Photography by Jesse Allen
Content warning: genocide
If you’re fortunate, the bus ride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap will take around 6 hours. Yet time condenses here in a curious fashion; travelling between Cambodia’s two great tourist entrepots, you find yourself on a one-thousand-year journey through the country’s history. At one end: reliquaries for the trauma and memory of the murderous Khmer Rouge regime. Between April 1975 and January 1979, around 2 million people perished beneath the watchful gaze of ‘Angkar’ (the organisation) – whether from overwork, illness, famine, or state-sponsored mass murder. And at the other terminus of this holidaymaker’s highway: the heart of the Khmer Empire, which flourished during the 9th to 15th centuries. The breathtaking temples of Siem Reap – Angkor Thom, Bayon, Banteay Srei, Angkor Wat – still bear witness to the might and wealth of the ‘Devarajas’ (god-kings), who once ruled vast swathes of South-East Asia.
These, then, are the two main ‘portals’ or ‘gateways’ into Cambodian history that visitors to the country will come across – a term I first heard coined by Lachlan Peters, creator of the podcast, “In the Shadows of Utopia”. Understanding just how this journey from ancient splendour to modern nightmare was possible lies at the very heart of his work. “I wanted people to know where the story was going,” Lachlan explained in an interview, “but that story necessarily has to include where it all started”. His own engagement with the country’s past also goes back a long way; from watching “The Killing Fields” in a Year 9 history class, to an internship with the Documentation Centre of Cambodia, to penning a new biography of Pol Pot slated for release next year.
While the Khmer Rouge had much in common with other totalitarian regimes, “In the Shadows of Utopia” explores the “incredibly unique circumstances” of Cambodia’s history – the spectre of its glorious past, its intense rivalry with its neighbours, the legacy of colonial rule – and analyses the confluence of larger, international trends without ever losing sight of the “agency of the Cambodians themselves”. As Lachlan put it: “You start with something as big as the Cold War, or a whole country’s history, and you trace that line all the way to the psychology of an individual”. In contrast to Australian curricula which often treat Cambodia as a footnote to the Vietnam War, the full sweep of the country’s story – from the first century to the modern struggle for independence – is something my friend Limheng, an honours student at the University of Melbourne, learnt about through-out his school years in Cambodia. In his eyes, delving into the country’s past allows visitors to appreciate “the resilience and spirit of the Cambodian people”, and can turn “a simple trip into a more meaningful and educational journey”.
In the past few decades, the land once known as the ‘prison with no walls’ has been drawing in more and more people looking to undertake just such a journey; to this end, the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and Choeung Ek Genocidal Centre in Phnom Penh are two indispensable stops on any tourist itinerary. The term ‘dark tourism’ is sometimes thrown around in this context, but Lachlan finds this “a little bit unfair, because it’s a really important thing to see”. It can be difficult to reconcile the relative serenity of these places with the horrific history which they document. Yet, if only in a little way, everyone who passes through the gates becomes – to paraphrase the audio-guided tour at Tuol Sleng – a custodian of memory; ensuring these crimes are never forgotten, and hopefully never repeated.
Traipsing around the sprawling remains of the Khmer Empire; jostling with haughty Belgians and garrulous Bostonians for a good spot from which to watch the sun rise over Angkor Wat; marvelling at the visages of the Buddha, carved into the stone of the Bayon; all of this feels a world away from the internment camps and killing fields of ‘Democratic Kampuchea’. Solemnity gives way to wonder; thoughtful silence to laughter and the clicking of camera shutters. Once again, though, Limheng was quick to point out the way in which education can enrich the experience of a visit; “understanding the advanced engineering, architectural skills, and artistic achievements” on display at these sites make them more than just a string of photo-opportunities.
Indeed, they are an extraordinary monument to cultural continuity; despite the myths peddled by colonial scholars, Angkor was never a ‘lost city’ in need of rediscovery, and the temple has remained in use since its construction under Suryavarman II in the 12th century. As one tour guide quipped, over the years it has inspired pilgrims from three major religions: “first Hinduism…then Buddhism…now Tourism!” Although it is an undeniable drawcard for foreign visitors, it remains a key pillar of Cambodia’s own national identity. Lachlan pointed out to me that Angkor Wat is “the only thing that’s always been on the Cambodian flag”; and while, in the past, it has seemed to offer a rebuke for “greatness lost”, it is now more commonly embraced as the country’s “pride and joy”.
No nation is a prisoner of its history, but there is no denying the influence of past events on present reality. Few places in the world can lay claim to an inheritance as complex or contradictory as that of Cambodia; it is a chronicle of semi-divine monarchs reaching up to the heavens, and of fanatical despots dragging their entire country down into hell. In my brief stay, I was struck by a palpable determination to learn from the experiences of the past, and a radically open attitude towards sharing these lessons with the world. At the same time, it is important to live in the present; asked for one piece of advice he would give to any would-be tourists, Limheng simply advised: “just come with an open heart, and enjoy everything this beautiful country has to offer!”