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|Written by Sophan Seng|
|Tuesday, 31 March 2009|
I was deeply impressed by Noam Chomsky’s perspectives on political dissent [“Tribunal ignoring US role, says Chomsky”, The Phnom Penh Post, March 27, 2009]. In the US, Chomsky is well-known for his radical ideas about US foreign policy. He is a renowned linguist, but what made him a vital political commentator was his strong opposition to the Vietnam War. Chomsky saw nothing wrong with the North Vietnamese struggle and nothing wrong with the Vietnamese troops invading Cambodia to topple the Khmer Rouge.
In the interview, Chomsky addresses US support for the Khmer Rouge. I don’t intend to challenge Chomsky on his sharp criticism of the US and the Khmer Rouge tribunal. It is not simply a matter of pointing fingers and assigning blame, as depicted in the amusing “Sacravatoons No 1348 [“Point the finger”, at www.sacrava.blogspot.com]
The Khmer Rouge tribunal has a more fundamental meaning than just pointing fingers at each other. The central goals of this tribunal are the achievement of national healing, national reconciliation, a national collective consciousness, national unity, the strengthening of Cambodia’s judicial system and the elimination of impunity, among others. In addition to these expected outcomes, the tribunal will also help Cambodia become a “full and progressive sovereign state”. Political thinker Charles Tilly has argued that “war makes a state” in the context of European state-making. If this theory is applied to Cambodia, then the agony endured by the Cambodian people in past wars and under the brutal reign of the Khmer Rouge can enlighten all Cambodian people and their political leaders. As the Khmer proverb says: “After the dark sky, the bright moon and stars will shine”. Will the Khmer Rouge tribunal yield such fruit?
The answer wholly depends on Cambodian political leaders, Cambodian people and their national collective consciousness. If they see the Khmer Rouge tribunal simply as part of a political game, the “full and progressive sovereign state” of Cambodia might disappear. Moreover, if the Cambodian people and their collective consciousness view the tribunal simply as punishment for a handful of perpetrators, the “full and progressive sovereign state” of Cambodia might also disappear.
It should be noted that the Khmer Rouge tribunal, the independence of the court, and the expansion of the number of defendants – including current political leaders – will enrich the tribunal, not distort the court or cause instability in Cambodia at all. The benefits to be had from a fair court are more important than the thought of social instability. The participation from all political leaders and the people can enhance the achievements of the court. The benefits of thinking outside the box in relation to the tribunal are more beautiful and elegant than just assigning blame and pointing fingers.
Original Source: The Phnom Penh Post
CAMBODIA: MEMORY, ATROCITY AND AFFECT
by Alvin Lim
In 2005, just as America was reeling from the effects of Hurricane Katrina, I embarked on a line
of flight from a quotidian life in Singapore, arriving in Phnom Penh to begin a new career as a
philosophy lecturer at Pannasastra University. Several months earlier I had resigned from my
excruciating human resources job at Singapore Airlines. So, it was as a Singaporean suffering
from ennui that I encountered several sites of memory of atrocity in Cambodia, some of which I
shall discuss in this essay. The organization of this paper is not what Gilles Deleuze and Félix
Guattari (1987) would describe as aborescent, but is instead rhizomatic – its nodes crystallize
encounters I have and have not had with collective memories of atrocity (p. 21). This exploration
transverses time and space, and explores the political significance of sensory affects ranging
from the visual to the gustatory.
A Visit to Tuol Sleng
Under Pol Pot, the Tuol Svay Prey High School was transformed into S-21, the core of
Democratic Kampuchea’s internal surveillance and disciplinary apparatus. The former high
school’s classrooms were crudely transformed and deployed as prison cells and torture
chambers. During the Vietnamese occupation, S-21 was transformed into a genocide museum,
which has since become one of Phnom Penh’s most popular tourist destinations.
Any visit to a memory site of atrocity raises the question of visitor’s ambiguous identity as a
witness to the past or as a voyeur of the other’s pain. Philip Gourevitch (1998) confronted this
dilemma when he visited Rwanda’s Nyarubuye genocide memorial, where the murdered victims
were left unburied as a potent means of commemoration of their atrocious ends:
The dead at Nyarubuye were, I’m afraid, beautiful. There was no getting around it. The
skeleton is a beautiful thing. The randomness of the fallen forms, the strange tranquility
of their rude exposure, the skull here, the arm bent in some uninterpretable gesture there
– these things were beautiful, and their beauty only added to the affront of the place. I
couldn’t settle on any meaningful response: revulsion, alarm, sorrow, grief, shame,
incomprehension, sure, but nothing truly meaningful. I just looked, and I took
photographs, because I wondered whether I could really see what I was seeing while I
saw it, and I wanted also an excuse to look a bit more closely (p. 19).
Sven Lindqvist (1992), another explorer of historical pain, connects memory sites of atrocity to
the European project of colonialism. Noting that the Victorian liberal theorist Herbert Spenser
had applauded the extermination of those troublesome human populations that stood in the way
of the civilizing projects of Western colonialism (pp. 8-9), Lindqvist observes that:
The idea of extermination lies no farther from the heart of humanism than Buchenwald
lies from the Goethehaus in Weimar. That insight has been completely repressed, even by
Germans, who have been made sole scapegoats for ideas of extermination that are
actually a common European heritage (p. 9).
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