Moung Sokhem (second from left) reunites with estranged children Ramary (left) and Sokhoeun (right in black suit) (Photo: Brendan Brady) |
Harnessing the emotional trauma of
one of the 20th century’s most tragic episodes—a nearly four-year
ultra-Communist revolution that left a quarter of Cambodia’s population
dead— the reality TV show “It’s Not a Dream” is jarringly raw.
June 20, 2012
By Brendan Brady / Phnom Penh
Time Magazine (USA)
The television host asked Moung
Ramary about her estranged father as cameras zoomed in on her anguished
face and panned across the studio audience. Ramary, who today is a
photogenic and expressive 33-year-old woman, was in her mother’s womb
when, in 1979, in the days after the fall of the Khmer Rouge regime, her
parents separated, she explained to her inquisitor. As the host teased
out tears by prodding her to talk about her sorrowful childhood, the
father she had never met was just a few yards away, hidden by a wall but
watching her talk through a live video feed. Harnessing the emotional
trauma of one of the 20th century’s most tragic episodes—a nearly
four-year ultra-Communist revolution that left a quarter of Cambodia’s
population dead— the reality TV show “It’s Not a Dream” is jarringly
raw.
Three months earlier, Ramary was
flipping through channels when she came across the television program
on which she would soon appear. “I started watching and saw how they
helped people find lost family members so I decided to call in,” she
told TIME the day before her reunion. The show, which airs on the
Cambodian network Bayon, debuted in 2010 and is modeled on a program in
neighboring Vietnam that reunited family members who were separated
during the country’s years of civil strife in the 1960s and 1970s. Most
people in the Cambodian version were separated during the Khmer Rouge’s
rule from 1975 to 1979, during which some two million Cambodians died
from starvation, overwork or execution. The regime often forcefully
split families as part of a wider policy to destroy traditional bonds.
It also banned schooling, religion, and any other belief system or
institution it deemed a threat to its authority. By the same Orwellian
logic, they frequently arranged marriages between strangers to ensure
their union was purely procreational.
That’s what happened to Ramary’s
parents. “I hadn’t known her, I didn’t have any feelings towards her,”
Moung Sokhem, now in his 60s, said matter-of-factly of Ramary’s mother,
speaking to TIME at his home on the outskirts of Phnom Penh a few days
before he appeared on the show. Sokhem was unschooled but skilled at
menial labor, which made him a model citizen in the eyes of cadres who
oversaw their village. Ramary’s mother, on the other hand, was a classic
class enemy: urban and educated, a fact which she hid in order to avoid
being targeted. After the fall of the Khmer Rouge, their forced
marriage unraveled.
Ramary’s case is unique in that
her parents chose to separate. Most of the more than one thousand cases
submitted to the television show involve loved ones who were torn apart
against their will. After the Khmer Rouge were toppled in 1979, most
Cambodians marched for days or weeks back to their birthplace in search
of estranged family members. Others sought refuge in sprawling camps
along the border with Thailand as remnants of the fallen Khmer Rouge
army continued to wage war in parts of the countryside. To this day,
most Cambodians have a close relative whose fate is uncertain.
Yet, the country has never had a top-level initiative to help estranged family members reunite. Most Cambodians still survive on a couple of dollars a day and lack the resources to conduct far-flung investigations.
Prak Sokhemyouk, the reality show’s producer, says “It’s Not a Dream”
is designed to fill this gap. She also hopes it will teach young
Cambodians about a horrific episode of their country’s history that they
might know little about. Many parents avoid talking about this dark
era, and younger generations’ ignorance of what happened has been
compounded by the absence of Khmer Rouge history in the national
curriculum until just a few years ago. Addressing those years remains
sensitive for the government because many current officials, including
Prime Minister Hun Sen, participated in the revolution.
Even the producer, Prak, admits that until she worked on the TV show,
she avoided hearing about the Khmer Rouge years because she found the
facts of her country’s self-destruction too painful and inexplicable.
Some Cambodians and
international observers hoped that a war crimes court opened in Phnom
Penh in 2007 would provide a foundation for national reconciliation. In
2010, the chief of an infamous torture center was sentenced to 35 years
in jail – a term that was recently extended to life. Tens of thousands
of Cambodians attended his trial and many more followed testimony on
television. Legal wrangling, political interference and delays have
beset subsequent prosecutions. Besides, argues Youk Chhang, director of
the Documentation Centre for Cambodia, a non-profit group that collects
research about the Khmer Rouge, the tribunal has a narrow scope. The
goal is to prosecute crimes within a limited jurisdiction, he says, not
to provide a venue for national catharsis.
The absence of wider venues for
Cambodians to address their suffering has exacerbated the psychological
toll, say mental health experts. For survivors of the Khmer Rouge’s
rule, simply discussing what they experienced is therapeutic, says Chhim
Sotheara, a psychiatrist with the Phnom Penh-based NGO Transcultural
Psychosocial Organization. Various studies have found that between a
third to more than half of Cambodians who lived through the 1975 to 1979
revolution subsequently suffered from post-traumatic stress. However,
few receive care . Though some have access to help from NGOS, government
assistance for mental health is essentially non-existent. “It’s Not a
Dream”, then, treads a fine line: stirring up pain for the cameras but
also, sometimes, providing a form of joyous resolution.
The reunions, of course, are not
always jubilant. In one of the most emotional episodes – there have
only been 17 so far – a brother was reunited with his two sisters.
Holding her brother on stage, one sister’s first words to him were: “Our
parents are dead. The rest of our siblings are dead. It’s just us.”
Ramary’s reunion was less painful, but equally dramatic. When her father
was brought on stage, she prostrated herself before him, according to
Cambodian tradition, and he fell to his knees to embrace her. They could
barely form words for one another. “I want to live with love and
warmth, I don’t want to feel hatred or malice,” Ramary had said in an
interview before her reunion. Since being reconnected with her father,
Ramary has regularly visited him and his new family – meetings that she
says have helped give her closure.
In contrast to the evermore
scripted and trivial reality TV that’s proliferated in the US – shows
built around loud personalities and dubious everyday scenarios – “It’s
Not a Dream” produces the kind of convulsive sobs and clenched hugs
that’s the stuff of genuine documentary. But even when working with such
profound material, a bit of stagecraft is needed. At one point in the
middle of Ramary’s shoot, Prak, the producer, walked onto the stage and
whispered a message to the host. She was telling him to hurry up, she
explained after the show. “We were losing the emotion.”
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