Pacific Journal

The train was an hour late in getting to Santa Barbara. After a nice send off, I settled into an aisle seat on the ocean-facing side of the train. Somewhere passed Vandenberg I could see a large container ship plodding its way up the coast, a gray rectangle sitting right on the horizon.
I felt overwrought until dinner on the train. An expensive meal but I was lucky to be seated at table 18 with Miss Paso Robles/Hawaiian Tropic, her 3 year old daughter, Mia, and their Italian friend. They were returning home to Oakland after a vacation to Seaworld. I enjoyed their company immensely. Our food was an hour late in arriving but we filled the time with talk. I opined on spoiling children (good!), having siblings (good in small numbers), and food (butter, salt, and wine). Mia was eating a pad of butter with her Shamu spoon, after sprinkling salt on it and taking a sip of wine, “She is a gourmet!” I observed. They said I looked like a movie star. Couldn’t narrow it down - I didn’t offer any suggestions but I’m hoping they thought I was Kyle Mclaughlin.
I was able to secure two empty seats for a fitful nights sleep. Awoke to a beautiful snow covered pine forest in the mountains with a river running alongside the tracks. Unfortunately, we were still in California. The train was now running four hours behind schedule. More snowy scenery and the train was six hours late. Finally arrived in Portland, eight hours late. Got a cab and headed for the docks. Got lost, called the shipping agent, got the correct address, and made it to the boat a little after the New Year. The third engineer, Bjorn, led me to the elevator and up to my room. They were celebrating in the crew rec. room, so I left my bags, and went down to join them.

Captain Hans Kroeger:
I first meet the captain at lunch the day after I came aboard. He was just finishing as I sat down.
“Hello, Mr. Norris, pleased to aquaint you. I am Hans-Rudy Kroeger.”
“Hello,” I said.
“I have met before some Californians. Yes, I know you are one from your passport. You know Andrew Bingham? A very rich man. I ship cargo for him once. From Thailand to California - big stones. You know of this man? He owns all the pineapples in Hawaii. Very rich. What is it called, the pineapple company?”
“Dole?”
“Yes, that’s it, Dole. Very big. He has a very big property in California. He wanted these big boulders shipped from Asia to California. I met him. He flew out to Thailand in a private jet to see to the loading. He stayed on the ship for three days. Very interesting man. About sixty years, very short and wide.”
The first mate interrupted, handing the captain a walkie-talkie.
“O.K. so enjoy your lunch, I have to attend this.” And he was off.
That night we left Portland at around 3 am. I was told not to go to the bridge when the Pilot was onboard - guiding the ship in and out of port. Sometime in the early evening I woke to the sound of a helicopter and a search light flashed by my window. At breakfast the first mate told me the Pilot had left the ship by helicopter. The ship does not have a heli-pad - it landed on the containers. After lunch, after asking permission, I went up to the bridge. The ship was heading north along the coast of Washington State. The captain, second mate, and third engineer were on the bridge in mid conversation. I nodded at the two crew but the captain was facing away from me so I stood by the starboard window and admired the pine covered coastline. The captain had been speaking German but now switched to English and I caught snippets of a story, “ What kind of farmer comes on another’s farm without you know a greeting?” I sensed he had expected me to say hello when I first got on the bridge. There was a pause and I said, “Hello, Captain.” Then he acted like I had just appeared.
“Ah, hello, Mr. Norris. We are underway, calm seas no?” It was a very pretty day. I had already noted that the crew were all expecting me to be seasick but I felt great. “Did the helicopter wake you last night? Yes, most unusual, but the Pilot left by helicopter, the sea was too rough for pilot boat.”
The bridge stretches the width of the ship atop the quarters and living areas, with two outdoor wings on either side. Facing forward it is all windows and the main cockpit-two big chairs with large radar displays, to the aft are two rooms for the communications and navigation equipment.
“There is no steering wheel.” I noted to the captain.
“Yes, all computerized. Very modern. But bad design.” He now was speaking to everyone on the bridge. “These monitors should be centered, you sit here and see! Why they put them here I don’t know. I think ship designed by Americans!” He was clearly enjoying himself. The third engineer, a Filipino, interjected, smiling, “Or perhaps a Philippine design.”
“Hah! Yes, a Filipino... or more likely a Korean.” I knew from the first mate that they didn’t like working for the Koreans, the Hanjin Shipping company. The captain seemed to have finished venting, and spoke to me calmly.
“So, Mr. Norris, I must finish the story of this Bingham, very important. You see these boulders, some were sixty tons, all different sizes and shapes, we put them in the hold. But carefully. You see is designed for containers, rectangle boxes, not big stones. This man had more money than god I think. I asked him where he got the stones, he says to me, ‘You are German you must know the place... you know where the British prisoners of war were made to build the bridge.’”
“The Bridge over the River Kwai.” I interjected.
“Yes, of course. You know it. So they bring these boulders by hand and elephant down from this place, up in Cambodia, down the river to Thailand and we load with cranes into the ship.”
“Why did he say you should know this bridge because you are German? Did he think the Germans had something to do with it?” I interrupted.
“Ach no, he understood I knew the movie, you see. The movie is big known in Germany.”
“Alec Guness.” I said
“Yes, good actor.” I thought about mentioning that the Kwai was nowhere near Cambodia but I let it slide. He went on. “So this funny little man, Bingham, he fly out to oversee the loading of these great boulders, so I ask him ‘what you need these for?’ And he says he is going to put them on his big property in California, all arranged overlooking the ocean. He had too much money I think. So I know Californians.” O.K. I was thinking I could tell him I know Germans and a thing or two.
“Have you seen the movie “Lord Jim’? Starring Peter O’Toole?” I asked.
“No, I know this O’Toole - ‘Lawrence of Arabia’.”
“It is based on a book by Joseph Conrad, takes place in Cambodia.”
“Yes, I know you are going to Cambodia, first mate told me. Why you go there? Lots of girls, and I think what do you say... queers?” I let that slide.
“Well, I am writing a book about the making of this movie, ‘Lord Jim’ back in 1963.” he seemed not the least bit interested so I continued. “The book is about a first mate on a cargo ship that travels up this river to help the locals fight a warlord.” I tried to narrow down my summation to something he might understand.
“Yes, I have not seen this movie.” And that was that.

