The Shepherd King

In November 1975, the Pathet Lao, with the help of the Soviet and North Vietnamese Army, overthrew the monarchy in Laos, forcing King Savang Vatthana to abdicate. The king later died in captivity at a labor camp, the details of his death are sketchy. The queen, The Crown Prince, and many members of the royal family, either starved to death or executed, were never heard from again. A lot of question marks appear instead of actual dates of their deaths.

In my first post, I recounted how my wife's uncles decided, like many Laotians, to cross the Mekong River into Thailand. They left on a makeshift bamboo raft. They had served in the Air Force, helping the Americans in their unconfirmed secret war in Laos, and thus did not have much of a future in the new Laos. By their accounts, as they paddled across the river, the victorious communist soldiers stood on the shore, drinking heavily, laughing, as they took pop shots with their rifles at the fleeing rafts. Her uncles crossed the river. Many did not. Regardless if their account is accurate or just worked-up mythology, the Mekong, as we know, is bloodied with many lost souls, either by drowning or from many years of war.

This was not only a tumultuous time in American history, in which we retreated from Saigon after years of fighting in Vietnam, Cambodia, and many other parts of Southeast Asia, confirmed or not, but it was also a deadly time to be left behind. A Cambodian friend of mine showed me a black-and-white photograph of him when he was no older than three years old. His mother looked like an old woman, whose face and vacant expression bore the visible scarring from witnessing Pol Pot's genocide, an AK-47 strapped on her back as she held her child in her arms. Compare this to your childhood photos.

As far as what was documented, Laos did not succumb to genocide in the same way Cambodia did, where mass graves are still being unearthed, but it was in no way a peaceful existence for those who opposed the new communist government. So, if you weren't communist, it was in your best interest to get the hell out.

Yet, in the early eighties, like Cuba, Laos allowed a mass exodus of its people whose hearts were not in the communist revolution, and most families went in separate directions, either to France (as they were already familiar with French from years of their occupation that led up to the Vietnam War) or the United States. My wife bounced around from refugee camp to refugee camp, from Thailand to the Philippines, until some missionaries bought her family plane tickets to the United States, where her uncles were already establishing a new life.

There's a continuing chapter, however, in which the rightful heir to the throne, Prince Soulivong Savang, fled Laos in the same manner as my wife's uncles and now resides in France, trying to gather support for a return to a democratic monarchy. He has family in the States, whom he supposedly visits now and again. Somehow, when I heard this story, I got the impression that he chose a simple life, herding cattle or sheep. I could see him with a cowboy hat, overlooking the grazing livestock on the open plains of Nebraska, even though this wasn't the case. Nevertheless, I cannot believe this commonplace existence is the ending of this king's story.

Why didn't the last heir to the throne return to his country with legions of followers to overthrow the communists? I mean, even if he failed and was killed, his story of bravery would be an epic tale retold for ages.

Prince Soulivong had written to the U.S. Senate in 1998, stating that he was willing to put the past behind and work on reconciling the government into one that will bring peace and justice to the people of Laos, including the Hmongs, many of whom faced (and still face) the brunt of the communist government. The Senate issued a resolution that Laos act in accordance with the heir's request and adopt a democratic government and also investigate human rights abuses to the Laotian and Hmong people. Yes, another story of us saying, "please stop," and the other country saying, "no", with no further recourse.

In July 2001, the royal flag waved briefly before being taken down. Still, there doesn't seem to be a mass of people in Laos clamoring for the return of their king.

During Lao New Year, which ended a few days ago, I read a recent article about Laos written by a political prisoner who called upon the government to recognize and accept basic human rights for its citizens. Unfortunately, it seems, not much has changed.

I called him "The Shepherd King" because I first imagined him tending sheep and trying to forget his royal roots, as though it were a dream he had many years ago. But now I imagine him tirelessly working within international governments, each day amassing signatures of so-called important dignitaries, still believing he can convince the world that this should not be the history of Laos, with few listeners.

The world most likely feels they have enough on their plates to give an ear to a onetime prince, over 30 years removed. But how Shakespearean the thought, the Return of The Shepherd King, crossing the Mekong River amidst the Naga Fireballs lighting his path, the dead souls rising up to the hem of his gold-encrusted pah-hang, poised to reclaim the throne.

That's a story for a different era, though. In this one, the lines are already drawn, and no one has an interest in remapping the world. So, while Laos maintains its way of life as it has for centuries and its expatriates sing of their beloved country, their king stands at the ancient bridge between West and East, certain which side he should be on, but unsure who still cares.