Original post:
I'm going to swim upstream here and stir a few bitter waters.
I do not doubt the gruesome facts of Mr. Dunlop's reportage. Comrade Duch is like any torturer ever profiled: a sadistic yet very ordinary twit, right out of Edgar Allan Poe, whose initial high idealism finds an outlet for his inner demons in a special time and place by torturing the "sins" in others (and literally pulling it out of them.)
Nor do I have an objection to studying the grisly photobucket of the S-21 torture - excuse me, "enhanced interrogation" facility - and pondering the all-too-human inhumanity captured not in the photos, but in the photographer taking them. My criticism is of the conventional mythology upheld by Dunlop and his readers: that there was a "genocide" in what is yet a densely populated Third World country that still cannot feed itself; that socialism and Buddhism are somehow politically and culturally responsible; that the US and the UN could have "done" something.
First, the US had already "done" quite enough: invaded the country, imposed the usual satellite flunkey regime, set about bombing the country literally into the proverbial Stone Age, exhausting its resources and credibility before washing its hands of the blood. No fatuous Indochina War = no Khmer Rouge. Second, the KR (or "KC" as they were known in the US at the time) were *not* exceptionally brutal: As Shuyun Sun unearthed in her retracing of Mao's Long March, this same kind of inner blood purge trailed behind his army; the excesses of the Cultural Revolution and Kampuchea had strong precedent here. Third, the same gothic inhumanity was found in the torture chambers of Latin America with US complicity. Here the "moral responsibility" of the US to "do something" took a very sick twist indeed.
Again, while the KR regime was undoubtedly pathological it's necessary to ask why. In dealing with a psychotic patient, any therapist will tell you to examine his home life and the circumstances of his development. Abused nations, like tortured children, produce monsters. The usual Western remedies were part of the problem; so better to damn the monster than admit he's a product of your own neglect and abuse.
----------------------
At the request of the author I have deleted his reply to my initial review.
--------------------
Reply:
As Mr. Dunlop strongly suggested my review was so vague and general that I hadn't read the book, I took it on myself to reread it over the last month to see if I had been hasty or unfair. After doing so, I'll post this lengthier response in the body of the review itself - where I must maintain my original criticism. I will offer my reasons in detail. But first, to be fair, let me present the book's strong points.
The narrative of Comrade Duch's several lives is engagingly written against the catastrophes of 20th century Cambodia. Mr. Dunlop has a solid knowledge of Cambodia and its culture which comes through clearly even to the most general reader. He also offers a good summary of the rise and fall and rebirth of the Khmer Rouge, the Cambodian civil war, and how these entwined with the US and Vietnamese occupations. The sweeping agony of these years is best summed by a survivor on p. 67, "You can talk about the Khmer Rouge, but you can't cry . . . Because there would be no stopping." The Tuol Sleng prison regime under Duch's command was as evil as anything in the contemporaneous torture pits of South America or Africa.
His critique of the subsequent exploitation of this suffering is spot on: the political agenda of the Vietnamese occupiers in arranging the Tuol Sleng museum; the patronizing cynicism of many UN personnel and NGO workers; the sudden US interest in Cambodian human rights and justice upon the Khmer Rouge, now that they'd served their purpose, as a way to bury one's own war guilt; and Dunlop's self-critique of his own sense of First World voyeurism, as he gazes on the faces looking back from this house of the dead. A story without a conclusion indeed, as he attests on p. 167. He also draws attention to the lingering aftershocks of war, in the continuing devastation of land mines upon new generations - perhaps the only solid, surviving link of new generations to their own history.
He's on the money also on p. 284, reiterating that it's the standard defense of mass murders and torturers, from Rwanda to Bosnia, to plead they were only following orders and doing their jobs. He might also have included those from (the former) Saigon to Washington in his cartography, as well-able to hide behind their machinery of destruction (though more high-tech), "deaf to the screams of the people caught up in its grinding cogs" (p. 287). Finally he is honest enough to critique his own purpose in exposing Duch at all, as a pyrrhic victory in terms of real justice.
Yet I still feel he's caught in the conventional tropes of defining the Khmer Rouge regime. Over and again he vents upon its "genocidal" nature. This is a common debasing of the term, wherein any mass murder gets plastered with this label. There are simply certain criteria for the term, as with first degree murder. One is the intention to "kill them all", "even unto the seed," as with the Biblical tribe of Amalek. The second is the extent of the mass murder. In neither case does the Khmer Rouge regime fill the bill of indictment for that crime. The evidence that a third of the population was killed between 1975-79 isn't backed by demographics; nor the common belief that the majority of KR fatalities occurred at the hands of people like Duch. Most deaths in these years occurred from disease and hunger. It would be hard to separate the causation as stemming from the Khmer Rouge regime alone, or the cumulative effect of a decade of uprooting and devastation.
Examples of this hyperbole are scattered throughout the book: "murder on a scale never before seen in history" (p. 103). I believe a little thing called WW II might give Democratic Kampuchea more than a run on its never-issued currency. Elsewhere he compares the slaughter of Cambodians in the DK years to the genocide of North American Indians. Yet the last time any Westerner was in Cambodia, I'm sure s/he saw more trace of the Khmer people and their cultural presence than a few historic place names. Another howler appears on p. 156, when KR practices are presented as parallel to traditional Buddhist acts of purification. Really? Khmer monks engaged in rites "not dissimilar" to KR cadres' killing of entire families? A few Western ethnographers must have mislaid their field notes. . . .
On p. 261 the author brushes aside the issue of national sovereignty defended by former UN Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali, a sore point for former colonial nations that Europeans are so eager to dismiss in their zeal to do even more "good." Though, on p. 124, we're told that the horrors Cambodians endured seem "so at odds" with the country most people experience. Yes, just as tourists in the US must find it hard to reconcile their everyday experience with American troops in Indochina: the body-counting, the "mere gook rule" of engagement, the destruction of entire nations to save them, in acts of purification by Napalm. The insanity of war - and the pathology it produces in otherwise normal, decent persons - is not confined to particular nations, or cultures, or ideologies, a fact that is so conveniently forgotten like the air we breathe when it comes time to point fingers and issue bills of moral indictment.
It is not necessary to exploit and misuse the concept of genocide to indict the Khmer Rouge, or their S-21 facility, or dutiful servants like Comrade Duch. The thousands of photos papering its walls do not equal genocide, but they are enough to damn the perpetrators forever. As usual, the wrong lessons are taught, that it's something "those people" unlike "us" are capable of; though Dunlop strays close to the truth in recounting how even a Khmer Rouge leader can savor a fresh can of Pringles, just like we do. The KR, at least, posed their victims at S-21 in positions of dignity - unlike the judges and victors of the Free World, at Abu Ghraib. Trust me, there will never be a Western-funded museum of memory within *those* walls.