Separation

(By Rory)

The entrance to Tuol Sleng Genocidal Museum

Today was a day of separation.  We were each separated from certain aspects of our lives and to varying degrees.  Susan was separated from her comfort zone as we meandered through the halls of the Tuol Sleng Genocidal Museum; a primary school recreated by the Khmer Rouge into a prison for torture and ‘processing’ before inmates were carted off to the Killing Fields.  I was separated from the others and was ‘forced’ to sit on the rooftop of the Foreign Correspondent’s Club and have calamari and beer for lunch.  The view over the river, and surrounding streets, is just high enough to see some order in the traffic which seems so chaotic below, and just low enough to still smell the aromas rising from charcoal grills that line the footpaths.  Dermot, however, was separated from something much deeper within… his breakfast.

Row upon row of photographs

It would seem that dehydration had got to him in this tropical weather and he fainted.  A doctor from a near by tour group came and offered assistance, but Mum gave me the look and we knew it was time.  I reached into my back and removed the revolver.  I proceeded to put in two rounds (just to be sure) and flicked the barrel back into the chamber.  Just then Susan let out an cry! She yanked the weapon away from my sweaty palm and slapped it into her own.  “I should do it,” she said sternly with a look on her face not many had seen before, “I’ve earned it.”

Dermot writhed on the ground saying things like “I’m fine.  Just get me some water,” but it was obvious he’d become delusional.  Susan leant in closely and whispered, “It’s best just to know when your time’s come.”  It was at this point my solo tangent ensued. 

The Rules...

I continued throughout the cold concrete buildings of Tuol Sleng with sadness in my heart and disbelief in my eyes.  Photo upon photo upon photo lined the walls of prisoners (men, women and children) who were tried for crimes of treason.  The laws they had broken were, of course, written by a mad-man and carried out by nodes of his dysfunctional, paranoid, and psychotic dictatorship.

Corridors.  The barbed wire helped stop the prisoners jumping

The prison was set in a primary school where old classrooms became torture rooms, divided into cell blocks, or guard quarters.  The torture rooms were mostly empty except for a single bed in the middle with shackles attached.  The cell blocks still had blood stained tiles and some cells remained locked shut.  In one cell block you could, even now, see mathematical formulas written in chalk on the wall from the time it was a school.  The most confronting area was the final photo gallery.  Paintings depicting the horrors of the camp were on display, as was torture equipment and the preserved skulls of victims (bullet holes and all). 

Some rooms

It was a gut-wrenching experience, truly horrifying.  I think, however, that unless we are shown the truth objectively in this manner, and let our instincts tell us that it is so painfully wrong, we may not see the true harm.  One can only hope that something so awful never happens again, or to so many.

[The photos below remain captionless]