The next morning we were being piloted into Seattle past the islands, a sunny day, the city’s glass and steel buildings gleaming in the morning sun.
“Yes, you know I am from a small island, one hundred some miles north of Hamburg. It is there Jimmy Hendrix had his last big outdoor concert before he died in some London hotel.”
“Seattle has a museum for...”
“Yes, of course I know, the Jimmy Hendrix museum, the chief told me last night they have such a thing, I have never been. But his last concert was on our little island...”
We were still inching into dock around dinner time. I decided to sup on ship and then head ashore to look up Michelle and Laurent. At dinner the captain was in a state about the Koreans. Talking excitedly with the first mate in German. After he took his leave to meet the Port Agent, the 1st told me that the shipping company wanted us to leave at 3:30 instead of the scheduled 5:30. I didn’t see the significance until I realized he meant 3:30 am the next morning instead of 5:30 pm the next day. So I had only tonight to be in Seattle.
I went ashore with three of the Filipino crew, they were friendly to me as we had all gotten drunk together on New Years Eve. They were heading for the Seaman’s Club and I asked them where there might be a phone. They pointed down the road, “McDonalds has three phones, just a few blocks down.” The port was right downtown, next to the ferry terminal so there were a lot of shops, bookshops, bars and coffeehouses. I went into a cozy place called the Central and ordered an Irish Coffee, as it was freezing out and I needed some change. I called and spoke with Laurent. They were just sitting down to dinner, so I said I would call back. I walked down the street to a Starbucks that had a T-Mobile wireless hotspot and logged on. I wrote a quick response to everyone and then went back to the Central. Michelle said they would be by in fifteen minutes. They asked me what I needed to do. “Bookstore, Liquor Store, Internet Cafe.” I said. We went to a big mall with a Barnes and Noble, I bought a DVD of ‘Lord Jim’ and a copy of Shaw’s ‘Major Barbara’. Then we went to a liquor store where I bought a carton and a half of Exports and a bottle of Shiraz. Then we went to a dark bar that they used to frequent. We talked of old times and caught up on the intervening years. It was wonderful to see them. Then we went to a coffee bar around the corner that had wireless access, had tea and I showed them pictures from the ship and the web site of the FCC in cambodia. They drove me back to the pier and we said our goodbyes near enough to the ship that I could point out my three port side windows two levels below the bridge. The lady at the security checkpoint asked for my ID, I flashed my expired California drivers license, she didn’t look at it and let me through.
That last paragraph (as far as the captain story goes) can be summed up thusly; at Seattle I went ashore and bought cigarettes and a copy of ‘Lord Jim’ on DVD.
The ship left early the next morning. Quickly leaving sight of land the ship headed for the Aleutian Islands. There were several large storms to be avoided so our course would take us in-between the island chain and up into the Bering Sea, then across to the Russian peninsula and then down towards Japan. That evening at dinner I told the chief engineer and first mate that I had bought a DVD and I wanted to give it to the ship but I needed to make sure it would play on their equipment (PAL vs NTSC ect...) So they suggested I try it in the Officer’s Lounge. After dinner the chief engineer and I went to the lounge and I started up the movie which played fine. I asked if they wanted to watch it and they said, “Ya, let it play...” Later, a few other officers stopped in. The movie (I had forgotten) begins with Jim taking a first officer position on a rust bucket cargo ship run by a drunken crew and despotic German captain that runs into bad weather while transporting hundreds of Muslims to Mecca. The crew abandons ship without freeing the other life boats, and Jim falls or jumps in with them out of fear. They arrive in port and discover that the ship did not sink and that they were branded as the worst kind of cowards. The rest of the tale is of his redemption by helping the natives of a Malay village free themselves from Eli Wallach, which was filmed of course in Cambodia. He finally must either leave the town for breaking his word or he must die. He chooses to die, so that his redemption is complete. After the movie, only two of the crew sat through the whole thing (which I had forgotten is intolerably long and overly sentimental), and I commented to them, “The moral of the story is to not abandon ship if there are still passengers onboard...”
Now some quotes from O’Toole on the making of that movie:
"If I live to be a thousand," says O'Toole, "I want nothing like Cambodia again. It was a bloody nightmare.”
“Nicest thing you could say about the food was that it was grotesque."
One day Crown Prince Sihanouk, Cambodia's ruler, showed up. "He started yelling the usual anti-British crud," says O'Toole. "I walked up to him and said, 'I couldn't agree with you more. I'm Irish meself.'"
“ I really hated it there. How much so you can judge by the fact that after six months in the Orient I hadn't picked up a single word there, whereas after nine months in the desert on Lawrence I was speaking Arabic pretty well."

