Stepping Forward Without US
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Bangkok, where summer officially began on February 28. It’s hot.
Stepping Forward Without US
Having been in more than a hundred countries over the last ten years, Lee and I have developed a collection of lenses through which to see the world. It’s easy for us, moving constantly, to observe shifting perspectives—economic development, international relations, personal happiness, collectivism, values. I love nothing more than a good compare-and-contrast exercise.
The whole time we’ve been traveling, we’ve been aware of the battle for influence over the developing world, more apparent in some places than others, but always happening on some level. Developing countries want to grow, to strengthen their economies, and improve the lives of their citizens, and wealthy countries want to influence that growth and development.
There is a soundtrack to this global battle for hearts and minds: the sound of motorbikes. I don’t mean big Harley-style motorcycles meant for speed and thrills. I’m talking about the smaller, lower-priced workhorses of a low-income economy where people can’t yet afford cars, but must have transport in order to grow that economy.
In countries aligned with China, the motorbikes are rapidly going silent—powered by electric motors. But in Cambodia, they’re still loud; combustion engines shred the ancient silence of Angkor Wat and spew exhaust into the air.
Bunthy—a driver we first met in 2016–has worked hard in the last nine years. During Covid, while his kids studied at home, he improved his own skills, learning enough history and mythology to become more than just a driver. Now, his eldest is at university in Singapore, studying to become a neurologist. Bunthy is bursting with pride.
The history that underpins Cambodia’s current poverty is complex: a thousand years ago, the Khmer empire was the wealthiest in the world (that’s why Angkor Wat is so beautiful). But within my lifetime, this corner of Southeast Asian jungle was scarred by America’s ‘Secret War,’ and Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge.
Nowadays, as industrial and technological development drive the country forward, one of the problems that still has to be dealt with is the presence of land mines and unexploded ordinance—the long legacy of two decades of war.
While we were there last month, we saw a truck that’s used by one of the mine-clearing operations; I ran over to take a picture of it. Bunthy joined me, and since we had been talking about the cuts to US foreign spending, he mentioned that this particular operator was largely funded by American money. He saw the grief on my face, and touched my arm, telling me not to be sad. We can’t dwell on it, he said. We must move forward.
It didn’t really make me feel better.
That evening, we had dinner at a social enterprise restaurant (a place that trains disadvantaged youth to provide them with job opportunities in the hospitality industry). We chatted briefly with the Swiss man who founded the organization; I commented that the tourism devastation of Covid must have been extraordinarily difficult in a place as economically fragile as Cambodia. Actually no, he said. Cambodians weren’t upset—because they’ve always known they have to solve their own problems. The government is not going to show up to help.
But the United States has been there helping for forty years. And now? Bunthy knows they’re not. At least—not like they used to be.
We departed Cambodia from the shiny new Chinese airport. How long will it be until the motorcycles change sides as well?
Take care,
Lisa
P.S. Thanks for reading, and feel free to share. If you have feedback, I’d love to hear it. And if someone forwarded this to you, thank them for me, and go to https://bookwoman.com/ to subscribe.