tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54040516468569137972024-03-05T11:28:09.192+07:00Sash's blogSashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-68590406020000944252011-04-22T11:58:00.001+07:002011-04-22T16:08:36.649+07:00A tale from the crypt<div>This morning I unexpectedly witnessed a Malagasy exhumation here at the center. The center is building a new dormitory for the boys who live here, and while leveling the earth at the construction site, the workmen uncovered an old tomb still containing the bones of its occupant.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Tombs are very significant to Malagasies, many of whom still adhere to Madagascar's tradition of ancestor worship. Above-ground stone tombs are a common sight in the countryside here, often prettily decorated with painted carvings. The tombs are often associated with local fadys, or taboos. Fadys govern many aspects of life here. For example, in Ambohidratrimo, where I live, the locals believe that goats cause crop-destroying hail, and bringing a goat into the village is therefore fady. But since fadys are usually understood to be strictures laid down by ancestors who continue to watch over the living, there are many fadys associated with tombs.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The fadys are really just a part of the respect that Malagasies pay to the dead. As far as I understand, Malagasy animists believe that their ancestors watch carefully over the living, and are very much involved in day-to-day life. Another well-known custom here is the famadihiana, or turning of the bones. In order to help a dead relative join the ancestors, his or her bones are exhumed a few years after burial, to be wrapped in a new shroud and reburied in a more or less joyful ceremony.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So the discovery of an unknown tomb at the construction site here caused quite a stir. The center is technically owned by a powerful Malagasy Christian denomination, and most of the staff are either totally secular or more or less Christian. But even the Christians here generally observe traditional customs and beliefs to some extent. The tomb and its occupant had to be moved to the local cemetery, but it was done according to custom. Here are some pictures.</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihANZz0Ji99_sXaIzSgkgKJIJo2PZbK1wdaXTyBB57QAEt294tJZESdoqRriCT3Loka3r0XTJzuhDYutBkZahkN0JRzB2XPIiMm9RH7CK3kdD-sVuHA6Ki7FYQxJzdUkP2zsEtE15Eak/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihANZz0Ji99_sXaIzSgkgKJIJo2PZbK1wdaXTyBB57QAEt294tJZESdoqRriCT3Loka3r0XTJzuhDYutBkZahkN0JRzB2XPIiMm9RH7CK3kdD-sVuHA6Ki7FYQxJzdUkP2zsEtE15Eak/s640/1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excavating the tomb at the construction site.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjeaycrUb7F7nPVOyoTCz2AfDhG0f85uxFgiNTYLKdsvx3khmab8a0RnjY12J1cwxYVRtneqDeAhFVTqUnZ2xxoot-v3REcTI-4OTTAJOszVtI9ujNtgZJghRx5JRor45RgtikNxr8Do/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjeaycrUb7F7nPVOyoTCz2AfDhG0f85uxFgiNTYLKdsvx3khmab8a0RnjY12J1cwxYVRtneqDeAhFVTqUnZ2xxoot-v3REcTI-4OTTAJOszVtI9ujNtgZJghRx5JRor45RgtikNxr8Do/s640/2.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The opening to the tomb. There are other tombs still standing nearby that were noted in a 1902 survey of the area, so we surmise that this tomb is about the same age.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A shot of the bones in the tomb. Nobody knows who this person was, and it will probably prove impossible to find out. He or she is now resting in a nearby communal cemetery.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgMKwrQbOx6HtYd6qwqC3rsYq3rRp8xwAFlr5uGgeQoW87zmDjRtISQA3g8IqUvfV54NBx4KObs6JOqoe8lMBzdg6n3C6zLutuHYZWmXG4S3wqrbZzU9_BNaeb70EP1XXM8FNQu6HnCQ/s1600/4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXgMKwrQbOx6HtYd6qwqC3rsYq3rRp8xwAFlr5uGgeQoW87zmDjRtISQA3g8IqUvfV54NBx4KObs6JOqoe8lMBzdg6n3C6zLutuHYZWmXG4S3wqrbZzU9_BNaeb70EP1XXM8FNQu6HnCQ/s640/4.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rum is an important part of Malagasy ceremonies involving the dead. Before exhuming the remains, Akany's maintenance man Jose poured a few capfuls of the rum into the grave as an offering.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The workers put what bones they could find into a new shroud to be wrapped for reburial. The only intact bones were a femur and some vertebrae; the others must have disintegrated over the last century or so.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yCZjN3028bVs3y-erSajYFk8BF4Fjrniz-v0ZBwyDK1arUplweA3HPQQPsD1lJnxcUybu2NVsK6zSdRPWmmFiyzEn9MZ0wIC5t7Ot3TrV6__D4OPuhVkmukerjlihdz4u2KiPMiZhI4/s1600/6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yCZjN3028bVs3y-erSajYFk8BF4Fjrniz-v0ZBwyDK1arUplweA3HPQQPsD1lJnxcUybu2NVsK6zSdRPWmmFiyzEn9MZ0wIC5t7Ot3TrV6__D4OPuhVkmukerjlihdz4u2KiPMiZhI4/s640/6.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shroud, wrapped as is customary here. The older worker to the right has attended a number of famadiahana and knows the proper way to tie a shroud.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6JS6m9pRHpp7Z-99lyubhCl2uCcYo_Eq7LcW3xQHLcjB8KQ6zQfvI9rEVPhagp2qluTcsH9u_DLXJ5NwaKX2spe_Tv1Hbho6VYxcv9HSDv9rNm2rjfDp6apzUs6Na4rIB1jK7uO1-bAM/s1600/7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6JS6m9pRHpp7Z-99lyubhCl2uCcYo_Eq7LcW3xQHLcjB8KQ6zQfvI9rEVPhagp2qluTcsH9u_DLXJ5NwaKX2spe_Tv1Hbho6VYxcv9HSDv9rNm2rjfDp6apzUs6Na4rIB1jK7uO1-bAM/s640/7.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jose pouring a capful of rum to splash on the tires of the 4x4 that took the bones to the reburial site. The newly wrapped bones are at his feet in a straw mat, next to the concrete and sand that will be used to build a new crypt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-43074348031372356012011-04-19T15:07:00.003+07:002011-04-19T20:54:04.459+07:00Hiking in the highlandsSo far my posts about Madagascar have been fairly grim, but in fact this is a beautiful country with much to see and enjoy. Earlier today I had a chance to go on a hike in the countryside with my colleagues Caroline and Julie, to scout possible places to take some of the Akany children camping. Here are a few pictures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaw52amlQoXQywwBzyEN3IW0sBtkSj9fr0BUfRuCIyc_4rJWjrlHCaEQxgfAI4MZkkMtd9I_g3Zd0g0D7pzIl-X33jBCt1sz-TPTyKuCso7xzsdzGmg3PKjR2TYcdS6N9hyS2aY7sG1Is/s1600/pano1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaw52amlQoXQywwBzyEN3IW0sBtkSj9fr0BUfRuCIyc_4rJWjrlHCaEQxgfAI4MZkkMtd9I_g3Zd0g0D7pzIl-X33jBCt1sz-TPTyKuCso7xzsdzGmg3PKjR2TYcdS6N9hyS2aY7sG1Is/s640/pano1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A local village and its farmland. Rice cultivation is huge here.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf1J2IPhZIHySAPkfh0CI3DjbBVAfzdzOm1Z2Xqbpa6UKsf3zCZIi23ngb2T83jbf12TNvnDFlvfxavbgedpXECjut0aEqgYZ2O3H2ldv3XOuz4iws7lbVtiRXtCR6FwM6LW-_Dl3xGNo/s1600/IMG_0030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf1J2IPhZIHySAPkfh0CI3DjbBVAfzdzOm1Z2Xqbpa6UKsf3zCZIi23ngb2T83jbf12TNvnDFlvfxavbgedpXECjut0aEqgYZ2O3H2ldv3XOuz4iws7lbVtiRXtCR6FwM6LW-_Dl3xGNo/s640/IMG_0030.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rice ripening in the field. It's not very nice fresh off the stalk—dry and starchy, a bit like a raw potato without the juice.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some local farmers threshing rice by beating the stalks against old oil drums. They asked me to take a some photos of them and the scenery, which I'll print out and bring back to them in a few days.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMi7GlwcnNx_PbjYoavs0r5UbdVh7vzlDAZeeZchGobQf4Z_opb8pvUBEJO60mH5iJxSD8smis8ha-odIs9JKU77i_PQ4mRYUGVZrHcLo5TMD2zevJ4kAXNB19Da6q9i3uvLa9H0l-i-c/s1600/pano2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMi7GlwcnNx_PbjYoavs0r5UbdVh7vzlDAZeeZchGobQf4Z_opb8pvUBEJO60mH5iJxSD8smis8ha-odIs9JKU77i_PQ4mRYUGVZrHcLo5TMD2zevJ4kAXNB19Da6q9i3uvLa9H0l-i-c/s640/pano2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another vista.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizFTL-KE65TPbnkw6Ys5Mbq8iEItq-W-laZq4Jtth-kS5y0JDAGghNgeab5SCogeXpYtPTph4nLnxiRknLCzigQ7XKC_VaDTDjyQDfzf7OnAXu-U9pz_jzcz-fRCNE-Zi6P1i-P2XcWk/s1600/IMG_0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizFTL-KE65TPbnkw6Ys5Mbq8iEItq-W-laZq4Jtth-kS5y0JDAGghNgeab5SCogeXpYtPTph4nLnxiRknLCzigQ7XKC_VaDTDjyQDfzf7OnAXu-U9pz_jzcz-fRCNE-Zi6P1i-P2XcWk/s640/IMG_0034.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The local basketball court. We went into the village to ask permission to camp on a local hillside, since there are often fadys, or taboos, associated with particular places. In many places, people are especially hostile to people camping near old tombs or other sites associated with their ancestors.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8D8Lmv1MZNNF4zyWsgzWfQcHKrQIV6cEmkOEcl0TrUB8aNosEbMNJCkr9NwAhLHNkeLWG9ixarSShG324wHe7MlAh-XG4ETOwUvj0Ig5Cl6CknahWo3Zx20jRH39Y3p6RZZ-9UwAtYI/s1600/IMG_0058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8D8Lmv1MZNNF4zyWsgzWfQcHKrQIV6cEmkOEcl0TrUB8aNosEbMNJCkr9NwAhLHNkeLWG9ixarSShG324wHe7MlAh-XG4ETOwUvj0Ig5Cl6CknahWo3Zx20jRH39Y3p6RZZ-9UwAtYI/s640/IMG_0058.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying some of the freshly threshed rice.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnbOMl3yNj3WM9Ucp-yBziChj7NKZzzxMroY94OeUAUUzruQBVpBr40fawJjwIeD5NtkbQD3-83XhV9utFjLLYN4KQDoCnVMEGo8vW5KnnGcGh6AaQTHCx1YKMSKsks83GCFbPzAeTyo/s1600/IMG_0061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnbOMl3yNj3WM9Ucp-yBziChj7NKZzzxMroY94OeUAUUzruQBVpBr40fawJjwIeD5NtkbQD3-83XhV9utFjLLYN4KQDoCnVMEGo8vW5KnnGcGh6AaQTHCx1YKMSKsks83GCFbPzAeTyo/s640/IMG_0061.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A farmer and his kids sharing a <a href="http://mofoyo.com/files/images/6482.gif">Checkers</a> moment.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-46996598676274630282011-04-08T17:45:00.008+07:002011-04-15T13:08:59.185+07:00All for a cell phone<div style="text-align: left;">This morning I had an unexpected opportunity to speak with a boy who was recently released from a center for juvenile delinquents.</div><br />
This particular center has posed a difficult problem for me and my colleagues here. It has a fearsome reputation: stories abound of poor conditions, malnourishment, and physical/sexual abuse. Naturally, I'm putting much of my time and energy into researching the laws applicable to the delinquents' center, since that's where the worst abuses are taking place. The center's administration, however, makes it impossible for me to actually speak with the children there. It's not that I would actually be barred. In fact, I've already twice interviewed the center's director, who actually described some abuses without so much as blushing. Nevertheless, the administration fears scrutiny. I'm told that if I were to question the children about the conditions of their detention, they would likely be harshly punished en masse and interrogated about my work.<br />
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That's why coming across this boy was such a stroke of luck. Now that he's been released, he has nothing more to fear from the center's staff, and there will be no consequences for any of the current residents. Here's what he told me, through a Malagasy interpreter (no names or places, per my boss's request).<br />
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He was arrested in February, charged with the theft of his cousin's cell phone. Just before his two-hour trial, he was able to speak with a lawyer for about ten to fifteen minutes, during which she asked him nothing about the facts of his case, but managed to ascertain that his family would be unable to pay her $200 fee. She stood at the start of his trial to let the magistrate know that she was "representing" him, but never said a word. The magistrate (who, in a civil-law system like Madagascar's, decides matters both of fact and law) asked him only one question before convicting: did he do it?<br />
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He was taken straight from the court to the delinquents' center. As soon as the gendarmes left, the guards, along with five trusted children, started breaking him in. First, they made him kneel on the tiles with his arms behind his head, chanting "I stole it, I stole it." Then they made him "count" the tiles in the room by kneeling on each one in turn to determine how many pushups he would have to do—150 tiles, 150 pushups. When he was done doing pushups they forced him to pose as if seated for about half an hour. When he fell down from fatigue, they made him resume the position, and kicked him in the backs of the knees. Finally, they took him to his dormitory.<br />
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The dormitories are even worse. Every night, between 6:00 PM and 6:00 AM, the boys are locked into the dorms and left there with no supervision. Most nights, there is at least one fight: boys get black eyes, bruises, split lips, and in one or two cases, broken arms. Generally, the boy told me, the guards laugh when they see boys emerge in the morning with bruises. Occasionally, however, they respond to the fights by punishing the entire group. All of their punishments are cruel: the boys are forced to somersault, walk in pushup positions on their knuckles, or crawl, military style, back and forth across concrete. The boy I spoke to had scars on his knuckles and elbows.<br />
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Individual boys suffer even more. They are forced to clear sewage from the center's filthy squat toilets with their bare hands. They are bastinadoed: made to kneel on hands and feet with their feet on a chair, soles facing upwards, and are beaten on the soles of their feet with a rubber truncheon whip from a car tire. In some cases they remain unable to walk for up to a week afterwards. The guards administer the bastinado so cruelly that often the boys' feet are swollen on both sides, as each stroke causes the tops of their feet to hit the wooden chair hard enough to cause bruises.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The food at the delinquents' center is woefully inadequate. Plain rice gruel is served for breakfast and dinner. Lunch is half a bowl of rice with some dried fish. I asked the boy to show me, by pouring water into a bowl, how much gruel they are allowed for breakfast and dinner. Here's how much he poured:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh22dihdKBYUQWEy1Ve6kqL7tyBm3SGk0KlAcQgCMt0RTkRYJz4gkBApbU8ndQblRZBNL4NugyoU1GKnEIJELPtn_1gGdkxmFxBeITHBN3Uy_QB4MWzEGWbzSf7PpK5MK5G_Nym0LS09QU/s400/bowl.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For the record, it came to about 110 ml, or just shy of half a cup. More telling, perhaps, was the effect on the boy. He told me that between February 11 and April 7, his weight dropped from 65 kg (143 lbs) to 51 kg (112 lbs)—imagine a sixteen-year-old boy dropping thirty pounds in two months!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">From a purely legal perspective, this is really a rule of law problem. Madagascar's laws are good on paper, but the reality is bleak, as in Oscar Wilde's epigram: "The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means." The law says that the boy should have been assisted by counsel during his first police interrogation—but he wasn't. The law requires the trial magistrate to ask questions to determine a child defendant's capacity for criminal responsibility—but he didn't. The law forbids the centers' staff from abusing the children—but they do—and requires them to feed the children 3,000 calories a day—but they don't. Under the law, the boy I spoke with should have faced some form of judicial admonishment, or at worst, been required to attend a few reeducation classes (assuming that he could have been convicted at all under proper procedures). Instead, he was summarily condemned to a months-long nightmare of abuse and deprivation—and all for a cell phone.</div><br />
