Indelible Roots

As I was leaving work Friday a new patient arrived needing muscle and sensory testing of the lower extremities. This man walked in awkwardly and his body was typical of a person with spinal cord injury, disproportionate with short legs and a squashed together look. Looking at his x-ray, there was an almost ninety degree bend in the spine. I was amazed that he was able to walk and asked him what had happened and when. He replied with a smile that as a very young child he was maliciously thrown to the ground by the Pol Pot regime. He said he doesn’t know how old he was then, but that he could only say a few words at the time, mom and dad. He is two years younger than I. I was humbled by his smile and happy demeanor, and decided it was time to visit Tuol Sleng.

On Saturday afternoon I took the moto taxi to Tuol Sleng, S21, Security Office 21. Tuol Sleng was formally Tuol Svay Prey High School and is situated in the middle of dense housing in Phnom Penh. During the reign of the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot it was turned into the main prison, interrogation, and torture center. Of the over ten thousand prisoners that went through Tuol Sleng, only seven survived. Even as the Vietnamese army was overrunning the city, fourteen prisoners were tortured to death. Their graves now testify to all from the courtyard.

I had put off making this visit the entire time I’ve been here. At first I was afraid of what I might find in the old black and white mug shots displayed here. Even more recently I hesitated, not wanting to know the full extent of the horrors that were endured here by men, women, the elderly, and children of all ages.

I imagined Tuol Sleng to be a bit out of the way, tucked away in some corner of the city I haven’t been to. The moto driver though, took me right to where I was just last night, enjoying a good meal in comfortable surroundings with friends. From there we turned off the main road and onto a side street bustling with people. We make another turn about three blocks later onto a narrow dirt road and come to a stop at a corrugated fence topped with barbed wire, the street lined with moto taxis and tuk tuks.

Inside are four, three story concrete buildings with two courtyards. The courtyard on the left is lined with coconut trees, mango trees, and some large trees with white flowers. Birds chirp and a cool breeze blows softly. A man sits underneath one of the trees meditating. Others sit on the surrounding benches. No one is speaking, aside from the occasional tour guide.

I walk to the first building to find individual classrooms, each with a single bed, a length of rebar, a shackle you would use to attach a tow cable to, an empty and rusting ammo can, and a gruesome picture on the wall showing the deceased last occupants. I couldn’t figure out what the rebar was for, perhaps used to beat the victims? Just outside is a list of the camp rules, all so ludicrous one would think it were a joke if not for the evidence on display.

I pass the gallows on the way to the second building. However, these were not used to strangle prisoners to death, merely to torture them. Underneath it are large clay pots that normally hold water. Here it was filled with all manner of liquid refuse, used to revive the prisoners when they passed out.

The second building is filled with photos, black and white mug shots of men, women, children, and a few babies. Some appeared terrified, most resigned, a few resistant. Here pictures showed that the rebar was used to push through the shackles, thus trapping the ankle of the prisoner. Also pictured are some after photos of prisoners tortured to death. Particularly disturbing was a picture of a man on his stomach, face to the side. There were no recognizable facial features beyond the ear. What kind of rage would one need to be in, in order to inflict such damage on another sentient being?

The third floor consists of short stories told by relatives of former prisoners. They include the monk who was forced to enter military service, but who refused unless he was allowed to be a medic; Khmer Rouge party officials and soldiers who were later arrested, tortured, and taken away for execution; the family member who stated that perhaps his brother only had his picture taken here.

The front of the third building is encased in barbed wire. The first floor classroom walls have been broken through to connect one room to the next. Each room has been turned into dozens of small cells with bricks and mortar. Each cell measures about six feet by three feet, each with a chain bolted to the floor and an empty ammo can.

The second floor is similar, except the cells here are made of wood. The third floor’s rooms are unchanged. It was on this floor that dozens of prisoners were chained together at the ankles and forced to lie in supine with their hands tied behind their backs. The rule was no speaking for any reason unless spoken to by a guard or official. A guard was stationed in each room, walking back and forth ceaselessly.

The last building houses more photos, paintings of the torture and general camp conditions created by one of the seven survivors, the actual torture implements, and the skulls of some of the victims recovered from the killing fields outside the city where prisoners were taken for execution. The third floor houses a small theater where a movie/documentary was shown.

This film documents the pretty wife of a party official, their separation and suffering, their eventual arrest, their torture at Tuol Sleng and the hundreds of pages of “confessions”, and their eventual executions. It also detailed the general madness of the regime. People were afraid to speak about anything, to include love of one another, lest you be taken away in the middle of the night and killed. Neighbors spied on neighbors lest they themselves be arrested. One survivor spoke of a nice young woman who sang an unassuming song after a hard day in the field. She was taken away that night and her bloody clothes were displayed to the others. Others spoke of how many ox carts were ordered for each village to take certain families away who were never heard from again. I could not help but cry at the sadness of the mother speaking about her son and daughter, at her inability to comprehend why this happened, at the sight of children laboring in the fields, at the sense of complete helplessness, constant fear, and paranoia.

I spent about thirty minutes in the quiet, peaceful, and serene courtyard. Anger rose in me at the thought of top party officials still free, of many others who have died of natural causes, of the current administration and their complicity, but only briefly. Too much anger and hate has filled this place in the past; too many have suffered and died because of it; too many beautiful lives snuffed out for no reason, but for madness.

How could this have happened, are we not all human beings? No. Some of us are merely animals, completely controlled by desire or the strong will of another. I am human and will remain so.

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 6th, 2008 at 12:16 pm and is filed under Khmer. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.