We are now off the coast of Russia. It is snowing. I went up to the bridge earlier when a bit of sun was shining and you could see the Kuril Islands all white and remote off the starboard bow, and the captain and 3rd officer were putting together a needle point kit. The design was of a German farm scene. I watched them fuss with the rollers and the 3rd officer, Rex, from the Philippines, showed the captain how to thread the needle and make a stitch. Then I made my way to lunch. The steward invited me to his birthday party tonight, which will probably be like the New Years Eve party and the 2nd engineer’s birthday party of the night before: ten or so Philippines and a couple of germans sitting in a small lounge listening to the most awful fucking 90’s music.
The captain can be a real pain in the ass. I wandered into the ship’s office, where I usually found the chief officer, Jan Schumann, but the captain and 1st engineer, 3rd engineer, and the mechanic were having their tea there. “Hello, Mr. Norris. Yes, of course, come join us for tea. You can sit and say nothing like you usually do.”
So I did. I literally sat and had my tea and said nothing. They went on in german like I wasn’t there. Finally the 1st engineer got up and asked if I would like to see the engine room. I said yes and bolted.
But apparently the captain and I have something in common. At lunch he asked me where I had been, as he never saw me at meals. I considered this odd as I had not missed a single meal since the first breakfast. So I said, “Well, I’ve been...” I thought for a moment, “Where have you been?”
“Of course, yes, you know I’m not at these parties they are always having,” He looked at the steward whose birthday party was after dinner, “Too many parties they are having...” The steward, Alexander, took his cue and departed. “I am not having drink no more. They took away my license after third time. You know after first offense it is a month’s wages and three days jail, but after third - no driver’s license. But, you know, small island, you can still drive without license.” He then went on to tell me how he had been ripped off by prostitutes in Pusan. I took this as an opportunity to describe how I had been ripped off by prostitutes in Hong Kong, “Yeah they didn’t believe my signature was the same as on the card so they made me sign another check for the same amount. I got billed twice!” He was leaving as I said this and I’m not sure he understood my english.
I should point out that he and I were not talking about your usual kind of prostitute, but what could be called taxi girls, like taxi dancers, they sit with you and make eyes at you and you buy them a cola that costs three times more than your vodka tonic.
The captain has an easy way with his crew, he jokes around with them a lot and takes their back talk in stride. This is probably good as they are all communists. Not just run of the mill communists but Trotskyites. If he were a hard ass they would eat him for tea fucking time. I learned this after teaching the chief engineer, Peter, and second engineer, Edward, how to play scopa at the steward’s birthday party. Most of the officers are in fact from the former East Germany (Edward is from Kenya). They started to warm to me after I established that I was more fervently anti-Bush than they were. They liked Swartzenegger’s movies but couldn’t believe he was governor of California, “another Austrian, no?” I guessed the reference to Hitler. I’m thinking the Captain is no Bush lover too but we haven't discussed politics. Although, when we were in sight of the Kurils I said, “Those are Russian islands?” and he replied, “You think they are maybe American? Of course, no, not yet.”




