Checkmate...

Saravuth Inn waiting for an opponent in Union Square

As I was strolling through Union Square today, I came upon this fellow and I requested permission to take his photo. He thanked me for my politeness in a notably sincere manner, as if he was unaccustomed to such courtesy, and he called me closer for a chat. As he introduced himself, he pointed to a CD displayed on the makeshift table. Saravuth Inn was written in black permanent marker on the silver disc. Mr. Inn, as it turns out, is not only a chess master, but a musician as well. "You don't know who you are taking pictures of," he says to me. "So tell me who you are," I say. He begins pulling out newspaper clippings and documents from his bag. He tells me he is from Cambodia, when I ask. Immediately I realize he must have been there as a child during the genocide. Having spent a couple of months in Cambodia, half that time in the Battambang area where as it turns out Mr. Inn is from, I have a major point of reference for his story. In a moment, I am back at the Killing Fields and S-21 prison. Visiting those places had left me emotionally drained and physically ill. Saravuth's parents had been killed by the Khmer Rouge when he was thirteen years old. He was "kidnapped" by US forces and brought to America, where he was adopted by a couple in New Jersey, who unfortunately, were extremely abusive towards him. He managed to earn a scholarship to Rutgers University, where he studied English Literature. For several years he resided in Canada, where he married and had three children. I did not inquire about his family as it was evident that he and his wife were no longer together. Perhaps it was the separation that brought him back to NYC, where he now earns his living by busking and playing chess in the park. I put a dollar in his "donation bag" though I don't have a job myself. "I'm kind of homeless," he says to me. I don't understand what this means, but before I can ask him to elaborate he is on to something else. Saravuth is a fast talker; he wants to be heard. He pulls his cap back and shows me a circular imprint on his temple that had somewhat of a pinkish hue. He lifts his sleeves as he describes the number of times he has been shot and the places in his body where shrapnel has been lodged. Although this is the first time we have met, something tells me that the anger he is displaying is not his usual demeanor; I think he is having a bad day. There is an overwhelming amount of pain emanating from his eyes. I encouraged him to write his story down, but he responds that it is too painful. I suggest working with a friend or ghostwriter, and he mentions that he would enjoy working with his daughter on such a project. As we shook hands and said our goodbyes I thanked him for sharing his immensely compelling story with me. I wished him well and told him that I hoped he found his way back home. Much of our conversation revolved around his desire to return "home" to Cambodia. I honestly couldn't understand why he'd want to return when he has spent the last 35-40 years building his life in North America. "Do you still have family there?" I asked. "I don't know!" he answered with a mixture of amusement and contempt. The trials and tribulations of American bureaucracy in regards to acquiring citizenship left him defeated. That he was brought to the US against his will, and then left without papers that would allow him to get a proper job and earn a decent living, has instilled into him a deep-seated resentment. I didn't really get the full story, and no doubt there is a lot more to it, but it sounded as if he had a frustrating and contentious relationship with the Department of Homeland Security. I googled this fascinating character when I got home, only to find that he had quite a presence on the web. The Villager published an article about him in 2010 in which he exhibits a much more positive and optimistic disposition. "I'm an American. This is my home," Saravuth declares to journalist Aidan Gardiner when discussing his plans to acquire his naturalization number. Two years later Saravuth is still in the park living on donations, sounding as if he has drowned while wading through the sea of red tape, his definition of home drastically changing shape. I do hope he eventually finds his way home, wherever that may be. And I hope once he does that it brings him peace.

A documentary filmmaker named Alex Lora Cercos made a short about Saravuth called Odysseus' Gambit. It premiered at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year. Keep a look out for it! 

Here are a few pics from 2008 when I was in Battambang, Cambodia, Saravuth's hometown:

"You live in Phnom Penh/ You live in New York City/ But I think about you so so so so much I forget to eat" --Dengue Fever, Tiger Phone Card