PROBLEM SOLVING

Albert Einstein once said, “We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.” This rang true for the vast majority of countries in which I worked for more than three decades. Most of these countries were in dire financial straits. There were observable and definable reasons why those financial problems existed. Long-standing patterns of economic and cultural abuse impeded financial growth and failed to alleviate poverty. Nearly all the dictators promised free health care and rural electrical service for the masses, but none sufficiently delivered on those promises. As a rule, most constituents were confined to subsistence farming and lacked access to markets. To break the shackles of dictatorial bondage, a different kind of thinking was required.

In the past several decades, some very creative ideas have been applied to those age-old economic problems. The implementation of cottage industries and microlending programs made a significant impact not only by facilitating market access and individual involvement in enterprise but by alleviating poverty as well.

Prior to founding Project C.U.R.E., I was involved in the investment and real-estate-development business. My success in earlier business ventures had partly resulted from a childhood understanding and use of the basic, old-fashioned concepts of countertrade and barter. As I alluded to earlier, the fundamental principle at the heart of a successful barter transaction, and in fact, the basis for all successful free-market endeavors is that everybody in the deal must end up better off.

Based on the barter-and-trade concepts I included in my first book What’cha Gonna Do with What’cha Got?, I received an invitation to speak at an economic gathering at the Ambassador West Hotel in Chicago on April 17, 1984. The purpose for the closed meeting was to explore ways to increase market share into lesser developed countries through international countertrade and barter. We hoped that as a result of our deliberations, we could find a way to bypass the unfair manipulation and corruption of the dictators and their cohort governments, who were skimming revenues off the top of their countries’ economies through exorbitant inflation and phony currency exchange rates. In attendance were top US leaders of commerce and international business. I shared with the group what I knew about the subject and then listened very carefully as others discussed their experiences and needs.

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There was such a great need for what we were trying to accomplish in the global economy! We were endeavoring to use a different kind of thinking to solve economic problems that had been created with flawed thinking.

Many of the issues we were trying to resolve reminded me of what Armand Hammer, one of my entrepreneurial heroes, had encountered as an international businessman. Creativity and ingenuity would be the answer to working around the greed, corruption, and bureaucracies of markets and governments in the developing world.

About halfway through the guarded sessions, I began to realize that I wasn’t there so much because I had a lot of magic bullets to offer, but because I needed to hear what was being said and consider the concepts being proposed. My thinking began to change during and after that Chicago meeting.

Shortly after the gathering, I was invited to attend a special economic focus meeting in Indianapolis, Indiana, sponsored by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank. During the welcoming speech, we were told, “You are all economists, and we have brought you together to brainstorm how to develop practical economic models for lesser-developed countries. You are asked to be as creative as possible, using such economic components as countertrade, barter, cottage industries, microlending, incentive credits, or anything else you can think of. There are no holds barred as you put your economic models together.”

The meeting leaders went on to explain that the people living in the Least Developed Countries (LDCs) would remain in bondage as long as they were controlled by the economic practices of repressive and manipulated governments. Changes would need to take place to free people from the systems of closed and oppressive economies. In other words, we couldn’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking that was used when they were created.

We were divided into teams; seated at large, round tables; and instructed to get to work. We began by reviewing such classical economic concepts as scarcity, choice, and cost; land, labor, capital, and the entrepreneur; supply and demand; methods of fiscal responsibility; and closed economies versus free markets. We discussed the need to have a responsible government that could guarantee the enforcement of contracts and agreements. We included the necessity of having exclusive rights of private property to hold or transfer, and free enterprise with the possibility of personal incentives and profits. At our table, we included anything else we could think of to work into the mix.

The result of that meeting in Indianapolis was extremely significant not only in its application to future programs in the LDCs but as one of the touchstones in the developing economic philosophy of an organization that eventually became known as Project C.U.R.E.

To this day, we at Project C.U.R.E. are realizing in even greater measure that we can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.


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CAMBODIA JOURNAL - 1999 (Part 7)

Phnom Penh, Bangkok, Hong Kong: Monday, November 15, 1999: Sally and Pitou arrived at the hotel early to take me out to breakfast, far away from the hotel’s chicken-giblet porridge. Sardm Mey, a man with the ministry of transportation who is in charge of railroad safety in Cambodia, drove us in his car. He’s part of the CMC team but wasn’t available to join us yesterday on our thirteen-hour road trip. Yim Youdavann, the other ministry lady, also joined us.

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When we got to the restaurant, guess what they had for breakfast? That’s right, chicken-giblet porridge and deep-fried bread. I asked if I could just have a simple bowl of noodles.

