Postcards from the Frontline

For many, summer holidays involve camping in a national park, tanning on a beach, or perhaps soaking up culture in a European city. If this sounds a little tame, why not consider using your vacation to summit a mountain covered in landmines and visiting a thousand year old temple that marks the frontline of an active international conflict? Unbelievable, impossible, or plain irresponsible? As Tom Richardson writes, sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. 

This summer I returned to a country with which I had formed an unbreakable love-hate relationship. In 2008, fresh out of an undergraduate in Conflict Resolution from the University of Bradford, I embarked on an internship in Cambodia. Living and working within the community I developed a deep simpatico with those I encountered; a love of bartering in Khmer for groceries at my neighborhood market; and a heart-breaking frustration with the country’s kleptocratic elite and their seemingly nihilistic governance. My anticipation of arriving in Cambodia felt like returning to the scene of a crime, as a witness to injustices I was powerless to prevent. In the short time it took for me to travel from the airport to my accommodation I knew that I had made the right decision. It soon became clear that, like so many relationships, my love affair with this small and idiosyncratic country was intractable. After a couple of day’s visiting old haunts and catching up with dear friends I set my sights on Preah Vihear.

Preah Vihear is one of Cambodia’s countless ancient temples that were built across several theocratic imperial dynasties between the 6th and 14th Centuries. Perched on top the Dangkrek mountain range marking the boarder between Thailand and Cambodia it is a bitterly contested site of strategic importance. The temple it self is a complex comprised of five tiers of buildings that ascend the mountain’s summit, conjoined by a steep stone but wide stone stairway. Although a ruling by the International Court of Justice placed the actual temple within Cambodian territory, pockets of the surrounding area remain contested. Consequently, Preah Vihear remains a symbol and flash point for an intractable boarder dispute. Over the past three years the conflict has been denoted by erratic air strikes and prolonged fire-fights, which some – author included – argue conveniently coincide with internal unrest within Thailand and Cambodia. Sovereignty of the temple and its surrounding area remain an issue that will ignite nationalist passions in even the most apolitical members of Thai and Khmer society.

On August 5th I arrived in Siem Reap and went in search of a driver willing to make the notoriously hazardous journey to Preah Vihear. At a dusty highway cafe Mr. Veng (pseudonym) proudly proclaimed his credentials; a driver for the United Nations’ mission to Cambodia in the early 90ís he later worked for Medecins Sans Frontier. Now he was a man unto himself, willing to take me anywhere in the country – for the right price. After several cups of coffee, getting to know his family, exchanging off colour jokes, and some determined but lighthearted haggling we struck a deal. We would leave at first light the next day.

Wholly unsurprisingly dawn came and passed with no sign of Mr. Veng, who eventually arrived shortly after breakfast with a broad smile and no explanation. If there was any question that his story didn’t confirm him as a veteran of Cambodia’s treacherous roads, his beat up Toyota Camry certainly did. In addition to its age the car appeared to be an early import from left hand drive Thailand, it’s steering wheel awkwardly placed at what should have been the front passenger’s seat. At every cavernous pothole the axles creaked and screamed, threatening to sheer off as we bounced along kilometer after kilometer of blood red dirt, surrounded by the greenery of endless rice paddy. The views of pastoral Cambodia that run at parallel to its major thoroughfares are a bitter paradox. During the rainy season lush and idyllic fields of seedlings mask the peak of rural poverty when grain stores begin to empty, and the backbreaking manual labor required to maintain the paddy’s seemingly organic symmetry.

