Cambodia Part I: Teol Sleng and the Killing Fields

On Wednesday morning at 6am I boarded a bus to Cambodia. There are places that you dream about, but never imagine that you’ll actually go. And then there are places that you don’t even think about. Places that never cross your mind. For me going to Cambodia was like going to Mars. Not an option. That’s why since the moment I got on that bus, to unfolding myself out of another bus 5 days later, nothing seemed real.

I was in Cambodia, a country I only knew because of my 9^th grade history teacher, thank you Mrs. Thomassen, for teaching me about the Khmer Rouge and the Killing Fields. Not that I knew a lot, or actually really anything at all beyond the murder, violence, and destruction in the late 1970s.

Once I fully comprehended where I was going, fear set in. Would I be caught in the middle of political corruption? What about an old grenade exploding out of nowhere? Would the U.S. rescue me if something like the Khmer Rouge happened again? Stupid worries looking back, but the signs on every building that banned grenades, machine guns, and durian (a really bad smelling fruit) didn’t alleviate my woes.

Mere hours after arriving in Cambodia we got off the bus at Toeul Sleng, the high school turned torture center, where the Khmer Rouge imprisoned and tortured educated Cambodian citizens until they falsely admitted to being a spy, or else died from malnutrition, disease, or violence.  Like seeing a real Monet painting in person, I’d read about this high school, but I never guessed I would see it in person. Eerie doesn’t do it justice. There are still blood stains on the floor throughout the building. The torture devices, solitary isolation rooms, and public beating sites were chilling. Today the school is a memorial site for all the victims.

A trait of mass murders is their obsession with orderly documenting their crimes. Every man, woman, and child brought to Teoul Sleng had their picture taken and all their information written down. All of this was memorialized throughout the rooms of the school. The oppressive tropical heat, the stench, and the subject matter made me woozy more than a few times.

Later on we visited the Killing Fields. There is not just one killing field, as the Khmer Rouge had mass graves all over the country; however, there is one large field in specific that has been memorialized. I don’t have words for most of what I saw. I could describe it here, but I cannot adequately encompass the horrors of that place. Most people who arrived at the Killing Fields were not dead yet. Through a variety of ways and means each and every person met their fate in a brutal unimaginable way. The Killing Fields flood each year and when the water recedes more bones and clothing items and human remains wash up. All of these items are preserved on site. The human remains are encased in a large glass mausoleum at the entrance to the memorial. I only took one picture of this, and did not go inside. I think that after all those people went through, they should rest in peace, away from a gawking tourist.

The weight of Cambodia: its poverty, drug scene, horrific history, and terrible corruption, brought most of us down.  But after seeing all the historical tourist sights, our group went a bit off the beaten path.

We visited ‘The Center of the Dove’, a former center for Khmer Rouge atrocities, after the regime fell the site was bought by Jesuits. The Jesuits turned it into a haven for survivors of landmines. In Cambodia, physical disabilities are highly stigmatized, and many people are shunned from society. Unable to get an education, work, and many times neglected by families, there was a whole population left on the fringes. The Jesuits built a trade school specializing in woodworking, weaving, metal working, engineering, and agriculture for those with disabilities. Housing 120 students, the Jesuits teach a marketable trade skill to these people for 1-2 years before sending them back to their village and helping them start a business.

I was lucky enough to meet some of these courageous people. Ranging from teenagers to men and women in their mid 40’s the center doesn’t turn away anyone, but instead welcomes all with open arms. To see people who live on the fringes of society, rejected by their own family, but are still so happy and hopeful, touched my heart.  These people are just normal people, trying to make their way in the world. I conceptually understood this, but it wasn’t until as I was leaving, a girl with no legs waved to me. She said, “Goodbye! Goodbye my sister! See you soon.” It was only then that I realized how close we are. We’re not so different at all.