I’m still writing! Thank the gods. Or not. As you like. But in lieu of something substantive, here you go:
CEDAC, the Cambodian Center for Study and Development in Agriculture, is one of those organizations that people who know me instinctively think I will (instinctively) dislike. But nope, for the most part, I think CEDAC does fantastic work, encouraging smallholder sustainability, helping reduce farmer debt, improving methods through institution based education, and much more importantly, encouraging farmers to hold mutual education and consultations, and promoting the benefits of organic and more natural farming methods. Perhaps the two most important things they do (though they won’t say this outright most of the time, since it goes somewhat against the image of the Cambodian farmer itself) is to promote the diversification of crops grown by farmers – especially vegetables, and then helping to provide markets for these crops. In Rasmei Kampuchea today, CEDAC is quoted as claiming a pretty substantial set of successes:
“Mr. Lang Seng Houn showed figures that among 192 villages from five provinces, 14,300 families benefited from the project. the number of farmers who cooperated is 7,300, the living standard of 500 families changed greatly; 5,900 families experienced an average change, and 800 families got poorer. The number of women who have changed their attitudes and abandoned their old habits is 3,500, and the number of youth under the same category is 900. And 1,500 of the poorest families who sold their labor to have some income have changed their living standard and have become independent farmers; the livelihood of farmers in general is better. Generally, they can earn 80% more from the increase of the agricultural production and from the reduction of other expenses. They have stepped up the basis for this to retain the continuity of their production teams, and 718 teams have saved money – they have 6,000 families as members so that they are able to link their products to markets. Each family earns from Riel 1.4 million to Riel 2.6 million [approx. US$340 to US$635 per farming season] from their agricultural products; those are 427 families in Kompong Chhnang, Svay Rieng, and Kompong Cham. Their income is from paddy rice, from the breeding of chickens and pigs, and from the planting of vegetables and other crops.
via The Mirror
The Asia Times has an article by Megawati Wijaya about Asia’s Angry Monk Syndrome. This is a disease I’d never heard of before, but apparently refers to the supposedly novel actions of monks in the public sphere, where they can be found – in the press suddenly, as in reality for a while – protesting, providing aid in contravention of junta-based demands, and other things.
John Whalen-Bridge, co-editor of a series of books on Buddhism, refers to the growing phenomenon as “angry monk syndrome”, a flip way of referring to the clergy’s departure from the pursuit of equanimity and raised-fist involvement in the call for political change and economic justice. Politically active monks are not an entirely new phenomenon. Western observers will likely recall the images of Vietnamese monk Thich Quang Duc, who, in protest against the corruption and repression of the South Vietnamese government, self-immolated himself in June 1963.
It’s a worthwhile topic of conversation, but the keypoint I would highlight (and more needs to be said about this) is not that this type of action goes back as far as the period of decolonialization, but that the Sangha (the community of Buddhist monks) and governments are consistently imagined in a sort of productive tension with each other. In spite of governments’ ability (throughout history) to nearly completely subsume and incorporate the Sangha, the Sangha is universally understood to symbolically occupy a moral place above that of kings and sovreigns. As one honored teacher told me recently, the main thing to understand about Buddhism and Kings is that they are always capable of policing each other. So, when kings insist that the Buddhist patriarchs purify the sangha (as happened momentously in Thailand’s relatively recent history, and in Buddhist countries throughout their histories), we see merely the flipside of what is now being referred to as Angry Monk Syndrome – the policing of the sovreigns by the monks.
We should not, as is far too common, read this tension in a merely romantic mode, assigning the real sphere of morality to monks. The vast majority of the time, the Buddhasangha exists in a perfectly happy relationship with sovreigns, who as a matter of course predate on their subjects. Instead, our focus should be on (a) the conditions under which monks break free of their relationship with sovreigns, (b) the aims of the monks [re-establishment of a moral sovreignty? something else?], and (c) historical comparisons of the results of such monkish engagement.
Poor Rochom P’ngieng – if that is her real name. She’s the ‘jungle girl’ who was supposedly found in the mountain jungles of northeastern Cambodia by a family which lost their daughter at the age of eight (18 years previously), and identified by the family as their long lost daughter. Since she had apparently gone savage (she still ‘cannot’ speak, and talking in an ‘animal-jungle’ language, according to her family), and wanted to return to the forests, she spent much of her early months with her family bound and captive in their home. There’s a tragedy in her somewhere, and very likely more than one. P’ngieng’s story captures the imagination for many reasons: the family drama, the lack of certainty of her identity, but also for more cultural ones: the heavy emphasis in Cambodia on the distinction between the geographies of the forest (ព្រៃ) and the ’srok’ (ស្រុក), in which the former is the domain of wildness and the latter the domain of civilization. In reality, Khmers travel between these domains all the time, but P’ngieng’s story highlights the possibility of more permanent transitions, a possibility both terrifying and tantalizing to many Khmers, in my experience.
Maximilian Forte, over at Open Anthropology, has written a nice review post of several books on the worldwide revolution of 1968 (it’s the fortieth anniversary, after all). My mother-in-law asked me the other day if we were starting to relive that period, and I could only reply that in many ways it was similar, but that this didn’t necessarily make me hopeful. As Forte points out, citing Fred Halliday, the eventual outcome of the revolutions of 1968 were a consolidation of reactionary, right-wing, capitalist authority. We’ve lost so many of our elders to the so-called Reagan Democrats, death, and various forms of refusal; I’ve long thought one of the most important things that anybody can do is to insist on intergenerational relations.
So why do so many of those who were alive and active at the time celebrate 1968? First, it clearly was a revolution, or at least a series of revolutions. They failed, perhaps, but they were definitely revolutionary. That in itself is a cause for celebration. But a more insidious reason lurks, I think, behind these celebrations – they are for many a form of self-justification that allows their former participants to excuse their inaction while perserving their self-image. I was there, goes the story, and [it didn't work/I did my part/whatever]. Nostalgia is a virus. One hopes that this current incarnation of revolutionary action doesn’t fall prey to what Marx referred to in his justly famous essay on the ‘revolution of Napoleon the little’:
Hegel remarks somewhere that all facts and personages of great importance in world history occur, as it were, twice. He forgot to add: the first time as tragedy, the second as farce.
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