Threads of Resistance: Symbolization in the Cambodian Genocide

Week 2, Stage 2: Symbolization. Case Study: Cambodia.

Please Note: The following blog post contains descriptions of violence and genocide, as well as an analysis of human behavior relating to sensitive topics, including racism, intolerance, sexual violence, physical violence, death, and genocidal acts. Some images may be disturbing to readers. Please be mindful of the content before continuing.

Visit Mental Health America’s site for information on mental health, getting help, and taking action.

Introduction

The following is part of a series of blog posts concerning genocide and the ten stages of genocide outlined by Gregory H. Stanton. The purpose is not only to raise awareness of the multiple genocides from the past and the present but to provide a set of actions within realistic time constraints that you can take immediately to promote change, prevention, and tolerance. Each week covers a different stage of genocide, with a specific country or region in focus that has or is currently experiencing genocide, concluding with an analysis of how that stage is or was evident in the featured genocide and what actions can be taken specifically to work against it.

Stage 2, symbolization, is the second stage of genocide. The case study is Cambodia, with genocide occurring from 1975 to 1979.

I. Tep Vanny; Boeung Kak Lake; Phnom-Penh, Cambodia (2009)

Over six years, director Chris Kelly, who produced the documentary A Cambodian Spring, immersed himself in a modern-day Cambodia which, in some ways, exists with one foot in the present, and one in its past.

A Cambodian Spring is the kind of documentary that forces viewers to watch closely, draw conclusions, and feel empathy and rage simultaneously, unprovoked by any outside influence. This is perhaps because the film has received such little attention, appearing only at a handful of independent film festivals and only accessible to me personally through a library database that I stumbled upon while researching the Cambodian genocide.

The film explores Cambodia both healing from and growing from its painful, traumatic past while still struggling to come to terms with its identity as a democratic nation with a free market economy under the leadership of Prime Minister Hun Sen. At the center of the film is Tep Vanny, a land rights activist and human rights defender, peacefully protesting the Cambodian government for leasing land to the Shukaku corporation, whose development of the lakeside area of Boeung Kak Lake in Phnom-Penh led to the forcible evacuations of thousands.

As I watched the story in the documentary unfold, I found myself trying to bridge the gap in time between the past and present. Though only mentioned a handful of times, there is undeniable tension hanging over the low-lying plains of Cambodia, where its darkest era has left not just sorrow and loss, but a desperation to hold on to identity, land, and autonomy.

Too often, we think of genocide in terms of a start and an end date. Cambodia’s genocide officially occurred between 1975 and 1979. And yet, through the eyes of Tep Vanny and the town fighting for land rights in Phnom-Penh, the effects of the atrocities of decades are indeed apparent, though easy to miss.

The intergenerational trauma can be easy to miss because the people who seem the least willing to talk about the genocide and who harbor the least resentment are Cambodians themselves. Perhaps this is because the murder of 2 million civilians in Cambodia in the infamous “killing fields” has often been referred to as more of a “politicide” — systematic murder driven not primarily by ethnicity (though this, too, played a significant role in the classification and symbolization stages), but by perceived political affiliation, often entirely invented by the Khmer Rouge.

To complicate things further, it was, at times, their neighbors who found themselves in the role of perpetrator throughout the genocide. To this day, perpetrators live as neighbors among victims, an unspoken unease but determination for stability pervading the air.

And yet, animosity is rare. In part, this is because even the UN-backed Cambodia tribunal found many members of the Khmer Rouge to be classified as “victims” themselves due to forced participation and fear for their own lives, with many ending up on the receiving end of prisoner status as paranoia took over the regime during the genocidal period.

The evidence of a lack of resentment lies in the interpersonal relationships today and in the subtleties of Khmer “symbols.” Notably, the blue and white checkered scarf was utilized as a symbol to classify Eastern Cambodians who were said to be “Vietnamese” enemies in disguise and targeted for immediate execution, no questions asked. The Khmer Rouge, on their invasion, wore red and white checkered scarves, and those liquidated from Phnom-Penh were forced to wear the same.

While today, some Cambodians refuse to wear the red and white gingham scarf, it is primarily considered a cherished emblem of Cambodian heritage passed on through generations dating back to the 1st and 5th centuries.

