Forest village spells hope for Cambodia's lost silk culture

Dyeing silk at the IKTT forest village, Cambodia. To dye a rich colour, the thread must be immersed in the dye bath 3 or more times, each time the thread must be drained of water before being immersed in the dye bath again.

Mother ties Ikat designs with her newborn child behind her. Everyday she works with her own mother to refine her craft.

Cambodian silk produced by IKTT. All colours are from the natural resources of the forest including the red color from the 'lac' insect. 

Dyeing the yellow colour from the bark of the Prohut tree.

Posted: 23 March 2012
Author: John Rowley
PeopleandPlanet.net

Seventeen years after Kikuo Morimoto set out to rescue Cambodia’s traditional silk industry from the ravages of war, by building a new community of skilled weavers in a forest village, with all the supporting natural resources for silk production and dying, his dream is turning into reality. John Rowley reports from Siem Reap.

When Cambodia finally emerged from decades of conflict and the murderous madness of the Khmer Rouge, followed by civil war, there was little left of the county’s once flourishing village-based silk industry. And with peace came a free-for-all of destructive logging which added to the deforestation already caused to one of south-east Asia’s richest tropical habitats.

To find out if anything survived of a Khmer culture that had involved a complete self-sustaining system for textile production, including the production of cotton and silk, UNESCO turned to Kikuo Morimoto. A skilled Japanese craftsman and a passionate expert in traditional Japanese silks, he had come to the Thai-Cambodian border areas in the 1980s as a volunteer in the weaving schools set up in the refugee camps there.

So it was that in 1994 he began exploring the Cambodian villages where silk of a remarkable quality had been produced for many centuries, possibly with direct links to the Great Khmer civilization that produced the temples of Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom. (Indeed, Morimoto says, there is evidence that mulberry trees and silkworms have thrived in the region for 5,000 years). “But 30 years of war ended old traditions, including the widespread production of silk from silkworms. In 1994 a third of the country was still fighting so there were many areas, called the pink (or danger) zone that we should not enter, but it was in one of the villages there that I found three grandmothers who possessed magnificent skills.”

Japan's savior of Khmer silk

Former Kyoto kimono painter Kikuo Morimoto has led the revival of silk weaving in Cambodia. JEFF KINGSTON PHOTO

KIKUO MORIMOTO

Sunday, Nov. 11, 2007
By JEFF KINGSTON
Special to The Japan Times

Kikuo Morimoto, 59, is a passionate man who radiates an aura of serenity. He has almost single-handedly saved the silk-weaving industry of Cambodia, a tradition that was nearly lost during three decades of war and neglect.

Morimoto started as an apprentice kimono painter in Kyoto, and later opened his own studio. But then, as he began volunteering in refugee camps along the Thai border, he began studying traditional silk-weaving in villages in northern Thailand and began some pilot projects. He shut up shop in Japan in 1982 and has never looked back since.

Morimoto first went to Cambodia in 1994, and in 1995 he established the Institute for Khmer Traditional Textiles. Since then he has trained around 400 women to weave in the traditional style. When he first arrived, middlemen controlled distribution, and talented weavers were made to churn out inferior products to serve the market. This offended Morimoto's sensibilities as a kimono-maker and self-described "silk fanatic." Now he markets his high-quality products directly to tourists and commands both respect and high prices for truly exquisite fabrics.

As successful as he is, however, Morimoto modestly says that his fabrics are only 80 percent as good as antique Khmer silks — but there is no doubt that the feel and look of his weavings are in a class of their own.

But that's not even the half of it, because Morimoto also established a village of 150 inhabitants in 2003, where farmers grow the mulberry trees for the leaves they feed to the silkworms they raise to produce their silky cocoons. Villagers also grow organic cotton and other plants they need for their organic dyes, supplemented by various barks and insect nests they gather.

So Morimoto has created a totally Khmer silk product produced by weavers using cocoons raised in a self-sustaining village powered by solar panels outside of Siem Reap, where he has a store close to the main market.

