This time around, we’re setting our sights on the bustling Phnom Penh, and its multifaceted creatives who are driving a new cultural consciousness for the Kingdom. With a population exceeding 2.2 million, the city stands as the nation’s largest hub. It draws people from every corner of the country, whether for work, leisure, access to essential services, or for artistic exploration.

In this episode, Globe Editor-in-Chief Andrew Haffner and his co-host Dy Sereyvoleak explore Phnom Penh’s role in shaping Cambodia’s contemporary culture, focusing on the city’s role in bringing art, music and other creative pursuits to the eyes, ears, and minds of the public. It may not rival global cultural giants like New York or Paris, but it undoubtedly plays a pivotal role in shaping popular taste and media in Cambodia.

The duo take a look at Phnom Penh’s evolving infrastructure supporting artistic endeavours, from art and music to various other lanes of creative craftsmanship. In the process, we hear from Sok Visal, founder of the music label and film production studio KlapYaHandz, and Yean Reaksmey, an art history lecturer, curator and critic. They also caught up with Sievphin Chong, better known as his alter ego Peace Chong, an independent musician and digital culture creator. All share some unique perspectives on Cambodian culture evolution.

Join us for the season – and maybe series – finale as we navigate through the city’s vibrant art scene and its role in sustaining Cambodia’s cultural ecosystem.

The post Anakut podcast finale: Forging Cambodia’s creative renaissance appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

On an unbearably hot day in April, Kong Mok pantomimed wrapping a material around his neck with one hand.

Mok, 67, was on duty as a guard at the ancient Koh Ker temple complex in northern Cambodia, which was inscribed on UNESCO’s World Heritage List earlier this month. As a small group watched, Mok mimicked how he believed looters used some form of explosive to break off the valuable heads from stone statues before transporting them out of the country.

He slowly moved his other hand around his neck before shooting his arms out to both sides. Bang – no more head. 

Throughout this year, far from the heat of Koh Ker, the U.S. federal government coordinated the return of illegally looted Cambodian relics from the Denver Art Museum and the private collections of billionaires as a wider reckoning in the art world has pressured collectors across the globe to give back pieces of dubious provenance.

Cambodia received 13 antiquities from the U.S. in March. Some of these had been looted from the Koh Ker complex in the grinding decades of strife that followed the Khmer Rouge regime, which collapsed in 1979 but waged insurgency until the late 1990s. These works included Hindu-era relics such as a warrior from a set of nine statues depicting a battle from the Mahabharata epic, a sandstone figure of the war god Skanda riding on a peacock and an enormous embodiment of the god Ganesha.

As foreign governments and law enforcement agencies track pilfered artefacts in their own jurisdictions, Cambodian researchers are investigating for themselves. Their work is part of a broader, often behind-the-scenes effort in the country to restore a historical legacy sold off to international dealers such as the late antiquities collector and accused smuggler Douglas Latchford.

The inquisitive group who spoke with Mok had come on behalf of the Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts with a twofold purpose – to patch together Koh Ker’s history with local narratives, however incomplete, and to track down missing pieces of ancient sculptures. 

At Koh Ker, researcher Tek Soklida filmed the interview with Mok on her phone as another member of the team sat nearby, jotting details in a notebook. Senior researcher Chhoun Kunthea led the interview and interpreted for Bradley J. Gordon, a U.S. attorney representing the Ministry of Culture and working on the project. 

For Soklida, the work wasn’t just a way for her to help others understand the country’s history. She felt the sculpted figures were a way her ancestors intended to communicate with the future – in other words, with her.

“A statue is not just a stone; it’s an achievement from my ancestors, who made it,” she said. The icons show her “how hard they worked at that time, even bringing the stones to the temple and carving it into a human or animal statue to show their descendants.”

A first-time visitor to Koh Ker might see only toppled stone carvings and collapsed chamber walls, lying nearby a massive pyramid erected in the 10th century. But the research team, which has been studying the temples for years, envision the outlines of what these places looked like when they were first built. 

Assisted by other historians and archeologists, the team has created original drawings and maps of the area, scrutinised photos found on Latchford’s laptop, and gathered historical details through interviews with neighbouring communities.

In their on-site interviews, the team often uses photographs to help jog residents’ memories. Now, with the recent returns, the women have a new set of photos. Before moving on to another area of Koh Ker, Kunthea pulled up a picture of the Ganesha statue, which had been presented earlier at a celebration in Phnom Penh. 

Mok laughed, surprised to see the statue he remembered from childhood. He hadn’t yet heard about its return. 

Later, the team hiked to the back of the central structure in the complex, a seven-tiered pyramid standing more than 35 metres tall. There, Kunthea found another guard with whom she had previously spoken. Often, the team gradually gets to know people before meeting again with more explicit questions about looting. 

“The information, it is not easy to get it … We try step by step to get more and more,” she said. “The questions [have to] be careful. Sometimes it’s not direct, a little bit around, and then you get to the main point of what you want to know.”

The guard, 68-year old Run Ran, suspected he was one of the oldest living villagers from Koh Ker. 

Around 1980 he worked to clear the temple grounds for a time under the direction of Ta Mok, a senior leader of the Khmer Rouge nicknamed “the Butcher” for overseeing mass killings. After living near and working at the site for many years, Ran was sure he had a connection with the temple in his past lives. 

The guard told the researchers he remembered seeing the complex’s 10th-century dancing Shiva statue when it still had three intact faces of its original five. Shattered into more than 10,000 pieces, the seven-tonne piece is now undergoing restoration in Siem Reap. French archeologists had moved two of the heads and some other fragments to Phnom Penh before the 1970s. And while a third face was shattered before looters got it, the remaining two heads were likely looted during the early 1990s and are still missing.

After Kunthea tried to pin down when exactly Ran had seen the statue with three heads, which would help in understanding the timeline of the looting, the women were ready to move on to Koh Ker village, where they hoped to talk with more elders. 

The temple guard lamented before they left that those most knowledgeable about the statues had already died. 

Even when foreign museums have returned pieces to Cambodia, such institutions don’t always offer up all of the information or documentation that could shed light on the journey the piece took, according to U.S. attorney Gordon. Without more official information, he said details from fragmented interviews, such as the ones gathered by the team at Koh Ker, are key to tracing the supply chains of looted relics. 

“There’s a very small number of experts out there on Cambodia,” he explained. “They have their theories and they are doing their research, but we’re still at a point that we haven’t been able to connect the dots yet. We’re getting lots of individual pieces of the past. The question is: what does it all add up to? Why was this here?”

Despite the rounds of returns, many pieces are still missing or outside the country. A standing female deity on display at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art is thought to be originally from the Koh Ker. 

Back in the village far from the galleries of Manhattan, the team of Cambodian researchers spoke to some older women sitting under a wooden home raised on stilts. 

Yeam Koun and her niece Deb Sem, both 63, remembered seeing the set of nine warrior statues before several were looted. Sem said she remembered the area because a family member was bitten by a tiger there. At least one of these statues has still yet to be identified and brought back to Cambodia. The women suggested the team meet up with another older man in the village who might know more.

The research team stopped at a few more places in search of the village elder. They found his son-in-law, who told them to try looking for the man at a nearby pagoda. The team wasn’t able to track him down, and decided to end their research for the day. 

But spirits were not low. The team made new connections and dug up new details. Plus, they had already received a tip with names of Thai families who may have received the missing looted dancing Shiva heads. 

The team plans to travel to Thailand this year to follow the trail of the heads. Though plenty of investigation remains ahead, efforts such as theirs are slowly, finally bringing home the lost relics of Cambodia.

The post As looted Angkor relics return, Cambodian researchers uncover history appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

Hundreds of headless deities sit in rows in a warehouse in Siem Reap, lit by buzzing fluorescent lights and a rim of small windows. 

The largest statue, nearly five metres tall, looks down at the rest. Or, rather, it would look down if it still had its head. Five heads, in this case. 

Stone restorers and archeologists have spent more than a decade piecing back together the monumental statue of the Hindu god Shiva from the Koh Ker temple complex in northern Cambodia, which was inscribed on UNESCO’s World Heritage List earlier this month. The seven-tonne, 10th century work depicts a 10-armed Shiva in a dancing pose – but over long years of turmoil during the country’s civil conflict in the 1980s and 90s, looters gradually smashed the stone deity into more than 10,000 pieces.

Some larger fragments, including two of the heads, had been preserved in Phnom Penh before the 1970s. A third head was shattered before looters got to it, and the final two looted faces have yet to be found.