There are bright spots in all of this. I've met, and heard of, juvenile judges here who are marvelously diligent and caring. And it's possible that we can change things at the delinquents' center. The boy I spoke to was convinced that the center's director has no idea what's going on, thanks to her attitude of not-so-benign neglect. Of course, she already told me about the fights in the dormitories herself, but she may be unaware of the worst of the adult abuses. And even if she does, it's conceivable that she doesn't know that her center is on the wrong side of the law. There's no guaranteeing it, but by approaching the center's director through the right channels, it's possible that we can improve things. One can only hope.Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-48144884786100457642011-04-05T13:18:00.004+07:002011-04-07T15:35:44.757+07:00A peculiar institution<style type="text/css">
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<div class="p1">In my last post I mentioned <i>femmes de ménage</i>. It's really just French for a housekeeper/cleaning lady, but in Madagascar the term has come to refer to children who work as domestic servants.<br />
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Most of what I've learned about these girls (and they're almost always girls, as the term indicates) comes from the staff at the various children's centers with which I'm working. So far as I know at the moment, <i>femmes de ménage</i> are the children of poor families, sent by their parents to work for wealthy Malagasies. They generally make some kind of wage, which I'm told tops out at about 60,000 AR or ariary ($30) per month. Not only is that less than the minimum wage of 77,000 AR ($36.50) per month, but the girls generally work long hours, sometimes up to twenty hours a day. Most of them live in abysmal conditions, sleeping on the floor in their employers' (or <i>patrons'</i>) kitchens, and eating two meagre meals a day of either leftovers or plain rice. Although they usually make a nominal wage, they rarely collect it themselves; either their parents collect it directly, or they send it home themselves to support their families.<br />
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As bad as this practice is, it's hard not to sympathize with the plight of Madagascar's rural poor, who struggle simply to feed and house themselves. For them, sending their children to work can be a necessity. What's really infuriating about the <i>femmes de ménage</i> are their <i>patrons</i>, some of whom have succeeded in using the juvenile justice system to reduce their child servants to child slaves.<br />
<br />
There's a pattern to these cases, according to my information: the <i>patrons</i> of a child <i>femme de ménage </i>brings the child to court on a petty charge, usually theft. The child is tried and sent to a children's center, like the ones with which I'm working. The <i>femme de ménage, </i>now branded a thief, is unable to collect wages. And there you have it: a child servant, by virtue of a petty conviction, is retroactively rendered little better than a slave. Meanwhile, the <i>patron</i> is free to find another servant. Wash, rinse, repeat.<br />
<br />
The cycle can be even more maddening. In some cases, the <i>patron</i> will fabricate charges, and then blackmail the child's' parents into an informal agreement to reimbursement him for the alleged thefts. At the same time, the <i>patron</i> convinces the courts to craft a formal reimbursement order against the child. The <i>patron</i> avoids any obligation to pay even the meagre wages he owes his <i>femme de ménage, </i>and profits twice from a double reimbursement. As far as I've learned, however, the <i>femmes de ménage</i> are almost invariably convicted, while <i>patrons</i> are almost never prosecuted, despite the clear illegality of child labor under Malagasy law.<br />
<br />
Under the circumstances, the fact that some of the girls are in fact guilty of theft is almost by the by. Most of their convictions pale into insignificance next to the crimes of their <i>patrons:</i> child labor at best, blackmail, fraud, and physical and sexual abuse at worst. And yet it's the children who land in court.<br />
<br />
Even the worst child exploiters seem to go unpunished. A good example came up just this week at the children's court in a nearby town. A woman, who by all accounts was extremely rich, brought a nine-year-old boy to the family court, demanding that the judge relieve her of him. She described him as an unbearable burden, fit only to be a ward of the state. In fact, it emerged that she had adopted him as an infant and used him as a domestic slave ever since. Despite her wealth (she drove a Mercedes Benz to court, an incredible luxury in this country), the boy had slept in her kitchen and eaten two meals a day his entire life. He had lash marks on his back. The judge agreed to sever the boy's connection with the woman, and threatened to have her arrested if she ever approached the boy again, but she was not charged with anything. After nine years of exploitation, it was that easy for her to unburden herself of her child servant.<br />
<br />
This case raises a frustrating question: how can a person who has exploited a child from birth walk into a courtroom, essentially confess her crime to the judge, and walk out a free woman? As is often the case in poor countries, the question really has two parts. First, how are the procedures for charging someone with a crime supposed to work? And second, why don't they work? The first part of the question should be relatively easy to answer. Either the judge has the power to charge someone on his own initiative (or sua sponte, as we say), or he doesn't. The second, however, is more complicated. If judges here actually can bring charges sua sponte, why don't they? Are they corrupt? Are they scared of retribution? Are they resigned to the dysfunction that surrounds them? If judges actually can't bring charges, why doesn't someone else?<br />
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The asymmetry is galling: in Madagascar, as far as I can tell, if a child exploiter and a child servant walk into court together, the child will stay behind to be processed by the justice system, and the adult will walk out to repeat the cycle. Hopefully I'll learn to understand the problem better over the next couple of weeks, as I speak with local judges and lawyers.</div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-79885919207821370012011-03-30T17:40:00.001+07:002011-03-31T21:15:40.802+07:00The good, the bad, and the uglyIt's been a full first two weeks in Madagascar. Now that I've been here for a while, I've had time to acquaint myself with the various children's centers I'm working with. The center where I'm living has a grant from the EU to put together a human rights education program for the children and staff at the various centers, all of which are closely tied to the family or criminal courts. The idea is to teach the children about their procedural rights in the courts (and, in some cases, prisons), and the laws governing their employment. The other part of the program will hopefully at least cut back a bit on some of the abuses that take place at some of the worse centers by making sure the staff know the law (and its attendant consequences) governing their conduct. I've had time to visit each of the centers at least once, and to meet the children and staff.<br />
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The first two centers are <a href="http://akany-avoko.blogspot.com/">Akany Avoko</a>, where I'm living, and Centre St. Jean. Both are well-run centers that take in children separated from their parents by the courts, because their parents have either abused them, abandoned them, or are themselves in prison. There are a few orphans as well, but they're exceptional.<br />
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Another center included in the EU grant is in Faravohitro, a neighborhood in Antananarivo. It was founded at around the same time as Akany Avoko and is considered a sister center, but the two are completely separate. Faravohitro houses about 30 girls, all of whom have been either accused or convicted of delinquency. The courts send the girls there either to await trial, or, if convicted, to serve out their sentences. Before coming to Faravohitro, most of the girls worked as domestic servants, or <i>femmes de ménage,</i> for wealthy Malagasies in Antananarivo. In reality, <i>femmes de ménage</i> are little better than slaves, sent to the city by their parents, who collect their wages. They often end up at Faravohitro on charges of petty theft, while their employers, or patrons, suffer no consequences at all for trafficking in child laborers. More about that in a later post.<br />
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By far the worst of the centers is Akany Fanabeazana, the center for boys. It houses about 80 boys, also accused or convicted of delinquency, or in a few cases of more serious crimes, including murder and rape. The fact that they are being held in a children's center rather than a jail is a step in the right direction, but I've quickly learned some disturbing things about the conditions there. The staff there use corporal punishment against the boys, and have been known to steal from them. Although some of the boys have committed violent crimes, they aren't supervised properly; there are cases of boys being badly beaten or even raped in the dorms by other boys, and, in at least one case, by a staff member. I'll post more about that as well.<br />
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My next task is to survey the children and staff at the various centers, to find out what they know about their legal rights. This is necessary because the teacher who will ultimately deliver this curriculum at the various centers will be paid by the EU, which won't give us any more money unless we show progress with measurable indicators. Beyond satisfying the EU (hopefully), the survey will give me a useful baseline measure of what people do or do not know. It will also give me a chance to ask the kids about their experiences in the courts, to find out which legal protections (like representation by a lawyer) are or are not actually enforced. I'll be doing that all next week.Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-38421583618640014272011-03-11T22:40:00.005+07:002011-03-11T23:00:12.217+07:00Keeping in Touch, sort ofWhile I was in Cambodia working at the <a href="http://dccam.org/">Documentation Center</a>, I tutored some high schoolers who also worked there. (I wrote about it a bit <a href="http://sashlewis.blogspot.com/2009/07/phnom-penh.html">here</a>.) The Director had asked me to help them improve their English writing. I recently received an email from a few of them, and you can judge for yourself how successful I was!<br />
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I got this one first:<br />
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dear! teacher!<br />
We are very miss teacher so much, How are you!<br />
I hope teacher will teach us again, at the end I wish teacher good luck gooog health and success in work, If teaher got my Email pleas reply to me soon ok,<br />
from your best student Tina, Romas, Sarath,<br />
<br />
And then a couple of days later, this one:<br />
<br />
Dear Alex!<br />
How are you nowadays? I hope that you are fine right? how about your study? Going well or not? I hope that you can do it to the good point.<br />
For me, it always have the problem with my study because there has a lot of subject to study, so I must to challenge to try hard to study.<br />
I and our team really miss you so much because we always think about your teaching us and I hope that we'll see you again.<br />
OK! Take care.<br />
Best wish!<br />
Romas!<br />
<br />
Their emails are obviously totally adorable, and I'm highly flattered that a year after the fact my students are keeping in touch, especially given what a rotten ESL teacher I was. There's no doubt in my mind that I learned much more from them about Cambodia than they learned from me about English grammar, but it was certainly a fun experience.Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-66934294044304127882009-11-03T10:09:00.001+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.001+07:00A party<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Last week Lou and I went to a party at our Khmer teacher Sokha's house. He and his wife were celebrating the first birthday of their son, Sothearos, a name from Sanskrit meaning "dew." It's also the name of a major boulevard in Phnom Penh, after some king or other. Sokha told us that it's very unusual for ordinary Cambodians to give a child such a grand name, as it's thought to be bad luck. He and his wife, however, decided to buck tradition. I'm not entirely sure of it, but I surmise that in Western terms, Sothearos falls somewhere between William and Charlemagne for grandeur and eccentricity. Not positively outlandish, but distinctly regal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The party was a great chance to infiltrate a real, actual Khmer home---an opportunity that comes along with surprising rarity. Just traveling to Sokha's house demonstrated to us how much of Phnom Penh is hidden from us. Lou and I drove out to a spot near the airport, where Sokha met us on his motorbike. He led us along a series of unlit, rutted dirt alleys along the abandoned train tracks to his house, which seems to be part of the housing development that has exploded in the capital in recent years. Many of the houses seemed new or even half-built, although it was difficult to tell in the dark, especially as I was concentrating on negotiating protruding boulders, mud puddles, and hardened tire tracks with my extremely inadequate headlight (at low speeds it hardly works at all, but flares up when I rev the engine). The houses in this part of the city open onto undeveloped land that must have been a railway easement in the past. They say that Cambodia is restarting its rail lines, setting up an inevitable land conflict with these homeowners and merchants---but that's for another post.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Lou and I were the only Westerners at the party, and were given the red carpet treatment. That meant (1) sitting at a table groaning with grilled meat and pungent sauces, and (2) posing for photos with every single person at the party, whether or not we had had the chance to speak with them at all. The guests seemed to take it as a prestigious thing to have barangs (foreigners) at the birthday party, and wanted to commemorate the occasion. I've never really been a guest of honor, especially in such an unearned way, but I can't say I didn't enjoy playing the celebrity for an evening. Of course, I may have misinterpreted the whole thing. I was undeniably a bit of a physical standout at the party, towering over everyone there, so the shutterbugs may have simply been documenting an interesting specimen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Here are some photos, as well as a very short video of Sokha's niece dancing. Her hand gestures are very typical. People dance the way she does in the video by the hour at weddings.</span><br />
