Contested commemorations: violence and memory in Cambodia

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CONTESTED
COMMEMORATIONS:
VIOLENCE
AND
MEMORY
IN
CAMBODIA

By

Robert
Eap

A
Dissertation
Presented
to
the

FACULTY
OF
THE
GRADUATE
SCHOOL

UNIVERSITY
OF
SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA

In
Partial
Fulfillment
of
the

Requirement
for
the
Degree

DOCTOR
OF
PHILOSOPHY

(AMERICAN
STUDIES
&
ETHNICITY)

August
2014

TABLE
OF
CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

ii

Introduction

1

Chapter
1:

Surviving
the
Khmer
Rouge

27

Chapter
2:

Limited
Justice?:
Examining
the
ECCC

50

Chapter
3:

Arrest:
Time,
Photography,
and
Tuol
Sleng
Prison

76

Chapter
4:

The
Killing
Fields
Saga:
Reading
Sydney
Schanberg
and
Haing
S.
Ngor

107

Conclusion

131

Bibliography

138

ii

Acknowledgements

Yen
Le
Espiritu:
Thank
you
for
convincing
me
(fooling
me?)
that
I
could
hold

my
own
in
an
academic
conversation.

Ask
my
parents
and
they’ll
tell
you
that
I
was

a
little
bit
of
a
disaster
in
the
academic
game
for
most
of
my
life.

My
12
th

grade

English
once
told
me
that
she
hoped
that,
for
the
rest
of
my
life,
I’d
never
tell
anyone

that
I
graduated
from
Abraham
Lincoln
High
School.

You
told
me
that
I
was
capable

of
so
much
more.
You’ve
were
an
amazing
mentor
when
I
was
a
college
senior
and

you
remained
an
amazing
mentor
ever
since.

Jesse
Mills:
The
man
that
got
me
started
down
this
path.

I
don’t
know
if
I

should
thank
you
or
curse
you.
This
degree
literally
(and
I
literally
mean
“literally”)

would
not
have
happened
without
your
intervention.

You
took
me
under
your
wing

as
an
undergrad
and
set
this
thing
in
motion
with
your
guidance.

Keep
doing
what

you
do.

The
world
needs
more
people
like
you.

Maragaret
Salazar,
Genevieve
Carpio,
Cindy
Huynh,
Micaela
Smith,
Nisha

Kunte,
Mark
Padoongpatt,
Jennifer
Tran,
Sophia
Azeb,
Celeste
Menchaca,
Laura

Fugikawa,
Anjali
Nath,
Anthony
Kim,
Pahole
Sookkasikon,
Theresa
Navarro:
Thanks

for
being
awesome
colleagues.

Grad
school
brings
out
the
crazy
in
all
of
us
and
it

certainly
brought
out
the
crazy
in
me.

You
all
kept
me
sane,
kept
me
grounded,
kept

me
real,
and
made
fun
of
me
when
I
got
out
of
hand.

The
academic
conversations

were
great
and
blah
blah
blah
they
helped
me
grow
intellectually
and
blah
blah
blah

whatever.

You
all
kept
me
less
than
miserable.
And
I
can’t
thank
you
enough
for

that.

iii

Mimi
Nguyen,
Fiona
Ngo,
Mariam
Lam:
I
completed
this
degree
during
what
I

believe
to
be
an
amazing
moment
for
Southeast
Asian
American
Studies.
And
a
lot
of

that
amazingness
is
attributable
to
your
commitment
to
mentoring
anyone
and

everyone
who
needed
it
(i.e.,
me).

I
owe
you
so
much
more
than
I
can
ever
repay.

But
in
the
absence
of
that,
I
can
at
least
buy
a
round
of
Scotch.

The
three
of
you
are

constant
reminders
of
how
generous
academia
can
be.

Kitty
Lai,
Jujuana
Preston,
Sonia
Rodriguez:
Thanks
for
all
you
do
behind
the

scenes.

All
of
us
in
ASE
would
be
complete
messes
if
we
didn’t
have
the
three
of
you

to
walk
us
through
the
day-‐to-‐day
essentials.

But
thanks
also
for
letting
me

interrupt
your
workday
(as
I’ve
done
so
many
times
over
the
years)
so
I
could

distract
myself
from
my
work.

ASE
is
lucky
to
have
such
amazing
women
working

hard
to
keep
this
ship
afloat.

George
Sanchez:
You
are
an
incredible
model
of
great
mentorship.

It
was

truly
a
blessing
being
able
to
work
with
you
and
witness
the
various
means
of

student
support
that
you
mediate.

You
have
had
a
profound
effect
on
the
academic

lives
of
so
many
of
my
friends
and
colleagues.

And
you
and
I
both
know
that
you

had
a
very
significant
role
in
making
sure
this
dissertation
reached
completion.

The

students
of
USC
are
lucky
to
have
you
on
their
side.

Duncan
Williams
and
Sunyoung
Lee:
Thanks
for
seeing
me
through
this.

Thanks
for
your
belief
that
I
could
get
this
thing
done
and
thanks
for
stepping
in

with
your
support
when
I
needed
it.

Both
individually
and
together,
you
are
a

phenomenal
(and
rare)
combination
of
genius
and
kindness.

But
also,
you’re
a
good

source
for
a
reality
check
whenever
that’s
needed!

iv

John
Carlos
Rowe:
You’ve
always
been
such
an
advocate
of
my
work
and
it’s

been
motivating
to
know
that
I
have
your
support.

Thank
you
for
your
critical

feedback,
enthusiasm
for
my
research,
and
persistent
reminders
that
my
work
is

important.

The
intellectual
and
moral
support
has
been
invaluable.

Cathy
Schlund-‐Vials:
You’re
such
a
champ.

You’ve
always
been
good
about

insisting
that
I
could
finish
this
thing
when
I
felt
like
I
couldn’t.

I
feel
so
blessed
that

I’ve
been
able
to
call
you
a
mentor,
committee
member,
and
friend.

Thanks
for

always
having
my
back,
even
when
I
submitted
chapter
drafts
that
were
complete

turds.

This
dissertation
would
be
nothing
but
blank
pages
without
you.

Viet
Nguyen:
Thanks
for
all
your
years
of
advisement.

You’ve
been
a
great

mentor
and
educator
(roles
that
I
think
overlap
but
also
depart
in
significant
ways).

Thank
you
for
providing
me
with
honest
feedback
that
was
never
unkind
and
for

helping
this
dissertation
grow.

I
don’t
think
I
can
reasonably
claim
that
I
was
a

model
advisee,
but
you’ve
certainly
done
a
tremendous
job
guiding
me
through
this

process.

1

Introduction

Contested
Commemorations
examines
the
memorial
landscape
of
the

Cambodian
genocide.

I
place
this
work
in
dialog
with
the
ongoing
Extraordinary

Chambers
in
the
Courts
of
Cambodia
(ECCC),
the
court
now
tasked
with
prosecuting

the
most
senior
leaders
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Housed
within
the
existing
Cambodian

judiciary,
the
ECCC
is
a
hybrid
court
involving
domestic
and
international
judges

guided
by
internal
rules
derived
from
negotiations
between
the
United
Nations
and

the
Cambodian
government.
Currently,
ECCC
guidelines
limit
the
scope
of

prosecutions
to
crimes
committed
only
during
the
years
bracketing
the
Khmer

Rouge’s
official
time
in
power
(April
17,
1975
–
January
7,
1979).

This
restricted

jurisdiction
is
in
place
to
avoid
disruptions
in
Cambodian
nation
building
–
a
notion

that
is
still
recent
for
Cambodia’s
genocide
survivors.

Despite
losing
their
claim
to
sovereign
power
over
Cambodia
after
a

Vietnamese-‐led
coup
in
1979,
the
Khmer
Rouge
maintained
military
and
political

influence
in
many
Cambodian
provinces
throughout
the
ensuing
two
decades.

This

changed
in
1994
after
a
national
law
weakened
their
membership
base
by
granting

legal
immunity
to
all
Khmer
Rouge
party
members
willing
to
defect.
1

Their
decline

continued
with
the
1996
defection
of
Ieng
Sary,
one
of
the
party’s
most
senior

leaders,
and
the
death
of
Khmer
Rouge
figurehead
Pol
Pot
in
1998.
2

By
temporally

limiting
the
court’s
reach,
former
Khmer
Rouge
cadres
involved
in
the
party’s
nearly

2

20-‐year
military
insurgency
will
be
allowed
to
continue
their
reinsertion
into

Cambodian
civil
society
without
fears
of
political
retribution
inflicted
under

pretenses
of
the
ECCC.

Yet,
temporal
limits
also
work
favorably
for
the
many
international
actors

hoping
to
mask
their
respective
roles
in
raising,
supporting,
fortifying,
and

sustaining
the
military
significance
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Unaccountable
to
the

court’s
jurisdiction,
for
example,
are
the
violations
of
Cambodian
neutrality

committed
by
the
United
States
during
its
wars
in
Southeast
Asia,
3

the
abundant

material
support
given
to
the
Khmer
Rouge
by
the
U.S.
in
non-‐military
aid
after
the

regime
fell
in
1979,
the
decade-‐long
recognition
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
as
Cambodia’s

representatives
in
the
United
Nations’
General
Assembly,
4

the
illegal
war
and

decade-‐long
occupation
of
Cambodia
by
Vietnam,
and
the
generous
military
and

non-‐military
support
given
to
the
Khmer
Rouge
by
China
to
keep
the
regime
alive

post-‐1979.

If
the
ECCC
is
evaluated
according
to
the
memory
work
that
will
be

accomplished
under
its
auspices,
then
temporal
boundaries
contribute
to
the

flagrant
effacement
of
crucial
components
of
Khmer
Rouge
history.

In
other
words,
the
tribunal
isolates
just
a
segment
from
the
decades
of

political
violence
that
have
been
influential
in
Cambodia
before
and
after
the

genocide,
and
assumes
that
confining
these
years
for
legal
remedy
will
adequately

account
for
the
complex
expressions
of
power
that
contributed
to
the
violences
of

this
period.

As
a
memorial
effort,
the
court’s
temporal
jurisdiction
delimits
the

scope
in
which
death
will
be
mourned
by
juridically
defining
the
time
and

circumstances
of
recognizable
loss.

This
dissertation
stands
in
opposition
to
the

3

reduction
of
the
genocide
and
its
legacies
to
the
particularized
temporal
segment

prescribed
by
the
ECCC.

Contested
Commemorations
examines
representations
of
the
Cambodian

genocide
in
photography,
journalism,
film,
memoir,
and
law.

I
particularly
highlight

commemorations
that
I
believe
authorize
the
continuation
and
heightening
of
US

military
killing
power.

I
argue
that
Cambodian
genocide
memorialization
has
often

resulted
in
both
the
forgetting
of
the
US-‐sponsored
destruction
of
Southeast
Asia,

and
the
pacification
of
the
political
lives
of
Cambodian
genocide
survivors.

My
particular
concern
is
in
tracking
the
formation
of
an
US
cultural
memory

regarding
the
genocide,
and
I
pursue
this
investigation
through
the
terrain
of

representation.

I
am
particularly
informed
by
Maurice
Halbwachs’
notion
of

collective
memory.

Halwachs
explains:
“It
is
in
society
that
people
normally
acquire

their
memories.

It
is
also
in
society
that
they
recall,
recognize,
and
localize

memories…We
note,
moreover,
that
in
order
to
answer
them,
we
place
ourselves
in

their
perspective
and
localize
memories.”
5

For
Halbwachs,
collective
memory
is
a

product
of
group
membership
and
provides
the
frameworks
for
how
(and
why)

individuals
remember.

He
further
argues
that
participation
in
collective
memory
is

important
for
maintaining
the
boundaries
of
group
membership
during
periods
of

relative
calm:
“The
apparent
void
between
periods
of
effervescence
and
ordinary

life
are,
in
fact,
filled
and
fed
by
collective
memory.”
6

And
as
James
E.
Young
briefly

notes
in
his
analysis
of
Halbwachs,
collective
memory
can
be
deployed
by
the
state

to
mobilize
the
consent
of
its
subjects:
“If
part
of
the
state’s
aim,
therefore,
is
to

4

create
a
sense
of
shared
values
and
ideals,
then
it
will
be
the
state’s
to
create
a
sense

of
common
memory,
as
foundation
for
the
polis.”
7

For
Halbwachs,
then,
memory

work
is
a
consensus-‐building
project
that
aids
the
states’
ability
to
regulate
their

subjects.

On
the
issue
of
transmission,
Halbwachs
provides
only
cursory
clues.

One

possibility,
according
to
Lewis
Coser’s
reading,
lies
in
public
commemoration:

“Through
participation
in
commemorative
meetings
with
group
members
of
the

current
generation
we
can
recreate
through
imaginatively
reenacting
a
past
that

would
otherwise
slowly
disappear
in
the
haze
of
time.”
8

In
a
brief
passage,

Halbwachs
also
emphasizes
the
importance
of
discourse
to
this
process:
“One

cannot
in
fact
think
about
the
events
of
one’s
past
without
discoursing
upon
them.

But
to
discourse
upon
something
means
to
connect
within
a
single
system
of
ideas

our
opinions
as
well
as
those
of
our
circle.”
9

Sociologist
Paul
Connerton,
however,

believes
the
question
of
transmission
is
implicit
in
Halbwachs,
but
never
made

particularly
clear:
“Halbwachs
does
little
more
than
hint
at
answers
to
this
question,

confining
himself,
for
the
most
part,
to
suggestions
that
are
at
once
formulaic
and

anthropomorphic.”
10

But
Connerton
ultimately
agrees
that
discourse
is
privileged
in

Halbwachs’
work:
“If
we
want
to
continue
to
speak,
with
Halbwachs,
of
collective

memory,
we
must
acknowledge
that
much
of
what
is
being
subsumed
under
the

term
refers
quite
simply,
to
facts
of
communication
between
individuals.”

Coser
points
readers
to
Halbwachs’
use
of
“groups”
in
place
of
“society,”

noting
this
was
an
effort
on
Halbwachs’
part
to
exercise
caution
over
the
risk
of

essentializing
those
identifying
with
a
collective
memory.
11

Still,
the
safety
of

5

“groups”
should
still
face
scrutiny
as
it
nonetheless
(at
least
in
Halbwachs’
usage)

assumes
a
stable
unity
reflected
in
blanket
thought.

Indeed,
he
is
unable
to
account

for
internal
differences
and
processes
of
contestation,
negotiation,
and
change.

Aside
from
highlighting
the
often
presentist
interests
of
memory,
Halbwachs’
notion

of
collective
memory
is
given
the
benefit
of
stableness
insofar
as
it
is
unaccountable

to
crisis.

James
E.
Young
provides
an
intervention
on
Halbwachs’
“collective
memory”

with
what
he
terms
“collected
memory.”

Young
writes,
“I
prefer
to
examine

‘collected
memory,’
the
many
discrete
memories
that
are
gathered
into
common

memorial
spaces
and
assigned
common
meaning.

A
society’s
memories,
in
this

context,
might
be
regarded
as
an
aggregate
collection
of
its
members’
many,
often

competing
memories.”
12

Young
is
specifically
focused
on
thinking
beyond
“groups”

or
“societies”
as
homologies
and
is
instead
focused
on
terrain
of
contestation

comprising
social
uses
of
memory.

Collected
memory,
used
this
way,
is
the

aggregate
memory
work
resulting
from
the
interventions
of
an
array
of
cultural

producers.

This
is
an
inherently
unstable
terrain,
he
suggests,
and
requires
a
mode

of
writing
that
avoids
foreclosing
the
insurgent
knowledges
that
manifest

materially:
“Neither
memory
nor
intention
is
ever
monolithic:
each
depends
on
the

vast
array
of
forces
–
material,
aesthetic,
spatial,
ideological
–
converging
in
one

memorial
site.”
13

Indeed,
Young
uses
material
culture
–
specifically,
monuments
and

memorials
–
as
privileged
sites
of
memory.

This
allows
him
to
sketch
“biographies”

of
Holocaust
memorials,
which
show
him
the
forms
of
knowledge
transmitted

6

through
these
visual
signs
and
the
contests
over
their
significance
which
reshape

the
memory
work
they
provide.

On
this
point,
one
of
Young’s
central
points
is
to

highlight
the
dialogical
quality
of
memory
spaces.

Still,
Young
contemplates
the

materiality
of
public
memorials
and
wonders
if
they
do
too
much
to
sway
our
access

to
the
past.

Engaging
Pierre
Nora,
he
writes,
“Once
we
assign
monumental
form
to

memory,
we
have
to
some
degree
divested
ourselves
of
the
obligation
to
remember.

In
shouldering
the
memory-‐work,
monuments
may
relieve
viewers
of
their
memory

burden.”
14

Read
together,
I
believe
the
debate
between
Halbwachs
and
Young
can
be

mistakenly
read
as
a
simple
division
between
group
memory
and
individual

memory.

Young’s
description
of
“collected
memory”,
in
fact,
nearly
suggests
this

much:
“A
society’s
memory,
in
this
context,
might
be
regarded
as
an
aggregate

collection
of
its
members’
many,
often
competing
memories.

If
societies
remember,

it
is
only
insofar
as
their
institutions
and
rituals
organize,
shape,
even
inspire
their

constituents’
memories.

For
a
society’s
memory
cannot
exist
outside
of
the
people

who
do
the
remembering.”
15

Yet,
as
I’ve
established,
Young
is
not
solely
invested
in

artistic
intentionality.

He
is
careful
to
situate
his
“biographies”
within
the

institutional
and
state
contexts
that
have
led
to
their
formation,
and
is
interested
in

their
social
uses
once
they’re
been
produced.

Similarly,
Halbwachs
continually
makes
subtle
gestures
at
retaining
the

importance
of
individual
memories,
despite
his
focus
on
the
collective.

Throughout

his
work,
Halbwachs’
theorization
on
memory
relies
on
understanding
what

happens
to
the
individual
as
they
enter
into
a
social
space.

For
example,
Halbwachs

7

argues
that
dreams
reveal
a
form
of
thinking
where
social
influences
are
absent.

As

a
result,
experience
is
processed
in
fragmented
forms
with
little
coherence
within

them:
“The
fact
is
that
we
are
incapable
of
reliving
our
past
while
we
dream,
and

that
if
our
dreams
evoke
images
that
have
the
appearance
of
memories,
these

images
are
introduced
in
a
fragmented
state.”
16

He
therefore
remains
focused
on

the
operations
of
the
individual
and
the
uses
of
memory
that
result.

He
moreover

hints
that
this
can
be
politically
consequential:
“One
may
say
that
the
individual

remembers
by
placing
himself
in
the
perspective
of
the
group,
but
one
may
also

affirm
the
memory
of
the
group
realizes
and
manifests
in
individual
memories.”
17

The
difference
between
them,
then,
is
a
matter
of
emphasis.

While
Young
is

interested
in
understanding
the
impermanence
and
provisional
nature
of
memory

work
by
highlighting
the
field
of
contestation
that
monuments
and
memorials

prompt,
Halbwachs
seeks
to
provide
a
framework
for
understanding
how
memory

is
not
immune
to
social
structures
but
is
in
fact
dependent
on
social
structure
for
its

coherence.

But
I
believe
both
are
lacking
in
their
respective
descriptions
of
human

subjectivity.

On
the
one
hand,
the
memory
workers
in
Halbwachs
study
are
often

described
as
passive
recipients
of
collective
memory
–
he
is
unaccountable
to
how

these
memories
are
worked
on
as
they
enter
into
social
use.

On
the
other
hand,

Young
often
describes
the
cultural
producers
in
the
foreground
of
his
study
as

rational
agents
who
are
immune
to
ideology.

Coercive
state
power
is
manifest
only

in
explicitly
demonstrable
ways
–
i.e.,
decisions
to
fund
or
not
fund
certain

monuments,
offering
official
sanction
or
condemnation
for
certain
monuments,
etc.

8

Marita
Sturken’s
Tangled
Memories:
The
Vietnam
War,
the
AIDS
Epidemic,
and

the
Politics
of
Remembering
offers
us
a
framework
for
what
she
terms
“cultural

memory.”
First,
she
recognizes
the
need
to
acknowledge
the
structuring
forces
of

memory.

She
names
this
history:
“History
can
be
thought
of
as
a
narrative
that
has

in
some
way
been
sanctioned
or
valorized
by
institutional
frameworks
or
publishing

enterprises…The
history
of
the
Vietnam
War,
for
instance,
consists
of
conflicting

narratives,
but
there
are
particular
elementts
within
those
stories
that
remain

uncontested,
such
as
the
war’s
divisive
effect
on
the
United
States.”
18

But
she
is
also

interested
in
the
domain
of
contested
meanings
that
emerges
when
objects
in

material
culture
enter
into
social
use:
“Cultural
memory
is
produced
through

objects,
images,
and
representations.

These
are
technologies
of
memory,
not
vessels

of
memory
in
which
memory
passively
resides
so
much
as
objects
through
which

memories
are
shared,
produced,
and
given
meanings.”
(9)
Sturken
is
careful
to

identify
the
cultural
objects
under
investigation
with
their
respective
producers
and

their
intentions.

For
example,
her
discussion
of
the
Vietnam
Veteran’s
memorial

involves
an
important
discussion
of
Maya
Lin’s
participation
in
its
construction
and

its
ensuing
reception.

Yet,
her
book
is
also
concerned
with
the
ways
varied
aesthetic
productions

gain
salience
at
the
level
of
the
nation
and
how
they
can
become
instrumental
for

structures
of
power:
“Cultural
memory
may
often
constitute
opposition,
but
it
is
not

automatically
the
scene
of
cultural
resistance.

As
I
have
noted,
cultural
memory
is

often
entangled
with
history,
scripted
through
the
layered
meanings
in
mass
culture,

and
itself
highly
contested
and
conflictual.”
19

This
critical
component
of
memory

9

work
motivates
the
title
of
her
book
(Tangled
Memories)
–
namely,
she
is
interested

in
understanding
how
the
field
of
contested
meaning
helps
produce
concepts
of
the

nation.

Thus,
while
cultural
productions
might
circulate
outside
of
officially

sanctioned
discourse,
they
are
nevertheless
tangled
within
discourses
of
how
the

nation
is
imagined.

The
significance
of
entanglement
as
a
theoretical
tool
therefore

allows
Sturken
to
paint
a
picture
of
“culture”
that
is
not
easily
dissociable
from
the

political:
“Personal
memory,
cultural
memory,
and
history
do
not
exist
within
neatly

defined
boundaries.

Rather,
memories
and
memory
objects
can
move
from
one

realm
to
another,
shifting
meaning
and
context.”
20

Most
importantly,
Sturken’s
book
is
especially
attentive
to
the
intricacies
of

subjectivity.

She
is
insistent
in
showing
that
memory
work
is
neither
inherently

liberatory,
nor
is
it
inherently
complicit:
“Cultural
memory
may
often
constitute

opposition,
but
it
is
not
automatically
the
scene
of
cultural
resistance.

As
I
have

noted,
cultural
memory
is
often
entangled
with
history,
scripted
through
the
layered

meanings
in
mass
culture,
and
itself
highly
contested
and
conflictual.”
21

Sturken

therefore
refuses
to
release
these
traumatic
events
from
an
economy
of
meaning

making,
and
critically
interrogates
the
significance
of
these
memories
at
the
level
of

meaning.

Simultaneously,
she
also
shows
that
this
dialog
must
also
rely
on
cultural

codes
that
structure
interpretations
of
aesthetic
work.

Cathy
Schlund-‐Vials
has
written
extensively
about
the
significance
of
the

Cambodian
genocide
for
cultural
memories
of
the
US
war
in
Southeast
Asia.

Particularly,
she
takes
stock
of
the
retroactive
use
of
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
legacy
to

assert
humanitarian
intentions.

Responding
to
one
reference
to
this
made
by

10

George
W.
Bush,
she
writes,
“While
Bush
acknowledges
the
war’s
expansive

Southeast
Asian
reach,
he
nevertheless
relies
on
an
aftermath
reading
that

commences
with
US
withdrawal
and
includes
the
Cambodian
genocide.

Stressing

that
such
withdrawal
led
to
‘hundreds
of
thousands’
(not
1.7
million)
Cambodian

deaths,
Bush
revises
the
Vietnam
War
script
and
the
Khmer
Rouge
era
to
fit
a

humanitarian,
not
militaristic,
end.”
22

And,
as
Schlund-‐Vials
also
points
out,
such
a

humanitarian
retelling
of
the
US-‐Cambodia
relationship
is
conveniently
forgetful
of

the
nonmilitary
and
diplomatic
support
given
to
the
Khmer
Rouge
after
their
fall
in

1979.
Schlund-‐Vials
labels
this
the
“Cambodian
Syndrome”:
“From
speeches
that

accentuate
the
preventability
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
through
the
US
militarization
to

legislative
practices
and
foreign
policy
initiatives
that
relegate
the
genocide
to
the

margins,
the
Cambodian
Syndrome
contains
politicized
and
selective
processes
of

remembering
the
genocidal
past.”
23

Set
against
such
an
ominous
commitment
to
repackage
the
legacy
of
US
war,

the
Cambodian
American
cultural
producers
in
Schlund-‐Vials’
study
remap
the

terrain
of
national
memory
to
contest
such
amnesic
politics:
“Committed
to
legacies

of
trauma
and
articulations
of
resistance,
Cambodian
American
memory
workers

reimagine
(via
cinema,
literature,
hip
hop,
and
performance)
alternative
sites
for

justice,
healing,
and
reclamation.”
24

Embracing
what
she
terms
a
“refractionary
set

of
memory
politics,”
Schlund-‐Vials
examines
Cambodian
American
memory
work

through
the
lens
of
the
geographic,
temporal,
and
generational
displacements
that

contribute
to
a
way
of
reimagining
justice.

This
memory
work
is
committed
to

11

destabilizing
the
human
rights
discourses
of
US
empire
while
doing
the
essential

work
of
commemorating
those
who
died
during
the
genocide.

I
write
this
dissertation
during
a
renewal
and
heightening
of
US
military

killing
power
carried
out
for
the
apparent
purpose
of
combating
terrorism.

While

ECCC
observers
have
often
staked
the
tribunal
on
addressing
a
“culture
of
impunity”

in
Cambodia,
my
greater
concern
is
the
differential
expectations
on
legal

enforcement
and
international
law
adopted
during
the
current
War
on
Terror.

Just

as
the
temporal
jurisdiction
of
the
ECCC
partitions
a
particular
historical
segment
to

define
the
crimes
worthy
of
legal
redress
at
the
expense
of
a
longer
history
of

violence,
“9/11”
is
also
suggestive
of
a
temporal
rupture
leading
to
a
paradigm
shift

in
militaristic
discourse.

Popularly
seen
as
an
unprovoked
attack
against
innocents,

9/11
occasioned
the
following
absurdity
from
then-‐Secretary
of
Defense
Donald

Rumsfeld:
“Our
opponent
is
a
global
network
of
terrorist
organizations
and
their

state
sponsors,
committed
to
denying
free
people
the
opportunity
to
live
as
they

choose.”
25

George
W.
Bush
added
in
a
separate
address,
“America
was
targeted
for

attack
because
we’re
the
brightest
beacon
for
freedom
and
opportunity
in
the

world.”

Bush
and
Rumsfeld
conceal
a
more
sinister
history.

Cambodia,
for
example,

was
the
target
of
Richard
Nixon’s
“Menu”
raids,
the
bombing
campaign
which

delivered
nearly
a
half
billion
tons
to
Cambodia.

According
to
some,
this
illegal

campaign
swayed
the
peasantry
toward
an
actively
anti-‐American
stance
and

further
helped
the
Khmer
Rouge
swell
their
ranks.
26

This
precedent
of
US
military

12

and
political
interference
has
enveloped
many
others
within
the
context
of
the
Cold

War.

Here,
I
refer
to
a
broad
range
of
activities
aimed
at
installing
pro-‐US

governments
around
the
globe:
Vietnam,
Chile,
Iran,
Grenada,
Nicaragua,
and
Cuba

offer
a
representative
but
by
no
means
exhaustive
catalogue.

Since
the
9/11
attacks,
war
making
has
accelerated
with
codified
into
law.

The
Bush
Doctrine,
for
example,
has
allowed
for
the
circumvention
of
the
UN

Security
Council
by
expanding
the
realm
of
defensive
war.

According
to
the
Bush

administration
view,
self-‐defense
can
be
considered
consistent
with
international

law
in
instances
where
an
attack
can
be
reasonably
anticipated.

This
definition

departs
from
the
more
commonly
accepted
view
requiring
immediacy
and

unavoidability,
and
severely
weakens
the
laws
governing
war
by
creating
a
nearly

arbitrary
standard
for
defensive
aggression.

The
invasion
and
lengthy
occupation
of

Iraq
represents
the
dangers
of
such
an
aggressive
war
policy,
but
does
not
fully

encompass
the
violence
that
has
been
authorized
by
the
Bush
doctrine.

During
the
Obama
presidency,
drone
strikes
have
become
the
most
definitive

exercise
of
US
killing
power.

In
a
war
against
stateless
entities
who
use
advanced

guerrilla
tactics
to
kill
haphazardly
(“terrorists”),
the
reasoning
goes,
US
war
tactics

must
similarly
evolved.

Around
the
world,
and
in
Pakistan
most
flagrantly,

unmanned
aerial
vehicles
rain
bombs
on
supposed
belligerent
forces
whose
death

sentences
are
decided
unilaterally
and
with
no
defined
oversight.
27

And
in
the
case

of
Osama
bin
Laden,
the
Obama
administration
has
made
it
clear
that
putting
boots

on
the
ground
is
within
the
purview
of
acceptable
war
powers.

13

These
policies
rely
on
Bush
Doctrine
interpretations
of
the
right
to
self-‐
defense
to
justify
their
legality.

But
the
Obama
administration
also
evolved
this

principle
by
declaring
the
use
of
war
powers
in
matters
of
preemptive
self-‐defense

legally
valid
not
only
against
state
governments
and
political
regimes,
but
also
single

individuals
deemed
threatening
to
U.S.
national
security.

Potentially,
it
creates
legal

ground
for
a
form
of
military-‐based
political
suppression
that
can
deliver
death

against
indeterminate
enemies
at
indeterminate
times
in
indeterminate
places
for

indeterminate
crimes.

Once
again,
the
globe
is
a
battlefield.

This
global
battlefield
includes
domestic
soil.

In
the
controversial
2012

National
Defense
Authorization
Act,
the
President
codified
his
power
to
detain

American
citizens
indefinitely
and
without
charges
on
the
suspicion
that
they
are

”part
of
or
substantially
supported
al-‐Qaeda,
the
Taliban,
or
associated
forces
that

are
engaged
in
hostilities
against
the
United
States
or
its
coalition
partners.”

While

there
was
predictable
outrage
over
this
policy,
the
power
to
indefinitely
detain

(regardless
of
citizenship
status)
was
an
untested
holdover
from
the
Bush
years.

In
2002,
Jose
Padilla
was
arrested
at
Chicago
O’Hare
airport
on
the
suspicion

that
he
was
attempting
to
detonate
a
“dirty
bomb.”

Despite
his
American

citizenship,
he
was
held
as
a
prisoner
of
the
War
on
Terror,
which
allowed
him
to
be

imprisoned
indefinitely
and
without
charges.

His
Supreme
Court
case
against
the

Bush
administration
contested
their
right
to
classify
him
as
an
“enemy
combatant”

and
was
to
be
heard
before
the
court
in
2005.

Just
prior
to
the
hearing,
however,
he

was
transferred
from
military
to
civilian
custody
and
was
charged
with
a
number
of

terrorism-‐related
crimes.

His
case
was
Supreme
Court
case
was
therefore
mooted

14

and
the
power
to
detain
US
citizens
arrested
on
American
soil
remained
as
an

unchallenged
precedent.
28

Opponents
contest
the
notion
that
US
citizens
should
be
governed
by
the

same
rules
as
noncitizens.

29

Their
contestation
therefore
relies
on
affirming

American
citizens
as
the
exceptional
bearers
of
rights
while
all
others
are
more

reasonable
targets
of
US
war
policy.

Yet,
the
broader
nature
of
the
Bush/Obama

detention
policy
requires
continued
scrutiny.

Particularly,
while
the
Obama

administration
has
promised
–
and
failed
–
to
close
the
Guantanamo
Bay
prison,
he

has
never
waivered
on
his
assertion
of
his
powers
to
indefinitely
detain
high-‐profile

terror
suspects
without
providing
access
to
a
civilian
or
military
court.

Again,
I

write
this
dissertation
during
a
moment
of
intensified
US
militarism.

The
price
of
US

political
and
military
hegemony
has
never
been
costlier.

A
note
on
terminology:
throughout
this
dissertation,
I
use
“genocide”
to
refer

to
the
totality
of
death
inflicted
under
the
Khmer
Rouge.

This
usage
departs
from

the
term’s
description
in
international
law.
30

The
ECCC
has
applied
the
charge
of

genocide
to
the
three
defendants
being
prosecuted
under
Case
002,
but
this
refers

only
to
the
acts
of
murder
committed
against
Cambodia’s
ethnic
minorities.

All

other
deaths
are
referenced
under
the
charges
of
“crimes
against
humanity”
and

“grave
breaches
of
the
Geneva
Convention.”

During
the
United
Nations
Transitional

Authority
in
Cambodia
(UNTAC),
“genocide”
was
a
more
commonly
accepted
idiom

for
Khmer
Rouge
atrocities,
but
this
was
used
with
qualification.

Since
most
deaths

were
not
the
result
of
the
systematic
targeting
of
national,
ethnic,
racial,
or
religious

15

minorities,
UNTAC
personnel
used
“auto-‐genocide”
to
clarify
that
this
was
an

incident
of
“Khmers
killing
Khmers.”

My
choice
in
terminology
reflects
my
refusal
to
concede
this
point.

An

important
motivation
for
this
dissertation
is
an
attempt
at
understanding
the

violences
of
the
genocide
in
complex
ways.

This
requires
an
accounting
of
the
hot

wars
produced
in
the
wake
of
Cold
War
rivalries,
affecting
disparate
war
zones
in

Southeast
Asia,
the
Middle
East,
and
Central
and
South
America.

Within
Cambodia,

the
violations
of
Cambodian
neutrality
committed
by
the
U.S.
and
Vietnam
created

the
political
instability
necessary
for
a
militarized
regime
such
as
the
Khmer
Rouge

to
seize
power.

I
therefore
use
“genocide”
to
reference
the
multiple
acts
of
force

that
contributed
to
mass
death
in
Cambodia.

Still,
I
heed
Barbie
Zelizer’s
concern
that
the
repetitive
use
of
this
term

overdetermines
it
in
such
a
way
that
it
paradoxically
effaces
the
events
it
purports

to
describe.

Zelizer
writes,
“While
continual
references
keep
atrocity
in
the
public

imagination,
they
also
abandon
it
there.

Employing
familiar
terms
in
so
many

contexts
of
barbarism
flattens
the
original
term’s
resonance
and
denies
the

complexity
of
the
events
to
which
it
refers.

In
other
words,
the
media
may
fail
to

clarify
the
meaning
of
each
new
instance
of
brutality
they
cover.”
31

But
just
as

Zelizer
is
concerned
with
the
forms
of
forgetting
prompted
by
indiscriminate
uses
of

“genocide,”
I
base
my
choice
of
terminology
on
counteracting
the
forms
of
forgetting

that
are
prompted
in
its
refusal.

I
brief
readers
historically
on
the
Khmer
Rouge
in
Chapter
One,
providing

cursory
descriptions
of
their
political
philosophy
and
the
methods
used
to
enact

16

policy.

Much
of
this
chapter
rehearses
the
existing
histories
written
by
scholars

who
have
already
done
the
important
work
of
creating
a
foundation
for
studying

Cambodia’s
time
under
the
Khmer
Rouge.

My
purpose
is
to
establish
a
sense
of
the

magnitude
of
violence
that
the
cultural
producers
in
this
dissertation
encounter

with
their
work.

Indeed,
the
death
inducing
policies
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
were

intensive
and
far
ranging.

For
approximately
one
quarter
of
the
Cambodian

population
who
came
under
their
rule
during
this
period,
death
by
starvation,

execution,
or
disease
would
be
their
fate.

All
others
would
endure
under
extreme

methods
of
social
organization,
including
bans
on
religion
and
culture,
heavily

regulated
work
days,
state
arranged
marriages,
and
the
threat
of
“re-‐education”
for

infractions
against
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
social
pedagogy.

Art
historian
Boreth
Ly,
borrowing
from
Martin
Jay,
has
described
the
Khmer

Rouge
as
a
“scopic
regime”:

“[The
Khmer
Rouge]
was
a
scopic
regime
that
enforced

visual
surveillance
on
its
victims
and
deliberately
traumatized
and
destroyed

victims’
vision…One
way
of
preventing
victims
from
seeing
and
knowing
the

regime’s
political
agendas
was
to
plunge
them
literally
into
the
dark
–
to
blind
them.

This
process
of
traumatization
and
destruction
of
the
victims’
vision
was
achieved

through
visual
surveillance.”
32

For
Ly,
the
terror
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
was
most

pronounced
for
the
type
of
panopticism
they
enforced
that
not
only
disciplined
their

subjects
through
multiple
evaluative
gazes,
but
also
disconnected
these
gazes
from

any
state
or
institutional
source.

In
this
sense,
genocide
victims
and
survivors
were

kept
in
a
situation
where
acts
of
agency
or
indiscretion
were
under
the
continuous

threat
of
surveillance
and
punishment.

17

While
previous
scholars
have
written
thoroughly
on
the
extremes
of
Khmer

Rouge
control,
a
“history
from
below”
has
yet
to
be
documented.

This
chapter
finds

a
second
entry
point
in
investigating
the
ways
life
and
belonging
were
negotiated
by

subjects
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
despite
the
punitive
arrangements
that
sought
to

suppress
these
developments.