It is reasonable then to conclude that the krama (the name for the gingham-patterned garment) faced a period of subversion, only to be subverted again in a quiet act of defiance. This quietness characterizes how Khmer reflects on and carries the past. Many, if not most, have blocked out the memories of the genocide entirely, explaining that the horror was so significant that they simply cannot imagine remembering it, and so they do not, can not.

But if we fast forward to 2009 and take the journey with Kelly to the lakeside suburb now bypassing elements of the democratic process the world assumed Cambodia readily embraced after 1979, it becomes clear that trauma still exists and that lessons of the past remain as relevant as ever.

Perhaps nobody knows this more than Tep Vanny.

It’s 2009, and the World Bank-funded development is filling the lake with sand, causing homes to be flooded, citizens to be electrocuted, and thousands to face displacement and homelessness.

Tep Vanny, along with others in the primarily impoverished suburb, stand knee-deep in the flooded waters of Beoung Kak as bulldozers tear into the homes they fought for years to establish.

One of the women shouts, “This is a fake democracy! A fake democracy, and our voices are being silenced!”

Tep Vanny holds a megaphone to her mouth, trembling but resolute.

“People worldwide know about Boeung Kak, but our government doesn’t,” she says. “It’s easy to wake a sleeping person up, but you can’t wake up someone who only pretends to be asleep.”

The murky waters rush past them, drowning out the voices of generations past, of heritage and culture painstakingly preserved and cherished.

“Our mouths are sealed with tape and stitched together with thread.”

Wrapped loosely around her neck: a blue and white checkered krama.

II. “It’s Not a Dream”; Phnom-Penh, Cambodia (2018)

In the capital of Phnom-Penh, a reality show’s hotline rings daily where a dark history intersects with the Cambodia of today.

The television show “It’s Not a Dream” airs weekly with appeals filmed by the producers from selected individuals seeking family and loved ones lost over 40 years ago who have yet to be found or reunited. Across the country, over the airways, the voices plead to the masses with the same message to loved ones:

“I’m alive. I’m here. Please find me.”

One of these is Ly Siv Hong.

Though living in Texas, her appeal worked: Her sister has been located, the only survivor in her family that she knows of, and whom she was separated from 40 years ago.

Ly Siv Hong has been flown to Cambodia to film one more appeal, or so the producers tell her. She is unaware that her sister has been found.

In a tranquil park, following the instruction of the producers, she begins speaking to a sister she is unsure even exists, recalling a life so far apart from the one she lives now that the pain only begins to surface, with most of her memories forgotten entirely.

“I am your sister, Ly Siv Hong,” she says, tears coming to her eyes as her voice trembles. “I miss you very much. Do you miss me? I’ve come to find you.”

Later, in a separate interview, Hong recalls that her five siblings all starved to death in the labor camps, and her father was murdered in front of her eyes in the most brutal way imaginable. Her mother, too, was assumed to be dead. Only she and her sister survived but were separated by their caregiver after the genocide due to a lack of food. She has not seen or heard from her since.

Miles away in the rice farming village of Kampuchea, Bo Hong, the sister of Ly Siv Hong, has no recollection of her sister or the pain of the past. And yet she recognized her sister’s plea in the reality show’s recent airing, and she knows that a reunion is imminent.

“I remember her name is Hong,” she says. But she doesn’t remember her face.

“I was so young,” she says, clutching a red and white gingham krama.

“So young.”

III. S-21, Tuol Sleng, Cambodia, Present Day

During the Khmer Rouge regime, a total of 189 interrogation centers existed, with the most notorious of them, Tuol Sleng, a former high school, turned into the site of some 15,000 victims who were relentlessly tortured. Out of 15,000, only twelve survived.

Classification is apparent at Tuol Sleng, and from it, a different kind of symbolization, too. The prisoners of S-21 were classified as the educated, the “elite,” and suspicion and paranoia became the means of classifying prisoners as such, with the end goal being to coerce confessions of working for the Vietnamese or the CIA, which was done through acts so horrific, I can’t personally bring myself to recount them here.

Visitors can still visit S-21 today, and the images of prison cells, once crowded classrooms turned torture chambers with chains and shackles still preserved today, have become one of the defining features of the Cambodian genocide.

But more than that, and what is perhaps the most powerful and enduring, is the faces.

Upon imprisonment at S-21, victims were photographed. Their headshots now line the walls of S-21 upon entry, a powerful symbol of the humanity lost. It’s yet another almost ironic subversion of symbolization. Though implemented as a means of classification and dehumanization for torture and murder, the faces now function as a symbol of memory.

