No joke - Cambodian political cartoonist in exile

Cartoonist Ung Bun Heang aka Sacrava (Photo: RNW)

13 October 2010
By The State We're In
Radio Netherlands Worldwide

Bun Heang Ung was a political cartoonist in Cambodia. He still is, but now lives in Australia because the Cambodian regime threatened his life - this after surviving the genocidal Khmer Rouge. He tells The State We're In host Jonathan Groubert why he’s never going to stop.

Click here to listen to the interview (MP3)

See more of Bun Heang Ung's work at his website Sacrava Toons.

THANK YOU, VOA Khmer Service and Staff for 55 years of news and information!

From left to right: Meas John, Nuch Sarita, Tes Saroeum, Dan Sipo, and Ang Khen. (Photo: VOA)

Voice of America's Khmer Service Prepares for 55th Anniversary

Im Sothearith, VOA Khmer
Washington, DC Wednesday, 11 August 2010

“When I listened to VOA, I was hopeful and strived to live. That was a very difficult time, but news from the outside world made me happy" - Ung Bun Heang, aka Sacrava

“I have listened to VOA Khmer since 1970, when Sihanouk was overthrown by a coup d’état, when I was about 7 or 8 years old, and I still listen to it now ... I like VOA because it broadcasts the truth. Its news is not biased. I cannot rely on local news because it covers only good things and not the bad, so we don’t know what is going on” - Chhet Sarom, 50, is a listener from Svay Rieng province

VOA Khmer first went on air on August 15, 1955. Since then, it has sought to play an important role in providing objective, independent news to Cambodians inside and outside of the country.

Ang Khen was recruited to work at VOA Khmer in Washington in 1962. She became VOA Khmer newscaster at the age of 21.

“I am very proud of working for VOA Khmer,” she said in a recent interview. “I had an opportunity to provide Cambodian people with news, especially during the war. Cambodian people listened to news about what happened during the war and what happened in the world. I retired because I felt I had worked for so long, but I am still proud of being a VOA Khmer newscaster.”

Similarly, Tes Saroeum, a former VOA Khmer editor, started working for the service in 1963. He retired in early 2004.

“The goal of the Voice of America is the goal of the US government, which is to promote US foreign policy to the rest of the world,” he said. “America does not want any territories, or to be a super power, but to help poor countries with development and freedom.”

Through VOA Khmer, the Cambodian people know about their rights, how a country is run and social development, he said.

“Working for VOA Khmer was a good opportunity because it not only gave me financial benefit, but it equipped me with knowledge, as it was a place where you needed to do a lot of research on such areas as economics, politics, science, an others,” he said.

Un Bunheang, who is well known as a political cartoon artist, lives in Australia and has been listening to VOA since 1968.

“So far, I still listen to VOA because I believe that VOA is still a radio broadcaster that provides the most accurate news, unbiased, and its news is good, especially international news,” he said. “I love the news and praise reporters for giving us the most accurate news.”

Un Bunheang recalls his experience listening to VOA Khmer during Khmer Rouge regime, when he lived in Peareang district, Prey Veng Province.

“I was happy because I covered myself with a blanket in order to listen to VOA every night,” he said. “When I listened to VOA, I was hopeful and strived to live. That was a very difficult time, but news from the outside world made me happy."

He heard news of a US ship seized by the Khmer Rouge, and of a plane bombing in Siem Reap province after the regime took power.

“Once during Khmer Rouge regime, after I had come back from working in the field, that night I listened to VOA news about the Olympic Games held in Montreal, Canada, in 1976,” he said.

“When I heard the news I was so happy and dreamed about it that night. Listening to VOA news about sportsmen and sportswomen from around the world gathered together made me so happy. Unfortunately, the Cambodian people were in hell, but I dreamed about the sports events that night. But when I got up, I was not in the free world but a communist country.”

Another loyal listener is Sang Bopha from Battambang.

“Now it is called VOA, but before it was called 'Post Americ' (American channel),” Sang Bopha said. “I liked listening to VOA because it is important for our society. I listened to it with my father, who was a soldier, and I knew that it gave true news to him.”

Chhet Sarom, 50, is a listener from Svay Rieng province.

“I have listened to VOA Khmer since 1970, when Sihanouk was overthrown by a coup d’état, when I was about 7 or 8 years old, and I still listen to it now,” he said. “I like VOA because it broadcasts the truth. Its news is not biased. I cannot rely on local news because it covers only good things and not the bad, so we don’t know what is going on.”

In addition, he said VOA was a source of informal education for listeners who have limited knowledge.

“It’s good that VOA provides local news and international news and also various programs, such as health and law,” he said. “Health programing is good for Cambodian people who do not have much knowledge because of wars and could not access education. People know little by little about law and health issues, such as HIV/AIDS and hepatitis epidemics.”

Cheam Yiep, a National Assembly lawmaker for the Cambodian People's Party, called VOA Khmer “an important watchdog, broadcasting the lawmaking processes of both the National Assembly and the Senate.”

“Sometimes people are not aware of those laws, but because they like listening to VOA they know about them,” he said.

However, he said, often it is opposition parties with more opportunity over VOA Khmer, which can “irritate” some people. While some CPP officials often decline to comment for VOA Khmer reports, Cheam Yeip said answering a reporter's questions provides an opportunity for opinions to come out and the truth be told.

“I would like to assure all members of parliament, senators, as well as government officials that answering reporters’ questions is crucial,” he said.

Kem Sokha, president of the minority opposition Human Rights Party, said VOA Khmer provides balanced news, where most local news outlets, especially in radio and TV, lean toward the government.

