The Master of Confessions (27 page)

Duch returned to the institution where he got his start before he had set out to become a New Man: the public education system. He taught physics and chemistry at the high school in Phkoam. Then, in November 1995, under circumstances that aren't entirely clear, Duch's wife was stabbed to death during a burglary at their home. That part of the country was still dangerous: there was combat nearby, and crime was endemic.

“There was a great deal of instability at the time. Every day, there was gunfire and robberies. No one obeyed the law,” says one witness.

Duch now believes that he had been targeted by his dreaded enemy, Ta Mok. He describes his wife's murder without a trace of emotion, just as coldly as he described his brother-in-law's murder within the prison walls. When he speaks of his mother, who's still alive, or his father, who died in 1990, he also does so in the most detached tone imaginable.

“I have never dreamed of my father,” he says. Nor does not seeing his children appear to provoke any sign of sadness in him.

“Disempathy is the inability to think another person's thoughts and to feel another person's emotions; it's the inability to imagine that others are different from one's own self,” explains the psychologist. “There are signs of it in Duch, who killed off his own personal identity in order to identify with a collective one. Yesterday, it was Communism; now, it's Christianity. This disempathy is neither absolute nor total. Another of his characteristics is what psychologists call alexithymia. This is a clinical concept that designates, in this case, the defendant's inability to both consciously feel emotions and articulate them. This can't be blamed wholly on Sino-Cambodian culture, though there are contributing cultural factors. Duch thinks pragmatically. He thinks about what is ‘practicable,' to use the word he employed.”

CHRISTOPHER LAPEL IS A PASTOR
based in Los Angeles, California. He was thirty-seven years old when, one day in late December 1995, he met Hang Pin during one of those evangelical “crusades” that the West has been sending out into the Third World for the last thirty years with an energy not unlike that of the swarms of locusts that fall upon the crops of the Sahel. The pastor knew nothing about the past of the man he was welcoming. But what did it matter? Hang Pin, suddenly and violently a widower, wanted to give his life to the Lord. He came across as a kindhearted man, a servant of God, warm and welcoming. On January 6, 1996, after two weeks of religious instruction and seventeen years to the day after having shut down S-21, Kaing Guek Eav, alias Duch, alias Hang Pin, was baptized in the river. He was declared ready to preach. Pastor LaPel immediately instructed him to go out and spread the Good News. Three years later, when he learned of his new convert's real identity, the pastor was surprised but happy. “It fills me with joy to see God transform a man's life by turning a killer into a believer.”

According to Communism, loving others means giving the proletarian class an absolute monopoly on power, says Duch. When he lost his faith in Communism, he realized that Christianity's teaching to love one's neighbor as oneself could be beneficial. “I thought converting to that religion would be a good idea because it allows you to love your enemies. I wanted to make sure to only follow a religion that treats everyone as equals, with no regard to class. I believe that Christianity is that ideal religion.”

Confession in Communism, confession in Christianity: in both cases, salvation depends on a preliminary interrogation during which, Duch knows as well as anyone, one's ability to conceal is paramount. Does baptism, which washes away sin, presuppose total sincerity? Fortunately for his mission, Pastor LaPel doesn't appear too concerned about such scruples. Duch appeared at the mission of his own volition, saying he understood the meaning of baptism and was ready to receive Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior. He was baptized and saved. Amen.

Hang Pin returned to the village to open a new church for fourteen families. From
homo sovieticus
to born-again Christian, his miraculous journey continued. It turns out that Judge Lavergne, however, is not a believer. He's confounded by the speed with which one can be ordained a lay pastor. “It seems to me that Duch's conversion happened extremely fast. Do all the people you baptize convert as quickly as that, Pastor LaPel? Or was Duch an exceptional case?”

“So his mission was to share his newfound faith in Christ with his friends and neighbors. Did his mission go beyond that? Could he teach? Could he baptize people? Could he hold services?”

“Yes, Your Honor. He had the opportunity to lead worship services. He had the opportunity to teach the Word of God. As leader of his church, he had the opportunity to pray and to receive communion with the believers in his village.”

“Were you never concerned that there might be shortcomings in this recent convert's faith?”

“I'm not concerned insofar that, so long as he teaches the Word of God, people experience the Word. That is the only answer I can give you, Your Honor.”

“Can you tell us how many people have been baptized into your church here in Cambodia? How many people belong to it?”

“I have lost count. There have been many thousands of new believers during my trips to Cambodia over the past eighteen or nineteen years.”

“Thank you, Pastor LaPel. I have no further questions for the witness, Mr. President.”

The prosecutor asks:

“It is difficult to grasp the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ,” replies the pastor, perhaps sensing the general disbelief in the court.

The prosecutor gives up. Another judge takes over.

“Were you not concerned that in this entire process you had been manipulated from the outset by someone who had hidden his real identity and his past from you and who, furthermore, is responsible for the deaths of more than twelve thousand people at S-21, including people very close to you?”