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</div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-11834287171677106562009-10-13T15:08:00.001+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.001+07:00Wheels!<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This weekend I finally bought myself a motorbike! Here it is, my pride and joy---a Daelim Citi 100, a green hornet of uncertain vintage, with four gears, an unreliable electric starter, and an instrument panel that long ago stopped indicating speed, gear, or fuel quantity, purchased for the grand sum of $340 from the only obese Cambodian woman I have ever seen:</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And here, for those who haven't experienced the joys of Phnom Penh's traffic, is a video I shot the other day by taping my camera to my handlebars, much to the amusement of other drivers. It starts in the parking lot of Legal Aid of Cambodia, and shows snippets of the very roundabout way I inadvertently took home. The shaking at the beginning is me jumping on the kick starter, thanks to the temperamental battery. My favorite part is at around 2:05, when you can see two dudes wheeling a rusty bicycle alongside their moto at high speed:</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As you can see, the traffic in Phnom Penh is chaotic, to say the least. Of course I wear a helmet, but I consider myself an unusually safe driver here because I never drive into oncoming traffic. I also never transport more than one other person, though it's totally routine to see two adults and several small children on one moto. I also never administer intravenous medication on the moto:</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYvdrfsm9nTAPU3CamVxz3VWoJfOjDZMlqCxXHtEftX2Ew1IX9sMf_SBX-f8yIklCV_e707iaL9LqhsM08ENLypvmCtMzizLKY5DTjoXKFuPv26vmO3wAYqrcTXIpHjrcWRYGt6HUtcQ/s1600-h/IMG_0104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYvdrfsm9nTAPU3CamVxz3VWoJfOjDZMlqCxXHtEftX2Ew1IX9sMf_SBX-f8yIklCV_e707iaL9LqhsM08ENLypvmCtMzizLKY5DTjoXKFuPv26vmO3wAYqrcTXIpHjrcWRYGt6HUtcQ/s400/IMG_0104.jpg" /></a></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Another road hazard here is the police, who routinely stop Westerners and demand on-the-spot "fines" for no good reason at all. So far I've managed to avoid being pulled over by veering into the middle lane whenever I see cops ahead, so that they can't easily flag me down.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">For all the chaos, motoring around Phnom Penh is super fun. People seem to get a kick out of seeing a Westerner on an old beater like mine, instead of a more modern Honda, so I get lots of smiles and waves, especially from hack drivers (called motodop in Khmer) with the same kind of bike. </span><br />
</div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-49540530635683238252009-10-05T09:34:00.001+07:002010-10-21T07:35:00.150+07:00Trespassing on your own land<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZ2hBFyz9-E-f3yDlSezSut8PGMoJoxYXtB6uErNyG9bHuePY_zBz-zOPXjDP1KpPM57uKH8jHixtROas0TeEKuKADTrMSDLGylAwugOo5FWCS4gLPz5gnPRuuqOyYwLsuWitdgFqBBs/s1600-h/prison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZ2hBFyz9-E-f3yDlSezSut8PGMoJoxYXtB6uErNyG9bHuePY_zBz-zOPXjDP1KpPM57uKH8jHixtROas0TeEKuKADTrMSDLGylAwugOo5FWCS4gLPz5gnPRuuqOyYwLsuWitdgFqBBs/s200/prison.jpg" /></a>Last week I went with the lawyers in the <a href="http://www.lac.org.kh/land_law_program.htm">Land Law Program at Legal Aid</a> to Siem Reap to visit two clients, husband and wife, who are in prison, accused of trespassing on their own land.<br />
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Their story is pretty typical: they're both former Khmer Rouge soldiers who settled on their farm after the fighting with the government stopped in the '90s. There was a government program, whereby you could take ownership of land by clearing it and removing any land mines in it---a sort of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homestead_Act">Homestead Act</a> for Cambodia. The villagers did all that, established their farms, and started putting their lives back together.<br />
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Unbeknownst to our clients, however, the village chief illegally sold everybody's land to some politician quite early on, maybe ten years ago now. The politician in question (who is now a National Assembly member) bought the land as an investment---his intention was to sell the land for profit, not to farm it, so he left the villagers alone. Over the years the paper value of the land has skyrocketed, and it changed hands several times. Meanwhile, the villagers have continued farming the land, subsisting on their harvests as they've done since the war ended, totally unaware that influential people in the capital were speculating on its value.<br />
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That, to me, is one of the most revealing parts of the case. The villagers can continue farming the land, and the speculators can continue trading the land, coexisting in parallel universes, more or less blissfully ignorant of each other. It just so happens that the villagers are the legal owners of the land, but as long as their use of land---i.e., farming---doesn't conflict with the speculators' use of the land---i.e., profit---an equilibrium is maintained.<br />
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Our clients, however, decided to assert their legal claim to the land by seeking formal title to it. (Since the Khmer Rouge destroyed all records having to do with land ownership, it's very common for people to have a legal claim to their land without title, an actual piece of paper, recording that fact.) As soon as our clients sought formal ownership of the land, their interest collided with that of the speculators. The actual legal collision here is quite straightforward. The speculators think they own the land, but they don't, because they were defrauded in the first place; they have, in all fairness, been taken for a ride. They have a mess of their own to sort out, sorting out who owes what to whom over this rotten deal. But the villagers own the land---simple as that.<br />
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In Cambodia's courts, however, nothing is simple. The villagers may have the law on their side, but the speculators have money and influence. It's the easiest thing in the world for them to exert a little pull---and it really takes just a little---and steamroll the villagers. That's how our clients wound up in jail. The speculators bribed someone, or made a call, or both, and now our clients are looking at a year in prison for trespassing on their own land.<br />
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The really crazy part is that there's a whole system of special commissions, called Cadastral Commissions (from the French cadastre, for 'register of property'), charged with sorting out precisely this kind of all-too-common dispute. The only way to get definitive title to land is through that system. The speculators never went through that system, meaning that they have no legal support for their claim that they own the land. In essence, the speculators have succeeded in having two people locked up for trespassing on land that <i>nobody legally owns</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2L0yGzr64PaLJdbR2iB2AVhspxCUfyWM5I8EQ48uq4kvPfInRHZXAkAmjUrKQABiC60lNyiVNHbh_PA__HKfxlpsXg1evesAoN7YZccFWBezVAqXi_TxjnxH3KyQWVe8bQT2gw4famqA/s1600-h/flood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2L0yGzr64PaLJdbR2iB2AVhspxCUfyWM5I8EQ48uq4kvPfInRHZXAkAmjUrKQABiC60lNyiVNHbh_PA__HKfxlpsXg1evesAoN7YZccFWBezVAqXi_TxjnxH3KyQWVe8bQT2gw4famqA/s200/flood.jpg" /></a>What's worse is that our clients have four children, who are now stranded on their farm with nobody to take care of them. Chheng Ourn, the director of LAC's Land Law Program, filed a motion with the court to dismiss the trespassing charges, so hopefully their parents will be out of prison soon, but there's really no saying. My task now is to try and find some NGO to take in the children, but even that might not happen---they're all overbooked and underfunded, so finding one to take in four more kids will take some doing. Right now, the village is inaccessible by road thanks to flooding from <a href="http://www.phnompenhpost.com/index.php/2009100228708/National-news/thousands-displaced-by-flooding.html">Typhoon Ketsana</a>, so the kids are making do with the food that Legal Aid dropped off last week.<br />
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There was a World Bank project to help improve matters. They were resolving land conflicts and issuing titles to avoid precisely this kind of situation. But the day after we got back from Siem Reap, we learned that <a href="http://www.phnompenhpost.com/index.php/2009090828247/National-news/pm-cites-conditions-for-ending-title-project.html">Cambodia's government has ended the program</a>, which according to a local rights group, was "an abysmal failure."<br />
</div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-76250702989889922522009-09-23T11:27:00.003+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.002+07:00Back in CambodiaSo here I am, back in Cambodia. This time I'm working for a slightly more rag-tag organization, without the resources to handle my visas, so I had to shift for myself. As a result, I recently paid my very first bribe.<br />
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Let me hasten to say that this was a process utterly devoid of finesse. Do not for a second imagine me casting keen glances at stony faced interlocutors, engaging in any kind of savvy negotiations, or taking any audacious risks. Instead of conjuring "Sash in post-World War II Berlin traversing the treacherous zone borders using his wit and guile," think of "Sash learning an unfamiliar filing procedure at the DMV."<br />
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Here's how it went down. After disembarking from my plane, I shuffled through all the usual lines. I handed over my passport and paperwork, and made my way to the cashier as directed. But instead of shuffling along to await my visa, I paused at the counter for an awkward moment, trying to figure out to whom I ought to address my grease payment. You could hardly imagine a less debonair figure dabbling in the less-than-pristine waters of Cambodian officialdom. I even briefly entertained the notion of clearing my throat, as in: "Ahem. Can someone please tell me whom I should bribe?"<br />
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But, as I say, this game does not require a light touch. The paper shufflers behind the window, keen-nosed for lucre, spotted me straight away; the same people who had processed and returned my documents without deigning to notice me or return my greetings one minute suddenly showed uncharacteristic solicitude. Anyway, I imagined that I detected a certain heightened energy in the ranks, a straightening of backs and turning of heads, as I cast about for a sticky palm.<br />
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I eventually addressed the whole passel of officials, asking nonchalantly "Is it possible to get a six-month visa here?" Sure now what I was after, the immigration officials jockeyed openly for my business, talking over each other and trying to catch my eye.<br />
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Eventually, one of them won out. The bureaucrat started answering, "Yes, it is possible. You can---"---but before he could finish, a man in an olive-green military uniform emerged from an office behind the counter and stood behind my bureaucrat, who immediately said "You can talk to him." The uniformed man was the captain in charge of the immigration office at the airport. His inferiors all deferred to him as he led me to a different desk.<br />
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From there it was entirely straightforward: the captain very politely named his price, which was exactly the same price I had been offered on my first trip to Cambodia, and promised to deliver my passport and visa on such and such a day. I turned over my passport, and received it back in due course, exactly as promised, personally hand delivered by the captain.<br />
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As you can see, this particular area of Cambodian corruption is no cloak-and-dagger affair. No surreptitious swaps, no deft conman shuffles. No cynical, cigar-chomping camaraderie. No winking, no shit-eating grins, no talk of backs being scratched. No party lines, no inside connections, no circumlocutions. Nothing that resembled any of the bribes I've seen in the movies, or on shows like The Wire. Just a quick, public transaction with a uniformed officer who identified himself by name using an official document, charged me what appears to be a standard fee, and delivered the goods in a timely fashion.<br />
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In other words, this particular bribe was essentially indistinguishable from a legitimate fee. I asked at the immigration office how to get a visa, and an immigration officer handled it for me. In fact, I would point out that when I asked how to get a business visa, nobody mentioned what I happen to know is the actual procedure. Anyone who hadn't done the research wouldn't even realize he had paid a bribe, if he could overlook the suspiciously personalized service. It was predictable, efficient, and relatively transparent, just like a good bureaucratic procedure ought to be. It's just that the procedure that exists on paper and the procedure that happens in practice are totally different from each other---especially with regard to who keeps the fee.<br />