“Voice of America first of all gives an opportunity to democracy practitioners to voice their concerns,” he said. “Secondly, people receive world news so that they know about the world’s political situation; and thirdly, through VOA Khmer the Cambodian people have an opportunity to directly talk to politicians and civil society representatives.”

Mam Sambath, chairman of Cambodians for Cambodians for Resource Revenue Transparency, said VOA reflects what is happening in Cambodia.

“It not only broadcasts the negative aspects of Cambodia, but also its progress,” he said. “It also addresses challenges faced by communities and their concerns about important issues, such as natural resource management, good governance and Cambodia's political evolution. These give Cambodian people knowledge about health care, lifestyle, and freedom, which are badly needed in Cambodia.”

VOA Khmer is one of the 45 language services of the Voice of America, which first went on air in 1942 and now has an estimated worldwide audience of 125 million people.

According to InterMedia report issued in January, VOA Khmer annually reaches 36 percent of Cambodia's total population.

VOA Khmer broadcasts 90 minutes per day. In the morning it can be heard from 5 am to 5:30 am and in the evening from 8:30 pm to 9:30 pm. Its programs are rebroadcast by affiliates at Beehive FM 105, WMC Radio FM 102 and Angkor Ratha Siem Reap FM 95.5. It now has TV stories broadcast on TVK and CTN.

In addition, VOA Khmer news can be found on its website, www.voacambodia.com, Youtube at VOA Khmer Service, Facebook at VOA Khmer, Twitter at VOAKhmerEn and via the social network AngkorOne.

Phiny Ung’s migration story

My husband drew this portrait of myself soon after my baby was born. There were no oils. He would go around the street trying to look for paint in the big, big sea of rubbish. He was really thrilled in gaining his skill back after it got rusty for four years. I had to sit for him to draw for a few hours and I had to run to feed the baby and come back. We really, really fell in love; it was really sentimental. We built up our relationship through hardship. I know many couples divorce soon after Pol Pot because that was the circumstance that they decide to tie the knot.

• cultural background: Cambodian
• town, region, country of origin: Phnom Penh, Cambodia
• start of migration journey: Bangkok, Thailand, 1980
• place of arrival in australia: Brisbane on 25th May 1980
• first home in australia: We were sponsored by my brother-in-law and lived with his family in Brisbane.
• first job in australia: I volunteered as a receptionist for a small taxation office to practice my English, then a TAFE teacher for young, unemployed Cambodians in Sydney.
• other jobs in australia: Interpreter for health department; restaurant owner; Cambodian liasion and multicultural lisasion officer, NSW Police – all located in Sydney.

Click here for Ung Phiny's complete story, video and additional photos

Phiny Ung’s migration memories:

I was born in 1956 in the capital city of Cambodia, Phnom Penh. My parents were usually away from home so I spend most of the time with my grandmother and grown-up siblings in Phnom Penh.

Agriculture is a big influence [on] our economy and [we] have very natural gift of plenty of fish around December to February. I was so amazed how we can get close to nature. That goes back to the way that grandma used to do things. She passed it on and made sure we learned. She usually had the tamarind paste – put a bit of water to get some juice – and mix with some garlic and onion, brown it. Then she cooked with some fish sauce and also with some meat, then we can go with a very nice fish. It was very, very happy time. I was fortunate to be a favourite granddaughter.

Mum and Dad go to different province where [Dad] was the governor. Summer in Cambodia were with my parents and the younger siblings. Dad attend[ed] a special school to train for diplomat [and] my [eldest] brother was an army lieutenant in the Sihanouk regime. He got married in early January [1975 and] it was fortunate he got injured a few months before the country fall onto Pol Pot regime otherwise we would have been separated from him.’

Phiny’s eldest brother’s wedding, Phnom Penh, Cambodia, January 1975
“I got that photo from his wife’s relative who lives in France, otherwise I wouldn’t have anything. I couldn’t carry much of a memory from my past during my escape to the Thai border.”

The evacuation of Phnom Penh was in April 1975 when Pol Pot came to power. The Khmer Rouge told [us] that the Americans will bomb soon so to survive we have to get fast out of the city.

We learned later that they just want to punish people who live in the city because we were the enemy of state. They said people who [worked] with the government would be called back in a few weeks when they install the new regime. Who is to know that they kill because they want to clean the old regime and start the new one?

They evacuate three or four million people in a few days. It was shock and disbelief. It was terribly chaotic, there was no planning. A big tragedy unfolded, we did not know what to say except follow orders. There’s always a gun fired to the air, to push and order people to move on. The streets were full of people. People died along the street, some woman gave birth to a baby on the street. It was horrible, horrible.

My father inherit a sword from his family heirloom. It’s been passed on a few generations. Mum used to tell us not to take the sword out from the case, only in a very emergency situation when it needs to be used and that meant killing people. Our great, great grandfather had used the sword to fight. I think it is more than a good 200 years. I recall Mum and my biggest sister work hard trying to hide this sword into a long pillow where she can also fit some other valuables, belongings and currency. When we settle in the countryside, Mum told one of our brothers to bury the sword. We can only take it out when Pol Pot finish or we return to capital city.

My parents were born in Phnom Penh so my father decided to follow his good friend (Bunheang’s[1] uncle), to the eastern part of Cambodia, about 100 kilometres away. Dad’s philosophy is that if we can go somewhere with water and rice plantation then we will survive. I remember we would take a break and try to feed two abandoned children because they’re separated from their parents. It just fit perfectly to the saying, ‘Every man for themselves’. Those babies were about 20 months old, just lay on the concrete floor. I spent some time to put food in their mouth but I could not take the baby with me because I have other things for my family and we had to move on, we’re not allowed to stay and do what we want – the Khmer Rouge soldier would move people on every minute. We would be shot.

