
Chea Kim Sreng, Housewife
My mother was a farmer from Tonle Bet, while my father was a goldsmith from Kampong Cham Province. They met at a pagoda. My father
The Documentation Center of Cambodia believes that one of the most effective ways to preserve the history of Democratic Kampuchea is through the voices of those who survived. Our Promoting Accountability, Research and other teams thus continually seek interviews with, and solicit stories from survivors.
My mother was a farmer from Tonle Bet, while my father was a goldsmith from Kampong Cham Province. They met at a pagoda. My father
Chaing Chaem was head of the Tet Mountain Buddhist monastery in Chamkar Leu District of Kampong Cham Province. He was very famous for his black
Bun Lorn worked near Rorka Kong market in Kandal Province. I used to go there to buy food for my family. He watched me for
I married two men; both were my relatives. My first marriage was arranged to a farmer from my village in Phnom Penh. After we were
I never went to school, but my husband Hai Sang was literate. He was half Chinese and came from Kampong Speu Province. He had relatives
My wife and I are Cambodian Chinese, but we cannot speak Chinese. We did not meet until our wedding day, even though we are great
When I was young, I lived with my older sister in Phnom Penh, and sold cakes in my spare time. One man often bought my
When I was in high school in Phnom Penh, I liked sports and played basketball. My father supported my love of sports, and at one
My sister was very beautiful and the tallest of the four daughters in our family. My mother loved her the most of her six children,
When I was young I did not a chance to get an education. Although my siblings went to school, I stayed at home and worked
I grew up in a middle class family; we had a car. My father Lao Chheng Sorn worked in a laboratory at a private hospital
I was born in Takeo Province, but during the Lon Nol regime, my family fled to Vietnam because it was not safe in my village.
All of the children in our family studied hard, and we all liked science. My oldest brother Som Sila had a PhD in economic engineering
I was the oldest son in a family of six children. My father Mei Sam Aol was a government nurse at a hospital in Phnom
My father was ordained a monk when he was young and taught in the monastery. Sending a son to the monastery was customary among older
My father died of old age before the Lon Nol regime took control of Cambodia, so my mother sold mats to support our family. But
When my father returned from studying at a military school in Indonesia, he was promoted to the rank of major in the military police. My
When I was young, I wanted to study so that I could become a teacher. I had seen that teachers were well educated, dressed smartly,
When we were small, my father liked to play with us, pretending he was an elephant. He would take a big mattress, fold it in
Five of my ten children died during the Khmer Rouge regime. My two oldest boys, Muon and Mut, were executed. My third son, Ty, starved
loved studying when I was young, but my parents wanted me to get married. Even when I was pregnant, I kept studying until my belly
I came from a poor farming family in Takeo Province, and was educated with my older brother who was a monk. There were no schools
Thuch disappeared during the 1975 evacuation of Phnom Penh. He was born in Prey Veng Province, and after he finished high school, studied medicine in
Of my parents and thirteen siblings, only two of us survived the Khmer Rouge regime. Nearly all of them died in 1977 from starvation and
My husband and I were cousins; we grew up together in Kampong Cham Province. Our parents arranged our marriage when he was 25 and I
Before I was born, my father was a teacher in Pursat Province, where he fell in love with my mother Kang Sophat; she was the
My mother died when I was too young to remember and my father died when I was ten. Thus, I grew up to be a
During the Lon Nol regime my husband Mai Phy was a policeman in Phnom Penh. He also worked for a humanitarian organization that distributed food.
My mother died when I was young and my father did not have enough money to support my education. So, I moved from Prey Vent
I was ordained as a monk when I was 12 years old. But after a year, I resigned because I had very little knowledge of
My husband worked for the civil aviation administration at Pochentong Airport when we met. He was responsible for security at the airport at a time
This picture was taken during the Lon Nol regime in Phnom Penh. I had moved there to live with my younger cousins because I didn’t
Kauv Choa married me when he was 22 and I was 18. Although we lived in the same village, we had never met before his
was not really ready for love when I was 18. Mann and I first met on the Khmer New Year, when he was on a
My husband Vorn had skin the color of a soybean. He was gentle, hardworking, and very likable. We were married when I was 16. About
I was very lucky to marry my husband. If I had married a selfish man, I probably would have died from starvation during the Khmer
Noeun studied in Kandal Province. He was a good student and earned a diploma. During the chaos following the 1970 coup d’état, he volunteered to
My father Uk Tat was a soldier. He was the only one in his family to be educated; he went to school at a pagoda
loved being in uniform. I wore the uniform in this picture only when I was being promoted or having my photograph taken; when I went
My father was a handsome man. After he fell in love with my mother Makk Ngoy, he had to work very hard to please her
My husband Yos Prim first saw me in 1952 and asked my parents for my hand in marriage. After he graduated from high school, he
Phoeun first saw me one evening when I was walking to the river to have a bath. He kept watching me and followed me whenever
I still remember my father’s words: “I am a soldier, and will not flee the country. If I die, I want to die in Cambodia.”