I didn’t have to be at the airport until about 3:00 p.m., so the morning was quite relaxed. Pitou wanted me to look at some articles of metal and some carved wooden furniture and rattan items for possible export to the US. If a market for any of the items can be identified, then Pitou will take it on as a project to possibly get the rural people involved in cottage industries to make the items to sell in the US. I told him my time is really packed full with the medical demands of Project C.U.R.E., but I would be happy to keep an ear open for any obvious possibilities.

I had to admit that the sightseeing and shopping in Phnom Penh did get a little out of hand, because I found exactly what I’ve been looking for to give Anna Marie next summer for our fortieth wedding anniversary. But since this journal entry is in advance of our anniversary date, I won’t disclose what I purchased for her.

While we were riding along, I couldn’t help reviewing the subject of Pol Pot’s ruthlessness and the fact that the incredible crimes of his regime have been ignored and the criminals have never been brought to justice. As we rode, Pitou added more bits of information to the story that he hadn’t already shared with me.

It amazes me how quickly I’ve become close friends with Sally, Pitou, the CMC team, as well as Setan, Randa, and Dr. Yutheasa. At the airport, they hung on to me as if I had also escaped from Cambodia’s terrible nightmare. Perhaps the even stronger bond we have is that of mutual love as we share in God’s grace and love.

As I flew back to Bangkok, Thailand, and caught a taxi to the Rama Gardens Hotel, my mind drifted back to everything I’ve learned on this trip about the rise of the Khmer Rouge, Pol Pot’s bloody regime, and the horrors of the killing fields of Cambodia. I don’t want to run the risk of redundancy but I do want to review in my own mind and capsulate in simplicity what I have learned about the dark history of Cambodia. I want to remember what I have learned.

Setan explained to me that the Khmer Rouge flourished and controlled Southeast Asia from the ninth to the thirteenth centuries. It was deeply rooted in the cultural and political soil of Southeast Asia and China. The Khmer Rouge built the Angkor Wat temple, the world’s largest religious building, which is still Cambodia’s most cherished national symbol.

During my conversations with Dr. Yutheasa, I began to understand that the French colonization of Cambodia in the 1860s didn’t do away with the pure Khmer ideology. Maybe it only tainted the ideology, and the Khmer deemed it necessary to purge it from Cambodia.

It also makes sense to me that when Cambodia was granted independence from France in 1953, Prince Norodom Sihanouk devised an ambitious plan to reunite the Khmer empire. But Pol Pot and his radical Communists overpowered Prince Sihanouk’s monarchy. They terrorized and purged the Cambodian society from 1975 to 1979, until Vietnam invaded the country and cut short the Khmer Rouge’s aggressive plans to expand the old empire.

When Vietnam withdrew in 1989, they left an intact government, with Hun Sen as prime minister. Hun Sen was also a Khmer Rouge member, as was Prince Sihanouk. In 1990, Hun Sen, the Khmer Rouge, the Khmer People’s National Liberation Front, and supporters of Prince Sihanouk agreed to adopt a United Nations plan that created a Supreme National Council as an interim government and arranged for free elections to be held in 1993. The elections would be fair, peaceful, and free and would decide the new leadership. Four and a half million voters turned out and elected Prince Sihanouk as their leader, and he wasn’t even running as a candidate.

In a compromise, a new constitution was drawn up that declared Prince Sihanouk king of the kingdom of Cambodia with no administrative powers and granted Hun Sen and Sihanouk’s son, Prince Norodom Ranariddh, shared administrative power as joint prime ministers. Since then, Hun Sen has become the only prime minister, and the prince has become speaker of the legislature. All the confusion spurred Pol Pot to restart his purging machine through guerrilla warfare in five of the twenty-one provinces of Cambodia.

Eventually government troops quelled the guerrilla gangs, and Pol Pot was declared dead in 1997. But strange as it may seem, before he died, he threw his support in favor of the prince and the Khmer Rouge.

My curiosity about Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge will keep me searching for answers in the future. It’s no wonder that when I asked Dr. Yutheasa or Pitou or Setan about those years, they just rolled their eyes and said, “From the outside, it’s hard to understand the Khmer Rouge and the Cambodian people.”