In
pursuing
this
line
of
interrogation,
I
argue
that

social
worlds
never
cease
negotiation
and
innovation,
even
in
the
most
restrictive

environments
where
absolute
control
is
the
order
of
the
day.

Put
another
way,
this

chapter
demonstrates
that
the
formation
of
subjectivity
is
never
fully
an
expression

of
state
hegemony.

Using
new
and
already
recorded
oral
testimonies,
Chapter
One

highlights
the
imperfections
of
Khmer
Rouge
power
and
the
creative
uses
of
these

cleavages
that
allow
us
insight
into
the
textures
of
social
life
during
the
years
of
the

genocide.

This
is
not
to
create
a
false
narrative
of
liberation
or
to
overstate
acts
of

agency
under
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Indeed,
it’s
important
to
note
that
the
myriad

interventions
into
the
terms
of
sociality
described
in
this
chapter
were
still
heavily

policed
and
accomplished
often
at
the
risk
of
corporal
punishment,
imprisonment,

or
death.

But
in
keeping
with
the
overarching
argument
of
this
dissertation,
this

chapter
charts
the
shifting
terms
of
belonging
that
arise
despite
Khmer
Rouge
aims

to
regulate
the
social
legibility
of
its
population.

In
Chapter
Two,
I
offer
an
overview
of
the
Extraordinary
Chambers
in
the

Courts
of
Cambodia.

In
2009,
the
court
began
its
prosecution
of
its
first
suspect,

Kaing
Guek
Eav,
a.k.a.,
Duch.

By
then,
over
thirty
years
had
elapsed
since
the
fall
of

the
regime
and
many
of
ranking
leaders
had
died.

Hoping
to
deliver
a
timely

18

verdict,
the
court
listed
just
five
suspects
on
its
foundational
docket.

The
Duch
case

was
completed
in
2012.

Of
the
remaining
four,
one
suspect
died
in
custody
while

another
was
declared
unfit
to
stand
trial
because
of
her
health.

Only
Nuon
Chea
(the

former
Khmer
Rouge
second
in
command)
and
Khieu
Samphan
(their
former
head

of
state)
remain.

But
the
tribunal’s
difficulties
extend
far
beyond
this.

The
magnitude
of

victims
and
crimes
that
require
attention
by
the
court
has
created
a
logistical

nightmare
for
court
personnel.

Fearing
the
death
of
one
of
their
suspects
before
a

verdict
can
be
delivered,
the
ECCC
Trial
Chamber
has
further
divided
their
docket

into
a
number
of
“mini-‐trials.”

In
essence,
the
indictment
has
been
partitioned
to

allow
for
an
expedited
verdict.

The
Trial
Chamber
justified
their
decision
by

ominously
predicting
that
the
court
would
only
have
time
for
one
mini-‐trial
before

the
remaining
suspects
fall
dead
or
infirm.

If
this
scenario
proves
true,
the
court
will

never
adjudicate
some
of
its
most
major
charges
(including
genocide).

Many
have
rightfully
noted
the
incomplete
justice
being
served
by
the
court.

In
this
chapter,
I
adopt
a
similar
position,
but
with
a
variation
on
that
theme.

Primarily
concerned
with
fulfilling
the
law,
the
ECCC
has
crafted
a
stipulated
way
of

recognizing
victims
in
pursuing
its
memorial
purpose.

Particularly,
the
court’s
quest

to
demonstrate
a
legitimate
legal
model
has
often
left
survivor
claims

unrecognizable
and
unrepresentable.

Even
when
admissibility
is
granted,
their

concerns
have
been
deemed
unruly
within
the
context
of
the
court’s
goals.

While

the
ECCC
unquestionably
pursues
necessary
legal
work
in
holding
the
Khmer
Rouge

19

accountable
for
their
crimes,
the
current
legal
model
runs
excessive
risk
of
taming

survivor
claims
to
justice.

Although
I
agree
that
the
work
of
the
ECCC
has
been,
and
will
ultimately
be,

incomplete,
I
take
the
position
that
such
a
legalistic
way
of
accounting
for
the
past

inherently
relies
on
producing
a
legal
subject
whose
juridical
utility
takes
precedent

over
the
varied
ways
in
which
memories
of
the
genocide
leave
traumatic
residues
in

the
lives
of
survivors.

This
chapter
both
explores
the
contours
of
that
idealized
legal

subject
commemorated
by
the
court
and
uncovers
the
ways
the
ECCC
has
been

unresponsive
to
more
expansive
claims
for
representation.

My
goal
is
simple:
by

destabilizing
the
memorial
authority
of
the
court,
I
clear
space
for
a
more
thorough

investigation
of
memorialization
occurring
beyond
institutional
sanction.

In
Chapter
Three,
I
examine
the
legacy
of
Tuol
Sleng
(S-‐21)
prison.

In
less

than
four
years
of
operation,
S-‐21
was
used
to
imprison
at
least
12,272
suspected

traitors
to
the
Khmer
Rouge
revolution;
only
202
are
believed
to
have
survived.

Having
died
noteworthy
deaths
as
Tuol
Sleng
prisoners,
the
individuals
captured
in

the
photographs
have
been
made
the
quintessential
victims
of
Khmer
Rouge

violence.

In
this
chapter,
I
ask
why
this
is
so.

In
doing
this,
I
interrogate
the
visual

and
discursive
texture
of
empathetic,
pitied,
and
outraged
responses
elicited
by
the

visualization
of
such
extraordinary
ways
of
dying.

In
this
chapter,
I
analyze
the
memorial
premises
produced
by
S-‐21’s
legacy
to

uncover
the
political
visions
and
institutional
concerns
they
advance.

I
begin
by

examining
the
representational
practices
of
the
Cambodian
Genocide
Program

(CGP),
a
research
center
housed
at
Yale
University
meant
to
“help
determine
who

20

was
responsible
for
the
crimes
of
the
Pol
Pot
regime.”

I
argue
that
their

presentation
of
the
Tuol
Sleng
mug
shots
neutralizes
the
political
capabilities
of
the

genocide’s
survivors,
characterizing
them
instead
as
perennial
victims.

They
are,
in

other
words,
arrested.

Understood
within
the
context
of
their
institutional
ties
to
US

interests,
the
CGP’s
use
of
the
mug
shots
is
a
powerful
visual
testament
to
the

perennial
death
on
repeat
that
has
made
Tuol
Sleng’s
victims
compelling.

Indeed,

most
reactions
to
the
mug
shots
fixate
on
the
incessant
repetition
viewers
confront

in
their
encounters.

“The
photographs,”
Lindsey
French
reflects,
“are
riveting
–
one

moves
from
one
to
the
next
compelled
to
look
at
each
face
individually
–
and,
finally

overwhelming.

There
are
so
many
of
them.”

But
the
proliferating
dead
also
lack

complexity
and
individual
subjectivity.

Each
prisoner
is
instead
just
a
microcosm
of

a
swarm
that
smothers
viewers
with
the
immensity
of
their
dying.

By
critiquing
this
reception,
my
intent
is
to
interrogate
the
political
utility

made
of
Tuol
Sleng’s
victims.

This
is,
furthermore,
an
entry
point
into
rethinking

the
way
memorialization
has
been
staked
against
the
backdrop
of
a
failing
and
often

frustrating
criminal
tribunal.

This
analysis
of
S-‐21’s
legacy
is
therefore
a
call
to

consider
the
memorial
acts
that
either
escape
or
are
denied
official
recognition,
and

the
challenges
to
political
conditions
they
pose.

I
conclude
this
chapter
with
an
analysis
of
Rithy
Panh’s
S21:
The
Khmer

Rouge
Killing
Machine,
a
documentary
that
also
relies
on
repetition
to
memorialize

Tuol
Sleng
prison.

Using
reenactment,
Panh
invites
former
guards
to
revive
their

roles
in
an
effort
to
uncover
the
historical
details
about
the
prison’s
operations.

I

argue,
however,
that
these
reenactments
also
force
the
guards
to
actively
interpret

21

their
complicities,
creating
performances
that
are
filled
with
tension
and

ambivalence.

Rather
than
visualizing
a
legacy
of
the
genocide
that
is
socially
and

politically
static,
Panh’s
S21
gives
us
insight
into
the
ongoing
negotiations
that

compose
the
genocide’s
aftermath.

Chapter
Four
provides
an
examination
of
the
1984
film,
The
Killing
Fields.

The
movie
told
the
real-‐life
story
of
New
York
Times
reporter
Sydney
Schanberg

and
his
Cambodian
translator
Dith
Pran.

The
movie
tracks
Schanberg’s
attempts
to

locate
Pran
after
their
separation
at
the
end
of
the
Cambodian
civil
war.

It
received

critical
acclaim
after
its
release
and
was
nominated
for
numerous
Academy
Awards,

including
Best
Picture.

The
movie
also
did
the
important
work
of
introducing
the

genocide
to
a
popular
American
audience.

In
this
chapter,
I
investigate
two
figures
integral
to
the
Killing
Fields
saga.

I

first
examine
Sydney
Schanberg.

During
the
Cambodian
civil
war,
which
ended
in

the
ascendency
of
the
Khmer
Rouge,
Schanberg
was
the
preeminent
journalistic

voice
describing
the
misery
of
the
war
for
an
American
readership.

He
was
awarded

the
Pulitzer
Prize
in
International
Reporting
for
this
body
of
work,
and
was

particularly
lauded
for
braving
great
danger
by
staying
in
Cambodia
until
it
became

absolutely
essential
for
him
to
leave.

After
reuniting
with
Pran,
Schanberg
authored

a
memoir
detailing
the
events
leading
to
their
reunion.

I
argue
that
Schanberg’s

repeated
admission
of
guilt
and
self-‐described
duty
to
protect
Pran
reflects
an

imperial
humanitarian
relationship
that
closely
resembles
US
cultural
memory
of

American
intervention
in
Cambodia.

In
other
words,
Schanberg
is
allegorical
of

American
war.

22

Additionally,
this
chapter
also
examines
Haing
S.
Ngor,
who
played
Dith
Pran

in
the
film.

Ngor
was
a
real-‐life
Cambodian
refugee
who
was
given
the
film’s
lead

because
of
the
autobiography
he
could
bring
to
the
role.

He
was
awarded
the

Academy
Award
for
Best
Supporting
Actor
after
the
film’s
release.

And
he
was

further
celebrated
for
embodying
the
transformative
powers
of
American
freedoms.

However,
he
was
murdered
outside
of
his
Los
Angeles
home
on
February
25,
1996,

the
apparent
victim
of
a
botched
robbery.

I
argue
that
the
LA
Times
coverage
of

Ngor’s
story
–
in
life
and
death
–
reinscribes
the
viability
of
American
meritocracy

while
also
locating
its
contradictions
in
racial
difference.

He
demonstrated
the

requisite
fitness
under
capitalism
demanded
of
US
subjects
and
had
been
rewarded

generously
because
of
it.

His
murderers
presented
the
opposite:
they
were

unemployed
and
drug
addicted
gang
members
who
provided
an
exceptional
portrait

of
the
threat
posed
by
capitalism’s
unproductive
subjects.

Together,
the
packaging
of
Ngor’s
and
Schanberg’s
stories
commemorates

the
Cambodian
genocide
as
a
long
narrative
of
US
imperial
responsibility.

The
two

are
allegorical
for
an
historical
military
relationship
that
is
sanitized
through
the

happy
endings
both
provide.

Schanberg
is
relieved
of
any
burdens
of
guilt
with

Pran’s
blessing;
Ngor
is
posthumously
remembered
as
a
worthy
recipient
of

American
freedoms.

The
two
compose
a
larger
saga
supplementing
The
Killing

Fields,
further
continuing
the
resolution
of
a
complicated
political
and
military
past.

And
lost
in
this
amnesic
method
of
representation
is
a
malicious
history
of

militarized
destruction
on
behalf
of
US
imperial
interests.

23

I
place
the
importance
of
this
research
on
overcoming
what
I
believe
to
be
an

overvaluation
of
the
tribunal’s
memorial
work.
Indeed,
as
political
interests
have

predictably
shaped
the
dimensions
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
tribunal,
essentialist
notions

of
culture
have
too
often
been
called
on
to
explain
the
difficulty
of
securing
the

“basic
principles
of
justice”
in
Cambodia.

Former
Yale
University
Cambodian

Genocide
Program
Director
Craig
Etcheson,
for
example,
sees
a
“culture
of

impunity,”
which
he
describes
as
“a
set
of
social
expectations
–
structured
by

supporting
laws,
customs,
and
behaviors
–
that
the
strong
can
do
what
they
will
and

the
weak
will
suffer
what
they
must.”
33

I
take
this
to
be
an
inadequate
and

dangerously
abbreviated
explanation
of
the
social
formations
that
now
exist

because
of
the
genocide
and
stake
the
political
consequences
of
this
work
on

broadening
understandings
of
what
it
means
to
live
after
this
moment
of
deep

political
violence.

This
is
not
to
be
dismissive
of
the
potential
impact
that
a

successful
tribunal
will
have
for
survivors.

But
it
is
a
call
to
understand
the

additional
work
done
outside
the
purview
of,
or
as
a
supplement
to,
other
state

sponsored
practices.

I
therefore
look
towards
the
cultural
realm
to
chart
the
texture
of
these

emergent
social
formations.

By
gesturing
towards
culture,
I
trace
the
contradictions

that
emerge
within
state-‐sponsored
attempts
at
producing
particular
visions
of

social
life
at
the
cost
of
reducing
others
to
illegibility
or
impossibility.

As
a
site
in

which
meaning
is
formed,
circulated,
contested,
and
reworked,
culture
offers
an

invaluable
resource
for
engaging
the
memories
that
are
made
strange
against

official
accounts
of
history.

Yet,
I
stop
short
of
treating
the
cultural
producers
in
this

24

work
as
possessors
of
an
essential
truth.

Indeed,
I
approach
each
with
attention

paid
to
the
delimited
material
and
discursive
circumstances
that
set
a
horizon
for

the
ways
subjectivity
and
sociality
can
be
rendered
in
the
forms
of
representation

they
offer.

Refusing
to
examine
the
structuring
forces
of
cultural
life,
I
argue,
leads

us
only
to
the
imposition
of
a
hypothetical
primordial
Cambodian
ontology
that
is

somehow
immune
to
the
complexities
and
tensions
accompanying
any
claim
on

identity.

Far
from
signaling
a
perfected
sociality,
these
forms
of
cultural
production

operate
within
a
world
conditioned
by
complex
historical
forces
and
limited

possibilities,
and
pose
their
own
problematic
assumptions
on
the
terms
of

remembering
the
genocide.

Yet,
while
the
ECCC
takes
significant
steps
towards
sanctifying
particular

memories
of
the
genocide,
the
cultural
producers
in
this
dissertation
materialize

different
social
worlds
in
tension
with
the
deficiencies
and
purposeful
elisions
of
the

court
and,
as
a
result,
fracture
its
standing
as
a
memorial
authority.

As
resources
for

dialog
and
interaction,
these
cultural
objects
are
sites
in
which
counterclaims
on

memorialization
are
made
and
gain
traction.

For
this
reason,
I
argue
that
they
must

be
understood
as
essential
to
the
discursive
landscape
surrounding
the
genocide

and
are
therefore
deeply
implicated
in
political
consequence.

Notes

1. Signed after the Khmer
Rouge
withdrew
from
the
UN
sponsored
transitional
elections
in
1993,

the
Cambodian
National
Assembly
signed
into
the
Law
Outlawing
the
Group
of
Democratic

Kampuchea.

The
law
made
membership
in
the
Khmer
Rouge
illegal,
but
also
provided
a
brief

window
for
defectors
to
come
forward
in
exchange
for
legal
amnesty.

The
window
for
this

amnesty
was
originally
set
at
six
months,
but
would
be
extended
indefinitely.

2.

In
1997,
called
for
the
execution
of
Son
Sen,
one
of
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
most
senior
leaders,

after
it
was
discovered
he
was
attempting
to
negotiate
a
truce
with
the
Cambodian

25

government.

He
was
then
arrested
and
held
in
house
arrest
by
the
regime’s
remaining

leadership.

On
April
15,
1998,
an
agreement
was
reached
to
turn
Pol
Pot
over
to
an

international
court.

He
died
later
that
night
under
mysterious
circumstances.

The
Khmer

Rouge
claim
he
died
of
heart
failure.

However,
he
was
cremated
before
an
autopsy
could
be

performed.

3.

Most
notably,
Nixon
and
Kissinger’s
Menu
Raids
made
regular
incursions
into
Cambodia

seeking
to
flush
out
Vietnamese
supply
lines
running
through
Cambodia’s
borders.

Throughout
the
life
of
the
bombing
campaign,
a
half
million
ton
of
U.S.
bombs
were
dropped
on

Cambodia.

Many
scholars
agree
that
the
U.S.
secret
bombing
of
Cambodia
created
the

discontent
necessary
to
swell
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
membership
ranks.

4.

Despite
having
knowledge
of
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
crimes,
the
United
Nations
credentials

committee
voted
to
allow
the
Khmer
Rouge
to
retain
Cambodia’s
seat
in
the
General
Assembly.

This
decision
would
be
repeated
with
decreasing
support
in
the
next
two
years.

In
1982,
the

Khmer
Rouge
entered
into
the
Coalition
Government
of
Democratic
Kampuchea,
an
alliance

comprised
of
other
factions
competing
over
sovereignty
in
Cambodia.

But
because
of
the

Khmer
Rouge’s
military
and
political
resources,
the
CGDK
was
effectively
governed
by
their

interests.

The
CGDK
would
go
on
to
hold
Cambodia’s
seat
until
the
Paris
Peace
Agreement
was

signed
in
1991.

5.

Maurice
Halbwachs,
On
Collective
Memory.
The
Heritage
of
Sociology.
(Chicago:
University
of

Chicago
Press,
1992),
38

6.

Ibid
25

7.

James
E.
Young,
The
Texture
of
Memory:
Holocaust
Memorials
and
Meaning.
(New
Haven,
Ct:

Yale
University
Press,
1994),
6

8.

Halbwachs,
On
Collective
Memory,
24

9.

Ibid.,
53

10.

Paul
Connerton,
How
Societies
Remember.
(New
York:
Cambridge
University
Press,
1989),
p.
38

11.

Halbwachs,
On
Collective
Memory,
22

12.

Young,
Texture
of
Memory,
xi

13.

Ibid.,
x

14.

Ibid.,
5

15.

Ibid.,
xi

16.

Halbwachs,
On
Collective
Memory,
41

17.

Ibid.,
40

18.

Marita
Sturken.
Tangled
Memories:
The
Vietnam
War,
the
AIDS
Epidemic,
and
the
Politics
of

Remembering.
(Berkeley:
University
of
California
Press,
1997),
5

19.

Ibid.,
7

20.

Ibid.,
5

21.

Ibid.,
7

22.

Cathy
J.
Schlund-‐Vials,
Genocide,
and
Justice:
Cambodian
American
Memory
Work.
(Minneapolis,

MN:
University
of
Minnesota
Press,
2012),
11

23.

Ibid.,
13

24.

Ibid.,
17

25.

Donald
Rumsfeld,
“A
New
Kind
of
War.”
New
York
Times.
September
27,
2001.

26.

Ben
Kiernan
has
long
insisted
on
this
point
and
has
repeated
the
argument
in
multiple

publications.

27.

The
amount
of
civilian
casualties
resulting
from
drone
strikes
is
disputed.

The
Obama

administration
has
refused
to
provide
an
official
estimate,
and
its
methodology
for
counting

civilians
deaths
is
controversial.

All
military
age
men
in
a
strike
zone,
the
Obama
policy
states,

are
considered
combatants
in
a
drone
strike.

Numerous
journalists
and
human
rights
agencies

have
attempted
to
count
civilian
deaths
in
the
absence
of
official
data.

Most
estimates
have
the

death
toll
just
shy
of
1000.

28.

The
argument
can
be
made
that
the
Obama
administration’s
decision
to
codify
this
policy
has

actually
done
more
to
weaken
it.

By
signing
this
war
power
into
law,
it
reestablished
grounds

26

in
which
a
legal
challenge
could
be
filed
against
it.

Hedges
V.
Obama,
which
was
heard
in
the

Second
Circuit
Court
of
Appeals.

29.

Hedges
V.
Obama,
for
example,
rests
on
the
argument
that
the
detention
policy
described
by

the
2012
NDAA
amounts
to
a
violation
of
First
Amendment
rights
of
freedom
of
speech
and

freedom
of
press.

30.

The
following
is
the
definition
of
genocide
adopted
by
the
UN
Genocide
Convention:
“The

convention
defines
genocide
as
any
number
of
acts
committed
with
the
intent
to
destroy,
in

whole
or
in
part,
a
national,
ethnic,
racial
or
religious
group:
killing
members
of
the
group;

causing
serious
bodily
or
mental
harm
to
members
of
the
group;
deliberately
inflicting
on
the

group
conditions
of
life
calculated
to
bring
about
its
physical
destruction
in
whole
or
in
part;

imposing
measures
intended
to
prevent
births
within
the
group,
and
forcibly
transferring

children
of
the
group
to
another
group.”

31.

Barbara
Zelizer,
Remembering
to
forget :
Holocaust
memory
through
the
camera’s
eye
(Chicago:

University
of
Chicago
Press,
1998),
206.

32.

Boreth
Ly,
“Devastated
Vision(s):
The
Khmer
Rouge
Scopic
Regime
in
Cambodia,”
Art
Journal

62,
no.
1
(Spring
2003):
70.

33.

Craig
Etcheson,
After
the
Killing
Fields:
Lessons
from
the
Cambodian
Genocide
(Westport,
CT:

Praeger
Press,
2005),
167.

27

Chapter
1:

Surviving
the
Khmer
Rouge

Nearly
four
decades
after
the
Khmer
Rouge
were
ousted,
senior
leaders
have

yet
to
be
punished
for
their
crimes.

Ousted
in
1979,
they
were
reduced
to
an

insurgency
that
slowly
dwindled
after
numerous
high
profile
defections
were

negotiated
with
the
promise
of
legal
immunity.
1

Today,
former
Khmer
Rouge

leaders
have
fully
reincorporated
themselves
back
into
mainstream
politics,
even

holding
various
positions
in
the
Cambodian
government.

Among
them
is
Prime

Minister
Hun
Sen.

What
are
the
stakes
for
successfully
prosecuting
the
suspects
on
trial
with

the
ECCC?

Former
Cambodian
Genocide
Program
Director
Craig
Etcheson
hopes
it

will
end
a
“culture
of
impunity,”
which
he
describes
as
“a
set
of
social
expectations
–

structured
by
supporting
laws,
customs,
and
behaviors
–
that
the
strong
can
do
what

they
will
and
the
weak
will
suffer
what
they
must.”
2

Let’s
weigh
the
merits
of
his

case.

Etcheson
describes
Cambodian
subjectivity
as
a
perfect
reflection
of
state

interests.

Acts
of
individual
agency
–
whether
subtle
or
spectacular
–
are
impossible

against
the
will
of
predatory
others.

“In
essence,”
Etcheson
continues,
“the
[culture

of
impunity]
describes
an
anarchical
society
in
which
the
principle
forces
of
anarchy

wield
social,
economic,
political,
and/or
military
power
and
are
unconstrained
by

28

any
effective
sanctions
against
predatory
behavior.”
3

To
prosecute
the
Khmer

Rouge,
he
suggests,
is
to
remedy
anarchy
with
order.

For
Etcheson,
the
problem
of

Khmer
Rouge
impunity
is
faulted
to
racial
others
who
are
unable
to
express

themselves
as
political
subjects.

Defying
Etcheson,
this
chapter
investigates
the
interventions
into
the
terms

of
life
belonging
adopted
by
Khmer
Rouge
subjects
despite
the
punitive

arrangements
in
place
to
disallow
them.

I
argue
that
social
worlds
never
cease

negotiation
and
innovation,
even
in
the
most
restrictive
environments
where
total

control
is
the
goal.

In
short,
this
chapter
demonstrates
that
subjectivity
is
never

fully
an
expression
of
state
hegemony.

I
advance
this
point
not
to
illustrate
an

exaggerated
narrative
of
liberation
or
to
overstate
acts
of
agency
under
Khmer

Rouge
rule.

Indeed,
it’s
important
to
note
that
disobedience
was
heavily
policed,

and
accomplished
often
at
the
risk
of
corporal
punishment,
torture,
imprisonment,

or
death.

But
by
taking
note
of
the
imperfections
of
Khmer
Rouge
power,
I
highlight

the
often-‐unorganized
ways
in
which
their
authority
was
met
with
struggle.

While
existing
scholarship
has
explored
the
depths
of
Khmer
Rouge
control,

agency
has
been
left
underexplored.

Alexander
Laban
Hinton’s
Why
Did
They
Kill?,

for
example,
is
an
influential
anthropological
study
exploring
the
participation
of

Khmer
Rouge
cadres
in
the
regime’s
violence.

“Ontological
resonance,”
he
argues,

are
key.

Hinton
explains:

“I
discuss
the
‘ontological
resonance’
of
cultural

knowledge,
or
the
ways
in
which
these
understandings
come
to
have
motivational

salience
for
actors
as
a
result
of
resonances
with
local
ontologies
and
embodied

experience
(the
patterns
of
being-‐in-‐the-‐world
constituted
as
people
engage
in

29

social
practices
over
time).”
4

In
summary,
Hinton
argues
that
the
Khmer
Rouge

secured
the
consent
of
their
foot
soldiers
by
appealing
to
cultural
norms
that
drew

their
identification.

Basing
his
analysis
on
an
ontological
claim,
however,
Hinton

formulates
a
fundamental
vision
of
Cambodian
identity
as
the
backbone
for

genocidal
participation.

Indeed,
his
research
advances
a
static
description
of
social

life
that
is
suggestive
of
a
primordial
Cambodian
character.

“Disproportionate
revenge”
is
one
of
his
observations.

He
explains:

If
benefactors
gain
respect,
elevate
their
status,
and
generate
moral
debts
by
performing

good
deeds,
those
who
perform
bad
deeds
show
disrespect
toward,
lower
the
status
of,
and

‘defeat’
the
recipient,
who
in
turn
has
a
moral
obligation
to
repay
the
bad
action.

On
the
one

hand,
the
person
doing
the
‘bad
deed’
asserts
his
or
her
superiority
over
the
recipient;
on
the

other
hand,
the
bad
deed
results
in
a
loss
of
face,
since
it
undermines
the
self-‐implicating

‘line’
asserted
by
the
recipient,
particularly
in
public
contexts,
where
the
offender
may
lead

other
people
to
lower
their
esteem
of
the
recipient.

Merely
to
repay
this
bad
deed
with
an

equivalent
act
would
leave
parties
on
equal
footing.

Those
who
take
disproportionate

revenge
for
bad
deeds
‘defeat’
their
foes,
elevate
their
standing
vis-‐à-‐vis
the
offenders,

restore
(in
part
or
in
whole)
their
previously
diminished
honor,
and
symbolically
display
an

exchange
with
them
that
is
not
to
be
taken
lightly.
5

Here,
Hinton
constitutes
legible
anthropological
subjects
by
describing
a
stable

pattern
of
social
existence.

The
complexity
of
lived
experience
is
reduced
to

formulaic
principles
that
are
packaged
in
taxonomical
language
and
cultural

essentialism.

Hinton’s
actual
description
of
social
life,
however,
is
sparse.

Save
for
a
paltry

selection
of
interview
excerpts
and
sensationalistic
anecdotes,
his
analysis
is

overloaded
with
evidence
taken
from
his
Khmer
dictionary.
Expanding
on
his

observations
on
disproportionate
revenge,
for
example,
he
writes:

The
Khmer
Dictionary
defines
sangsoek
[revenge]
as
not
just
‘to
return
evil,
to
destroy
in

return,’
but
‘to
be
tied
in
malice
(chang
pear);
[with
the
desire]
to
make
a
return’;
similarly,

the
term
kumnum
is
defined
as
‘a
grudge
[kum],
desire
for
vengeance:
a
grudge
(kumnum)

that
is
the
origin
of
a
knot
of
malice
(chamnang
pear);
a
tie
of
vindictiveness
(karchang

kumnum)
that
leads
chett
[the
heart]
to
be
irritated
and
hot
[like
sticky,
humid
heat],
almost

all
the
time.
6

30

Hinton’s
interpretations
of
the
complexities
of
Cambodian
subjectivity
and

sociality
rely
on
the
linguistic
descriptions
and
static
significations
provided
to
him

by
the
generically
titled
Khmer
Dictionary.
Divorcing
language
from
discourse,

Cambodians
are
treated
as
ideological
vessels
who
only
reproduce
regulatory

measures
embedded
in
vocabulary.

Power,
Hinton
implies,
is
an
already
complete

relationship
that
determines
the
texture
of
social
life
for
his
research
subjects.

He

provides
no
framework
for
change,
nor
is
he
interested
in
accounting
for
agency.

“Why
did
they
kill?”
Hinton
asks
as
a
premise
for
his
research.
Yet,
for
this

question
to
be
compelling,
Hinton
must
construct
an
anthropological
subject
whose

motivations
are
more
suited
for
scrutiny
than
an
implied
Western
subject
who
is

immune
to
a
parallel
interrogation.

“They”
names
a
curious
other.

Less

questionable
(or,
at
least,
less
questioned)
is
the
conduct
of
foreign
soldiers
who

also
contributed
to
mass
death
in
Southeast
Asia.

The
US
pilots
that
rained
bombs

on
Cambodia
as
part
of
an
illegal
war,
for
example,
are
not
similarly
questioned
for

their
motivations.

Instead,
these
acts
of
state-‐sponsored
killing
are
normalized
in

the
refusal
to
interrogate
them
or
name
them
as
extraordinary
crimes.

Asking
why

“they”
killed,
Hinton
produces
an
aberrant
other
whose
subjectivity
confounds.

While
I
don’t
question
Hinton’s
outrage
over
the
violence
of
the
Cambodian

genocide,
I
find
an
inherent
problem
in
his
research
goals.

Rather
than
reading
the

Cambodian
genocide
as
a
culturally
stable
event,
this
chapter
is
concerned
with
the

exertions
of
state
power
that
made
killing
possible
and
the
everyday
acts
of
survival

that
evaded,
disrupted,
and
sabotaged
their
politics.

While
previous
histories
of
the

Khmer
Rouge
have
thoroughly
described
their
top-‐down
totalitarian
organization,

31

my
interest
here
is
in
drawing
attention
to
the
incompleteness
in
their
ability
to

control
their
population.

What
comes
is
not
a
revolution.

Instead,
I
uncover
the
unorganized
forms
of

resistance
that
made
life
livable
for
those
enduring
the
compulsory
suffering
of
the

Khmer
Rouge.

At
stake
is
a
disruption
of
the
narrative
of
uncomplicated
Cambodian

obedience
when
faced
with
genocidal
violence.

As
I
will
show,
the
Khmer
Rouge

were
forced
to
reckon
with
the
insistent
disobedience
and
disingenuous
deference

of
their
subjects.

These
actions
often
required
cooperation
and
trust
in
their

collaborators.

But
there
were
also
times
when
this
trust
was
misplaced.

I
stake
this
chapter
on
showing
the
richness
of
Cambodian
life
despite
the

absence
of
legal
remedy.

Particularly,
this
chapter
demonstrates
that
state

injustices
were
never
immune
from
the
retaliation
of
those
lacking
positions
of

political
power.

Even
the
Khmer
Rouge
were
unable
to
halt
the
innovative
ways
in

which
the
terms
of
survival
were
articulated
by
their
subjects
to
create
sustainable

worlds.
These
are
clandestine
and
collaborative
tales
of
ingenuity.

The
Khmer
Rouge:
A
History

The
Khmer
Rouge
entered
Phnom
Penh
on
April
17,
1975
and
encountered
a

war
weary
population.

In
the
preceding
months,
refugees
pouring
into
the
capitol

exhausted
the
already
resource-‐poor
city.

The
Khmer
Rouge
heightened
the

desperation
by
cutting
off
the
Mekong
River,
a
supply
line
for
delivering
essential

aid.

As
starvation
set
in,
Western
journalists
reported
seeing
desperate
Cambodians

eating
stray
animals
to
survive.
New
York
Times
reporter
Sydney
Schanberg
writes,

32

“There
used
to
be
an
army
of
stray
dogs
on
the
streets;
some
streets
had
so
many

that
you
had
to
drive
slowly
to
avoid
them.

Hardly
any
are
to
be
seen
any
more.

The

reason
is
hunger.

Dog
meat
is
a
staple
in
the
markets,
and
the
price
of
a
bowl
of
it

doubled
in
the
past
month.”
7

Anticipating
renewed
stability,
many
Cambodians
took
to
the
street
to

celebrate
the
civil
war’s
end.

“The
war
was
over.

We
had
come
through
unscathed,”

Pin
Yathay
recalls.

“No
wonder
young
people
hugged
each
other
and
waved
their

pieces
of
white
cloth.

Far
from
feeling
fear,
I
–
all
of
us
–
were
reassured
by
the

passivity
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

It
was
astonishing
that
the
fighting
should
have

stopped
so
suddenly,
that
against
all
our
expectations
the
centre
of
the
city
should

have
been
penetrated
without
violence.”
8

Many
celebrated
that
day
feeling
more

relieved
by
the
end
of
the
war
than
joyful
over
the
Khmer
Rouge
triumph.

However,

most
knew
little
about
the
conquering
regime.

Loung
Ung,
recalls
being
warned
by
her
father
that
the
Khmer
Rouge
were

“not
nice
people”
and
that
“these
people
are
destroyers
of
things.”

Ung’s
father
had

been
an
agent
with
the
Cambodian
Secret
Service,
giving
him
greater
insight
into

Khmer
Rouge
politics.

Yet,
his
ominous
warnings
seem
based
more
on
gut
reaction

–
perhaps
augmented
by
his
loyalties
to
the
former
regime
–
than
any
true

knowledge
of
their
policies.

Explaining
his
suspicion
over
the
Khmer
Rouge,
Ung’s

father
elaborates:
“They’re
not
nice
people.

Look
at
their
shoes
–
they
wear
sandals

made
from
car
tires.

It
shows
that
these
people
are
destroyers
of
things.”
9

Awaiting
was
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
“Year
Zero”
plan
for
total
social
revolution.

They
envisioned
an
economically
autonomous
socialist
utopia,
sustained
by

33

agricultural
production.

Particularly,
rice
farming
was
to
become
the
backbone
of

the
transformed
economy.

This
would
be
accomplished
by
organizing
the

population
into
farming
collectives,
where
they
were
pushed
to
prepare
the
land
to

efficiently
produce
rice.

Harsh
labor
conditions
were
accompanied
by
strict

disciplinary
measures.
“Anti-‐revolutionary”
acts
(interpreted
as
anything

counterproductive
to
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
plans)
were
severely
punished
–
torture

and
murder
was
not
uncommon.

As
Cambodia
fell
deeper
into
the
Khmer
Rouge’s

revolutionary
vision,
however,
their
plan
proved
unsustainable
and
many
died
from

exhaustion,
starvation,
and
disease.

While
rice
yields
fell
below
targeted

production,
Khmer
Rouge
leaders
resorted
to
starving
the
population
to
subsidize

their
export.

Their
failures
also
led
to
accusations
of
internal
subversion,
which
led

to
mass
purges.

In
total,
the
Cambodian
Genocide
Program
estimates
that
1.7

million
(21%
of
the
population)
lost
their
lives
in
the
four
years
that
the
Khmer

Rouge
were
in
power.

The
transformation
began
immediately.

The
Khmer
Rouge
ordered
a

complete
evacuation
of
Phnom
Penh
after
taking
the
city.

According
to
the
ECCC

indictment,
their
objective
was
“to
deprive
city
dwellers
and
former
civil
servants
of

their
economic
and
political
status
and
transform
them
into
peasants,
thus

‘preserving
the
revolutionary
achievements.’”
10

Vacating
the
city
thus
had
the

symbolic
effect
of
framing
the
revolution
as
a
peasant-‐led
rebellion.

And
by
forcing

the
city
population
(estimated
at
1.5
to
2.6
million
people)
into
the
countryside,

labor
demands
of
the
new
economy
could
be
fulfilled.

Many
who
left
that
day,

however,
were
given
few
details
about
the
reasons
for
their
exodus.

34

Some
were
told
that
the
evacuation
was
only
a
precautionary
measure
to

secure
the
city
and
were
reassured
that
they
would
be
able
to
return
after
a
few

days.

Others
were
told
that
soldiers
of
the
former
regime
needed
to
be
rooted
out

and
eliminated
to
ensure
stability
of
the
new
government.

Most
were
warned
of
an

impending
American
aerial
strike.
11

Haing
Ngor
recounts,
“A
Khmer
Rouge
soldier

shouted,
‘You
have
to
leave
the
city
for
at
least
three
hours.

You
must
leave
for
three

hours.

You
must
leave
for
your
own
safety,
because
we
cannot
trust
Americans.

The

Americans
will
drop
bombs
on
us
very
soon.

Go
now,
and
do
not
bother
to
bring

anything
with
you.’”
12

Ngor
senses
deception,
however,
and
prepares
for
a
lengthy

exile
by
gathering
supplies.

He
recalls
others
doing
the
same.

“Upriver,
out
of
sight
of
the
soldiers,
boats
were
carrying
passengers
back

across
the
river
to
Phnom
Penh,”
Ngor
writes.

“In
the
dry
season
the
river
had

shrunk
to
a
narrow
channel
of
water
between
the
banks.

A
few
who
couldn’t
afford

to
pay
boatmen
were
swimming
to
the
other
side.”
13

Ngor
also
treks
back
into
the

city,
looting
for
food
to
bring
with
him.

With
money
abolished,
excess
supplies
acted

as
currency:
“At
the
top
of
the
riverbank,
other
city
exiles
rushed
toward
us
offering

to
buy
the
beans
with
bundles
of
Lon
Nol
regime
riels.

I
turned
them
down.

We

didn’t
want
money
from
a
regime
that
no
longer
existed.

