*names of interviewees have been changed
“The past is not dead. In fact, it’s not even the past.” William Faulkner’s words hold resonance in post-conflict societies throughout the world. With “drawing a line under the past” no longer considered a feasible solution, countries recovering from political violence must decide what route to take in confronting legacies of repression and bloodshed.[1]All too frequently, post-conflict discourse assumes a mutually exclusive framework, the new regime faced with the choice to pursue either justice or reconciliation. The ensuing debate over remedial mechanisms oftentimes results in the construction of two supposedly discrete categories: war crimes tribunal and truth commission, the first associated primarily with justice, the latter primarily with reconciliation. In response, many have disputed the validity of the dichotomous approach, arguing that justice and reconciliation blur together during the rebuilding period. From this perspective, the relationship between transitional mechanisms and the recovery process does not operate on a linear trajectory. Post-conflict reconstruction is instead rife with deviations, potholes, and blind-spots, a hazy web of overlap and crisscross that renders any universalist interpretation futile. “Blurring Transitional Justice in Orania and Pailin” takes a stand in this ideological tug of war through case studies of Orania, South Africa, and Pailin, Cambodia. Interviews with local residents shed light on the failures of rigid paradigms, instead lending credence to theories that embrace the “blurring” of it all.
Orania, a small town in the Karoo, was founded in the early 1990s, in the midst of South Africa’s democratic transition. Established by conservative Afrikaners dissatisfied with the new, post-apartheid South Africa, the settlement has attracted both individuals affiliated with the former National Party government and proponents of a separatist Afrikaner homeland. The province of Pailin, meanwhile, previously a prosperous mining area, served as a Khmer Rouge stronghold during the reign of Democratic Kampuchea. In the aftermath of the Vietnamese occupation of Cambodia, many Khmer Rouge soldiers fled to the province, taking advantage of Pailin’s border location to launch a guerilla civil war. One of the last areas integrated into the new government, Pailin spent several decades under Khmer Rouge control and, like Orania, is home to a number of former regime members.
The two regions are unique and, as such, admittedly constitute a particular window into post-conflict issues. Given their histories, however, the experiences of Orania and Pailin provide valuable insights into how justice and reconciliation manifest themselves during the transitional period. South Africa and Cambodia have taken vastly different paths in their respective quests to deal with the past. The post-apartheid African National Congress government implemented the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, a public mechanism that addressed crimes committed between 1960 and 1994, the heart of the apartheid era. In the pursuit of historical “truth,” the commission offered perpetrators amnesty in exchange for full disclosure of their actions. Cambodia, on the other hand, recently established the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia, a war crimes tribunal in the process of prosecuting several high-ranking Khmer Rouge leaders. While the ECCC has limited its scope to senior officials, proponents conceive of the court as a means of challenging impunity and establishing accountability for Democratic Kampuchea crimes.[2] Positioned at the crux of controversial attempts at transitional justice, residents within Pailin and Orania had much to say about the success of reconstruction efforts and the extent to which their respective countries have achieved the goals of justice and reconciliation. What can locals tell us about the use of dichotomous models? Do their views legitimize a universalist understanding of transitional mechanisms? Or do their perceptions of post-conflict recovery call for more fluid modes of analysis?
The experiences of Orania and Pailin tend to undermine the traditional alignment of commission with reconciliation and tribunal with justice. As referenced above, war crimes trials are often perceived as threats to processes of reconciliation. Political leaders and scholars alike have repeatedly stated that retributive punishment exacerbates tensions and, in the worst-case scenarios, incites further violence. In Cambodia, ECCC advocates encountered significant resistance from those who claimed that a far-reaching penal mechanism would destabilize the country. Reflecting on the tribunal’s impact thus far, however, Pailin residents consistently expressed the opinion that Cambodia has attained reconciliation. Some interviewees even cited the tribunal as a significant catalyst in peace-building efforts. Former Khmer Rouge cadre Dara, for example, noted of the ECCC, “ by prosecuting these people, we as Cambodians can help national reconciliation and move forward and develop the country.” While this positive conception of the tribunal depends on its narrow punitive scope, the ECCC itself did not appear to generate the widespread hostility predicted by prevailing transitional justice theories.