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It’s as if everyone is still a cotton tree, seeing nothing, thinking nothing, and saying nothing. But it makes a lot of sense to me why nothing has ever been done about the torture and murder of three million Cambodians in the worst kind of terrorism. And it makes sense to me why no effort has been made, or ever will be made, to bring the criminals to justice. No one wants to start unraveling the mystery or opening up the past, because even today the king, the prime minister, and all the other power centers are Khmer Rouge and are still closely tied philosophically, if not personally, to the Khmer Rouge organization throughout Southeast Asia, including Thailand and China. Everyone seems to understand full well that an investigation would implicate not only Pol Pot but nearly everyone else who is currently in power. Every Cambodian leader in some way bears some responsibility for the killing fields, and no one wants to open it up and reveal the level of involvement or the guilt associated with the atrocities committed between 1975 and 1979.

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As one person said to me, “There has been too much bloodshed, there has been too much violence, and there has been too much sorrow and grief. Now is the time to forget everything and move on. Trying to dig into the past would only start the process all over again. It’s time to move on and live life and just put the killing fields behind us.”

Monday, November 15–Tuesday, November 16

After spending the night in Bangkok, I caught United flight 2 at 8:05 a.m. to Hong Kong. We changed equipment and were scheduled to resume the flight to Los Angeles at 12:10. But lo and behold, our Boeing 747 sprang an oil leak, and our flight was delayed and rescheduled to leave for the US at 7:30 p.m. By the time we actually departed Hong Kong and arrived in Los Angeles, we were well over eight hours late.

I know it might seem narrow-minded and quite impossible to believe, but United Airlines didn’t volunteer to hold my connecting flight from Los Angeles to Denver for those eight hours. Therefore, I had to play the standby and wait-list games to make a Denver connection and work my way back home. I must admit I was quite exhausted by the time I reached home and my own bed.

Cambodia is an extremely needy country, but I have confidence that God is going to allow Project C.U.R.E. to do a significant work in that shattered land in Southeast Asia.


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CAMBODIA JOURNAL - 1999 ( Part 6)

Phnom Penh, Cambodia: Saturday, November 13, 1999: I was up at 4:30 a.m. Pitou, Sally, and I were going to try to cram everything we’d planned for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday into one day. I grabbed a little breakfast at 5:30 a.m. My stomach just wouldn’t respond positively to the thought of chicken-giblet porridge, so I settled for a pot of hot green tea and some good french bread with jam. Pitou and Sally wanted me to meet their team, so we arranged to take a thirteen-hour road trip together.

On our way out of town, we picked up Yim Youdavann, the government ministry lady who went with us on Wednesday to Takeo and to Angkor Chey. Sally’s brother, Sam Victor Thong, from Long Beach, California, also joined us. He escaped to the US with Pitou and Sally in 1975 and returned to Cambodia for the first time a year ago. He decided to join Sally and Pitou to help improve the lives of his countrymen.

As was explained before, Sally and Pitou’s experience with the Khmer Rouge wasn’t quite as traumatic as Setan’s and Randa’s. They were both in Thailand when Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge took over the country, so they traveled directly from Thailand to the United States, where they were given political asylum in California. They lost everything and were separated for many years from family members, but Pitou was able to find employment as a civil engineer in Long Beach right away and was employed with the same department for twenty-five years before he retired with honor. They both became US citizens and returned to Phnom Penh for a visit in 1989. Both agreed that one day they would return to help the rural people of Cambodia. They both accepted Christ at a church in Long Beach and are now wonderful Christians. It was interesting to see that now other members of their family, like Sam Thong, are joining them in their efforts to help the Cambodian people.

The doctor who is a friend of Pitou’s and went with us to assess the military hospital in Phnom Penh, accompanied us today. His name is Dr. Hai Loewy Kauv, and he is part of Pitou’s medical team. Rounding out the team are Sary Som from the ministry of interior; Bun Thoeun Sao, a safety officer with the police department; and Chhoeuy Meas, a teacher at a Phnom Penh high school. The team goes by the name CMC (Cambodian Methodist Council).

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Three other men, all of whom are Koreans, work with Pitou and Sally but aren’t part of the CMC team. Pitou and Sally refer to them as their Tapioca Team. Jay Shin is a professional tapioca buyer; Nam Pyo Hong lived in Hanoi, Vietnam, for fifteen years and is currently an overseer at a factory in Phnom Penh; and Se Ha Yoo represents a bulk-commodities shipping company in Phnom Penh, SK Shipping, where he works as the general manager.

One of Pitou’s projects is to coordinate contracts between tapioca farmers and buyers. He gets buyers to sign a purchase contract and then gets rural farmers who have already agreed to work together to sign a contract to grow the tapioca. In the past, after the farmers had grown the crop and harvested it, the buyers would either cut the price so drastically at harvest time that no money could be made from the sale, or sometimes the buyers didn’t even show up to take the crop, and the farmers were left with spoiled tapioca and no money for the year’s efforts. Pitou’s plan to coordinate the production and sale of the tapioca should benefit everyone in the deal.

