Golden Bones: An Extraordinary Journey from Hell in Cambodia to a New Life in America

by Sichan Siv Narrated by David Thorn

Overview

While the United States battled the Communists of North Vietnam in the 1960s and '70s, the neighboring country of Cambodia was attacked from within by dictator Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. The Khmer Rouge came to power in 1975-the same year that the U.S. presence in Vietnam ended-and began a vicious genocide to return Cambodia to an agrarian society. 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!”

Removing his glasses (since only intellectuals wore them), he set out to bicycle across Cambodia. 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. Working variously as an apple picker in Connecticut (he saw his first July 4th parade in southern Vermont), a burger flipper, and a New York City cab driver, Siv became a graduate student at Columbia University.

During this time he befriended Dith Pran-subject of The Killing Fields. His perseverance was noticed while working on the campaign of George H.W. Bush in 1988, and he was offered a job in the White House. 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. From his first Fourth of July parade in Vermont in 1976 during our nation's bicentennial, to being the grandmaster at at 2006 July 4th parade in Texas, Sichan Siv has come a long way.

A proud American, Siv is now in demand as a speaker at universities and businesses around the country, where his incredible life story never fails to get a standing ovation and bring tears to the eyes of his audience.

Editorial Reviews

Kirkus Reviews

The uplifting saga of a man who escaped genocidal Cambodia, became a U.S. citizen, then served in the Bush I and Bush II administrations. After recounting his privileged childhood and adolescence, Siv chronicles six years of "life under the sword" as the fledgling Cambodian republic battled first the North Vietnamese and then the murderous Khmer Rouge. After this communist faction took Phnom Penh in April 1975, the author, a college graduate and teacher, was relegated to grueling slave labor. In 1976, he worked up the courage to escape, crossing the border into Thailand on foot. Sponsored by an American family in Wallingford, Conn., Siv immigrated at age 28 to the United States, where the second half of his memoir takes place. After menial employment in restaurants and a stint as a New York City cab driver, he gained admission to the Columbia School of International Affairs and graduated into white-collar jobs. Eventually, Siv's intelligence and ambition brought him to the attention of prominent Republicans, who recruited him into the administration of George H.W. Bush as a deputy assistant for public liaison, charged with informing Americans from various organized constituencies, including uprooted Cambodians and other Southeast Asians, about the president's policies. He was able to return to Cambodia on official missions, and he shares his understandably strong emotions as well as his findings of fact while observing his native country's struggles to return to a civilized state. Writing in his adopted language of English, Siv relies heavily on cliches and oversimplified scenarios, proclaiming his love for America in chapter after chapter. His chatty prose is easy to absorb, but hiseditor ought to have insisted on logical transitions between scene shifts. After George W. Bush entered the White House, Siv returned to politics, this time as a deputy ambassador to the United Nations, serving until 2006. Occasionally tedious, but often moving and frequently educational.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940173488077
Publisher:	HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:	02/14/2012
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Golden Bones

Chapter One

Pochentong

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.

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