Phnom Penh - Tragedies Past & Present

Yesterday we visited Tuol Sleng, a former school building put to horrific use by the Khmer Rouge in the 1970's as the S -21 Prison. Within its walls, 17,000 people were tortured in the most unimaginably inhumane acts of a psychopathic, genocidal regime. Barely a dozen escaped alive.

The building itself is now a museum to the darkest reaches of  human nature, each of the rooms remains intact, with rusty beds, implements of harm, and walls still splattered with blood. Each room contains a solitary Stark black and white photograph of a contorted, twisted and tormented soul. Another block has the former class rooms internally divided into tiny cells, the open spaces above the walkways outside the rooms covered in a web of rusted barbed wire to prevent escape via suicide. The third block contains photographs, implements and skulls. The mug shot photographs themselves an endless parade of the innocent, some just toddlers. I was struck by the sharp stare of some people, seemingly challenging the camera, as if knowing that these barbarous acts would never be forgotten.

There is, of course, a strange voyeurism to all this, some other visitor saw fit to take photographs or videos, something which left me aghast. We walked round together to begin with, but the weight of all this tragedy left us drifting from room to room. That there were organised tour groups compounded the sense that this place fits neither the mold of memorial nor museum quite adequately.

One image that will endure was that of a group of Cambodians, one of whom was around 40 and had lost his right hand. It is probable that this was due to an unexploded land mine, millions of which litter the land - there is around 1 amputee for every 290 people. He did something I saw no one else do - pick up a dented, rusted hand axe from one of the beds and turn is slowly in his hand. I can scarcely imagine what pain it inflicted. Yet he remained unflinching in calm reflection.  A victim confronting these horrors more bravely than I ever could.

After all of this and a deep breth, we threw our selves into the other side of Cambodia - The annual water festival. The day before we had sat in a pavillion at the rivers edge and whatched the dragon boat race, full of cheers and whoops for the winners and the uninteligable commentry over the tannoy. This was followed by fireworks and huge boats replete with lights and effergies of temples. Last night we went instead to the main 'art street' and mingled with the crowds at a music festival in the adjacent park. We seemed to attract as much attenion as the main act, everyone seemed in jubalent, celebratory mood as the lights and sounds and smells swirled around us.

Then we awoke this morning to hear of the bridge stampede in the northeast of the town, more than 300 dead. Hearts heavy yet again. I hope this resilient and welcoming country will one day be able to truly celebrate, free of tragedy.

Andrew