As we drew closer to the border region some of my greatest fears became apparent, wholesale destruction of the country’s remaining primary forest to extract hardwood and develop rubber plantations. To my surprise, without suggestion, Mr. Veng launched into a tirade over the relationship between nepotism, corruption and environmental destruction. Three years ago I worked with Khmer colleagues on issues related to land conflicts, specifically forced evictions for development projects. In the 1970s the Khmer Rouge destroyed all land records in their genocidal attempt to create an agrarian utopia. Consequently, entire communities have existed for over thirty years without officiated ownership titles. Operating within one of the most corrupt legal systems in the world, the government is able to sell off vast tracts of land with no accountability or recourse for those affected. These land sale result in subsistence farming communities being replaced by large agro-businesses funded by foreign investment, which provide neither employment nor compensation for the displaced population. Confrontations between communities and agents of the state have become increasingly violent, with a full spectrum of security agents using bulldozers, firearms and scorched earth tactics to confiscate land. The societal trauma of life under the Khmer Rouge remains a significant barrier to communal mobilization, the murder of those who went against the grain of the dominant political power still exists within living memory. Those who attempt to organize their communities face harassment and are often disappeared in the night. In 2008, with the exception of those working within the NGO community, Cambodians had little interest in environmental issues and became visibly uncomfortable if criticism of the government was vocalized. Mr. Veng’s outburst was not to be my last experience of unsolicited outrage during my holiday, indicating that since I left Cambodia a strong desire for change is in its nascent phase. How this process of change will be manifested and experienced remains to be seen, but gives me deep cause for concern.

Preah Vihear sits atop sheer sandstone cliffs that emerge without warning from the Cambodian floodplains. Due to the conflict large areas of the border region have been evacuated, leaving behind eerily empty villages. Although the roads below Preah Vihear are a warren of dirt tracks this did nothing to slow Mr. Veng’s lead-footed approach to driving, which at one point left us teetering on the edge of an irrigation ditch. My journey with Mr. Veng ended at an abandoned schoolyard, where I was ushered into a classroom to sign a visitors book; name, age, nationality and passport number. Looking over past entries it was clear that nobody had visited for weeks, yet those manning the desk were still here optimistically awaiting the arrival of tourists in the midst of a conflict. When I exited the classroom I discovered Mr. Veng had managed to recruit a local youth to transport me by motorbike for the remainder of the trip, the track deemed impassable even by Mr. Veng’s standards.

After politely bribing the friendly guards at the foot of the mountain it became clear that even track was an exaggeration. By a feat of extraordinary driving skill my new guide negotiated a muddy path scarred by rock slides and flooding, hair-pin bends and forty-five degree inclines, all the while passing the tell-tale red pegs and signs warning of landmines. A moment’s hesitation or miscalculation could have thrown us either over the side of the mountain or into a minefield; a very morbid would you rather if ever there was one. After fifteen minutes of adrenalin soaked terror and exhilaration we reached my final destination; the we and my aptly defining the unethical transaction that had just taken place. For $10, a small fortune or the price of a sandwich, I had persuaded a person of the most limited means to risk life and limb in order to satisfy the curiosity of a reckless foreign visitor. Yet, the absurdity of the situation had only just begun.

When I reached the defensive positions surrounding the temple I was shocked, by the normalcy of violent conflict that had become the centerpiece of a small community. To reach the temple I first had to walk past the sand bagged emplacements of bored Cambodian soldiers. To their surprise I greeted them with formal exultations usually reserved for politicians, businessmen and members of the monarchy. After exchanging pleasantries and cigarettes they guided me through their trenches, lackadaisically posing with their weapons. Most of these men were poor and illiterate, few had complete uniforms and even less had boots. Nobody had either helmet or body armor. Many were young men, almost boys, abandoned by society, and by the looks of things abandoned by their own military. Other than their strategic advantage of holding the higher ground it was hard to see how Cambodia has defended Preah Vihear for such a long period of time.

What I found the most disturbing about this scene was not the apathetic nature of those manning the front lines, but the families who were sustaining the soldiers’ presence. Reminiscent of the Napoleonic wars, no more than ten meters away from each bunker there was a single-room shack to house the combatants’ wives and children. Despite a powerful urge to pay witness to the relationship between the military and domestic spheres that is so easily forgotten, I could not bring myself, or my lens, to intrude upon their lives. Their poverty so absolute, and enforced by militarism, it felt pornographic.

