CAMBODIA: There Is Nothing, Monsieur

"There is Nothing, Monsieur

But Phnom-Penh, a dead capital, may be coming back to life

The worldwide effort to save the Cambodian people from mass starvation continued to gather steam last week. A group of Western nations asked U.N. Secretary-General Kurt Waldheim to declare the sprawling refugee camps along the Thai border to be internationally supervised "safe havens," protected by the force of world opinion. Private relief efforts were also gathering momentum. On the day after Thanksgiving a DC-8 cargo plane carrying $1.5 million worth of canned meat, baby formula, antibiotics and other supplies landed at Phnom-Penh's Pochentong Airport. It had been chartered by Operation California, an organization headed by two former antiwar activists, Llewellyn Werner, 30, and Richard Walden, 33. Aboard the flight was TIME Correspondent Gavin Scott. His report on a 48-hour visit to this strife-torn land:

Responding to international appeals, the radical Marxist regime of Viet Nam's ally President Heng Samrin has finally modified its rhetoric about the relief effort. It no longer denounces the effort as a veiled attempt to assist the 20,000 to 30,000 Khmer Rouge guerrillas still fighting the Vietnamese invasion.

Aid officials believe that 165,000 tons of rice, as well as huge amounts of oil, sugar, fish and dried milk are needed within the next five months to prevent massive deaths from hunger and related diseases. Said Ouch Borith, 28, the neatly dressed director of Cambodia's International Aid Relief Program: "We disregard ideological considerations when it comes to assistance. We will gladly take it from any country. Rice and medicines are the main priorities, but the emphasis is on rice." Since the Khmer Rouge abolished currency, rice has become the only medium of exchange. One kilo fetches a kilo of fish; two kilos are worth a chicken.

Just how great are Cambodia's needs was apparent as we drove along the road from the airport into Phnom-Penh. The broad two-lane highway was clogged with trains of bullock-drawn carts, people weaving to and fro on bicycles, and trucks, some of them inherited from the long departed U.S. During the past month, a tide of refugees from the famished countryside has swelled the permanent population of the city from about 10,000 to 30,000; approximately 70,000 others are encamped just outside.

Phnom-Penh's business district can hardly be said to conduct any business at all. The little ateliers where workmen hammered tin, ingenious mechanics kept cars and trucks running with paper clips and baling wire, and rows of women bent over sewing machines have all been destroyed or closed. Until 1975 the Ruseokeo textile plant on the outskirts of the city employed 600 workers making cotton cloth. With help from OXFAM, the Oxford-based relief agency, it has since reopened, but only half of its looms are being used. Reason: a lack of spare parts for the steam boiler that drives them. Complains Manager Tiv Chhivky, 45, "I don't know what parts to ask for. We want to reconstruct, but we don't have the money."