During Pol Pot, regardless of what government ranking you were, [you] fall into enemy of state category, what they consider to be educated or intellectual. Even my [siblings who] were high school students, the widow of the army officer and a primary school teacher. Mum came from a very well trained family. The way she talked, the way our family was set up, we’d been accused that we were connected to royal family. That put us into a class. The ideology created hostility between two groups of people who live in the city and in the countryside. I was very angry, very upset about the way we’d been treated but then again you look at the primitive [life] of the farmers.

We were accused of being corrupt, having lifestyle of imperialism, capitalism, that we’d been brainwashed. We were treated as traitors. [There] was a very severe sentence for that. Usually they take to the pagoda and interrogate people there. All I know is that my father and eldest brother [had] their hands tied to their back, taken away to the re-education camp which was the gaol. The villagers [said] they’d been beaten and taken away. We never seen them [again].

They planned to take us all, they really made us go through a very, very traumatic time. It was torture, psychological torture, where we had to prove that we’re loyal to the government organisation, Angkar, they want to test our resilience. [When] taking family member, we’re not to show any emotion because we had to be very strong and work very hard to prove our loyalty. We cannot cry or display any emotion in public [otherwise] we’re having the same fate, we’d be taken away.

The only thing we can focus or encourage to do so is to work 15 or 16 hours a day, wearing the black pyjama – a wrap type thing – and no school, no market, no money. It just was purely working seven days a week. We just had to follow the instruction by getting up at dawn, working on rice field production, and come home at dusk.

When we reach 16 we had to join the mobile brigade or conscription to join the battlefield. Some children never return to their family. When we get married we are allowed to work at the local village and do rice production, dig the dam and many other heavy work.

We had been put into lots of assignments risking life: we’d been ordered to do some work on the other side of a river without knowing how to swim. I would just hang onto a buffalo tail, there’s no OH&S (occupational health and safety) for people because it’s Communist. They don’t respect life and there’s no humanity; it’s just survival.

The Communists are trying to control people, everything belonged to Angkar with very, very grass roots people to take power. You just had to follow what they say. You cannot take your own knowledge and say, “Look, this is not the right way”. You just have to be dumb, deaf and blind to follow the order. In order to be alive you have to be obedient. They’d been trained to dislike or be hostile with the city people.

Bunheang was a student at the university of fine arts and a cartoonist [for] a well-known newspaper. He’d been strong in political cartoons since he was 17 years old so he had been [well] trained in Cambodian politics. We decided to ‘tie the knot’.

I was worried that we will be accepted for marriage; I was a daughter of a government official and [his] family also from ‘imperialist’ background. We’re not allowed to hold hands, walk side by side, call each other [names to] show affection like ‘honey’, ‘darling’. Every night they have spy to check.

We cannot pick any time to get married because Angkar permit[ted] people to get married only twice a year; it is a mass wedding. Both families have to put an application to the chief of the village. On 5th October 1977 we had to walk about five kilometres from our village to attend one of the temples. Angkar [use] it as the big centre because it was no longer to practice religion. They divide the wedding into morning and afternoon, the morning for people very close to the organisation, the grass root people.

It was a very sad but funny business if you compare to the normal life wedding, like my brother’s and sister’s. You don’t have to prepare anything, you just have to go to work until the eve of the wedding. I had to borrow some good clothes from the neighbour because my black pyjama that I had been issued was so worn out.

I still recall that day. I was so upset and sad because my father was taken away two years before that and I lost three siblings so it wasn’t really a joyful day. We don’t even know what our future would be like.

The way of the wedding is to go in front of the chief of the village. There was a long table and a list with names. Because they’re not able to read and write that well and we cannot show them that we know how to, we just put our thumb into that stamp pad and print our thumb next to our name, so we don’t actually have a marriage certificate! That was the main ceremony. Next day we had to go to work, business as usual.

Soon after the Vietnamese regime came in we knew there was going to be a change. We don’t trust that Vietnam will bring any peace or stabilisation to Cambodia apart from looking for their own interest to invade.

I get pregnant with my first daughter so the first thing to do is to look for some place I can give birth with comfort. Living in the countryside there is no hospital and I’m not comfortable to follow traditional midwife. Knowing it is a big risk, we try to join the new government installed by the Vietnamese army. My husband joined with the department of information [with] his skill of drawing. We have regular ration for our salary and a really nice hospital. That was in 1979 and my daughter was born in July.

My husband had been told he would be sent to do training in Vietnam or East Germany. We suspect it might not be the case because of the racial hostility [for] ethnic Chinese which falls into my husband’s family. So we knew we’re not really that safe.

After Pol Pot we cannot go back to our own family home because it’s been occupied by the government official because that’s quite a big house. Nothing is belonging to you anymore, everything is to the government.

To travel to the Thai border is almost impossible at that time, only the people that transport food. So we bribed the driver of the truck that carried rice to Battambang, the province close to the border. It’s about 250 kilometres away but it took us ten days because the road had been badly damaged during the war. We paid them in gold and have to go on top of rice which is really dusty. That is really hard with the five months old baby.

We almost got killed several times; sometimes the lorry capsized. We had to pass through many checkpoints and don’t have any more valuable thing to trade, so I have to make the decision to follow my husband and [his] family because my mother-in-law had some gold. It was a tough decision to leave my mother and younger siblings behind. If I survive, then I will find a way for them to follow me.

