Hi all

So, one of our days in Phnom Penh was spent seeing two of the grimmest museums I’ve ever encountered. Tuol Sleng Museum and The Killing Fields. In between, for a bit of light relief we headed to a shooting range to see if it really is possible to blow up a cow with a rocket launcher.

First of all though, I’ll give another brief history lesson on what the two museums are dedicated to. The trouble is where to start, as it’s complicated as f*** and I’m not 100% sure how it all happened myself. As good a place as any I guess would be the forming of the Khmer Rouge.

King Sihanouk oversaw Cambodia’s independence from France (making him a national hero) but then found himself in a bit of a pickle politics wise. To solve it, he abdicated and formed a political party (People’s Socialist Communist Party) which one every seat in the 1955 elections.

Now he was in even more of a pickle. He didn’t trust the Vietnamese communists, but trusted the Southern Vietnamese and the US even less. So he declared Cambodia neutral. Eventually he became more paranoid about the US and agreed to let North Vietnam use Cambodian territory in the war. Ooops. Obviously the US were none too happy about this and after a brief period of repression of left wingers by Sihanouk (which forced many socialists, including Pol Pot, into the hiding), they helped overthrow him and put in Lon Nol as president.

Sihanouk went into exile in Beijing where he formed a government in exile in charge of a revolutionary movement which he nicknamed the Khmer Rouge. The Khmer Rouge were then able to use Sihanouk’s name to recruit forces, especially in rural areas where Sihanouk was considered semi-divine.

Lon Nol then ordered all Vietnamese communists out of Cambodia and a month later the Southern Vietnamese and the US invaded Cambodia to get rid of them for him. The North Vietnamese simply retreated further into Cambodia and within a few months they, together with the Khmer Rouge, controlled nearly half the country.

Meanwhile, for four years or so, the US had begun carpet bombing suspected communist camps in Cambodia, with some suggesting as many as 250,000 Cambodian civilians were killed. All this did was help the Khmer Rouge recruit more easily as most of the victims were peasants and farmers. And so began a civil war which the Khmer Rouge (with the help of the North Vietnamese) eventually won in 1975. Estimates are that around a further 700,000 people died in the fighting. That makes a population culled by nearly a million already.

Now we come to the Khmer Rouge’s leader, Pol Pot. Who to put it mildly was one bad b******. He’d fled to the countryside when Sihanouk cracked down on left wingers and was now in control of a faction of the Khmer Rouge which quickly came to control the whole movement. And almost immediately internal purges began. He didn’t like the Vietnamese trained Khmer Rouge and he didn’t like those members loyal to Sihanouk. So he executed them all. Easy eh?

The former government was ousted and the Khmer Rouge took Phnom Penh and effectively the country, in 1975. Then the dark days really began.

The Khmer Rouge’s aim was to turn Cambodia into a Maoist, peasant dominated agrarian co-operative (whatever that means) and set about making it a reality. They started by turning every single inhabitant of Phnom Penh (men, women, children, sick, infirm, elderly) and the surrounding towns out into the countryside where they were forced to work 12 – 15 hours a day in the rice fields. About 500,000 people in all. Money was burned and currency abolished and the country was isolated.

Meanwhile, Pol Pot began ‘unifying’ the party by ‘cleansing’ it of anyone he didn’t see as loyal to the party. Thousands and thousands were executed. Crimes could be anything from falling in love (seriously), wearing glasses, being too clever (teachers and intellectuals were high on the list), being religious and pretty much anything else.

Family was outlawed. Parents were separated from their children and each other. Relationships were outlawed. If it was suspected you were having a relationship it meant death.

The bulk of the Khmer Rouge ‘soldiers’ were made up of country peasants aged between 12 and 15 years old who had been brainwashed from an early age. Many killed their parents.