The Tapioca Team was joining us today to get acquainted with Project C.U.R.E. and view some of the tapioca farms.

There were too many of us for one van, so Pitou hired another van and driver. Our route took us south and east out of Phnom Penh toward Vietnam through the province of Kandal. Once out of the heart of Phnom Penh, it didn’t take us long to run into more Grand Canyon roads. The motorcycles were actually traveling much faster than we were because they could more easily swerve around the washouts and huge potholes.

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About 11:00 a.m., one of the van’s engines threw off a fan belt from the water pump and generator. The diesel engine quickly overheated, and the driver was forced to pull to the side of the road. Spare parts aren’t readily available in rural Cambodia, so we were stuck. Sally had brought along some steamed rice and meat, and we had plenty of drinking water, so about fifteen of us sat alongside the country road and had an early lunch.

Then the team members fanned out and went in search of a properly fitting fan belt. Since I didn’t know how to say, “Fan belt for Mitsubishi van” in Cambodian, I stayed with the vehicle.

About two hours later, a belt was located, and all the male helpers managed to repair the problem. But when the driver tried to start the engine, he found that a couple of the valves were sticking because the engine had overheated, and the van wouldn’t even pull its own weight, let alone all the passengers.

From that point on in the journey, we all got real friendly and cozy and very well acquainted. All fourteen of us, plus the driver, piled into one van, and we proceeded on our thirteen-hour journey. I forgot to add that there was no air-conditioning in the van.

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When we arrived in the town of Neak Leung, we waited to cross by ferry over the Mekong River. We picked a national-holiday weekend for our trip, so hundreds of people were packed in the backs of trucks and trailers headed for other towns to visit family and friends. The ferryboats were crossing the wide river as fast as possible, and the town was crowded with vendors selling their steamed shrimp, roasted bananas, cooked chickens, fruits, cakes, fried breads, and Coca-Cola. The vendors carried big platters on their heads and sold to the hungry people in the trucks waiting to cross the river.

The three men from Korea all speak very good English. They asked some leading questions about Project C.U.R.E., and I, without blushing or shame, took outright advantage of their captivity inside the van. I told them all about the eighty countries into which we are shipping donated medical supplies and equipment, and how we procure and distribute the goods.

Then they asked the leading question. “Well, Dr. Jackson, if you don’t receive any salary for what you’re doing, why do you leave your home and travel all over the world to do it?”

Bingo!

I started telling my story from the very beginning about the change God brought about in my life, and the fact that I’m the happiest man in the world. They just sat in shock and said nothing. I decided to interrupt the quiet time and tell them that I needed them to help me. I needed Se Ha Yoo, the shipping man, to introduce me to people in the industry who could start shipping containers around the world at no cost for Project C.U.R.E.

I suggested that Mr. Shin and Mr. Hong find organizations, industrialists, and businessmen to get involved in helping us finance the operation of Project C.U.R.E. The slow, hot, crowded ride wasn’t turning out so badly after all.

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From the ferryboat crossing at Neak Leung, we headed almost straight north to the city of Prey Veng. About thirty minutes out of Prey Veng, a rural area with about four thousand families and no health-care facility, the Tapioca Team agreed that if Pitou can secure the supplies and equipment, they will build a nice clinic. The health ministry has already agreed to staff the venture if the facility is available.

After viewing two alternative sites for the new clinic in Prey Veng, we continued our trip northward to the province of Kampong Cham via the city of Chup. As we headed west at Chup, we traveled through miles of land where the jungle had been cleared years ago, and rubber trees were planted. The trees are very mature now and have probably been producing rubber for a long time.

Once again we ran into the giant Mekong River meandering its way through the country to the South China Sea. At the town of Tonlé Bet, we waited in line in the hot sun for a ferryboat to take us to the west side of the river.

During our time together, individual team members wanted to talk about Project C.U.R.E. and my strange story of giving away my accumulated wealth to follow God’s leading. I could tell that the story bothered them.

The shipping manager said, “How could you possibly do that? I spend every minute of my time trying to earn money for myself.”

My response was simple, “And just what do you plan to do with it all when that’s all you have and nothing else?”