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Of course, maybe this is just a rationalization. Maybe I sullied myself with bad karma by participating in such a sordid business. If omens are any indication, I must have displeased some deity, because the airport lost both of my suitcases.Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-19328021525294758182009-08-19T04:17:00.003+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.002+07:00Back in the USA . . . for now<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;">As most of you know already, I am back in the US for about a month. I'm not yet reachable by phone, but I'll remedy that in the morning. Hardly worthwhile news to post at four in the morning, but I am currently suffering from serious jet lag as a consequence of a momentary, unaccustomed lapse into luxury and dissipation.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;">Ordinarily, I suffer only mild jet lag, especially when I arrive home late at night. On a long flight like the one from Hong Kong to New York, I usually get about two hours of sleep, by forcing myself unconscious through sheer force of will. Leg cramps, general irritation, and in-flight movies generally keep me awake the rest of the time, so that by the time I arrive home I'm capable of little more than a perfunctory greeting to the loving family before I collapse into bed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', serif; ">But for some reason, I was bumped up into Business Class on my flight home this time. Not for me the grim, silent struggle for knee- and elbow-space, the incessant mewling and puking of babies, or the aching, unfulfillable urge to cross my legs. This time, sated with cognac and fine cheeses, lulled by the sound of glasses and porcelain chinking on amply laden carts, I slept the deep and refreshing sleep of one savoring unearned opulence.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;">The more fool me. I arrived in New York uncharacteristically perky, just in time for my sister and her fiance (who are putting me up for the night) to go to bed. That is why you find me posting to this nearly derelict blog at four in the morning. Serves me right, I suppose, for straying from the straight and narrow path of Economy Class.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;">Anyway, here are some pictures I took of the ruined temples at Angkor Wat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms', serif;"><br /></span></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONy5Ef7WElQfzcm_R77fF3uu2LmCpp5uOhw_RAU4l2yYLcSxH6SdJ_UNZrIPd3T6ijyTZ5sGE19IfZWPG-8Xn9-W2nSwn4AIg13bV3fprZ8CyuLJz3kQF0KEHVhjV1KvsulAKgpjJgJs/s1600-h/taphrom_tonemapped.jpg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONy5Ef7WElQfzcm_R77fF3uu2LmCpp5uOhw_RAU4l2yYLcSxH6SdJ_UNZrIPd3T6ijyTZ5sGE19IfZWPG-8Xn9-W2nSwn4AIg13bV3fprZ8CyuLJz3kQF0KEHVhjV1KvsulAKgpjJgJs/s400/taphrom_tonemapped.jpg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371619897638160034" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqPE0SeflctJUMVAEeRb-wR2GOIp8tPuJ3tF9pNYdOSY5i_iWZpXc-bwKnbnfiR78oKYQrGiPfesj0f5eZr7cmm3oSRO6bUfs-fF9vdsmHoHKR8pGqY-SeCifhMvJfUrdjx1baaDFfUM/s1600-h/taphrom2_tonemapped.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqPE0SeflctJUMVAEeRb-wR2GOIp8tPuJ3tF9pNYdOSY5i_iWZpXc-bwKnbnfiR78oKYQrGiPfesj0f5eZr7cmm3oSRO6bUfs-fF9vdsmHoHKR8pGqY-SeCifhMvJfUrdjx1baaDFfUM/s400/taphrom2_tonemapped.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371619889573639762" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbwogns9b1obsVAlzJDHdmH9hZlNWygtsExEjC_pwf2jTbxl8Y5Gy6GdOtbhdt3osXYFm_W81LYDW9y2X-T371zeFNkwEkBeas5V3Bz-Lq0PtqFkhBZzKkw6mla8q7fWcLjejYPOqPMs/s1600-h/angkorwathd2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbwogns9b1obsVAlzJDHdmH9hZlNWygtsExEjC_pwf2jTbxl8Y5Gy6GdOtbhdt3osXYFm_W81LYDW9y2X-T371zeFNkwEkBeas5V3Bz-Lq0PtqFkhBZzKkw6mla8q7fWcLjejYPOqPMs/s400/angkorwathd2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371619885158110018" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7y7S4X4qqnM8WD6pRfTf-5THjb2-ltOA7V0I3Yd0wo46c4ZnUvjU_PPjl8kZD3lKfy92YPYVCOvpnhIAX0iz7hglWRD3EV7gQLYDdDCd4q2515vvjoxGWFpNc6g1sayu1kLVuZJi0VM/s1600-h/angkorwathd.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7y7S4X4qqnM8WD6pRfTf-5THjb2-ltOA7V0I3Yd0wo46c4ZnUvjU_PPjl8kZD3lKfy92YPYVCOvpnhIAX0iz7hglWRD3EV7gQLYDdDCd4q2515vvjoxGWFpNc6g1sayu1kLVuZJi0VM/s400/angkorwathd.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371619875855049602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKS-j0VknoKej70D4MesYURpnmSjklwVh3e_e4Q7pAt7cna5ldUAZ-QImJAGAX84j31Rih5_GwkEkfs_zIbf_fYxNLs18UYJnzLZ9qlNybX0yeFfBj8IuGE5sL8eVYsYLFzQLWyD0kPps/s1600-h/angkorwat_tonemapped.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKS-j0VknoKej70D4MesYURpnmSjklwVh3e_e4Q7pAt7cna5ldUAZ-QImJAGAX84j31Rih5_GwkEkfs_zIbf_fYxNLs18UYJnzLZ9qlNybX0yeFfBj8IuGE5sL8eVYsYLFzQLWyD0kPps/s400/angkorwat_tonemapped.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371619874630106466" /></a>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-22718686474289309002009-07-26T12:45:00.007+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.003+07:00Photo project<p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo">I haven't posted for a while because with the end of the summer looming, I actually have to hand in a memo on my research topic. That's about all I've been up to, so I thought I'd write about a great project my friend Beth Rossi is working on for <a href="http://www.lac.org.kh/">Legal Aid of Cambodia</a> that has started to bear fruit.</p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo">Earlier this summer, Beth identified twenty-two Cambodian kids from Battambang who either have already had or are at risk of getting into trouble with the law. After a couple of introductory sessions, she gave them disposable cameras with which to take photos of their daily lives. Once the results came in, she held a writing workshop where the kids wrote captions for the photos and biographies of themselves, which were exhibited along with the photos in Battambang.</p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo">I've posted some of my favorites below. One hundred of the best photos are available <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/rossi1210/BattambangPhotos?authkey=Gv1sRgCNfQx4LxgLDGqQE#">here</a>. Pictures of the exhibit going up and of the writing workshop are <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/rossi1210/BattambangPhotoProjectWritingWorkshopAndExhibition?feat=directlink#">here</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo">The next step is to have the captions and biographies translated from Khmer into English. Then Beth can hang prints of the kids' photos at restaurants and retailers around Boston (where she attends law school), with the ultimate goal of helping out Legal Aid of Cambodia. If the project is successful enough, it may well be repeated---and as Beth has pointed out to me, it's a very promising way to build connections between at-risk children and sympathetic lawyers.</p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo">Donations are, of course, welcome. You can also buy prints of any photos that catch your eye, with the money going to an excellent cause. Beth's email address is elizabeth.a.rossi [at] gmail.com.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrHpQ5tPMf4K1XkfP6NdhfHn_XeaRfK2x42jmpjpGvZRMr2PWVV9oXOHq2xPUm1-XAp9hzOhMc61mIDOUgAATFQ2G4hphNMUqdswnXcx_OxGQskI2tFGhexda-qhHB1DJvOMNM4__4do/s1600-h/01-745622.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrHpQ5tPMf4K1XkfP6NdhfHn_XeaRfK2x42jmpjpGvZRMr2PWVV9oXOHq2xPUm1-XAp9hzOhMc61mIDOUgAATFQ2G4hphNMUqdswnXcx_OxGQskI2tFGhexda-qhHB1DJvOMNM4__4do/s320/01-745622.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640954356600594" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWA7hTsFNSBBejQoOcezHfISfsPWCUAoGcd4jdolS0cSL-EHwXwgRH0z4qwgFB2OHHfp2fwDpZ9hipxn70xo7ZyO_SLbLcGdExn4iZofT8o3tWD8yARHjCRW6gXqPvd2RmmqyHVKX75dg/s1600-h/02-746414.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWA7hTsFNSBBejQoOcezHfISfsPWCUAoGcd4jdolS0cSL-EHwXwgRH0z4qwgFB2OHHfp2fwDpZ9hipxn70xo7ZyO_SLbLcGdExn4iZofT8o3tWD8yARHjCRW6gXqPvd2RmmqyHVKX75dg/s320/02-746414.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640960273224946" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnvk5gmMr21H7g-cIc6-Q1omEaavBYhW2ppPPRBbepGaVBl43UT1BLcmS9VK4l_v9e7A6N48IxtIlJbz49Y7x31Vuzoca7rz2SFd8MtnD69CHy_1dLL3fKqhaipTePISmzeV2CGhs-Wc/s1600-h/03-747052.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnvk5gmMr21H7g-cIc6-Q1omEaavBYhW2ppPPRBbepGaVBl43UT1BLcmS9VK4l_v9e7A6N48IxtIlJbz49Y7x31Vuzoca7rz2SFd8MtnD69CHy_1dLL3fKqhaipTePISmzeV2CGhs-Wc/s320/03-747052.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640963091971922" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rwYFVatMMPX7Q5s0T3VQsE0X7leepn9KmR63XjKZ7s7DxqgTIM4_wFDRNLrygzYo_CzegI4IiHoXfxVQh2E3uUXDhvssj9wsiIbk3yXRW_nF1agQXmvrsBXg87yxqaySUtbX6DZVb_Q/s1600-h/04-747776.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rwYFVatMMPX7Q5s0T3VQsE0X7leepn9KmR63XjKZ7s7DxqgTIM4_wFDRNLrygzYo_CzegI4IiHoXfxVQh2E3uUXDhvssj9wsiIbk3yXRW_nF1agQXmvrsBXg87yxqaySUtbX6DZVb_Q/s320/04-747776.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640964132955026" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkmj1MaQArD0tq7x1Rxq1HhuhhasMdbdcmKn8lg8lsq0xK4cDNTu2W3VVSJTYu7cSeRzkC_nbWsZEC50DMt6o4aMMlRWXapuGOFkVkG5bBYMTsxNAY3txkJAKhCVDyljHgi42GDGqRok/s1600-h/05-748569.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkmj1MaQArD0tq7x1Rxq1HhuhhasMdbdcmKn8lg8lsq0xK4cDNTu2W3VVSJTYu7cSeRzkC_nbWsZEC50DMt6o4aMMlRWXapuGOFkVkG5bBYMTsxNAY3txkJAKhCVDyljHgi42GDGqRok/s320/05-748569.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640968332502530" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpk7Z0g-74AcHwzh7YQtFEbfQM6qe21nUX5a420zDK-zySGNntu0k71D-PFPJdLNV-ZPdrqEbDinzsT76sY96TiiXA3N6qJQtVCuANB-2cN5OEzOd7262916QE9CAD1IvJA-L_Rr4K1I/s1600-h/06-749442.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpk7Z0g-74AcHwzh7YQtFEbfQM6qe21nUX5a420zDK-zySGNntu0k71D-PFPJdLNV-ZPdrqEbDinzsT76sY96TiiXA3N6qJQtVCuANB-2cN5OEzOd7262916QE9CAD1IvJA-L_Rr4K1I/s320/06-749442.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640971847154642" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpBQ7Bnj7JPs2Dh3i0POJzF6FZbLfyf4B_lhrKLEZrUWxR7bemCVZ1Jvo7_gber8UbKjQK5OuuFfPu8WBgvIh7-z_6H8hLh6y5xq6vIBgyREwumJAsNvxyTmRu4GwHYlwVnwd8v6vG0A/s1600-h/07-750331.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpBQ7Bnj7JPs2Dh3i0POJzF6FZbLfyf4B_lhrKLEZrUWxR7bemCVZ1Jvo7_gber8UbKjQK5OuuFfPu8WBgvIh7-z_6H8hLh6y5xq6vIBgyREwumJAsNvxyTmRu4GwHYlwVnwd8v6vG0A/s320/07-750331.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640978991296226" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Oh3dwGYvZ8-K1g6rcUekaOMlg6pIEu2AH1SdT_gqzUlHEpsIPNxfOdyLRjPpd5VQdREnKLUtLJiqblrNAYVy8rLBkL-x2HvHXm64Uj4lMIK8lFX7cMXD7G4xGMT422pjaoN7UyekjpM/s1600-h/08-751604.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Oh3dwGYvZ8-K1g6rcUekaOMlg6pIEu2AH1SdT_gqzUlHEpsIPNxfOdyLRjPpd5VQdREnKLUtLJiqblrNAYVy8rLBkL-x2HvHXm64Uj4lMIK8lFX7cMXD7G4xGMT422pjaoN7UyekjpM/s320/08-751604.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640981087398226" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYywYDrgupP_CBx_RPzJJnV8b6aHex9_mGMl7KAZrCSJ8fELTN5pmjZp-SJ-N_h-zTQiHXUquA6WjS0kI7MKvwt4FXJndyAtBOlOj00Jkz-qcKHixiZ8OvS5Z8nYEMFCr7RoBMSn2qk4/s1600-h/09-752250.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYywYDrgupP_CBx_RPzJJnV8b6aHex9_mGMl7KAZrCSJ8fELTN5pmjZp-SJ-N_h-zTQiHXUquA6WjS0kI7MKvwt4FXJndyAtBOlOj00Jkz-qcKHixiZ8OvS5Z8nYEMFCr7RoBMSn2qk4/s320/09-752250.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640986894008050" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69TQ2d-nQZFovyAtPejnO_dCdo4BlWrociKP7PQOpd1Fz5aktfHy_g7yx676oCOiut2qW3ofGpcOttxRfQuLEglAu-I2HZ2-SkPXRLmgl5O7lRnq2zHqydIGmzSnRDbiizHKi9grtJx0/s1600-h/10-753027.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69TQ2d-nQZFovyAtPejnO_dCdo4BlWrociKP7PQOpd1Fz5aktfHy_g7yx676oCOiut2qW3ofGpcOttxRfQuLEglAu-I2HZ2-SkPXRLmgl5O7lRnq2zHqydIGmzSnRDbiizHKi9grtJx0/s320/10-753027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640988624335698" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-52A165HInYCRw5-ctD3RGwFc5d5Ls9RzIoYDXxH7PftNRAxgRa8JHRudoStML08JXzZSxsn994wJIPtvzgrMhO5oZpnD_2Rwc-ft5evDjuvKffbvCbIO85fbofvknhyphenhyphenBcuIQEwQ8vNE/s1600-h/11-753754.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-52A165HInYCRw5-ctD3RGwFc5d5Ls9RzIoYDXxH7PftNRAxgRa8JHRudoStML08JXzZSxsn994wJIPtvzgrMhO5oZpnD_2Rwc-ft5evDjuvKffbvCbIO85fbofvknhyphenhyphenBcuIQEwQ8vNE/s320/11-753754.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640988435186834" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTswtXdSMO1y81xidaLqEkMFlhReD5ZN8IInrsJXp0y5sFs9aoVGBzSDXXeZYpnJzJQ7XBY6Jpm5RQ0FFS1N1jObBVuxdZhG99KD7d5MKrUf-QmGXCDu4OqztZmHN5bapr7YqEhKUfOy8/s1600-h/12-755151.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTswtXdSMO1y81xidaLqEkMFlhReD5ZN8IInrsJXp0y5sFs9aoVGBzSDXXeZYpnJzJQ7XBY6Jpm5RQ0FFS1N1jObBVuxdZhG99KD7d5MKrUf-QmGXCDu4OqztZmHN5bapr7YqEhKUfOy8/s320/12-755151.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640996947666386" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo">Here's Beth mounting the exhibit with a colleague:<br /></p><p style="text-align: center; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhr7P5EKU_FOMir6GnVzqlbF4XiBDMXVV-vrovVM3QEXyi7RHsdGmDRgEfzcjb7weVPK-EmzVEYPZpqKs_iDVUdKnndOvXjZaM2EAev0YTanIhScJXJBfYOgPfdzMYysSxez53QH6LQ4/s1600-h/13-755877.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhr7P5EKU_FOMir6GnVzqlbF4XiBDMXVV-vrovVM3QEXyi7RHsdGmDRgEfzcjb7weVPK-EmzVEYPZpqKs_iDVUdKnndOvXjZaM2EAev0YTanIhScJXJBfYOgPfdzMYysSxez53QH6LQ4/s320/13-755877.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362640999513311746" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo">And here are all the kids who took the photos:</p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="mobile-photo"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5tYrLz__3SMF1cCucZgNZZ3vGCb7872V7DCUuDuArsPc3EZddoRQm-Fi0eCDl0FiFvZsrFICxanDhPWnfxnQoJi0m1f8-QfL73ZXwl7Mw7ZiJMDgpA_fI9wG7h13ghjSzpHBbdLczp8/s1600-h/IMG_2665.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5tYrLz__3SMF1cCucZgNZZ3vGCb7872V7DCUuDuArsPc3EZddoRQm-Fi0eCDl0FiFvZsrFICxanDhPWnfxnQoJi0m1f8-QfL73ZXwl7Mw7ZiJMDgpA_fI9wG7h13ghjSzpHBbdLczp8/s400/IMG_2665.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362644621699340658" border="0" /></a></p>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-69762863721473094782009-07-14T15:04:00.013+07:002011-03-30T18:55:59.200+07:00Phnom Penh<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Two posts today: this one, which is hopefully pretty interesting; and another one probably only of interest to legal eagles. The second one is below, or you can access it <a href="http://sashlewis.blogspot.com/2009/07/cathartic-alchemy.html">here</a>.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">For the last few weeks, I've been working with some high school students who volunteer at DC-Cam, on top of my legal research. I'm supposed to be helping them with their writing; between communication difficulties and my lack of experience, I'm learning far more than they are.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">My most precocious student is Romas, a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cham_people">Cham</a> Cambodian girl who has essentially appointed herself student representative. Not only is her English better than the other students, but she is plain-spoken and confident where my other students are shy and deferential. It's a pleasure to work with all of them, but Romas's force of personality really sets her apart, especially among such a young group. She often translates for me, and negotiates on behalf of her peers over deadlines, meeting times, and so on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Romas, along with a couple of other young volunteers, is learning radio production at DC-Cam. Last week, she brought me into the studio to play me a song about Phnom Penh. I got my hands on an mp3 version. Listen below, or <a href="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-07-14/phnom_penh.mp3">here</a> if the embedded player doesn't work.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="300" height="42"> <param name="src" value="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-07-14/phnom_penh.mp3"><param name="autoplay" value="false"><param name="controller" value="true"><param name="bgcolor" value="#113355"><embed src="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-07-14/phnom_penh.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" width="300" height="42"