People were forced to work for 12 – 15 hours a day on rice paddies, but were only given a bowlful of rice themselves. When you became too weak to work, you were killed. Simple as that. Obviously famine and disease was as big a killer as the Khmer Rouge themselves. In the three and three quarter years they were in charge it is estimated that between two and three million Cambodians were killed or died as a result of famine and disease.

So how did it end? Well the ‘purges’ continued right up to the end of the Khmer Rouge’s reign, when Vietnam decided enough was enough (the Khmer Rouge had begun incursions on their borders) and invaded them. The Khmer Rouge (Pol Pot among them) fled to the countryside once more, taking as many civilians as they could handle with them.

The Vietnamese installed a new government led by former Khmer Rouge officers (hmmm that’ll install confidence in the people).

Food stocks and fields were destroyed by both sides which sent Cambodia into a famine.

Meanwhile a guerilla war had begun between the new government and the Khmer Rouge, resulting in between four and six million mines being laid around the countryside (the SAS were sent to train people on how to lay them. Nice touch Maggie).

That’s pretty much it other than that Pol Pot didn’t die until 1998 without ever being brought to justice. Not only that, but the Khmer Rouge were part of a political coalition that was invited to try and consolidate power in the early 1980s. Again no charges were ever brought against them.

The Khmer Rouge was eventually outlawed in 1994 and some of it’s leaders still serve today in the Cambodian government. Work that f***er out if you can.

So it was with this in mind that we headed out for the first of our stops. The Tuol Sleng Prison Museum.

This was formerly a high school but when the population of Phnom Penh was forcefully removed by the Khmer Rouge it became an interrogation and internment facility. Or torture and death facility depending on your point of view.

Ok, so we started off by watching a video about a couple of lovers who were separated by the Khmer Rouge and who tried to continue their affair without getting caught. They did and were tortured to death. There were interviews with surviving family members (this was only 30 years ago remember) and to say they were still grieving is something of an understatement.

This was interspersed with a history of the prison and some of the torture methods employed here.

One of only 7 people to have survived the prison (around 17000 passed through it all in all) returned with one of the guards to tour the facility in its present form and made for some of the most uncomfortable viewing I've ever seen. Imagine a survivor of Auschwitz touring it with one of the guys who used to push the gas pellets in and you kind of get the idea. This guy actually used to drive the prisoners out to the Killing Fields, have them kneel next to a huge open pit and then smash them over the back of the neck with either a metal or bamboo pole. Then, whether they were dead or not, they fell or were pushed in. The chances are he was also involved in the torture and mutilation of inmates. Despite all this, the guy hasn’t and never will be tried. He still lives in the Phnom Penh area and looks just like anyone else. No devil horns, no spiky tail. Just an ordinary bloke in extraordinary circumstances. Kill or be killed. He’s about 45 years old.

After the video finished and we were feeling ever so slightly sick it was time to tour the museum proper. We grabbed a guide and off we went. The first set of buildings we went to were where the last of the Khmer Rouge bodies were found when the Vietnamese took Phnom Penh. Right up to the last, there were still purges going on. As the people working in the prison got to know more and more, Pol Pot saw them as a threat and had them tortured and executed by their replacements. The last of these people were dead but still bleeding when the Vietnamese got there. The blood stains are still on the floors, walls and ceilings. Along with pictures of the scene that greeted the Vietnamese when they arrived.

We carried on past the school gymnasium equipment which was turned into prison torture equipment (these guys could have taught Blue Peter a thing or two, let me tell you – and without the need of double sided sticky tape) and into the next set of buildings. This is where the cells and torture chambers were. I don’t need to tell you how deplorable the conditions were. The inmates were not allowed to do anything without permission. Talk, sleep, eat (not that that was much of a problem), sit, stand or go to the toilet. Any violation was met with severe punishment. Such as being forced to eat the s*** you just had without permission. Hot and cold running beatings were pretty much standard.