Mum lost Dad and four other children, it was tough enough, but to lose me again, not knowing what’s going to happen because I might not be successful with my escape and the grandchild? But if I don’t come then my husband would not come, so I just had to be brave. We were so upset knowing we were going to be apart. I don’t know where the strength came from. She gave me a statue of Buddha and the photo of my great-uncle dressed as a very high ranking senator.

I had to leave behind lots of significant things including the sword. Another memorable thing was the portrait my husband draw of myself soon after my baby was born. There were no oils. He would go around the street trying to look for paint in the big, big sea of rubbish. He was really thrilled in gaining his skill back after it got rusty for four years. I had to sit for him to draw for a few hours and I had to run to feed the baby and come back.

We really, really fell in love in that I never knew before. It was really sentimental. We built up our relationship through that hardship and get to know each other. I know many couples divorce soon after Pol Pot because that was the circumstance that they decide to tie the knot.

But I knew I could do something with this education certificate. I learn the skill of hiding things during Pol Pot because it’s a matter of life and death. I insert that small certificate into the waistband in several folds. I knew it’s a big risk because it explains what I do, where I was born, even the table number I sat during the exam. It prove[s] my level of education, which isn’t very high but high enough for guards to consider I would be a threat to the government. I don’t know whether I’ll be alive or dead during my escape but I’m just looking for something to represent me and that’s the only thing I had at that time.

We present a false document at every checkpoint. Our original application is to attend the wedding of a relative near the border. Smuggling and bribery is in full practice so we pay those guards but the photo and Buddha statue [were] confiscated. They said, “You connected to the high ranking government?” so I had to make up story, but they have the small statue and said, “You’re trying to smuggle out of the country with this”. They just kept accusing and accusing and I said, “No, with baby I do not go anywhere, this is for my family heirloom, it’s left over from the Pol Pot regime. This is sacred for our family”. So we pay them gold or some bracelet and they keep quiet but then they took away the photo and the Buddha. But I’m glad I make the good decision of folding that certificate into my trouser waistband.

It was very, very scary experience, it was a miracle. We follow the guide we hired to show us the way to the Thai border. For local villagers, this is their trade; it’s a clandestine type of smuggling. I didn’t know I was pregnant with my second child, too stressed to know what’s happening.

For about 12 kilometres that would be about six or seven hours’ ride. Sometimes you’re slow, there’s several checkpoints and the very difficult part was to pass guerillas – Khmer Rouge resistance – and the Vietnamese troops which represent the government.

When we pass the Vietnamese we say we go to the next village to express our loss during Pol Pot. The Vietnamese have to give compassion to prove that they are friend to Cambodia. Then we go to Khmer Rouge and I pretend to be the wife of that [local villager]. It’s really hard to hide skin colour, the appearance, when you’re not really a farmer or villager. For me I can blend in alright but my husband, it was so terrible.

We managed to get to [the border] and were trying to get to the camp [to] access international aid. We registered with the United Nations High Commission for Refugees to get our rations. There were several camps. There was a horrible experience where some refugees in the next [camp] were taken back by the Thai government. We had to take risks all the time, we were not sure whether we were being totally protected or not, we could not communicate with the Thai driver.

Finally we [were] taken to the proper camp and stayed there for about three months. I managed to contact my aunty in Paris, so she sent money. Straight away I found someone to go back to Cambodia and then trying to get my surviving relatives, my mother and siblings, to the camp. My husband has a brother who lives in Australia so he sponsored us. That was [why] we left so quickly and move[d] to a holding centre [for two months], waiting for the flight. We were held back for six weeks because my daughter was very ill and had been taken to hospital.

Each day we go to the big centre to see [if] our name is on the board [to depart]. Your destiny [is] from day to day. Once we [were] called, I cannot lose the opportunity [but] then was so worried I would leave before my mother and sibling arrived. I can’t telephone, there’s no means of communication. We were so fortunate that they arrived just 10 days before I left. I managed to take a photo of them and I treasure that Polaroid. I was just overwhelmed with joy to be reunited with them and at the same time knowing there was only half of [the family] that made it.Phiny’s family reunite at Khao-I Dang refugee camp, Thailand, January 1980

“Mum, my sisters and brothers arrived and reunited with me. It was one of my happiest times to be together again [but] only half of [the family] made it.”

I accomplished one of the tasks I promised my mother [but she] was upset I left her again. That’s the second time we had to say goodbye but this time we would have more of a hope. I would try to get them out and I did.

[Coming to Australia was] the feeling of the unknown, the feeling of surviving, feeling to be grateful. I can’t deny I feel relieved and happy but it’s mixed with that sadness. [On] 25th of May 1980, I arrived in Brisbane and that was such a wonderful experience.

We were greeted by one of the immigration officials and it was so warm a welcome. I just never thank enough to the Australian government and the people the gratitude that [they] gave me life. This is the first thing I can put my trust in. I’m no longer cheating death, we were not at risk. I have a place to live without fear of being killed. And when I met that officer although we cannot communicate, I can understand and they really do their best to make the three of us feel welcome. Once we touched down, we were so overwhelmed.

The officer put us in a taxi. We saw the big road, the city and things like that and then the taxi driver happened to be female!! It was a Sunday and I did not know shopping wasn’t open so the city is quite deserted. We have a sense of suspicion all the time because we’d been through too much and I said, “What’s happening? Where’s the people?” Later we learned many people go to church.