Their faces, terrified, bear witness, pleading much as the survivors pleading to a void on “It’s Not a Dream,” and as Tep Vanny, knee-deep in the waters of past and present:

I’m alive.

I’m here.

Please find me.

Please.

IV. From Classification to Symbolization

Understanding the Cambodian genocide in relation to the ten stages of genocide requires first the recognition of the initial stage, classification.

We saw in Darfur how the classification was drawn by ethnic and, in some ways, religious boundaries, with native African tribes harboring resentment for the Arab majority of Sudan for years while simultaneously Arabs held their resentments for a perceived lack of identity in their own “class.” The result has been decades of civil war, persecution, and what is today an all-out persecution of the Sudanese civilians entirely while at the same time, Masalit and other African tribes continue to be specifically targeted for mass murder in one of the longest-lasting genocides to date.

And while it’s true that the Cambodian genocide was far more politically driven and, to an extent, less by ethnicity, classification played just as pivotal a role, if not more, giving way to a more advanced system of persecution and a more efficient means of murder which was a direct result from stage two, symbolization.

First, however, an overview of the genocide for context is essential, and then, an examination of symbolization’s role, how a particular symbol in Cambodia has spanned across centuries, and how both reclaiming that symbol, along with actions taken by the international community (you and your community included) can both preserve the dignity of victims and survivors and prevent symbolization as it relates to genocidal intent.

i. The Cambodian Genocide, Explained

Some fast facts:

• The genocide occurred officially between 1975–1979.
• The Kampuchea Communist Party (Khmer Rouge) ruled over Cambodia during this time, led by Pol Pot.
• The regime targeted Muslim Cham, Vietnamese, Chinese, Thai, and Laotian individuals, in addition to city-dwelling people and those perceived as educated, elite, or a threat to the political aims of the Khmer Rouge.
• 2 million people were murdered or starved to death.

Decades of political turmoil preceded the genocide. After the Second World War, Cambodia’s monarch, Prince Norodom Sihanouk, negotiated independence after 90 years of colonial French rule.

But his policies were strict, and some communist rebels who had already opposed the French soon turned their attention to overthrowing the prince instead.

Meanwhile, the Vietnam War broke out, and the prince, attempting to remain neutral despite U.S. efforts to the contrary, was eventually overthrown in 1970. The new prime minister allowed the U.S. to bomb parts of Cambodia to reach North Vietnamese fighters, and as a result, thousands of Cambodians were killed.

To gain power again, the prince allied with his political enemies, the Khmer Rouge, and to the public, this was a force fighting the American government who had wronged them. However, the Khmer Rouge consisted of communist Cambodians who believed in a bizarre utopian vision of a country made up of peasant farmers who strongly opposed capitalism.

Tensions came to a head with an all-out civil war, and rebels eventually conquered Phnom-Penh in April 1975. Anyone associated with the previous government was immediately executed.

Citizens were deported to the countryside to work forced labor. Families were separated. People were stripped of their belongings, given identical haircuts, and deprived of religion, free speech, and privacy.

Forced labor led to the deaths of thousands from starvation and exhaustion, and thousands more, including countless children, were sent to the “killing fields,” where victims dug their graves, had their skulls cracked, dumped into mass graves, or buried alive. Children and infants were swung by their feet against trees to crack their skulls and thrown into the same graves. Bullets were said to be too expensive and “a waste.”

Meanwhile, labor driven by rice production became impossible, and paranoia grew among the Khmer Rouge, leading to the establishment of the S-21 prison for anyone they believed was working against them.

The Cham, a Muslim ethnic group in Eastern Cambodia, were handed out blue and white gingham scarves, which classified them as those to be executed immediately.

In total, 2 million Cambodians were systematically murdered as a result of the genocide, eliminating an astonishing quarter of the entire population of Cambodia.

ii. Symbols and Identity

We’ve established how Cambodians were classified, both by arbitrary means and other, more concrete parameters rooted in ethnicity and status.

And although symbolization functions alongside and requires an alliance with classification, its features are nonetheless unique, and worthy of close study with its own set of corresponding actions we can take to prevent escalation in the world today, and in the future.