But
when
someone
offered

a
bag
of
sugar
in
trade
for
half
the
beans,
I
agreed.”
14

Sensing
this
system
of
bartering
to
be
the
introduction
of
a
new
normal,
Ngor

devises
a
scheme
to
make
a
final
return
to
his
Phnom
Penh
home.

He
is
able
to

pique
the
interest
of
a
cadre
with
the
array
of
medicines
in
his
possession
and
uses

this
as
a
premise.

“I’ve
got
a
lot
of
it,”
Ngor
informed
the
curious
soldier.

“But
I

35

didn’t
bring
it
here.

If
you
come
to
my
house
in
Phnom
Penh
I
will
give
you
as
much

as
you
want.

If
you
have
some
way
to
get
back
into
town
I’ll
give
you
any
kind
of

medicine
you
need.

No
problem
at
all.”
15

He
is
granted
a
supervised
return
home

and,
while
collecting
medicine
to
appease
the
soldier,
quickly
retrieves
gold
that
had

been
hidden
away.

As
food
became
scarce,
Ngor
trades
the
gold
for
extra
food.
16

Those
hoarding
goods
were
careful
not
to
let
their
possessions
reveal
their

class
backgrounds.

Ngor,
for
example,
never
admits
his
medical
experience
despite

the
medicine
in
his
possession,
insisting
instead
that
he
was
a
taxi
driver
and
his

wife
a
produce
vendor.

(He
is
later
imprisoned
and
tortured
when
rumors
of
his

actual
background
circulate
his
commune.)

Loung
Ung’s
family
also
kept
quiet

about
their
past,
especially
important
for
them
given
her
father’s
involvement
with

the
Lon
Nol
regime.

When
asked
about
his
background,
he
identified
himself
as
a

packer
with
the
shipping
port
and
Ung’s
mother
as
clothing
vendor
at
the
market.

Anticipating
retribution
over
their
prior
status,
many
quickly
understood
the
need

to
revise
their
personal
histories
to
ensure
their
survival.

Phnom
Penh
exiles
were
given
few
instructions
regarding
their
movement

other
than
being
told
to
move
to
rural
areas
or
their
home
village.

The
ECCC

indictment
reports
numerous
incidents
in
which
Khmer
Rouge
soldiers
participated

in
interrogations,
robberies,
and
murders
during
this
migration.

Pin
Yathay

describes
an
incident
in
which
a
motorbike
was
stolen
from
a
member
of
this

traveling
party.

When
they
resisted,
they
were
threatened
with
violence.

Yathay

recalls:
“He
unslung
his
rifle,
said,
‘You
dare
say
no
to
Angkar?’
cocked
the
rifle
and

36

stared
at
Vuoch.

Then
he
suddenly
fired
into
the
air
in
front
of
her
face.”
17

Understanding
the
futility
of
the
situation,
they
handed
over
the
bike.

Loung
Ung,
whose
family
was
skeptical
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
from
the

beginning,
describes
a
more
deferential
response
during
a
robbery:
“A
Khmer
Rouge

soldier
comes
over
to
us.
‘Give
me
your
watches.’

With
shoulders
bent
to
show

submission,
Pa
takes
the
watches
off
Meng
and
Khuoy’s
wrists.

Pa
does
not
look
the

soldier
in
the
eyes
as
he
hands
the
watches
over.
‘All
right,
now
move,’
the
soldier

orders
and
then
walks
away.”

Sensing
danger,
the
Ung
family
yielded
to
the
cadre’s

order.

Many
survivors,
however,
report
seeing
dead
bodies
along
the
road
during

their
exodus.

According
to
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
own
estimates,
2,000
to
3,000
people

died
during
the
Phnom
Penh
evacuation.

Once
migrants
arrived
at
their
final
destinations,
they
were
placed
in

agricultural
collectives
and
made
to
farm.

Rice
farming
was
essential
to
the
society

the
Khmer
Rouge
envisioned:
it
would
both
feed
the
population
through
state
issued

rations,
and
serve
as
the
regime’s
primary
export.
18

Perhaps
motivated
by
a

nationalist
sentiment,
this
economic
strategy
had
distinct
local
ties.

Ben
Kiernan

elaborates:
“Before
1970,
Cambodians
ate
on
average
about
600
grams
of
rice
per

person
per
day,
compared
to
440
grams
in
other
rice-‐producing
countries.

Poor

peasants
in
Cambodia
consumed
about
400
grams,
compared
to
110
grams
in

Java.”
19

By
using
a
traditional
dietary
staple
as
an
economic
backbone,
the
Khmer

Rouge
imagined
an
economy
that
would
benefit
from
one
of
the
country’s
great

commodities.

Heightening
rice
production
to
the
necessary
levels,
however,

37

exceeded
the
capability
of
the
Cambodian
landscape.

Often,
the
three
tons
per

hectare
of
rice
crop
they
sought
was
physically
impossible
given
the
terrain.

Genocide
survivors
from
all
districts
report
routine
starvation
at
the

cooperatives.
20

With
each
harvest,
rice
yields
were
reported
through
a
hierarchy
of

leadership,
where
final
decisions
were
made
about
the
amount
of
rice
to
be

confiscated
by
the
state.
According
to
the
ECCC
indictment,
some
subdistricts,

intentionally
underreported
their
yield
to
secretly
distribute
the
excess
amongst
its

members.

But
hunger
was
a
consistent
fact
for
most.
In
more
brutal
cooperatives,

complaining
about
the
lack
of
food
was
punishable
by
death.

Starvation
was
made
worse
by
intense
labor.

Typically,
working
hours
began

at
7
am
and
continued
until
the
midday
break
for
lunch.

Work
then
continued
until

5
pm,
or
later
during
the
harvest.

Occasionally,
a
third
shift
from
6
pm
to
10pm
was

also
required.

Workers
were
assigned
a
certain
number
of
hectares
to
farm,
which

they
completed
under
the
threat
of
punishment.

According
to
one
witness:
“We

were
forced
to
work
every
day.

We
dared
not
refuse
to
work
because
we
were

afraid
of
getting
killed.”
21

Indeed,
this
was
the
official
stance
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Said
one
official
in
a
Newsweek
interview:
“We
are
turning
society
upside
down.

The

people
of
Phnom
Penh
will
grow
rice.

They
will
work
or
starve.”
22

Haing
Ngor
describes
the
brutal
working
conditions
at
his
commune:
“Two

teenage
soldiers
with
rifles
took
us
men
to
paddies
that
had
been
hoed
already.

There
were
about
eight
wooden
ploughs
and
three
or
four
oxen
by
a
hillock.

‘We

don’t
have
enough
oxen
now,’
one
of
the
soldiers
told
us,
‘but
we
have
to
plough
the

fields.

If
we
don’t
plough
and
plant
rice,
we
won’t
have
anything
to
eat.’

‘Oh
no,’
I

38

said
to
myself.
‘Are
we
going
to
use
human
beings
to
plough?’”
23

Here,
Ngor
is

paired
with
an
ox
to
plow
an
empty
rice
field.

Any
imbalance
between
him
and
the

ox
would
result
in
uneven
rows,
forcing
him
to
match
the
ox’s
strength.

He

continues:
“I
leaned
forward
and
kept
pushing
but
the
wooden
crosspiece
was
too

high,
about
the
level
of
my
neck.

I
wished
it
were
lower.

Reaching
up
to
it
strained

my
shoulders
and
the
small
of
my
back.

Blisters
had
formed
on
my
hands
form
the

road
repair
work
and
I
could
feel
them
pop
open
and
the
fluid
running
out.”

On
occasion,
however,
Ngor
found
subtle
ways
to
dispute
the
work

conditions.

He
recalls
an
incident
in
which
he
and
his
fellow
workers
were

instructed
to
abandon
their
rice
crop
before
harvest.

Ngor
describes:

With
so
much
rice,
with
so
many
people
sick,
it
was
the
cruelest
of
crimes
to
take
us
away

before
the
harvest.

But
it
didn’t
surprise
me
that
they
were
doing
it.

To
me,
the
only

question
was
whether
they
were
doing
it
to
kill
us
immediately,
or
whether
they
were
doing

it
by
mistake.

Discouraged,
we
slowed
our
pace
in
the
fields.

If
we
could
not
eat
the
rice

around
us,
we
were
not
going
to
work
hard
to
produce
it.
24

Displeased
over
the
extreme
labor
and
outraged
over
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
decision

not
to
allow
them
to
access
much
needed
food,
Ngor
and
his
fellow
workers

deliberately
slowed
down
production
in
the
face
of
a
regime
obsessed
with

productivity.

Such
intentional
carelessness
was
a
limited,
albeit
measured,
act
of

sabotage
that
subtly
manifested
their
rage.

In
another
passage,
Ngor
and
his
wife
arrive
at
a
large
commune
where
it

was
difficult
for
the
Khmer
Rouge
leadership
to
supervise
all
workers.

“If
the
Khmer

Rouge
didn’t
give
us
enough
to
eat,
I
reasoned
–
their
rations
averaged
about
a
can

of
uncooked
rice
per
person
every
two
days
–
there
was
no
sense
working
at
all.

The
following
morning,
shortly
after
sunrise,
my
wife
and
I
and
another
couple

39

walked
into
Phum
Chhleav
and
into
rice
fields
that
were
not
being
cultivated,

keeping
a
careful
eye
out
for
soldiers.”
25

Ngor
spends
that
afternoon
foraging:
“In

Cambodia,
we
have
a
humorous
saying
about
food:
‘Eat
anything
with
two
legs

except
a
ladder,
anything
with
four
legs
except
a
table,
and
anything
that
flies
except

a
plane.”

Indeed,
facing
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
compulsory
starvation,
many
took
to

foraging
to
fill
in
their
diets.

Chanrithy
Him
elaborates:
“Just
as
the
Khmer
Rouge
suck
the
life
out
of
us,

we
drain
our
pond
–
a
small
body
of
water
grown
murky
with
a
thick
forest
of
algae

and
water
plants.

It
is
peppered
with
insects,
sediment,
and
other
debris.

The
water

tastes
of
dirt,
but
its
all
we
have.”
26

This
improvised
solution
had
a
price,
however.

The
unsanitary
water
afflicted
many
around
the
village
with
sickness,
even
sending

Him
into
temporary
delirium.

She
continues,
“No
one
understands
what
is
wrong.

But
my
condition
doesn’t
seem
to
improve,
my
extremes
of
fever
and
chill
grow

worse.

I
begin
thrashing
in
a
delirious
stupor.

Vaguely,
I’m
aware
of
what
is

happening
to
me,
and
yet
I
listen
and
observe
it
as
an
outsider,
unable
to
control
the

words
as
they
tumble
out
of
my
mouth.”

She
nonetheless
finds
ways
to
supplement
her
meager
rations.

As
rice
yields

at
her
cooperative
fell
short
of
expectations,
commune
members
were
given
just

enough
rice
to
make
a
“thin
liquid
gruel.”

Him
adds
flavor
to
her
meal
by
mixing
in

salt
and
foraged
pigweed.

While
it
does
not
provide
the
cherished
calories
she

needs,
the
additions
at
least
take
away
the
blandness
of
the
meal.

Haing
Ngor
also
describes
the
foraging
methods
he
developed.

Red
ants

became
an
unexpected
delicacy:
“Rural
Cambodians
put
red
ants
in
soups
to
add

40

crunchy
texture
and
proteins.

They
also
cook
the
ants’
eggs,
which
are
soft
and

white
and
sour,
a
kind
of
poor
man’s
caviar.

The
challenge
is
collecting
the
ants

without
being
bitten.”
27

Ngor
ingeniously
tips
the
nest
into
a
bucket
of
water

(drowning
them
in
the
process)
meanwhile
covering
his
arm
in
ash
to
prevent

getting
bitten
by
the
escaping
ants.

He
describes
other
prized
finds:
termites,
field

mice,
and
lizards
(“their
flesh
tastes
a
bit
like
chicken”).

But
these
clandestine
acts
were
accompanied
with
risk.

Although
some

communes
allowed
foraging
outside
work
hours,
others
forbade
it.

Loung
Ung

recalled
the
scare
her
younger
brother
received
when
he
was
caught
scavenging
in
a

nearby
cornfield.

“They
scream
obscenities
at
him,
but
he
is
too
stunned
to
hear

them,”
she
writes.

“More
hands
push
him
down.

‘Get
up!’

They
continue
to
yell.

He

is
on
all
fours
now
and
following
their
orders
when
a
hard-‐booted
foot
kicks
him
in

the
stomach,
knocking
his
breath
away.

He
is
sick
with
terror,
and
he
does
not
know

what
to
do
next.

A
hand
pulls
him
up
by
the
hair
and
a
soldier
is
staring
at
him.

‘Are

you
ever
going
to
come
back
and
steal
anything
ever
again
from
Angkar?’”

Always

wary
of
internal
saboteurs,
the
Khmer
Rouge
grant
Ung’s
brother
an
unlikely

reprieve.

Besides
foraging,
Khmer
Rouge
subjects
also
found
ways
to
appeal
to
those

with
access
to
food
to
get
an
extra
share
in
their
rations.

Ung’s
father,
for
example,

gains
the
favor
of
their
commune
leader
and
bribes
his
way
to
extra
food.

Ung

describes,
“Pa
is
able
to
get
extra
rice
in
exchange
for
the
gifts
he
gives
to
the
chief.

Pa
lies
and
tells
the
chief
that
he
was
only
a
shopkeeper
in
Phnom
Penh,
that
he

found
the
jewelry
in
the
deserted
houses
during
the
evacuation.

Pa
gives
him
Ma’s

41

ruby
bracelets,
her
diamond
rings,
and
much
more
in
exchange
for
a
few
pounds
of

uncooked
rice.”
28

Feeding
the
chief’s
ego
with
disingenuous
deference
and
shiny

gifts,
Ung’s
father
leverages
his
limited
resources
to
feed
his
family.

He
is
also

careful
to
conceal
the
preferential
treatment,
fearing
an
end
to
the
patronage
if

others
were
to
discover
the
arrangement.

Chanrithy
Him
describes
begging
to
the
commune
cook
during
her

starvation.

Sensing
a
“motherly”
tone
in
the
cook’s
voice,
Him
gambles
on
her

trustworthiness
and
pleads
for
scraps.

“Suddenly
the
cook
scrapes
fish
heads
and

guts
toward
us
with
the
knife,”
Him
writes.

“Without
repulsion,
we
grab
the
heads,

trailing
slimy
guts
from
the
tree
stump.

Then,
making
a
makeshift
pouch
with
our

shirttails,
we
stuff
them
inside.

To
my
great
surprise,
the
cook
hands
us
each
two

fish,
which
she
beheaded.

‘Here.

Go
before
they
catch
you.

Before
they
punish

us.’”
29

The
act
is
immediately
noticed
by
nearby
children,
who
draw
attention
to
the

cook
by
swarming
her
with
their
own
pleas
for
food.

While
Him
is
appreciative
of

the
cook’s
compassion,
she
decides
that
making
a
habit
of
begging
to
the
cook

presented
too
much
of
a
threat
to
them
both.

Him’s
sister
later
befriends
a
warehouse
manager
whose
position
gives
him

generous
access
to
food.

She
describes
the
night
they
met.

Him
and
her
sister

slipped
past
the
commune
guards
and
covertly
made
their
way
to
the
man’s

warehouse.

There,
he
greets
them
with
the
most
food
they’d
seen
since
the

revolution.

“My
throat
fills
quickly,
the
food
a
stranger
to
my
body,”
she
writes.

“Next
I
spoon
up
the
soup,
gulping
down
the
warm
broth
to
help
was
down
the

sluggish
rice.

Then
I
eat
the
pumpkin.

The
blossoms.

The
soft
green
shoots.

Then

42

the
smoked
fish
with
fish
sauce,
then
another
spoonful
of
rice.

As
quickly
as
it

enters
my
mouth,
it
is
gone,
swallowed.”
30

Him
recalls
few
details
about
the

experience
besides
the
food.

She
knows
the
manager
only
as
“Pok”
a
filial
term

meaning
father
that
can
be
used
to
show
respect
to
male
elders.

Moreover,
she
is

never
certain
(or
curious)
about
the
man’s
specific
role
with
the
Khmer
Rouge.

It
is

clear
he
is
a
high
ranking
leader
–
she
later
returns
on
her
own
without
invitation

and
finds
him
preoccupied
with
a
meeting
with
other
leaders
–
but
he
nonetheless

feeds
her
without
question
whenever
she
visits.

Many
survivors
also
described
personal
sacrifices
made
from
personal

rations
to
feed
others
in
need.

Pin
Yathay,
for
example,
missed
a
communal
meal

after
skipping
a
political
meeting.

Noticing
his
absence,
his
workmates
made
sure

he
wouldn’t
go
hungry
by
saving
him
any
food
they
could.

He
writes,
“At
the

campsite,
however,
I
found
to
my
surprise
that
everyone
had
eaten.

Apparently.
The

meeting
had
been
shorter
than
usual
and
my
workmates
had
returned
and
eaten

early.

For
a
moment
I
was
taken
aback,
thinking
I
was
about
to
go
hungry,
until
I

saw
that
they
had
kept
some
rice
aside
for
me.”
31

Chanrithy
Him
also
recalls
her
mother
giving
away
her
ration.

Him
writes,

“Paddy
rations
are
never
enough.

Most
of
the
time,
Mak
leaves
the
hut
after
she

helps
set
up
the
meal
on
the
wooden
deck.

When
some
of
us
ask
for
more
rice,
she

sadly
puts
her
spoon
down
and
offers
to
share
her
ration…I
begin
to
realize
she

never
eats.”
32

She
later
discovers
that
her
mother,
hungry
after
giving
her
meal
to

her
children,
has
gone
around
to
the
other
women
in
the
commune
begging
for
extra

food.

That
Him’s
mother
was
able
to
find
the
extra
rations
to
survive
reflects
a

43

larger
spirit
of
sharing
at
the
commune
extending
beyond
immediate
families.

Despite
the
prevalence
of
starvation,
Him’s
mother
finds
a
way
to
get
the
food
she

needs.

Starvation
was
the
most
common
condition
of
suffering
reported
by
Civil

Parties
in
the
ECCC’s
Case
002.

According
to
the
indictment,
the
Khmer
Rouge
were

unprepared
to
address
famine
because
“CPK
leaders
had
not
provided
adequate

systems
to
respond
to
these
problems
and
did
not
accept
international
aid,
except

for
the
limited
support
primarily
from
China.

On
the
contrary,
the
CPK
policies
were

focused
on
isolation
and
the
self-‐sufficiency
of
the
national
economy.”
33

Indeed,

much
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
platform
relied
on
freeing
Cambodia
from
the
economic

dependence
and
political
interference
of
imperial
powers.

In
addition
to
the

isolationism
put
in
practice
after
the
revolution,
their
“Year
Zero”
strategy
also

involved
“purifying”
its
population
from
class
contamination.

This
strategy
involved
differentiating
between
those
with
“pure”

prerevolutionary
backgrounds,
and
those
prone
to
anti-‐revolutionary
behavior.

Once
assigned
to
a
cooperative,
individuals
were
given
one
of
three
levels
of

membership:
full
rights,
candidate,
and
depositee.

Depositee
members
–
or
more

commonly
“new
people”
–
were
urban
evacuees
from
Phnom
Penh
or
other
areas

formerly
under
Khmer
Republic
control.

They
were
distinguished
from
“base

people”,
who
were
granted
either
full-‐rights
or
candidate
status.

Candidates
were

alleged
to
have
personal
connections
to
members
of
the
former
regime,
subjecting

them
to
a
probationary
standing.

44

Possessing
limited
rights
and
prohibited
from
becoming
unit
chiefs
within

cooperatives,
“new
people”
received
the
brunt
of
mistreatment.

Having
lived
an

urban
life,
new
people
were
under
increased
scrutiny
because
of
the
privilege
it
was

assumed
they
once
possessed.

Haing
Ngor
recalled
the
instructions
given
to
him

when
he
first
arrived
at
the
commune:

“In
Democratic
Kampuchea,
under
the

glorious
rule
of
Angka,
we
need
to
think
about
the
future.

We
don’t
need
to
think

about
the
past.

You
‘new’
people
must
forget
about
prerevolutionary
times.

Forget

about
Cognac,
forget
about
fashionable
clothes
and
hairstyles.

Forget
about

Mercedes.

Those
things
are
useless
now.”
34

New
people
were
separated
into

different
work
groups
and
made
to
do
more
arduous
labor.

Additionally,
they
were

fed
less
when
food
was
scarce.

Despite
insisting
that
he
was
a
taxi
driver
before
the
revolution,
Ngor
was

twice
imprisoned
and
tortured
after
gossip
circulated
that
he
was
in
fact
a
doctor.

On
both
occasions,
an
informant
hoping
to
gain
favor
with
the
commune
leaders

turned
him
in.

“Pen
Tip
was
an
odd-‐looking
man,
with
a
duckfooted
walk
like

Charlie
Chaplin,”
Ngor
writes.

“He
liked
to
hang
around
with
‘old’
people
and
Khmer

Rouge.

He
joked
with
them
and
flattered
them,
and
somehow
got
away
with
it
–

other
people
who
got
close
to
the
soldiers
were
taken
to
the
woods.

Pen
Tip
knew

how
to
manipulate
people,
how
to
make
them
feel
obligated.”
35

Turning
on
fellow

workers
–
and
Ngor
in
particular
–
Tip
sought
the
trust
of
the
commune’s
leadership

to
foster
his
own
safety.

Not
all
who
were
aware
of
Ngor’s
true
past
were
so
silling
to
turn
him
in,

however.

A
high
ranking
leader
visits
Ngor’s
commune
one
day
and
Ngor
is
shocked

45

to
discover
that
he
is
an
acquaintance
from
before
the
revolution.

Cautiously,
Ngor

reintroduces
himself.

Recalling
the
man’s
reaction,
Ngor
writes,
“He
stood
with
his

hands
on
his
hips,
nodding
his
head
up
and
down
to
show
he
understood.

Then
he

came
closer,
patted
me
on
the
shoulder
and
said
in
quiet
and
friendly
voice,
‘Just

keep
working
and
stay
quiet.’”
36

He
describes
the
man
as
having
been
peaceful
and

even-‐tempered
in
their
former
lives,
and
is
confused
by
his
loyalty
to
the
Khmer

Rouge.

“I
cannot
trust
Chea
Huon,
because
he
has
killed
many,
many
people.

He

must
have.

He
is
one
of
them!...I
am
afraid.

And
–
I
think
–
Chea
Huon
is
afraid

too.”
37

Despite
his
fears,
Chea
Huon
does
not
reveal
Ngor’s
identity.

Instead,
he

instructs
Ngor’s
supervisors,
“That
one
there
is
a
good
worker.

He
shows
initiative.

Take
good
care
of
him.”

Ngor’s
memoir
reveals
the
complexity
of
sociality
under
the
Khmer
Rouge.

While
he
describes
Pen
Tip
as
somebody
he
may
have
gotten
along
with
in
different

times
–
“under
different
circumstances,
I
might
have
found
Pen
Tip
amusing”
–
he

becomes
a
foe
in
the
struggle
to
create
conditions
conducive
to
their
survival.

In

contrast,
Chea
Huon’s
complicity
with
the
Khmer
Rouge
leads
Ngor
to
further

question
the
nature
of
the
regime.

Sensing
that
Huon,
too,
feared
the
Khmer
Rouge

despite
his
involvement
in
its
leadership,
Ngor
begins
to
understand
the
depth
of

terror
enforced
on
all
Khmer
Rouge
subjects.

In
addition
to
“purifying”
their
subjects
of
their
class
backgrounds,
the
Khmer

Rouge
also
moved
to
disallow
longstanding
aspects
of
Cambodian
traditions.

Intimacy,
for
example,
was
one
area
of
regulation.

The
ECCC
indictment
explains,

“The
concept
of
marriage
was
reconstructed
under
the
CPK
regime
in
order
for
the

46

CPK
to
replace
the
role
of
parents
and
to
enable
mothers
to
go
to
work.

The
CPK

had
the
objective
of
increasing
population
growth
and
‘building
up
a
family.’

This

objective
was
achieved
by
matching
people
with
similar
political
status
and

marrying
soldiers.”

Although
official
Khmer
Rouge
documents
report
a
“voluntary

basis”
for
marriages,
many
Civil
Parties
filed
claims
saying
that
their
marriages
were

carried
out
under
the
command
of
local
leaders.

Haing
Ngor’s
marriage
from
before
the
revolution
was
recognized
by
the

Khmer
Rouge,
although
he
was
prohibited
from
expressing
affection.

Instead,
he

was
instructed
to
call
her
“comrade”
at
all
times.

Away
from
the
attention
of
the

Khmer
Rouge,
however,
he
reverts
to
using
pet
names.

He
recalls
a
particular

moment
after
being
nursed
back
to
health
with
his
wife’s
care.

Ngor
writes,
“Huoy

and
I
sat
on
the
railroad
tracks,
near
a
trestle
with
water
underneath.

I
was
tired

but
triumphant.

Huoy
was
happy
and
smiling.

We
talked
as
we
alywas
had
in
the

old
days,
calling
each
other
‘sweet.’”
38

A
woman
nearby
overhears
them
and
recognizes
their
transgression.

But

she
takes
comfort
in
it.

“Is
that
your
husband?’
she
asks
Ngor’s
wife.

She
responds

in
the
affirmative
and
the
woman
hands
them
a
piece
of
fruit
from
her
load.

“Older

sister,”
the
woman
responded,
“give
him
some
of
this.

It
will
be
good
for
his
health.”

Once
again,
the
practice
of
using
kinship
terms
as
a
show
of
respect
is
exchanged

between
the
two.

While
doing
little
to
affect
their
material
circumstances,
many

survivors
describe
participating
in
this
limited
act
of
subversion.

The
Khmer
Rouge
also
targeted
religion.

The
ECCC
indictment
describes:

“Many
pagodas
and
sanctuaries
were
destroyed,
or
converted
for
other
purposes

47

such
as
security
centres,
pig
pens,
dining
halls,
hospitals
or
warehouses.

Images
of

Buddha
were
destroyed.

Even
lighting
incense
was
prohibited.”
39

Prior
to
the

revolution,
most
Cambodians
identified
as
Theravada
Buddhists.

After
seizing

power,
monks
and
nuns
were
disrobed
–
sometimes
under
the
threat
of
force
–
and

were
made
to
join
in
agricultural
production.

According
to
one
witness,
“[The

Khmer
Rouge]
said
the
monks
in
their
big
robes
were
feudalists
who
sucked
the

blood
of
the
people.”

However,
many
insisted
on
observing
proper
funeral
rites
for
the
dead.

After

losing
his
father,
Haing
Ngor
conducted
his
service
in
his
hut
with
the
quiet
approval

of
other
members
of
the
commune:

When
three
days
had
passed,
Huoy
and
I
brought
our
evening
rations
back
to
the
longhouse

with
candles.

Our
neighbors
knew
what
we
were
doing
and
left
us
alone.

We
lit
candles.

My

brother
and
his
wife
went
first,
because
they
were
older.

They
sompeahed
to
the
improvised

altar,
put
their
palms
on
the
ground
three
times,
bowed
down
until
their
foreheads
touched

the
backs
of
their
hands
another
three
times
and
prayed.

Huoy
and
I
sat
behind
them
until

they
had
finished
and
it
was
our
turn.
40

Their
ceremony
lacked
many
of
the
components
of
a
typical
Cambodian

Theravada
Budhhist
funeral.

Monks
are
present
to
offer
prayers,
there
is
no
public

procession
commemorating
the
dead,
and
the
body
is
not
available
for
cremation.

Yet,
they
fashion
a
customary
funeral
with
what
they
have
available.

Their
rations,

although
meager,
are
offerings
nonetheless.

They
improvise
incense
from
candles

that
they
had
available.

And
they
sompeah
–
an
act
of
prayer
and
genuflection

showing
deference
to
the
deceased.

On
January
7,
1979,
the
Khmer
Rouge
were
toppled
by
an
invading

Vietnamese
army.

By
then,
Cambodia
had
endured
just
3
years,
8
months,
and
20

48

days
under
the
cruel
regime,
yet
had
suffered
the
death
of
nearly
a
quarter
of
its

population
from
disease,
starvation,
exhaustion,
and
execution.

But
the
suffering

was
not
yet
over.

The
following
decade
would
host
a
civil
war
between
the

incumbent
People’s
Republic
of
Kampuchea
and
various
factions
vying
for
power.

The
Khmer
Rouge
were
prominent
in
this
battle.

Enjoying
diplomatic
and
material

support
from
abroad,
they
continued
their
terror
against
the
Cambodian
people

with
implicit
international
sanction.

Notes

1.

In
1994,
the
membership
in
the
Khmer
Rouge
became
illegal
after
the
Cambodian
National

Assembly
passed
the
Law
on
the
Outlawing
of
the
Democratic
Kampuchea
group.

The
law

made
membership
in
the
Khmer
Rouge
illegal,
but
offered
lower
tier
soldiers
the
opportunity

to
defect.

Following
these
defections,
Nuon
Chea
and
Khieu
Samphan
joined
the
defection
with

the
promise
of
legal
immunity
from
the
Cambodian
government.

I
elaborate
on
this
history
in

Chapter
2.

2.

Craig
Etcheson,
After
the
Killing
Fields:
Lessons
from
the
Cambodian
Genocide.
(Westport,
CT:

Praeger
Press,
2005),
167

3.

Ibid.,
167

4.

Alexander
Hinton,
Why
Did
They
Kill? :
Cambodia
in
the
Shadow
of
Genocide.
(Berkeley:

University
of
California
Press,
2005),
27

5.

Ibid.,
68-‐69

6.

Ibid.,
68

7.

Sydney
Schanberg,
“Reporter’s
Notebook:
Suffering
Seems
Endless
in
Phnom
Penh.”
New
York

Times.
March
29,
1973.

8.

Pin
Yathay,
Stay
Alive,
My
Son.
(New
York:
Simon
&
Schuster,
1988),
13

9.

Loung
Ung, First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. (New York: Harper
Perennial, 2006), 18
10.

Case
002
Closing
Order,
paragraph
161.
ECCC
Trial
Chamber
15
September
2013

11.

The
Case
002
indictment
offers
another
justification,
provided
to
a
journalist
by
Ieng
Sary
in
a

1975
interview:
“Ieng
Sary
has
stated
in
an
interview
with
a
journalist
in
1975,
as
reiterated
in

conference
in
1978,
that
the
primary
reason
for
the
population
movement
was
food.

He
states

that
initially
it
was
though
that
there
were
two
million
people
in
Phnom
Penh,
however
it
was

later
discovered
that
the
population
of
the
city
was
actually
three
million.

He
states
that
prior

to
the
CPK
regime,
Cambodia
had
received
between
30
to
40,000
tons
of
food
a
month
form
the

United
States
and
that
the
CPK
would
have
been
unable
to
transport
food
from
the
countryside

into
the
cities.”

Given
the
influx
of
refugees
into
the
capital
in
years
leading
up
to
the
Khmer

Rouge’s
1975
victory,
it
is
plausible
that
they
possessed
legitimate
concerns
about
feeding
the

post-‐war
population
of
the
city.

But
the
regime’s
economic
strategy
based
on
rice
farming
still

required
an
influx
of
agricultural
labor.

It
is
therefore
safe
to
assume
that
the
evacuation
of

Phnom
Penh
would
have
occurred
even
if
sufficient
aid
had
been
available.

12.

Haing
Ngor
and
Roger
Warner,
Survival
in
the
Killing
Fields.
(New
York:
Carroll
&
Graf,
2003),

88

49

13.

Ibid.,
104

14.

Ibid.,
105

15.

Ibid.,
124

16.

According
to
the
Case
002
indictment,
some
witnesses
did
report
receiving
rations
the

evacuation.

The
indictment
states:
“There
is
some
evidence
that
food
or
other
forms
of

support
were
provided
to
the
population
during
their
jounrye
from
Phnom
Penh.

There
is

evidence
that
certain
CPK
troops
provided
some
rice
for
the
people
to
eat
although
some
of

these
witnesses
also
report
having
to
drink
dirty
water
from
ponds
along
the
way
and
that
the

CPK
cadre
noted
the
names
of
those
who
received
food
and
the
names
of
those
who
did
not

want
to
continue
traveling.

Two
witnesses
state
that
they
did
not
see
people
starving
during

the
population
movement
from
Phnom
Penh.”
(Case
002
Closing
Order,
paragraph
239)

17.

Yathay,
Stay
Alive,
34

18.

In
addition
rice,
the
Khmer
Rouge
also
hoped
to
begin
the
production
of
other
products
such
as

rubber
and
salt.

Most
civilians,
however,
were
relegated
to
agricultural
production.

A
smaller

portion
also
participated
in
rebuilding
the
Cambodian
infrastructure.

19.

Ben
Kiernan,
The
Pol
Pot
Regime
Race,
Power,
and
Genocide
in
Cambodia
Under
the
Khmer

Rouge,
1975-‐79.
(New
Haven:
Yale
University
Press,
2008),
163

20.

According
to
the
Case
002
Indictment:
“Nearly
all
witnesses
describe
a
lack
of
food
in
the

cooperatives.

Some
witnesses
recall
people
dying
of
starvation,

while
others
either
did
not
see

or
deny
that
people
died
of
starvation.

Several
witnesses
attest
that
people
were
afraid
to

complain
about
the
lack
of
food
because
they
could
have
been
punished
or
killed.

Several

District
105
documents
also
record
the
arrest
of
people
who
had
complained
about
work
and

living
conditions
in
the
cooperatives.”
(Case
002
Closing
Order,
paragraph
312)

21.

Case
002
Closing
Order,
paragraph
311

22.

Quoted
from
Peter
Maguire,
Facing
Death
in
Cambodia,
50

23.

Ngor
179

24.

Ibid.,
197

25.

Ngor
174

26.

Him,
Chanrithy.
When
Broken
Glass
Floats:
Growing
up
Under
the
Khmer
Rouge.
New
York;

London:
W.W.
Norton,
2001.
p.
111

27.

Ngor,
Survival
in
the
Killing
Fields,
175

28.

Ung,
First
They
Killed
My
Father,
89

29.

Him,
Broken
Glass
Floats,
139

30.

Ibid.,
210

31.

Yathay,
Stay
Alive,
164

32.

Him,
Broken
Glass,
101

33.

Case
002
Closing
Order,
paragraph
177

34.

Ngor,
Survival
in
the
Killing
Fields,
150

35.

Ibid.,
254

36.

Ibid.,
284

37.

Ibid.,
287

38.

Ibid.,
192

39.

Case
002
Closing
Order,
paragraph
740

40.

Ngor,
Survival
in
the
Killing
Fields,
278

50

Chapter
2:

Limited
Justice?:
Examining
the
ECCC

As
I
write,
the
Extraordinary
Chambers
in
the
Courts
of
Cambodia
(ECCC)
is

racing
to
deliver
a
verdict
before
its
defendants
fall
dead
or
infirm.

This
is
a

hypothetical
outcome
with
precedent.

In
November
2011,
former
Khmer
Rouge

Social
Affairs
Minister
Ieng
Thirith
was
declared
unfit
to
stand
trial
after
a
dementia

diagnosis.

Khmer
Rouge
Foreign
Minister
Ieng
Sary
died
in
a
Phnom
Penh
hospital

on
March
14,
2013,
having
battled
various
age
related
ailments.

Hoping
to
salvage
a

verdict,
the
Trial
Chamber
has
“severed”
the
indictment
into
“mini-‐trials.”

Trial

Chamber
judges
hope
that
smaller
trials
covering
limited
charges
will
help

guarantee
that
at
least
some
part
of
the
indictment
will
reach
judgment.

A
court-‐
wide
assumption
remains,
however,
that
only
the
first
mini-‐trial
–
covering
early

population
transfers
and
one
Khmer
Rouge
execution
site
–
will
ever
be
completed.
1

Adding
to
these
difficulties,
Cambodian
Prime
Minister
Hun
Sen
has
been
a

vocal
opponent
of
expanding
the
ECCC
to
investigate
additional
suspects.

Khieu

Kanharith,
Cambodian
Minister
of
Information,
has
gone
as
far
as
to
tell
foreign
trial

observers
to
“pack
their
bags
and
leave”
if
they
held
on
to
the
belief
that
the

additional
cases
would
ever
go
to
trial.

Domestic
judges
assigned
to
the

investigation
have
given
the
appearance
of
collusion
with
the
Prime
Minister
by

51

undermining
the
investigative
process
at
various
steps.
Trial
observers
allege

corruption.

Many
have
rightfully
noted
the
incomplete
justice
being
served
by
the
court.
2

In
this
chapter,
I
adopt
the
position
that
this
is
inherent
to
tribunal
justice.

Primarily

concerned
with
fulfilling
the
law,
the
ECCC
has
crafted
a
stipulated
way
of

recognizing
victims
in
pursuing
its
memorial
purpose.

Particularly,
the
court’s
quest

to
demonstrate
a
legitimate
legal
model
has
often
left
survivor
claims

unrecognizable
and
unrepresentable.

Even
when
admissibility
is
granted,
their

concerns
have
been
deemed
unruly
within
the
context
of
the
court’s
goals.

While

the
ECCC
unquestionably
pursues
necessary
legal
work
in
holding
the
Khmer
Rouge

accountable
for
their
crimes,
the
current
legal
model
runs
excessive
risk
of
taming

survivor
claims
to
justice.

More
troubling,
the
court’s
international
backing
will
grant
it
narrative

authority
over
culpability
and
criminality,
a
gesture
that
involves
overlooking
the

rampant
foreign
interference
once
involved
in
the
life
and
longevity
of
the
Khmer

Rouge.

Unquestioned,
for
example,
will
be
the
trail
of
destruction
left
by
US

aggression
in
Cambodia,
an
unchecked
killing
power
that
continues
today.