The perimeter of sand bags and bunkers nestles up closely to the first level of Preah Vihear. Whilst not as carefully preserved as Angkor Wat, the tumbledown nature of Preah Vihear only added to the experience. Amongst the ruins soldiers sat around listening to music, sleeping, and gambling, whilst their wives sold fruit and nuts to passersby. I gingerly stepped from stone to stone amongst the temples, heart racing whenever I had to walk across open-ground. Despite the assurances from dilapidated mine clearance signs my mind raced with the reminder that Cambodia is one of the world’s most densely mined countries in the world. Simultaneously, I found the situation to be the scene of the darkest comedy; the sweat drenched foreign visitor performing a clumsy dance, watched by an audience of bemused Khmer who constantly wait for crump of artillery or the zip of small arms fire. At the summit I was met by an incredible view, the Dangrek range to the East and West, Thailand to the North, and Cambodia as far as the eye could see to the South. After sharing a prayer with a solitary monk at the uttermost temple I began my trip back down the mountain.

At the base of the temple complex I decided to see just how close I could get to the frontline. Between the trenches were vegetable plots, a juxtaposition of life giving and life taking uses of the earth. Despite my wanderlust I didn’t get far before being called back. The following interaction was to become the defining moment of my trip. A very embarrassed and drunk Cambodian soldier requested I return to the temples. To try and prevent any awkwardness or animosity I met this man with smiles and regal salutations. After exchanging pleasantries we quickly bonded over my delightfully terrible command of the Khmer language. My new friend began to apologise profusely; first, for pulling me away from a war zone for my own safety, and second, for his own state of inebriation. Sopheat and his comrades were celebrating a recent ceasefire with Thailand, allegedly sealed by an arm wrestle between the opposing commanding officers. He demanded that I join the festivities, seating me at the place of honor next to a man introduced as the general. Unfortunately this man was so drunk that I could barely understand his Khmer or verify his command, but sober enough to continue serving tumblers of rice whiskey. The whiskey was a clouded liquid that burnt the throat, and came in a plastic jug filled with pickled cobras. Like so many of Cambodia’s traditional remedies the cobras are to ensure virility, increasing with each odd number of cobras added. Apparently the odd number of cobras is essential, an even number is impotent; seven cobras is optimum. Once initial bravado had subsided the soldiers confided in me their relief that the conflict had abated, and their confusion as to why they as individuals had become the target of a foreign nations aggression. I promised to tell the world that they were good, peace loving men who had become the victims of circumstance.

My return trip to Siem Reap was equally hair-raising but thankfully uneventful. When I discussed my journey with friends working for human rights organizations I discovered that the land conflict crisis of Cambodia had taken yet another turn for the worst. Over the past three years the military has transitioned from being an enforcer of evictions, to an active agent within the economic chain. Set to a discourse of the patriotic duty to defend the nation, the private sector has been urged to directly sponsor the armed forces. The seemingly unending conflict at Preah Vihear is being used as proof of historic of Thai aggression that poses an existential threat to Cambodia, and validating the political justification for the private sector’s intrusion into the military. There is a strong suspicion that these businesses now hold direct economic influence over particular units, which have then be used to implement illegal land grabs and to then prevent the return of displaced villagers. Those living within the boarder zone surrounding Preah Vihear which have been indefinitely evacuated for their own safety, their homes now a part of a no-entry militarized zone. Yet, this has not stopped businesses linked to the military from turning this land into rubber and tapioca plantations.

So long as the conflict over Preah Vihear continues indefinitely the military has a free hand to relocate the populous in cahoots with the ruling kleptocracy, and those defending economic rights will find themselves in confrontation with a narrative of patriotic nationalism. As desperately frustrating I find Cambodia, I cannot help but feel a part of myself go out to people such as Mr. Veng for his determination to provide a better life for his offspring; Sopheat who shared with me his worries and whiskey; and the relentless optimism of my former colleagues despite the overwhelming challenges.