Phnom Penh: A City of Contrasts

I've been in Cambodia for all of 3 days, but in that short time, the place has already made a strong impression on me. So far, Cambodia seems like a mix between India and Thailand. It has both strong Hindu and Buddhist influences. Red robe-clad Buddhist monks walk alongside Hindu iconography that decorates the ubiquitous ornate temples. Phnom Penh has India's poverty, it's tuk-tuk drivers and peddlers who constantly harass. But it also has Thailand's friendliness, inside and outside the tourist districts.

What strikes me most is the apparent gap between the rich and the poor. The condition of destitute poverty is mainly due to Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge, and the genocide that took place from 1975-1979. During this period, the government was replaced with a "communist" dictatorship, which behaved like Hitler's Germany, Mao's China, and Stalin's Soviet Union. Civilians were killed for the most minute "violations": opposing government policies, not obeying new laws, being educated, being from the city, wearing glasses, or being a family member of someone who fits in any of these categories. They were killed with guns, machetes, garden hoes, sharp sticks, ore by being buried alive. Because of this, today you will see very few people over the age of 30 or 40. If they are, usually they are missing limbs. And they certainly carry the burden of terrible stories.

Yesterday, I visited the "Killing Fields," which is really just one of the many places where civilians were brought to be slaughtered, believing they were just being moved to new homes. Here, you navigate your way around dozens of mass graves, most dug up to give more respectable burials. However, every year the rains wash up new bone fragments and strips of clothing. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of human skulls that have been found form a memorial to the dead. They are stacked on top of each other, reaching 17 levels, about 3-4 stories tall. These have all been collected and placed on display, acting as yet another reminder to future socoeites: "Never Again."

During my B.A. and Master's research, I examined different episodes of mass violence and genocide all over the world, and Pol Pot's regime was one. But having studied it all academically, I still wasn't prepared for the raw emotion that wells up, seeing bone fragments sticking out of the ground, still uncovered, evidence of such immense tragedy, so recent. What floored me most was seeing a particular tree that had a terrible history. (Warning:  The rest of this paragraph is very graphic). It stands next to a mass grave and women, children, and babies. When the camp was first discovered, people were puzzled by the fragments of bone, dried blood, and hair they found all over this tree. It turns out, the tree was used to kill babies. They would swing them by their legs and bash their heads over the bark, then toss them into the mass grave, only after which their mothers would follow. I feel filthy just typing this out. Some things about human nature are just incomprehensible.

Flash forward to Cambodia, today. Society is still recovering from this stone age barbarism. There are many homeless wandering around, sleeping in the streets. Many, maybe most, are young children. They beg for money and food. They now also sell cheap bracelets, perhaps in response to a new trend of foreigners not giving money after reading this advice in guide books, which says this only perpetuates the problem, makes begging an option, supposedly discouraging them from making a living working. Then again, I have my doubts about their job opportunities. Still not sure where I stand on this one.

There have been violent protests (mostly police brutality) in Cambodia recently, where grament workers are protesting against bad working conditions and the corruption and inequality that make it was it is. Yesterday morning I stepped outside my hostel door, straight into about 1,000 fully armored Cambodian military police, ready for a scheduled demonstration. I've never seen such a display of force. I actively sought out protests in Thailand, but this one was different. I didn't want to be anywhere near there when the batons started swinging and the gas went out.

Contrast all this desparation and poverty with a rich class which drives around in $100,000+ cars. Land Rovers are more common here than on Syracuse campus, which is saying a lot. They're everywhere. So are Lexuses, luxury cars, and, inexplicably, Priuses. I've heard tales of rich Cambodians going to bars with body guards and picking fights with tourists, for the fun of it. There is some serious hostility here, though I have a hard time figuring out drawing any firm lines to classify it, beyond the obvious economic inequality.

I took several pictures at the Killing Fields, and I'll post them as soon as I find a reliable computer. 

Bangkok Protests: Not What You Might Expect

First, some observations and details. Then, some thoughts.

Today was a day planned out for a while, to be the biggest protest we've seen so far. The goal is to "shut down bangkok," as you'll see on everyone's t-shirts. I bought one, too :-) (Not saying I agree). 20 major intersections - some next to government buildings - are being blocked. However, to accommodate tourists, they are actually allowing us to pass almost completely unbothered. The monorail is open in most places. Other than that, good luck getting around.

I've been walking around for a few hours, since early morning, checking out what I can see. My first impression:  This thing is MASSIVE. I've only been to 2 intersections so far (they are pretty far to walk), but both were accommodating ten thousand easy, probably multiple tens of thousands. When I say intersection, think Arc de Triumph in Paris, or the biggest roundabout you know. These are important cultural points, often monuments. And they are full. Full of people of all ages, blowing whistles and horns that might as well be vuvuzelas. With the exception of children - I have only seen a hand full.

