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My experience with CANDO has been many things often
paradoxical. I enrolled as a volunteer receiving
only a stipend rather than a salary. Nevertheless,
my pay was 36 times more exorbitant than the average
salary of a Cambodian professional. I anticipated a
life of commonality. I was given the life of a lady.
I volunteered to serve. Rather, they made me a T.V.
star. I humbly went into a land in search of my
roots. By the end of my stay, I'm not certain I
haven't developed arrogance to shield away my
confusion of identity which still lingers. I went in
search of long lost relatives; they, instead found a
gold mine in me. However, along with the wrinkles, I
have gained a wealth of knowledge that otherwise
could not be obtained elsewhere except in-country.
Irrespective of my still largely undeveloped vision,
one day I pray this information I acquired will
translate into wisdom and a more mature
understanding of life, love, and country.
Given my concern for the Cambodian legal system,
CANDO assigned me to work in the Ministry of Justice
under two capacities: one, as a legal assistant to
the Minister's legal adviser, and two, as an English
teacher to 60 students, comprising mainly of judges,
lawyers, and top Ministry administrators.
In my capacity as legal assistant, I drafted most of
the English correspondence for the Justice Minister.
Some of the writings have been editorials that I
translated for His Excellency Chem Snguon which have
appeared in English language newspapers. Moreover, I
did intensive research for the Minister's legal
adviser, Dr. Mau Phat, regarding Cambodia's border
dispute with Vietnam and Thailand. However, it was
the Asean project I found the most challenging and
engaging. In 1997, Cambodia is poised to translate
its observer status in Asean to full membership. My
assignment involved researching Asean issues
specific to the Justice Ministry and creating an
Asean bureau with resources and materials for the
Ministry in preparation for 1997.
As an English teacher, I taught three classes to top
Ministry administrators and judges from the supreme,
appeal, municipal, and provincial courts. Basic
English was taught in two of my three classes. I had
more opportunities to exchange legal concepts with
my third class who had a stronger command of the
English language.
I entered the Ministry of Justice with three
indelible handicaps. First, I am an "anikachun", a
person of Cambodian origin who lives overseas. The
term carries the odor of arrogance, ostentation,
corruption, and obsession with power as duly
reflected by the relatively huge anikachun
population in parliament, ministries, and lucrative
businesses in Cambodia. This tension is created when
anikachuns and foreigners commit hypocrisy and sell
their integrity. Under the guise of development
work, they exude superiority. They passionately
criticize corruption from the vantage of removed
possibility for it, only to capitulate tenfold in
its availability.
Second, I am a woman living in an institutionalized
male-dominated society. Cambodia counts sixty
percent of its population women. However, they are
either mothers or sensual objects of men. The
gravity of societal perception suppresses her
development. A woman who goes against the current
does so at her reputational peril. The higher the
echelon of power, the more entrenched this attitude
prevails.
My youth framed the third handicap. Society highly
regards the experience of the aged for the its
wisdom and knowledge at the expense of ignoring the
benefits of youth. In relation to my students and
colleagues in the Ministry, I am but a toddler.
My introduction to my student judges and Ministry
administrators confirmed my fears as evidenced in
their suspicious reaction and hesitant acceptance of
me. I did not want to merely survive during my one
year in the Justice Ministry. I wanted to make a
difference in the lives of my students and
colleagues. This would require that I shatter the
perceptions attached to me and gain their trust. It
was a challenge I willingly embraced.
While everyone was on the usual three-hour lunch
break, I spent my first day at work scrubbing and
cleaning the Ministry's public bathroom, deemed
inoperable given its filthy and unsanitary
condition. That day, I spent a lion share of my
stipend on cleaning solutions, air freshener, mops,
toilet papers, soap, and other toiletries to rectify
the Ministry's availability of bathroom facilities.
The Ministry does employ a janitor. However, he
lives in among the heaps of trash in the backyard of
the Ministry's compound. Anything made of concrete -
no matter how much filth layers it - he perceives
clean. It was to take another four scrub downs -
with his timid observation from around the corner -
before he displayed confidence in maintaining the
facility to a usable level. To my fortune, I gained
friends and acceptance that day as news spread
throughout the Ministry.
In time, their trust and respect for me as teacher
and colleague developed as I fully immersed myself
in Cambodian culture. I rarely fail to dress in
proper Cambodian attires and display affection for
Cambodian customs. My accent and demeanor at times
betrayed my American identity, but they took no
offense and may have found them endearing. Of all
the volunteers, I was the only one who was given a
four-wheel drive and a driver by her workplace.
This, I accepted half of the time in gratitude of
the Ministry's consideration and opted for the cyclo
rides the other half to preserve my humility.
Everyone in the Ministry addressed me as "Teacher"
even though many were not my students. Often, I find
myself the only woman dining in the presence of 15
judges and officials, comfortably inputting my
opinions to the Appeal Court president or a Supreme
Court judge.
Often in the classroom I manipulated this sphere of
influence with my students to discuss political
topics otherwise prohibited by law. Class
discussions surrounding the arrest of Prince
Sirivudh were to test the degree of this rapport
with my students. I stood at the National Assembly
when the verdict was announced to strip Prince
Sirivudh of his political immunity. Subsequently,
the king's half brother was arrested and convicted
in his role as the mastermind behind the alleged
coup d'etat. The international community and human
rights groups unanimously condemned the allegations
as unfounded and politically motivated, and the
arrest and conviction in stark violation of due
process of law.
My students' names were all over the newspapers as
prosecutors and judges handling the Sirivudh case,
pawns as they were in the political chess game. The
Justice Ministry bustled with secrecy and hush
conversations. I attended class visibly upset at the
injustices toward Prince Sirivudh and a country
paralyzed by fear, very much reminiscent of Khmer
Rouge days. My personality and history permit me
with no alternative but to break the bond of silence
and address my students indirectly the current
political situation. I framed the week's lectures
around the points and importance of due process of
law. Without ever mentioning the Sirivudh case, I
impressed on them the necessity of legal safeguards
against megalomania and the repetition of historical
holocaust. Afterward, one student asked to drop the
class. But it was not until several months later
that I learned the impact of my talks. One student
confided in me that although his English capability
allowed him to comprehend only half my lecture, his
full understanding came as a result of my being
visibly and inconsolably upset. I thought I detected
admiration in his voice.
Cambodia holds so much despair and sorrow for me. It
is still difficult for me to comprehend that
Cambodia at one point could not even count 100
people with at least a high school diploma (either
because people didn't respond out of historical fear
or that was the state of affairs). Imagine this
country existing in the 21st century. I can't.
Nevertheless, I hope. And I participate.
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