We are certainly privileged to have a writer of the caliber of Mr. Moeun Chhean Nariddh join the project. his enthusiasm, dedication and love for humanity lends to the WPMP a higher dimension of excellence that further distinguishes the project as one of the finest collaboratives of all time.

There is much to be discover about our ambassador to Cambodia. The following article and a sampler of his work as translated by him (from  Khmer) will certainly give us an introduction to Ambassador Moeun Chhean Nariddh.

Tiité

Moeun Chhean Nariddh wasn’t thinking about anything except for helping a former workmate the day he found out the world had recognized his work.

A former colleague from the Phnom Penh Post news-paper, Sara Colm, was now working for Human Rights Watch (HRW) in New York, and she had called to ask if he could translate for her.

It was June, 2002, and he was at the home of Vann Nath, a painter and one of the few survivors of the infamous Tuol Sleng Torture Center under the Khmer Rouge. Nariddh was telling him that he had won a prize for his work in the promotion of human rights in Cambodia.

The pleasure the old man received from hearing the news was reward enough for Nariddh, so he was barely concentrating when Sara turned to him at the end of the evening. “And the surprise is, you have been awarded the Human Rights Award as well. Congratulations,” she said.

In journalism, headlines and the bylines are normally the things that make a writer famous. Nariddh had sacrificed that long ago to follow his love of teaching. He never thought about winning accolades.

Disability isn’t something most people who have met Moeun Chhean Nariddh think about. They see his wit, his knowledge of the industry and his love for transferring that knowledge. But he has to overcome a congenital birth defect meaning he is missing most fingers. He has had to learn to write without them. However, journalism was the career he loved enough to pursue without compromise.

Born in 1969, he was close to is father as a child, and his father taught him the basics of traditional medicines. “He thought that it might be the way I could earn a living in the future,” he said.

But that training ended when the Khmer Rouge took power in 1975 and Nariddh and his seven siblings were forcibly relocated to Kratie province. His father died in 1980, and his mother moved back to Phnom Penh hoping things might be easier there. There he was placed in the Kolab orphanage, where he realized the importance of helping others.

He was a good student, and learned English well. When he could, he taught others, and there his love of teaching was born. He worked as an interpreter for UNTAC, but took a job at the Phnom Penh Post newspaper in 1992. Whenever he could learn another journalistic skill, either through a course or from his colleagues, he made the most of it.

In 1995 he started work with the Cambodia Communication Institute (CCI) and has become teacher and mentor to hundreds of Cambodia’s journalists over the years there. The courses don’t only teach the basics of journalism, but also advise journalists on how to cover sensitive human rights issues such as HIV/ AIDS. The hope is to gradually change and improve the way the Cambodian media cover issues dealing with vulnerable groups.

His own disability isn’t something he even thinks about. “Everything is not the same as my father thought it would be. I have forgotten the traditional healing he taught me,” he said.

Instead, he heals through teaching, and the world has noticed the difference he is making.

THE WICKED MAN

What a damned gun it is!

Why doesn’t its trigger work?

How come it didn’t sound “Bang” as I wished.

Why is a strongman no longer strong?

All right for the stubborn gun!

But what’s the matter with this stick?

It’s too heavy to lift.

What a strange day it is?

This means we have to use the handcuffs.

I’ll keep him here for the time being,

so that he will never get off and escape.

And I’ll return and kill him tomorrow.

Hey, what handcuffs these ones are!

They are just bought not many days ago.

But the lock is so stuck it can’t be unlocked.

It’s just stuck like it was stopped by a supernatural power.

However hard I am stopped, just wait and see.

I’ll kick you and break your mouth.

It’s wrong enough just to be arrogant with me.

I’ll beat and kick you till death.

Wow, are you in fact a ghost?

Because my arms and legs just become unmovable,

as if they were stooped by something.

My legs are stuck on the ground and I can’t walk.

THE KING OF GOD

Hey, you! The human man!

What you’ve done is wrong, you wicked!

How dare you badly treat a gentle man?

It’s a great sin you’ll never be able to escape.

In fact, I am the King of God,

disguising myself with clothes like you are.

Coming from heaven, the noble world,

I’m here with a message to save all men.

The message has something to say,

that from today on, you must stop

all kinds of torture as it’s illegal.

So, the humans get rid of it.

Those who argue and oppose this

will be inflicted by a disastrous curse,

making them unhappy and uncomfortable,

from this life to the next ones.

         The sound of spoons striking can be heard from a straw hut across the river.

It is the sound of noisy children arguing with each other.

        After hitting one another with the spoons,

the quarreling children smashed the rice bowls to the ground,

without regretting the things bought by their mother.

         Following a brief silence, a boy bursts out crying,

angry at being hit on his head.

He lies down on the ground and refuses to get up,

till his mother comes and lifts him.

         The mother says: “Oh my lovely son, please stop crying, I beg you.

We were born as poor people and could not have a good harvest.”

         “There’s been draught this year and the rice fields are dry.

All the rice has been spoiled,

and we will eat porridge of the remaining rice.

Don’t you wonder it’s our misfortune.”

         “Let’s wait and see for next year,

in case God help us to have a good harvest.

Then, you will have enough to eat,

and your stomach will not be empty.”

         “Oh, my poor children, please be patient.

Stop quarreling with each other and my grief will be gone.

Please end your Spoon War!”