It has now been over a week since the eviction of Dey Krahorm. Though the dust has begun to settle, the trauma and injustice remains. On the Sunday morning after the eviction, I biked over to Aziza for a meeting with Drew and some of Aziza's students. I walked under the stairway belonging to the Soviet-style apartment building, and to the narrow path that grants the only access to Aziza and a few other houses. Street vendors' carts were bundled up against the fence that blocked the entrance to Dey Krahorm and they lined the path back towards Aziza, flies hovering around the exposed Chinese sausage and chopped onions. The walkway underneath the building was dark, muddy, and full of trash. And it smelled like it. Thin strips of cardboard boxes and wood were placed intermittently across the walkway so that walking through the filth was minimized. Every few steps, though, resulted in a slight sinking into the mystery muck.
It was hard to recognize Aziza as I rounded the corner and approached from the side (as opposed to head on); the brightly colored paintings adorning the outside of the school were meaningless without the necessary space to create perspective. Inside, a range of students and their families were passing around steaming plates of rice and vegetables. Everyone over ten looked exhausted and broken, with slumped shoulders and deep circles around eyes normally so vibrant and animated. Drew gave a much needed pep talk, praising everyone for the way the handled themselves the day before and reassuring everyone that Aziza would still serve as a focal point for the community and would help coordinate assistance to students and their families.
Shanti came straight from the airport to Aziza and, after getting a tour of the devastation from ground level, we headed up to the roof of the apartment building. The entire area was totally unrecognizable. It was almost hard to feel anything looking down at Dey Krahorm; it was so foreign-looking that it didn't at all evoke the memories of the past year. Within the nine acre plot of land the only thing that remained standing was the bare tree trunk and broken picnic table on what used to be Aziza's concrete playground. The pace at which debris was being removed was startling.
Though I was exhausted, Shanti convinced me to go to the LICADHO office to visit the families staying there. As soon as we arrived, we noticed a few of the families hanging around the outside of the building. The pleasure that our presence brought them was palpable. Whether it was the joy in seeing something familiar after a traumatic thirty-six hours or the gesture of just showing up, illustrating that we cared more than simply teaching and playing with their kids, I am not sure. But it seemed that the fact that we were there truly meant a lot.
We worked our way inside the LICADHO office to where the families were staying. On the ground floor offices were makeshift sleeping quarters with a few rooms devoted to meetings to help evictees register for compensation. Not recognizing anyone, we went upstairs, where we saw many familiar faces. We were greeted by big hugs and equally big smiles from about a dozen kids and smiles just as broad from their parents. Almost everyone was wearing "new" clothes courtesy of donations made to LICADHO. One of the boys, about seven years old and usually fairly reserved, grabbed my moto helmet, placing it on his head and running around encouraging others to hit him as hard as they could. Another boy, about the same age, and usually a bit goofy, was much more subdued than usual; he seemed to grasp the weight of the situation more clearly than others. Other kids simply wanted a hug and to hold our hands. We gave several of the families leftovers from the copious amount of food His Excellency's family bestowed upon us for Chinese New Year.
It was great to see everyone so happy, though I knew that it wasn't true happiness. The reality of the situation - that they had no home, little money (if any at all) and only a very temporary place to stay - had not yet sunk in. Despite everyone's apparent happiness, it was extremely difficult for me to see all of these people in such an artificial environment and outside of the context of Aziza. Regardless of what they had or had not done, these were all good people and each deserved so much better than the situation allowed. The visit, though, had certainly been worthwhile and I was glad Shanti convinced me to go. As we left with heavy hearts, we promised to return the following day.
Though most people were not around when we stopped by on Monday - they were negotiating with the municipality of Phnom Penh and 7NG - we spoke with the director of LICADHO. She was surely extremely busy, but she took some time to give us an update on the situation and to show us a slideshow of the eviction. It was the first time I had seen or really heard about how violent the earlier parts of the eviction were - tear gas, beatings, and the savage destruction of homes.
The following day we visited Aziza at lunch. Most of the students under twelve were creating drawings of the eviction on white computer paper with colored markers. Most of the drawings showed backhoes knocking houses and trees down, stick figures crying, and Aziza as a rare bright spot. On one of the drawings, a girl had written "I am scared 7NG kills me" and "I see ghosts" in English. It was very difficult to watch how some of the students internalized the previous Saturday's events. That said, people seemed a bit more settled than a few days before and were starting to figure out how to move forward, with and without the $20,000 they hoped 7NG would provide (in an unsurprising change of heart, 7NG took the offer of monetary compensation off the table and said the only possible settlement would be an unfinished home at the relocation site).
On Wednesday we stopped by at lunch again with fruit. Shanti, Mike, and I facilitated discussion with some of Aziza's leadership students and they really seemed to step in to take a leadership role, each assuming responsibility for ensuring a particularly needy family was equipped with basic necessities and organizing to make sure that young children had someone to look after them and older kids made it safely to school every day.
We returned briefly in the evening to drop off some extra blankets and sheets for everyone that was still using Aziza as a temporary shelter. Meta House, the German House, was hosting a tribute of sorts to Dey Krahorm, with a photo exhibit of the iconic apartment buildings and a recent documentary on the community. After it was over, Drew gave an update of the current situation and a few of the students spoke to the crowd of about fifty about how the evictions affected them. While it was hard to watch them get so emotional about the injustice of their situation, it was impressive to see them maintain control and, at a minute's notice, address a crowd of fifty in clear, articulate English.
As the week continued, a sliver of additional normalcy seemed to come with each new day; kids returned to school, fewer people relied on Aziza for food and shelter, and more people were finding permanent or semi-permanent places to stay. But a bitter taste most certainly remained. The realization that there was little I or anyone else could do about the injustice inherent in the situation was humbling. The community I had come to know and enjoy over the course of the past year was scattered, and to an extent, broken. Because of a lack of options and fearing they would get nothing, a number of families moved to the relocation site; students are shuttled back and forth the 20km to Aziza every day by a van hired by Drew. While the tug of distance will surely pull many members of the Aziza family out of its grasp, for the moment, the extended family remains close.
Since my last post there has been some good additional blogging/reporting that's worth looking over: Jinja has a good round-up of news, blogs, photos, etc; On Photography's before and after photo blog is particularly powerful; Ka-Set has another good piece; and David Pred of Bridges Across Borders has an excellent editorial.
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