Aspirations for an aesthetic and inspiring piece on Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge shattered in my mind.
I walked through the entry gates to the ‘Choeung Ek killing fields’ determined, but by the exit I was so distraught I couldn’t even muster the focus to hold the camera for the intro shot. I rushed back to my bike and sped off down the country roads trying to exert the frustration from my mind. I was ill that day and feel the same right now reminiscing; over our very pre-disposition for destruction that we seem to never learn from.
You don’t hear more than five or ten whispered words between visitors the entire walk through. Everyone is immersed in thought, contemplating the infinite circle of inhumanity, knotted again and again by our brutal nature.
Over 35 years ago and more teeth, bones & clothing still rise up from the mass graves every year during the rainy season. The value of life was so minute infants were swung by their legs, smashing their skulls into tree trunks… just to spare the bullets.
We protest, picket, editorialize, march in 'human rights’ demos, but none of it makes a difference in the grand scheme. Tyrannical genocide repeats itself over and over in history with few variables. What’s worse- there is little to no real retribution for the generation shattering crimes against humanity. Justice is not served. Innocent bloodlines are wiped out while guilty descendents flee and prevail, clutching the spoils of corruption. No resolution, no harmony, no catharsis, no moral of the story… just on we march, until the next time.
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