The Peasant King - Hun Sen's Cambodia - page 118

took names that ended in the Sanskrit term varman , meaning “armor.” Sihanouk similarly
claimed to have united his people under the “shade” of the Cambodian monarchy. Now
it was Hun Sen who stepped into the role of benevolent protector and bringer of peace,
raining benisons on a grateful people.
Like the rulers of Angkor, Hun Sen dramatized his great merit through the building
of roads, bridges, pagodas, and other infrastructure works. Schools were a particular
specialty. The first “Hun Sen school” was built after the 1993 election; by 2010, the
prime minister and first lady had bestowed 3,458 schools (totaling 17,931 classrooms)
on communes across Cambodia. 9 Schools and other infrastructure works were paid for
by the government officials, deep-pocketed tycoons, and other “meritorious benefactors,”
or saboraschon , who accompanied Hun Sen on his rural excursions. (In 2013, state me-
dia even reported on the construction of a $700,000 Hun Sen school in Mali in West
Africa.) 10 In exchange for rendering unto Hun Sen, Cambodian elites were granted pref-
erential treatment and their place in a taxonomy of florid Sanskrit ranks. Tycoons re-
ceived the title oknha , awarded to anyone who contributed more than $100,000 to “na-
tional reconstruction.” 11 In premodern times the oknha were envoys appointed by the
king, expected to perform a wide variety of duties, take elaborate oaths of loyalty, and
present him with regular gifts. 12 The oknha performed a similar function under Hun Sen,
supporting him with cash and loyalty in return for access to a continuing flow of riches.
Hun Sen's quasi-royal pretensions were bolstered by a burgeoning personality cult,
which ran the gamut from gold watches and clocks with the PM's portrait (available in
military or civilian flavors) to the ubiquitous party billboards, which featured portraits
of the “three Samdechs”: Hun Sen, Heng Samrin, and Chea Sim. He also appeared fre-
quently in Dear Leader mode, waving out over highways or cradling sheaves of golden
rice. The story of Hun Sen's rise from humble beginnings became a bedrock of party
mythology. Portraits of Sihanouk, Monineath, and King Sihamoni hung as always from
the walls of businesses and government offices, but the prime minister dominated every-
where else. In some government offices and military-owned businesses, the king's image
would be eclipsed by a larger portrait of Hun Sen, in army fatigues or mortarboard, strik-
ing a strongman pose or accepting one of countless honorary degrees.
Hun Sen had even begun composing songs. In emulation of Sihanouk, the “songman
of Cambodia” was said to jot down lyrics whenever the inspiration seized him—in heli-
copters, on overseas trips, during late-night work sessions—which were set to music by
aides. At the height of his late 1990s' creative “peak,” Hun Sen's catalogue ran to dozens
of cassette tapes that were sold in markets and beamed out over state radio. To compete
with Sihanouk's bursting songbook, Hun Sen produced “The Life of the Pagoda Boy,”
which told of his difficult early years. Then there were the paeans to Hun Sen's person-