Money always talks. But it certainly speaks louder in Cambodia.
In America, $200 buys a new iPod. For the same price in Phnom Penh, you can kill a live cow. With a rocket launcher. Not only are said weapons illegal in the states, but I do not think there is any sum that would allow you to brutally murder an innocent live animal. In Cambodia, however, the cow comes gratis with the rocket launcher rental (pigs and chickens are also available). It's merely a free perk. A sales gimmick if you will. Even as a ravenous carnivore, I feel this activity to be utterly sickening, showing a true lack of compassion or humanity. PETA always makes a big stink in New York City when people wear fur or leather; they should really make a visit to Southeast Asia to see some true offenses.
Visitors to Phkor Lan Shooting Range who opt for the rocket launcher are driven a couple miles away to a shrub-covered valley and instructed how to work the military-grade weapon. The gun, also known as a B40, has a long brown-green cylindrical handle that is rested on one's shoulder with a grey football-shaped rocket at the end. The grenade itself recalls a Nerf football due to its size and shape. Except colorless, made of military grade metal instead of foam, and potent enough to destroy a multistory house. The weapon has a distinct phallic characteristic. As such, one could reason that the tourists who rent the launcher are not only sick, sadistic souls, but are actually compensating for something less powerful.
For the poor souls who enjoy this cruel fantasy (before they're transported to the depths of Hell in a few decades), there are two chances to accomplish the task. The unlucky cow is first positioned around 300 feet away in the middle of the mountain valley. She stands there, happily enjoying the fresh grass and taking pleasure as the mountain breeze rushes past her ears and through her fur. Rocket launcher wielders have only one shot to hit their bovine target. If they miss, however, there is no need to fret as: they've likely burned down around a dozen trees in the nearby forest so they can still revel in their destruction. But even better, the rocket is quickly replaced with an automatic Uzi to finish the planned job. I mean, they've already purchased the cow, and it's not like she could possibly be spared after the miss. It's not like she could be distributed to local Cambodians, many of whom struggle to feed themselves and their families. That would be overly generous. So instead, what should be a sacred Buddhist creature and an honored meal that would last for several days, is left annihilated in pieces in the middle of the outskirts of Phnom Penh, becoming food instead for mosquitoes.
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| From Google |
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| From Google |
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It took me twenty-seven years and nearly 9,000 miles to really feel American. Although my friends played with BB guns as kids and others have gone on several hunting trips in recent years, I have yet to ever use a firearm outside of the paintball and Nerf varieties. I have always been against guns and really have no interest in owning one, hunting with one, or brandishing one for protection. My senior thesis at Hamilton was actually on gun control, where I voiced opposition to America's policies on semiautomatic weapons and its loose interpretations of the second amendment.
Many Americans equate the right to bear senseless automatic killing machines with a true mark of patriotism. The United States' affinity for wielding firearms is so strong that many citizens would likely give up food prior to relinquishing their weapons. These tools of destruction, that can obliterate dozens in mere seconds, have somehow come to represent American freedom and unity. The irony is not lost on me.
When in Cambodia, far away from friends or family and protected inside a shooting range, I figured I would see what all the fuss is about. Visitors to Phkor Lan Club in Phnom Penh can throw grenades, sadistically fire rocket launchers at cows, explode bazookas, test out revolvers and handguns, and shoot M60s or other automatic weapons currently being used in Iraq and Afghanistan. There is even a tank for travelers to drive. I opt for an automatic AK-47, the cheapest and most modest of all the club's wares. Amit and I share a magazine of 24 bullets and go head-to-head against a menacing black-and-white pistol-carrying paper target.
Our guides turn the gun to non-automatic mode or else the full magazine would be spent in roughly three seconds. As such, I carefully measure out each bullet, using the sight to aim for the target's head and chest. The AK is cold, leaden, and surprisingly heavy. I'm nervous to even pick it up, as I try to comfortably rest it on my shoulder. I stand around fifty feet away from the target as my guide comes over and unlocks the safety. The first shot of the day, actually the first shot of my life, feels like a thunder bolt ricocheting out of my body. The sound reverberates through the narrow shooting range. It is phenomenally loud despite the fact that I'm wearing noise-blocking ear protection, like a huge explosion in a Michael Bay movie heard with surround sound. Upon firing the single round, the gun immediately kicks back, sending my shoulder flying backwards like a uncontrollable reflex. With each proximate shot I fire, small yellow sparks fly out of the gun's barrel followed by a slight stream of charcoal grey smoke. I fire the following eleven bullets with care, although the kickback and explosive sound are still just as disconcerting on the twelfth shot as with the first.
After Amit finishes his half of the magazine, we compare our results. Out of twelve shots, I've managed:
- Four in the face, including one in the temple
- Five in the neck
- One in the chest
- One in the ambdomen
- One miss
- One in the shoulder
- Two in the chest
- One in the abdomen
- Seven misses
So I've fully won this round. I do not even think Superman could survive eleven high-impact wounds from an AK-47. Mr. Black-and-White Pistol-Wielding Paper Target is certainly half past dead. With the shock of the assault weapon's power and noise still echoing through my body, my cardboard victim lying slain in front of me, I feel more American now than ever. In Phnom Penh, Cambodia. And as Amit is a Brit, I've further exerted my American pride in the sense of mercilessly triumphing over other nations. Due to my beginner's luck, maybe I should consider joining the CIA, the military, or the NRA. Or maybe I should take a step back and ponder how a country that has spent the past three decades rebuilding itself after a period of utter horror and genocide, is now using those same tools of destruction to promote violence and animal brutality.
Note: No cows were harmed in the making of this weblog post.
More information:
http://www.dvorak.org/blog/2008/12/20/so-there-i-was-in-cambodia-blowing-up-cows-with-rocket-launchers-when/
http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andy1985/rtw-2006/1163574780/tpod.html
http://articles.sfgate.com/2007-02-15/news/17230380_1_khmer-rouge-shooting-ranges-cambodia
http://www.casttv.com/video/pr832p/shooting-a-rocket-launcher-at-a-cow-cambodia-video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOiaN3Dm3Gc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0sDT_F0s6VU
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