Son Sen was the Heinrich Himmler of Cambodia. He was head of the communist Khmer Rouge regime's own Gestapo, the Santebal, and oversaw that short-lived regime's death factory, Tuol Sleng Prison. I sat across Son Sen at UN-sponsored peace negotiations for a year-and-a-half. He was the most chilling human being I've ever encountered.
"Democratic Kampuchea" was one of the most murderous regimes in modern history. During its 1975-79 misrule, some 1.7 million Cambodians were starved and worked to death or were outright murdered, the greatest genocide since WWII. It is estimated that 17,000-20,000 were brutally tortured and killed at Tuol Sleng, now a Genocide Museum. Son Sen played a direct role in designing its torture chambers and overall operations. Whole families were rounded up as enemies of the state, and methodically processed through his murder machine. The routine was to photograph each victim, strip them, torture them into admitting the most outlandish crimes, recording it all in great detail, and then killing them. This was done by a number of ways, all designed to save on precious ammunition. The most common method was a lethal blow to the head with an iron bar or shovel; suffocation by placing a plastic bag over the victim's head was another. Others were bled to death, their blood harvested for transfusions to wounded KR soldiers. Still others were used for grisly medical experiments.
The body count grew so high so fast, that the administrators took to trucking prisoners 15 kilometers out of the capital for execution at the Choueng Ek killing fields, their bodies dumped in mass graves. Touring the Tuol Sleng museum today is a chilling experience. Victims stare back hauntingly from the walls in photos taken just prior to their execution. All manner of torture implements are on display, ranging from electrified metal bed frames to branding irons to pliers for pulling out fingernails to waterboarding racks. If there ever was a manmade hell on earth since Auschwitz, this was it. Among foreigners killed were at least four Americans, three Frenchmen, two Australians, a Briton and a New Zealander -- most yachtsmen who accidentally wandered into Cambodian waters and taken prisoner. Of its 20,000 inmates, only seven are known to have survived. The prison commandant was tried recently and sentenced to 35 years imprisonment. Ironically, Comrade "Duch" had converted to Christianity and worked for Christian NGO's for years prior to his arrest.
Like his cohorts in the Khmer Rouge leadership, Son Sen was French-educated. He showed up at meetings of the UN-sponsored talks at the Royal Palace in Phnom Penh dressed in spiffy Thai silk suits, accompanied by KR Foreign Minister Khieu Samphan, a mild mannered, pasty-faced accomplice in murder. Son Sen had the face of a merciless killer, stone cold and utterly devoid of humanity. His few attempts to smile came off as evil sneers. His eyes appeared dead. His body language was reptilian. I once included in one of my regular cables to Washington reporting on these meetings a paragraph on how Son Sen spent the entire time methodically picking apart a caviar hors d'ouevre with a toothpick, carefully separating each part and then crushing them into a blotchy mess. I thought that small act spoke a lot about this man.
On June 10, 1997, Son Sen and thirteen members of this family, including women and children, were shot to death on orders from the dying Khmer Rouge leader Pol Pot after getting wind his former security chief was seeking to surrender to the central government. The bodies were then run over repeatedly by a truck. Photos were taken of the carnage for Pol Pot to see. The KR leader died apparently of natural causes ten months later, his body burned on a heap of trash.
Sic semper tyrannis.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
What It Takes to Be a Fiction Writer
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity. ~ William Wordsworth.
When I was four, new neighbors moved into the old farmhouse next to us. They had three kids in the same age range as my siblings and me. Redheaded, frecklefaced Eddy came to introduce himself and to play. I hit Eddy in the head with a brick. Since that time, I've always felt more comfortable being a brick-throwing iconoclast than as a team player.
