuel are all available--and these service centres are cheap to set up; anyone can do it.

So what is right and what is wrong?

I'm running on empty, still, so I leave that to you to answer, but, where are the moral dichotomies in your town, this morning?


Tschuess,
Chris

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

3WW (CXXX) entries

Image of young Buddhist monks walking to school at the start of the day in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.Dear Gentle Reader,

Hello again from Hong Kong.

It's another week, and time for another 3WW.

This week the words are earnest, layer, and reactive.


Tschuess, Chris





"MARIE'S FATEFUL WORDS"...

layers of sweet cake,
earnestly offered to all;
reactive results



KARL IN A NUTSHELL

for equi-layer.
reactive against class, state.
earnest fomenter.



BORN TO BE WILDE?

Layers of meaning...
Is he Earnest? Is he so?
Reactive Marquess...



TWO POEMS OF THREE LINES IN ONE
(A.K.A. AMBIGUOUS SUBJECTS--SALADIN'S MEN OR RICHARD'S?)

earnest (s)layers
of feudal classes crusade
reactive arms clash



and lastly, a naisaiku
(make up your own rhythm, you rhythmaster you)


bass layers laid down
earnest samples loop (repeat)
reactive culture
PETRI DISH HIP HOP
reactive culture
earnest samples loop (repeat)
bass layers laid down



Postscript:

I know there are more than a few Indian national wordsmiths who play 3WW.

I may well be in India in a week's time.

Where?

Likely in Mumbai (Bombay), Pune (Poona), Nagpur, and maybe New Delhi and Agra.

Does anybody want to meet up in Mumbai or Pune or Delhi or Agra? Otherwise I will just be roaming the streets, looking for interesting slices of life, and observing how my favourite sub-continent has changed in the last decade.



A note for Wednesday (read the web, not the mail)

Image of a partially submerged, traditional fish-trap in a moat in Cambodia.Dear Gentle Reader,

Sometimes things are only in one's head.

Like what? 

When I wrote of Hong Kong fashion last week, it was partially a tribute to the otherworldly fashions of Camelopardalis' giraffes, found here or here.

And yet I completely forgot to mention them.

All of you who subscribe by email ought to know that there are usually significant differences between the email that is sent out (when the balloon flies up and the posting first goes out) compared to what floats on the website a half hour or so later.

Why? 

Because of the disconnect between what your humble scribe is sure is (or needs to be) on the screen, and what really is (or needs to be) on the screen.

It is usually better to visit the real site and use the email as a reminder, because the finished posting is almost always different from the earlier email you will have received.

Image of a field of four-leaf clovers at the side of a seasonal lake in Cambodia near Siem Reap.
Sometimes you get lucky and find some four-leaf clovers, as I did here in Cambodia, when you open the email.

But, my skill, if any, lies in re-examining what I have written and making amendments within the time I allow myself.

I allow the momentum of the instant edit to sweep away the detritus that I thought was fine before I published. 

The panic of realizing that now is too late, that the first few visitors are already staring in bewilderment at what I have posted; that is when the scales fall away from my eyes and I truly read my posts. I then swoop onto my words as the hawk swoops onto his prey, hoping to break the spine of rebellion and render the text more fit for consumption.

So, by all means, receive the email. 

But, please, go to the website to read.


Tschuess,
Chris