Ministry of Justice

Theary Seng

October 1996

My experience with CANDO has been many things often paradoxical. I enrolled as a volunteer receiving only a stipend rather than a salary. Nevertheless, my pay was 36 times more exorbitant than the average salary of a Cambodian professional. I anticipated a life of commonality. I was given the life of a lady. I volunteered to serve. Rather, they made me a T.V. star. I humbly went into a land in search of my roots. By the end of my stay, I'm not certain I haven't developed arrogance to shield away my confusion of identity which still lingers. I went in search of long lost relatives; they, instead found a gold mine in me. However, along with the wrinkles, I have gained a wealth of knowledge that otherwise could not be obtained elsewhere except in-country. Irrespective of my still largely undeveloped vision, one day I pray this information I acquired will translate into wisdom and a more mature understanding of life, love, and country.

Given my concern for the Cambodian legal system, CANDO assigned me to work in the Ministry of Justice under two capacities: one, as a legal assistant to the Minister's legal adviser, and two, as an English teacher to 60 students, comprising mainly of judges, lawyers, and top Ministry administrators.
In my capacity as legal assistant, I drafted most of the English correspondence for the Justice Minister. Some of the writings have been editorials that I translated for His Excellency Chem Snguon which have appeared in English language newspapers. Moreover, I did intensive research for the Minister's legal adviser, Dr. Mau Phat, regarding Cambodia's border dispute with Vietnam and Thailand. However, it was the Asean project I found the most challenging and engaging. In 1997, Cambodia is poised to translate its observer status in Asean to full membership. My assignment involved researching Asean issues specific to the Justice Ministry and creating an Asean bureau with resources and materials for the Ministry in preparation for 1997.

As an English teacher, I taught three classes to top Ministry administrators and judges from the supreme, appeal, municipal, and provincial courts. Basic English was taught in two of my three classes. I had more opportunities to exchange legal concepts with my third class who had a stronger command of the English language.

I entered the Ministry of Justice with three indelible handicaps. First, I am an "anikachun", a person of Cambodian origin who lives overseas. The term carries the odor of arrogance, ostentation, corruption, and obsession with power as duly reflected by the relatively huge anikachun population in parliament, ministries, and lucrative businesses in Cambodia. This tension is created when anikachuns and foreigners commit hypocrisy and sell their integrity. Under the guise of development work, they exude superiority. They passionately criticize corruption from the vantage of removed possibility for it, only to capitulate tenfold in its availability.

Second, I am a woman living in an institutionalized male-dominated society. Cambodia counts sixty percent of its population women. However, they are either mothers or sensual objects of men. The gravity of societal perception suppresses her development. A woman who goes against the current does so at her reputational peril. The higher the echelon of power, the more entrenched this attitude prevails.
My youth framed the third handicap. Society highly regards the experience of the aged for the its wisdom and knowledge at the expense of ignoring the benefits of youth. In relation to my students and colleagues in the Ministry, I am but a toddler.

My introduction to my student judges and Ministry administrators confirmed my fears as evidenced in their suspicious reaction and hesitant acceptance of me. I did not want to merely survive during my one year in the Justice Ministry. I wanted to make a difference in the lives of my students and colleagues. This would require that I shatter the perceptions attached to me and gain their trust. It was a challenge I willingly embraced.

While everyone was on the usual three-hour lunch break, I spent my first day at work scrubbing and cleaning the Ministry's public bathroom, deemed inoperable given its filthy and unsanitary condition. That day, I spent a lion share of my stipend on cleaning solutions, air freshener, mops, toilet papers, soap, and other toiletries to rectify the Ministry's availability of bathroom facilities. The Ministry does employ a janitor. However, he lives in among the heaps of trash in the backyard of the Ministry's compound. Anything made of concrete - no matter how much filth layers it - he perceives clean. It was to take another four scrub downs - with his timid observation from around the corner - before he displayed confidence in maintaining the facility to a usable level. To my fortune, I gained friends and acceptance that day as news spread throughout the Ministry.

In time, their trust and respect for me as teacher and colleague developed as I fully immersed myself in Cambodian culture. I rarely fail to dress in proper Cambodian attires and display affection for Cambodian customs. My accent and demeanor at times betrayed my American identity, but they took no offense and may have found them endearing. Of all the volunteers, I was the only one who was given a four-wheel drive and a driver by her workplace. This, I accepted half of the time in gratitude of the Ministry's consideration and opted for the cyclo rides the other half to preserve my humility. Everyone in the Ministry addressed me as "Teacher" even though many were not my students. Often, I find myself the only woman dining in the presence of 15 judges and officials, comfortably inputting my opinions to the Appeal Court president or a Supreme Court judge.

Often in the classroom I manipulated this sphere of influence with my students to discuss political topics otherwise prohibited by law. Class discussions surrounding the arrest of Prince Sirivudh were to test the degree of this rapport with my students. I stood at the National Assembly when the verdict was announced to strip Prince Sirivudh of his political immunity. Subsequently, the king's half brother was arrested and convicted in his role as the mastermind behind the alleged coup d'etat. The international community and human rights groups unanimously condemned the allegations as unfounded and politically motivated, and the arrest and conviction in stark violation of due process of law.

My students' names were all over the newspapers as prosecutors and judges handling the Sirivudh case, pawns as they were in the political chess game. The Justice Ministry bustled with secrecy and hush conversations. I attended class visibly upset at the injustices toward Prince Sirivudh and a country paralyzed by fear, very much reminiscent of Khmer Rouge days. My personality and history permit me with no alternative but to break the bond of silence and address my students indirectly the current political situation. I framed the week's lectures around the points and importance of due process of law. Without ever mentioning the Sirivudh case, I impressed on them the necessity of legal safeguards against megalomania and the repetition of historical holocaust. Afterward, one student asked to drop the class. But it was not until several months later that I learned the impact of my talks. One student confided in me that although his English capability allowed him to comprehend only half my lecture, his full understanding came as a result of my being visibly and inconsolably upset. I thought I detected admiration in his voice.

Cambodia holds so much despair and sorrow for me. It is still difficult for me to comprehend that Cambodia at one point could not even count 100 people with at least a high school diploma (either because people didn't respond out of historical fear or that was the state of affairs). Imagine this country existing in the 21st century. I can't. Nevertheless, I hope. And I participate.