In her hilarious essay on writing, Bird By Bird, Anne Lamott confides that when she was a kid she "was very clearly the one who was going to grow up to be a serial killer, or keep dozens and dozens of cats." I believe that the best fiction writers are the nonconformists, the round peg in the square hole types who spend their productive lives building up resentments, hang-ups, broken romances, a few good friendships, off the wall ideas, a healthy and justifiable tinge of paranoia and unfettered dreams when everyone else is collaborating with each other to produce flow charts and financial plans. Those who cruise through life being the teacher's pet, winning awards, marrying the team captain and generally fitting in tend to be lousy fiction writers. They may get straight A's on their English class assignments, but they lack the scarred bark that covers the surfaces of the souls of misfits. Think of the clubfooted Lord Byron and the consumptive Edgar Allan Poe, both oddballs who wrote brilliantly and died young.
I'll make another confession. When I was at the U.S. Naval War College, I spent as much time plotting and writing my first novel as I did studying Clausewitz and fleet configuration during wartime. While my fellow officers went off after classes to crash on term papers, analyze the Peloponnesian Wars or sail their skiffs in beautiful Narragansett Bay, I ensconced myself in a far rear corner of the computer room and conjured my story of powerful evildoers, tragic romance, intrigue, danger and courage while Keith Jarrett played through the headphones. Conditions were set for a spontaneous overflow of emotions recollected in tranquility. My political thriller Permanent Interests was therefore conceived with the help of the U.S. Navy. Go Navy! An instructor or fellow student would occasionally inquire about my spending hours by myself typing away madly in that stark room. I would mumble something about working on a paper concerning nuclear strategy or combined arms tactics in maritime conditions. As class president and senior ranking member, I had appearances to keep up.
I graduated somewhere in the upper middle of my class, much to the expressed disappointment of senior staff. Better was expected of an Ivy Leaguer placed in senior training for a fast track career, all expenses borne by Uncle Sam. I'm afraid my budding alternate career as a novelist clearly detracted from my work as an adult student, something I obviously couldn't tell them. But! The upside was that the first publisher I'd queried wanted my manuscript! After that I got an agent! Then another one! Then another! Then I got published and today Permanent Interests is on three Amazon bestseller lists and continues to climb the charts, along with my thriller CHASM.
My stories portray Washington power players in authentic settings, exercising levers of power genuinely described. But their motivations are depicted through an Alice in Wonderland looking glass: amply warped and off center. Henry James said "a writer is a person on whom nothing is lost." Hence, the fine detail I bring to bear on the White House, Pentagon, CIA, State Department and the way they do things. I believe readers relish this kind of authenticity. That's a key reason they're buying my books in record numbers that continue to climb.
This oddball who finds it much more fun to throw bricks than to build with them certainly deserves, but also relishes, the splendid isolation that a writing career provides. Few people are cut out for such a lonely undertaking. So, it's okay to return to your flow charts. But if the bark on your soul is scarred, and you've always felt like the odd man/woman out, you just might make a fine fiction writer. Just ask Georgie Byron and Eddy Poe.
BTW, my neighbor Eddy became a best friend. I never clobbered him again.
When I was four, new neighbors moved into the old farmhouse next to us. They had three kids in the same age range as my siblings and me. Redheaded, frecklefaced Eddy came to introduce himself and to play. I hit Eddy in the head with a brick. Since that time, I've always felt more comfortable being a brick-throwing iconoclast than as a team player.
In her hilarious essay on writing, Bird By Bird, Anne Lamott confides that when she was a kid she "was very clearly the one who was going to grow up to be a serial killer, or keep dozens and dozens of cats." I believe that the best fiction writers are the nonconformists, the round peg in the square hole types who spend their productive lives building up resentments, hang-ups, broken romances, a few good friendships, off the wall ideas, a healthy and justifiable tinge of paranoia and unfettered dreams when everyone else is collaborating with each other to produce flow charts and financial plans. Those who cruise through life being the teacher's pet, winning awards, marrying the team captain and generally fitting in tend to be lousy fiction writers. They may get straight A's on their English class assignments, but they lack the scarred bark that covers the surfaces of the souls of misfits. Think of the clubfooted Lord Byron and the consumptive Edgar Allan Poe, both oddballs who wrote brilliantly and died young.
