Faded Beauty. ANGKOR WHAAATTTT!?!?

Train of thought.... boarding now....  

Angkor Wat, or as the local aussie bar refers to it, "angkor WHAT?"

A wonder of the world, I loved it, briefly, and moved on.  I am equally in awe of the lack of appreciation I managed to show, the lack of reverence, as I am the actual feat of angkor wat itself and the surrounding temples.   I spent an amazing and unforgettable day there.  As unforgettable as S-21, the torture facility in Phnom Penh and forever they have been linked together as opposite ends of the spectrum of Cambodian history.  With all the force S-21 horrified me and left me shaking and weak, disenfranchised with humans as a whole, Angkor left me impressed and inspired.  

This place was a heaven for me.  One part Indiana Jones Hidden Temple, one part hot Tomb Raider, Angkor is THE inspiration for generations of fantasy creators, movie or otherwise.  Re-discovered in the late 1800s, I feel like that same explorer as we walk through the opening gate just before sunrise, engraved with a giant head like something out of "temple of the hidden monkey".  Beyond the gate and wall there is a perfectly symmetrical courtyard, two mirrored lakes flank a walk way which lead to THE temple.  Five spires, only three visible at a time, create a circular symmetry.  And so much to climb on, the main tower in the middle is blocked off, but I scramble on the temples surrounding and I feel like screaming with the pure joy and triumph as the sun rises above the clouds and creates a scene more perfect than any picture could do justice.  

This place was ravaged during the Khmer Rouge domination, they raped this place and it even still shines.  We visit all the surrounding temples, each with its own beauty, one is over grown with trees sprouting from the ruins as if its beauty alone it sustaining these sky-scraping trees, another is a mountain of construction, over four stories of solid rock architecture.  Why then, given all of this persevering wonder was I unable to appreciate it for what it was?

I really dont know, I felt very removed while trekking across stone walls engraved with battle scenes older than anyone knows.  I look back and think maybe it was because I knew what I had to go back to.  I had to go back to a class on the more recent history of Cambodia, a far more bloody and nasty story.  I regret this, I couldnt throw myself at Angkor as I should have.  But the people of Cambodia have grieved and moved on, why cant I?  

I have always expected to be able to change the world through my work, my current helplessness is getting to me, why is it that all I am doing here is moot court and a test?  Albeit it is a class, meant to educate, but we cant be thrown into a situation like this with no access to true justice beyond giving beggars food... what the hell?  This wont stand with me for long, and if anything, this experience (-which is about to come to a head-) has taught me not to shy away from the responsibility, the duty to not be negligent with that which I have been gifted, an education.   What is an education about the history of the people who dont have a place in the history books without any form of immediate reconciliation?  I feel responsible for my western cultures actions, dont forget, the genocidal Khmer Rouge was a US ally.  Duty, breach causation, damage, Cambodia (among many others) should file a class action tort claim on the rest of the world.  A bad joke sure, but seriously, what the hell else can they do?  Warren Klein, here to learn, learning to help.  With no place assured on the world stage, someone must speak and demand accountability for those who for 60 years have acted with impunity as world police.  My brain jumps to an economic reconciliation package, but then again I am rambling......

My train of thought, last stop here.  Bed time.  You dont have to go home, but you need to get the hell out of here.  

Written but not read by warren klein.   

Smash to bits

Our first experience with the actual war crime tribunal was incredible.   As we walk in, very heavy security gives the impression that this building houses some dark evil.  Narrow walkways flanked by chain link fences and video cameras are everywhere.  The walkway we take has a metal detector at the start, our bags are xrayed and we moved on.  ANother metal detector, they take away my cigarettes, water and gum.  We then are finally allowed to enter the trial chamber.  

We sat in stadium seating in front of a giant legal fishbowl.  Huge 25 foot tall think plate bullet proof glass separates the spectators from the judges, attorneys, clerks and the accused.  Duch, pronounced Doyk, a small old man, all outward appearances seem harmless, I would have smiled and shook his hand had I not known what he did.  He is calm throughout, never rising to passion, almost absent from his own body.  

Having been to his prison, his torture facility, S-21, I know now where the techniques of torture used in Gitmo were refined.  With impunity Duch instructed his guards to "smash to bits" those imprisoned there.  TO smash to bits is not simply to kill, it is to dehumanize, psychologically crush, and squeeze every last breath of confessionary material out of the prisoners before loading them on trucks (dead and alive) to be sent to the killing fields.  When we visited S-21 in the heart of Phnom Penh, we witnessed firsthand, pure evil.  

S-21 was a highschool and when the Khmer Rouge took over Phnom Penh they used it as the primary prison and torture facility in the city.  THere were others in the country side and neighboring provinces but this was where torture was considered an elaborate art, the more creative the means the better.  AGain like with the killing fields, the Khmer Rouge took something beautiful, or at least good, a highschool and perverted it.

