By Jonathan DeHart
June 11, 2013
“To keep you is no gain; to lose you is no loss.” This
mantra, often repeated by the Khmer Rouge, encapsulated the regime’s philosophy
of governance. More than three decades since the Khmer Rouge’s reign came to an
end, the after effects of its time in power (1975-1979) are still felt in
Cambodia, where some 2 million died under its rule, including 90 percent of the
nation’s artists.
Yet prior to the Khmer Rouge’s culling of the nation’s
population and heritage, Cambodia was in fact a creative regional hub. Given a
people that created Angkor Wat, perhaps this should not come as a surprise.
Still, it’s intriguing to note that in the pre-Khmer Rouge days Cambodia
produced a crop of psychedelic bands who rocked their way across Southeast
Asia. Sinn Sisamouth and Ros Sereysothea were at the forefront of this sonic
ferment.
While it took the nation a few decades to start springing
back to its feet – still an ongoing process – the few remaining leaders of the
Khmer Rouge are being tried for war crimes and the nation’s still-impoverished
economy is gradually picking up steam, thanks in part to its agricultural
strength. Cambodia’s artistic life has also begun to reemerge, as seen in the
growing international reputation enjoyed by contemporary Khmer artists – on
prominent display most recently at New York’s Season of Cambodia 2013.
The story of Cambodia’s creative rebirth captured the
attention of filmmakers Kathryn Lejeune and Janna Watkins, who cofounded Sueño
Documentary Films. Partnering with Creative Visions Foundation, the duo has
produced a feature-length documentary, Year 33, the result of their exploration
of Cambodia’s cultural rebirth. The title of the film refers to the 33 years
that have passed since the Khmer Rouge ended its bloody campaign.
Lejeune recently spoke with The Diplomat about the
devastation brought to Cambodia’s artistic life by the Khmer Rouge, the Year 33
documentary project, and the nation’s artistic resurgence.
Please put this in historical context a little bit. What
happened to the 10 percent of the country’s artists who managed to live through
the Khmer Rouge reign? I realize many were killed, but were some kept on to be
used by the brutal regime in some way?
Many of the artists who survived the culling by the Khmer
Rouge did so by hiding their identities. If someone learned that their neighbor
in the camp was college educated or an actor, for example, they were very
tempted to turn them in in hopes of being rewarded with some food.
Some traditional arts, such as ikat weaving, survived
because they were considered pure and untainted from the outside world.
However, families were intentionally split up and part of the wonder of Khmer
ikat is that the patterns are all memory based, passed on from mother to
daughter over a period of many years. As a result, this art form was very much
interrupted and many ancient patterns and methods were tragically lost.
What about the actual works of art? Did the Khmer Rouge
destroy much of Cambodia’s physical heritage in the same way that Mao’s gang
wiped out much of China’s during the Cultural Revolution?
Before the unrest that swept over Southeast Asia in the
1970s, Cambodia was experiencing a “golden age”, with incredible films, music,
and modern art pouring from a vibrant and innovative creative community. The
Khmer Rouge sought out and destroyed any copy or work they could find along
with libraries and ancient Buddhist temples.
Have you been in touch with any artists who survived the
Khmer Rouge reign? If so, what did they share with you from their experience of
living through the ordeal?
Em Theay, the grandmother of one of our main characters,
was an Apsara dancer during the time of the Khmer Rouge regime. Apsara dance is
thousands of years old, but closely related to the royal court. Because of
this, many dancers were killed outright. Fortunately, Em Theay was able to
convince the guards of her camp that she could work hard in the field and dance
during breaks to keep spirits up.
The officials saw that people were in a better mood, and
therefore could work harder when she danced so they let her continue. She told
me she didn’t mind too much performing for the Khmer Rouge because it was only
the dance that mattered, not the soldiers. There is a documentary about her
life called The Tenth Dancer, as nine of ten dancers were killed and she was
the tenth, who survived.
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