My brother-in-law did not know the day we arrive [so] when we arrive to their house it was a complete surprise! They’re all scream[ing]. Then my daughter is so dehydrated because she had diarrhoea and didn’t eat. She looked half-dead and didn’t talk. It was so horrific. That night my sister-in-law call her friend, a paediatrician. It’s so lucky we have the top class treatment.

She had to be hospitalised that night and it was so difficult to let her go. We’re curious about [the hospital] and it was just a big experience. It was like coming out from hell and then we see different faces, different way of people treating. That is really mesmerising.

We stayed there until I gave birth to my second daughter in September. Then we move out from my sponsor to try and settle ourselves. During that time my husband managed to get a part-time job soon after he finished his English class. I was busy with two babies, so he’s the only one who can earn. I got home tutor and I learn English with the children [watching kids’] TV programs. That was a very good experience.

Phiny & Bunheang with their two young daughters, Brisbane, Australia, 1980
“[On] 25th of May 1980, I arrived in Brisbane and that was such a wonderful experience. This is the first thing I can put my trust in. I’m no longer cheating death, we were not at risk. I have a place to live without fear of being killed. Once we touched down, we were so overwhelmed.”

It took us a few weeks before we get rid of all the jetlag and of course adjust our way of life. The cooking – we didn’t really have difficulty comparing to other refugees [who] have to get used to lamb. So we did not experience the government migrant hostel so we accommodate to our liking with the rice and things like that, so I have no trouble.

When we come home, after the daily chore, we say, “What can we tell?” because even our own relative, my brother-in-law who sponsor us, find it hard to believe what happened. So we had to tell. Luckily Bunheang can use his skill of drawing.

He get the Indian ink, cardboard and some pointy pen. He said, “You have to remind me what you saw”. So we talked together, combined [our] experiences and then he start into his drawing. So every night when I put the children to sleep, we sit together, concentrate and recall. This is our homework [for] nearly four months. Every night.

We have no photograph and we worry we may forget. So it’s sort of an archive. After it’s built up for more than 90 drawings, then he start to show people. Much later he [worked with] a Queensland University lecturer to publish a book called Murderous Revolution.

» Khmer Rouge Toons illustration website

We have nightmare all the time. When I hear the knock at the door, I just don’t want to open [it]. We do not know who’s there, who will bring bad news; my mother and surviving relatives are still at the camp. So I hate to answer door. I had enough bad news. I was so afraid.

I did not know until much later that [the drawings were] helping us let our traumatising experience flow out. When you were the victim of terrible experience you can only think about what’s happening. You don’t have time to think what you’re going to do next. At that time there wasn’t a system of having counselling and with our culture, counselling is very much talking to your religious leader, relative or someone elderly in the community.

We have French as our second language. We [studied a little] English during secondary school but we only start to learn English when we arrived in Australia. When I arrive[d] in Australia the language experience was [intertwined with] discrimination. I can understand English but I can’t speak [much] just yet because I need a lot of practice. I recall when I went to greengrocer and trying to pick a few pears, that shop owner snatched that bag out and pour out the pears, grab all of the second grade and then charge me. I used my gesture not accepting that and protest. He just show me out of the shop, like, “You’re not accepted”. I recall I haven’t seen much of Asian appearance at that time so I was really the new face of physical appearance of the migration in the 1980s on the streets of Brisbane.

It’s sad but I cannot take that sort of racial discrimination as a very serious thing because I’ve been through too much. We learn to accept that we are newcomers so maybe this is the way it is? Communication was a really big problem but we try hard to learn and win the support by just being nice and friendly to others, not respond in a negative way. That’s the only way I can put myself into facing the discrimination which is a thousand things – on the bus, the train, sometime we got spat at but it’s [not] life threatening. It hurts, it’s really hard to take, but then we [had] a lot more to deal with, so we managed to toss it aside.

There’s no need to get involved in that kind of provocation. “Well you think you are the winner, so be it. We are the loser? Yes, of course I’m a loser; I lost my land, I lost my home country, I lost everything and I’m just coming to look for peace”. So we have to stick to that peaceful life.

Bunheang got an illustrator job in Brisbane three months after he attended the English class with the migrant education centre but it was only part-time, only about $10 more than the unemployment benefit because we have two small children and I wasn’t working.

I sponsor my mother [and siblings?] and they join me a year after [in Brisbane but] late ’81 [we came to Sydney]. My husband got a very good job he always dreamed to do, working in the animation studio. The studio in Sydney offered that position for a trial for 10 days. Bunheang did not believe that he get paid while on trial and the pay was almost double.

When he told me [he got the job], first I was so thrilled but then again it hit me hard I had to leave my mother again because I can’t afford to take them with me. So Mum again had to go through with a sense of loss, the third time.

Mum followed me [to Sydney] a year after, [she] missed her grandchildren. There is more opportunity in Sydney, we have more cosmopolitan, more Asian sort of concentration than Brisbane at that time. We become tourist at many occasion by learn[ing] the public transport. [Even] though it was very limited resource we were so happy.

Many other fellow refugee were not able to gather their strength to pick up the pieces in settling with the new life. The lack of confidence has really deterred [some] and I was able to work with many to build confidence and [improve their] education levels. I started as a receptionist with a small taxation office [where] I brought our tax return, but that was volunteering. It was only for a short time, trying to practice my English. Later I got a very good job as a part-time teacher with TAFE to work with young, unemployed Cambodians [aged] between 15 and 24 for three years. I also worked as a healthcare interpreter with the health department.