Such theories often depict post-conflict nations as societies forced into an unenviable dilemma, a “cruel short-term tradeoff between reconciliation and justice.” In terms of tribunals, this “tradeoff” manifests itself in the swap of appeasement for the prize of accountability.[3] Truth commissions, on the other hand, supposedly submit to the opposite exchange, forfeiting justice for the sake of peace-building. In response, Pailin residents contested the terms of this bartering process. Like Dara. Laska, a Khmer Rouge medic, regards the tribunal as a vehicle to “make sure people live peacefully together”: his statement resists the “either/or” framework. Correspondingly, Sovannah, a high-ranking former soldier, remarked, “the tribunal will help people talk to each other and be able to forgive and forget.” Though numerous interviewees expressed fears that the ECCC will eventually turn its sights on lower level cadres, they did not criticize the tribunal for increasing communal friction or hindering reconciliation efforts.
Comments like Sovannah’s are even more striking when compared with the tone of Orania residents’ reactions to the TRC. As noted previously, truth commissions are by and large considered a far more effective peace-building mechanism than the punitive hand of tribunals. While it is widely acknowledged that disputes over historical “truth” possess the potential to divide a populace, commission-like mechanisms tend to be associated with the goals of forgiveness, pacification, cathartic healing, and understanding. South Africa went so far as to christen its transitional endeavor by placing truth and reconciliation in conjunction, an appellative alliance that has permanently shaped societal notions of the purpose of such mechanisms. In contrast, no war crimes tribunal has thus far included “reconciliation” in its official title. Taking into account the sentiments voiced in Pailin and Orania, however, one would think the opposite was true. Without fail, Orania interviewees blamed the commission for alienating South Africa’s Afrikaner population. Despite the commission’s stated goals of compassion and acceptance, Orania official Johan’s description of the process as a “witch hunt on one side” reflects the bitterness that pervaded all references to the TRC. Several locals labeled the hearings a tool to “other” Afrikaners, forcing the entire community to take responsibility for apartheid crimes.
Even the commission’s amnesty provisions did not mollify Orania locals. Instead, in the eyes of interviewees, the immunity compromise was inconsequential, engulfed by the commission’s overarching message of antagonism: the insinuation that “Afrikaners are a people who need to make room for other people.” As such, former soldier Henrik conceives of the Afrikaner population as “flattened by the accusations,” isolated within the new South Africa and far removed from any form of meaningful reconciliation. The contrast between this alleged “flattening” and the optimism expressed by Pailin residents raises several questions. Why, in these two cases, were normative alignments turned on their heads? What contributing factors have shaped locals’ ideas about justice and reconciliation? In what ways do the experiences of those who call Pailin and Orania home expose the limitations of dichotomous paradigms?
Time and again, interviewees pointed to the societal standing of former regime members as playing a large role in the reconciliation process, disrupting the “traditional” functions of tribunal and commission. Khmer Rouge soldiers like Dara and Laska, for example, seemingly satisfied with Cambodia’s post-conflict transition, linked the success of peace-building efforts to the integration of Khmer Rouge leaders into the new government. Citing the prominent position of numerous such cadres in both the Pailin municipality and national administration, Bunthan, a high ranking chief under Democratic Kampuchea, remarked, “with Khmer Rouge cadres here in government, we are now all together and want to live in peace, helping to better the future of the country.” Fellow soldier Terit likewise noted, “ I feel like a part of society since integration, because I see people like myself in leadership-the Khmer Rouge are now united with the government and we can work as one.” From the perspective of interviewees, the power held by the Men Sam Ans and Chea Sims of Cambodia has facilitated reconciliation and diminished societal tensions. Furthermore, several Pailin residents identified their own government careers after integration as an important factor in preventing the marginalization experienced by Orania locals. Terit, for example, had a difficult time even understanding why he might feel excluded from post-Khmer Rouge Cambodia, commenting, “ I served as a government soldier, received salary from the government, so of course am a part of society.” Therefore, in evaluating the impact of the ECCC, the significance of the integration process should not be underestimated. In Pailin at least, the absorption of Democratic Kampuchea officials into the state apparatus has detracted from the “justice over reconciliation” sacrifice, curbing the brunt of potential hostility toward the tribunal.