I'll make another confession. When I was at the U.S. Naval War College, I spent as much time plotting and writing my first novel as I did studying Clausewitz and fleet configuration during wartime. While my fellow officers went off after classes to crash on term papers, analyze the Peloponnesian Wars or sail their skiffs in beautiful Narragansett Bay, I ensconced myself in a far rear corner of the computer room and conjured my story of powerful evildoers, tragic romance, intrigue, danger and courage while Keith Jarrett played through the headphones. Conditions were set for a spontaneous overflow of emotions recollected in tranquility. My political thriller Permanent Interests was therefore conceived with the help of the U.S. Navy. Go Navy! An instructor or fellow student would occasionally inquire about my spending hours by myself typing away madly in that stark room. I would mumble something about working on a paper concerning nuclear strategy or combined arms tactics in maritime conditions. As class president and senior ranking member, I had appearances to keep up.
I graduated somewhere in the upper middle of my class, much to the expressed disappointment of senior staff. Better was expected of an Ivy Leaguer placed in senior training for a fast track career, all expenses borne by Uncle Sam. I'm afraid my budding alternate career as a novelist clearly detracted from my work as an adult student, something I obviously couldn't tell them. But! The upside was that the first publisher I'd queried wanted my manuscript! After that I got an agent! Then another one! Then another! Then I got published and today Permanent Interests is on three Amazon bestseller lists and continues to climb the charts, along with my thriller CHASM.
My stories portray Washington power players in authentic settings, exercising levers of power genuinely described. But their motivations are depicted through an Alice in Wonderland looking glass: amply warped and off center. Henry James said "a writer is a person on whom nothing is lost." Hence, the fine detail I bring to bear on the White House, Pentagon, CIA, State Department and the way they do things. I believe readers relish this kind of authenticity. That's a key reason they're buying my books in record numbers that continue to climb.
This oddball who finds it much more fun to throw bricks than to build with them certainly deserves, but also relishes, the splendid isolation that a writing career provides. Few people are cut out for such a lonely undertaking. So, it's okay to return to your flow charts. But if the bark on your soul is scarred, and you've always felt like the odd man/woman out, you just might make a fine fiction writer. Just ask Georgie Byron and Eddy Poe.
BTW, my neighbor Eddy became a best friend. I never clobbered him again.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Ask Not. . .
“Which College Grads Snag the Best Salaries?” – CNNMoney.com
“Highest-Paid Bachelor’s Degrees: 2011” – CNBC
“Ten Highest Paying Career Paths” – Collegecrunch.com
“Top-Paying Entry-Level Jobs For College Grads” – Forbes Magazine
“Government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem.” – Pres. Ronald Reagan
"Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." -- Pres. John F. Kennedy
"It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced." -- Pres. Abraham Lincoln
Each month State Magazine, the official employees journal of the Dept. of State arrives in the mail. I peruse retirements and the obits and then toss it. From the beginning of my career up to the present time, I've always been struck by death notices like the following, which I culled from the last two issues:
The ranks of these retired octo- and nonagenarians are fast dwindling and their fascinating lives will soon all fade into history. It is especially sad because they were of an idealistic generation. Graduates of America's best universities, they forewent big-salaried private sector jobs for government careers to promote American ideals and objectives in a world war and the bitter cold war that followed.
Another generation that was driven by American ideals was that which came of age during the Kennedy administration. Many U.S. diplomats started out as Peace Corps volunteers, drawn to public service by JFK's inaugural "Ask not. . ." speech. I was a child when Kennedy died, but his idealism, progressivism and call to service resonated in my head and I knew from an early age the path I would follow in life.