A few notes about the sea:
When we left Portland the sea was calm, the ship stayed close to the coastline. From Seattle we were out in the open Pacific. It was relatively clear but the swells were big and the ship tilted back and forth 30 plus degrees akimbo to the horizon. I never felt the least bit seasick, but it was difficult to sleep as I was constantly rolling around, tensing my muscles to stay flat on the bed. A hammock would have been the right solution. I know this could have been worse because the elevator never stopped working, the chief explained how it will shut down automatically in heavy swells. The crew were very aware of how unpleasant a big storm can be, and the Pacific in winter has lots of them. We took the extreme northern route and avoided three of these low pressure systems, outrunning one just barely. We passed through the Aleutians at night so I never got a look at them. We also were in a thick fog, you could not see the prow of the ship from the bridge. Eventually the fog lifted but now we were at the furthest extent of our northward progress and the sun barely rose and it was light for just a few hours. I had imagined I would be able to see the stars really well from out in the middle of the Pacific but it was always overcast. On the southbound leg, along the Kamchatka peninsula, it began to snow. There were some pretty big swells too. Blizzard white out conditions at night. It snowed pretty much constantly until we reached Hokkaido and passed through the very crowded strait there. It was a semi-clear day and the coast of Japan was coated in snow, very beautiful. The Sea of Japan is my favorite. It is just like those old paintings of the white capped waves all in a row. And birds flying alongside the ship. And the colors of the sea - indescribable. Finally we had our first true blue sky just off Korea. Korea was discernible from a great distance because it is ensconced in a great brown smog bank. I thought I would have more to say about the ocean... Let’s just say I didn’t get seasick and I would do it over and over again until I could see those stars.