Conversely, in Orania, the political concessions correlated with the TRC have rendered the supposed “reconciliation over justice” exchange moot. Residents frequently drew a connection between their frustration with the commission and the lack of Afrikaner representation in the new ANC government. Johan, for example, stated, “it is difficult to get things close to your heart on the agenda, being a minority...” Others attributed their sense of alienation to the shock of transitioning from an Afrikaner-run National Party government to an ANC regime devoid of Afrikaner influence. The disorientation produced by this shift permeated the interviews, with volkstaat pioneer Hans observing, “this had been a confused experience for Afrikaners, who do not know what their future is, or what to expect, or where they are going.” Orania’s prevailing climate of “confusion” and isolation stands in stark contrast to the atmosphere in Pailin, where residents consistently expressed confidence in both their own positions and Cambodia’s future as a nation.
For South Africans like Hans, lacking Pailin locals’ sense of security, the repositioning of state power structures vastly overshadowed the TRC’s attempts at reconciliation. Furthermore, in light of transformed political dynamics, the commission’s role in exposing the crimes of National Party members assumed heightened significance, perceived as just another step in the “psychological oppression” of Afrikaners. Conservative political leader Wilhelm’s quote says it all: “we saw SABC evening after evening with ANC people testifying, women crying, getting emotional, and they would blame us all as these bad whites.” Wilhelm does not draw attention to the amnesty process or Desmond Tutu’s message of forgiveness. Instead, the alienation engendered by the terms of the peace settlement leads to words of resentment and division, the type of statement one might expect in the context of a tribunal.
Similar to the influence of such political compromises, the history behind the two countries’ respective conflicts has also molded local impressions of transitional mechanisms. While this may appear an obvious point, it is habitually ignored in favor of the temptations of clarity, the allure of drawing lines between commission and tribunal, reconciliation and justice. Comments made by interviewees expose such lines as vulnerable in the face of historical forces. Former Khmer Rouge soldiers, for example, consistently brought up national traditions of harmony and cultural homogeny, lamenting the shame of any conflict “between Khmer and Khmer.” As Terit stated, “there is no use for Khmer people to fight Khmer people, only we suffer. I am not upset with either side, the government or Pol Pot, I am just happy to see the war end.” Pailin residents accordingly appeared receptive to the idea of reconciliation, confident in the healing powers of common ancestry and repulsed by the prospect of another civil war. Citing historical precedent, Bunthan pointed to the Khmer people’s combined power in challenging French colonialism, deeming the independence movement an example of the country’s ability to “come together as one.”
Others referenced Cambodia’s history of uniting behind strong leaders. Sidestepping the issue that Democratic Kampuchea exemplifies this type of cohesion, locals expressed certainty that the populace will put old grudges aside and join forces to support Hun Sen’s administration and the ECCC. Such assertions stem from a past in which grassroots opposition to repressive governments has been sparse: democratic resistance has not featured heavily in Cambodia’s political development. As former Khmer Rouge bureaucrat Rakana stated, “whatever governmental policy is, I will follow it. I abided by the rules of the old regime and I will do the same with the rules of the Hun Sen regime. As the government has endorsed the tribunal, it is not my position to criticize it. Instead, all Khmer people will go along with it.” Laska likewise remarked, “ it is the government’s choice to create the tribunal, I do not know about politics, I will respect their decision, like everyone else.” As evidenced by the above comments, interviewees conceive of their positions in the current administration as a direct continuation of their positions in Democratic Kampuchea: citizens obligated to comply with the course of action prescribed by ruling authorities. Consequently, in light of this legacy of authoritarian governance, Hun Sen’s sponsorship of the ECCC has significantly reduced the risk of widespread unrest or opposition. Instead, cadres such as Sovannah proclaimed a desire to move forward en masse under the government’s directive, fulfilling their historical roles with “no separation between different groups of Khmer people, victims and perpetrators.”