Four buildings making a rectangular courtyard in the center.  Gallows, still lurking, line the entrance.  The fences are double deep with razor wire, any attempt to escape would result in gashes, although that might even be a morbid relief from what the prisoners were subjected to inside.  Going clockwise around the prison, each building was more heinous than the last.  

The first, building A, housed high ranking politicos, subjected to Pol Pot's paranoid purges.  His purges created ill will towards him and therefore more paranoia, creating a positive feedback loop whereby more and more victims were subjected to "Brother number One's" impulsive purge.  Even members of his own party were put here.  Building A had the biggest rooms, for single prisoners and groups.  The floors are tile, shattered in places and with metal rings attached to the walls and floors to fasten the victims.  Pictures of the scene as it was found upon liberation of the prison hang in these rooms and the blood stains on the floor match up perfectly to the pictures further impressing the realness of the place.  Scrub as you wish, these blood stains will never come out.  

Building B is a different horror.  When prisoners were committed to this place, a photographer took their pictures and building B has thousands and thousands of pictures of prisoners.  Each shows they know what is in store, some eyes have tears in them, some look vacant and long dead, but the most shocking are the ones where the victim is smiling, morbid, morose and a grotesque smile.    

Building C was the most horrific, small cells constructed within the classrooms of this old school held individual prisoners.  The first floor had brick cells, but the second floor's cells were made of wood.  Each cell, in addition to some idiots graffiti had finger nail marks on the doors.  Without fail, each door had a prisoner trying to claw their way out of hell.  IT reminded me of that scene in Silence of the Lambs where the girl in the well finds a fingernail.... except this was real.  If that actor was a method actor, she would have come here to see the true desperation, and to hear the whimpers of ghosts long passed.  

Building D was the building for torture.  The devices used were still present, highly technical methods of waterboarding, drowning, mutilation and bone crushing were shown so vividly in paintings done by one of only a handful of survivors.  Reading about their torture methods, which also included sleep deprivation, starvation, I was forced to think about American torture policy.  How is this OK in the US but this guy Duch is being tried for torture and murder.  Can you even imagine if we held ourselves accountable for this>?  A trial for Bush and Cheney accusing them of crimes against humanity.  

I recently had a conversation with a friend about torture and he expressed a view point that everyone else does it and why shouldnt america get the benefits.  Then he went on to say we can never know for sure, but if valid intel is yielded it should be worth it.  First, he has never been to S-21 and a short visit here would change his mind.  Second, while other countries and governments may use torture the world is holding those people accountable through this exact type of international tribunal and warcrime court.  

Anyway, with this backdrop of S-21, Duch looks less like a kindly old man and more like one who has had his life drained of him by lieu of what he has seen and done.  He apparently now is a born-again christian,  and before he was caught in the late 1990's he was teaching math in a rural town.  

The trial moves forward with the civil prosecutions argument.  Before he was a torturer he was a teacher, he took his analytical mind to the interrogation room, he annotated confessions like we are taught to annotate academic materials.  HE coldly stepped into his role as torturer, and when it was over, coldly stepped back into his teaching role.  

IT is worth noting the defense attorney for Duch also represented Zacarias Moussaoui, one of the 9/11 bombing planners.  

Thanks for reading. 

Written but not read or edited by Warren Klein.  

Tainted Beauty

 Phnom Penh is a unique kind of beauty.  The city has character leaving San Francisco by comparison as dull and uninspiring.  Walking the streets alone today I was filled with a peace and serenity despite the tumult around me.  I ate at a french resturaunt and enjoyed a perfect meal.  One of those meals where nothing in the world could have possibly made it better, lack of company aside.  A perfect feta and tomato salad and iced coffee had me laughing aloud at the joy of it by the end, I kinda disturbed a family next to me.

After the meal, as I was reflecting on what made it so amazing, I found it was the entirety of the circumstances, being here, eating here, sweating here.  I then realized suddenly I had a greater appreciation for the city and its beauty because yesterday I saw the city and its latent pain.

Yesterday we went to the killing fields.  An overwhelming experience, I meditated and tried to drink it all in and I couldnt, I was brought to tears and had to excuse myself from the group to cry alone.  The sheer horror of the place was made even worse by the surreal beauty of it. 

 A tall stupa (pagoda looking thingy) dominates, and it is only upon approach one sees the mountain of skulls in the center.  The earth has grown green over the graves, there is a school next to this place, over the screaming anguish in my head I could still hear the children playing soccer.  

Within the stupa/pagoda, a mountain of skulls, each dug from the ground where that persons life was extinguished in a shallow grave.  I saw teeth embedded in the ground, cloth from shirts and pants, halfway decomposed, remaining fragments of skull yet to be gathered and accounted.  But none of the graves and bones could have possibly affected me like the trees.  They were wrongness, they had been perverted and I refused even to accept their shade after I read that these were the trees used to tie up and beat the children before their execution.  The trees, oh the trees, and the horror, oh the horror.  

