BURAS, La. (AP) - What brought many Cambodian fishers to south Louisiana was the climate. Fleeing war, Phan Plork’s parents, for example, moved to Buras because it reminded them of their homeland.
“The weather of the South, especially the humidity, is almost like Cambodia,” Plork said. “Whatever they could grow in Cambodia, they can grow here.”
Buras lies on a ribbon of land surrounded by patches of marsh and pockets of open water. In the image of the Mississippi River’s bird-foot delta, it’s the ankle between New Orleans and the foot. When Hurricane Katrina hit, this is where it first made landfall.
After that storm, the 40 or so Cambodian American families here came back. And the same thing that made them return then is what makes them want to stay now, despite the area’s continued land loss from subsidence, tropical storms and rising seas: They built something that they insist cannot be washed away.
Some 2.7 million people live in Louisiana’s coastal zone, and a visit to Buras, estimated population 1,000, offers insight into how a tiny and unique sliver of them are hanging on to their homes, jobs and culture in the face of nature’s seemingly insurmountable challenges. In the past couple decades, the Cambodian immigrants in Buras have worked to adapt their new environs, even as the land around them turns to water.
At first, Plork said, the Cambodian community here was not a true community at all. The immigrant fishers kept to themselves, viewing one another as competition.
“When I first came here 20 years ago, everybody is themself,” Plork said. “But I show them and say, ’Look, being a fisherman I don’t want you in my honey hole, especially wherever you catch shrimp. But when we get back on land, when it comes to our family, I want us to be able to do things together.’ So, now they understand, we don’t have to be ugly unless we’re out there.”
Much of what binds the Cambodian Americans is their rich heritage. On the second weekend of April, a block in Buras becomes a Cambodian New Year’s celebration. The families make traditional Cambodian dishes and come together to take part in Buddhist rituals and traditional Cambodian games. Plork said the celebration is an opportunity for younger people.
“My parents — this is their culture. And I want to learn about that,” Plork said. “Why are we celebrating New Year in April? They tell us they do that because it’s the first season of the year. And that’s when they gather up all the crops. That’s the reason in April.”
A metal-roofed pavilion sits at the center of the block, as a place to hold prayers and eat. In front of the makeshift temple is what looks like a sandbox with piles of sand. The sandbox is part of a Buddhist New Year’s ritual.
“They come to the mountain of sands, and they ask God to not only forgive them but to protect them from the devil,” Plork said. “So, God makes the devil do this. If they want to come get you, your soul or whatever, the devil not only has to come through the mountain but to be able to count every grain of sand before the devil can take that individual.”
Plork, 49, is the only Christian in his neighborhood. He came to the United States when he was 12 and began attending church in the refugee camps. In many ways, he’s assimilated to American culture.
“I was born in Cambodia, but I’m pretty much Americanized. And to raise my kid that way. I raise my kid that way and everything,” he said. “But I do want them to know that this is who you are. You’re Cambodian, and this is what Cambodian people do on New Year.”
Plork has ambitious visions of what he hopes to see in his community’s future. But the state of Louisiana is beginning to pressure this community to plan for a future with further land loss and more water. That means elevating houses, navigating the government bureaucracy for grants and loans, perhaps accepting a buyout and moving away.
That’s what worries Sandy Prom. She’s concerned her community will have a hard time adapting.
“I think the biggest challenge here for this community that I’m a part of is just that language barrier,” she said. “Most have children that are American born that can help translate. But not all.”
Prom moved to Buras four years ago from Los Angeles. Along with her husband and three young children, she had a five-year plan to make a little money shrimping and return to California with enough savings to buy a home. Now they’re staying.
“I’ve never been outside of California before, and I’m 35. The first place I came to was here, and I then permanently stayed. And I came without even having visited before,” she said. “Everyone up and down this lane, up and down this community at the boat docks, took me, my husband and my family in. This is the reason why I’m very passionate about wanting to be able to help these adults who don’t have children to translate for them because who does that?”
“Lots of them took us under their wings. They just cherished us and nourished us and here we are now. This is how I’m making a living here. So I owe this community a lot.”
Prom has been attending the state’s meetings about adapting to coastal erosion so that she can help translate what she learns to neighbors who do not speak English. She didn’t grow up speaking Khmer and doesn’t know how to read or write the language, but she does her best to help Khmer speakers understand the environmental challenges and opportunities before them.
Plork said the Cambodian Americans in Buras are willing to do what is necessary. They came back after Katrina, and they want to stay.
“I know that people are coming back slowly but all of the Cambodian fishermen are here. If anything, more than before Katrina. They like this way of life,” he said. “They want to come back here. They didn’t mind that they lost everything and then they wanted to rebuild.”
The Buddhists’ makeshift temple has grown. The roof used to be a FEMA blue tarpaulin; now, it’s made of metal. They have visions of building a true temple or community center.
Part of the New Year’s ceremony included raising money for that vision. Cambodian Americans lined the street to offer monks rice and cash toward the temple. Afterward, they retrieved their families’ Buddha statues from their homes and placed the figures on a table to be blessed by the monks and others with fragranced holy water. Prom warned a reporter what would happen next.
“Right after the water blessing, you have to be kind of careful of your cameras and equipment because as a ritual we believe that water brings clarity. It replenishes the body and soul. It cleanses and it’s cold,” she said. “They have the adults walk around with the holy water and the cup that’s fragranced. They wish and do blessings on the younger children. And then, after that, we take the cups and we do blessings for the adults wishing them prosperity and good health and wealth, if they’re sick for them to get well.”
“And then it’s an all-out water fight.”
The water blessings began with people dipping flowers in the water and using the flower to brush elders. Soon the flowers were set aside for bowls full of water. The monks joined in the fun of dumping water on the elders.
It made for an odd juxtaposition. What threatens these people is encroaching water, and yet the water, too, is seen as a blessing.
The same could be said for their culture. Without their shared Cambodian heritage, they would not be as close and able to thrive. But their native language will make it difficult for them to adapt to what lies ahead.
Prom says the challenge is one worth taking on.
“I understand that coastal erosion we’re going to lose land. It’s just part of mother nature doing it’s course. But it’s definitely a place worth saving. The people, the culture, the spirit here. It’s unbelievable.”
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