Korea:
We arrived at Pusan at sunset and the Pilot came aboard to slowly steer the ship to dock. Pilots are treated very differently than anyone else. There is a big cabin next to the Captain’s - the Pilot’s Cabin and Day room. They are revered in a strange way. I suppose in this age of computerized navigation the only real challenge is getting into Port, which is done manually by the Pilot. The Pilot knows every current and shoal in the port and must guide dozens of ships per day in and out of harbor. I was thinking of the creatures in DUNE that guide the starships; same kind of veneration. I should note that although the ship has no steering wheel, it does have a joystick. When we were approaching Pusan I had just finished dinner and was waiting for the elevator, the doors opened and the 1st and a little Korean man were there, the 1st held out his hand to mean stop, “Pilot.” he said in explanation. The Pilot bowed to me and I bowed back, he said to the first mate, “It’s all right.” “No,”said the first,”We would have to stop again.” And they went up without me.
After docking everyone has to stay onboard until the Shipping Agent comes aboard. The Agent is not revered like the Pilot, far from it. The Agent is the main conduit between the shipping company and the ship for mail, paychecks, manifests, visas, repair orders and so forth. If the Agent is late or forgot something (like the crew’s mail) or didn’t arrange for requested parts or repairmen then everything is fucked. Nothing you can do about it. They are treated humanely even cordially, but most every problem can be laid squarely upon their head. The agent in Pusan was late. He forgot the mail and did not know of the requests for parts and repairmen. He spoke less english than the captain. But he was efficient in his deficiencies, and got off the ship in a hurry. He took me with him. as I said; they are responsible for visas and mine required a little extra attention owing to my status as a supernumerary. So I follow him to his car, he is on his high tech cell phone, “Mister, please sit.” I got in the passenger seat - the floor of which was littered with empty cigarette boxes. He finished his call and got in. We drove to the main gatehouse. Five armed police were sitting at desks, as I walked in through the metal detector the alarm went off (I was carrying my computer in my bag). One or two looked up then went back to eating or playing cards. I set my bag down on the x-ray machine conveyor belt, and just to show that it was my bag that set off the alarm I walked back through the detector. The alarm went off again, they looked up again. End of story. The agent gave one of them my debarkation pass and signaled me to come with him. So I grabbed my bag and stepped into Korea with my atomic bomb undiscovered. Why would anyone give these guys guns? They do just as half-assed a job as the american port security do without the added burden of side arms. And why five? Four would be better for card games. We get back into the Agent’s car and drive for awhile, he would occasionally talk on his cell phone, occasionally he would stop at a red light. The area was a maze of cargo containers stacked three high, with great speeding trucks zooming back and forth and little cars like the one I was in zipping in between them. Finally we are in a more or less residential area. I need to be reassured so I ask,”Where are we going?”
“Immigration Office.” He says. “First we stop.”
I had already given up on understanding him so I just worried about his driving skills. We turn down a very narrow street, mostly gravel, and continue to turn down ever narrower winding streets, finally stopping in a back alleyway. The street was too narrow for me to open my door so I just sat there. The agent got out and used his cell phone. The person he was calling stepped out from behind a parked car and got in the back seat. “Hello, Mister!” He said gregariously. “Now we go to immigration,” said the Agent. The new guy also worked for Hanjin, and his english was better and he had a sunny disposition, he asked me where I was staying in Pusan. “On the ship,” I said slowly.
“Ah,” said he, “so what you do in Pusan, you want shopping? Girls?”
“No, no shopping, I am looking for an internet connection, wireless preferably.”
“Ah, wireless, yes we have all over Pusan. Very modern city.”
“For my computer, someplace I can get on the internet.” I emphasized internet because I was pretty sure this was the word for it in most languages.
“Ah, intanet...” Then the two had an extended conversation punctuated occasionally by “intanet”.
Then they each talked to someone on their cell phones, “intanet...”
Finally the guy in back said, “No, not sure. You want go to Texas?” I don’t know how to spell this place but that’s what it sounds like. I knew from the Filipinos going ashore that it was the bar district and I knew I didn’t want to go to Texas in any language.
“Do you know the hotel Commodore?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, very expensive... Commodore Hotel.”
“Yes, but perhaps it has intanet?” I was already speaking a word of Korean.
We arrived at the immigration office. They both went in and arranged my visas. I got both my arrival stamp and departure stamp at the same time. I didn’t know if I were coming or going. We got back in the car and they said “Where you want to go?”
I said, “Well someplace I might get on the intanet, maybe the Commodore Hotel?”
“Ah, yes...” We drove along, both of them back on their phones, still occasionally saying “intanet”. The Agent slammed on his breaks and pulled his emergency break to avoid slamming into the back of a container truck. Finally, we arrive at a nice modern train station and what looks like a bustling downtown. We had clearly reached my destination.
“Is the Commodore around here?”
“Yes, not far.” said one.
“This is Texas.” said the other.