This year, the world has shone a spotlight on the return of looted relics to Cambodia, with federal indictments in the U.S. preceding returns from the Denver Art Museum and wealthy private collectors such as Netscape founder Jim Clark. The arrivals in the country met a joyous response, though much of the fanfare stopped at the point of repatriation. 

But now, even intact objects require deep historical research to fully understand their place in Khmer history. And the quiet restoration of the dancing Shiva by a team of French and Cambodian experts demonstrates the often-tedious, highly difficult process of piecing the country’s looted history back together.

The shattered statue now stands behind the gates of Angkor Conservation, an office of the Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts in the temple tourism hub of Siem Reap. The facility houses thousands of ancient statues in various stages of repair. Its compound is closed to the public and flanked by “No Photography” signs. 

Hang Chansophea, head of the collection at Angkor Conservation, works on inventory and documentation on the project. She labels and maintains digital records of the various fragments, creating what she likens to a person’s ID card for each piece. 

On a hot day in April, she sifted through a styrofoam tray of pieces, some mere millimetres wide, trying to find connections. Eye drops, she said, helped her get through eight-hour days of staring at minuscule fragments.

“Sometimes I’m angry with looters,” she said. “Why do they try to break [the statues]? Because this is the heritage of the nation, the heritage for all.”

By the end of the Angkorian period in the 14th century, the statue had also fallen, breaking into a few large fragments. 

The toppled statue was in relatively good condition until the 20th century, said Éric Bourdonneau, an archeologist and historian from the French School of the Far East. He’s leading the restoration project in collaboration with Cambodian authorities. 

“Ninety percent of the fragments were still inside the [Kraham Temple] tower,” Bourdonneau said. “Still, you have some hands, some fragments that were moved at different periods of history outside the tower because of some villager or some child playing with it. It’s not surprising that you have some fragments moving.”

Between the 1920s and 1960s, French archeologists moved some large pieces of the dancing Shiva, such as hands and heads, to the National Museum in Phnom Penh. Bourdonneau described the movement of many pieces during the colonial period as problematic, with historians and archeologists from France and elsewhere believing they were “the best people to tell the history of other people.” 

It’s unlikely that statues from Koh Ker were taken during the Khmer Rouge’s reign from 1975-79. But in the late 1960s and early ‘70s, and then again in the ‘80s and ‘90s, looters descended on the temples of Koh Ker. Their forays were fueled by the demands of wealthy Western art dealers and curators, capitalising on the chaos in Cambodia at the time. 

In a shift from earlier times, looters of the late 20th century sought to evade the law by cutting the link between the objects and their origins.

Antiquities dealers such as the late Douglas Latchford – a prolific collector of Cambodian relics who was criminally charged before his death with smuggling looted artefacts – made use of this tactic of misdirection. Latchford had claimed a massive, three-tonne Ganesha statue he sold was not the original but merely a replica.

The dancing Shiva was one of the last statues in Koh Ker to be looted. While vandals absconded with other nearby pieces, the Shiva remained, possibly because of its large size and because its remaining two faces were worn and in bad condition. But in the early 1990s, looters finally lopped off those faces. In order to break off the heads intact, researchers believe the looters drove chisels lower down on the statue’s body, shattering the torso in the process.

Finally, some years after this mortal blow, there were throngs of local and foreign tourists weaving through the archeological site, likely stepping on stone fragments and broken pieces of history. 

The steady crumbling of the dancing Shiva dragged on until restoration work began in 2012. 

The project is more complex than almost any other restoration project in the world, Bourdonneau said.

“It’s extremely unusual,” he said. “Of course it’s not rare that you have many examples where you have to work with some dozens of fragments or even hundreds. But here, we have collected … more than 10,000 fragments.”

The restoration is made even more challenging because about 80% of the surface of the figure is smooth, with no designs to help the team.

After the excavation and a study of the found pieces were complete, the team spent  2019 connecting the largest pieces of the torso.

“At the beginning, when we put all the pieces on the table and looked around, it was hard for us to start. From what way? From what point?” said Chhan Chamroeun, deputy director of safeguarding and conservation of ancient monuments with the Ministry of Culture.

In their first phase, the team used digital scanning of the project to create a 3D model. A centre at Heidelberg University in Germany even used this to develop an interactive puzzle.

But the monumental task of connecting the pieces has been done almost entirely by hand. Bourdonneau said technology, including artificial intelligence, is not advanced enough to assist in putting the pieces back together as there aren’t enough regularities in how the fragments were broken off. 

“I won’t say that maybe in the future it won’t be possible, but for now, there’s nothing better than the human brain,” he said.

Some pieces remain missing but a basic shape has taken form along an internal scaffolding. This skeleton for the dancing Shiva may help put it back on its feet as it was in the 10th century

“As it is broken in so many parts and as it is so huge and so heavy, one real challenge of this kind of restoration is to design the metallic structure to make it possible to have the statue standing up,” Bourdonneau said.

The group plans to complete the majority of the restoration by the beginning of 2025 and hopes to eventually display the statue in Koh Ker in a new pavilion north of its original site. Bourdonneau hopes to keep the local community connected to the statue and has invited residents throughout the restoration to see its progress. 

Despite the enormity of their task, the stone restorers and archeologists working on the project seem somewhat unfazed by what can appear to an outsider as a gruelling process. They see their work, largely unseen by the public, as part of a larger mission for Cambodia.

Asked about his reaction to recently finding the right location of an important missing piece, Chamroeun said he felt happier than if he had been gifted “a box of beer.”

But amidst his muted responses was an earnest commitment to the job at hand.  

“If we just have the experience or we have the knowledge we learn from different fields to restore this object – it’s not enough if we don’t have our heart,” he said. “It’s not just for us in this generation, this is for our country and for our next generation.”

The post Five heads, 10,000 pieces: Restoring the dancing Shiva appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

Eubank, 61, is the founder and leader of the Free Burma Rangers, an eclectic band of former U.S. Marines seeking new purpose, Myanmar ethnic minorities and rebels with a cause. Since 1996, the nonprofit group has gradually built a following throughout Myanmar with backing from local leaders, documenting war crimes carried out by the national military while distributing humanitarian aid. 

Eubank spoke with the Globe from a car driving outside Lutsk, Ukraine, a country that his organisation has recently entered. As the road rumbled and the connection cracked, Eubank spoke about the intense fighting in Ukraine, then switched to talk of Texas and the Alamo, a symbol of independence now nearly two centuries old. 

“I believe in the whole thing of freedom to this day,” he said.

Eubank is a devout Christian raised in Thailand by missionary parents. He and his wife, Karen Eubank, made faith and family central to their organisation, which also draws from David’s own experience as a former member of the elite U.S. Army Rangers and Special Forces.

The couple has raised three children across various conflict zones – now in young adulthood, the trio help their parents run family programmes in the field while on university breaks. With Eubank’s dual role as a combat-trained philanthropist and a spiritual leader who performs baptisms and other rites, he eludes any easy description. 

“You don’t surrender to fear or comfort or pride or the threats of the enemy,” Eubank said, adding that he only surrenders to love and God.

In Myanmar, decades of civil war and international isolation have created severe barriers to humanitarian aid. That already challenging landscape was further exacerbated after the 2021 coup that ousted the elected government of state counsellor Aung San Suu Kyi and unleashed a brutal chapter of widespread violence and lawlessness under yet another junta.

Amidst the scorched-earth campaign waged by the national military in its struggle to maintain control of the country, Eubank’s Rangers may be distinctly well-suited to fill a vacuum of service provision and information-gathering around Myanmar. 

Eubank said the quasi-clerical yet diverse humanitarian group operates with “no safety rules”. The organisation’s website states a total of 59 rangers have been killed since the group’s beginning. Though some died from disease, most were documented as perishing from gunshots, mortar attacks, air strikes or other actions by the Myanmar armed forces.

You don’t have to have any religion. As long as you do this for love, you don’t run, and you can read and write in some language to get the news out, you can be a Ranger.”

David Eubank

The Rangers focus on three key areas, according to Eubank. These are providing humanitarian aid such as food, shelter, clothing and medical assistance; documenting atrocities through interviews, photos and videos for media dissemination; and offering a range of trainings, from emergency medical care and logistics to what might be tactical instruction on landmine clearance and battlefield communication.

“Now there are about 150 teams deployed in every part of Burma, representing 16 ethnic groups,” Eubank said. “You don’t have to have any religion. As long as you do this for love, you don’t run, and you can read and write in some language to get the news out, you can be a Ranger.”

Though Myanmar is central to the group’s purpose, its website and prolific social media channels document missions abroad.

