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There were four of us. We sat in the center of Phnom Penh, on the bank of the great Mekong, sipping cold cola. The current of the wide, massive river seemed to rush to breakneck speed. The water, with the color and consistency of thin mud, smelled of fish and decay. Sweat trickled down our faces, flooding our eyelids. The salt stung our eyes. Despite the early hour, the heat became unbearable. The ubiquitous humidity clung to our skin and seeped into our clothes. The air, hot and thick as pudding, struggled to reach our lungs. I wiped my face with the blue Krama hanging around my neck, a traditional Khmer scarf.

- Time to move - I said almost casually.

I stood up slowly, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and headed towards the bustling street. The rest followed lazily behind me.

Finding a tuk-tuk was no problem. Motorbike taxi drivers buzzed around like ants in an anthill. We approached the first one by the curb.

- Tuk-tuk mister? - we heard broken English from a small man in jeans and a checkered shirt.

- Yes, please - I replied with an eastern accent and pointed to the note with the address of our destination - How much?

- Twenty dollars mister! - the motorbike taxi driver grinned widely, showing yellow-brown teeth.

- No, no. Five dollars - I replied with a tolerant smile.

- Ok, five dollars each - the tuk-tuk driver smiled even wider.

- Five for all - I looked at him slightly annoyed.

- Oh no! Five each! Five each! - the local started shaking his head vigorously.

- No way. Sorry - I turned on my heel and was about to leave when my interlocutor grabbed my arm.

- Ok mister. I take you for five for all - the tuk-tuk driver threw up his hands and added with forced despair - So cheap, so cheap. You killing me and all my family.

We got into the tuk-tuk, threw our backpacks at our feet, and set off. The motorbike taxi sped like the wind. As we traversed the bustling streets, I pondered about the place we were heading to. Our destination was the "Hill of Poisonous Trees," known as Tuol Sleng - the infamous Security Prison S-21 from the times of the Khmer Rouge. A prison set up in (horror of horrors!) a former high school. The complex was most likely built by the French during the French Indochina period. In 1975, it was turned into one of the cruelest places of execution in all of Cambodia. Almost immediately after the Khmer Rouge entered the capital, they created a vestibule of hell in this place... although I believe that even the devil himself would not be capable of the cruelties that were perpetrated in Tuol Sleng.

We got off right at the prison gate. Around the entrance, mutilated men begged for a few Riels. Deprived of hands, legs, with mutilated faces, anonymous victims of the Pol Pot regime. We threw some banknotes at them and subconsciously avoided their gaze. Completely heartlessly and thoughtlessly. We entered the spacious courtyard surrounded by buildings and a wall. The first thing that struck us was the ubiquitous bars, mesh, and barbed wire, completely out of place. Former school corridors, windows, doors... all barricaded with rusted bars. A shiver ran down my spine. Despite the loud noise and commotion on the street, here, behind the wall, there was almost complete silence. A heavy and condensed silence. It seemed like you could almost touch it. In silence, we crossed the courtyard and delved into the shadow of the rooms.

The interiors seemed even more unnatural and unsettling to us. Everything was left in the condition in which the fleeing Khmer Rouge left the prison. Only the bodies of the murdered were removed by the Vietnamese, who ousted the Khmer forces from Phnom Penh. The layout of the rooms, their appearance, the raw nature, remained completely untouched. Most of the former classrooms were divided into single-person cells by makeshift walls of wood and brick. Very small cells, where it would be difficult for an adult to lie down. In addition, in cramped spaces, metal bars were attached to the floor, used to shackle prisoners to the floor. Some of the school classes were kept intact by the tormentors, organizing them into multi-person cells or interrogation rooms. Almost all these places were stripped of all equipment, leaving only small ammunition boxes for the prisoners to use for their physiological needs. The former teaching equipment was gathered in interrogation rooms. Each of them could be used for inflicting pain and suffering during elaborate tortures. A wooden pointer? Perfect for inserting into various body openings. Or simply beating convicts into unconsciousness. The ropes used for climbing during physical education lessons? Perfect for suspending prisoners by their hands, gradually dislocating their shoulders. Or for hanging them by their feet, to drown them in tubs filled with water. When such water was not changed for several days, it began to rot, smell, and grow a green film. Obviously, this intensified the nightmare and agony of those tortured in this way. And what about the bookcase? Surely it couldn't be turned into a torture tool! Nothing could be further from the truth... Just tip it over, attach steel clamps, shackle the convict to it, and using a watering can from the school garden, use it for waterboarding. The ingenuity of the executioners seemed to have no limits in this case...

The prisoners were subjected to torture almost continuously, both physical and psychological. Lack of sleep, food shortages, constant thirst, and harassment by the guards. A hard floor without bedding, no mosquito nets, no basic hygiene, or medical care, which amounted to keeping the tortured alive, so that they would not die before giving testimony. The oppressive heat, humidity, and ubiquitous vermin - flies, lice, mosquitoes, and fleas. All of this caused extreme exhaustion among the prisoners. There was no need to exert oneself greatly during interrogation to break a person in such conditions. It didn't take much to make him confess to everything - treason, espionage, subversive activities. He confessed and accused everyone - even his closest family and friends. To make him desire death - even the worst, most painful, and humiliating death. Just to end this nightmare...

