While the United States battled the Communists of North Vietnam in the 1960s and '70s, the neighbouring country of Cambodia was attacked from within by dictator Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. The Khmer Rouge imprisoned, enslaved, and murdered the educated and intellectual members of the population, resulting in the harrowing "killing fields"–rice paddies where the harvest yielded nothing but millions of skulls.
Young Sichan Siv–a target since he was a university graduate–was told by his mother to run and "never give up hope!" Captured and put to work in a slave labor camp, Siv knew it was only a matter of time before he would be worked to death–or killed. With a daring escape from a logging truck and a desperate run for freedom through the jungle, including falling into a dreaded pungi pit, Siv finally came upon a colorfully dressed farmer who said, "Welcome to Thailand."
He spent months teaching English in a refugee camp in Thailand while regaining his strength, eventually Siv was allowed entry into the United States. Upon his arrival in the U.S., Siv kept striving. Eventually rising to become a U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, Siv returned with great trepidation to the killing fields of Cambodia in 1992 as a senior representative of the U.S. government. It was an emotionally overwhelming visit.
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About the Author
Sichan Siv served as a U.S. ambassador to the United Nations from 2001 to 2006, and as deputy assistant to the president for public liaison and deputy assistant secretary of state for South Asia from 1989 to 1993. Ambassador Siv holds a Masters of International Affairs from Columbia University. He and his wife spend their time in San Antonio, New York, and beyond.
Read an Excerpt
At the end of World War II, Pochentong, Cambodia, was a small sleepy village of about 100 people. The lush and tranquil world of my boyhood was also the district headquarters of Phnom Penh and the kingdom's major airport. Cambodia was divided into provinces (khet), districts (srok), communes (khum), and villages (phum). The civilian chiefs of our district usually became governors of Kandal (to which the district belonged) and later members of the king's cabinet. Some of them ended up as prime ministers. Assignments to Phnom Penh and Kandal were the route to ultimate power in Cambodia in the 1940s and 1950s.
Pochentong had no running water or electricity. Water was fetched from a nearby pond and sometimes delivered by tanker trucks. We used candles and kerosene lamps at night.
My father, Siv Chham (Cambodians put their family name, or surname, first), was born in 1909 in Tonle Bati, a srok in the southern province of Takeo. He was the chief of police, known at the time as garde provinciale, of srok Phnom Penh. My mother, Chea Aun, was born on the Cambodian new year (April 13), 1913. Her father, Sok Chea, my grandfather, was the chauvay khet (governor) of Kampong Som. She recalled that when he was transferred to another post, they would travel for days by elephants. She was of medium height, wore her hair short, and had a serene look on her face, which reflected a lot of love and compassion. My parents, for some reason, decided to give their children names beginning with the Khmer letter saw, or S in English. The practice was laterfollowed by the younger generations.
Our family was small by Cambodian standards. I was the youngest of four. The elder of my two sisters, Sarin, was born on March 21, 1933. I do not remember my second sister Sarun's birthday in 1935. My brother, Sichhun, was born on October 31, 1941. It was the year that eighteen-year-old Prince Sihanouk was crowned king of Cambodia; he would eventually become the most famous Cambodian of the twentieth century. Incidentally, the king and my brother shared a birthday. I was born in the Cambodian Year of the Boar, 2490. Because our traditional year usually goes from April 13 to April 12, I was born on March 1, 1948, on the western calendar.
In 1953 I was sent to Pochentong Primary School. That year, my second sister, Sarun, at age eighteen, was married to an official at the finance ministry. Two years later, Sarin, at age twenty-two, was married to an army officer. Both marriages were arranged...a practice that is still going on, although to a lesser extent.
Life in Pochentong seemed like paradise. With protective parents and a loving upper-middle-class family, I simply had no worries. School and play always went hand in hand. I grew up with children from all walks of life: their parents were peasants, merchants, military people, police, and civil servants. My grade-school pals and I went swimming in ponds, chasing ducks near the railroad station or the airport runway. The one who caught the duck was the winner, until the duck got away. I remember that one day, I got the duck and began to run, naked and barefoot, down the dusty road, followed by screaming children. I came on my brother, who was playing soccer in a nearby field with his friends. "Hey, Kanee! Where are you going with your little friend dangling between your legs?" I immediately stopped to look down at what was dangling, and the duck got away. My brother was one of the few people who called me by my nickname, which had no meaning but sounded cute in Khmer. The others included my parents, sisters, brothers-in-law, uncles, and aunts. I would not respond to any voices other than theirs when I heard my nickname.
