Vignettes of the World
On the first day of the Lunar New Year I spent much of the day celebrating the occasion with many other South Koreans at the Namsangol Hanok Village. I heard the word “gugak” spoken, and eventually figured that it was referring to the traditional dance …
Once outside of Seoul, the non-Korean-speaking tourists would be left to their own devices as to how they communicate with the Koreans and find their way around. That was Suwon to me. In Hanja, Suwon means “the origin of water.” Suwon is the provincial capital …
The Qing Dynasty mansion known as Tai Fu Tai is a site that speaks to the local history in Hong Kong before the colonial times. Originally constructed as home to Man Chung-luen, the brick mansion showcases the honor bestowed on a senior Qing official. A better description of the history of Tai Fu Tai is provided by the Antiquities and Monuments Office:
Tai Fu Tai was built in the 4th year of the Tongzhi reign (1865) of the Qing Dynasty as the residence of Man Chung-luen. According to the genealogy of the Man clan, the Mans originated in Sichuan and migrated to Jiangxi and Guangdong during the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279). The Mans began to settle in San Tin, Yuen Long in the 15th century. Man Chung-luen, the 21st generation ancestor of the clan, was bestowed the title of dafu (or tai fu, which means senior official).[i]
I find this mansion to be worthwhile to visit because it stands witness to the history of the indigenous population of Hong Kong. The architecture is elegant. Particularly worthy to note are the figurines on the ridge of the roof depicting aspects of local life then.
The inner courtyard on the east side of the building is a little world of its own, with a small exhibition indoors that explains the history of the site. The kitchen on the west side of the building features stone-cut grinders and a wooden furrow that was used to make peanut oil.
Taxi from Yuen Long might be the easiest transport for visitors to reach the Tai Fu Tai. Otherwise, bus Route 76K runs from Sheung Shui or Yuen Long. Get off at the San Tin stop.
There is no admission fee. The site is closed on Tuesdays except for public holidays. Less than one hour is required for this site.
This is part of the series on the Man clan’s history in San Tin, Yuen Long. See also the entries on Tung Shan Temple and Man Lun Fung Ancestral Hall. Consider doing all these sites in one trip. It is doable within a half day.
[i] Introduction to Tai Fu Tai, the Antiquities and Monuments Office of Hong Kong.
“Seoul, the Soul of Asia” is quite a catchy characterization of Seoul. It is not my phrase, but it did inspire some curiosity in me. How was the soul of Asia like? To the extent possible, I explored Seoul on foot and by public transport. …
I met a young man on the plane to Korea. He told me that he has already completed his mandatory service in the military. “Mind the border,” he said, “it might be dangerous.” Korea was the first solo trip I made abroad. Although this young …
By Nic Dunlop
Tuol Svay Prey, the district in Phnom Penh where the prison is located, roughly translates as “The Hill of the Poison Fruit Tree” Tuol means hillock. Sleng is also the name of a tree with extremely poisonous fruit.[i]
In this incredible book, author Nic Dunlop takes readers on an amazing journey through Cambodia, with his near-obsessed effort to track down Commandant Duch as the storyline that sheds ample light on the country’s history of genocide.
Dunlop had a picture of Commandant Duch in his back pocket throughout the decade-plus investigation in Cambodia. In the beginning, he only knew that Duch was the commandant of Tuol Sleng, the infamous S-21 where countless Cambodians were interrogated, tortured and eventually mass murdered under the reign of the Khmer Rouge. In his capacity as a photo-journalist, Dunlop ventured deep into Cambodia’s rural areas, including the former strongholds of the Khmer Rouge, Duch’s home town and the border refugee camps, to interview valuable sources for information that eventually led him to Duch and his confession.
Dunlop had one purpose, and that was to seek justice for the innocent lives that were reduced into the mountain of screaming souls[ii] that is hauntingly on display at the S-21 Museum. While the Cambodian genocide is generally known to the world now, little was done (even at the time of publication) in bringing those that were responsible for the atrocity to justice. [iii] To Dunlop, letting history be the judge was not good enough. He wanted to expose Duch for justice. He wanted to learn why the atrocities happened, as it was important to learn how it happened.
As the reader, however, I felt very satisfied reading this book exactly because it is part of what will let history be the final judge of the atrocities. The author has explained so much more about the Cambodian genocide to me than my cursory visit at S-21. For example, most of those who were brought to S-21 were cadres themselves. The role of S-21 in the Khmer Rouge regime was to seek out and extinguish spies within the Party. The deadly purges effectuated a pervasive regime of fear that was, and perhaps still is, a hallmark of Communism.
Furthermore, this book has provided the perspectives of the Cambodians who lived through and survived the genocide. There was a good friend Sokheang, who decided to return to Cambodia from his studies in France in the 1970s out of patriotism and a genuine belief in Communism. His regret in life was the influence he had on dozens of friends who joined the Khmer Rouge with the same idealism and ended up dead.
What was emotionally difficult for me as a reader was to see the human face of Duch that Dunlop so faithfully depicted as a journalist. Surely, Duch was a demon who crafted interrogation and torture techniques for the S-21, but was he not also a loving husband and father? Was his turn to Christianity a genuine act of remorse? Did his excellent service at the border refugee camp as an aid worker, having saved many lives there, absolve him of his crime?
