Written with Sam Weston and Ashleigh Whittaker.
A look into the lives and smiles of the people of Vietnam and Cambodia in 2015
Chapter One: Light in Dark Places
Vietnam, 1955-1975: Up to 2 million Vietnamese civilians die during the Vietnam War.
Cambodia, 1970-1975: Between 1.7 and 2.5 million Cambodians die during the Pol Pot-led Khmer regime, known as the Khmer Rouge.
Thirty years on, these two neighbouring nations continue rebuilding from two of the 20th century's most destructive conflicts. Remarkably, Vietnam was named the second happiest country in the world in a recent study. And in Cambodia, virtually an entire generation is eerily missing- but its young generations are upward bound, refusing to dwell on the past. Instead, they are pushing relentlessly to develop their country.
For outsiders, it is scarcely fathomable how a country can overcome such horrific histories to prosper once more. The conflicts loom over the two, spectre-like, but from Hanoi to Siem Reap, life moves on. Smiles have returned. So how do we measure our happiness as outsiders to people who've experienced such terrible things? Is there is a discrepancy between what the word 'happiness' means to us Westerners and what the word represents to the people of Vietnam and Cambodia?
Thousands of Vietnamese children are born handicapped every year; even now thirty years have passed since hereditary effects of their ancestors’ exposure to the dioxins in America’s mutagenic pesticide, ‘Agent Orange’. Most of the kids we meet suffer what we would call autism or Downs Syndrome. They are the lucky ones: dreadful physical deformities are the trademark of Agent Orange.
Cambodia, 1970-1975: Between 1.7 and 2.5 million Cambodians die during the Pol Pot-led Khmer regime, known as the Khmer Rouge.
Thirty years on, these two neighbouring nations continue rebuilding from two of the 20th century's most destructive conflicts. Remarkably, Vietnam was named the second happiest country in the world in a recent study. And in Cambodia, virtually an entire generation is eerily missing- but its young generations are upward bound, refusing to dwell on the past. Instead, they are pushing relentlessly to develop their country.
For outsiders, it is scarcely fathomable how a country can overcome such horrific histories to prosper once more. The conflicts loom over the two, spectre-like, but from Hanoi to Siem Reap, life moves on. Smiles have returned. So how do we measure our happiness as outsiders to people who've experienced such terrible things? Is there is a discrepancy between what the word 'happiness' means to us Westerners and what the word represents to the people of Vietnam and Cambodia?
In Vietnam's capital, Hanoi, a cluster of ugly buildings lies set back from the cacophony of peak hour traffic.
Scores of Vietnamese youth are growing up behind these grey walls, belonging to the Thanh Xuan Peace Village. They are being educated, nurtured, cared for. They sweat and howl in the oppressive heat of midsummer. Students and volunteers play with them and placate them. These children are the most terrible legacy of the ‘American’ war. They are, indeed, the all too forgotten legacy.Thousands of Vietnamese children are born handicapped every year; even now thirty years have passed since hereditary effects of their ancestors’ exposure to the dioxins in America’s mutagenic pesticide, ‘Agent Orange’. Most of the kids we meet suffer what we would call autism or Downs Syndrome. They are the lucky ones: dreadful physical deformities are the trademark of Agent Orange.
The Peace Village was established in
1991, to help victims of a problem that has decimated swathes of family
bloodlines across the nation. The war had so many victims the government
cannot give enough to every organisation of this kind. Annually, it
receives less than $13,000 from the government. Instead, it relies on
the assistance of volunteers, both Vietnamese and foreign visitors.
We are a group of around 12, armed with expensive cameras and recording equipment. We march through the classrooms. The children's reactions to our strange presence are varied. Some laugh bemusedly, some stare or look away. Some are visibly distressed by us being there. They are comforted by the high school students who act as makeshift older siblings. 'Happiness', here, is another concept altogether. What can you possibly do to make these children happy - truly, happy? Some volunteer, others give money.
Thanh Xuan is hardly a sanctuary. It is a grim place. But it is, at
least, a reminder that people care. Happiness equates to being
comfortable; being accepted. Even in these darkest of places, there
remains a defiant sense of looking after one another. These children,
unlike many less fortunate than them, are not alone. For happiness, this
is enough.