Cathy

Schlund-‐Vials
has
referred
to
this
as
the
“Cambodian
Syndrome”:
“Related
to

Reagan’s
assertion
that
the
Viet
Nam
War
was
lost
largely
because
of
a
lack
of
US

support,
the
Cambodian
syndrome
revises
the
‘Vietnam
syndrome’
by
providing

further
neoconservative
justification
for
US
intervention
through
the
deployment
of

a
‘convenient’
and
‘accessible’
genocidal
past.”
3

What
has
been
deemed
worthy
of

legal
interrogation
must
be
understood
as
an
expression
of
political
power.

Today’s

52

effort
to
investigate
the
crimes
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
is
being
pursued
without
effort

to
complicate
the
impunity
given
to
some
of
the
most
egregious
sources
of

Cambodian
misery.

While
I
agree
that
the
work
of
the
ECCC
has
been,
and
will
ultimately
be,

incomplete,
I
take
the
position
that
such
a
legalistic
way
of
accounting
for
the
past

inherently
relies
on
producing
a
legal
subject
whose
juridical
utility
takes
precedent

over
the
varied
ways
in
which
memories
of
the
genocide
leave
traumatic
residues
in

the
lives
of
survivors.

This
chapter
both
explores
the
contours
of
that
idealized
legal

subject
commemorated
by
the
court
and
uncovers
the
ways
the
ECCC
has
been

unresponsive
to
more
expansive
claims
for
representation.

My
goal
is
simple:
by

destabilizing
the
memorial
authority
of
the
court,
I
clear
space
for
a
more
thorough

investigation
of
memorialization
occurring
beyond
institutional
sanction.

A
note
on
periodization:
this
chapter
was
written
in
October
2013.

This

month,
the
court
heard
closing
statements
from
all
parties
for
Case
002/01,
with
a

verdict
expected
early
next
year.

My
analysis
covers
the
events
of
the
court
up
to

this
date.

Unfortunately,
this
is
an
inherent
limitation
of
writing
the
history
of
a

court
that
is
still
in
session.

ECCC
History

The
ECCC
delivered
its
first
verdict
on
July
26,
2010,
ending
thirty
years
of
de

facto
legal
impunity
enjoyed
by
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Kaing
Geuk
Eav
(aka
“Duch”)

was
convicted
of
grave
breaches
of
the
1949
Geneva
Conventions,
and
crimes

against
humanity.
4

He
was
initially
sentenced
to
a
lenient
35
years
in
prison,
but

53

had
this
sentence
reduced
to
19
years
because
of
mitigating
factors.
5

The
Phnom

Penh
Post
recorded
local
reaction
to
the
verdicts,
finding
that
many
were
unsatisfied

by
the
light
sentence.

Tuol
Sleng
prison
survivor
Bou
Meng,
for
example,
told
the

Phnom
Penh
Post,
“I
cannot
accept
[the
verdict]
because
it
is
not
fair
to
me,
and

Cambodian
people
in
all
24
provinces
will
not
accept
it.

I
personally
want
him
to
be

in
jail
for
his
whole
life.

If
the
prosecutors
file
an
appeal,
then
I
will
follow
them.”
6

Still,
it
was
the
verdict
long
anticipated
by
many:
finally,
a
member
of
the
Khmer

Rouge
had
been
convicted
of
committing
systematic
crimes.

Many
took
solace
in

noting
that
the
nineteen-‐year
sentence
would
likely
keep
Duch
in
prison
for
the

remainder
of
his
life.

“Duch
can
never
be
a
free
man
and
will
die
in
prison,”

reasoned
Documentation
Center
of
Cambodia
(DC-‐Cam)
Director
Youk
Chhang.
7

The
path
to
the
verdict
was
not
easy.

Blame
is
often
been
placed
on
Prime

Minister
Hun
Sen,
who
often
seemed
more
focused
on
maintaining
his
tenuous,

albeit
persistent,
place
as
the
Cambodian
head
of
state
than
pursuing
the
Khmer

Rouge
in
court.

A
Human
Rights
Watch
report
rebuked:
“The
slow
pace
of

establishing
the
tribunal
reflected
a
longstanding
policy
articulated
by
Hun
Sen

during
internal
discussions
with
other
former
Khmer
Rouge
members
at
the
highest

levels
in
his
ruling
Cambodian
People’s
Party.

For
example,
Hun
Sen
explained
in
a

February
2000
Central
Committee
meeting
of
the
party
that
stalling
would
be
his

main
tactic
to
assert
control
over
the
UN
and
the
tribunal.

This
allowed
the

government
to
play
what
Cambodian
analyst
Lao
Mong
Hay
rightly
predicted
in

2000
would
be
a
‘cat-‐and-‐mouse
game’
to
‘delay
to
wear
out
the
patience
of
the

54

UN.’”
8

Today,
accusations
continue
regarding
Sen’s
alleged
sabotage
of
the
ECCC’s

investigations
into
additional
suspects.
9

But
the
thirty-‐year
wait
for
a
verdict
cannot
entirely
be
attributed
to
the

interference
of
the
Cambodian
government.

When
the
Vietnamese
invaded

Cambodia
and
ousted
the
Khmer
Rouge,
they
became
trapped
in
a
costly
and

complicated
military
and
diplomatic
situation.

Throughout
the
1980’s,
the
Khmer

Rouge
were
reduced
to
an
insurgent
guerilla
military
controlling
significant
areas
in

western
Cambodia.

Their
sustenance
was
dependent
on
the
aid
granted
by
allies,

who
provided
dependable
military
and
nonmilitary
relief.

According
to
Ben

Kiernan,
the
US
was
part
of
this
consortium
of
regular
contributors,
allotting
annual

aid
(including
weapons
and
ammunition)
throughout
this
civil
war.
10

Meanwhile,
the
Vietnamese-‐formed
People’s
Republic
of
Kampuchea
(PRK)

faced
a
number
of
diplomatic
roadblocks
while
attempting
to
have
its
legitimacy

recognized
by
the
United
Nations.

Their
opposition
triumphed:
Democratic

Kampuchea
was
allowed
to
retain
its
seat
in
the
UN
General
Assembly
because
of

Western
condemnation
over
the
Vietnamese
invasion.
The
US
position,
back
by
their

Cold
War
allies,
held
that
the
coup
was
illegal
under
international
law,
making
the

new
regime
illegitimate
under
UN
standards.

Thus,
while
there
was
common

knowledge
of
widespread
atrocities
committed
by
the
Khmer
Rouge
(US
President

Jimmy
Carter
famously
described
the
Khmer
Rouge
as
the
“worst
violator
of
human

rights
in
the
world”),
Democratic
Kampuchea
was
nevertheless
allowed
to
continue

representing
Cambodia’s
diplomatic
interests.
Until
1989,
the
UN
Credentials

Committee
continued
to
seat
the
Khmer
Rouge,
initially
as
Democratic
Kampuchea

55

and
later
under
a
Khmer
Rouge-‐dominated
coalition
government
labeled
the

Coalition
Government
of
Democratic
Kampuchea
(CGDK).

Throughout
the
1980’s,
Vietnam
faced
the
challenge
of
rebuilding
Cambodia

against
the
residual
military
threat
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
and
the
diplomatic

opposition
of
the
West.

By
1985,
economic
troubles
created
by
the
US-‐led
embargo

against
the
PRK,
and
the
Soviet
Union’s
decreasing
ability
to
subsidize
Vietnam’s

stabilization
effort
signaled
the
immanent
end
to
their
occupation.

Feeling

increasingly
optimistic
that
the
PRK
could
handle
its
own
military
and
economic

affairs,
the
Vietnam
regime
made
plans
to
completely
withdraw
by
1990.

Still,
the

Khmer
Rouge
(masked
by
its
coalitional
pseudonym)
managed
to
survive

throughout
this
period
thanks
to
a
generous
stream
of
foreign
aid.

For
Cambodians,
the
United
Nations
Transitional
Authority
in
Cambodia

(UNTAC)
represented
a
resolution
to
three
decades
of
civil
war,
and
a
democratic

entry
into
previously
unfamiliar
peace.

For
the
international
community,
UNTAC

was
an
exit
strategy
allowing
many
governments
to
finally
absolve
themselves
of

their
belligerence
by
establishing
a
framework
for
a
sovereign
Cambodia.

The

stalemate
that
was
the
Cambodian
civil
war
would
no
longer
be
an
expression
of
the

political
interests
of
Cold
War
powers,
nor
would
it
continue
to
be
their
economic

obligation.

The
Agreements
on
a
Comprehensive
Political
Settlement
of
the
Cambodia

Conflict,
which
empowered
the
Security
Council
to
establish
UNTAC,
reflected
this

diffuse
nature
of
responsibility
with
18
nations
joining
as
fellow
signatories.
11

Under
these
agreements,
leadership
of
the
country
was
transferred
to
a
coalition

56

comprising
the
CGDK
and
the
PRK
and
was
headed
by
Royalist
Norodom
Sihanouk.

The
agreements
ordered
the
immediate
withdrawal
and
non-‐return
of
all
foreign

troops,
and
required
the
cantonment
of
all
domestic
troops.

Additionally,
prisoners

of
war
and
civilian
internees
were
ordered
released,
and
refugees
were
given
the

opportunity
for
safe
repatriation.

United
Nations
peacekeepers
were
deployed
to

supervise
compliance
with
these
terms.

These
stipulations
were
in
place
to
set
the

stage
for
a
neutral
political
environment
that
could
host
the
internationally

moderated
election.

Controversially,
the
Khmer
Rouge
were
allowed
to
field
candidates
on
the

ballot
because
of
their
sustained
presence
in
the
Cambodian
political
landscape.

Years
of
economic
and
military
buttressing
from
abroad
provided
them
an
enduring

presence
that
could
not
simply
be
ignored.

While
their
inclusion
was
a
plausible

framework
for
dialog
surrounding
the
reconciliation
and
reincorporation
of

members
of
the
insurgent
regime,
the
Khmer
Rouge
never
gained
the
popular

support
of
the
Cambodian
people.

As
preparations
for
the
elections
developed,
the

unlikelihood
that
the
Khmer
Rouge
would
play
a
significant
role
in
the
elected

government
became
increasingly
apparent.

In
one
instance,
Khmer
Rouge
officials

were
violently
driven
out
of
Phnom
Penh
after
attempting
to
establish
an
office
in

the
city.

The
Khmer
Rouge
made
a
full
withdrawal
from
the
election
and
turned
its

efforts
to
sabotage.

Ahead
of
the
1993
elections,
the
Party
of
Democratic
Kampuchea
(the

political
moniker
adopted
by
the
Khmer
Rouge
at
the
time)
refused
UNTAC
access
to

territories
under
their
control,
which
included
efforts
to
register
voters.

Random

57

acts
of
robbery,
kidnapping,
and
murder
were
committed.

And
on
the
eve
of
the

elections,
rumors
circulated
about
a
Khmer
Rouge
assault
on
ballot
stations.

Election
day
attacks
never
surfaced,
however,
and
a
new
government
was
elected
in

May
1993.

Committing
themselves
to
a
political
margin,
the
Khmer
Rouge
resumed

their
insurgent
stance.

This
move
would
ensure
their
eventual
defeat.

With
a
newly
elected
government
boasting
international
legitimacy,

Cambodia
finally
had
a
viable
path
towards
permanently
disallowing
a
political
and

military
future
for
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Soon
after
the
elections
were
completed,
the

Cambodian
National
Assembly
adopted
the
Law
Outlawing
the
Group
of
Democratic

Kampuchea.

The
law
made
membership
in
the
Khmer
Rouge
illegal,
but
also

provided
a
brief
window
for
defectors
to
come
forward
in
exchange
for
legal

amnesty.

The
amnesty
window
was
originally
set
at
six
months,
but
was
in
practice

extended
indefinitely.

Many
rebel
soldiers
and
lower
tier
leaders,
exhausted
from

years
of
fighting,
accepted
this
invitation,
dealing
a
significant
blow
to
Khmer
Rouge

stability.

Fighting
still
continued
years
afterward,
but
the
law
was
important
for

establishing
the
groundwork
for
serious
discussions
about
legally
pursuing
Khmer

Rouge
leaders.

In
1997,
Cambodian
Co-‐Prime
Ministers
Norodom
Ranariddh
and
Hun
Sen

contacted
UN
Secretary
general
Kofi
Annan
requesting
United
Nations
assistance
in

establishing
a
legal
mechanism,
domestic
or
international,
for
prosecuting
high

ranking
members
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Responding
to
this
request,
Annan

appointed
a
“Group
of
Experts”
to
explore
legal
avenues
in
which
the
Khmer
Rouge

could
be
pursued
under
international
law.

In
March
1999,
the
Group
of
Experts

58

submitted
their
report
to
the
General
Assembly,
which
concluded
among
other

things
that
a
hypothetical
Khmer
Rouge
tribunal
should
be
an
ad
hoc
court
with
full

UN
control,
modeled
after
Rwanda’s
ICTR
and
Yugoslavia’s
ICTY.

Under
this

formulation,
international
prosecutors
would
be
used
and
the
court
would
be

housed
outside
Cambodian
borders.

Hun
Sen
rejected
the
UN
plan,
insisting
that
the
pursuit
of
criminal
charges

happen
on
Cambodian
terms
and
in
Cambodian
territory.

Both
sides
nonetheless

agreed
on
the
necessity
of
a
tribunal
and
commenced
negotiations
over
the
terms
of

international
participation.

As
key
points,
these
negotiations
included
the
status
of

pardoned
Khmer
Rouge
leaders
Nuon
Chea
and
Khieu
Samphan,
and
the

composition
of
the
court’s
personnel.
12

The
latter
point
was
important
for
the
UN

team,
who
felt
pessimism
over
the
professional
competency
of
the
Cambodian

judiciary
and
doubted
their
ability
to
fulfill
international
standards
of
justice.

In

2002,
Hans
Corell,
the
UN
Under-‐Secretary
General
for
Legal
Affairs
and
Legal

Counsel,
briefly
withdrew
from
negotiations
over
this
issue.

He
explained:
“The

United
Nations
has
come
to
the
conclusion
that
the
Extraordinary
Chambers,
as

currently
envisaged,
would
not
guarantee
the
independence,
impartiality
and

objectivity
that
a
court
established
with
the
support
of
the
United
Nations
must

have.”
13

International
pressure,
however,
brought
the
UN
back
to
negotiations,
and

by
2003
an
agreement
was
in
place
outlining
a
basic
structure
for
the
court.

The
ECCC
is
a
special
chamber
in
the
Cambodian
judiciary.

Its
hybrid

structure
involves
a
majority
Cambodian
judges
working
with
international

counterparts
in
three
judicial
chambers:
Pre-‐Trial,
Trial,
and
Supreme
Court.
14

All

59

decisions
adopt
a
supermajority
formula,
which
requires
the
corroboration
of
at

least
one
judge
from
each
side
of
the
bifurcated
structure.

Crimes
are
defined

according
to
the
1956
Cambodian
penal
code,
with
statute
of
limitations
extended

30
years
beyond
the
codified
terms.

Additionally,
international
agreements
that

include
Cambodia
as
signatories
during
and
before
the
temporal
focus
of
the
court

(1975-‐1979)
are
within
its
jurisdiction
(such
as
the
1949
Geneva
Conventions).

Victim
participation
at
the
ECCC
is
informed
by
a
civil
law
tradition
(a

remnant
of
Cambodia’s
French
influences),
and
allows
for
victim
participation
in

two
ways.

As
complainants,
victims
pursue
a
public
action
and
file
complaints

which
investigators
weigh
in
determining
the
criminal
acts
that
compose
the

indictment.

Complainants
are
not
represented
as
parties
in
hearings
and
are
not

allowed
to
seek
reparations.

However,
they
may
be
summoned
during
court

proceedings
to
provide
evidence
or
testimony.

Complainants
are
distinguished
from
Civil
Parties,
the
most
common
method

for
victim
participation.

According
to
ECCC
Internal
Rules,
Civil
Parties
are
entitled

to
“a)
Participate
in
criminal
proceedings
against
those
responsible
for
crimes

within
the
jurisdiction
of
the
ECCC
by
supporting
the
prosecution;
and
b)
Seek

collective
and
moral
reparation.”
15

This
arrangement
considers
Civil
Parties
full

participants
in
all
trial
activities
–
a
privilege
that
grants
them
a
level
of
agency

exceeding
that
of
other
major
international
courts.
16

Civil
parties
in
Case
001

(which
prosecuted
the
crimes
committed
by
Duch
at
the
notorious
S-‐21
prison)

were
allowed
to
make
opening
and
closing
statements,
call
witnesses,
and
file

appeals.

As
such,
the
ECCC
provides
an
unprecedented
level
of
participation
for

60

those
most
affected
by
Khmer
Rouge
crimes
by
“empowering
victims
to
confront

their
accused
tormentors
and
to
describe
publicly
the
harm
they
suffered.”

Because
most
who
suffered
harm
at
S-‐21
died
during
their
imprisonment,
the

court
tailored
its
definition
of
Civil
Party
participants
to
allow
for
an
expansive
pool

of
individuals
eligible
to
file
grievances.

According
to
ECCC
Internal
Rules,
all
Civil

Parties
must
“demonstrate
as
a
direct
consequence
of
at
least
one
of
the
crimes

alleged
against
the
Charged
Person,
that
he
or
she
has
in
fact
suffered
physical,

material
or
psychological
injury
upon
which
a
claim
of
collective
and
moral

reparation
be
based.”
17

In
the
Case
001
verdict,
the
Trial
Chamber
clarified
that
the

notion
of
“injury
suffered
as
a
direct
consequence
of
a
crime”
was
not
solely
limited

to
those
targeted
by
the
attack.

Rather,
criminal
acts
could
have
injurious

consequences
for
larger
groups
when
those
crimes
result
in
the
death
of
an

individual
closely
tied
to
others
through
social
and
material
bonds.

As
a
result,
in
addition
to
direct
victims
(those
who
were
personally
targeted

and
suffered
injury
as
a
result),
Civil
Parties
could
also
make
reparations
claims
as

indirect
victims
on
the
condition
that
they
present
persuasive
evidence
of
their

social
ties.

The
Case
001
verdict
elaborates:
“The
Chamber
nevertheless
considers

that
harm
alleged
by
members
of
a
victim’s
family
may,
in
exceptional

circumstances,
amount
to
a
direct
and
demonstrable
consequence
of
the
crime

where
applicants
are
able
to
prove
both
the
alleged
kinship
and
the
existence
of

circumstances
giving
rise
to
special
bonds
of
affection
or
dependence
on
the

deceased.”
18

Social
bonds
fractured
by
the
violence
of
Tuol
Sleng
prison
were
therefore

61

made
to
submit
to
the
court’s
threshold
of
proof.
For
those
who
failed
to
exceed
this

threshold,
feelings
of
loss
were
deemed
inadmissible
for
evidentiary
purposes
and

therefore
irrelevant
to
the
court’s
cause.

Of
the
90
indirect
victim
claims
filed
for

Case
001,
34
and
were
declared
inadmissible
in
the
final
judgment.

I
offer
one

example
here:
“Civil
Party
E2/62
claims
her
brother
was
allegedly
detained
and

executed
at
S-‐21.

In
support
of
her
claim,
she
provided
a
photograph
from
the
Tuol

Sleng
Museum
archives.

However,
the
photograph
is
unidentified
and
therefore

does
not
establish
whom
the
photograph
depicts.

Further,
and
as
the
Civil
Party
has

acknowledged,
no
document
exists
to
substantiate
the
nature
of
the
alleged
kinship

to
the
victim.”
19

Lacking
the
documentary
proof
to
demonstrate
that
some
form
of

social
loss
had
in
fact
occurred,
the
court
codifies
the
judges’
skepticism
into
its

official
record.

This
claim,
just
one
among
many,
demonstrates
that
recognition
by

the
ECCC
is
ultimately
conditional,
subject
to
scrutiny,
and
limited
according
to
its

authority
over
criminal
acts.

Supreme
Court
Chamber
judges
explained
the
court’s
position
in
its
appeal

judgment
after
Civil
Party
lawyers
contested
what
they
argued
was
an
excessively

high
burden
of
proof
for
achieving
indirect
victim
status:

In
order
to
establish
the
existence
of
indirect
victims,
the
Trial
Chamber
accepted
official

records
from
S-‐21
and
S-‐24,
including
registers,
detainee
lists,
photographs,
recorded

confessions,
and
biographies
in
the
preliminary
part
where
they
recorded
the
detainee’s

identity
and
could
not
reasonably
be
presumed
to
have
been
obtained
under
torture.

In

order
to
establish
kinship,
the
Trial
Chamber
accepted
birth
certificates
and
identity
cards,

attestation
from
commune
chiefs,
election
cards
and
voter
registration
forms,
and

photographs
accompanied
by
statements
from
third
parties.

The
completeness
and

coherence
of
the
applicants’
statements
were
evaluated
in
connection
with
the
documents.

The
presence
of
injury
on
the
part
of
indirect
victims
was
presumed
in
relation
to
the

immediate
family.
20

Indeed,
the
appeal
decision
demonstrated
that
quite
often,
written
statements
from

62

family
members
or
those
in
a
unique
position
to
affirm
the
truthfulness
of

applicants’
accounts
satisfied
the
court’s
review.

Civil
Party
Appellant
Chhoem

Sitha,
for
example,
submitted
his
appeal
with
a
statement
from
his
sister
attesting
to

the
familial
bond
he
shared
with
one
S-‐21
victim
and
was
admitted
on

reconsideration.
21

Still,
twelve
of
the
twenty-‐two
Civil
Parties
rejected
in
the

original
verdict
remained
unrecognized
after
appeal.

Nheb
Kimsrea
was
among
the
Civil
Party
appellants
whose
appeal
was

denied.

Nheb
originally
filed
her
claim
citing
special
bonds
of
affection
with
her

deceased
uncle
and
five
cousins,
who
were
imprisoned
and
executed
at
S-‐21
before

she
was
born.

The
trial
chamber
found
that,
since
she
never
personally
knew
the

direct
victims,
special
bonds
of
affection
could
not
possibly
have
existed.

Her
claim

for
Civil
Party
inclusion
was
denied.
22

In
her
appeal,
Nheb’s
lawyers
argued
that

requiring
a
direct
relationship
with
an
S-‐21
victim
was
too
narrow
a
test
for

recognizing
victimhood
because
it
overlooked
the
ways
legacies
of
the
genocide

transmit
beyond
immediate
victims:
“She
is
on
a
daily
basis
confronted
with
the

suffering
of
her
father,
which
causes
harm
directly
to
her.”

They
argued
that
these

deaths
in
her
extended
family
had
an
impact
on
the
social
texture
of
her
immediate

family
in
ways
that
amounted
to
a
demonstrable
injury.

The
Supreme
Court
Chamber
rejected
the
appeal
on
the
grounds
that

addressing
such
an
indirect
injury
was
beyond
the
ability
of
the
court:
“Given
the

explicit
requirement
that
harm
suffered
by
the
victim
result
as
a
direct
consequence

of
the
crimes,
the
Supreme
Court
Chamber
holds
that
the
pain
and
dissatisfaction

alleged
by
the
Appellant
do
not
fall
within
the
purview
of
ECCC
reparations.”

Here,

63

the
court
limits
the
social
proximity
in
which
victimhood
can
be
claimed,
and
rejects

Nheb’s
appeal
on
the
basis
that
she
“could
not
have
had
special
bonds
of
affection

with
the
direct
victims
because
she
was
born
after
their
deaths.”

By
claiming

psychological
injury
over
the
fate
of
family
members
dead
before
her
birth,
she

disrupts
the
court’s
attempts
to
render
the
genocide
in
terms
of
immediate
effects

and
attendant
legal
remedies.

Because
of
this,
her
claim
cannot
be
incorporated
into

the
legal
scope
of
the
court.

Despite
the
generous
level
of
legal
access
guaranteed
to
Civil
Party

Appellants
in
the
ECCC,
Nheb’s
claim
highlights
the
ways
the
court
participates
in

the
mediation
of
death
to
the
occasional
detriment
of
those
who
seek
official

recognition
for
the
violences
they’ve
encountered.

The
Cambodian
genocide,
an

event
whose
residues
transform
the
terms
of
sociality
for
those
who
encounter
its

legacies,
is
addressable
by
the
court
only
at
the
moment
of
law’s
violation.

Pervasive
memories
granting
the
genocide
an
afterlife
beyond
predefined
durations

are
inconsequential
to
the
court’s
task
of
interrogating
the
transgressions
of

domestic
and
international
law.

Instead,
the
court
grants
access
to
Civil
Party

appellants
only
insofar
as
they
can
narrowly
correlate
the
circumstances
of
their

subjectivity
to
particular
events
that
are
recognizable
as
crimes.

The
ECCC’s
insistence
that
official
recognition
of
injury
be
limited
to
those

who
can
prove
victimhood
by
reiterating
the
violences
committed
against
them

reduces
the
aftermath
of
the
genocide
to
one
based
on
the
utility
it
can
provide
to

the
Rule
of
Law.

Because
of
this
commitment
to
sanctifying
the
law’s
legitimacy,
the

court
must
occasionally
refuse
recognition
for
victims
whose
claims
are
deemed

64

insufficient
on
evidentiary
grounds.

Ultimately,
the
court
exists
to
prove
that
crimes

happened
and
that
it
has
the
authority
to
deliver
punishment
as
a
result.

Case
002

Case
001
offered
ECCC
judges
the
opportunity
to
test
the
court’s
Internal

Rules
in
a
real
criminal
case,
which
could
then
be
revised
as
additional
prosecutions

moved
forward.

Indeed,
the
Duch
case
was
a
significantly
less
complicated

application
of
the
court’s
Internal
Rules
than
Case
002,
which
sought
the
conviction

of
multiple
suspects
at
varying
levels
of
responsibility
for
policies
affecting
all
of

Cambodia.

Moreover,
connecting
Case
002
suspects
to
systematic
crimes
required

establishing
the
applicability
of
the
doctrine
of
Joint
Criminal
Enterprise
to
the

conduct
of
the
defendants.
23

Case
002
was
an
expansive
case
that
presented

numerous
practical
challenges
for
judges,
lawyers,
and
Civil
Parties.

The
magnitude

of
details
requiring
management
threatened
to
create
a
sprawling
trial
that
could

indefinitely
delay
a
verdict.

Anticipating
a
high
number
of
Civil
Party
applicants,
the
court
altered
the

ways
Civil
Parties
would
be
allowed
to
participate.

During
the
relatively
limited

Case
001,
the
trial
was
slowed
by
attorneys
representing
separate
Civil
Party
groups

who
often
required
time
consuming
cross-‐examinations.

Lamented
one
civil
party

lawyer,
“A
few
weeks
into
the
Duch
trial
it
became
apparent
that
the
process
of

allowing
each
party
to
the
proceedings,
including
every
civil
party
group,
to
pose

unlimited
questions
to
witnesses,
including
experts
and
accused,
considerably

lengthened
the
duration
of
the
proceedings.”

65

Ahead
of
the
Case
002
hearings,
an
ECCC
Plenary
Session
distinguished
the

roles
of
Civil
Parties
before
and
during
trial.

In
pre-‐trial
phases,
Civil
Parties

participate
as
unique
entities,
and
are
represented
by
lawyers
of
their
choosing.

During
trial,
however,
Civil
Parties
are
represented
by
the
court-‐appointed
Civil

Party
Lead
Co-‐Lawyers,
who
are
tasked
with
weighing
the
disparate
concerns
of

Civil
Party
groups
and
strategize
ways
to
best
represent
their
concerns
to
the
court.

Under
this
configuration,
all
Civil
Parties
come
together
as
a
“consolidated
group”

once
the
case
comes
to
trial.

In
a
press
release,
the
Plenary
Session
explained:

To
date,
approximately
4000
Civil
Party
applications
have
been
received
by
the
Victims
unit.

It
is
clear
that
existing
legal
provisions
in
Cambodian
criminal
procedure
are
not
designed
to

deal
with
individualized
participation
by
victims
on
this
scale.

The
number
of
Civil
Party

applicants,
combined
with
the
complexity,
size
and
other
unique
features
of
ECCC

proceedings,
made
it
necessary
to
adopt
a
new
system
of
victim
representation
during
the

trial
and
appeal
stage.
24

Such
practical
considerations
were
adopted
to
address
fears
that
a
drawn
out

trial
would
delay
a
verdict.

Although
the
Duch
decision
held
significant
symbolic

importance
(because,
perhaps,
of
the
notoriety
of
the
S21
mug
shots),
the
suspects

in
Case
002
were
more
appropriate
centerpieces
for
the
ECCC
because
of
their
high

positions
in
the
Khmer
Rouge
hierarchy.

Their
advanced
age
and
failing
health

added
to
the
urgency
felt
by
the
court
to
deliver
a
quick
verdict
and
sentence.

Their

worst
case
scenario
was
to
have
yet
another
leader
die
before
facing
judgment
by
a

court,
which
had
been
the
fate
of
former
Khmer
Rouge
leader
Pol
Pot.

Civil
Party

Lead
Co-‐Lawyer
Elisabeth
Simonneau
explained
that
these
amendments
to
Civil

Party
participation
“can
permit
a
kind
of
coherent
and
strategical
defence,
avoiding

opposite
positions
or
repetitive
pleadings.”

Still,
the
decision
further
restricted
Civil
Party
participation
by
not
only

66

reducing
survivor
experiences
to
their
legal
utility,
but
also
mandating
the

aggregation
of
their
victimhood
so
that
even
their
evidentiary
value
could
only
be

communicated
in
generic
form.

Attorneys
empowered
by
Civil
Parties
were
made
to

justify
the
inclusion
of
their
clients’
testimony
by
highlighting
its
relevance
to
a

larger
and
“coherent”
prosecutorial
scheme.

While
the
ECCC
has
often
been
lauded

for
the
expansive
permissions
granted
for
survivor
participation,
these
rights
to

participation
were
significantly
compromised
under
this
revised
Civil
Party
scheme.

John
Ciorciari
and
Anne
Heindel
have
appropriately
questioned
the
effects
of
this

format:
“Now
the
system
is
functioning
more
efficiently,
but
it
is
questionable
if
Civil

Parties
in
Case
002
are
still
accorded
the
rights
of
‘parties,’
or
will
have
the
same

quality
of
experience
as
those
who
joined
Case
001.”
25

Additionally,
the
magnitude
of
Case
002
also
motivated
the
Trial
Chamber’s

decision
to
dissect
the
indictment
into
“mini-‐trials.”

Rule
89ter
of
the
ECCC’s

Internal
Rules
grants
the
Trial
Chamber
the
power
to
divide
cases
in
relation
to
one

or
more
suspects,
applying
partial
or
the
entirety
of
charges.

On
September
22,

2011,
the
Trial
Chamber
announced
that
they
would
exercise
that
power
in
the

formation
of
Case
002/01.

Declaring
a
separation
of
proceedings
“to
be
in
the
best

interests
of
justice,”
the
Trial
Chamber
ordered
the
mini-‐trial
to
address
the
roles
of

the
accused
in
relation
to
early
forced
population
movements
from
Phnom
Penh,

and
in
the
Central,
Southwest,
West,
and
East
Zones
(“phases
1
and
2”).

The
crimes

examined
would
include:
“Crimes
against
humanity
including
murder,

extermination,
persecution
(except
on
religious
grounds),
forced
transfer
and

enforced
disappearances
(insofar
as
the
pertain
to
movement
of
population
phases

67

1
and
2).”
26

Chronologically,
the
Trial
Chamber
sought
to
address
the
first
months

of
Democratic
Kampuchea
and
the
crimes
committed
during
their
transition
into

power.

Facing
opposition
from
the
prosecution
over
what
was
argued
to
be
an

unnecessarily
narrow
trial,
the
Trial
Chamber
justified
its
position
in
an
appeal

decision.

In
addition
to
practical
concerns
about
the
scale
of
charges,
evidence,
and

testimony
to
be
weighed,
they
argued
that
their
vision
of
Case
002/01
provided
an

adequately
thorough
scope
for
establishing
a
legal
and
historical
foundation
for
the

court’s
records,
and
that
the
charges
represented
crimes
affecting
the
most
victims

possible.
27

Yet,
the
Trial
Chamber
also
admitted
that
severance
was
motivated
by

concerns
over
the
declining
health
of
the
suspects:
“Given,
as
the
Co-‐Prosecutors

allege,
that
there
is
real
concern
as
to
whether
the
Accused
will
be
physically
and

mentally
able
to
participate
in
a
lengthy
trial,
the
Chamber
considered
these

measures
to
be
essential
in
order
to
‘[safeguard]
the
fundamental
interest
of
victims

in
achieving
meaningful
and
timely
justice,
and
the
right
of
all
Accused
in
Case
002

to
an
expeditious
trial.’”
28

Since
Case
002
was
considered
to
be
likely
the
only
trial
Nuon
Chea
and

Khieu
Samphan
would
face,
prosecutors
objected
to
the
severance
decision
on
the

grounds
that
the
scope
of
the
mini-‐trial
wasn’t
sufficiently
representative
of
the

indictment.

An
appeal
was
filed
with
the
Supreme
Court
Chamber
arguing
that
the

Trial
Chamber’s
formulation
of
Case
002/01
had
“the
effect
of
terminating

proceedings”
for
all
other
charges
not
included.
29

They
explained:

68

The
Co-‐Prosecutors
submit
that
it
is
reasonable
to
conclude
that
future
trials
in
Case
002
will

not
occur,
or
that
their
possibility
is
at
best
intangibly
remote.
Counsel
for
Ieng
Sary,
Nuon

Chea
and
the
Lead
Co-‐Lawyers
for
the
Civil
Parties
have
all
expressed
this
view.
With
the

possibility
of
further
trials
so
remote,
there
will
be
no
opportunity
to
address
the
criminal

responsibility
of
the
Accused
concerning
the
excluded
crime
sites.
30

Still,
the
Co-‐Prosecutors
recognized
the
need
to
accommodate
the
practical

realities
of
the
trial:
“The
Co-‐Prosecutors…would
have
wished
to
see
the
Accused

stand
trial
for
all
of
the
crimes
alleged
in
the
Closing
Order.
However,
the
Co-‐
Prosecutors,
and
indeed
the
Court,
must
operate
within
the
practical
realities
they

face
(including
those
set
out
below),
rather
than
the
ideal
conditions
they
would

desire.”
They
requested
a
modest
expansion
of
Case
002/01
to
include
the
District

12
execution
sites,
the
Tuol
Po
Chrey
execution
site,
and
the
crimes
committed
at
S-‐
21.

The
Trial
Chamber
responded
by
rejecting
the
District
12
and
S-‐21
requests,

finding
them
beyond
the
natural
sequencing
envisioned
by
the
severance
order.

Tuol
Po
Chrey
was
included,
but
only
insofar
as
it
related
to
crimes
occurring
during

the
immediate
purge
of
the
former
regime.

After
taking
submissions
from
all
parties
on
the
matter,
the
Supreme
Court

ruled
on
the
severance
issue
on
February
8,
2013.

The
court
sided
with
the

prosecution
and
found
that
the
Trial
Chamber’s
decision
to
sever
the
indictment
had

the
effect
of
staying
all
charges
falling
outside
Case
002/01:
“The
Supreme
Court

considers
that,
as
the
definitive
decision
on
the
mode
of
the
severance
of
Case
002,

the
Impugned
Decision
results
in
a
de
facto
stay
of
the
proceedings
in
relation
to
all

charges
placed
outside
the
scope
of
Case
002/01,
and
that,
under
the
present

circumstances,
such
stay
does
not
carry
a
sufficiently
tangible
promise
of

resumption
as
to
permit
arriving
at
a
judgment
on
the
merits.”
31

Echoing
concerns

69

about
the
suspects’
age
and
declining
health,
and
noting
the
Trial
Chambers
“failure

to
provide
a
tangible
plan
or
any
information
regarding
the
subsequent
cases
to
be

tried
in
the
course
of
Case
002,”
the
Supreme
Court
annulled
the
severance
decision

and
ordered
that
the
Trial
Chamber
reevaluate
the
scale
of
Case
002/01.

The
annulment
of
the
severance
decision
created
more
practical
troubles,

however.

By
the
time
of
this
decision,
the
first
mini-‐trial
was
nearly
two
years
into

its
hearings.

Requiring
the
Trial
Chamber
to
reformulate
its
severance
of
the

indictment
had
the
effect
of
delaying
proceedings
until
the
scope
of
the
case
could

be
resolved.

Expeditiously,
submissions
from
all
parties
on
alternative
severance

formulations
were
immediately
accepted,
and
by
April
2013
the
Trial
Chamber

issued
an
updated
decision.

Rather
than
heed
the
concerns
of
Prosecutors
and
Civil
Parties,
however,
the

Trial
Chamber
simply
reiterated
its
reasoning
for
the
original
severance.

Particularly,
addressing
fears
that
the
severance
would
have
the
effect
of

terminating
proceedings
for
the
remaining
indictment
charges,
the
Trial
Chamber

responded:

The
Severance
Order
indicated
that
while
the
scope
of
the
Case
002/01
crime
base
would
be

limited
to
factual
allegations
described
in
the
Indictment
as
population
movement
phases

one
and
two
and
associated
crimes
against
humanity,
the
Case
002/01
verdict
would
outline

the
structure
of
Democratic
Kampuchea,
the
roles
of
each
of
Accused
both
proceedings
and

during
the
DK
period,
as
well
as
policies
of
DK
on
the
issues
raised
in
the
entire
Indictment.
32

In
summary,
they
argued
that
although
Case
002/01
would
likely
be
the
only
trial

for
Nuon
Chea
and
Khieu
Samphan,
the
mini-‐trial
still
held
the
possibility
of
creating

a
thorough
legal
record
of
the
Democratic
Kampuchea
period
because
the

presentation
of
evidence
would
allow
for
a
complete
picture
of
their
criminality.

70

This
principle,
they
felt,
was
at
the
heart
of
the
ECCC
mandate.

This
reasoning
defied
the
experiences
of
at
least
two
Civil
Party
lawyers,

however.