Everyone has about 5 Thai flags on their body, in one form or another. Most are wearing t-shirts with protest slogans. There are some signs. And whistles. God. Did I mention they have whistles? Not sure if you can hear me. I can't hear me. Many are wearing camo. In and around the intersections there are hundreds of tents where people are camping out, who knows how long. People sleeping on blankets in the street, singing, playing games, smiling, and blowing whistles. The atmosphere is holiday, but there are voices coming from the stages that sound motivational. I don't speak Thai. It's ok though, I understand the whistles. Though there are many signs in English. Interesting.

Overall, I'm considering "tenting-up" and saving some money on sleeping arrangements. These people know how to have a good time. Maybe they'll give me a whistle, too.

Thoughts:

I've only been to a few protests in my life. About half of them were during my year abroad in Spain, when I was a witness rather than a participant. The other half, not including this one I'm in now, were in the US. I've studied conflict, politics, and human rights for about 8 years, but rarely haven't gotten close to the action. Part of this is due to location. Newburgh, IN and Syracuse, NY aren't exactly political hotbeds. I had to drive all the way to DC to get to one. For a lot of us, that just isn't realistic. It's hard to protest in the US. There's another reason it's hard to protest in the US:  protest generally has a negative stigma attached to it. The media normally portrays protesters as the "other," someone different from you, hard to identify with. They're extremists. Who else would skip work to stand on the street in public, yelling things at passers-by?

This happens for at least two reasons. First, sensationalizing news makes it more interesting and tv companies will get more viewers. This equates to more $ from advertisers. Which is why you see all that overblown celebrity drama on stations and websites that are considered our top news sources. Second, it's a way of keeping the status quo, of not rocking the boat. It creates the illusion of stability, a comfortable feeling that is necessary to keep us spending money, not taking our money out of banks or selling our stocks, and keeps us consuming in the American capitalist economy.

That is all to say, protest is not a part of our culture. There was an attempt to make it part of our culture in the 60s, along with other sweeping changes, but it ultimately failed. People today are not out taking to the streets like they are in other countries - all of Europe, for instance. Or the Middle East. In this way, we are actually similar to Thailand. Protest is even less acceptable in their culture than it is ours. For instance, I've heard some protesters say they are a little embarrassed to be out here, because it's not something they would normally do. But they feel this issue is so important that they are breaking social norms and doing it anyways. And I think we can learn something from them, and this situation.

Despite what you've heard in Western media, basically all of these protests are completely peaceful. As always, it is a very small group, probably as many as you can count on two hands, who are getting the attention of international media because of one or two small actions, which don't represent the protest movement at large. And, as we've learned from Occupy Wall Street incidents and similar protest groups in the US, these incidents may actually be the result of other groups impersonating protesters and causing harm, in order to make the movement look bad. These protests are more of parties than what I would typically think of when the word "protest" is thrown out - angry chanting, negative or aggressive energy, and potentially violence. Then I think about where I got that idea about protests. All the ones I've ever seen personally have been peaceful, with one exception in Spain, where a building was vandalized, but no one was attacked. Even there, they had wine and partied afterwards, in the very building they protested. That image of the violent, negative protests comes from the media. And recall, the media gains from providing a sensationalist image of anything, for its own interests. So take it with a grain of salt.

This highlights something I'm trying to take to heart, and perhaps apply to my own experiences:  protests can be fun! In fact, maybe they should be. Not only will it energize you and those around you, but you'll attract more followers who will be more open to hearing out your perspective, than if you're just yelling angry things out of a speakerphone. To clarify, there is a place for justified indignation. I'm not saying marches for Trayvon Martin should have been jovial. But perhaps some of the larger issues, such as government corruption, could benefit from this approach. It seems to be working here. 

My First (but hopefully not last) Scuba Experience

I just finished my open water scuba training, but not in the way I had hoped. I couldn't bring myself to do the last dive's required techniques. I'll start from the beginning.

The first day, we became acquainted with the gear, which was wasn't too bad. You have two regulators, or breathing apparatuses: one primary, one alternate. You've got an air and depth gauge, a tool that inflates or deflated your suit, helps you sink or float. Then of course the basics: wetsuit, air tank, goggles slippers, and snorkel. All this ends up being pretty heavy on land, but makes sense in the water.

Once we got the gear down, we practiced a few basic techniques in about 6ft water. You take your regulator out and put it back in. You let water into your goggles, then use your nose to blow it out, still under water. You take your regulator out and use someone else's alternate. We did this in crisp light blue water, swimming with tropical fish. It was a dream.