Finally, the book has also raised many difficult moral questions about Duch’s individual responsibility in the genocide. Would history accept the fact that he was ordered to commit mass murders? Would history accept the argument of duress, that if he had not followed the order, it would mean death for himself?
Nic Dunlop’s compassion for the Cambodian society came through loud and clear in this haunting account of the country’s traumatic past. In the final pages of the book, Dunlop seems to express a certain sense of disillusionment, “as I took pictures of the pictures at the museum, I realized I was participating in another person’s sufferings and vulnerability and exploiting their memory still further and for much more nebulous reasons.” While I appreciate his reflective self-criticism, I respectfully disagree. This book has allowed me to empathize much more than when I was seeing those pictures at S-21 as a tourist, for Dunlop has given these faces the context of their sufferings.
[i] The Lost Executioner, at 19.
[ii] I am not the originator of this phrase, but I forgot which book it came from. I am referring to the stacks of skulls that were on display at the S-21 when I last visited in 2009.
[iii] For the trials of the Cambodian genocide, see Wikipedia entry here.
There was a time when Hong Kong was considered China’s window to the world. In Chinese, it is said that Hong Kong faces the world with China at its back. If we consider the geography, geopolitics, economy and cultures of Hong Kong, what really provides …
I am saving this entry to the last because this boy truly, truly moved me. This young ten-year-old worked at his family’s Uighur restaurant. On one of our last days in Lhasa, a group of us went to this restaurant for dinner. When we sat …
Have you ever had the experience that, on the nth day of your trip, you have lost track of time?
That was Tibet to me. It is an environment that constantly entices you away from the established routines and thoughts that structure your life in the outside world. Everywhere in Tibet, the place draws you into its own reality, to a point of complete absorption. The constant reminders of a distinctive native culture, the meeting of new people, and the view of exceptional scenery inspire myriad insights that take the mind away from what one temporarily leaves behind in the lowlands of the world.
I shall always remember the beautiful blue sky of Tibet, spread like a drawn curtain, peacefully hung from the unreachable rooftop of our mother earth. Perhaps it was a ceiling hand-painted by God’s loving fingers. Perhaps it was a sweet dream that enveloped me from the bothers of western civilization, an oasis made of ceramic, reflecting traces of a utopia, blue like china.
On the streets of Lhasa I observed many facets of Tibet, especially the fascinating interactions amongst the tourists, the Han Chinese, the Muslims and the Tibetans. Thanks to tourism, there were always one transaction or other on the streets, people haggling for better deals animatedly. Besides sights of raw beef sold exposed in the open, and yak butter blocks that smelled of grease, there were things happening in each corner and intersection, so much that my camera would not suffice in recording all that late-afternoon liveliness.
People looked at my photography gear with wonderment, “what is this,” some asked. I showed a child how the tripod worked. As I lowered the camera, “look, you can see through this and what lies within the four corners of the lens will come out in the photo.” “Really?” “Here, press this here and you will take a picture.” Click–picture taken! I saw that smile on her face, innocent and satisfied.
If only, as I approached my thirties then, I could still smile satisfied, innocently, over seeing the world through the single eye of a camera!
Well, I still smile when I look at my Tibet pictures. Tibet, capable of modern life and yet still deeply rooted in a premodern culture. Tibet, the embodiment of an established society, fiercely protective of its own faith and customs, yet squarely within the forced influence of China. It is a world of its own.
I saw many monks sitting at the hidden-corners of the alleys, some of them as young as six or seven years old, citing their scriptures monotonically. They were begging. A picture of these young monks asking for money in their Buddhist attire was in order, but of course, I took care to give them some money afterwards. A question arose: how was it that the Buddhist temples in Lhasa were so well-attended and taken care of, and yet the monks had to be begging for money under broad daylight? It was not like people were in love with them either. Some seemed to shun their presence.
After a few more rounds of walking, I talked to a monk that *really* begged me for money, and asked him, how it was that he ended up on the street for a dollar or two just to eat – didn’t the monastery take care of him?
He told me that he left his family in Sichuan to become a monk in Tibet. He wasn’t quite the same as the chosen, promising career monks in big temples like the Potala or the Jokhang. He left poverty in Sichuan to find poverty in Lhasa. The temple he was at did not take care of him.
“Please, the kind-hearted miss, please just give me some money.”
“If you stand right here and let me take a picture of you, I will give you a dollar.”
“No, I don’t want a picture taken of me.”
“Well then you don’t get my money.” (I wondered where I got this capitalistic fierceness in me. Maybe it has been too many years living in America)
He stood there, in utmost reluctance, and allowed me to take a picture of him. When I was done, I gave him 1.5 RMB. I assuaged myself for taking advantage of his poverty, by thinking that I rewarded him with half a dollar more. Boy, that sounds even more capitalistic.
I decided to take a pedi-rickshaw ride. Strolling along that Beijing Road, sunbathed, relaxed, and breezed, I felt the ends of my hair flying all across my face. In that moment of solitude, I seemed to hear me mumbling to myself saying that life is just so great. I was spirited away.
Back in the hotel, the nightly news on the local network often showed the current state of the economy in Tibet. I was delighted to see the latest quotes of the futures market showing the prices of yak, pork and hulless barley, which is the Tibetans’ staple food. The futures market there was one where delivery of the actual goods was expected, instead of allowing endless speculation by traders. After watching TV I rested, knowing that the next day shall be just as carefree as the last.