We are a group of around 12, armed with expensive cameras and recording equipment. We march through the classrooms. The children's reactions to our strange presence are varied. Some laugh bemusedly, some stare or look away. Some are visibly distressed by us being there. They are comforted by the high school students who act as makeshift older siblings. 'Happiness', here, is another concept altogether. What can you possibly do to make these children happy - truly, happy? Some volunteer, others give money.
 |
A student with Downs Syndrome uses our camera
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Doi Moi is the name given to Vietnam’s post-war economic reform. Meaning ‘renovation’ in English, the Doi Moi
was underpinned by an international ‘open door policy’ to encourage a
shift from a quasi-communist society into something of a socialist
market economy. Almost instantly, it transformed a war-decimated,
peasant economy into a flourishing, entrepreneurial boom in the cities.
But, as so often is the case, the power was centralised in the tallest
buildings in the largest municipalities. Many farmers and ethnic
minorities were left behind. Look around in Hanoi now, and like in most
parts of developed Southeast Asia, you will see Starbucks here; a KFC
there. Tourism continues to grow. We ask our tour guide, Hung Nguyen
Duy, about the modernisation and internationalisation of Hanoi. "It's a
problem for the government. My nephew... he's into this... K-Pop..."
In the spirit of 'Uncle Ho',Vietnam is stoutly determined to reach for a quantitative 'happiness'. It's succeeding; the 2014 Happy Planet Index placed it only behind Costa Rica in the happiest places on earth. Some commentators, though, suggest Vietnamese people view 'happiness' in a different way altogether. Ask many Vietnamese people if they are happy, and you will hear: 'yes, because the future is bright for me and my family.'
Perhaps Vietnam's high ranking on the Happy Planet Index is better construed as a mirror of Vietnamese optimism, rather than a total contentment with their daily lives. To them, 'happiness' is a melting pot of factors: material life, political regime, human rights and a harmonious development between the individual and society. Trying to classify 'happiness’ can be even more difficult depending on who you ask. Just a few hours up a winding road through a mountain or two and you might get an entirely different answer.
Mai Chau is a small farming village a few hours west of Hanoi.
Jagged mountains impose themselves over this bucolic little oasis, Mai
Chau. In one corner of the village, the Vuong family runs a small
homestay business. Tourists seeking a more authentic experience can stay
in their longhouses backing onto rice paddy fields.
'Stately' is the word springing to mind when we meet Ha Van Vuong, the family patriarch. Our guide, Hung, reveres him as an 'esteemed ex-government official'. Working the business with his wife and six daughters, Vuong is at home in his little community away from the noise of Hanoi's big smoke. In the past, he was teased for never having a son. But as the warm, proud eyes fix their gaze upon us, it's clear this never bothered him in the slightest.
The Vuongs' second daughter, Le, studied in Mai Chau, before doing three and a half years higher education in Hanoi. Now, she’s been working in a government office in her home village for eight years and is already a high ranking official.
Le is articulate, pragmatic and free-thinking; traits not always available to women when her mother was a child. And that isn't the only change over generations. Nowadays, young people don't have much time for traditions like wearing traditional dress or speaking their village's native Thai language.
For the Vuongs and the other local families, happiness is found in the balance of welcoming swathes of Westerners with big appetites, and preserving their unique and beautiful traditional way of life. Vietnam's farmers might have missed out on the Doi Moi’s golden years, but their government’s sempiternal expansiveness has reaped rewards. ('Better late than never', Vuong says.) With knowledge and qualifications behind them, and most importantly their families, the rising generations of Vietnam have a common ambition to reach happiness, along the lines of: 'whatever happened yesterday, we can make a better tomorrow'.
Bruce Springsteen fades into Pharrell Williams' smash hit, "Happy".
Siem Reap, built on the great ancient city of Angkor Wat, is a tourist trap. But Cambodians still live here, too. A ten minute ride on a tuk-tuk away from the drunks on Pub Street lies another quiet, unassuming block. Twenty girls sleep in their bunks. They are young and bright, hand-picked to come to Siem Reap from rural areas to get a high school education.