In
a
blog
post,
Jennifer
Holligan
and
Vani
Sathisan
described
their

frustration
with
the
Severance
Order’s
effect
on
the
trial:

In
our
experience,
Civil
Parties
have
been
prevented
from
submitting
evidence
highlighting

the
persecution
and
genocide
they
had
suffered
at
critical
junctures
during
the
regime’s

reign.

They
have
been
able
to
speak
only
to
crimes
and
crime
sites
in
connection
with
forced

evacuations
from
specific
regions
in
Cambodia
and
time
periods
or
phases
when
the
Khmer

Rouge
regime
first
came
to
power;
the
regimes
structure;
and
the
defendants’
roles
during

the
period
just
prior
to
and
during
its
reign.

Even
though
its
Severance
Order
contemplates

that
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
policies
raised
in
the
‘entire
Indictment’
are
within
the
scope
of
this

mini-‐trial,
the
Trial
Chamber
has
not
given
much
latitude
to
witness/civil
party
evidence
or

testimony
that
relates
to
policies
beyond
the
narrow
confines
of
the
early
phases
of
the

abovementioned
forced
evacuations.
33

Holligan
and
Sathisan’s
clients
include
ethnic
minorities
whose
experiences

compose
the
charges
of
genocide,
a
charge
that
will
never
be
adjudicated
if
the

ECCC’s
case
load
fails
to
move
beyond
Case
002/01.

Ultimately,
the
Trial
Chamber’s
review
of
its
Severance
Decision
led
to
the

reinstatement
of
their
original
formulation
–
charges
would
include
only
crimes

associated
with
early
population
movements
and
the
Toul
Po
Chrey
execution
site.

Citing
“circumstances
beyond
the
control
of
the
Chamber”
(referring
to
the
age
and

health
of
the
suspects
and
questions
about
future
funding
for
the
court),
they

restated
that
severance
was
“necessary
in
the
interests
of
justice”
and
that
their

original
formulation
minimized
the
risk
that
Civil
Parties
would
be
denied
their
legal

remedy
because
of
the
failing
health
of
the
suspects.

Once
again,
the
Co-‐Prosecutor’s
filed
an
immediate
appeal
on
the
grounds

that
the
trial
chamber
failed
to
follow
the
guidelines
prescribed
by
the
Supreme

Court
Chamber.

Particularly,
prosecutors
argued
that
the
renewed
severance

71

decision
neither
offered
a
tangible
plan
for
the
adjudication
of
the
remaining

charges,
nor
was
there
any
consideration
over
the
representativeness
of
the
entire

indictment
within
the
first
mini-‐trial.

The
Supreme
Court
Chamber
agreed:

The
Trial
Chamber
dismissed
‘the
notion
of
representativeness
of
the
Indictment
as

meaningless,’
and
proceeded
to
resume
the
proceedings
in
Case
002/01
from
the
point
it

had
reached
when
the
SCC
decision
was
rendered.

The
Trial
Chamber
also
declared
that
it

‘doubts
that
projections
for
future
trials
can
meaningfully
constitute
a
plan,’
and
abstained

from
resolving
the
issue
as
to
how
any
subsequent
trials
might
be
conducted,
and

particularly
when
a
second
trial
in
Case
002
could
commence.
34

They
therefore
ruled
that
the
Trial
Chamber
committed
“an
error
of
law
and
an

error
in
the
exercise
of
its
discretion.”

Rather
than
invalidate
the
renewed
Severance
Order,
however,
the
Supreme

Court
expressed
concerns
about
the
Trial
Chamber’s
competency
to
complete
its

tasks
in
Case
002/01
and
questioned
the
need
for
more
“unnecessary
delays.”

They

upheld
the
Trial
Chamber’s
severance
on
these
grounds,
with
the
caveat
that
Case

002/02
would
commence
as
soon
as
possible
and
that
the
question
of

representativeness
of
the
entire
Indictment
would
be
considered
in
a
more

thorough
manner.

Nonetheless,
the
complications
associated
with
Case
002
(in
whole
and
its

severed
form)
raise
critical
questions
about
the
role
of
the
ECCC
in
creating
a

memorial
mechanism
for
the
Cambodian
genocide.

By
reducing
the
role
of
Civil

Parties,
the
trial
has
placed
“practical”
concerns
over
that
of
survivors.

Instead,
legal

argumentation
and
interrogation
take
precedent
so
that
the
evidentiary
threshold

required
to
appease
the
Rule
of
Law
can
be
satisfied.

And
as
the
ECCC
negotiation

reveals,
the
fulfillment
of
the
Rule
of
Law
was
the
driving
impetus
driving

international
interest
in
the
tribunal.

According
to
John
Ciociari
and
Anne
Heindel:

72

Because
the
ECCC’s
victim
participation
scheme
was
not
anticipated
in
the
Court’s

framework
documents,
it
was
vulnerable
from
the
outset
to
resource
constraints.
There
was

no
money
in
the
budget
for
civil
party
legal
representation,

no
vision
of
how
the
scheme

would
work
in
practice,
and
relatively
few
people
at
the
Court—or
in
the
United
Nations
or

Cambodian
government—interested
in
prioritizing
the
effort
to
ensure
its
success.

Indeed,
the
court
both
aggregates
victim
claims
and
mediates
them
through
a

court-‐appointed
lawyer,
thereby
disallowing
a
truly
substantive
avenue
for

participating
in
the
court.

Survivors,
if
deemed
admissible,
are
a
novelty
for
a
court

whose
devotion
is
to
the
law
before
all
else.

As
this
dissertation
argues,
however,

the
clamor
for
legal
satisfaction
has
been
differentially
applied
in
the
pursuit
of
the

Khmer
Rouge.

Violations
of
international
law
abound:
various
acts
of
war
in

Cambodia
and
the
long
history
of
material
support
given
to
the
Khmer
Rouge
will

remain
uninvestigated.

Additionally,
the
distribution
of
Security
Council
veto

powers
and
their
ability
to
sink
international
criminal
investigations
makes
it
highly

unlikely
that
these
perpetrators
will
ever
face
legal
interrogation.

These
questions
concerning
the
effectiveness
of
the
ECCC
are
compounded

by
severance
of
Case
002.

If
fears
about
the
age
and
health
of
Nuon
Chea
and
Khieu

Samphan
prove
true,
some
of
the
most
severe
crimes
systematically
enforced
by
the

Khmer
Rouge
will
forever
go
unaddressed
in
a
legal
context.

These
crimes
include

genocide,
various
crimes
falling
under
the
category
of
crimes
against
humanity,
and

various
crimes
amounting
to
serious
violations
of
the
1949
Geneva
Conventions.

While
the
purpose
of
this
chapter
is
not
intended
to
invalidate
the
work
of

the
ECCC
or
to
deny
its
worthiness
for
survivors
grappling
with
its
legacy,
I

adamantly
refuse
the
notion
that
memorialization
requires
the
sanction
of
a
legal

body.

This
dissertation
is
dedicated
to
revealing
the
ways
legacies
of
the
genocide

73

are
encountered
by
survivors
to
create
new
social
worlds
that
are
responsive
to
the

forms
of
memory,
trauma,
and
forgetting
forged
in
the
genocide’s
aftermath.

These

are
active
engagements
with
the
past
that
persist
beyond
the
3
years,
8
months,
and

20
days
that
have
defined
the
official
jurisdiction
of
the
court.

Notes

1. I explain this in greater detail later in this chapter. Worth noting for now are the funding issues that
have also plagued the court. The court has faced donor fatigue for a number of years. With many
donor states dissatisfied with the progress of the court, there is a residual fear that international
money will be withdrawn from the court.
2. The examples are many, but I include one here to illustrate the point. A Human Rights Watch article
published March 14, 2013 offered this grave evaluation of the ECCC: “Only one trial of the five
people that Hun Sen allowed to be indicted has been completed: Kaing Guek Eav alias Duch, the
chairman of the Khmer Rouge S21 Security Office in Phnom Penh known as Tuol Sleng, who
confessed to overseeing mass murder and torture there and was convicted of crimes against
humanity and war crimes and sentenced to life imprisonment in February 2012. Ieng Thirith, the
wife of Ieng Sary and the former Khmer Rouge minister of social action, was ruled unfit for trial in
November 2011 due to worsening dementia. She was subsequently released from detention under
judicial supervision. Only former Khmer Rouge Deputy Communist Party Secretary Nuon Chea and
Central Committee member Khieu Samphan remain on trial. Meanwhile, Cambodian judges and
prosecutors are continuing successfully to block the arrest and indictment of five additional suspects
whom UN prosecutors have named as responsible for serious crimes during the Khmer Rouge
period. Hun Sen has publicly called for no further trials.”
3. Schlund-Vials, War, Genocide, and Justice
4. Kaing Geuk Eav was the prison administrator at Tuol Sleng (S-21) prison. S-21 is notorious for the
amount of violence that occurred there. Notably, it was also responsible for producing some of the
most well known visual evidence of Khmer Rouge crimes: a collection of mug shots taken when
prisoners were admitted into the prison. See Chapter 3 for a more thorough description of Duch and
the charges against him.
5. The court credited Duch for time already served and was given additional credit for being detained
illegal prior to the trial. However, his sentence was extended to life in prison after appeals.
6.

May
Titthara
and
Sebastian
Strangio.
“A
Mixed
Reaction
to
Judgment
Day.”
Phnom
Penh
Post,

July
27,
2010.

7.

Dacil
Keo.
Disarray
and
Disappointment
after
Duch
Verdict.
Documentation
Center
of
Cambodia,

November
2,
2013.

http://www.d.dccam.org/Projects/ECCC_Trial_Observation/pdf/Disarray_and_Disappointmen
t_after_the_Duch_Verdict-‐-‐Dacil_Keo.pdf.

8.

“Cambodia:
Ieng
Sary
Death
Shows
Khmer
Rouge
Court
Failing.”
Human
Rights
Watch,
March

14,
2013.
http://www.hrw.org/news/2013/03/14/cambodia-‐ieng-‐sary-‐death-‐shows-‐khmer-‐
rouge-‐court-‐failings.

9. In September 2009, investigations over the acts of additional suspects opened. The investigation
closed in April 2011 without indictments, leading some to question the commitment of the Co-
Investigating judges to the case. Prior to this, Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen was vocal about
ending the court after Case 002 leading to speculation that he was influential in the conduct of the
CO-Investigating judges. Many believe the cursory investigation is demonstrative of the corruption
within the Cambodian judiciary.

74

10.

Ben
Kiernan,
“The
Cambodian
Genocide
and
Imperial
Culture.”
90
Years
of
Denial,
April
5,

2005.
www.yale.edu/cgp/KiernanCambodia30thAnniversaryEssay.doc.
Kenton
Clymer,
in
his

book
The
United
States
and
Cambodia,
adds:
“The
feeding
program
along
the
border

unquestionably
resuscitated
the
Khmer
Rouge,
thus
paving
the
way
for
much
stronger
armed

resistance
against
the
PRK
during
the
1980s.”
(135)

However,
he
adopts
a
more
tentative

position
regarding
whether
or
not
the
US
provided
military
aid.
11. Signatories to the Paris Agreements were: Australia, Brunei, Cambodia, Canada, China, France,
India, Indonesia, Japan, Laos, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, the Soviet Union, the
United Kingdom, the United States, Vietnam, Yugoslavia, and Zimbabwe.
12. In 1998, Nuon Chea and Khieu Samphan were given pardons in exchange for their surrender and the
defection of their troops. The move signaled the demise of the Khmer Rouge. In order to pursue the
two in court, the prosecution has had to interpret the amnesty’s relevance to the current proceedings.
It is commonly accepted that the pardon applied only to the 1993 the Law Outlawing the Group of
Democratic Kampuchea. Crimes committed during the temporal focus of the court therefore
remained unaddressed.
13. Corell questioned Hun Sen’s willingness to allow legitimate participation in the court to the UN.
After a preliminary draft of the agreement was passed by the National Assembly (one that had yet to
be fully approved by Corell), negotiations between the UN and Cambodia broke off.
14.

The
ECCC
website
describes
the
role
for
each
judicial
chamber:
“The
Pre-‐Trial
Chamber
can

hear
motions
and
appeals
against
orders
issued
by
the
Co-‐Investigating
Judges
while
a
case
is

still
under
investigation.
There
are
three
Cambodian
judges
and
two
international
judges,
and

any
decisions
requires
an
affirmative
vote
of
at
least
four
out
of
five
judges.

If
a
case
following

the
conclusion
of
investigation
is
being
sent
to
trial,
the
trial
hearings
will
be
conducted
before

the
Trial
Chamber.
The
Trial
Chamber
will
decide
whether
an
accused
person
is
guilty
or
not

guilty
based
on
the
witness
testimonies,
evidence
and
arguments
presented
by
the
parties

during
the
trial.

There

Cambodian
judges
and
two
international
judges
comprises
the
Trial

Chamber,
and
a
guilty
verdict
requires
the
affirmative
vote
of
at
least
four
out
of
five
judges.

The
Supreme
Court
Chamber
can
hear
appeals
against
decisions
and
judgments
issued
by
the

Trial
Chamber.
Four
Cambodian
judges
and
three
international
Judges
comprises
the
Supreme

Court
Chamber.
Any
decision
by
the
Chamber
requires
an
affirmative
vote
of
at
least
five
out
of

seven
judges.”

15. ECCC Internal Rules, revision 8. Rule 23(1)
16. According to Andrew F. Diamond’s analysis, the ICC permits victim participation by mandating that
victims’ views and concerns will be considered during trial proceedings. However, this does not
guarantee any level of participation by civil parties or their lawyers and, moreover, do not retain an
automatic right to access evidence, call witnesses, or participate in witness questioning. The
International Criminal Tribunals for the Former Yugoslavia and the International Criminal Tribunals
for Rwanda each prescribe an even narrower role and limit victim participation to the provision of
testimony as witnesses for the prosecution.
17. ECCC Internal Rules, revision 5. Rule 23bis(1b)
18. Case 001 Judgment (Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia 2010). p. 221(643)
19. On appeal, the court reversed its decision and reinstated and admitted this Civil party’s application.
The Supreme Court chamber comments: “The Civil Party Appellant submitted two additional
witness statements, one from the Appellant’s sister who identifies the person in the photograph a s
the Appellant’s brother, and one from a village chief who confirms the identity of the person in the
photograph. The Supreme Court Chamber observes that written statements do not qualify as witness
testimony, however the Chamber may accept them as unofficial documents. The authenticity of
these documents was not challenged. Such documents sufficiently corroborate the statement of the
injured party. Therefore the Supreme Court Chamber is satisfied that there is basis to reverse the
Trial Chamber’s decision and to admit this Civil Party’s application.”
20.

Case
001
Judgment
(Extraordinary
Chambers
in
the
Courts
of
Cambodia
2010).
p.
248-‐9(526)

21. The Appeal Judgment reads: “The Supreme Court chamber has no reason to doubt that the Appellant
‘grew up’ and was ‘very close’ with his nephew. Here the Supreme Court also recalls that the notion
of family in the context of Cambodia is large enough to encompass the relationship between an uncle

75

and his nephew. Thus, the Supreme Court Chamber reverses the Trial Chamber’s decision and
confirms the Civil Party status of this Appellant.” 263(570)
22. The appeal judgment considered the appropriateness of “special bonds of affection and dependence”
and its linkage to injury. The Supreme Court Chamber argued: “The Supreme Court chamber finds
that the criterion of special bonds of affection or dependence connecting the applicant with the direct
victim captures the essence of inter-personal relations, the destruction of which is conducive to an
injury on the part of victims. This criterion applies to all persons who claim to be indirect victims,
whether family or not, because without prior bonds tying claimants emotionally, physically or
economically to the direct victim, no injury would have resulted from the commission of the crime.”
(Emphasis mine.) Appeal judgment 208-9(447).

23. In the ICTY’s Tadic case, the doctrine of Joint Criminal Enterprise (JCE) was developed to identify
three categories of criminal liability. The ECCC has determined that the first two categories of JCE
are applicable. In the first category, all participants share intent to commit a crime and therefore
share responsibility. In the second category, participants share liability for implementing an
institutional framework leading to the furtherance of criminal behavior.
24.

Press
Release.
ECCC
7th
Plenary
Session,
February
9,
2010.

25.

John
D.
Ciociari
and
Anne
Heindel.
Experiments
in
International
Criminal
Justice:
Lessons
from

the
Khmer
Rouge
Tribunal.
Cambodia
Tribunal
Monitor,
June
4,
2013.

26. Severance Order Purusant to Internal Rule 89ter (“Severance Order”), paragraph 5. ECCC Trial
Chamber, 22 September 2011
27. Decision on Co-Prosecutors’ Request for Reconsideration of the Terms of the Trial Chambers’
Severance Order and Related Motions and Annexes (“Decision on Request for Reconsideration”),
paragraph 10. ECCC Trial Chamber, 18 October 2011: “The Chamber in its severance order was
instead motivated by the following objective: To Divide Case 002 into manageable parts that each
take an abbreviated time to determine; To ensure that the first trial encompasses a thorough
examination of the fundamental issues and allegations against all Accused; To provide a foundation
for a more detailed examination of the remaining charges and factual allegations against the
Accused in later trials; To follow as far as possible the chronology and/or logical sequence of the
closing order (approximately 1975-1976); To ensure as far as possible that the issues examined in
the first trial provide a basis for the consideration of the mode of liability of joint criminal enterprise
by including all accused; and to select those factual allegation that affect as many victims as
possible.”
28. Decision on Request for Reconsideration, paragraph 11
29. ECCC Internal Rules, Revision 8. Rule 104(4)(a)
30. Co-Prosecutors Immediate Appeal of Decision Concerning the Scope of Trial in Case 002/01 with
Annex I and Confidential Annex II, paragraph 15. ECCC Office of the Co-Prosecutors, 7 Nov 2012
31. Decision on the Co-Prosecutors’ Immediate Appeal of the Trial Chamber’s Decision Concerning the
Scope of Case Case 002/01 (Decision on the Immediate Appeal), paragraph 25. ECCC Supremem
Court Chamber, 8 February 2013.
32. Decision on Severance of Case 002 Following Supreme Court Chamber Decision of 8 February
2013, paragraph 8. ECCC Trial Chamber, 26 April 2013.
33.

Jennifer
Holligan
and
Vani
Sathisan.
“Have
a
Trial
by
Relevance,
Not
Severance.”
iLawyer:
A

Blog
on
International
Justice,
May
4,
2013.

34. Decision on Immediate Appeals Against Trial Chambers’ Second Decision on Severance of Case
002, paragraph 9. ECCC Supreme Court Chamber, 23 July 2013.
76

Chapter
3

Arrest:
Time
Photography
and
Tuol
Sleng
Prison

This
chapter
examines
the
legacies
of
Tuol
Sleng
(S-‐21),
the
brutal
Khmer

Rouge
prison
used
to
incarcerate
–
and
eventually
execute
–
enemies
of
the
regime.

What
arrangements
of
power
condition
the
terms
of
victimhood
placed
on
the
dead?

And
how
does
this
texture
memories
of
the
genocide?

Much
has
been
written
on
the

horrors
of
S-‐21,
detailing
the
bloodshed
and
terror
confronting
those
jailed
at
this

“Khmer
Rouge
killing
machine.”
1

I
rehearse
this
history
here,
but
with
a
different

purpose.

While
the
violence
of
the
prison
is
undeniable,
the
mournability
of
its

inmates
comes
with
fewer
guarantees
and
is
buttressed
by
a
host
of
social
and

political
concerns
that
help
interpret
the
dead
accordingly.

This
reflection
on
Tuol

Sleng’s
afterlife
relies
on
the
assertion
that
its
visual
and
narrative
legacies
–

photographs,
documentaries,
testimonies
–
circulate
less
as
a
way
of
memorializing

the
human
costs
of
Khmer
Rouge
violence
than
as
a
method
of
claiming
meaning

over
the
genocide
in
the
service
of
interests
mediated
by
institutional
forces.

I

therefore
use
this
chapter
to
chart
the
ways
sympathetic
victims
have
been

produced
to
accompany
the
politically
grounded
concerns
that
have
prompted
the

display
of
Tuol
Sleng’s
inmates.

But
to
identify
worthy
victimhood
is
to
also
suggest
a
converse.

My
effort
to

describe
worthy
victims
leads
me
to
the
unworthy
–
which
I
dwell
on
to
disrupt

77

such
a
distinction.

Since
this
dissertation
seeks
to
document
the
ever-‐shifting
terms

of
life
and
belonging
that
form
as
survivors
confront
legacies
of
the
genocide,
I
am

compelled
by
the
instances
of
representation
that
disturb
the
institutional
utility

that
has
been
demanded
of
Tuol
Sleng’s
victims.

Their
illegibility
helps
us
glimpse

the
immanent
social
worlds
called
on
by
survivors
negotiating
the
psychic
and

material
aftermaths
of
Khmer
Rouge
destruction.

Since
its
discovery
and
exposure
to
an
international
audience,
Tuol
Sleng
has

been
understood
as
the
ultimate
symbol
of
Khmer
Rouge
brutality.

The
story
goes:

Khmer
Rouge
officials,
sensing
an
impending
defeat,
began
evacuating
their
offices

in
Phnom
Penh
just
hours
before
the
Vietnamese
army
entered
the
city.
Left
behind

was
a
bounty
of
evidence
detailing
their
crimes.

The
following
day,
two
Vietnamese

photojournalists
were
drawn
to
the
compound
by
the
smell
of
decomposing
bodies.

Their
discovery
was
communicated
to
Vietnamese
officials,
who
recognized
the

propaganda
value
of
exhibiting
such
horrific
evidence
of
Khmer
Rouge
atrocity
and

converted
the
prison
into
a
genocide
museum.

In
the
years
that
followed,
the

museum
would
be
exhibited
to
foreign
visitors
to
justify
the
Vietnamese
invasion
as

a
humanitarian
necessity.

The
symbolism
of
Tuol
Sleng
remains
today.

During
negotiations
over
the

scope
of
the
ECCC’s
personal
jurisdiction,
the
prison
was
considered
among
the

worst
of
Democratic
Kampuchea’s
crimes.

Along
with
senior
leaders
Nuon
Chea,

Khieu
Samphan,
Ieng
Sary,
and
Ieng
Thirith,
S-‐21
director
Kaing
Guek
Eav
(“Duch”)

was
consistently
included
in
the
list
of
Khmer
Rouge
cadres
whose
crimes
should
be

investigated
by
the
court.

Many
of
the
jurisdictional
configurations
proposed
were

78

offered
with
a
“plus
Duch”
affixation,
demonstrating
that
the
ECCC
was
particularly

the
particular
crafting
to
guarantee
his
eligibility
for
prosecution.
2

Duch’s
defense

team
seized
on
this
during
his
trial,
noting
the
many
other
security
centers
–
some

more
brutal
–
maintained
by
the
Khmer
Rouge.

If
Duch
fell
under
the
umbrella
of

the
court,
they
argued,
why
not
any
other
of
the
195
prison
directors
who
were

spared
from
investigation?
3

Yet,
because
of
the
widespread
and
popular
circulation

of
evidence
detailing
the
violence
at
Tuol
Sleng,
Duch
had
come
to
embody
the
worst

of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

The
symbolic
necessity
of
Duch’s
conviction
came
to
outweigh

that
of
most
other
senior
leaders;
his
appearance
before
the
court
was
never
really

in
doubt.

Duch’s
prison
produced
notorious
evidence
of
Khmer
Rouge
crimes:
the
S-‐21

prison
mug
shots.

Since
their
discovery,
the
photographs
have
traveled
across

international
borders
and
have
been
seen
in
various
exhibition
spaces.
4

As

historical
artifacts,
they
are
remnants
of
the
extensive
record
keeping
carried
out
by

S-‐21
staff
to
keep
track
of
the
prisoners
under
their
watch.

But
the
prison
portraits

have
also
done
significant
cultural
work
to
mediate
legacies
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

“The
images,
for
all
their
anonymity,
are
excruciatingly
intimate,”
anthropologist

Lindsay
French
writes
in
her
reaction
to
their
exhibition
in
New
York
City’s
Museum

of
Modern
Art.

“The
people
in
these
photographs
stare
out
at
the
photographer
with

a
certain
knowledge
of,
if
not
their
death,
a
least
their
own
powerlessness
and
that

fact
that
anything
might
happen
to
them
there.

The
directness
of
the
people’s
gaze

holds
us.

They
are,
in
effect,
facing
their
executioners
in
the
lens
of
the
camera,
and

we
stare
back
from
the
place
of
the
executioner.”
5

79

Yet,
despite
the
terror
French
sees
in
the
photographs,
the
mug
shots
are

often
banal
and
rarely
offer
substantive
proof
of
the
abusive
state
power
she

speculates
had
taken
place.
6

As
visual
objects
mediated
by
a
host
of
social,

institutional,
and
technological
forces,
the
photos
provide
less
of
a
way
of
securing
a

pre-‐photographic
reality
than
they
do
a
window
into
the
political
stakes
of
deciding

who
we
mourn,
how
we
mourn,
and
why
we
mourn.

So
what
are
the
politics
of

mourning
gathered
from
remembering
Tuol
Sleng
prison?

How
does
this
affect

official
and
unofficial
practices
of
memorialization?

Foundational
to
these

questions,
I
believe,
is
this:
How
do
we
recognize
its
victims?

In
this
chapter,
I
analyze
the
memorial
premises
produced
by
S-‐21’s
legacy
to

uncover
the
political
visions
and
institutional
concerns
they
advance.

I
begin
by

examining
the
representational
practices
of
the
Cambodian
Genocide
Program

(CGP),
a
research
center
housed
at
Yale
University
meant
to
“help
determine
who

was
responsible
for
the
crimes
of
the
Pol
Pot
regime.”

I
argue
that
their

presentation
of
the
Tuol
Sleng
mug
shots
neutralizes
the
political
capabilities
of
the

genocide’s
survivors,
characterizing
them
instead
as
perennial
victims.

They
are,
in

other
words,
arrested.

Understood
within
the
context
of
their
institutional
ties
to
US

interests,
the
CGP’s
use
of
the
mug
shots
is
a
powerful
visual
testament
to
the

perennial
death
on
repeat
that
has
made
Tuol
Sleng’s
victims
compelling.

Indeed,

most
reactions
to
the
mug
shots
fixate
on
the
incessant
repetition
viewers
confront

in
their
encounters.

“The
photographs,”
Lindsey
French
reflects,
“are
riveting
–
one

moves
from
one
to
the
next
compelled
to
look
at
each
face
individually
–
and,
finally

overwhelming.

There
are
so
many
of
them.”

But
the
proliferating
dead
also
lack

80

complexity
and
individual
subjectivity.

Each
prisoner
is
instead
just
a
microcosm
of

a
swarm
that
smothers
viewers
with
the
immensity
of
their
dying.

By
critiquing
this
reception,
my
intent
is
to
interrogate
the
political
utility

made
of
Tuol
Sleng’s
victims.

This
is,
furthermore,
an
entry
point
into
rethinking

the
way
memorialization
has
been
staked
against
the
backdrop
of
a
failing
and
often

frustrating
criminal
tribunal.

This
analysis
of
S-‐21’s
legacy
is
therefore
a
call
to

consider
the
memorial
acts
that
either
escape
or
are
denied
official
recognition,
and

the
challenges
to
political
conditions
they
pose.

I
conclude
this
chapter
with
an
analysis
of
Rithy
Panh’s
S21:
The
Khmer

Rouge
Killing
Machine,
a
documentary
that
also
relies
on
repetition
to
memorialize

Tuol
Sleng
prison.

Using
reenactment,
Panh
invites
former
guards
to
revive
their

roles
in
an
effort
to
uncover
the
historical
details
about
the
prison’s
operations.

I

argue,
however,
that
these
reenactments
also
force
the
guards
to
actively
interpret

their
complicities,
creating
performances
that
are
filled
with
tension
and

ambivalence.

Rather
than
visualizing
a
legacy
of
the
genocide
that
is
socially
and

politically
static,
Panh’s
S21
gives
us
insight
into
the
ongoing
negotiations
that

compose
the
genocide’s
aftermath.

Tuol
Sleng
prison
opened
in
April
1976.

In
a
three-‐year
span,
it
held
at
least

12,272
individuals
suspected
of
betraying
the
revolutionary
principles
of
the
Khmer

Rouge.
7

Of
these,
only
202
would
survive.
8

During
these
years,
the
prison
housed
a

program
of
harsh
interrogation,
forced
starvation,
and
–
for
the
vast
majority
of
its

prisoners
–
death.

The
rampant
fatalities
have
contributed
to
the
prison’s
current

81

notoriety,
perhaps
making
it
most
notable
of
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
murderous

practices.

Entry
into
the
prison
was,
after
all,
a
practical
death
sentence.
9

S-‐21
was
used
to
root
out
internal
subversion
and
foreign
interference.

Prisoners
were
rounded
up
en
masse,
often
without
explanation,
and
kept

blindfolded
until
reaching
prison
grounds.

Once
there,
mug
shots
were
taken
of

each
as
part
of
the
intensive
record
keeping
that
had
become
a
defining
feature
of

the
prison.

Prisoners
were
then
sent
to
communal
cells,
where
they
were
held

during
all
hours
not
spent
in
interrogation.

Each
was
chained
to
a
single
metal
rod

running
through
the
center
of
the
room,
significantly
limiting
their
mobility.

They

were
kept
on
starvation
rations,
given
only
a
few
spoonfuls
of
porridge
twice
a
day.

Under
these
conditions,
many
died
of
natural
causes
before
an
execution
could
be

carried
out.
10

Prisoners
slated
for
questioning
could
be
taken
away
multiple
times
each
day

for
several
hours
at
a
time,
and
were
always
under
the
assumption
of
guilt.

Many

Tuol
Sleng
confessions
–
coerced
through
torture
–
record
complicity
with
foreign

intelligence
services
of
enemy
countries,
such
as
the
CIA
or
the
KGB,
or
admit

association
with
domestically
grown
subversive
movements.

Past
encroachments

on
Cambodian
sovereignty
by
rival
nations
kept
the
Khmer
Rouge
on
edge
against

potential
threats
to
their
fledgling
revolution.
11

Survivor
Bou
Meng
recalls:
“They

put
me
to
lie
face
down
and
then
they
started
to
beat
me
until
they
had
enough,
and

then
they
kept
asking
me
when
I
entered
the
CIA
and
KGB
and
who
introduced
me

to
their
agents.

And
I
did
not
know
how
to
respond
to
them
because
[…having]

never
been
involved
in
such
organization,
how
could
I
respond
to
them
that
I

82

introduced
anyone
into
the
CIA,
even
myself.

I
did
not
know
what
CIA
was.”
12

Once

confessions
were
extracted
and
interrogations
deemed
complete,
reports
were

forwarded
to
ranking
Khmer
Rouge
leaders.

The
prisoners
themselves
would
be

sent
for
execution.

Choeung
Ek,
located
just
north
of
Phnom
Penh,
was
the
prison’s
principle

execution
site.

Prisoners
were
sent
here
blindfolded
and
handcuffed
throughout
the

day.

After
the
identity
of
each
was
verified,
they
were
led
individually
to
a
fresh-‐dug

pit
where
they
killed
by
a
strike
to
the
back
of
the
neck
and
a
slit
to
their
throat
–
it

was
a
method
the
Khmer
Rouge
preferred
because
of
the
bullets
that
were
saved.

Meanwhile,
a
loud
generator
drowned
out
the
sounds
of
execution,
leaving
waiting

prisoners
unaware
of
the
events
unfolding
nearby.

The
prison
was
abandoned
on
the
verge
of
the
Vietnamese
invasion
on

January
7,
1979.

The
next
day,
two
photojournalists
touring
the
abandoned
capital

were
drawn
to
S-‐21
by
the
smell
of
decomposing
bodies.

Inside,
they
found
freshly

executed
prisoners
chained
to
metal
bed
frames,
and
blood
stains
covering
much
of

the
prison.

Combing
over
the
artifacts
left
from
the
Khmer
Rouge
exodus,

Vietnamese
officials
discovered
the
greatest
material
evidence
yet
of
massive

atrocities
many
believed
were
being
committed
by
the
regime:
thousands
of
mug

shots
and
prisoner
records,
written
confessions,
and
notebooks
detailing
a

systematic
pattern
of
abuse.

It
was
an
important
find
for
the
Vietnamese.

At
the
United
Nations,
a

Security
Council
motion
to
condemn
the
Vietnamese
invasion
received
popular

support
(although
it
was
voted
down
by
a
Soviet
Union
veto).

By
September
of

83

1979,
the
General
Assembly
voted
to
deny
credentials
to
the
Vietnamese
installed

People’s
Republic
of
Kampuchea
government,
giving
the
seat
instead
to
the

government-‐in-‐exile
Democratic
Kampuchea.
13

Despite
official
knowledge
that

grave
breaches
of
the
Geneva
Conventions
had
been
committed
in
Cambodia
during

the
Khmer
Rouge
years,
international
alliances
forged
against
the
backdrop
of
the

Cold
War
obstructed
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
transition
out
of
power.
14

Within
months
of
its
discovery,
Mai
Lam,
a
Vietnamese
Colonel
who
had

previously
curated
the
War
Remnants
Museum
in
Ho
Chi
Minh
City,
was
assigned
to

convert
the
prison
into
a
museum
of
genocide.

This
partially
entailed
denying
the

credibility
of
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
style
of
Communism
–
a
political
and
economic

strategy
preferred
by
the
newly
installed
People’s
Republic
of
Kampuchea
(PRK)
–

while
also
accumulating
enough
evidence
of
Khmer
Rouge
crimes
to
justify
their

invasion
as
a
humanitarian
necessity.

According
to
historian
David
Chandler,
this

meant
celebrating
the
Khmer
Rouge’s
revolution
of
1975
as
a
triumph
of
global

socialism
generally
and
Cambodian-‐Vietnamese
relations
particularly,
while

simultaneously
condemning
the
Khmer
Rouge
for
perverting
the
principles
of
that

revolution.
15

The
museum
began
offering
guided
tours
by
March
1979.
Initially,
this
was

only
for
foreign
visitors
since
it
was
primarily
intended
“to
show…international

guests
the
cruel
torture
committed
by
the
traitors
to
the
Khmer
people.”
16

These

early
visitors
consisted
mostly
of
political
and
economic
allies
who
could
be
sold
on

the
righteousness
of
their
coup.

The
museum
was
finally
opened
to
a
public

84

audience,
including
Cambodians,
on
July
13,
1980,
attracting
32,000
in
its
first
week.

By
October
of
that
year,
320,241
had
visited.
17

Early
visitors
to
the
museum
encountered
prison
conditions
nearly

untouched
from
the
Khmer
Rouge
administration.

Traces
of
blood
were
left
on
the

prison
floors,
torture
instruments
left
in
interrogation
rooms,
prisoner
restraints

left
in
jail
cells.

At
the
end
of
the
tour,
visitors
also
encountered
a
map
of
Cambodia

assembled
from
the
skulls
of
victims
gathered
from
nearby
death
sites.
18

(The
map

has
since
been
dismantled,
although
the
remains
are
still
on
display.)

On
permanent

display
are
the
S-‐21
mug
shots,
which
line
the
rooms
of
one
of
the
compound’s

buildings.

When
the
museum
first
opened
to
the
public,
thousands
of
Cambodians

lined
up
to
examine
the
display
in
an
attempt
to
identify
missing
relatives.

On
the
second
floor
of
the
building
is
an
archive
of
the
S-‐21
documents

which,
initiated
by
Cornell
University
in
the
early
1990s,
was
the
subject
of
a

massive
recovery
and
cataloguing
effort.

The
results
of
this
project
led
to
the

improved
availability
of
archived
materials
via
microfiche,
a
copy
of
which
is
housed

in
the
Cornell
University
Library.

Researchers
today
can
access
200,000
pages
of

documents
from
the
prison’s
operation
–
including
prisoner
confessions,
profiles,

and
execution
orders.

Anterior
to
this
project,
however,
were
the
S-‐21
mug
shots.

That
task
was
taken
up
by
two
American
photojournalists,
Chris
Riley
and
Douglas

Nevin,
who
received
permission
from
the
Cambodian
government
to
restore
the

negatives
in
1993.

The
two
discovered
a
stash
of
mug
shot
negatives
in
an
old
filing
cabinet
at

Tuol
Sleng,
and
were
concerned
that
the
archive
would
be
lost
to
“a
volatile
political

85

situation,
years
of
neglect,
a
lack
of
resources
and
the
absence
of
trained
staff.”
19

Fearing
their
destruction,
Nevin
and
Riley,
along
with
a
team
of
volunteers,
formed

the
Photo
Archive
Group
(PAG)
to
restore
and
preserve
the
negatives.

Said
PAG

volunteer
Michael
Perkins,
“They
were
clearly
going
to
become
part
of
the
power

structure.

So
at
that
time
there
was
that
added
impetus
–
not
only
totally
incredible

and
totally
unknown…almost
one
of
the
most
powerful
things
in
the
history
of

photography,
I
think.

Just
instantly,
they
could
all
be
destroyed
at
any
minute.”
20

From
this
project,
PAG
was
given
permission
to
select
from
100
of
the
6000

recovered
negatives
for
the
purpose
of
reproducing
them
in
six
editions.

According

to
Rachel
Hughes,
two
of
these
editions
remained
in
Cambodia,
while
the
other
four

were
“brought
out
of
the
country
for
safekeeping.”
21

As
Hughes
notes,
the
PAG
recovery
project
“has
all
the
hallmarks
of
a

contemporary
humanitarian
aid
project:
an
effective
response
to
an
urgent
situation

which
involves
local
skilling
and
empowerment.”
22

Indeed,
Perkins
proposes
the

possibility
of
a
history
lost
in
the
absence
of
the
intervention
and
assistance
of

concerned
outsiders.

Under
this
configuration,
the
social
world
produced
by

survivors
is
rendered
insufficient
in
preserving
the
legacy
of
the
genocide.