With an address in the U.S. city of Colorado Springs and a post office box in Chiang Mai, Thailand, the Rangers describe themselves as “a multi-ethnic humanitarian service movement working to bring help, hope and love to people in the conflict zones of Burma, Iraq and Sudan”.

Financial records on the Rangers’ website declare about 2,800 donors, mostly private individuals, churches and organisations donating to the group’s tax-exempt public charity, Free the Oppressed. For the last fiscal year, the organisation received more than $7 million for everything from medical supplies and cameras, to Bibles and Ranger-branded t-shirts. 

The group’s nonprofit revenue nearly tripled from 2020 to 2021 following the military coup in Myanmar.

Aside from records, the Rangers’ website is full of regular updates on the intense civil warfare following the coup – including graphic images from the scenes of massacres reportedly committed by the national armed forces. The military has in turn claimed the volunteer organisation “was formed by Vietnam War veterans [and] are in fact militants” who train ethnic armed groups to attack its bases.

Eubank denies these accusations and has long maintained his focus is on protecting the public, not confronting the military.

“Of course, I’m angry. Of course, I’m going to support the people against [the military]. But I also pray for them, their hearts to change,” he said.

Although Thai was Eubank’s first language as a child, he was born in the U.S. and later returned there for university in Texas. He joined the U.S. Army after that, serving as an Army Ranger reconnaissance platoon leader for counter-narcotics missions in Central and South America before joining the Special Forces.

Eubank left the military service in 1992 and entered seminary school. As he tells it, about a year after that, representatives of the Wa people – who hold a powerful, two-region enclave in Myanmar along the Thai and Chinese borders – reached out to Eubank’s missionary father to request his help. 

That would be the start of the family’s work in Myanmar.

We’re not a militia or an army, but we’re not pacifist. … If you have your own weapon, then you can take it. But you can’t use it except for defending [internally displaced persons] or yourself.” 

David Eubank

From their founding in 1996, the Free Burma Rangers have worked closely with ethnic armed organisations, including the Karen National Liberation Army and the Kachin Independence Army. These groups safeguard the Rangers, many of whom share the same ethnic backgrounds. 

In return, the Rangers typically provide expertise and training in field medicine. The organisation has trained more than 7,000 people to date. Eubank said the group does not provide arms or military training to its members or to ethnic armies – but also doesn’t forbid anyone from carrying guns.

“We’re not a militia or an army, but we’re not pacifist,” Eubank said. “If you have your own weapon, then you can take it. But you can’t use it except for defending [internally displaced persons] or yourself.”

Eubank himself was filmed taking up arms against ISIS fighters during the liberation of Mosul in 2017 in a documentary about the Rangers from a Christian production studio.

One wounded ranger from the battle claimed Eubank killed three fighters, even after he was shot in the arm. 

In Myanmar, Eubank’s policy is to get close to but avoid the military.

Still, the diplomatic concern of Rangers potentially acting as gunrunners for ethnic rebels in Myanmar has been documented in leaked cables transmitted to the Bangkok and Yangon embassies from the U.S. State Department. 

In one mishap, Eubank was caught on camera wearing a partial U.S. military uniform at a Shan National Day Rally, an annual festival where political and military leaders of the Shan people recognise and celebrate self-determination. According to the cable, this allegedly generated the perception the Rangers were providing weapons to the Shan State Army. 

The cable also suggested this incident – along with some disagreements between Eubank and the State Department over Thai refugee policy – prompted the department to limit contact with the Rangers and instruct Eubank to resign from the U.S. Army Reserve. Later, the Myanmar government claimed the photo of Eubank in uniform was evidence that the U.S. military was working with Shan militants and summoned the Defense Attache in Yangon over the issue.

While there is no evidence that the Rangers funnel weapons to rebels, State Department investigators stated in the cable they “believe there are other individuals who do help armed ethnic groups in Burma procure weapons, some of whom are former U.S. military. Due to the nature of his work, Eubank is probably aware of who they are and precisely what activities they are engaged in.” 

Generally around the world, small communities of ex-U.S. military personnel volunteering to enter foreign conflicts have caused some – such as former Human Rights Watch researcher David Scott Mathieson – to suggest “war zones (like in Myanmar) attract a rogue’s gallery of adventurers, fantasists and psychopaths. Eubank and his Free Burma Rangers (FBR) have been called all those and more.”

But Mathieson acknowledged that those who find the group’s faith-fueled humanitarian work off-putting cannot go so far as to claim that the Rangers have been ineffective.

Flitting between frontlines, Eubank doesn’t shy from the martial realities of his calling. When asked about balancing love against vengeance, he spoke about a form of justice that requires punishment motivated by the former.

“Justice has to have love in it so that when someone has done something wrong, the punishment must be one of love,” Eubank said. “That might be imprisonment or any number of other punishments to help them see the error of their ways. You might even have to shoot them, they might even die, but you’re just going to kill their body, not their soul and that’s better than letting them continue – body and soul – to wreak havoc on others and themselves.”

The post Love, war and the Free Burma Rangers appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

As a child, Masters spent long hours just looking at the river near his parents’ house in former Zaire, now the Democratic Republic of Congo, wondering where people and their stories came from. 

Some 40 years later, he became the author of one of those long-dreamed stories.

In his first novel, Charlot, Masters dives into the personal struggle of famed comedian Charlie Chaplin as he tries to come to terms with the two sides of his personality while on a journey in then-French Indochina in 1936. In Charlot, a fictionalised retelling of real-life events, Chaplin sheds his “Little Tramp” persona to find his own voice and a new sense of humanity amid Cambodia’s political turmoil. 

“This novel is a testament to the power of storytelling and the power of narrative to connect people and create meaningful connections,” Masters said.

Masters worked as a writer in the TV, film and radio industries for well over a decade before moving to Cambodia in 2010. There, in 2013, he started working on a TV comedy series, “Love9” for BBC Media Action, and began researching Chaplin’s trip to the region.

“We were developing a character for the show, and the team suggested the name ‘Charley’, to be modelled on ‘Saklo’, a Khmer corruption of Charlot, (which was) the French name for Charlie Chaplin,” Masters told the Globe. “I soon discovered that Chaplin was still a significant influence on comedians in Cambodia, who often sported his signature toothbrush moustache. … But more than that, I found out he’d actually visited Indochina in 1936 on an extended vacation after the release of ‘Modern Times’.”

Masters sought to examine who Chaplin was in this pivotal period of the comedian’s career – that of a middle-aged man, then 47, on the verge of being eclipsed by technology. Chaplin had pledged never to produce another film, but during his trip to Indochina, something changed, pivoting him from silent movies to talkies, from social comedy to political satire. 

The fictionalised account of burgeoning doubt in Chaplin’s life may strike readers as Masters’ method of describing the normal progression of a midlife crisis. Certainly, many people who thought they had discovered their true selves by their 40s are hit by a wave of unexpected upheaval that brings buried identity issues to the surface.

Masters was almost exactly Chaplin’s age when he decided to grab his laptop and write this story during the 2020 Covid pandemic. Beginning with a 2,000-word screenplay, Masters quickly expanded upon his character’s history, blending fact with fiction to create the novel.

A reader of Charlot could easily wonder about an unspoken link between Chaplin’s and Masters’ lives. While Chaplin was moving from silent movies to “talkies”, Masters is transitioning from being a multi-awarded screenwriter to a novelist. 

The author told the Globe more about his journey.

Before this book, had you ever thought of becoming an author/novelist?

After my childhood in Congo, I moved back to the U.K. and really loved English literature. I got very involved in theatre and studied English literature at the University of Cambridge. I wasn’t really thinking about writing novels at that time, but I certainly started playing with my writing and imagination. I remember starting to write my first novel in the back of my physics book when I was about 12. I don’t recall having ever finished it. 

I then grew more into screenwriting and in 1999, my partner and I set up a screenwriting training programme in Ghana, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Sierra Leone, where we worked with new writers, new voices and making tonnes of short films.

I did my Masters in screenwriting, but mainly it was just this fascination of listening to people’s stories in different places and trying to think about what to do with all that raw material. You know, as an expert, you’re exposed to lots of weird and wacky character situations, and you try to turn those into stories.

Do you somehow personally relate to the life of Charlie Chaplin? Why this deep interest in him? Do you feel that your lives are somehow similar?

Obviously, my life doesn’t connect with Charlie Chaplin at all. He’s a complete genius, but I think there are things that artists and writers struggle with, as he did to a certain degree. 

One of the first memories I have about Chaplin’s work is being back in the U.K. after years in Congo and sitting in a room with an eight-metre projector showing Charlie Chaplin in “Mabel at the Wheel.” To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it that much until I was in Cambodia a few decades later.