controller="true" bgcolor="#113355"></embed> </object></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">A bit of background: the first thing the Khmer Rouge did when they took over was to <a href="http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,945394,00.html">force every last person to leave Phnom Penh</a>. They claimed it was an "evacuation," and that the United States was planning to bomb the city (not altogether implausible, unfortunately), but it was really just another step in their plan to wind back the clocks into an agrarian golden age. The song Romas played me is about the period of exile from Phnom Penh:</span></div><div><blockquote><div><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Oh! Phnom Penh, during the three years we were apart, I missed you and my heart suffered each and every day, because the enemy cut off the affection between you and me.</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">When I was forced to leave you, anger burnt in my heart and compelled me to avenge [the sufferings you bore] to show my faithfulness to you.</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">R. Phnom Penh, our beloved city, in spite of the three years of hardship, you managed to preserve our [nation]'s bright history of courage and represent the soul of Kampuchea, which was once one of the world's glorious empire.</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">You prevented the disappearance of Cambodia, the descendant of the majestic Angkor empire.</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Oh, the soul of the Khmer nation lives on and, oh, is inspired by the majestic Angkor empire.</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Oh, Phnom Penh, now we are reunited and you are relieved from bereavement.</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';">Oh, Phnom Penh, our nation's heart and soul.</span></i></div></blockquote></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-22036816086949039272009-07-14T14:35:00.008+07:002011-03-30T18:55:59.200+07:00Cathartic alchemy<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"></span></p><div>Here's a little thing I wrote for DC-Cam about my trip to the court yesterday:</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday, Comrade Duch’s defense team brought the trial to a grinding halt, forcing the Trial Chamber to adjourn for the day before hearing any substantive testimony from former S-21 interrogator (and alleged torturer) <a href="http://www.wtop.com/?nid=105&sid=1706720">Mam Nai</a>. No sooner had Mam taken the stand than defense lawyer François Roux raised a question that brought the Chamber up short: had Mam had the opportunity to consult an attorney about the possibility that he himself will be subject to prosecution, either before the ECCC or another Cambodian court, if the Trial Chamber accepts the Co-Prosecutors’ motion to use the doctrine of Joint Criminal Enterprise?</div><div><br /></div><div>Although Deputy Prosecutor William Smith responded that his office had promised not to prosecute Mam before the ECCC, he was, of course, in no position to speak for Cambodia’s domestic prosecutors. Mam informed the Court that he although he would like to consult an attorney, he cannot afford to pay one. Unable to get hold of an attorney for Mam on such short notice, Trial Chamber President Nil Nonn had little choice but to adjourn for the day or expose the court to allegations of disregarding Mam’s rights.</div><div><br /></div><div>Derailing Mam’s testimony was just another volley in the ongoing fight over Joint Criminal Enterprise. Simply put, Joint Criminal Enterprise is a legal doctrine that spreads guilt from one person to another, as long as a few requirements are satisfied. Under the doctrine, people who are participating in a common enterprise are considered guilty of each other’s crimes committed to advance the goal of the enterprise. For example, two people who agree to rob a bank together can both be convicted of murder if one of them shoots a teller during the robbery. Legally, under Joint Criminal Enterprise, it is as though both robbers committed the murder, even though only one of them pulled the trigger---even if the other had no intention of creating any casualties. Needless to say, Joint Criminal Enterprise is a prosecutor’s dream. If convictions and years in prison are the coin of the realm, Joint Criminal Enterprise gives a prosecutor vastly more bang for her buck, one crime garnering as many convictions as there are plausible participants.</div><div><br /></div><div>The ECCC Co-Prosecutors have asked the Trial Chamber to use Joint Criminal Enterprise in judging Comrade Duch. The benefit to the prosecution is easy to see. The doctrine would not only make it easier to convict Duch, but would put the Co-Prosecutors in a strong position to convict the tribunal’s other defendants, who were, after all, members of a tight-knit think tank. Moreover, if the Co-Prosecutors could establish that S-21 was a Joint Criminal Enterprise in which Duch and all of the prison’s guards and interrogators participated, they could bury Duch in an avalanche of guilt. The symbolism is, presumably, not lost on them: a broad application of Joint Criminal Enterprise would effectively allow the Co-Prosecutors to spin Tuol Sleng’s historical record into a monumental conviction, a beguiling, cathartic alchemy.</div><div><br /></div><div>But to the defense team, all that glitters is not gold. Their task will become vastly more burdensome if the Trial Chamber decides that it can hold Duch guilty of crimes that, in the view of the defense, he did not commit, was not aware of, and could not control. To them, and to academic critics of the doctrine, Joint Criminal Enterprise amounts to little more than guilt by association---good enough for moralists, perhaps, but not good law. Further, the doctrine is said by some to favor quantity over quality of convictions.</div><div><br /></div><div>Duch’s lawyers are evidently resisting the use of the doctrine tooth and nail. Roux ‘s question---whether Mam had been able to consult with a lawyer about his exposure under Joint Criminal Enterprise---evinced more than his concern for Mam’s welfare. It highlighted an unresolved tension between Joint Criminal Enterprise and the right of a witness to refuse to incriminate himself. If simply working at S-21 exposes Mam to liability for the crimes of his fellow guards, who are free to incriminate themselves, he cannot safely testify about anything of value. Put another way, Joint Criminal Enterprise could put one witness’s right against self-incrimination into the hands of another witness, reducing witness protection to a nullity.</div><div><br /></div><div>An important question that went unasked yesterday was whether the Joint Criminal Enterprise doctrine even exists in Cambodian domestic law. If the answer is no, then Mam quite simply cannot be prosecuted in the Cambodian courts (assuming, of course, that he avoids incriminating himself directly). Even if the ECCC Trial Chamber does accept Joint Criminal Enterprise, its decision has no effect on Cambodian law. As long as the Co-Prosecutors honor their promise not to bring Mam before the ECCC, he should be safe, Joint Criminal Enterprise or no Joint Criminal Enterprise.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that, of course, was not the point. Roux put the Trial Chamber and the Co-Prosecutors on notice that his team will do its best to raise the cost of implementing Joint Criminal Enterprise, in terms of amnesties, legal aid, further delays, and the risk of appeal. He also put Mam on notice---whether with or without genuine grounds---that his testimony could come back to bite him.</div></span></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-85690306393096847702009-07-10T11:08:00.016+07:002011-03-30T18:55:59.200+07:00The Luminous Bastard<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Trebuchet MS';"></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Trebuchet MS';"><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">One of the biggest characters on the international criminal law scene is the lawyer Jacques Vergès, who is defending <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khieu_Samphan">Khieu Samphan</a>, Democratic Kampuchea's head of state, in the ECCC. At least among lawyers, he has come to embody radical, postcolonial opposition to anything that smells of Western imperialism---including just about all of the international criminal tribunals. He has defended Algerian cafe bomber <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Djamila_Bouhired">Djamila Bouhired</a>; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlos_the_Jackal">Carlos the Jackal</a>, who shot up an OPEC meeting; Gestapo-member <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klaus_Barbie">Klaus Barbie</a>, aka the Butcher of Lyon; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slobodan_Milo%C5%A1evi%C4%87">Slobodan Milošević</a>; and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suddam_Hussein">Suddham Hussein</a>; among others.</p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BF01LUQhcn94mHx_oWt5zCSZJJ0MSBH-uZE-r3I7OTtd9t-pCKBMridOtxnapGfaGhyphenhyphen2QquvpgQjvEk0gAYxD-VG2UXtfOmAY8czpkNPGhlCbCpoToExCXOm1AfUXlvI6oDqXx40UMk/s400/verges.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356681017324770866" /><p class="MsoNormal">He is notorious for his courtroom tactics. During his defense of Djamila Bouhired (whom he later married), he baited the mob of racist <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pieds_noir">Pieds-Noirs</a> in the gallery, informing the court that "while their people were subsisting on acorns in the forest, my people were building palaces," waving the flag of the Algerian National Liberation Front, and generally raising a media ruckus that eventually resulted in Bouhired's release. His tactics are anything but lawyerly, but they've succeeded again and again, and made Vergès famous. What one can glean of his political philosophy seems caustic, if not nihilistic, but his tactics undoubtedly wreak havoc on hypocrisy.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Adding to his air of hard-core radical glamour, Vergès disappeared for about eight years in the nineteen-seventies, without telling Djamila or any of his friends where he went. They presumed that he was dead. Rumor has it that he was here in Cambodia, working to bring about the Khmer Rouge revolution; the surviving Khmer Rouge leaders deny it, but Vergès himself keeps mum.</p><p class="MsoNormal">On top of all that, Vergès is an extraordinarily eloquent man, and has (ironically) patterned himself as an old-school French intellectual, in the tradition of Diderot and Montaigne. He is also something of a <i>bon vivant:</i> impeccable clothes, swell apartments, big cigars, fine wines, and so forth. He entitled his autobiography <i>Le Salaud Lumineux</i>, or <i>The Brilliant Bastard,</i> in which he wrote "My moral is to be against every moral, because it seeks to lash down life."</p><p class="MsoNormal">His latest escapade, of course, is at the ECCC. His defendant isn't being tried yet, but Vergès has made some waves already in the Pre-Trial Chamber. During a routine hearing on some procedural matter, Vergès adopted his usual tactics, and went straight for the Court's weakest point: the atmosphere of corruption that has plagued the proceedings. After some heated colloquy, the judges insisted that Vergès restrict his arguments to the motion before the Chamber. Before moving on, he produced this gem:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal">"Firstly, I shall be silent because it is not for me to be more concerned about your honor than you yourselves are. If you consider that corruption should not be discussed, I am not going to force the discussion on you. I shall be silent because I understand your caution in this regard and I think that the presumption of innocence that you sometimes deny the accused may be of some benefit to you. And I shall be silent because the Head of the State which hosts you has stated publicly that he wishes you to leave, making of you, in a moral sense, squatters. I shall be silent also because a member of the Government of the country that hosts you stated that you were obsessed only by money, thus confirming the charge---be it grounded or not---of corruption, which blights the tribunal. Lastly---you see, I'll be brief---because it is not seemly to fire on ambulances and victims and the wounded; nor is it seemly to fire on hearses and those who are about to die."</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p></blockquote><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">In response, the Pre-Trial Chamber <a href="http://www.eccc.gov.kh/english/cabinet/courtDoc/324/C26_5_22_EN.pdf">issued a "Warning"</a> to Vergès to the effect that if he continues to obstruct the proceedings, they will sanction him; they sent a copy of the warning to the French Bar Association. A feeble rejoinder, in my opinion, to Vergès broadside. Whatever you think of him and his tactics, this exchange gives a sense of the force of his personality and intellect, and how difficult it is for a court to emerge from a tangle with him with its dignity intact. Vergès always plays his part to the hilt, making almost any response seem trivial by comparison.</p><p class="MsoNormal">This post is already too long, but I'll end by saying that while Vergès is something of a fringe figure, his critiques of international criminal justice are not unfounded. The other defense lawyers I've met here are principled people, who object to the strong element of theater that characterizes a tribunal like this one. Their most basic criticism---and it's a difficult one to counter---is that a court operating under such great political and historical pressure simply cannot realistically acquit its first few defendants. The first cases go forward on a presumption of guilt, not innocence, but are vigorously contested anyway, simply to present the appearance of neutral justice. This tribunal, like many others, is charged with restoring respect for the rule of law, a goal that doesn’t comport well with a show trial, however “just” the outcome. It’s just a shame that Vergès is such a toxic standard bearer for international criminal defense, which does critically important work and brings intellectual rigor to these kinds of courts.</p><p class="MsoNormal">There’s a documentary about Vergès called <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1032854/">Terror’s Advocate</a>;</i> it’s very long, with a lot of talking heads and interviews with superannuated terrorists, but there are a lot of interviews with Vergès himself, which make for fascinating watching. There’s also a great interview available <a href="http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,591943,00.html">here</a>.</p><p></p><p></p></span><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-14052737366237000112009-07-06T11:12:00.011+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.003+07:00More random photos<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Some photos I've taken recently, in no particular order.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Here's the outside of a rural temple I visited briefly this weekend:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46ubd9i3XcXez7_-RN0OrsGaFs2mpxw7hMRyI-Mniv4vfJVsnOkcweajJsF-HW1wqc56HY9f8nsUhit1WNzHOkbU0te7HYcTUo0rRMbTNi6PIqX2AwOKSE38X9qpM0gzugQKu8jja24c/s1600-h/watmonkey.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46ubd9i3XcXez7_-RN0OrsGaFs2mpxw7hMRyI-Mniv4vfJVsnOkcweajJsF-HW1wqc56HY9f8nsUhit1WNzHOkbU0te7HYcTUo0rRMbTNi6PIqX2AwOKSE38X9qpM0gzugQKu8jja24c/s400/watmonkey.