Once again, from Stanton’s original document, “The Ten Stages of Genocide”:

“We give names or other symbols to the classifications. We name people “Jews” or “Gypsies”, or distinguish them by colors or dress; and apply the symbols to members of groups. Classification and symbolization are universally human and do not necessarily result in genocide unless they lead to dehumanization. When combined with hatred, symbols may be forced upon unwilling members of pariah groups: the yellow star for Jews under Nazi rule, the blue scarf for people from the Eastern Zone in Khmer Rouge Cambodia.”

According to Asian Textile Studies, the scarf Stanton refers to, traditionally called krama, is “a sturdy Cambodian garment often with a gingham pattern, usually in red or blue.” It is also the Cambodian national symbol, dating back to the 1st and 5th centuries. During the Khmer Rouge reign, loyalists adopted the krama as a symbol of their Khmer heritage.

On April 17, 1975, when Khmer Rouge victoriously entered Phnom-Penh, they wore red and white gingham krama scarves. Citizens had to wear this, along with identical black pants and rubber shoes. This, along with their identical haircuts, represented the utopian view of Pol Pot and the regime’s strange, extreme communist views, much of which was Mao-influenced and idolized.

The entire outfit symbolizes the repression, not solely the krama. However, it is often the blue and white gingham used to identify Eastern Cambodian Cham, which has gained notoriety for its role in the second stage of genocide.

What’s interesting here, and consistent with other genocides in this particular stage, is the weaponization of otherwise cherished symbols representing a culture and passed on through generations. Just as the Nazis subverted the Star of David into a symbol that led to discrimination and persecution, so too did the Khmer Rouge take the krama and transform it into a walking target.

It should be noted that there is something to be admired for reclaiming these symbols, though it can cause some confusion for those unfamiliar. The krama is an example of this, as it is generally still an embraced symbol representing not hate and violence but legacy and tradition among Cambodians, including survivors. Similarly, the photos at S-21 have been subverted, and survivors and activists, too, acting as living testimony to a nation’s strength and resilience.

iii. Symbols and Healing: Transition to Today

As mentioned in my previous posts, these first two stages — classification and symbolization — do not always lead to genocide. In fact, no one stage guarantees that genocide is happening, an key factor to remember as the ten stages are meant to predict and prevent, and not solely to identify a genocide long after the fact.

These early stages, including symbolization, only become “genocidal,” one might say, when they directly result in, as Stanton puts it, “dehumanization” and eventually, persecution. Often, classification and symbolization occur simultaneously, as do other stage “pairs.” And although they are often harmless — even empowering as we see in the example of Cambodia and even the Holocaust — it is this same reason that I think the early stages, when it is far easier to prevent escalation, go unnoticed, justified, or negotiated. It is too dangerous, I think, to “wait and see” what will come of symbolization within a society before at least taking a moment to examine the ways classifying and symbolizing are being implemented, and thinking forward as to where it is leading. From there, we can lift it or step in and prevent its misused or its forced and unwanted assignment to others.

It may be easy to look at Tep Vanny today, or even Bo Hong in 2018, and conclude that indeed the krama is not only cherished, but a lifeline for these women as they fight in their own ways to protect themselves, their people, and their past. And this would be a justified conclusion. But if we applied the same reasoning without a moment of critical thought and hesitation without the luxury of hindsight in a society gearing up for genocidal targeting, these initial stages, arm in arm, might skip past us when clear.

With this in mind, and to transition to a broader view of prevention and action with regard to symbolization, of critical importance is to:

a.) be aware of the symbols that already exist within a society, especially since we can see that the symbols used to discriminate and persecute following classification are symbols that are already present, and

b.) be extraordinarily mindful and critically aware of how these symbols are used to represent marginalized groups.

Here are some of the questions we might consider asking ourselves and others in this stage, assuming we can see a particular ‘symbol’ represented that perhaps we otherwise didn’t notice before:

1. Is the ‘symbol’ being used to lift the voices of those it represents or suppress them?
2. Is the ‘symbol’ being manipulated by outside forces, with or without ties to its origin?
3. Is the ‘symbol’ being used to classify? For what purpose?

Think about symbols present in your community. How are symbols misused, misrepresented, or used to target individuals? Cultural appropriation comes to mind, and regardless of a person’s personal opinion on the matter, it should be evident at this point that stepping back and examining one’s role in potential misrepresentation is necessary for a more tolerant and inclusive society.