That time, I showed my daughter some of Chaplin’s films and she absolutely adored them, even though she’s a YouTuber-kind of generation.

I then started reading more and more about Chaplin’s life, and I noticed that lots has been done about the early period in his life, but far less about his later life when he was in his middle age.

And obviously, I was getting to my middle age as well and thinking, “Well, what are the kind of questions that artists and filmmakers and writers grapple with?”

People didn’t want the Tramp to speak, but they also needed him to speak because that’s what technology was demanding, and in the end, he had to “kill” the Tramp in order to speak in his own voice in “The Great Dictator.” But after that, his later films and his last few films, you know he was exiled from Hollywood. He was pretty much chucked out.

So that process of struggling with your voice, firstly, trying to find out what your voice is, not trusting your voice, and having all of that impostor syndrome is what I relate the most with Chaplin’s life. 

So now, with this in mind, how did you unfold each chapter of your book? 

It started off as a screenplay. I had written this story all the way through to the end in the form of a screenplay. I thought I’d come and paste that into a Word document and just add some adjectives to make it more fun.

Turned out it wasn’t as easy as that. I obviously had to transpose it from a screenplay into a novel. 

I didn’t want to write another of his biographies. There were already too many of those around. So it was a bit of a challenge to create enough of a fictional story that wouldn’t impact the biographical truth of his life.

But, fortunately, I already had the story in screenplay format. So, when it came to writing the novel, some of it felt very mechanical. It was like I was just transposing scenes into chapters. 

Are you planning to write more books?

I’d love to. Although I’m still writing screenplays at the moment.

My great-grandfather grew up and worked a lot in Congo and he self-published some novels. I was quite interested in talking with my grandfather about these novels and possibly transposing them into a new book. But that would be more of a kind of introspective piece if you like.

I’m also halfway through a novel, which is more about expat life in Cambodia at the moment. A lot lighter and fun and on the historical fiction side of things.

But first, I’m kind of waiting to see how Charlot goes.

What kind of impact are you hoping this book will have on its readers?

Well, I hate that the love for Chaplin is slowly fading away. I’d love to see people get into Chaplin’s work again.

I’d love people to really engage with this book and get some takeaways from the journey with a character they thought they knew, but they’ve learned something more about. 

It would also be fascinating to see it made into a movie because I think that’s when it really comes alive.

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?

Don’t doubt yourself. So I’ve been writing for a long time since I started writing this novel. The advice is, don’t censor yourself. Just have fun with what it is you’re trying to say and try and speak truthfully to it. 

* Charlot will be published in October by Monsoon Books. Read an excerpt here.

The post ‘Charlot’ in Cambodia: New novel explores Charlie Chaplin’s midlife crisis in French Indochina appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

‘Look at us,’ snapped Phirath in disgust. ‘Asleep. Hungry. Spending what we earn on the poppy. In IndoChine it is opium which is the religion of the masses. We must wake our people up!’ ‘It will take more than comedians for the French to give up their pearl,’ said Charlie. His introduction to the politics of the protectorate — and in particularly the cruel reality of the rubber plantations in the French colony – had been a wake-up call. He found the clandestine discussions with his unlikely companion intoxicating and inspiring in equal measure.

‘How can they stop us? All around the country the signs are clear. Change is coming.’

‘Isn’t it always?’ replied Charlie, quickly regretting his easy Western cynicism.

‘We have Khmer newspaper. First time. Khmer graduates from the lycée. The Communist Party of Indochina. The time for acting is over. Now is the time for action.’

They crossed the grand threshold and into the cool dark interior. It was busy with porters and hawkers.

‘If we’re lucky our people compete to earn a few piastres as labourers or porters. But this is just scraps the French throw to us, a cruel competition which turns us against each other.’

He peered through the railings to the rear of the station, following the platforms until they extended beyond the main structure and into the open air. A handful of steam locomotives idled. Porters rushed with suitcases, trunks and cargo. Charlie joined him as the Battambang train arrived at the platform. The din and the smell of coal were an elixir. Steam hissed, whistles blew and there was a screech of brakes.

The two men exchanged glances. There was something in Charlie’s expression that made Phirath smile. He saw that familiar moment of inspiration, that first fizz of an artist’s creative neurons reacting to stimulus. ‘Tell me what you see.’

‘A railway scene, a set piece. After his arrival in the docks as a stowaway from America, this will be the moment that launches the story of Colonial Subjects.’

‘Explain.’

‘The Little Fellow’s unexpected departure on the train to Battambang in pursuit of the governor’s daughter.’

‘Go on. Maybe I can help?’

For an answer, Charlie lifted his camera to his eye and looked through the lens. The station was no longer the scene in front of Charlie. It was the studio backlot version of it, in black and white – an embryonic first vision of a Chaplin silent comedy.

ESTABLISHING SHOT: the main station’s grand art deco façade.

Tilting down a pillar on one side of the entrance to a sign which reads ‘Porters Required’.

There’s a queue in front of the sign – a line of labourers all wearing identical rice paddy hats. As we pan down the line, the pattern is broken by one lone derby hat – belonging to the indomitable Tramp. He’s beside Phirath in the line but Phirath shakes his head dismissively at the Tramp’s inappropriate choice of headwear. The Tramp looks first to Phirath, then to the porters to his left, clearly worried.

Before the Tramp can react, a French station master in uniform emerges and the line surges. In the hubbub the Tramp swaps his hat for his neighbour’s. A whistle blows and the labourers flatten against the station wall for inspection as the station master walks down the line. Until he reaches the derby on the unsuspecting Khmer labourer’s head. He’s yanked from the line and sent to the back. This starts a pantomime of hat swapping down the line as everyone tries to pass on the offensive derby. Distracted by

this, the labourers don’t notice as Phirath pulls the Tramp down to a crouch and they crawl through the station master’s legs to reach the front of the line. The Tramp taps the burly official on the shoulder and gestures inside with a sheepish grin. The station master’s bulging eyes narrow. He checks the line, then the odd couple at the front of it, perplexed. Undeterred, the Tramp pulls out a handkerchief and dusts down the station master’s lapels with a shrug and a grin, desperate to find favour. The station master bats him away irritably, but nods for them to go inside.

WIDE SHOT: a steam train idles inside the station. Smoke and steam billow.

CUT TO: The Tramp and Phirath wait on the platform. They are now dressed in the uniforms of official station porters complete with baggage trolleys. The Tramp picks up a discarded cigarette butt and puts it in his pocket for later as a train rumbles into the station billowing more smoke and steam. All the porters wait, eyeing the doors (and each other) – primed for customers. The first door opens and the Tramp is off, rushing over to the nearest door with his trolley, but another porter beats him to it and shoves his trolley aside. Further down the train another door opens. The Tramp runs over, but with the same outcome. He’s being outmanoeuvred by the more experienced porters.

At the second carriage, a porter has positioned himself to help an ELDERLY DOWAGER preparing to disembark. The Tramp taps him on the shoulder and gestures back to an irate-looking station master glaring in their direction. The porter gulps, worried – but while his back is turned, the Tramp kicks the porter’s trolley away and replaces it with his own. He doffs his derby for an elderly grand dame dowager and offers his hand to help her off the train. She hangs her hatbox on it, ignoring his gallantry.

But when he turns to put it on his trolley, the disgruntled porter has pushed the Tramp’s trolley down the platform and replaced it with his own. And gives the Tramp an angry glare. The Tramp is livid. They push and shove each other’s trolleys, ramming each other out of the way and shaking their fists, until they realise that Phirath has snuck through and is now helping the grand dame dowager with her baggage. The trunks and cases are piled precariously on his trolley.

That’s when a poodle runs through their legs. The argument is forgotten as the Tramp sees again the governor’s daughter beside the governor, approaching from the end of the platform. She looks horrified, hand up to her mouth and shouting:

INTERTITLE: Descartes! My darling Descartes!

Descartes, the poodle, has climbed to the top of the pile of the grand dame dowager’s luggage on Phirath’s trolley. The furious porter, feeling cheated by both the Tramp and Phirath, pulls the bottom case of the pile out to put on his trolley. The pile jolts lower, with Descartes on top. Each case is swiped out; each time a bewildered Descartes plunges lower and lower until finally it leaps into the Tramp’s arms.

The governor’s daughter is there in an instant and the Tramp hands over Descartes with a shy smile. A hand taps him on the shoulder. It’s the governor. He glares at the Tramp and shouts:

INTERTITLE: Put our luggage on the Battambang Train.

First Class.

He hands the Tramp a piastre coin. The Tramp grins.