At present, Morimoto refuses to market his silk overseas, and relies instead on direct sales to maximize the return to the producers. He says that annual sales now average about $300,000 — a sum shared among the farmers and weavers. For his efforts he has won worldwide recognition, including the 11th Rolex Award for Enterprise in 2004. In his view, his customers are his donors, but some clients are also so moved by the project that they offer cash donations. In addition, some young Japanese have volunteered in his village initiative, where he is passing on a rich legacy not only to the weaving community, but to the customers and volunteers who hopefully will emulate his energy and dedication.

Threads to a better future [-The revival of Khmer Silk Art]

Kikuo Morimoto hopes that by reviving traditional textile production in Cambodia, the impoverished villages will once again be self sustaining units. Photos by ART CHEN, CHIN MUI YOON and courtesy of ROLEX AWARDS

Sunday September 16, 2007
By CHIN MUI YOON
The Star (Malaysia)

Cambodia's silk was once among the region's finest, until 30 years of armed conflict destroyed the ancient art. Now, thanks to one man, the beautiful textile is making a comeback.

WHEN Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge regime ended five years of genocide across Cambodia in 1979, it left two million people dead and the Khmer people’s culture, arts and traditions decimated.

In implementing his brutal Year Zero plan to create a new society, Pol Pot exterminated an entire generation, including Cambodia’s artisans and artists.

While the ancient Angkor kings had built temple monuments for Cambodians to inherit, which draw millions in tourist revenue today, Pol Pot left only poverty, suffering and a devastated culture.

The years of turbulence have resulted in Cambodia becoming among Asia’s poorest countries today.

When Japanese silk expert Kikuo Morimoto first arrived in Cambodia in 1993 to conduct research on traditional Khmer textiles for United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (Unesco), he found a population almost devoid of those aged between 30 and 50.

This unbalanced demography resulted from Cambodia’s history of armed conflicts since Lon Nol’s reign in 1970, then the Khmer Rouge in 1975, followed by the Vietnamese intervention in 1979. The transitional government came only in 1993.

Kikuo Morimoto with three of the five ‘silk grandmas’ who taught the craft to Cambodian village women. It was a skill that had been traditionally handed down through the generations.

A vital bridge to pass on traditions from old to young such as textile production was lost. Little information existed due to the craft’s 25 years of absence.

When peace returned to Cambodia in 1990, traditional handwoven textiles were gradually revived in Takeo, near Phnom Penh, and in Kampung Cham along the Mekong River.

Merchants supplied villagers with raw silk imported from neighbouring Vietnam to be woven into cotton cloths, as the practice of sericulture (growing silkworms) had long stopped. The impoverished villagers were paid a pittance for their labour and so they tried to produce as much as possible to earn more money.

Instead of the traditional delicate geometrical designs or natural motifs the villagers resorted to bigger patterns as quantity replaced fine art.

I had heard of Thai and Laotian fabled silks, thanks to the efforts of the legendary American, Jim Thompson. But Cambodian silk was unknown to me.

These silk hankerchiefs, neatly rolled up in boxes of woven pandanus leaves, are sold at the retail outlet above the workshop.

Then I heard about “The Japanese silk man” from Cambodians, which led me to seek out Morimoto on a recent visit to Siem Reap.

Morimoto had remained in Cambodia after completing his research. He quit his job with Unesco to study the economics of cottage textile industries and started the Institute for Khmer Traditional Textiles (IKTT) in Phnom Penh. His goal was to help villagers revive traditional silk production, which he believed would alleviate their poverty.

His simple vision has led him to planting new forests of mulberry trees and plants to sustain the silkworm production. Morimoto’s next step is to start a silk village as a model to revitalise rural Cambodia. He moved IKTT to Siem Reap in 2000, close to the countryside to position his rural renewal idea.

“Cambodia was never rich but it always had a self-sustaining rural economy until war ruined it,” explains Morimoto, 58. “People were starving. I wanted to do something and textiles were the only thing I knew.