In contrast, Orania residents repeatedly pointed to South Africa’s history of racial division in their critiques of the TRC, labeling preceding centuries of ethnic strife a major impediment to the country’s transformation into a so-called rainbow nation. Without Cambodia’s “common ancestry” to rely upon, interviewees asserted that different groups within South Africa do not possess a shared national experience or sense of cohesive identity. Several mentioned the first Boer settlements, the subsequent British concentration camps, and the segregating nature of the industrial revolution in their attempts to explain continuing hostilities. Others cited past Afrikaner efforts to create separate homelands, or volkstaats, stating that the issue of societal discord stretches far beyond the relatively recent actions of the apartheid government. As such, lacking evidence of the country’s potential to unite, interviewees were much less trusting in the remedial powers of the TRC. While Pailin resident Dara commented of former Khmer Rouge members, “we are not alone,” seclusion and marginalization are defining elements of the Afrikaner mindset, the psychological consequence of complex historical dynamics. As illustrated by the telling disparity between Dara’s proclamation and Oranian conceptions of reconciliation, the unique trajectory of every society’s political evolution shapes local views on post-conflict reconstruction. It is accordingly impossible to create universal guidelines as to how nations will react to transitional mechanisms. The contradictory experiences of Orania and Pailin prove this point, thus problematizing normative understandings of justice and reconciliation.
Part Two
The flaws in intellectually rigid interpretations of transitional justice are further revealed by interviewees’ commentary on the respective “stories” promoted by the ECCC and TRC. Their conflicting interpretations of historical narrative reflect the problems inherent in limiting notions of justice to retribution. In recent years, post-conflict scholars have developed a model of accountability that extends beyond traditional justice paradigms. Restorative justice, as this model has been labeled, is a term that “encompasses a growing social movement to institutionalize peaceful approaches to harm, problem-solving and violations of legal and human rights.”[4] Such “peaceful approaches” place emphasis on rebuilding broken communities and relationships, engaging both victims and perpetrators in processes that benefit society as a whole. Truth commissions, reparations payments, enhanced social services, school renovations, perpetrator apologies, and the like all fall under the purview of the restorative method. In response to this practice, some scholars have argued that restorative remedies represent a less meaningful form of justice, a poor substitute for retributive penalties.
Conversations with Orania and Pailin residents, however, expose justice to be a more complex, capricious creature. Challenging narrow ideological frameworks, locals in the two regions serve as evidence of the many different ways in which accountability can manifest itself. As noted above, the primary objective of war crimes tribunals is the effective prosecution of conflict “perpetrators” and the consequent establishment of legal precedent. From a long-term perspective, accountability mechanisms, the ECCC included, hope to challenge the impunity of previous eras and, through retributive punishment, achieve justice for conflict victims. Tribunals accordingly focus on the specific cases that come before the court, leaving the creation of a broader historical narrative to other sectors of society. In contrast, truth commissions often set their foremost goal as the construction of a definitive historical account: allocating responsibility for bloodshed, debunking any remaining myths, explaining underlying causes of conflict, setting the record straight about controversial incidents, and so on. Interviewees’ remarks shed light on the important role this narrative plays in holding perpetrators responsible for their actions. While the restorative justice model includes truth recovery under its comprehensive umbrella, the experiences of Pailin and Orania locals suggest that historical narrative should occupy a leading position in societal conceptions of accountability.