CUT TO: the interior of the baggage compartment on the Battambang train. The Tramp whistles to himself, pleased as punch, as he stacks the last of the governor’s trunks on the train. Job done, he walks down the carriage, nodding to the French passengers, and doffing his derby to the ladies. He passes the governor’s daughter in her seat by an open window, her folded parasol and dog beside her. The heat is unbearable, and she fans herself. The Tramp doffs his derby, but she’s completely oblivious to him and stares instead at the bustle on the platform. But Descartes sees the Tramp. He barks once and then leaps out of the open window. The governor’s daughter shrieks. A handkerchief dabs her eyes, she looks to the Tramp, pleading. He nods gallantly, about to set off when the whistle hoots and the train begins to pull away …

As the train moves slowly out of the station, the Tramp sees Phirath holding Descartes. He grabs the parasol from beside the governor’s daughter and runs down the carriage, leaping over the connections to the next carriage, and the next, until he’s at the back of the train.

Phirath is running towards him, hands outstretched holding Descartes.

Closer and closer Phirath runs, but the train is building up speed. The Tramp holds out the parasol from the tip and hooks Descartes collar and pulls him into the train as Phirath leaps aboard. They clap each other on the back as the tracks rush away beneath them.

INTERTITLE: Tickets please!

Shock on their faces. They turn to see the ticket collector passing through the last carriage checking and punching tickets. He sees them at the back of the train holding a poodle and a parasol. His eyes narrow. The Tramp and Phirath look back, but the tracks are rushing away too fast now to jump.

The Tramp retrieves the piastre coin from the governor but Phirath shakes his head.

‘It’s OK for you,’ he says. ‘But the punishment for Khmer to ride train with no ticket is ten years. Ten years hard labour.’

The Tramp stares at him open-mouthed. ‘What?’ asks Phirath, confused.

‘What are you doing?’ the Tramp shouts, ignoring the ticket collector barreling towards them.

‘I don’t understand.’ ‘You’re … you’re talking!’ ‘So are you,’ quips Phirath.

Charlie’s sketch came to an abrupt halt with Phirath’s verbal intrusions. The filmmaker lowered his camera, annoyed. The younger actor looked at his idol with a sadness in his eyes.

‘What must be said cannot be limited to intertitles, to a few cards,’ he said, his voice firm but friendly.

‘Then I need to rework the scene. The Little Fellow doesn’t speak.’

‘Think of the power if he did.’

Charlie glared at him, but the hour started to chime on the big station clock.

‘I’m late.’ And he put his camera back into his bag and rushed through the station and into the twilight. He was already at the line of rickshaws when Phirath caught up with him.

‘Forgive me, Saklo,’ Phirath said, worried that his comment had

jeopardised their budding friendship and creative collaboration. There was a lot riding on it, although Charlie didn’t know that yet. Before Charlie could respond they saw the headlights of a police car enter the square and circle round in front of the station entrance, coming to a stop close to the line of rickshaws. The driver immediately stepped down and opened the rear passenger door. It was Le Favre.

‘Merde,’ muttered Phirath.

‘Do you think he wants my autograph?’ said Charlie. The captain’s persistence was beginning to rattle the filmmaker.

Phirath leant into Charlie so they wouldn’t be overheard and whispered, ‘It’s he who stopped Yen Bai in Vietnam. Forty men sentenced to death. Over nothing. And don’t be fooled by the governor either. He and the rubber plantation owners are in this exploitation together. They take what they like, do what they like. We will talk more, but now you must go.’

He told the rickshaw driver where to take his guest and Charlie climbed into the back. Before they pulled away, Phirath grabbed Charlie’s arm.

‘Saklo, in two days we perform in Battambang. It would be an honour if you would grace the performance with your presence. I must be honest with you. It is not just an honour. If you believe that we have the right to challenge the excesses of the French protectorate, your presence would … it would give us greater … visibility. The press follows you everywhere. Think about it, I beg you.’

Charlie barely had time to acknowledge this heartfelt request when the captain barreled over. Phirath turned his face away.

‘Was I not clear, Monsieur Chaplin?’ said the captain.

For a moment Charlie was caught between Phirath’s request and Le Favre’s irritating threats. But it was the manner of the Frenchman’s intrusion which made up his mind.

‘I’ll be there,’ he whispered to Phirath. ‘I promise.’

The young actor walked off into the darkness. Charlie turned his attention to Le Favre and offered his wrists to the policeman. ‘I wasn’t aware that taking a walk was a criminal offence, Sergeant Le Favre.’

‘It’s Captain Le Favre. As you well know.’

Le Favre trailed off when he caught sight of Phirath melting into the darkness beyond the nighttime street stalls. His eyes narrowed.

‘What do you want to achieve in Indochina, Mr Chaplin?

Perhaps it would be best if you would just speak your mind.’

Charlie thought about that for a moment, choosing his words carefully. It was an opportunity, and he knew it.

‘Very well,’ he replied eventually. ‘I am struggling to understand why Modern Times has been approved for screening in every country of the Far East and beyond, every single one, except for French Indochina? I believe that this was on your insistence. I am no threat, and neither are my motion pictures.’

Le Favre glared at the filmmaker. ‘Perhaps in America they are seen only as light entertainment. But it is the opinion of the governor that you and your films are dangerous to the status quo of this colony. In America you may be a celebrity, Monsieur Chaplin, but here you are a guest of French-administered Cambodia, and I would remind you once again to keep your Hollywood politics out of Indochina. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Is that a threat, Captain? Are you going to arrest me for

walking? Now that would be front page news.’

He dropped his wrists and eyeballed the captain. It was the Frenchman who looked away first.

‘Very well then. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for the governor’s garden party.’

The post Book excerpt: ‘Charlot’ by Ian Masters appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

On 18 July, the International Criminal Court (ICC) rejected the Philippines’ appeal to halt an international investigation into alleged crimes committed between 2011 and 2019 under a mantle of legitimacy. According to a civil society leader, moments after the ICC ruling an old woman – still grieving her grandson’s killing in 2019 – breathed her last, awaiting justice that may yet be far in the future.

“This is a kind of victory but still needs more work to be done,” said Deaconess Rubylin G. Litao, coordinator of the United Methodist Church-led organisation Rise Up for Life and for Rights. She spoke after attending the Manila funeral of the woman, a fellow organiser, but declined to give her name in hopes of protecting the surviving family.

“Some families have been waiting for this for almost a decade, while others didn’t survive long enough,” Litao said. “There are still nameless victims who were killed by this war. There are more families who are still silent and are trying to bury the truth.”

Officially, about 6,000 people were reported killed in the war on drugs between 2016 and 2019. Litao and her alliance believe thousands more victims have not been recorded – the ICC prosecutor has claimed as many as 30,000 people were killed in that same period.

The Philippines formally withdrew from the ICC in 2019, about a year after the organisation announced intent to look into killings related to the drugs crackdown. Two years later, in 2021, the ICC prosecutor requested authorisation from the pre-trial chamber to initiate an investigation. 

But after years of debate over the alleged ineffectiveness and partiality of a domestic inquiry into the war on drugs, the ICC upheld last month its ability to carry on its international probe, rejecting the Philippines’ appeal to keep things behind closed doors. The latest court ruling means its investigation will continue, though President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has already declared his intention to stay out of it. 

In recent comments to the Filipino press, he pointed to “very serious questions about their jurisdiction and about what we consider to be interference and attacks on the sovereignty of the Republic.” 

“We are essentially disengaging from any contact, from any communication with the ICC,” Marcos Jr. said.

Shortly after he became president in 2016, Duterte launched a brutal crackdown on drug-related crimes. He authorised police to arrest or kill those involved with illegal drugs under two operations, or “plans”, packaged under a campaign known as “Double Barrel”. 

These operations included “Tokhang”, which targeted suspected low-level users or dealers at their homes, and “High-Value Target”, which aimed at bigger industry players.

This campaign is central to the ICC’s inquiry, but the scope of its proposed investigation would run even deeper than that, ranging from November 2011, when the Philippines became a member of the court, and March 2019, when it pulled out.

As part of that, the court accepted the request to extend its inquiry beyond Duterte’s war on drugs to include the so-called “Davao Death Squad”.

When Duterte was mayor of Davao City, between 2011 and 2016 and prior to his election as president, 385 extrajudicial killings were allegedly carried out by local authorities. Duterte implemented a hard-core approach to drug-related crimes and during his presidential campaign openly committed to investing in a bloody “war on drugs”.

