The ordinary man who became the Khmer Rouge’s jailer

Never forget: the terrifying normality of Comrade Duch -- by the prisoner who survived.

The head of Tuol Sleng, the Khmer Rouge prison where more than 15,000 men, women and children were tortured and killed, has just been sentenced to 35 years in jail (though he is expected to serve just 17).

Kaing Guek Eav, or Comrade Duch, is the first senior Khmer Rouge cadre to be tried and convicted by an international tribunal in the Cambodian capital, Phnom Penh. The case has brought the barbarity and callousness of the Pol Pot regime -- which caused the death of roughly a quarter of the country's population between 1975 and 1979 -- once more to the world's notice.

It would be easy to paint Duch as a monster. At one level, clearly he is. But to lay the blame for the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge at the door of a few "evil" people is too simplistic. Prime Minister Hun Sen (himself ex-Khmer Rouge) would rather the legal proceedings go no further than the current five cases -- which is an acknowledgement that the layers of complicity, whether voluntary or forced, run deep and wide. "If as many as 20 Khmer Rouge are indicted to stand trial and war returns to Cambodia, who will be responsible for that?" he asked last year.

Hun Sen may well be justified in fearing what could be unearthed, both because of the prominence of the politicians who could be fingered and for the effect delving into the past could have on a country that needs to preserve and build on shallow foundations of reconciliation. (It is only 13 years since different armed forces last fought each other in the capital).

But another way of looking at the larger picture lies not in levelling further accusations, but in trying, somehow or other, to understand how so many people could have acted so terribly.

For the good of Cambodia

One man in particular is well placed to comment. François Bizot is a French scholar who worked at the Angkor Conservation Office in the early 1970s. In October 1971 he was captured and, accused of being a CIA spy, held by the Khmer Rouge at Camp M13 in the far north of the country. The overseer of the camp was . . . none other than Comrade Duch.

Bizot wrote a remarkable memoir of his time in the camp and of the subsequent fall of Phnom Penh to the hardline Maoist regime, which he witnessed. "The Gate" was considered to contain such valuable insights that he was the first witness called to testify in Duch's trial when it began in April last year.

Bizot recalled that initially he thought those who commit unspeakable crimes must be "of a different species", but he came to realise that the truth was "much more tragic, much more frightening". Duch was "a man who resembled others", "polite", "a tireless worker", "a Communist-Marxist ready to lose his life if necessary for his country and for the revolution".

"The humanity that is his own," said Bizot, "was obviously not an obstacle to the killings he perpetrated." But "the final goal of his commitment was the good of Cambodia and fighting injustice".

The ambiguity that has haunted Bizot ever since is that he owes his life to this man. It was Duch, the jailer of Tuol Sleng, who wrote the report to his superiors in "Angkar", the party's Big Brother-like organisation, that secured the Frenchman's release. No other westerner is known to have survived imprisonment by the Khmer Rouge.

"Trying to understand is not to forgive," said Bizot. No, not in this case, it isn't. But trying to understand is necessary if we are to remember that "the banality of evil" was not confined to Hitler's Germany. (You can read a comparison of the Khmer Rouge with the Nazis in Der Spiegel here.)

To make a monster of Duch is almost to take away his responsibility. A psychiatric report on him commissioned by the court concluded that the prisoner was medically and mentally normal; he could, in theory at least, one day be reintegrated into society.

It is the fact that Duch, and countless others in Cambodia, were so ordinary which makes their crimes so chilling. That is what we should try to understand. And if we cannot, if the enormity of their wickedness is ultimately beyond comprehension -- then it is certainly what we should remember.

Sholto Byrnes is a Contributing Editor to the New Statesman
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The deafening killer - why noise will be the next great pollution scandal

A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. 

Our cities are being poisoned by a toxin that surrounds us day and night. It eats away at our brains, hurts our hearts, clutches at our sleep, and gnaws at the quality of our daily lives.

Hardly a silent killer, it gets short shrift compared to the well-publicised terrors of air pollution and sugars food. It is the dull, thumping, stultifying drum-beat of perpetual noise.

The score that accompanies city life is brutal and constant. It disrupts the everyday: The coffee break ruined by the screech of a line of double decker buses braking at the lights. The lawyer’s conference call broken by drilling as she makes her way to the office. The writer’s struggle to find a quiet corner to pen his latest article.

For city-dwellers, it’s all-consuming and impossible to avoid. Construction, traffic, the whirring of machinery, the neighbour’s stereo. Even at home, the beeps and buzzes made by washing machines, fridges, and phones all serve to distract and unsettle.

But the never-ending noisiness of city life is far more than a problem of aesthetics. A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. Recent studies have linked noise pollution to hearing loss, sleep deprivation, hypertension, heart disease, brain development, and even increased risk of dementia.

One research team compared families living on different stories of the same building in Manhattan to isolate the impact of noise on health and education. They found children in lower, noisier floors were worse at reading than their higher-up peers, an effect that was most pronounced for children who had lived in the building for longest.

Those studies have been replicated for the impact of aircraft noise with similar results. Not only does noise cause higher blood pressure and worsens quality of sleep, it also stymies pupils trying to concentrate in class.

As with many forms of pollution, the poorest are typically the hardest hit. The worst-off in any city often live by busy roads in poorly-insulated houses or flats, cheek by jowl with packed-in neighbours.

The US Department of Transport recently mapped road and aircraft noise across the United States. Predictably, the loudest areas overlapped with some of the country’s most deprived. Those included the south side of Atlanta and the lowest-income areas of LA and Seattle.

Yet as noise pollution grows in line with road and air traffic and rising urban density, public policy has turned a blind eye.

Council noise response services, formally a 24-hour defence against neighbourly disputes, have fallen victim to local government cuts. Decisions on airport expansion and road development pay scant regard to their audible impact. Political platforms remain silent on the loudest poison.

This is odd at a time when we have never had more tools at our disposal to deal with the issue. Electric Vehicles are practically noise-less, yet noise rarely features in the arguments for their adoption. Just replacing today’s bus fleet would transform city centres; doing the same for taxis and trucks would amount to a revolution.

Vehicles are just the start. Millions were spent on a programme of “Warm Homes”; what about “Quiet Homes”? How did we value the noise impact in the decision to build a third runway at Heathrow, and how do we compensate people now that it’s going ahead?

Construction is a major driver of decibels. Should builders compensate “noise victims” for over-drilling? Or could regulation push equipment manufacturers to find new ways to dampen the sound of their kit?

Of course, none of this addresses the noise pollution we impose on ourselves. The bars and clubs we choose to visit or the music we stick in our ears. Whether pumping dance tracks in spin classes or indie rock in trendy coffee shops, people’s desire to compensate for bad noise out there by playing louder noise in here is hard to control for.

The Clean Air Act of 1956 heralded a new era of city life, one where smog and grime gave way to clear skies and clearer lungs. That fight still goes on today.

But some day, we will turn our attention to our clogged-up airwaves. The decibels will fall. #Twitter will give way to twitter. And every now and again, as we step from our homes into city life, we may just hear the sweetest sound of all. Silence.

Adam Swersky is a councillor in Harrow and is cabinet member for finance. He writes in a personal capacity.