My friends and I created our own toys. We used clay to make animals (elephants and horses), fruits (bananas, oranges, mangoes, and pumpkins), buses, trucks, and slingshot bullets. We made our own slingshots from the fork of a guava branch and practiced shooting at trees and stray animals, before getting into a real good-versus-evil fight. We play jor-kinh (thief and detective) games, the Cambodian version of cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians. As the son of a police chief, I naturally wanted to play the detective...the good guy. But my friends wanted me to be the bad guy, the ugly barbarian, on the wrong side of the law and society, who had to run and hide behind big trees and bushes. When found, he would have to defend himself, in a slingshot war with the good guys, until he ran out of clay bullets and surrendered. Somehow, I usually managed to evade the pursuers until they gave up.
We competed in flying kites. As we grew older, the kites became more complicated to build. We stopped short of trying to produce kalaeng aek, the enormous musical kites that take a few adult males to fly. Once airborne, they fly at very high altitude for hours, sometimes all night, and produce a smooth, soothing sound from the vibrations of a very thin "tongue" of bamboo attached to the head of the kite. The sound was carried far away from one village to another, depending on the direction of the wind.
In the evening, we listened to the national radio, which broadcast news and music a few hours a day.
During the 1950s, Cambodia received many world leaders who were coming to visit this newly independent kingdom, and especially the architectural wonders of its former royal capital Angkor: Dag Hammarskjöld, Jawaharlal Nehru, Sukarno, Zhou Enlai, and others. Each time there was a state visit, the boys and girls of my school were herded to the airport. We were usually among the first to welcome the foreign dignitaries. We wore our standard uniforms: khaki pants and white shirts for boys; navy blue skirts and white blouses for girls. We were at the airport and along the road from the terminal to our village to wave flags, clap our hands, shout greetings, and hold banners. It was always fun to be away from the classroom.Golden Bones. Copyright © by Sichan Siv. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Table of Contents
Map of Cambodia xi
Two Thousand Six i
First Episode: Cambodia
Part I Dreams and Hope, 1948-1970
1 Pochentong 7
2 Paradise Lost 14
3 Angkor 20
4 Four B's 27
5 The Sixties 36
6 The Moon 59
Part II War and Peace, 1970-1976
7 Life Under the Sword 71
8 Caring and Sharing 83
9 Year of the Bloody Peace 95
10 Friday the Thirteenth 140
Second Episode: America
Part III Freedom and Survival
11 New England 169
12 New York 188
13 Texas 219
Part IV On Behalf of the President
14 41 and 41 233
15 The White House 242
16 Americans First 250
17 Return to Cambodia 265
Part V On Behalf of the United States
18 The Principles 279
19 The Good, the Bad, the Ugly 288
20 The Ambassadors 293
21 The Caravan 297
22 Two Thousand Six 303
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I had the immense pleasure this week of meeting the author and hearing him speak. If you meet this man, you would know that he is anything but arrogant and self-centered. He is a man that has overcome amazing odds, and is a shining example of what a person can still accomplish in the United States IF they are willing to work hard and make necessary sacrifices. Every child should have the privilege of hearing his story.
A/N: Hello, my readers! It’s me, MagiKK.<p>This is, like, my first truly original story. It's somewhat futuristic in Alexis's world, like, governmentwise, but yeah. You get what I mean, right?</p> <p>Please leave a comment. I want to know people’s honest opinions of my story. Constructive criticism is welcome.</p> <p>Sorry, but this is a short chapter. Sorry. I had to start somewhere.</p> <p>GIFTED: CHAPTER ONE</p> <p>Discovery</p> <p>Alexis's POV</p> <p>I laid down on the semi-long grass, staring up at the sky. My Saturday had been surprisingly uneventful at the current moment, despite the fact that I had biked to and from the library, kicked the butt of a bully using my Earth Gift, and challenged a close friend to a Potterhead battle. We’d basically argued over who knew more Harry Potter spells. Not like we could use them, anyway. That would be an awesome Gift. Sure, Lyell was able to control things with his mind, and I could control a bunch of natural stuff, but that was as close as we came to Harry Potter spellcasting.</p> <p>I hadn’t worked on my homework a lot because I was ridiculously tired. I’d had a bit of a cold for the week, unless it was that Enterovirus D-68 thing, or whatever it was called. Either way, they both had pretty much the same symptoms.</p> <p>That wasn’t what had been running through my head, though. I was trying to determine what the most heroic thing anyone from any of my fandoms had ever done was. I couldn’t tell for sure, as I hadn’t caught up with the Season Eight episodes of Doctor Who, but who cares? It’s not like the Doctor is going to kill a Dalek in the first episode. That would be seriously awesome, though.</p> <p>I had started chewing on my fingers, but then I realized what I was doing and stopped. I really had to break that nail-biting habit. Honestly. I was nearly a month older than twelve, and I was still doing something I’d been doing since I was two.