The second day we went deeper, to 12m, a little less than 40ft. I was having a ball, playing around, doing underwater flips, swimming with fish. On the first dive, the water was still a clear blue and we saw some giant underwater life, some spectacular coral. I generally feel at home in the water, at least at a shallow depth. I grew up in pools and lakes. In a way, it feels like home. It another way though, I've always been a little scared of deep water, particularly oceans. I hadn't felt any of that at this point. I was simply blown away by the natural beauty and the joy of floating into such depths as I'd never been before.

Then came the fourth dive. Same depth, different location. This is the first time the water was murky, almost like a swamp. Not much visibility. I was still having a blast. Trying to stay warm and preserve my oxygen (I get cold easily in water, and apparently I suck O2 pretty fast), but good. Then we reached 12m and it was time for a few more techniques. I was fine until the goggles, which we had to remove completely (I can't open my eyes under water without them) and put them back on, then clear the mask by blowing out with our nose. It should be a given that when giving, you can NEVER breathe in through your nose, even with the mask on. Only your mouth.

This was the biggest problem for me. I've done years of meditation now, and the opposite is what's desired. You never breathe through your mouth, because it is inefficient. Breathing through your nose helps you relax and take fewer, deeper breaths. So for instance, when you are stressed, you stop and take a few deep breaths. You can probably see where I'm going with this.

 I take my mask off, hesitantly, 40ft under water. I couldn't see the surface before it was so murky, and now I'm blind. And suddenly, salt water is coming in through my nose. My mind panicked. There was no chance I'd be able to surface before choking, if I couldn't get oxygen in. I knew that. I think that thought it was made me stay down and force through it. I shoved the goggles back to my face and tried desperately to only breath in through my mouth. It was so hard. My instinct, to calm myself, was to do nostril breathing, because that's what I've trained myself to do for years. Not being able to do it made me even more panicked. I reached out to our instructor for help as I continued trying to breathe right. His eyes encouraged me to be calm. There's not much else he could do at that point, and I knew it. He couldn't help me breathe correctly. I finally managed to get enough oxygen to then blow out my nose, clearing my flooded mask of salt water. I felt my full breath come in, and my eyes stung, but it began wearing off. I caught my breath, became comfortable again with breathing with just my mouth, out of a tank of air. I calmed down. The other 3 divers then did the same technique, and we started swimming around more. We surfaced maybe 15mins later.

At that point, back on the boat, I actually felt ok. I hadn't forgotten about what happened down there, but it wasn't eating at me or anything. And so I moved on. We were done for the day, I went home, and tried to sleep. I had waking and sleeping nightmares of drowning. The experience had hit me on a deeper level than I realized. I tried meditation, but even that was unnerving, because after that scare, I didn't trust my nostril breath. It felt wrong to breathe from the nose. Even as I write this, that is the case. I think it'll take some time for that to go away.

I woke up today for our last diving session. I felt nervous, especially after the nightmares, but I was sure I could do it. We would be doing the goggle removal technique again, along with another where we take out our regulator and breathe into our inflator manually, then put the regulator back in, and another where we switch to a partner's regulator, then back to our own. But all this would be done at 18m, around 60ft in depth.

Things started out fine. We got geared up, hopped in, and started submersion. I was definitely nervous and wasn't appreciating the clear water and plentiful fish as much as earlier, but I was determined to complete the techniques and get my license. We started down, equalizing (popping) our ears as we went down in depth. We hit 18m and I was OK. Then came technique time, and I froze. I had every intention of doing them when I went down, but when it came time, I couldn't bear the idea of taking my oxygen source out of my mouth, so far from the surface. The very idea made me breathe harder, struggling to inhale the same air I would on the surface, but it just wouldn't happen. I didn't feel comfortable doing it. I was too scared. So I chilled, tried to relax why the other 3 did it with few issues. Then we swam on, enjoying the view. I was unnerved, surprised by my own panic. I was ready to hit the surface and breathe through my nose again. About 15mins later, we did.

I am really disappointed I couldn't do the techniques and get my certification. I love the new world scuba opened me up to. It's like nothing else I've ever done. And I want to continue it. Luckily, all I'll have to do is make up what I missed at a later date. But for now, I need to recenter and relearn to trust my breath, and find more methods of dealing with panic, especially underwater. I'm super grateful I had the opportunity to do this at all, especially in such a beautiful place. It was more than worth it, as far as I got. 