Turning first to Cambodia, Pailin residents spoke of the ECCC in an untroubled manner, seemingly impervious to the ongoing proceedings. Time and again, former Khmer Rouge soldiers failed to correlate the tribunal with any substantive verdict on the actions of the DK regime. Instead, interviewees described the process in narrow terms, concentrating on the court’s prosecution of five senior leaders. Dara, for example, remarked, “a country has to have a court in order to practice the law, with the courts and with this tribunal, they find out whether people are guilty or innocent, then find out who made mistakes and did bad things.” In this quote, Dara depicts the tribunal as a mechanism concerned solely with the legal system; unrelated to the formation of historical narrative. Sovannah likewise noted, “I don’t think the trial is saying whether I am a good or bad person, the government never said anything like that or considered our group a bad group.” Taking such comments into account, interviewees do not believe the tribunal has passed moral judgment on their individual roles under the Democratic Kampuchea government.
The TRC’s mission, on the other hand, centered on the “investigation and establishment of as complete a picture as possible of the nature, causes and extent of gross violations of human rights,” exploring who was responsible for the apartheid system and whence unequal political structures originated.[5] Fully aware of the scope of the commission’s aspirations, Orania residents interpreted the hearings as a broader societal condemnation of the Afrikaner community. Along this line, Wilhelm stated that the TRC’s account of events severely damaged Afrikaner morale. In his eyes, the commission was “used as an instrument to depict some as good guys and others as bad guys and to add credibility to that.” Others labeled the process a “big theater” and a “one sided opening of a can of worms.” As illustrated by the resentment evident in the aforementioned remarks, disagreements over historical narrative can throw a wrench into the traditional grouping of commission with reconciliation and justice with tribunal. In certain cases, a former regime member may find it more painful to witness the government he served being publicly condemned than to see a fellow soldier face jail time: the officially sanctioned destruction or, at the very least, critique of one’s deep-seated ideology is potentially devastating, striking at the heart of personal identity.
Analyzing the effects of this type of ideological scrutiny, post-conflict expert Michael Ignatieff theorizes that, while commissions rarely produce the whole truth, they are valuable in that they “narrow the range of permissible lies.”[6] The TRC, its flaws notwithstanding, was able to establish certain indisputable truths, opening the country’s eyes to the horrors of apartheid.[7] Though certain parts of South African history remain points of fierce contention, the commission created the public consensus that apartheid was an unjust and shameful system. As such, Orania interviewees, loath to unequivocally denounce the regime, nonetheless acknowledged the “indisputable truths” generated by the commission’s historical narrative. Wilhelm, for example, admitted that the TRC resulted in “baseline facts,” whilst Hans deemed evidence of apartheid’s brutality “undeniable.” All thus conceded that the position of blacks under the National Party government was indefensible, “a real nightmare.” Bearing such observations in mind, it becomes evident that Orania residents have mulled over the moral implications of the regime, confronted with facts and stories antithetical to their convictions.
Furthermore, throughout the course of the interviews, each person inevitably cited a moment in history when he or she felt the apartheid system veered off its ethical tracks: during the “integration of black labor” into cities, amidst the deterioration of the security situation in the townships, and so on. Though some took care to also highlight positive aspects of National Party doctrine, the thoughtfulness of their responses and the numerous references to historical turning points support the conclusion that interviewees have spent time contemplating the apartheid legacy. Henrik, for instance, unable to ignore the sins of the past, noted, “these things are difficult to explain today.” Why the recurrent attempts to “explain” and analyze apartheid brutality? Most interviewees invoked the TRC’s account of apartheid as the catalyst for their reflections on the National Party system, bemoaning the impossibility of escaping the din generated by the commission’s historical narrative. Consequently, the popular perception that South African whites got off scot free, rewarded by the TRC’s amnesty stipulations, is valid only if one focuses exclusively on tangible penalties. Disregarding the significance of ideological and psychological ramifications is a mistake. As Afrikaner scholar Lize Van Roebbreck puts it, the commission made it impossible for “whites in South Africa to remain blind to the immorality of apartheid” and thereby impossible for those implicated in the system to emerge from the period with fully clear consciences. Is this purging of “blindness” not some form of justice or, at the very least, punishment?