</p> <p>I didn’t want to start on my homework yet. Come on, it was Saturday. I shouldn’t have to work on some Order of Operations variable crap that teachers have drilled into our amazing heads for three months worth of time. I shouldn’t have to draw some silly pictures to help me remember Reconstruction vocabulary. Honestly, people, won’t you get it into your heads that some of us Honors kids are a bit smarter than that? That we deserve better, that we shouldn’t have our grades down to B+’s just because we didn’t have the time to finish some silly old Mastery project that (a) we already know the info on and (b) didn’t make sense to a couple of us in the first place? If there were no projects and no graded homework in school, I would have skipped a grade or two by now. But instead, they give us graded homework and shame us when we see no point in doing it. Gosh.</p> <p>Now that I was finished with that little mental rant, I pondered what I really should do. Go over German notes? E-mail Geoffrey to discuss that fandom battle video we had been planning to make? Call Ash and ask her to come over? Wait, no, that last one wouldn’t work. My house was a complete mess. No way was I going to let anyone come over with it looking the way it was. </p> <p>(Sorry, but I have to cut you guys off now. I ran out of space. Next result for the second part of chapter one!)</p>
My latest literary journey back to Cambodia, my mother country, was through Sichan Siv's book Golden Bones. To fully illustrate the miracle of this story, I must preface this review with an introduction of the extraordinary man that is Sichan Siv. While every Cambodian citizen was in peril during the Khmer Rouge (KR) regime, the educated social classes were the initial victims of elimination. Mr. Sichan Siv personified all that the KR sought to eradicate. Even in pre-war Cambodia, as the young Siv suffered the untimely passing of his father, he persevered to attain the highest level of education possible in his country. As a gangly youth learning French, and then a tall, spectacled college student, Siv doggedly followed his academic pursuits while also bringing in money to help his newly widowed mother provide the basics for a large family reeling from tremendous loss. Sichan Siv's intense curiosity, dedication to self-advancement, and ambition laid the foundation for a stratospheric career that has taken him from being a teacher and taxi driver to the White House as deputy assistant to former President George H. W. Bush and ultimately to the U.N. as a U.S. ambassador. He is a pioneer in every facet of his life, redefining the concept of self-actualization and imbuing it with a super human quality. Ironically, as you will learn from reading his story, it was this very level of accomplishment that marked him for critical extermination according to the KR doctrine. Siv begins his book with the early history of Cambodia, an especially important perspective given the recent destruction of ancient literature and other tangible aspects of Khmer culture during the KR's "purification" process. The KR's attempt to erase an entire era of living and written record is met with Siv's typically understated, elegant prose as he educates the reader on Cambodia's past. Siv then describes his experiences during the KR regime. Once he fully understood their malicious intentions, Siv threw away his eye glasses, rewrote his past, and refrained from speaking, fearful that a slip into French would bring death. His most heart-wrenching act of sacrifice was leaving his beloved family behind in his native village in an effort to ensure their survival. Despite eluding execution on more than one occasion with the help of his devout Buddhist faith, a razor-sharp intellect, and a guardian angel in the form of a truck driver, Siv knew his time was limited under the murderous regime. The circumstances that provided him opportunity for escape were nothing short of a series of miracles, precipitated by a benevolent and omnipotent protective force. Siv expands his account beyond his arrival in America, revealing his struggles to acculturate and weave a new life from an unraveled tapestry. His honesty, humility, and sense of humor grace every passage of this memoir. Siv holds nothing back, baring his battered flesh and "golden bones." Through his courage we can all gain empowerment, healing, and a deeper understanding for the wisdom of a generation lost. I cried, I despised, I laughed, but mostly, I was captivated, unable to peel this book from my tired eyes well into the late hours of the evening. Get this book. Golden Bones is a must-read testimony of the resilience, endurance, and infinite heights that can be reached by the human spirit. To learn more about the author, please visit his website: http://www.sichansiv.com/
I don't know the author but egotistical he is. He is the wise one and everyone else is stupid. I have been around the block enough to know this isn't always the case. I frankly tried several times to finish the book. I even tried starting in different places. I know some of the facts are absolutely incorrect, and there are a couple places I labored through where the story line looks vaguely similar to another fiction book. But hey, stuff happens over and over. Buy a good fiction novel instead. At least you know what is in there is made up.