Sophal Sea is a disarmingly invigorating young man. His smile is broad and gleaming; his passion infectious. He is the founder and director of the NGO2 Girls Dormitory Project. He has virtually single-handedly been responsible for the secondary education of hundreds of young women since 2008. He selects around 20 students a year from across the countryside. 80% of Cambodia's population live in rural areas where living conditions are of a lower standard than the urban centers.
Sophal wants little more than to contribute to the development and growth of Cambodia, his country which he holds so dearly. In 1967, Sophal recounts, Singapore's founder Lee Kuan Yew visited Cambodia. 'I want my city to be like Phnom Penh', he said. After suffering through Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, the reality of Cambodia today is stark. It is sixty years behind Singapore in development. To Sophal, his nation's happiness depends on seeing his students flourish.
"Education will change your life.
And you can get everything that you want."
- Kaliy Thik, a former student at the Dormitory now working as a journalist in Phnom Penh
Kaliy Thik is an example of Sophal's dream in action. After graduating from the Dormitory Project, she became a journalist for the Phnom Penh Post, a daily newspaper printed in English and Khmer. Even though becoming a journalist wasn’t her initial career goal. In Cambodia, it can be an incredibly dangerous job.
Kaliy is all the more remarkable given how few females actually make it into roles of influence. She believes she is one of around ten female journalists in Cambodia- a nation of 15 million people. There is still the prevalent belief women should stay home performing domestic duties rather than have a career. This is part of the reason Sophal’s project is such an important lifeline to the young women lucky enough to be selected. Kaliy considers herself lucky her family are supportive of her career choice.
In many ways, Kaliy has latched onto Sophal's dream. She wants a better Cambodia and can envisage a brighter future. She wants equality for men and women. She values truth and justice. Working as a journalist fulfills her and makes her happy.
The current crop of girls huddle around us. They are excitable, but measured. It is clear the young women Sophal select show leadership, dedication and intelligence.
"Can we tell you our names?" they grin. Some are more advanced in English studies than others but they all teem with excitement, ready to ask a range of questions they have been memorising in English class. "How many brothers and sisters do you have?" "What do you study?" "How many languages do you speak?"
A last girl quietly walks in. Her name is Set Channy. She was born in Preah Vihear's Kulen district. The elder sister of five siblings, she has read over a hundred books. Her English, despite only learning for two years, is excellent. She answers questions under her breath faster than our translator can.
All her possessions are folded at the end of her top bunk dorm bed. She knows, like Kaliy before her, knows how dangerous journalism is in Cambodia. We are handed a briefing for each schoolgirl we get to meet. In the briefing Channy wrote for herself, the final sentence is as unflinching as the girl herself: ...Some people say I cannot reach my dream, but I will make them know how far I can go.
You would not bet against this wildly ambitious and wildly intelligent girl. We offered her our limited knowledge when she keenly asked for tips and advice from us about journalism. A girl like this, you sense, will succeed in her goals regardless of any advice we could possibly offer. Channy is, in realistic terms, the future of Cambodia - a country so stunted in its development by a terrible genocide. We ask her if she is proud to be a young girl in Cambodia today. She stares, and matter-of-factly says:
“Yes, I’m very proud. Because if I was in the war, I would die.”
At just fifteen, the events of decades before her birth nonetheless
impact heavily on Channy's reality of happiness. These girls proudly and
openly bear the weight of their nation's hopes on their shoulders. Pol
Pot is dead. These girls no longer have enemies to contend with.
Instead, they are being given real support and safety and they are
thriving in it.
For now, drunk young tourists might be propping up Siem Reap's economy. Whisper it quietly, but something special is happening in here, as a new breed of dedicated and unafraid young people seek to reinvigorate their country from the bottom up. If and when Channy does 'bring justice' to her country in her work at the Phnom Penh Post, Cambodia, like Vietnam before it, will rise from the depths of despair into that gloriously beautiful haven Lee Kuan Yew saw in 1967. These countries are being rebuilt, literally, before our very eyes. The people here are some of the happiest people on the planet.
Hanoi is modern; bustling. Yet, Vietnam's soul and national identity remains heavily forged in age-oldtradition.
