This year I learnt ... by Rob Hamill

Rob Hamill (Photo: Reuters)

12/12/2010
Sunday Star Times (New Zealand)

ROB HAMILL, 46, Olympic and trans-Atlantic rower, Te Pahu.

Thirty-two years ago Hamill's eldest brother, Kerry, was abducted, tortured and killed by the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia.

THIS YEAR I learnt...

...more about the thin and fragile line separating good and evil. And that we are all capable of both. Coming to understand that better has been quite...what is the word? Scary?

This year I went to Cambodia for the sentencing of Duch, the man who ran the prison my brother was incarcerated in. I also spent time travelling the country interviewing victims and perpetrators for a documentary we're making called Brother Number One. I'm trying to come to terms with the scary realisation that, depending on circumstances, everyone, or almost everyone, is capable of performing the atrocities these people committed. I was kind of put in the difficult position of interviewing one of the people who was responsible for torturing my brother. You might think it odd but I didn't wish to inflict a similar fate on him. Oh, don't worry, I've had thoughts of revenge, but I reckon violence met with violence achieves nothing, other than perhaps creating more violence.

Fact is, I would have lowered myself to the level of the perpetrator himself if I'd been aggressive. Anyway, avoiding the emotional part gave me the opportunity to recognise each individual Cambodian really was a victim in his or her own way. The learnings from that little experience continues like the grieving process.

That was my second time to Cambodia. The first was last year with the trial, where I took the stand to testify. I had been trying to get some reconciliation in my own mind about what occurred, to allow me some freedom, you know, to move on. And I was working towards that until I saw S-21, the prison itself, then I just completely, I went really dark on it. Any chance of forgiveness for that man Duch, who ran the prison, just evaporated. But interviewing those individuals, victims and perpetrators, I've become more open to the possibility of letting go again. It seems the more you explore these things, the more you try to understand, the more you pull away the veil of ignorance, then the more opportunity there is to allow yourself to move on.

Kerry was missing for 16 months before we heard the terrible news. About nine months after we discovered Kerry's fate, my second-oldest brother, John, killed himself. And, you know, my parents were distraught but had no one to talk to really. Of course, close relations did what they could to help but my parents were pretty much isolated, there were no social support professionals available. I guess if there's a message there, I'd say to people, reach out and try and talk about it. Cambodia is now finally finding its own voice to talk about their past and be heard.

But the biggest learning has come from Kerry himself. He was forced to write a confession, under duress, stating that he was a CIA agent. He used that confession, I believe, to remove himself from the horror by writing about life in New Zealand and its geography: Great Barrier Island, National Park, the list went on. And to emphasise the absurdity of the confession he named his own friends and family as fellow CIA trainees and trainers. And, sense of humour intact, he named Colonel Sanders as one of his trainers. The most poignant part in the confession was where he named the public speaking instructor as S.Tarr. Our mother's name is Esther. In this most dire of situations he was sending a coded message of love and hope to Mum.

We all have choices how we react to different situations. My brother chose, I think, a very brave, courageous course that transported him home and by doing so he gave himself something to live for, if only for that moment in time.