Australia [was] about to celebrate the bicentennial year, ’88, and the market crashed. The company my husband worked for suffered a great loss, so we [were] nervous because we bought a home. We thought maybe we look at a new venture by starting our own business. That was in 1988 and we went to Mosman [on Sydney’s lower north shore]. We found an old Bulgarian restaurant, Sofia, so there is no connection to Cambodia at all! We introduce[ed] our food to the Australian community in the upmarket northern suburbs. We travel three hours a day from the Fairfield area [in south-west Sydney] and we decide I have to resign from my government position. if I can escape from one country to another I [shouldn’t] worry too much!

Apsara, the dancing angel [which] culturally is very Cambodian, went surprisingly well thanks to my grandmother and mother who passed on the cooking skill. I use[d] all the family recipes. It lasted about four years [but] it was hard to run with small daughters and we didn’t close until two in the morning.

My husband decorated the restaurant with his drawings; that captured lots of attention. Word of mouth really did us a big favour; we seem[ed] to attract professionals and politicians. I recall Mr and Mrs Greiner[2] came to dinner and the producer, Bruce Dover, from A Current Affair with Channel Ten, was a regular face.

Bruce talked about the Pol Pot drawings and our life experiences. He said, “Do you think you can go back?” That was in 1989. At that time, it wasn’t really accessible [for] Cambodians to return because of the political situation with Vietnam. We had to get permission from the government because they control everything.

Mum was so shocked. How could I be so silly to leave [my] husband and children behind to take such a big risk? I said, “Mum, it’s not about money, it’s about confronting my past and the hope that I might find my sibling or Dad”. I heard people united after many years [after] they separate. If I knew [where] Dad is buried or siblings were killed, then I would be able to [have] closure because we did not really have a chance to grieve properly.

So I was an interpreter with the film crew to do the documentary, that’s all I knew. But once I got there it turned out I was the person that they were going to make the documentary about! They called it The Waiting Fields[3].

It was a really big experience and I spent about two weeks in Cambodia. The focus was on the refugee experience. I met my surviving relatives and went to the site where it was still fresh with mass graves. I didn’t go to Tuol Sleng prison because I wasn’t ready to. That was the place they held my father, brothers and sister and kill or torture them. I’ll never be ready to go to a place like that. I went to a place not far [away] and saw the remaining clothing still scattered everywhere. I learned [my grandmother] passed away when Pol Pot came to evacuate people from the city to the countryside.

I met my aunty. It was a complete surprise [for her]. I recognised her straight away but she took awhile to just absorb the reality. She didn’t know that I return to my homeland, nobody know. After we escape, we don’t communicate [for] a long time. Through another refugee friend we know she is still alive and okay in Phnom Penh. They film[ed our reunion] after nine years.

She said I am welcome to take whatever I want to take back, especially the sword and my portrait. I was speechless. I knew if I go myself as a tourist, I wouldn’t be allowed to take it because the government controls everything.

I arrange with the film crew to look for my family home. They organised to have a big family gathering. Finally we found it and I took some photos. People get really excited as it’s obviously it’s filming [by] foreigners. What shocked me most was that the orchard garden and big playground we all loved had been replaced by ugly timber. Another shock was that people were quite withdrawn.

Phiny revisits her family home, Phnom Penh, Cambodia, 1989
“I was so excited when the film crew finally found my family home. [But] I walk in and it’s totally different. The look of it is run down, disgusting, old paint and the second shock is new faces I don’t know. They speak my language but I had never met them before.”

Everybody is grateful I’m back alive. I leave Mum to make the decision who is to inherit the sword and [she] pick one of my brothers and I picked up [its] wooden case. So I take that as my belonging even though I’m a girl and not right [to] continue that inheritance. It’s part of the culture, you know. Too bad I was born a woman!

In 1993, the Dateline program at SBS television [wanted] me to confront the Khmer Rouge chief of our village. I’d been working voluntarily with the Khmer Community of New South Wales in 1984. One day I saw the Khmer Rouge chief of our village talk to our welfare worker for housing commission. I recognised him straight away and I believe he would feel the same way.

He accept[ed] he was the Khmer Rouge cadre but denied the killing. That’s another tragedy unfold I’ve got to learn to live with. A person involved with the life and death of my family is here with his ten surviving children. It was really tough. For my part I have to talk about it for the sake of my own history, but some people in the community portray me as the troublemaker and that I am jealous of his family’s business success.

There are people who have done some terrible crime but then live with us every day and pretend to be a good person or try to forget their past without asking proper forgiveness. He was trying to hide that and if I’m not exposing it the story would just go untold. Many have recognised him but wouldn’t dare take the same step.

My pure intention is I want to rest, I want to find closure for my personal tragedy. I cannot find my father’s body, I cannot find my father’s grave, I cannot locate the place where he was killed so what else do I have? [If I] hear the perpetrator apology I can forgive them.

Other people have difficulty to face the truth and try to sweep [it] under the carpet. The Khmer Rouge trial taking place in Cambodia [with] United Nations [support] also opens cans of worms.

In 1993 I fell pregnant with my third child and it happened to be a boy. We believe that was the gift from the big Buddha and my wish was granted. There’s 11 years gap so we decided to have another one, so we have four children, two girls and two boys.

That was in 2001 when my brother who inherited the sword got married in Melbourne. It is family tradition to take a photo before we carry the dowry to the bride’s family. That took me back to the time when I reunite with my family at the camp, but now we have triple numbers in that photo.

Phiny’s youngest brother’s wedding, Melbourne, Australia 2001

“It is family tradition to take a photo before we carry the dowry to the bride’s family. That took me back to the time when I reunite with my family at the camp, but now we have triple numbers in that photo.”

