"Do you see yourself as victims? I want your opinion."

Here's my Cambodia post. For Joey.

During our February wanderings through killing fields and torture prisons and genocide dioramas, the thing that stuck out the most was the staggering totality of what happened there. Some 20 percent of the nation died in just three years, most from either execution or starvation. Just those three years — not to mention the 15 years of protracted insurgency that followed, and not even to mention the four preceding years where hundreds of thousands of largely innocent people were killed by the American carpet bombings (pause on that a minute for the next time Fox News says the U.S. has nothing ever to apologize for) that also paved the Khmer Rouge path to power. And everyone — everyone — was effected.

For us, now 30ish years later, that meant every taxi driver we met over the age of, say, 38, probably remembers it too well. Imagine (if you're my age) knowing that every one of your friends' parents was once either clinging to life in the work camps, or Khmer Rouge cadres themselves.

I really don't know what you do with these kinds of experiences. I end up standing there, staring at faces or skulls or statistics while trying to make it mean something more productive than a further slide into cynicism and dismay. So the question I kept asking was how, on a society-wide scale, does a nation move on from that? Where is it today? Smiling and working and shrugging off guilt — is that the best hope?

Books and books have been written about the Khmer Rouge's victims. The effect seems to be in part a very myopic and PTSD-molded outlook on life that, among other things, has fueled an enormous sex industry. But I was almost more curious about what happened to the Khmer Rouge soldiers and guards, most of whom we're not, in fact, evil people—many only initially guilty of the common human desire for revolution and a good fight, before seeing that innocence destroyed via commanded acts of terror. Are they victims?

Three chances to explore just those questions:

1. Landmine Museum

Former Khmer Rouge child soldier planted thousands of landmines around the country, now making it his life mission to clear them (and tell tourists about how landmines kill indiscriminately). Con blogged more about it.

2. S-21 Prison/Genocide Museum

In a small room on the second floor of the S-21 Toul Sleng Genocide Museum — a high school-turned-prison where 17,000 mostly innocent people were held, tortured (waterboarded, actually, among other happy "enhanced" techniques), and forced into confessions before being sent to be executed at the Killing Fields — an exhibit gives voice to 13 former Khmer Rouge cadres (soldiers, prison guards, interrogators, etc).

For each, there's a picture and a small bio from back then, plus a snapshot of their life now, with a single quote revealing how they live and wrestle with those memories.

"This is for justice. I'm not trying to defend myself."
"I did not believe what they taught me, but I could do nothing because we were all under their control. To save our lives, we had to do what they said."
"I didn't feel good about watching people die one after another and the prisoners' miserable lives."
"People still brand me as an S-21 worker."
"People call me pro-Pol Pot. I don't mind because it is true I worked for the Khmer Rouge."
"I had to, otherwise I wouldn't live... There was nothing I could do"
"I didn't want to work there.... If I had refused, they would've killed me."
"They must not hide their own crimes and blame the people. This is unfair."
"They must be prosecuted."
"The murderous regime was created by them, and they must be prosecuted."
"You'd be a fool to listen to them."

3. Documentary—S-21: The Khmer Rouge Killing Machine

The third is this simply extraordinary documentary about a former S-21 prisoner interviewing his former guards 20-something years later, with a single, haunting question:

"Do you see yourself as victims? I want your opinion."

It's incredible. Just incredible. A simple exploration of the pure psychological gymnastics needed to live blithely with such scars.

It all centers around a former prisoner named Vann Nath — a reluctant hero of heroes who basically survived because he was an excellent painter, and therefore proved "useful" to the Khmer Rouge by painting portraits of Pol Pot and other leaders. After the Khmer Rouge fell, Nath led the effort to preserve S-21 and educate future generations of Cambodians about what happened there. His paintings of torture and terror hang all over the prison today.

The film opens with a shot of the parents of a former Khmer Rouge prison guard, encouraging him to admit guilt and seek some sort of Buddhist atonement by making an offering to the dead souls of those he tortured or killed. He's defensive, and vocalizes what I imagine is 25 years of rationalization—basically insisting that if he was ordered to kill under threat of being killed, he should not have to live with such guilt. It wasn't his fault.

From there, in the first 30 minutes alone, it's another former prisoner returning with Nath to S-21 (where he lost his wife and kids) for the first time, staggering around and weeping, and reading the forced confession he gave (he wasted too much fabric in a factory) that might have doomed 60 others. It's Nath welcoming a group of former Khmer Rouge guards and gently leading them to embrace the full horror they helped create. It's the guards—just teenagers in the '70s—attempting to do so by talking openly about their roles in the prison (including one surreal scene where they almost cathartically demonstrate how they went about their jobs, like keeping prisoners from killing themselves before properly confessing to their non-crimes). And it just keeps going from there.

It's beautifully shot with almost no narration. Nath is some kind of hero. It wasn't his fault.

Anyway... It's long, but I highly, highly recommend checking out at least the first 30 minutes (the second half is here). I watched this on the bus between Phnom Penh and Siem Reap. There were fields after fields after fields, plus life and history and some surviving Khmer Rouge irrigation canals. And these sorts of glimpses into the psyche of then and now help it all... I dunno... exist.

haiti

i dunno.

woo woo texas woo

Four years ago I was on TV:

It was the last bit of sportswriting I did, just a few days after graduation, and a few weeks before wandering to New Orleans where everything changed. My roommates and I road tripped to LA in one last hurrah of Hunter S.-inspired christian debauchery, fully understanding, achingly, that we would never again live such a fun period of life.