On the other hand, interviewees in Pailin appeared content to remain in the dark, unruffled by the specter of the past and unscathed by the scrutiny of historical narrative. Without fail, former cadres admitted that they had not devoted much energy to pondering Democratic Kampuchea, instead rarely affording their actions a second thought. Terit, for example, stated, “I never look back and do not think about it. Everything keeps moving forward and there is no need to look back.” Laska similarly remarked, “I don’t think about it, I am a good citizen.” Unlike the TRC hearings, the ECCC process thus far does not seem to have either upset interviewees or roused them to evaluate the ethos of the Khmer Rouge system. Furthermore, several former soldiers went so far as to deny that the regime had committed any serious crimes. In this vein, Bunthan commented, “ life during Democratic Kampuchea, it was not wrong, it was autonomous. I did not see the loss of life…” Conceding that there were issues with living standards and freedom of movement, Bunthan nevertheless believes that “people loved the regime because it was so pure, there was no corruption, and people lived equally.” The representation of the Khmer Rouge as a benevolent force formed a common refrain throughout the interviews. Like Bunthan, Rakana argued that claims of suffering under Democratic Kampuchea were exaggerated, as she herself “did not witness any killing” and considers Khieu Samphan, Ieng Sary, and their brethren “good and simple people.” When questioned as to how she behaves when interacting with victims, Rakana noted, “I feel normal, because I don’t believe anything actually happened.” Employing the same line of reasoning, a number of other former cadres asserted that neither they themselves nor Khmer Rouge leaders had anything to apologize for.
Before commencing upon further analysis of the interviews, it would be irresponsible to ignore the fact that Orania interviewees are positioned in an educational culture that places more emphasis on the apartheid regime than its Cambodian counterpart does on the Khmer Rouge era. The contrast between statements like Rakana’s and Orania locals’ sophisticated conceptions of apartheid reflect the fact that Cambodians and Afrikaners have undergone vastly different systems of schooling, a disparity that has contributed to their perspectives on historical narrative. However, this recognition of the potent effects of education does not detract from the similarly potent effects of transitional justice mechanisms, the subject that this article has set as its focus. The two instead merge, along with the host of factors discussed above, to produce the political and social climate within which former Khmer Rouge members developed the lack of remorse palpable throughout their remarks. Accordingly, Pailin interviewees’ ability to deflect the burden of inward reflection, a burden that has etched its mark on the shoulders of Orania residents, partially stems from the absence of a process comparable to the TRC: a public mechanism (whether in the form of a commission, a comprehensive history education curriculum, or an informal initiative) that has made it its mission to produce a widely accepted historical narrative and “narrow the range of permissible lies.” The ECCC has certainly set admirable goals for itself, such as the reduction of impunity, the inclusion of victims’ voices, the establishment of legal precedent, the prosecution of senior Khmer Rouge officials, and so on. This article does not seek to undermine the tribunal’s achievements or claim that the intangible holds greater importance than the tangible. Nonetheless, its triumphs notwithstanding, the ECCC has not provided for a definitive verdict on the regime as a whole, thereby allowing Pailin interviewees the wiggle room to continue living their lives in the “blindness” denied to Orania residents: an undeserved freedom comparable to more commonly recognized modes of impunity. Comments made by former Khmer Rouge members, like those of Orania locals, thus demand that post-conflict discourse recognize historical narrative as a powerful and effective medium of accountability. Moreover, as with the problems inherent in creating an automatic alliance between truth commission and reconciliation, the experiences of interviewees illustrate the issues in restricting justice to the domain of a tribunal. In both cases, the groupings prove themselves to be invalid.
