A History of Violence

"Better to kill an innocent by mistake than to spare an enemy"
- Pol Pot

It's a middle-class neighborhood in Phnom Penh. Though small by Asian standards, the capital city is still chaotic, lively, bright and of course noisy. This section of the city is no different. Children play in doorways, shrieking with joy. Women push fruit carts as men call to foreigners "Moto, lady? Tuk tuk?". Dogs bark incessantly and vehicles honk and weave through the mess of traffic. The pervasive smell of burning garbage adds another layer to the already stifling air.

As you make your way down Street 313 from the main thoroughfare, you pass shops where Cambodians are going about their daily business. On the corner, there's a 3-story school building from the 1960s. But something is off. You stop for a moment to take in your surroundings. Then you feel it, the chilling silence. No shouts, no laughter, no cries. There are no students. In fact, Chao Ponhea Yat High School hasn't held classes in nearly 40 years.

 

On April 17, 1975 the Khmer Rouge finally took hold of the capital. Many were relieved to see the end of the Lon Nol's puppet Vietnamese government and the civil war. No one knew of the extreme communism Pol Pot had planned for Cambodia. In a weakened society where 80% lived in severe poverty, the people had a fleeting moment of salvation.

Within 48 hours the city was abandoned, a ghost town. The Khmer Rouge forced the entire population to migrate hundreds of kilometers to rural regions of the country. On a mission to create a solely agrarian society, they expunged all centers of commerce and capitalism. Known at the time simply as Angkar ("the Institution"), their radical methodology didn't stop there. Under Pol Pot's leadership they rid Cambodia of all schools, pagodas, religion, monetary system, healthcare, and personal belongings. The idea was to return Cambodia to Year One. Compulsory farm work bordered on slavery and the living conditions were no better. Even if these farmers did manage to evade Angkar, landmines throughout the countryside prevented any real escape.

In order to enforce such a drastic transition, the Khmer Rouge needed to eliminate anyone who might challenge their authority: the educated, members of the previous government, dissidents, those who wore glasses, etc. They set up interrogation centers throughout the country. The largest, housed in the former Chao Ponhea Yat High School, was known as Tuol Sleng or Security Prison 21 (S-21). Here over 17,000 Cambodians were incarcerated during the Khmer Rouge's 3.5-year rule.

There were 7 survivors.

In 1980, just one year after the Vietnamese forced the Khmer Rouge to flee, Chao Ponhea Yat High School reopened as the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. Your visit begins in Building A which held special prisoners. The rooms have not been altered: a single rusty bed frame in the middle of the room, shackles or electrocution equipment sitting on top. Each room features a large, grotesque black-and-white photo of a tortured prisoner sprawled out on the bed or floor. Like the Nazis, the Khmer Rouge meticulously documented the horrors they inflicted daily. You continue onto Building B which is filled with photos of newly-arrived prisoners. Mounted torture photos. Written "confessions" of prisoners admitting to their collaboration with the CIA or KGB. Horrifying stories of the few survivors. 

Finally in Building C you walk past the tiny brick and wood cells, the barbed wire along the hall to prevent suicide. A display holds torture instruments. There are several photos of skulls and bones, perhaps to remind you of what's to come, of what inevitably happened to all those faces you just passed. In the courtyard a sign explains how an exercise structure had been turned into a torture device. Fourteen unmarked graves dominate the center of the yard, the bodies inside decomposed beyond recognition when the Vietnamese arrived.

 You walk out of the school into the neighborhood feeling numb and find your tuk tuk driver. You hold onto the armrest and take a breath, unable to relax knowing it's only going to get worse. 15 kms outside of the city, you arrive at the Choeung Ek Killing Fields. As a Westerner, you're unnerved by how direct they are. No euphemism. Quite literally a killing field where thousands of Cambodians were brutally murdered. You learn that this was one of 300+ sites of mass murder throughout the country from that time. Walking past the stupa, you see a lawn with huge grassy indentations. Dug-up mass graves. The man on your headset is describing the killings. That they used whatever tools they had in the shed, bludgeoning their victims to death because bullets were precious commodities. That they spread DDT on the bodies to cover the stench and to kill those who survived the beatings. You see the Killing Tree where babies' heads were smashed in. Another tree where speakers hung, blasting music to drown out the screams. You overlook a peaceful pond, crying as the man illustrates his own story and how he held onto hope. After a harrowing hour you make your way back to the stupa, peeking inside to see 17 levels of bones from the 9,000 excavated bodies.

 

I've heard several people comment that visiting the Killing Fields or Auschwitz is twisted, like when you're unable to look away from a train wreck. I don't think it has anything to do with some perverse curiosity. Rather I think it's important to recognize the past, to memorialize the death of innocents, and to acknowledge what humans are capable of. Believe me, when you stands in those rooms, you have to force yourself to look and see just how terrifying those years must have been.

2 million Cambodians lost their lives because of the Khmer Rouge. I'm not sure what disturbs me most: That 1 in 4 people died during the 3 year 8 month-long nightmare; that they were killed by fellow countrymen (of their same ethnicity); that young farm boys with no education were brainwashed to kill in the name of the Khmer Rouge; that anyone over the age of 34 is a survivor; that this very modern history not taught in American schools; that this trial is still ongoing; or that after the UN learned of the atrocities they still recognized the Khmer Rouge as the legitimate leader of Cambodia, so blinded by their fear and hatred of Vietnam.

 

Some expats say Cambodia is, for lack of a better word, fucked. I disagree but you can see why they might argue such. After losing one quarter of their population, including all the educated and many skilled professionals, they literally had to start anew. How do you educate without teachers? How do you create a health system without doctors or nurses? How can you help one another grieve and heal when nearly every family lost a member and many lost several? How do you move on but still remember? And how do you build a strong government without succumbing to the corruption so ubiquitous to these parts?

It's an uphill battle every day here in Cambodia and evidence of the Khmer Rouge's legacy has seeped into the culture. Yet you see hope there too. You see young children who understand the importance of an education. You see beautiful weddings celebrations and Buddhist ceremonies. You see day-to-day routine and plans for the distant future. It's been 34 years since the Khmer Rouge terrorized Cambodia. Today is my parent's 35th anniversary. In the time my parents spent creating a life for our family, this country has managed to stand back up and move forward. It took help and there's still plenty of work to be done, but I'm not sure I'd consider that "fucked."