In addition to this critical consciousness, there are actions we can take against symbolization within the context of genocidal or other repressive intent, which is of the utmost importance in genocide prevention before a country begins to unravel much more dangerously and rapidly into the carefully planned means of elimination by perpetrators waiting and watching to see how the world reacts.

V. Actions Against Symbolization and Supporting Cambodia

To work against symbolization as it relates to the stages of genocide specifically and promote change, prevention, and tolerance, including in the context of and in remembrance of the Cambodian genocide, several impactful actions can be taken:

1. If you have 1 minute or less: I should note that I’ll put this on every post, but it’s that simple and equally impactful, and applies to every stage. Bookmark genocidewatch.com. When you have time, take a minute out of your day or week to explore genocide watches, warnings, and emergencies worldwide. As I’ve said before, genocide works best at every stage when the world is distracted or indifferent. Being aware of the world stage can be more impactful than you think. Specifically, look for signs of symbolization in various warnings and watches this week. Take note of patterns.
2. If you have 10, 20, or 30 minutes: Learn about symbols, language, and culture. Take a free course or explore multiple free online resources of varying lengths (with quizzes to test your knowledge!) that explore the role of symbols and language within different cultures. By arming ourselves with the understanding of how different cultures embrace symbols or how they express themselves through language, tradition, and custom, we can more easily identify when these symbols begin to show signs of being weaponized or used against someone’s will. Additionally, we can get ahead of hate by actively supporting and showing appreciation and respect for other cultures, making it much more difficult to use symbols against them. This would take a tremendous amount of power away from perpetrators, while prompting awareness of subsequent stages to look out for as well. Courses and resources are plentiful, and a few are here, here, and you can also learn to recognize symbols of hate and how to fight against them through this government resource here. (Please be mindful that this last resource may be harmful for some to view and should be studied with caution and context in mind.)
3. If you have 30–45 minutes: Engage with (including the self-test) UN resources on hate speech. Visit here for a comprehensive guide to hate speech, which is, in many ways, a form of symbolization itself. As Antonio Guterres, United Nations Secretary-General, stated in 2023, “Hate speech is an alarm bell — the louder it rings, the greater the threat of genocide. It precedes and promotes violence.” Engage with the materials, test yourself, and if you’re an educator, explore resources to educate about the dangers of hate speech.
4. If you have the funds: Support the Tuong-Sleng Museum in Cambodia.
   Click here to show your support for the museum, which tirelessly works to preserve the dignity and memory of victims and survivors of the genocide and victims of the S-21 prison. Or, explore the museum website to learn more about the museum, its history, and its work.
5. If you live in the Houston area: Did you know Houston is home to “Little Cambodia,” a village with a Buddhist temple in the middle of it just outside of the city? They suffered immensely during Harvey. Check out information about them here and how to support them. Additionally, learn about the Cambodian experience in Houston through cuisine, culture, and education on this 365 Houston guide.
6. Educate future generations: Ensure that the lessons of the Cambodian genocide are incorporated into educational curricula at all levels. Educating young people about the consequences of symbolization and the importance of empathy, tolerance, and respect for human rights can foster a more compassionate and inclusive society. Encourage schools, universities, and educational institutions to include the study of genocide and its stages in their programs, empowering students with the knowledge and tools to prevent such atrocities in the future.

Remember, through collective efforts and a commitment to justice, tolerance, and education, we can work towards preventing symbolization and ensuring that the horrors of the past are never repeated. No matter how small, each action contributes to the larger goal of creating a world where all individuals are treated with dignity and respect.

VI. Tep Vanny, 2018

In 2016, Tep Vanny was jailed for two years due to protests she led in Phnom-Penh in her continued effort to fight for land and property rights. The international community responded with outrage, demanding her release as well as the release of other human rights defenders — especially women — that fought beside her.

In 2018, she was finally released following a pardon.

Upon release, she said to reporters, “I will continue to provide advocacy until all of the land rights problems are solved.”

Amnesty International, before her release from jail, penned a demand for action that contained the following, which provides yet another layer to the depth of symbolization in Cambodia and the universality of human rights:

‘Tep Vanny is a symbol of peaceful activism, a result of her brave determination to defend the rights of others.’

Reuters, around the same time in August of 2018, wrote:

‘Tep Vanny symbolizes human rights in Cambodia.’

And Licadho, a Cambodian publication, wrote that same month:

‘Tep Vanny is a symbol of peace and Buddhism — in the face of routinely violent security forces.’