In light of the failings of “unblurred” paradigms, interviews in Orania and Pailin suggest that post-conflict societies should pursue a multi-faceted approach towards transitional justice, utilizing a variety of formal and informal mechanisms. In employing processes that complement each other, countries in the midst of difficult transitions will ensure that they address the challenges of rebuilding from a sufficient number of angles. If Cambodia had chosen to solely implement a tribunal, for example, the country would have disregarded the impact of historical narrative. Instead, with the introduction of genocide education textbooks and the possibility of future grassroots truth-telling mechanisms, the post-Khmer Rouge populace has taken crucial steps towards recovery. This symbiotic union of different methodologies acknowledges the need to broaden societal notions of justice and reconciliation, anticipating the whole range of potential outcomes and thereby guaranteeing that glaring issues are not overlooked.
As far as these “outcomes” go, within the framework of normative discourse, Orania and Pailin simply do not make sense. If one adheres to universalist paradigms, it is surprising that the TRC has generated such hostility amongst Afrikaners: surprising that, while the commission achieved some justice by means of historical truth-telling, it did not facilitate a greater level of reconciliation in Orania. Moreover, though it was initially assumed that a tribunal would divide South Africa and derail the peace-building process, in retrospect, it is possible that an ECCC- style mechanism would have resulted in less mistrust and hostility. In terms of Cambodia, again utilizing normative criteria, it is similarly surprising that the tribunal has not inspired a large amount of bitterness in Pailin. Soldiers’ comments instead indicate that a comprehensive truth recovery mechanism, despite its lack of retributive penalties, might have inflicted a more meaningful form of punishment on former cadres. In the context of post-conflict transitions, the list of so-called “unforeseen” results goes on and on, by no means limited to the small regions of Orania and Pailin.
Why these seemingly erratic results? Why do case studies of Orania and Pailin defy standard models of the rebuilding process? In conclusion, the answer lies in the recognition that justice and reconciliation simply cannot be placed in finite categories. Each contains elements of the other, and, over the course of reconstruction efforts, the two blur, oftentimes almost indistinguishable. Accordingly, in evaluating justice and reconciliation and their relationships to various transitional justice mechanisms, the creation of dichotomous classifications is an untenable juxtaposition; any such universalist framework belies the complexities of the post-conflict experience. To sum up, allow me to turn to a hypothetical example of the “blurring” process. Speculating as to the possible effects of “A History of Democratic Kampuchea,” the new Cambodian history textbook, it is likely that improvements in genocide education will bring about justice through the aforementioned “narrowing of the range of permissible lies,” which could subsequently lead to resentment amongst former Khmer Rouge cadres. Following the chain of potential consequences even further, however, initial tensions could eventually ricochet back towards reconciliation, the dissemination of the “lessons of history” laying the seeds for national peace. In turn, the lessons themselves can alternately be conceived of as a form of justice for victims, an attempt to ensure that the past does not repeat itself and that no more Cambodians fall prey to intra-Khmer violence. Puzzling through this hazy mess of ideas is certainly a formidable undertaking. However, if post-conflict societies hope to ever move on from their turbulent pasts, it is essential that they deny themselves the safe haven of easy answers. The stories of locals in Orania and Pailin chip away at any such refuge of simplicity, challenging us all to delve beyond our core assumptions and explore murkier waters, the undercurrents of a world in which the past is not the past and things are not always as they seem.
[1] Lundy, Patricia, and Mark McGovern. "Attitudes towards a Truth Commission for Northern Ireland in Relation to Party Political Affiliation." Journal of Irish Political Studies. 22. (2007)
[2] Scheffer, David. "Why the Cambodia Tribunal Matters to the International Community." Cambodia Tribunal Monitor.
[3] Lerche III, Charles O. "Truth Commissions and National Reconciliation: Some Reflections on Theory and Practice." Network of Peace and Conflict Studies, George Mason University.
[4] "What is Restorative Justice?." Suffolk University, Center for Restorative Justice.
[5] Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act. No. 34. (1995)
[6] Ignatieff, Michael. The Warrior's Honor: Ethnic War and the Modern Conscience. Chatto and Windus, 1998. 174.
[7] Fullard, Madeline, and Nicky Rousseau. "An Imperfect Past: The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Transition." Human Sciences Research Council. (2004).
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