I’m sorry dear readers but I’m going to leave off the Pusan adventure there. I will only say that I walked around Texas until I realized it was unacceptably freezing and I was not about to walk into anyplace that didn’t have a word of english on the marquee, nor anyplace that had a big mural of King Kong on it even if it did say ‘Beer Haus’. So I took a cab to the Commodore Hotel which was not “not far”. They thought I was a guest at the hotel and let me use their internet gratis. When I was done I confidently got into a cab. Confident because I had made sure to have the Agent write directions for the dock in Korean in my notebook. The cabby followed the directions and dropped me at the wrong dock and I walked for half an hour in the sub zero chill to the boat. Nothing funny there...

The next port in Korea was Kwangyang, we arrived there the next day. I stayed on the boat.

Pusan was an idustrial port city, Kwangyang was an industrial port port. These places create their own weather - you can see this from the ocean - and it is not pretty weather.


An interlude: The second officer, Daniel Dieter Masera, who is the youngest crew member at 25, and is also the chief security and medical officer, spoke to me at dinner, “So you are Californian?”
“Yes,” Said I.
“How can you live there with all the earthquakes?”
“Well...” I always have to think of the most succinct way to answer these kinds of questions. “You get used to it.” I said, although I was thinking of building codes and school drills and how not many people get hurt, and how exciting they can be, but I left it at that. He seemed unsatisfied with my answer. So I added, “Although I must tell you, I haven’t felt the least bit seasick, even in these big swells, but at night, when the ship quakes - like it has slipped a gear or something, I jump out of bed and stand in the doorway out of instinct.” I smiled as if to say - see? we Californians really are wierd.
“Well, gutten eats...” He said as he left the dinning room.


China:
We arrived at Shanghai in the evening. The dock is a long way from town. A few of the crew were going ashore and I had hoped to tag along but the new Agent needed to take me to immigration. We took a shuttle to the gate where he had a car and driver waiting. We left the port directly, no security check. The agent spoke english better than anyone yet. He had a few things to do but he asked me what I needed to do. I wanted to use the internet I said. He couldn’t think of anyplace. I suggested that a big hotel probably would offer it. He offered to let me use his computer at home. I said I needed to use mine. He said that would be O.K. I said, “DSL?” He said yes. So I agreed. We are driving over a great modern bridge into downtown Shanghai, and he asks from the back seat if I would pay the driver $40. I had assumed the driver was with the shipping company. We had been driving for about 30 minutes so I thought this was a poorly timed request. I had $50 cash american and some travellers checks. I politely asked why I should pay as we weren’t exactly going anyplace I wanted to go, and weren’t you going this way too? He had already shown me he had an excellent grasp of the english language, so I calmly explained further that I didn’t have that much money and would need to stop at a bank. He lowered the price to $30. I asked if this included a ride back to the ship. He thought about it a while and then said, “OK”. We arrived at his home, a little bit of squalor in the shadow of the gleaming Hilton. “Wait here.”He went up some darkened stairs and turned the lights on. It looked better in the dark. On the second floor he had a tiny room crowded with all kinds of belongings, the shared bathroom was down the hall. It reminded me of Phnom Penh. He had an old PC and I hooked up my computer to his DSL. He went to work on his computer. “I have to file manifests for seven ships now. I work for another shiping company as well as Hanjin,.” And niether seems to pay you enough, I thought.
I’m trying to think of a way to describe the difference between Pusan and Shanghai, if Shanghai were Paris than Pusan would be Tiajuana. And I do compare Shanghai to Paris, it had a nice mix of the very old and very new. Broad boulevards with fasionable people walking around and chic shops. It is well kept up but, as in Paris, there are areas that are like your favorite pair of shoes; scruffy, well worn, but comfortable to walk in.

We reached Hong Kong in the morning. I didn’t even wait for the Agent.