There are at least two reasons why Maître Roux, who hails from the predominantly Protestant Cevennes region in France, might understand Pastor LaPel better than others do: his Protestant background and his duty to defend his client.

“Would you agree with the notion that, above and beyond any theological training that a person might acquire, what matters most is a person's direct, intimate contact with God, and that such an encounter doesn't necessarily require in-depth study?”

The pastor agrees.

“Does the Bible not contain examples of people who converted very suddenly, some of whom had committed crimes?”

The pastor can't seem to find any. He seems content to simply reiterate that “when a person gives himself to God,” etc. The man of law tries to guide the man of faith.

“To be precise, isn't it true that every man and woman might one day travel his or her own way to Damascus?”

But Paul of Tarsus doesn't seem to strike a chord with, or matter to, the pastor. Christopher LaPel's theology, like Communism's, doesn't require any great learning. It requires only that a person understand what happens when he receives and understands the Word of God (or the Party), and that a person give thanks and praise. All that counts is absolute faith.

The pastor is proud of his former parishioner for admitting to his crimes and presumably accepting his punishment. He encourages Duch to continue spreading the Word of God, because “Jesus is the Prince of Peace and our only answer.” Duch stands when the pastor leaves the courtroom, a gesture of respect toward his new master.

ONE OF THE TRIALS
I followed while covering the international tribunal for the 1994 Rwandan genocide was that of a kind young man, a civil servant with the Belgian social security service, who went to Rwanda and turned into a murderous, rabble-rousing radio presenter who supported the militia in its quest to systematically exterminate every Tutsi it could find. After the
génocidaire
forces were defeated, the international authorities went looking for this Belgian, who changed not only his identity but his religion. Originally Christian, he converted to Islam. The ideology that had caused him to commit the crime in the first place was discredited. Now it gave way to another cause, which the man embraced with equal passion. Just as this Belgian has forsaken his faith in Hutu Power for that of the teachings of the Prophet, so Duch renounced Communism for Christianity. Many people experience an inescapable urge to believe. Fortunately, most don't find themselves in the kind of extreme historical circumstances that might lead them to follow that urge to its worst possible end.

Duch told the psychologists, “You can't live without faith. At first I believed that the Communists would save my homeland. Now I know that it's God.”

He says that religion is what defeated Communism in Poland and elsewhere behind the Iron Curtain. He also hoped that by converting, he would escape his karma. Furthermore, it meant that he would be joining the winning team, just as he does by cooperating with the international justice system. Yet the psychological expert sees another side to Duch's conversion, one that bears witness to something more profound than an expedient shift of allegiance.

From 1996 on, Hang Pin the Christian resolutely endeavored to be as much like the pre-Revolution Kaing Guek Eav as possible. His boss at the school speaks of him in the same glowing terms as his former students and his classmates from the 1960s did: Duch is a humble, meticulous, and hardworking man, much appreciated by his colleagues. He is punctual, rigorous about deadlines, has fine teaching skills, and never talks politics. Duch—biddable, discreet, irreproachable—melts into the community. “He was gentle and he didn't talk much. He did what was asked of him; if someone asked him to clean, he cleaned.”

At the end of 1996, Duch was asked to teach French and was entrusted with distributing textbooks. He was an ordinary man again. He had aged. At fifty-four, he was an elder, and people called him
krou ta
—“master” or, literally, “grandfather teacher.” Duch smiles while the civil servant tells his story.

Whenever a former colleague of Duch's or his former head teacher is in the courtroom, Duch stands respectfully, watches intently, nods in agreement. He always has a smile for witnesses who knew him before or after he was Duch. None of them are tormented like those who suffered under Duch. Their perception of Kaing Guek Eav neither frightens nor intimidates them.

Then one day, without warning or explanation, Hang Pin disappeared. The school's head teacher learned that he had gone to work in Samlaut.

“Even today, I find it hard to accept that he was implicated in these crimes. He was such a perfect teacher. He was gentle, generous, and friendly. He was exactly the opposite,” the man says.

The defection rate among the top-level Khmer Rouge leadership accelerated. In 1996, Brother Number Three, Pol Pot's brother-in-law, deserted, taking with him thousands of men. In June 1997, Pol Pot killed Son Sen, Duch's mentor. In Samlaut, Duch hoped that his superior, Sou Met, would take him along when he surrendered with his men. But Duch was stuck with the last remaining rebels of Democratic Kampuchea. Pol Pot died in April 1998. In August, Duch was finally repatriated to government-controlled territory. Toward the end of 1998, Brother Number Two, Nuon Chea, Duch's boss at S-21 from 1977 to 1979, surrendered. Thirty years after it had started, the civil war was over. In March 1999, the Khmer Rouge hardliner Ta Mok was arrested and jailed. Hang Pin was expected to take charge of education at a district level. He readied himself for his new promotion. Around that time, Kaing Guek Eav, alias Yim Cheav, alias Duch, alias Hang Pin, became a grandfather and seemed at least partially reconciled with his identity at last. He gave his real name, Kaing, to his grandson, as well as his Chinese name, Yun: Kaing Yun Cheav.