The

presumptive
humanitarian
rescue
of
this
archive
conjures
images
of
a
Cambodian

population
unable
to
confront
their
history,
instead
deferring
to
a
state
authority

that
can
freely
and
unproblematically
advance
its
own
memorial
concerns.

Of

course,
the
PAG’s
concerns
should
be
historically
situated
within
the
UNTAC
years,

which
was
fraught
with
political
instability
and
frequent
outbreaks
of
violence.

Yet,

the
appropriation
of
memory
work
represented
by
the
PAG’s
“safekeeping”
project

86

reveals
and
foreshadows
a
pattern
of
“benevolent”
intervention
on
behalf
of

Cambodians
apparently
predisposed
to
their
own
destruction.

As
I
argue
below,

this
discursive
rendering
of
the
mug
shots’
significance
would
accompany
their

circulation
following
the
PAG’s
recovery
efforts.

The
camera
was
tilted,
slightly,
when
the
picture
was
taken;
the
boy
is
framed

off-‐center.

A
rush
job.

He
looks
distressed,
probably
aware
of
the
fate
that
awaited

him.

His
black
shirt
suggests
that
he
was

a
Khmer
Rouge
soldier,
an
assumption

that
isn’t,
unfortunately,
dispelled
by
his

youth.

The
Khmer
Rouge
preferred

recruiting
children,
feeling
that
they

were
“like
a
blank
piece
of
paper”
and

could
easily
be
convinced
to
do
the
dirty

work
of
the
regime’s
military.

His
hands

are
bound;
he
is
identified
only
by
the
“3”

pinned
to
his
shirt.

Disrupting
the
frame,
a
hand
reaches
in
and
grabs
the
boy
by
his

right
arm
in
an
attempt
to
keep
him
still.

He
had
resisted,
it
seems,
causing
his
captors

to
intervene.

That
moment
quelled,
the
photograph
archives
the
boy
at
the
moment
of

his
resignation.

For
me,
the
photograph
reveals
that
something
else
is
lurking,

something
that
will
remain
unknowable
even
as
we
nonetheless
know
it’s
there.

Reestablishing
the
conditions
for
photographic
intelligibility,
the
arm
reveals
itself

aggressively,
violently.

Yet,
in
the
very
act
of
its
intervention,
it
also
reveals
the

87

vulnerability
of
the
frame;
that,
quite
possibly,
something
more
exists
that
risks
being

overlooked.

This
frame,
then,
is
inadequate.

The
Cambodian
Genocide
Program
(CGP)
is
a
research
center
housed
at
Yale

University.

Shortly
after
beginning
their
work
in
1994,
the
CGP
obtained
scanned

copies
of
the
photographs
from
the
PAG’s
recovery
project
and
featured
them
in
its

Photographic
Database.

Today,
visitors
to
their
website
can
browse
through
the

collection
by
searching
a
number
of
fields
disaggregating
prisoners
according
to

clothing,
age,
gender,
and
other
distinguishing
characteristics.

Since
prisoner

identities
remain
largely
unknown,
the
CGP
hopes
the
database
will
prompt
viewers

to
help
fill
this
void:
“The
photographs
are
presented
here
in
the
hopes
that
these

Khmer
Rouge
victims
might
be
recognized
by
friends
or
family
members,
and
thus

they
will
no
longer
be
forced
to
linger
in
the
status
of
‘unknown
victim.’”

The

photographs
are
also
viewable
as
a
slideshow,
meant
presumably
for
casual

observers
not
directly
connected
to
the
victims.

Although
a
detailed
explanation
is

given
describing
the
importance
of
the
database
for
securing
historical

accountability
regarding
Khmer
Rouge
crimes,
the
slideshow
is
presented
without

additional
context.

Despite
this
omission,
I
believe
the
slideshow
is
a
medium
for
representing

the
genocide
in
a
way
that
helps
reinscribe
the
hegemonic
force
of
the
US.

Considered
historically
–
the
CGP
was
born
from
US
legislation
that
had
implications

on
forging
of
national
memory
over
its
role
in
Cambodia
–
and
visually,
the
CGP

slideshow
helps
affirm
the
centrality
of
the
US
as
gatekeepers
of
a
global
moral

88

order
despite
the
rampant
historical
contradictions
that
suggest
otherwise.

Through
its
representation
of
Tuol
Sleng’s
victims,
the
slideshow
neutralizes
their

political
possibility
while
simultaneously
effacing
the
legacy
of
US
military
violence

in
Cambodia.

The
CGP
had
auspicious
beginnings.

In
1994,
Congress
passed
the

Cambodian
Genocide
Justice
Act
at
the
urging
of
various
Cambodia-‐focused
non-‐
profit
organizations.

The
act
signaled
a
dramatic
shift
in
US
policy
by
ceasing
years

of
material
and
ideological
support
for
the
Khmer
Rouge,
and
codifying
the

commitment
to
“support
efforts
to
bring
to
justice
members
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
for

their
crimes
against
humanity
committed
in
Cambodia
between
April
17,
1975
and

January
7,
1979.”

Yet,
despite
its
pretenses
of
responsible
humanitarianism
and

respect
for
the
rule
of
law,
the
act
also
sanctioned
the
legal
impunity
of
the
US
war

machine
by
claiming
a
moral
obligation
towards
justice
despite
its
own
participation

in
the
heavy-‐handed
destruction
of
Southeast
Asia
delivered
in
the
name
of
US

hegemony.
23

Overlooking
this
past,
the
act
granted
$500,000
of
seed
money
that

was
eventually
allocated
to
the
CGP
to
document
and
preserve
evidence
of
Khmer

Rouge
crimes.

In
this
section,
I
argue
that
the
CGP
slideshow
offers
an
entry
point
into

thinking
about
the
ways
in
which
victimhood
can
be
mediated
through

representation
to
compel
sympathetic
audiences
to
endorse
configurations
of
power

reflecting
institutional
concerns.

Although
the
CGP
certainly
cannot
be
reduced
to
a

reflection
of
state
interests,
neither
can
it
be
completely
disassociated
from
its

relationship
to
the
state
when
weighing
its
memorial
effects.

In
order
to
assert
its

89

standing
as
a
memorial
authority,
the
CGP
must
exhibit
their
unique
willingness
to

document
Khmer
Rouge
war
crimes
by
proposing
a
situation
in
which
legacies
of

the
genocide
are
threatened
with
extinction
absent
their
intervention.

To

accomplish
this,
they
must
pacify
the
political
potentialities
of
the
population
they

claim
to
serve.

The
Tuol
Sleng
slideshow,
understood
as
an
act
of
representation,
is

essential
to
securing
this
power
relationship.

The
slideshow
begins
with
prisoner
“00001,”
an
identifying
mark
which

foreshadows
an
impending
sequence.

He
is
captured
using
a
frontal
shot
against
a

plain
white
background.

He
stands
expressionless,
but
at
full
attention;
his
clean

shirt
hangs
neatly
on
his
body,
buttoned
just
short
of
the
collar.

There
is
a
visual

conventionality
he
displays,
modeling
a
liberal
template
of
respectability
typical
of

portrait
photography.

The
picture
fades
and
another,
mirroring
many
of
the
same

elements
takes
its
place.

This
one
is
labeled
“00002,”
and
is
followed
by
“00003,”

“00004,”
and
so
on.

The
numbers,
stamped
onto
the
bottom
of
each
photo,
are
remnants
from

early
administrators
of
the
Tuol
Sleng
Genocide
Museum
used
to
reference
to
each

prisoner
in
place
of
their
unknown
identities.

But
they
also
resemble
booking

numbers
–
not
unlike
the
clerical
system
used
by
prison
staff
during
S-‐21’s

operation
–
and
give
viewers
the
impression
of
a
steadily
increasing
tabulation
of

inmates
spanning
the
life
of
the
prison.
Each
prisoner
is
the
visual
realization
of
a

unique
temporal
coordinate,
and
viewers
are
made
to
witness
an
ordered

chronology.

Every
prisoner
that
fades
contributes
to
an
ever-‐increasing
death
count

that
slowly
inches
towards
an
undefined
end
point.

90

The
scene
repeats
in
each
photograph,
giving
viewers
similar
shots
of

Cambodian
men
and
women
calmly
photographed
for
an
immanent
execution.

The

prisoners
remain
anonymous
throughout
and
convey
an
aggregate
personhood
that

communicates
their
shared
fate.

But
they
are
separated
by
a
metronomic
interval

that
shifts
the
temporal
sequence
forward
by
fading
the
previous
photograph:
a

glimpse
into
the
future.

The
progressing
temporality
is
in
vivid
contrast
to
the

persistent
sameness
of
the
photographic
subjects
who
offer
little
variation
in
their

composition
and
therefore
appear
frozen
in
a
state
of
arrested
development.

They

are
presented
as
exceptions
to
the
progressive
assumptions
of
linear
time.

Each

new
prisoner
that
emerges
signals
the
doom
of
the
previous,
and
the
promise
of

death
repeats.

It’s
this
aspect
of
photographed
time,
seen
in
the
cycling
slideshow,
which

concerns
me.

Unraveling
at
a
steady
cadence,
the
slideshow
ceases
each
moment
of

capture
only
to
introduce
a
new
one
in
its
place.

Each
appearance
is
a
reappearance,

and
the
event
of
the
genocide
is
confined
to
closed
repetition
built
into
the
looping

interval.

Past,
present,
and
future
blend
into
a
coeval
singularity;
they
become

distinguishable
only
by
the
blankness
wedged
between
the
slides
which
telegraphs

the
immanent
reappearance
of
each,
any,
and
every
prisoner
in
the
already
seen

future.

Arrested,
physically
and
temporally,
the
Cambodian
men
and
women
in
the

slideshow
are
passive
victims
whose
inability
to
resist
leaves
them
simply
“facing

death.”
24

The
CGP
slideshow
reveals
an
infatuation
with
death,
and
fixes
dying
as
the

irremediable
condition
of
the
Tuol
Sleng
inmates.

Open-‐ended
possibilities
and

91

indeterminate
futures
are
effaced
by
predictable
outcomes
and
the
inevitability
of

their
demise.

Hopelessly
tragic,
the
prisoners
are
denied
their
subjectivity
and,
as
a

result,
are
stripped
of
any
semblance
of
complexity.

This
absence
of
agency
eases

viewers’
ability
to
imagine
the
prisoners’
victimhood
and
is,
moreover,
important
to

the
evaluative
schema
determining
the
merits
of
their
mournability
for
spectators.

“The
vacant
stares,
expressions
of
fear
and
torment,
and
the
inevitability
of
these

people’s
violent
death,”
former
CGP
director
Susan
E.
Cook
comments,
“is
a

compelling
visual
testament
to
the
human
cost
of
political
extremism.”
25

Cook’s
reading
is,
of
course,
reasonable
given
the
circumstances
we
now

know
facing
prisoners
once
taken
into
the
prison.

Locked
in
communal
cells,
fed

starvation
rations,
beaten,
and
tortured,
they
were
given
few
opportunities
to

exercise
the
type
of
critical
agency
that
could
significantly
alter
their
circumstances.

In
fact,
the
vast
majority
of
those
imprisoned
would
eventually
die
of
disease,

starvation,
or
execution.

But
as
I’ve
been
arguing,
the
mug
shots
must
be
evaluated

as
part
of
a
larger
discursive
system
that
produces
meaning
in
excess
of
their

indexical
functions.

In
the
context
of
the
CGP,
the
assumption
that
power
can
be

transplanted
perfectly
without
subtle
contestation
or
outright
refusal
is
a
racially

informed
way
of
producing
their
victimization.

In
order
to
imagine
passive

prisoners
awaiting
inevitable
deaths,
as
Cook
does,
the
varying
subjectivities
of
the

prisoners
must
be
formed
as
both
uncomplicated
and
homologous.

Politically

prone,
they
are
quintessential
victims
whose
ontological
condition
is
defined
by

their
constant
dying.

As
an
act
of
representation
carrying
memorial
stakes
in
the

genocide,
the
slideshow
presents
a
Cambodian
population
predisposed
to
death

92

with
few
variations
or
interruptions.

It’s
this
always-‐immanent
threat
of

annihilation
that
helps
formulate
the
CGP’s
exceptional
status
as
the
harbingers
of

historical
accountability.

By
staking
claim
to
the
moral
obligation
to
intervene
in
place
of
Cambodians

who
are
apparently
unwilling
or
unable
to
do
so,
the
CGP
positions
itself
as
an

exceptional
protector
of
human
rights
and
accountability.

Reporting
to
the
State

Department,
the
CGP
described
the
importance
of
their
work:
“Cambodian
leaders

have
complained
for
years
that
the
outside
world
had
not
recognized
the
crimes
of

the
Khmer
Rouge
and
the
tragedy
of
the
Cambodian
People.

The
initiation
of
the

Cambodian
Genocide
Program
helped
answer
this
complaint
on
an
international

scale.

This
measure
of
recognition
sparked
a
new
willingness
among
the
Cambodian

political
elite
to
face
the
darkest
chapter
in
Cambodian
history.”

Implicit
within
this

statement
is
the
affirmation
of
the
historical
agency
of
the
West
and
its
burden
to

speak
on
behalf
of
muted
racial
subjects.

This
relationship
is
replicated
in
the
CGP’s
representational
tactics.

Each

prisoner
entering
the
screen
remains
only
briefly,
illustrating
the
precariousness
of

their
existence.

Viewers
are
not
given
the
option
of
pausing
the
slideshow,
or

manipulating
the
cadence
so
that
they
might
linger
on
certain
images.

Instead,
the

advancing
slides
adopt
a
rhythm
that
is
both
steady
and
predictable,
and
beyond
the

control
of
spectators
who
are
left
to
only
wait
and
watch.

Each
slide
eventually

fades
to
white,
blending
seamlessly
into
the
background
so
that
any
visual
residues

of
the
prisoner
are
given
to
oblivion.

But
the
blank
screen
remains
for
just
a
brief

moment
before
another
prisoner
flashes
onto
the
screen.

It
is
an
abrupt
transition

93

from
the
previous
portrait,
nearly
replicating
a
camera’s
flash.

Once
again,
we
are

presented
with
a
prisoner
whose
existence
is
fleeting
and
whose
fate
is
already

given.

And
the
scene
repeats.

This
visual
narrative
suggests
a
temporality
of
the
genocide
that
determines

subsequent
forms
of
subject
formation
and
social
life
irrelevant
to
the
ways

genocide
legacies
are
confronted
in
its
aftermath.

The
slideshow
both
cordons
off

the
event
of
the
genocide
as
a
containable
moment
in
Cambodian
history
and
does

the
work
of
projecting
it
into
an
undifferentiated
future.

Addressing
the
genocide

through
this
lens
then
becomes
a
matter
of
liberating
Cambodians
from
this
closed

loop
and
reinstalling
the
coherence
of
progressive
time
to
initiate
the
promise
of
a

better
future:
closure.

But
as
a
methodology,
does
repetition
inherently
doom
the
work
of

memorialization
to
the
effacement
and
erasure
seen
in
the
CGP
slideshow?

What

variations
escape
renderings
of
the
genocide
that
rely
simply
on
reiterating
its

crimes?

I
explore
these
issues
further
by
analyzing
French-‐Cambodian
filmmaker

Rithy
Panh’s
S21:
The
Khmer
Rouge
Killing
Machine.
Panh’s
documentary
provides
a

contemplative
account
of
Tuol
Sleng
by
combining
survivor
testimony
with

reenactment
performed
by
former
guards.

Although
its
conclusions
on
criminal

guilt
and
responsibility
are
ultimately
inconclusive,
it
demonstrates
the
complex

confrontations
with
the
genocide’s
legacy
faced
by
survivors
today.

94

His
pupils
are
dilated,
likely
a
reaction
to
the
blindfold
worn
since
his
arrest.

The
boy’s
shadow
contrasts
sharply
with
the
white
background,
suggesting
that
it
was

at
night
when
he
arrived.

The

camera’s
flash
interrupted
the
layers

of
darkness
that
enveloped
him,
and
it

apparently
caught
him
by
surprise.

Despite
his
sensitivity
to
the
light,
he

kept
his
eyes
open
during
the
picture

and
it
leads
to
a
wide-‐eyed
expression

that
lends
a
look
of
horror
to
his

demeanor.

For
art
historian
Boreth

Ly,
the
compulsory
blindness

accompanying
each
Tuol
Sleng
prisoner
was
both
a
microcosm
and
metaphor
for
the

Khmer
Rouge’s
war
on
their
victims’
vision:
“The
Khmer
Rouge
leaders
consciously

concealed
their
identities
and
political
plans
to
transform
the
capitalist
society
of

Cambodia
into
an
agrarian
society
for
their
victims.

These
hidden
agendas
were

accomplished
by
keeping
the
regime’s
victims
in
a
perpetual
state
of
shock
and

disorientation.”
26

Slicing
across
the
top
of
the
photograph,
we
observe
the
presence
of

a
screen
displaying
the
boy’s
image.

The
screen
disrupts
the
original
frame
by
slicing

through
its
integrity.

Enclosed
once
within
the
frame
produced
by
the
camera,
we

discover
that
this
frame
is
enclosed
within
a
larger
frame
by
noting
a
visual
remainder

wedged
between
the
two.

This
excess
dislocates
the
boy’s
mug
shot
from
the
moment

of
his
arrest,
and
instead
places
him
in
an
undefined
time
and
place.
Although
the

95

photograph
documents
the
events
that
led
to
the
boy's
death,
his
image
has
an
afterlife

that
exceeds
these
circumstances.

Rithy
Panh
released
S21:
The
Khmer
Rouge
Killing
Machine
in
1994.

Filmed

on
location
at
the
S-‐21
compound,
the
documentary
recreates
the
routines
of
prison

life
through
the
recalled
experiences
of
former
prison
inmates
and
guards.

The

documentary
is
remarkable
for
its
historical
content
–
Panh
gives
precise
detail

about
the
prison’s
daily
procedures
by
having
two
survivors,
Vann
Nath
and
Chum

Mey,
guide
viewers
through
the
spaces
they
once
endured.

They
comb
through

administrative
files
and
inspect
various
rooms.

Supplemented
with
interviews
from

members
of
the
Tuol
Sleng
staff,
the
documentary
was
significant
for
bringing
the

former
inhabitants
of
the
prison
together
to
provide
an
aggregated
oral
history
of
S-‐
21.

The
documentary
also
stages
an
encounter:
reversing
their
roles,
the
former

prisoners
interrogate
their
guards
and
force
them
to
account
for
their
actions.

Panh

explains:
“We
approached
[the
guards]
and
told
them
that
we
needed
to
get
their

versions
of
the
events.

I
told
them
they
had
no
right
to
turn
us
down.”

Indeed,
the

guards
spend
the
duration
of
the
documentary
reckoning
with
the
weight
of
their

crimes.

At
times,
they
justify
their
involvement
by
citing
the
general
atmosphere
of

suppression
maintained
by
Khmer
Rouge
leaders
making
their
obedience

compulsory.

Yet,
they
also
collectively
acknowledge
their
wrong
and
struggle
to

explain
their
participation.

96

In
a
DVD
interview,
Panh
lamented
their
ambivalence.

“The
former
torturers

and
guards
were
able
to
describe
everything
but
themselves.

They
can
vividly

remember
daily
occurrences
at
the
camp.

But
they
never
describe
their
duties,

which
is
precisely
what
we
were
after.”

To
address
this,
Panh
instructed
them
to

reprise
their
duties
in
a
series
of
reenactments.

They
oblige
his
request
with
a

chilling
conviction.

In
one
scene,
guard
Poeuv
berates
imaginary
prisoners
during
a

routine
cell
inspection.

With
a
raised
voice
and
abrupt
movements,
he
pantomimes

physical
searches
and
accuses
one
hypothetical
prisoner
of
hiding
contraband.

Scenes
like
this
are
intermittently
woven
into
the
documentary,
helping
Panh

compile
a
more
thorough
account
of
life
within
the
prison.

In
those
moments
when

the
testimony
of
the
guards
is
insufficient
or
unsatisfying,
they
use
embodiment
to

provide
details
that
escape
language.

But
the
reenactments
do
more
than
replicate
the
intended
scenarios.

As
acts

of
reiteration
coming
subsequent
the
referenced
action,
the
reenactments
force
the

guards
to
negotiate
the
severity
of
their
crimes.

They
simultaneously
reproduce
and

interpret
gestures,
spoken
acts,
and
interpersonal
orientations
that
each
has

undoubtedly
tried
to
relegate
to
a
distant
past.

Their
attempts
to
reproduce
their

roles
are
mediated
by
the
remorse,
denial,
grief,
defensiveness,
etc.,
that
confront

them
as
they
perform
for
the
camera.

And
this,
I
believe,
is
where
Panh’s

documentary
is
most
compelling.

Panh’s
use
of
reenactment
has
a
dialogical
effect

that
opens
up
the
testimony
of
the
guards
to
varied
interpretations
of
their

consequences.

Ultimately,
S21
is
a
contemplative
account
of
complicity
and

accountability
regarding
the
prison’s
crimes.

97

The
film
opens
at
the
home
of
former
guard
Him
Huy,
who
sits
beside
his

mother
as
both
stare
away
from
the
camera.

She
urges
Him
to
hold
a
religious

ceremony
to
atone
for
his
crimes.

“Become
a
new
man
as
of
today,”
she
pleads.

Panh
immediately
exposes
viewers
to
the
persistence
of
Tuol
Sleng
for
those

involved
in
its
operation
and
their
families.

As
a
member
of
the
prison
staff,
Huy

was
responsible
for
transporting
prisoners
to
a
nearby
site
to
carry
out
executions.

He
acknowledges
his
complicity
but
maintains
that
he
only
obeyed
out
of
fear
for
his

safety.

“I
wanted
to
return
to
the
army.

I
would
rather
have
died,”
he
laments.

“Death
was
certain
there.

Better
to
die
at
the
front.

But
they
didn’t
let
me
go.”

“You

didn’t
go
of
your
own
free
will,”
Huy’s
mother
adds
supportively.

As
he
explains
it,
his
time
with
the
Khmer
Rouge
was
an
anomaly
in
an

otherwise
honorable
life:
“Ever
since
I
was
a
child,
I’ve
always
been
good.

I
still
am

today.

I
don’t
steal
or
rob.

I
don’t
hurt
anyone.”

Huy
is
remorseful,
yet
stops
short

of
accepting
personal
responsibility.

Echoing
the
sentiment
of
other
guards,
he

insists
that
accusations
of
his
culpability
should
be
tempered
by
considerations
of

the
oppressive
conditions
maintained
by
ranking
Khmer
Rouge
officials.

Attempting

to
reckon
with
the
weight
of
his
actions,
Huy
is
desperate
to
reclaim
a
positive
image

of
himself.

It
is
a
tension
that
has
obviously
disturbed
his
family.

Enter
Vann
Nath.

As
a
prisoner,
Nath
was
spared
from
execution
when
it
was

discovered
that
he
was
a
talented
painter
who
could
produce
portraits
of
Pol
Pot.

His
personal
prison
file
shows
Duch’s
personal
reprieve:
a
red
line
nixes
his
status

as
a
prisoner
from
an
S-‐21
logbook,
and
a
marginal
notation
instructs:
“Keep
for

use.”

Vann
takes
on
the
role
of
interrogator
throughout
the
documentary
and

98

presses
guards
to
explain
their
actions.

In
their
first
encounter,
he
asks
the
guards
if

they
considered
themselves
victims.

They
collectively
argue
that
everyone
at
the

prison,
including
them,
was
a
victim.

Like
people
involved
in
an
accident,
Him
Huy

elaborates,
the
guards
were
in
a
situation
bound
for
disaster
and
beyond
their

control.
“I
was
terrified,”
Huy

explains.

The
next
scene,
Nath
shows
the
guards
a
painting
he
made
of
conditions

inside
a
communal
cell.
27

Four
rows
of
prisoners
lay
shackled
side-‐by-‐side.

They

are
famished
and
nearly
naked;
guards
stand
nearby
unsympathetically.

Pointing
to

the
different
elements
painted
into
the
scene,
he
pauses
on
one
prisoner
and

describes:

This
one
was
hanging
between
life
and
death.

He
was
still
breathing.

The
guard
brought
him

a
bowl
of
rice
soup,
sat
him
up
so
he
could
eat.

The
next
day
he
died.

After
he
died,
a
doctor

or
a
guard
came
and
kicked
him
in
the
head,
for
no
reason.

He
was
already
dead,
but
he

insulted
him…I
don’t
understand
how,
with
such
cruelty
and
savagery,
you
who
worked
here

could
get
used
to
such
acts.

How
could
you
get
used
to
seeing
such
suffering?

Huy
responds
once
again,
but
his
tone
has
changed.

His
words
are
steady
and
his

voice
booms
in
a
distinct
monotone,
leaving
the
impression
that
he
has
recited
these

lines
before.

“The
party
of
S-‐21
told
us:
When
the
Party
makes
an
arrest,
it
arrests

an
enemy
of
the
Party.

If
we
arrest
the
husband,
we
arrest
wife
and
children,
too.

Even
our
own
parents,
brothers
and
sisters.

If
the
Party
arrests
them,
they’re

enemies.

Nothing
was
higher
than
Angkar.

If
we
were
ordered
to
destroy
them,
we

did.”

Perplexed,
Nath
looks
away.

The
former
guards
fascinate
in
those
moments
when
they
slip
back
into

character,
reviving
the
authoritarian
personas
that
seem
so
inconsistent
with
their

post-‐prison
lives.

Their
memories
help
reproduce
the
history
of
the
prison
and
their

99

reiterative
acts
help
animate
the
barren
prison
cells.

Taken
in
tandem
with
the

reenactments
inserted
throughout,
Panh’s
documentary
presents
another
instance

of
memorializing
the
legacy
of
Tuol
Sleng
through
the
repetition
of
its
violence.

Particularly,
the
reenactments
collapse
temporal
distinctions
by
merging
past
and

present
into
an
undifferentiated
synchrony
embodied
by
the
guards.

While
this

strategy
of
representation
helps
Panh
fill
in
S-‐21’s
historical
record
–
which
was
his

professed
intention
–
his
use
of
repetition
produces
more
than
just
a
documentary

effect.

As
I’ve
been
suggesting,
the
restaged
scenes
of
prison
life
also
force
the

guards
to
decipher
their
personal
legacies
as
they
detail
the
weight
of
their
crimes.

Panh
realizes
the
difficulty
of
relying
on
reenactments
to
mirror
the

conditions
of
the
prison,
yet
still
strives
for
historical
accuracy:
“This
is
not
a

production,
but
a
simulation.

It’s
not
me
who
dictates
actions
or
words,
whether
to

cry
or
not.

But
if
their
memories
aren’t
clear,
we
must
ensure
they
aren’t

mistaken.”
28

I
would
argue,
however,
that
the
reenactments
compel
because
of
the

very
imperfections
Panh
fears.

With
each
iteration
of
prison
life
performed
by
the

guards,
they
must
negotiate
their
place
within
the
notorious
legacy
of
the
prison.

Far
from
simply
replicating
their
past
activities,
the
reenactments
force
the
guards

to
participate
in
the
production
of
meaning
over
the
memorial
consequences
of
the

prison.

Feelings
of
remorse,
shame,
sorrow,
guilt,
permeate
their
reenactments,

forcing
them
to
actively
interpret
the
past
within
the
present
and
produce
scenes

fraught
with
tension.

Thus,
while
the
documentary
is
exceptional
for
its
evidentiary

value,
it
also
presents
a
variation
on
the
memorial
standard
that
has
followed
Tuol

Sleng’s
legacy.

Engaged
in
repetition,
much
like
the
Cambodian
Genocide
Program,

100

Panh’s
S-‐21
also
presents
viewers
with
the
social
innovations
that
result
from

confrontations
with
the
genocide.

Poeuv’s
reenactment,
for
example,
is
presented
as
a
layered
reflection
of
the

guard’s
vexed
relationship
to
his
past.

In
one
scene,
he
summons
the
role
of
prison

guard
convincingly.

His
voice
is
raised,
his
demeanor
severe.

He
paces
back
and

forth,
giving
viewers
an
ostensibly
documentary
sense
of
the
terror
he
could
instill

in
prisoners.

In
the
next
scene,
his
mood
is
different.

Poeuv
continues
pacing
back

and
forth
inside
the
cell.

His
gaze
fixed
down
toward
the
imaginary
prisoners
he

was
scolding,
he
testifies:
“At
the
end,
the
chief
said,
‘Comrades,
get
your
things.

We’re
going
home
to
the
village.’

Instead
of
home,
it
was
the
prison
at
Tuol
Sleng.

We
saw
the
interrogators
taking
prisoners
away,
handcuffed
and
blindfolded.

We

children
were
very
scared…When
they
trusted
us,
when
we
were
well
indoctrinated,

they
had
us
guard
the
prisoners
inside.”

Unable
to
situate
himself
solely
in
the
past,

the
guard’s
need
to
explain
himself
takes
over
the
performance.

Testifying
at
the

site
where
he
was
once
a
party
to
atrocity,
he
is
compelled
to
provide
his
crimes

with
context
and
history.

This
instance
of
reenactment
thus
provides
an
intimate

window
into
a
contemplative
moment.

Commenting
on
his
strategy
of
reenactment,
Panh
stated
in
an
interview,

"Gestures
don't
replace,
but
complement
and
extend.

What
people
fail
to
say,
they

draw
on
or
express
it
with
gestures.

Speech
and
gesture
go
together.

This
isn't
the

truth.
No
one
knows
the
exact
truth."

Panh
recognizes
that
the
value
of
the

reenactments
he
features
lies
not
in
their
fidelity
to
an
unproblematic
truth.

Rather,

he
hints
at
an
excess
of
meaning
that
overflows
the
reiterative
act
seen
on
the

101

screen.

Describing
himself
as
"scared"
and
"indoctrinated,"
Him
refuses
to
fully

admit
responsibility
for
his
actions;
his
testimony
is
yet
another
instantiation
of
the

deferred
accountability
that
has
frustrated
the
attempts
to
seek
legal
recourse

against
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Yet,
the
conviction
of
his
performance
nearly
dismantles

his
pleas
for
exoneration.

Improvisations
abound.

“You!
Taking
off
you
shirt?

Without
the
guards

permission?

To
hang
yourself
by
your
shirt?

Give
me
that!”
he
yells
as
he
shows
the

cameras
how
he
performed
his
duties.

Scripted
actions
given
to
him
as
part
of
his

"indoctrination"
less
determine
than
they
do
frame
the
actions
that
compose
his

biographical
portrait.

The
conciliatory
tone
he
adopts
during
the
course
of
his

testimony
becomes
riddled
with
contradictions
and
complications
when
taken
in

tandem
with
performance.

While
this
frustrated
Panh
during
the
filming
–
he

remarked,
"the
former
torturers
and
guards
were
able
to
describe
everything
but

themselves"
–
Poeuv's
story
is
a
complex
act
of
memorialization.

It
is
an

unsatisfying
product
because
of
its
inconclusiveness.

Yet,
such
a
resistance
to

predetermined
outcomes
leads
viewers
to
the
open
ended
possibilities
that
have

been
made
impossible
in
other
commemorations
of
S-‐21.

The
repetition
that

composes
Poeuv's
reenactment
is
one
that
comes
with
revision.

Instead
of

rendering
his
subjectivity
parenthetical
to
the
social
and
historical
outcomes
of
the

prison's
legacy,
his
confrontation
with
the
past
is
essential
to
addressing
it's

memorial
consequences
in
the
present.

Explaining
his
motives
for
his
documentary,
Panh
often
insists
that
he
did
not

intend
it
to
be
a
form
of
judgment.

Rather,
he
understood
his
work
to
be
a
way
of

102

inducing
memory
from
guards
who
were
otherwise
hesitant
to
share
it.

He

elaborated:
"Nothing
is
worse
than
an
executioner
who
prefers
to
stay
quiet
and

take
their
secrets
to
the
grave.

This
is
the
worst."

By
making
personal
memory
the

primary
impetus
behind
his
production,
he
asks
the
guards
to
discursively
render

their
actions
and
motivations
within
a
social,
political,
and
legal
climate
that
was

and
is
already
intensely
engaged
in
interpreting
the
aftermath
of
their
actions.

They

are
therefore
in
dialogue
with
this
collective
effort
towards
meaning
making

concerning
the
genocide;
their
performances
are
inherently
bound
to
the
memorial

terrain
that
shapes
a
social
future.

This
chapter
explored
the
legacy
of
Tuol
Sleng
prison
to
understand
the

terms
in
which
genocide
victims
could
be
mourned.

Foundational
to
my
argument

was
the
assumption
that
Tuol
Sleng
prisoners
do
not
inherently
invoke
grief.

After

all,
the
prison
mug
shots,
which
have
circulated
as
the
ultimate
manifestation
of

Khmer
Rouge
crimes,
seldom
provide
explicit
visual
proof
of
any
violent
act.

Prisoners
often
show
no
signs
of
distress
and,
in
at
least
one
instance,
a
prisoner

smiles
for
his
picture.

Still,
the
S-‐21
mug
shots
have
consistently
haunted
outsiders

seeking
to
know
more
about
Khmer
Rouge
history.

Cambodian
historian
David

Chandler,
for
example,
writes,

In
the
[Tuol
Sleng
Genocide]
museum,
the
eyes
of
the
mounted
mug
shots,
and
especially
of

the
women
and
children,
seem
to
follow
me.

Knowing
as
we
do,
and
as
they
did
not,
that

every
one
of
them
was
facing
death
when
the
photographs
were
taken
gives
the
photos
an

unnerving
quality
that
is
more
affecting
than
the
photographs
of
dead
prisoners
or
the
grisly

portrayals
of
torture
painted
after
1979
by
the
S-‐21
survivor
Van
Nath,
that
are
also
included

in
the
display.
29

103

Nath
describes
a
different
scenario
then
the
one
Chandler
imagines.

Describing
the
experience
of
his
arrest
in
the
Panh
documentary,
Van
Nath
testifies:

“I
was
arrested
in
Battambang.

They
interrogated
me,
tortured
me
with
electricity.

After
a
week,
they
called
roll.

There
were
about
30
of
us.

They
put
us
on
two
trucks

with
our
feet
shackled
together.

I
thought:
‘This
is
the
end.

My
life
is
over.’”
Far

from
being
unaware
of
the
intentions
of
his
captors,
Nath
assumed
the
worst.

This

dissertation
argues
that
the
staking
of
a
successful
criminal
tribunal
against
the

Khmer
Rouge
has
too
often
relied
on
Cambodians’
inability
to
comprehend
their

own
history.

I
focused
particularly
on
Cambodian
Genocide
Program’s
use
of
the

photographs
because
of
its
explicit
rendering
of
a
photographic
temporality
that
is

fixated
on
repetition.

Yet
I
take
issue
with
the
more
general
trend
of
their

popularization
as
a
visual
idiom
for
Khmer
Rouge
crimes.

While
the
vast
majority
of

prisoners
certainly
died
as
a
result
of
various
means
of
abuse,
the
fact
of
their
death

should
not
be
understood
as
a
representative
sample
of
life
during
Democratic

Kampuchea.

Against
a
regime
enforcing
heavy
surveillance,
strict
punishment,

social
engineering,
and
the
threat
of
death
from
multiple
avenues,
those
living
under

Khmer
Rouge
control
negotiated
new
terms
of
cooperation,
subversion,
and
non-‐
sanctioned
strategies
for
survival
that
complicated
their
status
as
political
subjects.

Rithy
Panh’s
S21
gives
us
a
demonstration
of
what
happens
in
the
meantime

when
efforts
to
gain
official
recognition
falter
or
fail.

Panh
stages
a
confrontation

that
combines
interrogation
and
contemplation.

Van
Nath,
who
remains
remarkably

calm
as
he
interacts
with
his
former
tormentors,
spends
the
duration
of
the
movie

104

seeking
to
understand
how
the
former
prison
staff
could
participate
in
the
crimes

being
committed.

And
he
pursues
this
by
adopting
an
interrogative
stance
that

never
disallows
the
possibility
for
dialog.

When
words
fail
the
former
guards,

Panh’s
use
of
reenactment
commits
them
to
personal
reflection.

The
legacy
of
Tuol
Sleng
Prison
is
a
complicated
one.

The
prison
does
not

simply
provide
an
evidentiary
component
to
the
Khmer
Rouge
rap
sheet.

This

chapter
has
shown
that
the
prison
must
be
understood
within
a
larger
institutional

and
legal
context,
and
that
references
to
the
prison
serve
corresponding
concerns.

I

have
been
drawn
to
the
prison
because
I
believe
it
is
a
microcosm
of
the
Cambodian

genocide’s
memorial
landscape,
which
includes
the
legal
work
of
the
ECCC.

And
by

drawing
out
the
dynamics
of
mourning
and
guilt
articulated
in
references
to
the

prison,
I’ve
attempted
to
understand
the
alternative
memorial
visions
that
lack

institutional
recognition.

Notes

1.

I
borrow
this
reference
from
Rithy
Panh’s
documentary,
S21:
The
Khmer
Rouge
Killing
Machine.

As
this
chapter
shows,
however,
commemorations
of
Tuol
Sleng
do
more
than
mourn
the

killing
conducted
at
the
prison.

This
chapter
seeks
to
uncover
the
institutional
concerns
that

underwrite
Tuol
Sleng
prison’s
legacy.

2.

For
example,
ECCC
legal
consultant
Steve
Heder
writes,
“While
insisting
there
would
have
to
be

guarantees
that
there
could
be
no
political
interference
in
the
court
and
the
whole
process

would
be
independent,
[UN
Special
Representative
for
Human
Rights
Thomas
Hammarberg]

floated
the
notion
that
the
law
establishing
it
[ECCC]
could
make
clear
a
limited
number
would

be
prosecuted
using
a
formulation
like
‘the
Standing
Committee
of
the
Central
Committee
and

those
responsible
for
the
most
egregious
crimes’
to
restrict
prosecution
to
the
uppermost

leadership
plus
Duch.”