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355197051874988322" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">And <i>here</i> is a shrine inside the temple. The temple itself is a beautiful, ancient stone structure in the jungle, surrounded by the ruins of older, smaller temples. It's at the top of some very picturesque stairs; you can hear the monks chanting inside as you climb up to the main entrance. Once you get inside you see this:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNG0XloO1uzWAd07ILEyMcbKT89AjFwwej7BJTTWzBTTG0CpB8EN0ue9oWPo9o5YUHqUeqLLUrHQGcwkAfNXkq4A3ZQNf_gZ6XV718SiE6KJGxJbk-58BIJIwA0eUlvmGJ1PizqODZqo4/s1600-h/xmasbuddha.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNG0XloO1uzWAd07ILEyMcbKT89AjFwwej7BJTTWzBTTG0CpB8EN0ue9oWPo9o5YUHqUeqLLUrHQGcwkAfNXkq4A3ZQNf_gZ6XV718SiE6KJGxJbk-58BIJIwA0eUlvmGJ1PizqODZqo4/s400/xmasbuddha.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355200242829736754" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 400px; " /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">This photo doesn't really do the shrine justice. From outside, the interior of the temple is completely dark---all you can see is the christmas lights on the shrine flashing in different patterns, like a misplaced slot machine.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">stupa</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> in the nearby village, containing the bones of a mass grave left over from the Khmer Rouge days. In the local version of Buddhism, people's bones must be cremated, but only by their relatives. Since these bones are unidentified, nobody's allowed to burn them. There are </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">stupas</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> like this one all over the country. Some have proposed holding a national cremation of remains like these, but it's been delayed while the trials are going on, in case the bones are needed for evidence.<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDkd70wNhHC1yTQrBud-D8PoOiPkR713I8Dp6b5pbYyQEBOKFPC5klVrarROYyABE4L5BlYtAGYLxSz2ufxW_NVH_eRw27CcLSK_llKYPbwRdYYoTcrRpv0FHEDp5nGt3zxwUcb3Bu4k/s1600-h/stupa.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDkd70wNhHC1yTQrBud-D8PoOiPkR713I8Dp6b5pbYyQEBOKFPC5klVrarROYyABE4L5BlYtAGYLxSz2ufxW_NVH_eRw27CcLSK_llKYPbwRdYYoTcrRpv0FHEDp5nGt3zxwUcb3Bu4k/s400/stupa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355197045582967170" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Some pickled ants we had for lunch the other day. Surprisingly, quite delicious---the eggs go pop in your mouth!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9XdAqt2Qk6pCGMqqLU6Q0wK6qFFhJMGb8ss_pOsuwVLW_latJxWFQfT8ca6CyPtPNuNyncm3amxY038ao1KgHxBrRpm-xsPiEtw320vnrJXXT9pFXyB9st60ViE20rNZHTZHEHrjfWY/s1600-h/pickledants.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9XdAqt2Qk6pCGMqqLU6Q0wK6qFFhJMGb8ss_pOsuwVLW_latJxWFQfT8ca6CyPtPNuNyncm3amxY038ao1KgHxBrRpm-xsPiEtw320vnrJXXT9pFXyB9st60ViE20rNZHTZHEHrjfWY/s400/pickledants.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355195915063928114" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A guardian statue outside the National Museum:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-e0QXUjSlIPZrAtUQFaWKl3QkaEzIEefvCWf4EVZlGIYPSQpZMwKAzvmx-Ma74cnaCKbwpBFIrPzW1hq8jWPUsd8KQKtd93TNRvAfBjuEamBlc3fwkPMOI6RhKC-sAXoDhbLrvUUMjw/s1600-h/natmuseum.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-e0QXUjSlIPZrAtUQFaWKl3QkaEzIEefvCWf4EVZlGIYPSQpZMwKAzvmx-Ma74cnaCKbwpBFIrPzW1hq8jWPUsd8KQKtd93TNRvAfBjuEamBlc3fwkPMOI6RhKC-sAXoDhbLrvUUMjw/s400/natmuseum.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355195910804256946" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Louise at the beach:</span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi163RWHzRWJSLtxlCwjsr2cglaDCsbQKZN7dayFwHy9D-p-MrnTr1PBOswuBOFXcCJZ9ak65RTskW9rTqxjYR28_Kk0sYlV3Oa53MIUT1DSqk4lFFWh1A-q29_BmEraU0i8cn1sGqeYkg/s1600-h/lousquish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi163RWHzRWJSLtxlCwjsr2cglaDCsbQKZN7dayFwHy9D-p-MrnTr1PBOswuBOFXcCJZ9ak65RTskW9rTqxjYR28_Kk0sYlV3Oa53MIUT1DSqk4lFFWh1A-q29_BmEraU0i8cn1sGqeYkg/s400/lousquish.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355195905575317810" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A monk jumping from one building to another. The cloths are monks' robes drying in the sun.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHtBVtOqPmvPPw8BFg4WOjy78Q3u4R2aGBkoHGd659zWVA9w-ICCsG70gdXIVgK0Z-ZpvKip3fvRgQGlH2-Ly9qY_mluuuLD_TY4SOTP9qqwncroWfvNn0Y3jbEoDiSjS5Ew6XuT95uRs/s1600-h/jumper.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHtBVtOqPmvPPw8BFg4WOjy78Q3u4R2aGBkoHGd659zWVA9w-ICCsG70gdXIVgK0Z-ZpvKip3fvRgQGlH2-Ly9qY_mluuuLD_TY4SOTP9qqwncroWfvNn0Y3jbEoDiSjS5Ew6XuT95uRs/s400/jumper.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355195895088589074" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A woman plowing her rice field in the countryside:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomQDuOsRVmKoSYLr4XZeAejWXqQijzt8dEy7UtQM0VgAzfda4HEmbYtyWE1urA-CHhCFQv5YV7pxC_8qeGYEl-lRz-1q7u0u3O8zNeOu2u9ys-63oqqKOLs4EvJRlpmHVd87gTiMg7T0/s1600-h/countryside.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiomQDuOsRVmKoSYLr4XZeAejWXqQijzt8dEy7UtQM0VgAzfda4HEmbYtyWE1urA-CHhCFQv5YV7pxC_8qeGYEl-lRz-1q7u0u3O8zNeOu2u9ys-63oqqKOLs4EvJRlpmHVd87gTiMg7T0/s400/countryside.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355195887420206706" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A moto driver sleeping near my house:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHXQ4clfhm47273YuYXxeB3oUBwkgH4kUCUh6Fz6UUj4zklQDkX89nKuJsVmYyPmGWWnhic5D_kvHvaOrxNKZQbPv4EV3zlfZbGV2ih0Bq_Y_bG_xU-b9hBiqDM0fQIgAKd2PzZ3EjTE/s1600-h/motosleep.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHXQ4clfhm47273YuYXxeB3oUBwkgH4kUCUh6Fz6UUj4zklQDkX89nKuJsVmYyPmGWWnhic5D_kvHvaOrxNKZQbPv4EV3zlfZbGV2ih0Bq_Y_bG_xU-b9hBiqDM0fQIgAKd2PzZ3EjTE/s400/motosleep.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355206202828984402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></span></div></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-36842176067537358192009-07-02T16:51:00.004+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.003+07:00A survivor and a perpetrator<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">This week I saw a survivor of Tuol Sleng prison (aka S-21) testify, and met the prison's second-in-command in person.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The survivor was Vann Nath, one of only twelve people who survived S-21, out of the fourteen thousand who were killed there. Since only four are still alive, Vann Nath's testimony drew a big crowd---the Court's viewing gallery was thronged with Westerners and Cambodians.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Vann Nath only survived Tuol Sleng because of his training as a painter---the Khmer Rouge forced him to paint portraits of its top leaders. Except for his miraculous survival, Vann Nath's story was fairly typical. He was forcibly "evacuated" from the city, and deposited in a rural commune. After working for two and a half years in the rice fields near Phnom Penh, he was arrested out of the blue on suspicion of subverting the revolution, most likely because he had a university education. After his arrest, he was tortured briefly at a Buddhist pagoda used as a prison, until he was transferred to Tuol Sleng. He spent a month there before he was pressed into service as a portraitist until the Khmer Rouge fell in 1979.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">After he was freed, Vann Nath painted a series of pictures of the atrocities committed at Tuol Sleng, which are now permanently exhibited there. I could only find a few samples online (sorry for the poor image quality).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div></div></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The paintings were a major part of Vann Nath's testimony. This one shows one prisoner being publicly tortured while an unconscious</span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnI0k8wiXzjUxY0Hazpl5dpD_enK3P0RRTcncdwPz5rQcgouF5B4VwvXu6XpH603pg9WP7eLgFBcsM7OIDfREn7QyYurjHrmhGB17zZPcC_VLgyPPB8fUJT-YDxCXSmQR2HLPh8fyok-s/s400/vannnath3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353798409236877250" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> prisoner is dunked in water to revive him for more abuse. The layout of the prison as shown in the painting is very accurate. The wooden structure---which was originally used as a jungle gym for students---still stands there. The Prosecutors used the painting to show the view that Duch must have had of the tortures committed at Tuol Sleng as he traversed the yard, in order to establish his awareness of and responsibility for the crimes that took place.<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I've included this one, of a prisoner being waterboarded, purely out of interest.</span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6XQEeU-NeU766sIORNvdjo3o7O9-JWHY-vGaXpZGZzjTb_lhfIAoBdNvOhhcLJ988_zd3O5vpbtKNDSCKUEd3XrrI7uaKVMm_0j6lC7CqcxhZZHyU35NrMTKrqgCdeVO6_ifeuGmUhA/s400/vannnath4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353798411070812002" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 233px; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKoOm9WUpIt0Ezxz7y3UWDqAdo9DNb4tZxkHjWYvVDjcslm8L43UOTcRD6ReSz2mc8p1oFAqC_YO1yLRDC96opghxzoGkQESAGhaLDWzsiVRCGIuIpgbj9d6NZvFjC83OGS7CwTAgFC6E/s1600-h/vannnath2.jpg"></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKoOm9WUpIt0Ezxz7y3UWDqAdo9DNb4tZxkHjWYvVDjcslm8L43UOTcRD6ReSz2mc8p1oFAqC_YO1yLRDC96opghxzoGkQESAGhaLDWzsiVRCGIuIpgbj9d6NZvFjC83OGS7CwTAgFC6E/s1600-h/vannnath2.jpg"></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKoOm9WUpIt0Ezxz7y3UWDqAdo9DNb4tZxkHjWYvVDjcslm8L43UOTcRD6ReSz2mc8p1oFAqC_YO1yLRDC96opghxzoGkQESAGhaLDWzsiVRCGIuIpgbj9d6NZvFjC83OGS7CwTAgFC6E/s1600-h/vannnath2.jpg"></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">As I mentioned, I also met Tuol Sleng's second-in-command, Him Huoy, the officer responsible for arresting all of the prison's victims. He also personally killed a number of inmates by beating their heads in with an iron bar, the method of choice for dispatching victims who survived the interrogations.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">These days, however, Huoy lives a quiet life as a farmer, a few hours from Phnom Penh. He doesn't know the city very well, so when he's in town, he tells people to meet him at DC-Cam. He was at the office briefly, so Youk, the head of DC-Cam, introduced him to the interns. It was, to say the least, a surreal moment---Youk just brought him into our office unannounced and said "This is Comrade Huoy. He killed some people during the Khmer Rouge," in very much the same way that you might say "This is Comrade Houy. He'll be working in accounting."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Everyone here is completely comfortable working with perpetrators by now, and indeed it's seen as an important part of the Center's work. But for us interns, it's difficult to know how to react. Many, many Khmer Rouge cadres were trapped in their roles, and lived just as fearfully as other Cambodians. But Huoy was an important enough figure that he barely escaped prosecution; if the Court's agenda were just a shade broader, he could very well be in the dock.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">As it is, he's cooperating with the other prosecutions, and appears to be a fairly significant figure in people's understanding of reconciliation. And people have little choice but to reconcile: a lot of former cadres live alongside their victims, growing rice like everyone else.<br /></span></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-87331645246100394502009-06-16T15:04:00.010+07:002011-03-30T18:55:59.201+07:00The Court, finallyI finally went to the Court yesterday, for the first time since I've been here.<br />
<br />
A bit of background: right now the Court is trying <a href="http://www.cambodiatribunal.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=13&Itemid=14">Kaing Guek Eav</a>, better known as Comrade Duch. He was in charge of an interrogation center in Phnom Penh called S-21, or Tuol Sleng Prison, where some 15,000 people whose loyalty to the Khmer Rouge was in doubt were tortured and killed. I'll skip the grisly details on my blog, but there's plenty of information on the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/26/world/asia/27cambo.html?_r=1">New York Times website</a> and in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuol_Sleng">Wikipedia</a>. Duch has admitted responsibility for the crimes that took place at S-21, but since the Court rules have no mechanism for dealing with a guilty plea, the trial is going on regardless.<br />
<br />
Although Duch's testimony yesterday was largely fairly technical and uninteresting, there were a couple of memorable moments in the day. At one point, <a href="http://cambodia.ka-set.info/khmer-rouge/cambodia-tribunal-khmer-rouge-trial-french-judge-lavergne081027.html">Judge Lavergne</a> was interrogating Duch about conditions at S-21. Duch was evidently impatient with the technical nature of the questioning; he eventually pointed out that the prison existed only as a way-station on the way to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Killing_Fields">killing fields</a>, and said, memorably, that the prisoners "lived like animals and ate like animals. We thought of them as already dead, only waiting to be smashed."<br />
<br />
At another point, the Co-Prosecutor showed a clip of video from the case file, which included footage of Vietnamese detainees at S-21. One of the victims, a woman sitting in the front row of the spectators' gallery, suddenly started sobbing. I often become very focused on the wonky procedural details of my research project, even in the middle of trial, but a lot of people are overwhelmed by seeing Duch and seeing relics of what happened to them.<br />
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We met some of the Court's VIPs yesterday as well: <a href="http://www.eccc.gov.kh/english/prosecutors.aspx">Chea Leang</a>, the Cambodian Co-Prosecutor; and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silvia_Cartwright">Dame Silvia Cartwright</a>, one of the <a href="http://www.eccc.gov.kh/english/trial_chamber.aspx">Trial Chamber judges</a>, who has been a justice on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Zealand_High_Court">New Zealand's highest court</a> and New Zealand's <a href="http://www.gg.govt.nz/role">Governor-General</a> (seen here <a href="http://www.decisionmaker.co.nz/guide2003/tbp/queen.html">Eskimo-kissing the Queen</a>). We were able to ask them questions about our research projects, which was enlightening, to say the least.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">More wonkery about the trial</span><br />
<br />
As I've noted before, the trial is creeping forward at a snail's pace, to the consternation of almost everybody involved. The delay---and the frustration---is partly attributable to the fact that different chambers in the Court have been repeating each other's work.<br />
<br />
I was thinking about it in terms of <i>Law & Order</i> the other day. For those who don't watch the show, it always begins with a portentous voice saying the same thing: <i>"In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate, but equally important groups: the police who investigate crime, and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders."</i> Every episode starts with a police investigation, and ends with a courtroom prosecution, which is pretty representative of what actually happens in a common law system: police do all the investigating; attorneys do all the lawyering; judges umpire at both stages.<br />