In contrast to these previous eras, there is an ugly spirit in the land today, one of self-centeredness, greed and contempt for public service. It has brought with it near collapse of our economy, growing intolerance and a widening gulf in the political discourse. What is most disturbing is the open talk of violence among even elected officials. As can be seen from the headlines leading this blog entry, the media focus on young people in college centers on the pursuit of money. Scanning the press, I have seen no call to the high-minded values enunciated by JFK and his predecessors, except by Barack Obama when he was campaigning to be president. I find this sad and disturbing. Youth should be synonomous with idealism. America was founded on that principle as a core element of our democracy. Its absence from our national psyche early in this new century bodes ill for our future as the Founding Fathers' ideals take a back seat to xenophobia, narcissism and avarice. One can only hope that a return to "the better angels of our nature" will be forthcoming. The burden lies on an idealistic youth to spearhead it.
“Highest-Paid Bachelor’s Degrees: 2011” – CNBC
“Ten Highest Paying Career Paths” – Collegecrunch.com
“Top-Paying Entry-Level Jobs For College Grads” – Forbes Magazine
“Government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem.” – Pres. Ronald Reagan
"Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." -- Pres. John F. Kennedy
"It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced." -- Pres. Abraham Lincoln
Each month State Magazine, the official employees journal of the Dept. of State arrives in the mail. I peruse retirements and the obits and then toss it. From the beginning of my career up to the present time, I've always been struck by death notices like the following, which I culled from the last two issues:
- Adele E. Davis, died Dec.4. "She served in the Navy WAVES during WWII" and "assisted her (FSO) husband during postings to Laos, Hong Kong, Haiti, Turkey, South Arabia, Greece and Jamaica."
- Ralph H. Cadeaux, 84, died Nov. 29. "A Marine veteran wounded on Iwo Jima," he joined the Foreign Service in 1954 and served in Italy, Africa, Vietnam, UK and Israel.
- Edward W. Holmes, 87, died Dec. 18. "He served in the Army during WWII and joined the Foreign Service in 1946."
- Roman Leo Lotsberg, 84, died Oct. 27. "He served in the Army Air Force during WWII" He served as an FSO in Vietnam, Morocco, India, France, Egypt, Greece, Iran.
- William Keller Miller, 90, died Jan. 1. "Following service in the Army Air Corps in WWII, he joined the Foreign Service in 1951" and served in India, Finland, Taiwan, Switzerland and the UK.
- Norman Edwin Barth, 83, died Nov. 15. "He served in the Army during WWII and joined the Department in 1957."
- R. Richard Runbottom, Jr., 98, died Dec. 6. "He was in the Navy during WWII and then joined the Department where he served often in Latin America and Spain."
The ranks of these retired octo- and nonagenarians are fast dwindling and their fascinating lives will soon all fade into history. It is especially sad because they were of an idealistic generation. Graduates of America's best universities, they forewent big-salaried private sector jobs for government careers to promote American ideals and objectives in a world war and the bitter cold war that followed.
Another generation that was driven by American ideals was that which came of age during the Kennedy administration. Many U.S. diplomats started out as Peace Corps volunteers, drawn to public service by JFK's inaugural "Ask not. . ." speech. I was a child when Kennedy died, but his idealism, progressivism and call to service resonated in my head and I knew from an early age the path I would follow in life.
In contrast to these previous eras, there is an ugly spirit in the land today, one of self-centeredness, greed and contempt for public service. It has brought with it near collapse of our economy, growing intolerance and a widening gulf in the political discourse. What is most disturbing is the open talk of violence among even elected officials. As can be seen from the headlines leading this blog entry, the media focus on young people in college centers on the pursuit of money. Scanning the press, I have seen no call to the high-minded values enunciated by JFK and his predecessors, except by Barack Obama when he was campaigning to be president. I find this sad and disturbing. Youth should be synonomous with idealism. America was founded on that principle as a core element of our democracy. Its absence from our national psyche early in this new century bodes ill for our future as the Founding Fathers' ideals take a back seat to xenophobia, narcissism and avarice. One can only hope that a return to "the better angels of our nature" will be forthcoming. The burden lies on an idealistic youth to spearhead it.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Wikileaks: Julian Assange as Dr. Frankenstein
Satan has his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and detested.