I know it’s difficult to be an individual who lives in constant fight of the difference in society and I just want to help the disadvantaged where they cannot use their intellectual ability or language skill to guide themselves. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last 25 years with serving the community [in a] development job. I [currently] work with the New South Wales police force as ethnic community liaison officer.

I work with any community, particularly the new emerging community where I have a lot of experience about understanding issues on prejudice, discrimination, racial tension. We tackle the problem about social hatred or why the community not really trust police or why the police don’t understand the community perception.

I decided not to go back to Cambodia. I can’t stand the corruption. I can’t stand the different level of life with poor and rich. I cannot tolerate the social injustice. It doesn’t matter how much I miss Cambodia, my homeland. I know I won’t return until the country goes back to the standard I would like to see.

PHINY UNG was interviewed on 20 January 2010

Interview, research, text edit, photography & film production by Andrea Fernandes, NSW Migration Heritage Centre

Film edit by Linda Kruger

Web layout by Annette Loudon, NSW Migration Heritage Centre

With assistance from Bunheang Ung and Cambodian Buddhist Society
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Bunheang and I later married.

[2] Nick Greiner was the NSW Premier at the time.

[3] A few years beforehand the movie The Killing Fields came out. (This film was based on Cambodian life during the Pol Pot regime.)

The First Day of the Khmer Rouge Victory ... and Beyond - by Cartoonist Sacrava

For the remainder of the cartoon-biography by Cartoonist Ung Bun-Heang, please visit:
www.Khmerrouge-toons.blogspot.com

Are Khmer leaders Father and Mother of Khmer People?

Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Op-Ed by U. Bun Heang
Translated from Khmer by Socheata

Every generation of Cambodian leaders boast that they and their group have accomplished achievements for Cambodia, therefore, they elevate themselves to the position of “Father and Mother” of Khmer people.

In reality, they all have better living condition than ordinary Khmer people. Their living condition is like “night and day” (or “chalk and cheese”) when compared to that of ordinary Khmer people.

Khmer leaders’ duty is the unconditional protection of the interest of the people and of the Cambodian nation, but, to the contrary, they all consider Cambodia as their private property… and they consider Khmer people as their unconditional slaves instead.

When will the Phnom Penh regime leaders recognize that they are in fact the servants of Khmer People? They are not “Father and Mother” of Khmer People!

U. Bun Heang

Cambodia: Critical Cartoonists Deterred by Defamation Suits, Imprisonment Threat

Self-portrait by Cartoonist Sacrava

Phnom Penh Post, Issue 16 / 10, May 18 - 31, 2007

From to Pol Pot to Winnie the Pooh, this pencil-wielding polemicist has made cartooning his life's' work-his political satires incite laughter and controversy

Few dare caricature Hun Sen, but Ung Bun Heang does. Cambodia's press is marked by a smattering of biting political cartoons, but the ruling elite, royalty and the Prime Minister in particular are adverse to satirical critique. The threat of defamation suits and imprisonment is a powerful deterrent to cartoonists with a critical bent.

But from the comfortable distance of Sydney, dissident cartoonist Bun Heang, 55, is providing a restive counterpoint to constraints on the press, with searing critiques of Cambodia's political scene on his blog Sacrava Toons.

After surviving the Khmer Rouge regime, Bun Heang used his artistic skills to forge travel documents and left Cambodia as a refugee in 1979. He now focuses from afar on the political life of his homeland. And no one is safe from his caricature - not Hok Lundy, not Hun Sen, not even King Father Norodom Sihanouk.

In Australia, Bun Heang has worked as a children's book illustrator, as well as an animator for film studios, including Walt Disney, winning a daytime Emmy as part of the production team for "The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh." But politics is his real passion.

"My father warned me to not get involved with politics because it would lead to jail, assassination, or political asylum," Bun Heang told the Post by email. "But I believe it's been my destiny to have been involved with Khmer politics - not as a politician but as an observer with a pencil."

Political opium

Bun Heang has published a graphic history of life under the Khmer Rouge and was an editorial cartoonist for the Far Eastern Economic Review from 1997 to 1999. Although many Cambodians are only now beginning to discover his work, he has been dissecting the Kingdom's politics with his pencil since the Lon Nol coup in 1970.

As a student of painting at Phnom Penh's Fine Arts School from 1965 to 1975, Bun Heang sought an outlet for his real passion.

"I loved to draw cartoons but we didn't have any course or animation studio in Phnom Penh so I went to some newspapers to show them my work," he said.

Soth Polin, novelist and editor of the independent newspaper Nokor Thom, gave the 18-year-old a job as an editorial cartoonist. Working alongside journalists, economists, and university professors, Bun Heang remembers his four years in the newsroom as a period of intellectual ferment.

"I was a good listener and from those years, I became addicted to this political opium. It's all inside my body, my mind, and even my dream," he said. "But I'm glad I'm hooked to it."

Each Thursday night he worked until dawn to produce a cartoon for the front page of the paper. He continued to work for Nokor Thom until its last issue in 1974, when Polin fled the country.

Sam Sarath, the senior cartoonist and illustrator for the Center for Social Development, remembers clearly Bun Heang's Nokor Thom cartoons, which he adopted as a model for his own work.

"I admired his work a lot more than any other cartoonist," he said. "His cartoons were political, meaningful and easy to understand."