On display were the torture implements used, along with before and after pictures of some of the victims. The more uncomfortable pictures were taken during. This is something else which the Khmer Rouge had in common with another member of The Genocide Club. Like the Nazis they meticulously recorded everything that went on in the camp. Everything. As such it’s possible to trace a prisoner from the moment they entered the camp, the tortures they underwent, any ‘information’ they gave up, how and when they died. All recorded not just in words, but in pictures too. Nice.

Pregnant mothers had their babies taken away from them the moment they were born. The babies were then killed in a couple of rather ‘interesting’ ways. Some were stabbed with bayonets. Some were thrown in the air and caught on the end of bayonets. Some were swung by their heels against a tree at the Killing Fields, smashing their heads in. All recorded in photos. I just don’t have the words…

The final set of buildings were given over to more torture implements and paintings by the survivor from the video. He was an artist (that’s how he survived – he was ‘employed’ by the camp – the other survivors were handymen and plumbers) and has painted pictures of some of the things he’d seen and/or heard about from other prisoners at the time. All of which the former guard confirmed as true. And of course there were yet more photos of the tortures going on and photos of the victims afterwards. Horrific doesn’t do it justice.

I’ll just give you a few of the most memorable ones for me. Needles under the finger nails, finger nails ripped out, immersed upside down in barrels of water, women having snakes pushed up them, water poured up the nose, acid poured up the nose and that good old favourite, Chinese water torture.

All of this happened between 1975 and 1979. 27 to 31 years ago. Anybody around these ages or older would have been part of it. On one side or the other. This is what I found impossible to come to terms with. The people I saw walking around, driving the tuk tuks, driving the taxis, doing their Friday night big shop, they were there. The genial middle aged woman who acted as our guide was there.

This lady had lost her entire family to the Khmer Rouge and now has to relive it every day showing ghouls like me around. She welled up and looked pale on more than a few occasions. And she does this 3 or 4 times every single day.

We somehow picked up a Chinese bloke along the way and at one point he asked if she was angry that some of the former Khmer Rouge officers were still involved in governing the country. She swallowed hard and said she couldn’t talk about it because she was too scared.

Pol Pot only died 8 years ago remember. This is about as recent as it gets.

The funny thing about all this is that it didn’t leave me feeling saddened in the same way as the War Remnants Museum in Vietnam. It was too shocking for that. I was just numb with horror. And sickened to the pit of my stomach. It was all just too much and some kind of defence mechanism kicked in for me. Probably to protect me from having a serious attack of the screaming meemies. I wonder if that’s a lessened version of how people got through it at the time. Ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances…

Ok, tour over and we headed back to our waiting tuk tuk, past the landmine and napalm victims begging outside. It was time to head for a shooting range and see if it really is possible to shoot a cow with a rocket launcher. Sweet.

On the dirt track to the range I was delighted to see herds of cows everywhere and was happily imagining them to have huge targets painted on them. Mand must have sensed this cos she started giving me ‘You wouldn’t f***ing dare’ looks.

After about an hour of bumping over this dirt track we arrived at a disused army base, and behind this was the shooting range. Woo hoo!

We pulled up and were offered a menu. A dozen or so machine guns, a couple of rifles and 8 or 9 handguns were on offer on the front. On the back was the heavy artillery stuff. But no rocket launcher. And no mention of our bovine friends. Gutted. Looks like daisy gets to survive for another day.

Mand selected an M16 and a .38 handgun. I selected an Uzi 9mm a****** (said in my best Arnie voice) and a hand grenade. Beautiful.

Mand was up first with the M16 and with the battle lust rising once again, proceeded to destroy her paper target with pinpoint accuracy. Even the Michael Ryan type blokey running the show was impressed. Then on to me. After my poor showing in Vietnam I’d decided to forego the embarrassment of having to aim at anything and had decided first on the Uzi (don’t aim, just keep your finger on the trigger until you’re done) and a grenade (don’t aim, just lob it and duck). Maximum destruction for minimum effort.