~ Mary Shelley. Frankenstein.
The government of Ecuador this week expelled U.S. ambassador Heather Hodges. "We have asked that she leave the country as soon as possible," said the Foreign Minister. Reason? The leftist leadership of that country objected to classified cables recently released by Wikileaks which describe in detail how "corruption among Ecuadorean National Police officers is widespread and well-known" and that "this situation is more pronounced at higher levels of power." In other words, the embassy reported a true fact about Ecuador.
Last month U.S. ambassador to Mexico Carlos Pascual felt compelled to resign in face of incessant denunciation by that country's thin-skinned president. Reason? Wikileaks released classified cables in which the American embassy reported, "Official corruption is widespread, leading to a compartmentalized siege mentality among 'clean' law enforcement leaders and their lieutenants." "Prosecution rates for organized crime-related offenses are dismal; 2% of those detained are brought" to trial. In other words, the embassy reported an uncomfortable and universally known truth about Mexican law enforcement officials.
The U.S. ambassador to Libya, Gene Cretz, was recalled to Washington in January after WikiLeaks posted his candid assessment of Moammar Gadhafi's oddball behavior, including his employment of a contingent of female Amazon bodyguards. This, of course, occurred before Libya blew up and at a time when we were trying improve relations with that country.
In Kenya, WikiLeaks-released cables put Ambassador Michael Ranneberger in the hot seat with that nation's leadership, particularly over a description of Kenya as a "swamp of flourishing corruption." One member of parliament submitted a motion to censure Ranneberger and have the U.S. government recall him.
I've said it before in this blog. If Assange weren't throwing purloined U.S. government secrets to the four winds, somebody else would be. The ultimate blame goes to the USG itself for its loose controls over dissemination of sensitive material, enabling one lowly and screwed up Army private to download hundreds of thousands of state secrets onto a cd and walk out the door with them. What I question is the intent of Assange and his supporters.
His monied supporters include British film-maker Ken Loach, the socialite Jemima Khan, the journalist and filmmaker John Pilger; Patricia David, a professor, and well known lawyer Geoffrey Sheen. They help Assange financially. Wikileaks' workabees are a melange of misfits and iconoclasts who appear to be riven with dissension. In any case, one hears the terms "freedom of information," "transparency" and "human rights," amongst others from these supporters as reasons to defend and promote Wikileaks.
Taking the examples cited above, one has to ask how revelation to the world of confidential and truthful embassy reporting on corruption in Ecuador, Kenya and Mexico, leading to the withdrawal of two U.S. ambassadors and marginalization of another, has anything to do with human rights or the legitimate right to information. Will Loach, Pilger, Khan, David and Sheen please open their business files and publish every correspondence, every private financial document, every personal note, letter and email to the world? To put their morals where their mouths are, I call on them to do this. Why shouldn't every citizen of the world not know about lawyer Sheen's clients' secrets? How about Prof. David's personnel evaluations? And socialite Khan's documented personal views on others in her circles? Pilger absolutely must post on the internet for all to see his journalistic sources and what they've told him in confidence. What deals is filmmaker Loach negotiating behind closed doors and how much is he willing to pay one actor over another? Come out with it! The world deserves to know. Place a webcam over your shoulders, put all of your correspondence on Google docs. Let's not be hypocrites, after all.
My take is that Assange's supporters mainly comprise the naive, the stupid and those who are driven by malice. What's being revealed is not today's equivalent of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, but plain, hard truths about other governments conveyed to U.S. leaders by their official envoys. Like it or not, truth often requires discretion and, yes, secrecy. Without it, we might as well shut down our national security establishment and return to a nomad hunter-gatherer society.
Assange has created an out-of-control monster called Wikileaks whose victims keep piling up. His supporters are fawning Igors who leer and cheer him on. Mary Shelley would write a book about them at the drop of a quill pen.