Whether the blue scarf she wears is an overt symbol of embracing and supporting the Eastern Cambodian Cham who once were targeted by it or not, it’s clear that Tep Vanny herself serves as a symbol, refusing to abandon the voices of generations past and generations to come in a universal fight for human rights and a refusal to let the past be washed away with the heavy waters displaced from greed and power.

Still, while her release is a step forward, perhaps one more foot in from the past not yet abandoned, it’s also important to have a complete picture of her release, and I think looking at what she said specifically during one of the initial protests from A Cambodian Spring alongside a government spokesperson’s response is, though unintentionally, revealing of what Tep Vanny and other advocates for social justice are protesting in Cambodia, and why the survivors of genocide, even 40 years later, often hold immense distrust for the government, despite the reconciliations that may exist with their neighbors.

‘It’s easy to wake up a sleeping person, but you can’t wake someone who only pretends to be asleep,” she says.

That was in 2009.

In 2018, after her release from jail, a spokesman for the Cambodian government and the Prime Minister reminded Tep Vanny not to be influenced by “outsiders” in the international community, stating:

‘The person has to wake themselves up to find happiness.’

VII. “It’s Not a Dream”; Phnom-Penh, Cambodia (2018)

Lights come on, and the music begins.

The show has begun.

A year has passed, and the sisters who have sought each other for 40 years, living oceans away from each other, are finally on air, though Ly Siv Hong doesn’t know it yet. She thinks she is making her last appeals to a public audience, a common practice on the show.

As she describes what she remembers of her sister, Bo, she begins to break down, and she might not be able to hold it together.

Backstage, Bo hears for the first time the story of her family and how they were separated. Her stoic face finally begins to break.

The show’s host interrupts Ly Siv, inviting her to watch a special message.

The lights dim, and a video of Bo comes on screen.

“My name is Bo. I was separated from my older sister.”

The host looks at Ly Siv and implores: “Do you want to see your sister, who you haven’t seen in over 40 years?”

“Yes, yes,” she cries.

Bo enters the stage, and they collapse into each other’s arms, weeping.

They sit, looking through family photos from before the genocide began. But it’s unclear where the photos came from.

“You must be wondering who else is still alive then and gave us these photos?” the host inquires.

The lights dim, and on-screen, their mother, whom both sisters presumed to be dead all these years, appears alive and well.

“I’ve tried so many times to find you,” she says softly. “I miss you both very much. If you hear this, hurry up and find your mother.”

“This is my mother,” Ly Siv says, tears streaming.

“Do you want to meet your mother?” the host responds.

“Yes, yes, please.”

At the same time, on stage, their mother walks toward them. The three embrace, weeping, holding, and comforting each other, reunited 40 years later.

When the show ends, a family photo is taken for the first time in 40 years.

A generation lives on.

Alive.

Here.

Found.

To learn more about the genocide in Cambodia and the ten stages of genocide, visit genocidewatch.com/tenstages.

For next week (or more likely, as pacing has proved so far, next month) we’re back in the present day as we examine stage 3, discrimination, and particularly how it targets women. The country is Afghanistan, with genocide taking place from 1996 to the present.

Sources

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Cambodian genocide. Cambodian Genocide. (n.d.). http://cambodiageno.weebly.com/

Chandler, David (2018). A History of Cambodia. Routledge. ISBN 978–0–429–96406–0.

Genocide Watch- Cambodian Genocide Project. Genocide Watch. (n.d.). https://www.genocidewatch.com/cambodian-genocide-project

Genocide Watch- Ten Stages of Genocide. Genocide Watch. (n.d.). https://www.genocidewatch.com/tenstages

Hume, T., Coren, A., & Luu, C. (2015, April 16). Scars of the Khmer Rouge: How Cambodia is healing from a genocide. CNN. https://www.cnn.com/2015/04/16/asia/cambodia-khmer-rouge-anniversary/index.html

“Khmer Rouge”. History.com. 21 August 2018. Archived from the original on 17 November 2022. Retrieved 8 December 2023.

Locard, Henri (March 2005). “State Violence in Democratic Kampuchea (1975–1979) and Retribution (1979–2004)”. European Review of History.

National Cambodian Heritage Museum and Killing Fields Memorial. (n.d.). https://www.cambodianmuseum.org/

YouTube. (2022, May 26). Ugly history: The Khmer Rouge murders — Timothy Williams. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_TYFfkc_1U