<br />
In the ECCC, the <span style="font-style: italic;">judges</span> are the ones responsible for investigating crime. They do use a Judicial Police Force, but the judges still run the show. They also run the show at trial: instead of acting as as umpire, as they would in the States, the <span style="font-style: italic;">judges</span> ask most of the questions.<br />
<br />
What's worse, the judges at every stage can re-open the investigation. Even the Supreme Court Chamber judges, who in most systems would stick to deciding fairly narrow questions on appeal, can conduct new investigations, question new witnesses, or call back witnesses already questioned in the Trial Chamber. Of course, nobody knows how---or if---they'll use that power, since no appeals have been lodged yet.<br />
<br />
Then there are the Co-Prosecutors, and the defense team. Individuals who want in for their own claims are allowed to participate as Civil Parties, and are represented in groups by lawyers who are allowed to question witnesses during the trial. So if Law & Order did an ECCC spin-off, the portentous voice would have to say <i>"In the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia, the people are represented by lots of important groups: the judges who investigate crime; the judges who prosecute the offenders; the prosecutors who prosecute the offenders; more judges who prosecute the offenders; some more judges who might investigate crime if they want to; ninety-eight civil parties, who are sometimes allowed to prosecute the offenders; and maybe more judges maybe investigating more crime. Maybe."</i><br />
<br />
So in Duch's case, the Co-Investigating Judges have already investigated his alleged crimes, interrogated him, and interrogated witnesses. They've amassed an enormous case file, containing thousands of documents, transcripts, and so on. But now the Trial Chamber, instead of simply issuing a ruling based on the information in the case file, is once again questioning witnesses, and Duch himself, at great length.<br />
<br />
The trial phase has already gone on far longer than anyone anticipated. Some people thought the trial would last about a month: they expected the Trial Chamber to spend most of its time looking at the case file, examining a few witnesses just to clarify points of confusion.<br />
<br />
In fact, the trial is likely to take as long as a year. The Court was only supposed to exist for three years. That time will run out in July, and the Court won't even be anywhere near done trying the first of five defendants. If the Court's funding dries up before its work is done, it could turn into a real fiasco.<br />
<br />
Of course, it's still early days: this is, after all, the Court's very first trial. And it's important to remember that the system is very new. The Cambodian judges, including <a href="http://www.pbs.org/frontlineworld/stories/cambodia/diary04.html">Nil Nonn</a>, the President of the Trial Chamber, are relatively inexperienced. Before this, the longest trial that Judge Nonn oversaw lasted four days.<br />
<br />
Judge Cartwright also gave a convincing rationale for erring on the side of length. All of the Court's investigations are completely confidential, so what's heard in open Court is all that the public gets to know for the time being. Given the importance of these trials for Cambodians, it makes sense to prioritize building a public record. Anyway, it's far too early to tell how things will go here.Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-42057788669496161122009-06-08T17:20:00.015+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.004+07:00Miscellany<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Some more miscellaneous photos today.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lou and I went to the market this weekend to stock up our apartment. People buy almost everything here in these huge, filthy, chaotic marketplaces. Our local market is in a huge shed-like building which is, I suppose, the market proper, but people sell things for blocks in every direction. There seems to be no organizing principle of any kind, so the place is essentially unnavigable: it's a labyrinth of narrow, poorly-lit concrete aisles, sometimes transected by ditches full of watery grime and garbage, which sometimes have a plank across by way of a footbridge. The fruits and vegetables are great, but the meat is a little scary---huge sides of pork next to mounds of unidentifiable offal leaching puddles of juice. The flies love it. Here's a sample:</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHf1tBWau9HUBTksIqgx8bsZWQYxRUViI8RiB0v8TH8vEzw2Hc8XdrNGlkjjLyipzAbpJnmbggKT8DbxAVioNvPupV_JE2FlCEwQTWynF2LpicwTOuby0gy5nYILy0XIeJX9Oxwov37M/s1600-h/bkkchickens1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHf1tBWau9HUBTksIqgx8bsZWQYxRUViI8RiB0v8TH8vEzw2Hc8XdrNGlkjjLyipzAbpJnmbggKT8DbxAVioNvPupV_JE2FlCEwQTWynF2LpicwTOuby0gy5nYILy0XIeJX9Oxwov37M/s400/bkkchickens1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344761950237149602" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LNZEi9899wyvrnaVWIsyBYVKQm4wBJIk0OHZxHVXtxxjiXRWBZbSZHKt7diTDCbhIbsZHD9zeFDMG-0Q9Zs0OEwylbbENxdMPBnlo7e50pX8LoTqZyq5SU2VbEfFD0BqUPhTOjMTSh0/s1600-h/bkkchickens2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LNZEi9899wyvrnaVWIsyBYVKQm4wBJIk0OHZxHVXtxxjiXRWBZbSZHKt7diTDCbhIbsZHD9zeFDMG-0Q9Zs0OEwylbbENxdMPBnlo7e50pX8LoTqZyq5SU2VbEfFD0BqUPhTOjMTSh0/s400/bkkchickens2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344761955518065154" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Presumably people eat the meat from the markets without any major complications, but I'm too squeamish to try. Luckily, you can get anything and everything at the markets: clothes from major Western brands (Gap, Abercrombie, Birkenstock, etc.), taken straight from the factories and sold at a fraction of the retail price, fake antique statuary, spare motorcycle parts, farming equipment, books, very professionally pirated DVDs from Malaysia, kitchen equipment, religious items (shrines, incense, candles, etc.), silk, paintings, construction materials, watches, jewelry, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It's a lot of fun shopping in all the confusion. People are very friendly, and open to bargaining; I've learned my numbers in Khmer so that I can haggle a little bit.</span></span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here's Louise shopping for fruit. The only ones I can identify so far are rambutan, in the lower-left corner (it's lot like lychee), and dragon fruit immediately to the right of that (has a nice, mild, white flesh).<br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuQQ0h4DJeNN3CmfFhZ0jzfcMKxqZzOto-whAD0LthZjpCSZT2K0UsUe1ifa9YEvhf65j36hRdpza6CBPoWnpFc55QG3S6TSMCptj5Bg3kJzUbl8uP7uQLWSPbnVyASQZighGb9f-Wwo/s1600-h/bkklouise.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuQQ0h4DJeNN3CmfFhZ0jzfcMKxqZzOto-whAD0LthZjpCSZT2K0UsUe1ifa9YEvhf65j36hRdpza6CBPoWnpFc55QG3S6TSMCptj5Bg3kJzUbl8uP7uQLWSPbnVyASQZighGb9f-Wwo/s400/bkklouise.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344761956379664754" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">We also went to a performance by a troupe of drummers at <a href="http://shadow-puppets.org/">Sovanna Phum</a>. Very beautiful traditional drumming, with dancers acting out a battle between giants, and then monkeys trashing the stage. I got a not-so-good picture in the low light.</div></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHCoysQKFtPMfClwBSbN0YnVoUckDBe51AgUepiLB_p9W3wofB7bCvfDBDpVplfp6joz_QKkdWjtK233tr564jdnmvEzwEc8ue9vJkqFvqYZdNzyJfibhjD2d7SybKHShT82vWCH_Lxs/s1600-h/sovannaphum.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHCoysQKFtPMfClwBSbN0YnVoUckDBe51AgUepiLB_p9W3wofB7bCvfDBDpVplfp6joz_QKkdWjtK233tr564jdnmvEzwEc8ue9vJkqFvqYZdNzyJfibhjD2d7SybKHShT82vWCH_Lxs/s400/sovannaphum.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344803556056151410" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I also made another not-so-good recording with my camera's rinky-dink microphone. Listen below, or <a href="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-06-08/sovannaphum.mp3">here</a> if the embedded player doesn't work.</span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="300" height="42"> <param name="src" value="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-06-08/sovannaphum.mp3"><param name="autoplay" value="false"><param name="controller" value="true"><param name="bgcolor" value="#113355"><embed src="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-06-08/sovannaphum.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" width="300" height="42"
controller="true" bgcolor="#113355"></embed> </object></div></div></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-80517229123660527772009-06-04T16:47:00.007+07:002011-03-30T18:55:59.201+07:00Bullets, electricity, lightning, tiger bites, and snake strikes, Oh My!<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Here is the procedure for swearing in witnesses, according to the Cambodian Code of Criminal Procedure---the equivalent of "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God." This version is somewhat more compelling, I'd say.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Legal procedure of swearing the oath</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>The swearing of the oath shall be led by a Greffier, and shall be done in the presence of a sacred object at the court.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>Before beginning the oath, the person taking the oath shall light a candle and incense sticks in worship of the sacred object upon which that oath is to be taken. Next, the Greffier shall clearly read aloud the I</i></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>ntroductory Statement</i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i> for the person taking the oath, and then read </i></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>The Oath</i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i> for the person taking the oath to repeat.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>After administering the oath, the Greffier shall establish a written record, confirming that it was properly administered and that the oath in verbatim was recorded.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>Introductory Statement</i></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>May all the guardian angels, forest guardians, and powerful sacred spirits of Preah Àng Dâng Kae, Preah Àng Krâpum Chouk, Preah Àng Svēt Chhăt, Preah Àng Chēk, Preah Àng Châm, Năkta Khlăng Moeung, Năkta Khrâhâmkâ, Lôkta Dâmbâng Dèk, Lôkta Dâmbâng Krâ Nhoung, Lôk Yeay Tēp, Preah Àng Vihea Suor, Preah Àng Preah Chiviwăt Baray and Preah Àng Wăt Phnom Khlèng come forward to preside over this swearing ceremony, since the parties to this matter are in dispute and have alleged that witnesses personally know, have seen, have heard, and have recalled, and the law requires bringing these people to serve as witnesses and to give truthful and accurate testimony.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>Should anyone answer untruthfully about what they know, have seen, have heard, and remember, may all the guardian angels, forest guardians, Yeay Tēp and powerful sacred spirits utterly and without mercy destroy them, and bestow upon them a miserable and violent death by means of bullets, electricity, lightning, tiger bites, and snake strikes, and in their future reincarnation separate them from their parents, siblings, children, and grandchildren, impoverish them, and subject them to miseries for 500 reincarnations.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>Anyone testifying truthfully without evasion, without lying, without bias because of bloodline, without collusion arising from fear, hatred, material greed, or having taken bribes, may all the guardian angels, forest guardians, Yeay Tēp and powerful sacred spirits in the world assist them in long life, good health, an abundance of material possessions and having respectful and loving families until future reincarnation, encountering only good deeds, progress, prosperity and flourish, in accordance with their aspirations.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>The Oath</i></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>I will answer only the truth, in accordance with what I have personally seen, heard, know, and remember.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>If I answer falsely on any issue, may all the guardian angels, forest guardians and powerful sacred spirits destroy me, may my material possessions be destroyed, and may I die a miserable and violent death. But, if I answer truthfully, may the sacred spirits assist me in having abundant material possessions and living in peace and happiness along with my family and relatives forever, in all my reincarnations.</i></span></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-74814266462249892232009-06-01T15:22:00.011+07:002011-03-30T18:55:59.201+07:00Appellate review---not boring, honest!So I started work at DC-Cam about a week ago. I spent the first few days picking a topic to research for the summer, given to me by my boss, Anne, and have now been plugging away for a few days. Brace yourself.<div><br /></div><div>My topic is the standard of review in the Supreme Court Chamber of the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC), the highest chamber in the Khmer Rouge tribunals. I know it sounds dry, but it's actually quite interesting when you dig into it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The real problem, crudely stated, is that the ECCC is totally <i>sui generis,</i> and therefore totally unpredictable. The basic structure of the tribunal is laid out in some detail on paper, in its <a href="http://www.eccc.gov.kh/english/cabinet/law/4/KR_Law_as_amended_27_Oct_2004_Eng.pdf">founding statute</a> and <a href="http://www.eccc.gov.kh/english/cabinet/fileUpload/121/IRv3-EN.pdf">internal rules</a>. But the tribunal is so new that the Supreme Court Chamber still hasn't issued any decisions, so there's no telling how it will use its powers.</div><div><br /></div><div>One example is the Supreme Court Chamber's power to conduct investigations. The ECCC is structured so that a pair of judges, called the Co-Investigating Judges, are supposed to manage the initial investigation into a suspect. They're supposed to put everything they discover into a case file, which they forward to the Trial Chamber. The Trial Chamber should acquit or convict/sentence a defendant, largely on the basis of the case file. The Supreme Court Chamber should hear appeals on very specific issues, and reverse, affirm, or remand Trial Chamber judgments. In the opinion of the prosecutors, all of this should happen fairly quickly.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the Trial Chamber and the Supreme Court Chamber are both allowed to introduce new evidence into the case file, and even initiate new investigations. The Trial Chamber, instead of ruling fairly quickly on the evidence in the case file, has used its powers to call many of the same witnesses interrogated by the Co-Investigating Judges. As a result, the current trial---of <a href="http://www.eccc.gov.kh/english/cabinet/files/Case_Info_DUCH_EN.pdf">Comrade Duch</a>---has dragged on for months, and shows every sign of continuing to drag on. All of the suspects who are to be tried by the ECCC are<a href="http://ki-media.blogspot.com/2007/09/race-against-time-to-try-aging-khmer.html"> aging and in questionable health</a>---many people are afraid that they'll die before the Extraordinary Chambers get a chance to try them, losing the last chance to make Khmer Rouge leaders accountable in court.