Soon after the ICC authorised the investigation, the Philippines filed a request for a deferral, claiming the court lacked jurisdiction over crimes committed in the country after it withdrew from the court. In January of this year, the pre-trial chamber granted the prosecutor’s request to resume investigations, confirming the court’s jurisdiction over activities when the Philippines was a member. Marcos Jr. filed another appeal, which was rejected by the court’s latest pre-trial chamber decision. 

The ICC prosecutor’s office, which is conducting the investigation, stated it had worked with the Filipino government during the deferral process and “hopes to explore ways to cooperate with all parties concerned”.

Litao’s alliance is one of them. The organisation is committed to continuing its engagement with the community and supporting families to seek justice for their loved ones.

“I believe the international community saw the struggles of the Filipino people, especially the victims’ families,” Litao said. “We are happy and we wish to further cooperate with the International Criminal Court in this investigation.”

The civil society backbone of the country is gathering strength to prepare for the victims’ defence before the ICC, said attorney Theodore O. Te, regional coordinator for the National Capital Region at Free Legal Assistance Group (FLAG). 

“We are helping out some of the claimants and supporting our lawyers who have applied for accreditation with ICC to be assistant counsel,” he said. “Realistically, I don’t think the office of the prosecutor can expect official assistance coming from the Philippine government.”

It has been less intense but it’s still there. Killings are still happening.” 

Theodore O. Te, regional coordinator with the Free Legal Assistance Group

The Marcos administration is yet to invalidate any of Duterte’s official documents that served as the legal justification for extrajudicial executions or other human rights breaches, and has been accused of rights workers as continuing the bloodshed in a quieter fashion

FLAG has challenged these Duterte-era declarations with the Supreme Court and is now awaiting its decision. If the court rules these issuances are illegal or unconstitutional, the war on drugs loses its official authority and legitimacy, Te explained. 

Although the priority remains domestic justice, Te believes there is little chance the killings can be addressed at a national level under the current government. The ICC, he said, seems to be the only available judicial means. 

“The Filipinos are not so enamoured with the idea of having to go to the ICC. We don’t have a choice,” he said. “But we are also realistic enough to know that the ICC is not perfect.” 

The Filipino people themselves, Te said, will have to pave the way for accountability to be enforced at a community level. That is only possible through a conscious political process ‌ that turns away from violence and prioritises human rights, he said. 

“The war on drugs unofficially was commenced by Duterte. It has in a sense changed now. It has been less intense but it’s still there. Killings are still happening,” Te said.

The post Overriding appeals, ICC to investigate Philippines drug-war killings appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

They built a rustic house with corrugated steel on a small plot of land that they’d bought in 2008. There, they began selling everyday products to repay their debts and support their children’s education. 

But their economic struggles kept growing. By 2021, during the Covid-19 pandemic peak, the couple could no longer afford enough food for their children.

“He decided to ask his mom to allow him to use her land title to take more loans to buy more stuff to sell and to feed our kids,” Raksmey said, talking about her husband. “Life was so difficult because we were so poor and didn’t have knowledge, because he quit school in grade seven and I quit school in grade six.”

The couple and their six children are now one of the 75 poorest families in Siem Reap, as selected by an informal settlement relocation project led by the non-governmental organisation Habitat for Humanity Cambodia. In partnership with the local government, the non-profit aims at providing the selected households with a stable and safe house environment and ensuring their long-term financial stability.

The programme is one of many of its kind across fast-urbanising Southeast Asia as stories such as Raksmey’s become increasingly common. According to reports from the UN Development Programme (UNDP) and other institutions, Asia-Pacific is home to the largest concentration of people living in urban poverty. As regional cities absorb newcomers seeking economic opportunity and better access to public services, governments are pushed to find ways to absorb them into the social fabric. 

“[The region] is more urban than rural since 2019, and the trend is that the urban population will continue growing in comparison to the rural one,” said Luis Noda, Asia-Pacific vice president at Habitat for Humanity International. “Many people are migrating to the cities looking for better opportunities. Unfortunately, this growth in population is surpassing the urban planning capacity of cities and newcomers end up living in informal settlements.”

If we decide to move, we’re not sure that we will earn the same income to repay the debt.”

Un Raksmey

Currently, one in four people in Cambodia lives in urban areas, according to the World Bank. In the Philippines, that number is one in two. About 40% of the urban population in these countries live in informal settlements. In conflict-stricken Myanmar, the bank’s latest data suggests 58% of the population is living in slums.

The stakes for better housing are high, not only for families but also for national interests.  Habitat for Humanity asserts improving informal settlements can boost a country’s GDP by as much as 10.5% while improving quality of life for residents. 

However, urban informal settlements do offer some benefits – namely cheap accommodation in areas where the poor might otherwise be priced out. Resettlement locations are often far-removed from city centres where residents can find better-paid work, and those who move away often struggle to rebuild their livelihoods.

This is the fear of Raksmey and her husband. The newly built resettlement village, named Veal, is six kilometres out of town. While most of the other families have already relocated, the couple is postponing to keep the little income they have managed to earn through their small shop.

“The reason [why] I am still here is because there are more customers here so we still can earn enough money to repay the debt,” Raksmey said. “And if we decide to move there, we’re not sure that we will earn the same income [as here] to repay the debt.”

As marginalised families such as Raksmey’s weigh their options on the urban fringe, international non-profits have pushed more of their own focus into the region.

More than half of Habitat for Humanity’s global network is currently working on a campaign to address inadequate housing for informal settlements across the Asia-Pacific, from Nepal to Australia. 

Much of this work is based in Southeast Asia. The organisation is doing policy work and identifying funding for housing rehabilitation in Indonesia while carrying out other major resettlement projects in Vietnam, Cambodia and Myanmar. 

Pushed into an economic spiral by the 2021 military coup, Myanmar’s issues with urban poverty have become dire for many residents. 

 The risk of forced evictions since the military seized power has grown immensely.” 

UNDP Myanmar Resident Representative Titon Mitra

“It is essential to also consider [that] low-income urban areas in Myanmar often lack basic services and infrastructure,” said UNDP Myanmar Resident Representative Titon Mitra, pointing to how many may people have to travel further and spend more money on accessing clean water. “This further squeezes already low incomes and reduces the time for work or education. In the worst cases, people may risk illness using unclean sources.”  

Yangon’s urban poor are those who are facing the harsher consequences of the bloody chapter of civil war started by the coup. Although not a conflict zone, the country’s largest city is home to thousands of internally displaced persons. 

With that, a January UNDP report projected Yangon’s poverty rate to triple from 13.7% in 2017 to 41.9% in 2022.

“These people often live in informal settlements too, where their homes are flimsy and impermanent, and conditions are typically squalid and cramped,” Mitra said. “What’s more, the risk of forced evictions since the military seized power has grown immensely.” 

According to his experience, people living in informal settlements – many of whom have lived there for decades – may be given just a few days’ notice to dismantle their homes and move out with no offer of an alternative place to live.

People living in the city’s poorest townships earn 30% less than those in the rest of the region and are more vulnerable to a host of social issues such as violence against women, limited access to drinkable water and school dropouts of children, according to the UNDP research.

“To create sustainable solutions to decrease urban poverty, it is critical to create more opportunities for people, including work and education,” Mitra said. “There needs to be support to the private sector to create jobs and efforts to train the workforce to fill those roles.”

In an attempt to ease their conditions, the non-governmental organisation Step-in Step-up Academy, a delivery arm for UNDP, has been providing vocational training to Yangon youths.

Jackie Appel, the organisation’s founder, said the highest demand before the coup was usually in healthcare, office work and hospitality.

“We go out and we look for available jobs. We then create a tailored curriculum and call these very vulnerable people to join our training sessions,” Appel said. “But we cannot do this successfully without giving them food, vaccinating them, providing medical care and a stipend they can take home every month to give to their families.” 

The number of trainees varies according to the job availability in Yangon and their age must be over 18. However, many families forge their children’s age in official documents to have them selected for the training. 

We have to be able to get them jobs first. If there are no jobs, they can’t sustain their houses.”

Jackie Appel,, founder of Step-in Step-up Academy in Yangon

“This created another whole new area of concern,” Appel said. “But you can’t prove whether they are 18 or 14. Yet we couldn’t kick them out because they would be the perfect trafficked or exploited group of people. They’re the most vulnerable.”

Regardless of their real age, young adults have the potential to become breadwinners and support the cost of newly provided houses. But Appel also said, the potential to earn relies on opportunities being available – a factor outside a nonprofit’s control.

“Of course, these young people can sustain their own houses and their own communities,” she said. “But we have to be able to get them jobs first. If there are no jobs, they can’t sustain their houses.”

Post-coup Myanmar represents a particularly challenging landscape for international aid, but in general tight cooperation between institutions is key to successful housing improvement projects. Ensuring families can sustain themselves long-term is crucial for their well-being and that of their country, according to all the experts who spoke with the Globe.

In Cambodia, the most visible relocation project – a massive resettlement of thousands of families from Angkor Park in Siem Reap, home of the country’s historic temples – has cut a difficult path. Residents said they were forced from the park into a new zone far outside the city, away from the stream of tourists that many had relied on to make a living.

Habitat for Humanity was uninvolved with that effort, which is being handled solely by the Cambodian government. The nonprofit’s resettlement project at Veal village ensures the new residents are attached to an existing community, so the new families can integrate and work with local partners to find the support they need. The families also receive a range of training programmes, from vocational skills to family planning and basic land law.

“The lack of adequate housing in informal settlements is complex enough that no individual organisation can effectively tackle it alone,” Habitat for Humanity’s Noda said. 

For resettlement at Veal, selection criteria included areas such as land ownership, household income of less than $1.90 per person a day, house size smaller than 4 square metres per person or the disability of a family member.

The chosen households were considered as the most vulnerable and hazardous and at high risk of living illegally on the state land, on infrastructure such as roads, canals or sewage systems. New Veal resident Lampo Leap, 35, said she was “excited” with the move.

“We no longer live in an odoured place,” Leap said. “Living along the canal was terrible. [The smell] affected our health. Living here, my mother sleeps better, and in the morning there is fresh air coming in.”

Leap is the deputy leader of the newly-built community, as well as a mother of a 10-year-old girl. She left her job at a local hotel four years ago, when her 73-year-old mother, who is now blind, started needing daily care. They have both been widows for more than a decade and have been relying on Leap’s brother’s income from his job in Thailand.

On a June afternoon in Veal, community leader Kung Sothy, 75, sat next to Leap after returning from a nearby bank to retrieve the monthly salaries for the village’s sewing group. 

“While I am having a good house and permanent place to reside, I try to find more income [for my community] so that in the future we won’t face difficulty like before,” Sothy said.

The post As regional cities expand, urban poor risk being left behind appeared first on Southeast Asia Globe.

Once heralded as a potential blueprint for a more humane kind of incarceration, the penal colony on the island of Pulau Senang quickly became synonymous with chaos and bloodshed. In 1963, the detainees held on the island revolted, burning the structures they’d built themselves and murdering British Superintendent Daniel Stanley Dutton and three other warders. 

Though the riots garnered international coverage, the story quickly became muted, eclipsed in the wake of Singapore’s independence two years later. It was this slipping from collective memory that intrigued British director and producer Tom St John Gray, a long-time resident of the city-state who sought to unearth the story of Pulau Senang for modern audiences. The two-part documentary, Riot Island, devised and produced by award-winning Singapore-based Peddling Pictures, aired in October. It was commissioned by broadcaster CNA and is now available to watch on CNA Insider’s YouTube platform.

“[In the middle of] a well-told Singaporean narrative of  a nation emerging from colonial order was kind of an almost unknown story,” he told the Globe. “As a filmmaker, you’re really drawn to something that’s faded from history.”

In an interview, St John Gray shared more about the process of uncovering history and sharing the story of Pulau Senang with the world. 

What was it that drew you to the Pulau Senang prison island and inspired you to tell this story?
In the 1950s and 1960s, there’s this well-told Singaporean narrative of a nation emerging from colonial order, the end of empire, and Singapore’s road to self-rule and independence. And then, across that sort of decade, there was the merger [with Malaysia], separation, race riots, Konfrontasi, all seismic events. 

[And] the middle of all these, these very well-known events was [an] almost unknown story, very self-contained, happening on an island in Singapore. 

I felt as a filmmaker, as a storyteller, it always felt Shakespearean – this grand tragedy playing out on this sort of mysterious, almost mythical island. It was full of hope and ambition and ended in hubris and death.

When we started to make this documentary, at the beginning, I spoke to lots of people and the majority of people had never heard of it before. And so that’s obviously as a filmmaker, you’re really drawn to something which kind of feels very interesting and intriguing. Why has it faded from history? And it was a major event at the time, which is a curiosity in itself. Why did something which was always in the newspapers, always in the headlines, it was a coffee shop talking point that faded from consciousness.

Did you discover the answer? Why did the story of Pulau Senang fade from public consciousness? 
It kind of got moved out of the hierarchy of trauma, I guess, of  Singapore in the 1960s. But I also do think it’s really telling when you look at the pedigree of the island, in a sense, that it was spearheaded by a number of people, including (future third president of Singapore) Devan Nair. 

And later on, when it came to fruition, this island was visited by the VIPs, the great leaders of the time. Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew, the president, all who at that time [were] young politicians, they’re coming to this full of hope. So I think the unmitigated disaster that erupted just two years later must have been a very deep cut. If you pay so much money and attention towards this project and it fails so cataclysmically it must have been very difficult at the time to reconcile that. It was a terrible disaster that smashed a lot of hopes and dreams. And so, in some sense, there’s an element of historical amnesia – why would you want to remember this story?

Do you think the attack on British Superintendent Dutton can be viewed as a microcosm of wider attitudes and resentment towards British colonial rule?
Dutton was a man of the colonial era of the British Empire, a system that believed in British rule. He’s obviously married to [Malay-Singaporean fashion designer] Vicky Dutton [so] had a connection to this Malay world and he also spoke Hokkien. So that was interesting, in a sense, as to how Dutton is seen. 

Certainly some people we spoke to said Dutton would have been a target because he was symbolised as Britain, British rule. But I think that’s a difficult one to know about ever finding any specific evidence. Very grisly ends were meted out to the other three men who died, so I certainly would advocate that maybe these are just people in positions of power. 

These are gang members who had their own power on the mainland, and they were taken to his island and were all pretty much rendered powerless. So you would look to those people who are wielding that power, who are calling the shots, and I think whoever would have been in that position would have been hated or reviled by a group within the island.

What do you think it was that ultimately triggered his death?
The fact that he lived on the island in the early days in a tent alongside the men and the fact he seemed to have the respect for the men at the beginning shows that perhaps the problem was the corruption that happened later on, the corruption of the guards, maybe the corruption of his mind as accolades and honours grew up around him. It was already a gold star prison [and] rehabilitation centre, but Dutton was driven to overreach. And I think that’s what triggered his demise.

You spoke to some of the last surviving detainees of Pulau Senang. What did they share and what did you learn from their stories and experiences? 
What’s really fascinating is that when you talk to these people who’ve been there, they are very matter-of-fact, they had witnessed all of this, but it was something that was very much of their experience. But what I also noticed was that the trauma that lingers from this was very much alive. Lots of people we spoke to, who would not talk on camera, [this is] still very heavy for them, this is something that was within them and their families today. 

People felt worried about talking about secret society members or the events that might have happened and no matter if those threats exist now or not, it just shows that they were lingering. There was something that was so seared into their memory, seared into their psyche.

Tell me a little bit about the process of sharing those stories and making the documentary. 
Peddling Pictures wanted to make a series that was research-heavy and rich in historical detail. The team had this whiteboard where we wrote down the names of all 18 men who were executed, but also alongside that other key men who were part of the group – obviously Dutton and some of the officers – and we really put that as a marker of who we could find, who still exists today. So that became our motivation: there must be people around who are willing to talk to us who can give us a new perspective on this.

We set out to track down these people and that took months of everything from going into the traditional routes, like going into libraries, looking at files, reading books, to trawling through social media and genealogy sites. And that’s how we found Michael [Dutton], through a genealogy site, and we found other members of the Dutton family on a Facebook post.

Episode One is more complimentary about Dutton and his achievements and Episode Two shows the darker side emerging. And that was important, layering in historical documents, historical facts and events, kind of getting a sense of the story but also not letting it be bogged down by too much history.

How did you approach the reenactments of the riots? 
Peddling Pictures filmed the drama reenactments in Thailand with a large cast and crew, and with locations, props and wardrobe that needed to look historically accurate. There were many team discussions about how to correctly depict the terrible death and destruction that later ensued. I think what was really important for us was to say this was an island with a name that translates to “Island of Ease”. There was this tranquillity which was then jolted into this absolute carnage, this sort of eruption. People met their end and in a very grisly way. 

But also there were scores and scores of guards and people around who were very badly injured, who survived but had terrible injuries. So I think it was really important for us to show this kind of jolting violence to take the audience into why it was so shocking. And I think if you don’t have those moments of carnage, it’s hard to understand why down the line 58 men would face potential death penalty and why 18 men were sent to the gallows.

The documentary was a three-time winner at the recent New York Festivals TV & Film Awards 2023 in April. How have you felt about the reception of the “Riot Island’ documentary?
What was really heartening was that when you make history documentaries, you try and make it for a broad audience. You don’t just want history buffs, you want to attract people from across the gamut. And I think [it reached] people who weren’t normally interested in 1960s Singapore history, people from across different generations. It felt like a fresh take on the era, something they hadn’t heard before. 

And getting these accolades, it was really heartening to realise that something very local can be recognised on a global level. It showed there are so many interesting facets out there about Singapore that have not been told, it’s a really rich history with lots of themes and stories that need to be shared. It wasn’t just a Singapore story, it was a story relatable to everyone, a story of great promise, great tragedy and with this very bloody retribution at the end. 

What, with decades of hindsight, would you say is the main lesson learnt from the Pulau Senang riot? 
You could learn about law and order, about having the right people in the right job. But for me, the reason it’s so tragic is there’s this question: “What if?”

In the first year, we see there’s a huge success rate, detainees who were rehabilitated. And obviously we now know with hindsight, that that’s not so rosy, because these men were detained without trial and they were essentially used as workhorses. But, with that in mind, what if? What if Dutton hadn’t pushed them too hard? What if he had set in motion this incredible infrastructure, where men could work on the island and be able to really contribute something meaningful to society? And my final feeling is: would the Singapore system be different today because of that? 

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Yet numerous studies and real-world examples show that quiet or inactive streets are not the pinnacle of safety that we would otherwise expect them to be. Instead, it’s busy streets that signify not only safe neighbourhoods, but socially, mentally and economically positive ones.

Phnom Penh already has many active streets and public spaces, but the right formula can ensure that every street and public space is as safe as possible.

“Eyes on the street”

The renowned urbanist and writer Jane Jacobs was one of the first thinkers to popularise the concept of the lively street as an instrument of public safety.

According to Jacobs, a safe street has several main characteristics. Among these characteristics is the idea of “eyes on the street,” a phrase Jacobs coined in her book The Death and Life of Great American Cities as a way to visualise the idea that a lively street is one that has people who watch over it.

Her solution for a safe street was to have streets watched over by residents, pedestrians, and street vendors using the street. In order for occupants to see the street, Jacobs suggested that buildings must face the streets with plenty of “permeable” surfaces, such as windows and doors. This system of street watching deters crime while assuring street users that it is safe for walking.

It should be noted that crime is still possible on a busy street or in a busy place such as a market. Pickpockets and purse-grabbers may still find a chance to hit their marks but with only one shout from the victims, everyone within the vicinity is alerted and ready to help the victims. Compare that to a deserted street where chances of getting help are slim.

In the​ recent case of a street robbery in the capital’s Por Senchey district, the thieves preyed on a victim leaving their home but were soon intercepted by bystanders and handed over to the police. And in another case in the city’s Sen Sok district, a purse snatcher was similarly nabbed by people in the vicinity. For both of these examples, simply having these “eyes on the street” helped create the means to stop crime immediately as it happened.

Reducing violent crime by livening up a desolate street

A case study from the city of Dallas, Texas, can illustrate the public security impact that transforming a desolate stretch of street into a bustling public space can have.

Malcolm X plaza was once an area surrounded by vacant lots and bad sidewalks.

These desolate streets were one of the most dangerous areas in the city. Before an initiative revamped the plaza in 2019, violent gun crime was 564 times more likely to happen there than anywhere else in southeastern Dallas.

In 2021 and 2022, a local non-profit, Child Poverty Action Lab, teamed up with the nonprofit Better Block Foundation to target and “activate” an empty lot in the neighbourhood. The lot went from being empty and vacant to hosting events ranging from Friday movie nights to Saturday basketball tournaments. By turning this empty stretch of property into a lively gathering space, the initiative produced real results in terms of public safety without any increase in traditional policing.

Data gathered by Better Block following these interventions found that keeping streets lively with neighbours engaged led to reductions in crime. Violent crime fell by 59% compared with 2019, with a 20% decrease in arrests. In total, this area, which had been the highest-risk neighbourhood in the police department’s patrol division, dropped to 463rd on that same ranked list.

Malcolm X Plaza shows how the space of lives and activities can be the key to a safer street. As in the words of Jacobs: “A well-used city street is apt to be a safe street”.

These efforts to improve street safety through busier and livelier streets can be similarly explored in Southeast Asia.

In Cambodia, a culture of bustling streets

Phnom Penh has several factors in its favour when it comes to street liveliness.

Lively streets are already the norm in many parts of the city. On the streets that run alongside the bustling Orussey Market, people come and go throughout the day to shop at the fish and vegetable vendors which border the roads. Amidst the alleyways nearby, outdoor eateries attract regular customers and passers-by to come for breakfast, lunch, afternoon coffee and more.

The spontaneous and vibrant nature of this type of Phnom Penh street is often overlooked or even regarded as a negative characteristic. This has bubbled up in instances when officials sweep street vendors from their locations for public order reasons, or label such vendors as the reason for traffic congestion. While some Phnom Penh residents may see these kinds of streets as too loud or too bustling, these lively areas are key commercial areas, where the bustle of daily life attracts even more people.

The use of these streets for commerce is one factor in making them lively, but another lies in the buildings that run beside them. Of these, perhaps none are more conducive to life than the shophouse. These ubiquitous structures are row-homes with the ground floor being often a shop or business while the upper level is mainly used as a residence.

Shophouses have long been the most common building typology in Phnom Penh and are an ideal configuration for the “eyes on the street” dynamic while ensuring the vibrancy of mixed-use neighbourhoods.

The capital already has these built-in features keeping streets lively. But there are also several factors Phnom Penh leaders should prioritise for improvement, to better ensure more active and therefore more secure streets.

Room for improvement

The first impediment standing in the way of livelier Phnom Penh streets is the lack of usable sidewalks.

This is because they’re often occupied by businesses extending their storefront, or otherwise for parking for motorbikes and cars. The most misunderstood aspect of Cambodian streets is that sidewalks are a private space – in reality, they are within the public realm.

This leads to the privatisation of these pavements that would lead to an inactive street.

Viewed from this perspective, our lack of sidewalks isn’t just a mobility problem, it’s also a public safety problem. Streets that only experience fast-moving vehicles through traffic and no slower-moving foot traffic are bound to feel less safe.

If Phnom Penh is to incentivise foot traffic, however, another critical point would need to be addressed. In a city where, for parts of the year, the temperatures soar into the high 30s or even low 40s Celsius, more shade coverage is necessary to keep people in the streets.

Phnom Penh must also be intentional about avoiding some of the most worrisome causes of street inactivity. One of these factors is the proliferation of empty lots and abandoned, half-completed construction projects. For a cautionary tale that spells out the negative impacts of this urban issue, look no further than the city of Sihanoukville, where hundreds of half-finished buildings have contributed to criminality and other public safety and public health issues.

Sihanoukville was popular in its casino and hospitality industry by Chinese investors. But after the ban on online gambling and the subsequent Covid-19 pandemic, many of the buildings became abandoned, leading to a deteriorating and unsafe look of the city.

For Phnom Penh’s existing empty lots, it would be wise to take inspiration from a place like Odom Garden, which repurposed a large lot which otherwise would have sat vacant for several months until construction on the land began. Instead, the lot was converted into a temporary public green space or “pop-up” with a liveliness augmented by commercial activities.

Pop-up gardens such as this one, which make use of an empty or unused space even just temporarily, should be an experimental ground for planners and designers to see what works and what doesn’t.

Healthy arteries for a healthy public

While safety is an obvious byproduct of lively streets, it’s also important to note the less tangible impacts.

When residents feel a strong social bond with one another, they are better able to create lively streets and lively neighbourhoods. But the causal relationship also runs in the opposite direction.

In one research paper on the “Busy Street Theory”, the authors note: “Neighbourhoods where residents feel safe and comfortable being outside are typically characterised by socially active streets. Furthermore, positive street activity promotes socialising between neighbours, enhances monitoring of neighbourhood activity, promotes patronage to local businesses, and helps to maintain the existing infrastructure.”

If activities within the neighbourhood foster informal interaction, residents are more likely to be able to connect with one another. For example, parents accompanying their children to a playground within a pop-up garden in their neighbourhood may deepen their ties simply through that regular proximity and the ease of conversation that it creates.

The liveliness and messiness of Phnom Penh is not something that we should seek to get rid of. Rather, it is at the heart of what makes our streets and city safe.

Prak Norak is a Future Forum junior research fellow and an architecture student currently studying at Pannasastra University. His interests are art and small-space architecture, where man-made buildings harmonize with nature

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