It was the first visit to the fields for many of the survivors, all of whom had lost an unfathomable number of loved ones during the KR. After an emotional walk-through of the fields, we all participated in a Buddhist ceremony seeking peace in some form. I know this only through feeling: the chants were, of course, all indecipherable in language to me.
Then the buses took us to a nearby pagoda, where survivors shared their stories in Khmer, translated quietly for the internationals in attendance. I cannot repeat here what I heard—it was too terrible, and too wrenchingly personal. Today I remembered why I came here. It is essential to document the terror of 1975-1979 and what has followed since in a way that is accessible to everyone, rather than just internet-savvy Westerners, lest history repeat itself. Time is rapidly diminishing before these memories are lost forever.
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