By that time darkness had fallen in the jungle and over the rice paddies, but vivid memories were stuck in my head. In my mind as I closed my eyes, I could still see against the blue Cambodian sky, the silhouettes of thousands of simple thatched- and tin-roofed houses built on stilts. I could still see families sitting in their covered-table areas close to the road as they entertained family members and neighbors. Some rural family members hand-thrashed the stalks of rice by beating the rice heads against a slanted board, which caught the rice and directed it to the ground. I could still see the big black water buffalo wallowing in the harvested rice fields and munching on the stubble.

In my mind were pictures of old women spreading the rice on mats alongside the road so that the breeze from passing cars and trucks would blow away the chaff. I could see literally thousands of small Cambodian children swimming and diving in the muddy water in the rivers and ditches. And of course, I could still see countless motorcycles streaming past me, and the many miles of pothole-ridden roads built on top of the rice-field dikes.

To be able to be in Cambodia mingling with the people, not as a tourist, but as someone who has come to help them in their time of need, is an inexpressible privilege. For some reason, God has placed a deep love and concern way down inside of me for the hurting people in his universe. I never dreamed I would fall in love with the Asian people, who have so many needs and whose lives are so complex.

The cities of Vat Nokor and Skuon rushed by in the darkness, and off in the distance, I could see the lights of Phnom Penh. I’m happy and thankful that I followed through with the last-minute plans to travel to Cambodia. Maybe I will return someday, or maybe I will just live with vivid memories locked inside my head. But by being obedient and traveling to Cambodia, something has been set into action, and once Project C.U.R.E. containers start finding their way into this country, the health-care system and the lives of hurting, needy people will never be the same. On this dark Cambodian night, I wonder what the future will hold in this exciting, ongoing adventure.

Next Week: Trying to draw lines between the dots so that I will never forget Cambodia


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CAMBODIA JOURNAL - 1999 (Part 5)

Genocide Museum: Phnom Penh, Cambodia: Friday 12,1999: The first thing Setan and Randa wanted me to see after lunch was the genocide museum. “If you don’t see the museum,” they insisted, “you’ll never understand the Cambodian people or the challenges of the gospel ministry in Cambodia.”

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The museum, which is housed in a former high school, was located on a Phnom Penh side street. When Pol Pot took command of the Khmer Rouge and began rounding up the “enemies of the people,” he commandeered the high school as his prison and torture chamber. The idea was to have a convenient place where his enemies could be taken for ruthless inquisitions that would force them to implicate and give evidence against others, who would then be put on the list for annihilation. Not many of Pol Pot’s suspected enemies were just conveniently shot without first being run through the torture chamber to incriminate others who might secretly like music or own books or magazines or attend a temple or be related to a monk.

If the Khmer Rouge wanted to eliminate someone, they simply needed to find the least bit of evidence against that person. Or they would use death threats against a man and his wife or children to force him to confess that another person was an enemy of the people. Then that person would be arrested, interrogated, tortured, and eventually killed.

Pol Pot started his murderous campaign with his own friends and those in any leadership position. At the beginning, in order to document and justify their actions, the Khmer Rouge took photographs of every person, recorded the words and evidence gathered against them, and documented their deaths. Later they didn’t bother with all the formalities and just got straight to the business of killing three million people. Their uncontrollable thirst for killing escalated, and in just four years, the atrocities grew to unbelievable proportions.

At first Setan and Randa quietly guided me room by room through the old, three-story high school situated in a lovely campus setting. There were about five main buildings, all with three levels. Some rooms contained the beds, shackles, and instruments of torture, and even pictures of the tortured, dead victims.

Holes had been knocked in the walls at the ends of each classroom to allow the guards and prisoners to move from one room to another without using the outside porch entrance. Bricks and concrete had been used to construct four-by-four-foot holding pens inside the classrooms. There were about thirty holding pens inside each classroom.

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Pictures of the inquisition teams, the torture teams, and the execution squads were proudly displayed in the hallways. Even Pol Pot’s picture with his closest men taking part in the killings was displayed. Each person would pose with a big smile displaying the confidence he felt about doing such a great and honorable thing for the advancement of Communism and a perfect society. The grand inquisitor even had his picture taken at the torture area with his wife and baby.

Wall after wall in the old high school displayed the photos of those rounded up and brought to the prison. Each male and female prisoner had a handwritten identification number pinned to his or her shirt. Babies were imprisoned with their mothers. Pictures showed how, under interrogation, a crying baby would be ripped away from the mother; then a guard would toss the baby into the air, and another guard would impale the child on the bayonet of his rifle as the baby fell. Babies were also taken outside with the mothers who were being tortured. A mother’s hands were tied behind her back, and a rope was thrown over the old chinning bar, which still stands in the playground. Then the mother was hoisted up to the top of the tallest bar by her wrists, which were still secured behind her, and they made her hang there while they smashed her baby’s head against a nearby tree.