Unfortunately, the Uzi was out of action so I ended up with a huge machine gun on a tripod. With a cartridge belt rather than a magazine. Cool as f***. The dude then worried the hell out of me because the mechanism had stuck and he was jamming various bits of metal into it to try and free it. Safe as houses. Kind of.

Eventually though he got it sorted (I wish I could remember what gun it was – Sten? Thompson? – it was huge whatever) and I was away. This thing was intense. And loud. And smoky. And f***in great fun. The guy had to put his hand on my shoulder to support me at one point as I let rip in the general direction of the target. Superb. I didn’t bother asking for my target as I could see it was pretty much untouched. Ah well. It’s not a precision weapon you know.

Outside and on to Mand shooting her .38 handgun. And once again she did superbly well. God I hate her. But never mind, cos now it was time to reassert my manhood by blowing something up. It turned out to be a pond.

After a few practice goes with a few rocks (I was slightly disappointed that I had to throw it under arm. I wanted to come running over shouting obscenities and lobbing it into a make believe foxhole) then it was time for the daddy. The dude looked really nervous as he handed me the grenade and explained what I had to do. Pull the pin, but grip the safety like my life depended on it. It did. As you let go, the safety flies off and a couple of seconds later, boom. Except it was more like BOOOOM! It was f***in fantastic. So good, I’m thinking of joining the Army on my return. Do they have a corps where you just get to throw grenades into ponds all day? If so, then count me in.

On the short walk back to the office I decided that it was time for more wounded pride, and opted for a quick go with a .38 revolver. Come on, it’s not often I get to act like John Wayne. I just wish I’d had my travelling hat with me. And a holster. And Mad Dog Jake McGinty, the baddest gunsmith in the West to face down. On main Street. At high noon.

Instead I had to make do with a paper target and when I’d squeezed off all the rounds, I stepped back confidently and asked the little kid whose job it was to go get me my target. Off he set and went to the wrong one. No, no, no, I shouted. The one next to it. He looked at it, then back at me quizzically. This one? He pointed. Yep, that one. He looked at me like I was mad, shrugged and brought me my target.

Which was beautifully pristine. Not a mark on it. Not even a little nick on the side. Looks like Mad Dog lived to fight another day. I hung my head in shame and ambled back to the tuk tuk.

The cost of all this? US$134. Or 71 quid. And yet more wounded pride on my part.

Back in the tuk tuk and we headed of for some lunch at a roadside eatery. Now I have to say that in the three countries we’d been in previously, we had not had a bad meal at any local stop. So it was with real expectation that we arrived, ordered coffee and two of whatever it was they were cooking outside in the big metal pot. Beef or chicken we were asked. A Choice? Heavens above. We’ll have one of each. This is our way of doubling the chances of getting something at least half edible and has so far served us admirably. Imagine our surprise then, when they both turned up looking exactly the same. No probs we said to each other, and started to dig in. It’s only noodle soup after all. Wrong.

Some of the meat turned out to be chicken. Not the best chicken, but edible. Suddenly though it turned into a nightmare. These big brown lumps started floating to the top. It’s only beef I thought and tried one of the smaller ones. Kidney. On closer inspection some of the other stuff turned out to be liver. Offal soup. f***ing grim. I pushed the manky s*** aside and ate the noodles and drank the broth. Mand meanwhile was going apes*** and after gamely trying to eat round both the chicken and the internal organs floating there, eventually gave up.

Needless to say, we were both suffering from dodgy guts the next day, and took turns going to the toilet from dawn til dusk. Grand.

Having finished up, we jumped back into our tuk tuk and headed for our final stop of the day. The killing Fields of Choeung Ek.

Every one of the 17000 or so men, women, children and infants who were tortured at Tuol Sleng ended up here, to be bludgeoned to death. Sometimes by soldiers as young as 12 years old. Now there’s a thought to warm your cockles.