And anyone could become a prisoner at Tuol Sleng. Not only opponents of the system, but also ordinary citizens, and even influential party activists or guards who made a mistake. The basis for arrest could be wearing glasses, smooth, uncalloused hands, or an anonymous denunciation. No one could feel safe. The prison warden, Pol Pot's closest associate and friend, the infamous "Brother Number Two," welcomed everyone with open arms. The prison was essentially left in only one way. Initially, the convicts were killed on the spot, burying them in the courtyard and around the buildings in mass, shallow graves. However, the places quickly began to run out. Then, the unnecessary prisoners, who had given convincing testimonies, were taken to the fields of death. Of the nearly 20,000 people who ended up in the prison on the "Hill of Poisonous Trees," only 12 survived... twelve out of twenty thousand...

We left the S-21 complex in silence. Without a word, we got into the waiting tuk-tuk and headed to Choeung Ek. Among all the killing fields, Choeung Ek is the most infamous. It was here that prisoners from Tuol Sleng were brought to meet their final fate. Brutal and humiliating.

The killing fields, as it turned out, did not stand out in any particular way from the surrounding landscape. Just a piece of open ground with a few trees, some remnants of a Chinese cemetery, remnants of an old orchard. Nothing that would catch the eye at first glance. Nothing, except for the tall, glassy stupa filled with five thousand human skulls and bones. I stood there, looking at this macabre tower, feeling complete emptiness. As if I had detached myself from the world, disconnected from reality. Just me, this tower, and the remains of five thousand human bodies. But finally, after several long minutes that felt like an eternity, I managed to overcome the overwhelming feeling and urged my legs to continue.

Walking on, I passed countless shallow pits. In some, you could still see remnants of clothes and human bones protruding from the ground. These were remnants of mass graves. Each subsequent monsoon rain continues to uncover the macabre evidence of the Khmer Rouge regime. Those who cherish the memory of the murdered carefully collect the victims' remains and place them in the glass stupa, which grows higher with each rainy season... higher and higher... I looked up from one of the graves and surveyed the area. I stood alone amidst these fields, full of suffering and death. My companions turned back. They couldn't bear any more of this horror... this abomination. I continued on until I reached two majestic trees.

The first one was called the "Magic Tree". Red Khmer soldiers once hung large speakers on its branches. From these speakers, loud sounds were constantly emitted. Sounds loud enough to drown out the cries and screams of the people dying here. And they died in terrible agony. Their executioners used tools and everyday objects to inflict death. Hoes, hammers, rakes, pitchforks, bamboo sticks, or plastic bags rarely delivered quick and painless death. And when all these tools were destroyed, all handles and sticks were broken, all plastic bags torn, palm leaves were used. Leaves so hard and sharp on the edges that they were perfect for cutting throats. And most importantly, there were plenty of them. But the most terrifying act of genocide, evidenced from all sides, turned out to be the second of the majestic trees. This one, for a change, was very literally named, stripped of unnecessary symbolism. It was simply called the "Killing Tree", and it was used to kill children... the youngest... the smallest. The executioners grabbed the baby by its legs, took a swing and smashed its head against a tree trunk... Inconsolable crying, a dull crack and a terrifying silence...

I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. My eyes clouded over, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt a stab in my stomach, and my head spun so much that I almost lost my balance and nearly fell to the ground. I don't remember much after that. I just know that I walked blindly in a hurry, just to leave that place as quickly as possible. Just to get as far away as possible.

Although several years have passed since that day, I still remember the feelings that overwhelmed me then. Feelings that are hard for me to name even today. Because how can you name something that can awaken in a person in such a place? Disgust? Terror? Fear? Anger? Certainly disagreement and at the same time helplessness. Since then, I have often wondered how such unfathomable crimes can occur, surpassing human cognitive abilities. Because how can such a crime be explained? What can justify such behavior? No religion, idea, higher necessity can justify taking another person's life. One life. But what about hundreds, thousands, millions? And yet, for centuries, we have been striving for the extermination of human beings. In the name of God, in the name of race, in the name of culture, in the name of power and money, or in the name of murky ideas. We seem not to draw conclusions, to look away, to forget. But forgetting is not allowed.

Epilogue

In Cambodia, over the course of less than four years of the Khmer Rouge regime, 1.7 million people died. This constituted about 25% of the country's population at the time. Most of the perpetrators escaped punishment. Only in 2007 were the five closest associates of Pol Pot arrested, of whom only three lived to serve their sentences. Pol Pot himself, arrested as early as 1997 by his associates, died of natural causes under house arrest. Unlike his victims, they all lived to old age.

The land of poisoned trees [eng]

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