In the dim light of a 1970s Phnom Penh living room, Pol Pot sat rigidly in a wooden chair, eyes fixed on the glowing box of Western invention. On screen, young Cambodians strummed guitars and thrashed wildly to the electric pulse of rock and roll—long hair, laughter, and wild energy inspired by the Western world. His hand tightened on the remote. His face darkened. With a sudden crack, his fist slammed the table. “Enough!” he roared. To him, the music was poison—an infection of foreign thought,

Bearing witness to Cambodia’s horror, 20 years after Pol Pot’s death

Khmer Rouge Tribunal, helping Cambodians heal, nears end