The Killing Fields
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
The 15km road from Phnom Penh, Cambodia to the Killing Field of Choeung Ek was mostly dirt. Bumping and bouncing, it took 45 minutes to get there. Along for the journey were three French, two Swedes, and us. All very pale, all very Western. The tour bus pulled up in the parking lot and a small mob of children rushed it. They weren’t selling anything, they just wanted a handout from the “rich” tourists.
A man with a missing leg, depending on bamboo crutches, and another man in a poorly constructed wheelchair without any legs, offered their hands for a donation. Almost desensitized to their pleas for money, I paid the entrance fee and walked through the gate, without much notice. In every city on this trip, I’ve been asked for something. Most want me to go to their hostel, or ride their taxi, or buy their souvenirs. Some just want a handout. They figure I have an abundant supply of money and ought to hand it out whenever possible. But how does one decide who is worthy of their hard earned money? Someone who is young and able to work and find a job? Or someone who has lost a leg from a landmine and can’t function “normally”? It’s a hard line to draw.
Between 1975 and 1979, the Khmer Rouge killed several million fellow Cambodians. It was an agrarian movement from the rural countryside. They wanted to eradicate the educated people and begin with a new generation of thinking. So the Khmer Rouge spared children’s lives because they wanted fresh, young minds to lead this revolution.
Mass grave with 450 victims
There are killing fields all over the country. This particular one had mass graves where 20,000 people were buried. In 1980, the shallow graves were discovered and half of them were exhumed. Our Cambodian guide walked us around as we were allowed to see where the graves were. They are now just large grassy holes dotting the landscape. Each mass grave held between 100 and 450 people. Fragments of bone and cloth were still visible on the ground.
In silence we followed our guide as she told how, in order to save expensive bullets, the people were bludgeoned to death with dull objects or their necks were slit with sharp bark from palm trees.
In the middle of the now-grassy field was a tall, four-sided, glass monument. The skulls of 8955 people rest on the 10 massive shelves. There are still 11,000 bodies remaining in mass graves yet to be dug up. After walking around all the graves, I found myself sitting before the large stupa. I stared at the skulls. Most were missing teeth and quite a few had holes in head the size of tennis balls. They were separated by gender and age. It was the females from 10-16 years old that were before me.
Staring at the skulls
My reverie was broken by someone who, coincidentally, fit into that demographic. “You give 1000 riel (equivalent of a quarter) so I go to school, OK. OK?” Her tone was soft and airy. She repeated herself over and over. The same prepared speech. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that if she had been alive three decades prior, then I could have been looking at her bashed in skull behind the glass wall. I sat there brooding for a long time before I met back up with the group.
My thoughts were with the millions that died in this country as our bus traversed the bumpy dirt road back to Phnom Penh.
Posted in introspective, travel - international, travel