“But neither art nor hope can exist on an empty stomach. I hope to develop a practical model of providing art and livelihood in a devastated region.”

Morimoto comes from the rich cultural background of Kyoto, known for its preserved traditional arts and temples. He trained in the Japanese art of yuzen, silk dyeing for kimonos, and has worked as a dyeing specialist for a large Thai textile factory. He once owned a silk business in Bangkok, taught at refugee camps and was a Unesco consultant, which had led him to Cambodia.

With sharp, perceptive eyes set in a long, gaunt face, Morimoto’s credo is “Do not fear risk.”

He first sought out five elderly “silk grandmas” who were experts from villages to help teach the craft. It was a skill that had been traditionally handed down through the generations.

“Traditional Cambodia silk fabrication must be preserved because it is a beautiful hallmark of an ancient culture and bedrock for the economic viability of the village unit,” he says.

The IKTT has trained over 500 people today, primarily women. Many once had to beg for a living. After the trainees complete their three-year training and return to their villages, the IKTT continues to help sell their work for them.

In 2003, IKTT embarked on an ambitious five-year project called Project for Wisdom from the Forest (PWF). It reflects Morimoto’s ardent belief that “nature holds the resources to provide for mankind”, as Cambodia’s self-sustaining villages have proven in the past.

Morimoto wants to restore the natural environment to produce materials for traditional textiles. His plan includes building a silk village on the site comprising an art school, a weaving workshop, a mulberry plantation and the entire silk production process.

“It is crucial for man to live in harmony with nature,” says Morimoto. “The project is meant as a model of income generating activity in the rural areas through a cooperation network with the villagers.

“This means we do not have to purchase materials to produce textiles. The success of the project relies solely on human capacity and Cambodian spirit. My master plan for PWF combines traditional and modern wisdom.”

Together with villagers, Morimoto sought out old people who once made silk. They made traditional tools used in the craft. He obtained silkworm eggs of the yellow tropical species from Thailand which were of Khmer origins near the borders.

While yellow silkworms hatch up to seven times yearly, they produce less than 1gm (about 300m ) of raw silk from one cocoon compared to the more popular white variety from Japan and China, which produces 2gm (1,400m). Morimoto stubbornly sticks to yellow silkworms, as the silk from them is softer and more pliable, he explains.

His work has not gone unnoticed: he was awarded a Rolex Enterprise Laureate Award in 2004 and he used the US$100,000 (RM370,000) prize, as well as his own savings, to purchase the 5ha (now 15ha) piece of land in Chot Sam, northeast of Siem Reap for the PWF project.

The area was once lush tropical forest which had become a wasteland after desperate villagers chopped the mulberry and other native trees for firewood during the war.

Morimoto has planted 1000 mulberry trees to cultivate the production of silkworms and native plants to obtain natural dyes.

He wants to grow Lac insects next year, which when, crushed, were traditionally used to provide the royal red ochre dye.

“Many of my 150 staff at the forest site is from the Kampot province, 420km from Siem Reap,” says Morimoto. “IKTT started a sericulture project in a village there in 1995. The villagers have agreed to help us with the forest regeneration project as we badly need their sericulture expertise.”

Many risks are involved, not least the problem of landmines left by Pol Pot, who termed them “the perfect soldier”. One mine exploded near the PWF site last year. It is unknown how many more remain hidden in the land.

Morimoto is hopeful. He expects to release the first batch of Lac insects in the forest next year.

He also plans to relocate IKTT’s main workshop to the site to centralise operations and create more items to sell to the hordes of tourists visiting Angkor Wat.

The International Trade Centre, a United Nations and World Trade Organisation agency, has reported that silk is enjoying a renaissance in Cambodia and may well be the way to reducing poverty.

Cambodia is exporting US$4mil (RM15.2mil) worth of silk annually and there are over 20,000 weavers today.