Our guide spoke excellent English and spent the first 15 minutes or so filling us in on the history of the place and what was being done to turn it into a memorial.

So far they have opened 43 of the 129 mass graves and discovered the remains of around 9000 people.

As you go in, the first thing you see is a huge glass structure filled with skulls and bones. This is the memorial as it stands today. On the bottom are the skulls of around 8000 of the victims arranged by sex and age. From babies up to pensioners. On a lot of them you can see where the skull was cracked to kill them, and a few have bullet holes. Above this are thousands of bones all thrown together. The memorial is about 30 feet high and is stuffed with various bones of the victims. Next up was a brief demonstration of how the prisoners were kept at the prison (shackled by one foot to a long bar) and then we were in the Killing Fields proper.

And it’s unmistakable when you first set foot on them. Because when you look down, you’re walking on fragments of bone and clothing. Feel sick? I did. Talk about someone walking over your grave. The thing is, there is no need or money for the site to be completely cleared. It would be a huge undertaking. So it’s all just left there.

At the first open grave we came to our guide did something I will never ever forget as long as I live. He began explaining how the executions were performed and the posture the prisoners were forced to adopt. And while he was doing it he re-enacted it. He knelt down by the side of the grave (literally – there are no ropes to keep you away and you stand right on the edge of them), put his hands behind his back as if bound, and hung his head over the grave, exposing the back of his neck. I have never ever felt the presence of death in a way even approaching it. If that sounds melodramatic then you f***in go and see how it makes you feel. I wanted to grab him and make him stand back up. We were standing on the bones and clothes of the people who were killed right here watching a guy re-enact their deaths. How’s that for in your face? It was like stepping back in time for the briesfest of moments. 

We moved on passing more graves and walking over more remains until we came to a huge tree. It was this tree that the babies and infants were brought to and swung by their heels, their heads smashing into the trunk. Repulsed? Not even close to describing it. The thing is if I’d wanted to I could have touched it. It’s not like a museum in England where everything is fenced off and you can’t get to it. It was right there. Just like any other tree in any other woods. In a way I did want to touch it as if that’d somehow make it even more real. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. For a moment I honestly believed that I’d be able to hear their cries and get visions of what went on. And it scared me. Instead I nearly burst into tears.

The tour carried on for another 15 minutes maybe, taking in the offices and the drop off points for the lorries and an exhibit detailing the history of the area and the war, but I was barely listening and missed most of it. All I could think about was that tree. Sitting here now, near on a month later it still makes me want to cry and/or scream until I’m sick.

The two other things I do remember are that some of the soldiers used to use the serrated leaves of nearby trees to cut off various bits of the bodies as souvenirs, and something about how they sometimes used to eat the livers of the dead to give them spiritual strength. Fact or fiction? I don’t know obviously. I do know that some of the more rural Cambodians (and some of the not so rural ones – our guide in Siem Reap for example) still believe in what they call dark or black magic, so who knows? Feeling dirty and unable to talk we headed off in our tuk tuk.

The whole day was unforgettable. There are two things that make it even more so. The first is that it was so very very recent. I was 5 in 1979, and I have memories of around that time. This was my life time. The people involved are still around and still relatively young. Second is that it’s all so immediate. It’s not fenced off or sanitised in any way. You’re in it. And it’s a really really disturbing feeling.

And for once I don’t think I’ll ever forget what I saw. I can still clearly see the bloodstains at the museum, and one picture in particular of a dead guy with acid frothing out of his nostrils. I can still clearly see the dirt embedded with fragments of bone and clothes. I can still clearly see the guy kneeling down next to the open grave. I can still clearly see the baby skulls with the big cracks in them in the memorial. I can still clearly see the photos of the babies being thrown into the air and caught on bayonets. But above all, I can still clearly see that tree and the feelings of pure dread and despair I got from just looking at it, and the superstitious feeling that if I’d touched it I’d have somehow seen what had happened there. The strange thing is I still believe it.

Laters all

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