A visit to the Killing Fields, Cambodia

Humans are my favorite animal and my least favorite animal. I can have close relationships with friends and family more than I could ever hope to have with my pet rabbit or dog. However, when I read about massive holocaust or I read about violent crimes, my heart trembles at the thought that a human being like myself could do such a thing. It seems to me that everyone has pretty much the same goal in life-- eat, sleep, and be merry. It seems simple enough of a bargain that if I let you eat, sleep, and be merry, you let me eat, sleep, and be merry and there are no problems. The more I travel, the more I realize that everyone is really all the same. Everyone wants to be safe and loved with their basic needs met.
So being here in Cambodia makes me think about my own kind. In history class, we all hear about the holocaust in Germany with the Jewish people. But, do we all hear about the horrible more recent holocaust in Cambodia? ...

Being in the tourist area of the capital city means having something different for breakfast other than stir-fried rice and vegetables! I look right over the strange little characters on the menu and directly at the English translations underneath. "I am having the cereal with yogurt and bananas!" While waiting for breakfast, I enjoy the scene. I am enamored by the lily pads hanging gently on the dark blue waves of the lake. The little bamboo hut/houses that cling to the ends of the hotel strip blend right in with the nature painted hues of blues, greens, and browns. At the very end of the deck there is a bright red stand with incense burning and a statue of Buddha. Just a few feet from Buddha is a sign in English that reads, "No swim." I take in the scenery. I like the simplicity of the little bamboo huts set against the backdrop of lily-pads and dark green/blue water. Dark water.. Then it dawns on me that the water is a dark color because most probably the houses and huts do not have any sewer system. ALL the waste goes directly into the lake, hence the NO SWIM sign. I flip through our guide book pages. "Activities to do in and around Phnom Penh." I read about the Royal Palace that has floors of silver and a crystal statue of Buddha inside and the history museum near the river front. Then "killing fields" pulls a nerve in my neck. "Killing fields?" I read about a ruler named Pol Pot who wanted to start a revolution and have a country full of equality-- a country full of peasants, hard working farmers. Pol Pot dreamed of a country that would produce everything from within. The idea sounds good. Pol Pot was even a teacher! He organized a group called Khmer Rouge to take over the country and to begin his revolution of a peasant/agriculture based society. In the end the Khmer Rouge killed between 2 and 3 MILLION people (educated or with glasses or supporters of the old government). The killing fields was a place where men, women, and children were taken to be executed and tossed into mass burial sites.

Biking through the chaotic mob of traffic, I keep glancing behind me just to make sure that Steve is right at my tail. The 14 Kilometers (8 miles) seems long swerving in between carts and vegetable street vendors, school-children, motorcycles, parked buses that are over saturating the small side-walks. We ALMOST become part of the traffic mob, only that our white faces make us stand out.

You would think that the "killing fields" would be a somber cold place. Pedaling down the last gravel pathway to the entrance, we are greeted by children singing. Directly to the right just a stone's throw away is a school where all the small school children sing songs. The school is only a few yards from the monument tower that holds all the skulls that were excavated twenty years later. A sign indicates the tree where many people were tied to before they were beaten to death. I think about how the children next door are clueless as to all the violent history that took place thirty years ago next to their school. How they, like myself, cannot begin to imagine. But the tree witnessed it all. There are still random teeth, bones, and clothing articles that stick up from the mass graves. It is eerie. I feel afraid of my own kind. Afraid at such horrible things caused not by nature, but by ourselves. Then a beautiful yellow and black butterfly flutters and rests calmly on a plant that grows out of the mass grave hole. I watch it for a long time and enjoy the peace it brings.


May life bring you peace