(published Newsbreak Magazine Nov. 6, 2006)

There’s just some museums that’s not going to be entertaining. You need to steel yourself for the Toul Sleng or S-21 Prison now called the Genocide Museum in Phnom Penh. When the Khmer Rouge finally entered victorious into the city on April 17, 1975, they announced that very same day that everyone had to leave. After decades of fighting the Americans and their installed regimes, they were now exacting their brand of ideological molding coupled with revenge. The city folk now branded as loyalists and class enemies were sent to work the countryside and die.
As you enter the grounds of the former three-storey high school turned prison, the place looks innocuous. Built by Cambodia’s premier architect Moly-Vannvan the school had the elements of sensible ’60’s architecture with shaded corridors and naturally ventilated classrooms. But that day of my visit, the air stilled and the quiet ambiance turned oppressive. It felt a lot of people cried there.

We were brought by the son of the Museum Director to the first building which housed political prisoners. Once they were the most loyal of cadre members who probably participated in the killing of many other citizens. On a whim or the paranoia of Angka (the name for the Khmer Rouge leadership) these same cadres were hauled to the prison to be tortured, to confess and then have their skulls battered from behind until they died. The rule was not to waste precious bullets on their victims.
The next building was more harrowing. The prison officials photographed every one they arrested, sitting them on stools that had a head brace behind them. This was to ensure their eyes were on the same level as the camera lens. You could see the fear and sorrow very clearly. Wives of prisoners, their children, relatives, co-workers, town mates, even casual friends, on the possibility that they too were infected with treasonous thoughts were taken in, photographed and eventually killed.

There were countless photographs on display one for each of the twenty thousand prisoners. All of them would later be brought to a site 15 kilometers out of Phnom Penh and systematically killed. They would call the site The Killing Fields.
My heart ached with every photograph. As a photography collector and curator of photo exhibits, I have been trained to seek images that were compelling, that needn’t explanations, that were hauntingly beautiful and mostly optimistic. But in this endless wall of photographs, it was so difficult to rest my eyes too long on any one image. They seemed like passport photographs, the sitters on a journey to their deaths
It was the images of children that made me slightly faint. Innocent beings caught in the web of a revengeful ideology, their faces conveyed queries and uncertainty. One moment they were playing games and the next moment they were in prison with their parents. They couldn’t yet fathom their impending deaths.

There were class rooms divided up into small cells made of brick or wood. To isolate the prisoners, each cell entrance faced only the wall of the next cell across. No talking was allowed. Those who were lucky had a cell that included a bit of window. At least they saw the sky.
Another room had hundreds of iron shackles that once wrapped around the legs of prisoners. Wall drawings showed examples of torture: hanging prisoners upside down, pushing their heads into excrement, pulling off the nails of prisoners, releasing scorpions on bloodied chests. The cruelty of the torturers knew no bounds.
In the past, the last room had a large wall sized map of Cambodia. Made of the skulls of prisoners. It has since been removed and stored in cabinets.
The tragedy of the Genocide Museum is uncomfortably reminiscent of events that happened in this country in the eighties when local communist party heads murderously squabbled with each other over ideology, loyalties, and turf. The killing fields happened here too and remains and skulls continue to still be uncovered in various parts of the country. The Khmer Rouge in four years, until the Vietnamese invasion of 1979 killed over two million of its people. One can only shudder what the communist party here - instilled then with that same I-Know-What’s-Good-For-You-Maoism - would have done if they had taken over the country.
Many of my generation opposed to American intervention in Indochina placed our hopes on the various revolutionary forces that eventually succeeded. The debauchery committed by the Khmer Rouge after they took over their country, their support from both China and the United States even as the killings were known are sobering lessons to many.

There is no escaping the almost suffocating feeling of tragedy and death in the Genocide Museum. Why visit such a place then? Because in a world replete with avoidance, denial, and escape from any painful subject, the museum is a witness to the implosion of a country and the release of an evil that senselessly killed so many. It is a lesson we see duplicated in many small and large wars that continually rages throughout the world. The greatest number of casualties are always innocent people. Visiting this museum develops a greater resolve to work for peace.