But Hung Nguyen's not quick to criticise the Doi Moi. He emphasises just how happy everyone is to live in a country liberated by a demigod-like figure in Vietnam's history. 'Uncle' Ho Chi Minh died in 1969, but on another energy-sapping summer heat, the lineup to see his body in a mausoleum is three hours long. For Vietnamese people young and old, the triumphs and struggles of the past are still very much front of mind in informing their happiness today.In the spirit of 'Uncle Ho',Vietnam is stoutly determined to reach for a quantitative 'happiness'. It's succeeding; the 2014 Happy Planet Index placed it only behind Costa Rica in the happiest places on earth. Some commentators, though, suggest Vietnamese people view 'happiness' in a different way altogether. Ask many Vietnamese people if they are happy, and you will hear: 'yes, because the future is bright for me and my family.'
Perhaps Vietnam's high ranking on the Happy Planet Index is better construed as a mirror of Vietnamese optimism, rather than a total contentment with their daily lives. To them, 'happiness' is a melting pot of factors: material life, political regime, human rights and a harmonious development between the individual and society. Trying to classify 'happiness’ can be even more difficult depending on who you ask. Just a few hours up a winding road through a mountain or two and you might get an entirely different answer.
Mai Chau is a small farming village a few hours west of Hanoi.
Its population is largely made up of the White Thai ethnic minority.
Jagged mountains impose themselves over this bucolic little oasis, Mai
Chau. In one corner of the village, the Vuong family runs a small
homestay business. Tourists seeking a more authentic experience can stay
in their longhouses backing onto rice paddy fields. |
| Mai Chau at dawn |
'Stately' is the word springing to mind when we meet Ha Van Vuong, the family patriarch. Our guide, Hung, reveres him as an 'esteemed ex-government official'. Working the business with his wife and six daughters, Vuong is at home in his little community away from the noise of Hanoi's big smoke. In the past, he was teased for never having a son. But as the warm, proud eyes fix their gaze upon us, it's clear this never bothered him in the slightest.
The Vuongs' second daughter, Le, studied in Mai Chau, before doing three and a half years higher education in Hanoi. Now, she’s been working in a government office in her home village for eight years and is already a high ranking official.
Le is articulate, pragmatic and free-thinking; traits not always available to women when her mother was a child. And that isn't the only change over generations. Nowadays, young people don't have much time for traditions like wearing traditional dress or speaking their village's native Thai language.
For the Vuongs and the other local families, happiness is found in the balance of welcoming swathes of Westerners with big appetites, and preserving their unique and beautiful traditional way of life. Vietnam's farmers might have missed out on the Doi Moi’s golden years, but their government’s sempiternal expansiveness has reaped rewards. ('Better late than never', Vuong says.) With knowledge and qualifications behind them, and most importantly their families, the rising generations of Vietnam have a common ambition to reach happiness, along the lines of: 'whatever happened yesterday, we can make a better tomorrow'.
Chapter Three: Nations from the Ashes
It is the fourth of July. "Born in the USA" blares from the speakers of a seedy club in the middle of 'Pub Street', Siem Reap, Cambodia. Nobody really considers the agonising, cringeworthy irony: America played a role in the Khmer Rouge's genocide. In the 1970s, it helped depose the popular King Siharnouk and replace him with the despot Lon Nol. The resulting antagonism from rural Cambodia proved to be the breeding ground for Pol Pot's rise to power.Bruce Springsteen fades into Pharrell Williams' smash hit, "Happy".
Siem Reap, built on the great ancient city of Angkor Wat, is a tourist trap. But Cambodians still live here, too. A ten minute ride on a tuk-tuk away from the drunks on Pub Street lies another quiet, unassuming block. Twenty girls sleep in their bunks. They are young and bright, hand-picked to come to Siem Reap from rural areas to get a high school education.
Sophal Sea is a disarmingly invigorating young man. His smile is broad and gleaming; his passion infectious. He is the founder and director of the NGO2 Girls Dormitory Project. He has virtually single-handedly been responsible for the secondary education of hundreds of young women since 2008. He selects around 20 students a year from across the countryside. 80% of Cambodia's population live in rural areas where living conditions are of a lower standard than the urban centers.
 |
| Somebody's home on Tonle Sap Lake, Siem Reap |
The dormitory is not only a school, but also a place to grow and live.
He leans excitedly over his desk, reciting to us in his fluent English a mantra he drills into the girls.
