Lessons of Memory, Justice, and Prevention
Today, we gather to remember and offer lessons of memory, justice, and prevention for all who come after us.
April 17, 2026, marks the 51st anniversary of the Killing Fields—one of the darkest chapters in human history and in our Cambodian story.
I stand before you not only as a speaker, but as a survivor.
Though I was not in Cambodia between 1975 and 1979, my family was. My mother, two younger brothers, two younger sisters, and ten relatives were taken from us. On July 22, 1977, in Cheyo village, Chamkar Leu, Kampong Cham, they were clubbed to death and buried in a mass grave.
This is not just history to me.
It is a loss.
It is memory.
It is a wound that does not heal.
Today, we remember all who suffered—those starved, tortured, displaced, and executed in the name of an ideology that valued purity over humanity.
We know what happened.
Forced labor.
Empty cities.
Broken families.
Silence filled with fear.
As survivors, as children of survivors, as a people—we carry these truths.
But today, we must go beyond remembrance.
We must ask a harder question:
How and why was this allowed to happen?
Because remembrance without understanding is not enough.
After years of effort, millions of dollars, and limited justice, many victims are still waiting for truth, accountability, and acknowledgment. The pain did not end with the regime. In many ways, it continues.
So what must we teach the next generation?
First, autarchy and self- isolation.
The Khmer Rouge cut Cambodia off from the world in the name of self-reliance. But isolation did not bring strength—it brought suffering. When people began to starve, there was no one to help, and no one to witness.
We must teach our children:
A nation that isolates itself risks hiding injustice—from the world and from itself.
Second, the complete destruction of institutions.
Schools were closed. Religion was banned. Families were torn apart. These institutions give people identity, values, and loyalties beyond the state.
When they were destroyed, the state became everything.
And the individual became nothing.
We must teach our children:
Education, faith, family, and a free society are protections—not threats.
Third, the erasure of memory and amnesia
Books were burned. History was erased. People were forced to forget who they were.
In December 1998, former Prime Minister and former Khmer Rouge commander Hun Sen called to “dig a hole and bury the past.” We must ask: does burying the past honor victims—or silence them?
Because when people forget their past, they become easier to control.
We must teach our children:
To know their history is to protect their future.
Fourth, transgenerational resilience.
The Khmer Rouge left a legacy of trauma—but also a legacy of resilience. Survival was not only about staying alive. It was about preserving humanity in an inhumane system.
Small acts of kindness, quiet courage, shared suffering—these remind us that even in darkness, humanity endures.
We must teach our children not only what was destroyed, but what survived.
These are not just lessons about the past.
They are warnings for the future.
Genocide does not begin with killing.
It begins with ideas—unchecked and placed above human life.
It begins when institutions are weakened,
When truth is silenced,
When people are divided,
and when power goes unchallenged.
Today, we honor the victims.
Their lives. Their dignity. Their humanity.
But remembrance alone is not enough.
For victims, silence is not justice.
Silence is not peace.
It is a tool for survival.
We must seek the truth.
We must demand justice.
And we must educate the next generation—not only about what happened, but why it happened.
Because only then can we say: Never again!
Note: This speech had been refined with the help of AI to enhance clarity and flow. The ideas expressed here are entirely mine.