It’s my understanding that over two hundred thousand people went through the high school prison and were ultimately killed there after the Khmer Rouge extracted any useful information from them.

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We quietly proceeded through the school until Setan showed me a picture of his family doctor and another picture of one of his closest childhood schoolmates. Then the talk began flowing nonstop. Randa, with tears in her eyes, told me how her father, who had two PhD degrees and was the president of the University of Phnom Penh, was arrested because he was educated, and he was tortured and killed while her mother, brothers, and sisters fled the city for safety.

We walked past the air-conditioned building where Pol Pot and his men reviewed the information gleaned from the enemy prisoners and made up their lists of who should be eliminated next. The fiendish orgy of torture and killing increased in momentum and intensity from 1975 to 1979. No one really knows what would have happened had the Vietnamese not invaded Cambodia and driven Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge into hiding in the mountains.

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The instruments of torture, the drowning tanks, the electrical shocking apparatus, and other devices are still on display in the high school for curious and horrified visitors to see. In the final room were pictures of skulls and bones that had been unearthed in the killing fields. The government of Cambodia tries to downplay the number of victims by saying, “Somewhere around a million people were killed,” but the records pretty well speak for themselves, and the numbers displayed on the walls of the old prison testify that at least three million people were killed.

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The best Cambodian leaders, the best teachers, the best musicians and artists, the best actors and actresses, the best historians, the best mathematicians, the best in the medical field, and the most educated civilians were all brutally murdered in the name of atheistic Communism. Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge were convinced that all they needed to do was reengineer society, and everything would be just right.

Setan and Randa were in a bit of shock when we left the premises. They had just relived the horrors of their teenage years one more time. As we were riding back through the streets of Phnom Penh, Setan asked if I would like to view the videotape of their involvement during the killing-field years. Just last year, Trinity Broadcasting Network engaged Christian actors and actresses to reenact Setan’s and Randa’s stories. The documentary will be shown not only in America but also throughout Cambodia as a Christian-outreach tool. I told Setan and Randa that I’d be honored to view the hour-long video. So we drove to their one-room office/apartment/ministry headquarters, which is located above a storefront.

The video picked up the story at the time when Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge came to power. Setan was a medical student, and while at home at a party, the young radical Khmer Rouge troops rolled in with military trucks and automatic weapons and killed some of Setan’s friends right on the spot. The survivors were rounded up and sent to the Khmer Rouge’s agrarian work camps. Part of the work-camp objective was to use cruelty and exhaustion to break the survivors down emotionally and mentally so they would become obedient and compliant.

The video picked up Randa’s story as her father hugged her and told her he was going away. He told her that now she was responsible for the well-being of the family and must take care of them while he was gone. She protested, but her father slipped away.

For three years the killing went on before their very eyes as they were forced into slave labor. Setan related to me how the Khmer Rouge gathered several thousand teens in an auditorium and warned them that they should become cotton trees that never saw anything, never thought anything, and never said anything. The military was very serious about impressing on the teens that they must obey in every way and completely embrace Pol Pot and the Communist ideal. They emphasized their point by having a twelve-year-old get up and speak about how great Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge, and Communism were. The twelve-year-old was then given an AK-47 automatic machine gun, and as he was talking and waving the gun around, the military brought out his own parents with their hands tied and sat them on chairs in front of everyone. The boy shouted how his parents had given him physical birth, but that was nothing compared to the enlightenment and good society Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge were giving him.

Setan said that the twelve-year-old aimed the automatic weapon at his own mother and father and shot them to death in cold blood. The generals then got up, praised the boy, and said to those in the crowd, “If our young soldiers will shoot their own parents gladly, don’t think for one moment they will not shoot you if you disobey or stand in the way of the social revolution.”

The young military commandos in charge of the work groups were especially brutal and had the authority to kill at will. At one point, a young military girl overseeing the work group caught another teenage girl trying to give Setan a small crab for additional food. As Setan protested, the female soldier placed a plastic bag over the head of the guilty girl and suffocated her in front of everyone.

At one point, a young Cambodian Christian named Pastor Paul presented the gospel story to Setan out in the jungle, and Setan became a believer. A couple of years earlier, when Setan was about to be killed, he had called out for help from the God of the universe and promised that if his life were spared, he would serve God forever.