3.

The
appeal
transcript
reads:
“And
Duch
he
was
merely
the
chief
of
a
prison,
similar
to
those

chiefs
of
the
195
prisons
throughout
Cambodia,
that
they
were
considered
by
the
Trial

Chamber
as
perpetrators
and
they
fell
outside
the
jurisdiction
of
the
ECCC.

And
why
only

Duch,
out
of
those
195
chiefs,
fell
within
the
jurisdiction?”
(Document
F1/2.1
p.
21(8-‐13)
The

prosecution,
however,
noted
that
S-‐21
was
exceptional
because
it
was
under
the
direct
control

of
the
Khmer
Rouge
central
leaders.

Trial
Chamber
judges
accepted
the
prosecution’s

justification.

105

4.

Notably,
the
Tuol
Sleng
mug
shots
were
shown
in
New
York
City’s
Museum
of
Modern
Art,

which
caught
the
concern
of
various
cultural
critics
who
critiqued
the
display
of
such
solemn

documentary
objects
in
an
aesthetic
gallery
space.

The
photos
continue
to
travel
today
under

the
direction
of
the
Photo
Archive
Group.

5.

Rachel
Hughes,
“The
Abject
Artefacts
of
Memory:
Photographs
from
Cambodia’s
Genocide.”

Media,
Culture,
and
Society
25,
no.
1
(2003):
135.

6.

For
example,
graphic
images
were
taken
by
the
Vietnamese
photojournalists
showing
freshly

executed
prisoners
covered
in
blood.

Skulls
have
also
been
part
of
the
popular
imagery
of
the

prison,
which
are
often
displayed
stacked
in
large
masses.

7.

According
to
the
Kaing
Guek
Eav
(“Duch”)
verdict
issued
by
the
ECCC,
the
figure
of
12,272
is

believed
to
be
a
low
estimate
based
on
verifiable
figures
derived
from
the
prison

administration’s
prisoner
roster.

However,
the
court
notes
the
incompleteness
of
this
list:

“Notwithstanding
the
thoroughness
of
the
administrative
record
keeping
at
S-‐21,
the
Revised

Prisoner
List
is
incomplete.

This
is
attributable
to
certain
S-‐21
policies,
such
as
not
registering

children
who
were
brought
along
with
their
parents,
and
to
the
fact
that
files
may
have
been

lost
since
the
abrupt
abandonment
of
S-‐21
by
the
Accused
and
his
staff
on
January
7,

1979…The
Chamber
thus
considers
that
while
the
Revised
S-‐21
Prisoner
List
establishes
the

minimum
number
of
S-‐21
victims,
their
numbers
are
likely
to
be
considerable
higher.”

8.

Previous
estimates
placed
this
figure
considerably
lower
–
often
in
the
range
of
seven
to
fifteen

survivors.

Recent
work
by
the
ECCC
and
the
Documentation
Center
of
Cambodia
(DC-‐Cam)

places
this
figure
considerably
higher.

DC-‐Cam
writes,
“After
several
years
of
research

however,
DC-‐Cam
estimates
that
at
least
179
prisoners
were
released
from
1975-‐1978
and

approximately
23
survived
after
Vietnam
ousted
the
Khmer
Rouge
regime
on
January
7,
1979.

The
release
status
of
the
179
prisoners
(of
which
100
were
soldiers)
is
based
on
numerous

Khmer
Rouge
documents
and
interviews
compiled
primarily
by
Tuol
Sleng
genocide
museum

archivist
Mr.
Nean
Yin.”

9.

S-‐21
historian
David
Chandler
offered
the
following
testimony:
“The
mandate
that
the

defendant
had
at
S-‐21
was
to
see
to
it
that
everyone
who
came
into
that
prison
left
it
for

execution;
that
was
the
mandate.

That
was
never
withdrawn
by
a
higher
authority
and

therefore
I
don’t
think
he
had
to
seek
higher
authority
to
supervise
a
system
in
which
he
had

no
choice
about
who
got
killed
and
who
didn’t.

Everybody
got
killed,
no
matter
what
they’d

done
or
who
they
were.”

10.

I’m
indebted
to
the
work
of
David
Chandler,
who
pieced
together
a
thorough
history
of
prison

in
his
book,
Voices
from
S-‐21:
Terror
and
History
in
Pol
Pot’s
Secret
Prison.

11.

A
historical
example
includes
the
violation
of
Cambodian
neutrality
during
the
U.S.
war
in

Vietnam,
which
resulted
in
clandestine
bombing
raids
and
the
commitment
of
ground
troops

to
fight
the
war
in
Cambodian
territory.

Additionally,
disputes
over
administrative
borders

drawn
by
the
French
during
their
colonization
of
the
region
became
the
source
of
occasional

armed
conflicts
between
Vietnam
and
Cambodia.

This
dispute
would
eventually
lead
to
a
full

scale
invasion
by
the
Vietnamese
military
and
the
fall
of
Democratic
Kampuchea.

12.
Case
001
Judgement
(Extraordinary
Chambers
in
the
Courts
of
Cambodia
2010).
p.
57

13.

According
to
Tom
Fawthrop
and
Helen
Jarvis,
the
U.S.
“went
all
out
to
retain
the
seat
for
the

Khmer
Rouge
delegation”
in
a
move
primarily
concerned
with
the
geopolitical
landscape
of
the

Cold
War.

Asked
to
justify
this
position,
U.S.
delegate
to
the
Credentials
Committee
Robert

Rosenstock
argued
that
the
suspicion
of
state
sponsored
violence
in
Cambodia
could
not
affect

the
decision
to
withhold
credentials,
especially
not
at
the
cost
of
supporting
a
regime
change

resulting
from
an
illegal
war.

Fawthrop
and
Jarvis
explain,
“He
argued
that
the
Credentials

Committee
was
not
concerned
with
the
conduct
of
a
regime
towards
(or
against)
its
own

people
but
was
purely
technical
in
nature.

Since
the
KR
credentials
had
been
accepted
at
the

1978
session
of
the
General
Assembly,
they
should
be
accepted
again.”

14.

Ben
Kiernan
argues
that
the
Vietnamese
invasion
was
not
nearly
as
contentious
inside

Cambodia,
despite
the
historic
and
heated
rivalry
existing
between
the
two
nations.

Noting
the

assessment
of
Timothy
Carney,
Kiernan
writes,
“With
Vietnamese
support,
the
new
People’s

106

Republic
of
Kampuchea
gradually
established
its
authority,
and
the
vast
majority
of

Cambodians
applauded.”

15.

David
Chandler,
Voices
from
S-‐21 :
Terror
and
History
in
Pol
Pot’s
Secret
Prison.
(Berkeley:

University
of
California
Press,
1999),
5

16.

Ibid.,
8

17.

Judy
Ledgerwood,
“The
Tuol
Sleng
Museum
of
Genocidal
Crimes:
National
Narratives.”
Museum

Anthropology
21,
no.
1
(1997):
88.

18.

The
map
of
skulls
constructed
by
Mai
Lam
was
perhaps
the
most
controversial
piece
at
the

museum.

Many
Cambodians
contested
the
exhibition,
arguing
that
it
disturbed
the
dead
by
not

giving
them
a
proper
burial.

Although
the
map
has
since
been
taken
down,
the
skulls
remain

on
display
at
the
museum
today.

19.

Rachel
Hughes,
“The
Abject
Artifacts
of
Memory:
Photographs
from
Cambodia’s
Genocide.”

Media,
Culture,
and
Society
25,
no.
1
(2003):
23–44.

20.

Michael
Perkins,
Personal
Interview,
July
18,
2010.

21.

Hughes,
“Abject
Artifacts
of
Memory,”
29.

22.

Ibid.,
30

23.

The
act
reads:
“In
General.
-‐
Consistent
with
international
law,
it
is
the
policy
of
the
United

States
to
support
efforts
to
bring
to
justice
members
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
for
their
crimes

against
humanity
committed
in
Cambodia
between
April
17,
1975,
and
January
7,
1979.
"(b)

Specific
Actions
Urged.
-‐
To
that
end,
the
Congress
urges
the
President
-‐
"(1)
to
collect,
or
assist

appropriate
organizations
and
individuals
to
collect
relevant
data
on
crimes
of
genocide

committed
in
Cambodia;
"(2)
in
circumstances
which
the
President
deems
appropriate,
to

encourage
the
establishment
of
a
national
or
international
criminal
tribunal
for
the

prosecution
of
those
accused
of
genocide
in
Cambodia;
and
"(3)
as
necessary,
to
provide
such

national
or
international
tribunal
with
information
collected
pursuant
to
paragraph
(1).

24.

I
borrow
this
reference
most
notably
from
Peter
Maguire,
whose
book
Facing
Death
in

Cambodia
uses
the
Tuol
Sleng
photographs
as
entry
point
into
understanding
the
difficulty
of

bringing
the
Khmer
Rouge
to
justice.

But
I
believe
the
sentiment
has
been
replicated
in
many

other
readings
of
the
Tuol
Sleng
mug
shots.

Susan
Sontag,
for
example,
noted
that
viewers
are

in
the
same
position
as
the
executioner
in
Regarding
the
Pain
of
Others.

Anthropologist

Lindsay
French
makes
an
identical
observation
in
her
review
of
the
MoMA
exhibition.

25.

Susan
E.
Cook,
Final
Report
to
the
U.S.
Department
of
State,
Bureau
of
Democracy
and
Human

Rights.
Yale
University,
New
Haven,
CT:
Cambodian
Genocide
Program,
2001.

26.

Boreth
Ly,
“Devastated
Vision
(s):
The
Khmer
Rouge
Scopic
Regime
in
Cambodia.”
Art
Journal

62,
no.
1
(Spring
2003):
72.

27.

After
escaping
Tuol
Sleng
prison,
Vann
began
painting
his
experiences
living
under
the
Khmer

Rouge.

He
has
drawn
international
recognition
and
acclaim
for
his
work.

28.

Panh,
Rithy.
“Rithy
Panh,
Cinéaste”,
February
4,
2004.

http://www.arkepix.com/kinok/Rithy%20PANH/panh_interview.html.

29.

Chandler,
Voices
from
S-‐21,
13

107

Chapter
4:

The
Killing
Fields
Saga:
Reading
Sydney
Schanberg
and
Haing
S.
Ngor

Released
in
1984,
The
Killing
Fields
recalled
the
deadly
years
of
the
Khmer

Rouge
by
detailing
the
real-‐life
friendship
of
New
York
Times
journalist
Sydney

Schanberg
and
his
Cambodian
translator
Haing
S.
Ngor.

During
the
embattled
years

of
the
Lon
Nol
regime
and
the
civil
war
that
accompanied
it,
Schanberg
was
the

Times’
correspondent
in
Cambodia.

Schanberg
fled
Phnom
Penh
after
the
city
fell,

fearing
his
safety
under
the
new
regime.

Pran,
however,
was
unable
to
follow.

The

film
tracks
both
Schanberg’s
desperate
attempts
to
locate
Pran,
and
the
ordeal
Pran

faced
prior
to
his
escape.

This
chapter
analyzes
two
central
figures
from
the
Killing
Fields
saga.

First,

Sydney
Schanberg
was
both
protagonist
in
the
film
and
author
of
the
memoir
from

which
the
film
was
based.

His
New
York
Times
Magazine
entry,
The
Death
and
Life
of

Dith
Pran,
detailed
a
relationship
forged
during
the
Cambodian
civil
war,
tested

during
the
four
years
of
their
separation,
and
affirmed
after
reuniting
in
a
refugee

camp.

Roger
Ebert
has
praised
The
Killing
Fields
for
abandoning
Hollywood

conventions
by
keeping
Pran’s
narrative
central
to
the
story:
“As
a
human
story,
this

is
a
compelling
one.
As
a
Hollywood
story,
it
obviously
will
not
do
because
the
last

half
of
the
movie
is
essentially
Dith
Pran's
story,
told
from
his
point
of
view…
By

telling
his
story,
and
by
respecting
it,
‘The
Killing
Fields’
becomes
a
film
of
an

108

altogether
higher
order
than
the
Hollywood
revenge
thrillers.”
1

Particularly,
Ebert

admires
the
film
for
locating
agency
in
its
Cambodian
protagonist
while
rendering

the
American
nearly
powerless:
“Sitting
in
New
York
writing
letters
is
not
quite

heroism
on
the
same
scale.
And
yet,
what
else
could
Schanberg
do?”

While
Pran
does
figure
prominently
into
the
story,
I
argue
that
The
Killing

Fields
more
accurately
depicts
the
death
and
life
of
Sydney
Schanberg.

Schanberg

embodies
an
imperial
humanitarian
logic
and
displays
this
through
the
anguish
he

feels
when
he
is
unable
to
affect
Pran’s
fate.

His
frustrations
rely
on
the
production

of
racial
others
who
are
silent
and
ineffectual
against
the
expressions
of
power
that

render
their
vulnerability.

He
writes:
“The
fundamental
fact
of
life
for
the

Cambodians
remains
what
it
has
been
since
1970:
their
fate
and
future
are
in

control
of
others
and
their
condition
is
a
tragedy.”

Unable
to
fulfill
his
humanitarian

responsibility
to
shield
the
embattled
population,
Schanberg
rededicates
himself
to

Pran’s
rescue.

In
the
film’s
final
scene,
Schanberg
and
Pran
meet
for
the
first
time
since

separating.

“How
have
you
been?”
Pran
asks.

Schanberg
shakes
his
head
and

smiles,
refusing
to
answer
a
question
so
focused
on
his
welfare.

The
two
embrace

before
Schanberg
finally
asks,
“You
forgive
me?”

Pran
responds,
“Nothing
to
forgive,

Sydney.

Nothing.”

Here,
Pran’s
refugee
status
relieves
Schanberg
of
his
guilt
by

ensuring
that
any
negligence
or
malevolence
contributing
to
Pran’s
vulnerability

was
ultimately
corrected.

The
refugee
camp
signals
his
rescue
and
Schanberg’s

presence
confirms
his
personal
commitment.

Schanberg,
with
Pran’s
authorization,

109

is
absolved
of
wrongdoing
and,
as
an
allegorical
figure,
further
authorizes
the

framing
of
the
US-‐Cambodia
relationship
as
one
defined
by
rescue.

This
chapter
also
analyzes
Haing
S.
Ngor,
the
actor
who
played
Dith
Pran
in

the
film.

A
Cambodian
refugee
in
real
life,
Ngor
emerged
as
a
welcome
epilogue
to

the
US
war
in
Cambodia
because
of
his
rags
to
riches
story.
I
examine
the
Los

Angeles
Times’
discursive
formulation
of
Ngor’s
life
from
November
15,
1984
to

April
17,
1998.

According
to
the
newspaper,
Ngor
was
a
preeminent
symbol
of

American
opportunity:
he
was
a
social
worker
before
the
film’s
production
but
given

the
lead
because
he
could
emotionally
produce
something
that
was
“more
than
an

act.”
2

After
The
Killing
Fields,
he
was
given
an
Academy
Award
for
Best
Supporting

Actor.

It
was
a
vivid
contrast
from
his
former
life,
and
the
LA
Times
often
picked
up

on
this
theme:

“Dr.
Haing
S.
Ngor
never
thought
of
being
a
movie
star
when
he
was

trying
to
survive
life
in
a
labor
camp
by
subsisting
on
mice,
snakes,
lizards,
and

spiders.”

Ngor
was
murdered
outside
of
his
Los
Angeles
home
on
February
25,
1996

after
a
botched
robbery.

Three
members
of
the
Oriental
Lazy
Boyz
street
gang
were

charged
and
convicted.

According
to
prosecutors,
Ngor
complied
with
their

demands
to
hand
over
his
gold
Rolex
watch
but
resisted
their
demands
for
the
gold

locket
containing
the
last
existing
picture
of
his
dead
wife.

If,
as
Yen
Le
Espiritu

argues,
the
figure
of
the
Vietnam
War
refugee
redeems
American
“good
war”

narratives
by
embodying
the
American
capability
to
liberate
benighted
populations

of
the
global
south,
Ngor’s
death
compromises
the
coherence
of
the
“we-‐win-‐even-‐
when-‐we-‐lose”
syndrome.
In
this
chapter,
I
analyze
the
discursive
work
done
by
the

110

LA
Times
to
reconcile
his
death
with
the
liberation
narrative
attached
to
the
refugee

figure.

According
to
Espiritu
in
her
article
“The
‘We-‐Win-‐Even-‐When-‐We-‐Lose’

Syndrome:
U.S.
Press
Coverage
of
the
Twenty-‐Fifth
Anniversary
of
the
‘Fall
of

Saigon,’”
the
newspaper
commemoration
of
the
US
war
in
Vietnam
often
deployed

the
figure
of
the
refugee
to
evidence
the
justice
of
the
war.

Espiritu
argues
that

images
of
liberated
Vietnamese
refugees
helped
to
advance
a
“good
war”
narrative

through
the
quality
of
life
improvements
bestowed
on
them
after
migration.

Absent

a
liberated
population
abroad
benefiting
from
US
imperial
violence,
Vietnamese

refugees
in
the
US
authorize
a
successful
rescue
narrative.
Espiritu
elaborates,

“Privileging
personal
stories
of
suffering,
tragedy,
and
success,
this
approach

naturalizes
Vietnam’s
neediness
and
America’s
riches
and
produces
a
powerful

narrative
of
America(ns)
rescuing
and
caring
for
Vietnam’s
“runaways”
that
erases

the
role
that
U.S.
interventionist
foreign
policy
and
war
played
in
inducing
this

forced
migration
in
the
first
place.”
3

I
argue
that
the
LA
Times
coverage
of
Ngor’s
story
–
in
life
and
death
–

reinscribes
the
viability
of
American
meritocracy
while
also
locating
its

contradictions
in
racial
difference.

He
demonstrated
the
requisite
fitness
under

capitalism
demanded
of
US
subjects
and
had
been
rewarded
generously
because
of

it.

His
murderers
presented
the
opposite:
they
were
unemployed
and
drug
addicted

gang
members
who
provided
an
exceptional
portrait
of
the
threat
posed
by

capitalism’s
unproductive
subjects.

111

Together,
the
packaging
of
Ngor’s
and
Schanberg’s
stories
commemorates

the
Cambodian
genocide
as
a
long
narrative
of
US
imperial
responsibility.

The
two

are
allegorical
for
an
historical
military
relationship
that
is
sanitized
through
the

happy
endings
both
provide.

Schanberg
is
relieved
of
any
burdens
of
guilt
with

Pran’s
blessing;
Ngor
is
posthumously
remembered
as
a
worthy
recipient
of

American
freedoms.

The
two
compose
a
larger
saga
supplementing
The
Killing

Fields,
further
continuing
the
resolution
of
a
complicated
political
and
military
past.

And
lost
in
this
amnesic
method
of
representation
is
a
malicious
history
of

militarized
destruction
on
behalf
of
US
imperial
interests.

Sydney
Schanberg

In
the
introduction
to
his
memoir,
Schanberg
described
his
role
in
Cambodia.

“I
had
been
drawn
to
the
story
by
my
perception
of
Cambodia
as
a
nation
pushed

into
war
by
other
powers,”
he
wrote
in
The
Death
and
Life
of
Dith
Pran.
4

Schanberg

sought
to
deliver
agency
to
a
people
whose
fate
was
being
determined
by
forces

beyond
their
control.

They
are
“everyone’s
pawns,”
he
elaborated
as
he
described
a

situation
in
urgent
need
of
intervention.

His
reporting
from
Cambodia,
he
hoped,

would
help
correct
the
circumstances
of
a
country
whose
“fate
and
future
are

controlled
by
others.”
5

He
would
ultimately
receive
the
Pulitzer
Prize
in

International
Reporting
for
this
work,
and
was
particularly
recognized
for
braving

“great
risk
when
he
elected
to
stay
at
his
post
after
the
fall
of
Phnom
Penh.”

During
the
war,
Schanberg
knew
little
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.

But
he
feared
the

consequences
should
their
revolution
succeed.

Schanberg
writes:

112

One
of
the
few
gauges
of
their
behavior
is
their
battlefield
brutality
and
this
has
been
more

blatant
in
this
year’s
offensive,
which
they
began
New
Year’s
Day.

On
various
fronts,
they

have
burned
whole
villages,
murdered
unarmed
peasants
and
sometimes
mutilated
their

bodies.

Some
captured
prisoners
orders
came
from
above
to
kill
villagers
who
did
not
join

them,
on
the
theory
that
if
they
were
not
with
the
insurgent
side,
they
were
with
the
Lon
Nol

government.
6

But
he
mostly
supported
the
end
of
the
civil
war
and
often
sent
dispatches

describing
the
misery
being
created.

For
this
reason,
he
hoped
that
the
insurgent

victory
would
at
least
lead
to
an
improved
standard
of
living:
“Cambodia,
being
a

country
blessed
with
rich
agricultural
land
and
a
relatively
small
population,
can
be

revived
without
any
major
reconstruction
program
as
would
be
necessary
in
an

industrialized
nation.”
7

The
murderous
policies
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
left
Schanberg
with
feelings
of

intense
personal
guilt:
“Unable
to
protect
him
[Pran]
when
the
Khmer
Rouge

ordered
Cambodians
to
evacuate
their
cities,
I
had
watched
him
disappear
into
the

interior
of
Cambodia,
which
was
to
become
a
death
camp
for
millions.”
8

He
became

obsessed
with
hypothetical
rescue
scenarios:
“I
will
awake
thinking
of
elaborate

stratagems
I
might
have
used
to
keep
him
safe
and
with
me.

I
cannot
cope
with

surviving.”
9

Appointing
himself
Pran’s
protector,
he
is
deeply
traumatized
by
his

failure.

Cathy
Schlund-‐Vials
has
described
Schanberg’s
savior
mentality
towards

Pran
as
one
akin
to
“an
American
tradition
in
which
white
masculinity
is
the

legitimating
subjectivity
in
minority
stories
of
unimaginable
imprisonment
and

dramatic
liberation.”
10

By
speaking
on
Pran’s
behalf
to
articulate
his
suffering,

Schanberg
is
presented
as
an
exceptional
figure
in
making
the
genocide
vivid
for
a

113

Western
audience.

This
exceptionalism
is
further
legitimated
by
his
status
as
a

white
journalist
who
authorizes
the
genocide
as
an
event
worth
mourning.

In
a
January
16,
1975
article
titled
“In
a
Besieged
Cambodian
City,
Hunger,

Death,
and
the
Whimpering
of
Children,”
Schanberg
described
the
war’s
building

climax.

“A
7
year
old
girl,
a
filthy
bandage
over
the
wound
in
her
stomach,
lies
on
a

table.

The
only
doctor
in
the
town
feels
her
pulse.

It
is
failing.”
11

In
the
article,

children
figure
prominently
to
emphasize
the
suffering
of
Cambodians
during
the

war.

Yet,
the
children
also
act
as
microcosms
for
a
larger
war
torn
population.

Children
both
emphasize
the
innocence
of
the
war’s
bystanders
and
the

helplessness
of
the
population
to
significantly
alter
their
circumstances.

A

population
“not
in
control
of
its
destiny,
being
used
callously
as
cannon
fodder,”
the

war’s
children
advance
the
image
of
a
population
requiring
rescue
because
of
their

defenselessness
otherwise.

Indeed,
this
was
an
analogy
he
used
throughout
the
war.

“A
3-‐month-‐old
infant,
his
body
wasted
by
severe
malnutrition,
lies
in
a

bamboo
basket,”
Schanberg
writes
in
a
February
26,
1975
article.

“An
oxygen
tube

is
in
his
nose
and
an
intravenous
feeding
tube
in
his
arm,
which
is
shrunken
into
a

twig-‐like
thing…
‘Kids
are
dying
who
shouldn’t
die,’
said
Robert
Beck,
a
World
Vision

doctor.

‘They
die
in
our
arms.

It’s
hard
to
believe.

There’s
no
excuse
for
it.’”
12

In

another
piece,
Schanberg
gives
a
nine-‐year-‐old
boy
the
lone
speaking
voice:

Enemy
troops
got
within
one
block
of
the
restaurant
before
being
driven
back.

Many
people

were
hiding
inside
the
two-‐story
building.

‘I
didn’t
do
anything
for
six
days
and
nights,’
says

9-‐year
old
Lak
Sok
Ha.

‘I
was
just
frightened.’…
In
truth
there
seems
scant
future
here.

For

example,
all
schools
have
been
closed
since
the
battle
began
early
last
month.

The
9-‐year
old

Lak
Sok
Ha
is
asked
if
he
will
return
to
school
when
it
reopens.

‘How
can
they
reopen
them?’

he
replies
incredulously.

‘The
teachers
are
gone.’
13

114

In
a
related
gesture,
Schanberg
described
a
situation
overrun
by
Cambodian

resignation.

On
August
15,
1973,
Schanberg
reported
on
the
impending
US

withdrawal
from
Cambodia.

Clearly
supportive
of
a
sustained
US
presence,

Schanberg
would
go
on
to
describe
a
fatalistic
mood
in
7
of
his
next
9
reports.

He

wrote,
“Phnom
Penh
remains
a
city
gripped
with
resignation.

The
headlines
in
the

foreign
press
may
suggest
that
Armageddon
is
at
hand,
but
the
Cambodians
don’t

see
any
reason
to
panic.

Their
lives
are
largely
governed
by
a
form
of
Hinduized

Buddhism,
which
has
made
them
fatalists.”
14

Quoting
one
woman,
he
continues,
“I

am
not
running
anywhere
anymore.

I
leave
it
all
to
destiny
now.”

“Whether
it
will
be
decided
by
a
blaze
of
shot
and
shell
through
the
capitol’s

elegant
boulevards,
or
whether
military
pressure
on
the
outskirts
of
the
city
will
be

enough
to
make
the
government
crumble
from
its
own
internal
weaknesses,

corruption,
and
unpopularity,
is
the
big
question,”
Schanberg
comments.
15

Here,
he

describes
the
inevitability
of
the
revolution
and
projects
his
dejection
on
to
the

population.

Facing
a
weak
government
and
the
apparent
fatalism
of
Cambodians,

Schanberg
anticipated
a
bleak
future:
“Life
seems
oddly
meaningless.”

Schanberg
supported
the
US
bombing
campaign
in
Cambodia
and
often

warned
of
the
dire
consequences
of
discontinued
air
support
for
the
Lon
Nol
regime.

During
the
early
days
of
the
civil
war,
for
example,
he
wrote:

A
gentle
innocent
people,
the
Cambodians
have
been
clinging
to
the
hope
that
United
States

troops
would
not
just
attack
the
communist
sanctuaries
and
then
pull
out,
leaving
a
graver

problem
behind
them.

At
the
least,
the
Cambodians
thought,
if
the
troops
leave,
then

Washington
will
surely
provide
substantial
military
aid
in
the
forms
of
arms
and

equipment.
16

115

In
the
article,
Schanberg
portrays
a
Cambodian
population
that
willingly
consented

to
the
US
bombardment.

While
the
US
State
Department
position
held
that
the
local

pro-‐government
forces
were
enough
to
prevent
revolution,
Schanberg
was
fearful

that
this
would
not
be
the
case:
“Once
the
Americans
leave,
it
is
questionable

whether
South
Vietnamese
and
Cambodian
troops
will
be
able
to
handle
the
job

alone…
The
major
need
is
for
a
physical
presence
of
troops
skilled
in
anti-‐guerrilla

warfare.

And
many
military
experts
here
do
not
believe
that
the
South
Vietnamese

can
provide
this
presence
and
still
cope
with
their
situation
at
home.”

Despite
this
support,
Schanberg
still
reported
on
the
negative
consequences

of
the
US
bombers.

“The
destruction
of
Cambodia
has
multiplied
greatly
since
the

escalation
of
the
American
bombing
here
in
February,”
he
described.

“Scores
of

villages
have
been
blown
away.

Twelve-‐foot
deep
bomb
craters
pock
the
ruins.

Livestock
in
great
numbers
have
been
killed,
harvested
crops
burned
to
ash,

orchards
destroyed
–
creating
a
degree
of
damage,
and
therefore
deconstruction,
a

problem,
that
until
now,
had
been
associated
only
with
North
and
South
Viet
Nam.”

In
the
article,
Schanberg
describes
multiple
instances
in
which
battlefield
chaos
led

to
collateral
damage
against
Cambodian
civilians.

“Sometimes
the
devastation
is

continuous
for
several
miles
–
not
a
house
nor
a
piece
of
one
left
standing,”
he

writes.

Still,
he
is
hesitant
to
completely
blame
the
US
Air
Force
for
errant
attacks:

There
is
no
doubt
that
the
Seventh
Air
Force
is
making
a
marked
effort
–
at
least
outside
the

eastern
third
of
the
country,
which
is
solidly
held
by
the
enemy
–
to
avoid
civilian
casualties.

But
the
American
are
dependent
for
their
information
on
the
Cambodian
military,
who
tend

to
panic
under
enemy
pressure
and
have
shown,
in
their
requests
for
air
strikes,
almost
no

concern
about
damage
to
civilian
lives
or
property.

116

Schanberg
further
notes
that
even
when
Cambodian
bombing
orders
violated
US

rules
of
engagement
because
of
the
risk
to
civilians,
the
Cambodian
Air
Force
often

pursued
these
targets
on
their
own.

Thus,
while
he
is
critical
of
the
US
bombing

campaign
because
of
the
civilian
casualties,
he
deflects
evidence
of
its
injustice
by

proposing
Cambodian
fault.

On
August
6,
1973,
a
US
B-‐52
Bomber
mistakenly
dropped
its
20-‐ton
load
on

Neak
Luong,
a
small
town
in
southeastern
Cambodia.

Promising
to
be
“as

forthcoming
as
possible,”
Air
Force
attaché
Col.
David
H.
Opfer
briefed
journalists

the
following
day
and
described
the
damage
as
“minimal.”

He
placed
total
casualties

at
approximately
150,
with
death
totals
in
the
range
of
25-‐65.

Schanberg

investigated
the
incident
further
and
traveled
to
Neak
Luong
to
survey
the
damage

firsthand.

He
discovered
a
situation
significantly
graver:
“Big
chunks
of
the
center
of

town
had
been
demolished,
including
two-‐story
concrete
buildings
reinforced
with

steel.

Clusters
of
wood
and
thatch
huts
where
soldiers
lived
with
their
families
have

been
erased,
so
that
the
compounds
where
they
once
stood
look
like
empty
fields

strewn
with
rubbish.”
17

Official
figures
were
revised
in
accordance
with
his
report

–
400
casualties
were
estimated,
including
137
deaths.

“However,
the
toll
could
be

somewhat
higher,”
Schanberg
cautioned,
“because
the
count
does
not
include
minor

wounds.

Moreover,
some
townspeople
say
they
believe
a
few
townspeople
remain

in
the
wreckage.

The
smell
of
decaying
flesh
is
still
prevalent
in
parts
of
town.”

The
catastrophe
did
not
deter
his
support
of
the
American
campaign,

however.

Recording
local
reaction,
Schanberg
wrote,
“Though
several
soldiers
and

residents
said
they
were
angry,
their
tone
carried
no
anger,
and
little
anti-‐American

117

reaction
was
discernible.

Rather,
people
were
confused,
hurt
and
bewildered
that

such
a
disaster
should
befall
them,
and
especially
that
it
could
be
caused
by
an
ally.”

Despite
the
unquestioned
responsibility
of
the
US
in
the
Neak
Luong
attack,

Schanberg
underscores
that
there
remained
an
uncomplicated
notion
of
“the

enemy”
among
Cambodians.
“I
am
desolated,”
said
one
Neak
Luong
resident,
“but

we
must
continue
the
struggle
against
the
enemy.”

Again,
Schanberg
both

acknowledges
the
deadly
consequences
of
American
bombs,
yet
implicitly
defends

the
policy
as
a
necessary
evil
for
an
otherwise
desirable
outcome.

On
April
13,
1975,
just
four
days
before
the
end
of
the
civil
war,
Schanberg

published
his
most
scathing
critique
of
US
involvement.

With
the
fall
of
the
Lon
Nol

government
imminent
and
the
US
diplomatic
presence
rapidly
being
evacuated,

Schanberg
ruminated
on
the
quality
of
life
that
would
take
hold
after
the
US
retreat.

In
an
article
provocatively
titled
“Indochina
without
Americans:
For
Most
a
Better

Life,”
he
wrote:

It’s
hard
to
declare
that
the
American
had
good
intentions
in
Cambodia
–
though
some

individual
Americans
did
–
because
from
the
beginning,
by
Washington’s
own
admission,
its

policy
had
nothing
to
do
with
Cambodians.

It
had
to
do
with
trying
to
distract
and
deflect
the

North
Vietnamese
long
enough
to
remove
American
troops
from
Vietnam.

And
after
that

was
done,
in
1973,
the
Phnom
Penh
government
became
an
albatross
that
Washington
did

now
know
how
to
dispose
of.

So
yesterday
the
Americans
went
home.
18

Schanberg
chides
US
foreign
policy
officials
for
their
passive
commitment
to

Cambodia.

He
is
emphatic
in
his
condemnation
that,
because
Cambodia
served
no

distinct
strategic
purpose,
US
leaders
offered
the
Lon
Nol
regime
only
disingenuous

support:

Secretary
of
Defense
Schlesinger
has
said
flatly
–
and
Secretary
of
State
Kissinger
obliquely
–

that
Indochina
is
of
no
significant
strategic
or
political
importance
to
American
interests.

Its

only
importance,
that
have
said,
is
in
whether
the
rest
of
the
world
will
interpret
the

American
withdrawal
from
the
region
as
a
failure
of
Washington’s
credibility
in
failing
to

118

honor
commitments.

But
these
concepts
mean
nothing
to
the
ordinary
people
of
Indochina

and
it
is
difficult
to
imagine
how
their
lives
could
be
anything
but
better
with
the
American

gone.

For
the
American
presence
meant
war
to
them,
not
paternal
colonialism.

The

Americans
brought
them
planes
and
Napalm
and
B-‐52
raids,
not
schools
and
road
and

medical
programs.

“Paternal
colonialism”
is
a
conspicuous
alternative.

Schanberg
suggests
not
a

cessation
to
the
imperial
motivations
that
characterized
US
intervention
in

Southeast
Asia,
but
a
policy
built
on
both
bombs
and
benevolence.

Had
“school
and

roads
and
medical
programs”
accompanied
the
half
billion
tons
of
bombs,
he

reasons,
the
sustained
US
war
in
Cambodia
would
have
been
a
justifiable
cause.

He

proposes
a
scenario
in
which
Cambodia
could
be
destroyed
for
its
own
good;
a

situation
he
laments
was
never
quite
realized.

And,
as
Cathy
Schlund-‐Vials
has

shown,
such
a
humanitarian
retelling
of
the
war
in
Cambodia
has
framed
US
cultural

memory
of
this
conflict.

Schlund-‐Vials
elaborates:
“Related
to
Reagan’s
assertion
that
the
Viet
Nam

War
was
lost
largely
because
of
a
lack
of
US
support,
the
Cambodian
syndrome

revises
the
‘Vietnam
syndrome’
by
providing
further
neoconservative
justification

for
US
intervention
through
the
deployment
of
a
‘convenient’
and
‘accessible’

genocidal
past.”
19

Particularly,
Khmer
Rouge
crimes
are
deployed
as
a
“selective,

opportunistic
capitulation
of
Southeast
Asian
history.”
20

Economic
and
political

interests
driving
the
US
foray
into
Southeast
Asia
are
retroactively
repackaged
as
a

war
motivated
primarily
by
a
humanitarian
cause.

However,
Schlund-‐Vials
further

cautions:
“The
US
role
in
in
the
destruction
and
problematic
reconstruction
of

Cambodia
in
the
closing
decades
of
the
twentieth
century
provocatively
complicates

the
sociopolitical
imaginary
alluded
to
in
Bush’s
speech
and
undeniably
impacts

119

Cambodian
American
genocidal
remembrance.”
21

Ben
Kiernan
explains:

The
Cambodian
bombing
campaign
had
two
unintended
side
effects
that
ultimately

combined
to
produce
the
very
domino
effect
that
the
Vietnam
War
was
supposed
to
prevent.

First,
the
bombing
forced
the
Vietnamese
Communists
deeper
and
deeper
into
Cambodia,

bringing
them
into
greater
contact
with
Khmer
Rouge
insurgents.
Second,
the
bombs
drove

ordinary
Cambodians
into
the
arms
of
the
Khmer
Rouge,
a
group
that
seemed
initially
to

have
slim
prospects
of
revolutionary
success.
22

Indeed,
despite
the
portrait
Schanberg
produces
of
a
Cambodian
population

welcoming
of
US
bombs,
Kiernan
interviews
survivors
who
recall
feeling
disgust.

Quoting
one
former
Khmer
Rouge
officer,
he
writes:

Terrified
and
half
crazy,
the
people
were
ready
to
believe
what
they
were
told.
It
was

because
of
their
dissatisfaction
with
the
bombing
that
they
kept
on
co-‐operating
with
the

Khmer
Rouge,
joining
up
with
the
Khmer
Rouge,
sending
their
children
off
to
go
with
them
.
.

.
Sometimes
the
bombs
fell
and
hit
little
children,
and
their
fathers
would
be
all
for
the

Khmer
Rouge.

Schanberg’s
Death
and
Life
of
Dith
Pran
was
written
after
the
defeat
of
the

Khmer
Rouge
and
narrated
his
unlikely
reunion
with
his
former
translator.

“In
the

months
and
years
to
come,
that
scene
–
Pran
passing
through
the
gate
–
becomes
a

recurring
nightmare
for
me,”
he
wrote,
describing
the
psychological
distress
he
felt

being
unable
to
include
Pran
in
the
evacuation.

“I
will
lie
awake,
thinking
of

elaborate
stratagems
I
might
have
used
to
keep
him
safe
and
with
me.”

