It's just like any other school - except for the dense barbed wires above the encircling walls. As a prison, it used to be enclosed by double walls made out of corrugated iron. Walking around the deserted school grounds, I hear the chatter and laughter of students during recess. Entering the empty classrooms, I hear lessons being conducted.
Seeing the beds in the classrooms and the accompanying photographs showing prisoners chained to them cause my body to tremble. In an attempt to compose myself, I clench my fists and jaw. I'm not even sure of my current state of emotion: anger, pity, sadness, disbelief, shock, revulsion, disgust. Neither am I certain to what or whom am I directing such powerful feelings: the prisoners, the perpetrators; or the brutalities of civil war, the horrors that mankind can conceive; or the fact that it was once a school, a paedogogical institution turned into a torture complex of fear - where prisoners were hung from the very same bars that students used to play with.
It's just like any other school. It could've been any other school. It could've been my school. It could've been the regime of my country. It could've been my time.
A whole floor of classrooms has been dedicated to the mugshots of prisoners interred in this prison - a surreal collection of expressions. Men, women, adults, children, the elderly: whole families of suspected anti-revolutionaries. Some smiles of people oblivious or ignorant to their fate. A few defiant glares initially aimed at the perpetrators, now seeking recrimination for the wrong done to them. Many sad and fearful faces hoping for their eternal peace by telling us their story. And fear, fear of what's to come... Mostly vacant stares as if their very lives had been snuffed out as soon as they had resigned to their fate.
Despite its age, a mugshot so vivid I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. Another so clear I can make out the silhouette of the photographer in her big clear eyes. It could've been my mugshot up there amongst them. What would my expression be?
A classroom dedicated to the accounts of the perpetrators and it's Milgram all over again. It's easy to judge and condemn but harder to answer what I would do myself if put in a similar situation: to survive on the sufferings and deaths of my brethren or to die without even the certainty that I've spared the lives of others. I'm just glad I've never had to make such a decision.
A one-hour video show later and I realize: it wasn't a very long time ago. Middle-aged adults today probably lost their families and lived their childhoods in fear and terror through the Khmer Rouge regime. Many today are still searching for family members and loved ones who were displaced or went missing during that time. Others are still unsure as to whether they should seek recrimination. And that is why Cambodia stagnates: unsure of cremating the remains of victims, setting their spirits free and forgetting all wrongs; or preserving the memory as proof of the injustice done to them in the Cambodian Crimes Court.
Step 2: Understand
Seeing the beds in the classrooms and the accompanying photographs showing prisoners chained to them cause my body to tremble. In an attempt to compose myself, I clench my fists and jaw. I'm not even sure of my current state of emotion: anger, pity, sadness, disbelief, shock, revulsion, disgust. Neither am I certain to what or whom am I directing such powerful feelings: the prisoners, the perpetrators; or the brutalities of civil war, the horrors that mankind can conceive; or the fact that it was once a school, a paedogogical institution turned into a torture complex of fear - where prisoners were hung from the very same bars that students used to play with.
It's just like any other school. It could've been any other school. It could've been my school. It could've been the regime of my country. It could've been my time.
A whole floor of classrooms has been dedicated to the mugshots of prisoners interred in this prison - a surreal collection of expressions. Men, women, adults, children, the elderly: whole families of suspected anti-revolutionaries. Some smiles of people oblivious or ignorant to their fate. A few defiant glares initially aimed at the perpetrators, now seeking recrimination for the wrong done to them. Many sad and fearful faces hoping for their eternal peace by telling us their story. And fear, fear of what's to come... Mostly vacant stares as if their very lives had been snuffed out as soon as they had resigned to their fate.
Despite its age, a mugshot so vivid I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. Another so clear I can make out the silhouette of the photographer in her big clear eyes. It could've been my mugshot up there amongst them. What would my expression be?
A classroom dedicated to the accounts of the perpetrators and it's Milgram all over again. It's easy to judge and condemn but harder to answer what I would do myself if put in a similar situation: to survive on the sufferings and deaths of my brethren or to die without even the certainty that I've spared the lives of others. I'm just glad I've never had to make such a decision.
A one-hour video show later and I realize: it wasn't a very long time ago. Middle-aged adults today probably lost their families and lived their childhoods in fear and terror through the Khmer Rouge regime. Many today are still searching for family members and loved ones who were displaced or went missing during that time. Others are still unsure as to whether they should seek recrimination. And that is why Cambodia stagnates: unsure of cremating the remains of victims, setting their spirits free and forgetting all wrongs; or preserving the memory as proof of the injustice done to them in the Cambodian Crimes Court.
Step 2: Understand
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