The video of Setan and Randa continued through their efforts to escape over the border to a refugee camp in Thailand. Finally they were successful, and they were able to locate and reunite with members of their families. The story also included Setan and Randa getting married in the refugee camp in the first-ever Christian wedding.

The video ended as Setan was preaching at the refugee camp. The female soldier, whom he hated for cruelly suffocating the girl for giving him something to eat, was in the audience. He stopped preaching when he recognized her and went over to her. In front of the group, he took her by the hand, told her he was sorry for the hate he held in his heart toward her, and forgave her. The woman prayed for Jesus to forgive her and then left. Neither Setan nor Randa have seen her again.

The video carried a tremendous message of salvation and forgiveness. I could tell that visiting the genocide museum and watching the video with me exacted a toll on them.

After the killing fields, Setan and Randa moved to Denver, Colorado, where Setan graduated from Denver Seminary. They still live in Colorado, where Randa cares for their two teenage children while Setan travels back and forth to Cambodia, overseeing their evangelistic and outreach ministry to their countrymen. I assured both of them that Project C.U.R.E. will be working with Dr. Singleton in Denver and Setan’s uncle in Battambang to send their people the desperately needed medical goods and perhaps some medical teams to work in Phnom Penh and Battambang.

Next Week: Welcome to the Tapioca Team


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CAMBODIA JOURNAL - 1999 (Part 4)

Ancient Buddhist Temple: Cambodia: Thursday, November 11, 1999: A peninsula of land jutting out into a pink, water-lily-covered lake is the setting of an ancient Buddhist temple. Cut stones from a quarry a great distance away were hauled by elephants and slaves to the temple site in the early eleventh century. It doesn’t take much imagination to visualize the grandeur of the temple fortress. The huge stones measuring about five feet in length and three feet in width all have holes drilled through them, two holes on each of the four sides. Over the years, enemies managed to ruin parts of the fortress, but the beauty of the place is still well intact.

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As we walked around and drank warm Coca-Colas, Dr. Yutheasa started talking about a little more recent history. “When Pol Pot was killing so many people, he stuffed all the Buddhist temples full of bodies. They were left there to decay and turn to skeletons.

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All the religious people were killed because they couldn’t be trusted, and usually because they were educated enough to read.”

I then asked him to explain the mystery of the Pol Pot regime. “It seems to me that the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia was part of a popular philosophy. There are so many similarities between Pol Pot’s actions and what took place in China’s Cultural Revolution. All the intelligent and culturally inclined people—except for the leadership intelligentsia who planned and carried out the whole terrible genocide—were accused of being ‘enemies of the people.’ They were tortured and executed, and their holdings were confiscated and divided up among the killers.”

“You understand quite a lot, Dr. Jackson” was Dr. Yutheasa’s reply. “Anyone who might ever be a challenge or a threat to the Khmer Rouge in action or philosophy was targeted for death. Somewhere around three million of Cambodia’s best people, including businessmen, doctors, teachers, and community leaders were killed off between 1975 and 1979. Then when Vietnam invaded Cambodia, Pol Pot’s slaughter stopped, but even more people were killed in the war with Vietnam. Pol Pot concentrated much of his killing around Battambang and Phnom Penh.”

“Why,” I asked, “do you think Pol Pot’s atrocities have never been punished? No one even seems to care about bringing any of the murderers to justice. In my lifetime, I have watched the Jews hunt down every prison guard and every Nazi military person involved in the genocide Hitler perpetrated on the Jewish people. But no one even seems to care about seeking justice for the three million innocent people killed in Cambodia during Pol Pot’s reign of terror. Why?”

“It’s all too complicated for a person to understand, especially one from the outside. It’s very possible that Pol Pot isn’t dead even now. Seven different times, the government has claimed that he has died. He was an old man with gray hair. But the last man they cremated as Pol Pot had very black hair. They wouldn’t allow any investigation or autopsy. Within three hours, they burned the body and destroyed all the evidence. But it would be very hard for you to understand all that, Dr. Jackson.”

The doctor became more and more comfortable talking to me about sensitive things regarding Cambodia, but he also made very sure we were out in an open spot away from buildings, cars, and other people when we talked. Even at that, his eyes were constantly moving past me to the surroundings nearby.

I asked one final question before we headed back to the van for our trip back to Battambang. “Dr. Yutheasa, you are a doctor. Why didn’t they kill you?”

He laughed nervously and kind of rolled his eyes at my personal question. “I learned to become like the cotton tree” was his answer. I left it at that.

