A handful of Cambodians, well advanced in years, are currently on trial in the capital of Phnom Penh. The country’s ruthless communist Khmer Rouge regime wiped out some two million civilian lives during its rule in the 1970s. Those who survived the regime carry their scars, both inside and out. As correspondent Marije Vlaskamp traveled through northern Cambodia, she has yet to see any signs of reconciliation.

In his home province of Pailin, Rich Mao has visions of his dead brother and father: on the road, in the field, behind the pigpen. The spectres began appearing since the 58-year-old farmer started following the trials against Khmer Rouge officials on radio. “Maybe the ghosts visit me because I didn’t cremate their bodies. But I don’t know where their bodies are.”

Thus, Rich Mao goes to the temple every Friday. There is a special prayer for the dead before sunrise. “On Fridays my heart is at peace, but after three days the restlessness starts again.” That is when his mind wanders back to the time when the Khmer Rouge soldiers, armed with sticks and spears, took away his family because the farmers were accused of “stealing.” “We were hungry, so in secret we had grown and eaten our own vegetables. I never saw my family again.”

The war tribunal reopens, but at the same time soothes, that old wound. Finally, Rich Mao may get the answers to the questions that he carries every Friday to the temple. “Who decides that people must die because they grow vegetables? What kind of punishment will those leaders get?”

Extermination

Now, three decades after the genocide, some 75% of the Cambodian population is too young to carry personal memories of the atrocities. Nevertheless, every village has its killing field, and anyone over the age of 40 has traumatic recollections.

It was so-called auto genocide: the Cambodian people exterminated itself. “For years, the only thing I did was wipe out our enemies. I don’t know whether they were really enemies, or just people who were randomly arrested. But there were so many of them that we didn’t have time to do anything else,” said former Khmer Rouge cadre Kin Bon, 55. Like many of his former comrades, he lives in Pailin nearby the Thai-Cambodian border. When the Vietnamese army defeated the extremist Cambodian regime, the Khmer Rouge retreated into the jungle.

The network of former warriors and cadres still exist, and has not lost its grip on power. While former party leaders are facing justice at the tribunal, their children hold strategic political positions. Loyalists are rewarded with land.

No remorse, no doubts

Kin Bon received some fifteen hectares of land in exchange for his weapons. The Maoist, who arrested farmers because the latter were secretly eating their own vegetables, is now a major landowner. And yet he is bitter and disappointed. “We fought for the freedom of our country. We were supposed to be the ones who started building up the nation. Instead, we are now accused of mass murder.”

In every conversation with a former cadre in Pailin, random people of middle age listen in to the discussion. Thus, the conversation is reduced to ‘save’ political talk, echoing the counter plea of the defendants at the tribunal: the Khmer Rouge wanted what was best for Cambodia, the claim of two million deaths is nonsense. No signs of any regret, not even any doubts. Kin Bon: “I have never noticed any grudges amongst the people. It’s not necessary. I also lost family members.”

Unprocessed trauma

A war tribunal could ease the reconciliation process by way of punishment, admitting guilt and paying for it. However, Buddhism is of utmost importance in the Cambodian culture. According to the religion, suffering is an inevitable consequence for errors committed in a previous life. There is little appreciation for trauma processing.

Prayers, tribunals? The farmer Han Em, 67, laughs when he hears about such things. He keeps it simple: consumes alcohol in the morning, beats up his wife around lunch time, and regrets everything by the afternoon. “I am angry all the time, even though the menace has already been in the past for years. The Khmer Rouge had weapons, and I could only watch how my father and cousins were clubbed to death. After that I haven’t stopped being scared.”

In 1992, Han Em went to the fields to cut some rattan, and came back without his left leg. This, unfortunately, is not an unusual accident for farmers in Pailin: their farm land was the centre of the Khmer Rouge mine fields. Han Em is disabled and destitute, and the violence from three decades ago still haunts him. Rage is the only thing that connects him to the present. Of course he goes to the temple, he says. “But even the monks can’t give me any advice.”