I moved to Phnom Penh from Kandal Province so I could attend high school, but after I completed the 5th grade [the equivalent of 7th grade
Thai was a smart man. Before 1970, he studied at the agricultural school in Kampong Cham Province. He rented a house there and fell in
Among our family’s seven children, Sboang was the luckiest; he had the highest position. He was a clever student and fluent in French. During the
My father was the chief of forest and wild animal preservation at the Ministry of Agriculture. In 1973, the Ministry assigned him to monitor along
I was very lucky to have survived the Khmer Rouge regime. My mother and five of the eight children in our family died, but I
When he was 18 years old, my husband was ordained a monk. He passed his baccalaureate examination in the Pali language. Chuon Nat, the head
Told by his daughter, Arun Cheat Ponnary My father Pon Arun fell in love with my mother at first sight. She was very beautiful and a
Told by his daughter, Buth Chan Mearadey My father, who was born in 1920, was a real patriot and very active in politics. He was
This website was funded in part by a grant (Documentation and Democracy) from the United States Department of State. The opinions, findings and conclusions stated herein are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of the United States Department of State and the United States Agency for International Development.
Concept by Ean Panharith and Youk Chhang
© 2023 Documentation Center of Cambodia
The Prevention and Punishment of the Crimes of Genocide
By Youk Chhang
The Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide stands alongside the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as one of the key pillars of international human rights law, and for this Human Rights Day in 2022, I want to highlight the critical importance of the responsibility to prevent atrocity crimes, which includes genocide. When atrocity crimes occur, there is an immediate need to stop these atrocious acts, followed by the equally urgent tasks of documenting, investigating, and ultimately prosecuting the perpetrators. However, from 1948 to today, we have not given enough attention to true prevention.
Atrocity crimes do not occur in a vacuum. There is a long chain of events and conditions that precede atrocity crimes. Isolation, segregation, and discrimination frequently, if not always, precede the rationalization of atrocity crimes against a group of people. And before people are discriminated against, they must be dehumanized. The process of dehumanization depends upon rationalizing hatred and distrust, and these processes are precipitated by misinformation, fueled by uninformed biases, stereotypes, and exploitative actors. They are also frequently dependent upon the disintegration, corruption, or lack of development of critical institutions, in particular institutions dedicated to dialogue and education. It is here that we must dedicate our greatest attention.
Since 1948, we have made great strides toward taking actions that interrupt, mitigate, and to a very limited extent, punish the chief perpetrators of atrocity crimes; however, these actions are not preventative but reactive in nature. No atrocities crime trial has ever prevented the next genocide, and no sanctions or punishment can bring back the dead or undo the trauma that extends across multiple generations. Indeed, the trauma of atrocity crimes in the distant past are often the forgotten seeds for the next wave of violence and inhumanity of the future.
If we are to truly adopt strategies that are effective, far reaching, and decisive in preventing atrocity crimes, then our priorities must be re-oriented to the opposite end of the spectrum, where the seeds of the next genocide are cultivated. Our responsibility in complying with foundational human rights documents should be measured not solely by our success at responding, investigating, and prosecuting atrocity crimes, but by our efforts in supporting institutions, initiatives, and actions that have a positive influence in preventing all forms of inhumanity. The most effective strategy at preventing the next genocide is centered on actions and policies that interrupt and reduce the risk of escalation at the earliest stages of inhumanity.
Cambodia recently removed human rights days from public calendars. I think we should reconsider this collective decision. Cambodia has achieved extraordinary success in its genocide education programme, which is the essence of atrocity crimes prevention. And so, to capitalize on this success and Cambodia’s regional and even global leadership in this area, we should hold an annual dialogue on the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. As the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC) closes its doors, there is no better time than now to preserve Cambodia’s leadership and momentum in realizing the core objectives of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide.
The Documentation Center of Cambodia (DC-Cam) is proud of the support it has given to the ECCC’s work, which was fundamental to giving victims an opportunity to participate in the justice process and realize some sense of closure from the Khmer Rouge genocide. DC-Cam is also eager to support an annual conference on the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. As we commemorate this Human Rights Day, we would be mindful to recognize our fundamental human rights documents are not only universal commitments, but also standards for evaluating the kind of world we are leaving for the next generation.
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Youk Chhang is Executive Director of the Documentation Center of Cambodia. The Center dedicating to Justice, Memory, and Healing for survivors of the Khmer Rouge genocide.
Photo above: Children at Angkor Wat, 1979. After the collapse of the Khmer Rouge regime on 7 January 1979, hundreds of thousands of children were left orphaned. From 1975 to 1979, the Khmer Rouge led Cambodia into tragedy causing the deaths of over 2 million people. Although two millions were killed, five millions more survived to tell their story. The perpetrators of these crimes also survived. Photo: Documentation Center of Cambodia Archives.
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