~ Mary Shelley. Frankenstein.
The government of Ecuador this week expelled U.S. ambassador Heather Hodges. "We have asked that she leave the country as soon as possible," said the Foreign Minister. Reason? The leftist leadership of that country objected to classified cables recently released by Wikileaks which describe in detail how "corruption among Ecuadorean National Police officers is widespread and well-known" and that "this situation is more pronounced at higher levels of power." In other words, the embassy reported a true fact about Ecuador.
Last month U.S. ambassador to Mexico Carlos Pascual felt compelled to resign in face of incessant denunciation by that country's thin-skinned president. Reason? Wikileaks released classified cables in which the American embassy reported, "Official corruption is widespread, leading to a compartmentalized siege mentality among 'clean' law enforcement leaders and their lieutenants." "Prosecution rates for organized crime-related offenses are dismal; 2% of those detained are brought" to trial. In other words, the embassy reported an uncomfortable and universally known truth about Mexican law enforcement officials.
The U.S. ambassador to Libya, Gene Cretz, was recalled to Washington in January after WikiLeaks posted his candid assessment of Moammar Gadhafi's oddball behavior, including his employment of a contingent of female Amazon bodyguards. This, of course, occurred before Libya blew up and at a time when we were trying improve relations with that country.
In Kenya, WikiLeaks-released cables put Ambassador Michael Ranneberger in the hot seat with that nation's leadership, particularly over a description of Kenya as a "swamp of flourishing corruption." One member of parliament submitted a motion to censure Ranneberger and have the U.S. government recall him.
I've said it before in this blog. If Assange weren't throwing purloined U.S. government secrets to the four winds, somebody else would be. The ultimate blame goes to the USG itself for its loose controls over dissemination of sensitive material, enabling one lowly and screwed up Army private to download hundreds of thousands of state secrets onto a cd and walk out the door with them. What I question is the intent of Assange and his supporters.
His monied supporters include British film-maker Ken Loach, the socialite Jemima Khan, the journalist and filmmaker John Pilger; Patricia David, a professor, and well known lawyer Geoffrey Sheen. They help Assange financially. Wikileaks' workabees are a melange of misfits and iconoclasts who appear to be riven with dissension. In any case, one hears the terms "freedom of information," "transparency" and "human rights," amongst others from these supporters as reasons to defend and promote Wikileaks.
Taking the examples cited above, one has to ask how revelation to the world of confidential and truthful embassy reporting on corruption in Ecuador, Kenya and Mexico, leading to the withdrawal of two U.S. ambassadors and marginalization of another, has anything to do with human rights or the legitimate right to information. Will Loach, Pilger, Khan, David and Sheen please open their business files and publish every correspondence, every private financial document, every personal note, letter and email to the world? To put their morals where their mouths are, I call on them to do this. Why shouldn't every citizen of the world not know about lawyer Sheen's clients' secrets? How about Prof. David's personnel evaluations? And socialite Khan's documented personal views on others in her circles? Pilger absolutely must post on the internet for all to see his journalistic sources and what they've told him in confidence. What deals is filmmaker Loach negotiating behind closed doors and how much is he willing to pay one actor over another? Come out with it! The world deserves to know. Place a webcam over your shoulders, put all of your correspondence on Google docs. Let's not be hypocrites, after all.
My take is that Assange's supporters mainly comprise the naive, the stupid and those who are driven by malice. What's being revealed is not today's equivalent of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, but plain, hard truths about other governments conveyed to U.S. leaders by their official envoys. Like it or not, truth often requires discretion and, yes, secrecy. Without it, we might as well shut down our national security establishment and return to a nomad hunter-gatherer society.
Assange has created an out-of-control monster called Wikileaks whose victims keep piling up. His supporters are fawning Igors who leer and cheer him on. Mary Shelley would write a book about them at the drop of a quill pen.
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