"Jill suripticiously tossed them peanuts, despite the no feeding signs.

She tossed one to a medium sized monkey; before he could eat it a much larger male was on him and not only stole his peanut but gave him a beating, then left.  The little fellow made no attempt to pursue his tormentor; he squatted at the scene of the crime, pounded his knuckles on the concrete floor, and chattered his helpless rage.  Mike watched it solemnly.  

Suddenly, the mistreated monkey rushed to the side of the cage, picked up a monkey still smaller, bowled it over and gave it a drubbing worse than the one he had suffered--- after which he seemed quite relaxed.  The third monkey, still whimpering, crawled away and found shelter in the arm of a female who had a still smaller one, a baby, on her back.  The other monkeys paid no attention to any of it.  

Mike threw back his head and laughed."    

"Man is the creature who laughs." -The father of all. 

Oh the sweet sweet power.

The definition of genocide is loosely paraphrased as: acts with the intent to destroy in whole or in part, a national, racial, ethnical, or religious group by:

a) killing

b) infliction of serious bodily or mental harm

c) deliberate infliction of conditions calculated to bring about destruction

d) imposing measures to prevent birth

e) removing children and transferring them to another group.  

I have a long back ground in the environmental movement but I remain semi-distant as well, unable to take a stance on the human v. environment debate.  For example, in many "third world" tropical countries there are a great many wetlands.  These wetlands were, years ago, drained for development, a great injustice to mother earth.  Recently, "first world" neo-colonial environmentalist have lobbied and requested and demanded these wetlands be refilled and returned to their natural state.  So far I am sure you are with me, hell yes lets protect the wetlands. 

After many were indeed refilled and returned to their natural-ish state something terrible happened that was unexpected.  The standing water in the wetlands became prime breeding grounds for mosquitos that transfer malaria and disease rates, as well as premature death rates skyrocketed.  So then, we are left to balance the fact that we do need flora, and especially wetlands, to maintain the normal balance of ecosystems in addition to providing carbon sinks which help, albeit slowly, mitigate the effects of global warming, with the welfare of hundreds of thousands, or millions of people.  Is there a way for both goals to cease their struggle and work together?  I think I have been shown a way.

Getting back to the definition of genocide.  If you recall the first part has an intent element, the perpetrator must intend to do the genocidal act.  However, where I see hope is in the american concept that can double for intent in our own justice system, gross negligence, reckless endangerment, other ways to say that the perpetrator indeed had the requisite intent to be convicted of this crime.  If the intent prong of the genocide test could be broadened to include these equally culpable mental states, then there is hope for the Environment v. the People.

Assuming the intent prong is expanded, I turn to the third subprong.  "Deliberate infliction of conditions calculated to bring about the destruction of the racial, ethnic, religious or national group."  I immediately see the potential for the most massive lawsuit in the history of the world, with the first world as joint defendants.

In the same way withholding oxygen by strangulation is murder, withholding water or medication or food should also be considered.  By pricing the third world out of most medications, taking their water and making it undrinkable, and forcing the use of soil degrading genetically modified crops, we are essentially perpetually engaged in class warfare on a global level, it has indeed been escalated to the level of genocide, and it cannot stand.  

I see a chink in the armor, one worth putting my foot in.  The gun has sounded and we are off to the races, justice is catching up.   

2 quotes, tangentially related to this topic, Im not sure how, but they are there.  

"The problem with democracy is that its leaders reflect the population in every way."

"Democracy is a terrible form of government, its only salvation is that it is quantifiably eight to ten times better than any other form."

-Jubal Harshaw introducing the man from mars to the earth.  

-Disclaimer, this was written fairly heat of the moment, I refuse to edit anything I write and I sure as hell did not outline this blog.    Think of it as, "dictated but not read"  peace

Can I grok it?

I am Warren Klein.  I am between my first and second year at University of San Francisco School of Law.  I will that my career be in the environmental sector of the for profit economy.  Cool, bloggin about myself, check.  Now moving on to the country. 

We are in Cambodia.  Capital city of Phnom Penh.  This place is forshizzle tropical.  Its hot.  Thank god I came prepared with two frisco jackets and two pairs of pants, neither cotton nor breathable.  

Today was all about exploration, dont worry, nothing granola like a journey of self realization (that is for a later post), just an exploration of the surrounding supermarket and Foreign Corespondents Club.  I learned two things from these places today, one, the value of an open air venue, and two, that cambodian pant sizes do not account for american thunder thighs, I couldnt even pull the size 36 pants above my midthigh, super weak.  

With only two pair of pants, I trudge on, sweating every step of the humid way.