Maintaining a Life Story

I've been thinking a lot lately about aspects of life I've neglected for years. Specifically, religion or spirituality. I gave up Catholicism at the age of 13. The way I saw things practiced in the church conflicted with my own personal views, even at such a young age. I saw countless contradictions in what was preached and what was practiced. Since then, like many ex-Catholics, I have been jaded with religion, preferring the clear rationality and tangibility of science, which I viewed as opposed to religion. Unfortunately, for me this involved forefeiting my connection with the spiritual, or mystical, whatever you want to call it. More than that, it severed my connection with a larger community group, something I was a part of. A group that told its own stories which guided me until I left. Though I left for a reason, there was value to all that. I'm realizing that more and more over time, but particularly over this trip, as I see the power and utility of other cultures' communities.

In The Hero With a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell writes about a common human mythology that spans generations, from time immemorial to the present day. He marks striking commonalities among the legends and stories humans from all world locations have shared in their communities, recited to their children, and used as beacons of morality to guide their lives. He finds that these myths are vital in maintaining a society with a coherent collective mission. Not only that, but they are also necessary for the development and continual maturing process of the individual soul.

He discusses the absolute importance of the soul's developmental process, and argues that the myths which guide our lives and cultures are that which infuse the soul with meaning. Without myths and the stories and symbolism that communicate them, he fears our lives lose direction. Life loses its sense of purpose absent an overarching narrative that puts our experiences into perspective, that helps us identify them with something larger.

This idea of an overarching life narrative is one that has constantly resurfaced throughout my travels. Though it was there before, nothing brings this issue to the foreground more than having your tacit assumptions or ardent beliefs challenged on a daily basis, as you are immersed and must get by in vastly different cultures. Some experiences have such an impact on you that you can't help but reevaluate particular understandings of reality. You are forced to see things in a different way. And there may never be a going back to how you saw things before. Sometimes this experience is immediately liberating; you experience a sudden clarity that lightens your sense of being. Other times, the experience is an unexpected submersion into the ice cold waters of fear and anxiety. You're scared or hurt, and you're not sure how to best move forward. You get stuck in depression or you become paralyzed by anxiety.

The thing is, having a coherent narrative can help us overcome these trying experiences. Having a solid purpose in life, which this narrative elucidates, contextualizes the difficulties we face and gives us hope they will in the end be for our benefit; for our pruning, and ultimately for our personal growth. Without this narrative, we live in constant uncertainty about our actions. Did I do the right thing? Maybe I messed things up and will never get the chance to correct them? (living in the past; depression). What should I do? There are so many choices, what if I make the wrong one? (living in the future; anxiety).

The question is, how do we know what our life narrative is? And even if we do, we may find that it's hard to maintain it, hard to always live by it. We get easily distracted. Other options pop up that may seem easier than staying true to our heart, the guide for our life narrative.

I'm not sure how we find it, other than just being open and honest with ourselves, even when it's difficult, when we may not want to hear, think about, or accept what we know deep down to be true. But I think some wisdom can be found in Campbell's writing, particularly with regard to those of us who struggle constantly with lingering doubts and worries about the future, or are going through tough times:

"Schism in the soul will not be resolved by any scheme of return to the good old days (archaism), or by programs guaranteed to render an ideal projected future (futurism), or even by the most realistic, hardheaded work to weld together again the deteriorating elements. Only birth can conquer death—the birth, not of the old thing again, but of something new. Within the soul there must be—if we are to experience long survival—a continuous "recurrence of birth" (palingenesia) to nullify the unremitting recurrences of death."

It much less elegant words, I think Campbell is saying that we have to continually let ourselves - our assumptions about life, our expectations - die, in order to fully live, in order to free our own soul. We need to accept that we are not the same person we were 10 years ago, 1 year ago, even yesterday. And this is a beautiful thing! Because our goal should be to continually grow, to mature. And a necessary part of that process is letting go of who we might have been, then embracing who we are now, and finally aspiring to be even better. This involves continually modifying our personal story. I thought I was a loving person, but this action doesn't align with that. What happened? Have I been ignoring something about myself? Or maybe you dealt with something in childhood that, though you haven't thought much about it in years, still affects you or holds you hostage in some way, shapes your personality and behaviors. Maybe it's time to modify the story you keep telling yourself about yourself. We need to constantly remind ourselves of what we've been through, and decide where that fit into our own personal story.

What really moves me about all this is that this approach assumes we will make mistakes, and regret them; and that we all have experienced great suffering. Indeed it thrives on this fact. You must have the lows in order to appreciate the highs. And so we should do our best to be grateful for those lows, even when we're experiencing them. Sure, it's easier said than done, but the result is being in touch with the song of your soul, and singing with it in unison.

I want to end with a quote from Kahlil Gibran, on love, which I think summarizes a lot of this poetically:

"When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,  Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears."