Making Friends and Enemies

Saturday 19th December 2009, 8pm, Monkey Republic Guest House - Sihanoukville

I got myself in to an argument with a 26 year old Norwegian guy the other night. I have mentioned previously that when we were on Koh Chang I met someone who I took a disliking to. When this happened I managed to remain civil, polite, pseudo-friendly, and then just discreetly avoided spending time in his company. On Thursday evening, the day we had visited Tong Sleung prison and the Killing Fields, I met someone else I couldn't get on with, but this time I was pretty vocal about it. Anyone who knows me well will know how strange a start this is for a story of mine. Generally, I don't meet people I don't get on with, I'm a 'people person' and I love human beings flaws included (quite often in fact, the more the flaws the more I love them). I do not like unnecessary confrontation, try to stop rows rather than start them and am not easy to anger. On Thursday evening however, at a table of 10 fellow backpackers, relaxing, having a few quiet beers, I told this man that I thought he was ignorant, offensive, vile and disrespectful. Needless to say the other 10 backpackers at the table all voiced their agreement with me and some thanked me for challenging him after the temporary confrontation was over and he had left the table; all of them men, all remained silent when it mattered, all too familiar.

So, this Norweigan , let's call him John. John (who was, by the way, wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the words 'Orgasm Donor' - we were never going to be best friends) is living in Phnom Penh, working as an English teacher and is educated, articulate and well-travelled. He walked over to the table where myself and the companion were serenely sipping mojitos and asked if he could join us. Within about 6 minutes and 20 seconds I regretted being so welcoming and berated myself at having not been more cautious about striking up conversation with John, given that he uses his t-shirt slogans to advertise imagined sexual prowess. I'll tell you why the row started. Although now I think with this build up you will expecting more than actually occurred within those 6 minutes and 20 seconds or so. You'll think I was on my high-horse, gladly leaping up on to my soap box just for the sake of it, you'll think I overreacted, that I was just looking for a reason to yell at him because of his damn ugly t-shirt. But you are entitled to think these things if you want, I can only tell one side of the story and you will make your own mind up.

Thinking I'd met somewhat of a local to Phnom Penh who also spoke perfect English I took the opportunity to ask him quite casually (I did have a mojito on the go after all) for his opinions on the prison and the fields. He sneered, shook his head, laughed and said 'I am not interested in death. I would rather spend my free time in Phnom Penh getting inebriated.' He'd never been, never shown even a glimmer of interest in the history of the country where he currently earns a living, never read one word about Pol Pot or the Khmer Rouge, never considered that the people he spends his days teaching are descendants, survivors, orphans of that genocide. Maybe I did overreact and maybe I was being too sentimental, but it was incredibly hard not to be after everything I had seen that day. I couldn't let him get away with being so disgustingly blase at so many people's shattered lives. The companion was very understanding of my need to lose us a friend and it turns out, knew exactly what I was thinking as he continued to spout more vitriol and nonsense. After his initial comment (oh yes, he didn't stop there) she saw my clenched white fists, gritted teeth and the steam coming out of my ears and nodding at me gave her blessing to the verbal castration of John that followed - in my head I swear I could hear her saying 'go get him Grace.' So I did. No need to go in to it too much, but amongst other things I did tell him that the prison and the fields aren't about death, but everything to do with life, and that even so, when it happens to himself or someone he bothers to care about, I thought he might suddenly find death more "interesting". He was unrepentant, quieter yes, but obstinately unrepentant about his self-imposed ignorance.

On Friday night, the day after my argument with John, myself and the companion were wandering around the restaurant district on the lake and were ushered in to eat at 'Oh My Buddha!', already overcrowded and packed to the rafters with Western faces. Unconcerned by the lack of any available tables when she quarried us through the front door, the restaurant manager sat us down at a table for 4 people, already half occupied by 2 men in their late 50's having dinner together. Colin (I'm using his real name because I would only ever have nice things to say about him), like 'John', is an English teacher who has spent the majority of his life in Asia. He now lives in Japan with his partner Keiko, he is a techno-phobe, a Blues enthusiast and harmonica player, an English Barber waistcoat-wearing gent with a free spirit, liberal mind and restless roaming feet. On April 17th 1975 the Khmer Rouge enforced evacuation of Phnom Penh and began shooting civilians on the street who dared to question why they had to leave their homes. Only 2 weeks before this a 25 year old Colin teaching in Cambodia left Phnom Penh; sensing growing political unrest he reluctantly flew home - if he'd made the same decision 14 days later, it would have been too late, there wouldn't have been a flight to get on. One of the students he left behind was our other dinner buddy, Ung - infectious laugh, penchant for Scottish single malt, chain-smoker, kind-hearted, generous, and patriotic. We were fortunate enough to join these men for dinner on the day that they were reunited - share their whiskey, listen to their stories and ask them our questions - 34 years after Colin made the decision that saved his life.

Ung managed somehow to escape to America after the Khmer Rouge took over and Colin ensured he kept in touch with him, e-mailing and phoning for three decades a displaced Cambodian student who is now his lifelong friend, they were clearly delighted to be in each others' company again. Personally I was pretty delighted to be in their company too, most of the men I normally go to dinner with back home talk about themselves, to my chest, so Colin and Ung's warmth, age, wisdom and humility were all gratefully received. I told them about my set-to with John the previous evening and voiced my disbelief at having found a young, educated man who could hold such opinions. Colin advised me that if his experience of people is anything to go by, John is no anomaly, that there are many of us who choose blissful ignorance, who change the TV channel during the Oxfam appeals and war reports because it upsets us. He also told me he believes it is very difficult to change the opinions of someone so forthright and that my reprimanding of John was probably a waste of my breath, 'but that's OK Grace, some things are worth wasting your breath for.'

To make peace after my outburst at John I asked him on that Thursday evening if he would just visit the prison, walk in the fields, read something about the regime and maybe just spend one day giving credence to and showing respect for this country and it's people. I even gave him my e-mail address and asked him to let me know if he visited, I guess I was hoping he would have a perspective turnaround, apologise for his comments and thereby renew my faith in the human race. He hasn't e-mailed though, Colin was right - I was wasting my breath. I have decided however, on the back of their wonderful advice and for the preservation of my conscience, that I will always in future risk wasting my breath if it is to speak out against ignorance, apathy, and tasteless t-shirts.