The Locality of Contradictions

High up on the holy mountain metropolis that is Cambodia's Kulen Mountain during a particularly lackluster Chinese New Year, I was once again accosted by an old demon that has plagued our (mostly White) kind since the early days of empires and colonial rule. Although the passage of time and the emergence of 'development' from the ashes of 'civilizing savages' have transformed it somewhat, white privilege still haunts me down wherever I go in the less fortunate parts of the world.

On this particular occasion, I was having a rather cheerful coffee with my assistant and two elderly men when the proprietor of the establishment decided to pick a fight. I saw it coming from a distance and arguably, I could have avoided being sucked in but my adversary was particularly persistent. He clearly had a bone to pick with some white tourists or something and, being able to communicate his anguish in Khmer seemed to embolden him further. It started as it often does with a casual, "So, how many hours does it take to fly from your land to mine?" The conversation should follow roughly this path: "Oh, that's a very long time. And how much does it cost to fly all the way?" ; "Wow, that is a lot of money. So many people in our poor country could live off that. I guess development agencies never thought of using their money that way." Usually, the conversation ends rather lamely with a critique of the United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC), which blew wads of money on an election that also brought HIV and corruption to Cambodia in a big way. But this particular chap ended with a resounding personal attack of, "...maybe you should think about that the next time you decide fly to Cambodia."

Having encountered this issue on numerous occasions, I prepared to unleash a number of defenses when, lo and behold, a black Lexus 4x4 with tinted windows saved me from most of the heavy lifting. Indeed, the timing on the arrival of said black Lexus was so spot-on, I could swear G-d was winking at me. With his window down, I could make out a Chinese Cambodian wearing a military fatigue at the wheel. And just when I thought the situation couldn't turn more in my favor, a mini-van loaded with (illegal) timber careened by following the Lexus, spraying us and our poor coffees with dust.

Just to provide some of the cynical background to this situation, let me elaborate on the Lexus phenomenon. Firstly, the Lexuses (what exactly is the plural of Lexus, anyway?) we, as privileged Whites, generally think of are the sedan variety, usually beige or tan, with some old rich bastard or his wife behind the wheel. The Cambodian variety, which is an adaptation meant for brutish drivers who are often forced onto bad roads, is the 4x4 variety with the brand name "Lexus" emblazoned in letters as big as fashionably possible along the side. Secondly, as a share of all motor vehicles, Lexuses (and other luxury cars) are probably five times more prevalent in Cambodia than, say, Switzerland, but maybe only two times as prevalent as in some Gulf countries (the rest of the passenger cars are primarily Toyota Camrys and Grace mini-vans). Thirdly, as with cell phones, owning a Lexus is a priority put above having a decent abode; having a big house is, ironically, more often seen (and criticized) as a luxury of the rich than a Lexus. Indeed, it is not uncommon to see people role up with their Lexi and bully their wife and children out of the living room or kitchen so they can park their car in what amounts to half of the house's living space. It is just that important.

But let's get back to the holy mountain. The general picture we are exposed to, as bystanders, is a corrupt military official who has abused his role to make himself rich and is, in front of our eyes, pillaging timber from the holiest mountain in Cambodia. With a mixture of glee and sad resignation, I turned back to my adversary to continue our discussion. Naturally, he was a bit more demure towards me now. I took that as a sign that I had won without -- and done so without even having to pick up a weapon. I smugly thought to myself that, surely, the waste and corruption of his own people must horrify him more than a foreigner who is surviving on scholarships and is, in the long-term, interested in the development of his country even as he pursues his own career. I was dead wrong.

After a quick murmur about how "...that guy probably didn't pay the 50 cent admission fee to the mountain [note: foreigners cost $20]", he turned back to me, expecting my answer to his earlier accusation. I was dumbfounded. How had that Lexus not succeeded in nullifying his hostility to foreigners to some degree? As I sat there, trying to think of what to do, he continued his calculations by saying, "...and even the tourists who think they are helping by bringing money here - they probably gave more money to some foreign company for the flight and bookings than they will give to Cambodians here." At that point, I realized that whatever prompted his hostility toward me was not about me, but about foreigners in general. While the general picture is that he sees foreigners as wealthy bags of contradictions, the trauma here is of course deeper than that and goes back, in all likelihood, to the Vietnam war and Cambodia's revolutions, and Cambodia's more general exploitation by foreign powers (Siam/Ayuthaya (Thailand), Yuon (Vietnam), the French, the Americans, and the Chinese) since the glorious Angkorean golden era. With current border disputes boiling over on the Vietnamese and Thai sides, it's no wonder that the frustration with foreigners (and not pillaging Khmers) galls him as much as it does.

Of course, there is also a counterpoint to this which restls primarily on various historical lenses and more current endeavors by foreigners, but I am pointing out here that the trauma here is beyond those rationales and, being fundamentally psychological in nature, is not about convincing anyone with fancy oral justifications. It is about shutting up and trying to do things more ethically than those that came before as. With that, I sipped my coffee and and sat in silence.