“We make preparations for Pirates starting tomorrow night.” Said the chief at lunch.
“Oh, what sort of preparations?” He had said it like he was expecting them for tea.
“We will put paper up on all the windows of the doors.” I felt safer already. I wanted to ask, “colored paper? with ribbons and bows?”
“You will keep your blinds drawn. All the ships lights will be turned off.” The defense against pirates is to hope they won’t see us.
“Is that all you can do?”
“No, there are other methods. I could post a watch on all sides, all night, and use water canons to repel any pirates. But I don’t like this method, I haven’t enough crew to post watch, and the pirates have machine guns, once they shoot no one wants to man the water canon. And then they come on board angry.”
O.K. so lights out it is.
“Have you had any trouble with pirates?” I asked.
“Sure, sure. Not here, but off of Kenya. But many Hanjin ships are attacked here, in the Straights of Malaca.”

Old rants

For your reading pleasure, unsent letters to the editor:
#1
It is no doubt an unintended irony that your editorial would suggest that “international assistance to build schools and clear mines will never lead to real progress so long as the past remains un-examined...”, in Cambodia it is worth noting for the record where those mines came from: the United States, France, China, Eastern Europe, ect.... It is also worth noting what happened to the schools and infrastructure during the Nixon/Kissenger bombing campaign. There were notable abuses of power commited by Lon Nol and his cohorts (installed by the US because of King Sihanouk’s insistance on nuetrality). Will there ever be a trial investigating america’s complicity in the destruction of Cambodia? If we apply the Nueremburg principles to Cambodia the trial would be adjudicated by the Vietnamese, because they were the ones who finally defeated the Khmer Rouge, just as the judges at Nueremburg were not an international body but were made up of the victor countries. Of course, because it was the Vietnamese who pushed the KR out to the provinces, the Reagan administration compounded Nixon’s abuse of the Cambodian people by backing the KR during the ‘80s. The UN is often credited with restoring free elections after sending an international peacekeeping force in 1993 that legitimized the current dictator, Hun Sen, who clearly lost that election but was forced to share power with the actual winner, Prince Rennarid, who he later ousted in a coup. The UN troops left a black stain on Cambodia in the form of drugs and prostitution as well as forcing the economy to be based on US dollars. The UNHCR also played a role in the continuing struggle after the elections by indirectly supporting the KR when they were pushed out of their lair in Pailin and took refuge in Thailand. All these actions by the international community to meddle in Cambodia have gone “un-examined” for the past 38 years. The right course of action for the UN would be to have a tribunal to calculate the amount of money the various nations involved have spent providing mines and weapons and directly bombing this once beautiful and peaceful country, then require those responsible to pay reparations.
#2
The debate about liberal indoctrination in universities is apt for our local politics as many here believe the citizens attending UCSB have an undue left wing influence on local elections. In a recent letter, however, the writer claims to know the “truth” about liberal professors who “dish out rhetorical slogans in the class room”. In case you are not clear about what a rhetorical slogan is he provides ample examples: “the bankrupt philosophy of leftism”, “far-left dogma”, “left-wing baggage”, and “welfare/warfare leviathan state”. If it were the author’s goal to equip youngsters to think critically about any dogma being “shoved down their throats” he should refrain from using the language of demagoguery to make his fascist argument.



Or...

“Graduates...are usually so unprepared to grapple with the realities of politics that they typically end up voting for left-wing baggage like the Clintons, and supporting the welfare/warfare leviathan state” and they vote for Gore only to realize democracy is more complicated than majority rule. It’s lucky for the god fearing corporatists that these wacko-lefties’ votes don’t matter. Now if we can just put them away someplace where we don’t have to hear their whining about thier “rights”.


Or...

If David Engles screed is any indication of the ability of conservatives to think critically I am glad there are so few right wing professors.


Or...

It seems that the right would be just as capable of “indoctrinating” our impressionable young students into accepting the bankrupt philosophy of fascism if given the chance. Conservatives, representing a shrinking population of oligarchs, seem less and less willing to support democratic institutions. They would have us believe that a liberal wins the support of a majority of citizens because the voters are “unprepared to deal with the reality of politics”. Perhaps we should end this messy buisness of a national presidential vote and just let the congress and electoral college select our national leader, to avoid the input of the brain-washed masses who are under the yoke of the leftist academia-media empire.