After a sudden rainstorm, the earth exhales a fragrance of freshness, and to Morimoto, of hope.

“This bloodstained land still provides for its people,” he says. “Agriculture must be regenerated. The Cambodia people need to revive the traditions of their motherland to become a cultural pride once again. It is a step to heal their past.”

Cambodia: The Silk Grandmothers

Weaving a new life from a lost art

June 28, 2007
By Emily Taguchi
PBS Frontline World

Click here to view the PBS video

Growing up in Tokyo, Cambodia was never far from my conscience. At train stations, volunteers would ask commuters to empty their change to help one of the poorest countries in Asia. Public-service announcements on television encouraged donations and showed the wide eyes and gaunt faces of Cambodian children. Whenever I left food on my plate at the table, my mother would say, "Think about all of the hungry children in the world!"

Still, I was surprised when I read about Kikuo Morimoto, a well-known textile craftsman from Kyoto, Japan, who had moved to Cambodia to help revive the country's ancient practice of silk-making. Many Japanese people are well intentioned but feel more comfortable staying on the entrenched road before them than taking a different, sometimes extraordinary, path. There is even an old saying in Japan that says, "A nail that sticks out will be hammered down."

Morimoto used to hand paint kimonos, and ran his own successful studio with apprentices in tow. But he began to question what that success meant to his life. In the early 1980s, it drew him to the Thai-Cambodian border, where he volunteered at refugee camps. It was there he discovered the beauty of Cambodian silk. "The red of the fabric burned a fierce impression on my eyes," he told me.

Cambodian silk-making is a traditional art that has been passed down through generations from mother to daughter. But Morimoto found the craft in danger of disappearing after decades of violence. When a United Nations mission in the 1990s led Morimoto to Cambodia, he met a few of the weavers. Many of the women were in their 70s and 80s and living in remote villages across the country -- they were the only ones left who knew the secrets of the craft.

During his initial research in Cambodia, Morimoto also found that those who still practiced the silk-making were paid just pennies for their painstaking work. As a fellow craftsman, Morimoto found that infuriating. "These grandmothers were so highly skilled, they should be given the chance to do work that matched their skills and be paid for it," he said.

When I arrived in Cambodia to report this story, I felt some of those same frustrations. Tourists swarm Angkor Wat before dawn -- nearly one million people visit the ancient temples every year, each paying at least $20 to enter and some as much as $60. But minutes away, people live alongside dirt roads, tending to their children and living in poverty. Many of the main streets are dotted with signs that clearly target tourists with warnings in multiple languages. The message? Paying minors for sex is a crime.

In 1996, starting with seven "silk grandmothers," as the women came to be known, Morimoto set up a silk production studio in the town of Siem Reap, which lies on the main tourist route to Angkor Wat. Today, more than 400 people work there, earning anywhere from $80 to $200 a month. It's a modest sum, but far more than the average Cambodian wage of $300 a year.

For the elderly women I met, silk weaving also offered a way of life that didn't violate their beliefs. Chan Sot, who joined Morimoto more than 10 years ago, has lived through great turmoil -- from the French colonial occupation, to U.S. bombardment, to the Khmer Rouge's reign of terror (a time when one in four Cambodians were killed). "Be a merchant, and cheat the customer by cheating the scales" -- as a Buddhist, that was not a value she wanted to live by. "With silk, there is no sacrilege," Chan Sot explained. "I always warned my children not to work where they have to commit sacrilege to make profit."

Today, with the help of Morimoto, a man with an appreciation of beauty and a sense of justice, Chan Sot says she has rediscovered the honorable work she wanted for herself and her daughter.

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Emily Taguchi is a journalist and filmmaker from Tokyo. She is currently working as a field producer and videographer for KQED public television in San Francisco. This is Taguchi's second story for FRONTLINE/World's Rough Cut series; her previous film, The Unforgotten War, about antagonism between Chinese and Japanese youth over the memories of World War II was completed in 2006. She is a graduate of the U.C. Berkeley School of Journalism.