I blogged about the trip and the game for the Houston Chronicle. And before the game, I {ahem} wrote that "I think Texas will score 40. I think USC might."

Final: Texas 41, USC 38.

Tomorrow? My prediction is that my bootlegged internet feed of the game will be choppy — forcing me to miss at least three critical plays (like the Hunter Lawrence kick in the Nebraska game) — but largely adequate. I'll complain about said choppiness and ignore the miracle of modern technology. I'll wear my lucky sarong. I'll eat green curry for lunch, regardless of the game's outcome, and my planned lychee wine bloody marys will be a hit only with myself.

If we lose, I'll dive into weightier reading about trafficking, North Korean and Tamil refugees reportedly streaming into Thailand, and war, well, just about everywhere — and I'll grumble about all you grown-ass adults who care more about gridiron silliness than shit that matters.

Everything's changed... unless we win.

Then you'll find me spitting and naked and doing a lewd Pecos Bill dance atop the stupa of the Buddhist temple next door. I might even sock a monk out of sheer glee.

jesus-in-cleats commanded it!

Texas (eh...) 23 — Bama (I guess..) 20

publishing news no. 1

I contributed a bit to this recently published book. Specifically, I helped with the parts about how feminine hygiene is a critical element to community empowerment... because, of course, I'm an expert.

The book profiles and parallels several women leading either Fortune 500 companies or small community projects in rural villages throughout Africa. And it echoes my own growing belief that women do the bulk of the work throughout the world, and as such tend to make more effective community leaders (in other words.. yo soy una feminista.).

The proceeds support the wonderful ngo CARE. So.. you know.. buy.

rock doctor speaks

I avoided blogging during our two months in the states, because I didn't really have anything to say. And I've avoided blogging since we got back to Thailand a month ago, because my wife usually says everything better.

For my dad's birthday in October, I set up for him a blog. I told him it could be any blog he wants (he's a hell of an unpublished poet), but encouraged him to take on (and work to elevate the discourse of) climate change. A year ago he told me he'd be willing to believe in man-accelerated global warming if the science was there, but that the misbehavior of climate change scientists and the general mindlessness of the media discourse about it was keeping him skeptical.

It's obviously a complicated issue, but one that's generally discussed with the same sense of self-reinforcing sneeriness as Yankees v Red Sox (or, say, anything on Fox News v Huffington Post) — an opinion reinforced with gusto by the recent climategate stuff. I was hoping that the thoughtful, open-minded way he usually describes his own global warming investigations could help.

dave, when he was cool

A month later, his first post is up, and the chosen subject is.. well.. something. But it's entertaining and random, and what we can expect in the future from this reader, thinker, scientist, author and poet.

So welcome to blogland, Dad. And if you can find the time to write, then I should too.

phonstance

two things happened in may that made me start liking phayao. 1) i got a moto, and 2) the monsoon started (which put out the forest fires and brought back the mountains).

now i can explore sunsets. and jungles. and listen to wilco's summerteeth while riding through the afternoon rice paddies. and okkervil river on moonlight dashes around the lake. and (unreleased) paul banks every other time. and simply indulge every impulse of exotic wander-y adventurism i have.

it really is happiness on wheels. and it was enough to get me back for a second year.

anyway, the point is.. con thinks we look like:

Design Flaw

Giant Thai Things

we live in a jungle.

(that's a king cobra)

Where we'll be:

Aug 30–Sept 3: San Francisco, Sexy Rexy, etc.
Sept 4–8: Yosemite, Death Valley, Vegas, Sedona, Marfa
Sept 9–14: Dallas
Sept 15–Oct 1: Austin
Oct 2-4: Colorado
Oct 5–12: Austin
Oct 13–18: Houston/College Station

Then.. possibly California again, before Thailand No. 2 at the end of October.

We want to see you. Yes, you.

Eight days

Last week of Thailand Round No. 1.

I haven't blogged in months, so it's time to do so with fury.

Here is a video we made once on the Great Wall of China:

Sexy Rexy!

Rex David Kilbride. "The Psalmist." I'm an uncle.


Alright Emmy and Justin!

Where's Lorne?

Lorne (our friend from Texas) is in Thailand, and everyone thinks he's Thai. Odd, since he clearly looks more like a younger Ho Chi Minh. Still, he just blends in, and it's endless fun.

What's this?...

... found him!

Fight Night

Con (read her more thoughtful account here) declared it our best night in Phayao. Watching 12 year-old kids hit and kick each other—and grown-ass men making rice whiskey-fueled bets on said hitting and kicking kids—I entirely agreed.




Also learned how little we know about the sport...

During the [above] title fight, we assumed red shorts was winning, although probably only because he had a cooler back tattoo. So when—in the fifth and final round—they began dancing and mocking their way around the ring instead of fighting (reminded me of wrestling video games), indicating an inevitable split decision, the extent of my lame ignorance was hammered home. Sure enough: