BBC April 2012
Immigrants taken to the US by their parents as young
children grow up as Americans - but on paper they remain foreigners. This means
they can be deported if they commit a crime, and condemned to a life of
permanent exile.
Sam's first memory is riding a sledge in the snow on the
way to primary school in New Hampshire.
His favourite film is Scarface and in breaks during our
conversation, he raps Tupac lyrics. He loves skateboarding and going to the
gym.
There are millions of American 20-somethings just like
Sam but unlike them, Sam can never set foot in the US again.
Two-and-a-half years ago, Sam was deported from the US
to Cambodia, a country he had never even visited before. A land of chaotic
traffic, fermented fish and endemic corruption.
In the late 1970s and early 80s, in the aftermath of the
Khmer Rouge regime, the US granted asylum to thousands of Cambodians fleeing
the anarchy in their home country.
They set up home in places like Lowell, Massachusetts,
and Long Beach, California. They got jobs, went to school, learned the language
and became, in all but name, Americans.
“First day I get off the flight, officials surround me like vultures, because they think I got money - I got no money!”
Given permanent resident status, many never thought of
applying for citizenship but in March 2002, in the wake of 9/11, the US and Cambodia
signed an agreement allowing any non-citizen refugees who had committed
felonies to be deported back to Cambodia.
Since then several hundred have been returned. Today
they are stranded and lost, a long way from home.
 |
| The average salary in Cambodia is less than $50 per month |
I first met Sam in Phnom Penh 2010, just a few months
after he'd arrived in Cambodia. Since then we have met several times to talk
about what has happened to him.
Born in a refugee camp in Thailand, he arrived in the US
one month old, with his mother, brother and sister.
Sam is proud of his childhood. Thrust into a
bewildering, new world, things were not easy but he still talks happily of how
he and the few other Khmer kids stuck together. And even though they were
smaller than the rest, they would look out for each other and hold their own in
fights.
After high school, Sam did a range of jobs, mainly
factory work. He had a stint in juvenile detention for refusing to help a
police investigation and a couple of other short stays in prison, including one
for stealing a car radio and speakers.
But by 2009 he was working, living with his girlfriend
and caring for his young son. That was when the immigration authorities took
him in.
His earlier robbery of the car stereo made him liable
for deportation at any time. After several months in detention, he was forced
on a plane to Cambodia.
Last week, as we sat in a cafe Sam told me about what it
was like arriving in the country.
"First day I get off the flight, officials surround
me like vultures, because they think I got money. I got no money? They were
talking to me in Cambodian, but I couldn't' understand."
Rubbing his head intently, as though still unable to
process his experience, he continued: "Then we get out and it is hot. Hot!
And all I've got is the clothes on my back and 28 cents in an envelope. And I
was like, 'What the hell am I going to do? What the hell am I going to
do?'"
Fortunately for Sam, the organisation RISC, which helps
new returnees, picked him up from immigration at the airport and gave him a bed
for a few nights. But this support is unusual. Most Cambodians have not warmed
to the returnees.
"People die every day to try and go to America and
for you to come back here? They think you're some kind of terrible
person," Sam says.
Being a returnee is not something that's easy to hide.
Sam has spent a long time in the gym in the US, he's twice the size of most
Cambodian men, he has tattoos and speaks the language with a strong American
twang. Blending in is not a possibility.
At first he spent a lot of his time with fellow
returnees. Now he says he doesn't want to - that it doesn't help him settle in.
Many, already suffering from drug dependencies and
untreated mental illnesses, find themselves drawn back into crime. It is not
uncommon for returnees to end up trapped in Cambodia's bewildering and brutal
penal system.
Sam has tried to get work but in a country where the
average monthly salary is considerably under $50 (£32) a month it's not easy to
find a job to support himself. Whenever we talk he tells me he feels like he's
in a "daze", a feeling that he can't shake, a sense of bemusement.
Although he knows it to be true, he can't accept that America has shunned him
so completely. That it won't forgive him. Ever.
In the two years since I first met him, things have got
a little better. He has joined a church which seems to provide him with a sense
of belonging, his Khmer language skills have improved and with the help of
friends and family in the States he can afford to rent an apartment.
But when I ask him if he might ever feel at home in
Cambodia, he is adamant: "NO! Never! Definitely. Never ever! No matter how
long I'm here. The feeling of being home is when you're really home. I'll never
have that feeling again."
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