Tortured

over
Pran’s
ambiguous
fate,
Schanberg
adopts
the
perils
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
as
his

own:
“I
am
a
survivor
who
often
cannot
cope
with
surviving.”
23

Overcome
with

guilt,
he
seeks
to
recover
meaning
from
a
journalistic
mission
that
failed
to
achieve

his
desired
outcome.

In
seeing
Pran
through
to
his
rebirth,
Schanberg
finds
new

tolerance
for
survival
and
can
enjoy
his
own
resurrection.

In
the
second
edition
epilogue
to
The
Death
and
Life
of
Dith
Pran,
Schanberg

120

included
reactions
he
received
in
response
to
The
Killing
Fields.
“Letters
come
from

people
asking
how
they
can
help
the
Cambodian
refugees,
from
people
wanting
to

adopt
refugee
children,
from
people
moved
to
donate
money
and
time
to
relief

agencies,
from
young
men
and
women
who
want
to
explain
why
they
have
decided

to
go
into
social
work
or
enlist
in
the
Peace
Corps.”
24

Said
one
Coast
Guard

volunteer
who
served
in
the
Vietnam
War:
“Now
I
feel
committed
to
help
in
some

way.
You
see,
I
feel
responsible
for
the
situation
in
Cambodia
and
need
to
do

something…And
for
you,
Mr.
Dith,
I
am
truly
sorry
and
hope
you
can
forgive
me
and

those
who
served
with
me
for
what
we
have
done.”
25

Rather
than
inviting

contemplation
over
US
foreign
policy
decisions
and
the
unrestrained
use
of
US

killing
power,
Pran’s
story
invokes
guilt
and
a
desire
to
have
him
authorize
their

forgiveness.

Schanberg’s
text
ends
with
one
final
reaction:
“If
Cambodia
were
free,

someday
[Cambodian
refugees]
could
go
back.

I
fear
that
that
hope
is,
however,
as

unrealistic
as
hoping
for
freedom
in
Poland
or
Latvia.

The
only
alternative
is
that

the
West
will
continue
to
open
its
borders
to
receive
those
whose
past
has
been

taken
from
them
that
they
may
have
a
future.”
26

For
this
reader,
American
freedoms

are
the
antithesis
to
Cambodian
oppression.

The
figure
of
the
Cambodian
refugee,

the
recipient
of
Western
imperial
benevolence,
is
made
the
preeminent
subject
of
US

war
insofar
as
they
are
demonstrative
of
the
humanitarian
promises
of
American

conflict.

121

Haing
S.
Ngor

“Six
weeks
ago,
Dr.
Haing
S.
Ngor
won
an
Oscar
for
best
supporting
actor
in

‘The
Killing
Fields,’”
the
Los
Angeles
Times
reported
May
8,
1985.
“The
next
day,
the

36-‐year-‐old
Cambodian
refugee
was
back
at
work
as
usual
–
as
a
$400-‐a-‐week
job

counselor
in
Chinatown.”
27

He
was
an
untrained
actor,
the
article
notes,
and
had
in

fact
not
even
considered
acting
a
desirable
occupation
because
he
thought
it
to
be

“such
a
‘low-‐class’
thing.”
But
he
relented.
Meeting
casting
directors
for
The
Killing

Fields
at
a
wedding
in
Oxnard,
he
signed
on
to
assume
the
role
of
Dith
Pran
and

earned
a
$1,300
per
week
paycheck
in
the
process.

The
significance
of
his
story
was
more
than
just
a
tale
of
success.
Ngor
was
a

real-‐life
survivor
of
the
Cambodian
genocide
and
had,
moreover,
brought
a
degree
of

autobiography
to
the
role.
“He
still
carries
signs
of
torture.
He
has
a
long
scar
above

one
ankle,
and
the
top
of
the
little
finger
on
his
right
hand
is
missing.
An
inch
was

cut
off
his
finger
and
his
leg
was
slashed,
he
explained,
after
his
arrest
for
calling
his

girlfriend
‘sweetheart’
and
for
trying
to
find
extra
food
to
eat
because
he
was

hungry.”
28

He
embodied
evidence
of
Khmer
Rouge
ruthlessness
–
the
physical

residues
permanently
marked
him
and
showcased
the
miracle
of
his
survival.
Still,

years
later
he
was
walking
the
red
carpet
at
the
Academy
Awards
and
enjoying
the

glamour
of
the
American
film
industry.

For
the
LA
Times,
Ngor
was
a
powerful

reminder
of
the
possibilities
of
US
meritocracy.

Having
survived
the
“killing
fields”

of
the
Khmer
Rouge,
he
came
to
the
US
and
became
a
movie
star.

That
night,
he
was

awarded
the
Academy
Award
for
Best
Supporting
Actor.

122

On
Feb.
15,
1988,
the
Los
Angeles
Times
reported
that
the
refugee-‐turned-‐
actor
had
become
a
published
author.
“I
wanted
to
describe
the
horror
of
being

ruled
by
communists
who
enjoy
killing
so
that
Americans,
who
know
nothing
about

bombing
or
torture,
might
appreciate
their
own
freedom
more.”
29

Indeed,
the

article
again
celebrates
American
freedoms
by
contrasting
them
to
Khmer
Rouge

totalitarianism.
“The
children
need
food
and
medicine
if
they
are
to
survive,”
Ngor

told
reporter
David
DeVoss
about
the
dire
situation
still
facing
Cambodia.
“At

present,
their
skin
is
their
clothes,
the
jungle
is
their
house
and
paddy
straw
is
their

blanket.”
Conversely,
his
life
in
the
United
States
was
defined
by
excess:
“A
decade

ago
I
was
in
danger
of
starvation.
Now
my
only
worry
is
getting
fat.”

Importantly,
Ngor’s
experience
was
a
significant
departure
from
that
of
other

Cambodian
refugees
in
the
US.

According
to
1990
US
Census
data,
the
average
per

capita
income
for
Cambodians
was
just
$5,120,
well
below
the
1990
national

average
of
$14,413.

Additionally,
Cambodians
had
poverty
rates
of
42.6%,

compared
to
the
national
average
of
13%.

While
the
LA
Times
describes
Ngor’s

success
as
a
statement
on
American
freedoms,
poverty
rates
among
Cambodian

refugees
reveal
the
need
to
instead
consider
how
techniques
of
government
and
the

production
of
subjects
change
rather
than
dissipate.

Although
the
Khmer
Rouge

undoubtedly
committed
mass
killing
and
compulsory
starvation,
the
possessive

individualism
at
the
heart
of
American
meritocracy
shifts
the
burden
of
state

responsibility
to
self-‐regulating
subjects
who
inherit
the
blame
when
US
capitalism

becomes
a
source
of
suffering.

The
threat
of
premature
death
is
expressed
as
a

failure
of
personal
responsibility
rather
than
a
deficiency
of
the
state.

123

Ngor,
however,
is
celebrated
as
the
embodiment
of
American
meritocracy’s

viability
despite
greater
evidence
suggesting
the
contrary.

In
this
role,
he
evidences

the
possibilities
available
to
US
subjects.

DeVoss
elaborates:
“After
winning
his

Oscar,
Ngor
left
the
Chinatown
Service
Center
to
publicize
the
plight
of
Cambodian

refugees…Towards
that
end
he
donated
most
of
the
royalties
from
‘The
Killing

Fields,’
plus
more
than
$150,000
subsequently
earned
on
the
lecture
circuit.”

Using

his
fame
as
a
platform,
Ngor
becomes
an
activist
and
informs
people
of
the
grave

situation
facing
Cambodia
for
those
who
might
otherwise
be
unaware.

By
creating

the
conditions
making
this
discourse
possible,
the
US
is
further
framed
as
a
space

that
enables
redressive
action.

Ngor
was
found
dead
with
two
gunshot
wounds
to
his
chest
outside
of
his

Los
Angeles
home
on
February
25,
1996.

In
its
initial
report,
the
LA
Times
recorded

reaction
from
the
local
Cambodian
refugee
community.

Quoting
one
community

activist,
Lorenza
Munoz
reports,
“[Somalie
Sei]
said
she
was
saddened
that
Ngor
had

survived
years
of
depravation
and
torment
in
Cambodia
only
to
be
killed
in
the

streets
of
Los
Angeles.
‘People
think
that
America
is
a
paradise
because
they
escaped

from
the
holocaust,’
Sei
said.
‘We
were
people
with
no
human
rights
at
all.
We
feel

safe
here,
but
it’s
not
like
we
are.’”
30

Here,
Sei
problematizes
the
rescue
narrative

that
had
often
framed
Ngor’s
career
as
a
movie
star.

She
questions
the
ability
of
the

US
to
protect
its
subjects
from
harm,
a
distinction
integral
to
the
use
of
the
refugee

as
an
ethical
figure.

124

Munoz
nonetheless
finds
consolation
amid
tragedy.
She
is
celebratory
of

Ngor’s
activism
on
behalf
of
Cambodians
suffering
the
consequences
of
war.

And
it

was
the
US
film
industry
that
provided
the
platform
for
his
activism:

Ngor,
who
was
killed
Sunday
night
outside
his
Los
Angeles
home,
was
viewed
by
many
in
the

tight
knit
community
as
someone
who
had
survived
the
Khmer
Rouge
death
camps
and

offered
the
world
insight
on
the
cruel
years
under
Pol
Pot
regime
through
his
1984
Academy

Award-‐winning
performance
in
‘The
Killing
Fields.’
‘Among
Cambodians,
we
only
had
one

[person]
that
was
well
known
and
could
get
involved
in
international
affairs,’
said
Keamty

Lim
as
she
gathered
with
her
neighbors
Monday
afternoon
on
Minnie
Street,
where
many

Orange
County
Cambodians
live.

Ngor
is
made
representative
of
a
diasporic
Cambodian
community
who
is
rendered

voiceless
in
the
absence
of
a
figure
to
monolithically
represent
them.

As
questions
about
the
details
of
his
death
lingered,
some
began
to
wonder
if

he
had
been
assassinated.

Said
one
acquaintance,
“The
moment
I
heard
that
Haing

S.
Ngor
had
been
murdered
here,
my
first
thought
was
that
it
was
political.
I
later

heard
that
Ngor’s
brother
in
Cambodia
was
quoted
saying
he
believes
Ngor
was

killed
by
the
Khmer
Rouge
because
Ngor
recently
made
a
speech
saying
he
would

testify
against
them
in
a
war
crimes
tribunal.”
31

Frustrated
by
Ngor’s
refusal
to

abandon
Cambodian
politics
or
assimilate
fully
into
US
civil
society,
Los
Angeles

Times
columnist
Pat
Morrison
rhetorically
asked,
“How
many
people,
from
how

many
nations
and
cultures,
are
in
L.A.,
but
not
of
it?”
32

Morrison
continues:
“American
teachers
gnash
their
teeth
when
students

cannot
find
Chicago,
let
alone
Japan,
on
a
map,
and
answer
that
Lincoln
was

president
when
we
beat
the
Germans,
if
they
indeed
know
we
beat
the
Germans.

Elsewhere
in
the
world,
the
past
is
prologue.
Every
slight
and
outrage
may
be
as

freshly
remembered
as
if
it
came
last
week
instead
of
last
century.”

By
suggesting

that
Ngor
abandon
his
preoccupation
with
Cambodia’s
genocidal
past,
she
trivializes

125

the
lasting
impact
and
personal
trauma
of
the
genocide’s
survivors.

Ngor
is
blamed

for
his
own
death
because
of
his
insistence
on
sustaining
his
activism
against
the

Khmer
Rouge
(and
the
international
support
that
kept
them
active).

Morrison

instead
argues
that
“living
well
is
the
best
revenge”
to
the
injustices
of
the
past,
and

speculates
that
this
more
amnesic
approach
–
the
more
American
approach,
in
her

opinion
–
could
have
saved
his
life:
“Here
we
kill
each
other
over
money,
not
politics.

The
last
time
we
killed
over
politics
on
any
scale
was
the
Civil
War.
It
scared
the
hell

out
of
us,
and
the
consequences
of
slavery
we
still
live
with
every
day.”

Three
members
of
the
Oriental
Lazy
Boyz
street
gang
were
arrested
and

charged
with
his
murder
on
April
26,
1996.

Piecing
together
accounts
from

witnesses,
the
LAPD
assembled
the
following
sequence:

On
February
25,
1996,
Tak

Sun
Tan,
Indra
Lim,
and
Jason
Chan
had
run
out
of
cocaine
and
wanted
more.

Having
already
fallen
into
the
habit
of
stealing
jewelry
to
supply
their
habit,
they

sought
another
victim.
It
was
at
this
moment
that
Ngor
pulled
into
the
carport
of
his

apartment
complex,
where
he
was
swarmed
and
ordered
to
hand
over
his
valuables.

Compliant,
Ngor
gave
up
an
old
Rolex
without
hesitation.
The
Rolex
was,
after
all,
a

luxury
that
could
be
replaced
and
therefore
not
worth
losing
his
life.
But
they
then

demanded
the
one
item
in
his
possession
that
he
considered
irreplaceable
because

of
its
sentimental
value
–
his
gold
locket.

Containing
what
prosecutors
claimed
was

the
last
surviving
picture
of
his
wife,
he
had
worn
the
locket
constantly
since
his

time
under
the
Khmer
Rouge.
The
only
time
he
ever
took
it
off,
the
prosecution

elaborated,
was
when
he
showered.
Ngor
resisted,
the
Oriental
Lazy
Boyz
reacted,

shots
were
fired,
and
Ngor
was
dead.

126

The
locket
became
a
focal
point
during
the
trial.

Ngor
had
been
an
OBGYN

prior
to
the
Khmer
Rouge,
prosecutors
told
the
jury,
but
was
forced
to
conceal
his

profession
at
the
risk
of
execution.
Ngor
and
his
wife,
Houy,
were
evacuated
into
the

countryside,
where
they
attempted
to
conceal
their
past.
“It
was
a
time
of
incredible

hardship
and
brutality,”
the
prosecution
narrated
during
opening
their
opening

statement.
“But
life
moved
on,
and
one
day
Dr.
Ngor
and
his
wife
discovered
they

were
going
to
have
a
baby.
Life
seemed
better.
Once
again,
things
don’t
always
work

out
as
we
plan.”
Huoy
developed
complications
during
her
delivery
and
needed

Ngor’s
expertise.
But
still
under
the
surveillance
of
the
Khmer
Rouge,
he
was
unable

to
reveal
his
medical
training
and
could
only
stand
idle
as
both
his
wife
and
child

died.

Ngor’s
death
is
presented
as
a
sacrificial
act
that
is
demonstrative
of
his

commitment
to
proper
domesticity.
Rather
than
lose
the
last
material
reminder
of

his
relationship
with
his
wife,
he
protects
the
locket
at
the
cost
of
his
own
life.

Conversely,
Tan,
Lim,
and
Chan,
are
disruptive
to
this
domesticity
and,
furthermore,

embody
the
threat
posed
by
capitalisms
unproductive
subjects.

In
a
compelling

development,
the
convictions
of
the
three
were
announced
the
same
day
of
Pol
Pot’s

death
in
Cambodia.

Furthermore,
the
April
17
th

convictions
came
on
the
23
rd

anniversary
of
the
Khmer
Rouge
revolution.

The
case
and
its
media
coverage

provided
a
powerful
statement
on
the
redressive
capabilities
of
the
US.

On
January
30,
2014,
Los
Angeles
Times
film
critic
Susan
King
reflected
on
the

significance
of
The
Killing
Fields
to
its
30
th

anniversary.

She
quotes
Sydney

127

Schanberg:
“Before
‘The
Killing
Fields,’
Cambodians
never
knew
during
their
time

under
the
Khmer
Rouge
whether
anybody
in
the
outside
world
knew
about
what

was
happening
to
them.
The
truth
was,
that
was
pretty
true.
The
movie
changed

that.”

The
film,
however,
did
more
than
just
document
the
atrocities
that
had
been

committed
in
Cambodia.

As
I’ve
argued,
the
Killing
Fields
was
a
broader
reflection

on
US
imperial
responsibility
and
the
consequences
of
its
military
killing
power.

While
the
film
certainly
introduced
the
Cambodian
genocide
into
American
popular

culture,
it
also
perpetuated
the
humanitarian
façade
of
the
US
war
in
Southeast
Asia.

Quoting
director
Roland
Joffe,
King
continues,
"If
you
make
it
a
story
about

friendship
and
how
that
exists
among
men,
you
will
make
something
indelible."

Describing
their
relationship
as
“a
love
story,”
Joffe
imagined
the
film
to
be

something
transcendental
to
the
global
politics
of
the
Cold
War.

The
Killing
Fields

“wasn’t
just
a
war
drama,”
King
insists.

Yet,
to
name
it
anything
else
would
be
to

misunderstand
the
film’s
significance.

Towards
the
end
of
the
film,
Schanberg
receives
an
award
for
his
reporting
in

Cambodia.

Addressing
an
audience,
he
reflects:

As
they
pondered
their
options
in
the
white
house,
the
men
who
decided
to
bomb
and
then

to
invade
Cambodia
concerned
themselves
with
many
things.
Great
power
conflicts
and

collapsing
dominos,
and
looking
tough
and
dangerous
to
the
North
Vietnamese,
and
relieving

pressure
on
the
American
troop
withdrawal
from
the
south.
But
what
they
specifically
were

not
concerned
with
were
the
Cambodians
themselves.
Not
the
people,
not
the
society,
not

the
country,
except
in
the
abstract
as
instruments
of
policy.

Dith
Pran
and
I
tried
to
record

and
bring
home
here
the
concrete
consequences
of
these
decisions,
to
real
people,
to
human

beings,
the
people
who
were
left
out
of
the
administration’s
plans
but
who
paid
the
price
and

took
the
beating
for
them.

The
monologue
mirrors
many
of
the
critiques
from
Schanberg’s
final
article

from
Cambodia
(“Indochina
without
Americans:
For
Most
a
Better
Life”),
which
I

analyzed
above.

This
acceptance
speech
takes
an
apparent
stance
against
US

128

imperialism
and
once
again
accuses
US
policymakers
of
exploiting
Cambodian
lives.

Yet,
his
critique
comes
at
the
cost
of
trivializing
Cambodian
agency.

The
Killing

Fields
exceptionalizes
Schanberg
for
being
the
lone
voice
of
justice
during
the
US

bombardment.

While
Schanberg
walks
off
the
stage
to
a
boisterous
applause,
his

photographer,
Al
Rockoff,
confronts
him
and
accuses
Schanberg
of
exploiting
Pran’s

disappearance
to
benefit
his
own
career.

“You
know
what
bothers
me?
It
bothers

me
that
you
let
Pran
stay
in
Cambodia
because
you
wanted
to
win
that
fucking

award,
and
you
knew
that
you
needed
him
to
do
it,”
Rockoff
accuses.

The
two
argue

back
and
forth
briefly,
but
Schanberg
has
the
final
word:
“Don’t
play
games
with
me,

Al.

Don’t
play
stupid
games.

Nobody
gets
to
go
in
there.

If
I
thought
I
could,
I

would.

I’ve
sent
out
hundreds
of
photographs.

Every
relief
organization
on
the

Thai-‐Kampuchean
border
has
got
his
picture.

If
I
saw
one
glimmer
of
hope,
I’d

go.

I’d
go
today.

You
can’t
just
get
on
a
goddamn
plane
and
make
the
whole
world

come
out
right.”

Rockoff
thus
accuses
Schanberg
of
participating
in
the
same
exploitive

relationship
that
Schanberg
is
critical
of
in
his
speech.

Rockoff
suggests
that
Pran

was
used
only
as
a
tool
to
further
Schanberg’s
career,
an
accusation
that
Schanberg

adamantly
deflects.

The
journalist
assures
his
former
photographer
that
he’s
done

everything
in
his
power
to
find
their
old
friend
and
that
any
more
direct
action

would
be
impossible.

Pran,
as
both
the
source
of
tension
between
the
two
men
and

the
object
of
their
rescue,
is
portrayed
as
Schanberg’s
responsibility,
a
burden
that

exasperates
him
throughout
the
length
of
the
film.

129

Sydney
Schanberg,
whose
reporting
in
Cambodia
did
the
important
work
of

revealing
both
US
and
Khmer
Rouge
atrocities
during
the
Cambodian
civil
war,

displays
a
sense
of
imperial
guilt
over
the
failed
rescue
and
momentary
loss
of
his

friend,
Dith
Pran.

Haing
S.
Ngor,
who
played
the
role
of
Pran
in
the
film,
provides

further
evidence
of
the
justifiability
of
the
bombing
of
Cambodia
by
demonstrating

the
power
of
American
meritocracy.

His
murder
was
an
occasion
to
reexamine
the

terms
of
his
social
citizenship.

As
supplements
to
the
film,
the
real
life
figures
of

Schanberg
and
Ngor
perpetuate
the
erasure
from
collective
memory
of
the

damaging
consequences
of
the
US
attack
against
Southeast
Asia.

Notes

1.

Roger
Ebert,
“The
Killing
Fields
Movie
Review.”
RogerEbert.com,
January
1,
1984.

http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-‐killing-‐fields-‐1984.

2.

Dale
Pollock
"His
Role
as
a
Torture
Victim
in
Cambodia
was
Not
an
Act."
Los
Angeles
Times
15

Nov.
1984:
K1

3.

Yen
Le
Espiritu,
“The
‘We-‐Win-‐Even-‐When-‐We-‐Lose’
Sydrome:
U.S.
Press
Coverage
of
the

Twenty-‐Fifth
Anniversary
of
the
‘Fall
of
Saigon.’”
American
Quarterly
58
(2006)

4.

Sydney
Schanberg,
The
Death
and
Life
of
Dith
Pran.
(New
York:
Penguin
Books,
1985),
3

5.

Ibid.,
71

6.

Sydney
Schanberg
"The
‘Enemy’
is
Red,
Cruel
and
After
5
Years,
Little
Known."
New
York
Times

2
Mar.
1975:
169

7.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"Indochina
without
Americas:
a
Better
Life."
New
York
Times
13
Apr.
1975:

50

8.

Schanberg,
Death
and
Life,
1

9.

Ibid.,
31

10.

Schlund-‐Vials,
War,
Genocide,
and
Justice,
72

11.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"In
a
Besieged
Cambodian
City,
Hunger,
Death
and
the
Whimpering
of

Children."
New
York
Times
16
Jan.
1975:
3

12.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"Children
Starving
in
Once-‐Lush
Land."
New
York
Times
26
Feb.
1975:
81

13.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"In
Kompong
Cham,
Death
Is
No
Stranger."
New
York
Times
19
Jan.
1973:
2

14.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"Silent
Enough
for
a
Nap
While
the
Storm
Gathers."
New
York
Times
19
Aug.

1973:
175

15.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"Artillery
Kills
15
in
Phnom
Penh."
New
York
Times
3
Feb.
1974:
19

16.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"Cambodia:
Communist
Pressure
Steadily
Growing."
New
York
Times
21

Jun.
1970:
145

17.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"Bomb
Error
Wreaks
Havoc
in
Neak
Luong."
New
York
Times
9
Aug.
1973:
1

18.

Sydney
Schanberg,
"Military
Taking
Over
in
Cambodia
as
Last
Americans
are
Evacuated;

Sihanouk
Says
U.S.
Wants
Him
Back."
New
York
Times
13
Apr
1975:
1

19.

Cathy
Schlund-‐Vials,
“Cambodian
American
Memory
Work:
Justice
and
the
‘Cambodian

Syndrome’.”
Positions:
East
Asia
Cultures
Critique
20,
no.
3
(Summer
2012):
814.

130

20.

Ibid.,
812.

21.

Schlund-‐Vials
references
an
August
22,
2007
speech
in
which
George
W.
Bush
claims:
“In

Cambodia,
the
Khmer
Rouge
began
a
murderous
rule
in
which
hundreds
of
thousands
of

Cambodians
died
by
starvation
and
torture
and
execution…Three
decades
later,
there
is
a

legitimate
debate
about
how
we
got
into
the
Vietnam
War
and
how
we
left.

There’s
no
debate

in
my
mind
that
the
veterans
from
Vietnam
deserve
the
high
praise
of
the
United
States
of

America.”
(War,
Genocide,
and
Justice,
p.
11)

22.

Ben
Kiernan
and
Taylor
Owen.
“Bombs
Over
Cambodia:
New
Information
Reveals
That

Cambodia
Was
Bombed
Far
More
Heavily
Than
Previously
Believed.”
Walrus
Magazine,

October
2006.
p.
63

23.

Schanberg,
Death
and
Life,
74-‐75

24.

Ibid.,
74-‐75

25.

Ibid.,
75

26.

Ibid.,
78

27.

Penelope
McMillan,
"By
Day,
His
Job
May
Be
Routine
–
but
by
Night,
He’s
a
Celebrity."
Los

Angeles
Times
8
May
1985:
1

28.

Ibid.

29.

David
DeVoss,
"The
Many
Lives
of
Haing
S.
Ngor:
Doctor/Actor
Turns
Author
with

Autobiography
That
Recounts
Barbarism
in
Cambodia."
Los
Angeles
Times
15
Feb.
1988:
1

30.

Lorenza
Munoz,
"Community
Mourns
Loss
of
Its
Best
Known."
Los
Angeles
Times
27
Feb.
1996:

11

31.

Editorial,
"Political
Violence
Comes
Home,
Following
Those
Escaping
It."
Los
Angeles
Times
9

Mar.
1996:
7

32.

Patt
Morrison,
"When
Parallel
Universes
Bump."
Los
Angeles
Times
13
Mar.
1996:
5

131

Conclusion

My
admission
to
graduate
school
was
granted
seven
years
ago
after
I

submitted
application
materials
that
included
the
following
anecdote:

My
two

uncles,
both
teenagers
at
the
time,
were
bored
waiting
on
their
laundry
in
a
San

Francisco
Tenderloin
District
Laundromat.

They
also
had
me
in
their
company
as

my
babysitters.

I
don’t
remember
my
exact
age,
but,
for
what
its
worth,
this
is
my

absolute
earliest
memory.

They
raised
their
middles
fingers
and
encouraged
me
to

do
the
same.

And
I
did.

They
then
said,
“Fuck
you,
America”
repeatedly,
carefully

exaggerating
each
syllable
to
encourage
my
accurate
repetition
of
the
phrase.

And,

after
enough
persuasion,
I
repeated:
“Fuck
you,
America.”

The
story
framed
my
research
interests
by
exemplifying
the
messy
character

of
American
“freedom.”

At
the
time,
my
family
lived
in
a
small
Tenderloin
district

studio
apartment
and
we
struggled
immensely
just
to
meet
our
basic
needs.

The

geographic
concentration
of
this
city
amounted
to
a
dramatization
of
our
poverty:

San
Francisco’s
financial
capitol
–
the
Financial
District
–
was
just
blocks
away
and

provided
an
always-‐present
reminder
of
both
our
relative
and
actual
poverty.

“Fuck

you,
America”
expressed
the
dissent
of
my
uncles
as
they
were
being
initiated
into

American
capitalism.

Far
from
feeling
liberated,
they
understood
that
their

presence
in
the
US
represented
not
a
cessation
of
power,
but
it’s
repackaging.

In

this
conclusion,
I
expand
on
this
notion.

132

The
graduate
school
application
essay
that
provided
the
initial
compass
for

this
dissertation
described
a
research
agenda
interested
in
understanding
how
the

figure
of
the
Cambodian
refugee
both
authorized
racist
war
by
acting
as
an

instantiation
of
imperial
responsibility,
while
also
rendering
vulnerable
the

discourses
integral
to
this
process.

My
research
agenda
changed,
but
my

autobiographical
stakes
haven’t.

Chapter
1
was
written
as
a
nod
to
the
agency
of

Cambodian
genocide
survivors
–
my
uncles
included
–
whose
acts
of
criticism
and

resistance
have
too
often
gone
overlooked.

More
frequently,
Khmer
Rouge
ruthlessness
is
described
through
tales
of
the

shocking
and
the
spectacular.

My
interest
in
the
memorial
legacy
of
Tuol
Sleng

prison
was
informed
by
a
desire
to
move
away
from
such
a
totalizing
account.

David
Chandler
has
described
the
prison
as
a
“total
institution”
that
is
analogous
of

the
overall
brutality
of
the
Khmer
Rouge.
1

As
I
argued
in
Chapter
3,
the

preoccupation
with
spectacle
and
tragedy
risks
neutralizing
the
actual
acts
of

political
expression
that
Cambodians
have
used
to
challenge
the
conditions
of
power

that
govern
them.

While
Tuol
Sleng
has
played
an
important
role
in
materializing

the
genocide
for
outside
observers,
its
overstated
legacy
misrepresents
the
lived

experiences
of
many
survivors.

My
grandfather
died
of
starvation.

On
his
final
day,
he
made
a
desperate
trek

to
the
communal
kitchen,
where
he
begged
for
a
bowl
of
rice
and
was
refused.

He

collapsed
walking
back
and
died
soon
after.

The
ECCC
estimates
that
about
50%
of

the
deaths
attributable
to
the
Khmer
Rouge
occurred
under
“nonviolent”

circumstances.

This
is
an
important
point
because
it
reminds
us
that
the
regime’s

133

wrath
was
often
experienced
through
compulsory
state
neglect,
which
promoted

death
by
fostering
hunger,
disease,
and
exhaustion.

This
is
a
more
banal
exercise
of

power
that
is
continuous
with
the
ways
many
Cambodian
refugees
experienced
the

authority
of
the
state
even
after
fleeing
the
Khmer
Rouge.

Michele
Foucault,
who
has
written
extensively
on
the
quality
of
human

freedom
under
modern
power,
provides
a
salient
entry
point.

Discipline
and
Punish

begins
with
the
gruesome
public
execution
of
Robert-‐Francois
Damiens,
the
last

person
in
France
to
die
by
drawing
and
quartering.

Foucault
quotes
Damiens’

sentence:

On
a
scaffold
that
will
be
erected,
the
flesh
will
be
torn
from
his
breasts,
arms,
thighs,
and

calves
with
red-‐hot
pincers,
his
right
hand,
holding
the
knife
with
which
he
committed
said

parricide,
burnt
with
sulphur,
and,
on
those
places
where
the
flesh
will
be
torn
away,
poured

molten
lead,
boiling
oil,
burning
resin,
wax
and
sulphur
melted
together
and
then
his
body

drawn
and
quartered
by
four
horses
and
his
limbs
and
body
consumed
by
fire,
reduced
to

ashes
and
his
ashes
thrown
to
the
wind.
2

For
Foucault,
the
graphic
scene
is
prelude
to
the
transformations
in
modern

power
and
subjectivity
that
culminate
with
the
diffuse
and
decentralized

surveillance
society
epitomized
by
the
Panopticon.

He
describes
the
execution
of

Damiens
the
regicide
as
punishment
for
a
crime
committed
against
the
king.

The

accompanying
public
spectacle
helped
advance
a
relationship
between
sovereign

and
subject
as
one
defined
by
force.

In
contrast,
Foucault
is
drawn
to
the

architectural
metaphor
of
the
Panopticon
to
describe
a
different
subjectivity
shaped

by
constant
visibility
and
self-‐regulation:
“He
who
is
subjected
to
a
field
of
visibility,

and
who
knows
it,
assumes
responsibility
for
the
constraints
of
power;
he
makes

them
play
spontaneously
upon
himself;
he
inscribes
in
himself
the
power
relation
in

134

which
he
simultaneously
plays
both
roles;
he
becomes
the
principle
of
his
own

subjection.”

Panoptic
arrangements
are
manifest
in
diffuse
state
institutions
that
are

tasked
with
constant
observation,
evaluation,
regulation,
and
training
of
the

population.

Foucault
writes:
“It
is
a
type
of
location
of
bodies
in
space,
of

distribution
of
individuals
in
relation
to
one
another,
of
hierarchical
organization,
of

disposition
of
centers
and
channels
of
power,
of
definition
of
instruments
and

modes
of
intervention
of
power,
which
can
be
implemented
in
hospitals,
workshops,

schools,
prisons.”

It
is,
in
summary,
a
dispersal
of
power
that
maximizes
the
field
of

visibility
to
produce
disciplined
subjects
without
the
appearance
of
force.

Aihwa

Ong’s
study
of
Cambodian
refugee
resettlement
applies
Foucault’s
formulation
of

power:
“Sovereign
power
in
this
country
is
diffused
through
a
network
of
welfare

offices,
vocational
training
schools,
hospitals,
and
the
workplace,
where
bureaucrats

and
their
minions
mobilize
a
variety
of
knowledge
that
can
be
used
to
shape
the

conduct
of
subjects,
in
order
to
maximize
certain
capabilities
and
minimize
certain

risks.”

In
Chapter
4,
I
examined
the
Killing
Fields
saga
to
complicate
the
notions
of

liberation
and
humanitarian
rescue
that
have
accompanied
retellings
of
the
US
war

in
Cambodia.

Particularly,
while
Haing
S.
Ngor
was
ostensible
proof
of
the
viability

of
American
meritocracy,
his
success
story
concealed
greater
evidence
of
US

capitalism’s
toll
on
Cambodian
refugees.

I
refer
particularly
to
the
heightened
rates

of
poverty
among
US
Cambodians,
which
the
1990
Census
placed
at
42.6%.

Ngor

was
an
obvious
exception
to
this
trend
and
embodied
a
hypothetical
relationship

135

between
American
“rescue”
and
human
freedom.

But
his
death
occasioned
a
crisis

in
the
discursive
coherence
of
this
principle.

As
Chapter
4
argued,
the
Los
Angeles
Times’
framing
of
his
death
did

reparative
work
on
behalf
of
American
meritocracy
by
locating
its
threats
in
both

racial
difference
and
the
menace
posed
by
capitalism’s
unproductive
subjects.

Their

narration
affirmed
a
linkage
between
personal
responsibility
and
freedom,
while

also
inscribing
criminality
on
those
lacking
this
“discipline.”

The
efficient,

productive,
and
self-‐regulating
subject
idealized
under
configurations
of
modern

power
(as
theorized
by
Foucault)
was
the
true
protagonist
of
the
Haing
Ngor
saga.

This
hypothetical
disciplinary
subject
has
had
a
global
reach
in
Cambodia’s

post-‐transitional
period.

As
Simon
Springer
has
shown,
retreating
the
Cambodian

government
from
its
responsibility
to
its
subjects
was
built
into
the
transitional

politics
of
UNTAC.

Springer
writes,

Cambodia’s
transition
to
democracy
marks
an
early
example
of
the
installation
of
‘good

governance’
agenda
in
the
Third
World.

The
furtherance
of
free
market
reforms,
which

Cambodia
had
been
experimenting
with
in
the
1980’s,
was
a
project
simultaneous
to
the

United
Nations
Transitional
Authority
in
Cambodia’s
peacekeeping
efforts.

Alongside
a

democratic
constitution,
a
liberalized
economy
was
the
mandated
outcome
of
what
was
at

the
time
the
largest
United
Nations
operation
in
the
organization’s
history.
3

By
reading
free
market
reforms
and
small
government
tactics
as
a
litmus
test

for
democratization,
the
United
Nations
sponsored
a
program
that
Springer
argues

had
undemocratic
results:
“Unfettered
and
intense
marketization
itself
is
the

foremost
causal
factor
in
Cambodia’s
inability
to
consolidate
democracy,
and
further

explains
why
authoritarianism
remains
the
principle
mode
of
governance
among

Cambodia’s
ruling
elite,
an
inclination
that
is
often
elicited
through
the
execution
of

state
violence.”
4

For
Springer,
Cambodia’s
transition
from
a
site
of
global
war
to
a

136

site
of
global
capital
opened
it
to
a
new
host
of
violent
tactics.
And
again,
state

violence
lurks
as
an
imminent
threat.

According
to
Dave
Chappelle,
the
Tenderloin
is
a
rough
neighborhood:

“There’s
nothing
tender
about
that
motherfucker
at
all.

That
shit
is
rough.

The

opposite
of
tender.”

I
accept
this
description,
but
also
add
that
it
was
and
is
home
to

poor
people
of
color
who
fight
–
against
themselves,
against
the
city,
against
federal

policy
–
for
their
vision
of
a
life
worth
living.

My
father
currently
suffers
from
significant
memory
loss
and
we
fear
he
has

Alzheimer’s.

But
as
far
as
I
can
recall,
he’s
always
had
trouble
with
his
memory.
I

once
asked
for
a
family
history
as
part
of
a
school
project.

He
said
only
that
he

didn’t
remember
much,
which
ended
our
conversation.

I
complained
to
my
mother,

and
she
explained
that
it
was
hard
for
him
to
talk
about
the
Khmer
Rouge
because

they
put
him
through
so
much.

He
was
once
sent
to
be
“reeducated,”
a
euphemism
for
supplementing

political
indoctrination
with
torture.
Apparently,
in
his
younger
years,
he
knew
how

to
agitate
people
who
didn’t
want
his
agitation.

I
love
the
thought
of
this
younger

version
of
my
father
–
4’11”,
barely
100
pounds
–
raising
hell
at
all
the
wrong
times.

All
evidence
suggests
that
raising
hell
is
a
family
tradition,
and
I
hope
I
can
forever

honor
that
legacy.

137

Notes

1. Chandler writes, “Under the Communist Party of Kampuchea, which itself was a total institution par
excellence, all of Cambodia soon became what Irving Louis Horowitz called a ‘sealed environment,’
cut off from the outside world…By Goffman’s definition, S-21 was an extreme example of a total
institution.” (21)
2.

Michel
Foucault,
Discipline
and
Punish:
the
Birth
of
the
Prison.
2nd
Vintage
Books
ed.
(New

York:
Vintage
Books,
1995),
2

3.

Simon
Springer,
“Violence,
Democracy,
and
the
Neoliberal
Order:
The
Contestation
of
Public

Space
in
Posttransitional
Cambodia.”
Annals
of
the
Association
of
American
Geographers
99,
no.

1
(2009):
138

4. Springer is particularly interested in the uses of “open and unmediated” public space and the
production of what he terms a “geography of protest.” His work shows how conflicts over public
space reflect broader claims on political power.

138

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