Advisor

Long before Cambodia was engulfed by war, Phnom Penh was known as the “Pearl of Asia.” It was a garden city of such charm that Lee Kuan Yew, Singapore’s prime minister, congratulated King Sihanouk during a visit in the 1960s. “I hope, one day, that my city will look like this.”

But while Singapore prospered, the Khmer Rouge turned Phnom Penh’s schools into torture prisons. Later, mismanagement and greed changed the face of the city.

Boeung Kak, a lake nestled in the heart of the capital, survived the turmoil of Cambodia’s history, and by 2005, it had become a home to the poor. To put food on the table, the residents set out into the middle of the lake, their wooden longboats passing the reflection of their stilt homes. Soon, their handmade nets would be filled with flapping fish, and their woven baskets would brim with bundles of freshly cut morning glory.

Backpackers had discovered cheap accommodation around the lake, which also led to a lawlessness fuelled by drugs and alcohol. On the southeast side, guesthouses and small souvenir shops flourished, but much of the Boeung Kak area was little more than a slum, no longer the idyllic gem of yesteryear. Located between the Council of Ministers, the Royal University and the offices of the Prime Minister, the shantytown of stilt homes on the banks, prone to flooding and set amid floating trash, seemed out of place.

 

Some had visions that Boeung Kak could be developed into a sophisticated leisure destination, ringed by parks and promenades. As often with visions of the future, it wasn’t meant to be. In 2007, the municipal authorities granted a 99-year lease of the lake to Lao Meng Khin, a lawmaker for the Cambodian People’s Party (CPP) and owner of Shukaku Inc., an obscure real estate company that would forever alter the city’s makeup. Shukaku’s vision for Boeung Kak was drastic: under its development plan, there would be no lakeside, nor much of a lake. Nearly the entire body of water, a major reservoir which helped offset the annual monsoon flooding, was earmarked for removal. So were the more than 4,000 families who lived around its shores.

In August 2008, the first blast of sand and slurry surged into the lake. In due course, enough of the mixture would be pumped in to fill the 90-hectare area, preparing the reclaimed land for Shukaku’s mixed-use residential and commercial development.

“They sold the land beneath our homes and we are expected to politely disappear,” Tep Vanny, one of the most vocal Boeung Kak residents, told a human rights organisation in 2013. Vanny has spent years pleading for a liveable future at her home on the former lakeside. She refused to give way to the excavators, and fiercely fought for the lake’s future.

Dozens joined in the battle cry. From housewives, they turned into full-time protesters, dauntless and bold. As time passed, they learned how to play the media. They burnt effigies of officials and waved the star-spangled banner in front of the US Embassy. To dramatise the fact that every creature needs a home, they even walked the streets of Phnom Penh with bird nests on their heads. At best, the media acknowledged their protest, and authorities ignored them. At worst, they were beaten, detained and jailed.

Five years after the sand came surging into Boeung Kak, a non-profit organisation invited Vanny to Washington DC, where she received an award for her leadership.

“To protest is not the Cambodian way. The Cambodian way is to be patient, to smile and to tolerate. But that’s not democracy,” she said.

The international award was a slap in the face for the Cambodian authorities. But by the time fashion icon Diane von Fürstenberg, draped in a sparkling black gown, presented the award to Vanny, the fight for the lake had already been lost. From the lavish Washington ballroom, Vanny returned to Boeung Kak. The water, and most of the community, were gone. What remained was a tiny, 12.4-hectare area where some residents would be allowed to stay. Today, a high concrete wall separates the few surviving guesthouses from an unfurling wasteland so dusty and deserted it’s hard to believe it had ever seen water.

Non-governmental organisations estimate that 500,000 people in Cambodia have experienced a similar fate, from ethnic minorities, to farmers, to whole urban neighbourhoods. But at Boeung Kak, an unbelievable 20,000 people were evicted. Only the Khmer Rouge had ever forced the relocation of a larger number of people, one organisation said.

It was a pertinent remark, given that many land disputes have their roots in that era. Forty years ago, on April 17, 1975, the ultra-Maoist regime seized power and, as one of their first acts as leadership, forcibly evacuated Phnom Penh. Thousands perished during the mass exodus. The uprooted population was deprived of all rights to ownership. Money was banned, the National Bank blown up, and all documents – including land titles – were destroyed. The past, the Khmer Rouge believed, was an obstacle standing in the path of a radiant future.

When the Khmer Rouge fell to a Vietnamese invasion in 1979, Phnom Penh became a refuge for emaciated bodies and beaten minds. With no food or protection in the countryside, hundreds of thousands of survivors flocked to the city to squat in deserted houses. Often, the original owners didn’t return, and thus squatters became inhabitants.

But land titles? In the aftermath of the Khmer Rouge, and during the civil war that followed, such pieces of paper weren’t a concern. It wasn’t until 2001 that Cambodia passed a new land law that tried to better regulate ownership.Under the law, any person who can prove use of unclaimed land for a minimum of five years could claim ownership. In reality, however, the poor often lacked proof for their claims, and neither their nor their neighbours’ word was sufficient.

After decades of war and upheaval, the need for development is unquestionable. But as Surya Subedi, then the United Nations’ special human rights envoy, noted in 2012, the country’s land deals are often opaque: “It is often unclear who is benefiting financially from land used for urban development, economic and other land concessions, and large-scale development projects.”

It’s certainly not the evicted communities.Forty kilometres from Phnom Penh lies Oudong, a former capital of the glorious Khmer empire. Atop Oudong mountain, kings and queens who ruled 400 years ago have found their resting place in golden stupas. One is even said to contain remains of the Buddha. In modern-day Cambodia, these honoured remnants of the past are separated by 500 steps from the shame of the present. At the foot of the mountain, thousands of urban evictees have been dumped over the years.

Among the first evictees at Oudong were members of Dey Krahorm, a densely populated urban community in central Phnom Penh, close to the National Assembly and Prime Minister Hun Sen’s villa. The police and gendarmes were sent in on a grey Saturday morning that hadn’t seen the first sunbeams yet. Armed with tear gas, metal batons and fire-truck hoses, authorities brutally drove 150 families from their homes at Dey Krahorm to make way for a housing development.They had been warned, but few managed to grab more than their family members as they fled their scrap-wood shacks.

“It was terrible. I’ll never forget it. They fired tear gas and my house was completely destroyed,” said Sophal, one of the evicted residents. She grabbed her child, but lost all of her belongings.

On arriving at Oudong, she was greeted by a large, expanse. The barren settlement had no infrastructure, no water, no electricity and no shelter. Men and women bathed themselves in filthy puddles, scooping out water to be boiled. Behind tiny shrubs, they dug shallow holes – the closest they would get to a toilet. From garbage and other refuse, they fashioned makeshift tents to protect themselves from the rain and sun. Most moved back to Phnom Penh, to live as squatters.

The launch of the Transitioning Cambodia photo book will be held on 8pm, Thursday May 28 at Meta House, #37 Sothearos Blvd.