"Education is everything… Education is power".
Sophal appears hellbent on changing lives. Previously employed in a hotel and then as a monk, his bold vision has now manifested itself into a prestigious school. But he struggles to sit still. He eagerly explains numerous projects he's imagined- all of which will undoubtedly come to fruition. He is infinitely proud of 'his girls', and rightly so.
He leans excitedly over his desk, reciting to us in his fluent English a mantra he drills into the girls.
"Education is everything… Education is power".
Sophal appears hellbent on changing lives. Previously employed in a hotel and then as a monk, his bold vision has now manifested itself into a prestigious school. But he struggles to sit still. He eagerly explains numerous projects he's imagined- all of which will undoubtedly come to fruition. He is infinitely proud of 'his girls', and rightly so.
Sophal wants little more than to contribute to the development and growth of Cambodia, his country which he holds so dearly. In 1967, Sophal recounts, Singapore's founder Lee Kuan Yew visited Cambodia. 'I want my city to be like Phnom Penh', he said. After suffering through Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, the reality of Cambodia today is stark. It is sixty years behind Singapore in development. To Sophal, his nation's happiness depends on seeing his students flourish.
"Education will change your life.
And you can get everything that you want."
- Kaliy Thik, a former student at the Dormitory now working as a journalist in Phnom Penh
Kaliy Thik is an example of Sophal's dream in action. After graduating from the Dormitory Project, she became a journalist for the Phnom Penh Post, a daily newspaper printed in English and Khmer. Even though becoming a journalist wasn’t her initial career goal. In Cambodia, it can be an incredibly dangerous job.
Kaliy is all the more remarkable given how few females actually make it into roles of influence. She believes she is one of around ten female journalists in Cambodia- a nation of 15 million people. There is still the prevalent belief women should stay home performing domestic duties rather than have a career. This is part of the reason Sophal’s project is such an important lifeline to the young women lucky enough to be selected. Kaliy considers herself lucky her family are supportive of her career choice.
In many ways, Kaliy has latched onto Sophal's dream. She wants a better Cambodia and can envisage a brighter future. She wants equality for men and women. She values truth and justice. Working as a journalist fulfills her and makes her happy.
The current crop of girls huddle around us. They are excitable, but measured. It is clear the young women Sophal select show leadership, dedication and intelligence.
"Can we tell you our names?" they grin. Some are more advanced in English studies than others but they all teem with excitement, ready to ask a range of questions they have been memorising in English class. "How many brothers and sisters do you have?" "What do you study?" "How many languages do you speak?"
A last girl quietly walks in. Her name is Set Channy. She was born in Preah Vihear's Kulen district. The elder sister of five siblings, she has read over a hundred books. Her English, despite only learning for two years, is excellent. She answers questions under her breath faster than our translator can.
All her possessions are folded at the end of her top bunk dorm bed. She knows, like Kaliy before her, knows how dangerous journalism is in Cambodia. We are handed a briefing for each schoolgirl we get to meet. In the briefing Channy wrote for herself, the final sentence is as unflinching as the girl herself: ...Some people say I cannot reach my dream, but I will make them know how far I can go.
You would not bet against this wildly ambitious and wildly intelligent girl. We offered her our limited knowledge when she keenly asked for tips and advice from us about journalism. A girl like this, you sense, will succeed in her goals regardless of any advice we could possibly offer. Channy is, in realistic terms, the future of Cambodia - a country so stunted in its development by a terrible genocide. We ask her if she is proud to be a young girl in Cambodia today. She stares, and matter-of-factly says:
“Yes, I’m very proud. Because if I was in the war, I would die.”
 |
| Tourists cram into Angkor Wat for sunrise |
For now, drunk young tourists might be propping up Siem Reap's economy. Whisper it quietly, but something special is happening in here, as a new breed of dedicated and unafraid young people seek to reinvigorate their country from the bottom up. If and when Channy does 'bring justice' to her country in her work at the Phnom Penh Post, Cambodia, like Vietnam before it, will rise from the depths of despair into that gloriously beautiful haven Lee Kuan Yew saw in 1967. These countries are being rebuilt, literally, before our very eyes. The people here are some of the happiest people on the planet.
 |
