The aftershocks of the Khmer Rouge

TODAY MARKS 30 years since the Khmer Rouge enslaved Cambodia, leading the people like cattle to a slaughter that would last nearly four years. Thirty years later, justice still waits.

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The Cambodian government and the United Nations have spent eight years meeting, bickering, negotiating -- hashing and rehashing plans to create an international tribunal for former Khmer Rouge leaders. News has broken time and again: There's an agreement, a trial is imminent, it may start in 2004, perhaps 2005. Most recently: UN member states pledged more than $38 million of the $56 million needed for this trial. Optimists hope big; pessimists doubt it will ever happen.

Analysts have scrutinized this unfolding drama. They hurl charges against Cambodian prime minister Hun Sen (a former Khmer Rouge cadre, accused of stalling the trial), the UN (for dilly-dallying), the United States (for pledging $0 toward this trial). But few people really talk about Cambodians.

That's wrong. Wrong, because this trial isn't about aged criminals. It's no longer about the dead or guilty. It's about Cambodians now. It's about the aftershocks of genocide, which still fracture the foundations of Cambodian society, family, community, health, and social well-being. Justice has two parts: punishing the guilty and honoring the victims. Twelve million of those victims are alive today.

This trial, if and when it happens, is not about the past. ''It's about the future," says Youk Chhang, head of the Documentation Center of Cambodia, the driving force behind Cambodia's pursuit of justice.

Thirty years is beyond justice for Cambodia's genocidal criminals, be they dead or living freely. Pol Pot died in 1998; the remaining Khmer Rouge heads are gray, feeble, and fading. Yet they receive far more attention than their victims.

But who's the trial for?

Ke Monin, for one. He's 33, a translator and mototaxi driver. He's taught himself English, and he struggles for a dollar or two a day. His wife recently had their second child, whom they can't afford to feed. Monin doesn't have hope. ''Other people, if they have money, they have hope," he says. ''I don't have."

Monin likens the Khmer Rouge to a tree, with its roots embedded in society's soil. The government can try a handful of Khmer Rouge, but he says the roots will never be gouged.

I wrote to Monin recently to ask about the Khmer Rouge anniversary. He replied succinctly. ''There aren't any public events planned to mark April 17. The Cambodian people believe that the Khmer Rouge tribunal will not happen soon."

Who else deserves a voice?

Po Kith Ly. He survived nearly four years of torture in a Khmer Rouge prison. Shortly after his release, he rode a train that hit a Khmer Rouge land mine. The accident shattered his arm, and today he can't shake the memories. ''I cannot sleep. I have a lot of nightmares about mine explosions and I run, run, run," he says.

When I ask Po Kith Ly whether a tribunal will help him, he is emphatic. ''No, no, no, no."

Who else?

Po Kith Ly's doctor, Ang Sody. She is one of 20 psychiatrists in a country that needs hundreds. Every morning, she greets a standing-room crowd of patients that fill the halls and courtyards of her Phnom Penh hospital.

Ang Sody sees psychosis, depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorders. Khmer Rouge atrocities certainly factor, but it's impossible to name a single cause for any of these troubles. The past and present are caught in a briar patch of family, history, environment, and poverty. Some patients can't sleep, eat, or work. Some symptoms don't surface for many years. ''The younger people have a lot of problems," says Ang Sody. They come from older family and friends. The Khmer Rouge are deeply tangled with the present and future.

This is why a trial is so important to people like Youk Chhang. ''No tribunal in this world can bring back what we have lost under the Khmer Rouge," he says. But it can help dig out the roots of the Khmer Rouge, allowing society to grow a little more freely.

Youk Chhang is right. There's still hope for the future. ''It's never too late."

Karen J. Coates is author of ''Cambodia Now: Life in the Wake of War."