This evening at the Teo Hotel, my mind kept working overtime comparing the hospital at Battambang and the military hospital we toured in Phnom Penh. I felt uneasy about the military hospital but felt very clear about moving ahead and helping Dr. Yutheasa in Battambang. Over the course of my unorthodox life, I’ve learned to pay close attention to gut-level feelings about people and situations. Some might attribute that to my survivor skills. But I know God has blessed me with a certain perception, and in the past, things have gone a whole lot better when I don’t ignore those insights.

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The Battambang hospital was clean. The doctors and staff were happy people working hard with the little they had. Even though they were using makeshift IV poles, had no mattresses for the beds, and had to treat some of the patients out on the porches, the patients were getting love and personal care.

The military hospital in Phnom Penh was very different. In the recent past, it was Pol Pot’s military hospital and then became the Vietnamese military hospital. Now it’s the government’s military hospital. Something seems to be wrong there, beyond just not having any supplies, equipment, ambulances, or nurses. On my assessment tour, I was ushered right into the operating room while surgery was in process. The room wasn’t sterile, the doors to the hallway were left open, and people were walking through the operating room with bare feet and civilian clothes. And as I toured the postoperative rooms and the wards, it appeared that no one really cared and no one was really in charge. 

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Before I went to bed, I determined that Project C.U.R.E. will help Dr. Yutheasa at the Battambang Provincial Hospital, and we’ll collect more information on the Phnom Penh hospital. Donated goods worth $400,000 wouldn’t be safe or used efficiently in an institution where people have a bad attitude and no accountability measures are in place. We could send a container of good medical supplies to such a facility, and a week later, the patients would be no better off, but the officials would all be driving new cars and motorcycles.

Friday, November 12

This morning as I ate my breakfast of chicken-giblet soup and noodles and a nice helping of french bread, I was curious as to whether Setan Lee would be at the airport in Phnom Penh when I returned to the city. As I picked most of the repulsive chicken skin and giblets out of the bowl with my chopsticks, I was pleased with the thought that I confronted him regarding his inconsideration. At least he knows my evaluation and interpretations.

Dr. Yutheasa and his driver took me to the airport. The propeller-driven airplane scheduled to take us back to Phnom Penh had experienced trouble and was over an hour late arriving at the Battambang Airport. Once we finally boarded and were in the air, I realized that it had been a while since I had flown in a commercial airplane with seats constructed of curved pipes with canvas material stretched over them. I sat behind the engine in a seat with a view out the little, round porthole windows. Again, I was amazed at how much flooding Cambodia is experiencing in the flat, central part of the country.

My questions were answered about who would pick me up at the airport in Phnom Penh. Pitou and Sally Lao were there, and so were Setan and Randa Lee.

Pitou and Sally had scheduled a full day for me, but a very repentant Setan was there to try to amend for messing up. While waiting for my luggage to be unloaded from the plane, I pulled out my Cambodia files and systematically walked with both Setan and Pitou through the chronology of Project C.U.R.E.’s Cambodian involvement over the past eighteen months. Fortunately I had all my documents, applications, and correspondence regarding Dr. Singleton’s requests and the arrangements for the entire trip. With my calendar open, I asked Setan and his wife if they were aware of each step, if they had received my e-mails, and if they were aware that I’ve been in the country since November 8 at their request.

About halfway through the questioning, I became convinced that Setan is an evangelist, not an administrator. I also concluded that Jim Groen and Greg Groh of Worldwide Leadership, who are coming from the US to Phnom Penh next week for a missionary conference, had unfairly overloaded Setan and Randa with details and expectations far beyond their capabilities in order to make their missionary conference a booming success.

Instead of being upset with Setan and Randa, I began to feel empathy for them because they had been placed in a difficult position. There was no way they could be expected to accomplish what they were assigned to do. I assured them of my support and prayers and told them I didn’t need to take any of their precious time, but that Setan’s uncle, Dr. Yutheasa, had shown me everything I needed to see in Battambang, and that I had a good report for Dr. Singleton upon my return to Denver.

But Setan and Randa insisted on spending a little time with me as a courtesy and as an act of appreciation for Project C.U.R.E.’s commitment in Cambodia.

Pitou and Sally made the situation easier by offering to postpone their plans until tomorrow and Sunday so that I could get acquainted with Setan and Randa today.

With all the interpersonal relationships smoothed over, we all headed to lunch—more boiled chicken, which had been hardened by a life of trying to outrun the motorcycles on the rural dirt roads of the province and compete with the wandering pigs for broken grains of Cambodian rice. Colonel Sanders of KFC never had it so good.

Next Week: The proof of unimaginable horror   


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