Surviving the Khmer Rouge

When the Khmer Rouge entered Phnom Penh and forcibly evacuated the city, Bun Heang put down his pencil and headed for his home village in Prey Veng province. Hiding his background as a "bourgeois intellectual," he worked the paddy fields and built dams. He witnessed executions, purges of Khmer Rouge cadre, and the massacre of more than 30 relatives. He also married and with his wife survived until the arrival of the Vietnamese in 1979.

They returned to Phnom Penh and Bun Heang found work with the Vietnamese-backed regime in the Ministry of Information. His job was to draw cartoons for animated propaganda films that lauded Vietnam's liberation of Cambodia.

"My job was to show smiling Vietnamese soldiers helping Kampuchean peasants," he recalled.

When his superiors took offense to his habit of caricaturing the Vietnamese with bucked-teeth, he was hauled before a committee, who accused him of being in sympathy with the Khmer Rouge and of stirring up nationalist sentiment against Vietnam. Bun Heang apologized profusely and narrowly avoided internment in a re-education camp.

Soon after, he forged travel documents for himself, his wife and five-month old daughter, as well as his mother and two sisters. In December 1979 they headed to the Thai border and after a perilous ten-day journey arrived at the Khao I Dang refugee camp. After six months they were resettled in Australia.

"When the plane took off from the runway, my heart told me that I would be a free man again," Bun Heang recalled.

During his first two years in Australia, Bun Heang drew 90 intricate drawings of his experiences during the Khmer Rouge regime.

"I put so much detail on each drawing because I wanted to them tell their own story. Each took 12 to 14 hours to finish," he said.

Working with Martin Stuart-Fox, a former Vietnam war correspondent, he published the drawings with the story of his experience under the Khmer Rouge in the book "Murderous Revolution: Life and Death in Pol Pot's Kampuchea"

"While working on the book I spoke to Martin using broken French and English plus my body language. It was a fun and unforgettable experience," he said.

In 1995, Bun Heang began posting political cartoons online called Khmer Sweet. As his audience grew, he launched Sacrava Toons in 2004.

As more Cambodians log on, his cartoons are becoming increasingly well known, particularly among youth. His work now appears both on his blog and on the popular KI Media website.

Bun Heang last visited Cambodia in 1994, but was warned against staying.

"One of my old teachers told me: 'Go back to Australia. There's no room here for people like you. You'll be killed at any time'," he said.

He now remains in touch with the Kingdom via the internet.

"I contact Khmers in Cambodia every hour and receive news from inside CPP, the Royal Palace, and rural Cambodia," he said. "There is a Khmer patriot network and thanks to the mighty IT tunnel, we can be in touch in less than five minutes."

Bun Heang's work focuses on what he considers the major issues affecting the country, including corruption, "fake democracy," deforestation, lawlessness, impunity, land grabbing and what he perceives to be an overreaching influence of Vietnam. His cartoons are highly critical of the ruling Cambodian People's Party.

"Hun Sen always reminds Khmers to thank CPP but forgets that it's his government's duty to protect Cambodia's interests," Bun Heang said. "They all get paid to do a job and they ought to thank the Khmer people who provide them with the best living-style, while millions of Khmers live in poverty. What I can see is that everyday they're not serving Khmers, but oppressing them."

Despite his critique of the ruling party, Bun Heang said he was not aligned with any opposition party. Describing himself as "a diehard Khmer republican, " he said his brother, Ung Bun Ang, a former Sam Rainsy Party senator, once tried to persuade him to join SRP but he refused.

"I said no because no one controls my head - only Cambodia and its people," he said. "I'm an observer. I like to poke fun at anyone or any government who doesn't do the right thing for Cambodia, even Rainsy."

Bun Heang's work is often anti-Vietnamese and includes blatently racist caricatures and epithets, but he's adamant his attacks are not racially motivated but political.

"I admit that my cartoons are always anti-Vietnam but I'm not against the Vietnamese people," he said. "I'm against the policy of Hanoi towards Cambodia. It's nothing to do with the Vietnamese people, who love peace just as Khmers do."

Constraints on the press
Ou Virak, head of the Alliance for Freedom of Expression, a coalition of 28 NGOs, said that while Bun Heang's work was often controversial, he was making an important contribution.

"You don't always have to agree with what he says - and I don't always - but the act itself is what's important," he said. "Freedom of expression should be welcomed regardless of whether you like it or not."

Virak said it was unlikely Bun Heang's work could be published in Cambodia, as the government was not ready for such searing satire.

"They're critical political cartoons, which we don't see in Cambodia. They're conveying a message and are probably doing it better than any of us here can," he said. "It would be a plus for Cambodia if they could [be published]. It's a tremendous way to convey political opinion to illiterate people."

Sarath said it was a "great thing" that Bun Heang's work was now becoming known in Cambodia.

"Not many people know his work from the Lon Nol period because most of those people have died," he said. "I would like to be able to draw critical cartoons like his new work but in order for my security I need to avoid it."

Bun Heang has now moved away from his finely detailed drawings and instead produces multimedia cartoons.

"With new technology, like Photoshop, I can draw cartoons within an hour, which is fun for an old dinosaur like me," he said.

Bun Heang now places his hopes for Cambodia's future on the youth.

"Everyday I'm so pleased to receive comments from yoBun Heang Khmer. It's my message to Khmer kids to learn our past, present and prepare for the future," he said.

Despite his outspoken critique, Bun Heang said he had never felt in danger in Australia, and vowed to continue Sacrava Toons "until the last minute of my life."

"Everyday I'm surrounded by my beautiful family and that makes me think of Khmer families in Cambodia who have no chance to enjoy prosperity like mine," he said. "Their suffering is what inspires me to draw for free everyday."