From 1975 to 1979, the Khmer Rouge led a campaign of fear, violence and savagery over Cambodia. Then inhumanity had a name, Pol Pot.

Among his army, many child soldiers and young people participated in the reign of destruction. Torture and slaughter went hand in hand with patriotic songs and nationalistic speeches to mask the screams of pain. The photos of the dead, their faces, are documented in a system that draws horror and hopelessness to those looking at the camera then.

Pol Pot drove a generation to the brink of sanity, removed their hopes and then murdered them, for the sheer pleasure of knowing that he could inflict such power.

The pounding heat slowly saps the strength of my bones. I feel alone, surrounded by mass graves, and trees used  by executioners to eradicate lives.

It is not the sight of sign boards and the depression of the soil that commands the silence. It’s simply the doom and sorrow that hangs heavily in the midst of the killing fields.

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This article is part of an ongoing series:
Trailing the Tuk-Tuks in Phnom Penh