</div><div><br /></div><div>The question for me is whether the Supreme Court Chamber will use its powers to run yet another set of witness interrogations and investigations, or whether it can be convinced to limit its role to more traditional appellate questions. So far, I'm proceeding by looking at some of the other international criminal tribunals: the International Criminal Court (ICC), International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), and the Special Court for Sierra Leone (SCSL). They use similar rules of procedure and evidence, and have issued a number of decisions on how they hear appeals. The problem, of course, is that the ECCC is under no obligation to follow any other court's decisions. While I can argue that the ICTY's approach works pretty well, I can't claim that the ECCC is bound to use it.</div><div><br /></div><div>In certain ways, the question really boils down to which legal tradition the tribunal should draw from: the civil law tradition, where courts are heavily involved in determining the facts of a case; or the common law tradition, where courts only participate in fact-finding to the extent that they apply rules of evidence at trial. It may seem like counting angels on a pin, but the distinction is actually highly charged.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Cambodian judges in the ECCC have been accused of <a href="http://www.khmerinstitute.org/krtrial/closure.html">incompetence</a>, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/10/world/asia/10cambo.html?ref=global-home">corruption</a>, and <a href="http://www.asiasentinel.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1841&Itemid=207">political manipulation</a>. Any effort to reduce their influence may be received as a vote of no confidence, further dividing the international and Cambodian factions in the tribunal.</div><div><br /></div><div>Besides, many powerful people here stand to benefit from a slow, ineffective process. Hun Sen, the former low-ranked Khmer Rouge official who has been Prime Minister since 1985, has <a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idUSTRE52U1IZ20090331">opposed prosecuting anyone other than the five suspects already in custody</a>. Other Khmer Rouge leaders are still living openly in Phnom Penh, and still have considerable wealth and influence.</div><div><br /></div><div>To complicate matters yet further, any attempt to introduce a common-law approach may be received as an attempt to impose American legal standards on an internationalized court. That can draw knee-jerk accusations of imperialism.</div><div><br /></div><div>An important backdrop to my work is the Plenary Session coming up this fall. Plenaries are where everyone who is anyone at the ECCC---all of the judges and the heads of the various units---have the opportunity to amend the Internal Rules. The prosecutor with whom I've spoken hopes to persuade the judges in the Supreme Court Chamber to adopt his view of things, and find some way of ensuring that appeals will be heard speedily, with very limited admissibility for new evidence.</div><div><br /></div><div>Appellate review may not be the sexiest question, but it's an excellent framework for understanding the bigger picture. In the absence of any serious jurisprudence on the nature of the trials, the ECCC is operating more or less on the fly; everyone seems to be making it up as they go. It looks as though my work may actually help move things in one direction or the other, which is very exciting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Court isn't in session this week, but I'm hoping to attend early next week. After that I'll post something about how things actually look at trial.</div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-25251292054711779592009-05-28T13:30:00.005+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.004+07:00Monks and more<div>Just a few photos today, since I'm on my lunch break at work. Here is the line of Buddhas sitting on my desk in the office:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9FKwq6cWyvI56gYAiJzRAGiv5BcrPiEMMAkHQF0WsHns6A1COoOM6URc3cAGOs269yaVVwheQ5b0A5rOUjSzCpRVTtvRipTSBr6kg2YpV-YNWa_-0kNBKo7AlLKFR6VtrwsWcHC7YAg/s1600-h/officebuddha.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9FKwq6cWyvI56gYAiJzRAGiv5BcrPiEMMAkHQF0WsHns6A1COoOM6URc3cAGOs269yaVVwheQ5b0A5rOUjSzCpRVTtvRipTSBr6kg2YpV-YNWa_-0kNBKo7AlLKFR6VtrwsWcHC7YAg/s400/officebuddha.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340759948334174242" /></a><br /><div>The temple whose monks I recorded chanting is around the corner from my office, so the neighborhood is full of monks traveling to and fro. Sovi, the owner of Top Banana, tells me that young men often become monks for just a few months at a time, to get a bit of education and to live a relatively stable, if meager, lifestyle. Here's a monk bus that I saw loading up in front of the Wat:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3V_Gx3SkJQGY41s6Dc2dkm65nUoEKBn8psbZY_UjGStK1eVSSQmlg7iRcYrX4jca7yr5N4GKH7lYFKEiphyLdAgGqvnzXb5gSI2SGIRsJRDcA0Njaw0JMMxrEhT1bwGaR9mOnoU1Lp1k/s1600-h/monkbus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3V_Gx3SkJQGY41s6Dc2dkm65nUoEKBn8psbZY_UjGStK1eVSSQmlg7iRcYrX4jca7yr5N4GKH7lYFKEiphyLdAgGqvnzXb5gSI2SGIRsJRDcA0Njaw0JMMxrEhT1bwGaR9mOnoU1Lp1k/s400/monkbus.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340759943097050130" /></a><br /></div><div>You often see monks taking the motos (motorcycle taxis) to and from the Wat as well:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZdPFYvQFYV5BacQ0UJJb9ksDZClkkQg0ctNzE1DN5xUfkL7ebSwyC-rqNQqMNUQ1FyKJ3TAQu5vj_rqeV7l1b57quy4h-zVvZp7m2KY-gF2jrNU7cUhNX-2n8fQzrWyOellho9kPjgM/s1600-h/monkmoto.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZdPFYvQFYV5BacQ0UJJb9ksDZClkkQg0ctNzE1DN5xUfkL7ebSwyC-rqNQqMNUQ1FyKJ3TAQu5vj_rqeV7l1b57quy4h-zVvZp7m2KY-gF2jrNU7cUhNX-2n8fQzrWyOellho9kPjgM/s400/monkmoto.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340759945465844130" /></a><br /></div><div>On my way to work this morning, I saw these monks giving a blessing. The man ran out of the photocopy shop where he works and tucked some money into their bags, in exchange for which they chanted for a couple of minutes while he prayed. (For the record, I asked permission to take the picture.)</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuWZXmFO3EsInxJb83vq8isVuK40KazSOtk1p7PfTsU5ji7HxXhhxDXsWhuR4CncDPGVRlkUBxn_MTfyHo07WQyQwodFRJZ08OTnVjbeiG3FikpxeGiJW5GIlbATLINd5o2-FDqwF9ZI/s1600-h/monkblessing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuWZXmFO3EsInxJb83vq8isVuK40KazSOtk1p7PfTsU5ji7HxXhhxDXsWhuR4CncDPGVRlkUBxn_MTfyHo07WQyQwodFRJZ08OTnVjbeiG3FikpxeGiJW5GIlbATLINd5o2-FDqwF9ZI/s400/monkblessing.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340759938652996626" /></a><br /></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-29599363294560347902009-05-25T05:30:00.018+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.004+07:00Top Banana<div><div>I'm housebound this afternoon by inundations of rain and homework, so I thought I would pause from grading write-on submissions long enough to post something to the blog.<br />
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Top Banana, the guesthouse where I'm staying, appears to be a popular spot for the NGO/expat crowd: the residents at the moment include three journalists (two Belgian, one American), a UNESCO staffer, a conservationist, a director of nature documentaries reconnoitering for his next film, and no fewer than six American law students.</div><div><br />
Us law students are all gathered on the terrace, hard at work on various onerous assignments lingering over from last semester. There's a backpacker picking his guitar in the corner and grinning at us mockingly from time to time. The Khmers who work or hang out here are taking potshots with a pellet gun at a cigarette lighter suspended from the ceiling on a length of string; every once in a while they take potshots at the tuk-tuk (motorcycle rickshaw) drivers who congregate outside. Here's a photo of Mali with his gun:</div><div><br />
</div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXTYoO5hTpdJvXsfpjN4UP8P9HR31UFa0gI5axx4oT-gei5IsZNYNiTC13y6efi1mBSxq2RQ59MiWe6hpwD2R-4t29eJLLKZFdwDHM9oHltqPsjrGY1UZrd4-WQ0Lod-1uU9R_8cquUSU/s1600-h/mali.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXTYoO5hTpdJvXsfpjN4UP8P9HR31UFa0gI5axx4oT-gei5IsZNYNiTC13y6efi1mBSxq2RQ59MiWe6hpwD2R-4t29eJLLKZFdwDHM9oHltqPsjrGY1UZrd4-WQ0Lod-1uU9R_8cquUSU/s400/mali.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340732716442808706" /></a><br />
<div>Here's one of the view from my bedroom window:</div><div><div><br />
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFryeNuokSbPimc9eiZHoDfP35pvTIgXRLjR9eU2AlC2pQoNP6TEdJ4Mcl2wNyW3ZpoY-U9soAi3-1QRwWPS6nvOSnnH__8aTZCMCjE1FwaWshWLSTD4Oblom5HXOx0tn0EHvoLka2j4/s1600-h/windowview.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFryeNuokSbPimc9eiZHoDfP35pvTIgXRLjR9eU2AlC2pQoNP6TEdJ4Mcl2wNyW3ZpoY-U9soAi3-1QRwWPS6nvOSnnH__8aTZCMCjE1FwaWshWLSTD4Oblom5HXOx0tn0EHvoLka2j4/s400/windowview.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340732715835971378" /></a><div><br />
You can see the topmost tower of Wat Lanka, the nearby Buddhist monastery, in the upper left corner of the picture. Early this morning the monks were chanting while an extremely melodious bird sang outside my window. I made a not-very-good recording, which you can listen to below (or <a href="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-05-25/watlanka.mp3">click here</a> if the embedded player doesn't work).</div><div></div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="300" height="42"> <param name="src" value="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-05-25/watlanka.mp3"><param name="autoplay" value="false"><param name="controller" value="true"><param name="bgcolor" value="#113355"><embed src="http://dl.dropbox.com/u/6878381/sashlewisblog/09-05-25/watlanka.mp3" autostart="false" loop="false" width="300" height="42"
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So far so good. I start work at <a href="http://www.dccam.org/">DC-Cam</a> tomorrow.</div></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-81744578839181457612008-07-23T07:08:00.003+07:002011-03-30T18:55:47.005+07:00Some tourismI'm reading "African Laughter," by Doris Lessing, an account by Lessing of a series of visits back to her homeland between '85 and '92 -- a very engaging read in these times, sometimes very sad in its early naivety about Mugabe, sometimes disturbingly accurate in its predictions, all of it uncannily recognizable in Zimbabwe 2008. Especially disturbing are the white Zimbabweans one meets, still nostalgic for colonial rule in the same way as Lessing's contemporaries.<br />
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I crawled inside a hollow baobab tree in the countryside the other day. I didn't notice any creepy crawlies inside the baobab tree -- just dust, dust, dust, dust, dust, inches thick. The pictures from inside the tree are generally long exposures, because the flash just bounced off of particles of dust -- I can show you when I get home. I have a great picture of Louise's 82-year-old grandmother crawling into the tree through all the dust, with admirable intrepidity. And yes, the baobab trees are from Le Petit Prince. I picked up a baobab fruit (a source of cream of tartar) as a souvenir -- it's oblong, as hard as a coconut, but with soft green velvet all over the outside. There was a rock ledge near the big baobab, where baboons use rocks to smash open the hard fruits and eat the seeds inside. We did find some hyena dung nearby, though -- white, dry, and full of hair like an owl pellet, because they eat bones and hair and greedily digest the rest.<br />
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At Kariba Dam there's a statue of a river god: when the dam was built and that portion of the valley flooded, the Tonga tribe (fishermen) were forcibly relocated to miserable, unfarmable areas where they were told to abandon their ways and learn to farm. With, as one would expect, terrible results. The holding wall built to contain the river while the main dam was built was tall enough to contain a 1000-year flood (the largest flood predicted for a 1000-year period, given the probabilities), but shortly after came a 1 million-year flood, overwhelming the holding wall and ruining the construction. The Tonga concluded that Nyami Nyami was angry at the attempt to contain him, and that the project was doomed -- but it went ahead, as these things do, and they remain displaced.Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5404051646856913797.post-68353367795039217292008-07-03T20:11:00.002+07:002011-03-30T18:55:32.057+07:00An anxiety dreamNow that the elections are over things seem a bit quieter here. There are still reprisals going on in the countryside, but the feeling of tension has begun to subside. The week of the elections I had a series of anxiety nightmares. That Thursday, I dreamt that I was on my way home from a ZANU-PF rally that I was forced to attend, but the streets were full of eerie, distended soldiers, ten feet tall and as thin as poles, blocks and blocks of them without faces marching in impeccable formation. I kept my ZANU-PF hat on and my recruitment literature prominently displayed, thus avoiding trouble until I got to the car I was driving. But after a few blocks of driving, a cataclysmic storm engulfed me, washing away the roads and trees, and cracking buildings right in half. I got out of the car to walk home, but the asphalt was floating away on whitewater rapids, tipping like sheets of ice as I jumped from floe to floe. Somehow I managed to get to the shopping center near Louise's house, but it had blown away, leaving just the iron framing.<br />
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So it was a pretty tense week, but now it's all over -- and not over. I don't feel anything like the same anxiety, but I know that reprisals are starting in the countryside, and there's still no political resolution in sight.<br />
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</div><div><div>But I'm in a very good mood, generally, especially looking forward to this next week. Louise's cousin is getting married, and the wedding is at her house. Then we're all going on a family picnic to Lake Kariba on the Zambian border (did you hear? their president just died, repercussions for Zim yet to be seen), to stay on a house boat, camp in a game park, drink gins and tonics, and generally lead the high life. Also, on Saturday I'm going to the annual Fourth of July picnic at the American embassy (invitation only), where I hope to meet all sorts of eccentric expats, about whom I will send a full report. Dzimbabwe and David (two guys in the office) were very eager to come, because (and I quote) "The beer will be flowing, and there will be white chicks," so I've managed to get them on the list to get in. Should be much fun.</div></div>Sashhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04140426240041311178noreply@blogger.com0